#coladraws

Reporters crowded the barricades with their pens raised like spears, cameras clicking in relentless little bursts that made Elena’s shoulders inch higher with every flash.

“Chin up, darling,” Hektor, her father and chaperone, murmured at her side; his hand firm and warm over her arm.

She did not need the reminder. She was taught elegance in her sleep and composure in her bones. The second they left the safety of their lodgings, the mask set into place like second nature. Though each day it fit less and less. 

Still, Elena gave him a look that said everything she could not afford to say aloud.

He smiled in return, all effortless charm and old-world poise, like the whole gaudy spectacle had been built for him to stroll through. Which, to be fair, it probably had been. Her brothers followed just behind, both of them impossible to miss in their own ways—one wearing his confidence like a knife hidden in a velvet sleeve, the other carrying his with a softer sort of shine. The three of them were beautiful in a way that drew eyes automatically.

Elena, on the other hand, could feel every single one of those eyes.

“Hektor!” called someone from the crowd. “Over here!”

“Elena! Elena, look this way!”

“Princess Vivarićia, is it true your family is expanding its holdings in the capital—”

“Do you have a statement regarding the fashion alliance with—”

Her mouth went dry.

She kept her expression pleasant. Sweet. Neutral. Just enough smile to pass for gracious, not enough to encourage anyone. Her father had once told her that there was power in answering without giving anything away. Elena had taken that lesson and weaponized it. You can’t slip up if you remove yourself from the situation.

“Good evening,” she said to one reporter, then another, her voice clipped and careful. “I’m pleased to be here.Please redirect your questions to my father.”

“Will you be making a speech tonight?”

“No. Again. Please redirect your questions to my father.”

A laugh rippled somewhere behind a camera lens. Elena’s fingers tightened around her clutch. She was thankful she thought ahead and skipped lunch, otherwise her nausea would be on maximum overdrive. 

One flash went off too close to her face and she had to fight the instinct to flinch. Not here. Not now. She knew better than to let them see it. The press loved nothing more than a crack in the royal polish, and she had spent too many years being called wild, loud, too much. She would not hand them another reason. At her age, it would be a death sentence.

Then the crowd shifted.

The air changed in a way Elena could not have explained if she tried. Some people simply carried presence with them, and when Vil Schoenheit approached, it was like a spotlight had decided to follow him instead of the red carpet.

He was dressed perfectly, of course. Elena did not expect anything less after seeing his photos. Vil looked as though the event had been arranged around the color of his eyes alone, and when he smiled, even the reporters seemed to remember their manners.

“Hektor,” Vil greeted smoothly, before inclining his head toward Elena. “Lady Vivarićia.”

Elena blinked once, then offered a small, graceful nod. “Schoenheit. A pleasure.”

His gaze flicked over her face with the practiced ease of someone who had made a career out of noticing details. Then his expression warmed, just slightly.

“You look well,” he said. “Though I suspect you are not enjoying this circus.”

A laugh nearly escaped her, startling in its honesty. Was she that obvious?Did the photographers see, and that’s why they were being so pushy? “You suspect correctly.”

One of her brothers made a low sound of amusement under his breath. Hektor only hummed, half in warning and half in approval. Vil, to his credit, did not look offended at all.

Instead, he stepped closer, lowering his voice by a fraction to something appraising. 

“Epel has spoken of you. It’s a pleasure to meet the face who stole my prize freshman away during every open-campus party at Night Raven.”

The words landed cleanly and then immediately ruined her composure.

Elena’s brows rose before she could stop them. “H-he has?”

Vil’s mouth tilted. “Frequently enough that I would be a fool not to recognize his precious contact at Solar Flare Academy. You drove him mad during those early months, I must say. He’d be unreachable for days, muttering with no manners and extra difficulty. ”

For one long second, all she could think was that Epel spoke of her in a way that didn’t paint her as a demon. Despite Vil’s phrasing, he seemed almost fond recalling it.  Blackmail material at its finest. 

Though her chest could do without the fluttering sensation. 

Vil’s expression shifted the instant he realized his words might’ve been more trouble than they were worth. “Not in a way that should concern you,” he corrected, though there was a distinct edge of amusement beneath the politeness. “I simply meant that you are, apparently, memorable. Ah, he’s probably going to not like that I’ve spoken to you. Tsk. ”

“I won’t say anything unless he tests my patience.” 

Which is likely. She smiled just thinking of it.

“That is acceptable.” His eyes flicked toward the cameras crowding the entrance and then back to her. “And for the record, if I have said anything that will earn me his ire, I will deny it. It’s troublesome enough to speak with him since graduating.”

Before she could answer, a reporter shoved in too close and the moment scattered. Her calm ripped from beneath her feet as Vil was pulled into an interview about his next project.

Hektor politely but firmly redirected the group, her brothers peeling attention away with ease. The procession resumed, all bright smiles and glittering lies, until Elena finally slipped past the threshold of the venue and the noise behind her dulled into a muffled roar.

Inside was cooler. Better lit. Filled with opulent arrangements that smelled like sugared fruit and expensive perfume. Crystal chandeliers threw soft gold over the marble floors, and the whole hall shimmered with the kind of polished excess that made Elena want to lean against a wall and meld into it. 

She, to her misfortune, did not have the ability to disappear. Perhaps her unique magic would choose now to show itself? No? Damn. 

Instead, she waited until no one was looking and then vanished into the backrooms with the skill of someone who had spent years escaping overprotective guards. She had to get away. 

The catering corridors were quieter. Kitchen staff hurried past with trays and folded linen. Elena’s wings folded as she slipped behind a towering floral cupcake display, the kind made for photographs and not for eating, and finally let herself breathe.

Her heart was still racing.

The flashes. The questions. Vil’s knowing smile. The too-close crowd and the stale panic trying to rise beneath her ribs.

She exhaled slowly through her nose and fished out her phone, mindlessly tapping through contacts with the sides of her thumbs.  

A message to Epel was the first thing that came to mind. Of course it was, and her thoughts simmered the second she found his contact photo. Which was a sky-view photo of the top of his head while he flipped her off. The angle made him look like an angry toddler. 

elena: can i come over?

The reply came so fast she nearly laughed.

epel: ??? girl where are you

She stared at the message for a beat before her mouth twisted.

elena: a fancy shindig, as you call them

Three dots appeared.

epel: you’re at some rich people party and thinkin of sneakin off to do what? play house w me?

elena: i’m thinking very seriously about it, actually.

This time the response took a little longer, which told her he was probably either blinking at his phone or rolling his eyes.

Epel: We’re coming on the night and you reckon you can just bust out of there and cross the country like some kinda outlaw? Get outta here

Elena looked out from behind the flowers at the glittering kitchen doorway, then back down at her screen.

elena: watch me.

A pause.

epel: you’re ridiculous. nuts. whatever.

Her smile came easily this time, softer around the edges.

elena: so is that a yes i’m hearing?

That made him stop, apparently, because no new message appeared for a few seconds.

When it finally did, it was shorter than the others.

epel: …maybe. If you can manage it, why not. 

Elena’s grin turned sharp and delighted all at once. She sent him a barrage of heart emojis followed by a singular skull 

She could practically hear his accent through the text, could picture the way his face would scrunch up if she’d said that aloud. It grounded her more than the room around her ever could.

Another flash of light sparked somewhere nearby and she instinctively ducked further behind the cupcake stand. Her pulse skipped.

elena: on my way. Roll out the red carpet, little lady 

epel: oh fuck right off 

Elena pressed the phone to her chest for a moment, smiling despite herself.

Behind the curtain of flowers and frosting, with the gala muffled into a distant hum and Epel’s messages lighting up her screen, the air finally felt like it belonged to her again.

–

The evening in Harveston was gentler than the city, all soft darkening skies and the sweet, sharp scent of apples hanging heavy in the air. Epel preferred it this way. 

Epel had claimed the back porch for himself earlier that evening after taking his shower, his hair wet and drying in the breeze. Dressed himself in his pajamas, a bit warm for the weather but summer nights could get cold. He liked eating supper in his nightwear just in case he’d sneak a nap, and his plaid, carrot orange flannel pans were good to hide stains. Same for his favorite beige wife-beater and the crochet cardigan his Meemaw made for him back some years ago. It’s seen hell and back at this point. 

Epel held a small knife in one hand and a basket of apples beside him while he worked with the sort of practiced, absent-minded focus that only came when his hands were busy and his thoughts were not. He had one foot hooked over the porch railing, the other bare foot tucked under his rocking chair, and he was whistling some little tune he’d picked up from nowhere in particular.

Elena had not answered his last message.

He’d checked the read receipt twice, then told himself she was probably still caught up at that glittery rich-people affair, smiling politely at folks he wouldn’t trust with a bushel of bruised pears. Fancy folk, the lot of them. He had half a mind to be offended on her behalf.

He sliced another apple cleanly down the center and snorted to himself. “Mmh. Bet she’s out there charmin’ the whole room now,” he muttered, more amused than bitter. She was only an ass to him, apparently. 

Then he saw the black speck in the distance, tainting the dusk’s glow. 

At first, he thought it was a bird. Then maybe a plane, which would have been odd enough by itself in Harveston. Then it got bigger.

Much bigger.

Epel squinted, lowering the knife. “...What in the—”

The shape came in fast over the orchard, blazing across the sky, wings spread wide enough to blot out the last of the light. Epel’s whole body went rigid.

For one awful second, his brain rejected what his eyes were seeing and tried to force a more reasonable explanation out of the panic roaring through him.

Holy shit, a plane is about to crash into his house.

Epel was on his feet so fast the chair nearly tipped over behind him. His pen was already in his hand, drawn on instinct and pure stupidity, because apparently his first thought in the face of airborne doom was to threaten it with magic.

“EVERYBODY GET DOWN—!”

The thing descended.

Not a plane.

A wyvern.

A real, enormous, wyvern with a coat one with when dusk met sunset  and a plumed tail that could blanket three beds. It landed in the orchard with enough force to rustle the branches and kick up a scatter of leaves across the grass. Its tail curled low near its feet, its wings folding in with a heavy, elegant sweep, light catching on the sheen of its feathers.

Epel just stared, heart in his throat as it took him in. Only when he caught those warm, honey-brown eyes peering at him with an impish glint, did he realize this beast wasn’t a beast at all. 

The wyvern sent a gust of hot air through its nose, as if laughing at the picture he painted through its eyes. It ducked down against the ground and Epel could only watch as it seemed to shrink in on itself, contorting until someone he knew stood before him. 

In the wyvern’s place, Elena rose in a long stretch. 

Her wings arched outwards, one hand tugging her curls free of windswept knots, the other  gathering the skirt of a dress that looked so expensive it made Harveston’s whole lane seem like chumpchange. Floor-length satin shimmered red even in the fading light, a slit cutting high along one side, the fabric gathered and pinned over her tail so carefully it almost looked unfair. She was all warm copper skin, honey eyes, and that ridiculous halo of curling hair fading from gold to rose pink. 

He had to look at the trees behind her, just to not let his mind rake her back. Bare with open expanse for her wings and tail to act as adornments of their own. 

For once in her life, she looked sheepish and not ready to rip him with a barb while unsure where to step.

Epel’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

From somewhere inside the house, his meemaw called, “Epel? Boy, what’s all that racket out there?”

He turned his head in a daze. “Ah—” His voice cracked. “Nothin’! I mean—somethin’! I mean—”

“Wow.” Epel looked back at Elena, and the words that actually came out of his mouth were, “You look beautiful.”

The orchard, the porch, the whole stupid world seemed to go still. Whatever she was expecting Epel to say, it sure wasn’t that. Elena dropped her skirt, taken aback. 

Epel went red so fast it felt like his entire face had caught fire.

“Oh, for—” he groaned, immediately burying his face in one hand. “That ain’t what I meant to say!”

He meant to ask what the heck she thought she was doing, nearly barreling into the front haul of his family’s orchard! Yet clearly Epel was keen on putting his own foot in his mouth. 

Elena’s mouth slowly curved.

“Told you I was at a party, Missy. What did you expect?” 

It was not her usual grin. Not the sharp, teasing one she wore when she was getting ready to poke at him just to see him bristle. This one was soft at the edges, a little startled, a little stunned, like the words had hit somewhere unexpected and landed with more weight than either of them had planned for.

Epel peeked through his fingers. “D’you really gotta look at me like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, and her voice had gone gentler too.

“You know ‘like what’! You ain’t dumb! What kinda entrance was that?!”

“It’s not like I could take a cab, could I? Why pay a fare when there are much faster options?” She snickered, flexing her wings. 

He let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Epel, still holding the pen like a fool, finally remembered himself and shoved it back into his pocket with as much dignity as he could manage.

Somewhere inside the house, his parents clearly heard the commotion too. Footsteps approached the back door, along with the unmistakable sound of someone throwing open the outer door.

Then his mother’s voice carried out over the porch. “Epel Felmier, what in the world is goin’ on out there?!”

His meemaw appeared behind her a second later, hands already on her hips. “Boy, if you’ve let another critter into my orchard—”

She stopped.

Her eyes landed on Elena, this random girl standing in a dress far too grand for a walk through the woods and looking like she had wandered straight out of a storybook and into the wrong backyard. Technically, a creature.

Elena, to her credit, looked about as likely to bolt as a startled deer. Her wings gave one awkward little twitch, and she dipped her head in a small, embarrassed greeting. “Good evening, Felmeir family. I apologize for the intrusion.”

That made Epel’s mother blink, a silent ‘you know this girl?’ passing between her and the boy who was red up to his ears. Epel gestured around mutely, flailing his arms as if someone could make sense of it even though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to convey. It took a moment for some sort of understanding to pass between the two women and their young lad. 

His meemaw, after a beat, squinted at him. “Well?”

Epel nearly choked. “Well what?”

“Well, are you gonna invite the girl in or stand there lookin’ like you’ve got hay where your brains oughta be?”

“I’m not—” he started, then stopped because, unfortunately, she was right.

He dragged a hand down his face. “I—uh. Elena, what are you doin’ here?”

The question finally came out of him, though far too late and far too useless to count as composed.

Elena shifted her weight, looking suddenly far younger than he’d ever seen her at least. Though Epel would quake too under his Meemaw’s scrutiny. “I escaped the party, just like I said.”

She lifted one shoulder, a little helplessly. “In my defense, it was an extremely stressful evening…and you gave me permission, so you can’t just take it back.”

Epel swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was standing to her. Close enough to see the faint pink in her cheeks. Close enough to notice the way she seemed to be holding herself very carefully, as though she wasn’t sure whether she was welcome or only barely tolerated. 

Before he could overthink it, he stepped down off the porch and took the last few strides toward her. “C’mon,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “ Uh – let’s go inside, I guess? Better than standin’ out here while it gets cold…just don’t go getting ideas about this bein’ a two time thing.”

Epel grumbled the last part, ducking into his collar to hide his face. 

Behind him, his meemaw made an approving noise and let the porch door thwack closed as she hobbled back inside. His mother, for her part, gave Elena a welcoming look that softened into concern.

“Hello, Elena,” she said, voice gentler now, “you must be worn out. Come inside. We’ll get you somethin’ to drink.”

–

After the chaos of the orchard, the introductions, and his meemaw nearly taking Epel’s ear off for not warning her there’d be company, the house finally settled.The living room was warm and dim, lit by the low amber glow of a lamp in the corner, with music drifting in from the kitchen where Mrs. Felmier was busy making pot roast and apple pie like Elena had not just fallen out of the sky and into their lives. By then, the questions of how and why had already been asked and answered as much as they were going to be. What remained was quiet, and the strange, awkward kind of peace that came after a surprise had been welcomed instead of rejected. 

Elena and Epel sat on the couch with several feet of carefully maintained space between them, each holding a cup of hot cider that steamed sweetly in the cooling evening. For a while, neither of them said much. It was not uncomfortable, exactly, but it was the sort of silence that made every tiny sound feel louder than it ought to be—the click of the old ceiling fan, the soft scratch of Epel’s bare foot against the rug, the muted clatter of pans from the kitchen.

Elena was the first to break.

Her eyes drifted over to him, over the plaid pajama bottoms, the knit cardigan with its little apple embroidery, the whole cozy Harveston picture of him, and her mouth twitched with obvious amusement.

“Well,” she said at last, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “I never took you for a meemaw’s boy.”

Epel’s head snapped toward her. “Excuse me?”

Elena’s smile widened, all wicked delight and barely-contained laughter. “A meemaw’s boy,” she repeated, equally quiet, as if that made it less insulting. “You look so cute in that little cardigan. Does she keep coloring books for you in one of these side tables, hmm?”

His ears went pink in a way that almost made her regret saying it.

Almost.

“You shut your dang mouth, hear me?” he muttered, glaring at her with that familiar stoked rage, “or I’ll toss you out on your feathery butt. Don’t think I won' do it.”

Elena pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking once with silent laughter.

Before he could say his usual ‘I hate you,’ footsteps approached from the kitchen, followed by the comforting smell of butter, spice, and baked apples. Grandma Felmier appeared in the doorway carrying a tray stacked with dinner like she intended to feed the both of them whether they were ready or not. Pot roast, potatoes, carrots, fresh bread, and a slice of apple pie waiting at the edge for the finale.

Elena made an immediate attempt to sit up straighter and present herself respectably. 

“Oh—Mrs. Felmier, you absolutely do not need to—”

“Shut your trapper,” Epel’s meemaw said, crossing the room with the kind of sturdy confidence that made it clear she had no intention of hearing objections. “You just crashed on my porch in a dress worth more than my truck, child. We are long past ‘not wanting to impose.’”

Grandma Felmier set the tray down and gave her a warm, appraising look. “And after all the yappin’ my grandson’s done, I already know half your business anyway. Call me Granny.” 

“Meemaw, no!” 

Grandma Felmeir pointed a finger at him without even looking away from Elena. “Don’t start.”

Elena’s cheeks had gone a little pink. “That is very kind of you, but I really shouldn’t take your supper.”

“Girl,” Grandma Felmeir said with finality, “ I am not askin’.”

“Just take it,” Epel cut in, a little too quickly for someone who was just trying to save his hide, “You’ll feel better with somethin’ real in your stomach. I know damn well those fancy parties only serve crackers and tiny little hors d’oeuvres that wouldn’t feed a sparrow.”

Elena blinked at him, then laughed under her breath despite herself. “That is, unfortunately, true.”

“See?” he snapped, like that settled it. “Take the dang food.”

Grandma Felmeir made an approving sound and bent to ruffle Epel’s hair, “And you,” she said under her breath, low enough that Elena nearly missed it, “don’t you dare mess this up. She’s prettier than you described, hoho.”

Epel made a strangled sound and hissed back. “Meemaw that’s enough!”

But she was already turning away, satisfied with the damage she’d done. “Eat,” she ordered over her shoulder. “Both of you.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen. Elena stared after her for a moment, then slowly turned back to Epel, her expression blooming into something far too pleased.

“So,” she sang, “first you’re bragging about me to Vil Schoenheit –” 

His face went blank. “What?”

“And,” Elena added, with growing delight, “now to your beloved Meemaw? Oh, pretty missy, if I didn’t know any better then I’d think you’re totally obsessed with me.”

“What in tarnation are you talkin’ about?!” Epel’s defense grew in pitch, he hadn’t even touched his roast. Elena almost felt bad for ratting out his previous superior, but it was getting harder to push the scales in her favor. Oh well. It’s not like she knew the guy personally. 

Elena drew a careful sip of cider, eyes glittering over the rim. “At the event tonight, I spoke to Vil.”

Epel’s jaw went slack. “You saw Vil there?”

“Yes.” She grinned into her cup, “and he said you spoke about me. Frequently enough for him to remember…among other things.” 

She let him sit with the thought for a moment, feeling all too pleased with herself. Epel’s mind really was his own worst enemy. She wondered what thoughts he was turning over, though there stood a chance they weren’t good. 

Though he did call her beautiful before, a memory that was enough to stifle her doubts for now. 

Epel looks ready to retort when he catches her eye. Her lies must be poorly maintained, as that angry blush seems to surface and drag over his neck all over again. She had to stifle a laugh. 

Epel took one slow breath through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to chew her out. “Eat your food,” he jabbed his fork at her, “Or I’ll send you right back to that posh shitshow myself.”

Elena’s brows rose in delight. “There he is.”

“Don’t push it.”

But she was smiling now, properly smiling, the kind that made the tension in the room loosen all at once. She settled back against the couch with the tray balanced carefully in her lap, her wings relaxing behind her as she finally gave in and lifted a forkful. 

Though she wasn’t oblivious enough to miss Epel’s threat to kill Vil the next time they met, spoken hushed between bites too big for his mouth. l

–

Hours slipped by in the warm, easy quiet of the Felmier house. The pot roast and pie were long gone, the cider cups refilled more than once, and somewhere along the way the music drifting from the kitchen turned into an oldies playlist that Epel was absolutely certain his meemaw had chosen on purpose. It was all soft bass and easy piano, the kind of jazzy tape nobody in Harveston would admit to enjoying out loud aside from his Pa, which only made it more obvious that she meant to keep them in the living room a while longer and leave them no excuse to brood.

Elena sat across from him with the checkerboard between them, one knee drawn up beneath the edge of her dress and one tail tip flicking every now and then whenever she got impatient. Epel, having pushed his drooping sleeves up for the nth time, leaned over the board with the full intensity of someone who treated every move like a challenge. She, meanwhile, looked like a princess who’d wandered into the wrong century and decided to stay for the novelty.

He moved a piece, glanced at the board, then finally looked at her instead.

For a moment, he only watched.

The mascara beneath her eyes had smeared a little from the long evening, and there was a tiredness at the edges of her face that no amount of poise could disguise. She still looked beautiful, which only annoyed him more, because she also looked like she was carrying something heavy enough to bend her spine if she let it.

Epel set his jaw, then said, “Alright. I’m just gonna ask’.”

Elena lifted one brow, still eyeing her next move. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Smart mouth.” He nudged one checker into place with a tap of his finger. “Why’d you really come here?”

He kept going before she could dodge it. “Don’t tell me you flew all the way cross-country just for the thrill of sittin’ in my living room eatin’ gamey stew and beatin’ me at checkers, when you could be out with them upper class blokes with your family.” 

Elena stared at him a beat longer than necessary, and he braced himself for it. A barb. A joke. A sharp little tease from those clever lips of hers. Maybe even a tail to the ankle, because she enjoyed being physical whenever she thought he deserved it.

Instead, she looked down at the board and said, very quietly, “Because I….I don’t fit in with them, and I know it’s just easier this way. It is easier.”

That shut him up.

The music ticked on in the kitchen, filling the strained gap. A spoon clinked against a pot somewhere beyond the doorway. Epel forgot, for a second, that he was supposed to be trying to win.

Elena tightened one hand around the edge of her next piece, eyes still lowered. “I know how it looks. I know what people see when I walk into a room with my family. They see my father, my brothers, and they’re stunning. I do not deny…and then I try to breathe, and the cameras flash. Then all I think of is every little move I make and how I look in their lenses. It’s unbearable sometimes,”  Her mouth twisted on the word. “And I wouldn’t change my life. No. I am far too fortunate, but there are certain facets that I’ll never belong to.”

She gave a small, humorless laugh and finally looked up at him. “I was already uncomfortable before I even arrived. The second the cameras started flashing, I could feel everything in me go tight. My father noticed, of course. He always notices, and that only made it worse, because then I felt like some helpless child clinging to him in public.” Her brows pulled together, frustrated with herself. “I hate that.”

Epel stayed quiet for once, letting her go on. He could understand to an extent. Not clinging, but being uncomfortable with attention you don’t want. People are always trying to figure out if what’s inside matches the out.

“I can grin and bear it most days. One benefit of being the third born and only daughter in a big family is that you’re devoid of the higher expectations. My eldest brother endures much worse,” she sighed, twirling her piece between two fingers . “But tonight…” She exhaled through her nose. “Tonight I kept thinking I was one bad minute away from embarrassing myself in front of everyone there. My siblings fit that kind of night. They know what to do with it. They know how to shine.” Her gaze drifted toward the dark window, toward everything she ran from like a coward. “I don’t.”

Meanwhile, all Epel could think was how she sparkled the moment she landed on his lawn. How her horns glowed in the dusk and when pit against everything he’s known his whole life, she did shine. She nearly blinded him.  

Not just because she was in a pretty gown or something ethereal when compared to this small farm. She might be different, but from the moment he met her there was a spark that she carried. This brazen, witty, spark that got under his skin but was still much better company than the snooty noble she looked like at first glance. 

He opened his mouth to say that, albeit less sappy if he could manage. 

Then she looked at him with those doe eyes, and the words fell short. It wasn’t every day he could see them head on, being shorter. Yet he’s gotten two views in one night. 

“Then Vil mentioned you. Which…I’m starting to think wasn’t just to extend a greeting,” Elena let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. “The moment I heard your name, I felt less like I was standing in the middle of a room full of strangers.”

She looked down at her hands, fighting the urge to pick her nails. “I’m sorry if I ruined your evening. I know I barged in without warning – even though you did technically give the okay – and probably made things strange for your family.” Then she added, much more lightly, “And I do realize a wyvern crashing through your orchard leaves an impression…and a few dents in the dirt.”

He snorted before he could stop himself.

Her shoulders eased a fraction, and she went on, more earnest now. “But thank you. Truly. I’ve had more fun here than I would have spent the entire night acting like my father’s arm candy.” Her fingers brushed the stem of the cup. “I could feel myself getting smaller in that place. Here, I can breathe. I can stretch my wings. I can be a nuisance in peace.”

Epel’s mouth twitched with a barb on his tongue “You are a nuisance in any setting, lets be honest”

“Mm.” She tipped her head, “least with you, I’m not the most unbearable one in the room though.” 

Epel scrunched his nose before throwing one of the spare pieces at her head. She caught it without looking; of course she did, but his audacity made her smile. Which wasn’t good for Epel’s brain, since he realized he didn’t mind being jabbed at if she felt better. 

He cleared his throat. “I get what you mean, though.”

Elena went still, attentive now.

Epel shifted forward in his seat, forearms resting on his knees, checker pieces forgotten. “When Vil graduated and I took over Pomefiore stuff, everybody expected me to be the face of the dorm. Smile pretty, stand straight, talk right, all that.” He made a face. “Truth is, I like bein’ the one who gets things done. I like bein’ the muscle. I don’t mind people lookin’ at me, but I don’t want every set of eyes in the room on me just because I’m supposed to fill somebody else’s shoes.”

She listened carefully, like she knew exactly how much it mattered that he was saying it out loud.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you can’t do both, I guess. Doesn’t mean you gotta force yourself into some part just ’cause other folks think it fits.”

Elena’s expression shifted, something thoughtful and relieved flickering there. “That is uncharacteristically smart of you.”

“Don’t make a big deal outta it.” He muttered, fussing with his bangs.

“I would never. It might just be time you grow from missy to missus, ha!”

A lie. She’d never drop the title and his words definitely carved a place in her heart.

A grin threatened at the corner of his mouth. “You’re still bein’ smug.”

She drew herself up a little, offended on principle. “I am a princess. Smugness is practically a public service.”

He barked a short laugh, then finally glanced back at the board. She was still only one move away from flipping it in victory, which annoyed him to no end. 

Rather than finish their game and sulk in yet another loss at her hand, Epel got an idea. Maybe being Housewarden was doing good things for his confidence because his body acted before his mind. Without saying a word, he pulled out his phone and turned it toward them, angling the screen until the camera caught both of them in frame at once.

He was still in his pajamas and cardigan, looking rumpled and annoyed in the way he always did when he thought too hard about something. Elena, on the other hand, sat beside him in a glittering dress with her mascara smudged and her hair a little mussed from the long night, one move away from tipping the checkerboard in his direction.

Two idiots on a random summer Tuesday. 

Epel frowned at the screen for half a second, then snorted under his breath. “There we go.”

Elena leaned closer, forgetting her place. “There what?”

“There’s your proof the night ain’t all been a disaster.” He tilted the phone a little, still staring at the image. “You might not feel like standin’ under all that spotlight with your family, and that’s fine. That don’t mean the whole night’s ruined. Some of it was good. This counts.”

She might not feel ready for the spotlight with her family, and that’s totally fine – but the night’s been good and there isn’t a reason they can’t capture what really matters. Even if she looks like a primadonna run off from a school dance.  

Epel sent the photo to her phone and made his next move, and Elena held it up a moment later, studying it with a quiet little glow in her eyes. Before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed again.

Her father.

She glanced down, read the message, and then looked back at the picture in her hands as if she’d just found the exact right answer to something she hadn’t known how to explain.

“Yuu” - Aka, she was asked her name at the Mirror and asked “What the hell are you?”. The Dark Mirror only heard the last bit, and this the alias “Yuu” was born.

Goes through chapters 1-6 convinced she is stuck within a “Truman Show” situation, or a comatose. Due to her past health issues and state of her Earth - she wouldn’t be surprised of either.

Very intelligent when it doesn’t come to this belief. Her ability to observe others, create plans, and learn new topics (adapt) is concerning. Yet when it comes to convincing herself that this is all real - she loses sense of logic in favor of the simpler answer. It is easier to believe in an arranged cult than dimension travel. When she explores past the campus (Fleur City, Isle of Woe, etc) it is easier to believe in a dream than magic.

Very cautious. At first she believed all the students were in on it, but as she proceeds through the main story and learns of their intricate backgrounds (so well thought out…no writing team could create such deep stories and niches for every interaction she has on the daily) she believes that all the students at NRC have been kidnapped as well. Illogical. Highly improbably. Again, she forgoes her logic in favor of a simpler answer.

Thinking that they have been brainwashed or part of her dream makes it easier for “Yuu” to let her guard down. Allowing her to be more proactive in her “role” beyond helping with the Overblots.

Unreliable narrator. She doesn’t care for them, she pities them. She isn’t interested in magic, she’s merely trying to understand the lore. She doesn’t want to help with events at NRC, she wants to learn the school layout to escape etc.

Uses her alias “Yuu” - crafting her own character, to put distance between herself and those in Twisted Wonderland. Convinced she is only acting, but isn’t. Also convinced she is playing the perfect part as the “Ramshackle Prefect” who is tough, smart, confident, perhaps a bit villainous, yadayada…is not. Anyone who picked up on her belief that they’re in a cult or in a dream (later chapters) or who she confronta about it, simply thinks it’s a fun quirk or a coping mechanism for her situation.

Lowkey is a coping mechanism. Again. Very intelligent. Her EQ towards everyone but herself is fine - but it’s clashing with her IQ. Accepting that this is reality will not be a fun time, no bueno.

Very sympathetic towards anyone with issues involving ambition, who they are, he future, or freedom. Especially freedom, given her belief about what TWST is. Lapses the most when confronted with people like Riddle, Epel, Azul, Malleus, Silver, Jamil, and Leona. Not people who can pick her apart (some can) but those that she will feel genuine empathy for.

Does not want to feel this empathy. Convinced it is to escape or an act of her psyche trying to pull her in. Does not want any attachments. Very upset she is feeling attached. Tacks it as part of “Yuu” - y’all see where I’m going?

Has some very ‘interesting’ dynamics with the main cast. Some think she’s batshit crazy for the complete flips in personality, some think she’s a foolish martyr at the wrong place at the wrong time, some thing she’s a plain idiot with dumb luck

Extra Ideas for future comics:

Assuming fae myths carry over - Lilia and Malleus both know “Yuu” is not her real name. Don’t say anything.

Ace is the first to figure out she genuinely believes they aren’t real people.

Trey’s chocolate chip cookies are her favorite food. Only lets Ace and Deuce crash at Ramshackle if they bring her some. She goes feral for pastry and spent so much time at Heartslabyul to eat, that they convinced her to start painting a card symbol on her cheek. Except since she isn’t a member, she can’t actually do that. So she took the crown because Riddle doesn’t paint one. No one in Heartslabyul has a crown after all.

Age is unknown. Doesn’t want to give Crowley more leverage. Somehow Rook got her birthday.

Has a tattoo. Discovered during the stitch event.

Very bad at maths and science - but hangs around the Science club to see what kind of ‘potions’ (she thinks the students are being drugged at some point) are brewed. Was caught by Crewel, put on cleaning as punishment, Trey saw her and yeah - can’t get out of it now if she wants her cookies.

Logics that spelldrive is possible through mechanics. The government can hide drones, why not flying brooms? Has tried to swipe one to see what makes it tick but Leona somehow is always there.

Has tried to break into Ignihyde on multiple occasions. Meets Idia way before chapter 7.

Idia gives Ramshackle an AC unit in exchange for her no longer trying to break in. She still tries because why honor agreement in a dream? Oetho is happy his brother is interacting with someone, even if it’s fighting through an intercom.

Leona is also fully aware that she thinks this is a cult by the end of his OB - and that she’s the one deluding herself. Thinks it is hilarious and will purposefully toss questions out there to see her try to rationalize it. Knows it won’t last but doesn’t want to burst her bubble just yet. Regrets this in chapter 7 for…reasons.

Belief of coma begins around the end of Chapter 4 - so she doesn’t have to logic Kalim’s carpet. Does wonder if jumping off will kill her if it is a dream. Is politely dissuaded not to by Jamil, who was the one to burst her bubble that this is indeed not a cult.