Spicy Pasta

Leona's hands were buried in the jacket he somehow had managed to grab in his haste. He kept his attention fixed to his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Bout time you opened the door, herbivore."

"Are you insane?! Look at you! You're soaking wet!" Dumbfounded, you pulled Leona into your dorm and ran to fetch him a towel. The lion followed your retreating form with a paralyzed gaze, uncharacteristically silent.

Was running through the rain really worth it just to see you? He debated just making a run for it. The entire thing had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, anyway. However, before he could do anything, you returned and tossed a fluffy towel over his head. Leona took it into his hands, draping it over his shoulders.

"C'mon. You're making my doormat soggy." You grumbled, nose scrunching up as you pulled the lion into your dorm.

Leona slams the door shut behind him. He pulls you back by the collar of your shirt, dragging you to stagger back until your back was pressed up against the wall. He rests one hand beside your head and uses the other to lift your chin up towards him.

"What are we?" Leona mutters whilst staring at you, taking his merry time to take in every little feature on your face. His expression was contemplative, apprehension swimming in his eyes.

"I dont know-Rivals?" You snort, laying a head on his shoulder. Leona looks down at you with an annoyed expression. Chuckling, you peer up at him through your lashes. "What do you want us to be?"

He stays silent and stares at your lips, glancing back up at you for permission. You nod and he wraps a muscular arm around your waist. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, tugging on it slightly as you lean up to reach him. Leona cranes his neck and meets you halfway. He kisses you sensually, moving his hand down to rest around your neck and holding your hand with the other. You pull back and Leona chases after your lips. Giggling, you press the back of your hand against his mouth.

"Woah there, tiger. You're still cold and drenched. Let's go to the living room."

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"That really all you have? Crowley didn't have anythin' better to give you?" Plopping down on the couch, Leona scoffed as he watched you drag a bulky heater over. Sighing, you pat the rusty metal. "Deadbeat crow-dad, remember?"

While you fumbled with the old switches, he took a mental note to gift you a new one soon. Old-fashioned tech like that isn't reliable enough to keep you warm during the winter - you could end up freezing to death. It was a situation he wanted to avoid at all costs, especially now that you've wormed your way into his heart.

Finally, after some tinkering, the heater buzzed to life. You clapped your hands, the giddy grin on your face making Leona's lips curve into a small smile. Cute.

"Anyways. Look at you. How much of a dumbass do you have to be to run through a storm like that?" You huffed, hands on your hips as you looked down at him.

The creaky worn down couch was already starting to darken and soak up the rainwater on his clothes. Leona fumbled with his hands, gaze moving to his feet.

"I don't care. I just-" He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I had to come see you." 

"Why's that?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. Leona blinked. Even he wasn't sure. 

He hadn't expected to feel as strongly about you as he did. These were the kinds of things he thought a person like him was too rough around the edges for. It drove him wild and caused him to daydream about mushy lovey-dovey things he'd never considered before. Despite that, he wasn't ready to fully admit it yet, and somehow, he thinks you knew.

"You always have to ask dumb questions. I just fucking wanted to." Leona scoffed, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your stomach. His eyes fluttered shut as you stroked your deft fingers over his damp hair, undoing the knots and tangles with care. Snorting at the lion, you poked his cheek and jeered at him.

"Dumbass."

"Your dumbass, at least."

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"See what...?" Trey blinked. You rushed forward, parting the branches and peering through the shrub. A green rabbit in a waistcoat dashed through the bushes, a ticking clock perched onto his hip. "A bunny rabbit!"

"A rabbit-? O-Oi! Prefect?!" Trey ran after you as you rushed through the bushes, intent on chasing the bunny. Branches and rose thorns scratched and tore at your uniform, but you paid no mind to it. The rabbit took a sharp turn right, and you followed in hot pursuit. As you rounded the corner, you crashed into a large stack of paint buckets. The canisters all toppled to the ground, breaking open and tainting the green grass red.

Likewise, you also fell into the red puddle. The paint pooled around you, seeping into your clothes and hair. You groaned, pushing yourself away from the wreckage. "Just my lucky day."

While you were busy glaring down at the offending red pigment bleeding onto your pristine white blouse, Trey had rushed to your side. The third-year seemed to be nervous as he wiped your face down with his sleeve. "Prefect, quick, fix yourself up before—"

"What is the meaning of this?!" Riddle exclaimed, the clattering click of his heels signaling his arrival as he stomped towards you.

Uh oh.

"O-Oh! Riddle, I—" You stammered, scrambling up. "Love, I was just trying to—"

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?!" Riddle yelled, pulling you away from Trey and seizing your arm—all with a frown etched onto his face. You whimpered at his tight hold, his blunt nails digging deep into your skin. "What were you thinking?! Why were you running through the gardens like some buffoon?!"

"I-I...I was chasing...a rabbit." You peered at him through shaky wet lashes, cheeks burning up in embarrassment. Your sweetheart stared at you in incredulity before a snarky laugh left his lips.

"A rabbit." Riddle seethed, dragging a hand down his face. His pointed glare cut through you as he gestured towards the mess of red. "All that for a rabbit?!"

"I'll have you know that batch of paint is a special import from the Queendom of Roses. We've been waiting for its arrival for months and now you've ruined it with your tomfoolery!" The redhead's chest heaved as he finished his outburst. His skin had turned crimson, and a vein had ticked on his temple. Riddle grabbed a battered bucket beside you, making you avert your gaze towards him.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" He said. Your mouth dropped open, but you found yourself unable to say anything. The longer you kept silent, the more he felt his anger simmer. Riddle's face twisted into a vicious scowl before he threw the bucket full-force at a nearby tree. The resounding bang made you jump, fear gripping your heart.

"I said—" Riddle paused, his tongue screeching to a halt once he saw thick blobs of tears sliding down your face. Silence soon followed. Quickly, his demeanor changed as he finally realized the cruelty and weight of his words.

Muttering obscenities under his breath, Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose. He's done it again, he let his anger get the better of him.

Mistaking his guilt for anger, you cowered before him, watery eyes glued to the ground as you sputtered out sloppy apologies. "I'm s-sorry, Riddle...I'm really sorry."

"No, I—" The redhead let go of your arm, causing you to fall back and crumble to the floor. He scrambled to kneel down beside you, hands hovering over your waist. "Rose, I didn't mean to—"

"I-I have to go." Everyone stared at you with sympathy as you rushed out of the garden, frantically wiping away at the tears on your cheeks. Riddle tried to go after you, but Trey blocked his path. The third-year shook his head, pushing the dormleader back. "Give her some space."

"You can apologize later." Trey sighed. He folded his arms over his chest, looking as if he was about to lecture Riddle. But the look of guilt on his childhood friend's face already told him all he needed to know.

ACT II: JUST LIKE ALICE

Sobs racked through your chest as you rushed through the woods. You didn't know where you were going, you just knew was that you needed to get away. Riddle's words still beat and tore at your poor heart.

So stricken with embarrassment from earlier, you didn't notice an overgrown branch sticking out of the dirt and you tripped, slipping into an agape rabbit hole. You fell through the dirt tunnel; Screaming your lungs out, spinning around wildly in the air, and panicking while tears sprung out of your eyes. Though you soon realized, as minutes passed that you were still falling. The hole seemed to be unending.

"By the great sevens-?!" You soon stopped spinning wildly and instead started floating down. From soaring book shelves, a musty wrinkled bed, a vintage lamp and a broken down piano—The hole around you was filled with all sorts of trinkets and junk.

It took a good 10 minutes before you finally dropped to the ground. Oddly enough, your fall didn't hurt one bit. In fact, it was rather...plush?

Looking down, you found yourself seated on a tremendous pile of pillows. Each pillow was distinct, mainly covered with red and black patchwork—you could only assume it was handmade. There was some sort of symbolism stitched onto it as well, resembling either a heart or playing cards. 

"What in the...Twisted Wonderland?" You gasped, standing up.

Whilst on top of the pillowy mountain, you took the chance to survey the surrounding room. It was a great hallway lined with many doors of all shapes and sizes. The area was fairly big, modeled after Heartslabyul's dorms with its wine-red walls, checkered floors, and peculiar heart-themed architecture.

Was this some sort of secret hideout?

"How curious..." Sliding down the hill of pillows, you decide to survey the hallway. Amongst the doors, you find a small one that's hardly the size of your foot. It was unique from the rest, colored purple and framed by a golden archway instead of the common silver one that others had.

Speculative, you wrapped your fingers around the minuscule handle and turned the door open. You bent down to peek through and catch sight of a beautiful, lush garden. 

A group of flowers danced around in the wind, almost as if they were beckoning you to take a closer look. For some odd reason, it fascinated you. In a trance, you turned back to the room with a new goal in mind. Surely there must be something in here that could take you in?

A banquet table sitting in the far corner caught your eye. It was filled to the brim with fresh pastries and drinks, strange considering no one was here. Though a bit creeped out, you took a gander at the feast lay out before you. Despite the table being so long, there was only one chair present and in front of it was an envelope.

"Curiouser and curiouser." You mutter.

Tearing the top open with your nail, you plucked out the contents of the envelope and caught sight of your name marked in elegant cursive on a lustrous golden card.

"A letter...?" You muttered. What you found was an invitation to a party. "Addressed to me?"

"The Red Queen's Unbirthday party...?" You mumbled, eyes skimming over the text until one line attracted your attention. "—Where His Majesty's Rose shall put on the Nine-Throng Tiara?"

A Tiara? With Nine-Throngs? 

Blinking, you turned back to the stack of pillows. The very tiara you found in your attic was sitting at the top, glimmering under the lights of the hall. Uh...when exactly did that get here?

You squinted your eyes at the line again. "Where she shall put on the Nine-Throng Tiara..."

"Put on the Nine-Throng Tiara?" Pocketing the invitation, you trudged back to the very top of the pillows and took the jewel headdress in your hands. You could only assume that its appearance here right now was the result of magic.

...So it wouldn't be far off to say that it had magical powers, huh? 

Taking a deep breath, you raised it above your head. "Well then, here goes nothing."

After gently setting it atop your head, you soon found a mystical glow engulfing your body. Gasping, you watched as your school uniform shifted and altered into a dress.

The dress was of a sky blue, a long train at its back, pleats along its front; It was decked with lavish lace, delicate embroidery and sewn in with diamonds.

The dress was knee-length and its big bouffant-styled skirt bounced when you walked. For accessories, you had opera-length white gloves and matching white stockings on.

Running your hand up your neck, you noticed how it had a high white lace collar which oddly complimented the black bow tied snug around your waist. The sneakers you had previously worn shifted themselves into dark mary janes, which felt like clouds with every step you took.

"O...kay? A dress-up was not what I was expecting." Sighing, you bunched up the train of your skirt in your hands and rushed back to the banquet table. This time, you took a look at the food and found a champagne bottle labeled "DRINK ME". 

Silently debating if this was a good idea, after a while, you decide to just go for it. Popping the bottle open, you take a quick swig and immediately get hit with a wave of nausea. Gagging, you place the bitter drink down on the table. 

"H-Huh!?" You gasp as the room around you grew bigger and bigger or rather—as you grew smaller and smaller. 

"Oof!" You plopped down onto the floor, the banquet table now towering over you. The drink had managed to shrink you to the right size and it seems that your clothes adjusted accordingly. Clapping your hands, you happily made your way to the golden door and turned the handle. 

Only to find that it was locked.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Furrowing your brows, you continued to furiously fumble with the doorknob. 

"It wasn't locked earlier!" You whined, kicking at the door. Huffing, you turned back once more to the table. A small golden key was seen on top, one that you must have missed earlier. 

Well, it was far too high up for you to reach now that was for sure. While marching up to the key, you spot a cookie marked “EAT ME” hidden behind one of the nearby table legs. 

"Might as well." You shrug, grabbing the cookie. After brushing it off, you move in to take a bite. "This can't possibly get any worst."

"Huh...? W-Woah!" You shriek, looking down at your feet which seemed to be so far off. Just then your head struck against the roof of the hall. "Uff!"

This time, it seems that the cookie caused you to grow to an inordinately large height.

"That hurt..." You grumbled, rubbing the top of your head. At once, you took up the tiny golden key and hurried off to take the champagne bottle, downing the liquid and shrinking back down. With a pep in your step, you rushed towards the door.

"Alright, Wonderland." You pushed the key into the keyhole, turning until you heard a click. 

"What do you have in store for me?"

Stepping into the door, you found yourself in the peculiar garden. 

It was a whimsical wonderland of it's own. The sky was painted in reds and pinks, and the flowers were ones that you've never seen nor heard of before. The only ones familiar to you were the rosebushes which surrounded the area, enclosed around the garden like towering barricades as little butterflies kissed its roses, fluttering about the flora.

"Oi!" Jumping, you whipped your head around to find a familiar pair of ginger and blueberry heads peeking out from a tree. "Who're you?"

Gasping, both of your hands clasped over your mouth. 

"Ace?! Deuce?!" The first-years jumped at your shrill shriek, nervously exchanging glances when their names flew out of your mouth. Both of them stepped away from their hiding spot, cautiously walking towards you. 

"How do y'know my name?" Ace asked. You were about to answer his question, but got distracted once you noticed the ridiculous outfits they were dressed in. Both of them had identical vivid yellow blouses with thick white lapels. Said blouses were paired with high-waisted red slacks and big blue bow-ties.

Snorting, you covered your mouth to conceal your giggles. "W-What's with the goofy fit?" 

"Eh? This is what we wear every day?" Deuce halted, looking down on his outfit. Ace shook his head, slapping his friend by the back of his head. "N-Never-mind that, listen, we have no idea who you are but—"

"Huh...?" You blinked dementedly. "What do you mean you have no idea who I am...? I'm Y/N!"

Both of them stared blankly at each other, then at you. Simultaneously, they bluntly replied. "Who?" 

"Y/N!"

Ace folded his arms across his puffed up chest. "Never heard of 'er."

"Guys, seriously-"

"That dress looks expensive." Deuce noted, "Are you some duchess from out of the kingdom?"

"No! I'm-" You struggled.

"Deuce, I don't know about you...but I think she might be a bit cuckoo in the head." Ace whispered, deliberately backing away from you. "Let's walk away slowly..."

"Alright! Enough with the jokes!" You lashed out. Gathering your skirt in your hands, you frantically rushed towards the two. "Listen to me! I'm-"

"Your majesty!" Popping out of a corner, Trey appeared by your side and scrambled to clumsily curtsy before you. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and square. Stupefied, you stumbled back and gawked at him. "Y-Your majesty?"

It was only then did you notice the two fluffy green bunny ears sitting atop his head. He fumbled with an antique pocket watch, taking a quick glance at the clock before hastily stuffing it into his pocket. Trey wore a plaid red petticoat, dark maroon slacks, and a deep lavender bowtie.

"I apologize for these two." He awkwardly chuckled, kicking at the two boys' knees and forcing them into kneeling positions. Nearly toppling over from the force of Trey's kick, both Ace and Deuce hurriedly crouched down before you.

"We apologize, your highness. We didn't realize it was you..." Deuce trailed off, face spiraling into a ghostly pasty white. "Y-You're not going to cut our heads off, are you?"

"Why—in the everlasting fuck—would I do that?!" You swore, scraping your fingers through your hair and tugging at the strands which made your tiara turn askew. "I don't even know what's going on!"

"Neither do I." All of a sudden, a floating grin appeared in the middle of nowhere, manifesting itself out of thin air. Then, a head and body slowly appeared in a cloud of lavender mist. A purple-haired cat-beastman appeared before you, tail swishing around gracefully as he smoked a long hookah.

The cat looked at you for some time in silence, his face obscured by the thick purple mist he was smoking. At last, he took the hookah out of his mouth, and addressed Trey in a languid voice. "My~ You guys are really giving our rose a headache!"

The smoke cleared to reveal a familiar face grinning at you.

"Che'nya?! You're here too?!" You gasped.

"Yes~ Hello, there. Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka at your service," He bows.

"I have to say! It's great to see you here, your highness!" Che'nya chortled, floating up into the air and spinning around playfully. "Your husband turned the entire kingdom upside down looking for you."

Jolting, you pressed your palm flat to your chest in shock. "M-My husband?!"

"Yesss~" Che'nya drawled, floating around without a care in the world. "Your queen has gone mad ever since you've gone, your highness."

"My queen?!" Is your bewildered response.

"Yes, your majesty. Erm...the 'queen' is a he." Trey confirmed. "Queen Rosehearts has been in a state of panic since you've disappeared weeks ago."

Nodding along, Che'nya gestures to the bright red ring on your hand. You gape at the jewel, eyes ripped wide open. Where did that come from? What is with you and random jewelry popping out of nowhere? No, most importantly—you were married to Riddle?!

You tilt your head up, meeting everyone's eyes in a panicked state.

"This is a dream," Slowly backing away, you cradled your head in your hands. The gravity of the situation you were in was finally sinking in.

As you guessed, this was an extremely lucid and well-crafted dream. It had to be a dream. What other reason was there?

Most likely, you were in the forest right now, having fallen unconscious after tripping over that branch. Yes, truly, you must have hit your head somewhere.

In a daze, you gestured to the world around you. "Yes. Yes, this is a dream."

With that logic in mind, you were safely held inside the comforting quarters of your own head. 

"You!" You bellow and point a rigid finger at Deuce. The poor boy tensed up, fear striking him like thunder as you moved towards his incapacitated frame. Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you pulled him towards you and spat out an order,

"Punch me." 

Instantaneously, his horror-stricken expression melts into one of confusion. You want him to do what now?

"Erm.." Deuce furrows his brows, closes his eyes and clutches his chin, pondering. 

Surely, it was against the law to punch the Queen's Rose? If Riddle got the slightest whiff of what he's done, he's a dead man. Then again, disobeying direct orders from royalty was also a crime, was it not? 

He was torn.

Deuce sighs, moistening his lips as he meets your frenzied gaze. Ah, well...either way, this was a lose-lose situation for him.

"A-As you wish." Raising his arm, he smashed a rough fist against your cheek. The blow caused your head to violently whip back as you stumbled to the ground. 

Minutes pass and yet, to your chagrin, apart from the growing bruise on your cheek, nothing has changed. You blink incessantly, brows drawn tight together. 

"That's odd. Punching usually does the trick." You murmur, concurrently confused and dizzy. Trey helped you up and considered your condition with reckoning eyes. "Your majesty, have you hit your head somewhere? Or maybe you're sick? You're acting...odd."

"Oh, well—First off, I fell down a rabbit hole. Then there were pillows, tiny doors—and-and other things I can't even make sense of!" You gestured grandly around, acting out the various things you've experienced but Trey doesn't seem to appreciate your ramblings, continuing to stare at you like you were a madman. 

You huff and scoured the vast open gardens as if you could find the culprit who had created this insane world. "This is all so insane, weird, a-and—and mad!”

"Oh, your highness, everyone here is mad. Especially you~!" Che'nya cackled, throwing his head back in amusement. He floated towards you, wrapping his lithe tail around your waist. "Ah, but while I do enjoy the little show you're putting on. We really have to get you back to the castle. Can't really have our kingdom's rose wandering around the forest with memory loss, hm?"

In a snap of his fingers, a map appeared before you.

"This, your highness, is the Red Castle. That's where you reside." Che'nya tapped his fingertip against the very center where an illustration of a castle was shown. It was quite nicely done, nearly to the point of obsessive architectural intricacy.

"Trey, I trust you'll take them there?" Che'nya purrs, head tilting to the side, knuckles pushing up against his cheek.

"Of course. I'll make sure you return home safe, your majesty." Trey responded, one of his bunny ears swiveling. 

Once again, he checked his watch, anxiety gripping him as a trickle of sweat dripped down onto the glass frame. After a while, he pocketed it and reached his hand out to you. "We must leave now. I'm already running late for the unbirthday party. The opening ceremony starts in 3 hours..."

'Curious and curiouser...This is not so bad a dream,' you thought as you intertwined your fingers with his. 'Perhaps I should stay a while.'

ACT III: A WATCHFUL EYE

"Hey! Bunny—We really had to go this way?" Ace groaned, holding onto the train of your skirt as to not sully it on the dirt ground.

"It's the quickest way to the castle. You know we can't waste any more time." Trey pressed, directing your group deeper into the woods. 

"Yeah, yeah! You told me that earlier. I just don't get why I gotta follow? That cat-guy dipped the moment we stepped a foot into this place." Ace pouted, kicking a nearby pebble away.

"Oh, is that so? Well then, feel free to go back." Trey scorned, taking the train of your dress away from Ace's hands and grasping it in his own. "It's not like I'm forcing you to come along. Surely that would make you happier?"

"Fine by me!" The ginger scoffed, crossing his arms and proceeding to go the other way.

Rolling his eyes, Trey pressed a hand by your back and continued guiding you through the forest. Only for you to come to a halt, digging your heels to the ground. "Wait."

"Your majesty?" The bunny noticed how your eyes flickered to Ace's retreating form briefly, concern swimming around your bright orbs. 

"Will he be alright? I'm not so sure he even remembers where we came from..." You sighed. "We can't really leave him behind. Especially in this forest, of all places."

Trey stays silent, a warm smile spreading across his cheeks. Ah, so the tales were true. Tales of the Queen's Rose and their never-ending compassion. Hearsay's of how they pardon offenders sent to the dungeon cells or to the pillory of a guillotine.

"Don't worry, your majesty," Trey chuckled. "He'll be crawling after us in a few minutes."

Shaking your head, you grimaced. "If you say so."

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"That damn bunny. Makin' me go into this creepy place." Ace seethed through gritted teeth, stomping back from where he came from. "Like hell I'm wasting my time helping that crazy missy."

As he trudged through the dirt pathway, a branch cracked in the far distance and he froze. Fear gripped him in it's grasp as a cool chill seeped into his bones, creeping all the way up to his spine. 

Ahm...was it just him, or was the sky darker now?

Gulping, Ace's eyes darted around the forest. The wind howled and screeched, the tall decaying branches of rotting trees reached out to him like talons, and the gloomy shadows in the distance morphed into twisted, deformed faces.

Yeah, no. He was out.

"O-Oi! Guys, on second thought, a hike is just what I need!" Ace disputes, struggling for breath as he chased after you. "Guys?!"

As Ace skittered after you, he was completely oblivious to the ominous gaze pinned to his back. 

Obscured behind a cluster of trees, a raven, perched atop a log, looked straight at your group with a lidded stare—unblinking and as still as a statue.

Once you were all out of it's sight, the raven spread it's wings and took off into the sky. It soared through the woodlands, fleetly gliding around the large trees of a forest and wide grassy plains before reaching the Queen's domain.

Grey mist and thin fog cut through the streets of the kingdom while a looming feeling of dread permeated through the air. The past few weeks of searching have not been merciful to the people, it seems. Everyone has felt the full effect of the rose's disappearance.

Once the bird reached the territory of the Red Castle, it swoops and dips down to a balcony. The Knave of Knights stood by his desk in his bedroom, reading over letters and declarations from the Queen. Just a few beheadings to schedule here and there, nothing too difficult.

The loud flap of wings drew his attention away from the desk. A leering smirk stretches across his face as he stands and leisurely strolls over to the bird.

"Birdie~ Back so soon? Have you found them?" He purrs, cocking his head. The leather pads of his glove stroke lightly at the crow's head as it squawks a response. "Hmm~? The queen's favorite trio of lunatics is taking her here?"

Chucking, the Knave clasped his hands around his sallet—lazily pulling his helmet off and allowing his ginger hair to cascade down his shoulders. The iron of his cuirassier plate armor glinted under the glare of the sun, refined and battle-scarred though peculiarly lavishly decorated. It seemed to serve more as a fashion statement than actual protection.

"Well then~ Let's go pay Queen Red a visit, lil' Cay-Cay." Cater muses, scratching the side of his cheek.

"Hopefully that rabbit can handle it. It's going to be MY head on the pillory if she doesn't return home safe."

ACT IV: STRAWBERRY JAM

"SOMEONE HAS TAKEN THREE OF MY TARTS!"

The doors to the throne-room thrash open, smashing hard against the walls. Servants and soldiers alike startled, groveling in fear as they forced their gaze towards the entryway. In all his full glory, the Red Queen appears, adorned in his usual white dress suit. 

His face was tinted in a deep bloody red, pupils dilated into mere pin-pricks, and thin lips stretched out into a snarl. The wisps of his lashes cast a bold shadow across his plump cheekbones, the brush of scarlet eyeshadow above his eyes intensifying his scornful gaze.

Card soldiers frantically scramble to line up by the pathway as Riddle prowls around the room, his signature cape tossed over his left shoulder, dragging along the floor as he went. Snarling, he points his golden scepter to a soldier standing by the end of the line. "Was it you?!"

"N-No my queen..." 

"You?!" Riddle bellows, swiveling his scepter to point to one of your handmaids this time. Whimpering, she shook like a leaf in her shoes, wringing a washcloth tight in her hands. "I-It w-was not me, my queen."

A sudden movement, on the fringes of his peripheral vision, caught his attention. Turning around, his gaze was drawn to a chef standing near the door. The boy appeared to be no more than fifteen years old. Riddle assumed he was a mere apprentice.

The chef popped his fingers in his mouth, seemingly humming at it's taste. How...odd.

Squinting his eyes, Riddle strides towards the apprentice. He approached the boy, pushing him back until his back was flush against the window's tinted glass panes.

"And how about you...?" Riddle seethes, leaning down close to the chef's face. A wobbly grin presents itself on the boy's lips as he stutters out a greeting. 

"Tsk." Tutting, Riddle places his scepter below the apprentice's chin, flicking the boy's gaze up. His crimson eye darts to the side of the chef's lips where a smidge of jam could be faintly seen. 

"Miscreant." Riddle snarls, dragging the boy forward by his apron. Falling forward, the subject scrapes his skin against the floor—a look of horror seeping onto his face as he kneels before his queen. 

"OFF WITH HIS HEAD." Riddle screams, slamming the bottom of his scepter onto the ground which discharged a burst of magic. A collar manifested itself around the chef's neck, so heavy that it weighed his entire upper body down—making him fall.

Panicking, he writhed around on the ground but could not muster enough strength to bring his head up due to the sheer weight of the restraints.

"No! Please!" Indifferent to the pleads of his victim, Riddle scoffs and struts towards his throne, heels noisily clicking against the marble. Moving swiftly, a pair of soldiers grabbed the offender by his arms, dragging him out of the room. As the screaming crook was taken out, the doors shut close with a resounding bang.

"My apologies for the disturbance." Sighing, Riddle reclines against his throne, cape draped across his shoulder and cascading down to his lap. Grumbling, he pushes his hair back—half-lidded gaze piercing through the crowd before him.

"All of you return to your previous duties." He orders. Though hesitant, gradually, the servants resumed to their previous tasks around the castle, toiling silently as to avoid further aggravating the Red Queen. 

Riddle sighs and sinks onto his throne, rubbing at the scorch in his eyes. The warm beaming light of the sun cascaded down his flushed face as he reflected over his previous actions

Was he too harsh with his punishment? After all, you've always resented the way he dealt with delinquents so...intently.

Riddle sighs, tilting his head back. Perhaps he should have—

A frown etched itself deep onto his cheeks. 

No. That chef deserved every bit of punishment sent his way. It was a general and well-known rule in the castle that no one must consume the tarts baked in preparation for an unbirthday party. Only a fool would forget it. 

"It was justified," He huffs. "I am clearly in the right," Riddle consoles himself. 

Behind the draping crimson curtains of the throne room, a tall figure steps out—adorned in a full suit of armor. The Red Queen glances at the stranger, immediately recognizing the tangerine strands peeking out through the openings of his helmet.

"Knave." Riddle murmurs, addressing Cater with a simple glare. Unfazed, Cater bows with a cheery grin before striding over to the queen's side. Plopping himself onto the arm of the chair, Cater leans down to wrap an arm around Riddle. "Hiya~!"

"That was certainly the performance of a lifetime earlier. It was theatre worthy!" The Knave snickers, eyes sweeping across the room, rejoicing at the horrified looks the servants send him. 

'How dare a mere knave like him act so friendly with the red queen?!' He could already hear their hushed whispers. 'Was he mad?'

'Mayhaps.' Cater chuckles, eyes turning dark.

"Anyhow~! Boy, do I have some good news for you." Cater laughs, mood switching over like a light switch. He pulls off his helmet, fanning his face with his hands. "Man, it's so hot in here. Like—Who installed the ventilation?"

Riddle clicks his tongue, pushing the knave away. "I am in no mood for your shenanigans. Come back some other time."

"Ugh, if you say so." Cater sighs, slipping off the throne and turning his back to the queen. "I guess you don't want to hear about how my little pet found your rose. Toodles!"

"What?" Riddle snaps, pulling Cater back by his arm. "Repeat that at once."

Cater smiles. 

He turns to Riddle with a cold dead look in his eyes. "Ara~? Didn't you say you weren't in the mood? Don't worry. I'll come back later. For now, I'll be on my merry way~"

"Do not test me, knave." Riddle seethes, hands coiling tight around his scepter. Cater hummed, waiting a second or so before responding. 

"Little Cay-Cay found her with the bunny and the tweedle duo. They were trekking through the forest." He rasps, toying with the half painted rose brooch on Riddle's suit pocket. "I think that little baker bunny of yours is escorting her here."

"Find them." Riddle growls, baring his teeth. Cater blinked languidly, confusion written all over his features. "Why would I do that? Like I said, they're already bringing her here—"

"I said find them!" The red queen snaps, slamming his fist down onto the arm of his throne. Cater stares at him with a passive expression, unmoving and watching Riddle's every movement carefully.

Well, this certainly ruined his plans. What a travesty.

"As you wish..." He kneels, slipping his helmet back onto his head. "...your majesty." 

ACT V: THE KNAVE

Despite the initial creepiness, it was quite nice to take a walk in the forest. 

Owls hooted and birds chirped in the darkness as golden-orange leaves fluttered in the wind. The soft cool breeze occasionally reached out to caress your cheeks. Nature was at pure harmony with each other here, melting into a single combined melody that provided your group with peaceful ambience.

"The gates are just up ahead. It'll lead us directly to the castle grounds." Trey divulged, tilting his head towards a distant outline of a castle. 

You took a deep breath and took in the crisp woodland air, letting it fill your lungs before exhaling it out. The anticipation of what was to come made your hands clammer as a wave of nervousness washed over you.

"Hi~! Oh, Miss Majesty!" The clippety-clop of hooves made its way towards you. Seated on a gigantic beauty of a black stallion, a rider halted before you. 

"Oh! U-Um..." Gasping, you gathered your skirt and stumbled back. Tilting your head up, you gazed up at the stranger, "Ah...are you some kind of royal guard?"

The mysterious armor-clad rider laughs, shaking his head. "Hmm...close to that! Actually, I'm a knave!" 

"The name is Cater Diamond. At your service." Cater bowed. His horse too mimicked his actions as it bent a knee and curtseyed before you. Giggling, you raised a hand to gently pet at the stallion's mane. It seemed to revel in the gesture as it relaxed and huffed in satisfaction.  

"Ah. Cater, I-I didn't expect to see you here." Trey fiddled with his glasses, a ruminative look on his face. The chef kept himself guarded, stepping a few feet away. Cater side-eyed him, smiling ominously. "Hiyaa~ Trey! Nice to see you and your little tweedle boys."

Deuce and Ace frowned, glaring at the smug aristocrat. Folding his arms over his chest, Trey sighed. "Yeah...nice to see you." 

"Mhm~ Now!" Cater clapped his hands. "While I really do appreciate you bringing our Miss Majesty back to the kingdom...I do believe there's an unbirthday party coming up? Well, it would be best if you commoners—Ah, excuse me—participants went ahead and started preparing."

All three had the same smoldering frown branded onto their faces. They were clearly irked at the not-so-subtle dig Cater sent their way. It’s becoming a bit of a ritual: every time the knave would meet any of them there was always some snarky comment sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I dunno' if you're blind or anythin', but we're kinda busy." Ace scoffed, tilting his head over to you. "She still has to get into that castle." 

"Ah, about that! Don't worry~ I'll take things over and bring the rose to the castle." Cater grins at you, patting down his horse. "Miss Majesty, wouldn't you prefer riding a great stallion instead of...how horrifying...walking?"

"Oh, I really don't mind walking. I think I'll just—"

"Great!" Before you could finish your sentence, Cater leans down and wraps a firm steady arm around your bottom. You flinch, pushing your hands against his shoulders. "H-Hey!"

"Easy now, Miss Majesty." He hoists you up onto his horse, securely placing you atop the saddle. The train of your dress was now bunched up by your hips as you sat sideways on the stallion. 

"You're so relentless." You huff, smacking Cater's iron clad chest. Only to end up regretting it when your palm started to throb from the impact. Hissing, you drew your hand back.

What a surprise. Who knew hitting someone decked in full armor wasn't a good idea?

“It would be unrefined for me to leave her with someone—someone like you!” Trey bristles, dashing over to pull you off the horse but Cater was quick to shove him away.

“Oh, please, bunny. I insist,” Cater replies firmly. “You're a busy man, Trey. I—of all people—know the importance of keeping a well-ordered schedule and you know fully well how Queen Rosehearts hates being off schedule."

Trey stays silent, keeping his gaze glued to his feet.

Grinning wryly, Cater starts guiding his horse in the direction of the castle. "Well, then~ Toodles! We'll see you three at the party."

With a whip of his reins, both of you were off.

In haste, you turned your head around, bidding adieu to the trio as they waved back.

ACT VI: MAD PARTY

The journey to the castle was fairly long, yet you found yourself enjoying the sights and bustle of the city blurring past you while the people greeted you with robust gaiety and mirth.

When the clouds parted to reveal the sun, you noticed that your eyes stung as you peered up at the strangely pink sky. It wasn't the intense brightness of the sky; rather, it had a shade that brought back memories of late afternoons spent in Heartslabyul, petting pink flamingos while lying on the grass with Riddle's head on your lap.

Following unbirthday celebrations, it was routine for you two to relax while just enjoying each other's company.

Ah, that's right...the unbirthday party. In fact, now that you think about it, there was an unbirthday planned in your "reality" as well. It was the day after today, and the entire dorm was overrun with work.

A painful sting crept up your heart as you remembered the events that transpired earlier. Oh, you must have ruined Riddle's preparations...no wonder he was so livid.

The horse slowed to a stop as you reached the entryway of the castle. It was in essence of a Victorian design. With its mosaic of red cobblestone and brick, it stood there—tall and bold, as though conjured from a child's fairytale.

Cater slipped off his horse and held out a hand for you to take. "Shall we? Ah, but, you do know that your presence is mandatory at an unbirthday party?"

"Yes, I do. We shall." You smile and take his hand as he carries you off the horse, setting you down onto the ground. The knave led you to the back of the castle, where a garden—or, more accurately, a yard—was at.

A big rose-tree at the entryway drew your attention. The roses growing on it were white, but there were two gardeners at it, busily painting them red.

"How curious..." You mutter. "It's just like back in Heartslabyul..."

"Pardon? What was that, your majesty?" Cater questioned, a brow raised. You shook your head, faking a cough. "Ah—Erm—Nevermind that it was just a slip of tongue."

"Oh. Alright..." He regarded you with a skeptical look. "Well then. I'll leave you to it. I have to go fetch Queen Rosehearts."

"Do enjoy the party." With a final bow, Cater strode away, leaving you alone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The party was bustling and filled with patricians dressed in colorful, silky lavish garbs and glimmering jewels. The majority of the men and women were dressed considerably more extravagantly than you. It was a charming small extravaganza that everyone seemed to enjoy.

They were all huddled around by a grand large banquet table, but you weren't interested in that at all.

Among the guests, you recognized Trey. He appeared to be speaking to a card soldier in a hasty, anxious manner, smiling at everything the soldier said and passing you by unnoticed. The bunny was clearly preoccupied; you decided to leave him be this time.

You turned back to the gardeners painting the rosebushes. What a very curious thing...and you went nearer to watch them.

Just as you came up to them, one of them nearly splashed you with a dash of paint. You pulled your skirt out of the way, narrowly missing a drop of red. "Oh, my!"

"Oi! Look out, Deuce! Don’t go splashing paint over like that!" You peered up at the gardeners, noticing two familiar faces.

Ace and Deuce were engaged in a heated argument, flinging their brushes and buckets around.

“I couldn’t help it! You jogged my elbow!" Deuce snarled, throwing his brush at Ace. Screeching, the ginger dodged it. "Oh yeah! That’s right, Deuce! Always lay the blame on others!”

Deuce flung down his paintbucket, and had just begun to roll his sleeves up "Say that again—” when his eye chanced to fall upon you. As you stood watching them, he checked himself suddenly. Ace looked round also, and both of them quickly bowed low. "Your majesty!"

"You know. You ought to stop fighting if you want to get this done," you mused. "Queen Rosehearts is coming, boys. Make sure to get that done or it's—"

You swiped your finger across your neck, hinting at what was to happen if the two didn't straighten up. "Off with your head."

The tweedle duo visibly tensed up. "Yes, your majesty!" They shouted, rushing back to paint the unblemished white roses. At this moment, Trey, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out: “The Queen is here!"

The people gathered by the entryway, and you looked round, eager to see your Queen. Murmurs and whispers spread through the crowd as the procession started.

First came a crowd of card soldiers, decked in military uniforms that were reminiscent of Heartslabyul's dorm uniforms. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, Cater was seated atop his horse, head stuck up high in the air. As he waltzed by, you could hear the murmurs and giggles of young women and men around you. Smiling, you shook your head as he winked at a flustered servantboy. 'What a charmer...'

Last of all, the trumpets blared an ear-piercing blow as the highlight of this grand procession came.

"His Imperial Majesty, His grace, His excellency, His Royal Majesty...The Red Queen, Riddle Rosehearts!"

The people round you bowed down yet you were rather doubtful whether you ought to lie down like them or approach the procession. So you stood still where you were, and waited. When the procession came by you, they all halted.

A moment of pure silence envelops the scene. Everyone in the garden gawked at you, placing you in a spotlight. A bashful smile came upon your face as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Hi..?"

"Rose." Riddle muttered, shock radiating from his entire being. The scepter he'd been carrying was discarded on the floor carelessly as he surged towards you, dragging you into his arms. Gasping, you eagerly sank into his embrace as the surrounding crowd erupted in cheers. Riddle drew back and pressed his lips heatedly against yours, making you feel faint.

My, the Riddle in this world was certainly much more forward than the one in yours.

"Oh, my dear." Riddle swoons, raising your hands and pressing his lips against your knuckles. "Dearest, I've been worried sick. I thought you'd gone forever."

Heart melting, you whispered, "Well, I'm here now.", and traced the side of his face.

Riddle leaned against your touch; He tucked his arm affectionately into yours and pulled you in to join the procession.

As you soon noticed, you were walking by Trey, who was peeping anxiously at a paper.

"Hello, Trey" You greeted. "—where’s Che'nya?"

“Hush!” He said in a low, hurried tone. He looked anxiously over at Riddle who was preoccupied with adjusting the large bow to your dress. Trey leaned over, putting his mouth close to your ear as he whispered "Che'nya is under sentence of execution."

“What for?” You hushed, eyes wide as a plate. Trey opened his mouth to speak but before he could—you were pulled off into the croquet grounds by Riddle.

"What a lovely day for croquet. Don't you think, rose?" Riddle smiled, pressing his lips against your knuckles once more. He pulled you forward, chest flush against yours as his hands rest against your hips. Stammering, your cheeks burned up at his bold affections. "O-Oh! Yes! Very much! Though I don't know if I have the energy for a game right now."

"Alright then. Feel free to rest a while." Riddle seats you down a round table filled with pastries. Riddle discards his cape, revealing the handsome the 3-piece suit he had underneath.

The queen plucks a rose from a nearby bush and nips away its thorns. He presses a fleeting kiss against your lips whilst threading the rose into your hair. "Stay here, dearest. I'll be back."

ACT VII: OFF WITH HIS HEAD

Well...the croquet game wasn't going so well. The players all played at once without waiting for turns, overeager to get Riddle's attention. They quarreled all the while and ran around scrambling for the hedgehogs and flamingos.

It was complete anarchy.

The very thing Riddle hated.

In a very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her head!” roughly once every minute. You become overwhelmed in the midst of this mayhem and fled to the safety of the banquet table. There weren't many individuals present. Only a few people lingered and loitered around.

Pouring yourself tea, a hand suddenly wraps around yours as purple mists surrounds you. A second later, a grin appears. "Hello, your majesty."

"Che'nya!" Now fully visible, the cat stops smoking his hookah and blows smoke in your face. "We meet again."

Coughing, you swat the smoke away. "Ufh— Y-Yes! How are you?! I heard you were sentenced to be executed!"

"Oh yes," Che'nya yawned, resting his head atop the banquet table. "I escaped the guards. Queen Rosehearts didn't like it when I took his crown."

"You took his crown?!" You screamed out a little laugh and Che'nya grinned madly. "Yes~ Oh, you should've seen his face when he realized it was missing! It was like a strawberry about to explode! Ah—but you seem quite down. What is the matter?"

“It's the croquette game,” You began, in rather a complaining tone, “Everyone is quarrelling so dreadfully and Riddle's temper has exploded again.”

“Hmmm. Tell me, how do you tolerate the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice. "Seeing that you're married to him and all, silly girl."

“Well, tolerate is a mean word. He's not all that bad,” You soothed, fiddling with the rose in your hair: "I think you’d take a fancy to him if you could only see just how caring he is."

"People will always look at their lovers with a love-tinted gaze." Che'nya purrs, leaning his head atop yours. "Prime example being you, silly girl~"

"How dare you speak to her that way."

Just then you noticed that Riddle was close behind you, listening. Jolting, you moved away from the cat and accidentally dropped your tea cup. The piece of china clattered to the ground, spilling its contents all over the green grass. Paying no mind to the mess, the queen pulled you towards him, protectively shielding you from the cat.

"I remember you. You're the thief. Tell me, how did you manage to worm your way in here?" Riddle pointedly snaps. "I'll have you know this breaks a rule in the—"

“A cat may look at a king,” interrupts Che'nya, smoking his hookah. "That is the only rule I've bothered to remember and I’ve read that in some rulebook, but I don’t remember which one. There's so many dreadful rules. How do you manage to memorize it all? Ah—apologies—I forget that you have such a big head."

With every passing comment from the cat, Riddle's fury simmered and grew anew. The cat looked up at the royal with a wide grin.

"You are brilliant and astute," he slurred, while Riddle neither acknowledged nor protested the remark. "Yet you are a tyrant and that rose of yours is a willing little sheep."

A deafening silence soon followed. The shock locked Riddle's bones together; a coldness seeping into his bones, making his skin feel akin to ice as his chest filled with hostility and ire. You felt a muscle underneath your throat tighten, but you gave both men a quick nervous smile and nudged Riddle to the side. "O-Oh darling, let's go somewhere else. Maybe you'd like to sit down? I-It's so hot and—"

"Sheep? A sheep you say?" Riddle barks, his hands clenched into fists—trembling at his sides. You wanted to calm him, but did not have the opportunity to do so as his voice cut through the thick tension in the air.

"Why it would be the very height of your arrogance to presume." Riddle seethes, pointing his scepter at the cat. The queen's eyes glowed an immense red, magical energy swirling around him. "As punishment for your crimes...it's off with your head. I'm going to tear your head off with my bare hands if I have to."

"You can try~" Che'nya grinned.

The Cheshire cat lunged towards Riddle, tossing the queen's scepter away. It all moved so quickly that your eye could barely follow the sudden shift of repressed anger to outright violence.

They had gone down to the grass together, knocking the banquet table over, spilling the pastries and tea to the ground. Riddle sagged him by the shoulders, fist smashing against the cat's face. Che'nya's lip had split, and drops of blood fell onto the lawn like the strawberry jam of smashed tarts. 

In the midst of the fight, a glimmering object in Che'nya's hands caught your eye. You saw him grab a stray knife, pastel blue frosting still spread on it, and the sight of it shocked you into action.

"NO!"

ACT VIII: THROUGH THE WINDOW

"NO!" You scream, half of fright and half of anger, and kicked your legs around. Startling yourself awake in a fit, you found yourself lying on top of a clinic bed, limbs soaked in sweat—the smell of alcohol and anti-septics sobering you up. "Wh-What?"

All of a sudden, warm hands cupped your damp cheeks. You met Riddle's worried gaze as he wiped your tears away. The dorm leader slipped into the chair next to your bed, pushing you to lie down. "It's just a nightmare, dearest."

Your gaze flitted around the room, stopping once you saw something shimmering on your bedside table. The tiara was discarded to your side; Its once luminous blue gem was now gone, leaving an empty space in its wake. Looking down, you found yourself in your paint-stained uniform, skin feeling awfully crusty from the dry paint.

'It was just a dream...?' you ponder.

"What's the matter? Please tell me what's wrong." Riddle fussed over your disheveled appearance. Your face perspired with sweat and your hair was a tumble about your shoulders; He combed it with his fingers, careful to not pull at any tangles and knots. "Rose? Dearest? Are you alright?"

No, you wanted to say. It was hard to breathe, and there was a thick, unpleasant feeling weighing down your heart. It made your head spin. Riddle ran a hand up and down your back as you took a deep, shaky breath, trying to reorient yourself. Despite the apprehension in your chest, you gave a single nod to your worried lover. "Yes. I'm just shaken up."

"Love.."

"Everythings fine." You force out. Though, you’re really saying it to yourself. You can't stop the aching in your chest and you surely can't silence the echo of his ruthless words replaying in your mind.

"Oh, dearest." Riddle murmured, his heart breaking.

The redhead slips in bed with you, dragging you in the comfort and safety of his arms. He sighs in relief when you don't push him away, instead scooting over to press against him. The smell of his cologne invades your senses, grounding you as he rests his head against yours. "I am so sorry. I have been too hard on you."

"When Ace found you passed out in the forest, I was beside myself with anguish...." Guilt washed over his face. The dorm leader had no use for pride, not now when you were in this condition. He hopes that his apology, meager though it has been, will be enough.

"Had-Had I known you were sick, I wouldn't have been so—I deeply apologize. I should not have let my anger get the best of me. I was a fool to get so heated over something as simple as spilled paint. I hadn't even checked if you were alright." Riddle mutters.

"I'm sorry too. Though, I'm just glad it's over." You breathed out, resting against his chest. Then you regarded him with a pointed stare. "Humph. You have to make it up to me, though."

"Of course. Thank you, rose." Riddle hesitates for a moment and then, brazenly, leans forward and gives you a quick peck on the lips.

“Oh! How bold~” You tease with a wry grin, giggling madly like a Victorian lady who just held hands with her lover for the very first time. Riddle flushes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Shaking his head, he composes himself, coughing into the sleeve of his shirt. "Am I not allowed to show you affection?"

"Oh no, I adore it." Chuckling, you reached out your hand, and Riddle eagerly took it. He pressed his lips against your forehead as you stared out the window in front of you.

While the sun sank, the sky was tinged with bleeding reds and violets. You spent the next several minutes wondering whether what you'd just witnessed was truly a 'dream' when you saw a strange appearance in the air. That baffled you at first, but after observing it for a minute or two, you realized it was a sharp toothed-grin.

Sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off was Che'nya. When he smoked his hookah and blew smoke about himself, a purple magical mist encircled him. The Cheshire cat grinned at you with a split lip before fading away.

How curious.

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: this is a series! to be tagged, comment here. if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken to the dark, but not the one behind your eyes. It must’ve not been very long since you closed them.

“Why haven’t you eaten?”

Uncomfortably slowly, your eyes refocus on your destiny in its human skin. Gazing down at you with no particular expression. It feels like déjà vu.

You should answer him. Your lips ache when you attempt to open them.

“Tired,” Is what you manage to croak.

He blinks, then turns away.

You think that’s it; he will leave you here to rot like the gift he gave you. It is what you deserve but you still have to swallow down what feels like vomit settling in your throat.

Between one blink and the next, he’s back with a cup. Your cup, the one he’s been using to give you water from the large cauldron.

He doesn’t ask before he cradles the back of your head, pulling you up and pushing the cup to your lips. You drink only because your body acts for you. His grip tightens and you instinctively fall limp. He continues to stem the enthusiasm behind your desperate sips with firm clenches of his hand.

When your throat no longer feels as dry, he pulls away. But he doesn’t release you. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, which you’re sure you do. Still, embarrassment warms your cheeks.

“You do not have to,” you mutter, letting your head roll back against his solid human shoulder. He doesn’t respond. He leaves with you in his arms.

You’re not sure where he is taking you. Maybe to drop you off deep within the forest, where he will not have to see your sorry state. The night is bitterly cold, but his chest where you’re pressed against is still warm. You lean into him, thinking it’ll be your last chance to soak it in.

Then he stops, as still as a statue, so abruptly you brace for some form of impact. He lowers himself to the ground—shifting your weight to one of his arms—to grab something off the forest floor, then throws it. Whatever it was cuts through the air with an audible sound, sharp like an arrow. Yet he barely moved his arm enough to jostle you. He must’ve hit something, for you can hear the faint thud of the object hitting its mark in the distance.

He continues walking while you wonder if this is a dream, even though you haven’t had one in a fortnight.

The smell of metal abruptly cuts through your daze. Your eyes are drawn toward the ground, where what looks like a large rodent lies on its side. It isn’t until he crouches down that you realize that coppery smell is blood. Blood from this animal that’s missing a chunk of its skull. Blown clean off along with one of its long ears. You think you see its back legs momentarily twitch when he grabs it. You turn your face into his shoulder to smother the panicked noise that almost leaves your throat.

“Will this suffice?”

Shaken, you’re not sure what he means at first.

“Will you eat this instead?”

“… Oh,” you breathe, truly wondering if you are dreaming. “I… I can, yes.”

He nods, then sets the limp carcass in your lap.

You think your heart stops beating for a second. Then you’re certain it does as the whole world turns black.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You open your eyes and you’re back in his cave. It still stinks of overripe fruit and it’s still dark.

“You said that you could eat it.”

He is in his human form, and there is a dead hare with half a skull next to him where he sits.

“… It wasn’t a dream…?”

He gives you a look that you’re almost proud to describe as bewildered. Then you remember your place.

“I mean,” you stumble. “Yes, I can eat it. I didn’t lie to you. But… not raw.”

“Oh,” he vocalizes, face returning to its typical blankness. “Then how can you eat it?”

“With… um, by cooking it. With fire.”

He reaches for the body and inhales, deep and low. Until your nose can pick up the beginnings of brimstone and the air seems to quiver with heat.

“WAITwaitwait—” You choke on your own frantic words, hard enough to make your vision swim. By the time you get your breath back, you hesitantly crack open your teary eyes. Relief makes your shoulder sag when you see him held still, the hare still hanging in his grasp but thankfully uncharred.

“You can’t… You have to get it’s fur off, I believe. Before you cook it. Nor can you just burn it. It needs to cook slowly over a steady flame.”

“All this just so you can eat?” He sounds genuinely perplexed by how tedious your human needs are. “How exhausting.”

Yet you have a slightly burned portion of cooked meat by the time the moon is well into the sky. He had listened and followed what you needed. Grabbed a ceremonial knife more beautiful than some of the most eccentric pieces of jewelry you’ve seen and went to work flaying the skin from off the hare. Had even gone out and got timber from outside to build a fire. You’re sat in front of said fire now. Holding onto the greasy meat with shaky fingers as you try and work up an appetite. His staring does not make it any easier.

“You are usually gone around this time, yes?” Your mouth is moving before you can think better of it. “You don’t need to… monitor me. I will eat.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “You will eat.” He doesn’t move an inch. The way the light from the flickering flames bend across his face makes something kick up in your stomach, like the scuff of a boot across a dusty road. Sweat beads across the back of your neck.

“I’ll eat…” You echo, trying to convince not just him but yourself.

Every prolonged second you take to look at the meat in your hands just makes your stomach churn more and more. You try and think of what he will do, what he could do, but not even that kick starts your appetite like you had hoped.

But then he is moving, standing up to prowl closer. Your eyes close, and you feel nothing but calm. The meat leaves your fingers. Your eyes snap open in your confusion. He is kneeling before you, pulling apart a piece from the thigh and holding it up to your lips.

“You will eat,” he repeats, and there is no room to dispute it. So, you shakily open your mouth and let him push the morsel past your lips, even if it makes you gag.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You wake the next day surrounded by his scaled body. The air is bitterly cold. Off to the side, a light sprinkling of snow lays in a circle below the cavern’s opening. The bush of berries is gone.

You lift yourself up on steady hands and it doesn’t feel quite so much like a chore. There is a subtle energy in you that you have been without for a while now, you realize. It lets you shift and squirm, until your back presses flat against a section of his scaly side. Heat touches across every point where you two meet and it stems the urge to shiver.

‘You forget your place,’ you can hear the mistress tut. ‘You are spoiled by the hearth, by its warmth. You must not become fat with your indulgence, with comfort.’

She was right, because you cannot stop yourself. You fall into that heat like you would fall into dreams, softly settling in and drifting off without a worry on your mind.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The next time you awaken, it is because of your bladder. As quick as your sluggish limbs can carry you, you make for the outside to relieve yourself. In your frantic scamper to get back where it’s warm, you forget to be careful of how loud your steps are. When you’re able to see his form again, you catch one of his eyes already peeled open and watching.

“I am sorry,” you quickly say. “It is so cold now, I did not mean to wake you.”

He says nothing, obviously, but he does huff out his nose, expelling a small puff of smoke.

“Do you not feel cold too?” You’re asking before you can think otherwise, settling down in the spot you had previously taken up before you left. Instantly, you sigh, grateful for his toasty warm scales.

He moves his head towards you. His stare is as blank as ever, and even with only one eye open you can gleam what his gaze is meant to say.

“I guess that should’ve been obvious.” You nod, thinking. “But still, what if. What if I come back and you are frozen solid. What then?”

Another huff, this one far deeper and growl-like. You think this is his version of a humored scoff in this form.

You purse your lips. “So, it’s an outlandish thought. Shame on me, then.”

He grunts in agreement, you assume.

This time, you are the one that huffs.

All is relatively quiet, and in the silence that settles as he closes his eye back up, you notice the otherwise unnoticed. The faint echo of bird song, the occasional whoosh of wind, the deep, slow breaths he makes. Every single one making the side you are pressed against expand and deflate, moving you in a steady rhythm.

The motion is soothing. You start to understand why newborns are so easily consoled by repetitive movement. Were you ever soothed in such a way before? Did someone ever hold you when you were small and rock you? If they did, you can’t remember. Only the mistress’ firm touch remains. Before you can wonder any further, you fall asleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken later in the day to his human form staring at you and your feet feeling particularly numb. Once he sees that you’re awake, he stands, reaching down to pick you up. He leaves with you cradled in the bend of his arm.

Like before, he treads through the thick underbrush of the forest without a wince and or second glance. His steps are rather quiet given the material he is stepping on. A combination of twigs and grass as well as the light sprinkling of snow from the night prior. To know that he lives here is one thing, but to see it is another. You lean against his human shoulder in confidence, but also because it is colder than the last time and your feet are truly feeling frozen even in your shoes.

He stops, and your heart kicks up before remembering the previous night. Looking out across the forest, you see nothing but the dull colors of late autumn covered in a thin layer of snow. No animal in sight. Yet he lowers to the ground, with you steady in one arm and the other grabbing hold of a loose stone. His eyes are trained in the distance, sharp and without a blink, as he pulls his arm back and throws. Such a casual motion shouldn’t produce the kind of whoosh that sounds as the rock pierces through the air. You try to track the path but ultimately fail, as the stone flies much too fast for you to follow.

He resumes walking while you’re left wondering how the entire force of an ancient dragon can be compressed down into the body of a singular human male.

This time it’s a badger that he scoops up. Grabbing it just below its front arms while the rest of its brains leaks out the top of its blown off head. You hold back your gag as he begins to retrace his steps. He stops for a moment, though, and lowers himself down again. Tilting you to the side where a pile of dry pine lies.

“Pick it up,” he tells you.

You listen, grabbing enough to cover your lap in dry branches and needles. Then he stands and continues on.

You watch in a stupor as he builds a fire over the embers of the last one with the pine. Then begins skinning the badger, removing its intestines and setting them to the side.

“What will you do with those?” You find yourself asking, watching the blood pool below the guts while trying to stem the urge to shudder.

“I will eat them.” He throws aside a tuft of fur stuck to his claws.

Now you’re really trying not to gag again. “Just like that?”

“I have done so before.”

“So, after I had… went to bed.” The proper term would’ve probably been passed out from the strain it took to choke down the meat he pushed past your lips. “You ate the entrails and fur of the hare?”

“Yes,” he replies while ripping the animal’s neck from its body. And like he’s making a point, he brings the remains of its skull up to his mouth where his jaw unhinges.

You whirl away from the sight and slam your eyes shut at the first crack of bone, clenching your own teeth hard against the rush of nausea. He crunches on bone like its nothing but stale crackers. It takes a monumental effort to breathe through the urge to vomit. The image of his mouth unhinging is stuck in your mind, branded behind your eyelids.

You don’t ask any more questions after that. You wait with your eyes shut until the smell of cooked meat fills your nose. He does not let you feed yourself. He breaks off pieces and pushes them into your mouth.

You are proud to say that you only choke a morsel back up once.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are huddled into a ball on your side in the dark. The fire that cooked your food is nothing but ash. The intestines are gone and so is he. You had woken up because of the cold. Because your linen cloak is proving to no long be enough to stem the chill from invading your bones. Wrapping around yourself as tightly as you can, brushing your hands up and down your bare arms, you watch as snow floats through the opening to the bottom.

You are regretting ripping up your garments. If only you had had the foresight to know that he would be prolonging your stay.

You don’t know how long you spend pressed on your side, shivering. Curled up as tight as you can manage. But eventually, you hear the beat of his wings before you see him.

“You are awake,” he states as he drops to the cavern floor.

“T-Too cold,” you say with chattering teeth.

He sighs, low and drawn out, then moves towards you anyways. Like even though your needs are plenty and to take care of you is a bother, he still intends to go through with it.

“W-Where do you go?” You ask, “When you are away, what is it that you do?”

He pauses in his steps, his gaze heavy as he peers down at your huddled self.

“I fly,” he replies.

“That is all?”

“Mostly.”

“Y-You fly as a man?”

“Yes, at first. When I am far enough that I know no one will see, I change.”

“You… can only be yourself when n-no one is around to see?”

“Yes, otherwise they will worry and assume the worst. Assume it to be an omen of death.”

For some reason, it makes your heart heavy to know this.

“I-Is there no way to tell them?”

He cocks his head, which you take as a sign to elaborate.

“T-Tell the people, I mean. That you do not mean them any harm?”

“I could very well mean them harm, so that would be incorrect.”

“Oh, okay. I-I just mean… You do not mind then? T-That they view you as something to fear?”

“Why would I be when they are correct?”

You make to disagree, but then you’re reminded of his teeth and their bite, strong enough to break bone. Reminded of the fire he can breathe and how he can throw a stone so hard it can pierce through a skull.

He says nothing, but a sharp grin curls the corners of his lips up, devoid of any humor.

Between one moment and the next, he is back in his true form in a flash of light. His large body curls around you. You press flush to his side the moment you can, hoping for warmth and exhaling when that’s what you get.

You know that he is powerful, that he is something so much more than you will ever be. But it is in moments like these, where he lends you his own heat to chase off the cold, that you think he is not just something to be feared.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“When do you eat?”

It is the next morning, and you ask this when you stare long enough at his face for an eye to open.

“During the day or the night?”

He grunts.

“Does that mean both?”

He huffs, then opens his maw wide in a gaping yawn. His teeth might be as big as your head.

“I will take that as a yes.”

Silence settles, but his eye remains open. Maybe your questions read so plain on your face that he decides to humor you by staying awake. Whatever it is, you take your chance.

“How long have you been here?”

His large eye blinks, then his head turns until both are trained on you.

“The stories from the valley say that you’ve been here for thousands of years.”

He grumbles.

“Is that not true?”

A huff, smoke blowing out of his nose.

“So, it’s not, then.”

Another grumble as he sets his massive head down with a slump. He closes his eyes, and you take that as an end to the conversation.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Am I not heavy?”

He is carrying you through the woods with another dead animal in hand.

“No.”

“Are all dragons this strong? Even while in human form?”

“Every other of my species is strong, but I especially.”

“Really?” A gust of cold wind prickles your skin. You lean closer to him. “What makes you especially powerful?”

“I just am.”

You wait for an elaboration. He does not give one.

“You were born powerful?”

“Yes.”

You get the impression from his tone that he is smug about this.

“Does that mean your mother was extremely powerful? And she passed it on to you?”

He does not say anything. Then you look up towards his face and see something shudder beneath the surface of his expression. You’d go so far as to call it regret.

“Yes, I believe she was.”

You do not need to be told the conversation is over. You can tell from his inflection alone, clipped and heavy with an emotion you can’t make yourself name.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

He is gone when you wake in the middle of the night, colder than you’ve been previous. You shudder so hard your joints ache. He returns to find you taking shaky pulls of air, balled up so tight you don’t know if you’ll ever come undone. He reverts back to his scaled form, curling around you especially close.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Can you truly not feel how cold it is?”

You come back from a frantic trip to the outside with the question off your tongue the second you see his green eye watching your return.

He responds with a grunt as you all but throw yourself against his side, pressing your face to his scales.

“I do not know what I am to do when it gets to the worst of the winter.”

He doesn’t respond, and you don’t need him to. You’re too busy selfishly soaking in his warmth.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Here.”

Something heavy and thick falls on top of you, making your limbs flail as you wake with a start.

He is in his human form. The sun has started to set, bathing the cave in the dim, residual light of day. In your lap is another cloak but with fur inlaid inside and lining the edges. It looks regal, made with the softest fabric you’ve ever had the pleasure of touching.

You caress the fur with careful fingers. “Where did you get this?”

“I acquired it from a caravan.”

“Did you… take… it?”

“I acquired it.”

“Like you acquired all your other possessions?”

“Yes. Is the garment suitable to your needs?”

Already, with just your legs covered, you feel warmer. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Good.” And then he settles behind you.

He is only ever this close to you when he is in his draconic form. To have him so near while he is dressed as a man makes you tense.

“Does this form not please you?”

You look over your shoulder to see his face. It is blank, like it usually is. Except somewhere in your mind you have started to gain the impression that what you see is not all that there is.

Maybe he is curious about you too. Maybe you are not the only one with questions.

“It does not, not please me.” You pick at the dry skin of your cuticles. “I’m… Since I was a child, I was not allowed to be near unfamiliar people. People who were not of the congregation.”

He hums, eyes narrowing.

You continue, “The mistress was my primary caretaker. She took care of all the other, um, others like me. If she saw me now…”

It is a thought that you only allow yourself to ponder in the dark, when the shadows have faces and the wind starts to sound like the call of your name. If she were to see you as you are now, what would she say? What would she do? Would she scold you? Shame you? Berate you? Would she remind you of your duty, your purpose? Would she wrap her bony hands around your throat just to finish the job herself?

“She will never see you again.”

His eyes have not strayed from you once.

“You will not be leaving here long enough to find out.”

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Later that same evening, you ask again while held in the crook of his arm.

“How long have you been here?”

He does not respond. You wait, watching his black horns blend in with the night. For a second, you could believe he was a regular man.

“Long enough to have seen your original ruler abandon this valley.”

You feel like you stop breathing.

“… How, why…?”

“He felt stagnant.”

“…”

“So, he left, giving me his possessions and a territory to call my own.”

How cruel. The very being you were given to was never your true intended to begin with.

“Why…”

His eyes lower to you, even as his head does not follow the movement. “Are you displeased?”

Whatever it is that churns in your gut like a storm, calling it displeasure would be an understatement. All you know is that every lesson, every story, every bit of reality that was carved painstakingly into your brain until nothing else remained was for naught.

“… Won’t you tell me the full story?”

His eyes are so, so green. No field of grass or fully grown evergreen could compare.

“Please, tell me something true. Do not lie, it will ruin me.”

Somewhere in your mind, you do not care if he does or not. Let him break you, let him be the final straw. It wouldn’t be what you were promised, but it would be good enough.

“My mother did not survive my birth.” His eyes seem to shimmer, even in the dark. “I was too much for her to bare, he told me. And by he, I refer to the previous ruler. He was a companion of my mother’s, nearly her mate, unfortunately. He raised me after she returned to the heavens. Then, when he felt that he had done his job, he left me with his possessions and position.”

It has started to snow. Thick clumps of white occasionally make it past the thick canopy above and settle on the ground, the bushes, his hair, and his long lashes.

“There are not many of us left. We may be far apart, but he will visit me still. The last I heard from him, he had started caring for a small human child. Foolish, I thought him. What merit does something so finite have?”

He stops walking. The two of you are back at the cave’s entrance. The snow falls in full now, uninhibited by the trees. The white flakes against the black of his hair make you think of stars gleaming amongst the darkness of the night sky. His gaze is a heavy burden. It feels like he is looking through you, past skin and muscle and bone. Straight to the heart of you.

What could he possibly find in that empty hollow? What even is there to look at, besides a human made of flesh and fueled by false purpose? What made you worth keeping here? All of these questions and more are sitting ripe on your tongue, just begging to be answered.

“Dragons believe in heaven?” Is what manages to be the first question out of your mouth.

And abruptly, incredibly, he laughs. A full chuckle that you can feel rumble in his chest.

“You are strange, Child of Man.” It sounds like a compliment.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“Why Child of Man?” You ask while watching him gut yet another animal.

“It is what you are.”

“Before, you had just called me a human child.”

“That is also true.”

“Well, I have a name, wouldn’t you rather have that?”

“No,” his tone is sharp, leaving no room for debate.

Except you ignore it, while also ignoring the phantom voice of the mistress, scolding you for your arrogance. “Why not?”

“Because names have power.”

He finishes setting aside the last of the entrails, breathing deep to exhale a stream of green fire that catches instantly against the dry timber.

“Is that why you have not given me yours?”

He looks up from what he’s doing.

“You have not asked.”

You blink. “So, if I asked, you would give it.”

“No.”

You scoff, something you haven’t done in ages, but feels as natural as breathing. “How would I be able to have power over you, anyway?”

“It is not just about power.”

You wait for an elaboration. He does not give one.

“What should I call you then?”

“Create something.”

By the time he is breaking off pieces for you to eat, you mumble “Hornton,” under your breath with a wince. His face does not indicate that he heard you, even though you are sure that he did. And for that, you are grateful.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Your ears are frozen, and so are your cheeks. Your nose leaks as you sniff just about every second while standing near the river’s edge. Your hair is more oily than not. Though your new cloak has thus far retained its regal red color, the one beneath it is more gray than white. Stained by dirt and ash and probably vomit and the occasional splatter of blood from when he first dropped a hare in your lap. It makes the golden thread embroidered into it seem almost insignificant compared to the state of ruin the rest of it is in.

You have been gone longer than usual. You should hurry. With trembling fingers, you unclasp your top layer and remove your inner cloak. With your heart in your throat, but your mind made up, you throw your once-considered-sacred robe into the rushing waters.

You don’t stay to see it get lost in the rapids. Redonning your gift, you head back.

Now, no part of you retains any more gold. There can be no mistaking what you are.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

It is when the fire burns bright, and he has his hand on that ceremonial knife, that you let his cloak part at the bottom—pushing your legs closer to the fire, as if seeking its warmth.

He notices almost immediately. And even though your head is full of thoughts of your blood coloring the end of that golden blade instead, all he asks is, “Are you not cold?”

“… That is all you have to say?”

He regards you with those piercing eyes. Eyes that must surely be able to see the truth. How could someone so grand, so special, not be able to see what you are? Why does he keep someone as meaningless as you? A marionette with cut-off strings that refuses to stop dancing even though the show is over.

“I will get better garments to replace the ones you have. Thicker ones to ensure you are never cold.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You do not have to.”

“That’s it then? That is your response?”

“Eat.”

You open your mouth to keep pushing, but he forces a morsel of deer past your lips, making you splutter. He hands you a chalice of water like he expected this. He continues to push food into your mouth until you give up trying to protest. And when the fire starts to dim, he wordlessly fixes your cloak so that it covers your legs.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are restless. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt as such. You’ve never had a reason to be. Your whole life has been a steady race, a consistent path that’s been determined long before your conception. You’ve known what your purpose was before you could form full sentences.

‘Listen well, child,’ the mistress once said. ‘You alone are our savior. Your body will be what staves off the beast in the mountain from destroying our lives, our homes, our families. Only then will you, who has no family to speak of, gain what you’re missing in the afterlife. As long as you listen and do, as long as you remain the perfect vessel, you will be rewarded in the end. As is foretold by the ancient promise.’

An ancient lie, your darkest thoughts seethe. The lie who isn’t even the true beast of legends. The lie that hides himself amongst treasure so grand it could cause wars. The lie who sleeps on rock that’s been eroded to his shape. The lie that continues to keep you alive. Who gives you his warmth like its nothing. Who feeds you and gives you water. Who still sees you as part of his horde even though you are the farthest thing from gold. Who would see the entire valley destroyed just to ensure you stay.

The sun shines bright through the top of the cavern. It must be midday, for the cold is not as biting as usual. You stand, hugging your cloak close as you step carefully toward where his draconic head rests against the floor. He opens one of his serpentine eyes as you approach. There are no words exchanged, he knows you need to relieve yourself at least once a day.

As you walk, you remember your first steps taken within these cave walls. Unsure, hesitant, yet steadfast in your resolve. Now you step with an ease that comes from familiarity but with no true purpose.

Outside is even brighter, covered in white and illuminated by the sun. You take it in with an eerie sense of calm. Then, after unclasping your cloak and letting it fall to the ground, take off running. Right through the pristine, untouched snow.

You run like you’ve never done before. Pumping arms and pounding steps. Stumbling over concealed roots and rocks but uncaring of the noise you’d be making. You run like your friend once did, when the house was silent and the mistress was busy. She ran through the fields for the tree line behind your care home with reckless abandon, with hope in her heart. You watched her go, then watched the kingdom’s cavalry pursue her. They came back no sooner than they had left with blood dripping from their lances.

Your heart drums in your ears along with the thump of your feet. Your heels ache with the beginnings of blisters. These shoes were never made for running, but you keep pushing. You push until your lungs ache too and your mind runs just as fast with thoughts of the others just like you. Who ran into these woods thinking they escaped their fate only to die from starvation and dehydration. You run, and run, and run, and run, until you’re certain he will finally know that—

The silence breaks, shatters from the bellowing roar that sounds from over your shoulder and meets you with enough force to shake the snow from off the trees.

Your steps falter then cease all together as you tumble head over heels into the powdery white forest floor. And even though your legs tremble with fear and your limbs feel frozen through, you’ve never felt so alive. You force yourself up with gritted, chattering teeth, lips pursed against the manic smile that you can feel trying to break through on your face, and keep running. Past rows upon rows of trees, past rock formations and frozen ponds until the forest suddenly breaks off and you’re sprinting through an open field.

You wonder if this is how your friend had felt, drunk on hope and the pains of living as the lances came down upon her shoulders. Except in your case, it is not a lance that awaits you. It’s something so much more.

You are on the ground one moment, and the next you are not. Picked up like a kitten with a swipe of his massive claws. You think you might faint as the ground gets further and further away, as your ears throb from the sudden gain in height. The wind cuts right through you and chills you to the bone the faster he flies.

You laugh, wildly and unafraid.

Between one blink and the next, he has landed back in the center of his riches. He releases you from his grasp and you roll with the force of it. Landing on your back on the rocky ground, forcing what little air you have left from your lungs. In a flash of light and a surge of heat, he’s there. Caging you in with his strong human arms. Those green, reptilian eyes of his narrowed down to mere pinpricks.

“What is the meaning of this, Child of Man?” He growls, smoke puffing past his lips with every word. “Was my promise of destruction not enough? Shall I go down and find that mistress of yours, make sure she never breathes another breath again?”

“Yes,” you wheeze, still cold beyond words but warming just from his proximity. “I think I’d like that, yes.”

His face contorts into something peeved. “You find this amusing, do you? I will fly with you in my talons so you can watch as I burn down everything you’ve ever known.”

“I heard you the first time,” you huff, a cut-off manic giggle. “And I’m saying I’d enjoy it.”

Whether it's the buzzing beneath your skin or the flight having scrambled what’s left of your mind, your body chooses to reach for him. Cupping his face between shaky fingers.

“I don’t actually care for them, if I’m being honest. The very foundation they stand on is built on nothing but lies. And I’ve decided I no longer stand for lies. So, tell me, you who now rules these mountains, what do you expect of me?”

He is still angry, to the point of near snarling. You imagine what it would be like if you were beneath his dragon form instead and find the thought strangely exciting. Yes, that flight definitely made you lose the last bit of sanity you had left.

He seems be battling with something internally before finally snapping, “You foolish thing. Your purpose is to stay with me until your pathetic body can no longer sustain itself.”

“You speak the truth? Truly?”

“Fool. Lies are the sins of the human psyche. Beings such as I do nothing but speak the truth.”

You’re trembling, and you don’t know what from. All you can think about is him. This being bigger than you could’ve ever imagined. Who vowed to make sure you were never cold again.

“I’m cold,” you plead, and you don’t even care if it sounds like a whine. There is no mistress here to berate you, and there never will be. “Where is my cloak? I left it so it wouldn’t tear on a stray branch while I was running.”

“I should burn that insolent mouth of yours shut,” he rumbles while your hands remain cupped over his cheeks.

“Will you? If you do, I won’t be able to eat. Would you have my body fail so soon?”

“Silence,” he hisses with a breath of smoke straight to your face. Your eyes water as he backs off between one cough and the next. But then you’re being covered by a familiar piece of clothing. “The next thing I bring back will be shackles to chain you with.”

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

“How do mates work?”

He made good on his words. Not only do you have new, thick garments for the rest of winter, but there are a pair of gold encrusted manacles set off to the side near where you two rest each day. Lying in clear sight as a reminder of what would happen if you were to try and run again.

He has gotten you a fish this time. He’s been diligently descaling it for the past ten minutes. “A mate is your chosen, your protector and provider. The one who will wait out eternity with you.”

“That sounds very romantic.”

“It is not. It is the one who would fight your battles until their last breath. The one willing to give you everything without question.”

“Again, very romantic.”

He huffs, a sound you’ve come to thoroughly enjoy since figuring out how to make him do it consistently.

“Do you have one?”

“No.”

“Would you like one?”

“There is no need.”

“How come?”

“Caring for your human condition takes up more than enough of my time.”

“Would that make me your mate?”

He stops abruptly, eyes finding you across the fire with a quick flick. You don’t shy away. The weight of his gaze is becoming more and more manageable the longer you’re at the end of it.

“You are… not my mate.” His eyebrows furrow. “You are something else entirely.”

You hum, considering what that could mean while he goes back to preparing your meal. The sounds of the fire echo off the cavernous walls. It reflects across the glossy black expanse of his horns. You wonder if he would let you touch them one day.

“You were meant to eat me.”

He looks up again.

“My purpose was to sustain you with my body. In hopes you would sleep for another year, leaving the valley at peace.”

“You could never even dream of sustaining me for a full year on that frail flesh.” He huffs yet again, offended by the notion.

“So you’d never take a bite out of me?”

“No, the force of my bite alone would probably break your fragile bones.”

“Even if I asked?”

He stares while the fire crackles and pops. You watch as a hot ember shoots into the air then slowly falls back down.

“To bite is to own,” he begins, low and with severity. “It is how pairs show that they belong to one another.”

“And?” You tilt your head. “Do I not belong to you?”

He’s quiet again, contemplative. You think that’s the end of it, but then he drops the knife as he stands. Among the clothes he found and gave you, there had been blankets. You are sat upon one now as he guides you onto your back. Caging you once again beneath his human body.

“Your mouth never stops moving,” he states while unclasping your cloak. “It is any wonder how you survived this long with such deplorable manners.”

“You are the one who humors me,” you defend yourself, more than a little breathless as he unbuttons your overcoat, then your undershirt. Until he gets a clear view of your bare shoulder.

He hums, eyes hooded. “I should punish you for such a comment.”

Then he leans down, his hot breath fanning over your exposed skin before he clamps down onto the meat of your shoulder.

His elongated canines are so sharp you don’t even feel them as they pierce your skin. It is just pressure, extremely hard pressure. Hard enough to make you initially buck up out of reflex. But then he growls around your flesh and you forget all about the instinctive panic. The pain eventually starts as an ache that gradually spreads. It makes your heart thump faster and faster and your fingers tremble. Your blood runs cold and yet your skin feels hot. It is fear and elation and betrayal and security all at once. Your legs shift and he’s there pressing even further down onto you. His wings, normally pulled in tight to his back, spread out wide, giving you a magnificent eyeful of their full span.

It feels like forever passes and yet no time at all when he eventually releases you. Liquid swells and drips down the back of your shoulder, blood. It must be staining your undershirt the same way it does his lips. You watch his forked tongue slither out and swipe across his reddened lips.

You realize you are panting. His legs still bracket your own, so there is no getting up for you yet. He reaches down with a taloned hand and swipes at a trail of blood that had slid near your collarbone. You think you shiver a little.

“Have you any other qualms, Child of Man?”

“Tell me your name?” You do not need to look too closely anymore to know that he bristles just the slightest. “And I will tell you mine, as a trade.”

He does not say anything for a long while. But then he’s raising himself back up, and you concede to defeat. But it is after you’re done eating and you’re leant back against his chest that his lips skim atop your ear as he whispers.

“Malleus.”

You do not repeat it. You lean back, feeling your shoulder twinge where his bite will eventually come to scar, and give him yours.

Beneath the darkness behind your eyes, you hear his massive body scrape the sides of the cave. You picture yourself crushed beneath boulders and dust. You keep your eyes firmly shut.

Air brushes past you like a whip. Displaced from his tail, thrashing. You picture yourself pierced upon it. Your eyes stay closed.

His lumbering walk echoes across the rock. A pounding, steady tempo that rattles your brain. You picture your body torn to shreds by his talons. Your eyes remain shut.

The noise is receding. The echoes quiet down to silence. The only noise left to ricochet in your skull is your own pounding heart.

You open your eyes.

He is gone. Returned to the dark from which he emerged.

You don't know how long it takes to finally come to terms with the fact that he has left you. The sun is still at your back, a reminder of the unblocked escape.

You follow after him instead, wishing the light a parting goodbye.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You walk blind. Steady, sweeping steps are your only guide as you slowly chase after your promised resting place.

But then your eyes start adjusting and adjusting further still. You realize that must mean that there is light where you are headed.

You don't know whether to be disappointed or embarrassed that you said your final goodbye a bit too soon.

Your path starts to expand, widening until you are standing before the bowels of a massive open cave. A hollow impression that travels all the way up to the top, where a single opening lets the sun touch the bottom.

You've never seen so much gold in your life. You didn't even know so much gold could exist at once in the same place. It is scattered and stacked everywhere. It reflects the light coming in from the top across the entire expanse of the cavern.

It even reflects off the bright green of his eyes.

He lies in the center of his riches, nestled in a spot in the ground that dips lower than the rest. Like it's been eroded to his shape from repeated use.

His head is raised while the rest of him remains prone. His body encircles itself into a pose reminiscent of the cat behind your care home, napping in the fields.

You're not sure where to go, what to do. You didn't plan to still be alive to be able to think these sorts of thoughts.

You move to hug the wall, pressing your back against the nearest surface. Taking care not to touch even the slightest bit of treasure. You let your legs give out and slide yourself to the ground with a heavy slump.

You're asleep before you even realize it.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken, and you know you haven't been unconscious long. The light still sits the same amongst the gold.

But he has moved closer. Perched as still as a statue. With eyes only for you.

You've seen something like this before. The cat that slept behind your care home would hunt the mourning doves in a similar fashion. By staying very still until the opportunity to strike arises.

The scent of brimstone tickles your nose. Your robes are the same color as those mourning doves. But unlike them, your wings have been clipped a long time ago.

There is a grave tension in the air that stops you from closing your eyes. You always pictured your final memory being the darkness, but the sight of the light gleaming off his scales isn't so bad either.

For a stretch of time, nothing happens, no one is moving. Does he wish to give chase? Is your form so boring that he requires further entertainment?

But then you start to really take notice of his positioning. The way his body is turned to the side, as if he wishes to shield the sight of his riches from you. Much more defensive than you initially thought. Then you remember that you are technically in his home. You are a guest in his territory. And the mistress always told you that a proper guest brings gifts upon arrival.

Slowly, you raise your hands. He is so still that if it weren't for the way his eyes track your movement, you'd think he was rooted to the ground. Behind your neck, you unclasp a chain of gold. Holding it high for him to see before lobbing it towards the nearest pile.

For the first time, you are privy to the sight of him blinking.

Your body takes that moment to remind you that you should be sleeping. Now that the air no longer smells like it will spark, you close your eyes and retreat back to unconsciousness.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

When you next open your eyes, it's because he is moving. A combination of both stalking and slithering through his collection of artifacts toward the exit at your side. He barely regards you as he passes. You listen to his steps get further and further away.

You wonder if you should follow.

Your body decides for you. It begs you to sleep, and thus you do.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Something is thrown at your feet, yanking you from your dreams.

It's a branch of mulberries. Well, an entire bush of them. There is dirt still clinging to its roots.

You look up and spot the beast returning to its preferred spot. Taking practiced loops around the depression in the ground before slumping down with a deep huff.

The weight of his large body hitting the ground displaces some of the gold off his piles. You watch as coins and cups and jewels alike fall from their pillars, landing in spots where others just like them lie.

Maybe those treasures would've been at the top, once upon a time. Maybe they, too, had once been knocked from the tops of piles by the force of his settling.

How long has he been here for his habits to have been recorded in the very rock he sleeps on?

His eyes are closed now, and you think about closing yours too. Instead, you reach out to pluck the nearest berries from off the branches.

Idly, as you chew and contemplate his intentions, you wonder if this means he is displeased with you. Does he wish there was more to you? The mistress made sure you were more than amply fed before the parade.

You eat until your fingers are stained, until your body commands you to return to unconsciousness and leave these worries behind.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

It is the middle of the night, and you're only awake because your bladder demands it. You shuffle blindly through the dark just to do your business.

Eventually, you return, stopping to watch the way the moon's faint glow is reflected in the gold scattered across the space. You can't make out the beast, though. He must be too well hidden in the shadows.

Hoping you have not awoken him, you return to your spot and shut your eyes.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Opening your eyes, you are greeted with his stare, already trained on you. It only takes you as long as it does to realize what he wants because of the lingering fog of sleep behind your eyes. But then you're unclasping another golden adornment and chucking it towards his collection.

You think, as you close your eyes, you hear him make a noise like a huff. Almost like a content sigh.

It feels comical to even consider. So much so that you can feel your painfully cracked lips lift in an amused smile before slipping back into unconsciousness.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are not hungry, you conclude as your body forces you awake. But god, is your throat sore. And painfully dry. You lick your lips and wince at the responding sting.

It is night now. Thus, it takes your eyes longer to adjust to the subtle light of the moon and stars.

You have never been thirstier in your life. It's just about all you can think about. You didn't think you'd have to think about it, honestly. You didn't think you'd still be alive to be able to think.

You're not sure what your continued survival means, whether he's displeased or waiting for the right moment or not. At this point, it doesn't matter because you're just so damn thirsty.

You don't bother with being quiet, too busy staving off your raging headache as you stand on wobbly legs. Nor do you check to make sure the beast is even there.

All you concern yourself with is making it out of his cavern. Trying not to trip on your billowing cloak. Trying not to fall face-first because you're walking blindly through the darkness with a swimming head and a hollow stomach. You're not sure where your own swirling vision ends and the caves' pitch blackness begins.

Eventually, you can make out the end of the cave. Where the opening breaks off into a dirt-laden path that leads into the surrounding forest.

You try to remember where you could potentially find water. Except your feet get tripped up underneath you, tangled in your dragging train. What little breath you have gets knocked clean out of your lungs as you meet the ground.

And don't get back up.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

In your dreams, there is a breeze. Then a surge. A whirlwind that penetrates beneath your robes and makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

In your dreams, there is a man. The most beautiful man you've ever seen. His hair is as dark as the night, second only in color to his horns. And his eyes are the most striking green. But unlike other men, this one even has wings. Spinal, webbed wings like those of your beasts.

He reaches for you with elegant hands, nails as long as talons. Mistress would not be pleased to know you have let a stranger touch you, dirty you.

But you cannot find it within yourself to care. Not when this stranger's touch is so light, like he's scared to break you. The last time you were treated this gently, it was the day you were to be sent as an offering.

Maybe this man could be your end. The beast obviously does not want you. But this man is collecting you in his arms like you are something precious.

The scenery blurs and ebbs. You're not sure where he is taking you, but his skin gives off the most comforting warmth. You hadn't even realized how cold your bones were. How numb your fingers feel.

But then something cold touches your lips. His finger, damp with liquid, traces and smooths over your cracked skin.

Water.

The next time he brings his hand up, you are ready. You drink from his palm, cupped full of cool water. So frantically, you end up vomiting it all back up. But he is patient and instead feeds you water in small increments until your head no longer pounds.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You are warm. The mistress must've started a fire. You probably fell asleep in front of the hearth again. She will surely scold you for possibly letting ash dirty up your hair.

It takes a mountainous amount of effort to peel back your lids, crusted as they are with sleep.

You are in the middle of a very familiar cavern. Surrounded by hefty piles of gold and jewels. The sun is high in the sky, perfectly lined up to shine its rays straight down into the belly of the cave from the opening above.

The sights are familiar enough, but it's the angle at which you are looking at them that seems wrong. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were lying where the dragon would normally be—

A beastly huff sounds from directly next to you. You can feel it kick up your hair from the force.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side.

Black scales, climbing horns, a snout as long as your body, lying resting against the ground. He slumbers not even an arm's reach from you.

You are not sure how you got here, but you think it's important that you leave.

Sitting up takes longer than expected, purely because whatever ache has taken itself up in your muscles refuses to make your life any easier. The mistress once told you that creatures such as him have such superior hearing that a pin drop could sound like a thunderclap. Keeping a steady eye on him, you push up on shaky arms, moving extraordinarily slowly. There is a sizable gap in the semicircle of treasure through which you can make your way out. You'll just have to be careful not to trip over any spare coins or jewelry.

Eyeing your escape path, you shift to your knees and attempt to stand.

A growl, deep and rumbling, sounds from behind you. Strong enough to rattle your very bones.

Freezing in place makes the noise stop. You dare to turn your head toward the being at your back.

A singular eye is open and watching.

A shudder runs up your frame, sucking all the warmth you may have had from your veins.

"... I was just—" Your voice croaked like the worst frog imaginable. It takes more than a few swallows to clear it. "I was just about to leave. I never wanted to invade your place of rest."

That only seems to perturb him even more, starting the growl right back up again.

This wasn't right, nor was it good. He was supposed to be pleased with you. You didn't want to be a poor guest to him, unwanted.

"I'm sorry," you try not to sound pleading. That never does anyone any good, you've learned. "I don't want to upset you. What should I do to make this better?"

He answers by swinging his long, spiked tail around and planting it right in the path of your escape route.

"... You... do not want me to leave?"

He doesn't respond, naturally, but he has yet to resume growling.

You have a hard time believing this to be true. Just a few days ago, he was defending his possessions against you; now you are a part of it. What could have changed?

His eye is still trained on you, watching for something. You follow where you think his gaze is going.

Tradition details that when offering a tribute, the vessel must be adorned with gold. Thus, your white linen robes and cloak have golden thread embroidered across them. Patterns such as flowers, branches, animals, some more abstract-looking than others.

The thread catches on the high noon sun, reflecting just enough to get his attention.

Hesitantly, you start shuffling back to your previous position. Lying on your side, head tilted up towards his gaze, you watch in wonder as he seems to truly relax once he deems you back where you should be.

That electric green eye closes, and eventually you decide that so should yours.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You wake to a similar sight as before. Talons scrape against the sedimentary floor as he leaves. Sustenance, most likely.

You can feel your heart beating in your chest, another reminder of the life you still have. There is also the strain in your gut. You wait for as long as you deem it safe before rising, semi-unsteadily, to go and quickly relieve yourself outside.

Once finished, you promptly lie back down when you return.

Again, you escape to the quiet darkness behind your eyes.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

The beast returns not long after with another berry bush. You grab what you deem good enough to eat as he makes himself comfortable.

You eat until your hands are thoroughly stained and join him in slumber shortly thereafter. Feeling tortured with unanswered questions and unresolved promises.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Waking the next day, you eat more berries to try to quench some of the thirst in your throat.

The beast stays asleep. Except somewhere in your gut, you feel like he is more than aware of where you are.

But if so, then what is he waiting for? What else do you need to do to satisfy him?

Your eyes are heavy. You have never been more tired. You lie back on the stone floor and sleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You're not sure what to make of it, you think as you arise from another dreamless sleep with a dry mouth. In your head, you are aware that he views you as part of his collection. But it's not truly you he wants. It's your clothes. Yet he does not need to keep providing you with food to keep your robes in his stash. Does he know that?

It makes you feel like a fraud. A garnish with no true sustenance in the grand scheme of the main course. How long will this waiting game last, you wonder.

You cough, and it leaves your chest tight and achy. He gets up suddenly, startling you, moving to grab a golden cauldron of sorts before leaving without another glance. Only to return with it sloshing full of water.

It does nothing but make the guilt in your chest spread like mold.

"Stop it." You wheeze, and he listens. Just a few paces away from where he always leaves you, in his usual sleeping spot. "Stop giving me these things. I'm not what you want."

He looks surprised, if you can even call it that. But all you can focus on is ridding the clothes from your back.

"Enough of this prolonging, just kill me already." You choke on the strangled feeling in your throat, throwing aside your cloak embroidered with blossoms and bunnies. "You were supposed to be done with me days ago, and yet I'm still here."

"It's ridiculous!" The cuffs of your shirt are next, where they're stitched in gold. You yank until they tear.

"This isn't what was promised!" The bottom of your billowing skirt follows, with its golden-trimmed hem.

"I've been nothing but perfect, all this time!" A gold band.

"I've followed every rule, every command!" A ring. Then another.

"And yet for what? What was it all for?! What is my purpose if not this!"

You could spend a millennium screaming, and it would never be enough. Thankfully, your throat stops you before you can get that far. Too dry as it is to produce any more sound.

"Please," you whisper, barely more than a whimper. "Why... Tell me."

Nothing except your heaving, crackled breaths can be heard. Your head swims, and your eyes ache with phantom tears. Your arms shake against the rock while your head hangs between them.

Eventually, when you start to choke on the dryness on your tongue, he moves, approaching.

You close your eyes. Let this be the end of it. Let this tired body finally serve its purpose. Let it happen like you were always told it would. In the dark, at the hands of something greater than you.

He sets down the cauldron; you hear its clang and the subsequent patter of spilt droplets. Then, between one breath and the next, a man speaks.

"I do not have your answers."

Anything you were previously thinking is abruptly cut off as you jerk your head up, eyes flying open.

He's tall, much taller than some of the biggest men from your village. Hair as dark as the rock he stands upon, with pale, flawless skin to contrast. Atop his head are horns, black and spiraled like your beasts'. And much like your beast, he also has wings. Even scales. Black with undertones of purple when the light hits them just right. Gathered over his crotch and hips like a pair of undergarments, but otherwise speckled across his entire body.

He is gorgeous. Terrifyingly so.

"Drink."

While your thoughts swirled with how similar his eyes are to your beasts', the man grabbed a chalice out of one of the beasts' many piles of treasure and filled it with water.

"Wha...? Who—"

"Drink." He commands, pushing the chalice to your lips.

The first touch is your undoing; you guzzle down the entire cup. Or at least try to.

"No," he chides. "Slowly, in small quantities."

You listen, because what else are you to do? He nods, satisfied with your compliance.

"Um," you clear your throat after a chunk of time, watching with pinched brows as he begins picking up and sorting what you threw from your person. "Who are you? How did you get here?"

"What do you mean?" He asks as he regards one of your rings. "I am your supposed promise, am I not?"

Your head throbs for more reasons than just dehydration. "You... cannot be my beast."

"Your beast?" His gaze snaps to yours, sharp with dissent. "I am no one's beast, human child."

"I— I apologize." You stammer as quick as you can, startled by his anger. "I am just... You are a man."

"Never."

"... Then this form is...?"

"Not my true one, merely another."

"... I was not made aware you possessed such an ability."

"Not many humans live to tell the tale."

He's picking through a specific section, seemingly trying to find the best place for one of your bracelets.

"... I do not understand."

"That is to be expected."

There's nothing else you can think to say. Too many thoughts and questions to sort through to pick just one. So, you watch as he painstakingly places every bit of gold you had into what he deems as its rightful place.

All except your cloak, which he picks up, ponders, then lifts his eyes to yours. He closes the distance in steady strides, then kneels down as he drapes the fabric across your bared shoulders.

Immediately, you feel warmer. But whether that's from the heavy linen alone or combined with his proximity, which strangely oozes heat, is up for debate.

"Every single one before you has left."

You blink, confused and still reeling from his closeness, before the context hits.

"They enter my cave, I let them gaze upon me, then they react. Whether they cry, scream, plead, or vomit does not matter. I return to my horde, and they do not follow."

This confession leaves you shaken. Not one of the offerings given has been received. He has been displeased with all of them. But if that were the case, why does the valley still stand? It should've been razed to the ground by now. If the words of the ancestors are true, like they should be, offerings were the peace that tied the valley with the Ruler of the Mountain. Yet, this ruler, kneeling before you in a man's skin, hasn't been taking a single one.

"Except you."

You can't remember if anyone has ever given you such undivided attention.

"You are the only one who dared to follow me."

There is barely any visible expression on his face to glean what he is feeling in this moment. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine him grabbing you by your hips and setting you upon one of his many piles of riches.

"I do not care what your feeble, human mind chooses to believe. The fact of the matter is that you walked in here voluntarily. Thus, you are mine to do with as I please."

He folds the outer edges of your cloak around you, covering your numb limbs in the thick linen.

"You lost your chance to escape the minute I saw you in the light."

His nails are as long as claws, sharpened to a point. Yet he uses them so delicately to push back stray wisps of hair from your vision.

"... What if I need to relieve myself?"

"..."

"Would you have me urinate in your home? Near your horde?"

"You will go outside to take care of yourself. But if you do not return within the hour, I will fly down to the valley and make sure nothing remains."

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You awaken early the next morning, so much so that the sun has barely begun to shine.

You want to sleep. And keep sleeping, maybe forever if you can help it. But your eyes do not want to shut either.

Thus, you lie awake until the sun can be seen through the opening above. Feeling exhausted and jittery all at once. Dazed and melancholic for no particular reason, yet every single reason.

Eventually, your bladder demands attention. And as much as you don't really want to give it any, you know he will be displeased if you wet yourself like an unruly child.

You stand, bundling your cloak close against the chill over your skin. Curiosity wins out, so you turn to look at the being that has now decided to hold you hostage.

His eye is already open, watching. Back in his draconic form.

"... I need to pee."

He grunts, but doesn't shut it.

When you return, it is with an empty bladder and especially cold fingers. The temperature has taken a dive since you last went out. With the wind being just as unforgiving. Soon, snow will begin to fall.

You didn't think you'd ever see snow again.

Curling up on your side, as tight as you can, you close your eyes. And slowly, eventually, go back to sleep.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

You're cold. It's the first thought churning in your cotton-stuffed mind. You can barely feel your fingers. Your teeth chatter to an almost painful degree.

You flip over to your other side, facing him.

He isn't there. You think you're seeing things at first, considering how fuzzy your mind is with sleep. Better yet, the lack of light for you to see. But even after your eyes take the time to adjust to the night, you don't see even the faintest reflection of his violet-black scales.

Your heart lurches as you sit up. Where could he have gone? To eat? But you didn't hear him like you usually do. Has he left? For good? But his treasure is still here. He wouldn't leave without it, surely.

Before you can panic any further, you hear the whip of the wind. Or rather, the sharp snap of someone cutting through it. Turning your gaze up, you see your answer.

In a split second flaring of his wings, the beast in a man's body hovers above you.

"You are awake," he comments. For a second, you fear that you should not have realized he left. But his expression is blank, like usual. Merely observing you.

He drops suddenly, and you reach out in a rush of adrenaline. He lands on his feet like he didn't just fall from an impressive height. Not even a wince to tell otherwise.

"... It's c-cold," you stutter, feeling the need to explain yourself.

He doesn't say anything at first. You imagine he's taking you in. Your hunched-over form, swaddled in your cloak, gritting your teeth to try and stop their chatter.

"... I see."

You think that's the end of it. Ready to try and resume your fetal position in the hopes of maintaining some warmth, you're interrupted by a lightning-quick spark of light and a rush of wind.

The man has turned back to its true form, with its massive wings and scaled body. He looms over you. Then looms closer still.

You close your eyes instinctually.

It is not what you expected, because you feel the strangest sensation against your back. Like a snake in its musculature, but so much bigger. Then you're being pulled from off the ground, abruptly tugged forward.

Something between a yelp and a gasp leaves your mouth before you're shoved into the hardest wall you've ever been against. Except it's not a wall, it's him. His tail, which pulls away now, had dragged you into the bend of his neck. Leaving you encircled and pressed up against him.

You're not sure what to make of this, and open your mouth to ask as such.

But... oh, he's warm. Borderline hot. You have to move away from any direct contact for fear of giving yourself a burn. He's like a fire. Like the hearth you so loved to sit and nap in front of, consequences be damned.

You realize that he's looking at you, gauging your reaction. Hesitantly, you nod.

He lowers his head at that, securing you in the circle of his long neck.

You stay there, for what other choice has he given you, in a mishmash of thought.

He truly does not intend to do anything with you. This being, a dragon with claws that chip at rock with barely a graze and a jaw that could swallow even the largest of animals whole, wants for nothing but to keep you alive. For how long, you wonder. Will there come a time when he gets truly sick of you? Will you have to wait it out, convince him of your true purpose? Should you even try? What right do you have to speak with a powerful creature such as him like an equal?

Maybe this is your true purpose? To join his horde. Be at the mercy of his whims until you're old and gray.

Your shivering eventually ceases, and steadily your skin begins to warm. But deeper still, in the hollowed-out cavity of your chest, something like hope pushes up through the bed of decay that it was buried under.

As quick as it buds, you stamp it out. Crushing it beneath your heel.

You have no use for that, you remind yourself. Replaying the words of the mistress.

'Remember, child. All your hopes should be buried by the time you stand before him. If not, he will know. And never forgive you.'

Desperately, swallowing around the tightness in your throat, you close your eyes. Until your lids hurt from the force, until your heart stops its insistent beating, until the tiny bloom is nothing more than a faint echo, barely even a memory.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻