mushroovie

When you found her, she was standing at the edge of a dying planet, its atmosphere burning into pale blue smoke.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly. Her voice didn’t sound like her. It was softer now — like the sound of a wish breaking.

“I came to find you,” you answered, stepping closer. “Because everyone else is too afraid.”

She didn’t look at you. “They should be.”

But when you did come closer — close enough for her shadow to mix with yours — she didn’t pull away.

“Why?” you asked. “Why are you doing this?”

Rosalina finally turned. The emptiness in her gaze was terrible and beautiful all at once. “Because I was forgotten,” she said. “Because I spent centuries watching over them, and when I needed them… they prayed to other stars.”

Her words hit harder than you expected. It wasn’t power that had driven her to this — it was heartbreak.

“Rosalina,” you whispered, “you don’t have to destroy everything to be remembered.”

Something flickered in her eyes — the faintest hint of the warmth you knew. “And if I stop?” she asked. “If I let this all go, what will I be then?”

You took a shaky breath. “You’ll still be the woman who taught the stars how to sing.”

For a moment, the world around you changed — the burning sky seemed to soften, the dying planet pausing in its destruction as if it were listening.

Rosalina’s lips parted, a small breath escaping her, like a sigh of something between relief and sorrow.

“Do you really think I can still be that?”

“I don’t think,” you said, stepping closer until her cold aura felt warm again, “I know.”

Her hand hovered near yours — trembling. When she finally touched you, the stars above flared to life again, as if they’d been waiting for her to remember herself.

Right now, the living room was full of laughter, the sound of a Mario Kart match blaring from the TV. Daisy was shouting at the screen, barefoot and competitive, while Rosalina sat cross-legged on the couch, pretending to be unbothered as she quietly dominated every race.

“You’re cheating,” Daisy accused. Rosalina smirked without looking up. “Just skilled.”

Peach giggled from the kitchen, where she was blending strawberry smoothies. “You two act like this isn’t every Friday night.”

You sat at the counter, watching her. She wore a cropped heart tee and jeans with little sparkly charms hanging from her belt loop — casual, but somehow, she looked runway-ready.

“Peach, this is your third blender today,” you teased as the machine roared to life.

She shrugged, hair bouncing. “The first one burned out, the second one exploded,” she said, cheerfully handing you a smoothie topped with whipped cream. “Third time’s the charm!”

Toadette popped up from behind the couch, holding a polaroid camera. “Group picture time!”

Daisy groaned but still dragged everyone into frame. Peach looped an arm around your shoulders, her perfume sweet and dizzying, and grinned as the flash went off.

Later, after the games and chaos settled, Peach sat next to you on the balcony, legs tucked under her. The city glowed below like a thousand tiny stars.

“Y’know,” she murmured, sipping from her smoothie, “I think I like this world better. Less castles, more coffee shops.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah. And the princess still wins every race.”

“Something on your mind?” she asked, a playful curve in her tone. Her hair shimmered like starlight, and the soft glow from the window framed her like she belonged to another world entirely.

You swallowed, trying not to stare at the way her lips caught the light. “Just… wondering how someone can look like that while doing nothing.”

Her laugh was low and warm. “Flattery will get you far, starlight.”

You blinked. “Starlight?”

“Mhm.” She stepped closer, her fingers brushing your sleeve like it was an accident. “You look at me the way the stars look at the sky. Like you can’t help it.”

Your pulse skipped. “Maybe I can’t.”

Rosalina tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something soft but deliberate. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t move too far away.”

She stood close enough that her perfume — something floral and cosmic — curled around you. The air felt charged, like right before a storm.

Her fingers traced a single line down your arm. “Careful,” she murmured, “keep looking at me like that, and I might think you want to orbit a little closer.”

You smiled, quietly breathless. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

Her hand lingered, resting over your wrist — just enough pressure to make your heart stumble. Rosalina’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back up again, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Then come closer,” she whispered, “and see if gravity feels the same both ways.”

You were halfway through typing an email when you caught sight of her reflection in your laptop screen: red lipstick, silk blouse, and that lazy smirk that meant she’d already noticed you noticing her.

“Working hard, sweetheart?” she purred, leaning against the doorway. Her perfume hit you next — warm, rich, and impossible to ignore.

You sighed, pretending to stay focused. “Trying to. But someone keeps walking around like a walking distraction.”

“Oh?” Her heels clicked softly as she crossed the room. “You saying I’m distracting?”

You looked up — and yeah, there it was. That look. The one that could make your pulse trip over itself.

“Completely,” you murmured.

Pauline smiled, low and slow. “Good. I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.” She perched on the edge of your desk, her knee brushing your thigh, close enough that the air between you started to feel charged.

You swallowed. “You know, some people use coffee to wake up.”

“I prefer,” she said, voice dipping like velvet, “to be someone’s caffeine.”

You laughed — breathless — and she grinned, satisfied, before reaching down to straighten your collar.

“Now,” Pauline whispered, fingers ghosting under your jaw, “finish your work. Then maybe I’ll reward you for being so diligent.”