21 yrold

Your captor brought you to a vaguely familiar place. The lively chatter of entities seemingly trying to entice or persuade whoever dares traverse this dark alley. You craned your head to observe your surroundings.

The brothel. You’ve been here before, you think. It’s close to the arena where you met the translator and gained immortality.

You felt a twinge of hope in your heart that this would be a place where 2718 or the translator would naturally find themselves in to try and find you. But that hope was quickly extinguished when your captor slinked into a turn, making the place unrecognisable again. The stalls you see blend in with all the others you have seen so far; you’re definitely still in the market… or the town. You actually don’t know what to call this area, but for certain, you know that it’s dizzyingly massive.

You were surprised when they gently coaxed you out of your cocoon onto the ground. Their inky black locks that were wrapped around you oh so snugly retracted back to their original positions, resting behind their back. But their hands never left your person, like a damn leash.

You observed them making gestures to the table in front of the vendor, seemingly wanting you to choose something out of the array of items displayed. They were patient, stroking your hair and massaging your shoulders as you processed and thought of what to do next. 

In front of you are… cups of some kind. They vary in shape; they vary in colour. However, they appear to be made of the same type of thick, silicone-like material. You have no idea what they’re for, but you’re sure that you’ll be here all day if you don’t make a choice. So you did, you picked one in your favourite colour and the least complicated shape. In response to that, your captor kissed you on the crown and began talking to the seller. You inspected the strange product as they fished out coins to pay for it. Doesn’t seem cheap. At least it’s fun to fidget with?

Not long after, you’re back in their hair cocoon as they weave through the crowds. To your surprise, you’re back at the brothel. Not to interact with the workers, but to disappear into a room through an obscure door near some nondescript wall. Perhaps this is their personal quarters, as it appears to be lived in. Unmade bed, vases of flowers in each corner, and some stationery scattered lightly around the modest table near the window, somewhat shrouded with some green overgrowth.

They gently laid you down on the bed, strange cup still squished in your hand. Everything is so confusing, too confusing for you to register any danger. Even after they drew the curtains shut, notably, it has some small holes and rips, allowing some streams of light to enter the mostly dim room.

Your legs dangle at the edge of the bed as you continue squeezing and playing with the cup. You watched them smile at you, albeit too lovingly for your taste. They then started cooing in tongues that you can never understand the true meaning of, but you can at least discern its intent, especially when they began approaching you. Their pace was slow, but menacing. They kept going until you were forced to scoot backwards onto the bed, and until they were on their knees and hands, straddling over you. 

Only when their shadow was completely cast over you like a blanket did you start panicking and try to escape from your immediate trap. But you should have known better than to show that you’re unwilling to play along, as they then worked their psychokinesis on you. Reducing you to nothing more than a dumb, drooling mess with how little control you have over your muscles now. It was deeply cruel of them to leave your brain completely active and coherent as they slid their fingers under the straps of your dress, slowly removing them from your body.

Your face was covered in feathery kisses as they allowed a pair of hands too many to roam downwards. You felt yourself hyperventilate for a split second out of distress before it was shut down by their abilities, forcing you to breathe normally as if nothing was wrong. You tried your best to clamp your legs shut against their psychokinesis, but the sadistic bastard pried them open with their tentacle-like hair. 

You couldn’t even gasp. You couldn’t react in any meaningful way as fingers began circling your heat, spiraling and spiraling until they found themselves at your entrance. 

They were gentle, pressing you close against them so that your chin was resting on their shoulder. Your captor kept themselves busy by licking long stripes from your collarbone up to your jaw. You can’t push them away; you can’t move; you can’t make a sound as your muscle control is apparently disconnected entirely from your consciousness. All you could do was helplessly lie there as they pump their fingers into your cunt agonisingly slow, as if they wanted to draw the torture as long as possible.

Fingers from their other hands were intertwined with yours, and the strange cup from earlier was long confiscated from your grasp. But still in sight. 

It wasn’t long before you reached your first climax, but you couldn’t move. All you can do is feel, feel your head going blank, and see static from the unwanted pleasure. Feel something leaking from your cunt.

Only then did they deem you ready. Your captor pulled away, just to strip themselves of their clothes as well. Your eyes tracked downwards; you didn’t mean to, but you were trying to prepare yourself for whatever they had in store for you. And if it wasn’t for the mental hold they have on you, you would have sighed in relief when you saw a slit in between their legs. 

They sat at the edge of the bed, using their hair to collect you and position you on their lap, legs wrapped around their waist, crotch pressed flush against theirs. You didn’t fully understand the size difference between you and them until you realised that the top of your head barely reached their collarbones. 

Though… you did notice that their nipples are puffy. They’re actually cute, pink and so soft. And against your judgement, your lips parted at the sight. They took the chance to lean slightly forward, letting the nub touch your tongue. And you automatically sealed your lips around it. As if the muscles of your cheek and your tongue had minds of their own, you started suckling. Maybe it isn’t all you; your captor had something to do with it, given how bizarre the world is with all its unexpected mysteries. At least, that’s what you desperately want to believe.

A drop. Then another. Then a constant leak of milky white sweetness came out from their nipples. The one in your mouth left a floral, creamy taste. The neglected one simply wept the delectable nectar, dripping onto your thigh. And from there, you get to understand what the purpose of that silicone cup is, as they brought it to their chest. The rim suctioned around the nipple, and you could see from its translucent material that milk was expressed. A lot of it, actually. 

You felt tremendous shame for continuing to suckle, but for one reason or another, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Mouthful after mouthful of fragrant lacteal, you enjoyed every gulp of it, much to your chagrin. 

Your captor simply sang to you, softly and lovingly. Sometimes, during a particularly forceful extraction between your teeth and the swirl of your wet, hot tongue, he would let a strangled moan of pleasure escape his lips. He quickly recovered, continuing with his soothing song, but there was that constant strain in his melodious voice. His fingers carded your hair as you fed, playing with your strands, twirling them between his digits. 

Gradually, you felt something nudging against you. Something firm and growing, warm, slick, pulsating, and inevitably too large for you, or so you thought. It’s not like you could move or push it away. So you let him fill you up, in both entrances. The only thing you could do is feed, and the more you do that, the more you welcome that fullness in your womb and bowels. His arms brought themselves around you, securing your body as he began grinding his hips against yours.

The sounds that echoed throughout the small room were obscenely erotic despite your inability to use your voice. The squelching, the stirring, the suckling, the stickiness, and the heavy breaths were more than enough for even a nymphomaniac to blush and look away. To your horror, you found yourself wishing that he would thrust into you harder, give you more. Thankfully, all you’re seemingly allowed to do is drink from him; it saves you the shame of succumbing to the urge to ask him for more. But you knew deep down that if he could truly understand you, he would be beyond happy to give you what you want. 

For each swallow, you try to focus on the milk going down your throat instead of his two cocks hitting your gummy walls at every perfect angle. You tried to squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring how humiliatingly good it felt to feel so stuffed, so unbearably full and stretched that you thought you might just get speared in half. He wiped the creaminess off your cheek with a thumb as it dribbled down from the corner of your mouth. 

At this point, he had stopped singing, instead opting to rest his lips on the top of your head. His eyes are closed in bliss as he continues impaling you from beneath.

He let out a gasp as he felt the first jolt of intense pleasure. But it’s far from finished; you could feel that the base of his cocks fattened up, as if something was coming up. However, it did nothing other than stretch you more. The cup around his neglected nipple has been filled up by now, the translucent turning opaque as some started beading out of its rim. 

He frowned, not expecting the suction cup to fill up so fast. He didn’t want it to go to waste, so he leaned a bit forward to save as much as possible into the container, carefully bringing it up to his lips. He then gulped down his own breastmilk in a hurry- without appreciating its taste or texture, or acknowledging how it is mildly floral and refreshing. Simply to empty the vessel and return it to do its job of collecting whatever he could save.

Praises after praises in a language you cannot understand filled your ears. Regardless, it simply added to the sensory overstimulation, and you couldn't help but let your eyes roll back out of extreme bliss. And there is nothing more arousing to your captor than the idea that he could make you feel this good. A filthy moan left his lips as he felt the second burst of release reach him. However, it's still not over yet.

His cocks pump themselves upwards as another massive bulge pushes itself through the shafts. You were so stretched that your hips and legs had spread open a bit more without his or your control; it's simply how much space he took up inside you.

He bit his lip, eyebrows knitted as he too felt overwhelmed by intense sexual pleasure. It was almost too much for him, almost. From the way you're tightening around his members, to how your tongue swirls around his sensitive nipple, and to how good you're taking him, you're such a sweetheart. 

You continue to drink, to feed on him. To desire him. To love him.

And that revelation was the final key, the final permission for him to let loose. A deafening moan from him ripped through the air as he felt all the tension in his body be cut, and all the pent-up adoration he had for you suddenly released. All control was lost, and he felt himself plunging into complete debauchery within your soft, small, vulnerable body.

Your heart rate spiked momentarily as your womb and bowels were rapidly stretched beyond what you thought was possible. His ejaculation was so forceful that it might just bruise you internally, but you too orgasmed at the same time. So your own high had miraculously acted as an anaesthetic against that massive, powerful burst of copious cum.

The majority of his semen couldn't fit in, so it splurted out of both holes, pouring and pooling on his lap and the bed. So much was spilling out that rivulets of creamy, thick liquid were streaming down his shins and calves.

You were utterly filled to the brim from all sides, below, and above. You felt hot, you felt exhausted, and the only thing that could refresh you was his delectable breastmilk, so you kept sucking.

And that allowed him to push one last load into you… Well, more like out of you. There was simply too much semen in you for the next burden to fit. And so, he simply made a bigger mess for himself to clean up.

And that was also the last of your strength; he noticed that you'd stopped all of a sudden. He brushed the messy hair away from your face, only to see that you had completely passed out, milk still dribbling down the corner of your mouth.

Your captor sighed in bliss before unsheathing himself from you. A thick string of slime connected you and him briefly before collapsing from its own weight. His cocks acted like a plug, so when they were taken out, the rest of his cum came pouring out. Much to his displeasure.

He had gently laid you down on your back, putting a pillow under your head so you wouldn't strain your neck.

He still admired the bulge on your lower abdomen. But unfortunately, when he tried to gently massage it, more cum oozed out of you. It then flattened itself as white pooled around your thighs. This made him pout, but he couldn't be too disappointed; he knows that you're of a much more vulnerable species. 

And that you had done impressively well for him, he knows that you would have absorbed at least some of his essence regardless of what you're made of. Your captor sighed dreamily before kissing you on the forehead, whispering sweet nothings in a tongue that's incoherent to you.

Slowly, his two cocks retracted themselves back into his sheath. Giving him a deceptively flat appearance between his legs. While he was settling back in, he carefully retrieved the collected breastmilk in the suction cup before decanting it into a pitcher he had prepared specially for this occasion.

He caressed the side of your face before hovering his lips above yours. Not long after, his tongue softly pried your jaw open, pushing apart your lips, sets of teeth, brushing the roof of your mouth, and finally past your uvula.

No need to mull over the legality of it all. Yves takes care of everything, like he always does. You're too young to understand the implications anyways.

You're never once left alone. He lies in the same bed as you at night, holding you close to him as you sleep. His money bought the best private pediatric room there is. There won't be any strangers in scrubs to wake you for hourly roundings- you will have your 8 hours of uninterrupted slumber. Yves monitors you in silence, every little shift, every single pulse, he knows what they all meant.

During days when you're too exhausted to do anything else, you're cuddled up in his lap as you watch TV. He allows you to fiddle with his hair, to occupy your restless fingers and distract you from the cannula on the back of your hand. If your favourite cartoon isn't on, you very much prefer Yves to read to you, filling your mind with a world of wonder and whimsy.

Yves would give you classwork to do on regular days, making sure that your mind stays sharp regardless of the fog that's plaguing your head from your condition. But you enjoy it, he would find a way to make it fun and engaging. You would do crafts with him- a bag of googly eyes, non-toxic glue, cardstock, washable paint, Play-Doh, and safety scissors would rest on the Big Table, where you would usually do coursework too. Colouring is fun with Yves; whatever image you decide to colour with him would always end up pretty... all thanks to him and none to you, though.

When you regained a bit more energy, Yves would wander around the hospital with you. He would hold your hand as you inch your way through the corridors, let you stop to discuss anything that caught your attention,

He doesn't bring a wheelchair with him, because Yves would simply pick you up and carry you in his arms. Whenever you have had enough of walking, you find that it's much more comfortable to rest your cheek on his shoulder anyway. You would curl your small fingers around his much larger index finger as he passed through the sea of strangers with you.

You know better than to talk to anyone who isn't Yves. If a stranger greets you, it's polite to say hi back. But if the interaction goes further, Yves will step in for you and talk about... boring adult stuff. Whatever was being said, it wouldn't be long before they would walk away- never to be seen again. This rule applies to other children, too. Yves thinks that they can be too rowdy and stress you out, prolonging your illness. And you agree, they can be loud and rambunctious. Luckily, you have Yves, or it would have been an extremely lonely time. With him, you want for nothing.

You're always so spoiled with Yves's cooking that you don't give a shit about the snacks and hot food being sold at various food stores within the hospital. Whatever you get in your room is much different than what the other kids get, not that you get to know about it, because why would you desire to leave your comfy room? The other kids are sickly, and Yves would rather you not get infected by them either.

Whatever you eat is all prepared by Yves. Apparently, this hospital also provides a private kitchen for patients willing to pay an exorbitant price. Yves is basically renting a luxury apartment with medical equipment fitted and quick access to operating theatres or any other specialised rooms.

“You are so, so cute.” You can see his fingers twitch as he brings them close to his face, as if itching to touch you. But he refrained from doing so. To which you were appreciative of. 

Leveret opened his mouth to say something, but something behind you caught his eye, causing that smile to turn into a shocked frown. Before you could even turn around to see what had upset him so much, he gripped onto your arm tightly and yanked you behind him, as he protectively shielded you from whatever threat just literally manifested out of thin air. 

You heard a deafening slam of a door, more like it swung open so hard that the handle made a hole in the drywall. Poking your head from Leveret’s frame, your blood ran cold upon seeing the last person you wanted to lay your eyes on.

“(name)!” Cyprus barked; you could see that he’s positively furious. Not entirely at you for escaping, but the fact that another man is touching you- as evidenced by the fact that he’s scowling at Leveret. 

“I’m giving you three seconds to get the fuck away from my woman.” You winced at that guttural growl directed towards the man who did your makeup and was nothing but kind to you. “I’m not playing, I’ll bash your fucking head in.”

“Cyprus, being aggressive isn’t going to solve anything.” Leveret tried to diffuse the situation, calmly yet assertively. He still refused to expose you to the potential danger in the room. “Let’s talk. Like adults.” 

“One.” You felt chills down your spine as you watched Cyprus rolling his shoulders and wrists, as if warming up for a fight.

Leveret said nothing, his eyes occasionally darted around to check for any exits, but they’re mostly trained on the threat in front of him and you.

“Two.” Cyprus continued with the countdown, cracking his knuckles while rolling his neck. You cowered behind Leveret, fingers tightly gripping onto his sweater, which made your abhorrent admirer’s blood boil. 

“There are better ways to approach this, Cyprus.” A last attempt to get through to him peacefully fell on deaf ears. It appears Leveret already knew what was coming, as he shifted his stance to a slightly more defensive one.

“Three!” The hook Cyprus threw was so fast, so powerful, that it appeared as an incomprehensible blur. But Leveret was faster, as he managed to dodge it in time fluidly. Instinctively, you scurried to the furthest corner of the room and sought refuge under a desk.

This position gave you a good vantage point, though, as you could see both men fighting in full, clear view. 

It's not exactly a fair battle, though. Leveret is constantly on the defence and Cyprus on the offence. Leveret encapsulated grace and elegance, while Cyprus- pure vicious ferality and combat skill. The way the two of them moved was mesmerising, hypnotising, and almost soothing to watch, if not for the fact that someone was getting badly injured today. It was as if you were watching a well-choreographed action sequence fitting for a movie.

Leveret periodically glanced in your direction, checking up on you while distracting Cyprus. It doesn’t really seem like he’s too focused on not getting his skull caved in by the professional boxer; you note that he’s constantly scanning the area, as if expecting something to appear or happen.  

His hazel eyes suddenly lit up when he spotted it: a door. This time, it appeared to be a slightly weathered wooden door with a tarnished brass lever handle. It came into existence quite close to where you’re hiding.

Cyprus whipped his head towards the door too, noticing its sudden appearance. Leveret immediately scythed his foot low across the floor, taking Cyprus’s balance with it and sending him crashing down. He had to act fast while his opponent was temporarily incapacitated, and so, Leveret did.

He advanced towards you, grabbed your arm, and swung the door open simultaneously. A reassuring smile adorned his face when your worried eyes met his.

“See you soon, my darling. I love you.” Leveret briefly kissed you on the forehead before shoving you through the portal. Before he slammed the door shut, you caught a glimpse of Cyprus getting up on his feet, mid-lunge towards Leveret. 

And now, you find yourself back in darkness again. Except, this time, you’re in a way tighter space. Much stiffer, coarser, and claustrophobia-inducing. You felt your panic when you realised whatever is surrounding you is naturally closing in, pressing against your face and restricting your breathing. Your hands claw their way through the mysterious medium, which begins to feel more and more like damp potting soil scraping against your skin. 

Every muscle in your body is activated to dig through it, your fingers, your feet, your knees… you were running out of air. Like a mole, you tunneled upward until you felt the dirt around you became looser and easier to push away. Even then, you kept going, and eventually light reached your eyes. Your fist broke through the surface, letting rays of light shine into the hole, you then squeezed yourself through the tight opening, popping out of your burrows- flinging soil everywhere. The surprised yelp when you emerged didn’t go unnoticed though. 

Brushing the dirt off your eyes and hair, you came face-to-face with a man with the kindest, bluest, downturned eyes in the world. Clad in gardening gear that does poorly to hide his interesting fashion choice of wearing a cravat while tending to his plants, he covered his mouth in shock. There were specks of brown and black in his long, tight curls of grey. You felt a little guilty for accidentally spraying soil all over him, but you desperately needed to breathe- absolutely no time to waste.

“(name)!” He lets out a shaky exclamation, dropping his shovel onto the ground with a clatter. 

This must be Blanche. Through his voice and face alone, you can tell that he is warm and intensely nurturing. But you don’t trust him yet, so you try to retreat into the dirt and hope that there’s a door down there somewhere leading to an empty bathroom you can use. As soon as you tried to dig back down, though, you found yourself standing at the bottom of the terracotta pot.

And so, you allowed yourself to be helped. Blanche pulled you out of the anomalous receptacle and quickly dusted you off the best he could.

“My dove, wh- how…” He stammered incessantly, unable to truly formulate any meaningful question to ask you. In the end, he decided to seal his lips shut and focus on cleaning you up the best he could. 

You and he were silent as he took his time processing what had happened. Neither of you had to vocalise anything, though. Your stomach did the work by gurgling loudly.

Pity and heartache were written all over his face. He picked a few tangerines from a nearby tree. You noted how short this plant is and how much fruit it bore. Blanche then rinsed his hands and the citrus with running water from a garden hose. 

“You haven't had anything to eat for the whole day, have you?” He peeled the tangerines and fed you their juicy, orange flesh. Too hungry to think of anything else, you ate straight from his hands.

It was the sweetest, most succulent tangerine you ever had the honour of tasting. 

“My poor starlight…” His heart wrenched painfully in empathy as he watched you devour the measly meal. 

And it would be like this for a while: Blanche hand feeding you his fresh produce, including a couple of tomatoes, various berries and more tangerines, you gladly throwing them into the hatch while still covered in dirt.

You slowed your scarfing, to which Blanche correctly deduced that you're getting full. He decided it would be an appropriate time to start getting answers. But it seems like he already noticed something strange about you.

“Do you remember what brought you here?” He asked, with an air of caution around his words.

You shook your head. 

“Do you… remember me?” He asked with great hesitance, already knowing the answer based on your body language and circumstance he's finding himself in, but not wanting to confirm it.

You, of course, shook your head again. This time, you didn't brace yourself for some shitstorm, though. Blanche seems reasonable enough. And he seems like a sweet, harmless, frail old man. It would be a lie that you didn't feel an ounce of guilt upon seeing his crestfallen expression and the welling of tears in his eyes.

Blanche took a moment to compose himself before taking a deep breath and… reintroducing himself.

“My name is Blanche.” He swallowed stiffly before continuing. “I was your best friend… well, I'd like to think I still am.”

Best friend? That's definitely interesting. 

Blanche blinked his tears away and smiled sadly.

“Mr Mansion tends to facilitate interactions between guests living in him.” He explained. 

“Doors appear and reappear seemingly at random. Sometimes trapping us into a room, sometimes freeing us from it, sometimes forcing us to talk to each other. But I know it isn't just done so all willy-nilly.” Blanche sighed, his eyes seeking yours.

“I just… I didn't think Mr Mansion could be this cruel…” He muttered under his breath, frowning. 

You said nothing and just stared at him. After a straight minute of silence, Blanche laughed out of bitterness.

“He has done something with your ability to talk, too. Oh, I'm so sorry you have to go through this, my dove. Mr Mansion shouldn't have brought you into this…” He wiped more soil away from your eyes using his thumb.

Mr Mansion? So this is all controlled by a single entity? It seems like Blanche knew a lot more about… everything. You wish you could discuss it with him, but curse your damn malfunctioning vocal cords.

Frustrated, you started vocalising. Predictably, in uncivilised shouts and yells. 

Yet, Blanche isn't fazed at all. He smiles, and it's full of pity and sadness. It's as if he's fully expecting this.

“I know you have a trillion questions about whatever nonsense is going on, dearie. I do too.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I believe… we will receive the answers we rightfully deserve in due time. Please don’t fill that sweet head of yours with worry, we will be quite alright.”

You actually felt… assured. It’s probably because you also felt heard and understood. Plus, Blanche is the only one who isn’t weird so far. Not pushy, not delusional, doesn’t demand your love back, and doesn’t assume that you’ll see him as a haven. Obviously, he is hurt by your supposed loss of memory, but he handles his emotions well. 

A door faded into existence. A dark, mahogany door with pristine handles and locks. It stole your attention, and Blanche’s the same. 

“Ah…” He mumbled. “I guess Mr Mansion think it’s time for you to meet Mr Yves.”

You snapped your head to him. How does he know that? Maybe it’s also a lucky guess, but how did he come to that conclusion?

Sensing your confusion, Blanche explained himself, 

“That is a replica of the door to Mr Yves’s office. I’m sure it will lead to him, or at least, to the place he appears the most.” 

You hesitated, you don’t know this “Mr Yves” guy. The only interaction you had with him was so brief, you don’t know what to make of it. Hell, odds are, he could be worse than Cyprus!

You looked back at Blanche and shook your head. You don’t want to leave him, the only sane member so far! 

You gripped onto his sleeves, pointing at him and then to yourself, then to the door. Trying to get your request for him to come with you. Blanche simply knelt to meet your eyes. 

“Mr Mansion doesn’t want me to come with you, my flower.” He explained compassionately. “The door is… five sizes too small for me. It’s perfect for you, but I’ll need to be whittled down to a peg to fit!” 

You looked back at the door. He’s right, it’s way too small for him, but you should be able to go through it with no issue. It’s nauseating how insanely confusing the spatiality of this reality is. 

But regardless, you’re still worried about what lies behind that door. So you refused to part from Blanche and shook your head.

“Oh, my poor sweetheart…” He cooed, smoothing your dirt-laden hair. “I know you’re scared, but there is no reason to be.”

He massaged soothing circles on your arm with his thumbs. “Mr Yves is a clever man. He was the first one to figure out Mr Mansion’s most basic motivations and made accurate predictions no one could ever have thought of. He is a bright scientist through and through- you will find his office filled with books, eagerly offering their knowledge to anyone interested in expanding their reservoir. There will be comfy chairs to sink into, much better than the pebbles under your feet.”

Still not fully convinced, you shook your head. You’re scared.

“I promise, pinkie promise that Mr Yves will be kind. He had never once been horribly mean to any of us. He is the most capable of us all, and in many ways, he is the leader and lighthouse in this dark, terrifying world of uncertainty.” He brought his little finger up for you to hook your finger around it. To seal the deal.

“I have the utmost confidence that he will explain everything better. He would know what to do; he always does. He will help you, my darling dear. And I know that, because I know you are someone special to him too.” 

You gulped, well. He did drive a few convincing points into your brain. You took a deep breath and exhaled, completing his pinkie promise. But before you made a move, you pointed at the tangerines. You don’t know if you’ll have the chance to eat when you walk through that door. 

Immediately understanding what you want, Blanche encouraged you to go ahead, “Take as much as you need, my garden is fertile and fruits and vegetables are plentiful!”

You did a small bow of the head to thank him as you went ahead to collect the fruits. Blanche also helped you harvest other crops for you to snack on.

But really, you’re actually just stalling for time. You don’t know what to expect from Yves. You would definitely feel much more comfortable if Blanche were there with you.