𝕽𝖚𝖎𝖐𝖊

There was a wet, slick noise, then a pang of pure agony racing from your cunt to your core. Involuntarily, you jerked away from the painful sensation, but it was an effort made in vain. The heavy arm wrapped around your waist only coiled tighter, your back soon drawn flush against a broad chest. Leona’s tail swatted contentedly at the down-stuffed mattress as he let out a low, airy chuckle. “Not gonna get away that easily,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Remember what happened last time you tried to act-up? I don’t think the basement’s gotten any warmer.”

Basement. Calling it a basement would be like calling him a housecat. You’d been locked in that dark, frigid dungeon of a cellar for days before Azul – because he was the one you scratched, the one who got to decide how cruel your punishment was going to be – let you out, and even then, it’d taken another week of huddling by barely-smoldering fireplaces and wrapping yourself in any shred of fabric you could find to shake the chill that’d lodged itself underneath your skin. You stopped trying to lash out at them, after that. As much as their so-call ‘affection’ scared you, their anger scared you that much more.

You couldn’t be sure how they’d gotten their hands on a place like this – ancient and only a step above decrepit. Their means weren’t exactly limited, not with a prince and the heir to a fortune that might as well have made him royalty funding their little venture, but it was still hard to imagine the people you’d gone to school with keeping you locked inside of an abandoned castle, surrounded only by more woodland than you could ever hope to walk through. It might’ve been more enjoyable (or, bearable, at least) if your captors had taken a more absentee approach, if they’d given you time to adjust to being in the middle of a never-ending forest with only stone walls and dust-covered furniture for company, but no, at least one of them always seemed to be at no more than arm’s length, there to remind you exactly why you’d been relegated to the role of princess, trapped in her tower. You’d never been able to call any of them your friends, and yet, the betrayal still stung.

“Would you keep your mouth shut?” Vil mumbled, with a particularly sharp movement of his wrist. The heel of his palm ground into your clit, and against your better judgement, you withered into Leona – the sound of your pulse beating in your ears deafening, but still not enough to mask the deep, self-satisfied purr rising from his chest. “You’re frightening the poor thing. Look at her eyes – they’re practically glazed over.”

 “Is she scared, or just bored half-to-death by your shitty excuse for a handjob?” He bowed his head, nipping playfully at the corner of your jaw. Of all your captors, he was the most fond of marking what he considered to be his property – even more so if he had a captive audience. “If I was the one between her legs, she’d be feelin’ too good to think about anything else. She’d already be fucked good n’ dumb.”

“That’s not—” The air caught in your throat as Vil spread his fingers apart, but you fought to go one. “I don’t feel anything when you—”

Vil pulled out of you entirely, only for his hand to come down on your pussy with a harsh, slick crack. You couldn’t swallow back your pained cry, couldn’t stop yourself from shrinking further into Leona. “No lying, now, darling. You know how easy it is to hurt his feelings.” He paused, then glanced over his shoulders. Blearily, your attention drifted to the doorway of your bedroom – to Riddle, standing stiffly on the other side other side of the threshold. You stiffened, but Vil didn’t seem surprised. “Going to watch today, Rosehearts?”

Obviously. As complicit as they all seemed with your imprisonment, there were a few – Riddle, Idia, Azul – that withheld from treating your prolonged abuse like a group project. You’d been surprised, at first, that Vil wasn’t a part of that collective, but his tendency towards exhibitionism made sense. He couldn’t love what he couldn’t flaunt, even if his audience was limited to a handful of former classmates.

“O-of course not,” Riddle stuttered out, predictably. His pale face was tinted a nearly violent shade of red. “I just wanted to make sure you two weren’t hurting her.”

You felt Leona’s grin against your throat. “Hear that, pretty girl?  He thinks we’d hurt you.” The space Vil left vacant was quickly filled – three of his calloused fingers soon filling your drenched pussy. You clenched your eyes shut, grit your teeth, but that did little to stop him from burrowing his claws into your side and tearing a little, cracked whimper through your sealed lips. “Don’t see him doing much to stop us, though.”

Vil only offered an unimpressed shake of his head, but Riddle straightened. “Are you implying that I couldn’t—”

“I’m saying that you won’t.” Leona cut him off swiftly, the edge in his tone sharped and playful. “Not if you want the next turn.”

For a moment, Riddle didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything.

Then, with a pointed glare, he turned on his heel and abandoned your bedroom altogether, likely dedicating himself to finding another part of this terrible castle to wait Leona out in.

As soon as his footsteps faded out of earshot, Leona’s teeth were buried in the curve of your throat – drawing blood in an instant.

~

Out of all your captors, it was Kalim who’d disappointed you the most.

You hadn’t expected this from the others, but in hindsight, you wouldn’t put it above them, either. Azul had never been able to draw a line between what he wanted and what he could have, Riddle had never been able to keep his base impulses at bay for very long, and Leona… well, Leona couldn’t be bothered to pretend he was interested in things like your ‘autonomy’ or ‘independence’. Kalim, though – he’d always been nice to you. Not overly kind, but nice, and in a place like NRC, that was something you’d been able to appreciate.

It almost didn’t make sense to see him in a place like this, to connect his presence here with the looming fact of your continual imprisonment. It didn’t make sense that the boy who’d once thrown a parade to celebrate you finally accepting an invitation to one of his banquets would be resting his hands on your shoulders, his eyes fixed on your reflection in a pearl-lined vanity as he pulled what felt like the hundredth gem-studded necklace into place at the base of your throat. You didn’t need jewelry. They rarely gave you anything to wear outside of loose-fitting, sheer dresses and the occasional piece of lingerie, but Kalim would’ve plucked the moon from the sky if it meant he could give it to you in a velvet-lined box. That was what he’d told you, at least, the first time you’d turned him down.

Actually, maybe you didn’t deserve to feign surprise. They’d all tried to do it the right way before their graduations, whether it was Vil beckoning you to sit on his lap during a dorm leader meeting or Riddle turning a dozen shades of pink as he asked if you’d care to attend an Unbirthday Party as his guest, sometime. You’d turned them all down, batting Leona’s hand away before it could settle on your shoulder, telling Azul you wouldn’t trust him as a business partner, let alone a boyfriend. Between school and a new apocalypse-scenario every other week, you never had the time (let alone the energy or desire) to date, as idiotic as it sounded to suggest that any of this could’ve started with a handful of schoolyard crushes. Maybe, if you’d given them a chance to see that it wouldn’t have worked out on their own terms, it wouldn’t have come to this. Maybe, you would’ve gotten to go home.

Or, maybe, you just would’ve been snatched up before that thread of hope could ever be dangled in front of you. Either way, a preferable alternative.

“The sapphires were a better fit,” Azul chimed in as Kalim pulled the next necklace into place – a loose riviere studded with rubies. It was the fifth of as many variants, only differentiated by the color of the jewel. Kalim claimed that he’d only meant to get you one, but ever the glutton, he hadn’t been able to choose. “Red is such a garish color. Our little princess deserves to feel as royal as we treat her, doesn’t she?”

If Kalim noticed the barb, he didn’t seem to mind. “I think you look beautiful in red,” he said, leaning down to push a kiss into your temple. His smile was as bright as it’d ever been, and you hated him that much more for it. “Then again, you look beautiful in everything. Why don’t you keep them all?”

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him where he could shove his jewelry, but you were cut off by the shutter of a camera, the hint of a flash in your peripheral. You glanced towards Azul, who only shrugged in response., sinking further into his armchair “For Idia. He’s going to be tied up with a research project for another week or so, and for whatever reason, it’s fallen on my shoulders to make sure that he doesn’t completely succumb to his self-pity and throw the gates of Tartarus open.” He thought, for a moment. “For a second time, I mean.”

You couldn’t be sure why you said it. It was an instinct, a knee-jerk reaction to grab the first blade you saw and twist it. Idia was, by far, the most distant of your captors, and when he did show his face, he barely spoke and never touched you. Even in a castle of rapists and kidnappers, he’d found a way to make himself an outsider.

“Azul?” You made a point of keeping your eyes on your reflection as you went on. “Could you tell Idia I want to see him again? When he has time, I mean.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

Finally, Kalim forced out an only partially strained laugh, squeezing your shoulders with just a little too much force. “Is something wrong? If you want to ask for something, you don’t have to wait for Idia.”

You didn’t bother trying to respond to him. “Please, Azul?”

From the corner of your eye, you watched him glance between you and Kalim. Eventually, he let out an airy sigh and nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. Although, I do have to wonder what you’re getting up to.”

Your only answer came in the form of a tight smile, a slight shrug. Kalim didn’t waste time taking up the next necklace: a choker of braided strands of pure, glittering gold. This time, he fastened it tightly enough to bruise.

~

You almost felt bad for Idia, when you let yourself think about what you were doing.

Almost.

The bare skin of his chest was warm under your palm, the flames of his hair tinted a deep pink - a color you might’ve found charming, in any other situation. He was beneath you, currently, his face half-buried in a pillow while you rolled your hips idly against his, your pace slow and careless. He wasn’t as authoritative as Leona, as demanding as Riddle, and you liked that about him. But, his submissiveness meant you had to do most of the work, which you liked less.

At least he tried to pretend that he didn’t like it. Bias caused conflict, and his occasional encounters with the others wilted before shriveling into complete nonexistence shortly after you declared him your unlikely favorite. Even now, he kept his eyes clenched shut, his bottom lip caught between his pointed teeth as your pussy clenched around him. You’d gone numb to pleasure in the first weeks of your captivity, but any amount of physical contact seemed to overwhelm him. It might’ve been refreshing, if you hadn’t been so, so exhausted.

Gradually, your movements slowed, your body stilling on top of his. A second passed before he opened one of his eyes, his kiss-swollen lips quirking downward in mixed disappointment and frustration. “W-Why did you stop?”

With an exaggerated sigh, you collapsed onto him, slotting your chest against his and propping your chin on his collarbone. “I never made it to graduate,” you said, absentmindedly, relying on the haze of lust to hide just how flat your voice was. “Never got to say goodbye to anyone, either, but that was never going to happen. The other are too mean to me for that.”

His expression took on a somber lull. It might’ve been more believable if you hadn’t been able to feel his cock twitching inside of you. “I… I’m sorry. I wanted to wait, but Azul said— and Leona—”

“I know, I know.” You kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “It’s not your fault. I just—”

You cut yourself off with another sigh, just as unbelievable as the first. Thankfully, Idia was eager to take the bait. “Whatever it is, I can do it for you. I’d do anything for you.” His shaking hands found their way to your waist. “I love you.”

“I want to see Ramshackle again,” you said, without hesitation. Immediately, you felt him stiffen against you, and let your tone drag into something desperate, something pleading. “Just this once. I won’t even go inside, and Night Raven’s on break, right now. No one’s going to be on campus.” You paused, pecked the corner of his lips. “Please, Idia. Nobody else has to know.”

He still looked skeptical, but he was going to break your heart, he wasn’t going to do it while his cock was still pulsing inside of you. After only a moment of hesitation, he let out a shallow breath and nodded hastily. “One trip. And the other never find out.”

Instantly, you brightened, beaming as you pulled him into a deep, lasting kiss – a proper kiss, this time, something you’d never willingly imitated with any of your captors. He would know that. He wasn’t the most domineering, but if the hidden cameras dotted across your bedroom were anything to go by, he had his own kind of competitive streak.

A hitched moan reverberated against your mouth. With your arms still wrapped around his neck, your chest still pressed into his, he started to move on his own – his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust into you from below. His pace was unsteady, his rhythm nonexistent, but your clit scraped against the flattened plane of his pubic bone and however meager it might’ve been, there was just enough stimulation to melt into. Vaguely, you were aware of a distant whimpering, of Idia’s face buried in the crook of your neck, but you let it fade into the background – into the constant fog of static that’d been cast over your conscious mind since you woke up in this terrible place.

When you felt his teeth scrape over the curve of your throat, it was all you could do to close your eyes and think of home.

~

“It’s a pretty basic teleportation scheme,” he’d explained, as he led you through the castle’s entryway after pulling you out of your bed in the middle of the night. The winter air cut through your thin dress without mercy, but you’d fought not to shiver, not to give him a reason to second-guess if he should be doing this. Right now, he was convinced he loved you more than he feared letting you get away, and you couldn’t do anything to break that delusion. “Ortho handled most of the hardware, but he was following my designs. The NRC waypoint was supposed to be a limited-time mechanic, but I never cut it out of the system. It should still work – for a couple trips, at least.”

You’d let him ramble about how many hours it’d taken to put together, nodded enthusiastically as he described all the effort he’d poured into ruining your life. He kept his hand locked around yours as he led you onto a shining, steel platform, only letting go to punch the coordinates into his tablet. There was a flash of light, a slight buzzing in your ears, and then, you were standing in front of the gates to Night Raven College, already open and waiting for your arrival.

You didn’t wait for Idia to move, to say anything. Rather, you let the gem shard (pilfered from one of Kalim’s more recent attempts to win back your attention; the jewel in its entirety had been larger than your balled fist) that you’d stowed away in your sleeve fall into your hand and stabbed the jagged end into his back. You didn’t wait to see if the wound took before breaking into a sprint towards the Hall of Mirrors.

You’d be able to see, later on, that it was far from the best idea you’d ever had. There was a good chance Crowley abandoned any work he might’ve started as soon as you went missing, if he really had found a way to send you hope at all. The injury you’d dealt to Idia was far from fatal, and you’d be in for more than just a few days in the cellar if they caught you, but the desire to get out of here, to go home drowned out your better judgement – leaving your tired mind empty and your body dependent on pure, unadulterated desperation as you ran towards the familiar, pitch-black dome on the outskirts of campus. Your skirt snagged on roots and twigs, your bare feet numb and aching in-turns, but you didn’t dare to slow down, to look behind you. By the time you reached the Hall of Mirrors, your throat was dry, your heart beating in your ears. Thankfully, the door had been left unlocked, and you shouldered your way inside.

The Magic Mirror stood, dark and stoic, in the center of the room. You allowed yourself a single breath of relief, a moment to let the past few months— no, the past three years of your life melt away before moving toward it.

You made it all of two, three steps before something sprung from the darkness and wrapped around your ankle – cutting into your flesh and, with a sudden jerk, dragging you to the floor. You stifled a scream, reflexively moving to tear at your new restraints, but froze when you saw exactly what you were caught in.

A thick braid of vines wrapped around your leg – except they weren’t vines, not really.

They were briars.

Rows upon rows of hooked thorns were embedded into the skin of your calf, drawing blood wherever they made contact. The pain was instant, searing, but you didn’t care – tearing at your bondage even as the thorns bit into your hands, as the rope of briars drew that much tighter. Tears blurred your vision, and so distracted by your own misery and panic, you almost didn’t notice the sound of clipped heels against marble floors, the dark shadow that soon blocked out what little light you had. You didn’t have to look at him. You already knew who it was.

In the end, though, you weren’t given much of a choice.

You really should’ve been more used to that, by now.

A gloved hand caught you by the chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and meet Malleus’ expectant, prying stare. He took a moment to evaluate your ragged dress, the bruising and love-bites painted down your neck before a small smile came to rest over his lips; the barest hint of pointed teeth catching in the moonlight. “And to think, I thought it was only nostalgia drawing me back to this lonely place.” He spared a glance toward the mirror. “And I suppose you plan to use that ancient thing to return to your own world?”

“Malleus,” you gasped his name, hoping that would be enough to communicate the depths of your despair. “I don’t have a lot of time, I— They’re coming for me, and—” You cut yourself off, swallowing harshly. “I want to go home.”

His only response came in the form of a low hum, dull and dismissive. All it took was a snap of his fingers, a certain glint in his narrowed eyes, and the mirror shattered into more pieces than you could ever hope to put back together.

This time, you couldn’t swallow back the ragged sob that tore past your lips, the pathetic noise echoing off the stone walls. You tried to crawl towards the fractured pieces, but Malleus kneeled to your height, letting out a patronizing coo as he wrapped an arm around your midriff, pulling you against his chest and suffocating any possible hope you might’ve had for escape. Distantly, you were aware of a rush of footsteps, of a collar (as heavy as it was useless) snapping shut around your neck, but Malleus didn’t falter. With your limp body in his arms, he pushed himself to his feet, turning to face your captors where they’d clustered in the entryway.

It was Leona who spoke first, predictably. He never could let anyone else be the center of attention. “What do you want, Draconia?”

Malleus, on the other hand, was in no rush, letting his gaze fall back to you. “I was surprised, when I heard of her disappearance. I know how fragile mortal lives could be, but I thought, surely, a human who’d befriended so many powerful mages ought to be a little more enduring.”

After he finished, silence hung heavy in the air. Vil summoned his spell book, and Kalim’s fists clenched at his sides, his jealousy threatening to outweigh his pacifistic nature. None of it would’ve made a difference. If Malleus wanted to, he could reduce them all to ash with little more than a wayward thought. If Malleus wanted to, he wouldn’t need five other conspirators to have you at his mercy.

And yet, he only let out a breath of a laugh, holding you that much closer to his chest. “Then again, if I’d known those powerful mages would struggle to keep watch of such a precious item, I might’ve been less generous.”

“Get to the point.”

This time, he chose to obey. “It seems,” he started, bowing his head and letting his lips brush against your cheek. “As if you’re having trouble keeping this little one in line.”

His grin was wider and more satisfied than you’d ever seen it, before. Looking at him, you could only wonder how you have bothered trying to survive in a world that so clearly wasn’t meant for you.

Because he did hate you, even if you doubted you’d ever hear him say as much out loud. That was the only reason you were here, the only reason his manager ever contacted yours, the only reason you always seemed to find yourself on his sets, in his shoots, by his side when he was usually so insistent on being the sole focus, the only thing worth looking at. You were an accessory to him, something common and neutral to better compliment his glow, his brilliantness; nothing more, nothing less. You were there because he already knew you, because he trusted you not to overshadow him. Because he knew you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Because he knew you wouldn’t dare to try. Because he hated you. That much, he made obvious.

When he spoke to you. It was a task always carried out grudgingly, reluctantly, forcing your name out through grit teeth and rarely ever acknowledging you directly, rarely ever talking to you when an intern or assistant could take his place. When it couldn’t be avoided, he made sure it was a private affair, found you in empty hallways and dark corners of crowded studios to tell you how you would be posing, how close to him you should stay, where your attention should be – on him, always on him. Beyond seniority, he didn’t have any authority over you, but you always listened. You couldn’t stand how cruel he would get, if you didn’t.

When he touched you, latching onto your wrist or the hem of your sleeve, letting his nails scrape against your skin as he forced you to trip over yourself to be that much nearer to him, to serve as that much more of a contrast. You knew he did it on purpose, held you a little too tightly, brought his teeth a little too close to your neck, but you’d never accuse him of anything, never blame him, even when he drew blood, even when he left bruises, even when he smiled in a way you couldn’t exactly call kind. He didn’t want to hurt you, just keep you on edge, to remind you of your place by his side, but beneath him. In his peripheral, but so small and so distorted, he’s the only one who’d ever see you.

When he reached out, taking you by your collar and jerking you forward, up to his height, up to his level. The photographer said something, but the words were lost on you, blurred to nothing behind a wall of static and your own racing heartbeat. He bowed his head, letting his lips come dangerously close to brushing against your ear, letting his chest come dangerously close to pressing against yours. “My dressing room,” He muttered, his voice so low and so quiet, anyone else would’ve thought he wasn’t saying anything at all. “After we finish. I don’t care what you tell your staff, just don’t keep me waiting.”

He dropped you with just as little ceremony, letting you stumble back before remembering how to catch yourself, how to stand on your own two legs. A slight sneer passed over his expression like a ghost of a memory, then nothing, as if you’d imagined it all. You began to sigh, but caught yourself, regaining your composure only a moment after he had.

Your hands were already on his chest, already pushing him away. You weren’t strong enough to put any distance between your body and his, but you managed to distract him, to bring his attention away from marking exposed, vulnerable flesh and towards focusing his agitation vaguely in your direction with a small frown and a scoff that might’ve made your chest tighten and crack open, if you hadn’t been so used to it. “Is something wrong?”

You swallowed back your nerves, your caution. “I was actually wondering if we could take a break from…” You trailed off, briefly, nodding towards him, towards the locked dressing room door. “...this.”

He didn’t respond, not at first. Something came across his expression, a mix of confusion and irritation, but it was gone soon enough, veiled and hidden in the blink of an eye. “I don’t have time in my schedule for a—’

“That’s not what I meant,” You clarified, the words coming out a little too quietly, a little too quickly. You knew how you must’ve sounded, scared and small and irrational, but you forced yourself to go on. “I don’t want to stop working. I just—I think we should stop working together. I think I should start looking for other gigs, with other people.”

Another long, agonizing second of silence. You shrunk into yourself, pushing your shoulders forward, but Vil remained unmoved, unchanged. Even his voice was untouched; still calm, still cutting, like he didn’t care at all. You hoped, for your own sake, that he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” He started, slowly, carefully, as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of hurting you. As if he’d ever been afraid of hurting you. “I was under the impression that you wanted to be a model.”

You stiffened, but forced yourself to relax. “I am a model—”

“You were, at least.” He took a step back, but any freedom you might’ve gained was short-lived. Before you could slip away, before you could retreat back into the safety of the public’s eye, his hand was already on your jaw, he was already dragging you forward, upward, nearly off your feet. He wanted you closer to him, close enough to see his bared teeth, his perfectly narrowed glare. Close enough to recognize the difference between your stature and his, to make the decision not to do anything more than wince as his pointed nails bit into your cheeks, threatening to break the skin. “Because I choose to make you into one. Do you think anyone else has the patience to work with you? Do you think anyone else has the credibility to spare on someone like you?”

“I’ve gotten work without you, before.” You still got work without him, good work, offers that paid well enough to rival the ones he brought to you. But, mentioning that would only make him more angry, more hostile. More proactive when it came to keeping you by his side and eliminating anything that might tempt you to stray. “I don’t need you. I don’t need to be doing this. You can’t just—”

His thumb pushed past your lips, forcing itself against your tongue. You bit down, tasted blood, but Vil was unfazed. “I should’ve known better than to be kind with you.” A huff, an airy sigh, while you still too gagged to interrupt him. “Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re a prop. You’re always going to be in the background, always there to make someone else, someone more deserving look better. Do you understand?”

You tried to pull away, to separate you from him. He only took up your collar, next, dragging you that much closer, keeping you where he wanted you to be. “Do you understand?”

You hesitated, but not for very long. You gave a shallow nod, and immediately, Vil pulled away. With half a moment’s worth of thought, he wiped his hand off on your dress-shirt, leaving blood smeared across dark fabric. Staining it.

“I’ll see you next week.” Short, curt, abrupt. You wanted to yell at him, to scream, but you didn’t make a sound. You didn’t do anything as he turned around, starting towards the door, leaving you alone with only the barest glance over his shoulder, the slightest trace of acknowledgment. “Clean yourself up. It’d be a tragedy if anyone else had to see you in such an… unfortunate state.”

You couldn’t feel your legs. You’d been able to, earlier, when something hot and excruciating was still running through your veins and your entire body felt like it was on the verge of burning up completely, but that’d faded as soon as he touched you, left you cold, numb, only distantly aware of his chest pressing against yours, his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck. You could hear him, panting, groaning, swearing under his breath every time his hips crashed into yours and your cunt clenched around his cock. He’d already cum once, twice, but you were long past the point of overstimulation, and the sharp, nagging pangs only seemed to make him more desperate, more forceful, more likely to nip at your jugular as he thrust into you, to press you deeper into the mattress, deeper, deeper, until you could’ve sworn you’d be able to do drown in a lake of pressed sheets and patterned quits.

His blunt nails bit into your waist, and you managed to make a noise – something caught between a cracked moan and a strangled cry. His only response was a breathless laugh, a wet kiss the corner of your jaw, a moment taken to grind into you and draw out another sound, throatier than the last, needier than the last.

“Like that, pretty girl?” A rhetorical question, posed to an audience incapable of answering. His pelvis caught on your clit and you arched your back, doing what you could to struggle against him, but he only drew back, pushing another soft kiss against your forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I gotcha. I’m gonna take care of you—I’m gonna take care of everything, alright?”

You expected him to collapse onto you, again, but he sat up, straightened his back, took up your thighs and forced them against your chest until your back ached with the strain of it, until the head of his cock hit something that made you thrash against him. There was another chuckle, then a change in his pace, growing faster, more unsteady. “You’re gonna be so cute, all pretty ‘n knocked up. Gonna make such a momma, ‘n a good wife, ‘n—” His voice cut out, anything he might’ve said lost to low, guttural whine. “We’re gonna be so happy. You’re gonna make me so happy.”

Wild, now, unrestrained. It felt like he was trying to fuck himself under your skin, like it wasn’t just enough to be inside of you, he had to be part of you, push past whatever remaining barriers existed between you and him. It was all you could do to lay back, to let yourself go limp as his cock twitched inside of you and you clamped around him and something warm and thick filled your cunt, dripping down your thighs, leaking onto the sheets. Cumming inside of you, again. Getting you that much closer to where he wanted you to be.

After a long, agonizing second, he leaned down, letting his lips brush against yours in something you could’ve called a kiss, if you’d been more aware, if you’d been more generous. Somewhere else, somewhere far away, you felt him start to move, again, to thrust into you with just as much strength, just as much cruelty, but it didn’t hurt anymore – or, you couldn’t feel it, if it did.

The room was dark, his attention clearly elsewhere, but you waited for him to groan and throw his head back, waited until you could force yourself to lean downward, to slot your chest against his. You moved as slowly as you could, touched him as gently as humanly possible – letting your lips ghost over the edge of his jaw, raking your fingers through his hair, encouraging him to keen and whimper and arch against you, to forget about anything that wasn’t you and your touch.

You knew what he liked, by now, been locked in his penthouse long enough to learn, and you knew how to keep him distracted, how to keep his attention where you needed it to be. He used to guide your hands, used to mutter instructions under his breath as you screamed and cried and struggled against him, but you hadn’t disobeyed him in weeks, months, hadn’t shown any signs of resistance beyond a soft glare and a habit of biting at his fingertips whenever they strayed too close to your bared teeth. Nothing he couldn’t overlook, if it suited him. Nothing he couldn’t brush off as imperfections he hadn’t yet smoothed over.

Before you could think better of it, you kissed him, roughly and harshly enough to bruise. He was stunned, for a moment, but he melted into the gesture soon enough, his tongue pressing into yours with an equal amount of desperation. His teeth tore into your lips, drawing blood, but the pain was numb, hollow. You tried not to let it distract you, either way.

It was one long, fluid movement. Your hand slipped under the pillow closest to him, taking hold of something cold and metallic, then you jerked back, raised your arms as high as you could think to, and brought the blade down, aiming for his chest.

You felt a hand wrap around your forearm, stopping you mid-swing. You blinked, and suddenly, you were on your back, his cock still inside of you and his stare prying into your chest, your flesh. He squeezed your wrist, digging his nails into your skin, and you let go automatically, knowing better than to try to fight him so directly. The knife was discarded easily, thrown off of the bed with little more than a flick of his wrist and a shallow sigh.

“Don’t.” Brash, blunt, borderline cruel. He didn’t raise his voice, but he never did. He liked to act as if, despite everything, you still weren’t worth the effort it would take for him to yell. “You’ll only get yourself hurt. I’m not going to spend the rest of our night washing your blood out of my sheets.”

You considered saying something, for a second. He wouldn’t yell, but you could, you had before. You’d snap at him, writhe and thrash until he decided you’d be easier to handle restrained, or sedated, or too exhausted to care what he did to you. You could, if you wanted to. You could.

But, you didn’t. You went limp, instead, letting your head fall to the side and your gaze drift to the far wall, only barely in focus. You could feel him start to thrust into you, again, hear his panting, his voice muttering bittersweet nothings in your ear, but you couldn’t make any of it out. You didn’t want to.

You knew he was close, too. You’d gotten a head-start, but he could’ve given you hours and it wouldn’t have made a difference. You didn’t know this forest, didn’t know which way to run, and even if you had, you were still barefoot, still freezing, still struggling just to stay on your feet as you stumbled over twisting roots and shouldered past gnarled branches. You tried not to leave a trail, to avoid clearings and trenches and fallen twigs, but you didn’t have a lantern, and you could already hear him, calling out from somewhere behind you, laughing and singing your name as he tracked you through the pitch-black woods. You were tempted to yell back, to express your frustration with something more direct than bared teeth and hateful thoughts, but you settled for cursing under your breath and digging your nails into the heels of your palms. He’d catch you eventually, but you could try to put that reunion off for as long as the universe would allow.

Or, maybe you couldn’t. You made the mistake of attempting to glance behind you, of trying to see anything through the moonless night, but as soon as you’d looked away, something sprung up in your path – a tangle of vines and shrubbery, catching your feet and wrapping around your ankles, tripping you up before you even realized it was there. You didn’t fall, but you stumbled, your shoulder colliding with the trunk of the nearest oak with a hollow, heavy thud. The noise wasn’t loud, and anyone else might’ve attributed it to a clumsy deer or a lost owl, but instantly, Rook went silent, what little evidence there was of his presence disappearing in the time it took for you to straighten your back and start running, again. It was useless, though, too little too late.

A second later, you were on the ground, your chest pushed against the soil and a knee pressed into the small of your back. You couldn't see Rook, but you didn’t need to. You could feel him hovering over you, his sharp stare prying into your flesh, and you could picture his expression, his eyes half-lidded, his lips quirked into something you didn’t want to call a smile. You made a half-hearted attempt to get your arms underneath you, to struggle against him, but his knee bit into the base of your spine and his hand found its way to your shoulder, shoving you downward. “That’s enough, mon amour.” Smooth, soft, unbothered. This was nothing, to him. It took nothing for him to do this to you. “You scared me for a moment. If I’d been a little slower, you may’ve had a chance of getting away.”

You growled, the sound bubbling up from somewhere low in your throat. You didn’t resist, didn’t try to fight against him, but you squared your shoulders, pushed back against him, did what you could to safeguard the ounce of dignity you had left. “Don’t touch me!”

There was a breathy laugh, a light tap to your bicep. He was always like that – so nonchalant and so relaxed, you had to wonder if he took any of this seriously, if he cared that you hated him and his sick, sick games. You doubted it would’ve been better if he was more brash, more stoic, faster to anger than he was to delight, but it might’ve made being with him more bearable. It might’ve made some part of this feel a little less excruciating. “That’s no way to talk to someone you love. Especially not after they’ve only just put so much work into keeping you out of trouble.” A slight pause, then his weight shifting over you. His knee fell to the gap between your open legs, his chest slotting itself against your back. “How desperately I wish you were aware of your own scent. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so panicked – or so sweet, of course.”

You did what you could to ignore him, to think of anything else. His own scent rarely changed, smoked cedar dashed with something metallic, something that grew more intense as his mood worsened, or improved, or changed at all. Right now, the stench of it was almost overwhelming, copper and rust rolling off of him in steady waves. That might’ve been why you were so irritated, why your frustration threatened to outweigh your fear. You’d never liked being around other alphas. It made you feel… on edge, even when they weren’t straddling your thighs.

“That’s not—” A slight sigh, a nip to the side of your neck. You wanted to claw at him, to wrap your hands around his throat, but you settled for gritting your teeth and spitting the words, as you went on. “Nothing about me is sweet. Your nose is just as fucked up as your head.”

“Au contraire,” You felt him pick himself up, lift himself off of you. You attempted to follow, to start to stand, but you didn’t get far before he caught you by your forearms, dragging them to the center of your back and binding your wrists together with a length of braided rope. You glanced over your shoulder, prepared to protest, but his eyes caught yours and you swallowed down your complaints before anything could slip out. “I’ve met flowers less pleasant than you, mon pétale. Sharing your company is like lying in a field of blooming roses, if you’d allow the comparison.” He fell back, his weight leaving you completely, but before you could relax, his hand was on the back of your shirt, dragging you upward and into his lap. Your body fell against his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, forcing you to accommodate him, to let him hold you like some small, docile thing. “If I’m being completely honest, I took you for an omega when we first met. You still do seem like one – to me, at least. When we’re together.”

The hand at your hip drifted, fell to brush against your inner thigh. You stiffened, lurched away from him, but in the blink of an eye, he’d drawn something from his belt – a hunting knife, sleek and silver, the blade soon planted in the ground less than a hair’s width from your calf. Instantly, you went still, freezing against him.

“I-I’m not.” You’d be better off keeping your mouth shut. You’d be better off not saying anything at all, but that never felt like an option. Not with him. Not when it came to this. “I’m an alpha. You’re supposed to know that.”

“And I do. And I love that about you.” Despite how frequently he spouted his mantas on the value of beauty and aesthetics, he seemed to prefer keeping yours relatively simple, if not as plain as it could possibly be. Even now, you were dressed in little more than one of his button-down shirts and panties made of such thin, lacey fabric, they only seemed to make the feeling of his thumb tracing over your slit through the material more pronounced, less ignorable. You did what you could to block it out, to focus on some distant point on the obscured horizon, but Rook was good at that, catching your attention and holding it, tracing delicate circles into your clit as he latched onto the crook of your neck, onto the spot a mating mark would’ve gone if either of you were an omega, if either of you were supposed to be doing this. “You’re my little alpha. My precious beast, just waiting to be tamed.”

You grit your teeth, clenching your eyes shut. He was trying to tease you, to touch you so lightly and so fleetingly, your body would be forced to act on its own, to buck and grind and chase blindly after pleasure until he could lie to you, until he could claim that he was only giving you what you so clearly needed. You did what you could to brace yourself, to go stiff and still and silent, but your locked jaw and balled fists might’ve been more damning than any whiny, pathetic sound you might’ve let crawl up your throat. You heard him click his tongue, the action more playful than irritated, and quickly, almost cruelly, he changed course, ground the heel of his palm into your clit with a harsh sort of pressure. You reacted automatically, lurching forward as if he’d struck you. There was a deep laugh, in response, bubbling and terrible. You tried to imagine prying open his teeth, ripping out his tongue and pouring acid over his vocal cords, but unsurprisingly, the fantasy did little to comfort you.

He didn’t try to tease you, this time. With no spared grace, your panties were pushed to the side, two fingers traced over your slit to gather up what little slick there was. Again, you started to twist in his hold, to writhe against him and shove your shoulder into his chest, but he didn’t let you go, or restrain you further, or do anything other than lull forward and nuzzle into the side of your neck. This was the part you hated, more than the hunting, more than the captivity. You didn’t want to let him feel like he had that kind of power over you. You didn’t want to let him feel like had anything over you, especially not control over your own body.

But, he didn’t care. Before you had a chance to beg, to struggle, to do much of anything at all, he was already pushing two fingers into you, already filling you with that familiar, invasive sensation – not quite strain, but crushing enough to be mistaken for it. You could feel it pressing against the back of your throat, tying knots in the pit of your stomach, only growing more suffocating, more oppressive as he spread his fingers apart and curled them inside of you in turns. As he edged you towards something so, so much worse.

It hurt. Not the penetration, not the thumb now drawing rough patterns into your clit, but the rest of it, the feeling of his breath on your skin, the shroud of his body curled around yours, the awareness of who was doing this to you and how little you could do to stop him, to defend yourself. All of it, everything only made the way he touched you that much more painful, that much more likely to make you gasp and whimper and shriek whenever he brushed against something more sensitive, something more vulnerable. You struggled against the rope, shouldered at his chest, but he only brought up another hand to cup your chin and hold you in place. It wasn’t enough to stop you, but he was able to keep you still, to tilt your head back and force you to stare up at his calm, terrible smile. When he ducked down, his lips came to rest against yours in something you wouldn’t call a kiss. It was too gentle, for that, too light. You couldn’t even feel it. You didn’t want to feel it.

But, he didn’t give you any other choice. With another second, another wave of abuse to your cunt and your clit, your climax was forced onto you like the iron head of an arrow plunged directly into the hollow of your chest. It was quick, brutal, but once the aftershocks began to dull and Rook pulled away, you were able to breathe, to shrink into yourself, to relax. He had his fun. He’d hunted his prey, and he’d caught it, and he’d reaped the rewards. He’d take you back to that dark, lonely cabin, and you’d be able to process the last few hours, minimize what you’d done and what he’d done to you. You’d be able to—

You felt his hand on the center of your back, a sudden force, then the ground pressing on your chest, the foliage scraping against your skin. His body was on top of yours in the blink of an eye, and he was taking you by the hips, drawing you up, onto you knees. Your mind went blank, briefly, terror overriding every practical thought you could’ve had, and then, you started to panic.

“Please, please, please don’t.” You would’ve been ashamed of yourself if you'd had that kind of luxury. This could't happen. Not here. Not right now. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You wouldn’t be able to take it. You wouldn’t survive. “I— I’m not— Please, Rook, I’ll do anything, just don’t—”

“How prettily my songbird sings!” His composure only made things worse. If he’d been angry, if he’d been violent, it might’ve been better. A mindless act of malice and loathing. Something you could tell yourself, as hard it might’ve been to believe, he hated just as much as you did. “This is your first time with another alpha, no?”

“Anything else, please, anything—”

A hand in your hair, jerking your head back, then something cool pressed against your neck. The hunting knife. You’d managed to forget it was there. “It’s rude to ramble when someone asks you a question, mon amour. I’m still waiting for an answer.”

You managed to inhale, to choke back a sob. You hadn’t realized you were crying until tears started to blur your vision and you felt something sharp begin to crawl up your throat. “It... it is.”

He took his time, bending down, his mouth just barely ghosting over the curve of your shoulder blade. He might’ve been trying to comfort you, or less generously, take just a little more time to take in your ever-mounting fear. “You don’t have to worry.” His breath on your skin, his teeth just barely making contact with the side of your neck. “I’ll be gentle with you, little alpha.”

Liar.

If letting him spread you open was painful, then this was torture. He gave you no time to brace yourself, no time to adjust, your comfort barely a second thought despite his shallow promises. There was pressure, somewhere low in your core, and a slight stretch as he bottomed out, as his cock pressed into the walls of your cunt as tightly as it had in the worst of your nightmares, but there was something else, too, something that ran deeper. You could feel it in your veins, in the back of your skull, pounding and throbbing and thrashing against whatever Rook had forced inside of you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what you’d been built for. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, it was.

And yet, you were the only one who’d ever have to suffer for it.

You went limp, but he didn’t seem to mind. Before you could fall, an arm was wrapped around your midriff and his mouth was on your throat. His pointed canines dug into the crook of your neck, as if he thought he could mark you, as if he thought he was doing anything other than breaking skin and drawing blood. That might’ve been what he was trying to accomplish, though. He groaned as he licked over the wound, his steady pace growing more rapid, more chaotic, less of a controlled barrage and more of a haphazard assault. Blunt nails burrowed into your side, his tongue lapped over the wound, and the knife turned, slipped so that the dull edge pressed into your chest and the blade tore downward, through your borrowed shirt, leaving you that much more exposed, that much more at his mercy. The knife was driven back into the earth a second later, just above your head. There was no shock, this time. No dread accompanied the lingering threat. You felt nothing. There was nothing.

Distantly, you heard his breath hitch, and you felt him draw you closer, drag you closer. You saw, from somewhere else, yourself reacting to him too, your body trembling, your mouth falling open as you convulsed underneath him. He followed shortly after, moaning something that you did your best not to make out, and suddenly, you felt warm, full, unbearably tired. When he let you go, you collapsed, too drained to do so much as attempt to stop his cum from dripping down your thighs. You wanted to sleep. You wanted to go home. Wherever ‘home’ was, anymore.

“Oh, poor pétale. I suppose I may’ve gotten carried away.” The ropes binding your hands loosened and fell away. You hadn’t seen him pick up the knife, but you didn’t think to question it, only collapsing onto your side and crossing your arms over your chest. If it did anything to help, you couldn’t tell. “Pas de soucis – you can rest. I’ll take care of my sweet alpha.”

You felt his arms wrap around you, lifting you off of the ground and into his chest, but you didn’t try to fight him, to resist. You didn’t bother to.

He was lying on a loveseat, staring idly out of the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the far wall. There was a drink in his hand, too, something that looked like champagne, but you knew it couldn’t be, that he wouldn’t touch alcohol anywhere except the privacy of his own penthouse. That was one of the most unbearable parts about him - the held himself to the same impossible rules that he'd inflicted onto you.

You didn’t wait for him to acknowledge you. Slamming the door shut, you started towards him, already stiff, already seething. “What did you do?”

“I thought you would’ve figured that out.” He didn’t move, didn’t turn to face you. He took another sip of whatever he was drinking, then went on, completely unbothered. “You would’ve seen it by now, unless you were idiotic enough to try and block me again.”

It’d been your manager’s recommendation. ‘For your health’, she’d said, as if you were still allowed to do anything for your own sake.

It took you less than a minute to find the post. On Magicam, on his main account, front-and-center and there for everyone to see. He was in the foreground, sitting at his vanity in little more than a silk robe you were sure he’d been paid thousands of dollars to wear. The problem was in the background – or, more literally, laid in the background, across his bed, obscured by piled sheets and displaced pillows. Barely anything was visible. A hand, an arm, some hair – little pieces that added up to even less. He hadn’t tagged you, but that only made it worse. You would’ve been someone he knew, someone he thought something off, rather than just the disheveled girl sleeping in his bed.

Holding your breath, you checked the comments. Of course, people had recognized you, and of course, people made assumptions. Most of it was nice, a mix of well-intended compliments and innocent curiosity, but a loud minority, a sizable minority were crueler, too eager to safeguard their idol to care whose hand they had to bite. All the usual insults were there – ‘gold-digger’, ‘shitty model’, ‘whore’ – but there were deeper cuts, too, mentions of upcoming projects, of boycotts and review-bombing and so, so many bad things that would go away with a certain name cut from the casting list.

If this wasn’t your first major role, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. If all you had on the horizon were a few modeling gigs and sponsorships, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But, this was your first role, and it wasn’t just another modeling gig, either. You wouldn’t be able to get by on established trust or apathy-borne anonymity. He knew that, too. Better than anyone, he knew what something so small could do to a career.

You tried to sound confident, authoritative. As if the panic wasn’t already blotting at the edges of your vision, making everything just a little darker than it should've been. “Delete it.”

Obviously, he saw through you. “Is that how I taught you to ask for the things you want?”

You swallowed, squaring your shoulders. “What do I have to do for you to delete it?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Honestly, I think I have a right to be angry.” Now, now, he turned towards you. He wasn’t dressed to his usual standards – his dress-shirt partially unbuttoned, his make-up more natural than you knew he preferred, his hair not messy, but not styled, either. He’d rushed here, clearly. Or, maybe he just wanted you to think he had and have to fight that terrible, gnawing knot of guilt that still seemed to manifest in the core of your stomach whenever he implied you were a burden to him, dead weight he was better off cutting loose. “First, I'm told that you’ve been auditioning for roles far out of your league behind my back. Then, I find out you accepted a job you aren’t qualified for, canceled several gigs I went out of my way to book for you, and ran off to another country all without speaking a single word to me. How do you think I feel, darling?”

You were tempted to leave. You didn’t know where you’d go, or what you would do about Vil, but the urge was there, the compulsion. You wanted to leave. You would’ve, if it were anyone else. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to—”

“How long are you going to be filming?”

You bowed your head. “Three months.”

“And when were you going to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, clenching your fists at your sides. “Vil, please, I’ll do whatever you want me to. I’ll—” You forced yourself to breathe, to shut your eyes. “I’ll do anything.”

He was quiet, for a moment.

Then, he sighed, swinging his legs off of the loveseat and planting his feet on the floor. The drink was forgotten on an otherwise-empty accent table, and coldly, he scanned over you, evaluating your appearance, your posture, your expression.

When he spoke, he did so slowly, deliberately taking his time with each word. “Deleting the picture won’t help – you should know that. I’ll post another, instead, with both of us, apologizing for not introducing my girlfriend more formally.”

Girlfriend. The word rang in your head like funeral bells, like thunder rolling in the distance. It was one thing to be his pet project, to be the anchor he insisted on dragging along. Being tied to him, though, publicly and undeniably – that was another nightmare altogether. “I’m… Are you sure that’ll help?”

“I am.” Flat, blunt, empty. You weren’t sure what you’d expected. Something more eccentric, maybe. A death sentence with a little more flare. “But, that’s not going to be enough to get you out of this.”

Of course. One punishment, no matter how degrading, would never be enough for Vil. “What do you want me to do?”

“Give me your belt,” He ordered. “Go to the foot of the bed and get on your knees, back to the mattress. I’ll take of everything else.”

For a long second, you just stood there, suddenly unable to move. You thought of trying to run, again, of changing your name and disappearing entirely.

Then, with a deep inhale, you brought your hands to your waist and tried not to think of anything at all.

He watched as you moved, his gaze dark and predatory. You did what you could to pretend you weren’t afraid, that you were just as indifferent as he was, but your hands were shaking and your mouth felt dry and every part of you seemed to lock up in rebellion, in refusal. The floor was carpeted, but the ground still pressed harshly against your knees and you doubted you’d get out of this without a few bruises to show for it. You didn’t know what you’d tell the make-up artist, tomorrow morning. Vil would probably have something for that, too, if you were willing to ask him for anything else.

When you settled, your hands clasped in front of you, your back slotted against the foot of the bed, he pushed himself to his feet. You knew he had to be enjoying this – that everything Vil did, he did to stroke his ego – but he was careful not to wear his pleasure on his face, to keep his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in your direction. The belt (your belt, but you tried not to think of it as something that’d ever belonged to you) was carefully fed through the buckle, strung over your head, and tightened until leather pressed into your throat. He held the end of the strap in one hand while the other fell to your chin, tilting your head back with a careless kind of delicacy. You didn’t resist, but if your obedience did anything to please him, you couldn’t tell. Another thing you couldn't stand about Vil – how cold he was towards you. As if he hated this as much as you did. As if he didn’t drink in your humiliation like a fine wine, aged and broken down to perfection.

“Open your mouth.” Another command, strict and not meant to be questioned. “I’m going to try to be gentle with you, love.”

And he was gentle. He tried to be gentle.

For all of five seconds, at least.

He didn’t pull or jolt or buck, didn’t jerk you forward or use your makeshift leash to do anything but hold you in place, but keep you kneeling at his feet. His pants were edged downward rather than discarded, the hem adjusted to lie just below his hips, and he was kind enough to guide his cock past your lips himself, merciful enough not to make you do anything more than shut your eyes and brace yourself. That was the only compassion you were shown, though – his hand soon resting on the dip of your shoulder, then the back of your neck, urging you forward with more force than he absolutely had to use. You stiffened, but relented quickly. If only to get this over with a second sooner.

When you refused to acknowledge the more unsettling implications, you could be thankful that he was already hard. You didn’t have to focus, or concentrate, or think about what you were doing at all, and you could fall into a rhythm, let hollow out your cheeks and let your body bob and lave and suckle on its own. You tried to let your mind drift, to imagine you were anywhere else, but his voice took you out of it before you could even start to face away. He didn’t try to talk to you, to coo or simper and leave himself open to any kind of vulnerability, but he made sounds – little gasps, breathy grunts, curses stifled behind grit teeth whenever your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock or the flat edges of your teeth ghosted over something too sensitive for him to ignore.

His blunt nails bit into the nape of your neck, his breath hitched audibly in his throat, and suddenly, without warning, he wrapped the end of the belt around his fist and pulled, forcing you to lurch forward. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything other than sputter and gag and choke. Reflexively, your hands moved to the collar, trying to pry desperately at the leather, and when that failed, to him, clawing at the fabric of his pants and shoving at anything you could. His only response was a dry chuckle, an uncharacteristically careless smile. “Be good,” He muttered, still so calm, still so composed. Briefly, in some deep, dark part of your mind, you wondered why you’d ever wanted to be like him. Clearly, he’d always been a monster, and you weren’t sure he’d ever really tried to hide it. “This will only last as long as you’re willing to draw it out.”

You were only half-listening. As soon as your leash slackened, you attempted to get away from him, to cough and catch your breath, but just as quickly as he’d started to let you go, he pulled you back, pulled you closer, until your chest pressed against his legs and you had to brace yourself on his thighs just to keep from panicking and lashing out, or worse, keeling over and proving you were just as weak as he seemed to think you were. You did what you could, attempting to use your tongue, to bob your head, but you could barely move, barely think, and Vil didn’t seem to want you to. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself more now that you were at his mercy, his groans spiking into guttural moans and cracked whines, his hips beginning to move – sporadically, at first, in spite of his self-restraint, then decisively as he thrust into your mouth, as he began to take pleasure in the way you struggled just to keep yourself upright. The pressure was almost worse than the lack of air, pressing into your throat, threatening to crush everything that lay below it. You could almost here it, bones cracking, skin tearing, your neck caving in on itself as he—

“Look at me.” His cock twitched, the belt tightened, and Vil dragged you closer to him, so much closer, so fucking close. You hadn’t realized your eyes were closing, not until they snapped open, not until you heard him mumbling to himself, then shouting, raising his voice for the first time that you could remember, or that you cared to. “You’re so—Fuck, you’re going to—”

He let go of the belt, and you fell against the mattress, already coughing into your hands. Through tear-blurred vision, you saw Vil pumping a fist over his cock, and a second later, you felt something warm and thick drip onto you, splashing against your skin and seeping through fabric. There would probably be a stain. Or, even if there wasn’t, you knew you have to burn all of it, everything you were wearing. Everything he’d ever touched.

There was a beat of quiet, afterward – soft, blissful silence.

Then, he clicked his tongue, and something in your chest cracked open. “Your clothes are filthy. Take them off and get on the bed.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t remember how to. Vil snarled, stepped forward, and suddenly, you were being dragged to your feet by the strap of the belt and thrown onto the mattress. You landed on your back, and he was on top of you in the blink of an eye, straddling your waist. Your shirt and bra were gone before you could think to fight back, your shorts soon similarly discarded. He paused when it came to your panties, but only to drag two fingers up the length of your slit, to chuckle as fresh slick soaked through thin fabric. Panic washed over you, but even that was distant, dampened. You felt numb. You felt like he’d injected something inside of you that pushed everything else, everything good out.

You managed to cry out when he forced you onto your stomach, onto your knees, but it was more out of shock than anything else, the suddenness of his hostility catching you more off-guard than the hostility itself. “Do I have to do everything for you?” The question was harsh, but his tone was softened, distracted. Something blunt pressed against your cunt, your entrance, and you did what you could not to name the offender. “You’re so, so lucky to have me. Do you know where you’d be if I hadn’t found you?”

A hitched breath, an invasive pressure against your core. You buried your face in the sheets, attempting to stifle the overwhelming shame that accompanied the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock. “You’re mine. No one else’s - mine.” He snapped his hips into you, and you thought you might’ve screamed. If you did, you couldn’t hear your own voice, any noise you might’ve made drowned out by the blood rushing past your ears, by the vile echo of skin crashing against skin. “You don’t get to decide how I use my possessions.”

You might’ve cried, at that point. You couldn’t really be sure.

He started out slowly, more for his own sake than yours. It took him long, agonizing seconds to bottom out, and even have that, he held himself back, kept his pace steady. You tried to melt into it. If not the pleasure, then the routine, the heavy pattern of weight and warmth and hot air ghosting over the nape of your neck, the curve of your shoulders. You tried to relax, to distance yourself from your own body, but as soon as you closed your eyes, you were pulled out of your self-inflicted haze by another brutal jerk of the belt, by another sharp thrust, by another low growl that seemed to crawl up from somewhere deep, deep in his chest.

It hurt in a way it hadn’t, when you were on your knees. It’d been painful, sure, it’d been suffocating, but you’d been able to push yourself away from it, keep your back straight and your mind somewhere else. It was less ignorable, now, he was less ignorable, pressing his free hand to the small of your back and forcing your spine to arch, your mouth to fall open and let out all the ragged, raspy moans you tried to lock behind grit teeth and layers of disassociation. He made you feel it, all of it – the leather digging into your throat, his mouth ghosting over your neck, the two fingers now drawing rough patterns into your clit. You tried to buck away from him, to squirm and thrash, but it was useless, futile, pathetic. His cock pulsed inside of you, and your body went tense, your vision burning white as the world came crashing down around you. A moment later, he pulled out, grunting as his cum painted the inside of your thighs. It burnt, like fire, like venom. It hurt.

As soon as he let you go, you collapsed onto your side, curling in on yourself and clenching your eyes shut as tightly as you were able to. You felt him on top of you, his lips brushing gingerly against your forehead before he drew back. Still, his eyes pried into you like sharpened nails, and his voice managed to curl around something in your mind and squeeze, something you could’ve sworn he’d already torn out. “You can rest, darling.”

He kissed the corner of your lips, this time, and lingered just long enough to let you feel his lips curl upward, to let you feel his grin, no matter how desperately you tried not to feel anything at all.

It was Jamil. You knew that before he ever touched you, before you could properly see his face through the darkness. If it’d been Kalim, he wouldn’t have been able to stay so unnoticed, to keep himself from calling out your name as soon as he saw you – trudging towards a cluster of narrow mesas as quickly and as quietly as you possibly could. Jamil hadn’t given himself away so easily. There’d been the sound of shifting sand, a sudden pressure between your shoulder blade, and then, you were on the ground, lying on his chest, both of your wrists caught in one of his hands and his free arm wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as you did what you could to struggle your way out of his grip. It was a feeble pursuit, obviously, as futile as it was pathetic. You’d seen seasoned warriors fall to Jamil’s strength, his agility, his talent. You, a researcher-turned-captive, would never stand a chance against him.

Or Kalim, honestly, but at least he was a little more forgiving that his dutiful guard.

You screamed, kicking at his legs and attempting to throw your elbow into anything you could reach. He only grunted, sitting up and taking you with him. He was, by all accounts, going easy on you. If he wanted to, if Kamil allowed it, he could’ve driven his claws into your neck, left you choking on your own blood in the time it would’ve taken you to draw a knife. Even if he didn’t kill you, it would’ve taken nothing for him to break your ankle, knock your shoulder out of its socket, leave you not only unable to get away from him now, but unable to do anything that'd be so inconvenient to him again. Simply restraining you was an act of mercy, on his part, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from baring your teeth, from hissing at him with as much hostility and as much animosity as you could possibly manage. “Let me—”

“Be quiet.” Harsh, low, more apathetic than actively aggressive. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his long, pointed ears pressing flat against his scalp, his tail standing upright against his back, but otherwise, there were no outward signs of his annoyance. “I don’t want Kalim to hear you talking like that.”

“Eat shit and di—”

You were cut off by a low growl, a row of claws dug into your side. You pursed your lips, swallowing back a sharp sob, but again, you were interrupted, shoved forward as Jamil released you, abruptly rising to his feet and planting a hand on your shoulder when you moved to do the same. A moment later, you saw why – a figure clad in red and black with a shock of white hair coming into view through the darkness, waving as he ran towards you. Kalim, of course. As if there was anyone else in the world who’d be delusional enough to find the scene in front of him relieving, rather than revolting.

He greeted Jamil with a nod, a smile, but otherwise, nothing could save you from his smothering attention. In an instant, he was in front of you, cupping your face and inspecting you for bruises, cuts, all the things he’d look for much more thoroughly after he’d taken you back to his tent. There wasn’t anything to find, but that wouldn’t stop him from treating you with the utmost care for the next few weeks, acting as if he’d found you on the verge of death, as if you had to be nursed back to health with dried fruits and sweetened words. Or, it’d never stopped him before, at least.

“You know you shouldn’t wander off like that.” His tone was clawing, sugar-coated, like an adult attempting to warn a child away from doing something dangerous and short-sighted and unnecessary. His words slurred at the edges, and he reeked of wine and smoke – a result of the revelries that he’d been so preoccupied with when you slipped away. Still, he seemed more elated than belligerent, his drunkenness only making him more content, even slower to anger than he already was. You could see why his people loved him, despite everything. His light-heartedness, paired with his unique talent for summoning rain, made him an endearing leader, if nothing else. “What would’ve happened if a rattlesnake found you before Jamil did? What if you got lost? What if you got hurt?”

It was a pointless question. His clan had a cure for just about anything, from heat stroke to snake venom. He’d be able to drag you back from anything that could ever take you away from him – if Jamil ever let you get that far, in the first place. You wanted to say as much, but Jamil’s claws bit into your shoulder and you thought better of it. “I… I’m sorry,” You mumbled, instead, letting your eyes fall to the ground. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“And yet, you left without saying a word, let alone asking for an escort.” He let out a breathy chuckle, allowed his head to lull to the side. You could feel his tail brushing against your side, and slowly, he bent down, kissing the top of your head as he let out a shallow sigh. You'd been told, once, that he and his clan were more akin to foxes than wolves, but from the way he drank in affection, you would've begged to differ. “I'm not sure how else you expected me to feel, love.”

“In all fairness—” You stiffened, glaring sharply at Jamil. He was usually a neutral force, focused on carrying out Kalim’s whims – not feeding into them. You bristled, but he ignored you, going on as if you hadn’t reacted at all. “—I’ve heard that our celebrations can be disorienting to humans, given their limited senses. Left to their own devices, they might've gotten restless and convinced themself that wandering into the desert was a reasonable course of action.”He paused, pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It took everything you had not to curse him out, but Kalim had never taken kindly to displays of hostility between the two of you. "Or, perhaps, our precious creature just wanted to get your attention."

It was a half-hearted excuse, more infantilizing than genuinely helpful. Still, Kalim's grin brightened. “So, you were lonely?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but he was already laughing, already going on. “Of course! I was just so distracted, I didn't even notice that you were sulking!”

Again, you moved to protest, straining against Jamil, but Kalim was quick to react, to detach a well-worn wineskin from his belt and press the open mouth against your lips, forcing something sweet and vile down your throat. You attempted to turn away, but Kalim’s grip was tight, and it was all you could do not to choke, not to thrash in a way that gave Jamil an excuse to break skin and draw blood. “C’mon, now, drink and be merry!” His voice was soft, soothing, and yet, he waited until there was wine dripping from your chin, until you were willing to heave for air as soon as he pulled away. “If you ever feel neglected, you only have to come to me. I’ll make sure you never have to suffer like that again.”

You couldn’t try to answer at all. Involuntarily, you slumped forward, your head already spinning and your vision spotted black. You made another half-hearted attempt to stand, to run, but Jamil was already pulling you into his arms, lifting you off your feet, situating your body against his chest as he carried you back towards the clan’s encampment, toward the stench of ale and cinder and meat. Kalim followed closely, humming softly, his eyes never falling away from yours.

You hated the desert. You’d always hated the desert.

It was Jamil. You knew that before he ever touched you, before you could properly see his face through the darkness. If it’d been Kalim, he wouldn’t have been able to stay so unnoticed, to keep himself from calling out your name as soon as he saw you – trudging towards a cluster of narrow mesas as quickly and as quietly as you possibly could. Jamil hadn’t given himself away so easily. There’d been the sound of shifting sand, a sudden pressure between your shoulder blade, and then, you were on the ground, lying on his chest, both of your wrists caught in one of his hands and his free arm wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as you did what you could to struggle your way out of his grip. It was a feeble pursuit, obviously, as futile as it was pathetic. You’d seen seasoned warriors fall to Jamil’s strength, his agility, his talent. You, a researcher-turned-captive, would never stand a chance against him.

Or Kalim, honestly, but at least he was a little more forgiving that his dutiful guard.

You screamed, kicking at his legs and attempting to throw your elbow into anything you could reach. He only grunted, sitting up and taking you with him. He was, by all accounts, going easy on you. If he wanted to, if Kamil allowed it, he could’ve driven his claws into your neck, left you choking on your own blood in the time it would’ve taken you to draw a knife. Even if he didn’t kill you, it would’ve taken nothing for him to break your ankle, knock your shoulder out of its socket, leave you not only unable to get away from him now, but unable to do anything that'd be so inconvenient to him again. Simply restraining you was an act of mercy, on his part, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from baring your teeth, from hissing at him with as much hostility and as much animosity as you could possibly manage. “Let me—”

“Be quiet.” Harsh, low, more apathetic than actively aggressive. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his long, pointed ears pressing flat against his scalp, his tail standing upright against his back, but otherwise, there were no outward signs of his annoyance. “I don’t want Kalim to hear you talking like that.”

“Eat shit and di—”

You were cut off by a low growl, a row of claws dug into your side. You pursed your lips, swallowing back a sharp sob, but again, you were interrupted, shoved forward as Jamil released you, abruptly rising to his feet and planting a hand on your shoulder when you moved to do the same. A moment later, you saw why – a figure clad in red and black with a shock of white hair coming into view through the darkness, waving as he ran towards you. Kalim, of course. As if there was anyone else in the world who’d be delusional enough to find the scene in front of him relieving, rather than revolting.

He greeted Jamil with a nod, a smile, but otherwise, nothing could save you from his smothering attention. In an instant, he was in front of you, cupping your face and inspecting you for bruises, cuts, all the things he’d look for much more thoroughly after he’d taken you back to his tent. There wasn’t anything to find, but that wouldn’t stop him from treating you with the utmost care for the next few weeks, acting as if he’d found you on the verge of death, as if you had to be nursed back to health with dried fruits and sweetened words. Or, it’d never stopped him before, at least.

“You know you shouldn’t wander off like that.” His tone was clawing, sugar-coated, like an adult attempting to warn a child away from doing something dangerous and short-sighted and unnecessary. His words slurred at the edges, and he reeked of wine and smoke – a result of the revelries that he’d been so preoccupied with when you slipped away. Still, he seemed more elated than belligerent, his drunkenness only making him more content, even slower to anger than he already was. You could see why his people loved him, despite everything. His light-heartedness, paired with his unique talent for summoning rain, made him an endearing leader, if nothing else. “What would’ve happened if a rattlesnake found you before Jamil did? What if you got lost? What if you got hurt?”

It was a pointless question. His clan had a cure for just about anything, from heat stroke to snake venom. He’d be able to drag you back from anything that could ever take you away from him – if Jamil ever let you get that far, in the first place. You wanted to say as much, but Jamil’s claws bit into your shoulder and you thought better of it. “I… I’m sorry,” You mumbled, instead, letting your eyes fall to the ground. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“And yet, you left without saying a word, let alone asking for an escort.” He let out a breathy chuckle, allowed his head to lull to the side. You could feel his tail brushing against your side, and slowly, he bent down, kissing the top of your head as he let out a shallow sigh. You'd been told, once, that he and his clan were more akin to foxes than wolves, but from the way he drank in affection, you would've begged to differ. “I'm not sure how else you expected me to feel, love.”

“In all fairness—” You stiffened, glaring sharply at Jamil. He was usually a neutral force, focused on carrying out Kalim’s whims – not feeding into them. You bristled, but he ignored you, going on as if you hadn’t reacted at all. “—I’ve heard that our celebrations can be disorienting to humans, given their limited senses. Left to their own devices, they might've gotten restless and convinced themself that wandering into the desert was a reasonable course of action.”He paused, pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It took everything you had not to curse him out, but Kalim had never taken kindly to displays of hostility between the two of you. "Or, perhaps, our precious creature just wanted to get your attention."

It was a half-hearted excuse, more infantilizing than genuinely helpful. Still, Kalim's grin brightened. “So, you were lonely?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but he was already laughing, already going on. “Of course! I was just so distracted, I didn't even notice that you were sulking!”

Again, you moved to protest, straining against Jamil, but Kalim was quick to react, to detach a well-worn wineskin from his belt and press the open mouth against your lips, forcing something sweet and vile down your throat. You attempted to turn away, but Kalim’s grip was tight, and it was all you could do not to choke, not to thrash in a way that gave Jamil an excuse to break skin and draw blood. “C’mon, now, drink and be merry!” His voice was soft, soothing, and yet, he waited until there was wine dripping from your chin, until you were willing to heave for air as soon as he pulled away. “If you ever feel neglected, you only have to come to me. I’ll make sure you never have to suffer like that again.”

You couldn’t try to answer at all. Involuntarily, you slumped forward, your head already spinning and your vision spotted black. You made another half-hearted attempt to stand, to run, but Jamil was already pulling you into his arms, lifting you off your feet, situating your body against his chest as he carried you back towards the clan’s encampment, toward the stench of ale and cinder and meat. Kalim followed closely, humming softly, his eyes never falling away from yours.

You hated the desert. You’d always hated the desert.

The arrows weren’t something you’d thought to ready yourself for. Vil’s poison, maybe, the weight of his newest curses being etched into the fabric of your being, but not a weapon, not the sting of piercing metal burrowing into the back of your shoulder, then the plush of your side. Even then, you did what you could to keep running, to move forward through the dense forest despite the jagged rocks and winding brambles cutting through the flesh of your bare feet. You didn’t know where you were going, let alone what to do when you reached your nebulous destination, but you didn’t have to. You needed to get away from Vil’s tower – that was it. You could figure out what to do next after you’d escaped him.

With that in mind, you pushed yourself to run faster, to ignore the pain racing through your upper body as you put a few more steps between yourself and the ever-shrinking tower that sat above the treetops, but even that was an effort cut short. There was a bolt of searing pain, a white flash playing across your vision. Your left leg was buckled underneath you, leaving you crumbling to the ground with a broken, ragged scream. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to swallow the sound back before it could force its way out of your chest, but whether or not someone heard you didn’t really matter. You’d seen him shoot hawks out of the sky mid-flight, thread darts through the eye of needles sitting yards away. Rook wouldn’t fire unless he had his target in sight. He’d known exactly where you were the moment drew his bow. This was just his way of letting you believe you’d ever stood a chance.

This was just his way of letting you believe he’d ever been on your side. 

You pulled your injured leg into your chest, fighting to hold back the pained tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You were tempted to stop restraining yourself altogether and cry until the agony subsided, but your hunter emerged from the foliage before you could start to truly wallow if your self-pity. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve approached you silently, been on top of your fallen body before you so much as noticed he was within arm’s length, but Rook made no effort to conceal his presence. If anything, he seemed to want you to know exactly where he was. There was a deep laugh, the muffled sound of a longbow being swung over his shoulder, the feeling of his body blocking out what little light the setting sun still hard to offer, and then, he was crouching in front of you. A gloved hand cupped your chin as he looked down on you with the same adoring, love-stricken expression he always seemed to wear. You’d always done what you could to return it, in the past, to think of it as a glimpse of sunlight in the darkness that was your life with Vil, but now, it was all you could do to glare and look away.

“Merveilleux.” He wasn’t out of breath, but his voice was airy – barely more than a whisper. His leather-wrapped knuckles ran over your cheek, just as slowly and just as adoring as they had on the day you met – the day you’d woken up to the first stranger you’d seen in weeks kneeling at your bedside, idly stroking your hair and complimenting your lovely (albeit, quite difficult to reach) home. You’d tried to warn him away, to tell him what Vil had done to all the other adventurers and heroes who’d so much as approached his tower, but he refused to listen. If Vil hadn’t taken such a liking to him, he’d be little more than a pile of ash you’d have to sweep up the next day, or better yet – another withering rose left in your windowsill to warn away the next intruder. Vil always did have a flair for the romantic, but he and Rook seemed to have that in common.

He'd changed, since that day. When you first met him, he’d been rough around the edges, his hair uncombed and his skin as calloused as it was burnt. His clothes had been nothing short of a travesty – threadbare and ill-fitting, repaired a thousand times over by someone clearly not used to mending. Now, he was just as much of an embodiment of Vil’s ideals as you were: his hair grown out long and restrained by a violet ribbon, his freckles faded and framed by neatly cut bangs, his clothes of all the same dark silks and pristine furs as Vil would’ve chosen for himself. He was as much of a pet as you were, really. The only difference was how enthusiastically Rook embraced his role and how desperately you tried to escape yours.

“In fact,” he went on, his eyes drifting to the arrows still lodged in your back, your thigh. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. A damsel pulled from the pages of the most wonderful sort of fairytale, truly.”

“Go fuck yourself.” And then, with a half-choked snarl, “You were supposed to— I thought you were trying to help me—”

“Ah, the searing heat of rage! It shades the color of your eyes with such life.” Rook clicked his tongue, his grin taking on a wry lull. His hand fell from your chin to the collar of your blouse, toying with the mangled fabric as he spoke. “A poor dove, fallen from its nest. Don’t worry, petit oiseau – I’ll make sure you get home before the wolves find you.”

He moved to take you in his arms, but you did what you could to shamble away from him despite your limited mobility. It was difficult to speak, your ribs having taken the brunt of your initial fall and endured further abuse during his first volley of arrows. It was difficult to meet his eyes, knowing what he’d taken away from you, but you forced yourself to do both. You tried to remind yourself that it was still Rook, that you were still facing down the man who’d held you in his arms as you cried, who told you stories of heroes and villains and happy endings when you began to think you might die in captivity, but fond memories were difficult to recall when his arrows were still embedded in your flesh. “You said that— You said that the prince would distract the witch as her captive escaped,” you spat, already aware of how juvenile you sounded, trying your best to stumble through the same story he’d told you a thousand times. You’d taken it as a code, treated it as if you were both colluders in the same scheme, but an ever-growing part of you was starting to think that his stories had only ever been that – stories. “Why didn’t you distract him?” When Rook failed to answer, you bared your teeth. “Were you ever trying to help me escape?”

There was a beat of silence, of stillness. A rabbit rustled somewhere in the underbrush, a robin called out to its mate, and Rook sighed, shaking his head with the kind of humored exasperation a parent might show to a child who just asked about something very, very silly.

He didn’t just toy with your ragged collar, now, but caught it – taking it in his fist and pulling you upright. With his free hand, he took the shaft of the arrow embedded in your shoulder and pulled it free, the head catching under your skin and rendering everything it touched a bloody mess of gore and viscera. The same process was carried out with the arrow embedded in your side, this one accompanied by a searing burn, another second taken to twist the arrowhead free of your skin. You weren’t able to hold back your tears by the end of it, no matter how tightly you clenched your eyes shut, no matter how much it hurt to dig your teeth into the side of your cheek and will yourself not to break down in front of him, not to lose the last semblance of control you had, under Vil’s care.

“I never lied to you,” he said, as he took up the shaft of the third arrow – the one plungest deepest into your thigh. “You know what Vil would do if you didn’t return. I promised you a happy ending, and this is how I intend to give you one.”

With no hesitation, no effort to clot the blood flowing in thick streams from your gaping wounds, he pulled the last arrow free. You let out a fractured wail, doubling over and attempting to curl into yourself, but Rook was already there, already pulling you into his chest as you sobbed openly, freely. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him pull a hunting knife from his belt, the silver of the blade tinted a deep, shimmering violet. You went stiff, but there was little you could do. There was a flash of light caught on steel, a nick of pain in the side of your neck, and then, you were limp in Rook’s arms, quickly losing consciousness as he pulled you against his chest and started towards the tower.

~

You felt velvet against your cheek, first.

Crushed, cool, deceptively soothing – you recognized it immediately, an image of one of Vil’s favored robes surfacing in your mind against your will. Next were the bandages wrapped around your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, then the fur rug underneath you, that of some great beast a would-be hero had once brought to try and rescue you. Vil had wanted to mount the prince’s head on a pike at the base of the tower, but you’d begged him not to, and he’d taken the monstrous stead’s pelt as a trophy, instead.

You took a long, quiet moment to collect yourself, to bask in the last peaceful moment you were likely to have, but your tranquility was quickly interrupted by the feeling of a wooden comb raking through your hair and over your scalp, the teeth dulled by use and the shape familiar enough to make you shudder involuntarily. Vil’s airy laugh played in response, paired with the last traces of Rook’s muttering voice. A new addition, one that left the taste of bile rising up from the back of your throat. One you never wanted to acknowledge again. “I know you’re awake, little one. Might as well face the light now.”

He said that, but when you finally forced yourself to open your eyes, you found that was no light to face aside from the flame of a low-burning candle sitting on a nearby table and the silver-tinted glow emanating from your hair. Clearly, your unconsciousness hadn’t been a good enough reason for Vil not to refresh his eternal youth, tonight.

He’d positioned you as he always did – at his feet, on your knees, with your head resting in his lap. Despite how close you’d come to getting away from him, his expression betrayed no panic, only confident serenity and the slightest trace of smugness. As was to be expected of him. Vil found joy in very little, but somehow, he always seemed to take a certain amount of pride in your defeat.

Your defeat, and your horror. He’d calmed over the course of your captivity, but you could still remember how he’d lorded over you during your first days in his tower, how open he’d been about just how long he’d spent peering your lonely little life in your lonely little cottage, content in the knowledge that no company meant there’d be no one to exploit your magic. Vil hadn’t just ruined that, he’d done it with zeal.

“Raise your head.” It was a command, because Vil didn’t make requests. Reluctantly, you obeyed, and Vil took you by the jaw with one hand, brushing your hair away from your face with the other. Your hair was damp, your ruined clothes exchanged for a black nightdress, simple in design but impeccably crafted. You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised. Vil’s standards for you were only second to only those he held for himself. It was more than likely that you hadn’t made it more than a step into the tower’s walls before Vil deemed you in need of one of his ice-cold baths and something more presentable to wear. “No cuts,” he went on, turning your head to either side. “But more bruises than I care for. Couldn’t you have been more gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but Rook answered on your behalf. You could remember, only days ago, being thankful beyond words to have a buffer between yourself and Vil, but now, you couldn’t say you felt anything beyond resentment. “The lasting evidence of a struggle can add a rugged undertone to one’s charm. And oh, if only you could’ve seen the way they struggled!” He was behind you, holding you up, on arm wrapped around your waist and his legs spread around you. He leaned forward as he spoke, his chest slotting loosely against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “It was fantastic, like watching a songbird with a broken wing struggle to fly. The relentlessness of desperation paired with the inevitability of its downfall - truly magnifique!”

That earned another laugh, a row of jewel-tipped fingers raked through Rook’s hair. “I’d prefer to keep my songbird in one piece.” And then, after a slight pause, “In spite of that songbird’s best efforts to snap its own neck, of course.”

You shrunk into yourself. You’d tried to escape before, to pick the lock on your bedroom or poison his tea or, on one memorable occasion, to steal the spell book he always seemed to keep at his waist, and there’d always been a punishment to accompany your misbehavior – a crop taken to your back or one of your few privileges revoked. You couldn’t imagine what he’d do to you, this time. You couldn’t imagine that anything could’ve been worse than finally getting out of his tower only to be dragged back and deposited into his arms. “I’m sorry,” you managed, eventually, with only the intent of lessening whatever rage he must’ve held for you. “I… Rook is right. It was futile. I shouldn’t have tried to run.”

“And?”

And? There’d never been an and, before. When you could bring yourself to offer an apology, he’d always either accepted it ouright, ignored you completely, or clicked his tongue and promised that hollow words wouldn’t be enough to prove your remorse. You pursed your lips, but made yourself force something out. Silence would be seen as disobedience, and further disobedience would only make things worse for you. “And, it was short-sighted. I wouldn’t have gotten very far, and even if Rook hadn’t found me, I don’t know where we are. I wouldn’t know how to fend for myself. I—” Your voice cracked, your vision starting to blur once more. “I shouldn’t have gotten carried away by stories and fairy tales. I’m sorry.”

Vil let out a labored, languid sigh. There was one more squeeze to your cheeks, and finally, he let you go, setting down his comb in the same fluid movement. There was a small smile, a tap to his thigh, and Rook drew back just far enough to let you push yourself to your feet. Your legs immediately gave out, but Rook was fast enough to catch you, close enough to lower you into Vil’s lap himself and drink in the appreciative hum Vil offered, by way of reward.

“That’s very sweet,” he started, once you’d settled against him. Rook continued to hover above you, but you did your best to ignore him. “But I want you to apologize to our dear hunter, too.”

Something bitter leeched up from the back of your throat. You opened your mouth as you turned to face Rook, but closed it as soon as you saw him, as soon as you caught a glimpse of that careless grin, those half-lidded eyes. For as hesitant as you were to approach him, you snapped toward Vil reflexively, unable to stifle your reactions. “But, he doesn’t use my—”

“He went through so much to bring you home.” He’d shot three arrows. He’d tracked you like a wild animal. He’d brought you back to Vil after promising that he’d help you get away from Vil – after promising that he’d make sure you got your happy ending. “And he’s been so patient with you, since he joined us. Not just anyone can bear your sulking.”

You tried to protest, but your voice caught in your throat. It was more disbelief, than anything – another variable you hadn’t thought would hurt quite as much as it did. Vil scoffed, and Rook gave you a sympathetic smile, and you sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“He lied to me,” you managed, finally. “He said he would help me escape.”

Vil’s lips quirked downward. You saw his fingers twitch, his spell book pulse with a sickly emerald light, but rather than summon a poison-coated dagger or turn you into some chirping, cage-bound bird for the next day or so, he looked towards Rook, more trust in his eyes than he’d ever afforded you.

You felt sick.

“I said that our ending would be a happy one. The poor dove must’ve misinterpreted what I meant by that.” It would’ve been a mercy if the affection dripping from his tone turned out to be ingenuine. It would’ve been a mercy, to find out he was only ever trying to hurt you. “I hoped that I might be to stay with the two of you – at least for a time. If you think I might be a bad influence,” A flash of a grin, a length of blonde hair allowed to fall over one of his eyes, “Then I only ask that you allow me the time I’ll need to savor a death by your hands properly.”

There was a bark of a laugh, a sharp snap of Vil’s fingers. Your eyes dropped to the floor as Vil caught Rook’s tunic in his chest and pulled him closer, as he’d done with you a thousand times. Fabric rustled against fabric, mouths crashed into mouths, but you willed yourself to ignore it, to just bite your tongue and be thankful that Vil’s attention wasn’t centered on you. To be grateful that you weren’t the only one stuck in this cage, anymore. You tried to be grateful. You wanted to be grateful.

What does one have to do to get a little peace in the middle of a haunted dormitory that’s almost crumbling down to its foundations, with a cat shooting fire left and right?

That was what you were thinking when a letter showed up carried along by a cascade of black feathers. It was as if peace and order didn’t exist in the vocabulary of this magic-filled school.

One moment Ramshackle was quiet, or as quiet as it could get with Grim arguing with one of the ghosts, who had stolen a can of tuna just to mess with him, and the next, a whirl of glossy black feathers burst in through the broken window and spiraled dramatically down onto the first steps of the lounge staircase.

“HEY! We’re under attack!” Grim growled, jumping back when the envelope landed with an unnecessarily theatrical thump on the coffee table. “Protect me, Henchman!”

You sighed, keeping Grim upright as he climbed up your arm until he settled on your shoulder. You picked up the letter and looked it over; burgundy-colored, with a wax seal faintly gleaming in gold.

A letter that screamed official and important no matter how you looked at it.

It definitely wasn’t a bill or some annoying request from the administration. Crowley never handed those out in person, much less with a flock of black feathers; which meant the bird-brained headmaster was nearby.

And with that, the front door swung wide open on its own with a creak.

“Well, well, my most honorable and dependable residents!” he said in a voice far too cheerful and far too polished, stepping into the dorm as if it belonged to him and not like he had dumped it on you in terrible condition. “What fortune to find both of you at home! Truly, the stars themselves align for the diligent!”

Grim shot him a flat look and narrowed his eyes. “When you talk like that it means nothing good”

Crowley brushed off the comment with professional skill. “My dear prefect,” he continued, turning toward you with a wide smile, his cape swishing as if he had practiced the move in the mirror about ten times. “I require your presence in my office immediately. It concerns a matter of prestige, honor, and, naturally, inter-academic relations”

In other words… trouble.

You glanced sideways at Grim; the cat met your look, and you murmured to him when you saw Crowley turn to head out of the lounge without even checking whether you were following or not. “Yeah, nothing good ever comes from him”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The office gleamed and buzzed more than usual, once again showing off dear Headmaster Crowley’s vanity.

The dorm leaders were gathered around the table, composed, radiating different levels of authority, boredom, or barely-contained chaos. Kalim was practically vibrating with happiness, just like Idia… although he was probably vibrating because he wanted to go back and lock himself inside his room; the fact that he was here, surrounded by people, was already an achievement.

Yes, obviously something was about to go down.

There were expectant looks from the others—except Leona, obviously. He was one step away from turning around and heading off to sleep in his usual spot in the botanical garden. The atmosphere had that specific tense shine that meant the announcement about to drop was going to be, indeed, catastrophic.

You took your place beside Kalim, who bumped your hip in greeting and grinned from ear to ear. You returned the gesture, lightly bumping his hip back, and let Grim settle himself on top of your head.

Crowley cleared his throat, which was always the beginning of one of his boring, overly theatrical, and unbearable monologues.

“My dear dorm leaders,” his eyes gleamed at the sight of the seven young men waiting in front of him. Grim coughed, and Crowley’s expression tightened slightly. “And prefect,” he continued. “Today we have received an extraordinary honor”

With a flourish, he raised seven invitations, seven burgundy letters with shining golden seals.

“Noble Bell College has kindly sent official invitations requesting the presence of representatives from Night Raven College at their upcoming cultural festival”

Your eyes widened. An event outside NRC, allowing you to explore more of this world and see another school; considering they barely let you leave for the nearby town on the Island of Sages, and RSA was still out of the question— that school was still a mystery to you.

So Noble Bell College would be your next magical stop.

Grim looked excited too, gripping your hair tightly and whispering to himself all the things he was already plotting in his small and chaotic head about what he was going to do: eat lots of tasty things, maybe sweets or bread, or tuna made in some way he had never tried before; the possibilities were endless for your little cat.

“And to enhance the experience, the school will treat this event as a masquerade. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Okay, the pinnacle of dramatics—very Twisted Wonderland and very Crowley… you like it.

Crowley was smiling like a man who definitely intended to send teenagers straight into imminent student chaos. He opened one of the invitations and read the contents in his characteristic dramatic voice.

“The event celebrates unity, refinement, and the highest traditions of academia. Naturally, they have requested our… most distinguished students. And of course this dear and most generous headmaster”

And that was where the seven invitations came into play. Seven letters addressed to each of the seven dorm leaders… and to no one else. He didn’t mention the vice leaders’ names, nor your name, nor Grim’s.

Crowley lowered the letter with a satisfied nod. “And with that, the official delegation is concluded”

On your end, silence. A small, polite silence, while the others were already straightening their postures, ready to hear when they would depart and how they should present themselves.

Then Crowley’s head tilted, looking forward, not directly at you, nor at Grim, as if remembering something slightly inconvenient. His eyes were fixed firmly on the office door.

“Ah! But of course… our reliable prefect!” he turned toward you with a bright, performative smile. “As the head of Ramshackle dorm, it would be inappropriate not to include you in this announcement. Transparency is the hallmark of this benevolent administration, after all.”

You heard Leona snort loudly, as if the words “benevolent administration” were completely accurate. If you weren’t harboring a bad feeling right then and there, you would have snorted along with him.

Grim puffed out his chest when he saw that the headmaster was now addressing his beloved henchman. “I knew it! We’re going to—”

“However…” Crowley cut him off, and you felt Grim’s tail deflate against the back of your head. The bird-brain laced his fingers together in front of him. “The invitation, unfortunately, extends specifically to recognized magical students who participate in the official exchange. As you do not possess any measurable magical ability…”

Grim opened his mouth to argue back, ready to launch a fireball that would leave him flat on his back after such humiliation.

“Master Grim, you and the prefect are essentially one student,” he cut him off again. “And given that Ramshackle is, shall we say, administratively… unique…” he made a vague motion with his hand, annoyed at having to find the word that best fit the situation without making it more tense than it already was.

Reading between the lines: you’re not invited, and neither is the cat. It’s not negotiable. Not even by accident.

Crowley gave a sympathetic nod, his eyes showing a very well-acted sadness. “How unfortunate! Truly unfortunate. Perhaps next time”

Next time… like being told there was no more of the cake you liked in the cafeteria and you’d have to wait until tomorrow to eat it. Or like being told you had to try a little harder on the next assignment.

As if you hadn’t literally fought overblots throughout the school year, monsters, ghosts, and whatever the hell lives in the school’s ventilation ducts.

Life isn’t fair, right?

The other leaders didn’t react strongly, but they didn’t give you the reactions you expected either. A couple of shrugs, Kalim looking at you with genuine sadness at not being able to enjoy the evening by your side.

Crowley broke the silence, and the damn spell, with a clap. “Very well then! Preparations begin immediately!”

The meeting dissolved into excited chatter from the headmaster and completely formal, rather critically thought-out discussion from the leaders. Malleus, in particular, looked especially fascinated by the idea of having been invited.

Grim’s tail flicked over your shoulder. “…they’re really not taking us”

The office suddenly felt a little louder… and a little farther away while the two of you watched the others discuss travel plans, formal attire provided by the school, speculation about the festival, music, foreign food.

“Make sure to keep the dorm in order while we’re away, prefect! Such an important responsibility!” Crowley waved a hand at you, signaling you were already dismissed from the meeting.

Grim’s ears flattened against his small head as you headed for the exit.

“…this is bullshit.”

“Yeah,” you huffed. “Yeah, it really is.”

The murmuring followed you out of the office like static.

Crowley was talking louder than usual, Vil was already arguing about the weight of the luggage and the makeup he’d have to do for everyone, yes, even Leona, whom you heard growl when Vil so much as mentioned it. Azul was bringing up the odds of expanding NRC’s prestige to other cities and colleges.

None of it helped.

Grim walked beside you on two legs, stomping down the hallway, his tail bristling, the claws of his hind paws visible and tapping against the stone.

“This is a total scam!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stone corridor. “We beat ghosts, monsters, more overblots than I can count—”

“—and we still aren’t ‘official’ enough for a school trip,” you finished with the same level of offense.

“EXACTLY!” Grim threw his paws into the air.

You shoved the castle doors open harder than necessary, grumbling under your breath. That damn bird-brain was really getting under your skin; any moment now you’d kick him in the rear so hard you’d send him flying… if it weren’t for the small amount of money the school administration paid you.

The cool afternoon air hit your face, but it didn’t loosen the tight knot in your chest. The voices continued behind you, just as enthusiastic; a glance over your shoulder was enough to make you blow out a breath and start walking down the steps.

“Even Idia’s going,” you muttered.

Maybe bringing up the most antisocial and anxious guy in the school wasn’t the fairest or most honorable move right now, but you were really angry. Not at him, obviously, you were angry at the damn headmaster.

“RIGHT?!” Grim went down the steps jumping two at a time, ears pointed up and seconds away from shouting all the injustices he had suffered thanks to our beloved headmaster. “That guy considers opening his bedroom door a major life event!”

You flinched. “Okay, that was too much, Grim,” you said, your voice a little sharp, staring at the steps because you knew that the moment you took your eyes off the stone it was statistically likely you’d trip, considering the anger leaking out of every pore.

“Hey! You started it” He raised a paw and pointed at you.

“Yeah, well…” you continued, “I didn’t mean it to put him down. Idia comes from a prestigious family and has plenty of money...of course he got an invitation.” You crossed your arms as you reached the last steps. “What’s surprising is that he’s physically going”

Grim kicked a pebble down the steps and jumped the last stretch again.

“He’s physically going and we’re stuck here doing… what. Guarding our dorm from the ghosts we already live with?”

You crossed your arms tighter and rolled your eyes. “I can’t even step off campus without paperwork, supervision, or a miracle,” your voice came out laced with venom, and with every second you were losing what little patience you had left. Spiraling with a grumpy cat wasn’t helping the situation. “But sure, let’s send the entire walking disaster of NRC abroad”

“I should be famous,” he growled. “Hero Grim saves the day again! Where’s my cultural exchange, huh?”

You snorted a laugh despite everything. “Apparently saving the school multiple times doesn’t count as an extracurricular activity”

You crossed the courtyard, the fountain, the last stretch of stone that led toward the castle’s back doors and the path back to Ramshackle. The words kept coming out—half complaints, half that tired bitterness that shows up when something unfair hits a little too close.

When you reached the door, the bridge visible connecting the next stretch of poorly kept land, you stopped. Grim kept walking, now on four paws, and lifted his tail when he realized you had stopped and he was crossing the bridge alone.

You looked at the horizon, spotting the haunted house in the distance and the perfect midday sun over the skyline.

The idea began to take shape slowly, putting down roots little by little, but decisively. The solution to both your frustrations was right there; simple, obvious, both stupid and perfect.

“Why did you stop?” Grim asked, walking back toward you.

You didn’t answer right away. You let the idea keep forming in your mind, running through all the chances of it going right and the ones where it wouldn’t, mapping out everything needed for it to actually work.

Your fingers tapped against your arm. “…it’s a masquerade”

Grim tilted his head. “…yeah?”

Your eyes met his, now wide as he looked at you in a way he hadn’t all year. Your face carried an expression that meant trouble; the kind of trouble that historically ended in explosions, rule violations, accidental heroics, and at least three disciplinary reports from Crewel.

“A masquerade ball,” you repeated slowly, tilting your head toward him, silently urging him to catch on quickly. “Everyone wears masks”

Grim’s ears twitched.

“No one’s supposed to stand out,” you crouched down so you were closer to him. “No one’s supposed to know who’s who”

You let the words settle in his mind, letting the silence guide the realization. One second passed, two, three—until Grim’s eyes flew open wide, pupils dilating and his tail shooting upright as your words finally clicked.

“Oh… you’re kidding”

Your lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that promised a thousand reprimands if you got caught, but that would be worth every damn second.

“If no one knows who’s who,” you said quietly, making sure the conversation stayed between the two of you, “then no one knows who wasn’t invited either”

Grim gasped like someone had just handed him the keys to a kingdom made entirely of cans and cans of fresh tuna.

“Prefect… who would’ve thought you could be so devious”

“We definitely shouldn’t do this,” you said, staring at him.

“…but we’re going to do it anyway,” he shot back.

A second of silence passed. Then another. And a third.

“Yeah.”

“HEIST MODE!” Grim threw his paws in the air, jumping with excitement.

You shut the castle door, not a trace of frustration left on your face. No, that had disappeared, replaced by determination. Who would’ve thought your mind could be just as troublesome as Ace’s?

Your steps were decisive, and you didn’t head toward Ramshackle. If you were going to sneak into a cultural event where formality and proper attire were the currency, nothing in that dusty shack would do. No; there weren’t any clothes formal enough or well-made enough there without getting you exposed the moment you set foot, or paw, into the cultural event.

“We need supplies,” you said, veering off the path to the right, following the dirt road.

“Supplies to commit a crime?”

“Supplies to attend formally without prior authorization”

“…crime then,” Grim confirmed, running after you.

The path to Sam’s shop felt like walking deeper and deeper into a very bad idea; and at the same time, a very promising one. The campus stretched around you, wrapped in that late-afternoon haze where the stone towers glowed gold and the buzz of excitement over the news drifted through the cool air.

“Okay, but... I can’t just put on a mask and call it a day. I’m a talking, flame-shooting, very handsome cat”

“Yes, that’s the main problem” Sam’s shack was already in sight—just a few more yards and you’d step into territory both familiar and unknown, ready to show off its haunted wonders.

“My ears! My tail! My flames! My incredible natural charisma, nya!”

“Mostly the flames” you gave him a look.

Grim deflated a little. “…yeah, okay, the flames”

A few more steps and you were already standing in front of the shack. That mystical atmosphere around it always made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

You pushed open the crooked wooden door and a small bell chimed. The air inside the shop wrapped around you like warm smoke, carrying a faint scent of cinnamon, something that made the place feel both comforting and creepy. The shelves were stacked to the top with all kinds of things: enchanted fabrics, suspiciously labeled bottles, and objects that definitely moved when you weren’t looking straight at them. You could swear a pearl necklace you had seen on a shelf near the door was now resting on a display in the main window.

“Well, well,” Sam’s smooth, enchanted voice echoed through the shop from behind the counter. When he had gotten there, you had no idea—five seconds ago the counter had been completely empty. “If it isn’t my favorite prefect… and judging by the look on your face and on your cute and definitely not troublesome cat…” he leaned forward, “…you’re not here for anything legal.”

Grim puffed out his chest, slightly offended by the comment, but he was still the first to speak, or rather, yell.

“We need stealth!”

You’re never going to get that by shouting

Sam’s smile widened, as dangerous as someone could look while being the entrepreneur running one of the most useful and necessary shops on a school campus. “Say no more”

With a snap of his fingers, the counter suddenly looked like the backstage of a theatrical crime, or a theater dressing room, which worked better for carrying out the plan.

Masks, capes, gloves, fabric samples, a monocle that Grim definitely tried on and that you definitely didn’t let him keep; with the way he walked he’d break it any second.

Sam tapped the counter thoughtfully with one finger.

“So,” his voice sounded as soft as velvet, but you knew underneath it hid the layer of a hardened entrepreneur who always kept an enchanted clause up his sleeve, “you need formal masquerade outfits convincing enough… while hiding the presence of a highly combustible feline”

Grim bristled. “HMNYA! I’m not combustible—!”

“How did you know we needed masquerade outfits?” you cut in. Your eyes narrowed at Sam suspiciously.

“My Queen… nothing happens in this school without me hearing about it.” It was a vague answer, but also a very unsettling one. But this wasn’t the moment to stop and argue, so for now you let it slide.

“He’s the real problem. I can blend in with a dress—”

“And masking your scent.” You still weren’t used to the way Sam interrupted conversations to drop information as if you were already supposed to know what it meant.

“Excuse me?”

“If my informants haven’t failed me,” Sam drummed his fingers on the counter and gave you a sly look, “a certain lion and a high fae will be attending the event, meaning they would be the first to spot both of you just by catching your scent.”

Damn it. He was right.

“…okay, point taken” You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to pay for more than just fancy clothes. “With something to mask my scent, a dress, and a mask, I can blend in. But him…” you pointed at Grim without looking at him, “he needs to look… like a normal familiar.”

Sam hummed and gave Grim a full look from head to toe—and if it had been biologically possible, he would’ve circled him with his eyes.

“Not normal,” he corrected at last. “Expected”

“…expected?” you repeated, frowning.

Sam opened a drawer and pulled out a violet velvet cloak with a hood; deep, formal, the kind that screamed ceremonial elegance. Another of the great mysteries of Sam’s shop: who knows why the entrepreneur had a cloak exactly Grim’s size waiting inside a drawer.

“Cultural events in magical academies bring familiars all the time,” Sam commented as he adjusted the hood over Grim’s ears. “Magical creatures, bound spirits, enchanted companions. Half the time nobody even knows what species they are”

The cloak, now arranged over Grim’s small body, wrapped around him completely, barely showing his shape. The fall of the fabric looked heavy and dramatic; the flames of his ears illuminated the inside in a way that felt very theatrical and very on-theme. Then Sam added a carved masquerade mask, elongated, elegant, slightly decorated with claw-like details but still stylized enough to look ceremonial rather than suspicious.

Only Grim’s bright eyes were visible beneath the shadow of the hood and mask. Sam stepped back, admiring his work.

“With the hood down, the mask set properly forward, and strict instructions not to shout…”

Grim shifted his posture. Now almost none of his face showed and his tail was hidden neatly beneath the cloak. Suddenly he looked less like “chaotic campus threat” and more like “arcane familiar belonging to someone extremely important.”

“…wow,” Grim whispered when he saw his cloaked figure reflected in the glass of the counter.

“Pretty convincing,” you added.

Sam’s smile widened as he leaned over the counter, both hands holding up his head. “Exactly”

“I look expensive” Grim spun in a small circle to admire himself, the heavy cloak barely making a dramatic swirl and giving no hint that he might be exposed when he moved.

“You are expensive,” you shot back. “You eat like you’ve got a black hole in your stomach”

Grim decided to ignore you and kept spinning around admiring himself. Sam, meanwhile, straightened and clapped his hands once, making your attention snap back to him.

“Now for you, prefect”

Another snap of his fingers and a dress slid onto the counter—dark, outrageously expensive fabric, black brocade with elegant lace details and a red overlay that made the black stand out even more. Off-shoulder, low-cut, with a skirt that would obviously require a crinoline.

Elegant wasn’t the right word, it was more than that. It was refined, breathing opulence and formality. Semi-transparent sleeves, ruffles and lace layered over more lace.

“A mask that hides, not dazzles” Sam placed a light black fabric mask on the counter, decorated with brocade and gothic embroidery, soft to the touch and perfect for covering half your face. “The best disguise isn’t the loudest one…”

He set the last pieces down on the counter: a choker of black pearls with a rose in the center, the strands long enough that when worn they would drape over the shoulders; a pair of short black lace gloves; and a very gothic-style hat, pompous, with a fall of fabric that resembled a veil.

A very gothic set… perfect for a masquerade.

“…but the one no one remembers”

You lifted the dress carefully with both hands, making sure not to snag the lace on anything, not even the buttons of your uniform.

“…how much is this going to hurt?” you asked cautiously. You knew a dress this extravagant wasn’t cheap.

Sam leaned on the counter again. “Oh, don’t worry” He paused dramatically, clearly fascinated by how your whole body tensed as you worried internally. “This goes on credit”

“Oh… that’s worse,” Grim whispered in horror.

Sam burst out laughing and straightened again, quite satisfied with himself at the sight of the desperate, horrified expressions on both your faces.

“Relax. Consider it… an investment in the chaos the two of you are about to unleash at an international diplomatic event”

You and Grim exchanged a knowing look.

Yeah… that sounded about right.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Fleur City shone as if it had stepped straight out of a Renaissance painting.

The warm glow of lanterns spilled across the white stone streets, reflecting in long ribbons of gold and amber. Garlands of flowers hung from the balconies, woven so densely that the scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sweet and heavy. From somewhere along the cobblestone corners came music: violins, laughter, the slow rhythmic pulse of festival trumpets.

Around you there were people, so many people. It was barely possible to walk peacefully through the streets. Carnival decorations and food and trinket stalls made both you and Grim stop every five steps.

And everywhere… masks. White porcelain, golden filigree, feathers, silks, velvet. Cloaks gliding over the stone and polished shoes gleaming in the lanternlight. There were no faces, no questions, no names.

You adjusted the delicate fabric mask slightly as you moved with the crowd, letting the flow of festival guests carry you naturally along the wide avenue leading to the central plaza. In the daylight the dress blended in exactly as Sam had promised: elegant and formal, perfectly matching the spirit of the festival—just another face in the tide.

Beside you, a small hooded figure walked with a rather exaggerated air of importance, little paws tapping lightly against the stone as he took one step, then another. Grim walked as if he were leading his own theatrical march toward the main stage.

“This is the best thing we’ve ever done in our lives” Even though his steps were determined, and fairly amusing to watch from your taller perspective, Grim’s words came out in a whisper; for once he had understood he needed to keep his voice down.

“You also said that when you stole extra pudding from the cafeteria” You gathered your skirt with one hand, adjusting it so you wouldn’t end up face-first on the ground. The dress was beautiful, yes, but the crinoline made walking a bit difficult.

“THAT WAS HISTORIC TOO!” Apparently his lesson in stealth hadn’t lasted long. You hid a smile behind the back of your hand.

Grim looked around at the glowing towers, the decorated bridges, the endless swirl of masked students and nobles. Your gaze drifted to the pink and violet decorations hanging between the rustic, colorful houses. One more step and you nearly collided with the long leg of someone obviously walking on stilts. You managed to turn in time and grabbed Grim so he wouldn’t get crushed under the wooden stilts.

“Woow” Grim settled into your arms and lifted his head to watch the person gracefully walking toward the end of the avenue. “This place is insane”

He wasn’t wrong.

Farther ahead there were people dressed in multicolored outfits—diamonds and pompoms, ribbons and exaggerated patterns showing off immense amounts of fabric in sleeves and trousers. Orange and red jesters, violet and burgundy ones too, with painted faces and five-pointed hats tipped with bells. The lantern lights flickered along the walls of the houses and the stone structures, turning the shop windows into vivid, deep colors. In the main plaza, dancers spun—skirts and cloaks flashing in carefully choreographed circles.

Everything around you looked mundanely normal, peaceful within the limits of what a carnival could call “peaceful.” No fire, no chaos, no problems to solve.

“With this many people, it’ll be impossible for them to find us,” Grim said as he jumped back down to the ground to keep walking.

“If you say it out loud, you’ll jinx it”

“Right. Silence. Stealth mode”

You moved deeper into the plaza, letting the enormous scale of the festival unfold around you. Masked performers breathed streams of colored fire, puppeteers staged small dramatic and amusing shows for the children, and the food stalls now had floating lanterns illuminating them in orange and ochre tones, making the shine of the food look even more appetizing.

Grim sniffed as he stopped in front of one of the stalls.

“…is that roasted meat?”

You sighed and grabbed him by the sides, lifting him until he was level with the food on the stall.

“One stall. And eat quietly”

“BEST HENCHMAN IN HISTORY!”

He jumped toward the vendor, still trying to look dignified in the ceremonial cloak—and failing completely the moment food entered the equation.

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the slow, dangerous smile spreading across your face as you watched him try to cram two roasted meat skewers into his mouth in one bite.

For the first time since the invitation announcement, the pressure in your chest eased. You hadn’t been left behind. You hadn’t been left out. This might not be entirely legal—and if you got caught the punishment would probably be worse than anything Ace and Deuce had ever gotten—but seeing Grim enjoy himself was worth every second you spent outside Ramshackle.

You’d do it again a thousand times. To hell with Crowley and his official invitations. You had the right to enjoy an event without worrying about running errands for the headmaster.

“Target located” Grim sniffed the air again after finishing the meat. “Honey buns with a light sugar glaze, ten steps ahead”

What a remarkable nose

“Grim, slow down,” you said, walking after him at a reasonably quick pace.

“You’re the slow one” Unfortunately, he had a point about the damn crinoline. You were starting to hate it a little more with every step.

You lifted the skirt with both hands, mentally calculating how much more you could afford to spend at the festival. Considering how much this cat ate, and how little you had managed to eat thanks to the nerves from traveling through the mirror, you’d have to find some way to stop Grim from devouring everything in sight.

“I said one stall!” You barely raised your voice, but Grim ignored you, as always when he didn’t want to hear that you were right.

As you followed him, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a pair of figures you absolutely did not want to spot heading your way.

On the other side of the plaza, near the staircase leading to the main road toward the cathedral, a very specific formation of figures held a perfect alignment: Crowley at the front, with seven leaders behind him, each displaying different levels of diplomacy, excitement, or boredom.

Riddle walked with a rigid posture even in this festive setting, though he wasn’t oblivious to the fun happening around him. Leona was slouched, visibly bored at being dragged into an official event. Azul carried himself with a calculating air, probably already visualizing his next clients. Kalim was the most energetic of them all, practically glowing even while standing still. Vil was sculpted perfection, every step immaculate. Idia was trying to occupy the smallest possible amount of physical and emotional space. And Malleus simply followed the flow of people, hands behind his back, looking around with complete fascination.

Crowley, meanwhile, walked with an annoyingly radiant and pompous stride while speaking with another figure: tall, composed, with a firm and controlled posture. If you had to guess, that person wrapped in an air of ceremonial authority must have been someone important from Noble Bell College.

Your throat let out a tiny squeak and your shoulders curled inward. You were in danger mode.

You stepped sideways, avoiding turning your back on them all, but also not walking backward so obviously that it would make it clear your focus was on those figures who weren’t threatening at first glance—but were extremely inconvenient for your enjoyment. You reached Grim just as he was about to buy a small honey bun and crouched to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t even think about moving”

Grim’s small body went completely rigid. “What’s going on?”

“If you turn two degrees to the left,” you continued, the dorm leaders getting closer and closer, “you’ll be in their direct line of sight”

Grim, completely ignoring your instruction, slowly followed your gaze, barely turning his body to get a good look. Then he inhaled so sharply he nearly vacuumed the honey bun straight into his mouth.

You clamped a hand over his mouth and grabbed his cloak, dragging him behind the stall and hiding behind the side canvas. The vendor shot you both an irritated look but said nothing, another customer was already asking for an entire bag of buns.

“Okay, new plan” You let go of Grim’s mouth but still signaled for silence. Now he had to act like a normal familiar. “We walk calmly in the opposite direction, and you… quiet”

Grim nodded with the intensity of someone trying very hard to be stealthy and stay out of trouble, still holding the sweet in one paw. You adjusted him on your arm and stepped away from the stall.

One step. Then another. And a third.

Someone in the crowd suddenly turned toward your direction. You bumped their shoulder, jolting back in surprise.

“—Sorry!” you blurted automatically, trying to step backward.

Exactly the wrong move.

Because stepping back made you collide with someone else in the crowd. Your shoe stepped on an expensive, heavy cloak, and as you lifted your foot to avoid ruining it further, your heel caught on the uneven stone. You felt your balance tip backward.

For one horrible second, the world tilted; the lantern light, the masks, the people, the realization of oh yes, this is how we die… physically or from embarrassment, falling face-first in front of a crowd.

But the fall never came.

A gloved hand shot forward and caught your wrist just in time, stopping you a few inches before disaster.

“…please be careful,” a smooth, composed voice said. “These festival streets can be treacherous if one isn’t paying attention”

You turned your head toward the voice and saw Azul looking at you with concern...but without the slightest hint of recognition. Your disguise was working perfectly, even in a situation as dangerous as the one you were currently in.

You straightened carefully, pulse hammering, but posture controlled. Out of nervous reflex you adjusted Grim’s hood so his face was completely hidden, forcing his body to hunch so he’d look like an ordinary cat.

“Thank you,” you said in a neutral voice, though anyone paying attention might have noticed the nervous edge and the faint grinding of teeth as you forced yourself not to scream.

Azul released your wrist slowly, waiting for you to fix your dress before stepping back to a polite distance, still close enough while observing you with that sharp, polite curiosity so characteristic of someone whose entire life ran on information.

Behind him, the others had already turned, abandoning whatever conversation they had been having. Six new pairs of eyes locked onto you—the young lady unlucky enough to collide with the octopus entrepreneur.

Grim made a small strangled noise inside his hood, and you felt a tiny vibration against your arm. It was obvious he wanted to bolt as fast as his four paws could carry him, and if you were honest with yourself… you wanted to do the same.

You didn’t look at anyone in particular; certainly not at Crowley, nor at the tall, composed figure representing Noble Bell College in this diplomatic procession. You made the smallest formal bow of your head, the kind appropriate for slipping by unnoticed even after such a collision. You even tilted your hat slightly lower to cover more of your face.

“Apologies for the collision. The crowd is… lively tonight”

Vil’s gaze traveled over you from head to toe. Knowing him, he was evaluating the outfit the way an art critic would analyze a gallery piece; or in this case, the way Vil always did, searching for wrinkles, imperfections, or cracks.

That crack was about to split wide open if he didn’t stop looking at you so intently.

“Finally someone who knows how to dress appropriately,” he murmured loud enough that everyone else heard.

“Hey! We’re all dressed for the occasion,” Kalim huffed, though he didn’t sound offended.

“Yes, because we were dressed” Vil replied.

If that was the case, then point to Vil.

“Watch where you’re stepping next time” Leona exhaled through his nose.

“That is no way to address a young lady!” Vil snapped back, shooting him the most venomous look imaginable without losing an ounce of grace or letting a single wrinkle touch his face.

Leona simply crossed his arms and held Vil’s stare. The tension between rivals was thick enough to feel.

Azul took the opportunity to cut through that tension and prevent an international incident. He inclined his head toward you again, adjusting his glove.

“Well then,” he said, extending his hand toward you, palm open and facing up, “please be careful, miss—”

Your entire body went rigid in a single heartbeat. On your arm, Grim was seconds away from combusting from the stress this situation was causing him.

You returned the slight bow of your head, just formal enough not to raise suspicion despite your heart pounding at a thousand beats per minute.

“Isn’t the whole point of tonight that we don’t ask those kinds of questions?”

There was a pause long enough for you to offer a sideways smile, hoping you hadn’t sounded rude.

Vil’s lips curled upward slightly, approving, almost amused, mentally acknowledging that at least someone knew the rules of the evening.

Azul’s smile changed immediately, shifting from his usual interrogation-ready expression to one suited for social performance.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Quite right. My mistake. A masquerade loses its charm when identities come to light”

Okay. The plan was working beautifully—far better than you had expected. You made a mental note to thank Sam for that potion masking your essence, since neither Leona nor Malleus seemed suspicious of anything.

“If it helps,” you said, testing the waters a little more to confirm your theory, “I’ve never seen figures quite so… unique” Your gaze drifted across each of them. “So your identities would remain a mystery—with or without masks”

Riddle gave a small nod at your comment. “Indeed. The evening discourages such personal revelations unless they are formally necessary”

Thank the Seven that Riddle bought it. And luckily for you, it seemed Idia had too, he was muttering in the background nonstop.

“Thank the gods… minimal social interaction with anonymity settings enabled…”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, trying to keep it as subtle as possible despite the pressure tightening in your chest during such a surreal interaction. You bowed your head again, ready to give your farewell and move along, taking your first steps toward the plaza.

That should have been the end of it.

“Although…”

Damn it, Azul.

His voice rose again, smooth and composed, turning just enough to place himself at your side as you began to walk.

“It would be negligence on my part not to ensure the safety of the young lady I nearly caused to fall”

Vil moved at the same time, with a grace so natural it was almost insulting; suddenly you had two impeccably dressed elites flanking you like the most elegant bodyguards in the world.

“Cobblestone streets tend to be uneven—especially in heels,” Vil commented, evaluating your posture. Of course he would notice that beneath all those meters of expensive fabric you were wearing heels. Not very high, but high enough to alter your height. “And the crowd is quite enthusiastic, as you mentioned earlier. You shouldn’t be wandering alone”

Azul nodded slightly, adjusting his glasses. “Particularly when a certain tendency toward accidents has already been demonstrated”

The arm holding Grim tightened slightly, drawing a faint squeak from him that only you heard. You looked from side to side, first at Azul, then at Vil, and your gaze dropped straight to the cobblestones.

Oh no. This is very bad.

Behind you, Leona’s voice sounded rough.

“Hey. Don’t crowd her”

All three of you turned to look at him. Leona was dragging a hand down his face, visibly irritated by the situation.

Vil arched a brow, stopping with runway elegance.

“I beg you pardon?”

Azul did the same, forcing you to stop as well and remain right between them. The height difference, privately, was a little funny, if you hadn’t been the center of attention for a very irritated lion.

“I assure you we’re simply exercising proper courtesy,” Azul replied defensively

“Courtesy…” Leona scoffed. “That’s what they call it now?”

You heard Kalim whisper, “Are they flirting?”

And Riddle respond, sounding slightly tired of his classmates, “Knowing them… yes. They are flirting”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Leona shoved both hands into his pockets, leaning back slightly as he approached, glancing sideways at your two escorts.

“The girl almost fell. You caught her. End of story. You don’t need to start an escort mission for every stranger you run into”

Vil crossed his arms and offered him a sharp smile. “And since when do you care about social manners?”

“Since watching you two circle her like peacocks in heat started giving me a headache,” Leona shot back.

You let out a quiet snort, covering your mouth with your free hand. Grim seemed to snort too, barely holding back laughter, the vibration against your chest made it obvious.

Azul released a soft sigh and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Honestly, is it necessary to reduce every refined interaction to such vulgar interpretations?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, flashing them a half-smile, fangs included. “It’s funny and irritating at the same time watching you act so confident about something that isn’t one of your contracts”

The situation would have been comedic if you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it—and if you weren’t one wrong sentence away from catastrophic exposure.

Unfortunately, you locked eyes with Malleus.

He looked taller than the last time you’d seen him. A glance down confirmed it—he was wearing heeled shoes. This fae added a few extra inches whenever he felt like it, and in the process made you look even smaller.

From his height, Malleus observed you in silence. One arm rested over the other, a finger beneath his chin, studying you. As if he were chasing an echo, something about your voice, your posture, the way you held your shoulders like someone used to dealing with chaos every day.

Your heart thumped harder in your chest.

You looked away and gave another small nod, taking a step back, hoping this time you could finally continue your evening.

“I appreciate the concern, gentlemen,” you said, keeping your voice calm and neutral even though internally you were screaming. “But I assure you I would hate to delay such distinguished guests during their evening”

Both Azul and Vil inclined their heads, accepting the farewell with grace. Leona simply clicked his tongue and turned back toward the others—he had been ready to leave five minutes ago.

With elegance you weren’t even sure where you pulled from, you stepped toward the crowd, letting the skirt spin slightly as the crinoline gave the movement the air of something taken straight from a royal etiquette manual.

“Ah…”

Just that single word was enough to cut off your second escape attempt and push your frustration even higher.

The same notable figure Crowley had been speaking with earlier approached the group. The Noble Bell College uniform was immaculate. Perfect posture, perfect alignment, an expression composed, though clearly carefully practiced to appear so.

“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “if you would be so kind as to proceed. The welcoming is prepared at the academy, and the festival program is… quite structured”

Crowley, who five minutes ago hadn’t been remotely in sight, reacted immediately, suddenly appearing from behind you and making you jump.

“Ah! Of course, of course! We wouldn’t wish to delay such a beautiful evening!”

Then the student’s eyes shifted toward you, finally registering why the seven leaders had stopped or drifted away from their intended path instead of following him.

And in that precise moment, his gaze changed to recognition.

Recognition that didn’t look good.

Not good for you, anyway.

“I must apologize,” he said, stepping toward you and placing a hand over his chest. “It seems I have committed an unforgivable lapse in courtesy”

The student bowed in a formal, precise, respectful greeting.

“I have spoken with these distinguished guests,” he continued, voice calm and controlled, “and yet I have neglected to acknowledge the presence of a lady among us. Such negligence falls below the standards of Noble Bell College… and my own.”

He straightened with the same refinement with which he had bowed and extended his hand toward you. In your stunned state, you noticed Grim become so perfectly still he could have won a gargoyle contest.

“I am Rollo Flamme,” he said. Now you could finally put a name to the face. “President of the Student Council and host of tonight’s ceremony”

Of all the people you could have drawn attention from at this event, it had to be the highest authority in the entire academy. The host himself. The worst possible person.

“And regardless of the anonymity permitted at this celebration,” Rollo continued, “it remains my responsibility to ensure that every guest within our city is treated with dignity and appropriate protection”

With his palm still extended, he took your hand and bowed again slightly, pressing a kiss against your gloved knuckles. His eyes remained locked onto yours, sharp, observant enough to make you swallow hard.

“Welcome to the festival”

Rollo straightened again and folded his hands in front of him.

“You have indicated that you do not wish to delay these gentlemen,” he continued solemnly. “A considerate sentiment”

There was a pause—and it felt heavy, considering this man still hadn’t taken his eyes off you. If you ran now he would notice. Obviously he would notice your nerves and terrible manners, and you’d look incredibly suspicious.

“But allowing a lady to wander the festival without escort amid such a crowd would be an equivalent lapse in decorum”

Vil offered him an approving smile, and judging by the look Leona was giving the blond from behind, your escape plan was now miles away from happening.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Leona muttered.

Rollo turned halfway toward the dorm leaders and Crowley. “I trust one of you would be willing to provide a brief escort to guarantee her safe passage before rejoining us at the academy”

Kalim, being the sweet, trusting, hyper-energetic Kalim, immediately raised his hand.

“Oh! I can—”

“Absolutely not,” whispered Idia in a panic. “You’ll get lost in these weird streets and probably end up buying the entire festival”

Kalim pouted but didn’t argue.

Azul stepped forward, trying to appear smooth but looking a little too eager to close this contract. “As it happens, I’m already somewhat familiar with the young lady—”

Vil moved at the same time and cut him off. “And I, naturally, would never allow someone dressed so exquisitely to be abandoned to the chaos of the central plaza”

Why do I always have to deal with the chaos? Why?

The plan had been simple: jump through the mirror without the academic staff noticing, lose yourself in the cobblestone streets, avoid eight walking disasters of charisma and complications, eat festival food, take a couple of pictures with Grim, and go home.

The universe really hates me

Crowley, watching the scene half-delighted and half-offended that he wasn’t the center of attention, fanned himself dramatically. “Ah, such gallantry among my students! How my heart swells! You seven are the pride of Night Raven College!”

Rollo folded his hands behind his back, perfectly composed.

“There you have it,” he said calmly. “A simple solution”

And with that, Crowley and Rollo continued on their way toward who knows where—leaving you with seven distinguished students and one problematic cat who was internally seconds away from exploding or fainting.

The procession moved forward...there really was no other word for it.

The dorm leaders walked in immaculate formation along the lantern-lit avenues, and in the middle of that flock you were trying with all your strength not to implode from stress. Grim shifted into both your arms, leaning against you; it was safer that way in case he wanted to whisper something instead of accidentally yelling something incriminating. Now he sat like a very tense, very judgmental decorative accessory beneath his velvet hood.

Kalim bounced closer first. “So! You’re from another school?” he asked cheerfully.

Alright. Time for lies—and the greatest skill for stealth missions: improvising without hesitation.

“I’m not part of the official exchange,” you said calmly, which was technically true. “I came with my family”

Which wasn’t entirely true… though if you counted Grim and the seven people around you who apparently didn’t know the definition of personal space, then maybe it was a… creative reinterpretation.

Azul also approached, much closer than necessary. “I see. Attending an event of this scale independently suggests either excellent connections… or excellent planning”

Vil added lightly, adjusting his sleeve where a button had come undone. The small imperfection clearly offended him. “Or excellent taste”

The button snapped back into place and his gaze returned forward, specifically toward you. “No one assembles such an outfit without understanding the magnitude of the evening”

You turned slightly and offered a half-smile. “I had help.”

Extremely true. Sam deserved several medals, and probably hazard pay.

Grim shifted in your arms, trying to lean closer to whisper something, but halfway through his cloak snagged on your sleeve and you had to adjust him quickly before the hood slipped and exposed him.

Of course Azul noticed the movement beneath the cloak. “And that little companion?”

Dangerous question.

“This?” you tightened your grip slightly. “He’s my brother’s familiar. I’m taking care of him while he’s away at Night Raven College”

Malleus finally joined the conversation. One step brought him only inches behind you. “A creature temporarily bound under your supervision”

His voice was so deep you almost felt it rather than heard it. A chill ran down your spine. “That explains such an elaborate cloak. A responsible choice on your part. You understand how to present the creature with the dignity it deserves”

Grim puffed up slightly beneath the fabric.

“He appears loyal,” Malleus added, his voice calm and serene now, still close, but with the strange sense of omniscience that came from his towering height.

At the comment, Grim let out a small emotional squeak and fought very hard not to respond. You rested a hand over his back through the hood. “He is,” you nodded.

Also extremely true… sometimes… when it suited him… especially when food was involved.

“What kind of creature is the familiar?” Kalim asked, leaning closer again, dangerously close to stepping on your skirt.

You grabbed the fabric with one hand while adjusting Grim onto your shoulder. “He’s a cat. A bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”

No lie there. Grim tried to object, maybe by digging his claws slightly into your shoulder, but before he could you bounced him upward a little. He made a tiny complaint and stayed still.

“So cute!” Kalim said excitedly. “Hey! Does he need something to eat?”

“No! No!” you answered quickly. “He’s fine, he already ate a lot a few minutes ago.”

The last thing you needed was for this ray of sunshine to feed him the way he had with cookies back in Scarabia.

“Your familiar eats human food?” Riddle asked, clearly puzzled.

“…sometimes”

You wobbled slightly as if thinking, though really you were scrambling for the right words to fix the mistake you’d just made. “Not much—mostly fish. But there was a familiar food stall a few blocks from the central plaza, so I bought him a little treat”

You patted him gently to demonstrate how well-behaved he was.

“Aww, what a shame,” Kalim deflated. “I would’ve liked to feed the little guy”

The little guy shifted slightly, probably remembering the same thing: the time Kalim had stuffed him with endless cookies. Grim shrank into your shoulder and whispered barely audibly.

“Prefect… when we’re done, I want another snack”

That sounded so Grim you had to pinch him to keep the humiliation of staying quiet from going to his head.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Azul said, stepping beside Kalim. “We were allowed to enjoy the festival, so we may indulge a little in the culinary arts of this city”

“You’re right!” Kalim brightened instantly. “We can try the éclairs! Or croissants! Baguettes! The honey buns from that stall behind us!”

What a combination of flour and carbohydrates. But it sounded so good...and sooo necessary.

All day Grim hadn’t let you eat in peace except for breakfast, the little gremlin had devoured snack after snack. You, on the other hand…you were actually starving.

Maybe the discomfort showed on your face, or maybe your stomach growled beneath all those layers of fabric. Either way, Vil noticed.

“Perhaps we could offer our escorted young lady something sweet?” His hands folded behind his back as he leaned slightly toward you.

“That seems appropriate, although…” Riddle added thoughtfully, “young lady, would you actually like us to treat you to something?”

In theory, yes. In practice… was it sensible to let them buy you something? You really did want to eat, and you hadn’t brought much money. Well...Grim had already spent more than half of it on everything he’d devoured, plus a small trinket he bought from a craft stall.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you with such a triviality,” you began calmly. “It would be imprudent—”

“Nonsense!” Kalim cut you off. “We can buy you anything you want!”

Before you could even think of a counterargument, he had already rushed to a nearby stall and paid for five different types of sweets. The others stopped to wait for him, and you took the moment to adjust your skirt and Grim on your shoulder. Standing still, Grim quietly stretched himself across both shoulders like a scarf and settled there, balanced enough for when you started walking again.

“Can I eat some of what he brings?” he whispered.

“No,” you whispered back, barely moving your lips.

When Kalim returned, he carried two paper bags in both hands.

In one bag he had bought eight different flavors of macarons—some common ones like chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. Others were bizarre flavor combinations you would have preferred to donate to the ghosts of Ramshackle.

In the other bag were two chocolate éclairs, two pains au chocolat, two crescent pastries with a bright glaze, and two honey-cinnamon puff pastries.

A direct trip to diabetes.

The bag with the assorted sweets he handed to Riddle with such enthusiasm that the redhead actually leaned back a little from the force. Riddle blinked once, twice, then opened the bag and tilted his head to inspect the contents. He passed an éclair to Idia, who took it with a trembling hand and immediately retreated to eat it where no one could see him.

With the other bag still in hand, Kalim offered you a strawberry macaron. “Here! Take it! My treat!” he said with the brightest, warmest smile you had ever seen at NRC.

You hesitated for a second, but the sweet was so perfectly made, round and glossy, that refusing it would have felt like a crime. You took it delicately with your fingers and gave it a small bite instead of shoving the whole thing into your mouth out of habit. You might have been hungry, but manners and appearances mattered right now.

“How is it? Is it good?” Kalim was already handing out the other macarons to the rest, even to Leona, who took one between two fingers and inspected it with mild disinterest.

“It’s delicious. Thank you for such a generous gesture” You took another bite and the macaron was gone. You brushed your hands together and were about to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but stopped yourself, licking your lip to catch any crumbs.

Riddle pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to you. “Here”

You took it with slight embarrassment and wiped the corners of your mouth. When you tried to return it, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. You can keep it”

You looked down at the handkerchief, delicate, red with black embroidered details. His initial stitched neatly in one corner. It had the look of something personal, perhaps a gift from his mother or something he had commissioned himself.

“Are you sure?” you asked, uneasy about keeping something so personal.

“I’m sure. It’s a handkerchief, it doesn’t carry emotional weight” He accepted the bag of sweets back from Kalim as the other boy handed him a macaron.

You looked at the handkerchief again and folded it neatly in four. The only problem now was where to put it. A mischievous idea crossed your mind for less than a second: tuck it between your breasts the way people used to do to tease admirers.

But no. You absolutely could not do that...though it would have been hilarious.

Instead, you slipped it into the folds of your skirt, improvising a small pocket. After adjusting the dress and crinoline again, you waited for the group to resume walking. The sun was beginning to dip, the first orange rays of evening spreading across the sky.

This time Leona resumed walking beside you.

His stride was heavy, hands in his pockets, his expression carrying such profound boredom it could qualify as an art form. You had no idea what he had done with the macaron; whether he ate it or casually discarded it somewhere with stealth so refined that no one noticed.

All the while he had been watching you fuss with your skirt, holding it with one hand so it wouldn’t tangle around your feet.

Then, with the faintest sigh, as if remembering he shouldn’t be too obvious about observing others, he stepped a little closer.

“Watch your step,” he murmured low enough that only you could hear. “These streets are uneven”

It sounded suspiciously like Azul’s earlier warning, but filtered through Leona’s flavor of bluntness.

Before you could answer or adjust your pace properly, he extended his arm, wiith no ceremony, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him.

But the gesture itself was pure etiquette.

“If you trip again,” he added in a flat tone without even looking at you, “that bird’s going to make us repeat this whole escort nonsense. I’m not dealing with that again”

In simple terms: take Leona’s arm so this ends faster.

Your eyes drifted to his face, half-hidden behind a mask, his hair tied in a simple ponytail. His lazy aura was still there, but layered beneath it.

Even if he showed little interest in events like this, the fact that he was wearing a mask at all was already significant. To you—the mysterious, nameless young lady—he was simply another stranger. You had no reason to recognize the second prince of Sunset Savanna.

And that gave him the advantage. If he wanted to act with the princely manners he had unfortunately been taught, he would use them, especially if it earned him a few points in front of the others. If everyone else was interacting with you, he wasn’t about to sit out.

To the passing crowd, it simply looked like a stranger offering steady support to a young woman in a crowded foreign city whose shoes were poorly suited for cobblestones.

You gently hooked your hand around his arm. “Thank you”

Leona said nothing, just clicked his tongue and gave the faintest nod.

The streets narrowed as you moved toward the academy district. The lanternlight softened. The crowd thinned just enough that conversation no longer sounded like shouting over the festival and began to feel… almost private.

Which unfortunately meant questions; Polite ones, curious ones, persistent ones.

Kalim, as usual, took it upon himself to begin. “So how did you arrange this visit?” he asked. “You said you didn’t come with the official delegations”

“That’s right,” you replied—truthfully. “My family organized the trip. I’m mostly… exploring while they attend to their obligations.”

Which, technically, was also true.

Azul slipped smoothly into the conversation. “Exploring an unfamiliar city suggests remarkable confidence,” he said, adjusting his glasses and smiling the way he did just before landing a new client. “Or considerable experience”

“A bit of both”

“Have you attended events of this scale before?” Riddle asked next, his tone measured but curious rather than strict. “The protocol at gatherings like this can be… overwhelming”

“Not exactly like this,” you admitted. “But I’ve dealt with large gatherings. And… unpredictable situations”

Behind everyone, you heard Idia mutter quietly: “…that sounds like nightmare difficulty in social interactions…”

Frankly, the poor guy already looked like he was about to log out of the event if they didn’t reach their destination soon.

“Yet you don’t seem intimidated,” Malleus said, speaking over Idia’s murmuring.

“I learned that most disasters start the same way,” you replied, pausing to choose your words carefully. “If nothing is exploding yet and no one is screaming… things are usually going well”

That comment earned you seven pairs of eyes.

Because what you had just said perfectly summarized life at a certain academy where mornings often began with students yelling, magic spiraling out of control despite professors supposedly teaching discipline, and overblots happening far too often.

Leona glanced sideways at you and huffed thoughtfully. Azul simply folded his arms and seemed to consider your answer.

“An interesting philosophy,” he said, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Quite pragmatic… and resilient”

Grim shifted slightly on your shoulders, practically vibrating with the effort not to shout HNYA, we’ve fought literal overblots every month, you have no idea!

You scratched his head lightly over the hood as a warning, and the trembling stopped. Riddle stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward the gesture, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Your brother must trust you greatly if he left his familiar with you”

“He does,” you nodded.

Riddle responded with a thoughtful hum. “Responsibility reflects well on both of you”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and smiled.

If he knew how responsible you really were—sneaking into a festival and academic event without authorization, in a country far from the island, in a world you barely understood—well… that comment would collapse like a badly built card tower.

But as you watched him, you also noticed something else.

The way Riddle politely guided passersby out of your path. Azul adjusting his pace so you wouldn’t have to walk faster. Vil subtly steering the group away from the rougher patches of cobblestone without saying a word. Even Idia hovered closer than usual, like some socially terrified wizard who had nonetheless decided he was the party’s defensive mage in a DnD campaign.

Leona kept his stride steady beside you, perfectly matching your pace. And Malleus remained watchful, hands ready to guide a passerby aside or catch you if you stumbled.

The shift was obvious, they weren’t escorting a random girl anymore...They were engaging with her.

“It’s unusual to meet someone at this sort of event who speaks as directly as you do,” Azul said, almost as if the conversation he wanted was simply… a conversation.

Vil nodded from the front of the group. “Most attendees here are desperately trying to impress,” he said, turning his head toward you. “Whereas you, my lady, manage to impress simply by walking”

“And you’re easy to talk to too! It’s really nice!” Kalim added brightly.

From behind you, Idia muttered: “…low-pressure NPC with unexpectedly high dialogue quality…”

Oh. My. Sevens.

They’re flirting.

They are actually flirting.

And they have absolutely no idea that the person they’re flirting with is you—the extremely human, magicless prefect who attracts catastrophic overblot-level disasters like seasonal colds. All you needed was a mask, an expensive dress, and no identity.

Suddenly the seven of them were treating you like royalty.

Your cheeks flushed faintly pink. Part of you wondered—just for a second—if you could take advantage of this a little longer. It wasn’t every day these well-trained disasters behaved like gentlemen.

Another part of you was on the verge of imploding because the same seven who usually competed in ego wars (Kalim excluded) now seemed oddly invested in your company.

Please do not let this night end with all seven of them having a crush on me.

You would never survive looking them in the eye tomorrow. One or two you could handle.

Seven? That would end in a battlefield.

Ahead of you, the academy gates came into view. Tall. Ornate. Illuminated by elegant lanterns while guests streamed inside.

The perfect place for this illusion to end, before their gazes got any more intense. Your steps slowed slightly, and the others adjusted automatically.

Beyond the gates, upper balconies glowed with light and stained-glass windows scattered multicolored shards across the courtyard.

Vil glanced toward them. “A beautiful aesthetic, exactly what one would expect from the student council president,” he commented, violet eyes bright with approval. “Fleur City always delivers the finest spectacles”

Leona exhaled softly beside you. “Tch. If this thing runs longer than it should, I’m leaving”

Your lips curled faintly upward. That was such a Leona comment.

And then Idia, apparently unusually chatty tonight, talked loud enough for everyone to hear. “…pretty sure this ends with a final boss spawning in the middle of the hall at biblical difficulty…”

You couldn’t stop the laugh.

You tried to make it sound like a small huff—but the laugh slipped out naturally. Bright, familiar, too familiar.

The sound hung in the air like a memory someone had just pulled out of a locked drawer. Leona’s arm stiffened under your hand; Azul’s eyes sharpened; Vil tilted his head; Kalim blinked; Riddle froze; Idia looked like someone who had just connected two impossible dots; And Malleus’s gaze deepened.

Your pulse skyrocketed, you closed your eyes for half a second and pressed your lips together.

Idiot.

You cleared your throat quickly and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” you said lightly, smoothing your tone. “Just… the moment”

You released Leona’s arm. Another step back gave them space as the academy gates loomed only a short distance away.

“I believe this is where our paths separate,” you said with an elegant bow. “You have fulfilled your duty admirably”

Azul recovered first. “Well,” he said, though his eyes were still attentive, “this has been… unexpectedly pleasant.”

Kalim waved energetically. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the festival!”

Leona looked at your hand, then folded his arms again. “Watch where you step.”

Malleus returned your bow with one hand over his chest. “If fate allows it, I would welcome another conversation.”

You straightened. “Then perhaps fate will be kind.”

You picked Grim up in both arms, because you needed something to do with your hands, and turned toward the academy entrance.

One step...then another. Trying to look composed, just another guest entering the celebration.

Internally? You were about three seconds away from completely losing your nerve.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The moment the academy doors swallowed you, you didn’t stop, nor you didn’t slow down; in fact, you sped up.

You didn’t admire the architecture, the vaulted stone corridors, the candlelit banners, the elegant streams of guests drifting toward the grand hall.

You took a side corridor, then another, then passed through an open arch into a quieter cloister, with tall windows and ivy climbing the walls. Only when the distant noise of the courtyard softened into a manageable murmur did you finally exhale.

“…Okay,” Grim whispered from your arms. “…we’re still alive.”

“Barely.” Your lips tightened, the pressure in your chest still fighting to break free.

“That laugh almost killed us.”

“I know, Grim.” You leaned against the cold stone column and adjusted his hood so you could see his face.

“…those idiots seemed to like you, huh?” His eyes bulged slightly, and judging by his posture he was as close to a stress-induced meltdown as you were.

You shut your eyes at the memory. “Don’t remind me… that’s a problem”

“I’m glad to see my earlier concern wasn’t unfounded”

The lantern light flickered softly across the cloister floor. Somewhere deeper inside the academy, the music began again, more structured now, more ceremonial.

Why? Why can’t I have one moment of peace?

Your spine stiffened instantly, you turned.

At the entrance of the cloister stood Rollo with a posture so perfect it could belong to a movie villain. Hands clasped behind his back, expression calm and attentive. The lanternlight traced a warm outline around him… almost like flames.

“I trust the escort provided by Night Raven College proved sufficient,” he said calmly. Grim froze again like a gargoyle—after ducking his head and burrowing into your chest.

You inclined your head politely. “More than sufficient, President Flamme. Your hospitality is… thorough”

“It is my responsibility,” he replied. “A host must ensure that no guest experiences discomfort within our city”

He stepped closer, not intruding, simply shortening the conversational distance with careful etiquette. “I must admit,” he continued, thoughtful rather than stern, “it is rare to encounter attendees whose affiliation is not immediately apparent”

Another step forward. You stayed exactly where you were, clutching Grim like a plush toy.

“May I ask…” he said, choosing his words carefully, as if trying to avoid creating a scene, “whether you come from another academy?”

You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate. “My family travels frequently. I accompany them this season” The answer came out quickly, too quickly to sound completely natural.

Which, technically… wasn’t entirely false.

If one ignored the circumstances of that accompaniment.

“And do you personally practice magic?”

A simple question. Simple—and judging by the atmosphere this man radiated, a dangerous one. You didn’t know why, but the way Rollo always remained composed and asked such direct questions made something in your instincts prickle.

Your gaze dropped briefly to Grim as you scratched his head, forcing a small smile like you were remembering a relative who didn’t actually exist.

“My brother is the gifted one in the family” You looked back at him. “He’s the one formally enrolled at Night Raven College”

Rollo’s eyes sharpened slightly. “I see” His gaze lowered toward Grim’s hood. “And that bundle is a familiar, I assume?”

“Correct,” you replied, adjusting Grim again; your arms were starting to ache. The cat was definitely getting fat. “He belongs to my brother, I care for him while he’s occupied.”

His eyes studied you for a moment, like someone inspecting the symmetry of a cathedral window. If he was looking for something suspicious, he didn’t say it aloud.

But he made you sweat. A cold drop slid down your spine, you were getting tired of this much stress.

“How fortunate,” he said at last, allowing you to breathe again. “To have family capable of assuming such responsibility”

He and Riddle would probably get along, you thought. Both had that particular pride in responsibility and decorum. Which made it odd that Rollo wasn’t currently with the NRC delegation discussing formalities with Riddle.

Why wasn’t he there with them?

“In my experience,” Rollo continued quietly, walking past you to look toward the garden beyond the cloister, “those born without magic often develop… a clearer perspective on consequences”

You frowned slightly, unsure where that comment was going. “Perhaps,” you replied neutrally.

His gaze returned to you. Now he stood directly in front of you, but his posture wasn’t interrogative, although something about the moment felt like the beginning of a tense conversation.

Great. Add another person to the list of people you had to be careful speaking around. As if dealing with every student at NRC wasn’t already exhausting enough.

“At Noble Bell, we place great value on the upbringing of our guests,” he said. His voice remained firm and formal. “Often, that reveals more than titles or affiliations”

A polite way of saying tell me about your background.

And what a background that was.

“What does your family do, if I may ask?”

Your eyes widened slightly. You remembered questions like this from your own world...a little classist, a little creepy, if you were being honest.

Your mind started spinning. Whatever you said now would have consequences—and could unravel your lie instantly.

Rich merchants? Too easy to verify. Minor nobility? Far too risky. Foreign lineage? Absolutely not.

You needed something visible, difficult to check, socially plausible… and open to interpretation.

“…performance,” you said finally, tilting your head with a small smile.

Rollo narrowed his eyes slightly, mirroring the tilt of your head. “Performance”

“My family works within musical circles.” You stepped toward the cloister columns, letting your eyes drift toward the small garden to buy yourself a breath of space from his scrutiny. “Ceremonial events, private patronage, festivals like this… occasionally.”

Technically…not entirely false.

If one counted the endless chaos-filled performances NRC dragged you into cleaning up afterward.

“And you?” he asked, moving to stand beside you.

“Me… what?” You had been staring at a flower you thought was an orange lily-of-the-valley and hadn’t processed the question. Your body turned slightly toward him, hip angled casually.

“What do you practice?”

“Ah…” Your expression faltered for half a second in embarrassment. You hadn’t prepared that answer.

“Vocal training.” Your eyes returned to the garden. “Beginner”

If yelling at Grim every morning so he wouldn’t make you late for class counted as vocal training. Or shouting at Ace and Deuce when their clown-level stupidity dragged you into disasters. Enough practice to develop excellent lungs.

“Singing,” you finished.

For one terrible second you thought you had overplayed it. But Rollo didn’t react, he simply nodded.

“A disciplined art,” he said. His brows lifted slightly, careful not to appear judgmental. “Music, when practiced with devotion, reflects order.”

He extended his hands in front of him, left hand outward. “Structure” Right hand outward. “Harmony” His palms opened, fingers long and precise. “The sacred ceremonies of this city rely greatly on vocal precision.” His head turned toward the distant sound of a choir rising from the main hall. “A poorly trained chorus can ruin an entire liturgical sequence”

You followed his gaze toward the archway leading to the side corridor and listened to the choir for a few seconds. “I prefer small audiences.”

“A wise preference,” Rollo nodded, exhaling softly in time with the rising harmony of the chorus. “True refinement rarely requires spectacle”

You leaned slightly to study his face—pure curiosity. His expression softened for a moment under the layered voices of the choir, as if the music were something sacred to him.

The moment lasted only a few seconds. Then he composed himself again, hands folded neatly before him, his attention returning to you. You straightened as well.

“You speak with unusual composure for someone outside the academic delegations,” he said, stepping closer. “Most visitors tonight are eager to attract attention”

You pressed your lips together in a small thoughtful pout, tilting your head toward the music as if weighing the idea. Thinking, and thinking.

“It’s easier to listen first…” You gave him a crooked smile. “Attention can be exhausting sometimes”

Rollo exhaled again—subtle, but visible. “Yes…” His eyes lingered on yours. “…it certainly can be”

Then, like a dramatic punctuation mark in a poorly timed story, a massive bell rang out. The sound cracked through the academy like thunder; deep, heavy and close. The vibration rolled through the stone around you.

“It seems the ceremony is about to begin.”

You turned toward the corridor as the footsteps of guests echoed more strongly through the halls, a tide moving toward the grand hall.

Rollo adjusted his attire, the robe, even the large hat, then extended his hand to you exactly as he had earlier in the plaza, the other hand behind his back.

“It would be improper to allow a guest unfamiliar with the academy to navigate the inner corridors alone during a formal assembly”

Ah… damn

“I will escort you personally.” There was no room for debate. Decision made. End of discussion.

Refusing now would be far more suspicious than accepting.

“You are very thorough, President Flamme,” you said with a bow that nearly reached the floor, holding Grim with one arm and your hat with the other so it wouldn’t slip.

“Thoroughness prevents disorder,” he replied calmly.

He waited patiently for your hand. When you placed it in his, his fingers closed gently around yours. The cold edge of his ring brushed your skin even through the glove. “This way”

The academy corridors unfolded ahead of you. Candles lined the walls in strict rows, the stained glass windows were fading under the last rays of sunset. Immaculate white columns framed the space while the ceremonial atmosphere gathered like a curtain before a stage performance.

“For someone outside the formal delegations,” Rollo commented as you approached the reading hall entrance, “you carry yourself with remarkable composure”

“I’ve learned to adapt quickly,” you said, tilting your head slightly. That, at least, was the most honest thing you had said all day.

“A valuable skill.”

Grim’s small claws pressed into your sleeve, his silent signal that things were going very wrong.

Ahead, the corridor opened. Golden light from enormous chandeliers flooded the hall, marble floors gleamed beneath towering stained-glass pillars, the ceremonial music swelled as hundreds of voices gathered at the center.

Rollo slowed his pace as you approached and gently guided you closer so the entire hall opened before your view.

“The seating is organized by delegation,” he explained, gesturing upward with his free hand. “However, independent guests may observe from the upper galleries”

Translation: He was personally installing you in the best observation point in the building.

Most likely surrounded by staff, highly visible, no escape routes.

Wonderful.

He pointed toward a marble staircase rising along the hall wall. “From there you will have a perfect view”

You lifted your gaze toward the upper gallery, marble and stone just as ornate as the rest of the hall, and quite spacious.

“If you require anything, attendants will be nearby” Then he released your hand.

Standing straight as a ceremonial statue, he bowed once more—legs aligned perfectly like a prince finishing a formal greeting. “I trust the presentation will justify your attendance”

And with that, he left.

Once again, you were alone with Grim.

“…hey… henchman…” a small whisper came from inside the cloak.

“…yeah?” You still hadn’t taken your eyes off Rollo’s retreating figure down the corridor.

“We have VIP seats”

“…yeah”

Grim sighed. You felt his tail go limp across your shoulder. “…this night is going spectacularly”

You released a long breath. “…absolutely.”

Then you turned and started up the stairs.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

The bell never finished its final resonance.

One moment the reading hall was perfectly synchronized with the ceremony, waiting for the famous magical bell artifact to sound… and the next moment fire.

Not the warm glow of decorative candles lining the hall. Not a ceremonial brazier. Not a controlled magical flame meant to add theatrical flair.

These were real flames, hungry ones, full of magic—and disturbingly selective.

They burst upward along the cathedral columns in violent ribbons of orange while the massive bell roared like a living thing. Heat tore through the hall, guests screamed, the polished order of the ceremony collapsed instantly into panic.

“My magic—!” “It’s not activating!” “What’s happening?!”

The sound spread in waves, confusion becoming fear, fear becoming absolute chaos.

From the upper gallery, smoke already curling over the carved railing, you clutched Grim tightly to your chest.

“This has officially turned into a disaster!” you inhaled as deeply as you could, staring down at the inferno rising below.

“HNYA!! FOO! FOO!” Grim tried blowing at the approaching flames. “PREFECT, THE FIRE’S GETTING CLOSER!”

“I CAN SEE THAT!”

Guests surged toward exits in disorganized waves, assistants shouted directions nobody followed, sparks rained down as part of the decorative canopy collapsed in a burst of embers.

You backed against the stone wall, keeping distance from the fire. The flames were climbing quickly now, you could feel them licking the hem of your skirt. You yanked the fabric away and moved sideways along the wall toward the corridor exit.

“If this dress burns,” you said with deadly seriousness, even as the smoke made your breathing ragged, “I swear by the Seven, Grim, I will make you work overtime to pay off our debt to Sam”

“THAT’S YOUR PRIORITY RIGHT NOW!?”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THIS FABRIC COSTS?!”

A small explosion cracked beside you and you hurried your steps. You pulled off your hat and held it over your nose, shielding both you and Grim from the smoke.

The bell thundered again. But now it wasn’t announcing a ceremony, or the hour, or the arrival of magic into a new era.

It was weaponized.

“…Okay,” you muttered, forcing yourself to stay calm and conserving oxygen as best you could. Your eyes scanned the gallery exits, fallen chandeliers, and the storm of wildflower petals drifting through the hall. “Time to save their asses… again.”

The bell roared, the metallic blast split the air so violently the stained-glass windows trembled, and with that resonance, more petals erupted into the burning air.

At first it looked almost beautiful, orange petals floating down toward the flames, dozens, then hundreds. A storm of glowing flowers falling from the bell tower like drifting embers.

One brushed the sleeve of a fleeing mage, the flower ignited bright red on contact, its petals burned from within. Smoke rose as the student’s spell collapsed instantly, magic ripped out of the air like someone unplugging reality itself.

“My magic—! It’s gone!”

Another flower fell, another flare, another failed spell. Understanding spread faster than the fire.

“They’re draining it—!” “Don’t let them touch you!”

More petals rained down, brushing cloaks, masks, bare hands, triggering bursts of flame wherever they landed, leaving scorched fabric and a dead silence where magic should have answered.

The grand hall—seconds ago filled with the most skilled magical students from several academies—was now packed with people who couldn’t conjure a single spark.

Grim twisted in your arms. “PREFECT THIS IS BAD—REALLY BAD—”

You saw one flower drifting toward you and flattened yourself against the wall. The corridor behind you was already engulfed in flames, the staircase was starting to burn. You couldn’t stop the petal gliding over the gallery railing straight toward your sleeve.

It touched the fabric…Nothing happened. No flame, no burn, no magic drain. Because there was nothing to drain, the petal simply slid off your sleeve and landed harmlessly on the floor.

You lifted your arm, no damage. You squeezed Grim tighter against your chest and turned toward the stairs.

“It only drains magic!” you shouted over the roar of the fire.

“That means—”

“That means,” you snapped, voice sharp with the absolutely terrible decision you were about to make, “while everyone else is getting drained—”

You took the stairs two at a time, dodging small flames licking across the marble. “—someone without magic is the most useful person in the entire building!”

Grim’s eyes went wide, he realized it instantly. The only one who could move freely through this chaos…was you.

Without thinking twice you leapt the final stretch of stairs, landing inelegantly on the main floor. Before the flames could reach the hem of your dress you yanked the fabric aside and bolted across the hall.

“Hot! Hot! Hot!” Yes, talking while running through a smoke-filled hall was stupid, but it was the only way to vent the stress as you sprinted through the wide arches.

And at the center of the inferno...the seven dorm leaders stood in formation, imposing order on chaos the only way they knew how; loudly, stubbornly.

“Clear evacuation routes!” shouted Riddle. “We need civilians out—now!”

Idia was shouting too, panic turning his brain into a rapid-fire analysis machine. “The flowers are linked to the bell! It’s a distributed power source!”

Kalim and Azul were already dousing nearby flames with water magic. Even Malleus, with his power weakened, had air swirling around him like a contained cyclone, deflecting falling petals.

All seven were staring upward toward the tower. Where the bell still rang, where more flowers kept falling, and where one man stood watching the chaos below with chilling superiority.

Rollo.

“This world has suffered too long under the rule of magic!” he shouted, completely unhinged. His staff swung wildly, sending waves of burning flowers across the hall. “Power brings only arrogance! Destruction! Chaos!”

Another bell strike, more petals, the last scraps of magic began to fail.

“I will end this suffering!” His voice cracked into something almost like a sob. “Even if the flames must purify this city!”

Grim buried his face deeper in the cloak against your shoulder. “…yeah okay… he’s lost it”

The leaders moved before you could blink. All seven redirected the remaining magic they could muster, pushing the falling flowers away in bursts of wind—though the currents also fed the fire.

“Watch the flames!” shouted Vil, already extinguishing a decorative banner that had caught fire.

Leona had launched himself toward a pillar, dodging both the flames and the falling flowers with the kind of speed he only used during Magift. With King’s Roar, he turned every piece of furniture already on fire into sand.

Tiny grains scattered through the air as more flowers fell from the bell tower, only to dissolve the moment they touched the drifting sand.

“NO!” shouted Rollo, staggering slightly. “Magic must disappear! Even if I must burn this city to its foundation, I will finish what I started!”

The flames burst upward again, bathing the entire reading hall in violent orange and red light, smoke was already swallowing the last breathable air.

You ducked as a piece of the structure collapsed, crushing a bench beneath it, splinters of wood scattered everywhere.

“Henchman!” Grim coughed. “This is the part where the villain stops being organized and becomes erratically dangerous!”

“…good call, Grim.” He was right. After dealing with multiple overblots, both of you knew the pattern by heart.

And if there was something else you’d learned after months inside a school full of wildly irresponsible magic users, and a few outright fanatics, it was this: You don’t argue with them.

Especially not a fanatic who’s currently burning down a city.

You placed Grim beneath the archway entrance of the hall, hiding him from the flames under a stretch of marble structure, the doors were already open where civilians had escaped.

Then you ran straight toward the fire, toward the seven idiots fighting inside it. Or maybe you were the idiot for charging into an inferno wearing a highly flammable dress with zero magic.

But hey—adrenaline does wonderful things to a person’s judgment.

“WAIT—!” you heard Grim squeak over the crackling fire.

You didn’t look back, your eyes were locked on the chaos ahead. You didn’t think rationally either—because sometimes the optimal solution…is interrupting a villain’s speech with physical violence.

You ran, and ran and ran. You rushed past Riddle, who only caught a glimpse of a swirl of black and red fabric from the corner of his eye, unable to see clearly through the heat distortions.

But when you planted your foot, twisted your body, and raised your arm—every dorm leader became very aware of your presence in the flames.

Crack.

Your fist slammed directly into Rollo’s face. A solid human punch, powered by frustration and adrenaline. His head snapped sideways, the speech he was about to shout died halfway up his throat.

He staggered back a step, hand flying to his cheek, his eyes went wide, pure disbelief flooding his expression. No one in his perfectly ordered life had ever punched him.

The fire flickered, then slowly began to die down. The hall inhaled again, tThe room seemed to exhale with it.

You lowered your hand slowly, breathing hard, then bent forward as the pain finally hit your knuckles.

“…ow”

The pain shot up your arm, you shook your hand violently, hopping slightly on your feet.

“Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand for a moment before shaking it again. “That hurts...oh hell that hurts”

You looked at Rollo, voice rough from the smoke. “Could you maybe not burn down a city over your personal issues for five minutes?!”

You bent forward again. “Damn! Your bones are hard!”

Behind you—

“SHE JUST DEFEATED THE FINAL BOSS WITH A HOOK PUNCH!” shouted Idia, unable to contain what he had just witnessed.

“…okay,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “That was one of the worst decisions of my life” Under the glove, your knuckles were already swelling.

“Don’t move” The voice of Vil arrived calm, sharp, perfectly controlled now that the end-of-the-world situation had paused.

He gently took your wrist and carefully removed your glove. The skin around your knuckles was red and throbbing, you could barely move your fingers without a stab of pain running all the way to your shoulder.

“That impact could have fractured something,” he said, lifting your hand and examining it. He turned it carefully in different directions, moving your fingers slightly, visibly irritated. “Honestly. Barbaric… effective, but barbaric”

Azul stepped beside him, his tone smooth but edged with concern. “Allow us to help. We can perform basic healing spells”

Riddle was already clearing space nearby, dragging charred furniture aside. “Give the young lady air!”

Kalim rushed over as well, dodging debris and wilted flowers. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked, leaning in beside Vil to inspect the damage.

You tried to pull your hand away. “I’m fine—”

Vil didn’t allow it, tightening his hold slightly, though not painfully. “Do not argue while you are injured”

“…okay”

Azul placed his fingers lightly against your knuckles. A faint spell flickered between them, much weaker than his magic normally shone. A soft blue glow wrapped around your hand, cold, like pressing an ice pack against the injury.

The swelling eased slightly, the pain dulling from a sharp stab to a manageable ache.

“This is only temporary relief,” Azul said, withdrawing his hand. Vil released your wrist as well. “You will require proper treatment later”

You flexed your fingers carefully, the muscles moved without too much resistance.

“…thanks” You slowly pulled the glove back on. The soft fabric brushed the injury and you winced faintly.

Leona had been watching the entire time with narrowed eyes, arms crossed. “Do you usually run into burning buildings?”

His tone was flat, not mocking, nor scolding, just… curious. You tilted your head, thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Seemed like the fastest way to stop him.”

“Speed is not always the most efficient method,” remarked Malleus as he stepped closer, checking if you’d been injured anywhere besides your hand. “Do you require further assistance, miss?”

“I’m fine now, really. Thank you” Malleus inclined his head and didn’t press further.

Instead he stepped back and cast a small spell—simple for him even in his weakened state, but still effective. The air cleared instantly, smoke and ash were swept away. At last, the reading hall could breathe again, even with the aftermath of the fight still hanging in the air.

Without the smoke, the damage was impossible to ignore. Several pieces of furniture had been reduced to ash, none of the decorative fabrics had escaped the flames, some burned down to their first threads, others halfway through their tapestry. Black scorch marks stained the marble floor, several stained-glass windows were cracked. A few more seconds and the glass would have exploded.

“…I…” Behind you, a trembling voice finally broke free from its daze.

Rollo was still standing exactly where the punch had left him, his hand pressed to his cheek, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. His voice was faint—barely more than a whisper. The fury that had filled it minutes ago had collapsed entirely.

“…I only wanted…” His voice cracked. “…to stop everything tied to magic… to remove the world’s pain”

His gaze drifted across the ruined hall, the ashes, the chaos his plan had unleashed. “This… is…”

His knee buckled and he nearly collapsed to the floor if you hadn’t moved quickly and caught his arm. The others stiffened immediately, stepping forward, ready to protect you from the suddenly fragile fanatic. You raised your hand to stop them.

Then you guided him toward the small central step and let him sit. Silence stretched as you allowed him time to breathe normally again.

On the floor beside you lay a violet handkerchief, scattered with ash. You picked it up, shook off as much dirt as possible, and held it out to him. Rollo stared at your hand, then at your eyes, then at the hand again.

His jaw tightened as he swallowed before finally taking the cloth and pressing it against his cheek, which was already darkening into a bruise.

His shoulders slumped. “…I have failed,” he whispered. “My obsession endangered thousands of citizens… and my students”

He took a shaky breath and bowed his head where he sat. “…I offer my most sincere apologies.”

The apology wasn’t just meant for you, or the seven standing behind you. It was for every guest, for his city, for his school, for the entire world he had nearly burned to the ground.

“The evening is ruined,” he said before trying to stand, you helped him again, slipping your arm under his. “The ceremony cannot continue under these conditions.”

He looked genuinely distressed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. You kept your grip steady and glanced toward the entrance. Grim was still waiting there, sitting quietly—but clearly trying not to vibrate from the tension. The doorway itself was intact, and the area around it too.

Yes, the hall was wrecked…but wasn’t magic also meant to help, not just destroy?

Also… where the hell was Crowley when someone actually needed him? Of course. Useless bird.

“…is it?” you said, breaking the thick tension.

Rollo turned toward you, startled, and you gave him a small, almost amused look and shrugged again.

“The structure is still standing, fortunately” Your gaze swept the damaged hall. “And the guests are safe”

It seemed Malleus shared your thinking, he stepped forward. “A ceremony is not defined by perfection,” he said, extending his arms slightly toward the hall. “But by those who gather within it… and choose to remain”

Rollo blinked, slightly disoriented. Malleus stepped closer, now standing in front of both of you.

“If the host permits,” he continued, his eyes sincere and calm, “Night Raven College would be willing to offer a performance in place of the interrupted program”

Kalim’s eyes lit up instantly as he joined the circle. “Oh! We can do that!”

From further back, Idia fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his very extravagant suit. “…are we activating emergency concert mode…?” His face looked like someone ready to teleport back to his room and lock the door for the next week.

Azul removed his hat and tapped it against his leg, knocking loose a few ash particles clinging to its ocean-themed decorations. “A collaborative performance would calm the guests and stabilize the atmosphere”

Leona let out a loud grunt. “You guys are annoying”

Clearly uncomfortable with the resolution, he turned and walked down the hall, but not toward the exit. Instead he kicked a fairly intact bench and dropped onto it.

“…you’re not going to help, are you?” snapped Vil, arms crossed.

“I’m not singing if that’s what you’re asking, pretty boy” Leona leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes closing as if savoring what little peace remained before chaos resumed.

You snorted softly and turned your head away, covering your mouth to hide a smile.

“This night does not have to end in ashes,” Malleus said again. “Not if you decide otherwise.”

Rollo studied Malleus carefully, perhaps searching for resentment, disgust, or superiority. But Malleus didn’t look at people like that; you knew that. But that was something only you understood… and something you’d keep very quiet.

No, Rollo found none of those things. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

When he exhaled, his composure had returned. “…very well”

He slipped his arm free from yours and stood straight again. “If your school truly wishes to offer such generosity… Noble Bell College will be honored.”

The decision spread through the room like a spark catching dry wood.

Rollo moved toward the doors with renewed purpose, you followed at a slight distance, your good hand lightly touching the knuckles of the injured one through the glove. When you reached the doorway, you crouched and picked Grim up. Rollo was already speaking to the attendants, directing them into motion.

Lanterns were relit, broken furniture beyond repair was carried outside, pieces that could still stand were pushed aside, some attendants used magic to clean the soot-darkened marble. Malleus helped with that as well.

Within minutes the hall had nearly returned to its original state. The musicians who had once prepared the ceremonial music brought out instruments again, students from Noble Bell College hurried to reconstruct something resembling a formal—if now acoustic—evening.

Rollo stood at the center of it all, overseeing the work, ensuring nothing was misplaced, watching the Night Raven College delegation help, issuing calm instructions to his students.

His gaze moved across the entire hall, until it returned to you.

“I wish to offer my most sincere apology,” his voice carrying clearly across the room, the bruise on his cheek was now unmistakable. “I failed my guests… and those who showed the courage I lacked in that moment.”

His bow was so deep he nearly folded in half. You tightened your grip around Grim against your chest as you watched him straighten again.

“You intervened when reason could no longer reach me,” he continued. “And for that… you have my sincere gratitude. And my apology”

How many times had people bowed or inclined themselves before you tonight? Five? Six? Who knew.

It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“I placed you in danger inside my own academy.” You held his gaze, but this time you didn’t bow. Your neck was already starting to ache from all the earlier ones.

“I’m just glad the city isn’t on fire.”

Rollo simply nodded and looked around again. The students of Noble Bell were nearly finished restoring the hall, and the seven dorm leaders had regrouped in their usual cluster of dramatic personalities.

Their attention was now very clearly fixed on you, you could practically feel their eyes drilling into your back. Behind the thin mask you gave yourself a completely deadpan look. They couldn't possibly be more obvious. You huffed quietly and waited while the last details were set in place, a student lit the final candle on a low chandelier.

“Earlier you mentioned that your family works in the field of musical performance,” Rollo said. You turned your head so quickly your neck nearly cracked.

“And… that you yourself train your voice.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Kalim elbow Azul so he would stop talking to Idia and pay attention. Vil's eyes sharpened with sudden artistic interest...That was definitely not a good sign.

Rollo clasped his hands together near his chest, almost pleading. “The choir scheduled for tonight has been… interrupted”

He then extended his hands toward you. “If the young lady who helped save this ceremony would be willing—even a brief performance—” His palms opened upward. “…it might help restore calm among our guests.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop a tiny panicked squeak.

Kalim suddenly jumped forward, stopping far too close to your face. “That sounds fantastic!” He grabbed both your hands enthusiastically. You flinched slightly at the stab of pain in your knuckles. “Oh! Right, sorry!”

He released the injured one immediately, though his excitement didn’t dim in the slightest. “You can sing? You didn’t mention that earlier!”

You tried to respond, anything, but your mouth stayed half-open when Azul stepped closer too, wearing an expression of dangerously genuine curiosity.

“How convenient,” he said smoothly. “It seems the young lady possessed hidden talents” His sincere smile somehow made you even more nervous.

At lightning speed your eyes scanned the seven dorm leaders and Rollo, completely unable to form a single word. Every possible response in your head was immediately replaced by another, or interrupted by something someone in front of you said.

“…this is either the best narrative resolution ever or the beginning of a catastrophic post-credits scene,” Idia whispered to Riddle, he rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.

“Well then…” Vil crossed his arms, visibly expectant. “Can you?”

His smile looked like that of a film director who had just discovered his next muse and was about to shoot the best scene of his career.

“Here we go again,” groaned Leona, pinching the bridge of the nose. “Stop crowding her again” Vil gestured for him to be quiet.

You closed your mouth...Opened it again...Closed it again; then slowly inhaled. Honestly… it had already been a very long day: You had snuck into an international festival without an official invitation; dodged lethal magic-draining flowers; lied to the host of the entire event and punched him in the face in the middle of a burning hall.

At this point…

what was one more bad decision?

“…I can try”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

From one of the tall windows of the hall, you had a perfect view of the performance unfolding below.

Malleus stood right at the center of the marble circle—calm, steady, almost statuesque. When he sang, his voice carried through the entire hall with a strength that everyone could feel. Beside him, Azul and Idia accompanied the song with suspicious precision; you had never seen them rehearse this performance, and you were fairly certain you had never heard this song echoing through the dorm corridors either.

“…wow,” Grim whispered from your arms, barely peeking out to watch. “They’re actually killing it”

“Yeah…” You leaned forward a little more.

The other dorm leaders stood off to one side of the hall watching the performance unfold, and just as he had promised, Leona had absolutely no intention of participating.

You leaned a little farther when you noticed something odd about Idia’s performance in front of the guests. “…Is Idia using a voice device?”

“…that guy really can’t live without technology,” Grim muttered, crossing his arms. His expression flattened when he spotted the small device Idia was clearly using to sing for him.

And even so…The performance was magnificent.

Malleus’s voice sounded so majestic it was both deep and almost angelic, probably one of the many perks of being a high fae and future prince. Idia’s voice—unexpectedly delicate despite being technological—and Azul’s tone blended perfectly together.

You rested your arms on the stone window frame and closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to enjoy the evening the way you had originally planned. Grim climbed onto the window ledge beside you, adjusting his mask so he could see better. Both of you swayed gently with the rhythm of the music, and a smile slowly spread across your face.

“They’ve got this,” you murmured quietly, tapping a finger against your arm in time with the music. “Bastards… is there anything they can’t do well?”

Grim snickered, covering his mouth with his paw to keep the sound down. “They’re totally showing off.”

You laughed quietly along with him. When you opened your eyes again, you found Grim staring at you. “You’re next.”

Your smile, which had started out sarcastic, shifted into something more mischievous.

You looked back down toward the hall. The voices still flowed together in harmony, moving around the marble circle with a grace that Vil was probably mentally approving from somewhere nearby. The second chorus was about to begin.

“Well…” you straightened up, adjusting the fall of your skirt and the lace miraculously still intact over the red brocade. “I suppose it’s time to close the night with a golden finish”

Grim looked up at you, eyes narrowing skeptically, his little paws stretching toward you to be held again.“You know how to sing?”

You lifted him and settled him onto your shoulder, both of you looked down toward the stage one last time. Your voice obviously wouldn’t sound as perfect as Malleus’s, but at least it would sound human, warm.

Or so you hoped.

You adjusted your mask and stepped toward the staircase, running your hand along the stone edge of the window and grabbing a small black fan.

“…Where did you get that fan?” Grim asked.

You opened it, revealing a simple design of floral embroidery and delicate lace. “It was on one of the benches”

“Hng… you’re adding more drama.”

Right then, Malleus’s voice surged through the entire hall structure as he reached the final note. The sound vibrated through the room, leaving behind a faint but powerful echo.

You paused mid-step and glanced upward as if your eyes could follow the note sliding through the air, then you gave Grim a playful look. “Come on” You turned toward the stairs. “We’ve got to compete with our prince”

The final chord echoed for a few seconds, applause followed, warm and energized, proof that the performance of those three had worked. The night had been saved.

You set Grim down at the top of the stairs, placing him beside a small decorative window at his height so he could watch the next act. When your heel touched the first step, the lighting along the staircase dimmed slightly, casting a softer contrast around your silhouette.

Fan open, one hand resting lightly on the railing, your heart racing a mile a minute. This would either go spectacularly well…

or become the most embarrassing moment of your life.

You glanced once more at Grim for support, he lifted one paw in a tiny thumbs-up; that was apparently the feline version of encouragement.

And so you began your descent, slow steps, measured, careful. Falling now would be catastrophic. No one wanted to watch the mysterious masked woman who had saved the evening tumble down twenty marble steps.

“Masquerade Paper faces on parade Masquerade Hide your face, so the world will never find you…”

The applause died instantly, your voice wasn't loud nor powerful like Malleus’s, it didn’t have Azul’s precision, nor Idia’s delicate tone...But hopefully it was unmistakably human, and familiar. Almost… comforting.

Each step down the marble curved with the melody, the lace of the dress catching the candlelight, the fan tilting slightly, slow movements as if you were stepping into a courtship circle.

Below in the hall, the seven leaders stood still. Malleus, Idia, and Azul had returned to stand with the others and now the entire group once again had their eyes fixed on you.

Both Azul and Riddle tensed in unison, not expecting your voice to emerge so soft. Singing while descending a staircase could be rather complicated if you didn’t have proper vocal control; walking while singing alone could already be tiring and might make your voice tremble.

Kalim, who stood on the opposite side of Riddle, grabbed his sleeve and began shaking it, pointing at you as you continued your descent. His mouth hung open, nearly reaching the floor, forming a small wow while you fanned yourself with each descending step.

“Masquerade Every face a different shade Masquerade Look around, there’s another mask behind you”

You continued downward, slow but steady, each step landing precisely with the tempo of the lyrics. Now the fan moved a little faster.

Vil followed your figure with every step, every movement of your dress flowing smoothly over the stairs; your posture perfectly straight, your weight settling properly onto each foot as it should, the heels striking neatly in time with the tempo. He watched how you moved the fan, as if it were a supporting actor that required very little to be perfect.

Idia stood behind Vil, slightly hunched with his mask poorly positioned; it looked like he had removed it for a moment after the performance, or rather, like he had deflated after carrying out such an intense social activity in front of so many people. His head barely leaned past Vil’s shoulder as he watched how you didn’t need much to sound… simple, soothing.

The last curve of the staircase opened beneath your feet. The light framed you warmer there, spilling gold across the newly polished floor. You extended the hand holding the fan slightly to the side as the verse neared its end, and when your foot touched the final step…the music swelled, the violins accompanying the delicate chimes while a few percussion instruments followed.

“Flash of mauve, Splash of puce, Fool and king, Ghoul and goose, Green and black, Queen and priest, Trace of rouge, Face of beast”

You advanced farther into the open hall, guests stepped aside to give you room, as if the song itself were clearing a path for you. The warmth of your voice filled the space the fear had left behind earlier, moving through the hall softer than magic, steadier than the ceremony.

Leona had remained leaning against a pillar, watching without making any visible movement or comment toward the others. His arms rested at his sides, palms against the pillar, his gaze moving up and down your figure as he watched you walk through the crowd. But he wasn’t looking at you the way Vil was.

No. He observed you as if trying to solve a puzzle that had been gnawing at him since the afternoon in the plaza. The mysterious masked girl who had stumbled into the group and carried herself with a natural ease almost humiliating for the seven of them clearly had an ace up her sleeve… an ace that felt strangely familiar, though he couldn’t remember from where.

And Malleus…was doing exactly the same. Watching you; but with a softer gaze, as though he were seeing a nymph within her own spring and he were merely a mortal fortunate enough to stumble upon her, fate too generous to allow him to witness such a spectacle.

Then…more voices joined, almost by accident. A voice close to you murmured quietly, then a couple near the edge of the circle, just above the violins, then another pair, cautious but slightly more confident.

All of those voices testing whether they were allowed to join—as though they were forming a chorus to accompany your performance. And you allowed it.

A performance so human was always better when accompanied, wasn’t it?

“Faces Take your turn, take a ride On the merry-go-round In an inhuman race…”

A pair of masked dancers stepped onto the open floor, slowly and cautiously at first; no choreography, only instinct, their movements catching the rhythm just as the candlelight caught the stained glass.

More joined. It wasn’t a full dance yet—just a movement here, another there. And gradually, what had begun with only your voice started turning into a complete spectacle.

You moved the fan in flowing motions upward with the rhythm of the lyrics—the dramatic courtship play Grim had mentioned.

“Eye of gold, Thigh of blue, True is false, Who is who? Curl of lip, Swirl of gown, Ace of hearts, Face of clown”

The chorus of guests was unmistakable now, harmonizing with yours—not raising their voices to compete with you, but filling the space so the performance reverberated just as powerfully as Malleus’s voice alone had earlier.

Dozens of voices intertwined softly beneath yours; it was like watching the masquerade itself sing to close the night. Silk skirts began to spin, cloaks gliding across the floor, candlelight casting soft shadows over every figure and across the marble.

“Faces Drink it in, drink it up Till you’ve drowned in the light, in the sound But who can name the face?”

You turned your head toward a woman dressed exquisitely, wearing an immaculate violet gown, a mask almost identical to yours covered her eyes, she also carried a fan matching her dress.

With a movement that seemed rehearsed, the two of you raised your fans in front of your faces at the same moment. Everyone nearby who held a fan did exactly the same.

And for the third time that evening—after an inconvenient encounter, after an infernal chaos—the event finally felt like a masquerade again.

Right there, at the center of everything, this time a center you had actually sought, you found yourself surrounded by a ballroom that had willingly become part of your song.

“Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!”

The dance burst to life.

No longer were there hesitant couples barely swaying, now they spun with confidence to the sound of the violins, gowns and suits tracing wide arcs across the marble floor. You moved among the turns like a master of ceremonies, your skirt’s movement blending with the others, spinning not to dance but to carry your voice to every corner of the hall.

Kalim’s eyes widened as he watched the sea of fabrics spinning and spinning—it was dizzying just to see so much coordination. “Oh! People are really joining in!”

Azul watched keenly. “Fascinating… she’s stabilizing the entire room”

A few steps away, a Noble Bell student, tall, immaculate, his uniform pristine and untouched by ash, walked directly toward you.

Closer, closer still, until he stood only a single step away, moving in rhythm with the crowd, following your steps before bowing and extending his hand.

A formal invitation, a very legitimate one, the kind of official invitation you had hoped for ever since the festival had been announced. All afternoon you had hesitated about where to walk, hesitated about what to say so you wouldn’t be discovered. Now…

you simply wanted to dance, and you accepted the invitation without stopping your singing.

You snapped the fan closed softly against your hip while allowing him to guide you into the swirling mass of couples turning across the floor. Some dancers even lifted their partners into the air, far too bold a movement for you, so you wisely didn’t attempt it.

Your dance was coordinated and fairly simple compared to the others, whose steps already carried the etiquette of ballroom tradition, yours remained softer, movements that allowed the dress to breathe and form dark circles trimmed with red, and enough stillness that your voice could continue floating above the chorus.

The student spun you once just as the orchestra swelled, your dress opened in a dark flare that caught the golden light like a glowing ember refusing to fade.

Across the floor, the seven dorm leaders watched as the performance had truly become that— a performance.

Dance, music, lead voice, chorus. Had you really not planned this from the start?

Vil murmured more to himself than the others, captivated by the way your dress followed every turn. “Control, breath rhythm, audience integration.” He adjusted both sleeves before adding his final verdict. “She has stage instinct”

He walked straight into the crowd and invited the first person he saw waiting near the edge of the dance floor. The others stared in silence for a few seconds before Kalim burst into laughter and strode toward the center as well, inviting a Noble Bell student to dance.

The hall had fully surrendered now, no more uncertain steps or scattered movements—only a sea of silk and velvet, feathered hats swaying in the air, lace glimmering beneath the softened lights.

Couples changed hands in coordinated turns, everyone pulsed with the rhythm of the music.

“You can fool Any friend who ever knew you”

The student guiding you spun you once more, then another step, then he released your hand with elegant timing within the flow of the dance, allowing another guest to take it. Then another, and another; You remained on the dance floor as if you had been born to dance until sunrise.

The orchestra never truly stopped after that.

One song melted into the next, the tempo rising and softening in waves while the lantern light grew warmer, as though the night itself had finally remembered what it was meant to be.

And you danced, and danced, and danced. Occasionally glancing upward toward the window where Grim watched from his hiding place, until he grew bored and hurried down the stairs toward a small table where snacks and drinks had been arranged.

And Grim, being Grim, went straight for the snacks. You shook your head, amused, unable to suppress the smile at the irony of it all: Grim worrying only about food, completely forgetting the stealth part…while you danced with strangers.

At first.

Because in the middle of another turn, Kalim arrived. He practically bounced his way over, bowing with an enthusiastic sincerity that somehow remained perfectly polite.

“May I?” he asked, already smiling as though the answer could only be yes.

His dancing was open, slightly less precise than the formal protocol demanded, but relaxed enough that the turns felt light and smooth rather than rigid and ceremonial.

If the music hadn’t dictated the style, Kalim probably would have dragged you into a dozen far more energetic moves across the entire floor.

“Best night ever,” he laughed softly as you spun together. His laughter was so contagious it made you laugh too—though you kept it much more controlled this time.

“I’m really glad you stayed” He spun you again in a partner exchange.

Next came Riddle. He stepped forward with impeccable posture, offering his hand with textbook ceremonial formality. “I would like to request this dance,” he said, composed, but unmistakably sincere.

His steps were perfect, structured, exactly as ballroom manuals likely instructed for someone leading a partner. Not stiff, simply precise—as if every movement had been practiced until he could guide another person with absolute confidence.

“You handle chaos surprisingly well,” he admitted quietly during a turn.

Ah…if only you knew

Then came Azul. He bowed with a touch of theatrical flair, though still formal, like a merchant about to greet a valuable soul. “It would be a tragedy not to experience a dance with you”

He guided you effortlessly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated so that you appeared exquisite, as though you were a rare piece in an impossibly expensive collection. And he remained in the background…letting you shine.

Vil arrived afterward as if the night itself had set a timer so he would appear at the exact right moment, balancing the aesthetic of the three who had gone before him.

His hand was firm, confident; the dance elegant without effort, posture impeccable, movement fluid—the kind of partner who doesn’t just dance but shapes the entire image of the ballroom around him.

“You understand presentation,” he murmured near your ear. “Presence. That’s rare to find” He released your hand for an open step, ending with you spinning on yourself and landing briefly in the blond’s arms before he let you go again.

You were surprised when Idia came next. His expression showed he was fighting every ounce of his anxiety and preparing himself like someone about to face a hidden final boss.

“…okay.” He took your hand in his, visibly trembling and a little hesitant. “Statistically speaking I’m going to regret this—or die—if I don’t at least try once…”

His steps were clumsy, but not enough for you to step on his feet, nor for him to step on yours. Idia had more secrets tucked up his sleeves than he liked to show the world.

One step, then another, and then, surprisingly, he became careful, mentally counting the next movements so you could continue looking radiant in your dress. “It’s easy… being next to you,” he admitted quietly, placing a hand on your waist. “That… that’s not common for me.”

Leona came next. He didn’t arrive in a spin, handing you off to the next dancer. No; he simply appeared when the music slowed slightly, one brow raised and the corner of his mouth faintly lifted, refusing you the honor of seeing a full smile.

His hand extended with the same casual inevitability he had shown in the plaza. “Come on. You already survived the worst of it”

His grip was firm, steady, strong enough that dancing with him felt like walking beside someone who had temporarily decided not to bite anyone.

Like with Idia, you were surprised by how careful Leona could be while dancing. Of course, as a prince he had been forced to learn etiquette and ballroom lessons. And now you were witnessing the results of that irritating education.

Very good results, to be honest.

Because when the choreography called for the lead to lift his partner again, Leona didn’t hesitate, nor did he give you a warning, he lifted you by the waist. You let out a small yelp before touching the floor again, Leona steadied you against him so you wouldn’t stumble during the next steps.

“You don’t show panic,” he said quietly, leaning closer to whisper near your ear. “Didn’t expect to find someone like that at an event this pompous.”

And finally...Malleus.

He appeared without hurry, not interrupting the moment you had with Leona until the partners changed naturally. He stepped forward as the music reached the last measures of the slow dance, transitioning toward something deeper and more intimate, an instant carved into midnight itself as the first rhythm came to a close.

“May I share this dance?” he asked softly, bowing slightly before taking your hand and guiding you through the final movements of that first rhythm with the other dancers.

His hand was warm around yours, his steps slow, deliberate, impossibly gentle for someone so tall and imposing, as if the music being played had been written specifically for the two of you.

“You brought light back to this hall tonight,” he said quietly so only you could hear him, ignoring everyone else around you. “Whether you intended to or not”

Laughter floated through the air as the first rhythm of the night ended. Seven dances, with seven boys, all stepping away from you carrying the same strange feeling, that they had just spent time with someone important… and somehow familiar.

And you allowed yourself to keep smiling and dancing. For once, you allowed yourself to have the night Crowley had stolen from you.

One dance became two; two became five.

At some point the evening stopped feeling like something you had infiltrated and barely survived, and became something you were simply living. Living far from the cold walls of Ramshackle, far from the magic-soaked stone of NRC.

In the distance, the spell of the moment broke with a bell chime, small and practical. A bell announcing that it was already very late.

Your eyes shot toward the tall clock mounted against the marble wall. “…oh no.”

You had approached the snack table, where Grim had apparently devoured everything edible and was now curled up beside it waiting for you.

When he heard you mutter, he lifted his head. “Mm?”

“We’re out of time,” you said, looking at him in horror.

“HMNYA?!” he jumped up.

“If we don’t leave now,” you whispered in his ear, avoiding attracting attention, the earlier squeak had already made several guests glance toward the table, “we won’t get back to campus before they do”

You scanned the crowd, searching for an escape route. “And if Crowley gets there first—”

Grim gasped and jumped into your arms. “We’re dead”

“Exactly”

The music swelled again and several people stepped back into the center of the hall for another round, perfect cover. You adjusted Grim in your arms and reopened the fan, hiding him slightly as you began walking quickly.

“Okay, we walk fast,” you said quietly while heading toward the reading hall doors. “No running. We blend in with the people leaving and slip out before anyone notices.”

You pushed your way step by step through the living sea of masks, guests, and students, gliding between couples mid-turn, passing laughing students.

Every movement controlled to avoid suspicion, but urgent.

You were only a few steps away, close enough to feel the cool night air slipping through the carved gap in the wooden door, close enough that one more step would take you out of the lantern light, the music, the masquerade entirely.

And you pushed the enormous door open, stepping straight into the outer corridor.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

“This was probably the most fun disaster I’ve ever attended.” Kalim had his hands behind his head, still smiling as if the night hadn’t stopped being magical.

The dorm leaders had gathered near one of the marble pillars. The music from the hall drifted faintly just a few meters away.

Riddle adjusted his gloves, nodded, and placed his hands behind his back. “The structural damage was severe, but the response was… effective.”

Azul had picked up a glass from the table, apparently unaware that Grim had already raided the food there. He swirled it in his hand, watching the liquid spiral slightly.

“Indeed” He took a small sip and looked toward the hall doors. “Although there is still one clause unresolved”

Vil had followed him and taken a glass of wine, sipping occasionally. He hadn’t even finished half of it. “The mysterious lady”

Idia nodded, by now he had removed his mask. “Mysterious young woman, SSR-tier character who punches the main villain with maxed-out stats.”

Kalim, who had only half been listening, glanced around—the others, the muffled music beyond the door, the outer corridor—his gaze bounced everywhere for a moment, then he suddenly straightened, exhaling through his nose.

“She said her brother studies at NRC.” That made the others turn toward him.

Vil lifted the glass to his lips thoughtfully, his eyes sharp though his mind clearly elsewhere. “Yes… that detail is useful”

“The NRC enrollment is not infinite,” Riddle said with a slight frown. “Establishing familial connections may take time” He sighed. “But it will not be impossible”

Vil set the glass carefully on a stone bench. “A voice like that won’t remain hidden for long.”

“Yes,” Malleus added calmly, his eyes drifting toward the hall. “Fate rarely introduces someone only once” Vil crossed his arms at that remark, giving a small nod before following the direction of Malleus’s gaze.

Leona had remained leaning against the column beside Kalim the entire time, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the hall doors—still listening to the distant music and the crowd dancing, laughing, talking.

“Maybe we’ll see her again before the night ends—” Kalim started.

But Leona’s ears sharpened, his eyes narrowed toward the distance.

“…Oi” That was all he said to make the others pay attention.

On the other side of the outer corridor, the great doors of the hall opened—and there you were, moving quickly. The black and crimson dress was unmistakable even under the dim light of the corridor, the small creature tucked in your arms as you hurried toward the outer doors.

That alone was enough for the seven of them to straighten in unison, watching your figure cross the corridor. Kalim pointed at you and barely raised his voice to say, “There she goes!”

Vil stepped forward immediately, then another step, Azul set his own glass beside Vil’s, adjusted his suit, and followed him. The seven of them began to move closer, like a flock of crows closing in on a small prey, or rather… their little dove.

They were close enough to see you, but not close enough for you to notice them. Your figure passed beside a guest whose decorations stuck out everywhere, especially along the sleeves and shoulders.

And then the most cliché, ridiculous thing that could possibly happen at an event like this happened.

A strand of your hair snagged as you rushed past, and the ribbon of your mask caught on the guest’s decorations.

“Ah—sorry!” the guest said, quickly freeing your hair and the ribbon when your head jerked backward. The tug made you drop Grim, and he jumped to the floor.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, continuing forward once your hair came loose. The guest went his way while you headed straight for the outer doors.

The ribbon slipped free, the mask fell one step later. You instinctively turned, bringing a hand to the back of your head, startled as the fabric mask dropped to the ground.

One second, one undeniable second was all it took for your face to be completely revealed under the moonlight. The mystery shattered, and before the seven leaders of NRC, the young lady was revealed:

The Prefect of Ramshackle.

Meanwhile you were far too busy picking up the fallen mask, your heart pounding like you had just run a marathon when the realization hit you all at once.

“…oh shit—” You snatched the mask off the floor and bolted toward the door.

“GRIM!” you shouted, your voice now unmistakably clear in the night air and the quiet city. “MOVE OR YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR WITHOUT TUNA FOR A WEEK IF WE’RE LATE!”

The small hooded creature shrieked in terror. “YES, PREFECT—!”

The two of you ran like a princess racing back to her tower before the spell wore off...except you looked more like two idiots sprinting full speed toward the city lights as if your lives, and possibly your financial privileges, depended on it. Within seconds the darkness swallowed you both, disappearing down the outer corridor toward the main gates.

Silence followed, and the ones who had been pursuing you with steady steps… were left stunned by the revelation.

Kalim’s jaw dropped, not caring how dramatic or over-the-top he looked; Riddle’s eyes widened and a faint blush colored his cheeks; Azul removed his glasses to clean them with trembling hands, an entirely pointless gesture, as he pinched the bridge of his nose; Idia made a strangled sound, like his system had just crashed into a blue screen he couldn’t reboot; Leona and Vil blinked at the same time, shooting each other a sidelong glance; Malleus simply watched as the final piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place, confirming that lingering sense of familiarity.

A pause followed...A long pause, far too long.

Vil didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with his entire existence. He pressed his lips into a thin line, moved his hands aimlessly for a moment, and was just about to turn away in frustration. “…oh for fuck’s sake.” The fact that he had sworn meant you had played your move perfectly.

Idia crouched down and buried his face in his hands. “I want to die”

Azul, still pinching the bridge of his nose, let out a long breath. “We should have known”

And honestly, yes.

They had been idiots not to realize; inside their minds the gears finally started turning: The voice, her composure in danger, that laugh, the ridiculous courage, the familiar, the way she handled chaos without magic.

Leona dragged a hand down his face and let out a deep, irritated growl. “She masked her scent so we wouldn’t notice”

Kalim, whose mouth had still been hanging open, suddenly burst into a small laugh as he looked toward where you had disappeared. “Oh! That makes so much sense!” He laughed freely.

“No wonder we could flirt with her so naturally”

“FLIRT?!”

“NOBODY HERE FLIRTED WITH ANYONE!”

“MY CHARISMA STAT IS NOT THAT HIGH!”

Several voices erupted at once, some embarrassed, some shy, some in complete denial. Malleus, still perfectly composed in the middle of the chaos, simply closed his eyes and allowed his companions to argue, offering the night a small smile.

Leona didn’t even stay to watch the end of the debate over who had flirted more. He simply closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back toward the hall, he shouting was already giving him a headache.