Lungs: Shaky but functional. Airways unobstructed.
Liver and digestive system: Not actively trying to kill you.
Nerves and muscles: Responsive to voluntary commands.
Sense organs:
Paranoidâs eyes snap open, then slam shut again at the sting of light from outside.
Operational. Your eyes have been shut for long enough that the pupils could dilate. Youâve been here for longer than an instant.
Mental faculties: Functioning well enough to progress this far in the checklist. Further analysis is impossible to conduct without filtering it through itself, and thus meaningless.
Backup: Has not yet complained about the systems check.
âWhoâs there?â he asks, aloud. His voice is louder than heâd expected it to be.
No one answers.
He opens his eyes again.
He is in a cabin, which is already unusual. Normally, the cabin would be a ways down a pathâwhich ideally would be solid beneath his feet, and if he were to really get his hopes up, would even be open and lined with perfectly ordinary trees.
The cabin is⊠very nice, actually. Its walls are made of clean stone, with wide, glassless windows. Cloth banners drape from the tops of the walls on either side of an ornate wooden door, and the blade is perched on the edge of a sturdy, carved wooden tableâalready quite a step up from the other cabins heâs had the dubious pleasure of entering. A warm light filters through the viewing window in the door.
This is a much friendlier place than any other cabin heâs seen, which means it is not to be trusted. The other cabins presented themselves as exactly as dangerous as they actually were. This one is hiding something.
He turns around and grabs for the handle of the door to the outside. Itâs well above his headâhow inconsiderate of the designer of this cabin. The body he normally inhabits would have been tall enough to reach it easily, but heâs clearly not taking the backseat in that body anymore.
Heâs alone, and he is in his own body, his pathetically short, scrawny body that can feel every molecule of this world trying to drag him to the ground.
He finally manages to grasp the handle on his third attempt, legs kicking uselessly at the floor they can no longer reach. The quilt on his back falls to the floor without a hand holding it in place. Itâs fine. Thereâs no one else here to see him, and he can pick it back up once heâs opened the door and escaped this place.
His feet find purchase on the wall beside the door, and he pulls. And then he pulls harder, and then he tries to twist the ring-handle as though that might be the obstacle preventing the door from opening.
Itâs not, obviously. Itâs locked. Where has he seen that trick before? Rightâevery time he tried to go somewhere the Narrator didnât want him.
He lets go and falls to the floor, the bones of his arms clashing painfully with the cobblestones even through the fabric of the quilt beneath him. This is fine. There are more ways out of a cabin than the door.
The windows on the right are just low enough for him to look outâand no doubt low enough to climb through. The Narrator might never have bothered to mention them, but theyâre still a viable escape route.
He clambers up to the frames of the windows and looks down.
The ground spans out far beneath him, a dry plain with steam rising from the ground. Itâs certainly a far cry from the woods heâs used to, but that will just make it easier to see any ambushes coming, and the fall still looks safe enough. Heâll be fine. He just needs to go back and grab his quilt, and thenâ
His footing slips and he falls forwards into the window, all hopes for a controlled landing vanishing from his mind. If heâs lucky, heâll get away with a broken arm. If he isnât, it might be one of his joints that snaps, or even his skullâ
His face collides with an unseen barrier, and heâs sent sliding back onto the cabin floor, facing a harsh landing for the second time in as many minutes. At least this one isnât far enough to break any bones.
The windows wonât let anything pass through them. Of course they donât. Do they even exist on a conceptual level? Is that why the Narrator never mentioned them?
Fine. There is one more exit he hasnât tried. Heâll just have to play into the Narratorâs games. Thatâs how this works.
The Narrator, who is still not present.
Quilt back in place, he takes the blade from the table and grips it in his beak. The handle of the other door is even higher than the first. Heâll have to jump and hope heâs lucky enough to maintain his grip.
His fingers slip out of the ring on his first attempt, but he manages to grasp it on the second, and this door swings open the moment heâs caught hold of the handle, as though the cabin itself wants him to enter the basement. He drops to the floor and steps onto the stairs, slipping the blade beneath his quilt.
The stairs are as polished as the cabin, with a soft carpet to match the banners. Beautiful candelabras light the way downâa nice change of pace from the basements lit with starlight alone, if that.
âIs that you, my hero?â asks the Princess from somewhere unseen. Her voice is clear and innocent.
Great. Sheâs as much of a liar as the cabin.
âNo, thatâs someone else,â he mumbles as he descends the final few steps to see what, exactly, heâs working with.
The Princess is actually exactly where sheâs supposed to beâat the other end of the basement, beyond another carpet, beneath another tantalizingly open window, and with one hand in chains. A second chain hangs ominously on her other side, leading to nothing.
She herself looks like an ordinary princess, with a golden tiara atop her head, wide eyes, and the most extravagantly puffy dress Paranoid has ever seenânot as though his sample has much in the way of puffy dresses, but he still feels safe asserting that this one is particularly puffy.
She tilts her head to one side. â...Is that you?â
Sheâs fishing for information. Heâll have to ensure he doesnât give her any. Play dumb.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â he says, gripping the blade tighter. âDo you know where we are?â
The Princess shrugs. âWeâre in a basement! And above that is a cabin. And outside that⊠Iâm not sure.â
âWho locked you down here?â
She pauses for a moment, then shrugs again. âI donât know! But it doesnât matter anymore, right? Now that youâre here to free me?â
Sheâs playing dumb, too, isnât she? And whatâs more, sheâs better at it than him. Heâll have to be more direct or heâll never get anything. âWho are you?â
âIâm⊠a Princess?â Her voice shakes a little, as though sheâs unsure if this is the answer he wants to hear. âOh! If you need a name, you can call me the Damsel.â
Damsel. A damsel in distress. Something to be rescued. Or an innocent. Of course, this is all assuming sheâs telling the truth about what she is, and since sheâs a Princess, by default I canât rely on that.
âWhat do you want?â he asks, squinting at the Damsel.
Her response is quicker than her previous ones. âI want to leave!â Of course she does. Sheâs a Princess, after all. âAnd then after thatâŠâ
The Damsel trails off into thought, and Paranoid leans forward. âAfter that?â
She shrugs. Again. âI donât really know! What do you want to do after we leave?â
âGet far, far away from this cabin,â Paranoid whispers. It should be soft enough that the Damsel canât hear him, but she tilts her head when he speaks nonetheless. âDo you know how youâd get out?â he asks at a more normal volume. Itâs a risky question, but at this point itâs probably the only way he can get any real information.
The Damsel shrugs. Maybe sheâs not as good at playing dumb as Paranoid thought, if she only has one strategyâbut she is still managing to dance around all his questions without missing a beat, which means she very much has one up on him. âI donât know! Donât you have any ideas?â
She cannot possibly be this incapable. Sheâs a Princess. She has to have a way out. Sheâs just playing dumb so he can let his guard down and she can strike.
Maybe he ought to strike first. But that would be showing his hand before he can see hers, and if she has something up her sleeve he doesnât yet know about, it could spell the end for him. Then heâll just wake up in a new cabin, and sheâll be even more of a threat. Thatâs how this works.
Thereâs something strange about that shackle on her wrist. He canât see it, but he knows there has to be something. Some way she has more power than it seems she does. Something she has over him. Thatâs how this works.
She wants to use him. For what, he canât tell. Sheâs a lot more cagey than the other Princesses heâs met. But she clearly wants to use him for something. Thatâs how this works.
Thatâs how this works. Thereâs a set narrative, and he has to figure out where everything fits into it before it swallows him whole.
Her hand. Itâs not unusually slender, but it is slight enough, and the shackle large enough, that her hand has already half-slipped through her chains. She could probably slide it all the way out on her own.
And the moment she sees weakness in him, she will do so.
The Damsel tilts her head, and he remembers that the normal thing to do in this situation would be to continue the conversation. Anything out of the ordinary might tip her off that he knows that she knows she has the upper hand, and then there would be no reason to keep lying.
âNo. I donât know how I would get you out.â I know full well how you would get out, but thereâs not a chance Iâm enabling it. Iâm just going to stay right here until I have you figured out, and then Iâll find my ticket out of this cabin.
She frowns. âReally? But⊠youâre supposed to save me. Thatâs how this works.â
Thatâs how this works?
That is not how this works. Theyâre supposed to slay Princesses, not save them, because even though the Narrator who ordered them to is clearly an untrustworthy sack of half-truths, the Princess theyâre meant to slay is just as clearly a world-ending monstrosity who would be one step away from ending them if she didnât need them toâŠ
âŠIf she didnât need them to escape. Is that what this is? Thatâs how this works? She canât just take her hand out of the chains because she needs him to do it for her?
Only one way to find out. Heâs probably going to regret this. âIsnât that chain big enough to slip over your hand? What do you even need me for?â
The Damsel glances down at the shackle, places her free hand on it, and slips it off her wrist. Of course she does.
âŠThen she slides it back on and looks at Paranoid. âLike that?â
What.
âYes. Like that.â Paranoid grips the blade as tightly as he can. âWhy canât you just do that?â
The Damsel looks at him for a second before breaking out in laughter. âYouâre funny! Youâre really funny! Donât you know thatâs not how this works?â
Apparently not. âExplain to me how this does work.â
âIâm supposed to wait for you to rescue me,â she says. âThen youâre supposed to rescue me. Then weâre supposed to leave together. And then⊠I donât know! I think thatâs where itâs supposed to end.â She tilts her head. âWhy? How else would it work?â
Paranoid hesitates. This is probably going to get him killed, and getting himself killed will only get him killed in a second, even worse manner.
âŠOn the other hand, heâs really out of ideas at this point.
âYouâre supposed to wait for me down here,â he begins. âThen Iâm supposed to come down here, and youâre supposed to threaten me into letting you out, if you even want out instead of slicing me to pieces. Then either you kill me, or I kill you and then die, or I give up and let you wreak havoc on the world.â
The Damsel blinks. âAnd then what?â
âAnd thenâŠâ Paranoid shakes his head as though that will cause some thread of logic to slide into place. âI donât know. I think thatâs where itâs supposed to end.â
âHm,â the Damsel says. âI think I like my version better.â
Paranoid forces out a laugh. âYeah. I wish that were how this worked.â
âThat is how this works!â She holds up her chained hand. âCan you let me out now?â
Sheâs asking him to let her out of the chains that she just slipped over her hand a minute ago. Sure. Fine. This may as well happen. ExceptâŠ
âThe doorâs locked upstairs,â he says. âI couldnât get out.â
The Damsel frowns. âReally? Do you think it might open if I tried it?â
Heâs about to say no, thatâs not how this works, the point of the cabin is that the Princess isnât allowed to leave and the Hero can come and go whenever. Then he changes his mind and is about to say yes, absolutely, youâre some sort of world-ending monstrosity and Iâm all of three feet tall. Then some bitter part of him is about to say no, everything about this whole setup is out to get us both but also me specifically but also you specifically, and if the past has taught me anything itâs that the way out will only open when youâre dead.
What he actually says is, âProbably. At least youâd be able to reach the doorknob.â
She holds out her chained arm, and Paranoid takes a moment to mourn the loss of the last bit of sense he has before taking hold of the shackle and slipping it over her hand.
The Damsel watches him through every step of the process, not as though thereâs more than one step to it. âYour hands are really small.â
Shut up, he thinks but doesnât say.
He leads the way up the stairs, half-expecting the door at the top to slam shut on them. But it doesnât, and why would it, when the Narrator has been silent this entire time? It was always his doing whenever a door locked on them.
They step onto the first floor of the cabin, and the Damsel strides past him, reaching for the door handle. Itâs easily within her grasp.
Paranoid clutches the blade under his quilt. If the Damsel canât open the door, itâs his only remaining option. Heâll have to slay her and leave before he can learn what the consequences are.
The latch clicks and the door swings open.
The Damsel steps to the side as though allowing him through first. A courtesy? Or a way of making sure her back isnât turned to him? Or a way of making sure his back is turned to her?
Or maybe heâs thinking about this too much, and he just needs to get some fresh air.
He steps outside into the driest âwoodsâ heâs ever encountered. Heat wafts through the openings in his quilt, as warm as if he were standing in front of a roaring bonfire. Heâll probably end up boiling if he stays here for too long, what with the quilt wrapped around him⊠though there might not be enough moisture in the air for âboilingâ to be an option. How is that even possible? There were steam clouds, right? Or are they just⊠haze?
It shouldnât matter, anyway. This is where it all ends. Thatâs how this works.
He waits for a moment. The void does not come.
When he turns around, the Damsel is looking at him, brow furrowed for the first time heâs seen. âItâs supposed to end now, right? Thatâs how this works, right?â
âYeah,â he says. âThatâs how this works.â
Clearly, how this works and how it is are not necessarily always the same.
âI think⊠we need to look around,â he begins. For some reason his eyes hurt. Why would heat make his eyes hurt? âSee if thereâs anything⊠anything elseâŠâ
The blade slips from his grasp, dry grass crunching beneath it. He does not land on top of it, saved by the Damsel catching him from behind.
âAnything⊠else out there,â he mumbles as his eyes close and he finally falls asleep.
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While Gabriel is searching for a new Akuma victim for the evening, he happens across a man who stands out to his magical senses for some reason that Monarch isn't entirely certain of. Curious, Monarch scans his emotions, and finds a man of startling similarity to himself: a misanthropic hermit of a man who loved deeply, selfishly, passionately, and self-destructively. A man who has lost his love, whose grief and rage over the loss burn within him still, would burn the world if he could. It is a deep, abiding rage, not a flash--one that, if harnessed to Nooroo's power, would lead to an intelligent, calculating opponent for Ladybug instead of one who would lash out blindly as most do.
Monarch, delighted at the kindred spirit, sends out an Akuma, though the man possesses no Alliance ring. The butterfly lights on the man's wedding ring, and Monarch speaks.
"Hello, Eternal Flame," he says. "The world has taken your wife from you. I offer you the power--"
"There is no power you can offer me that I do not already possess," the man interrupts.
Monarch's brow furrows. "I am Monarch," he says. "I am the most powerful person in Paris. I command the gods themselves."
The man snorts. "Only the gods?" he says. "Paris' standards have certainly fallen since my youth."
Monarch is utterly flabbergasted. How dare this man? "Young man, I can cause you--"
"Mathias," the man interrupts. "My name is Mathias."
"I do not care what your name is!" Hawkmoth shrieks. "You will bow!"
"How quickly humans forget," the man murmurs with a rueful, almost boiling growl in his voice.
Monarch barely has time to process that the man has said "humans" before suddenly he is not where he was. The seat at the cafe where the man was sitting is filled with empty air.
Instead, the man is standing in front of Monarch. Inside his lair. Towering over him.
The man is two meters tall if he's a centimeter. Maybe more. Calm, implacable menace radiates from his pale skin like light from a star. He wears an open black coat that covers him from chin to knee, a coat that would have stretched to the ankle of an ordinary man.
The man lifts a hand, lazily, his fingernails stretching as he does. Growing into talons. He places one sharpened nail beneath Monarch's chin, and the villain feels it--impossibly--pierce his mask, dig into his skin. Feels the blood well up.
"You would seek... to command... me?" the giant man intones, bemused.
Monarch says nothing, save for the fear he can feel screaming from his widened eyes.
"In my youth, I was known as Mathias Cronqvist," the man rumbles. "Paris was my home. You are not welcome in it."
"What..." Monarch croaks, feeling the deadly point beneath his chin shift against his skin with each word. "What are you?"
The stranger smiles, but there is no mirth in it. His smile is one of fury, of superiority, of violence. Monarch isn't certain whether he imagines the fangs that seem to creep from the man's mouth.
"I am Vlad Dracula Tepes," the man growls, his voice soft. "I. Do not. Bow."
Apologies to @thejakeformerlyknownasprince for stealing their format for this idea.
It was Tobias who realized the possibilities first. Letting the Yeerks have the other Helmacron ship? No way. True, Tobias might have been the slightest bit angry because Visser Three held him hostage, but if the past few hours had taught him anything, itâs that shrink rays are more powerful than they seem.
âA Shrink Ray? Really?â Marco laughed. âDude, this isnât a cartoon.â
<No, but weâve just spent all day at three millimeters tall, and we were helpless.> Tobias adjusted a feather. <Iâm just saying that if Visser Three and the Hork-Bajir were three millimeters tall, they wouldnât be a problem.>
It doesnât take much more than that for everyone to agree that the shrink ray would be useful, or is at least too dangerous to let the Yeerks keep. They all start trying to figure out where it might have gone.
The last time anyone seen the Helmacron ship Galaxy Blaster, Chapman had been greedily shoving the thing into his suit pocket. That meant it could be at his house. Maybe it wasnât, but maybe it was. It was worth a look.
Sneaking into Chapmanâs house wasnât as hard as it should have been. Many defenses had been put on the ground floor and in the basement since their visit many months ago, to be sure, but Melissa had left her bedroom window open that night. Maybe she was waiting for some unknown visitor, or maybe she was taking advantage of the cool breeze blowing into her room. Either way, an owl covered in fleas didnât bother her as she slept. She never heard a thing.
While Ax led the others down, dodging Yeerk sensors as they went, Cassie and Rachel snuck into Chapmanâs bedroom as a rat and a squirrel. Just in case. They were supposed to keep an eye on Chapman and his wife.
Rachel was the one who noticed it. Chapman had simply fallen onto his bed and fallen asleep. Sheâd seen this with her father Dan after a long day, and sheâd done it herself after a couple of missions. The odds that Chapman had stopped to do anything before falling asleep were slim. Cassie and Rachel split up to look for his jacket.
Cassie found it in the clothes hamper. It took some digging, but a squirrelâs paws are quick. In no time sheâd dug the Galaxy Blaster out, and the two girls headed to retrieve the guys from what sounded like a terrifying ordeal of evading automated Dracon fire and electrical traps.
Ax wasnât sure if he could make the Galaxy Blaster able to fly again. That didnât matter, according to Tobias. All they needed was the shrink ray. If Ax could somehow get that working again, they could shrink or grow things at will.
âAttack of the 40-Foot Hawk,â Marco chimed. âLike one of those Godzilla movies. Oh man. Could you imagine it? Visser Three turns into the Monster of the Week, then you just swoop down and grab him and-â
Ax interjected.<A bird that large would not have the correct proportions to sustain lift.> A collective groan of disappointment goes around the group.
The biggest problem with fixing the ship is the extremely tiny controls in the bridge. Axâs fingers just werenât nimble enough to manipulate them in the sequence Marco remembers, even with tweezers and the most absurd looking magnifying eyepiece anyone has ever seen. Ax assured the others it can provide magnifications far beyond what a normal Human magnifying glass provides. Tobias noted the eyepiece appeared to be a piece of a microscope that Ax ripped of and strapped a headband to. Ax didnât confirm or deny this.
When Ax finally admitted defeat, the Chee were happy to help. The mechanical precision of their fingers, along with their vast knowledge, lets them get the Galaxy Blaster back to working condition in a few hours. Bonus, with some coaxing, Erek agreed to make it easy for the others to use as well. A shrink ray, it seems, just barely skirts the Chee non-violence directive.
So they put a handle on it. And a trigger. Really, they just strap the Galaxy Blaster to part of a broken watergun, giving them a proper shrink ray pistol that looks as silly as it is. Thanks to Erekâs work, it was simple to use. One button causes a 2x reduction in size with each trigger pull. The other button causes a 2x increase in size with each trigger pull. Erek made the Animorphs swear they would not use it for violence.
The next raid on the Yeerk Pool, the Animorphs all go in combat morphs. Ax wields the shrink ray.
The first wave of Controllers to run at them are reduced to 3 inches tall in a moment. They quickly scampered away to avoid being crushed by the Animorphs.
The second wave of Controllers didnât fare any better.
The third wave decided that fighting at close range wasnât a good idea when their enemy had a shrink ray. Unfortunately for them, Ax is exceptionally accurate, and he managed to hit them with ease even as he dodged Dracon fire. The third wave were shrunk down in no time at all.
The shrunken Controllers who have Dracon beams were horrified to find out their weapons are much less effective at this size. The Animorphs shrugged off numerous hits without issue.
Visser Three arrived, as he always does, in style. He dropped in from the ceiling in some horrific bat-monster morph. No one paid attention to the name of the planet he acquired it on. A shame, he was quite proud of that trip. He had been the only one to survive.
Moments later, he was no larger than a little brown bat, and Tobias easily caught the Visser in his talons.
The Yeerks didnât really seem to have an answer for what is happening. In all the chaos, they tried everything they could think of. None of it worked.
Someone manages to take off in a Bug Fighter, but before they can turn the weapons onto Ax, the Bug Fighter is reduced to the size of a toy car. Tobias knocked it out of the air with ease.
The Hork-Bajir tried again and again even after being Shrunk, but their tiny blades do nothing, and Jake is almost amused at how easily he batted them all away, like a cat with a favorite toy.
The Taxxons awere too distracted trying to catch all of the tiny Controllers to put up any meaningful resistance. But innocent people might get hurt by a hungry Taxxon chasing them down. At Cassieâs urging, they too were shrunk before they could eat too many people.
Maybe thirty minutes after the Animorphs arrived, the Yeerk Poolâs primary defenses had all been dealt with.
Visser Three refused to accept defeat initially. He demorphed and remorphed again and again, but at three inches tall, even his largest and most powerful morphs are useless.
Eventually, he realized the Animorphs have won. He began trying to negotiate, offering as little as he can at first. He knows where Elfangorâs human son was and could take the Animorphs to him.
This came as a shock to some of the Animorphs- They werenât aware Elfangor had a Human son. However, they put two and two together about the Yeerk interest in Tobias a few days ago and promptly resolved that he has some explaining to do when this is all over.
The Animorphs decided that the small offers Visser Three made arenât enough. They had, unexpectedly, won. The entire Yeerk Pool was theirs. Visser Three, now in a pickle jar with holes in the lid, was theirs. They decided to tell the world, to end the invasion once and for all.
The Chee arrived and helped with catching and sorting out the shrunken Controllers. And then, strangely, Mr. Tidwell- a late arrival to the battle- began to help too.
The Yeerk Peace Movement are bewildered by this turn of events, and the Animorphs are bewildered by the existence of the Yeerk Peace Movement. Aftran 942 is brought up from the depths of the Yeerk Pool to explain. Cassie began working on a plan for dealing with the Yeerks.
The Yeerks were returned to full size after they left their hosts, and then they were quickly moved into the pool before their now-free hosts could try to hurt them. Esplin 9466 remained in the pickle jar even after he was returned to normal size.
A bewildered Alloran took all of five minutes to recover before he began to demand to know where the Andalite fleet was and how many Andalites had arrived to help. When he was told the truth, he made several loud noises of shock and despair. Then he asked if he could see the shrink ray.
Marco told him it would violate the Prime Directive to share such technology with a species as primitive as the Andalites. Ax âaccidentallyâ smacked Marco in the back of the head for calling Andalites primitive.
After some time, the Free Hork-Bajir were alerted by Tobias and arrived to take care of the now-free Hork-Bajir. The Taxxons- a wildcard even once they are free- surprisingly united around a strange Taxxon that goes by the name of Arbron.
The Chee covered for the Animorphs when the Animorphs decided to set up a temporary base of operations within the Yeerk Pool.
It became clear within an hour that the people who beat the Yeerks were mostly just Human teenagers. It didnât matter. The Yeerks didnât have anything that could stop or resist the shrink ray.
As more Controllers wandered in for their bi-weekly feedings, they were caught by the various forces that now control the place. The situation is explained to them, and theyâre given a choice.
The few that resisted were tied up and left in the many sheds on the periphery to wait the few hours it will take for the Yeerks to starve. The Yeerks that surrender are thrown into the pool without ceremony and their hosts set free.
Once some of the Human-Controllers who serve in the police and military were free, they quickly went to get the proper authorities. Marco went up to meet the police as they arrive and escorted them down into the facility. Within a few hours of Visser Threeâs surrender, the Media arrived. Within a day, the world knew all about the invasion. The remaining Controllers on the surface tried to stay away for as long as they can, but eventually, they too surrender.
Vissers in other Yeerk facilities on Earth quickly ordered the ships in orbit to open fire on the Yeerk Pool, to end this debacle before it could get any worse. The ships in orbit refused. Some landed and surrendered. Others fled to the safety of the Yeerk Empire.
The general surrender begins extending to the other Yeerk facilities as well. Law enforcement and military forces begin arriving and taking control. In some cases, the fights were bloody. In others, the Yeerks surrendered without firing a shot.
Jake didnât feel any qualms about snatching the slug that slithered out of Tomâs ear and throwing it as hard as he could. He didnât know if the slug made it into the Pool or splatted against the ground on the other side. He didnât care.
Visser One arrived a few months later with a full war-fleet. Somehow Visser Three had screwed things up, but Earth was still vital to the Yeerk Empire. It didnât matter if the Humans now had access to Yeerk technology. A full fleet, led by the fearsome Nova-class Empire Ship, could easily retake the planet.
A lone Blade Ship, since repainted in the style of a Human naval vessel, flew up to meet the Yeerk fleet. It transmitted a single message: Surrender immediately or be shrunk.
Visser One laughed. Shrunk? Thatâs ridiculous! Thereâs no way they could possibly be serious, the Humans didnât have that kind of technology, and even if they did, it wouldnât be useful- And then the Visser realized something was very, very wrong. A strange beam projected by the Blade Ship hit each ship in the Yeerk fleet, one after the other. One by one, each ship in the Yeerk fleet vanished from optical sensors. Communications with each ship indicated they were all alive, all intact, but surprisingly, unbelievably, they had all been shrunk. Visser One was left with a choice. Take her tiny, useless fleet back to the Yeerk Empire, or surrender.
With a pounding migraine reinforced by Evaâs cheers, Visser One surrendered.
The cabin comes into view blurrily, almost like theyâre just waking up. They didnât doze off in the cabin, did they? That wouldnât make a very good first impression on the Princess.
Though, this cabin doesnât look like that first one. Its walls are formed from pale, rough stone, with openings in the sides to serve as windows. The doors are more of the same, cutting quite an impressive figure. Instead of a plain wooden table, thereâs a metal altar holding the blade, and a couple loose planks lie askew on the floor. The cabin normally wouldnât look like this on the first go-around, would it?
So why doesnât Smitten remember what they did last time?
Itâs probably not all that important. Even if he doesnât remember, surely someone must. Heâll just have to go along.
âWell, boys?â he asks. âShall we go and see what form our beloved has taken this time?â
No one says anything. Thatâs rude of them.
No one does anything, either. Thatâs a bit far for a prank.
âVery funny of you,â he says, listening for any sign that someone else is here. âYes, youâve got me this time, good joke, now letâs be off to fulfill our⊠destinyâŠâ
Itâs completely silent. Thereâs no one else here.
His shoulders drop, and he turns around to face the door to the outside. His body obeys, allowing him to see that the cabin is entirely empty, except for him.
That probably isnât good.
Maybe something happened to the others. Maybe theyâre somewhere outside. Maybe theyâve been tossed about to different cabins like this one.
If they are, heâs sure itâll all work out. Theyâre resourceful people. Everythingâs going to be fine.
Still, he should try to find them. Heâll just pop down to the basement, free the Princess from her imprisonment, and then the two of them can meet up with everyone else whoâs also made their way out. Itâll be easy.
He leaves the blade on its altar. Wouldnât want to give the Princess the wrong impression, if she has as little memory as he does.
The doors are heavy, resisting his attempts to wrench them open no matter how much he strains. Eventually, one of them folds and scrapes slowly across the floor, and the other follows a little more easily. The stairs beyond are cramped, stone walls pressing in on him, but they donât look as though theyâll pose any obstacle. If those doors were to decide to close again, though, he might be in trouble.
Oh well. Heâs sure the Princess will be more than capable of getting the two of them out, if the doors even do shut on them. The Narrator, conniving scoundrel that he is, is blissfully absent, and he was always the one that tried to meddle.
âIs that a challenger?â the Princess calls from the basement. Her voice echoes off the stone walls. âFinally. I havenât had a good fight in far too long.â
A fight? Why would she want to fight him? They have the same goal!
Maybe she just got the wrong impression in some time he doesnât remember. He should say something to put her mind at ease. âFear not, Princess!â he cries. âI have no ill intentions towards you!â
She laughs. âIs that so? Why donât you come down so we can meet face-to-face, then?â
This is progress! Probably. She does sound like sheâs willing to talk. And he was planning to finish climbing down the stairs anyway.
The basement is less like a room and more like a cave, not much wider than the stairs. The Princess stands at one end, taking up most of the wall, chain in place on her wrist.
A pair of horns rise from her forehead, framing a set of spikes that look almost like the crown she usually has. The skirt of her dress is translucent, with a slit in the side, and a long tail curls around her. Her feet look more like hooves.
Sheâs beautiful.
Her eyes narrow onto his hands. âNo little knife, huh? Did you forget to bring it with you?â
Is she talking about the blade? She must be convinced thereâs no way out unless sheâs cut free from her chains. âFret not, fair maiden. We wonât need the blade for this.â
âIs that so?â The Princess grins. âGood.â
Smitten steps closer, reaching for the shackle on her arm. This is going well. Heâll slip her hand from the chains with no problem at all, and theyâll leave the cabin and go see what else is out there⊠as long as that mirror doesnât show up again.
It wonât. It canât. He wonât stand for it.
He should probably ask her name once theyâre out, too. But one thing at a time. Heâll slip her hand from the chainsâŠ
His back lands on the hard stone floor, sending shockwaves through his bones.
The events leading up to the landing piece themselves together backwards. He landed on the floor because he fell. Why? Because the Princess pushed him. No, pushed isnât the right wordâshe grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor. Why? Heck if he knows. All he did was reach for the chain.
He looks back up at the Princess, vision swimming back into place. Sheâs frowning at him. Why is she frowning at him? She ought to know he has no intention of hurting her, right?
âAre you really going to give up this quickly?â she asks.
His brain hasnât finished pulling itself back together, so all he can say is, âWhat?â And, if he were being honest, thatâs probably what he would say if he were in peak condition.
âYou hit the ground once and youâre down for the count?â The Princess leans over him. âDid you just come down here to toy with me or what?â
Toy with⊠her? But he had no such intentions⊠right? âI can assure you, my intentions have never been anything but pure.â He pulls himself to his feet as his vision finally snaps back into one piece. âIf youâll allow me to remove that shackle, the two of us can go at once.â
The Princess looks down at the chain. âWhat, worried itâll slow me down? You must be confident.â Before Smitten can figure out what she means by that, she begins to strain against the chain, metal groaning before it finally snaps. Sheâs free! This is great! âYouâd better live up to the figure youâre making yourself out to be.â
âOh, I would never dare mislead yââ Smitten begins, cut off by a fist landing on his shoulder and throwing him across the room. His flight is cut short by the wall of the basement, head directly striking the stone. Some imperceptible noise echoes in his ears.
Didnât he just say she could trust him? Why doesnât she trust him?
The world is slowly beginning to decide it would rather not remain in one place. Smitten wobbles on his feet as he takes a few steps towards the Princess, nearly having to lean on one wall for support. âWhy would you⊠do that⊠my loveâŠâ he wheezes, lungs refusing to cooperate with him.
âWhat do you mean, why would I do that?â The Princess stares at him, her arms folded. âWhy wouldnât I do that? You did come down here for a fight, didnât you? Or are you less honest than you claim to be?â
A⊠fight? He never said anything about a fight or that sounded like it was about a fight or fight-related or anything of the sort⊠right?
âIâm afraid I⊠donât have any idea⊠what youâre talking about.â He slumps against one wall, legs unwilling to do their job on their own. âAll I want is⊠to set you free.â
âAnd what if I donât want to be free?â The Princess takes a step towards himâhe thinks. Itâs all a little blurry. âWhat if I want something else?â Another. Probably. âWhat if what I want is for you to fetch your little knife and fight me?â Sheâs either right in front of him or still by the back wall. Itâs still unclear.
Smitten wobbles backwards. He canât tell if itâs on purpose or not. âThâthat canât be right. Freeing Princesses is always the right thing to do.â
The Princess grits her teeth. âYou are impossible! Why donât you start thinking for once so that I donât have to!â She reaches out with her hand, faster than Smitten can seeânot that that necessarily means itâs fast, with the way he is right nowâand grabs his throat. âHereâs whatâs going to happen. Iâm going to kill you, right now, so you can come back with a half-decent head on your shoulders. And when you do, youâre going to take your little knife, and youâre going to march right down to this basement and fight me.â
The pressure on Smittenâs neck tightens. Heâs going to die. He should probably say something nice before he dies. A nice little pre-death one-liner while heâs still pre-death. A nice little⊠that shouldnât be too hardâŠ
His meandering is cut off with a pop, or maybe itâs a snap, or maybe itâs more of a squelch or even a crunch. Itâs still a little hard to tell whatâs going on around him, and more so to put words to it.
But words donât matter in some cases. No matter what combination of letters accurately capture whatever sound he hears, soon after everything goes dark, and he dies.
He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin heâs in. That part comes after. The walls are made from a pale, rough stone, with open holes for windows, and the doors to the basement are heavy and carved from the same material. The blade lies on a metal altarâ
This is the same cabin.
The Princessâs final words to him dance just out of his grasp. He certainly wasnât doing all right in the head by the time she killed him, was he? At least thatâs over and he can approach her with a clear mind.
It must have been important, though, whatever she said. âIâm going to⊠you can come back⊠and when you do⊠right down to this basement.â There must have been something in between all thatâŠ
Oh! Of course! She must have seen how badly he was doing and killed him knowing heâd come back in one piece and be able to hold a proper conversation with her. How thoughtful of her!
He strides over to the doors with a bounce in his step. This time, he knows to brace himself in order to wrench them open.
The Princess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded. Her face falls when she sees him. Why would she�
âI thought I told you to bring your knife this time around,â she says. âDo you just not have it or what?â
Is she forgetting something? Is he forgetting something? âYou must be mistaken. We donât need to cut you free. If youâll just allow me toââ
She growls. âDid everything that happened last time breeze through your empty head? If I wanted to be free, I would be.â She pulls against the chain, metal snapping and falling to the floor in pieces, leaving only the shackle around her wrist. âNow go and get that knife so we can fight.â
The memories that abandoned ship the moment Smitten hit his head start to drift back. âGoing to⊠take⊠knife⊠right down to this basement⊠fight me.â
But that doesnât make any sense. âWhy would you want me to fight you?â
âWhy wouldnât I?â She narrows her eyes. âWhy donât you? Itâs fun. And it feels right.â
Smitten laughs a little as he backs away. âI donât know if Iâd exactly describe it that way, though I suppose⊠if it would make you happyâŠâ Thereâs something wrong with this Princess. Not that there could possibly be anything wrong with any Princessâtheyâre all perfect in their own wayâbut this one has something wrong with her.
He does a little hop back to the base of the stairs. The Princess continues to watch him. âIâll, ah, be going to fetch that blade now,â he says. âI shall return posthaste.â
Then he turns and bolts up the stairs, not stopping to catch his breath until heâs well and fully in the upper part of the cabin.
She wants to fight him. But thatâs not⊠thatâs not how this works, right? Sheâs supposed to want to be free. Sure, there were a couple Princesses that had other intentions, but that was only after theyâd been wronged and were out to take righteous revenge!
âŠDid something happen to her in the time Smitten hasnât been allowed to see? Is she trying to take out her anger on him? But that doesnât sound quite right.
She wants to fight him. Not to kill him, presumably. Just to fight him a little. She doesnât look angryâat least she didnât, not before they properly got to talking. Maybe a little spar could be fun, if itâll make her happy. She said it would be, so heâll believe her.
âI hope you arenât trying to run away,â the Princess calls from below. âWhatâs taking so long?â
Smitten jumps and scoops the blade from the altar. âDonât worry, fair maiden! Iâm merely steeling my nerves for our battle.â He may as well play it up. If a fightâs what she wants, heâll do his level best to make it as dramatic as possible.
He steps down the stairs, taking in deep breaths to steady himself. He canât let the Princess down.
She is waiting for him in the basement, and her face breaks into a grin when he comes into view. âFinally. Letâs get started, shall we?â
âWe shall.â Smitten raises the blade, pointing it at the Princess. âEn garde!â
The Princess doesnât waste any time in launching herself across the room, fist narrowly missing Smittenâs face. He ducks past herâsheâs tallâand whirls around, catching her arm with the blade as she aims another punch. A few drops of blood fly away from the nick and splatter on the floor.
He didnât mean to do that.
She seems to take notice, stepping back instead of continuing her attack and glancing at the cut in her arm. Itâs shallow, at least so he hopes, but a drop of blood still traces down her wrist as he watches.
âIâm sorryââ he stammers. âI didnât mean toââ
âNo. You didnât. Thatâs your problem.â The Princess wipes at her cut with one thumb. âAll this and you still donât get what this is about.â She thrusts her arms out to the sides. âI died and Iâm still fine. I killed you and youâre still fine. There are no consequences for us here. We can kill each other all we want, and nothing is going to happen.â
No. No, he was right. This one does have something wrong with her, no matter how he wishes he could look past it.
His hand trembles just enough for the blade to slip from it and clatter on the floor. âBut I donât want to kill you,â he says meekly.
âDonât think of it as killing me.â The Princess takes a couple steps forward, and Smitten scrambles a couple steps back. Their dance as such is cut short by Smitten hitting the back wall of the basement, allowing the Princess to catch up to him and pick up the blade. âItâs not like Iâll stay dead. Now get up.â She tosses the blade at his feet. It lodges, tip-first, in the stone floor.
Heâs going to die here a second time. Heâs going to die because he couldnât bring himself to give the Princess what she wanted. Thatâs not right. Heâs supposed to give the Princess what she wants, but what she wants is supposed to be freedom, andâ
The Princessâs fist smashes into the wall where Smittenâs head would have been if he hadnât thrown himself the rest of the way to the ground. As it is, some of his feathers float lazily through the air as a reminder of what might happen to the rest of him if he canât keep this up.
He tugs the blade out of the ground as the Princess turns for another strike, and stands to face her. Heâs going to die again. Sheâs going to kill him, and heâs going to deserve it. Heâs supposed to be giving her what she wants, because sheâs always right, butâŠ
The Princess is always right. If she thinks they canât die, if she thinks that him trying to kill her is fun, well, she probably knows better than him.
He lashes out with the blade, carving a stripe up the Princessâs arm. She swings at him, fist colliding with his shoulder. Something that probably isnât supposed to go pop goes pop. He strikes back, this time burying his blade in the Princessâs chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.
The Princess steps back, laughing, the sound wetter than it should be. She grasps the handle of the blade and tosses it back.
Smitten catches it. Then he drops it again as his injured arm decides itâs had enough of its current working conditions and falls limp. The Princess pretends not to notice as he reaches down to pick it back up.
âSee? Isnât this so much more fun than talking?â the Princess asks once theyâre face-to-face again.
âI suppose,â Smitten says, unable to get another word out as the Princess launches herself towards him.
He lashes out with the blade again and again, barely deflecting each of her attacks with stripes of red carved across her arms. The Princessâs fists connect as often as notâthereâs a crunch as she lands a blow on his ribcage, then a snap as his already-injured arm is well and fully put out of commission, then a squelch that was probably some crucial organ.
Heâs going to die here. Thatâs fine. The Princess said it would be fine.
She steps back as though meaning for her next punch to be her last. âAre you sure youâre really trying to kill me?â she taunts. âYouâre not just trying to postpone your own death?â
Smitten tries to answer, to say, No, of course not, I would never dare to imagine going against your wishes, but something is very, very broken in the parts of him in charge of speaking, and all he manages to do is inhale blood.
The Princess seems to notice. âIâd say youâve only got a few seconds left this time around. Why donât you make them count?â She holds out her arms. âGo on. Stab meâunless your heart isnât in it.â
My heart⊠is always⊠in everything. Smitten raises the blade with his remaining arm, steadying it as much as he can. I hope this makes you happy. He brings it down with as much force as he can muster, right over her heart.
Then he falls, and none of his limbs opt to catch him.
The Princess continues to stand over him, unfazed even by the blade in her heart. Assuming it even made it to her heart.
Her sitting down beside him is the last thing he sees as his vision fades to a sort of reddish black. âWere you even trying to kill me?â she asks, followed by, âNo. You were.â Thereâs a sound like sheâs leaning back against the basement wall. âYouâre no good at this. Even if you come back with the passion you had at the end, you still wonât be able to kill me.â
He says nothing, of course. Heâs not sure he can even fully understand what sheâs saying.
âYouâre not meant to be here,â she continues. âIf you were meant to be here, youâd be meant to fight me. And youâre obviously not meant to fight anyone.â Her hand lands on his neck, fingers pressing into his feathers as though searching for something. A pulse? Does he still have one of those? âIs there someone else out there whoâs meant to be here? Is that what this is?â
If she keeps talking after that, Smitten doesnât hear any of it. Everything goes darkâdarker than it already isâand he dies.
He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin heâs in. Every piece of it lines up with how it looked the last time, anywayâsame pale stone walls, same heavy double doors, same blade on the same metal altar. He grabs the blade without even thinking.
He needs to go back downstairs and apologize. He failed to live up to her wishes. Should he try to make it up to her? Give her the fight she deserves? He did make a promise to her. Or maybe he just thought it. Or thought he thought it. The latter half of the last go-around is a bit fuzzy again.
By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, heâs made up his mind. He raises the blade and charges towards the Princessâ
âAnd she catches it before he can close the distance, tip of the blade sinking into the palm of her hand. She twists her wrist, and Smittenâs grip breaks before the blade can wrench free.
âDoes your brain just stop working after youâve been beat up enough?â she asks, tugging the blade out of her hand. Thereâs a visible hole in the back of it where the tip broke through the other side. âI told you, weâre done here. Iâm going to find someone whose heart is actually in this.â
Smitten sputters, still in the process of grasping that the blade is no longer in his hand. âMy heart is in this! It would be impossible for me to not put my entire heart into anything I endeavor to accomplish!â
âSo I didnât just disarm you before you could land a hit on me?â The Princess glances at the hole in her hand before tugging on the chains once more. They splinter just as easily this time as they did the previous two. âYouâre not cut out for this, loverboy. Stick to writing poetry or whatever it is youâre supposed to do.â
âI can fight!â Smitten follows close behind the Princess as she strides up the stairs. She ducks a little to avoid hitting her horns on the doorway. âIf youâll allow me another chance, I can assure you I will not let you down a third time.â
The Princess glances over her shoulder. âYou donât actually want that.â
âI do! If a fight is what you want, I will gladlyââ
She tosses the blade to him, and he fumbles the blood-slicked point of it, barely managing to keep his grip. âYouâre just saying that because you think itâs what I want to hear. And it is. Just not from someone whoâs lying.â
Smitten extracts his hands from the blade, looking around in vain for something to wipe his hands on that isnât his own cape. He settles for smearing the excess blood across the cabin wall. âI would never lie to you.â
âOh?â the Princess asks, eyes glinting. âIf youâre so honest, then tell me: Was it fun?â
Of course it was fun. The Princess said it was, and it clearly was for her, and anything that makes the Princess happy is good enough for him. Right?
âIâve⊠had more enjoyable experiences,â he finally admits.
She nods and turns her attention to wrenching the outer door open. Itâs not as heavy-seeming as the ones to the basement, but maybe thatâs just because sheâs so much larger than him. Itâs not as though he ever tried to open it himself. âThereâs more of you, right?â she asks.
âYes. Several.â
âThen thereâs someone out there who doesnât have to lie when he says he gets it.â The Princess steps back from the door. âLetâs go find him already.â
Smitten nods. âCertainly. Say, before we leave, you wouldnât happen to have a name?â
She looks over her shoulder. âAdversary. You?â
âSmitten. Itâs been a pleasure meeting you.â
The Adversary scoffs. âSuits you. Come on.â
They donât get more than a step into the outside world before freezing again.
Everything is⊠meat. The cabin sits atop a hill of smooth skin that collapses into fleshy lumps of meat at its base, and the path, instead of packed dirt or smooth stones, looks more like the bones of a spine. In place of trees, clawed fingers reach from the ground, meat bared to the world and webs of translucent meat strung between their knobby bones. Smitten canât resist glancing at his own hands and noting the similarity.
âSo. Meat,â the Adversary begins. âNot normal.â
âNo,â Smitten agrees. âMeat is most certainly not normal.â
The Adversary takes a few steps forward, hooves sinking into the meat with an array of smushes and slushes and squishes and sounds that can scarcely be put into writing. Smitten follows suit.
He can feel the meat between his toes. Also sticking to the bottoms of his feet, and wrapping above his feet. Itâs very squishy.
Thereâs little reprieve from the meat. If he tries to pull his attention away from the sensations beneath his feet, thereâs the sound to worry about. If he ignores the sound, thereâs the smell of blood filling the air. And thatâs to say nothing of the sightâthe only place he can look without finding meat is the back of the Adversaryâs head.
At least his focus on her means he notices when she suddenly stops walking, and heâs saved the embarrassment of crashing into her. He still almost does, losing his footing on the meat for a second before she catches him.
âIs something wrong?â he asks.
She points across the meat. âThatâs another one of you, right?â
Smitten follows her arm to the horizon. Sheâs right. Between a pair of meat hands is a figure wearing a long, black cloak, veil hiding his face at this distance. Next to him is a smaller figure, with a dress and a tail flicking behind her.
He canât be sure about the second figure, but he certainly recognizes the first.
The two figures pause, clearly having noticed them at the same time. The shorter one turns to the taller as though saying something, but Smitten has no intention of giving them enough time for him to be the one to approach.
He strides across the meat, for once able to ignore every sensory detail of the stuff, and soon comes face-to-face with the worst one of the bunch.
Cold tilts his head to one side. âOh. Youâve escaped. Good job.â
Leading with sarcasm, is he? Smitten has no intention of allowing him to have his way. He grips the front of Coldâs cloak and shoves him against the nearest meat hand. âIâm more surprised you didnât leave your Princess rotting in the basement,â he growls. âAre you just toying with her? Does she know what sort of monster you really are?â
The Princess that was with Cold glances between him and Smitten, brow furrowed as though trying to figure out what to say.
âHa! And here I thought you werenât a fighter.â The Adversary seems to have no such issues. âLooks like thereâs one person youâre supposed to fight.â She steps up behind him with a squelshâsheâs so tall she doesnât have to strain to get a good look at Coldâs face. âDonât know if itâs the same way for him, though.â
âOh, I donât know.â Cold levels his gaze with Smittenâs, still not bothering to struggle against him. âIf he actually followed through on his promises, I might be interested in seeing them play out.â
Smitten tightens his grip. âI am no liar. You would do well to mark what I sayâI will drag you into the depths of my misery and leave you there to drown.â
âBeen there. Done that.â
The other Princess seems to have finally snapped. âWould one of you shut up and explain what youâre talking about?â
Cold shrugs. âItâs not that interesting.â
âNot that interesting?â Smitten shoves him further into the meat with a wet smeesh. âYou murdered my true love in cold blood. And so I took my revenge.â
âWas that really intended to be revenge? I thought it was just an attempt at reuniting with your âtrue love.â Did you think I would mind being stabbed?â
Has he no limit to his insults? âPerhaps I hoped it would snap you into something capable of sympathy.â
The Princess sighs. âWe get it. His brain is broken. Can you cut it out now so we can go somewhere with less meat?â
Fine. In the interest of the Princess being allowed to go somewhere with less meat, Smitten releases his grip on Coldâs cloak. Cold remains suspended on the meat hand for a moment, making no move to extract himself, before he peels off its surface with a long, drawn out squueeemch and lands on his knees with a pair of squishes.
âSticky,â he observes, then stands (with a pair of ssspops) and turns back to the meat hand. âI wonderââ
âNope! Not going through this again!â The other Princess grabs Cold by the arms and yanks him away from the meat hand. âLetâs go! Weâre leaving!â
The Princess leads the procession, dragging Cold behind her despite his weak protests (âOne couldnât kill me, could it?â). Smitten follows close behind.
âIf I may, could you tell me your name?â he asks the Princess. âMy own is Smitten, and thisââ he indicates the Adversary, who is currently trailing at the back of the packâ âis the Adversary.â
âWeâre doing names now?â The Princess wrinkles her nose. âWitch is fine.â
Is she⊠surprised heâs asking for her name? No, of course she is. Of course Cold would never extend such a courtesy. âIâm guessing he hasnât bothered to make a proper introduction? Allow me to correct such a grave error. This isââ
âIâm Cold,â says Cold.
The Witch turns to stare at him. âReally? In that cloak?â
âHe means it as his name,â Smitten explains. âThough Iâm not surprised he didnât bother to adequately clarify.â
Before any arguments can start up again, the Adversary cuts in. âDo you two know where weâre going?â
The Witch shrugs. âNot really. We were following a river, but then it started to look like blood and heââ she jerks her thumb in Coldâs directionâ âstarted asking me how I thought itâd taste, so I dragged him away from it. Now weâre just heading anywhere that isnât made of meat. Unless you have a better idea?â
âNo. Anywhere that isnât meat is fine. Besides, now we know there really are other people out there.â Smitten hazards a glance back to see that the Adversaryâs face has split into a sharp-toothed grin. âWhich means thereâs someone out there I can fight.â
The Witch whirls around so sharply Smitten fears she may have given herself whiplash. âWhat? Whatâs that supposed to mean?â
Smitten tunes out the remainder of the discussion. Heâs already heard it all. He doesnât need a second reminder.
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contrarian and tower would probably be funny bc she's super serious and obsessed with bending us to her will and contrarian's shtick is having fun and choosing to do the complete opposite of whatever he is told to do. the tower wants us to free her really badly too so contrarian would absolutely never do that and it would probably take them forever to escape. also the tower seems extra easy to annoy and contra would Exploit That
Contrarian, compulsive resister of authority vs. Tower, the ultimate authority: FIGHT
It takes a few minutes of waiting to realize that no one is there.
He canât blame himself for not making the connection, really. Sure, they could easily chat up a storm even when thereâs only three of them, but heâs seen moments of silence before. Maybe the big guy was just taking a moment to assess the situation.
But he isnât, and when Opportunist finally caves and tries to take a look around, his head turns at his own command.
The cabin is a⊠bit of a fixer-upper, to be sure. Its doorway is sagging into the ground, and the ceiling doesnât seem to be the most stable, and the door itself is ragged at the edges and looks as though it might swing inward at any moment. It doesnât even have a latch. Thatâs to say nothing of the lopsided, gaping windows that let in a breeze from outside, or the gaps between the logs making up its walls that he can tell are there even though he canât see them all.
Still, itâs not a lost cause or anything. Log cabins are nice! Theyâre classic! And old homes are all the rage. With a bit of work to seal up the cracks and some glass in the windows and some insurance that the ceiling wouldnât cave in and a new door and maybe replacing all the creaking floorboards that feel a moment away from snapping beneath his feet, this place could be a perfectly cozy woodland retreat!
He wonders what sort of Princess lives here. Maybe he should go down and talk to her about the real estate potential.
The blade is perched, as it occasionally is, on the edge of a table which wobbles as he lifts the blade from it. Thatâll have to be looked at.
He keeps the blade hidden behind his back as he descends the clearly-aging staircase. If it comes to a fight, heâll be glad to have it, but thereâs no reason to put her off before theyâve even had a chance to speak.
The Princessâs voice, loud and low, reaches him before he can see the basement. âI can smell you,â she growls.
Well! She seems like sheâs a very straightforward person. Heâs sure theyâll be able to cooperate.
The basement itself is unusually dark, the only light coming from a grate in the ceiling. Even that root cavern, without a window at all, didnât have shadows like these. Despite the darkness, thick plants press in from the sides of the room, providing a touch of life to the otherwise empty space.
Before his eyes can fully adjust to the lack of light, a shape rises in front of the far wall and disappears into the jungle. That must be the Princess!
âHello,â he calls out before she can say anything. âLovely place youâve got down here!â She doesnât answer, so he presses on. âThe nameâsâBroken. And you would be?â
She chuckles from somewhere he canât see. âWe have no need for names here, fledgeling. Youâll never survive if you keep stalling.â Her eyes appear between the leaves, glinting in what little light can reach them. The rest of her is still immersed in shadow.
âOh, come on. Iâm just trying to get things off to a friendly start here!â Opportunist squints, trying to pick out her silhouette. âIâm sure we can cooperate, yeah? You want out, right? I can get you out.â
âYouâre right. You can.â
The Princessâs form vanishes, and Opportunist leans further into the darkness. His eyes should adjust soon enough, right? Sheâs clearly able to see just fine.
Then jaws appear, blotting out his vision, and everything goes dark.
âŠAnd he doesnât die.
He wrenches one eye open to see stomach lining pressing in on all sides, every touch of it stinging his skin. How heâs getting enough light to tell this, he isnât sure, and heâd rather not think about it too hard.
âI told you you wouldnât survive if you stalled.â He can hear muffled footsteps through the walls of the Princessâs stomach. âYou should have listened.â
He turns on instinct, arm rubbing against the wall of her stomach with a sting that can only mean itâs begun to eat through his sleeve. âCome on, now, I was just trying to start a rapport! I was perfectly happy to work with you. Actually, tell you whatâyou spit me out, and I still can.â
The Princess laughs, the sound echoing around him. âYou are working with me. Youâre going to let me out of here.â
âI canât do that while Iâm in your stomach, can I?â Maybe he can still talk his way out of this. Surely she has to listen to reason, right?
âNo. But I can.â Thereâs a pause in the Princessâs movement, before it starts again with the sound of clanging metal. She must have broken the chain.
She does want to escape with him. By eating him.
Well. This may be a lost cause, but it always looks better if you go down fighting.
He digs into the inside of the Princessâs stomach with the blade, flesh parting easily even as his own screams in protest. The skin of his hands is raw and red by now, with most of the feathers on his arms absent. He tries not to look at them.
Gravity pulls him away from his work, and he struggles to regain his footing as all sensation from his legs is replaced by a monotone pain. Sheâs ascending the staircase.
Little by little, her stomach lining parts, and his hands grow weaker. He can almost see the motion of her heartbeat now. This is his chance to go out a hero.
And wake up in a new, weirder cabin, but thatâs just another pro.
He almost swears this process feels familiar.
Thereâs a slam, jolting him as far as he can be jolted in such a confined space. No doubt the Princess is trying to break down the door. Why not just climb through the window? Surely itâs large enough.
Only seconds left, probably. Heâll have to make this count.
He plunges the blade into the Princessâs heart as sensation cuts out.
He wakes up in a cabin. Time clearly hasnât treated it as well as it deservesâthe ceiling and floor are both sagging, and the door doesnât look like it latches. The windows are completely devoid of glass, and the logs making up its wallsâ
This is the same cabin. Whatâs up with that?
Oh well. A second chance is a second chance, and heâs not about to argue against whatever forces decided he deserved one.
He scoops the blade from the table on his way down. After meeting that Princess, he definitely wants a backup plan if negotiations go sour a second time.
âBack for more?â the Princess taunts, already invisible in the jungle. Her voice sounds as though itâs coming from deep in the basement.
âNow, I want you to know I hold absolutely no grudges.â He holds up his empty hand. âIâm more than willing to work with you. You donât have to worry about fighting me.â
The Princessâs eyes appear between the leaves. âWhy would I need to work with you? I already know how to leave.â
This is going to take more than a little convincing. âYes, but wouldnât it be easier if we came to some sort of mutual understanding? Iâm willing to do whatever it takes to get you out of here.â
Her eyes flash. âThen hold still.â
No, he doesnât think he will.
He dives out of the way as something immense hurtles past him, landing heavily behind himâor, behind most of him.
One of his legs crunches as some load-bearing part of the Princess comes down upon it, sending him to the floor. He doesnât even get the chance to look up before heâs enveloped by her maw again.
âI can just dig my way out again, you know,â he calls to the Princess. âItâs not too late for us to reach a peaceful resolution!â
She chuckles. âIt was always too late for that, fledgeling. If you want to dig your way out, then start digging.â
Hard to please, isnât she? Ah well. Heâll just have to try again with whatever comes after this.
He doesnât hesitate to dig with the blade, this time knowing exactly where to find the Princessâs heart. Itâs exposed almost before sensation begins to drain from his hands.
âJust thought Iâd let you know, this is your last chance!â he calls. The only response from the Princess is the jostle of her passing the threshold of the stairs.
Oh well. Third timeâs the charm.
He plunges the blade into the Princessâs heart, and everything goes dark.
He wakes up in a cabin. The roof and floor are constructed from aging wooden planks, and the walls are formed from logs, framing a set of empty windows and a door that hangs loosely on its hinges. The corners of the room have dirt building up in them.
Itâs the same cabin. Heâs getting a third chance? Someone up there must really like him.
The routine continues with him picking up the blade as he steps over the threshold. Canât have her eating him without an escape route at hand, not that he intends to be eaten a third time.
She is waiting, of course, the outline of her head just visible over the top of a bush.
âIf you eat me again, itâs only going to go the same way,â he says.
The Princessâs silhouette vanishes only to reappear a moment later in a slightly different patch of jungle. Sheâs nearing the stairs, no doubt trying to cut off his escape. âI can accept that. Can you?â
What? âIâd like to think Iâm the sort of person who follows through on his promises. And this is a promise.â
âSo you kill me. And we wake up again. And then I eat you again, and you kill me again. And we wake up again.â The Princess vanishes again. âHow many times will it take for you to give up on the cycle?â
âI thinkââ Opportunist begins, but the sound of pounding feet cuts him off and he dives out of the way, just in time for the Princess to catch nothing more than his shoulder. A set of gashes cut through his sleeve, bleeding red. She has claws, and theyâre long.
His sunglasses clatter to the floor.
He turns to see the Princessâor what little of her form he can make out in the gloomâlooming over him, directly next to the staircase.
âI can last a while,â he says, tightening his grip on the blade. Thereâs not much sense in keeping it behind his back now that she clearly knows he has it. âIâm pretty patient.â
âPretty patient?â The Princess rises, looming over him. âIf you are pretty patient, I am very patient. Incredibly patient. More patient than you can comprehend. Swallowing you three times is nothing. Ten times will be nothing. When we are down here for the fiftieth time, will you still have the will to stand against me?â
Opportunist blinks. The Princess is gone by the time his eyes reopen.
Then her clawsâand he can see them this time, and they are very impressiveâbear down on him, rending his blade arm open, and her jaws unfold into a cavern that swallows him whole. Again.
He swims around in her stomach, trying to ignore how he can feel the precise edge of every wound she inflicted on him. Maybe the blade is still here. He still has one working arm. He can still fight back.
The Princess shifts, motion once again catching before the chain breaks. It must have been repaired every time things reset. Thatâs good to know. Maybe he can use it on the fourth go-around.
She begins her journey up the stairs. The blade is nowhere to be found.
Time to bluff. Heâs great at bluffing. âBetter spit me out if you donât want a repeat of the first two times!â he sings. The Princess doesnât even slow down.
âYou cannot tell me what happens and expect me to believe you, fledgeling,â she says. âProve it or be proven a liar.â
âŠRude. But fine. He can at least try his best.
He digs into the stomach lining with his sizzling hand, trying not to pay attention to how it bites at his fingertips and catches under his claws with every scratch he inflicts. Without the blade, itâs much slower going, and heâs jolted away from his work by the Princess slamming herself against the door before he can even inflict a respectable wound.
âIt still wonât open,â she growls. âLet me out, fledgeling.â
No way. Not on her terms. âOnly if you give me a trade. Spit me out, and weâll leave. Deal?â Itâs getting harder and harder to tell if heâs breathing deeply enough.
The Princess pauses for a moment. Coiling to batter down the door? Or considering his bargain?
âNo.â
Everything goes red, then it goes dark, and then he dies.
He wakes up in a cabin, greeted with the by-now familiar sight of wooden planks doing their level best to hold themselves together when time failed them. It is chilly in here.
The Princess isnât interested in negotiating while heâs in her stomach. Which means the only way to negotiate is to remain outside her stomach for long enough to do so.
He needs to channel that one flighty voice. Until he finds a way to win over the Princess, his motto is now WWHD: What Would Hunted Do?
He can almost hear his voice⊠just needs to get into the proper mindset and manifest himâŠ
âDodge her.â
Yeah, that sounds about right. Great advice, imaginary Hunted.
The Princess is waiting in the gloom when he arrives at the basement, her shape still just as hard to make out as it was the first time. âAre you ready to give up?â she asks.
âYou know, I was really hoping youâd think more highly of me than that,â Opportunist says, straining to pick out any motion. If he can tell when sheâs about to strike, then he can keep dodging, and talking, and eventually heâll have to wear her down.
There. Sheâs disappeared from sight. That means sheâs about toâ
He leaps out of the way and rolls across the dirt floor as the Princess hurtles past him, bracing for the sting of her claws catching his arm or the snap of her weight hitting his leg. It⊠doesnât come. The only pain is a slight scrape in his knee from where he landed.
Heâs getting better at this!
The Princess coils by the staircase, cutting off his exit. Thatâs all right. He doesnât need a way out when he can talk. âI know you think you can wait, but do you really want to?â he asks. âWe could leave right now if we could just come to a mutually-agreeable conclusion.â
âIâve waited for longer than you can imagine, fledgeling.â Her teeth glint in the darkness, the only features visible besides her eyes. âYou cannot threaten me with time in a way that matters.â
He watches her. She does not move. âIâm not threatening you,â he begins. âQuite the opposite, in fact! Iâm offering you the chance to cut out the long, arduous process of killing me over and over again until I give⊠upâŠâ
Some time in the middle of his speech, sheâs vanished. Any moment now, sheâll strike, and heâll have toâ
The air comes crashing down on him as he scrambles away, as do a set of needles digging into his back before the pressure is relieved. Sheâs mauled him. Badly. He needs to get away and regroup, before she can swallow him wholeâ
His legs fail to respond to his commands, and he hazards a glance behind him.
The edge of his jacket is frayed, blood and viscera seeping through it to the point that he canât tell where it ends and the nothing begins. A shining trail leads from where the end of his spine should be, before it rises up into the Princessâs jaws.
Oh.
His intestines fall from the Princessâs mouth with a plap, leaving only a disappointed expression and a bloodstain on her face. She stares down at him in silence, viscera dripping from her chin.
Now would be a great time to say something, probably.
He doesnât.
He wakes up in a cabin whose wooden ceiling looks about ready to give in. The logs framing the empty windows sag in defeat, and the floor is covered in a thin layer of soil. It was mostly-clean planks the first time around, wasnât it?
Itâs odd, but the cabin almost seems⊠tired. He canât imagine why, given he isnât.
When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, the Princess is nowhere to be seen. âHello?â he calls out, scanning the room for her form. âNice chat we had last time! Iâd like to continue it.â
She doesnât make a sound save for the rustling of her darting through a patch of underbrush. He knows where she is, now, or at least where she was.
âAgain, Iâm not trying to coerce you into anything.â Where is she? âI just want you to know that you have more options than you think. We want the same thing, you know.â
The feathers on the back of Opportunistâs neck prickle, and he whirls around. Nothing.
The Princessâs voice comes from behind him. âYou cannot reason with me, fledgeling. I am so much more than you will ever be.â
Sheâs going to pounce. He has to move.
Air collides with him as he leaps away, Princess landing precisely where he stood a moment ago. Her chain clatters on the ground as she vanishes again.
Thatâs one.
âYes, well, no man is an island.â It doesnât sound like sheâs moving. âAnd besides, more than me or not, you still canât escape on your own. Which means, hate to break it to you, but I do have the bargaining chip here.â
The air shifts, and Opportunist finds himself diving on instinct, the Princess soaring past him. Thatâs two. Thatâs the first time heâs managed two. Thank you, imaginary Hunted.
He turns, trying to figure out where the Princess has disappeared to this time. âJust say the word, and Iâll march the two of us right up to that door and let you out,â he calls. âThis can all end any time you want it to.â
Something in him screams to move, and move he does, but fangs clash on his arm all the same. Itâs his blade arm. Sheâs taken his only weapon.
He scrambles backwards, gripping the stump of his former arm as though it will do anything to stop the bleeding. The Princess looms over him, in full view for the first time.
Her face is somewhere between human and animal, crown replaced with a horn in the center of her forehead, two buds flanking it as though about to emerge into its reflections. Her ears are pointed, and her hairâmore like a mane now, reallyâhangs from her long neck.
Opportunist traces his eyes further down as he continues to crawl away from her. Despite her beastlike form, sheâs still wearing a dress, formed from a strip of fabric that wraps around her torso. Her back half disappears into the shadows, the tip of a long tail emerging back into view.
Sheâs huge.
âI still havenât given up,â he says as the Princess stretches open her jaw. âI want you to know that before you eat me.â
If she cares about that, she gives no sign before swallowing him whole. Again.
He wakes up in a cabin, ceiling and walls decaying into dirt. Shoots of new plant growth emerge from the floor, and the door looks to have been torn in half, already swinging into the basement.
âŠMaybe itâs past the point of no return now.
This Princess is far too stubborn to let him free based on talking alone. He needs to do something. Fight her, maybe. But how is he supposed to do that on his own? Her head is as big as his entire⊠him!
He needs to make a tactical retreat. See if thereâs anyone else out there who can act as backup. Imaginary Hunted was helpful. Real Hunted would probably be enough to give him some force behind his words.
The door to the outside is still intact, and fits much more nicely in its frame than the other door, even before it was ripped apart. A quick try of the handle reveals it to be locked.
Thatâs fine. Thereâs more than one way out of a cabin.
Despite the clear collapse of the windows, the one on the left still looks plenty large to climb through. Heâll just slip out, fetch the first person he sees, and pop back into the cabin to finish what he starâ
A force bars him from stepping more than halfway through the opening. He stands back, checks on the state of the window (folding in on itself, full of dirt) just in case itâs smaller than he thought (it isnât), and tries again.
Again something stops him. The window may be little more than a hole in the wall letting in air, but he can run his hand across some sort of force. It wonât let him out.
No backup, then. Thatâs fine. He didnât really need any help, it was just⊠it would have been helpful! Help is always helpful.
The only way out is down, back to the Princess. Does he need her to escape just as much as she needs him?
If he does, heâd best not let it slip. Let her think he still has the unambiguous upper hand.
Sheâs absent from view when he reaches the basement again. He swears the space is getting bigger and more exposed each time he comes down here, but she doesnât seem to have any issues spotting him.
Itâs fine. Heâll wait until he can pinpoint her locationâwhich is to say, heâll wait until she attacks him againâand then strike. Show her heâs more than just words.
And after that⊠heâll think on his feet.
Shapes flicker at the edges of his vision. Theyâre probably tricks of the lightâor lack thereofâbut it doesnât keep him from turning to look at them, trying to catch the Princess before she can catch him. They vanish every time.
There. A shift in the air. The Princess is about to attack. He needs to get out of the way, to keep himself intact. He needs to stay alive long enough to prove heâs not worth preying on.
He needs to show he can bite back.
As the Princess launches herself towards him, he ducks, slashing out with the blade. It connects with something, though he canât tell what, and she connects with him in return, leaving a gash in one shoulder.
Thereâs blood on the edge of his blade. He actually did something!
The silhouette of the Princess looms over him, silent. He canât see where he managed to wound her before she disappears back into the gloom.
âI donât want to threaten you, but thereâs more where that came from if you keep trying to eat me,â he calls out to the Princess. Still no response. Hopefully she hasnât given up on taunting him. If sheâs still talking, thereâs at least a chance he can establish some sort of rapport, but with this silenceâŠ
Again the air shifts, and again he strikes as the Princess comes crashing down on him. Thereâs a sting in his other shoulder, and a spray of loose feathersâsome black, some white. Probably all his, unless the Princess is hiding something he canât guess at.
Itâs only been a couple minutes, but already his energy is failing him. Is it the blood loss? He hasnât been that badly injured. It canât be the loops catching up to him, can it? His wounds reset every time, so he shouldnât be exhausted just because heâs done a little dying.
The Princess doesnât give him enough time to figure any of that out. She lunges again, and Opportunist can only feel his blade lodge into something hard and rip from his hand before thereâs a crunch all around him, and everything goes dark, and he dies.
Again.
He wakes up in a cabin, if it can still be called a cabin after all the deterioration itâs gone through. The log walls, if theyâre even under there anymore, are covered in dirt, and plants fill the edges of the space. The table that should be there is gone, replaced with a stump with the blade lodged into it.
Maybe he is tired. Itâs been, how many go-arounds? Five? Six? Thatâs a lot, and even he has to admit he canât keep this up forever. The Princess had more of a point than heâd like to admit.
Fighting her was a good idea. But it wonât get the Princess to cooperate with him, not unless he gets a lot better at fighting in the next few loops. And even if he technically might have infinite chances, does he really want to take that long?
He needs to end this, and he needs to do so before he can die a single time more. Which means he needs to be a little clever about things.
No more talking. No more fighting. Heâs just going to draw her out and trick her into breaking down the door before she can get her claws on him.
Heâs still taking the blade, though. If things go badâthey wonât, but if they go badâhe needs his second option.
The stairs are no longer stairs, but a sloped tunnel that narrows as it descends into the earth. How long have they been deteriorating? Did he just never notice them changing, or is this entirely new?
Doesnât matter. What matters is winning.
When he steps out into the expanse of the basement, the Princess is nowhere to be seen. Neither are the plants that should be filling the space, or even the grate in the ceilingâjust a featureless gloom. When did those vanish?Â
Heâs completely exposed, and she could be anywhere. Heâll have to be quick.
âYoo-hoo!â he calls out, voice echoing faintly throughout the space. The Princess shows no response. âI think Iâm ready for you to eat me now! Just, Iâd like for there to be one little caveatââ
The sound of thundering footsteps comes from somewhere deep within the basement, and Opportunist turns and breaks into a run, sparing only enough breath to finish speaking: âYouâll have to catch me first!â
He can feel the Princess gaining on him, floor shaking with every time her feet hit the ground. But sheâs clearly massive, and while the tunnel may be wide enough to allow him through with little trouble, she should be slowed down enough for him to get into position.
The entire tunnel shudders as the Princess slams her shoulders against its opening, and Opportunist nearly loses his footing. The cabin is nearly there. A little further and heâll beâ
He bursts into the cabin proper and stands in front of the door, ready to leap away as soon as the Princess emerges. Any second now.
Any second nowâŠ
Any second nowâŠ
She isnât leaving. Is this some sort of trick? It has to be a trick, right?
âIâm right at the top of the tunnel!â he shouts down after the Princess. âCome and get me, unless youâve given up?â
Thereâs still no response. He hazards a peek down the tunnel.
The Princess was, in fact, caught up by the tunnelâs small size. So much so that only her face is visible, framed by a few clawed hands and some part of a wing, all wedged into a space much too small for her.
She stares up at him, wriggling as though trying to advanceâno. Sheâs pushing in on herself. She means to make her way backwards out of the tunnel, but itâs too narrow even for that.
Her face is hardly human anymore, and her hands certainly arenât. A trio of antlers rise from her head, blood fresh on two of them. It looks⊠painful.
Itâs a trick. It has to be. If he comes closer, sheâll eat him andâŠ
She canât get out on her own, even if she were to swallow him whole. And neither can he.
He takes a few steps forward. The Princess tries to squirm away. She canât.
He raises the blade and brings it down on the dirt of the tunnel wall.
The Princess watches as he carves away at the soil, leaning away to allow him access to each wall of the tunnel. Dirt rains down on her, covering her stray feathers, but she doesnât make so much as a move to attack him.
Having loosened a ring of soil around the Princess, Opportunist steps back.
She creeps forward, straining against the tunnel. One of her arms breaks free and claws at the dirt heâs yet to address, raking away the walls.
Little by little, the tunnel is chipped away, and little by little, the Princess advances until her head and shoulders have emerged into the cabin. Opportunist barely has enough room to stand between her and the door.
The Princess rears up as much as she can in the relatively cramped space, and Opportunist dives out of the way before her full weight lands on the door.
Soil collapses onto both of them, Opportunist losing sight entirely as it covers his head. This is it, then? Heâs going to die inches from freedom because of a landslide?
Something grabs him from his shoulders and hoists him out of the earth. He twists his head upwards to see the Princess, fangs around him. So thatâs it. Heâs going to die inches from freedom because sheâs going to eat him.
The Princess gently lowers her head, setting him on the ground before releasing her jaws.
Sheâs not going to eat him. Is it because she already has what she wants?
The woods around them resembles a thick jungle, undergrowth barely making way for the path and tall trees rising overhead. Behind them is the fallout of a massive landslide, a tree jutting out sideways from the heap of loose earth.
He stares up at the Princess. Sheâs⊠massive. She wasnât that big when he first saw her. That much heâs certain of.
The Princess stares back down at him.
Then she bounds off into the woods, tail flicking behind her. Her form vanishes within moments.
At least she isnât eating him.
âNice meeting you!â he calls after her. âTalk again sometime?â
There is no response. Oh well. You canât win over them all.
Most of the cabins Cold has seen were in ruins, or close to it, in all appearances having stood unoccupied for years. This one is⊠not.
It almost looks as though it grew into its shape, its walls a tangle of roots outlining windows and doorways. The roots disappear into the packed-earth floor and coil around a muddy shelf where the blade, as it occasionally does, is perched. The door forwards looks ill-fitting in its frame, and the hinges and handle almost look like theyâre formed from some sort of cord.
This is new. Which means thereâs probably something new to do here.
How fortunate.
He takes a moment to consider the blade. That heroic one always used to say it gave them more options, didnât he?
Heâs not here this time. Neither is the Narrator, come to think of it. And Cold is in his own body instead of watching through that other oneâs eyes. Thatâs new, too.
May as well take the blade. Itâs always worth it if it gives him more new things to try.
The stairs down are as much of a tangle of roots as the rest of the cabin. Itâs not surprising, though it is unfortunate. If he were going to be dropped into a new cabin, couldnât it have been one with more to see?
âSomething nasty finds itself on my stairs,â the voice of the Princess calls from somewhere below, and Cold freezes.
This⊠is new. All the other Princesses heâs met didnât deign to start talking until he was face-to-face with them.
âWhy donât you come down so I can take a look at you?â the Princess asks. âI promise I wonât bite.â
Is he supposed to say something here? He supposes it doesnât really matter. If this cabin is like the othersâand it will be, eventuallyâheâll get a chance to try again. And again, and again, and again.
âNo talking, then?â she continues. âFine. I donât need to hear your voice to know who you are. Come on, letâs⊠chat.â
Letâs.
Cold descends the final few steps into a cavern of roots. Of course. The Princess crouches at the other end of the basement, one hand tucked behind her back.
Sheâs more corporeal than most of the Princesses heâs met. Her hair is unruly, with a few loose sticks stuck in it, and a crown of twigs sits atop her head. Her ears are pointy, and a long tail curls behind her, a tuft of fur at its tip.
This is new. Almost interesting, even. Certainly sheâs nothing like the Princesses heâs met before, at least in appearances.
She eyes him. âAre you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there holding that blade of yours?â
Thatâs right, heâs supposed to talk now, isnât he? Canât rely on that other one to do the talking for him? Thatâs new. And not necessarily in a good way.
âIâd rather not stand here forever, no,â he says. Thatâs probably a good start to a conversation, right?
The Princess tosses her head. âGood! Neither would I.â
And now theyâre at a standstill again. Heâs listened in on a little conversation in his previous experiences, hasnât he? He ought to be able to have a little back-and-forth with her, right?
âWhy shouldnât I kill you right now?â he asks. This is almost frustrating. How did that other one keep this sort of thing up?
The Princessâs face splits into a grin. âDropping the facade, are we? How about this: You donât kill me, and you wonât find out what happens if you try.â
That is hardly a fair trade. âAnd what if I want to find out?â
âThen try me.â The Princess leans forward, teeth bared in an expression that only somewhat still resembles a smile.
Well. If she wants him to âtry her,â heâll just have to oblige.
Heâs halfway across the room before the Princess even seems to realize heâs begun to move, knife grazing her shoulder as she ducks out of the way. As he turns to finish the job, a handful of dirt sprays upwards from the floor of the cabin, spattering his veil with dust.
In the moment it takes for him to shake the occluding particles away, thereâs a clatter of chains, and once he can properly see again, it becomes clear that the shackle which ought to have been around the Princessâs wrist is now lying, empty and undamaged, on the ground.
Claws dig into his back from behind, pricking him through his cloak as the Princess attempts to drag him to the ground. He obliges, digging his elbow into her form as he lands on top of her. She wriggles her way out and makes a move to reverse their positions, and he slashes wildly with the blade, noting the moment it hits some sort of resistance and the Princess hisses in pain.
Then her hands have reached around to claw at his face, and he stabs at her wrists whenever his arm is free to do so, and the two of them tumble across the cabin floor, leaving a trail of blood (mostly hers, some his) and feathers (entirely his, unless sheâs hiding something) behind them.
This is new. Heâs never had the chance for a fight like this one before. Whenever it came down to violence, the Princess had always sorely outmatched him. This is better.
Itâs going to get boring soon if this is all she can muster, though. At least heâll probably die eventually and get to see something else.
The Princess tears herself away from him, crouching at one end of the cabin. The wounds on her look shallower than Cold would have thought. Sheâs good, if not good enough to actually kill him.
Sheâs laughing. Why is she laughing?
A creaking begins to emerge from the walls of the cabin, and Cold glances behind him to see that the roots have begun to move, growing inwards to seal off the exit. This is new. Is it the Princessâs doing? Is that what she finds so hilarious?
âDo you hear that?â the Princess spits between cackles. âThose are the roots of the wild, and theyâre not going to stop until thereâs nothing left in this cabin but them.â She folds her arms as the roots begin to grow into the space between the two of them. âWell? Cat got your tongue? No last regrets to voice before youâre crushed into oblivion?â
Cold blinks. âWhy would I have any regrets?â
âWhââ the Princess stutters. âWeâre about to be crushed to death! Donât you regret trying to kill me now?â
âNot particularly.â A root nudges Coldâs leg, and he obligingly steps out of the way and leans against the wall behind him. May as well make sure he has a comfortable seat to watch the show. âTo tell the truth, Iâm actually quite intrigued.â
The Princess only sputters as the roots close in further, lifting the two of them off the ground. A shame. He was just starting to get the hang of this âbanterâ thing.
At first itâs actually quite cozy to be nestled between the roots, even as they force his limbs into place. The Princess stares through it all, mouth agape.
Then the pressure reaches a more respectable level. Thereâs a pop in one of Coldâs shoulders and a snap around his ankle, spikes of pain shooting out from both locations. The Princessâs limbs, too, are twisted away from her, bones creaking under the strain. Sheâs going to die the same as him. Was that her gambit all along? Kill them both and hope for a good show when he realized he was going to be crushed to death?
Pity. For her, not him. Being crushed should be interesting enough on its own without anyone trying to make a speech.
Roots push inwards on his ribcage and begin the work of turning his hands and feet into a pulp, pain melting outwards from each pulverized digit. The form of the Princess is slowly warped away from a human shape, red bleeding through every visible inch of her skin.
Thereâs a root beginning to press up against Coldâs forehead. Thatâs unfortunate. If it moves too much further, itâll crush his skull, and then the whole affair will be cut short.
Even so, he shouldnât complain. This is plenty new, and whatever comes after it is sure to be just as fascinating.
By now the pain is impossible to source, pressing in from every extant part of his body. The Princessâs jaw is no longer open, nor could it be, from the roots pressing in on her skull. Coldâs vision begins to swim red.
I wonder how much longer Iâll get to stay here beforeâ
His train of thought is cut off with a pop. Everything goes dark, and he dies.
He awakens in a cabin. The ceiling, his first visual contact, is a tangle of roots. As he sits up and scans his surroundings, it becomes clear that the walls, too, are a tangle of roots. The floor isnât, but the roots from the walls still burrow into its packed dirt surface.
Itâs the same cabin as before.
This is new. And not in a good way. Thereâs only so much to do in a single cabin, and Coldâs certain heâs already experienced the most interesting of it. Maybe he ought to conserve his choices to make them last as long as possible, if heâs going to be stuck here forever.
Or he could try to leave. Heâd never done that when he was with that other one. It could be interesting. Itâd certainly be new.
The door to the outside holds fast when he tries the handle. Some experimentation reveals that its hinges, while not the flimsy cords of the basement door, arenât fully stable, but theyâre still stronger than anything Cold can muster up. Itâs locked. So thatâs why he never left.
The windows are open, though, and easily wide enough to slip through. Cold lifts the blade from the table and slips it into his sleeve in a single, fluid motion, then sticks his head through the window.
Or, he would have stuck his head through the window, if the window hadnât decided to stop him.
He taps the window with his beak again, then harder when it refuses to budge. Then he slams his forehead against whatever force is keeping him inside, and only receives a headache for his troubles.
Whatever it is, itâs smooth, and barely feels like a thing at all even when he runs his hand along it. And whatever it is, heâs not getting through without a fight.
He grips the blade tightly in his hand and brings it down on the whatever it is.
His arm bounces back violently, pain blossoming through the side of his hand. Itâs as though the whatever it is is perfectly content to allow the blade through, but exerts special restrictions on him.
How nice. Heâs special.
Whateverâs going on, he isnât leaving this cabin until it lets him. A classic game of the Narratorâs, one that only ends when the Princess says it does.
Heâll just have to go back down the stairs and see what buttons she has left to press.
The stairs are exactly as they were the first time around, not a remnant of the moving roots to be seen. Has the Princess reset as well? She must have, if the world remains intact.
âBack for more?â her voice taunts before heâs halfway down the staircase. âThe first time wasnât enough to send you running home?â
He finishes his descent in silence and once more locks eyes with the Princess. Sheâs back where she stood the first time around, hand once more tucked behind her back.
âStill have that blade, I see. So you havenât learned your lesson?â
Cold shrugs. âI havenât decided what Iâm going to do this time.â
She raises her chained wrist from behind her back. âThen let me spell out your options for you. One: You attack me again, and we have a repeat of our little dance. And two:â She lets the chain fall from her arm. âYou decide to play nice, and maybe things will be a little less painful for you.â
A little less painful? Not necessarily a reason to cooperate, but being crushed to death probably wouldnât be as interesting after a few go-arounds. âAnd what if I do neither? What if I go back upstairs and leave you behind? What happens then?â
âWhy donât you try and see what happens?â the Princess asks with a grin.
All right, then. Heâll try it and see what happens.
Heâs just turned to put his foot on the first step when the voice of the Princess comes from behind him. âWait, youâre not actually going to leave? Even after what happened last time?â
Cold glances over his shoulder. âYou said to try and see what happens. I want to see what happens.â
The Princess grits her teeth and sighs. âI was going to crush you again, all right? I would have had the roots of the cabin upstairs crush you just like the ones down here. Curiosity sated?â
âŠHe retreats from the staircase. âYes. Curiosity sated.â
The two return to their positions at opposite ends of the room. âWell? Are you ready to help me now?â she asks.
This part isnât anything new. The Princess canât leave without him. It is new that sheâs flesh and blood, though. She canât use his body as her key out of the cabin, not as though the door would open for him, either. Do they simply need to both be at the door outside?
And what would she say if she learned that they were both trapped? Now that would be interesting.
âAll right,â he says. âWhat exactly did you have in mind?â
The Princess creeps forward, shackle abandoned on the floor behind her. âYouâre going to march right up that staircase, and Iâm going to be behind you watching your every move. Then youâll open the door for me, and the two of us will never have to see each other again. Deal?â
Sure. Why not. âDeal.â
He starts up the stairs, and the Princess follows close behind. The roots donât move from their positions forming the walls of the tunnel back to the cabinâperhaps the two of them really will leave, and Cold will get to see what the Princess thinks of their predicament.
Then clawed fingers dig into his back, and he finds himself falling, colliding with the stairs and with the walls until he and the Princess are both sprawled out along the basement floor.
He doesnât bother trying to sit up. âWhat was that all about?â
âWhat was that about?â the Princess spits. âI was doing what I had to to make sure you didnât turn that blade on me halfway up. Donât tell me the thought didnât cross your mind.â
It hadnât. âI could have done that? I didnât know I could do that.â
The Princess sputters, then thereâs the sound of movement from where she landed, cut short by a gasp of pain. Cold attempts to lift himself to take a look, only for his limbs to fail to respond as a spark of pain shoots down his spine.
Heâs been immobilized. This is new.
âWell. I guess weâre both going to die here,â the Princess says from somewhere Cold canât see. âAgain.â
âItâs not the same as last time,â Cold argues. âLast time we were crushed to death. This time we have broken spines. Itâll be a lot slower. Weâll probably starve⊠or is it thirst that happens more quickly?â That tiny one ought to know, what with his obsession over preventing any harm to their physical body. Heâll ask the next time he sees him, if he remembers any of this by then.
If he ever gets out of this cabin.
The Princess huffs. âStop talking about how long itâll take to die. Iâd like to waste away in peace.â
Thatâs fine. He didnât have much more to say, anyway. Maybe heâll try stabbing her in the back the next time around, just to see what it feels like.
He awakens in a cabin. The ceiling, as before, is a tangle of roots, and so are the walls. The blade is back in its position on the dirt shelf.
When he stands, thereâs a faint ache in his back, but it fades quickly enough. No doubt the Princess is in a similar situation.
He takes the blade without a second thought. Maybe he should stab her in the back this time. It could be fun. Itâd definitely be new. But then sheâd probably fall on top of him, and the two of them would end up lying on the floor of the cabin with broken backs again, and how many times can that sort of thing happen before it gets boring?
There is something else heâs never had the chance to try. Wasnât there that one voice who swore up and down it was one of the most entertaining things one could try in these cabins?
Cold raises his arm and flings the blade out the window. It disappears beyond the hilltop before he can see it land.
Well. âEntertainingâ may not be the word. It was worth trying, at the very least. Something new. And now the blade is gone, so the only thing left worth trying is heading back into the basement.
The Princess doesnât utter a word until heâs face-to-face with her, this time. Her arms are folded, chain already lying on the ground beside her. âWell? Back for more?â
âYou were the one who killed us last time,â Cold points out.
âAnd?â The Princess sticks her nose up. âI was acting in self-defense. You had a blade. What else was I supposed to expect?â
It is so, so unfair that Cold had to find out he could have stabbed her in the back after heâd already experienced a broken spine. âAnd now I donât. Letâs try this again, shall we?â
The Princess approaches him, tail low. âAfter you, then.â
âIâd rather not.â He wonât see anything new if he lets her attack him from behind again. âAfter you.â
âWhat, donât trust me?â She leans towards him, lips curled in something approaching a smile. Her canines are particularly long. âLittle old me who would never drag the two of us to the bottom of a staircase leaving us both with broken backs?â
Cold looks down at her. âYou just did that.â
She shrugs. âI had to try. Can you really blame me after you attacked me out of the blue?â
âIt wasnât out of the blue,â Cold says. âYou told me to.â
The Princessâs face freezes for a moment as though sheâs replaying their first meeting in her head. âThat⊠was a threat,â she begins, voice shaking. âI was threatening you.â
âI know.â
It takes a moment for the Princess to manage anything except working her jaw in an imitation of words. âTh-thereâs something wrong with your brain! Youâre not normal!â
âYou wouldnât be the first person to say something along those lines.â Cold shrugs. âAre we leaving or not?â
The Princess grimaces. âI suppose. After you.â
âI already said Iâd rather not. After you.â
She shrugs. âCanât fault me for trying. Fine. After me. But Iâll need some insurance first.â She holds out her hand. âWhy donât you hand over that blade of yours? I know youâve got it hidden away somewhere.â
Oh. That will pose a problem.
âI donât have it,â Cold begins.
âAnd you expect me to believe you just left it upstairs?â The Princess folds her arms. âNice try. Give it.â
âI donât have it,â Cold continues, âbecause I threw it out the window.â
Again the Princess is struck silent for a moment. âDo you expect me to believe that?â she snaps, far too late to have nearly enough impact. âWhere is it, really?â
As though he would know. âSomewhere in the woods outside. I didnât see where it landed.â
âYouâre really sticking to this story?â the Princess asks. âFine. Give me that cloak, then, so I know youâre not hiding anything.â
Hand over his cloak? He supposes thatâs a logical thing to ask. If he isnât wearing his cloak and she can see his hands, then sheâll have assurance that he isnât hiding the blade anywhere, regardless of whether she believes he threw it out the window. Thereâs no reason he shouldnât acquiesce.
But⊠he doesnât want to. Why doesnât he want to?
The Princess continues to stare at him, tapping her foot. It almost looks more like an animalâs paw than a human foot, sharp claws glinting in what little light reaches the basement. Thatâs new, right? The others werenât like that, right? When they had visible feet at all, that is.
Sheâs not going to budge until sheâs gotten ahold of his cloak, is she.
Cold sighs and shrugs off his cloak. âGive it back when youâre done with it,â he says as he tosses it to the Princess. Itâs a completely unnecessary request. Heâs a bird. He doesnât need additional clothes on top of his feathers.
The Princess snatches the cloak from the air and immediately begins rifling through it. Cold blinks as a couple feathers dislodge themselves in her search. âHow does this thing even work?â she asks, stretching the hood far beyond what it was meant to accommodate. âAre there any pockets in here or what? And where are the sleeves?â
âThe pockets are on the inside. And you could find the sleeves if you were looking at the shoulders.â Cold digs his toes into the dirt of the basement while the Princess continues to tear apart his cloak.
Eventually, the Princess seems to have decided the only way to comprehend the garment is to attempt to wear it, and tosses it over her shoulders, wrestling with the fabric for a moment before one of her arms actually manages to pop out through a sleeve with the sound of tearing cloth.
Something snaps, and Cold canât tell whether itâs figuratively or literally. He strides across the basement, Princess too occupied with navigating his cloak to notice him until theyâre face-to-face. By the time she does react, itâs too late for her to stop him.
He grabs her free wristâwhich is currently punching the inside of his cloakâand wrestles it into the opening of the empty sleeve before letting go.
The Princess growls and pulls away, but slips her arm through the rest of the sleeve. âI didnât say you could touch me.â
âI didnât say you could destroy my clothing. Weâre even.â
She huffs, but sheâs clearly more focused on locating the empty pockets than arguing. âItâs your fault for not wearing something that makes more sense. How does this even work?â
âI donât have to explain that.â Cold watches as the Princess turns. The cloak is clearly too long for her, hem dragging in the dustâthough, thereâs not too much of a reason to care about that, right? It would have gotten dirty either way. Theyâre in a dirt hole. âCan I have it back now?â
âYou werenât lying about leaving the blade behind,â the Princess begins, hands still in the pockets of Coldâs cloak.
How much longer is she going to stall? âI told you. I threw it out the window. Are you going to give that back now?â
The Princess arranges her face into a thoughtful expression. âI supposeâŠâ She breaks into a grin. âNo. After me.â Before Cold can react, sheâs already slipped past him and begun ascending the stairs.
Heâs never been mugged before. Thatâs new.
He starts up the stairs, Princess easily keeping her distance. Itâs fine. Soon, theyâll both be in the cabin proper, which means theyâll both be trapped in the cabin proper, which means the Princess wonât be able to keep running and heâll be able to take his cloak back and assess the damage.
Why does he even care so much about this? Itâs only an article of clothing, which as established he does not need.
The Princess reaches the top of the stairway and turns back to him. âThanks for the cloak,â she says as she slams the door.
A lock clicks, somehow. There wasnât even a lock on the outside of the door.
This, unfortunately, is not new. Why does he always seem to be the only person who isnât allowed to lock a door?
He can hear the Princess rustling about on the other side. âYou werenât lying about the blade being gone,â she says, followed soon by, âUgh! Whatâs wrong with these windows?â
âDonât you need me to let you out?â Cold asks. âI think thatâs how this is supposed to work.â It isnât, at least not this time, but itâs not as though she needs to know that.
âYeah, Iâll pass. Iâd rather not have to leave with you, especially now that youâre probably plotting ways to get back at me.â
Thatâs hardly fair. Cold hasnât gotten to plot even once through this whole ordeal. Sheâs been the one doing all the plotting. âCan I at least have my cloak back now?â
The Princess laughs. âTrying to trick me into opening the door, are you? Even if I didnât see through your plot, I wouldnât give it to you. Iâm actually starting to like this weird thing. I think Iâll keep it.â
He wasnât even plotting! And it would have been a good plot, too, if heâd actually intended it as one. This just keeps getting more and more unfair by the minute.
Heâll have to wait until things reset again. Starvation should set in eventually, or he could try to hasten things. He doesnât have the blade, but that shouldnât necessarily make it impossible to speed up the process, should it? Heâs got hands. He might try to use them.
He awakens in a cabin before he can attempt anything. Everything is roots, again, just as itâs been for the past three times.
As he raises a hand to adjust his veilâitâs started to slip, somehowâhe freezes at what he sees when it crosses his vision.
Or rather, what he doesnât see. Which is to say his arm is not in a sleeve, which means the Princess still has his cloak. This is⊠new? Things are supposed to reset whenever they reset. With some changes, to be sure, but everything has been the same in this cabin every other time.
The blade, fortunately, seems to not have fallen prey to the same effect. Itâs right on the table, exactly where itâs meant to be, having had the good sense to obey the laws of this world.
The Princess expects him to show up with some sort of plot. When he inevitably doesnât have one, sheâll concoct one on her own. Sheâs clearly much better at this sort of thing than he is.
Why is he, of all voices, here, of all places? There would have been much better candidates for this. Surely some of the other voices would have easily been able to outthink her.
But heâs no good at scheming, and heâs about out of ideas. The Princess clearly has no intention of trusting him. And she took his cloak.
Heâll just have to hand the decisions over to her. Maybe sheâll be able to think of something new.
When he reaches the basement, the Princess is grinning. Successfully pulling one over on himâwithout dying herselfâmust have put her in a good mood. That, or stealing his cloak.
âI see youâve got the knife this time,â she says. âWhereâd you have it hidden away?â
Is it really so hard to believe heâs capable of honesty? âI already told you. I threw it out the window. It reappeared when I woke up.â
The Princess shows no sign of belief. âWhat are you even planning to do with that thing? I thought weâd established trying to kill me would only lead to both of us being crushed to death.â
Her eye contact breaks at the sound of metal hitting the ground near her feet. A pretty good toss, in Coldâs opinion, given theyâre on opposite ends of the basement.
She reaches to pick up the blade, gaze flicking back up to Cold as though this might somehow be a trap. As though heâd be able to think of one.
Then she crosses the basement, blade in hand, the sleeves of Coldâs cloak covering part of its hilt. He really needs that back.
âI wouldnât have done that,â she begins once theyâre face-to-face. âWhy did you?â
âTrade for my cloak back?â Cold asks.
The Princess laughs. âYou have to set the terms before you give away your only bargaining chip. Did you not bother to think a single part of this through?â
Oh. Right. He knew heâd been forgetting something.
Itâs fine. He doesnât need to care this much about an article of clothing. âI gave it to you because Iâm out of ideas. Maybe youâll be able to think of something new to do, if youâre so intent on scheming against me.â
She stares at him for a moment, gripping the blade. Then she turns it around in her hand and plunges it into his chest.
Of course that would be her first thought. He doesnât know why he expected anything different.
The Princess must be able to pick out some sort of expression on his face, because she hesitates and asks, âWhat? Were you expecting something else?â
âI wasnât expecting anything. I justâŠâ He looks at her. âIâve already been stabbed. I was hoping for something new.â
She stares at him, mouth agape, as he falls to the floor.
He awakens in a cabin. Itâs the same cabin. Itâs always been the same cabin.
âŠExcept this time there are shoots of some sort pushing up between the roots of the walls and sprouting from the floor.
And the blade is gone this time. Thatâs new, though itâs not surprising. If the Princess gets to keep his cloak, surely she can keep the blade as well.
Heâll just have to go down and ask for it back.
The new shoots continue to appear as he proceeds down the stairs to the basement, weaving between the roots that form each step. The basement itself is speckled with green everywhere he can see, and a few beams of light are able to filter through new gaps in the roots of the ceiling.
The Princess is curled in on herself at the other end of the basement, clutching the blade in both hands. Her tail curls around her feet. She hasnât bothered to take the chain off her wrist yet, or even hide it.
Sheâs still wearing his cloak. At least it looks like sheâs properly buttoned it since stabbing him.
âWhat do you even want?â she asks, not bothering to look up. âWhy do you keep coming back down here? Just leave. Youâre allowed to.â
Her voice sounds⊠drained.
Cold steps closer to her and sits down a few feet away. âI canât leave. The door doesnât open.â
The Princess looks up. Her eyes are ringed with red. âThat doesnât make any sense. Iâm supposed to need you to leave with me.â
Neither of them says anything for a minute, until the Princess speaks again. âI donât get whatâs going on in your head. I killed you so many times, and you never tried to take revenge. I locked you in the basement and you gave me the blade. Why arenât you angry about all of this?â
âAnger is an unproductive emotion,â Cold says. âIt wouldnât benefit me to feel it.â
The Princess stammers. âYâyou canât choose not to feel anger. It just happens.â
âNot if you donât let it. Itâs the same with other emotions. Everythingâs so much easier once you stop feeling them.â
She laughs, her tone devoid of humorâor much of anything else. âThereâs something wrong with your brain,â she says. âNormal people donât think like that.â
âAnd why should I care if thereâs something wrong with me?â Cold asks.
âI guessâŠâ The Princess lowers her gaze to the blade in her hands. âI guess⊠you donât have to. Just⊠answer one question for me.â
âWhy did you give me the blade?â
Again with the interrogations. Is it really too much to believe heâs telling the truth? âI already told you. I ran out of ideas. Trying the same things again would have been boring, so I decided to let you choose. Thatâs all it was.â
The Princess bites her lip. Her crown of twigs has a little sprout growing through it, Cold notices. âYou never lied to me, did you?â
âNo.â
For a moment the two of them continue to sit in silence. The Princess is the one to break it, pushing herself to her feet and allowing the chain to fall from her wrist. Cold follows her with his gaze.
She takes a shaky step towards the stairs and glances behind her. âCome on. Weâre leaving.â
Cold follows her up the stairs and into the cabin. This time, when they reach the top, the Princess steps back to allow him through the doorway.
They stare at the closed door for a moment. If it doesnât open for either of them, thereâs no logical reason it would unlock now that theyâre both here.
âYou should try it,â the Princess says. âI think Iâve used up your trust.â
It doesnât actually matter, but fine. Neither of them really has any advantage over the other. Cold steps up to the door and tugs on the handle.
It creaks open.
Thatâs new.
He steps into the woods outside, Princess on his heels. The trees appear to have been reduced to stalks of black charcoal, and the ground is largely devoid of growth save for a few sparse clumps of grass. The hilltop is ringed with large, thorny vines, and a few red roses sprout right where the cabin meets the ground.
This is when it ends, isnât it? Hopefully heâll have his cloak back the next time heâs awake.
He and the Princess stand in silence for a moment. Then another, and another. Nothing happens.
When he turns to her, sheâs already looking at him. âThis is new, right?â she asks. âIt doesnât normally work like this, right?â
They both already know the answer to that question.
This is new. It might even be the most interesting thing to happen since Cold first found himself awake on a path in the woods.
He doesnât say that, though. What he says is, âCan I have my cloak back now? Or the blade?â
The Princess just laughs. âCanât fault you for trying, I guess. Maybe Iâll give them back later.â She starts down the path into the woods. âOr not. Come on, I want to see whatâs out there.â