#b writes

The afternoon had settled into the kind of golden quiet that only came when lessons were finished and supper was still hours away. She had found her usual spot near the old stone bench, skirts spread around her in the warm grass, her doll propped carefully against her knee. Six years old and entirely content, unbothered by the heat, unbothered by anything at all.

The shadows that fell over her belonged to her brothers.

Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. They stood over her with the particular energy of boys who had a plan and were very pleased with it.

She looked up.

“We need you to ask Father something,” Valarr said.

She tilted her head. “What?”

“We want to go to the tournament next week.” Matarys crouched down to her level, which she had always found more convincing than being talked at from above. “All three of us. You have to be the one to ask him.”

“Why?”

The brothers exchanged a look. Valarr cleared his throat. “Because he likes you best.”

Tournaments held no particular magic for her. She had never once begged to attend one, never pressed her face to the window when the knights rode through the city, never cared much for the noise and the crowds and the dust. But Valarr and Matarys were looking at her the way they always did when they wanted something, that particular hopeful, slightly guilty look, and she loved them more than she disliked crowds.

“What do I say?” she asked.

They told her, carefully and in some detail. Matarys made her repeat it back twice. Their father was not an unreasonable man. It was simply that no one had ever worked out how to say no to her, least of all him. His sons had noticed. They were not subtle about having noticed.

She listened to all of it. Then she picked up her doll, stood, smoothed her skirts, and went inside without another word.

The study was quiet save for the scratch of quill on parchment and the distant sounds of the yard below. Afternoon light fell long and warm across the desk, catching the dust motes that drifted in the still air.

Baelor looked up from his correspondence just in time to see his youngest come through the doorway at something between a walk and a run, cross the room entirely, and climb onto his knee before he had said a single word.

“Hello Papa!” she exclaimed settling in

“Hello my love,” he responded, setting down his quill 

She looked up at him with great purpose. “Papa. Valarr and Matarys and I want to go to the tournament.”

He looked at her baffled. “You want to go to a tournament?”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

“It runs three days. The last day goes very late into the night, and it is very loud.”

 “I am very brave,” she said.

“You are,” he agreed, because this was simply true.

She looked at him carefully, weighing something. Then, with the air of someone bestowing a considerable honour, “You can come too, Papa. If you want.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” A nod, “I will hold your hand the whole time so you won’t be frightened.”

His expression shifted entirely. This small careful child had arrived with what was clearly her brothers’ agenda and somewhere along the way decided to protect him. At that, the last of his resistance simply gave way.

“That is very kind of you,” he said

She nodded. It was only fair, her expression said.

He glanced toward the door. Two faces disappeared from the gap so quickly they might have been imagined.

“Valarr. Matarys.”

A beat. Then footsteps, nervous and shuffling. The footsteps of two boys who had absolutely not just been crouching at a door. The boys appeared in the doorway, doing their very best to look as though they had simply been passing.

Baelor regarded them over his daughter’s head. They had the grace, at least, to stand up straight.

“We go on the first day only,” he said. “You leave the moment your sister is tired and you do not argue with me about it.” His eyes moved between them, “Understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Yes, Father.”

He looked back down at his daughter, who had already returned to her doll, entirely satisfied with the afternoon’s work.

Baelor tucked a strand of hair back from her face and reached for his quill.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he told her.

“You’re welcome, Papa,” she said, content

From down the corridor came the muffled but entirely unmistakable sounds of celebration.

krypto’s quiet snores were no bother, the constant pitter-patter of rain was soothing, meaning nothing can break this unadulterated love cocoon.

sprawled on your clark’s chest, his thick legs encompassing your body with their warm and wiry-haired presence.

all around you was clark, you were engulfed in his very essence.

his smell was all in your senses, it smelt like the laundry detergent ma uses, a clean linen scent with hints of you. it was your lavender and vanilla body wash he claimed to never touch.

but you paid that no mind, there are more important tasks at hand, and you are a woman on a mission.

“can you see my heart?” you murmur into his chest, intersecting the careful tranquility of the room.

“i can, yes. why d’ya ask, sweet girl?” punctuated with a kiss to your temple.

“so… you were able to see how much I liked you prior to dating? i wasn’t exactly the most secretive about my affection.” thrown in casually but intrigued by his answer, you raise your head and catch his eyes. they were already set on you. oh how you could get lost in those baby blues. the butterflies truly never do settle, even after years of being lovers and even more the closest of friends.

“you could say so, i just thought that’s how you were around me. tried to not pay it too much mind. funnily enough, I got attuned to your heart fairly early back home. could recognize it by sound alone - still can. just by the way your thumps come and go,” he reaches under your (his) metropolis u sweatshirt and caresses your back. up and down, up and down. “especially when in proximity with me…”

you don’t mind his cheekiness as your current occupation makes your mind go blank and ears heat. you could just go to sleep like this. or attack him with kisses. how his hands rub and scratch down your back. his hands oh so warm and big and calloused and gentle.

silently but surely his other hand - a sunken weight on the back of your neck - is carefully held and reaches your lips, receiving a plethora of the softest of kisses.

featherlight touches that spark both your hearts alight.

“i couldn’t ever control my heart in your presence. no matter how irritating your dimples were.”

“but you love my dimples!”

“am i truly that obvious?” you snarkily question, it was plain and simple to you both: the dimples were dangerous.

the very fact supported by your heart catching up speed when those very treacherous features gingerly crease his face, attuned with his utter glee.

you never could control herself around those. the perfect punctuation to his pristine smile, a boyish look that you’ll never tire to witness.

abandoning his hand, you sit up with both knees stretched over his wide hips, shifting till your chests are pressed firmly together and become one. both his hands now find purchase on your lower back.

your hands cradling his face, caressing his under eyes and melting as he leans into your hands and closes those beauties to the world. they never truly deserved them, or him for that matter.

“your heart’s going pretty quick, what feature the cause this time around?” he whispers against your palm, smile barely visible, but knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

“not another word from you! but, if you must know… i simply love how you’re mine.” a quiet albeit honest confession. one that makes him crack his eyes open and hug you like no other - a melding of souls and heart beats syncing.

you shall selfishly horde him if it meant feeling him like this - unabashed and soft, picturesque of the shy boy you grew to love and cherish. you his and he yours.

Of course, they were human, and still required the sun. So when they needed it, they could always skip up back to the human world for their biannual visit to Earth before returning back to place they now thought of as home.

But it also meant that on nights such as this, when they knew Lucifer was probably turning red with frustration of their absence from yet another dreadful student council meeting, but they quite honestly didn't care. Three years in the Devildom had really made them grow bored of the daily ins and outs of the House of Lamentation, and they were on the search for something new, something exciting! Something-

A small plucking sound, like a droplet of water gently falling into a still pond, hit their ears and they stilled.

In the darkness, it was almost as if sound was amplified, echoing through their ears as another chord was plucked and then another, a faint trinkle of a strum, and yet another. The melody continued, and MC did not even try to stop their feet from being pulled in by it's simple beauty.

Their feet clicked against the wet pavement, and they muttered a small illuminating spell to themself as they entered. Iridescent light reflected from their palms off the alleyway walls.

It was only then they saw it ... or her, they supposed.

A lanky figure curled up in the far back corner, her back against the wall. Long ebony hair that faded into shiny gold as it got closer to the ends, as straight and silky as ribbon, covered almost her entirety from view, What could be seen was delicate hands with long, bony fingers, capped with sharp, elaborately embossed, golden points. From beneath the veil of hair, a rectangular rod with three pegs stuck out. Each black peg was wrapped tightly with golden wire that ran down the length of the rod to a square base.

A shamisen, MC recognized immediately, noting the flat, yellowed bachi sitting in the person's other hand, which she used to continue to strum her somber melody.

Each pang and twing rang sharply through their very soul, as if it was crying out to them and them alone. They would have to be utterly heartless to walk away.

"Excuse me?" MC called over.

The music stopped in an instant, and with a heart-dropping crack the person's head turned to face them.

It was not a face that revealed itself to them, but a mask. They had seen crow masks before; people wore them to festivals and they filled every tourists shop back home. But they had never seen one like this.

Most of the crow masks they had seen were black. Elegantly painted with perfect, seamless strokes that fluidly decorated the smooth wood. This was not that.

The base was bone white and it had golden designs on it that seemed more jagged and sharp than soft. The mask had a long pointed beak that covered the musician's entire face with angular slits for the eyes where dim balls of golden light reflected in the center. It possessed a playful aura that did not match the woman's eerie presence at all. MC could see no string or tassels holding the mask into place, as if it was fixed there by sheer will. 

Aside from the mask, the person was dressed in a simple yukata. It had no patterns and was black with the exception of the white obi tied around her waist. The bottom of the yukata was torn and near transparent along its hem and cuffs.

MC was nearly positive that they were looking at a ghost, and yet they had never seen a ghost quite like this. Certainly not one that was masked.

MC swallowed thickly. It had been sometime since anything had caused them to be so shaken within the Devildom. They took a deep breath and reminded themself that they were 16 now, and no longer the scared 13 year old that had first entered into this place. They were strong. The shadows were scared of them, not the other way around.

They held up their chin and looked straight into the light pouring out of the eye slits. "I like your song. It sounds really nice. Where did you learn to play like that?"

No voice came from beneath the creepy mask, as a faint breeze from the streets lightly blew the woman's hair behind her.

Rude. Actually. If you asked MC. But they supposed it was also rude to interrupt someone during their jam session, so really that was on them. "Sorry. Are you not in the mood for talking? I really didn't mean to bother you. I just heard you playing and couldn't help but check come check out. I'm MC. What's your name?"

Again nothing. Not even a breath.

At this point, MC was beginning to feel awkward. I mean, most people at least had some kind of reaction to hearing their name at this point! Who the hell did this lady think she was?!

MC huffed, unable to help a pout from forming on their face as they raised their hands up in defeat. "Fine! Fine! I'll leave ya alone. Your loss. Who would want to know about some creepy, weirdo anyway?"

Them. They did. They so very much did.

It was all they could think about. They zoned out during class, and barely listened to the boys gossip during meals. They were too focused on what this strange new mystery of theirs was! They needed to know!

They tried doing research on ghosts, crows, hell even sirens! But nothing seemed to quite match whatever this person was! All they knew was that it had to be a person. Even without words or proper eyes, there was this air of deep, concentrated loss and shame that radiated off of her. Ever since coming to the Devildom, there hadn't been a single mystery that MC wasn't able to solve, and they refused to let that track record become tarnished now!

So MC did what MC does best - sneak out without permission to sleuth around the city. Honestly, you would think the brother's would've invested in better security by now.

Gloom, as they had taken to calling the unknown creature, wasn't in the original alleyway where they had initially found her. It appeared the ghostly woman was nomadic and would take camp in places with low lighting and no people around. MC was only able to find her over and over again because they knew this kingdom like the back of their hand.

They would go out and find her every night, and every night Gloom would stare at them through the eyes of her mask, hands stilling on her shamisen. She never spoke. The most MC had ever heard from her is a soft, yet haunting hum that she would occasionally emanate before noticing MC's presence.

MC grew braver with each visit. Where they initially kept their distance, they eventually brought themself to come closer and lean against the wall beside her as they asked her their many questions. Who are you? What are you? Where di you get a shamisen? What's with the mask? Is it haunted? Are you haunted?

But still, Gloom never answered. They got a groan of annoyance once, but that seemed to be the closest they could get.

Still, they could tell that she warming up to them. Sometimes she would lean closer to them while they were telling a story. Or her hand would twitch and almost reach out to them while they vented. Almost. There were all these little things that MC knew meant they were getting through to her.

They never gave up. In a way, it was almost nice to have someone else besides the brother's that they could talk to for once. With Gloom not doing any of the talking, she was subjected to do all of the listening, and boy did MC have a lot to share.

The brothers began to take notice of MC's disappearances. They tried to track them or ask them where they had gone, but MC was determined to keep this little secret. It was nice to have something in the Devildom that was entirely theirs for once.

Months passed, and their visits only became more frequent until one day, MC did not come empty handed.

"Here!" They chirped as they plopped down beside the woman, holding out a small envelope. She hesitated it before plucking it between two fingers and looking curiously at the cursively written Gloom on the front. "Dia and the others are throwing this huge ball to celebrate my fourth year here in the Devildom! It'll be super fancy and in the palace with all kinds of food and dancing and-" Gloom lifted her instrument a little, and MC chuckled. "Yes! And music! You should totally come. I know ya don't like crowds, but it'll be really fun." They explained with a smile.

Gloom paused, the lights blinking behind her mask as she stared down at the envelope before looking to MC in confusion.

They shrugged as they rose back up to their feet. "Come or don't come. It doesn't make a difference to me, but ..." they feel their cheeks burn a little as they look down. "I haven't had someone just listen to me without tryin' to shove their own ideas into my head in a while and ... I dunno. I guess I enjoy hanging out with you."

The lights blinked again behind the mask.

MC graons. "Look. The ball is next week. I'll see you then!"

MC didn't see it, having already left, but as she looked down at the envelope, the lights behind Gloom's mask squinted with an unseen smile as an unspoken promise laid on her silent tongue. She joyfully began to pluck the strings of her shamisen as the breeze dance around her.

Across the city, oblivious to what is to come, Mammon feels a shiver run down his spine. He sits up from his bed and looks out his open window as a whisper of a melody flows around him like an old memory. His breath hitches.

He slams the window shut without hesitation.