“I may be an average Joe, but I will reach your level!”

The trip to Mr. S's Mystery Shop had been a surprisingly peaceful one. The path was serene, the autumn wind sending spirals of leaves dancing around your feet, much to Grim's delight, as he pounced on every single one for the satisfying crunch. The closer you got to the shop, the more the air filled with the comforting scents of pumpkin spice and apple cinnamon, a highlight of your day. Grim had been reluctant at first, but he'd eventually been bribed by the promise of smelling all the candles and a premium tuna can if he behaved.

NRC was already decking its halls for the swiftly approaching Halloween. You'd even picked out a few decorations for Ramshackle. The dorm was finally feeling less like a ruin and more like a home, sturdy enough to handle a few fake cobwebs and a jack-o'-lantern or two.

Now, you were walking back, the sky's blue slowly turning into an orange as the sun began to set, the air growing colder. Grim was happily munching on an apple beside you, a tiny engine of destruction targeting every leaf in his path.

"Grim, be careful, or you'll slip," you gently chided, adjusting the paper grocery bag in your arms as the two of you started up the steps to the front door.

Grim looked straight at you as he launched himself onto another particularly crunchy leaf. He took a large, dramatic bite of his apple. "See! I'm not gonna fall! No need to worry, henchman! The Great Grim is far too powerful to be defeated by a flimsy leaf! Nyahaha!"

You rolled your eyes fondly and reached for the doorknob, already anticipating the warmth inside. But just as the door creaked open, you heard a different creak—right above you.

"Ah, Prefect! I'd been waiting for you!"

"NYAH!—"

Grim's scream echoed as his apple went flying. He launched himself into your arms, a blur of grey fur and sheer terror, clinging to your shirt like a lifeline.

"FUCK—!" You stumbled, catching the feline who'd just sworn he was all-powerful while desperately trying not to drop your groceries. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your wide eyes shot upwards to see…

Lilia Vanrouge. Hanging upside down from your doorframe like a bat, his black and magenta hair swaying gently, his crimson eyes sparkling with glee.

"Apologies for the scare!" he chirped, not sounding sorry in the slightest. With a fluid motion, he unhooked his legs and dropped to the floor without a sound, landing perfectly on his feet. He brushed off his uniform and took in the scene: you, clutching your groceries for dear life, and Grim, a trembling puffball of grey fur trying to burrow into your shoulder.

"My, my," Lilia chuckled, a hand coming up to his mouth. "It seems my little greeting was a bit too effective."

Grim scrambled out of your arms and back onto the ground, seemingly trying to regain what little dignity he had left. "Mrah!! You can't just go around scarin' people like that! You made me waste a perfectly good apple!" he whined, as if he wouldn't just eat it off the ground anyway. He snatched up the fallen core. "A lesser person could've fainted!" He punctuated the statement by devouring the core in two massive, crunching bites.

Lilia waved a dismissive hand. "Now, now, isn't a little fright part of the season's charm? You must learn to take things in stride!"

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, your heart rate slowly returning to normal. "A little warning next time, Lilia," you managed, readjusting the grocery bag in your arms. "Did you… Need something?"

"Can't a fellow student simply pay a visit?" he chirped, tilting his head with an innocence that was belied by his dramatic entrance. His eyes flicked to the paper bag. "Though I do require you for something. But first, it looks like you've returned from quite the errand. Here, allow me."

Before you could protest, he plucked the paper bag from your arms and strode inside the dorm as if he owned the place.

"My, this old place is coming along nicely!" Lilia chirped, his eyes scanning the interior. Truly, Ramshackle had been much cleaned up since his last visit. The dust was long gone, the furniture patched up, and a sense of coziness was finally fighting back the decay.

You followed him in, Grim right behind you, still grumbling. "Hey! That's our food! Don't go gettin' any ideas!"

"Now, now, I'm merely assisting," Lilia said, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. He then proceeded to lean against the counter, watching you with a mischievous sparkle as you began unpacking. He made no move to actually help, far more interested in observing. "A student should take their domestic duties seriously."

You plucked a can of tuna from the bag, and as you walked towards the cupboard, Grim cut in front of you with wide, hopeful eyes. "You already had your snack, Grim."

Lilia chuckled. "Hehe, let him be. The young are always so brimming with hunger and potential. It reminds me of when Silver was small. He'd fall right to sleep after a meal—much easier to handle that way." He picked up a stray candle you'd bought, sniffing it appreciatively. "Mmm. Pumpkin. A classic."

You finished putting away the can with a sigh that was more fond than exasperated. As you turned back to the bag, Lilia hopped up to sit on the counter effortlessly, his legs swinging slightly. He spotted the small carton of strawberries you'd bought on a whim and helped himself, plucking one out with a cheerful hum.

"You know," he began, biting into the berry, "life as a student is fun, but it lasts only briefly. It's nothing more than a checkpoint on this long journey we call life." He gestured around Ramshackle's kitchen with the half-eaten strawberry. "Seeing you make this old place into a home... it reminds me to appreciate these little moments."

You smiled, placing a box of tea bags into the cupboard. "Is that your way of saying you like visiting?"

"Hehehe, perhaps." He ate another strawberry, his gaze thoughtful. "But as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted by my brilliant entrance... I do require you for something."

You finished putting away the last of the dry goods and turned to face him fully, leaning against the counter opposite him. "Always a great sign," you deadpanned, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Lilia hopped down from the counter, landing without a sound. He clasped his hands together in front of him, his expression shifting into one of pure glee.

"Your skepticism is half the fun, my dear Prefect!" he chirped, his eyes gleaming. "But this is a matter of utmost importance, one that requires your unique talents."

Grim, who had been sulking near the cupboards, perked up at the word "talents." "Talents? You mean, like my incredible fire magic?!"

"Among others, yes!" Lilia agreed, his gaze flicking to Grim before locking back onto you. "Halloween is nearly upon us. The season of frights and delights! But the students here... they're all bluster and bravado. They need a proper, memorable scare. One they'll talk about for decades!"

His grin widened, a flash of fang making it clear this was anything but an innocent request. "And I've decided to take matters into my own hands! But even the best conductor needs a first chair! I can think of no one better to share the spotlight with. So, what do you say? Will you be my partner in this delightful little endeavor?"

You froze.

The question hung in the air, and your brain short-circuited trying to process it. He, Lilia Vanrouge, a man who could make Rook Hunt jump with a well-timed "Boo!", was asking for your help. Not Malleus. Not one of his bandmates. You.

A dozen thoughts collided at once. Was this a prank? Was he setting you up for an even bigger scare? But his expression, while bursting with mischief, seemed... genuine. He really meant it. The sheer, unbelievable honor of it all was almost as startling as his initial doorframe ambush. He saw you, a magicless prefect, as a worthy partner-in-crime for his mayhem.

You just stared at him. The silence stretched, broken only by Grim's indignant "What about ME?!" from the floor. Your brain, finally rebooting, could only formulate a single, bewildered question.

"...What?"

Lilia looked utterly delighted by your stunned reaction. "Oh, don't worry! It'll be perfectly safe. Probably. The key is in the execution, you see!" He leaned in, his voice dipping into a stage whisper. "Think of it! My centuries of expertise, combined with your... modern sensibilities. We'll be an unstoppable duo!"

"But... why me?" you blurted out, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. "You're... you. You could scare the stripes off a zebra just by smiling. What could I possibly do that you can't?"

"They've got a point!" Grim yowled, stomping his little foot. "I'm the one with the amazing, spectacular, show-stopping—"

"Ah-ah!" Lilia interrupted, holding up a finger without even looking at Grim, his gaze fixed on you. "That is the wrong question, my dear Prefect. The question isn't what you can do. It's the flavor you bring! My scares are classic, timeless. But you... You know what makes this generation's heart stop. You know the modern fears. The little, mundane terrors they don't see coming." He leaned in again, his eyes sparkling. "Besides, where's the fun in terrifying everyone all by my lonesome? Sharing the aftermath with a partner is half the joy."

You fell silent again, but this time it was a thoughtful silence. Your initial shock began to melt away, replaced by a slow-burning intrigue. Lilia watched the gears turn in your head, his smile knowing and patient.

Your mind began to conjure images. Ace's smug grin after a particularly successful prank. Deuce's overly-serious, easily flustered face. The jumpy first-years and the haughty upperclassmen who acted like they were above it all.

Well... a treacherous little voice in your mind whispered, when you put it like that...

"Oh, fine."

Lilia's resulting cackle was a thing of pure, unadulterated joy. He clapped his hands together once. "Splendid! I knew you had a spark of delightful mischief in you!"

"Hey! What about my sparks?!" Grim yelled, tugging on your pant leg. "I'm the one full of 'em! Literally!"

"Of course, of course," Lilia said, finally acknowledging the feline with a pat on the head that made Grim splutter. "We shall need your... pyrotechnic expertise for ambiance. This will be a team effort!"

The morning sun slanted through the cracked curtains of Yuu’s bedroom, cutting the gloom into golden stripes. It illuminated a landscape of neglect: a half-finished sketchbook left open on the floor, a chipped mug stained with the ghost of yesterday's tea, dust motes dancing a slow, lazy waltz in the still air.

Yuu lay perfectly still under a thin, worn blanket, listening. Not to the silence, but to the sounds that filled it. The soft creak of floorboards downstairs, the low, muffled murmur of their Ma and Pa moving about, the gentle sigh of wind through the sycamore trees outside their window. These were the sounds of a world continuing to turn, a rhythm Yuu no longer felt part of.

A shadow detached itself from the corner. Grim padded silently across the floorboards, leaping onto the bed with practiced grace. He wove himself around Yuu's arms, a creature of warmth and softness, before pressing his head firmly against their cheek. The low, steady rumble of his purr was a vibration felt more than heard. His eyes, catching a sliver of light, were sharp and bright, holding a knowing glint that always seemed to say he understood the world's secrets—or at least, the secret of where the best scraps of food were hidden.

The house was too quiet. It had been for six months. The emptiness their sister had left behind wasn't just an absence of sound; it was a presence, a heavy, breathing thing that sat on Yuu's chest and made every movement an effort.

They tried to push the memories back, to lock them away for just one morning, but they came anyway, unbidden and vivid.

Her laugh, wild and bright enough to make the old walls feel new. The comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the candles she was always burning. The way her fingers would dance over the pages of that worn, leather-bound storybook, her voice soft and lilting as she spun tales of impossible places.

Yuu squeezed their eyes shut, reaching for the feeling of those moments, but it slipped through their grasp like smoke, leaving only the cold ash of remembrance.

A specific memory surfaced, clear as the water in the garden's little fountain. They were small, maybe six, curled tight beneath a patchwork quilt in their childhood room. The fire in the hearth flickered low, making the shadows on the wooden walls dance like silent, stretching giants.

She was sitting beside them, her hair tied back loosely with wisps escaping to frame her face. Her smile was soft, but her eyes were distant, looking at something far beyond the room's four walls. In her hands was the book, its pages soft and yellowed with age.

Her voice, warm and gentle as a summer blanket, told them of a forest where the trees whispered secrets to those who knew how to listen, and animals spoke in riddles you could almost, but not quite, understand.

Yuu remembered pressing their small hands deep into the quilt, their eyes wide with a hundred questions. “But why would a cat have a grin without a cat?” they’d asked.

“Some stories,” she’d whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, “are meant to be found, not told. The best answers are the ones you find for yourself.”

They remembered the soft, final weight of her kiss on their forehead. The promise of more stories tomorrow.

But tomorrows had run out. It had been six months since the sickness, a swift and silent thief, had taken her away. It left behind a void where her laughter used to live, a hollow ache that had taken root deep in Yuu's chest.

The ache twisted now, a familiar, dull pain beneath their ribs. Their hand found Grim’s fur, stroking slowly, the repetitive motion a small anchor in a sea of stillness.

They lay there until the sunbeams crept from the floorboards to the wall, tracing the faded pattern of the wallpaper. The house felt less like a home and more like a fragile shell, and Yuu wasn't sure how much longer the threads holding it—holding them—together would last.

The weight of it all was a physical pressure. They needed to move, to breathe air that wasn't steeped in memory. But the simple act of standing felt like attempting to climb a mountain.

Maybe it's the sun, Yuu reckoned, the thought a feeble spark in the gloom. Or maybe just… out. Something beyond these four walls.

Their fingers traced idle patterns on Grim’s back. He was curled against them now, his purr a steady engine of companionship. He always seemed to understand the weight they carried, offering his silent, furry support without judgment.

But a cold, sharp thought needled its way in: What if going outside doesn't change a thing? What if the emptiness just follows you? The fear was a cold stone in their gut—fear of the unchanged world outside, fear of forgetting the sound of her voice.

Still, the room was a cage today. The shadows in the corners seemed to whisper that memories alone weren't enough to live on.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Yuu sat up, pulling the blanket around their shoulders like a cloak. The floorboards were cool beneath their bare feet. Grim, sensing the shift, jumped down with a soft thud, his tail giving an inquisitive flick.

They shuffled to their dresser, their fingers fumbling over folded clothes that felt leaden. They bypassed nicer things, settling instead on a worn, soft shirt and a pair of comfortable pants. As they pulled the shirt over their head, a faint, stubborn scent of lavender—her lavender soap—clung to the fabric, a sweet, ghostly reminder that refused to fade.

Dressing felt like a performance of normalcy. Each movement was accompanied by a swirl of memories, dry and brittle as autumn leaves. Her laugh, her stories, the way she’d curl up beside them when the world felt too large and frightening. They swallowed hard, repeating the mantra in their mind: Just a walk. Just some fresh air. That's all.

They pulled on their boots, tying the laces with slow, methodical loops, then grabbed their jacket from the back of the chair. Each small, familiar action was a step back into their own body, a reclamation of a self that grief had blurred. By the time they were fully dressed, they felt… ready. Or as ready as they were going to be.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, they started down the stairs. The wood creaked its familiar song under their weight. The air in the kitchen was a comforting mix of fresh bread and strong, bitter coffee. Ma stood at the stove, her apron tied neatly, humming a soft, tuneless melody as she worked. Pa was at the table, his large, weathered hands carefully folding the newspaper.

“Ma? Pa?” Yuu’s voice was low, but it held a steadiness they didn't quite feel. “I’m gonna take a walk with Grim.”

Ma turned, her smile kind but etched with the fine lines of a worry that had become permanent. “You sure you’re up for that, darlin’? Sun’s mighty fine today, but don’t you be out too long, y’hear?” She stooped, her hand finding the spot behind Grim’s ears that made his purr rev like a motor. “And how’s my Grimmy today? Keepin’ an eye on things, are you?”

Grim leaned into her touch, rubbing his head against her leg in a clear display of affection.

Pa looked up from his paper, his gaze steady and calm. He nodded slowly. “A walk sounds like a fine idea. Fresh air’ll do the soul good. Just be sure you’re back ‘fore supper.”

The normalcy of the exchange made a fraction of the weight on Yuu’s chest lift. “Thanks, Ma. Thanks, Pa. I’ll be careful.”

Grim, now buzzing with the prospect of adventure, hopped onto an empty chair, his tail flicking back and forth like a happy metronome. Ma gave Yuu one last, long look—a look that held an ocean of love and unspoken sorrow—before turning back to her stove, her soft humming resuming.

Stepping out the door was like crossing a threshold into another world. The sunlight didn't just illuminate; it embraced, wrapping around Yuu’s shoulders like a warm, heavy blanket. Grim trotted faithfully at their side, his nose already twitching at the symphony of outdoor scents.

The garden was a testament to loving hands and the relentless force of nature. It sprawled in a beautiful, tangled mess before them. Neat rows of sunflowers stood like cheerful, golden-faced soldiers, nodding sagely in the breeze, while untamed vines curled around the fence posts in a green embrace. The air was a delicate perfume of honeysuckle and the rich, dark scent of freshly turned earth from where Pa had been weeding.

Yuu wandered without purpose, their boots crunching a soft rhythm on the gravel path. The old wooden fence groaned a friendly complaint when the wind pushed against it. A hummingbird, a living jewel, darted between blossoms, its wings a blurred, iridescent shimmer.

Grim vanished into the tall grass, a streak of gray on a secret mission, his presence marked only by the occasional rustle. Yuu’s eyes followed a butterfly, its wings like panes of stained glass, as it flitted from a violet to a rose with dizzying indecision.

They paused, taking a slow, deep breath, filling their lungs with the clean, green scent of life. The sun pressed its warmth gently against their face, and the rustle of the sycamore leaves was a whispered lullaby, soothing a heart they thought had forgotten how to be calm.

Their gaze traveled upward, catching on the delicate arch of the climbing rose trellis. A cascade of pale pink and white blossoms tumbled overhead, and petals drifted down like soft, fragrant snow, settling on the path at their feet. Yuu crouched, their fingers brushing against a fallen bloom. Its velvet texture was a small, perfect pleasure.

For a fleeting moment, the heavy knot in their chest loosened. This place, her place, held a peace that the stuffy, memory-crammed house could not.

Their fingers were just about to close around the stem of a particularly perfect rose when a violent rustling shattered the tranquility. Their head snapped up.

There, just beyond the proud wall of sunflowers, was a flash of movement—too sharp, too quick to be a squirrel or a bird.

A figure burst from the undergrowth, and Yuu’s mind stuttered, trying to make sense of the image. Blue hair, startlingly bright under the sun. And perched atop his head, twitching with palpable anxiety, were a pair of unmistakable, snow-white bunny ears.

He moved with a frantic, skittering urgency, his feet seeming to barely kiss the ground as he wove through the flowers and vines. The look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated panic.

“I’m late!” he called over his shoulder, his voice breathless and strained. “Can’t stop now—just… can’t!”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, tangled in the rustling leaves, before being swept away.

Yuu’s breath caught in their throat. It was an impossible sight, a thing from one of her storybooks thrown carelessly into the real world. Before logic or fear could intervene, their feet were moving, carrying them forward faster than they’d moved in months. Grim was a gray blur at their heels, his paws a soft, rapid patter on the earth, his tail held high and taut.

They ducked under low-hanging branches, leapt over gnarled roots that seemed to reach for their ankles. The familiar garden blurred at the edges, the twisting paths feeling less defined, as if they were stretching and shifting, guiding them toward something hidden and strange.

“Wait!” Yuu shouted, their own voice trembling with a mix of confusion and desperate curiosity. “Please—wait up! I didn't mean to startle ya!”

But the boy—the rabbit?—was already slipping away, vanishing behind the last row of sunflowers and through a thick, swaying hedge that seemed to part for him like a curtain.

He zigzagged with single-minded purpose, heading straight for the massive, gnarled old oak tree that marked the furthest boundary of the garden. And there, at its base, where only a rabbit’s burrow should have been, was a dark, inviting opening, just large enough for a person to squeeze through.

Yuu reached the tree, their heart hammering against their ribs, just in time to see the blue-haired boy disappear into the darkness.

Their breath hitched. They'd seen plenty of rabbits in this garden—brown ones, gray ones, even a black one once. But never one who wore a waistcoat. Never one who clutched a gleaming pocket watch. Never one who spoke in a panicked, human voice.

It was that impossible, human sound that decided it. Before their good sense could scream in protest, they were on their hands and knees, crawling toward the opening.

Yuu crouched low, their hands brushing against the cool, rough bark of the oak. Grim pressed against their side, a low, questioning rumble rising in his throat, a clear note of caution. But when Yuu wriggled headfirst into the hole, he followed without hesitation.

The tunnel was dark, earthy, and close, smelling strongly of damp soil and ancient stone. It went straight on for a little way, and the last sliver of daylight glinted off things that shouldn't be there—not just roots, but what looked like smooth, dark glass and polished wood.

Then, without any warning whatsoever, the ground simply vanished from beneath them.

There was no crumbling edge, no slow slide. It was as if the universe had erased the floor. Yuu was falling, a terrifying, breath-stealing drop that seized their heart in a cold fist.

But the plunge was short-lived. Almost immediately, the fall gentled, transforming from a violent descent into a slow, dreamlike drift. It was as if they were sinking through a thick, invisible liquid. The earthen tunnel walls melted away, replaced by something utterly impossible: walls of deep green wallpaper, adorned with a faint, swirling golden damask pattern. Neat shelves and cupboards, fixed to nothing, drifted slowly past.

There was nothing to do but fall. The initial fear ebbed, replaced by a wide-eyed, bewildered wonder.

They had all the time in the world to look around. Grim, after a moment of frantic, leg-churning flailing, had settled into a state of stunned acceptance, clinging to Yuu’s lap for stability. His wide, yellow eyes were saucers, taking in the floating furniture, the drifting bric-a-brac, his confused rumble a constant, low-grade soundtrack to their descent.

They drifted past a cupboard and, on impulse, Yuu snatched a small jar from a shelf. The label, in elegant cursive, read "MARMALADE." Hoping for a clue, or perhaps just a snack, they twisted it open. It was empty, not even a sticky smear left inside. Disappointed, they carefully set it down on a lower shelf as they floated past. A moment later, a book drifted by, its cover embossed with the title "The Queen's Rules." The pages fluttered madly, like a trapped bird trying to escape its binding. Yuu reached for it, but it spun lazily just beyond their fingertips.

"Well, I'll be," Yuu murmured into Grim's fur, the absurdity of it all finally striking them. "After a fall like this, tumbling down the stairs back home would feel like nothin'. I reckon I wouldn't even make a peep."

Down, down, down. Would it never end?

"How far d'you reckon we've fallen, Grim?" they said aloud, their voice small and strangely hollow in the vast, vertical space. "Must be gettin' near the center of the earth, I reckon. Let's see... Pa said that was four thousand miles down..." The number was too big, too abstract to have any real meaning here, where down was the only direction and time seemed to have stopped.

The gentle, rocking motion, the soft whistle of air, the hypnotic parade of strange, floating household items… it was all having a strangely sedative effect. Yuu’s eyelids began to feel heavy, the bizarre reality softening at the edges into a dream. They were just starting to drift off when—

Thump.

The fall was over.

Yuu sat for a long moment in the pile of dry leaves. The world felt solid again, blessedly unmoving. They patted their own arms and legs, half-surprised to find them all still attached and in working order.

"Well, I'll be," they muttered, brushing a leaf from their hair. "After a tumble like that, fallin' off the barn roof would feel like trippin' over a loose floorboard. Don't think I'll ever complain 'bout our rickety stairs again."

A disgruntled noise came from beside them. "Mrah! My fur is full of leaves! This is completely undignified for a future Great Sorcerer! It's going to take hours of grooming to get back to my pristine magnificence!"

Yuu froze, their hand still halfway to another leaf. They turned their head slowly. That wasn't just a noise. Those were... words. Clear as day.

Grim was shaking himself out, his little body a puff of irritated gray fur. His back was to them.

"Did you... say somethin'?" Yuu asked, their voice barely a whisper, thinking they must have hit their head harder than they thought.

Grim stopped shaking and turned, fixing them with a glare from his eyes. "Of course I said somethin'! I said my fur is a mess! Are your ears full of leaves, too? Maybe all that fallin' rattled your brain loose!"

They both stared at each other. A beat of stunned silence stretched between them, thick enough to chop with an axe. The only sound was the faint rustle of a leaf still drifting down from the ceiling-high darkness above.

Yuu’s jaw was practically on the floor. "You... you can talk." The words felt stupid and inadequate. "Since when can you talk?"

Grim’s irritated expression melted into one of dawning horror. He looked down at his own paws, then back up at Yuu, his eyes wide. "I... I can!" he squeaked, his voice climbing an octave. "I CAN TALK! NYAH HA HA! THE GREAT GRIM'S TRUE GENIUS CAN NO LONGER BE CONTAINED BY MERE MEWS AND PURRRS! THE WORLD WILL FINALLY HEAR MY GRAND PROCLAMATIONS!"

The initial shock wore off, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated panic. Grim began zipping in frantic circles, a blur of gray fur and existential dread. "WAIT. WHY CAN I TALK? WHAT SORCERY IS THIS? IS THIS A CURSE? AM I CURSED?!"

"Will you hush!" Yuu hissed, scrambling to their feet and scooping him up, clamping a hand gently over his mouth. He felt warm and solid and the same, but the stream of panicked words vibrating against their palm was entirely new. "You're gonna attract every... every thing in this place!" They looked around nervously at the long, dimly lit hall with its countless, silent doors. What kind of things lived behind doors in a place like this? "We don't know what else is down here."

Grim mumbled something that sounded like "mmpfh greeeat mmph unhand!" against their palm before he went completely limp with a dramatic, full-body sigh. Yuu cautiously removed their hand.

"This is your fault," he grumbled, though he made no move to escape their arms, seemingly comforted by the familiar contact. "Chasin' after some fancy-pants rabbit-man. Normal rabbits live in holes. This one lives in a... a hallway of doors. And now I'm a talkin' freak-cat. My reputation is ruined before it's even begun!"

"Seems to me you're enjoyin' it a little," Yuu retorted, though their own heart was still hammering. A talking cat. Of all the impossible things that had happened in the last ten minutes—the rabbit, the fall, the floating furniture—this felt somehow the most world-bending. Grim was their constant silent companion. This changed everything.

A flash of blue and white at the far end of the hall snapped them out of their mutual shock. The Rabbit! He was hurrying down the passage, muttering to himself again, completely oblivious to their crisis.

"Oh my ears and whiskers," his voice echoed back, faint and fretful. "He'll have my head for this, he will! He said 3 o'clock sharp, not a second past!"

"There he goes again!" Grim yowled, forgetting his existential crisis in an instant. He wriggled out of Yuu's grasp and landed on the floor with a soft thud. "After him! Maybe he knows why I can talk! Or maybe he's got tuna! Either way, we can't lose him!"

There wasn't a moment to lose. Yuu took off running, Grim a gray streak at their heels, his little paws pattering a frantic rhythm. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, an alignment of doors—tall ones, short ones, ones painted a garish red, ones carved with strange, swirling symbols. None of them had visible handles or keyholes, just smooth, unbroken surfaces that promised secrets they couldn't access.

They rounded the corner just in time to see the Rabbit fumble with a key, unlock a small, disturbingly normal-looking door, and vanish through it. The door clicked shut with a sound of finality.

Yuu skidded to a halt, Grim leaping to paw frantically at the solid wood. "He's gone! He locked it! The nerve! After leadin' us on a chase!"

"Maybe the key's around here somewhere," Yuu said, their breath coming in short gasps. They turned to survey the hall, their eyes scanning the endless, identical walls. And that's when they saw it. A single, small table in the very center of the room that they were certain hadn't been there a moment before. It was made of shimmering glass, as if carved from a single block of ice, and on it was a tiny golden key, gleaming under the lantern light.

"Ah-ha!" Grim declared, puffing out his chest and strutting towards the table. "The Great Grim has found the solution! My brilliant detective skills have— hey, wait for me!" he yelped as Yuu rushed past him and snatched up the key.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Yuu said, the metal cool and surprisingly heavy in their palm. They rushed to the nearest door, a grand, oak thing that looked like it belonged in a castle, and tried to find a keyhole. There was none. They tried another, a cheerful green one. Again, nothing but smooth wood. Door after door, all around the vast hall, were all firmly, mysteriously locked, offering no way in or out.

"It's no use," Yuu sighed, slumping against a purple door in defeat. The tiny key felt useless in their hand. "It don't fit a one. We're trapped."

"Maybe there's a smaller door," Grim suggested, his nose twitching as he sniffed along the elaborate baseboards. "A secret one! For secret, important people! Like me!"

It was a good thought. Pushing their frustration aside, Yuu started looking more carefully, running their hands along the walls, feeling for any seam or crack. Then their fingers brushed against heavy, velvety fabric. A curtain. They had been so focused on the doors they'd missed it entirely. With a heart suddenly thumping again, they pulled the curtain back.

There it was. A little door, no taller than their knee, hidden away in the shadows. It was a perfect, miniature thing, crafted with the same care as the larger ones, and when Yuu knelt and slipped the tiny golden key into its tiny lock, it turned with a satisfying, perfect click.

Heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation, Yuu pushed the little door open. It revealed a small, dark passage, and at the end of it...

"Oh, my," they breathed, the words catching in their throat.

It was the loveliest garden they had ever seen. The grass was a vibrant, almost unreal green, flower beds bloomed in explosions of impossible colors, and fountains sparkled under a bright, sunny sky that shouldn't have existed on the other side of a tiny door at the bottom of a rabbit hole. It was everything their own tangled, sorrowful garden was not.

But the passage was far too small. Yuu couldn't even get their head through, let alone their shoulders. The beautiful garden might as well have been a painting.

"Outta the way, let me see!" Grim demanded, squeezing his head into the opening. He wriggled and pushed, but it was no use. "Nyah! It's no use! I'm too big and magnificent to fit! This is an outrage! A garden that glorious deserves to be admired by my presence!"

Yuu sat back on their heels, a fresh, cold wave of despair washing over them. They were so close. The ache of it was a physical pain. "Oh, how I wish I could shrink myself down like... like one of them collapsible fishing poles Pa has. Just... fold right up."

As if in answer to their wish, their eyes fell back upon the glass table. And there, where the single key had been, now sat a small glass bottle. It certainly had not been there before.

Grim trotted over and stood on his hind legs, propping his front paws on the table leg to peer at it. "Says 'DRINK ME'," he read aloud, squinting at the elegant, handwritten label. "Real subtle."

Yuu picked it up cautiously. It was filled with a clear liquid that swirled with faint, pearlescent colors. "Ain't that a little... on the nose? Feels like we're bein' led around by the nose."

"Maybe it's a trap!" Grim said, though he looked more curious than concerned, his head cocked. "Maybe it's poison! Or turns your fur green! ...Actually, green fur might be kinda stylish..."

Yuu, however, was remembering. Their sisters' stories weren't just about whimsy; they were about choices. Taking a bite, drinking a potion, stepping through the looking glass. This felt like one of those moments. Besides, the bottle wasn't marked 'poison,' and when they uncorked it, it smelled... surprisingly delightful, like a whole bakery, a fruit orchard, and a Christmas feast had been combined into one irresistible aroma.

"It don't smell like poison," Yuu said, the scent making their mouth water. Yuu remembered their sister saying something about a bottle labeled once before, albeit they could hardly remember what would happen when you drank the contents…

Burning with a curiosity that overpowered every last shred of good sense, Yuu looked at Grim, who was now watching them with wide eyes.

"Well," Yuu said, their voice steadier than they felt. "Ain't no use standin' here starin' at it all day. Here goes nothin'."

How terrible it is to love something death can touch.

That was a truth Malleus Draconia had learned in the mundane moments that made up a life, your life, more so.

He had first truly understood it one afternoon, watching you nap in a sunbeam slanting through his tower window. You were curled in a chair, a book splayed open on your chest, rising and falling with each breath. To you, it was a simple nap. To him, it was a countdown. He found himself counting the breaths, a grim rhythm that only counted down. One more. One less. Every beat of your heart was a step closer to its final stillness. Every exhale brought you closer to the last whisper of air you would ever draw.

It was an agony he had realized long ago, a thorned vine that had taken root in his chest the day he first admitted he loved you, and now it constricted with every passing season.

He was a being of granite and starlight, of ley lines and immortal magic. You were… a candle. A beautiful, brilliantly burning candle. He was mesmerized by your flame. The way you laughed, the way your eyes crinkled with joy, the fleeting passion of your emotions. But he could only watch helplessly as the wax dripped, as the wick shortened. He had seen empires rise and fall from the very spot where this place now stood. He had watched forests grow from saplings to sentinel giants and return to soil. But the thought of watching you age, sicken, fade. You, the one thing he had ever truly wanted to keep, terrified him in a way no battle, no curse, no decade of solitude ever had.

His love was not a gentle thing. It was ever-consuming. A hoarding instinct that wanted to gather you up and keep you safe from the ravages of a world that broke beautiful, temporary things. And the object of this vast, terrifying love was… temporary.

A human. So easily bruised. A single misstep on a staircase, a stray spark from a spell, a common chill that could spiral into a fever… the possibilities for loss were endless, a thousand different paths all leading to the same unbearable conclusion.

He would trace the delicate blue lines of veins at your wrist, feeling the frantic, bird-like pulse beneath his fingertips, and his own ancient, slow-beating heart would clench. He would watch a single grey hair gleam among the others and feel a wave of something, not disgust, but a profound grief. These were not the signs of a life lived, but mile markers on a tragically short life.

He loved you. He, Malleus Draconia, who commanded storms and whose name was whispered with fear and reverence, was desperately in love with a creature whose life was little more than a sigh in his long life.

And a dragon could not stand to lose his greatest treasure.

These thoughts, once a distant dread, had now become a constant of his existence. They were there in the silence of his castle and the space between heartbeats. And they were here, now, as he lay curled at your side on the bed you two shared, listening to the steady rhythm of your voice as you read aloud. It was in these moments that he found peace. With his ear pressed against your side, he could listen to the steady rhythm of your heart, a commitment he made to himself that he would never, ever let it stop. He could hear your voice, and he would ensure it never truly faded away. In these moments, he could almost believe the terrible, ticking clock had stopped.

Your voice, soft and steady, wove through the quiet room, tracing the lines of Ovid's Metamorphoses.

"...and though he begged her not to ask it, Semele demanded to see Zeus in his full, divine splendor," you read, your fingers unconsciously carding through his soft hair. "A mortal frame could not withstand the glory of a god's true form. She was consumed by the glorious fire of his presence."

You paused, perhaps imagining the scene, and Malleus did not stir, though his mind was now fully engrossed by your words.

You continued, the last part of the myth escaping your lips. "And so, from the ashes of Semele, Dionysus was born. The god, in his grief, sewed the unborn child into his own thigh to carry him to term. Thus, from destruction came new life, and a part of the mortal woman was made eternal within the divine."

You closed the book with a soft thud, a contemplative sigh escaping your lips. "It's tragic," you murmured, your hand still resting in his hair. "But there's a strange beauty to it, I suppose. To be loved so fiercely by a god that even your destruction isn't the end."

Malleus was silent for a long moment, so still you thought he might have been sleeping. Then, he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful, keeping his eyes closed.

"‘A weird beauty.’ An apt phrase. Do you believe that is the ultimate form of love, then?"

You blinked, looking down at the dark crown of his head. "What, sewing someone into your leg?"

A faint, almost imperceptible chuckle shook his shoulders. "Heheh. No. The preservation. The act of defying an ending deemed inevitable." He finally tilted his head back, his green eyes opening to look at you, his gaze gentle. "Zeus could not reverse her death. But he could rewrite its conclusion. He ensured her story did not end with ashes."

You pondered the statement, your fingers stilling in his hair. "I suppose. But sewing someone into your leg is a pretty extreme response. It's still a tragedy."

"A tragedy defined by its moment of conflict, or by its final resolution?" he countered, his voice a soft murmur. "Her story did not end in a forgotten urn of ashes. It ended with her essence fueling the birth of a god, her memory woven into the very stars for mortals to worship. He did not let her be forgotten. He made her a part of his own story."

He shifted, turning fully to look up at you, his expression soft yet intensely focused. "If you knew, with absolute certainty, that the one you cherished would be lost to time... that every laugh, every touch, was a step closer to a silence you would have to endure for millennia... would you not be tempted to find a way to keep them? To truly keep them, where no power in any world could ever take them from you?"

You smiled, a little wistful, your thumb stroking his temple. "When you put it like that, it's hard to argue. To be wanted that much... to be loved so desperately that someone would defy the natural order just to have a piece of you forever..." You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head. "I think anyone would be a little tempted by that. The idea that you're so precious, someone can't even bear the universe taking you back. It's... terrifying, but in a way, it's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."

His eyes widened just a fraction at your words, a certain shine in them as a faint smile touched his lips.

"You think it romantic?" he asked in a murmur, his voice filled with a hint of hope. He shifted, rising on one elbow so he could look down at you, his form casting a shadow over you.

You met his gaze, your heart fluttering. "Isn't it?" you said, your own voice soft. "It's the ultimate promise. No more goodbyes. No more fear of being left behind or forgotten. It's two souls becoming one. No secrets, no separation. Ever." You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. "You'd never be alone again. And neither would I. We'd be... us. Forever. That's what love is supposed to be, isn't it? Becoming a part of each other?"

Malleus captured your hand, pressing your palm to his lips. His eyes closed for a moment, as if in prayer. When they opened again, they were star-filled and entirely focused on you.

"Then let me provide that for you," he whispered, the words a vow. "Let me rewrite our ending before it can ever be written. Let me spare you the decay, the pain, the slow fading that awaits every beautiful, mortal thing."

He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours.

"Do not be afraid. This isn't an ending, it's a transformation. " His voice was hypnotic, weaved a spell of comfort around you. "Your thoughts will become my thoughts. Your memories, my most cherished dreams. Your love, the very magic that fuels my heart. I will be the vault that keeps you safe, and you will be the treasure that makes me whole. We will be… inseparable." He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching, giving you one final chance to refuse. But you saw only the desperate love of a dragon for his hoard, and you found you wanted nothing more than to be kept.

"Is this your wish?" he asked, his voice barely a breath. "To be with me, forever? To become one with me, in the most sacred and final way?"

You looked up at him, at the being who could cause storms yet was trembling at this moment, and you gave him your answer with trusting nods and a sure smile.

A peace settled over Malleus's features.

"Then close your eyes, my love," he murmured, his voice the softest you had ever heard.

You obeyed, the world disappearing behind your eyelids. You felt him shift above you, his weight a comforting anchor. The first touch was the softest press of his lips against yours. A final, chaste kiss.

And then, a sharp, brief pain at your lower lip.

It was gone as soon as it came, replaced by the warm, metallic taste of your own blood. You gasped softly, but his hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Shhh," he whispered against your mouth, his tongue soothing the tiny wound. "Every memory of your laughter… I take it into my care."

This was not a rushed devouring. This was a sacrament. He partook of you like a holy offering, one deliberate taste at a time.

His mouth journeyed to the pulse fluttering at the side of your neck. A kiss, soft as silk. Then, the piercing pressure of a fang. This one was deeper, a claiming of the very rhythm of your life. You felt the pull, a slow, steady drawing not just of blood, but of warmth, of the very thing that made you you. A warmth began to bloom in its wake, seeping into your limbs.

He moved lower, his lips brushing the hollow of your throat, the fragile ridge of your collarbone. Each kiss was a prelude to a merging. Each taste was a memory he was committing to his own flesh. The salt of your skin after a long day, the ghost of your perfume, the simple, human fact of you.

His hands were never still, mapping the territory of your body with a devastating tenderness as he slowly, so slowly, took it apart. One hand splayed over your racing heart, as if feeling the song it was singing for the last time.

"The first time I saw you," he whispered, his breath cool against the shell of your ear before his teeth found the delicate lobe, a sharp pinch followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. "It's a moment I will always keep with me now.'

He continued his journey down your arm, his mouth worshiping the inside of your wrist, the place where your lifeblood beat closest to the surface. He didn't just bite; he drank. He consumed the moments you'd spent holding hands, the strength you'd used to push yourself up, the nervous fidgets he'd found so endearing. You could feel these parts of yourself leaving, a gentle pulling sensation, not from your body, but from your very essence.

The world began to narrow to the sensation of his mouth, the rhythmic pull, the alternating sting and soothe. The edges of your vision darkened, not with fear, but with a profound and welcome heaviness. You were dissolving, melting into a greater, warmer whole. The sound of his voice was no longer a sound in your ears, but a resonance in your soul, the new bedrock of your being.

You were no longer being held. You were being absorbed.

The last coherent thought you had was not of your own life, but of his. You felt the vast, lonely decades he had endured, and you flowed into them like a river meeting the sea, finally filling an emptiness you hadn't known was there.

"Forever," his voice sighed.

The wind was a bitter slap against leathery wings, but Lilia Vanrouge felt none of it. The cold was a mere physical sensation, a trifle compared to the yawning, hollow void that had been carved out inside his chest.

High above the ground, a small, dark shape cut through the twilight sky. Lilia Vanrouge, General of the Queen’s Armies, Right Hand of the late Princess Maleanor, and legendary War Harbinger, was, for all intents and purposes, lost.

Not geographically. His internal map of the valley was impeccable, etched by centuries of campaigns and patrols. No, he was lost in a way that was far more disconcerting. The peace was a void. The silence, a roar.

Failure.

The word was a drumbeat in his skull, matching the frantic rhythm of his flight. It echoed the venomous hisses of the Briar Valley Senate, their words sharper than any blade that had ever found its mark.

"Shut your mouth, you filthy bat." "You failed to protect the princess. Some royal guardsman you are." "This is how you repay your debt to the Draconia family?" "Useless ingrate!"

He had taken the words. He had stood there and absorbed every poisoned barb because they were true, weren't they? He had failed to protect the Princess. Maleanor was gone. His Princess, his anchor, his purpose, extinguished. And he, her most trusted general, her sharpest blade, had not been fast enough, strong enough, enough to stop it.

The only option left was to sever the tie himself. To remove the failure from the equation.

"I hereby resign from my post in the royal guard."

The council’s response had been more insults and a final, damning decree: "Never set foot in this capital again!" before they had taken the egg. The last, fragile piece of her, the last thing he had been tasked to protect. Maybe it was a good thing. So he couldn't possibly harm another thing connected to her.

The absence of purpose was a physical ache, a hollowed-out space where his duty used to be. And so, he flew. In his smaller, less conspicuous bat form, he could escape the weight of his own name, if only for a little while. The world was simpler from up here. Soar. Drift. Hunt moths. Ignore the gaping emptiness inside.

A sharp gust of wind caught him off guard. It was a petty, insignificant thing. A nuisance he would have easily countered a month ago when his mind was sharp and his magic thrummed with intent. But now, his focus was shattered, his thoughts a thousand leagues away.

The gust sent him tumbling. He righted himself with an irritated chitter, his wings beating furiously against the unruly air. Insubordinate weather, he thought, the general in him rising to the fore. It needs to be brought to heel.

His distraction was his undoing.

He didn’t see the thorny bramble bush, a wild, unchecked thing growing over the ruins of a low stone wall, until it was too late. He banked hard, but a wicked, needle-like thorn snagged the delicate membrane of his right wing.

There was a sickening rip.

Pain, white-hot and shocking, lanced through him. A squeak of pure outrage was torn from his throat. He wasn’t a general anymore; he was a creature in a trap. He flailed, his uninjured wing beating frantically, which only served to tangle him further in the vicious web of thorns. Each movement was a new agony, the barbs tearing into his wing, his tiny body.

Fury quickly gave way to a cold, humiliating wave of panic. This was how it would end. Not on a battlefield, not in a blaze of glorious magic, but as a snack for foxes, picked apart by ants, because he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to watch where he was flying.

The thought was so profoundly, cosmically undignified that it stole the breath from his lungs. He went limp in his prickly prison, exhaustion and pain overwhelming him.

The world began to dim at the edges, the twilight deepening into a woozy blackness. He was cold. So cold. The warmth of his own blood was a dark stain against his fur. He was so very tired. Perhaps it was better this way. To just… stop.

His little body went limp in the thorns, the fight bleeding out of him along with the last of his strength. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of heavy, careful footsteps rustling through the undergrowth. A giant shadow fell over him.

A voice, deep and laced with a gentle curiosity, murmured above him.

“Well, now. What’s this?”

A large, warm hand descended, blocking out the dying light. He lacked even the energy to flinch. Fingers, surprisingly deft and gentle, began to carefully work him free from the brambles that held him prisoner.

He had one last, coherent thought before the darkness finally, mercifully, took him.

The air in Ramshackle is too thick. Too still.

You can’t breathe.

Or maybe you just don’t want to.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The scars there ache. Thin, white lines from thorns that shouldn’t have been able to cut you.

But they did.

Just like Riddle’s screams shouldn’t still echo in your skull. Just like the weight of the Queen’s phantom grin shouldn’t still press down on your ribs. Just like you shouldn’t wake up some nights, gasping, the taste of ink and roses clogging your throat.

But you do.

And Crowley dared to call it a "learning experience."

A laugh claws its way out of you, broken, jagged. Learning experience?

You learned that magic doesn’t care if you’re human. You learned that this world will hurt you and then ask you to smile about it. You learned that no matter how many times you patch up the boys who break themselves, no one’s coming to fix you.

Your vision swims. The room tilts.

You remember Riddle’s eyes, wide, wild, desperate, as ink swallowed him whole. You remember the way your lungs burned as you ran, thorns tearing at your skin, because if you didn’t stop him, who would? You remember the way Trey’s voice cracked when he begged, "Don’t hurt him!" like you were the monster, not the collateral damage.

And the worst part?

You’d do it again.

You’d throw yourself into every Overblot, every disaster, every "Oh ho ho, Prefect, be a dear and handle this!" because that’s what you do. That’s who you are here.

The fixer. The martyr. The fool.

A sound escapes you. Something raw, something wounded. Your knees hit the floor.