°•Obsessed With Fiction•°

You don't like how your entire body seizes at the way his voice curls around that title, and you despise even more that you can't hide it.

If you had any clue that he’d entered the room somewhere in the midst of your reverie, you sure have no recollection of it. The coarse surface of the railing scrapes against the tips of your fingers when you curl them.

You can hear the way the ends of his cape kisses the floor, it's not difficult to in the vacuum of the uppermost chamber.

What is difficult is mustering the courage to turn and face him, which, much unfortunately for you, is exactly what he wants.

You can't resist shifting under the pressure of his presence, one needs no vision to perceive the way he oppresses the air in the room.

Before you could get lost in it though, a sharp tap-tap-tap pierces through, those dreadful claws stirring a reminder that you cannot ignore.

You almost hate it more than when he grips unto silence and forces you to squirm in it — almost, because when he indicates like this instead, at least you know that he's been tiptoeing impatience.

It's not a victory though, because still, you must turn.

That aggravating noise comes to a halt when you twist your body, slowly, not because you know how to torture, but because you fear being scorched under his attention should you shift too quickly.

“If I am?” you risk a direct glance at that masked being, before letting your gaze glaze over to look nowhere in particular.

It takes everything in you to not clutch at your skirt and shrink further into the shadow which he casts over your seated form.

Heavens, you don't know where that sudden surge of audacity came from, and the Flame Reaver notices. Of course he does, though he validates it by no more than a faint tilt of his head.

He does that a lot, as you’ve observed.

What he does not do often is crouching on the floor before the chaise. You trace the sheen of light on his pauldron with an askance stare, heartbeat rudely interrupted when he taps the floor again.

Typically, he’d deign instead to tower over everything that crosses his path. So this behavior… you can say for certain, if this is his way of seeming more approachable, it is not working.

“Well,” human hearts are wild things, that is why they're caged — you feel this sentence to your atoms at the first prick of that sharp talon.

The monster leans into his previous head-tilt in tandem with your flinch, “We both know how that ends, don't we?” unwilling tingles travel to your marrow as he circles over the swell on your ankle with the tip of one nail.

As if on cue, a sting of pain shoots up your leg and suddenly, you're paralyzed in place. The blacks and streaks of gold of his mask blend and swirl, swirl, swirl ; like a spiraling staircase. Shadows reach up and attach to your legs like tar, yank you down and down the infinite stairway—

“Y-you came back early today…!” you heave, almost choking on a gasp, the Flame Reaver’s nail hinges precariously on the lifted hem of your skirt and on the jut of your now bared knee.

You do not want to reminisce about your failed escape attempts, and luckily, the Flame Reaver recognizes it.

“Are you upset?” your relief doesn't even last a millisecond, because he keeps on inching up your dress.

If you could take your eyes off that motion, you would've thrown a much justified tantrum.

This— this monster in the shell of a man who loves to pretend like he understands nothing of human customs, but knows every trick in the book to keep you in his choke-hold, just with his words.

It infuriates you.

You want scream and break a few things.

For with what audacity does he question if you're upset or not? Upset that he keeps you locked in the sky? Upset that he didn't kill you? Upset that he stole you from your wedding altar?

(But you don't yank your leg away like you very much could, and perhaps that says more than your increasingly aggravated look.)

Against all your instincts, you force yourself to take a deep breath, twisting the worn fabric of the cushions under your nails.

It's hard to pinpoint the monster’s expression due to that mask — if he even has one, but you can feel that he's staring right at that motion.

“You are.” he answers his own question, clothes rustle as he shifts slightly in his crouch.

You cross your arms across your chest, “Am not.” your attempt at averting your gaze is thwarted when you feel a long scratch being drawn up your thigh, forcing you to inhale.

And when you look back, you find the Flame Reaver an inch away from stealing your next breath.

Gravity slips from your grasp. You have to plant a firm hand on the chaise to hold yourself up when his proximity forces you lean back.

Whatever light there was in the chamber is swallowed by his presence, a wisp of the afternoon sunbeam glints over the metal tip of his mask.

“Why…” you have to force yourself to swallow the way your heart twists in tandem with the circle he draws on your thigh, “Why does it matter to you…?”

The Flame Reaver dares you to push him off by leaning even closer, “Can it not matter to me?” the timbre of his voice buzzes against your ear.

Trick question. He's a master at those and in reducing your two decades worth of education to mere stutters.

How do you even begin to respond to that? When those wicked fingers rest alarmingly close to your core and your brain is electrocuted by how easily his claws engulf your entire thigh?

“I—I’m cold!!!”

If the Flame Reaver had a face, you could imagine him blinking dumbfoundedly at this exclamation. Your chest heaves alongside your breaths and you can't find the courage to open your squeezed eyes.

It's not exactly a lie, a poor excuse borne of a frayed brain, maybe, but it's the truth.

You feel hot, feverish to the point where chills have begun to crawl up your toes, and you're so, so afraid of what that will prompt you to do.

A few moments pass in awkward silence, in which you try to calm yourself and the Flame Reaver just watches.

Titans, you hate it when he watches. Like he knows your skin better than you do.

The next events occur a bit too fast: the claws retract, you're freed from the impromptu captivity of his arms and at last, wrapped in his cloak.

You blink once at the way the fabric settles over your shoulders, and again as he retreats, standing to his full height this time.

The first thing you notice is the faint smell of charr now enveloping you, next is that its warm, far warmer than what you’d expected from a being who always looks so cold ; the ends of the cloak reach all the way to floor.

The Flame Reaver meets your befuddled gaze with another one of his tilts, difference this time being the strands of silver that shift with the motion now that the hood no longer hides them.

He stands still like that, and you're taken aback by how much it resembles an obedient hound awaiting praise.

You can only hope that you read that cue right when you let out in hesitance, “Thank you…?”

You really wonder if half of the things you see in this tower are real or not, because the Flame Reaver’s shoulders seem to loosen.

The Flame Reaver traces your form again, lingering a second longer on the way your fingers subconsciously clutch at his cloak.

Perhaps he finds the sight of how it seems to swallow you ridiculous, or humorous how you cling to the clothes of your captor.

“Hmph.” he makes sure to express that loudly enough that you hear it, and then, just as silently as he came, he vanishes.

You pull your legs up to your chest when the smoke of indigo fades. His is of a power unrivaled in this world, hands that can command the Black Tide itself to their whims, and leave behind nothing but ashes.

It's a miracle that you're still alive in his den, you think.

Though why you are is still a mystery to even yourself ; a futile one to dwell in, as you've discovered, since the source of the mystery is ever elusive where it is concerned.

So, you can do nothing but curl up in yourself — in the cloak of your captor, no less.

The fact that there are blankets at arm’s reach teases you, and you're disturbed from your sinking mind when you realize how uninterested you are in reaching for one.

It chills you more when the events that’d preceded this silence resurface, and you remember, how not even once, had you pushed the Flame Reaver off.

Spine straight, shoulders relaxed, eyes so soft they melt someone's heart like wax, always smile with your lips pursed — those were only a few of the things that were drilled into your head since you learned to walk.

Your life was as eventful as that of any princess in Amphoreus. Learn by the books, master the arts, do not peek into political matters and be a lady befitting of your husband ; you're certain even your comb remembers how many times it’s heard this dialogue from the lips of your mother.

Life was not harsh by any means for you, so you remained a good child and were grateful for every comfort you’d received. Even when chatters of the most anticipated event of your life stirred, you had no leeway to complain.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. The Hero whose name is sure to be sung in paeans of the future.

Kephale's chosen, the Goldweaver's protege, the Sage Anaxagoras’ most exceptional disciple, the Slayer of the Flame Reaver — how could anyone ever seek fault in a man like that?

He's a warm, valiant, kind and courteous soul, despite the depth of horror he’d endeavored ; you verified this much quickly in just the first glance.

The priests passed solemn vows that you were his most perfect match, and the rest was a mix of hurried dress fittings, gossip filled with excitement in every corner of the city, and trysts sneaked between the chaos of the century’s most anticipated wedding.

You do not dislike Sir Phainon by any means. Even before your engagement, you distinctly recall him being present in the front rows during your harp recitals, smiling so proud that it left you wondering if he’d been the personification of Aquila's joy instead.

Sir Phainon always bowed first with the utmost humility to you, he never spoke harshly or disrespectfully, and he always had half his wits fixed in looking after your clumsy self.

Perfection. If there exists anything close to it in this world, it is lord Phainon, you think.

And perhaps, that is the … problem.

“See that round white bird on that branch? The one with the grey stripes?” you recall him pointing once in one ‘date’, and you’d followed his eager finger with all your trust.

“That is called a Sousourada.” the smile he sports is the picture of pure childlike glee, so unlike the serious image he usually paints.

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ upon the way the songbird flits to and fro across the trees of the palace garden, “It’s so cute.” you clasp your hands atop your lap, afternoon sunbeams glinting off of the jewels in your hair.

If possible, Phainon's smile widens. “Right?” he tilts his head to better catch the shine in your eyes.

“Back in… Aedes Elysiae, I'd see these little guys in hoards during harvest season.” he leans back against the bench, smile softening.

“The new wheat was so good that they couldn't resist having a taste I suppose…!” his chuckle this time is noticeably forced.

“They’d keep the air alive with their songs all day long,” his voice quietens and his shoulders macerate with an unexpected slump.

“And I'd fall asleep in the middle of the wheat fields listening to their chirps… though Snowy would always sniff me ou— ah! I'm extremely sorry, my lady— I shouldn't have began monologuing like that.”

A crease forms between your brows as the hero busies with apologies, rubbing the nape of his neck. You know why the memories of his homeland make him solemn.

After all, the Black Tide left nothing but the weight of them for him to carry — not the wheat fields, not Snowy, not the Sousouradas of Aedes Elysiae.

You shake your head, stopping him from spiraling with a raised hand. An idea strikes you, making you lean closer towards the hero.

“What do say, my lord, we visit Aedes Elysiae after the ceremony?” your lips twitch in a hopeful smile, “I’d like to formally mourn the departed with you.”

Phainon's hand drops from the nook of his neck, those cyan eyes widen and his lips part in shock.

Was that a rude proposal to make? It's now your turn to be anxious. “Uhm…” you raise a hand, palming the air in uncertainty.

Before you could retreat or spell the apology on the tip of your tongue though, the hero snatches that hand, prompting your breath to hitch.

“Are you certain that you… want to do that with me, my lady?” Phainon looks at you with so much hope it breaks your heart, clasping your hand in his gloved ones with all his fragile might.

There's no way you could say no to that look, “Mhm, I am.” you can only hope your smile is reassuring enough.

A trembling breath leaves the hero’s lips and brushes against your cheek, the heat of which makes the scarcity in proximity between you and him sink, and jolts you into realizing the quickened pace with which the hero's lips inch closer to yours.

Phainon blinks as your palm covers his mouth, you chuckle coyly, though it's more nerves than anything.

“Patience, my lord?” you loosen the press of your hand.

The gold in Phainon’s eyes glint as they widen, before glazing in fluster when he realizes his mistake.

“Of course —! I apologize again, I—” he grips your hand before it could slip away, “I don't know what came over me there, it's just that…” he sneaks a glance at your puzzled face before attempting to hide his expression in your hand.

“Ugh… excuse me, I was just being an idiot.” he clears his throat and presses a kiss on the back of your hand.

When you try to pull back your hand though, he clings to it. “I’ll be as patient as you order me to be,” his lips slide to your vacant ring finger next, “— For as long as you want me to be.” he seals the vow with the softest kiss there yet.

Yes, you are the lucky woman who’ll walk down the aisle with this perfect man, bind your body, heart and soul with his. Petals will rain down from the people's hands at the wedding parade, trumpets will resound the victory of Phainon again.

Or at least, that's how it was meant to go.

There's that falcon circling the parameters of the tower again, round and round, unflinching under the heat of the midday sun.

“Are you planning on luring it to you with that bread?” the Flame Reaver's voice echoes from behind you, something like mockery and amusement mixed in his words.

You don't turn to face him this time, attention fixed on tearing pieces of the bread and tossing the crumbs whenever the falcon passes by your window as if to say — what if I am?

The Flame Reaver huffs, “Are you aware that they're carnivores?”

That irks you enough to shoot him a glare over your shoulder, “I know that. But what if I can interest it in coming closer with bread? I’ll give it meat after!”

The Flame Reaver taps a talon against one of his folded arms, body leaned against the doorframe of your chamber.

“Foolish princess. Do you not know that half of a predator’s meal is the thrill of the hunt?”

You don't listen and hold your stubborn pout, tossing another bread crumb in the air, which merely drops to the ground with a sad plop.

“Ahh, or perhaps,” your shoulders tense as he takes that tone, “You’re leaving breadcrumbs for that hero to follow? Your confidence in that brat’s skills is rather pathetic, princess. Impressive in a way, but pathetic nonetheless.”

“Don’t speak of my fiance like that.” this time, you hold your glare for a second longer than the last.

Strands of silver, bared still as a result of him lending his cloak to you yesterday (though now neatly folded on the table), shift as he tilts his head. “… Or else?”

“Or… or else I—” you clutch at the loaf of bread, scrambling for a riposte that never surfaces. “I’ll…!”

Your verbal struggle, and consequent fluster greatly pleases the monster. And you wonder if it's normal to be able to catch that when you can't even see a smidgen of his expression.

“Hm. Can you stop wasting food and eat your lunch now, princess?”

You hate hate hate how much that sentence reminds you of the condescending remarks of your mother, and it snaps whatever was left of your frayed composure.

“I don't know, can you take off your mask and face me like a man?”

Your fists tremble as you realize what you just did, breath lodged in your throat as the Flame Reaver goes utterly still.

You stutter again, mind backpedaling in fear, but it's too late to take it back.

A gasp is forced out of you, the world tilts as gravity is swept from under your feet, the greys of the ceiling mesh and mix before settling again.

You take a sharp gulp of breath as the world calms ; as you look around, you realize that you're seated on the wooden chair before the table and five of the Flame Reaver's Shadows surround you like hounds.

One takes the half wasted loaf of bread from your hands, one grips your jaw, one scoops up a spoonful of stew and the other two glower at you enough that you open your mouth to take the food without a thought.

There's no way you could've protested against that, you huff as another spoonful is pushed to your mouth, doesn't make it any less humiliating though.

Thumps against the floor make you glance back to see the Flame Reaver's advance.

“What?” he jabs upon noticing your puffed cheeks squished in his Shadow’s grasp, “Shall I get you a bib as well?”

Heat rushes to your face, an indignant protest dies at the tip of your tongue upon the approach of the Flame Reaver's claws.

“Don’t touch me!” you recoil in the Shadows’ grasp, brows pinching together in a frown, deepening more and more when the monster doesn't stop.

The edge of one metallic nail brushes past your hair, “I’m warning you I—” you watch in terror as his thumb grazes your cheek and then moves past towards the folded cloak which sat upon the table.

Fabric rustles as the Flame Reaver shakes the cloak open, you blink dumbfoundedly once, before embarrassment seizes your psyche.

The Shadow pushes another spoonful to your lips, which you accept this time with much humility.

No one even mentions the mishap, and that makes it worse.

Unable to stand the silence of your humiliation, “Uh, Flame Rea—”

“Khaslana.”

Right. You’d nearly forgotten that, the monster's strange insistence on you using that name instead of the title he’s known by, one which you’ll pretend like you can't hear for as long as you can.

“Ahem, uhm, I was wondering —! Are these… do these clones of yours have free will?” you see from the edge of your vision as he halts mid-motion, cloak hung on his shoulder.

“… Why do you ask?” you know he's looking down at the sight of you getting fed like an ignorant newborn, his tendency of answering your questions with one of his own isn't surprising either.

Because I want to dig a hole and crawl in there? You swallow another mouthful of stew, a bead of the dish escapes from the corner of your lips.

You have half a mind to blow a raspberry at him and a quarter to keep your mouth shut in offense. But the logical part of you supplies, “I’m bored.”

“What?” the Flame Reaver sounds genuinely baffled.

It gives you the modicum of courage to glance up, “Boreeeeeed! I’m so bored I want to jump from that window sometimes!” you clench your fists, dodging the Shadow’s attempt at pushing another bite to your lips.

A faint sag overtakes the Flame Reaver's shoulders, “You’re eating, bathing, sleeping. Is that not entertainment enough?” there's so much exasperation in his rugged voice it would've convinced a lesser man.

“What do you mean entertainment?! Those are basics of—mmph!” the Shadow holding your jaw swings you back to accept the rejected spoonful.

You push through to make your point anyway, “Leevewing! Baysics of leevinh!”

The Flame Reaver watches as stew smears across your lips and chin, the sudden heat of defense in your eyes completely at odds with how you look more like a stuffed hamster than an elegant princess.

He forces out an annoyed sigh, “Alright then, princess.” crossing his arms over his chest, the Shadows stop shoving food to your mouth upon catching the faint command. “What is ‘entertainment’?”

The heat in your eyes morphs to sparkles, “Like! Reading! Books!”

A glint of light reflects off of the metal of his mask as he tips his head back, “While eating?”

“Yes!”

“That’s childish.”

“Whoa—” you lean back as though scandalized, “Have you ever tried reading a good book while eating?”

The Flame Reaver's response comes flat, “I don't need to eat.”

He watches with some fascination as all the offense drains from your body at that single line.

You blink a couple of times, as though recalibrating everything you've thought about the monster.

“That’s… quite sad.” your gaze flits from his masked face to the hooves of his boots.

Silence parades the chamber once again, the air humid with pity. You fiddle with the fabric of your skirt, pale pink paint from your wedding day fading from your nails, you shift in your seat in uncertainty.

All the indignation that’d lit your pride on fire before suddenly nowhere in sight.

You're jolted from the deluge of reverie at the press of a familiar thumb, though unlike before, it refrains from scratching at your skin and instead, wipes away the mess of stew from your lips. The residue at your chin is swiped away by his knuckles.

You blink up just as the Flame Reaver retreats, pulling his hood up.

“Come down after you’ve finished eating. Five floors down from this one, the door with a bronze infinity symbol.”

—

You were raised a child of the books ; from moulding your inner world to shaping you posture, books were present in every step of the way.

It was considered integral to the image of ladies of the upper class to be able to hold conversations on historical and contemporary texts, hence, the popularity of reading in this era.

Not to mention, it was one of the only ways to pass the obdurate days for noblewomen.

Legend of the Dawn Hero, The Chimera's Patronage, The Sun and the Morning Glory — were some of the most popular titles you grew up with.

It was easy as well, to get lost in the vibrant worlds where brave heroes heralded pilgrimages to save the world, in the folds of drama and thrill and adventure.

When you were nine, you were handed a copy of Legend of the Dawn Hero by your governess, a popular romance featuring the ‘Deliverer’ who saves the world from an opprobrious monster.

“Which part moved you the most?” she’d asked in that terse tone of hers.

You distinctly recall hesitating, your little hands fumbling with the book (which earned you a glare from the woman). “The part where… the monster's past was revealed.”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

“Uhm,” it takes everything in you to not stutter more under her curiosity, ”It was simply unexpected to me. I never thought villains could have bad starts as well. It made me rather sad.”

The woman graciously ignored your last sentence, “And what did you think about the Deliverer?”

You stared at the painted sun on the book’s cover for a second, and then shrugged. “He was okay.”

That took her visibly by surprise.

“Huh. What an odd child.”

The books that filled the ‘library’ the Flame Reaver opened for you were far from the shiny books you’d read back at home.

Since your arrival — or should you say, manhandling by the Shadows to this place — you’ve become increasingly hesitant to even call it a library.

The rows upon rows of dusty tomes and unkempt pages, tall cabinets storing who knows what give this chamber more the impression of a mad scholar’s secret study.

And you would've been charmed by the vellichor of it all, had this been a different circumstance.

The one saving grace of this labyrinthian library is the chaise by the window, illuminated by the rays of the sun as it dips to the west horizon. Everything else is graced by scattered candlelight, a small mercy by him, is what you conclude.

It's not like you're in the position to complain, and honestly, it's a much better experience than counting clouds from your chamber.

You pause, eyes stuck on the spine of a book labeled ‘basics of meteorology’ in Styxian script. The coincidence prompts you to fish it out of the row.

A Shadow flickers in your periphery just as your turn the front page, almost making you flinch.

You can't even begin to describe your aggravation with those things. They appear to be as — if not more — emotionless than their master, but if there was something in this world synonymous with being hellspawns, you think it’d be them.

It's just that you have no way to actually prove that, so all you can do is ignore them.

Unlike the books you'd browsed in this chamber before, you find the one in your hands to be actually readable, with small illustrations accompanying the rules.

With a newfound spark in your gait, you turn with the intention of reaching the chaise — the jump in your step halted upon the collision with something hard.

A yelp escapes you, hand reaching on instinct to rub your nose. When you crane your neck to look up in irritation, you see the candlelight glinting off of the metal of the Flame Reaver's mask.

He, just watches the flow of emotions on your face, as he usually does.

You’ve discovered interrogating him on this habit to be futile, so you take a step back and another to your left to pass him by.

Which he meets.

You throw him a furtive glance and then step to the right the next second.

He copies it.

You go back towards the left and he meets you there, resulting in your temple colliding with his chest again.

And then, he huffs in irritation like you are the hindrance.

“Hey, can you—” your request is catapulted midair, you gasp, hands seeking to clutch at something, anything for balance as the Flame Reaver hauls you up his shoulder.

The first thing you register, is how far the floor suddenly is from your reach, and the next is the uncomfortable sensation of your chest being squished against his shoulder blades.

The dark lines of the floor swirl and twirl with his steps, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut lest the motion makes you sick.

When your hand finally manages to clutch onto his cloak for some semblance of balance, they're removed from it just as fast.

You blink, hair ruffled and breaths erratic as the Flame Reaver's hands grasp your waist, the chaise bounces from the force of your drop.

His retreating step is loud in the library, an intentional move to snap you back to reality.

Instead of vanishing like he usually would've done though, he lingers for a moment longer on how this simple thing disheveled you from top to bottom.

When you catch his stare, he turns away with a click of his tongue. A snap echoes, and the book you had in your hands drops to your lap — you didn’t even realize it’d fallen from your hands.

When you look up next, the Flame Reaver is no longer there ; only you, the sibilant Shadows, and the weight of this fluster you have no control over.

“There lives an evil monster at the far north of Amphoreus — we call it the Flame Reaver. He brought with him this wretched Black Tide. It corrupts and mutilates everything that it touches beyond saving.”

“And the Chrysos Heirs are our heroes, they work tirelessly every day to fight the Black Tide and slay that monster.”

“Lady Goldweaver of Okhema, Lady Tribios of Janusopolis, Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos, Castorice the Hand of Shadow, Hycinthia of the Twilight Courtyard, Anaxagoras of the Grove of Epiphany, Imperator Cerydra, Hysilens of Styxia… and lord Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, the Blazing Sun who’ll bring dawn to this world one day.”

You remember the edge of pride on your governess’ face as she’d introduced them, fourteen years ago. It was only the beginning of her long history lessons.

Fourteen years later, on the year 4931 of the Light Calendar, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae would defeat the notorious Flame Reaver.

On the year 4931 of the Light Calendar, you would become the lady of his house…

Steam cloak’s the room, even a whisper sounds as though it were an exclamation. Somewhere, there's an ictus of falling water.

A sigh escapes you as your back meets the marble of the bathtub, the waterline caresses your clavicle, where damp strands of hair brush past.

The temperature is just a bit on the hotter side, but it's bearable, a small reprieve in your prison. You think life to be so strange, things you had never thought twice about back home are luxuries beyond its gates.

Things are prepared without even a trace of another life in the tower ; food, clothes and even this bath — you can only conclude it to be the result of magic.

For the past weeks, you’ve had scarce sleep. Your eyes only close when your mind is tired out from worrying all day, and even then, the rest you get is sporadic.

But the warmth of the bath numbs your restless mind, the fragrance of wild herbs lulls it further.

In this lapse of time, even an enclosure feels like a sanctuary, makes you feel as though you've brushed past freedom once more, and before long, your breaths have slowed.

Though it doesn't last long.

You feel tingles spreading from the backs of your knees first, then tickles at your nape as though your hair was being swept aside.

Probably just the water, you reassure yourself in your half waking state.

The edge of the bathtub grazes against your head, you think you hear a faint splash, ghosts of touches gliding over your chest, weighing your breasts and sliding down your belly.

A sting shakes you awake.

The gulp of breath you're forced to take is pulled taut by the firm press of something against your lips, it takes you more than a few frantic blinks to look over the veil of the fog and at last, you see it.

At least a dozen of those Shadows, all sporting the form of that Dark Swordmaster, their edges flickering like flames ; two palm your breasts, one holds your head in place, another parts your dew soaked legs and the rest fight for even an inch of your skin.

Your gasp is smothered by the hand on your lips and you nearly choke when it covers your whole face for a moment, before planting one thumb to keep your sounds from echoing.

Your flailing arms are seized next, you can't even see what's going on there past the curtains of those shadows that allow not even scant light to touch your skin.

The sounds of splashing water rattle the walls, everything is too hot, too hot, too hot — from the wisps of choked breaths they mercy upon you in betwixt the unkind twists of their fingers across your core, to the burn of their claws digging and drawing indents of their hunger on your body.

Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, another sound that you dread to be a whine is muffled as the shadows coil tighter around you.

By some cruelty, the thumb on your lips shifts just enough to let the next cry echo.

On top of the water that laps at your skin, there's something else too, parting the petals of your clitoris and plunging deep with one rough swipe.

Their talons attach like barnacles, holding you in place, and in obedience by your hips.

You do not know how to explain the sensation, it's like a knot is being crafted in your belly with every swipe and twist, every squeeze and pinch, stretched taut til your breaths are no more than broken whimpers.

You catch one Shadow looking directly at you from your peripheral, it betrays no emotion, just floats quietly behind the crowd.

Your head tips back further when the shadows part your legs to scavenge for more room and from the small crack in between them, you see more apparitions through your blurry vision.

It clicks suddenly, there's another wave of them, awaiting their turn patiently.

A line of drool slips past your lips and smears your chin, the Shadow which was covering your mouth wipes with one swipe of its thumb ; your toes curl midair as the knot in your lower stomach snaps.

Steam cloak’s the room, even a whisper sounds as though it were an exclamation. Somewhere, there's an ictus of falling water.

A groan escapes your lips as you stir, vision shrouded with enervation, your joints complain when you shift in the bathtub.

The water’s heat is now faint, but every candle is lit as you recall.

Slowly, you come to, gripping the edge of the bathtub for support. You’ve never felt more disoriented in your life, not even when the Flame Reaver pointed his blade at your throat and then let you off from tasting its sharpness.

Right. The Flame Reaver. The captivity.

… His Shadows.

You sit up straight, glancing frantically at your hands and body as the memories resurface.

There isn't a single scratch on your skin, but you can still recall the feel of their greedy touches, the way they moulded you to their liking.

The bath water is now completely cold, sending chills down your spine but you could not care at all.

Your teeth work at your bottom lip as the scenes flash through your mind again, a droplet of water slides down your cleavage.

A faint tremble seizes your body.

What was that? Was that real? Was that a dream? Why was it so vivid if it were one? And why does your body feel so heavy if it weren't one?

And most importantly, why can you not stop replaying it in your mind?

Sharp thunks echo as pages flutter to the ground, in your frenzy (for what exactly, you can hardly pin down), you bump against shelves and cabinets more times than you have the mind to count.

You just know that you need a distraction, and in pursuit of it, your feet have led you to the only other place you're (somewhat) allowed entry to in the tower ; the ‘library’ — without any intervention of the sentinel Shadows.

Those cursed Shadows, you heave, leaning against a cabinet.

If breaking your ankle the last time you’d tried to escape wasn't bad enough, they’d decided to shift to toying with your sanity next.

Every night, without fail, you're certain those hellspawns have been doing something to you. But for some, some reason, by dawn you only have blurry memories to recount.

As such, the Flame Reaver never takes your complaints seriously — he doesn't even answer any questions you might have about his powers, let alone those cryptic clones.

But does his dismissive scoffs help you at all? No! With every moment alone with those Shadows, you feel as though you're being pushed closer and closer to the edge of an abyss ; one that dulls your inhibitions, and makes you desire for things you’ve been taught your whole life to loathe.

The Shadows cease reaching with their grabby hands in the presence of their master, but he only makes that pinching feeling in your heart worse.

You're scared to even observe it for long — and you absolutely, absolutely can't afford to linger on it, not when your family is still waiting for you, not when your fiance has foregone half of his sanity in search of you (you're sure he has).

Your confidence in that brat’s skills is rather pathetic, princess. You flinch as that monster's words resurface in your mind.

Rust coats the voice in your recollections, that easy condescension which pulls at the steady strings of your heart, Impressive in a way, but pathetic nonetheless.

You bite your lip, hands gripping the handle of the wooden cabinet ; all at once every instance where he’d reached too close cluster forth in your mind, every time the edge of his mask brushed against your cheek, everytime you were a breath away from feeling those silver strands of his hair.

The edge of the handle bites into your hands, you wonder, as the recollections of the Shadows’ whispers mesh with the cadence of his tone in your mind, how would it feel if it was him whispering those filthy things in your ear while coaxing tears out of your eyes?

Just as quickly as the flood of thoughts came, they wane.

You blink, the first thing you notice when you come to reality is that your cheeks feel hot, the next is that the cabinet’s door has somehow come loose from its hinges in your hands.

The door clutters to the ground when you drop it. For a second, you palm at the air in uncertainty, and then, you decide to duck and peek inside the thing almost mindlessly.

A cough escapes you as a deluge of dust emerges from the stack of worn notebooks in the cabinet.

You wave away as much of it as you can, squinting in the dim candlelight to get a better look.

Something in your gut tugs at you, tells you that you probably shouldn't go farther than this.

You did come down without permission here, and the logical thing to do would be to not test the Flame Reaver's graces more.

… But the prospect of finding out how he’d react to this act of rebellion is undoubtedly tempting.

Dust smudges your fingertips as you pull out (what seems to be) a notebook. You blow on the cover, perhaps it was just the faint light from the candles’ fault, but you remain unsuccessful in deciphering the cover page.

The contents within the notebook though, were a different story.

You tilt the pages toward the candles, eyes squinting, shifting, widening with every word.

ENTRY - - -: Attempt #28,371,274

• LIGHT CALANDER — 4894, MONTH OF JOY •

The Black Tide field test in the frontier village, Code: AE6 was a success. Two survivors emerged from the rubbles. One’s location is still unidentified. The other remembers himself to be called “Khaslana“. … Aged approximately eight. Some minor injuries but otherwise in good health.

…

ENTRY 001: NEW EXPERIMENT. In Juncture With Attempt Count #28,371,275

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4894, MONTH OF EVERDAY •

Admittance of subject “Neikos496”. Age : 8, Male. Shows signs of being resistant to the corrosive properties of the Black Tide. Further observation required.

..

ENTRY 003: Attempt #28,371,276

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4894, MONTH OF - - - - - - •

Subject Neikos496 shows intense impulses. Has been refusing meals.. Consistently asks for the whereabouts of “brother Phainon“. Further observation required.

…

ENTRY 034: Attempt #28,371,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4896, MONTH OF FREEDOM •

Subject Neikos496 shows extreme tolerance towards the Black Tide. Procedures for Experiment: Imbibition are in order.

..

ENTRY 035: Attempt #28,372,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4896, MONTH OF WEAVING •

Subject Neikos496 has lost his sense of taste. Note: The Black Tide has not yet hindered his growth in any way.

..

ENTRY 050: Attempt #28,500,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4899, MONTH OF MOURNING •

Subject Neikos496 can fully harness the destructive properties of the Black Tide. A revolutionary breakthrough in - - - -..

ENTRY 051: Attempt #29,- - -, - - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4899, MONTH OF FORTUNE •

Subject Neikos496 shows signs of rapid physical growth… Form growing distant from that of… umans… Further observation required.

..

ENTRY 101: Attempt #33,- - -,- - -

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4909, MONTH OF EVERNIGHT •

Subject Neikos496 can fully control the Destructive properties of the Black Tide phenomena. Procedures to unleash… Heavy observation required. Subject shows tendencies of rebellion.

Overseer : --.. .- -. -.. .- .-.

ENTRY - - -: Attempt #33,550,36

• LIGHT CALENDER — 4910, M- -TH O- - - - - •

Subject Neikos496 is suspected to rebel. The tower’s defences have been set. Operation: Irontomb will soon lau..nch.. do not panic. Everything will b.. —

“I thought princesses knew.. how to maintain curfews?”

Your heart kicks against your ribcage violently as it registers that voice. The old, worn paper in your grasp is soaked from your sweaty palms, your desperate grip on its words.

You open your mouth to respond by instinct, but nothing tangible comes out.

The edge of the Flame Reaver's hood brushes against your hair as he leans down to catch a peek — not at the notebook that you shouldn't be holding, but at the abject horror painted on your face.

His hands hover by your skirt, and with every breath you're forced to take, you get more and more acutely aware of the fact that his chest is flush against your back.

“Answer me, princess.” you’re yanked back before you could spiral in your thoughts, but you can hardly make your mind cooperate with his demand.

The Flame Reaver, graciously decides to assist you.

You jolt as his hand comes up to grasp your chin, “What’s wrong?“ condescension drips from his words and into your ear, “You weren't so scared when you waltzed into the obituary of a madman.“

“I…” you scramble your mind for something, anything to respond with amidst the sillage of bulrush and smoke that encroaches in your space. “I’m—”

Your treacherous heart jumps again as the Flame Reaver clicks his tongue, not because it's loud in the narrow space, but because it sounds indulgent.

“Are you about to apologize, princess?” he moans against your cheek. “Save me the charade. I have no interest in the fact that you found this.”

That makes you blink as some clarity returns.

Just as you're about to urge him to elaborate though, the Flame Reaver squeezes your cheeks together with enough force to make you yelp, the nails of his thumb and forefinger dig into the meat, hard.

“I’m sure you know where my interest is in.” you could've never, in the twenty years of your existence, ever expected the Flame Reaver to sound so coy, so elated — at mushing your cheeks to oblivion or to the underbreath of the unfolding events, you can hardly care.

“But the question is,“ his left hand finally makes its presence known in the shape of grasping your waist, “Are you brave enough to indulge me?” he cranes your neck up to meet his heated breaths, face to masked-face.

You don't dare to open your eyes and stare into that nothingness, but you don't do anything to break out of his grip either, not even as he threatens to paint your cheeks red in your own blood, or how his claws tear into your dress.

You know what he's pushing you towards.

Phainon — you saw Phainon's name with absolute clarity in the notebook now crumpling in your hands, and you’d wished, with every re-read that those words morph into something else or vanish altogether.

“You…” you shudder as he parts your ankles with the tip of his boots, squeezing the words out through the death-grip he has on your face. “You should stop touching me like this. I— I'm betrothed to someone else!”

In the end, you're not brave enough to take his bait.

But the Flame Reaver doesn't appear discouraged, in fact, he seems even more pleased, if possible.

“Oh? Betrothed you say…“ he loosens his grip just before his claws could puncture your cheeks, shifting to rub at the abused flesh with the pads of his fingers.

“But did you remember that the past few months?“ something in your stomach flips as his knee nudges between your legs, “Or, do you only like using that excuse when I confront you about your flighty little morals?“

You would've never guessed air could feel this heavy, nay, it bends to the monster's every breath, threatening to take you with it under, as well.

You can hardly think through the jolts coaxed by the way he strokes your heat with his knee, but of course, the monster wouldn't allow you the reprieve of sinking completely — so he uses the grip he has on your hip and yanks you to crash against his chest, sending a sharp jolt through your core against his knee.

The Flame Reaver chuckles, it's rough and rugged like the edge of a cliff, “I’m curious, princess,”

He trails his left hand up from your waist, letting the claw of his pointer finger drag up your heaving chest, “Would your ever chivalrous hero even take you back if he knew about how much of yourself you’ve given to me already?” he circles around where your heart has concocted a crazed prance, humming in pleasure when it answers with a loud kick against his hand.

“Even now,” he twirls a strand of your hair on the tips of his claws, “You don't tell me no, not even once.”

That, that snaps you out of the maddening trance he’d illustrated so far. The realization sweeps away half of the heat from your gut, settling like an anvil on your conscience.

No, not at all. You don't want Flame Reaver to stop. You would've kicked, flailed and fought your way out of his hold by now like the first day, the day he stole you in the dress of a bride — if you wanted out of this suffocating embrace.

So, how dare you still speak of a fiance?

The Flame Reaver hums at your stunned silence, letting your hair fall from his hand. “I have a proposal, princess.”

“Instead of living like a prize on that brat’s shelf,” he tests the jolts of your pulse with the tip of his thumbnail, “Why don't you become mine instead?”

Your shoulders macerate with a slump as that singular sentence steals all the fight from your bones.

Guilt begins to crawl up your conscience, just like how those Shadows did on your body, and how you allowed it — enjoyed it even.

And now, even as the weight of your hypocrisy presses down on your heart, you find yourself wishing that the Flame Reaver — Khaslana, would do something, anything to make you forget that, forget your past and transgressions and let you to sink into the abyss he’s only been teasing you with touches and words.

Princess, oh dearest princess, what have you become?

There was once a time in the 'Flame Reaver's' life where he loved the shade of blue.

It was in the midday sky of Aedes Elysiae, in the waves of the sea — in his eyes.

His innocence stretches as far as he can recall that color, the days spent chasing fairies, napping in the wheat fields and drifting wish-in-a-bottles in the ocean.

And then, one day, red swallowed that lovely blue, burned everything that ached to hold that color to ashes.

When Lycurgus found him, wounded and bruised, stranded all alone in the middle of nowhere, he promised the boy a home.

Though the tall, dark tower at the edge of the north didn't seem to be anywhere near as warm as the roads of Aedes Elysiae, it was shelter, it was protection, and for a while, that was enough.

Until, the mad researcher asked, “Don’t you want revenge?”

Revenge. A word too lofty for a little boy of his age to fathom. He only vaguely recalled reading it in those fairy tales of Cyrene, the ones about heroes and villains and magic.

At his silence, the scholar urged, “For your ruined hometown? For your family?”

That, that’d struck him.

Though he couldn't fathom the weight of the word, somewhere in his heart, there burned this little fire of fury.

That fire was fed slowly and steadily with every experiment, every failure and every subsequent success.

But no matter how much Khaslana resisted, how much he endured, the pain never dulled.

“The pain and the anger are your life forces.” he’d been told, “Nurture it, cling to it and wield it.”

But why should one live for pain and anger? No one would answer the shackled boy in the cold lab. No one would tell him why the Black Tide consumes and doesn't cease, no matter how much he’d asked.

Then, by chance or misfortune, Khaslana discovered the conductor of the threnody that haunts this world.

“For the utter destruction of Reason itself, this world must burn, it must end!” Lygus had exclaimed in delight, “And you— you… will make that fire roar! You will bear the Destruction itself!”

Even till his last breath, his last spasm on the floor, Lycurgus had laughed.

Khaslana had thought that killing that madman and his lackeys would've been enough to satiate his fury. He’d be content to bear all of the Black Tide in himself so that the world could drift on in peace, even.

But of course, why would it be so kind to him?

“Have you heard? There's a monster that lives in the north. They say that he's the reason for the Black Tide!”

“The Chrysos Heirs have rallied from all corners of Amphoreus to defeat him!”

“He must be defeated!”

“Off with his head!”

“Death to the monster!'”

“BURN HIM BURN HIM BURN HIM!”

Zandar, despite posing as a scholar of class, was one petty manchild.

As such, he’d used whatever was left of his consciousness, and had modeled the lie that Khas— Flame Reaver of the Deepest Dark, was the source of the Black Tide.

And the result of this propaganda was a thousand passionate ‘heroes’ sent at his door to bring glory back home. Pathetic, so pathetic he couldn't even care to give them a proper duel.

… That was until, he came.

Silver tresses and that cornflower blue still shining so bright in those sunlight eyes, a legendary sword in his hands and comrades at his sides — every bit the hero from those stories he’d read with him in childhood.

A mirror of himself, if he’d still retained anything of his former image.

Perhaps, that is why Phainon didn't recognized him.

Flame Reaver would've been fine with that much, to go the rest of his existence as a dead memory — but the stupid, stupid hero and his troop of fools just had to disturb his peace, had to shoot him down with that weapon.

And then, Phainon had the audacity to parade around the city in victory, bask in the cheers and salutations of everyone who now fell at his feet ; offering their homage, their lives and all their treasures for a smidgen of the hero's ‘favor’.

You were one such ‘treasure’, the beloved princess of Stygia who’d been hidden since childhood from the world.

Rose petals had begun to pile up on the baths of the Holy City as a result of the people's excitement. The century’s most anticipated union, a pair chosen by the gods themselves!

How could they not rejoice? For their icon looks at you like you're a piece of heaven itself, a piece he shall not lose or let go of.

It was supposed to be a perfect, sun-lit day. The lilies were in full bloom, thousands had gathered outside the chapel to witness the moment when the beautiful princess and the hero of legends would become each other's.

So easily? Just like that?

The panicked screams of the crowd as Flame Reaver's Shadows tore down the venue were music to his ears.

The skittering people, the chaos, the silken banners burning in flames — now that was pretty.

And amidst the ensuing ruin, there was you.

Stranded from the others in the commotion, clutching at the skirt of the pristine ivory dress as rubble rained down around you.

You’d looked so scared, so uncertain while trying to work your puny human brain for a way out.

So, he took you.

Was it a bit of an impulsive decision? Yes. But the look of absolute horror on Phainon's face as he whisked you away a breath from his arms was so, so worth it.

In the beginning, he’d been fully set on just giving you a swift, painless death.

But something had stopped him, something… yes, that ruffled look on your face, how you’d scrunched up your face and glared at him like letting your displeasure known would be of any help.

He thought it was amusing — and amusement, to a man so used to pain and obdurate days, is intoxicating.

So, he decided to let you scurry around in the cage instead.

The way you flinched at every little thing, stayed curled up in a ball by the corner of the uppermost chamber of the tower only made him more and more intrigued.

See, Khaslana had known scarce interaction with humans throughout the forty five years of his cursed existence. However much of it was real, happened far too long ago, and those cold exchanges with the researchers were no interaction at all.

So, everything that you brought with you was new to him, and he shamelessly, wanted to see more of it, all of it.

Every squeak, every frown, every down turned gaze, every tsk of annoyance and most surprising of all, every moment of fluster.

It took him a while to catch on, but you would get flustered around him whenever he got close to you or taunted you.

And that brewed a new plan in his mind.

He would tempt you slowly and agonizingly, fill that little head of yours with nothing but desire.

Until you’re so fed up with the push-and-pull that you reach for him yourself and give all of you to him.

And you will play right into his hands.

He’ll make sure of it.

Twilight is still yet to bleed into the east when you awake, the sporadic chirps of birds outside keep you tethered to the waking world.

When you turn to your other side, the first thing your eyes fall upon is the Flame Reaver brooding on the chaise, the faint light of the burgeoning morning illuminate his silhouette.

Mindlessly, you get up, rubbing your eyes as a yawn moistens their corners.

Your steps are groggy as a result of your restless slumber, and they click loudly in the quiet morning.

With each step, the heaviness of last night returns, slowly, and then all at once.

You’d tossed and turned enough times to rumple the bedsheets beyond saving, screamed into your pillow when the thoughts grew cacophonous, cried into the same pillow when the guilt got too monstrous.

Where are the Shadows when you actually need them? You’d even found yourself wishing at times, to your surprise.

But what can you do? You’ve vacillated between believing that you have not sinned, that you would be welcomed back into the arms of your fiance — and the heavy, bone-chilling realization that you won't, that you have no way to face that man anymore.

Do you even want to go back to Phainon? You halt in front of the Flame Reaver's legs. Would a man who never came looking for his own brother, never even recognized his twin, even recognize you?

Let alone cherish?

The Flame Reaver lifts his head with a jolt when you swing your leg over his, settling on his lap.

An exhale leaves his mouth, coarse and penetrating in the dead quiet. You can feel his gaze following your fingers as they glide up his arms and over the gaping sun on his chest.

“What are you doing?“ he asks rhetorically. You're not sure if it's just your sleep addled mind, but you could've sworn that the muscles of his thighs tightened under you when you pressed your palms flat on his chest, and trailed them up his throat.

Is this stupid? Most definitely, the smidgen of rationality in your mind supplies.

But you can't bring yourself care, you can't bring yourself to think amidst the roaring thoughts, the doubts, the guilt, the desire and the thirst to end this push-and-pull, to silence every voice echoing in your mind.

The pointy edge of the metal frame of his mask brushes against your fingertips, “You said,” your own voice is hoarse from sleep and bone-deep fatigue, “That you could make me forget it all.”

You press your forehead against his, knees planted on either side of his hips on the chaise. “But I don't know if I want that without even knowing the master of that magic.” warm breath mingling with his.

The Flame Reaver makes a sound that almost sounds like an intrigued hum, if it weren't for the faint tremble in it that you manage to catch thanks to the proximity.

“Correction, princess.” he doesn't move a breath, but he doesn't lean into the touch either. “I offered you to become mine.”

Your brows pinch slightly at that, your clouded mind struggling to care about semantics in the wake of him raising his hands, and just letting them hover above your back.

You lean back just enough to look at his masked face, chest heaving in irritation.

“Become yours without even seeing ‘you’?” you rest your right palm against where his cheek should be at and let the other trail over his shoulder.

Metal bumps against your wandering hands, the grooves and stiffened muscles stretched taut against the fabric of his clothes. You’d only gotten the sillage of it before, but you can feel the sheer rigidity of his body right under your hands, against yourself, now.

(You force yourself to swallow whatever tingle that’d brought to your mouth.)

His sigh makes you blink, “You’re an impulsive creature.” he admonishes, tapping a claw against the chaise.

“Does it never cross your mind that some boundaries are set for your own good?” his hood drops as he tilts his head in your hand.

You purse your lips in confusion, “Is your face radioactive?”

The taps pause, “Worse.” he says breezily.

“How worse?” you push closer.

“Enough to make a sheltered little princess recoil?” there's derision in his tone, at you, or himself — is uncertain.

You cup his face, drawing a circle on his cheek over the dark fabric. “Try me.”

A long beat passes, a bird announces the start of its day with an exclamation outside the premises of this scene, twigs snap under worried boots.

The Flame Reaver's shoulders slump in surrender, though the huff he exhales suggests (feigned) annoyance.

It's enough permission for you.

Carefully, so, so carefully you peel back the metal ornament ; its sharp corner scratches against your fingers when you're unable to control the tremble in them, but you can hardly care about that.

A breathy exhales escapes you, blending with his own as the mask clutters to the floor.

Porcelain. That's the first word that comes to your mind when you see him. Gold pulses from the cracks of his porcelain-like body, blue and violet swirl in the abyss of the left side of his face, beckoning you closer, far closer than you’ve ever dared to venture.

Khaslana turns his head away — in disappointment, not surprise, and suddenly his previous derision makes sense to you, why he always caved into himself when you brought it up, why he always avoided this.

It makes something in your heart pinch to the point of suffocation.

You shift your grip, tilting his turned head back to you in the cradle of your hands — and kiss him.

Khaslana's next breath is pulled taut by the abruptness of it, the cushion under his hands is teared as he swipes at it with his talons in surprise.

His lips are cool under yours, unlike the rest of his body which has set the air around you ablaze.

You chase the chill, keeping his lips locked against yours by holding onto his jaw and you're only encouraged to continue when his hands spring up to grasp you by the waist.

It's your turn to gasp as he yanks you close, the force of the pull makes your nose bump with his and your chest press against his clavicle.

You taste mint and heat in his breath as his mouth parts against yours, the tip of his tongue teases the corner of your lips —

“PRINCESS [NAME]!!!”

A sharp flinch jostles you both, labored breaths fogging the thin distance between your mouths.

“LADY [NAME]?!!”

Every nerve in your body tenses. You know that voice, you’ve heard it declaring promises of patience in your hands, wishes and hopes of a serene dream in your ears, sneaking whispers of how beautiful you look in your wedding dress before the altar—

Khaslana's chuckles breaks the daze, it's a rugged, intrigued thing against your ear.

“Ahh…” he noses in the little nook under your earlobe, “Looks like your hero— no, your fiance is here to pick you up.”

Your treacherous, treacherous heart kicks against its cage, and then churns at his lazy acknowledgment. You can see glimpses of soldiers flittering across the parameters of the tower down the drop and then— him.

A bead of sweat rolls down from your temples, Khaslana adjusts his hold on your hips, shifting you forward to aide you in seeing the scene better (cruelty).

“Well then? Princess?” your eyes crinkle as you feel something wet lave over your cheek, “What will you do now?” a thin sheen of drool smears on your cheek to your chin as Khaslana catches that bead of sweat on his long, serpentine tongue.

You would think that the monster would try to cling to you, but instead, he goads you on, like this is a game to him and all he cares about is feasting on your moves.

It wouldn't take much to alert the troops, a small item thrown, maybe one of the pillows — you could even scream, it wouldn't be unexpected of the Phainon to be able catch its pitch despite the distance.

…. However.

“I don't want to go.” your eyes dim as you see the rays of the early morning light playing catch with the hero’s armory, those silver strands — ones you now know so intimately, ruffled by worried hands.

It almost makes you not notice Khaslana's eerie silence.

“…What?”

You sneak a peek at him through your periphery, “I don't want to go ba— oof—!”

A wheeze is forced out of your lungs at the force of the push, your surprised blinks are shadowed by Khaslana's looming form.

“I don't believe you,” he fists at the chaise on either side of your head, it's difficult to see his expression despite the flickers of the blue flame.

You keep on searching for it though, “Tell me what will make you believe then.”

He sneers, “This is just a game to you.”

“It is not.” frustration creeps in betwixt your brows.

But he doesn't listen, “You don't even understand— you don't even understand what I feel for you! What I want to do to you—!” he tugs at his hair.

You open your mouth but his exclamations drown out your words, “You naive, stupid girl. You think you could know me?” his voice fades to a coarse whisper, and your patience snaps. “There is absolutely no way! Nothing! Nothing you could do that—”

You grab him by the collar and swallow the rest of his complaint with your mouth.

Something in Khaslana's brain sizzles, makes him forget that he can breathe as you pull him closer, closer than anything he’s dreamed, and all so willingly, eagerly.

His normal eye softens impossibly for a second, before flashing with a jolt of wicked blue.

Your exhale is pulled taut by his hand snaking up the back of your head, gripping at the roots of your hair to keep you locked in the kiss.

His free hand wanders down to your legs, and parts them by gripping one knee. Your hands reach out to clutch at his cape when he throws one of your legs over his shoulder, making room for himself — and when you're dizzy from the lack of breath and space, he rewards you by biting down your lower lip.

“You’ll leave me.” he gasps against your cheek, talons gripping restlessly at your pulled up skirt.

Despite your mind being in a swirl of nothing but heat, you find the strength to shake your head no, clinging to him.

Khaslana squeezes his eye close for a moment, as though pained. “You’ll abandon me at the first chance you get— like him, like everyone —”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, “Never. I won't ever abandon or betray you, Khaslana.”

A shudder quakes the monster's whole body. He drops his head to your shoulder, taking lungfuls of your scent, his claws threaten to draw blood at the dip of your waist.

“Tell me…” his nose traces a line from your jawbone to your clavicle, halting at the neckline of your dress to take the edge in between his teeth. “Tell me to stop, princess.” he begs, dragging the neckline down with his bite.

Your knees press around him as his scorching exhales brush against your now bared chest, “Don’t— don't stop, Khaslana.”

A long, heavy breath leaves his lips, littering your skin in gooseflesh. A squeeze seizes your heart as Khaslana nuzzles against it with his cheek.

“Could you… kiss me again?” you almost don't hear his request through the erratic march of your heart, “So that I know this isn't a dream?”

He doesn't dare to meet your gaze when he says, “… Please?”

If there was even a fraction of doubt in your mind before, it vanishes to oblivion with that one word.

This time, the beginning of the kiss is much gentler than all the previous ones. You tilt his head up with your hands and for a moment, just breathe against him, before pressing your pledge against his lips.

Khaslana loosens his vice grip on your hair to let it trail down your back, pushing you closer in time with his tongue parting your lips.

The hand that was on your hips comes up to hold your face — though, with its size, it has to settle on your throat instead.

The leg that was hoisted over his shoulder bends to squeeze around his back when his tongue pushes inside your mouth and licks at the cavern.

Tears prinkle the corners of your closed eyes as you choke, you’d caught a glimpse of it before, but the Flame Reaver's tongue is long, it takes up your whole mouth, rendering your feeble attempts at returning the kiss futile with one swoop — till stars burst behind your eyeleads from the lack of air.

Your toes curl against his back when he presses you closer into the kiss with a squeeze around your throat, your cry is broken when he sinks his fang into your lip again.

When he finally, finally pulls away, silver bursts color your vision and your heartbeat hammers against your ears — you feel lightheaded in the best way.

“Hah…“ he wipes the string of drool with the back of his hand, you can hear the vague smirk in his words. “Sick of me already?”

At that, your vision clears and you pout, shaking your head. You tug him closer, a plea smoldering in your eyes.

It makes him croon.

Your world is hurled to the side as he pushes you down on the chaise again.

“You’re one greedy princess, aren't you?” your jump when he takes your exposed nipple in his mouth, coaxing a whimper out of you with a hard suck.

You press the heel of your palm against your mouth as he continues his torturous ministrations, his hands slide down your sides, pushing up the hem of your dress again to part your thighs.

His tongue wraps around the taut bud for a second, before letting go to pinch it with his fang instead. He controls your spasming body effortlessly, bringing your ankles to lock around his neck with ease.

His eye flickers up to the sight of your desperate attempts at muffling your whimpers and he lets go of your nipple with a displeased pop.

“What’s wrong? Don't you want your hero to hear how mine you are?” he taunts, pulling back the elastic of your panties and letting it snap back against your thigh — but he doesn't just stop there, and hooks the pointed nail of his forefinger under it when he pulls it again, the sound of tearing fabric defeats your ragged breaths.

He sits up slightly to drink in the sight of your debauched state, the glint in his eye shifts in a way that makes you feel as though he's patting himself in the back for reducing you to a quivering, needy mess.

“Well,” he smoothes over your right leg with one hand, the metal of his talons creating shivers on the skin. “It doesn't really matter to me either way. Because…”

He turns his head to press a kiss on the ankle hooked over his shoulder and before your could blink the next one — he dives in.

You're certain your soul had left your body there, only to be pulled right back by the Flame Reaver's death-grip.

Your hand offers no support in stopping the cry that's pulled out of you. First, he scares you halfway to death by swooping down like a vulture ; next, he parts your petals with his tongue with a slow lick, coming full circle by plunging it deep inside you the next second.

Now, you realize that he was holding back in the kiss. His tongue alone reaches crevices inside you that you weren't even aware of, his teeth brush against your clit sporadically with every harsh suck and twist.

Your body rebels against the assault by instinct (even as your mind craves it), but Khaslana keeps you close and obedient to take his starving mouth by holding your hips, his nails create bloody scratches on the sides of your thighs with every thrash and pull.

He's done this before, the realization passes by your your dazed mind between gasps and moans.

Though you're not allowed the leeway to ponder on it as the building pressure in your lower belly abruptly snaps, making your back arch from the force of the orgasm.

You blearily consider reaching for Khaslana's shoulders to anchor yourself as waves after waves are drawn out of you, but you can't even reach that far, forcing you to fist your hands against the chaise’s surface.

The Flame Reaver doesn't pause for a millisecond of reprieve — no, no, he feasts on the necter of your release, like this is what he's been starving himself of for all of his life.

The sounds are obscene, both of his sucks and of your tearful moans.

But you can hardly bring yourself to care about anything as the pain subsides and invites that pleasant cotton-like haze in your mind, smoothens your taut muscles until they grow numb.

Khaslana rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, rubbing circles on the other to bring you back. His breaths only send jolts through your oversensitive core.

He peeks from between your parted legs, tracing the rise and fall of your chest, your bruised and red lips and the absolutely blissed out blankness in your eyes.

“Beautiful.“ he says, though it sounds vague through the ringing in your ears.

The kind thing to do would be to stop his worship at this juncture, let you adjust to having his most intimate servitude slowly.

But Khaslana is nowhere near being done with you today.

It takes your ecstasy induced mind a while to register the fact that you're being moved around.

You blink through your tear-smeared vision as your back presses against something cold — and then all at once, the distance between you and the floor crashes down on you.

You cling to Khaslana by instinct as he adjusts your legs to rest on his hips ; over his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your toes hovering a good five feet above the ground, the tattered hem of your dress brushing against the asphalt.

“Princess,” he snatches your attention by turning your head to him with a finger, you're taken aback — mesmerized by the tenderness and desire swirling in his eye and in the void.

“You’ve given yourself to me so sweetly.” your heart thumps at the praise, “So,” he presses his forehead against yours, “Won’t you let me give myself to you, in return?”

You don't understand why, your mind is far too intoxicated in him to even think of saying no, but somehow, for some reason, the corners of your eyes moisten — perhaps at the unexpected vulnerability he’s offered.

You nod, “Y-yes,” wrapping your arms around his shoulders, “All of you— I want all of you, Khaslana.”

Khaslana's eye flashes at your demand, “Last chance, princess— if you don't push me away here, I'll never, ever let you go, not even if Thanatos themself came to take you away.”

Your eyes widen, and then crinkle in delight, “Good.”

This time, Khaslana kisses you first and oh, does he not hold back in making sure all you can breathe is him, him and him.

Your fingers slide into his silvery hair, you squeeze your legs around his waist when he dips his tongue inside your mouth again.

Your head tilts back against the wall as he shifts one hand to support you by the buttocks. Amidst the muffled sounds of your mewls, a sharp zip pierces through.

Your brows furrow at the sound, but you're far too distracted by the way Khaslana nibbles on your bottom lip to care.

One of your hands falls to grip his cape, you try to adjust your leg when it spasms at the feeling of something big entering your core.

Your gasp is loud and Khaslana doesn't have the coordination to muffle it in any way this time.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes again as a flash of pain sizzles up your spine — your mind goes utterly blank as the feeling of intrusion burns against your walls.

“Tsk…” Khaslana keeps you in place by gripping your hips, “I thought the Shadows had loosened you eno— ugh…”

Your jaw slackens as he maneuvers you to push you down on the appendage, the veins of it pulsing against your insides, slowly, painfully, carving itself a home within the innermost part of you.

Khaslana gasps with you when he bottoms out, his claws draw marks all over your hips as he struggles to not throw his control out of the window and take you in brutal sweeps.

And then, a chuckle escapes him — snapping you out of the numbing jolts.

You see through your blurry vision as he laughs against your cheek, it is a free, happy thing ; like the confession of a man who's tasted heaven so intimately he cares little about being banished to hell.

In all honesty? You feel the same.

“[Name], [Name], [Name]…” he chants wildly against your ear, dragging his fangs down your throat.

“Kha..as…—!” you attempt to reciprocate, but your vocal chords don't cooperate.

“Shhh…” Khaslana reassures you, catching a stray tear on his tongue. “I know, I know. Breathe with me, princess. No need for words.”

You try to follow his instructions, but it's easier said than done when each thrust of his rattles your bones, the cold wall scrapes against your back and it feels as though he's created a crater for him to crawl into inside of you.

With each push, pull and drag against your insides, you find yourself being distanced farther and farther from everything that you used to be.

In fact, he moves and moulds your body body like he's trying to remake you to his liking, like he will make you forget whoever you once were.

Khaslana pulls back slightly to look at where you're joined together — your body works overtime and is stretched to its ultimate limits to accommodate him.

If he died right here, he thinks, he’d die a very, very happy man.

The violent jolts of euphoria in your mind halt for a moment when you feel your hand being lifted.

Through the veil of your blurry vision, you see, just as you feel the familiar coil nearing its end in your belly.

Khaslana presses your hand against his cheek, holding you upright to him by his other.

Then he tilts his face in your palm and takes your ring finger in his mouth, letting his teeth sink into the skin and sucking until a crescent like hot mark has bloomed on your finger.

And you know then, at that sting and string of bloody drool stretching as his lips detach, that you are exactly where you’ve always yearned to be at.

—

Dawn has broken out into the east when you awake, the chirping of birds keep you tethered, keep you from succumbing to the sleep once again.

When you roll to your sides, you're immediately jolted awake by the sharp flashes of pain that erupt from various parts of your body, making you gasp and then groan.

It takes a few more minutes for you to be able to open your eyes, the early morning light bleeds in from the corners of your vision, and at the center of it, is him.

Khaslana kneels by your bedside, arms folded beside your body. You don't know why, but you get the vague feeling that he’s spent all night in that position.

For a moment, you do nothing but stare at him — at his unmasked face.

Tenderness dusts the porcelain edges like the brushworks on a beloved painting, the burgeoning dawn makes his silver hair sparkle.

He reaches to take your smaller hand in his, his thumb traces circles on the faint swells on your wrist, before he leans down to press his lips against the mark on your ring finger.

You don't flinch, or recoil, rather, you relax in his hold and it makes his whole soul preen in victory.

You chose him, you chose the monster instead of the hero.

You’ve decided to stay with him instead of his brother, you’ve become his and you’ve accepted him in return — all with a smile.

And really, what better revenge than this?

… So, you’ve made it this far, huh? Have this badge 📛 of the Freaklings™️

The base of this fic is taken from a very old brainrot I shared when Flame Reaver was first leaked and the “twist” is taken from a Phantom of the Opera au I had in my drafts (featuring Phainon and Flame Reaver as well). But I kind of lost interest in that project, so, I decided to use it here instead 😔

This is very, very different from my usual works, I knowww. The objective of this fic was really only to dump all of my Flame Reaver thirsts in one place because oh my god, they were driving me CRAZY every ovulation season and I just really really needed to get them out somewhere once and for all.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading<3 I’ll now go reconnect with nature 🗿

P. S. SOUSOURADA SUPREMACY 🔥

TAG: @naraven @yandere-romanticaa @mewn1verse @demigod-of-finality @mochinon-yah

phainon looked so YUMMY in the ending scene like the mask and cloak??? hmmm yes, and he makes even blood look good. wtf ur so real for that tho, but the ending's kinda sad don't you think? he'll be left alone in the palace far away from his people oh-

Maybe it's the way Phainon’s character is brought into the story, but he's this kind-hearted prince who transformed into an imposing ruler. The way his character hardened and developed pulled in your heartstrings. He brings conflict to your emotions, on how you loved his radiant and princely side, but at the same time is swept off your feet by his blinding majesty.

Must be the reason why you loved reading this novel. It seems that the author did a great job of stringing you, the reader, into Phainon's emotions and inner world. It makes you wish for the success of his plans in the story, but it also pains you to see him change as a price.

affected by literal fucking words and pixels, please save me from era nova, why can't i just pick a fav and go??? why do i also have to feel for them like please leave me alone he just wanted to be an appraiser and live normally with his people, why'd they have to do him like that ikr, like noooo phainon my sweet baby :( he succeeded but at what cost? :((((

Phainon ascends to the throne, the end. You saw this coming from a mile away, but actually seeing something that's been a part of your daily life for months finally concluding did hurt you a bit. There's a pang of emptiness, ah, the feeling of finishing a book and never hearing from that world again.

Sucks.

You'll probably get over it and find a new thing to fixate on soon, but for now you'll lament Phainon’s fate and think about the damn novel for a few more hours.

well becoming an emperor so suddenly sounds kinda lonely so if he needs a princess by his side im just here 🙏  girl, you'll die from the court shenanigans alone lol oof yeah u right [are you willing to do that?] fuck yeah lol, all in for PHAINON [heh, come here then] ??? it's 4am rn tho

Don't wanna go out yet. You're supposed to type, but suddenly you felt the most splitting headache you ever had the misfortune to feel. Your vision goes blurry and suddenly, everything's so dark.

★

You woke up to the fluttering of soft…lace?

Opening your eyes, you are faced with the soft swishing of the lacy fabric hanging up on the bedposts. The fabric dancing in the air caresses your face, the gentle touch of lace rouses you further from sleep. Wait, bedposts?

Realizing the anomaly in your room, you stood up. Well, tried to do so. Because your head suddenly feels like it's groaning in pain and so do you.

“Oh no miss! Don't stand up too fast, your head injuries might worsen!”

A brown-haired lady wearing a black dress with white apron suddenly ushers towards you. Her face is frowning, filled with as much worry as her frantic voice has.

White apron… like a maid outfit.

You stilled, brain churning for the last bits of the previous night. For one, you are texting your friend about Era Nova, second is that they asked you to ‘come to them’ at such an ungodly hour, and then… and then what?

“Master! The lady has awoken!”

What happened last night?

Your head suddenly throbs in pain again, it's akin to a migraine that suddenly surprises you when you least expect it. The difference though from an ordinary migraine is that this one seems to carry something.

A lot of things, memories to be exact, actually.

You are the only daughter of the count of this area. You are currently in your estate at Okhema, and that you had a bad fall at… some market?

More and more flooded to your head, some crystal clear memories and some are fuzzy, something bathed in yellowing lights — childhood memories. It doesn't clear itself though, as if it's decided that those are not of importance.

“My daughter… how do you feel?”

A voice interrupts your train of thoughts. There enters a man seemingly in his late forties. He's wearing clothes that seem to be out of a theater play you watched back then. His tall stature exudes elegance, something out of a regency drama.

Where are you exactly?

You didn't speak, mind running in different directions, different explanations and reasonings for whatever absurdity you are currently in as of now. Are you kidnapped? Did you get drunk last night and wandered to a TV set? Why would they play along then if that's the case? Is this a new, untapped-by-science side effect of combined lack of sleep and caffeine overdose?

All of your hypothesis sounds like it was spoken by insanity itself. Why would this happen? Is this real? Dozens of questions floated around your mind until it was cleared away by the same voice.

“My dearest, we have investigated the entirety of Marmoreal market and found no signs of the carriage that hit you. I'm deeply sorry for this news, but don't worry, father is not going to stop looking for…”

Your ‘father’s’ voice droned in and out of your ear, his words seem to be mixing and swirling into your senses.

Except for one.

Marmoreal. Then you also remembered one of the information bits that flooded to your brain, Okhema. You were so distraught earlier that you didn't process the memories itself, the familiar places and names suddenly makes sense, finally tracing back to their origin.

The Era Nova.

Marmoreal is the center of Okhema’s trade, a place where half of the story convenes because Phainon frequents this place so much. The kingdom that hailed him as one of their crown princes is Okhema.

Maybe it was really insanity who penned these events unfolding to you right now.

“Master, excuse my interruption, but my lady seems to be in great pain earlier, she may not be ready for that conversation,” The woman who you first saw when you woke up warily said to the man beside you. In your memories, she is your lady in waiting.

“Right, of course, please take care of her and make sure she rests.” 

The man leaves, the brown haired maid follows, telling you that she's going to fetch you soup and medicine.

Left alone in your thoughts, you only can look outside the window. Behind the branch where two songbirds are perched, singing a duet — lies the Marmoreal Palace, in front of your very own eyes.

Insanity, yes, this must be insanity.

There's no fucking way you just got isekai’d in your favorite novel.

★

Of all the things to read before your isekai trip, it had to be this dramatic thriller of a genre.

You sluggishly stood up after your maid left you with the soup and medicine. You walked towards an ornate mirror, something that looks like it belongs to a museum, not in a home.

With that in mind, you found out two things.

First is that your family is rich. Second is that despite being transmigrated into a fantasy, kingdom-themed novel, you still looked the same.

Yes, unfortunately, no waking up in the body of a pink-haired maiden with flawless skin and plump lips.

At least you're rich, right?

“Man, I wanna know what it feels like to have natural pink hair.” You sighed in front of your mirror. You do look a bit more radiant at least, as if you finally scrounged enough money to contact a dermatologist and do something about your eyebags.

Yes, yes, it might seem like you were just put on a dress for some play but at least your face looks clearer. A win is a win.

Going back, you repeatedly consider your family’s status. Rich and has a stable business? Then it is perfect. An unspoken rule in the isekai world is that, peace comes from not fucking around with the plot. It seems that you're in a lineage of businessmen, not royalty, so there's no reason for you to get tangled up in the bloody ‘court games’ that Era Nova is all about.

Gotta thank the plot for giving you some background on who you are in the story at least. Still, you've opted for pretending that you lost some of your memories, much to your family's horror — so that asking painfully obvious questions in case you forget something isn't too strange.

That, and also because you've seen this in many transmigration novels that you wanted to try it.

You probably should've stuck to something along the lines of romance or slice-of-life novels instead if you knew that this is going to happen.

All feels surreal, you never expected to experience being sent into the world of a novel. You thought isekai is just a fantasy genre you only read.

But alas, you're here now. There's no cameras or crew members revealing you're in a prank, a show, or something. It's been too long for that.

★

Crazy thought, but what if I try finding Phainon?

You suddenly think while you're in the bath, a pair of maids helping you scrub your body. It's been a few days since you got here. You did your best in adjusting, using the memories that were given to you and the books which, luckily, you can understand and read.

It also helps that you're proficient about The Era Nova back in the real world. You've been into forums and posts discussing the plot and the worldbuilding of this work. Save for the more innate traditions and customs, your knowledge about the events and how this kingdom came to be is more than enough for you to navigate in your daily life here.

In fact, you might be too proficient, because your butler let out a stray comment telling you that you have the potential to be a historian in the academy.

Your earlier thought about finding Phainon resurfaced again. Now that you think about it properly, it seems to be the stupidest idea you've made as of now.

No, no! Do not get involved with Phainon, he's the most direct, one-way ticket to the plot.

You didn't think further, instead you relaxed into the bath.

★

Thankfully, you have recovered. You think it's because your brain finally conjured all the memories it needed, hence your headaches had finally stopped.

Your father now also reluctantly lets you go outside again, but he strictly advises you to be careful, a long spiel of reminders and shoving at least two knights with you everywhere you go.

Wow, your family had knights.

Today, you're heading to the Marmoreal Market, where you're supposed to have been run over by a carriage before. You shivered at the thought, although nothing concrete came into mind when you tried remembering it.

Maybe it's mercy, who wants to remember that kind of pain?

Your carriage moves along the cobblestones. Estates, parks, ornate fountains and rows of wooden stalls pass by your window. Straight out of a fairytale kingdom. You couldn't believe your eyes, your heart was pounding. It's real, you're really here.

You only went out to have a closer look at the world you got thrown into. You knew what it's like in the novel, but seeing it in person is a whole ‘nother experience that cannot be replicated.

Today, you're going to investigate, but you guess it wouldn't hurt to explore Okhema too.

★

It's unfortunate that you only have two feet and can only go in a single direction at a time when the Marmoreal Market has a dozen pathways and shops calling your attention.

It's vastly different from the real world, that's for sure.

The colorful tapestries draped into the rooftops of each store weave a grand picture to your eyes. The goods displayed felt magical, even what's supposed to be simple bread sold in the west area looks like it's glazed in gold and the dresses hanging in the southern part all have intricate stitching that make the fabric feel alive.

Your eyes are twinkling in wonder. It felt like you were a kid again in an amusement park, the excitement on each turn of your head palpable. You took advantage of your sizable allowance and picked pastries and trinkets that interest you, those that seem otherworldly that you'll probably never see again once you go back.

Right, what about going back to the real world?

Magic exists in the story of The Era Nova. One of the shops here sells magical items. It's your main objective for the day. The concept of other worlds could still be seen as strange, but it's worth a shot, you think.

When you finally reach the shop, it's unassuming at first, only a crooked wooden signage and an old wind chime greet you when you lay your eyes on its facade, but what's inside is completely different.

Rows and rows of shelves filled with various jars and knick-knacks welcomed you. It's like you stepped into the set of Alice in Wonderland. The line of shelves leads to a counter, a single woman faces you, her little corner filled with hanging plants and more trinkets.

The woman on the counter only stares at you. At first you think it's strange, but remembering that you're inside a novel cuts off that thought. Maybe it's normal here. In most novels, characters that have to do something with magic tend to be a bit mysterious and quirky anyway.

You continued browsing, eyes looking for strange artifacts that could be connected to how you can go home. It feels like a shot in the dark as you have no idea what could be considered ‘a strange artifact’ because all of these things are foreign to you.

As you collect your courage to just straight up ask the bizarre questions of ‘portals’ and ‘other worlds’ to the woman on the counter, a flicker catches your attention.

A hand mirror, it's embellished with small golden suns and silver moons on its frame. The handle is just the same, with a bigger sun and moon eclipsing at the center.

But the design isn't what catches your attention, it's what's within the mirror itself. Because instead of reflecting the shop’s interior — it's reflecting the inside of your real world bedroom instead.

You nearly jumped towards the glass display it's being held in. The woman on the counter stares at you before giving a somewhat pitied look.

“It's a great piece, but unfortunately that's reserved for a special customer.”

Your heart drops at her statement. No, no way, this could be the key to going home. You're going to have this one, even if you have to put trade offers that are disadvantageous to you. As you were about to open your mouth to argue, you were interrupted by a chime.

“Lord Phainon, are you here for your reservation?”

“Yes, thank you for keeping it for me.” A man — no Phainon, walks into the counter. If your heart dropped earlier, it's now currently digging itself lower than the ground. Of all people, it just had to be him.

The woman walks past you and into the glass display. She grabs the mirror and heads into a door hidden by plants. This leaves you awkwardly standing beside the Phainon.

“It's rare to see other customers here, I'm starting to think that I’m the only one who knows of this place honestly,” Phainon casually starts off. You shouldn't be surprised at his friendly demeanor as you've read about it a thousand times already, but that friendliness directed to you makes your heart race at a dizzying speed. 

Snow-white hair that's slightly tousled, the striking blue eyes, like it's twinkling as he smiles. His tall stature is more obvious due to the small space but his stance is relaxed as he watches over you, the differences in your height just perfect enough to display the golden sun on his neck at your eye level. There's no denying, it's really Phainon in the flesh, and the novel did not lie, he's the most charming and radiant person you've seen in the entire time you're here.

Oh dear, he's so beautiful.

You would've gushed about him more if it weren't for the silence that's hanging over you and the current situation about that mirror.

“Ahh… yeah this store is… really interesting!” The response came as awkward as you can imagine, although Phainon didn't seem to mind as he chuckled and continued the conversation.

“I know, right? The shop’s filled with so many antiques and magical devices that I couldn't imagine how long it would take to appraise them all, they seem endless and that's what draws me here,” His tone is cheery, a smile spreading across his face.

You nearly forgot that Phainon has a hobby of collecting antiques and appraising them.

The lady comes out of the room carrying a box — presumably the mirror with your room in it inside. She hands the box to Phainon, but her stare never leaves you.

“Miss if you'd like, we have more hand mirrors and other displays-”

“Oh, is the lady over here interested in this mirror too?” Phainon suddenly interrupts the lady, who answers his question with a nod.

“Actually… I really wanted to check this specific mirror,” you softly said, might as well whisper with how quiet it went out of your mouth.

“My, I didn't expect to make a lady sad today. Unfortunately, I did reserve this a week ago… and I’m kind of expecting this piece — but! If you'd like, you can join me in appraising this, you said you wanted to see it closely right?” He offers, his smile widens as he turns to you, seemingly proud of his solution.

Oh no, he has such a nice smile.

Who could say no to that?

You take his offer.

★

In the first place, why do you still want to go home?

You woke up in a world filled with magic and whimsy, a world that looks like it has your dreams for its foundation. From a fantasy novel to a daily occurence.

So why?

Maybe it's because despite being physically here, you never really belonged. The monotonous voice that calls out to your ‘parents’, the practiced greetings, and the feeling of disconnect from your very self.

It's like you're just playing a role.

A role you cannot take seriously. Because back there, you have a life, a pretty boring one but it's yours. You're wondering if your cat is fed back home, you're thinking about your friend who wanted to meet up that day, and is your family worried? What about your real body? And your phone.

Oh you miss the glorious internet even for all its flaws. Maybe you wouldn't be as lost here if search engines existed.

The thoughts barrage your supposed peace of mind again, which is why you broke your promise of not getting involved with Phainon. 

You need to see that damned mirror.

Isn't it funny how things are progressing just like an actual isekai novel? Because you do remember a few titles that had the protagonist promising to stray themselves off of the plot only to get plunged right in the middle of it moments later.

You mentally swatted the thought. 

Because unlike the romance novels you've seen, the main driving force of this story is violence and revenge. Phainon succeeded in the story by removing all that tried stopping him. If you make a mistake — get too entangled, you might just get yourself extremely hurt.

There's a hypothesis that if you were to die in an isekai, your soul might just go back to reality. It's a hypothesis that you wish to not prove by looking for alternative paths instead, but if all comes crashing down, you'd rather have your death not by a weapon.

But… there's the alternative already right? Maybe getting a bit involved with the main character is a small price to pay for that. If the mirror proves to be the way of going home, then your involvement with Phainon would have no way of going any further.

So here you are, meeting the very man himself. The Sun of Okhema and the star of The Era Nova, Phainon.

You're not one for lying to yourself, you're a little too excited about seeing Phainon again. He’s totally your type, and if you're as headstrong as those female leads in isekai, you might've even risked it for him.

Well, you're not, and you want to go home now.

“Over here, my lady!” A loud voice beckoned you. With how cheery it sounded, you knew it's definitely Phainon even without looking.

He's wearing casual attire, too casual. White dress shirt that’s a little too sheer, and plain black slacks that go straight down to his leather shoes that's studded with small golden bits on its straps (which you found out are small suns as you walk closer to him). For all the straightforwardness of his outfit, the black choker that wraps around his neck stands out.

You see, you have no qualms about his clothing choices, but the sheer fabric is quite literally framing his muscles to all its glory and you’re a teeny tiny bit flustered. The choker isn't helpful either, as that leads your stare on his neck and jawline instead.

Ah self, pardon my bullshit just this once, not everyday you see the man of your dreams.

You swallow your embarrassment and approach him. You've opted to just a simple wave, but Phainon had other plans — he grabs your waving hand gently kisses it, his eyes never leaving you.

Well, shit.

“Oh? Was that too direct? Apologies, it's a common courtesy here so I just got used to it,” Phainon suddenly retracts himself when he sees your half open mouth.

“No, no, it's fine! Don't worry about it,” You responded almost too quickly, “Anyways, so…”

“The mirror, yes?”

“Yes, yes, the mirror! Can I have a look at it?” Now that you listen closely, it seems weird that you're so eager to ask for someone else’s personal belongings, but for the sake of your trip back home, you're willing to just swallow your pride for now.

“Hmm… no?” Phainon playfully answers, the smile on his face growing.

“Ah?” You could only utter that syllable. Did he finally catch on how weird this entire thing is?

“What I mean is not yet, we have to appraise it first.”

You could only stare at him dumbfounded before laughing it off. Phainon has a hobby of appraising antiques, this is one of his most highlighted quirks in the novel as he wishes to finally break free from his royal duties and work as a full-time appraiser. 

Unfortunately, he has to let go of that dream after bearing the crown in the ending.

So as an avid reader and a fan of Phainon, you just let him talk your ear off about the intricate carvings of the mirrors and what tool could have been used in making them. 

Just this once Phainon, because in the upcoming years, you'll have bigger worries than telling me the approximate age of this hand mirror.

You smile at how enthusiastic his voice sounded, but as he got into explaining the mirror itself, the entire thing started to feel off.

The mirror, which showed you your old bedroom, now suddenly feels… too normal. Plain. Nothing.

Back in the shop, it's eye-catching. Not only because it showed your real world, but also because the object itself seemed to be calling out your attention. 

But right now, as Phainon traces his fingers on the embellished grooves, it feels nothing, like the magic sucked out of it. The suns and moons are now just ordinary embossing on the thing’s surface.

You and Phainon are currently sitting on a bench just right outside the palace. The two of you might've sunk too deep in conversation that the lamp posts that towers you are already lit up. The skies are blurring into orange blue tones.

“Oops, I got carried away. But I hope the lady is satisfied with my appraisal? Hopefully I was able to give you the closest look to it.”

Phainon moves closer to you, before gently putting the hand mirror to your lap. 

“It's yours now, a gift, you're the only one who listened this long,” He grins, before standing up and offering his hand, “It's nightfall now, so I will walk you to your carriage.”

The two of you walked across the streets that's starting to liven up. Stalls are being set, with vendors hanging up lights and signages. The kids are running around, the adults sighing behind them. It seems like a bazaar is being set up.

A bazaar?

[As night befalls, the festivities rose. In between the hanging lights and the rows of wooden stalls, lies a plot turned against Phainon.

The assassin waits, a rifle at hand. The people flow until they fill the crevices of the bazaar. In the mind of the hunter, a flock of panicked sheep will cover the fallen prey long enough for him to get away.]

“Fuck was that today?” You whispered to yourself, which earned a curious look from Phainon.

Assassinations. This is what you're talking about as danger and Phainon go hand in hand. Of course, one less royal is one less contestant to the crown.

And now, you might've gotten yourself involved at just the perfect timing to be right beside him when he's supposed to be shot from above.

Phainon did survive this in the novel, but you're not quite sure if you would. The two of you are heading closer to the bazaar when you decide to do your last-ditch effort at distracting him.

You ran towards a little girl selling flowers and bought whatever flower catches your eye, it so happens to be a bunch of hyacinths.

You didn't even collect your change from the girl when you walked back to Phainon and handed him the flowers. “Uhh.. I just wanted to give these to you, thanks for today, Phainon!”

Right, he wanted to buy flowers in the bazaar that day.

“Oh and also, let's just take a detour, the bazaar lights kinda make me dizzy… unless you need to buy something there?” 

“No, I don't need anything… thank you too.” Phainon answered. Thank god it worked.

Right in front of you, Phainon is smiling softly, staring at the bunch of hyacinths that are now in his hands. He has the prettiest smile, wish he could keep that.

As the two of you walked to your carriage, it started to slowly sink in that maybe Phainon is not just a character, at least not right now, because that smile felt real.

You hope the assassin gets tired of waiting.

★

When you sat down in the carriage to collect your thoughts, you noticed a few things that were a bit wrong. 

In the flurry of your thoughts and emotions earlier, there's one thing you'd miss — the honorifics. Despite him being a complete chatterbox, he's still a prince, and never once in your entire conversation had you referred to him as such.

Oh god, does he now think I’m disregarding his status like the other nobles and royals that are against him?

You've known that your family are businessmen, but you only recently found out that you're prominent ones. Your nobility goes far and wide in Okhema, your family's influence in trade could certainly be used as leverage to the likes of Phainon.

Oh no, I hope I’m not on his hitlist yet, I didn't mean to disrespect him.

Now that you mention it, you might've acted suspicious because of your fixation on that mirror. And now, you also feel bad for trying to claim something he technically owns, knowing his background in the story. 

You comforted yourself with the fact that it's his idea to meet like this though, also his idea to let go of the antique, but you now can only hope that it's a genuine meeting and not some sort of test for the weird daughter of the biggest business man in the city.

Right, he did give me the mirror.

You propped up the thing that led you in this situation. An antiquated mirror, which now should've shown you your real world, if your hypothesis was right.

But just like earlier, it doesn't even feel magical or even interesting, as if the mystique that led you to it was knocked straight out of it.

“Fuck, don't tell me that I was only hallucinating back when I was in that shop… to think that I might've made Phainon uncomfortable and pressured him into giving this up, ugh.” You buried your face in your palms, sighing deeply.

A thought popped into your head — the Academy. The Grove of Scholars do have a few mages in their ranks, they're the teachers of magic in this world. Maybe they could help you identify whatever's in the mirror.

Alright, let's make use of this thing, sorry Phainon, but it's a gift now isn't it?

★

The academy in this world is bizarre.

It sits atop of a ginormous tree that towers the entire field. Its branches envelop the surrounding area, in them, different buildings are encased, which can be accessed by the winding pathways that wrap around the trunk.

The tree isn't really the most bizzare thing to you though, it's the stairs. There's special devices scattered that could bring you to the various facilities of the grove, but stairs are still the predominant way of moving around here.

“I'm not built for this thing… is this why they always make the art for those scholar characters bulky despite them claiming they're feeble?” You sat down on one of the staircases. You checked back on your bag and saw that the hand mirror was still there, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you new here, miss? Haha, yes the grove has a lot of stairs, but once you enroll here, you'll get used to it!” A bubbly voice suddenly comes beside you.

“Oh, hello! Yes… it's embarrassing I get tired this easily, I'm not here to enroll though, I'm just here to inquire about an antique.” You answered the pink-haired girl.

Her smile brightens and she shows you a badge, it's the same as the academy’s.

“Oh, I'm a student here, miss, rest assured that I'm knowledgeable enough though. If you want to tell me about it, maybe I can save you from climbing further up there!”

You take her kind offer and tell her everything you've noticed about the mirror you're holding. She asks you to put it in her hands, and after a few moments her answer comes to you.

“There's not a single trace of magic in here.”

You should've known, but you still felt quite disappointed. What was that back in the shop then? Delusion?

“Oh… I see, well good thing you're here, I might've gone up there only for nothing.” You can only laugh softly at her.

“Well, my professor's lab is there, so even if the mirror turns out to be a fake, you can still ask him about your theories regarding the portal. Don't worry, he won't think it's weird!”

“Also…” The cheerful voice suddenly turns into a whisper, “If you're planning to sell this thing, it might not be worth much.”

“Oh, uhm, I’m not going to sell it… but why wouldn't it be worth much?” You looked at her slowly.

“The mirror is tampered, or probably recently restored, the glass is new. It's not entirely an antique if there's new parts right?”

★

[Broken, bloody pieces of what used to be a fair hand mirror lie messily on the carpeted floors. The golden eyes staring at it only blinks.

The eyes move back onto the table, the metal that used to carry the glass is facing him. The man’s bloody hand, one where some shards are still buried in its skin, carefully caresses the embossed suns.

He then picks up a round piece of mirror, the crafting skills he picked up from his adventures made it so that the foreign piece would fit perfectly in the hollow space the old one left.

If not for keen eyes, it would've looked like it belongs there just fine.]

★

You just woke up, but you feel like going back into the darkness of your sleep.

And stay there for a long, long time.

Because in front of you is a maid. She's an ordinary maid, if not for the blue and gold envelope in your hands.

“His highness Phainon wishes to formally meet you in his estate. Today. Should I prepare your bath and clothes while you eat breakfast?” There's a hint of a smile on her face.

But not yours.

Because you think that this might've been your end. The words his highness sting you. Ah yes, the royalty and their titles, what could go wrong.

But the envelope is already there. For a split second, the idea of just chucking it down the fireplace and running to the countryside like those villainesses sounded good in your head, but you soon came to realize that declining a royal might just pose more misunderstandings.

Let's just hope he lives up to his novel persona and I'll be able to plead with him.

★

You're kind of disappointed in yourself.

For someone who's a ‘self-proclaimed The Era Nova specialist,’ you judged Phainon way too quickly.

It feels more awful seeing his closed-eye smile directed at you.

No, he didn't execute you or put you under some royal decree. What he did do is literally thank you for buying him flowers that night and served you the most fragrant (and probably expensive) tea you've ever had.

“Sorry for the sudden invite, I was just excited to finally have a friend here.”

“Ah… yes, of course, I'm happy to have met you too, your highness-” This time you made sure to not forget, but he only frowned at this.

“So formal now, aren't we?” He looks at you with what seems to be puppy-dog eyes and your heart flips.

“Did I… have I offended you that night? I'm sorry-”

“Oh no! No you didn't, I don't care much about titles like that anyway… plus even if I do, it's not your fault, you're not used to it, right?” He quickly exclaims, trying his best to prove your thoughts about that night wrong.

Used to it?

“Anyways, please don't think of this meeting as anything else aside from a simple chat with a friend.” He smiles again, “Oh, the biscuits ran out, let me fetch some more, if you excuse me.”

He saunters to the door, leaving you alone in his office. You suddenly feel smaller when you realize where you are. Is it really okay for him to bring a stranger to such a place?

He even personally fetched snacks for you, as in the novel, he's used to doing things on his own. It's because he grew up to do so, because he's raised to be alone. 

But he never brought that up against anyone, instead he just considers it as a way of showing sincerity to those around him, personally attending to them and being ‘a friend’. These things about him make him such a warm character. You feel the worst for being distant to him.

You should've known that he probably never had anyone listen to his long-winded explanations about his antiques or just have a simple chat that doesn't involve royal politics. He's always been described in the novel as a free-spirited and cordial fellow after all.

But hopefully, he doesn't blame you for putting up walls. He was at the center of all in this novel, all the good and the bad. You just wanted to enjoy your stay here and go back home. You cannot risk being tied to him.

All these thoughts had you fiddling your necklace that's made with a rare pearl only found in the deepest parts of the sea. The thing is incredibly expensive. So when the pearl suddenly detaches from the chain, you pray Phainon takes longer and crawled to the floor to retrieve it.

You think you've hit an all-time high stress level when you feel a sharp pain in your palm. As you're skittering around the sofa, you manage to feel the pearl underneath it, what you didn't notice is the shard of glass sitting beside it.

It was too late when you felt it after unknowingly pressing down on it to catch the pearl. You sat back down on the sofa, carefully dropping it to your purse.

You held onto the glass shard though. The piece emanates a strange sheen to it, as if it's glowing.

Suddenly, the mirror flickers, a bright light reflects on it for a few seconds before disappearing.

No way… are all the mirrors in this world weird?

“Hey I'm back…?” You turned your head towards Phainon, who's carrying a plate of various biscuits and sweets. You hurriedly shove the shard in your purse too.

Phainon's stare darkens and you gulp. Shit did he see me crawling around in his office right after he trusted me to be left alone?

“Wait, so-”

“Your hand is bleeding, what happened?” Phainon quickly ran towards you. He set down the plate and pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pockets. He gently wiped the blood which you hadn't noticed, had trickled to your fingers. He also patted closer to the wound, which made you wince.

“Wait, my pendant fell and I went to retrieve it, but I must've pressed my hand on a sharp edge… thank you for wiping it, I didn't notice the blood.” You alter the story a bit, not wanting to alert him about you taking something from his home, even if it's a mere mirror shard.

“I see… there's a washroom down the hallway, let me bring you there.” He stops dabbing at the wound, he then helps you up, the worried look on his face now lightened.

★

If you hadn't known, you would've thought that Phainon's estate is the Palace itself.

What's supposed to be a simple walk into the washroom turned into sightseeing for you. The hallways are magnificent, something you thought you'd only see in movies. The interior of the entire place is entangled in gold. There's also sculptures and antiques, which you're guessing are a part of Phainon's collection.

The washroom is covered in dark blue, which makes the marble of the sink stand out. As you dip your hand into the basin, you unconsciously looked into the mirror and met with Phainon's stare.

“Your estate is magnificent, your hi- ah, Phainon.” You mentioned, trying to stave off the awkwardness of him staring like a hawk while you clean your wound.

“Hmm, family passed it down to me, gift from the emperor.” Phainon continues. His body leans to the doorway, eyes still in your hands.

“I see… Do you live alone? Sorry if it seems prying, but I haven't seen another soul ever since I got here.”

He lives alone. You think. In the novel, while Phainon is presented to be this outgoing boy, he actually leads a secluded life. He chose to live alone in an estate to distance himself from the palace. But it would be weird if you acted like you knew.

“No, it's not prying, and yeah, I live alone, quite lonely if you ask me.” He walked towards you when you finished, grabbing your hands and gently drying it with a wash towel. He then wraps your palm in thin gauze, the actions making your cheeks heat up.

“Apologies if it seems sloppy, I haven't really done this to anyone aside from myself.” He murmurs.

“No, no, it's fine! Thanks a lot, Phainon.”

The two of you walk back to his office, there's still biscuits to finish and stories to tell, after all.

★

[For all he could remember, he's always been alone.

A child born from a loveless marriage, only brought to this world to fight for a piece of embellished metal. There was a time when he had friends and such, but it's a time long gone as what's only left now is a hollow manor he calls his home.

It's a lonely gift, devoid of anyone who cares. It's a cage in a sense that what's only keeping him here is the promise of a crown. If he could, he would've left in a heartbeat, but all he ever built up will be left in waste too.

So you cannot blame his anguish when he found out that his hardships were only written for entertaining an otherworldly audience. That one fateful evening where his magic uncovered the reality of his sad, lonely world.

But there was someone.

Who kept flipping the pages of his story, the one who laughed when he did, cries when he does. Curiosity led to observation, and suddenly, he didn't seem too alone.

He kept track of you in the reflection of waters, in dreams, in mirrors. Sometimes your words would be heard in his head, sometimes you're like an apparition in his walls.

But all that's important to him is that you're his devoted reader. A dedicated audience to this woeful farce.

He saw the ending, the bloodshed in the throne room, the crown and the new reign. He laughs, because it was framed as a victory, it's ironic — because all the nights he wished he was just born an ordinary boy ultimately ends up with him being farther away from it.

He’s not going to stray away from it though, he doesn't think he can, he's too deep to ever go back up. But he's still a lonely man, so when his magic finally transcends barriers, he couldn't help but ask you a question.

“Are you willing to do that for me?”

Your agreement is all that mattered, as he's hurriedly scribbling in the tattered book he found somewhere. The book lists itself as ‘The Era Nova’, but Phainon did not care about what anomaly made him aware of the universe’s truth, all he could care about is your new identity written in frantic scribbles.

Your soul feels nice. It's the only thing he could come up with when you came to him. It's like you truly loved him.

It's dark in his office. He couldn't believe a few hours ago you sat within the same room. He thanks the assassin sprawled out dead in the dungeons of this estate, his foolish plots gave him a reason to bring you here.

And a reason for you to save him, to show him you truly care for him. The handkerchief in his nose smells of faint iron. He could only apologize in his head for leaving you to hurt.

But he hopes you'd understand a desperate man’s attempt of making his predetermined ending feel better.]

★

You made it this time.

This time, you didn't whine about the academy's preference of stairs, instead you ran as fast as you could to a laboratory, in hand a broken piece of mirror. Your mind being more focused on the questions that lingered after your discovery at Phainon’s estate probably helped in obscuring the effects of running up at around five floors (to your estimation, at least). 

When you reached the metal doors of the lab, you didn’t even knock, you only barged in, meeting the gazes of the pink-haired scholar who helped you last time and her so-called professor who’s sporting a peculiar eyepatch. The man did not seem to mind though, as he only sighed and mouthed a ‘told ya’ to his student. The said student only awkwardly smiled and ushered you further inside the room.

“When my dear student told me about your small predicament last time, it honestly piqued my interest. I had always heard of theories about portals and such, but this is my first time actually hearing about it as an experience rather than a hypothesis. Well then, I presume what’s in your hand is the experiment sample then?” The professor with the dead stare did not even spare that to you, his eyes are only trained towards the shard that’s nearly piercing through your skin.

“Don’t mind his bluntness, my teacher is a reliable scholar first and foremost, you can entrust him with studying about this seriously, especially since he’s very interested in it. I will also be sharing the progress transparently, so don’t worry. Now, if you don’t mind, you can loosen up your grip on that broken glass, it might pierce you…again.” The scholar’s eyes trail on your bandaged hand, her gentle words made you drop the mirror into the table, your fingers pushing it towards the professor.

“If my deductions are on the right track, alchemy might be able to replicate this kind of glass. If you would give me time to construct, I’ll be sure to leave your name into the papers I will produce about this. Hehe, imagine the looks on those fools’ faces once they realize that I am, once again, correct.” He muttered, attention now more focused on assessing the shard rather than in your conversation, with that in mind, you relent from asking further questions and just trusting their words.

“If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Thank you for this new knowledge, kind lady.” The pink-haired scholar assures you, escorting you out of the room, it’s probably because her mentor’s starting to open five cabinets at once now. Yeah, I’ll leave that guy alone too.

“If all of these end up right and the mirror or whatever portal is made, please give me a chance to use it.”

“Of course! I thought I’ll have to drag some poor scholar down or myself in that but it’s nice to know that someone is willing to play guinea pig in this experiment.” A voice from the inside suddenly rings out.

The two of you outside the door chuckled at that.

★

Just like in the real world, learning facilities at nighttime are eerily quiet and give off a strange chill the longer you stay.

The leaves surrounding the grove are rustling along the wind’s howls. You’re starting to regret your decision of not waiting until tomorrow morning to visit. You couldn’t blame yourself though, it was the closest lead you had to going back home, but running here at nightfall wasn’t the brightest idea you had for the day.

All the scholars are probably within their dormitories now or have already gone home. The likes of that professor are stuck within the highest floors that contain their laboratories. 

If anything were to happen, nobody will be fast enough to get you out.

What the hell? Shut up. You reprimanded your unnecessary thoughts. In fact, you need to tackle a few questions that are plaguing your mind first.

Why did Phainon have this kind of item, a broken one at that, just littered on his floors. Wasn’t he a bit fussy of his collection in the novel? Why wouldn’t he notice if one of them is broken?

More popped up in your mind, unfortunately, it’s all questions and no answers.

If I’m correct, this glass belongs to that mirror he gifted me. But it’s intact, is this from another item? Another magic portal item or something?

Then, the scholar’s words rang loud and clear; “It's tampered.” 

Did Phainon…break the mirror? Did he restore it because he was too embarrassed? Or was he someone who doesn't mind alterations on his antiques?

A stupid sounding thought broke out at the back of your mind.

Did he break it because he knew something was up?

Suddenly, a breeze passes by your shoulders. At first. At first it was only a breeze, but when you looked to your side, you suddenly felt something on the other. A fabric, just brushing close enough to feel in your skin but light enough to make you question if it's real.

But now you're sure it's real, because a few moments you hear pieces of metal clanging. You looked in front of you, and just like those apparitions in horror movies, there's a figure at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

A tall figure, donned in a black cloak and armored in swirling metal plates. A mask sits inside its hood. Its fingers covered in plated claws and its chest appear to be hollow.

He looks familiar.

You stop in your tracks, senses on high-alert. He's probably the one who brushed past you and if that's correct, then he's extremely fast. No use in outrunning him then, better just keep an eye out on his movements or sources of help.

The figure also stops and stares at you. Your stand-off lasted for a short while until it tilted its head,

And waved.

At least that's what you think it did before it suddenly vanished before your eyes, nowhere to be seen or felt again.

★

Phainon has developed a habit of sending you random letters and various trinkets he got from his travels.

He also loves to initiate meetings and tea times with you. At first, you're happy to attend each and every one of them, but as time goes on, you start to question his fondness for inviting you at least every other day. 

Not that you doubt him, at least not too much — you knew his tendencies to latch on to things due to his upbringing, but you can't help but question his true motives when he just invades your personal time as if you're not an acquaintance he just met recently.

You learned to decline his invitations. You really liked his character, but you're unsure of whether you can handle being involved with him as a person. He's on his way to becoming the ruler of this vast kingdom and you're supposed to be on your way home, so not much should happen.

The invitations thinned out, albeit gradually. He still sends a lot of trinkets — such as small woodworks of cute animals and magic lamps, which are now starting to pile up on your work desk, but the letters and requests to meet do not overflow from the holder anymore. He appears to have gotten the message.

You want to go home. Sure, you loved this place and the magic it has, but the gnawing anxiety of the life you left back there is haunting your days here. If you're going to get yourself thrown into another world, you want to at least make amends in your previous one.

Speaking of going home, you're currently staring at a letter. The pale green envelope stares back, proudly displaying the logo of the academy on its seal. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever the results will show.

Greetings, My Lady

I’m pleased to inform you that I was able to recreate the material you brought here last time. It was truly a magnificent experience…

The light in your eyes sparkled. I can finally go home. Your cheeks hurt grinning. You looked up to your ceiling, mentally saying farewells to the place that took you into this world.

You continue reading.

“...but unfortunately, a huge accident happened within the academy. A cloaked assailant sneaked within the grove and hurt a few scholars, aside from that, it seemed to be targeting this specific experiment. I saw with my own eyes how it shattered the mirror, almost pulverizing it. I was able to retrieve a few samples and escape but I am not sure if I'll be able to recreate it as fast…”

Now, this is why they say never celebrate too early. Disappointment eats you up, causing you to just chuck the letter away. Not time for farewells yet, you suppose.

But one thing caught your attention. Cloaked figure. That night, you also saw a figure with a similar description.

Black…cloak?

Phainon.

Many scenes of the novel involve Phainon disguising himself in a black cloak. When he assassinated the other royalty in that throne room, he was wearing a black cloak.

“Shit, why didn't I remember that sooner?” You uttered, almost inaudibly. You've been focused on going the past few days that you have forgotten the details of the novel. 

Phainon might just be the reason you're failing your attempts at returning home, and you just let yourself be too involved with him.

★

Lately, instead of you, only letters of your declines have been reaching his doors.

Phainon is growing frustrated at the replies he received. Just as when he thought the two of you were getting closer, you just had to start distancing yourself.

Did you find out something?

He laughs sardonically, his hands covering his right eye that's now turning golden due to the sudden influx of magic. He looks down at his table, the paper now ruined, too much ink seeped into it. Of course you denied it again, and somehow managed to send it to him as he's writing another invite.

He can feel it, your soul wavering. When he first brought you here, all he felt was pure amazement and curiosity from you, but now he can feel doubts and fatigue too.

“Can't you… just- ah.” He slumps his head, turning towards the small figurine he carved earlier. It's a figure of two lovebirds, perched on a small throne while nuzzling each other. Both of them were wearing a tiny crown on their heads.

Really, he tried carving your likeness more times than he'd like to admit, but there's something about you that makes it so hard for him to be satisfied with just carvings. Whatever he makes doesn't live up to his image of you in his head — feels fake, feels cold. So he just opts to present your likeness as animals and things he's fond of.

Nowadays, Phainon has been fantasizing about you joining him on his journey.

So when he felt your soul trying to break free from this world, he couldn't help but silently beg you to stay and not leave him to be alone in this world again.

★

Please, be my partner. There is an upcoming ball to the palace, you're the only one I can trust.

You never expected such a heavy statement coming from him, especially not after you just tried to keep him at an arm's length. You've even reached a point of telling him off. There was stirring conflict within you, Phainon clearly appears to be invested in your friendship, but at the same time, you're uncertain of what kind of plot he'll bring into your already bizarre situation.

However, if you keep declining him time and time again, it'll appear unusual. The two of you started on good terms, suddenly abandoning him could be seen as rude and might just make him ask more questions.

And frankly, you're running out of believable reasons for declining him.

So you push yourself up and ask the maids for help. You'll humor him this time, maybe even get to ask him why he's so dead set on sticking close to you.

★

The carriage ride to the palace is a peaceful little thing.

You looked out to the town square, the awe of being in another still hints at you, but you've gotten used to the sights by now. All your attempts at steering away from the plot ironically ended up with you driving right through the center of it.

Everything with the palace screams imposing, it's a marvelous place, but it does a good job of making you feel small. Luckily, not a lot of guards are stationed to stare down at your minute existence. But the few ones who were are staring at you oddly.

You went through normal procedures and you're escorted to the grand doors. It's closed. 

On your way here, there have been a multitude of red flags raising left and right. Firstly, it's quiet, not a single peep, not befitting of such a proud place. And for all the palace’s vanity, there's no other visitors of the same caliber, in fact there's no other visitors at all.

There was no ball.

That's your final observation. You don't know what you did so, so wrong in your stay here, but Phainon has reached a new point where he straight up lies to get your attention now.

What was so important about meeting you? When all he talks about when the two of you have your little tea parties are idle topics not worth making a palace this grand deserted.

The guards opened the door, and you're right, it's absolutely empty. There's supposed to be an option to go back, but the men outside had conveniently closed it off before you could say anything.

He really, really wants to talk, huh?

You march down deeper into the building, hoping that guesswork and acquired knowledge from the novel could bring you towards the prince’s quarters.

But before you could even reach the third set of winding hallways, you heard a loud scream coming from the central part of the floor. You froze, cold sweat forming in your temples. No, it couldn't be today right? Your heart pounds loudly, you can feel the beating in your ears.

Too early, it's years too early.

Phainon ascending to the throne couldn't be today, hell, it couldn't be this year. Because he's not yet prepared. He bought support from various kingdoms before the ascension, it's an integral part of the novel’s worldbuilding. From what you've heard from him, he only traveled within Okhema the past months.

So it shouldn't be today right?

One scream, two screams. Screams interrupted your silent denial of what's happening. There's too many, and it just got louder after the sound of a door being thrown open boomed.

I need to get out. 

You tried navigating the hallways, hunching down when the screams got louder. It died down soon though, and you managed to find yourself in an open area that looked similar to the lobby you went in from.

It's not the same lobby though.

“Going to decline my invitation again?” A voice suddenly emerges from behind. You turn towards it and you see Phainon, holding a bloody greatsword and wearing an uncanny grin on his face.

Oh his face. It's a shame that his beautiful face is so fucking bloody right now. It's dripping, some clinging to his white hair. And his white regalia — might as well be red, with how drenched it is in blood.

The scarier part is that none of it is probably his blood. He's unscathed against this many royals, they didn't stand a single chance.

So not a chance you would. He makes way towards you, you can only step back mere centimeters before finally freezing up. He stops when he's close to your form, the smell of iron almost suffocating you.

He leans down, “You're going to leave me again, aren't you?”

“What…?”

“The people you're so afraid of ruining your life, these stupid royals, I killed them all, so you don't have to be afraid.”

“How did you… fuck, you're insane-” Your words are caught in your throat when Phainon suddenly grabs you and carries you in his shoulders. You tried hitting his back, but he only holds your waist tighter and snicker at your feeble attempts of breaking free.

He walks past the dead bodies of what used to be royals. You remember the scene from the novel, the fallen figures. You only tear up, your hands fall limp, refusing to hold onto Phainon's damp attire, lest you want to squeeze out royal blood from it.

“All of these blood flowing out of them and converging into one, this might just be the purest form of the royal blood they keep prattling about!” He suddenly mentions in passing, you feel his shoulders shake from laughter.

You shuddered.

You reach the throne room, which aside from the throne, just contains multiple portraits and statues. And the bodies of the people behind those, probably.

He settles you down the grandiose throne. It feels foreign, the velvet clings to your skin, while the metal feels too cold for comfort. He kneels down, arms clamped to your waist as he leans his head down on your thighs.

“Phainon.”

“Can you say my name again?” He looks up, putting his palm on your thigh and setting his chin on top of it, his manic, golden eyes just laser-focused on yours. The color just pops out more in contrast to the red around it.

“Why are you doing this?” You didn't entertain his request, which put a slight pout on his face. He removes his head on your thighs and lifts you up again, earning a yelp from you. He then settles down to the throne and places you on his lap, his arms locking you close to his chest.

“You said, that if I needed a princess by my side, you'd be willing to take that place,” Phainon whispers, now putting his chin up on your shoulders, his head slightly leaning towards yours.

Your eyes widened, “All this time, you're aware-”

“I am. What I didn't expect was you finding those anomalous portals fast, I tried breaking them all but they kept reappearing.” He sighs, sulking a bit.

That's why. That's why he seems so relaxed about you forgetting his titles, that's why he treats you as if you're not used to the customs of Okhema, your supposed birthplace.

Because it's him that plunged you right into this world.

“What I also didn't expect is that after all your declarations that you love me and that I am your favorite, the first thing you do is to try and leave me.” He continues.

Phainon made it a point to bring you entirely here, and not just stuff your soul on some poor extra. He altered the story not for himself, but to drag you along with him into this world.

“I am not from here, Phainon, and that was clear as day to you. I have a life back there! And the love I had for you, it's because you're a character I loved reading about-”

“What I had for you was real!” Phainon suddenly exclaims, he flips your positions, hands on your shoulders as he pushes your form to the throne’s backrest. “I've always observed you, you always appear to me when I feel so down. I've known you longer than you think!”

You're speechless. He can see you? All this time.

“You love me, don't you? So why leave?” Phainon leans his forehead on your shoulders. He's now straddling you, which makes it harder to move and the smell of blood more nauseating. 

He lifts his head up, bringing his face close in front of yours, “Well it's not like you can, because yeah, it was me. All of it was me. The hand mirror? I broke it. The scholars, I just gave them a little scare. I did it all, for you… so you can't leave, not after you said you love me.” 

“I don't-” He interrupts you.

“I will kill you.” 

If there's still anxiety and fear left pent up within, it finally spilled out now. Your breath hitched at his statement, your entire body tensing up.

“My power grew to the point where I found out some… things. Did you know that if you leave your other body for too long, it'll cease to- hm, operate?” Phainon caresses your face before continuing, “If your body died there, then you'll have nothing to return to right?”

“I'm not going to kill you here, I’m killing you there, so that you'll be able to live here.”

“You're sick… You're the fucking worst, what did I ever do to you.” You broke down. Phainon responded by cradling your form and running his fingers in your hair.

“Nothing, you don't have to do anything. It's because I love you. Ah! I almost forgot,” He suddenly reaches out under his vest. He pulls out a blue velvet box and hands it to you.

His stare is expectant, so you opened the box, inside was a wooden figurine of two birds, perched on a throne that looks like the one the two of you are sitting in. You hate it. Not because it's badly made, no, actually the opposite — it's such a chillingly accurate representation of the scene you're currently in right now.

You hate what it's insinuating, you'd love to deny it, but underneath the figurine is a ring, a silver band, with a blue and yellow gem opposite of one another. The blue gem is enclosed in a moon, while the yellow one is within a sun.

Stop denying it, it's no use.

“I learned it from a jeweler who’s been working here since I was a child,” Phainon loosens his hold. He gently puts the ring on your finger. On his own is an identical one.

And as if noticing that something is missing when compared to the bird figurine, Phainon leans down and plucks something off of the floor on the throne's side. He grips the armrests as he does, caging you in, but his lowered form gives you a clearer picture of the bloodbath in the room. Gold and blues all intermingled with red.

Phainon straightens his posture again, in his hand are crowns. Two crowns.

You feel cold metal on the top of your head, in front of you Phainon also puts a crown on his. He smiles at you, so sweetly, before leaning down and sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.

That fateful day, the two of you are crowned Emperor and Empress of the kingdom.

Phainon had ascended the throne, this time, he isn't alone.

[The end.]

[seraph's note]: AWOOOOOOGH PHAINON. i am utterly devastated with 3.4 but at least brought the peak gameplay and character of my GOAT phainon. i've been enjoying on bringing him to just about any available content in-game lol.

this took waaaaaay longer than it should, i was supposed to upload it on the day i got him but i got writer's block lol. if it wasn't obvious, this is heavily based off of those isekai manhwas (that i will always eat up despite having almost the same plot everytime). the delay hopefully paid off as i channeled my inner yap god to this 11k word piece lmao. thx for reading if you managed to get to the end, love you for that, mwah.

want more? check out the [database.] for other content!

Cerydra

She just. Keeps you. Cerydra is the Imperator, her word is law; nobody's going to stop her when she orders you to be chained up and imprisoned in the room directly next to hers. So what if you hate her at the moment, so what if you feel betrayed?? She owns you now!!! She could have you executed if she wanted to, but she thinks you're far too precious to die. Since she cares for you, she's willing to hear out any requests you may have (aside from asking to be unchained). You want to go on a walk? Sure, but she'll have you on a diamond encrusted leash the entire time. You want to talk to your friends? Of course!! However, Cerydra will have Hysilens stand guard at the door the entire time just in case you get any grand ideas of being rescued.

She'll make an effort to spend more time with you so you can get used to the situation quickly; usually, she'll bring some tea and a chessboard to your room to play with you (or Hyselins if you refuse to indulge her). She lets you scream and cry and curse her name as much as you want when she's there; it's better to get it all out of your system in the early days, after all. There are punishments when you misbehave, of course, but they're rather light compared to what you know she could do if she really wanted to hurt you. Mostly, it's just non-fatal sparring with Hysilens until you're too bruised and cut up to move anymore. If you complain even after that, Cerydra says that you're just lucky she doesn't tell you to fight herself.

Hysilens

I think the first person to realize that Hysilens is a yandere is actually Cerydra. Not even Hysilens herself notices when her thoughts become obsessive, and her constant attention towards you starts to border on stalking. Cerydra would be concerned if it weren't so endearing seeing Hysilens (usually someone who enjoys her solitude) follow you around with the most gentle, adoring expression on her face. You would have to be very oblivious to not notice she's started following you like a puppy.. Though she thinks it's a little amusing if you don't realize she's pining for you. (In her head, it's obvious. Who else aside from the Imperator has she ever trailed after with such devotion???) Eventually, Cerydra gets tired of seeing her Knight Commander so distracted, so she offers you to Hysilens as a gift!! No, you can't refuse. :D

Hysilens is hesitant to accept at first; she doesn't want you to hate her. :( You're so cute, and she wants you to enjoy spending time with her! :( Eventually, though, her desire to see you every morning when she wakes up wins out against her respect for your autonomy. She doesn't chain you up despite the Imperator's insistence, instead opting to put a collar on you, with one of her scales as a charm so that everyone knows you are her beloved!!! You are off limits. Anybody who tries to take you away from her will be executed on the spot. You're free to go wherever you like during the day, but please don't try to run away! Hysilens will find you no matter where you go, and she really really doesn't want to confine you to her room for an extended period of time. You want to keep your freedom, don't you?

Dan Heng - Permansor Terrae

He feels like a gross freak for obsessing over you the way he does, but he won't even try to distance himself from you despite his feelings. It's simply impossible; Dan Heng thinks he'd surely splinter into a million pieces if he parted from you for even a second. His newfound beastlike instincts make him a hundred times more territorial and protective as well, he'll grumble at anybody that gets too close to you and is not above using his newly acquired height to intimidate others into leaving you alone. If you comment on his behavior, Dan Heng will simply say that he sensed something off about the person who he scared away. You really didn't notice? They definitely had ill intentions. Just trust him when he says he's trying to protect you, because in a way, he is. Not even HE'S sure what he'd do if you tried to tell him off for isolating you (he'd bite you. A lot.. and very hard), so better safe than sorry, right?

Aside from that, though, he's pretty chill for a yandere!!! If you can ignore him building you a nest in your bedroom, waking you up in the middle of the night to show you the pretty blue bird eggs he found in a nest near your house, and trailing after you like a giant puppy at all times. Oh, and keeping you wrapped up in the coils of his tail whenever he gets jealous of your mutual friends.. :/ He also manages to sneak certain items of his into the pockets of your clothes. Nothing he'll miss! Just a broken off piece of his horn, a scale from his tail.. Consider them tokens of his affection if you find them. Maybe turn them into earrings or charms for a necklace! He'd love that! Don't throw them away. If you throw them away, he will have to keep tearing off scales and breaking sections of his horns to give you until you accept them. <3

Evernight

Evernight is the kind of yandere that is very pushy and flirtatious in her own way (her definition of flirting consists of saying cryptic things and getting as close as physically possible to you), hoping that you'll “get the hint” that she's into you. She does think it's kind of precious if you don't realize you've caught her attention, but it's also a little annoying; how is she going to convince you to stay with her for all time if you don't even realize that she WANTS THAT?? She's patient in most things, but not in this. If you don't accept/acknowledge her adoration quickly enough for her liking, she'll be forced to take drastic measures. (She is going to kidnap you.)

Phainon

If you've played Binary Star Hero, Phainon's quite similar to Binary Star in the type of yandere he becomes. I believe that his affections start out innocently enough– A simple curiosity about you, an innocent desire to meet ‐and exceed- your every expectation of him.. Then he starts getting to know you, really know you. You don't treat him like anybody else– he's not the “Deliverer” to you, he's not Amphoreus’ savior to you, he's just… Phainon. It's such a relief to be seen as normal, as human, that Phai can't help but become greedy. Suddenly, he's running into you (coincidence, he says) every other day, spending hours simply enjoying your presence.

Calling him out on his clinging only rewards you with the sweetest of puppy eyes and an apologetic smile (or a pout, if he's feeling extra devious). He'll say “Ah, I'm sorry.. I guess I've just gotten a little attached to you. Talking to you gives me such a boost before every fight!” But the thing is– Phainon has been going out to battle less and less since meeting you, and when it comes to keeping the black tide at bay, you're the one he runs to protect first; it's subtle, but the shift in his attitude is clear: Phainon is beginning to prioritize your life over anyone else's, and people are starting to get badly hurt because of it. You know his behavior will only escalate if it goes unchecked, but… Can you really bring yourself to stop spoiling him? Say no say no say no

Castorice

She's terribly shy for a yandere, and also very dangerous to boot. Since she can't touch you (can't hold your hand stroke your face kiss your hair what is she even living for anymore), her yearning has amped up by a thousandfold, and that manifests in her following you nearly everywhere you go. You'd have to be very airheaded not to notice the wilting flowers and little moths that flit about when she's near, but what can you really do? Cas hasn't harmed anyone that you're aware of, and she's kept a respectable distance from you. Perhaps she's just concerned about your health and is simply keeping an eye on you from afar.. You try to rationalize her presence because there's really nothing else that makes sense to you.

You think that she goes home at the end of the day, but unbeknownst to you, she stays nearby long after you've gone to bed. Usually Cas is content to simply keep watch in front of your home, an angelic figure standing guard until she's too weary to remain, but sometimes… Sometimes, when you turn over in bed, half awake just for a second, you catch sight of glowing lilac eyes peering at you through a window that you can't recall having left open. Every morning when you wake up, though, the window is firmly shut, and Cas is barely arriving to begin her daily watchdog duties. Huh.. Must've been a dream.

Anaxagoras

The closest you'll get to a traditional yandere, I think. He's very manipulative and underhanded, and he isn't afraid to dispose of some nosy coworkers if they try to interfere with his plans. Most of all, he truly does not feel like he's in the wrong when it comes to wanting you as much as he does, even though he knows his feelings are completely beyond reason. He has no rational explanation for why you captivate him so, and that in itself is what makes him want to study you up close. Despite Anaxa really wanting to keep you with him, he'd prefer if you decided to move in/get closer to him of your own volition. If he has no other option however, he is not above poisoning you or causing an accident in his lab that renders you bedridden (though he'd prefer not to leave lasting damage); Anaxa will do anything for you.

Is it love? If love is wanting to keep you in his quarters so that he can poke and prod at you (whilst caressing your face and giving you little kisses every now and then as a reward for behaving), then yes!! Anaxa loves you. You are so cute and so stupid, and for the first time ever, he finds that endearing instead of annoying. He's not going to completely isolate you of course, that would be cruel of him!! You can go take walks with Hyacine, and Castorice and Mydei will come talk to you every now and again. That should be enough socializing for you, right??? Right. You'll learn to be happy in your situation, don't worry.

Cipher

Cipher will be the first to tell you that you really should've seen this coming. She's a selfish girl at heart, and she wants all of the shiniest things for herself just so she can hide them away from the people who are unworthy of owning them.. Of course, that would also extend to the one true friend she's managed to make in all her years of wandering. It's your fault you didn't see the signs of her obsession, so you can't cry now that you're caged like a bird in her treasure hoard. 3:< No use waiting it out for a search party, either; nobody's coming to save you. They all think you're dead. She told them you were dead.

It was simple enough, really: Staging an attack on you by luring a black tide monster in your direction while you were just outside of Okhema's gates. Nobody saw what happened (though the guards DID hear you scream); you were just out of sight, and Cipher really had no trouble in killing the monster and subduing you. Hurting you was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to cut you deep enough to get a significant amount of your blood on her clothing. 3: Please forgive her!! After that, all it took were a few crocodile tears and half-truth confessions of “I never got to tell them I was in love with them"’s for everyone in Okhema to believe her. Now here you are, and here she is. Might as well get used to her face since she's the only other person you'll be seeing for a long, long time!

Cyrene

Sweetheart! Angel! Has never killed anyone that you would remember made you uncomfortable ever! Cyrene is very patient and gentle with you– Scaring you off wouldn't exactly be beneficial to her, would it? She can't just brute force you into staying with her forever. She's got her reputation as a delicate and super cute girl to think about. She really is very sweet, though.. Almost to the point of overwhelm. She visits you every day, usually with a gift in hand and a new flower in her hair every time (you must compliment her or she'll pout profusely). She's also a shameless flirt, constantly teasing you and refusing to correct anyone who assumes you're in a romantic relationship.

A friend of yours had brought you along, told you not to judge the house by its cover, and swore to you that last time she’d been there, it had been the wildest scene she’d ever witnessed. 

You don’t remember half of it—someone must have spiked the punch or something, you’re not sure. You only know that you’d lost her at some point and had started wandering around aimlessly in the search when you’d been rather taken by the tall, dark, and handsome stranger standing by the wall, red cup in hand, overlooking the party like he was the great Gatsby himself.

And turns out, he was.

You figured he’d be no different from any other frat boy who didn’t care for school, but enrolled seemingly just for the fuck of it. And yet, despite having never once seen him show up for lectures, talking to him, you realized he was anything but the goof-off you’d thought he was. No, rather the opposite, he might have been one of the most well-read and reflective people your age you’d ever met. In fact, something about the way he spoke sometimes even made you feel as though he wasn’t your age at all.

He was charming as well, talking to you all night, eyeing you with dark eyes that nearly looked obsidian. You might have come across as a little forward when you kissed him, for which you blame the drink, but be it that or something else about him, a feeling consumed your body and in the spur of the moment, had made you feel compelled to grab him and lock lips.

He hadn’t discouraged you, not in the moment, and not in the morning after either, sleeping in with you in his arms until the day was gone before you ever got up and out of bed.

One thing leads to another, and you end up dating.

He’s a bit of a weirdo, though. Gone all day long—he tells you he’s just at work, but you’re not entirely sure where, or why he wouldn’t come to school instead, but every time you bring the subject up he proceeds to give you a whole speech about how school is only a concept and how even though it’s portrayed as one of the cornerstones of society, it really is just another place for humans to gather. 

You don’t bother listening to much when he gets like that, and so you’ve accepted that school just isn’t for him. You just wish he’d take a day off on the weekends, but every time you bring that up, he only tells you that he doesn’t want to lose his job by becoming too lazy. So, you’re just going to have to accept that the daytime is reserved.

You figure it’s those types of couple troubles that will fix themselves over time. Thinking you can forgive it for now, because even though you dont see him in the day, nighttime is all yours.

You’re in the thick of October, and Hollywood’s been waiting to pump out Halloween movies all year long. It’s his favorite genre, and so you’ve been to the cinema every day this week, catching every single one—good or bad, both psychological and gory.

It gets him horny, you’ve noticed—always so handsy with you when you get home—kissing you silly at once when you’re through the door, tussling with you through the hallways while he shifts between undressing you and himself. It leaves a mess on the floors—a trail of gloves, scarves, hats, jackets, sweaters, and more, until you’re only in underwear, straddling his lap on the velvet couch.

You can never understand how he’s so old to the touch even under all those layers, the poor guy, but you don’t mind warming him up for him even though his hands give you chills in more ways than one as they snake around your waist to unclasp your bra. You giggle against his lips, smiling from ear to ear while you return the favor and unbutton his slacks. He returns it with a lazier grin, beholding you with eyes of adoration as he picks you up around his waist in a brief stance in order to drop his pants before sitting back down.

Your flimsy string panties are gone in the next moment, stretched until the lace got torn and thrown to the floor. His kisses move downwards then, mouthing at your with his tongue. His hands on your hips, pushing you to grind down against his tented boxers, groaning at the sensation while nibbling the fine skin at his disposal.

“That tickles!” you shriek with another giggle, heart fluttering and lower belly sweet and dripping like honey suckle, eager for that big hard thing kept hidden beneath the fabric seperating you, now wet with your arousal.

He’s always marking you up like an angsty first-love, giving you a choker worth of bruises. Sucking so hard sometimes it stings. Only this time, it’s something else causing the pain.

“Ouch! Not so hard–” You jerk back, two hands shoving his chest away before clutching your neck where his teeth had just broke skin. You wince, but it’s not too bad. Still, though, as you let go of the wound to inspect your hand, there’s no doubt about it. 

“Shit. I’m bleeding.”

It’s dark outside, and he never keeps any lights on inside the house for some odd reason. Still, the moonlight makes it just bright enough for you to spot the red sheen on your fingertips.

“I should probably go clean—” you start, but looking up at his face has the words all seize in your throat, replaced by new ones, “Wah—what the fuck!” You jump out of his lap and scurry backward. Frightened the moment you blink, and even more so when you open your eyes again, knowing they’re not betraying you.

No… staring back at you, is your boyfriend, only… his eyes are glowing red.

“What the—” Your breath picks up panic as you continue backing up—the punctures on your neck nearly forgotten, even as you feel a thin warm trail run thick and slow down your chest.

“Ah…” he says, standing up—somehow taller now, plunging the room into an even murkier darkness. “You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“What?” Head spinning and blank at the same time, unable to string together a thought, as all focus was usurped by something else—something more pressing in the pit of your stomach, burning throughout your chest—something that made you unable to look away, but also kept making your feet shuffle backwards.

“I hadn’t decided yet… if I was gonna be merciful and allow you to leave, or if I was gonna be selfish.” He walks after you equally slow, like he’s stalking you, bringing the shadows with him as if all light fled at his presence.

You shake your head, shivers in your throat. “I don’t understand–”

“Of course you do,” he negates with a chuckle. “We’ve watched all the movies together—though I can’t say they’re all that accurate, they do paint a good picture.”

He smiles then, widely, letting you see them—two long fangs, red-tipped with your blood.

Your heart stutters, nearly stops dead in your chest. Oh my god… he’s going to kill you. And as the first coherent thought you’ve been able to put together in the last minute, you heed it without hesitation, whipping around and running away.

“Don’t do that—I might be somewhat of a monster, but I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice is closer in the next second, and you find yourself in a different spot than where you’d just been, now on the floor, disoriented and slightly dizzy, looking up into the same pair of glowing red eyes you’d just been running away from.

“Or well… that’s not really true anymore.”

His hand has your wrists pinned above your head. When you try to pull them free it feels no different from fighting against iron—cold, hard, and unshakable. He leans down closer as you continue the struggle with eyes terror-wide, whimpering as his other hand appears at your chin, holding it in a steady grip.

“Worse than just hurt you, I’m going to kill you, baby,” he murmurs, as if confessing his love for you for the first time with a chaste kiss to the tears on your cheek, before moving down towards the blood on your neck again. 

“But don’t worry. It’s all gonna be alright. You’re gonna wake up again.”

♡ BNHA – Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ WB – Suo ♡ SD – Slur, Gaku