#*drabble*

In this new world, the place of monsters such as Jaleyn had been compromised. They were either forced into manual labor, slaves to their human employees, or factory workers in basements that hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries. Working rights was an unknown word to the spawn of those few that’d chosen to dwell on the surface. And Jaleyn herself sometimes questioned that choice; for maybe they’d been better off scavenging Underground, or dying alongside their relatives with honor rather than living like slaves.

The 21st century, however, brought about a big change. Monsters, whose lifespans rarely did not exceed that of a century, had the privilege of witnessing such changes happen in the shorter spans of human generations. Jaleyn had been around for the previous century, and now took advantage of the climate shifting towards the monster’s gain. The expansion of the undernet, the vast source of information and ability for monsters and humans to communicate anonymously through it had brought about a tremendous change in the perception of humans. Now a lot of them made friends online with personas they didn’t even know were actual monsters. And with time the monster culture found its long lost voice again.

Jaleyn had to be happy today. It was a big day for their kind, the day they’d speak and show their faces on television after years of lurking and hiding in the shadows. And yet, despite all the preparation and excitement...she could only feel worried.

Her instincts usually wouldn’t lie to her. It was odd to feel this way, to have such a strong intuition something would go wrong, despite the festive climate. Still, she kept her gob shut for she’d like to spare the others; her heritage graced her with a strong spirit of leadership few could hope to match.

And that wasn’t nearly the end of her praiseworthy attributes. Her calm had to be mentioned as well, for despite having an intense fear of heights, she’d managed to take the elevator all the way up to the fourth floor and stand on a pedestal that was alarmingly close to a window.

“And thus we present to you, Jaleyn Dreemurr, lead speaker on behalf of the MLM party; please, ma’am.”

The man stepped aside, allowing Jaleyn her solace on the pedestal. Her anxiety was evident in the way her long claws kept scratching the surface of the pedestal. It earned a few glares from the crowd and rally candidates standing beside her. Most of them had come there to watch, rather than participate. It wasn’t a political debate, after all, just a party presentation. She knew it was way more important than any election, however, because this event was about re-integrating monster children into human schools. And such a groundbreaking statement wouldn’t even have been possible a few years ago.

She drew in a breath and looked down to the journalists that stared blankly back at her; their eyes alone made it very obvious that they only cared for a good story -not the actual outcome of her speech. And, because Jaleyn was a monster, she was sensitive to this kind of behavior. Her magic-based body relied on emotions to function and she had a very high perception of both hers and other people’s emotional responses. Thus, the kind of apathy press people expressed hurt her deeply; yet she still found the strength to speak up in a loud voice.

“Good evening, Rainsville. We send our regards with intentions of peace. All we ask in return, is mutual understanding and respect. And who are we, you may ask.”

She mustered the strength to keep her voice steady, strong and avoid a crack. This was getting emotional already.

“We...are the villains. The fairy tale villains. The criminals, the terrifying bad wolves and closet boogeyman. We are what you scare your children with, yet we are also the ones that worked for your children’s clothing, their electricity, their food. We are the ones you never see, the ones behind the machines, the workers, the slaves. And we are here today, stepping out of the shadows to look you in the eye and say; ‘We, are not a fairy tale. We are not a book. We are real beings, with emotions. We are not your power source. We are monsters. And our lives, matter.”

There was a small, quiet cheering from the crowd in the back. Most of them were monsters and she expected that kind of response. The journalists in the front didn’t react much. Cameras moved around to show Rainsville’s mayor and PD chief clapping, seemingly moved by the speech.

She glanced to her left side. There, among the other seats one stood out, for it had no occupant. The seat was saved for the Ambassador of Monsterkind, yet only one human was allowed to occupy it. And it was empty. Jaleyn felt her SOUL writhe.

“We didn’t come here to declare war. We don’t want to steal your jobs, your homes, or your children.” She swallowed the underlying insult. It hurt so much to think a lot of the humans hearing this wouldn’t really believe her. “We are here to raise our voice against the injustice. Our only demand; is equality.”

She made another pause. There was some cheering. Jaleyn reached into the pocket of her long dress and drew out a small, black USB flash stick. She held it up for the cameras to see.

“In this drive I have stored over one thousand undernet conversations between humans and monsters. A lot of times neither party was aware of who they were addressing, because of the anonymity. Still, if we put these to display, you’ll find out yourself that a lot of beautiful friendships have blossomed in this here flashdrive. And we believe that those friendships can become reality, if we’re given a chance in the surface world again.”

Now there was some hesitance. Even though the flash-drive’s appearance gained a big applause, it seemed to tone down when the word ‘surface’ was brought up. And Jaleyn knew that, she was prepared for the consequences of those heavy words she was about to utter...

“Thus we ask the Red Soul to step forward and release our kin from the bonds bestowed on them ten thousand years ago. We ask for the Truce of the Great War to be undone and our kind freed from its eternal suffering in the Undeground prisons. Because we few of the surface have proven that we can co-exist with humans in peace, and we do not deserve to be treated as less!”

Silence.

Complete silence was spread in the audience. Absolutely no response. Even the journalists had their jaws hanging open. It was definitely a very provocative thing to say out loud like that. The mayor cleared his throat, obviously nervous. He tried to reassure himself that only the eldest generations would be aware of just how risky a statement that had been.

For the younger generations had forgotten all about SOULS and Great Wars. It’d been a piece of human history only available through special books in university libraries, lost in time, forgotten. To bring this deep wound in humanity back like that...the existence of souls, magic and their power in a world that was already moving on fast to crude technology, deprived of emotion...

Things such as Soul Traits and strong, pure emotions had no place in this new world owned by capitalism and consumption. The mayor knew this, as did the press. But because the transmission was live and Jaleyn hadn’t brought things like that up before now -she knew they wouldn’t let her speak if she did- it was too late for them. All they could do now was stand in shock.

Journalists started desperately trying to twist words around with questions. Jaleyn was about to pick one to respond to, now a lot more confident in her own words. She’d gotten past the tough part, perhaps, and now spoke more freely.

But just as the questions were bout to come raining down on her... a scream was heard from the back of the room.

With the corner of her eye she saw; a long, thick black tongue of smoke invading the room. The emergency exit light hanging over that door blinked twice and went out. Soon enough, the main entrance surrendered to smoke’s embrace as well.

Jaleyn’s blue eyes went wide with horror. Her clawed fists squeezed against the counter. The journalist crowd begun to panic, pushing, shoving each other out of the way in the despair. Glass shattered -someone broke the window. Cool air rushed inside, but she barely even felt it.

Her own people, a turtle beast and a smaller ghost monster occupying a lamp-shade at that time, were already calling for her attention. But Jaleyn’s eyes were lost in the flames emerging through both doors at the same time; that dreadful, deadly, unwelcome guest.

 Defenseless against the flame, slowly welcoming the deathly heat, all she managed was a pathetic bleat of despair. Thoughts, fast as lightning, raided her troubled mind.

In the Great War, monsters would always reign over humans the first few centuries. Monsters were equipped with powerful magic, especially Jaleyn’s ancestors; they possessed fire. Humans, naked and with their makeshift weapons, couldn’t do anything against the flame.

But then the Red Souls came along. Souls so powerful, so devious and determined they could alter an entire world just with the power of their will. And they invented the fire and granted it to the humans.

Thus the humans made better weapons, better shelter, better food. They stopped dying from things such as bad weather and raw meat, they became stronger. And finally, they won.

Seeing the flames peek through the doorways now, Jaleyn couldn’t help but think it was some kind of omen; some kind of response to her demand.

Lost in her thoughts with tears streaming down her wide eyes, she barely felt the cool skeletal fingers on her shoulder. Next thing she knew, she was outside, on the pavement, watching the building burn alongside her comrades and a tall skeleton monster in a dark grey hoodie.

Her reaction came after a few minutes, when she felt ready to speak again. But she ended up turning around to face the others and sensing the disappointment in their souls, collapsed and burst into tears. The skeleton, Baskerville his name was, approached to pull her in a tender hug with a gentle pat on the back.

“’Ey now, dun’ worry. ‘Tis gonna be alright...”

Of course at first there were some underlying emotions there. Rage, thoughts of vengeance, the unquenchable thirst for justice. But he’d lost these after a couple of the more recent brutal rounds. Because he’d realized how pointless it was to care; to grieve, to weep, when he’d get to relive the same old days over and over again on repeat. One could say his passion to deal with the little troublemaker had rubbed away on the time loop. And he’d gotten so used to the same steps happening over and over at some point that he’d honestly given up even trying to push for a change. There was this odd sense of companionship between him and the human; the only two sentient beings between time loops, the only two that knew the *Truth.

Did he feel guilty for his passiveness? Perhaps. But guilt wouldn’t change anything, would it? He’d surrendered to the numbness.

Until one day when everything changed.

The human’s thighs come crushing down the back of his neck. His exposed spine is vulnerable to the knife. With a flash of blue, his eye lights up and he’s gone. The human falls on their knees instead, scraping them against the tiles. They don’t seem unnerved by the fall in the slightest. Their knees are already torn and bleeding, but not shaky at all.

Knuckles turn an eerie pale white as their fist clenches around the cold blade handle. They push themself up, cough and spit from the dust particles invading their nostrils. Unlike Sans, they need to breathe. That and his sharpened reflexes and polished use of magic had been their only disadvantages thus far.

But not anymore.

Their face, covered in shadow, turns to the floor. There’s murmuring from the back of the hallway. Sans’ eyes blink, the pale blue glow disappearing for a mere fraction of a second. But it’s enough for Frisk. A palm raises, fingers pressed next to each other seamlessly. They focus on that movement, the flow of energy in their hand.

And the special *Menu appears.

*͗Ŗ̖̺̼̟͇̆ͥ́E̦̓͆̾̈ͩ͑̓W͚̗͈̖̣̆̎͆̄ͮ̊̋I̗̠̞̐̂̇Ñ̗͞D͖̤͓̖̞̪͗ͤ ̬͚̙̆̄̚ ͘            *̨̙̰̈Pͤ̽̔̌͝A͛̚Ṳ̓̆̑͑ͫ̂ͦ͘S͉͘E̪̓̓̀ͅ ̢̎ͫ̓̆̓ ̦̮͚̳̱̮͐ͯ͊              *̱͉͍͔͚͍͙̒͑̾͜F̡̱̘̦͇͖̻̘ͧͭ̒Ă͍̗̈́͋͜S͓͚͓̦̩̉̿͐̈́ͧ̾T̊̇ ͤ͞F̭̲ͭ̇̊̀ͩO͍̘̠͙̖ͫͮ͒̍̅ͪ̃͘R̻̱̲ͨͤ̀ͅW͔̥̘̰̻̋ͩ̑̂̎̐͆A͓̱͉̪̳ͣͩ̅͞R͉̺̦̗͘D̃͑ͬͮ ̲̩̘͕ͫ̂̈̂ͮ̃̍

Frisk’s eyes open. Time slows down. Red is overpowered by a blinding yellow glow. Their veins shine through their own skin, glistening with pure DETERMINATION. Their entire body is a glowing yellow color now, the only thing that stands out in the frozen Time. Dust particles freeze in their spot, Sans’ face stands still with that hideous grin carved into his milky bone, the hallway’s shadows are now dark spots on the dimly illuminated tiles, lifeless, empty.

A tiny crack appears at the corner of their full lips. It’s a smile. But just as they’re about to take a step forward, it dissipates. The lack of breath instantly has them panic. They hadn’t tried it but for a brief few seconds before this time, and thus they’re not used to the lung-crushing lack of oxygen. As they struggle to suck air in, Time doesn’t seem to adhere to their troubles. Despite their instincts, Time remains frozen, waiting for the next *Action that will set it free.

Frisk’s hand begins to shake, but they somehow find the courage to attempt a stroke at the *PLAY button. They’re not focused enough, and the *Action fails. More desperate writhing and shaking continues, pointlessly sucking any leftover traces of air they can find through their mouth in big gasps. They drop to their knees, shock taking them over.

But it should have worked. It worked in the lab.

They roll their sleeves up quickly, tugging at the ripped, ragged old sweater with long nails. The veins of their hands are illuminated with this pure, pale, yellow light -DETERMINATION flowing in their veins. It’s pulsating and beautiful. If Frisk wasn’t suffocating at that moment, they’d probably joke that the sight was ‘breath-taking’. Still, the crook of their arm, the inside of their elbow, is punctured multiple times. The bruises leftover by syringes are there, just as they’d expected to find them. That means they’re not hallucinating, they did go through with the fix this time and their new ability should be fully functional.

But then why won’t Time move again?

In a final, desperate attempt, they begin to slow their breathing down, trying to keep themself steady and focused on the task. Their fists clench. Somewhere in the back of their mind, Chara’s voice whispers words of encouragement. Not because the demon would care to help, but because the body and Soul that can save It from its eternal slumber is about to fail. And Chara doesn’t want that to happen.

“Time move on.”

*̠̟͖̯͖̊ͩ͊ͧ̀Ă҉C͖̯͈̘̣̞̊ͅT̶̲̯͔̥̩̖̝:͇͙̖ͪͨ ̡͌͒̓̅*͈͙̲̞̗̺̫͌͌̂͌̅P͉̮ͣͫL͖̼̞̑ͪ͗͌̇͛ͬA̙͇͔̠͋̂̉̊͑̌̇Y̹̾̌͂̌̆

It begins with a small movement of the shadows. Their dance continues, just as Sans’ orbs blink again and Frisk manages to draw in a breath. But they’re on the floor now, body still a blinding yellow color and panting like crazy.

As Sans stood there that one day in one of his many *Routes, he knew something had gone horribly wrong. Something had changed.

The first day is going by unbearably slow. Steel has been suffering all through the night, plagued by nightmares and occasionally failing to even make it to the bathroom. Crimson stayed up as well, taking an emergency leave to stay home and change her sheets whenever she needed it, cleaning up the throw up she’d fail to pour inside the large basin he provided her with. Painkillers were ineffective. They were not even aware of the duration this curse would have. But for one thing, Crimson had forgot all about punishments now. All he did was sit by his sister’s side, cradling her through her spasms and muffling her cries with kisses and nuzzles. Such was his love and affection for this damned creature that he risked his job, rest, health and quite frankly mental stability to stay by her side. Narcissus, on the other hand, went to work and returned a few hours later. He brought them some food from a nearby restaurant that Steel failed to hold in her stomach and Crimson only half-finished. The rest of their portions were stuffed in plastic tupperware and stored the fridge for later consumption before Narcissus took over and Crimson finally took a break to rest. Of course, after staying up for twenty-four hours of anxiety, he collapsed on his bed and was sound asleep within minutes.

When that was done, Narcissus unloaded an eight-pack of large water bottles from the grocery bags he’d carried home and grabbed a kitchen towel. Bottle in hand and towel tucked in the pocket of his pants with the white tip hanging out, he headed to Steel’s room in complete silence and entered without even knocking. Green eyes trailed over the girl’s form on the bed –laid on her back, arms crossed over her chest and a single eye staring blankly at the ceiling. Who knew what kind of pain she was re-experiencing. Perhaps it was Undyne’s slow death by being literally fried alive in her armor, somewhere in the plains of Hotland.

“Ugh. You poor thing…” He hums, slowly kneeling beside the mattress. There’s a hint of disregard in his voice. Or perhaps it’s irony. Clothes are scattered everywhere, in places they shouldn’t be and Narcissus’ irritation grows. It could be impulse or pure evil that moves his hands to slowly wrap around the girl’s neck. He receives a whimper –a pleasing whimper, music in his ears. It sounds better than all the Bach symphonies he could fathom and he tries to squeeze more out of her little neck. It’s such a delight, the pulse of her throat in his palm as she writhes and struggles, immobilized by the curse. Agony blends with the million screams stuck in her throat; an ugly mix.  He knows Steel won’t beg for help; because he was there when she learned how pointless it is to do so.

Perhaps she could knock on the wall. Perhaps Crimson will hear. He should be sleeping in the next room. The idea shines in her one good eye and the next moment Narcissus releases her throat to press both her wrists down on the bed with his instead. A knee thrusts into her chest, knocking the idea out of her head along with whatever breath might have been left in her lungs out. And with that feeling begins the reminiscence of Mr. Johnson’s lungs being squished to the size of a fist and Steel starts rasping for breath. It makes too much noise and Narcissus methodically reaches for a pillow behind him and presses it firmly on her face.

That feeling; that well-known agony. The feeling of being stuck, of losing all control over your body and the situation, locked up and forced to expect some ungodly punishment.

Narcissus no longer had to pin her down. She was experiencing the pain of having two long sharp needles piecing both ones eardrums simultaneously. She wasn’t going anywhere.

 He wasn’t even aware of what she was feeling when he pulled the towel completely out of his pocket. It had been hanging there for a while now but Steel hadn’t noticed of course. Apart from the fact her room was dark and her eyesight impaired, the pain had clouded all sorts of reasonable thought processes she might have been capable of if she did. Now it was taking over her senses as well. A tickling sensation spread over her limbs, as if thousands upon thousands of tiny ants were climbing on them, raiding her aching body and pinning it against the mattress.

Accepting her horrible fate, the girl slowly closed her eyes and concentrated her efforts on drawing one final breath. The pillow was removed and the towel was draped over her face in its place.

“I thought you and I had made a deal.” Narcissus whispered, hint of sarcasm evident in his husky voice. “I don’t care whose rules you want to play by…but causing trouble like that? Getting us exposed? That’s too reckless for my taste, princess.” He coos. Steel’s palms slowly clench into fists, chest heaving up and down rapidly, writhing, struggling for a single breath. The cloth is already humid. She doesn’t know what’s coming to her. Everything is dark and she’s forced to lay there and endure through the uncertainty and the fear; the terror. Narcissus’ voice resembles the million screams she’s caused and she’s experienced. A life of pain and suffering she’s handed out and lived through herself flashes in front of her closed eyes. The hallucination of these all too familiar glowing buttons fades into the background, hand automatically making a futile attempt at reaching out and touching the immaterial surface... Grey and useless. No Reset. No Save. No Load.

                                                   No Escape.

She can sense the liquid coming from a mile away. It’s cold and humid underneath the towel. It makes her want to sneeze but she feels to weak to even attempt that. The scent of laundry detergent fills her nostrils and makes her sick.

“Uh. I’ll hate having to clean this up. Look what you’re making me do.” Narcissus groans, lifting the large water bottle over her head. Steel’s body makes a final attempt to flinch, to evade the torment. It is of course, pointless, as Alphys’ scream of horror as a knife goes through her head fades into the background of her mind. She feels the sharp blade penetrating her eye. It stings and burns and never stops. Narcissus at this point has realized that the greyface magic must indeed be something horrible. He clicks his tongue and just as his wrist turns to tilt the bottle over his Frisk’s head, the girl produces a raspy plea.

“Pl-…please…d-d…I…s-..I’m sorry!”

There’s a moment’s silence and just as Alphys’ pain gives place to the sharp sting of a stab wound to the chest, Narcissus snickers and starts pouring water on her face. At once, the gasps are muffled. Coughs replace them as her lungs struggle to function. It feels like drowning but not. It gives you the exact, precise experience of being strapped to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean but at the same time unable to find sweet release in death. Instead, it keeps you hanging –on the edge. Muffled pleas are barely audible in the form of gasps and mutters under the soaked towel gag. Narcissus lets the entire bottle contents empty before he screws the lid back on sits back to inspect his work. Steel’s chest is heaving painfully, slowly struggling for whatever release it could achieve with a knee pressing down on it and the wet towel blocking her nostrils and mouth. The cough gets worse. Narcissus rolls his eyes and leans closer to her, moving some braids to the side and onto the wet mattress to expose her earlobe.

“Listen. If you stop coughing like that and keep quiet, I’ll only use three more bottles. Otherwise, I bought an eight pack yesterday.” He whispers and tucks her braids back with the tips of his fingers. Steel barely even winces underneath the towel.

   Steel’s thumb froze on the remote and her hand remained stretched, pointing to the screen. Her elbow rested on her knees, pressed together in front of her as she’d folded in two to rest her head on top of them as well. Her face was almost half covered by her own knees, perhaps in an attempt to hide from the truth she was about to witness; for this seemingly unimportant interview to everyone else in a cheesy TV talk show that maybe a few thousand people were watching with mild interest while doing their evening chores around the house seemed as if it were the most important sight in the world to her. It wasn’t the host’s smile that captured her single eye, however; it might’ve been good enough to fool the average crowd but Steel was not average in any aspect of her perception and to her that smile resembled a dog baring its teeth. Red shone in between the deep maroon of her good eye when it landed on the boy, however. She didn’t have the time to think about the faint smile on Kather’s lips for she found herself frozen by the sight alone, as if Kather’s presence in that small box seemed eerily unnatural yet unbearably real at the same time. Granted, she knew where he came from but now it seemed as if he was some sort of those celebrities that only look shiny and glossy behind a glass.  As much as she wanted Kather’s forced smile to disgust her, however, she couldn’t manage it. She couldn’t manage to hate him. Steel’s heartbeat rose at that sudden realization but she refused to give up; this interview had to make her hate him after all! She had to hate this conceited rich kid talking about his fancy life as if he ignored the zillions of people dying on the streets so his parents can enjoy their weekends in Paris!  Narcissus was more focused on Beck Bradly’s pink and blue dress and thought that he was very glad his agent had turned down his invitation for an interview last week with the excuse he’d be resting before his premier, else he would have had a hard time keeping his thoughts about pink and blue being on different polars of the color spectrum and definitely not something one should combine in one garment else they attempted to look like Cinderella. He made a mental note to ensure Beck Bradly’s later invitations would go straight to his spam folder in the future and placed his newspaper down for once, folding it carefully so that the edges touched each other everywhere and placing the perfect rectangle he’d made on the coffee table, making sure the long edge aligned with the table’s. “I’m your host Beck Bradly! And today we have a special guest with us. Some of you may recognize him from his earlier interviews in Person’s Magazine as the heir to the Finley fortune please welcome, Katherine Finley!” ”Fake ass bitch.” Came the first comment from Steel’s lips. It was a mere whisper, forced between her gritting teeth as she let out a small sigh. Narcissus’ green eyes left the screen to throw her a glance for a second before returning back to the glass. Now he was thinking that her hair looked absolutely awful in this style and she had way too many flyways that he could not comprehend how her makeup artist hadn’t noticed. Even he, with his naturally messy hair that was impossible to fix, always made sure that if he had a stray strand at least there wouldn’t be little hairs flying around it! Such amateurs, he thought.    Steel’s eye was now fixed on Kather’s expression again. His smile, his posture, his clothes. She was certain a  lot of girls and boys would’ve looked at him with and drooled, with his small charming yet a bit mysterious smile, his golden hair and designer clothes, soft voice and excellent manners... Now that, that she found disgusting. But still, it wasn’t Kather she was disgusted with. It was the fact this Kather looked wrong. Everything about him looked wrong. His hair was too neat and she knew they weren’t even naturally blonde. His clothes were too uptight and perfect -not a single wrinkle, much to Narcissus’ delight, his voice felt forced and his smile reminded Steel of a horse smiling.  Then the questions begin and Steel finds herself wondering how stupid the crowd has to be to believe these answers come from a -what, fifteen? fourteen?- year old kid without someone having forced them to memorize them. Steel, of course, did not have a good upbringing but she’s formed her own opinions on what kids should be like at their sixteen through books, mostly. At first she tries to convince herself that Kather did this willingly and he relished in the glory of the spotlight, just like his smile indicates...but no matter what she tries to think she can’t stop seeing a robot on the TV instead of a person.  And then she remembers his text and a sharp pain takes over her chest.  “Oh, this is simply atrocious. I can’t bare to watch.” Narcissus comments and folds his hands over his chest as he shakes his head left and right slowly with a disapproving expression. This kid’s acting is the worst thing he’s witnessed so far, worst even than the exaggerated enthusiasm in the host’s questions that makes the entire scene look even more comically unnatural. Narcissus thinks that he must indeed be very talented to be able to trick all these humans in his stage plays and mimic their emotions to perfection better than someone so deeply rooted in the show business as Beck Bradly.

 Then that question comes and Narcissus catches a quick glimpse of Steel’s eye widening and her posture shifting immediately; she raises her back from the couch and seems to unfold slowly as if her life depends on Kather’s answer;

 “What’s your home life like?”

“Tiring.”

 Comes his response, in the same tone as the ones before. He didn’t seem to think about it before responding. To Steel it felt as if it’d come as naturally as all the others previous to that. She found herself chewing on her lower lip and only realized she’d returned to this habit of old when her teeth hit the metal ring around it. As a child she’d chew for hours until it drew blood. Now in her teens she’d gotten that ring to remind herself when it was time to stop but for some reason watching this freakshow behind the screen was stressing her out to the point where she couldn’t. She started thinking what she would’ve done in Kather’s place, empathizing even with the boy for seemingly no reason other than he’d been nice to her. Everything about the way she was feeling and these thoughts was new and confusing; scary even.

Narcissus notices that big breath the heir draws in whilst Steel doesn’t seem to. She’s waiting for his next words as if the salvation of her immortal soul depends on them now.

“Oh? Tiring? How so? Let me guess it’s from counting all your money, right?”

“I just keep so busy with my studies and my interests. It’s tiring attempting to balance preparing to run a set of ever growing companies and keeping time for my interests. Not to mention keeping an active social life.”

But he’d said he had no friends.

“And helping people less fortunate then me.”

There was another sharp pain inside Steel’s chest, as if her soul was one of those Jenga towers she loved so much and Kather’s words had just pulled on the two blocks at its base at the same time. The ‘less fortunate’? Sure, Steel was no longer considered a poor child –Narcissus was a well payed actor and had even bought them this apartment at a good part of town, they had a car and she could have everything she wanted if only she got him to lend her money…But she’d been born into poverty and in her mind she’d never escape it. She didn’t care to, either. She was comfortable branded a ‘poor person’, a ‘less fortunate’. To see Kather place it in such a condescending manner though finally managed to trigger some anger inside of her. Even if part of her still screamed this was the same kid that spoke with utter disrespect for his parents in their text, even if she still felt like this could all be a façade for the interview… Suddenly it seemed more possible that he’d lied to her instead.

“I’m not complaining of course. I’m just stating a fact. But my parents are so kind and so helpful. They really know how to make things better after a stressful day. I love my parents.”

But that wasn’t the impression he’d given off to her, not at all. What if he’d just been looking for a break from his ‘tiring’ life? Just a break from his ‘interests’ –that she found snobby now all of a sudden, whilst at first had thought were slightly intriguing. It made sense that this was all she’d been to him, a break.

And though Steel was used to hanging out with people who honestly could be considered antisocial and apathetic to extremes and was used to people trying to manipulate her and take things from her, it suddenly bothered her to think Kather might have tricked her into thinking that he was not happy with his life just so that he’d get to hang out with her in the park and do something ‘crazy’. Had she just been a break for fresh air for him? Was it bad if she had? The confusion was starting to show in her face and it was the feeling of something other than soft lip tissue and the metal ring tapping against her front teeth that stopped her before she could draw blood; a finger. Narcissus’ middle finger right between her teeth and lips. It was only then that she’d noticed he had moved from his seat as well and was now sitting next to her on the couch.

Steel’s first thought was to move away from him and that he’d exploit the situation she was in to hurt her, as always. But she was so shaken by her own thoughts –by the fact she cared so much to know what this stupid rich kid thought of her- that she found herself immobilized on the couch by his side. Narcissus was just staring at the TV with an apathetic gaze and his finger stuck between her lips, thought obviously not exactly content with the physical content.

“Please stop biting your lip. The noise is highly irritating. Apart from which blood would be incredibly hard to wash off the couch and I don’t feel like having to explain myself to the cleaner’s either.”

“Aw! Isn’t that sweet folks?” Becky continued, grinning at the audience that was also apparently touched by Kather’s confession. “But of course that’s to be expected from a family of philanthropists like the Finley’s! I’m sure their house is just full of love!”

Steel finally gave in and stopped trying to bite Narcissus’  finger out of her mouth at that point, relaxing her shoulders and falling back on the couch. Kather kept dancing around questions and the host’s voice was starting to annoy her now. Everything had gotten confusing at that point, as if she was still trying to decide which side was true and comprehend how they could be such polar opposites. Was it possible that Kather was just that good an actor? Then how could he come off as a bad actor on TV? She would need a lot of time to think this through and possibly not pay as much attention to details as she could have because of her feelings and clouded judgement; yet it was Narci’s input that saved her the trouble, surprisingly.

Relaxing back on the couch next to her, Steel almost felt his presence in the room as imposing for once. Perhaps it was just her seeking out guidance or the fact he was so much taller and bigger than her as a human. Perhaps it was the fact she’d seen people die in his hands and knew what he was capable of and that Crimson was in his room and probably listening to music combined with the fact she couldn’t scream by nature even if she wanted to and didn’t know if she could take Narcissus on. Yet, the flower showed no signs of hostility, even as his shoulders raised a bit and a hand landed on the couch over Steel’s shoulders –but of course avoiding all actual contact with her skin. It left the human nearly shocked since this had been the only time Narcissus was approaching her by himself –even if she often forced some kind of physical contact on him whilst messing around, watering him, or helping him through his transformations.

Guess tending to your flower on a daily basis is a rewarding process after all.

“Sounds to me more like their house is full of LOVE.” Came Narcissus’ chuckle to interrupt the awkward silence between them. Steel glared at him with the corner of her good eye, still tense from the proximity. “Where did you meet this kid? Is it your new friend?”

Steel barely even pouted at that, attempting to put on a deadpan expression and deter him from asking more questions. Perhaps he just wanted information, after all Narcissus had always been controlling of his environment.

“No. We’re not friends. Just some kid.”

“Did you know I’d gotten invited to this show? Honestly it’s such an atrocious spectacle. Not that I would mind the attention but I feel my art deserves a lot better than these hypocrites. Apart from which Becky is highly uninteresting a person, very two dimensional, not much depth to discuss. If I was in her place, I would’ve asked some more juicy stuff. Having a child that clearly is suffering at home and memorizing scripts and not exposing his rich parents? A scandal would have gotten her a lot more fame than this bori-“

“He’s not suffering.” At this point, Steel was clearly pushing her lack talking back to him like that, especially when she knew Narcissus hated being interrupted in the middle of his sentence. And though his fists clenched, his voice remained calm and collected.

“Please do not interrupt me when I’m talking, wait for your turn. Anyway, I think it’s pretty clear that the script was memorized and narrated pretty poorly. I am honestly disappointed in you, Frisk. I thought your perception was higher than that.”

Steel had to resist the urge to punch him but her frustration was reaching unspeakable levels at that moment. She could either push herself off the couch and run to her room,  punch Narcissus or something in the room or burst into tears. And the latter wasn’t happening, of course. She’d never cry –especially not over a boy. However, punching Narci wasn’t really an option either. Yet, something told her that she could still get the release she wanted and annoy him as revenge by simply turning around and leaning her head on his chest and her weight against his body in a gentle side-hug. Narcissus instantly regretted placing his arm behind her for he had left his side so open for her to lean against doing that. His body stiffened from the touch but just as he was about to grab her face and push her off he heard the door to Crimson’s room open and froze instead.

“He told me he didn’t even like his parents. Why would he lie? And the greyfaces said his parents locked him in the basement…” She thought her voice would crack for a second and lowered its volume, rasp heightening. Narcissus could now clearly hear Crimson heading to the kitchen and slowly placed his hand atop of Steel’s head to let it rest on her braids. Of course he made a mental note to wash it the moment she’d be off of him, for who knows what could be hiding in these braids?! Just the fact he’d gotten himself played like that already was making him sick to the stomach. And Steel buried her face into his shoulder a little bit after that. That disgusting human was enjoying this!? It only made him want to puke more, if only he was physically able to do so.

“It doesn’t sound impossible. Father would do that to me often times when I failed to meet his expectations. He said he would rather not think about me for a while. Apart from which, they also made me memorize scripts for dinners when he’d have commanders of the Royal Guard involved or high guests.”

And then the most unexpected thing happened. As he was talking, Narcissus hadn’t noticed Crimson sneaking up on them over the sound of his own voice. Now another pair of hands wrapped around his neck, pulling his free side into a hug as well. He ended up squished between the two humans hugging him. Crimson’s face was suddenly very close to his as well, much to his own discomfort. Unable to move or escape his horrible fate he remained frozen there on the couch, between the two humans pressing their warm bodies against his.

 Steel was the first to break the hug and slide away from the other two to grab her phone. She opened the messages app and checked for responses by refreshing it a few times. Kather hadn’t responded to her messages, yet, but now she started thinking that if he did tomorrow it would make the greyface that told her he’d be locked down for the following two days honest.