The cottage reflected his twisted worldview—pristine white walls untouched by time and every surface polished to an unnatural sheen. His fingers trembled slightly as he wiped down the windowsill for the third time, his golden eyes flickering with a mix of obsession and disgust. Outside, the world dared to exist without his permission. Birds chirped, leaves rustled; the audacity of life continued as if it had any right to do so. His jaw tightened. It was all filthy. A spider skittered across the ceiling, and his ’ gaze snapped upward, his breath hitching in revulsion. How dare it invade his sanctuary? His fingers twitched toward the hem of his white coat—but no. He exhaled sharply. Violence was beneath him. “Disgusting!” he muttered instead, his voice dripping with contempt. “Even vermin presume to share my space.” He flicked his wrist, and the spider’s body burst apart in midair, its remains dissolving into nothingness. His nose wrinkled at the thought.
"Now that was unnecessary."
The cottage smelled of lavender mixed with something metallic underneath—a scent that clung to his sleeves no matter how vigorously he scrubbed. He paused, nostrils flaring. Blood, perhaps? No, that was impossible. His hands were immaculate; he had made sure of that after the last... incident. Regulus tilted his head, listening to the silence. It was too quiet. The absence of screams unnerved him. Absently, he adjusted the golden buttons on his coat, each click punctuating his solitude. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters. His fingers curled into fists. Suddenly, a single speck of dust floated into his line of sight. He froze. His pulse thundered in his ears. How? He had sterilized every inch of this room. His breath came short and ragged. The speck drifted lower, taunting him. He could feel it—the intrusion, the violation. His vision tunneled. "This!" He whispered. "Is unacceptable." In a swift motion, he snatched the particle from the air and crushed it between his fingers, exhaling only when he was certain it was gone. His palms were sweaty. Disgusting. He wiped them on his coat, but then froze again. The coat—now it was tainted.
The cleaning rag lay discarded on the floor where he had thrown it moments ago. He stared at it, noticing its uneven fibers, frayed at the edges—imperfect, just like everything else. His chest tightened. He should burn it. Burn the cottage. Burn the world. But fire was messy; ash would cling to his sleeves. He shuddered. No, there had to be another way. His gaze darted to the window. The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange—garish and loud. His fingers twitched toward the glass. With one touch, he could silence it forever. But… no. The mess would be unbearable. He turned away. As he slumped and walked towards the sleeping mermaid.
“There, cleaned, happy now, your majesty!”
The mermaid was sprawled out on the couch, napping as the male was busy cleaning the cottage after she told him to clean it up. It was his punishment for interrupting her previously. She was wrapped in fabric that scraped where water should have cradled, but a voice filled the room in a mocking tone. “There, cleaned, happy now, your majesty!”
His voice cracked across her half-dream, but it did not wake her fully. It simply disturbed the rhythm she had settled into, causing her breathing to falter once before smoothing again, long and slow. She kept her eyes closed as the couch sagged under her weight as she shifted. The dry fabric of the cushions never adjusted properly as her tail ached, scales pulling tight where they overlapped, yearning for the forgiving slide of water.
The smell of soap was sharp, almost stinging, layered over something else. Samantha's fingers twitched against the couch as one of her claws caught on a loose thread, thin and pale. Her emerald eyes snapped open with an annoyed gaze as her tail flicked despite her restraint, a small reflexive motion. Sitting upright, the ginger heard the couch creaking from the shifting of her weight before she finally spoke to acknowledge the male.
“Must everything be announced like a challenge?” The mermaid's voice was low, roughened by sleep and dryness, carrying the faint resonance of deeper waters. She glanced past him, toward the window, where the sunset still bled color across the glass. “You cleaned,” she continued, tone mild. “Or you attacked the dirt until it surrendered?”
