"Be my darling!"

Even beaten, burned, and dressed in the evidence of your blasphemy, you were a wondrous thing to behold. He had tried to be gentle in your recovery, but between managing the fire lotuses’ spread and fending off your previous captors (because, surely, you wouldn’t endure the company of such heathens willingly), there hadn’t been much room for delicacy. Bruises circled your wrists, forming defined rings underneath the braided cord that kept your hands safely bound above your head. Ash and debris coated your hair, your skin from where you had nobly but futilely attempted to save the citizens of Fleur City from their inevitable redemption. Your masquerade dress was tattered and sullied, but that was fine. He would fetch you other clothes, finer clothes. Under his care, you would want for nothing.

Already, you wore a testament to his reverence around your neck. A golden collar, polished dutifully enough to shine and engraved with reliefs of lotus blooms and curling vines. A thin chain kept it tethered to the headboard, your leash secured by a fastener for which only he possessed the key. It looked lovely against your skin, rising and falling in time with your steady breathing. He’d been waiting to see it hanging from your throat for quite some time, now. Since the day he met you.

Really, he ought not to let you wear it. It was a thing of beauty, of purity. You were beautiful, but not of purity. Not ye—

“Uh… Hello?”

Ah.

He hadn’t expected you to wake up so soon.

Thankfully, he’d thought to blindfold you. Rollo watched you turn your head from side to side, tugging uselessly at your bondage for a few more blissful moments before sighing, crossing the threshold, and making his way to your bedside.

You were talking, by then, your voice light and level. You were making an effort to sound calm, clearly, but your fear shone through in the stilted lilt of each word, of how often you cut yourself off to let out a breathy laugh or gnaw at the inside of your cheek. “Ace, I swear to God—” And then, thinking better of it, “Deuce, if you’re trying to freak me out, it’s not funny.”

He offered no response. You hadn’t thought to call for him yet, but that was fine. Stumble through the dark for a few more seconds. You would be that much more grateful when he showed you the light.

That was what he’d planned to do, at least. And then, that terrible name slipped past your perfect lips, and he no longer felt so patient.

“…Malleus?”

It took more effort than he would’ve liked to bite back his scowl. Immediately, he was reaching for you, tearing away the strip of fabric and cupping your chin as you blinked up at him. A small smile spread over your lips as you recognized the face of your true savior — hesitant, but no less warm for its delay.

“Hi, Rollo.”

He nodded by way of response, and your gaze slipped past him, scanning over the bare stone walls of your bedroom. Again, you tugged at your restraints, letting your smile ebb. “I don’t— Is everyone okay? I remember losing track of Trein, and then— Where are we, exactly?”

Your thoughts were disordered, overlapping and repelling one another in turn. That was alright. He would make sense of your mind for you.

“Your companions are safe.” Unfortunately. The events of the masquerade had been… beyond his control. His plan, while brilliant, had been foiled by the antagonism of Night Raven College. He didn’t blame you. How could he? Such a powerless thing — you were no different from a scared animal, huddling in the smallest corner of its cage, too terrified to imagine what life may look like outside of the bars you’d lived inside of for so long. Too long. “You’re a few miles outside of Fleur City. This is the parish house — a luxury afforded to Noble Bell’s president so that they may pursue their studies unbothered.”

Luxury might’ve been too generous. Virtue came with modesty, and the parish was nothing if not modest. A few rooms of age-old stone populated only by books, simple wooden furniture, and the most humble of creature comforts. He would move you to his homey apartment in the city soon enough. For now, isolation was more important than comfort. It was vital that two of you should not be disturbed.

Judging by how quickly your smile had fallen away, it would seem you’d realized this, as well.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Direct, cutting, magnificent in your simplicity. Rollo softened, letting his hand drift to the top of your head and petting the debris out of your hair, sparing you the burden of a verbal response. Surely, you must’ve known by then that he was a man of faith.

And, when he was finished, you would be a reward worthy of his devotion.

~

Your first impression of Rollo Flamme was that, abandoning all attempts at eloquence, he was kind of a prick.

It was something about the eyes. If your time at Night Raven had taught you anything, it was how to identify a man who would eventually prove to be either a mild annoyance or a threat to your life on sight. Rollo, for all the deadpan niceties he’d offered during his initial introduction, had the coldest eyes you’d ever seen; prone to glancing off the person he was speaking to in favor of settling on some abstract point in the far distance. He hadn’t kicked any puppies yet, but you didn’t like it.

You were currently doing an excellent job of masking your distaste by loitering on the outskirts of Noble Bell’s courtyard, silently glowering at Azul as he tried to turn a guided tour into a networking opportunity. Deuce and Epel had briefly joined your quiet protest, only to abandon you when interrogating the student body president of a jarringly traditional arcane academy proved more engaging than your baseless paranoia. Ruggie and Riddle were similarly uninterested in your cause and Idia, the ball of white-hot anxiety that he was, had enough problems of his own to deal with. Not that you were in a very sympathetic mood. As far as you were concerned, you were surrounded by a lot of traito—

“Pouting so soon, beloved?”

Ah, right.

A lot of traitors, and your perfect boyfriend Malleus.

“I’m not pouting,” you sulked. You cast a withering glance to Rollo, now exchanging pleasantries with the Pomefiore representatives. “I don’t like the president. He’s very…”

“Formal?” suggested Malleus.

“Catholic.”

He pursed his lips. Confusion knit itself into the corners of his mouth, the wrinkle between his eyebrows, and beneath it, concern. Of course. It was so easy to forget how many parts of your world hadn’t carried over into this one, and how many more were lost on Malleus in particular. That might’ve been why you loved him so much. Even when he had no idea what the hell you were talking about, he still knew what you were trying to say. He still recognized that you were worried.

“You’re afraid Flamme might have ill intentions?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, I just—” You had a bad feeling. The same feeling you’d had when you first met Riddle, Leona, Azul. The same feeling that would’ve saved you a lot of time and a lot of pain if you’d just listened to your gut and run. “I don’t like him.”

You were making an effort to clip your words, but still, Malleus’ expression darkened. Of course. He’d been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since he found out he’d been personally invited. And here you were, ruining it for him because one of the organizers didn’t look very friendly.

You did what you could to play damage control. “But that shouldn’t matter. We’re here to have fun.” And then, taking his hand, “Besides, I’ve got you to protect me if anything goes wrong, right?”

Immediately, the shadow lifted. You’d been told that a not inconsiderable portion of Night Raven’s student body considered Malleus’ smile to be among the scariest things they’d ever seen. You weren’t sure why. It was hard to believe that anyone could be afraid of something so warm.

You were still admiring him when he interlaced his fingers with yours, tugging you closer. A hand found its way your cheek, then your jaw, cupping your chin and tipping your face up toward his. Less patiently, you threw your arms around his neck, dragging him down to your level and pulling him into a—

“And the Ramshackle prefect, of course.”

Cold as ice and just as sharp. You and Malleus separated in an instant — no better than two teenagers caught making out behind the bleachers during gym. Rollo stood in front of you, your classmates gathered behind him and those frigid eyes staring past you altogether.

It took a long beat for you to realize you were meant to respond, then another for you to scrounge something coherent up. “The one and only.”

You extended a hand. Rollo eyed it wearily.

“How rare it is, for a magician to be so…” He trailed off, the corner of his mouth curling back into a poorly disguised sneer. “So tactile.”

Okay. Ouch. Whatever. “It’s a good thing I’m not a magician, then,” you laughed. “Maybe I should’ve been more specific. The one and only magicless prefect of Ramshackle dorm, at your service.”

It was a defense mechanism, really. The faster you made it clear that you didn’t have a drop of magic, the sooner those drowning it would stop paying attention to you. Tragically, your disclosure seemed to have the opposite effect on Rollo. You’d begun to draw back as you spoke, but before you could fully pull away, he was lashing out — catching your hand with both of his. His gaze, previously lifeless and dismissive, was now unfalteringly focused on you.

“Magicless,” he repeated, as if all the air had been forced out of his lungs. “What a wondrous thing.”

You blinked at him, not sure what to say. Rollo seemed to catch himself, dropping your hand and clearing his throat. “Living among so many mages must be very taxing. I sincerely hope my city offers you a moment of respite.”

“I’m sure we’ll find more than a moment, Flamme.”

Malleus’ hand on your back, his body behind yours. Unconsciously, you melted against him, and Rollo’s eyes narrowed.

“Prince Draconia,” he drawled, his disinterest flooding back in full force. “Do enjoy the social.”

Without another word, Rollo turned on his heel, gesturing for your classmates to follow as he continued on through the courtyard. Malleus moved to keep up with the group, but you caught his sleeve, holding him back. You only explained yourself once you were sure the others were out of earshot.

“I think,” you started, tone dire. “that we got interrupted, earlier.”

“Oh?” And then, understanding dawning on him with a breathy chuckle, “You only ever need ask, my love.”

Malleus’ kiss was as sweet and as warm as his smile. And yet, even as you melted against him, your mind drifted back to steely grey and biting cold.

~

Purity, of course, was not easily won. You learned that quickly enough.

You put up more of a fight than Rollo had thought you capable of. You were still a meek thing, delicate in your inability, but your time among the barbarians must have endowed you with a misplaced confidence to fend for yourself. You never refused to eat or drink, but he could see the phantom of resistance playing across your expression every time he brought you a meal. You allowed him to dress you, but never without shying away from his hands or insisting that you could see to the task yourself. You didn’t try to escape from your collar, but you flinched when he reached for it. You didn’t trust him.

Your first real show of resistance came a month into your penance. At that point, you’d grown more comfortable — restless, even. Mistaking his self-restraint for kindness, you took to stretching the limits of your leash and sitting by the sole window in your chambers at all hours of the day, watching the empty countryside. After a few days of this, you finally grew bold enough to test the bars of your cage.

“Do you think—” He watched with rapt attention as you cut yourself off, pursed your lips, and tried again. “Would it be possible for me to go outside?” And then, when he failed to respond, “Just for a few minutes. Please.”

Needless to say, your insolence was insufferable. Rollo was delighted beyond words.

He made quick work of unanchoring your tether. The simple silver key was kept on a cord around his neck, where it would share your place next to his heart. Wrapping the now free end around his fist, he jerked once, pulling the chain taut. You stumbled to your feet, doe eyes wide with panic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Quiet.” Harsh, but effective. You shut your mouth as thoughtlessly as you’d opened it. “Come with me, unless you’d prefer to be dragged.”

Rollo moved towards the doorway. You didn’t follow, not immediately, but another tug corrected that. Without another sound, you felt into line behind him.

Rollo neglected most of the parish house. His needs were simple and the crumbling architecture was a pain to navigate. The only spaces that saw regular use were the kitchens, bedrooms, his study, and, of course, the chapel. But that was an excursion for another day.

For his current purposes, the study would suffice. This room was where he spent most of his time, which he supposed was more than evident in the clutter. Bookcases ran parallel along the east and west walls, each shelf filled to bursting, their miscellanea allowed to spill onto his writing desk. The only source of light was the low-burning fire in the hearth along the far wall — its flames made perpetual through enchantment. The best use of magic, if one could be said to exist. All utility without the emotion that so often led mages astray.

He pulled you in front of the fireplace, keeping your chain wrapped tight around his hand. Extinguished candles lined the mantelpiece. He lit a smattering, then turned to deal with you.

“Kneel.”

Again, he caught it — the beautiful spark of rebellion in your eyes. Still, you were smart enough not to act on it. Carefully, you lowered yourself to your knees, settling your weight on your ankles. Rollo rewarded your obedience with a stern nod.

“You asked me to leave.”

He watched your features tighten. “I asked to go outside,” you corrected.

“And what is it you were hoping to find, out there?”

“Fresh air. A change in scenery.” And then, under your breath, “A few minutes away from you.”

He hummed. “You can’t expect me to believe your heart’s desires are so simple.”

You pursed your lips, dropping your gaze to the floor and narrowing your eyes. So be it, then.

“Show me your hands. Palm up.”

You didn’t move. Again, he tugged on your chain, just hard enough to watch you jerk forward and catch yourself before, glowering, doing as you were bid to. He tried not to take satisfaction in the swiftness of your submission. Tried, and failed.

He plucked the tallest candle off of the mantle and, without the ceremony of hesitation, tipped it over your waiting hands. The melted wax that had accumulated around the wick poured out and over your palms, still hot enough to scald. You gasped and jerked back, but that was the thing about wax — it stuck. It took you precious seconds to wipe away the quickly drying residue, reveal angry reddened tracks beneath. Benevolent as he was, he let you nurse your burns for a long moment before going on.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said, replacing the candlestick and taking up another. “What do you think is waiting for you out there?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Good. There was a thought or two rattling around in that empty head of yours, after all.

“The truth will not be punished.” He leaned down, petting his free hand over the top of your head. “Honesty is a virtue, no matter how ugly. But, there will be consequences if you lie again. Worse consequences,” he added, nodding to your red-streaked hands.

You nodded slowly, considering. “A way back to my own world,” you answered, finally. “Our headmage was working on sending me—”

He grabbed your collar, hauling you upward until your knees barely touched the ground. You grabbed for his hands, trying to pry him away, but he didn’t let your feeble attempts distract him from the task at hand — trickling wax down the tender underside of your throat, disappearing beneath the loose neckline of your nightgown. You whimpered, clenching your eyes shut. As if he would stray from his path for such a meager temptation.

He let go of your collar and you collapsed to the floor. He allowed himself a moment to watch as you gasped and pawed at your chest before retreating to the hearth and retrieving the poker propped next to it. It was an ugly, tarnished iron thing, charred from heavy use and little care. It would do you well to see what became of the things deemed unworthy of his love.

Your strained breathing kept him company as he held the spiked tip over the flames, waiting until the blackened metal glowed gold. Satisfied that its scald would not fade quickly, he returned to you — only just beginning to pull yourself off the floor.

“Penance will be necessary.” And then, gesturing to his boot with the white-hot spike, “Be quick about it.”

Your perfect eyes went very wide. For the first time, he thought you might have actually been frightened of him. “But, I didn’t—”

“My patience won’t last all night, dear lamb.”

You swallowed, then slackened. You fixed your gaze pointedly on the floor as you picked yourself up and closed the distance between you and him. Inelegantly, wondrously, you balled the hem of your nightgown in your fists, straddled the polished leather, and started to grind.

Rollo couldn’t help but smile. What a poor, sweet thing you were — moving mechanically back and forth, your lips pursed into a thin line as you clumsily humped his foot, the material of your panties creating even more friction as your cunt dragged over him. If he couldn’t help but treat you this way, he couldn’t imagine what you dealt with under the care of those ruffians. Speaking of—

“I’ll only ask one more time,” he began. Your hips bucked, and you glared decisively at his knee. He was quick to correct you — tangling his fingers in your hair and forcing your head back, making you look at him. “What is it you desire that you don’t believe I can provide for you?”

Your answer came quickly, this time, albeit hissed through clenched teeth. “Malleus.”

Rage and satisfaction flooded Rollo’s system in tandem, both scalding hot and gratifying beyond words. He tilted his foot back on his heel and your breath hitched, your pace stuttering. All it took was a tap of the firepoker against the floor for you to rally yourself, though.

Relaxing his hold on your hair, he dragged his blunt nails over your scalp. It was meant to be a reward, but you flinched away from his touch, too shy even to properly enjoy what you’d earned. But he could see it. A slick dampness coated the leather, drenching the seat of your panties a shade darker. How wonderful it was, to see you reaping the rewards of your good behavior.

“That’s to be expected.” And it was. He couldn’t expect you to purge yourself of such demons overnight. “You were manipulated, misled, made to believe that the perpetrators of your subjugation were attempting to free you. Of course you would hold on to some level of…” He trailed off, considering. “Of fondness. I have told you why you’re here, haven’t I?”

You shook your head. He could see something in the corner of your eyes, a shine more breathtaking than that of any precious gem. You sniffled miserably once, and then, the flood broke loose, tears streaming down your cheeks before you could so much as raise a hand to stifle them. You cried unabashedly, and he loved you all the more for it.

Allowing himself the smallest possible smile, he let his hand dip low enough to cup your chin. His thumb dragged over your cheeks, more to better admire your suffering than to wipe it away. “Magic is a powerfully corrosive force,” he explained, releasing you. Unsupported, your head lulled forward, coming to rest against his thigh. “Untended to, it strips away the things you hold dear. I can only imagine what you lost, surrounded by it so completely with so little preparation.”

You stiffened suddenly. There was another ragged drag of your hips, a small sound of pleasure, and then you were deliciously slack. He could see the arousal staining the inside of your thighs, dripping onto the stone of the floor beneath you. Proof of your dedication. Evidence of your redemption.

He leaned down, petting your hair flat and pressing his lips against the top of your head. Indulgently, he allowed himself to linger there, to speak against your skin. “Fear not,” he muttered, relishing how quickly you tensed against him.

“I will make you whole again.”

~

You’d been wrong. Rollo wasn’t a little prick.

He was a massive creep.

You were watching Malleus from the other side of the festival square when he approached you, taking in the show from a distance as your boyfriend set off miniature fireworks and conjured illusions for a growing audience of townspeople. You would’ve preferred to be next to him, of course, but the square was crowded and he so rarely found himself as an object of adoration, rather than one of fear. Even from a hundred feet away, you could see that he was smiling, and to know he was happy for enough of you.

You were just beginning to consider if it would be worth the trouble of joining your other classmates as they attempted to out-compete one another when you caught that pale figure looming in your peripheral, felt the tell-tale chill of those Ftricold eyes latching onto you. It was uncanny, really. He hadn’t talked to you again after that initial introduction, and yet, you were the only person he ever really seemed to look at.

You made a valiant effort to slip away, but he was surprisingly fast for a bookish mage — appearing as if by magic in your escape route. He greeted you by name, and then recognizing your sheepishness, added, “If you have a moment.”

You really didn’t, not for him, but Trein would skin you alive if you were anything less than perfectly polite to your host. You put on your best affable smile and tried not to look as flighty as you felt. “Of course. Anything you need.”

“What I need is of no concern.” His tone had the same flat, scalding frigidness as his gaze. You tried not to grimace as he positioned himself beside you, turning towards Malleus’ display. His expression was less schooled — the corner of his lips curling back as Malleus sent up another array of gold sparks. “Your companions are very… lively.”

You nodded eagerly, just glad he was staring down something that wasn’t you. “They’re excited.” Nodding toward Malleus, you added, “Malleus, especially.”

"You’re close to him, aren’t you?”

The question caught you off guard. Your relationship with Malleus wasn’t a secret, but you had been trying to tone things down ever since your rocky first impression. Aside from a few less-than-platonic comments whispered to one another during your tour of the city, the only time you’d even had a chance to speak to him was last night, when you’d sneaked out of your room to visit his. But Rollo couldn’t have known that. Not unless he’d been following you around since you arrived.

Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you’d been trying to be. Looking pointedly at the ground, you rallied and gave the only answer you could.

“Very.”

He nodded solemnly, as if you’d just told him about a very bad diagnosis rather than your very happy relationship. Malleus sent up another firework — this one black against the cloudless sky. There was a sound like thunder in a concrete box. You flinched into yourself, but Rollo never wavered.

“I understand that this world is not your own.”

You shook your head. “Not originally, no.”

He hummed. “How wonderful it is to imagine a reality without such—” His wrist flicked accusingly toward Malleus. “—waste. You must miss it dearly.”

You wondered absently if being skinned alive would really be so bad, after all. “I— Uh, I definitely used to, yeah.”

You didn’t hear him move, but when you glanced at him, his head had snapped in your direction. “Used to?”

You laughed. He didn’t.

“…I guess I’ve gotten pretty settled in here,” you said, shrugging. “There are a lot of things I’d miss from this world if I left now, too.”

You tried to hold your poker face, not to let your attention drift, but inevitably, your gaze flickered from Rollo to Malleus and back again as you considered what parts of your life you would miss too much to abandon outright. Something flashed across Rollo’s expression — scalding and sudden and severe — but it was gone before you could be completely sure it had been there at all. His scowl softened, then disappeared altogether. With a surprisingly lightness, he nodded his head, the hollows of his cheeks rounding in the faintest impression of a smile. “Of course. How foolish of me, to think you would be above sentiment. My humblest apologies.”

It was still more patronizing than you would’ve liked, but he seemed genuine enough. You beamed at him with your best ‘I don’t like you but I think it’ll significantly improve my chances of survival if we’re friends’ grin. “Don’t sweat it.”

It looked as if there was more he wanted to say, but students from other schools were starting to find their way to the square — drawn in by the barely controlled chaos of Night Raven’s, of course. His constant exasperation already beginning to settle back in, he looked toward them, conflict written into the purse of his lips, the new creases at the corners of his eyes.

“I get it,” you assured him. “Take care of your other guests. I’ll save a dance for you at the masquerade.”

This time, you definitely saw the edges of his lips quirk. Before you could ask what he found so funny, he was lost to the crowd. You waited a beat then, giving up on all pretenses of dignity, shouldered your way through the townspeople until you were at Malleus’ side. He wrapped his arm around your waist by way of greeting, pulling you against his side, either unaware or uncaring of your attempted nonchalance. You weren’t much better — burying your face in the side of his neck and groaning.

His tone was cloyingly sympathetic, if a bit amused. “Did Flamme upset you, again?”

So he’d been watching you, too. “He’s just so—” You cut yourself off with a groan. “He keeps prying, and I— I just don’t know what he wants.”

Malleus hummed. “What did he say to you, exactly?”

If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded a little jealous.

“Nothing important. He just asked if I missed my own world — y’know, the magicless one.”

“And you told him…?”

You pulled back just far enough to peck his cheek. This was a game you’d played before. Every time Crowley discovered another false lead, every time you made the mistake of sharing a memory from your first home. “That I love my big, beautiful boyfriend too much to ever even consider leaving, and that someone would have to drag me away kicking and screaming before you ever got rid of me.”

He all-but purred with satisfaction, resting his forehead against yours. You let him pull you closer, kiss the corner of your jaw, but for whatever reason, the affection abruptly felt shallow, cold. You’d come to him for comfort. You couldn’t entirely convince yourself that was what you’d gotten.

Somehow, even wrapped in his arms, you felt as cold as you had standing next to Rollo.

~

After your confession, your behavior improved drastically. There was no more sitting by the window, no more tugging on your collar, no more begging for a life that would ultimately see you drained away and broken down. You listened when he spoke. Your eyes took on the glassy, dewy sheen of a proper lamb, a lamb aware of its need for guidance.

Best of all, you began to seek him out. He would never allow something as precious as you to wander freely, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to punish you for stretching your leash to meet him by your bedroom door, for asking so sweetly if you could join him while he worked in his study. Finally, after weeks of carefully sowing your curiosity, you raised the question he’d been waiting so, so very long to hear.

“When you said you would make me whole,” you began, in your adorably sheepish way. All downcast eyes and kneading hands and perfectly pursed lips. “What did you mean?”

Rollo couldn’t help himself — cupping your face with both hands and kissing the top of your head.

Finally, it was time for you to visit the chapel.

With your chain in-hand, he led you down the long barren aisle, your procession gated by stone pews that had sat empty longer than they ever could’ve possibly been occupied. An elevated stone slate stood proudly at the front of the hall — your altar. All idols and paraphernalia had been done away with long ago, but Rollo didn’t mind the emptiness. False gods were not what he planned to worship, tonight.

He brought you in front of the altar and curled your chain around his fist. “Derobe at your leisure.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. He watched as you swallowed the urge to demand an explanation and dutifully began to tug at the laces of your dress. Your faith was blind, your devotion bone-deep.

You were perfect.

Unbound, your dress slid from your shoulders and pooled at your feet, your panties joining the heap a moment later. Rollo took your hand, guiding you forward and onto the altar. You faced outward, your legs dangling off the edge. Your arms rose instinctively to cover your chest, your thighs pressing together despite his closeness. You looked so incredibly small like that — surrounded by harsh rock and stone, exposed and shrunken into yourself. He couldn’t imagine how you’d survived for so long before he found you. He couldn’t imagine how you’d made it a single day in that dragon’s den without being eaten alive.

The thought of Malleus — the abrupt awareness of a stain on your otherwise unblemished purity — caused something ugly and hot to rouse within Rollo. He kissed you before the heat could fade, quickly and deeply with enough force to bruise. You froze against him, and had he been more coherent, he might’ve thought to chastise you for your ungratefulness. As it was, his mind had already moved on to other things. More important things.

His mouth fell lower, catching on your neck, then your chest. Your hands shot to his shoulders as his lips sealed around one of your nipples, laving over the sensitive bud with the flat of his tongue. He would never dare to leave a mark on you, but the temptation was beyond words. He could only be grateful that callous heathen hadn’t managed to scar what Rollo sought to restore.

Unable to separate from your chest, his hand found the space in-between your clenched thighs. You parted your legs obediently as he cupped your sex, finding that you were already adorably wet. Using two fingers to gather your excess slick, he savored the feeling of you — so wonderfully soft under his fingers, his tongue. He pressed the pad of his thumb, calloused from years of late nights spent writing, against your clit and drank in the way you squirmed against him. This was the way it ought to be, he decided somewhere in the deepest, darkest, most selfish pit of his mind. You, bared in all of your glory, and him, worshiping at your holy altar.

And you were coming apart so beautifully for him. You gasped as he eased two lean fingers into you, your hands finding his hair. He wanted to be gentle with you, but you made it so difficult. Every movement of his hand, every lap of his tongue was accompanied by yet another of your pitiful noises, each more heartbreaking than the last. Before he could remember himself, he was spreading his digits apart too widely, flicking his wrist too roughly, biting down too hard not to break the skin. He tasted blood, heavy and heady and sweet as heaven, and could not bring himself to regret his sacrilege.

He was kinder to you than the dragon would ever be. He treated you more gently than a drooling, power drunk beast could ever think to. He loved you more than Malleus ever had, and that was why he got to be the one biting into your collarbone, your throat. That was why he got to touch you with a roughness that might have been mistaken for irreverence, why he deserved to drink down the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, of your nails burrowing so harshly into his scalp. You moaned something incomprehensible, but Rollo only heard the ringing of church bells. The distorted drawl of his own name.

There was no time for further preparations. He pulled back from you, turning your body over so that the edge of the altar pressed into your stomach. It was inelegant, but efficient. As you scrambled to find your footing, he brushed his own robes aside and took his cock in one hand, steadying your hips with the other. You made a small sound — the first syllable of a half-choked protest — only to fall silent as he thrust into you. As you ought to. There was nothing to fight against.

Not when he fit so perfectly inside of you.

The euphoria was unbearable. He shut his eyes, leaning against your back. He might have stayed there for another hour, another day, another hundred years had it not been for the ragged sob that slipped past your lips — wretched and ugly. “I— I changed my mind,” you stammered. “I don’t want to— Please, stop—”

He shut you up with a harsh thrust. Your voice cut out into nothing, anything you may have gone on to say replaced by a hitched whimper as he began to move in earnest. He retained himself to short, stilted motions — content that he should never leave you completely. A lamb should never be without its shepherd, after all.

“You asked me to make you whole again,” he explained benevolently, although his voice could hardly be heard above the sound of skin against skin, of your nails seeking purchase in unrelenting stone. “And I will.”

He curled an arm around your waist, pulling you that much closer. His hand found your lower stomach as his cock twitched against the warm, welcoming walls of your cunt. One part of your body was grateful for his worship, at least.

“No matter how long it takes to sow the seed.”

He felt you stiffen underneath him. His steady pace grew more frantic in response.

“But, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” His lips on the shell of your ear, his body draped over yours. For a brief moment, the world was just pleasure and warmth and the two of you, perfectly fitted against one another. As it should’ve always been. “It’s not as if there’ll be anywhere else in this world for you, once I’m finished.”

It began very slowly, then seemed to happen all at once. The tension left your shoulders. Your knees bent, and a moment later, your legs went slack altogether, leaving Rollo to hold you up. By the time he reached his climax, pressing into you as he spilled open, you lay still over the altar. Your eyes had taken on a blurred, unfocused quality. There was no curiosity, no malice, no spark. If he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought there was no life at all.

His spend dripped down the inside of your thighs. Still buried inside of you, he felt himself harden again.

“You understand, don’t you?”

Your head barely moved. You might’ve nodded, or it may just have been a trick of the light. Either way, it didn’t matter.

He’d already begun to move again.

~

But, above all, Rollo Flamme was a self-righteous fool.

You played dead as he scraped you off the stone slate and carried you back to bed. He took you again — once or twice, there was really no point keeping track — then fell asleep beside you. You never made a sound, not after the first time he came inside of you. You didn’t move. If it’d been possible, you would’ve stopped breathing, too.

He held you close as he slept, his dependence an unfortunate convenience. It took you endless, aching minutes to wriggle out of his arms and even longer to carefully lift the key around his neck over his unwitting head. You unlocked the fastener that kept you bound to the bedpost, coiling the now unanchored chain around your wrist. There was nothing you could do about the collar, at the moment. For that alone, you hated Rollo more than anything.

You wanted a bath. You wanted to scrub yourself clean with a nail file. You wanted to throw yourself into the fireplace and roast until your skin had all peeled away and uncovered something new and untouched beneath. You settled for snagging a nightgown out of your armoire and creeping your way silently through the parish, the stone cold as ice against your bare feet. Beyond the bars on the windows and the collar around your neck, Rollo had taken laughable little security measures. You didn’t stumble across any enchantments, and you didn’t spot any wards carved among the decorative motifs. Even the main entryway was almost invitingly undefended — void of protection save for a single iron bar across the inside of the door. Of course. He’d already explained himself. He hadn’t wanted to keep you here forever.

Just long enough for you to forget that you could leave.

You clenched your jaw and slid the iron bar out of place, throwing the door open in the same motion. For the first time in months, you stepped out of Rollo’s home and into the waiting night.

Malleus was there in less than a moment.

Whatever chance you might’ve had to savor the fresh air, to bask under the starry sky, to stare out at the distant lights of an all-but unknown city and simply decide what to do next was stripped away in a flash of green light, a wave of fresh heat. He materialized immediately in front of you, as solid as stone and as all-encompassing as shadow. You blinked up at him, half disbelieving and half happy beyond words. Or, attempting to be happy, at least. You wanted so badly to be happy to see him.

Malleus, for his part, seemed less strained. He was smiling fiercely. He began to raise a hand to your cheek, but you flinched away before he could make contact — pressing yourself flush against the parish door. “Please,” you managed, through gritted teeth. “Don’t.”

His smile fell away in an instant. For the first time, he seemed to look at you, his fire-warm eyes raking over your disheveled form until they caught on the collar around your neck. His hand came up again, but this time, his fingers merely slipped underneath the polished gold. At the same time, you heard frantic footsteps, felt the door behind you pull away. You didn’t have to look back to be sure.

There was only one voice that could ever possibly be so frigid.

“Draconia.”

In an instant, Malleus’ smile had returned. He dipped his head low, ghosting his lips over the top of your head and tightening his hold on your collar as you tried desperately to get away. “You will not be leaving me again, my dear,” he muttered into your hair. And then, to Rollo, “I believe we have a matter of great importance to discuss.”

You tried to feel something, anything. Betrayal. Devastation. Despair. Instead, the gaping absence inside of you only seemed to fester. The hole grew larger. The cold and the heat, each more unbearable in turn.

Rollo had been right. There had been something vital inside of you, and now it was gone. Only, he’d thought he could repair the corruption. You knew better.

He's possessive and manipulative, willing to use violence if necessary, and utterly protective over what he sees as his. That is, you, sweet gullible thing.

He has Foras and Barbatos trailing after you, watching your every move and getting them to report back to him anything you do or say. With whom, at what time and place. If he could read your thoughts, he would. It's protection, he likes to think, his controlling tendencies creates an environment where he's prepared to deal with anything and everything. Things he planned and things that he couldn't foresee.

Having a lover in an endless war, a human one at that, is worrisome. His hands itches, his throat gets scratchy, his emotions are all over the place as he tries to rationalize what he feels rather than focusing on feeling it.

Sometimes, he manipulates your dreams, jealous you'll dream of someone else. At first, they're sweet, innocent dreams — the two of you on a picnic, in a park, at the beach, in the snow. But as time passes, they become more steamy and heated.

He often watches you from the darkness of your room, watching you find relief while calling out his name. It inflates his ego in ways you can't imagine. Once he falls in love with you, game over.

How he's acting with darling?

You like books? He gives you thousands of them. Like jewelry? Flowers? He gives you those every single day. Like a certain drink? Food? He has someone cooking it for you. Movies? Series? He watches every single one with you.

He approaches you like he has no ulterior motives, like he knows that there's no better demon than him and so obviously you shall love him as much as his subjects do. He doesn't play games for your affections, he has you perpetually staying on Hades, surrounded by these walls that he built on his sweat and tears, to protect you from the angels attack (or so he says).

Punishments are his usual one: having you hanged. Sometimes a bit too strongly. If you cry and struggle too much, he'll pull you into an embrace and whisper that you need to understand he's all you'll ever need. He's not a cruel king; pain and suffering is something he's well acquainted with, knowing what kind of things he went through childhood.

Danger?

Someone offended you? He killed them. Someone hit on you? He ripped their tongue out and killed them. Someone tried to hurt you? He absolutely mawl that being, making a bloody mess and not even caring about it.

Try to run from him, and he'll have you back in less than ten minutes, after all, every Hades demon looks up to him. And to you, to some extent, as you were able to claim a spot on their beautiful, glorious King, so they all watches your every step, trying to understand what you did to captivate their King.

You averted your eyes to the Fae king, waiting for his counterargument. He was tall, dressed in black, silky robes and golden jewelry highlighted his natural beauty. His crown was made of branches and flowers, arranged neatly on his head in a way that adorned his horns perfectly. The Fae, Malleus by name, sneered.

"Their father asked me for my blessings and my food, sealing their fate as mine." His strange accent revealed his true nature; an origin older than human. Fae were born out of nature, they grew knowing how to nurture it, trapping humans in strange deals if they endangered it. There were many types of Fae around the world.

Malleus - and he told you his name when he tried to kidnap you a few minutes ago - ruled over them all. You remained silent in his presence, smart enough to know that your words could help you, but if used wrong they could also make you even more tangled in this whole mess.

He seemed delighted, though, maybe because he liked your intelligence.

It seems, by what you captured between the loud noise ringing in your ears, that your mother had taken a pomegranate from Death's garden while your father had asked for a favor from the Fae King itself. In doing so, they both promised to give you, their firstborn, in return, thus, trapping you here in the discussion about who really owned you.

It didn't help that they didn't really keep their word; hiding you from both Idia and Malleus for years.

Malleus and Idia were bickering like children, and Death did try to hit Malleus with his scythe a few times, but the Fae king was faster. Even though the whole situation was hilarious to watch, it was also maddening and desperate as anxiety was bubbling up in your belly. Uncertainty was filling your guts as you tried to maintain your breath steady, calm, and secure. If you needed to run, you'd need to be paying attention, alert, and waiting for the right moment to act.

Otherwise, you'll get yourself even more tangled in this mess.

In the mess, you didn't even want to be involved. But your parents were not responsible enough to offer their firstborn to a Fae and a... what was Idia? The Grim Reaper? Underworld King or something? You couldn't remember right now. Did he tell you at all?

A heavy hand came over your shoulder as if they had heard your thoughts of running away and Idia watched over you with his gloomy eyes. He seemed like death idealized, pale skin and chipped lips, frail appearance despite having strong muscles under all that skin. You could feel it; he had enough strength to hurl you over his shoulder if needed.

"Stay." His eyes were swimming in a spiral, entering your mind as his command took root. He clicked his tongue when he watched Malleus getting closer to. "Don't run."

Another hand pulled you by your wrist, freeing you from Idia's attempt to trap you. If anything, Malleus much preferred you fell for his trap. He surely would treat you far better than this deathly ghoul could ever dream of. If he couldn't even take care of his own appearance, how come he would be able to take care of you?

And what could Idia even give you? A Hell bound? How fantastic.

"Don't listen to him, sweetheart," Malleus muttered, fingers grazing your nape as he trailed them up to your scalp, his eyes shone so brightly as he dissuaded you from listening to Idia. "With the Fae, you'll be free. Truly free. You'll get the chance to run through our woods and forest, eat, and dance to your heart's content. You won't need nor desire a single thing."

Idia scuffed. "Of course you'll be free. They'll drug you with their food, strip you of your sanity and will, and turn you into a puppet."

Their discussion went on, buzzing in your ears as they offered you benefits to gain your favor. It was honestly giving you a headache and you had enough of being quiet.

"Can you guys shut up!" You screamed louder than they could, your voice got carried away with the wind as they both turned in shock to stare at you. Malleus more than Idia, as it was insane for someone to be bold enough to tell him to shut up.

"You guys keep yapping about this and that, but at this point, you're just fighting to ignore whatever it is this weird sexual tension that's going on between you." You huffed, crossing your arms around your chest as you turned around, and wiping their lingering touches from your clothes, you pointed to them.

"I don't care what my parents did, but I belong to no one. Fuck this shit. And stop pestering me." And then, you were gone, leaving behind two immortal beings that were baffled and shocked.

They were used to begging and crying, but you were different. Surely, this much was clear. And this also made them desire you even more - you were Idia's heart, Malleus treasure -, of course, you were made to be their child, in their image. The firstborn that was meant to be their successor.

Idia turned to Malleus, a cough trapped in his lips, and reluctantly said. "What if we shared them? We have to settle this deal somehow, Malleus-shi."

Malleus thought for a second. But got lost in Idia's eyes and the soft blush that spread through his cheeks. It was rosy, almost imperceptible, but nothing escaped Malleus' attention without him allowing it to happen.

"Considering that both parts have no losses, I must say this is quite the best alternative for our little problem." He arranged the crown on his head, suffocated with the throbbing of his heart against his ribcage. "Perhaps we could talk about this more calmly during lunch?"

Death hummed, grasping his scythe just a little too tightly as he nodded. "Sounds like a plan, if you ask me."

His job was to unite rather than separating lovers, so why are you making things difficult evading Cupid's every attempt? Sebek was Cupid's true name - and he was getting exasperated, so he did what other Gods normally didn't. He flew to the human world with his wings of colorful, plumed feathers, a quiver slung over one shoulder and a bow in hand, prepared to question you.

He was certain that he had taken your preferences into mind. So what was he doing wrong that you were running away from all the suitors who approached you? Were they too old? Too young? Was their personality?

He was getting antsy.

Angry, even.

He had been uniting lovers since the dawn of time, when the world was young and greener than what it is today. And not once he had made a mistake or a wrong choice. Everyone deserved love and everyone he had united was in love forever.

That was how things were. How they always had been.

So it was no surprise for him to simply locate you in your house, relaxing after a warm, comfortable shower, already forgetting about the stressful day at work. It was a mundane view, one that perhaps you could be sharing with someone?

A lover, perhaps? A lover that could turn into your spouse someday?

"You, mortal!" He called, announcing his presence. Sebek didn't thought nor cared that he could scare you. "I had come to tal-"

Your surprised scream cut him off as you took the first thing that could serve as a weapon in your hands and adopted an alerted stance.

Sebek rolled his eyes. With a snap of his fingers, your weapon was sent flying and got lost somewhere in your kitchen. He stared at you with curiosity and tiredness.

"Not once, not even once, I fear." He was talking louder than your fear, his wings getting agitated as he flapped them slowly, trying to calm himself down to think more clearly. "My record was immaculate and it shall remain like this. Tell me, why you're avoiding all your suitors. I choose the richest, the most beautiful ones, just like you liked it. So why? Why you're being so hard?"

You pointed to him, full of indignation. Gears turning your head as you processed everything that he said, as you processed his wings and bow, and all his love talking.

Cupid was well known so of course you recognized him instantly.

"First of all, fuck you. So it was all your doing." You were beyond annoyed. A Roman God yapping and annoying you? Sure, a normal occurrence. A Roman God trying to play matchmaker for you?

Utterly ridiculous.

"Now be fuck right, you arranged the most creepy ones with shitty pick-up lines. One of them wasn't even talking with me, just following me around."

Sebek pondered over it for a second. Yeah... maybe he was a bit in the wrong - not much, though. He had a reputation to care and he was too proud to admit he could have made a mistake.

"Everything was according to your preferences, mortal." He noted, staring at the clipboard he had summoned by pure magic. He read out loud all the qualities that you were attracted to in the most clinical voice, he could sound almost too disinterested for a Love God if it wasn't for the glint in his eyes.

He was trying to see where he went wrong.

"Why didn't you asked my opinion on this matter? You don't know how I feel in a relationship right now, you don't know if I want one right now or, I dunno, for all you know, I could be on the asexual spectrum." You shrugged, coming up with any excuses as Sebek took tentative steps in your direction as if he didn't wanted to scare a hurt cat.

He took one step, you took two back. You preferred to put some distance between you two, if possible.

"Are you asexual, though?" He asked back, staring right at your profile on his clipboard, with his hand poised at his waist, impatiently waiting for you to spill the beans.

"You know what, I won't answer to that." You concluded right there and then, absolutely annoyed. "But maybe you should know if I am or not. Isn't that your job?"

Another step. He was near enough that he could reach you, if he truly wanted, and your heart was pounding rather quick in your chest, constricted in your ribs like a prison. You scrutinized his face, staring for the first time at his soft smile and colorful wings, at his eyes and the passionate look that glossed over them.

This time, your heart beat just a little different. He was just your type now that you were paying attention.

"Anyway, you should go away." You said, ushering him away, praying to whoever God was online that they would listen and make him disappear. "I'm not gonna to play your game because you suck at your job. I could find someone else by myself."

An arrogant remark, but one you were speaking without thinking.

"I could curse you and you would never find someone who would love you." Sebek was much more arrogant, crossing his arms around his chest and finding amusement at your struggles and whines. "I can even shoot you right now with a lead arrow. See if you can manage on your own, then, mortal."

"But you won't, because... uh.. that would imply your perfect score was a lie." You used his words against him, still feeling that pull of attraction and interest harboring at your chest everytime your eyes found his.

"And I have a name, by the way." You added, annoyed at that nickname.

Sebek made a vague gesture as if that didn't mattered at the moment, but you heard him whisper your name quietly, almost as if testing the syllabus.

"So... you don't want a lover?" He asked, tentatively, curious to hear your answer and right this situation. He had tons of other people waiting for his arrows, for his love to be so infectious that they would surely be eternally happy with their lover.

"Are you traumatized, perchance? Focusing on other matters, perhaps?"

You rolled your eyes. "Nah, bro, that's the matter: you only sent these weirdos my way. A grandpa, one day, flashing strange smiles and making sexual jokes. An ever weirder guy following me around without saying a single thing. The list go on..."

You tried to recall what else had happened to you; a crazy woman talking about how you're her lover from a past life or sum. Sincerely, you tried not to remember what else happened.

"Poor choices."

Sebek deadpanned, preferring to remain silent for a second before coughing. "Uh, perhaps it was the wrong person at the wrong time."

"Wow, thank you for finally understanding." This time, Sebek that rolled his eyes, making you snort. The residual fear you felt evaporated and you kept watching over him curiously, to see what he would do now.

"I apologize for everything you went through. That should never happened. How- uh, how can I fix everything?" He seemed genuine, his initial cockiness melting into something else as he waited for your confirmation on how to make things right. "I should have asked, instead of insisting so much, how you truly feel, Yuu?"

Your name coming from his lips was a surprise. A soft, smooth pronunciation that made your heart skip another beat as you stared at the floor for a second, shyness creeping in and making you tongue twisted for the first time this entire night.

"The only issue was already talked. But..." your cheeks burned, but you had to shot your shoot. "I wouldn't mind going on a date with you."

Sebek's cheeks were painted pink and red, as he didn't foresee something like this happening. Not once had happened before. His eyes were bulging as he stared at you as if you were made of golden or as if you had two heads. Then, a smile stretched into his face.

"Let's do it." He agreed. Sure, a hint of softness and mischievous laced in his tone, but for a Love God, he could feel your feelings much stronger than you.

The innocent curiosity. The wanton need. The desire for affection.

Things every human needed and couldn't hide from him.

"So it was me you wanted?" He teased, now he was back to his proud self, chest puffing like a pigeon as he kept rambling that, of course, you would like him, he was far superior than everyone else anyway.

"Things are settled then?" You shrugged, more asking than sure of it, cutting him mid-rambling as he smiled again.

That smile hid something far more dangerous, not that you noticed or could understand the subtle shift as Sebek took another step into your direction and held your hand.

"Tomorrow, I shall return and you'll have the best night of your life. For sure you'll fall in love with me by the end of it."

You snorted, feeling all happy and small as you tightened the grip on his hands by reflex. He had soft hands for someone who was always carrying a bow everywhere and shooting it. "Yeah, yeah, but I think you're the one to fall in love with me first."

"I bet you will." His face got closers to yours. But he didn't made anymore moviments, respecting your boundaries and letting you pull away if needed.

He didn't planned to kiss you just yet. But Sebek quite liked the proximity.

"Not happening, but I'm looking forward to how you'll be wagging your tail like a puppy when you fell in love with me. Sure will be cute."

You planted a kiss to his cheek and such small gesture made him so happy that he made a strange noise, his wings fluttering, the blush returning to his face as he started turning around with the intention of going away.

"Goodbye, Yuu." He bid you with a nod of his head. "I shall see you tomorrow and show you why everyone prays for true love. Keep looking forward for it."

♡ Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. You’re going to die. You want to cry. You want to wail and jump out the window. You’ve lots of qualms about the dorm placement too. You? Pomefiore? You couldn’t have gotten it any worse.  You and the mere mention of Pomefiore does not mix. Never has, never will. Come to think of it, had said dorm even expressed grief over the death of the first victim? There wasn’t any mention of them after their purpose was served, which is to say, their purpose: die. That’s all you’re here for. Without your death, you serve no purpose. Without your death, there is no plot. You’re going to die. That is final. Unchanging, even.

Opening your lids once more, feeling the sting of salt-born dampness that has yet to spill freely, you take a clear look at your surroundings. The brightness takes you by surprise, and your vision is spotty- but soon enough, you realize one thing.

You’re in a detention room.

Well, that was.. expected. 

♡ Funny enough, you don’t understand why there’s even one here. Plot convenience, you suppose.

 ♡ The next thing you feel is the warmth of the sun on the bare of your skin, the one thing grounding you to this place- unspooling over you like a shroud. Furnished with rows of desks and chairs, detention fits the quintessential type you’d find in any wacky slasher movie, with motivational posters ejected out onto walls and a large grandfather clock staring all of your peers down. The window overlooks Night Raven’s verdant field below, with some students relishing in their freedom. This is supposed to be your deathbed, and as per your fate, you watch the clock’s black arcs slicing the afternoon into agonizingly slow increments.

♡ A couple of candles sputter, and your purse sits on your desk. There's a cute little lip balm in it, a bunch of cosmetics, and things you don’t even know about. Isn't that justtt peachy?

♡ It’s a visual reminder that while time is moving, it was in no hurry at all. You still have some time left. You don’t how much, you only know one thing. You don’t want to die. You can’t die. You don’t want to go out so brutally, so horribly, so hopelessly. This is not how you imagined it.

“Dude, I don’t even understand why they put me in here with these guys.” Grumbles a familiar voice. “ ‘S not like this is the first time the cafeteria’s seen a food fight.”

“You threw an entire tray at the headmage’s face.”

“That was an accident, okay? Sure, the tea may have been hot, but I seriously doubt it got past his feathers. Sue me.”

♡ Ace Trappola sits not far from you! He’s the closest, in fact. You remember why he’s in here, guilty as charged, the headmage snapped after his third food fight. He’s chatting Yuu’s ear off — you realize you have no idea as to why they’re here — (it was never expressed clearly in the game, then again, you didn’t make it past the remainder of the storyline) — with his leg propped up on his table and his arms folded behind his head. Yuu sits on that same table, from the sight alone, anyone’d know they’re quite close. It’s the same reason Ace had survived alongside Yuu. 

 ♡ The rest are far from you, though you doubt anything could elude Rook Hunt’s ears, your Vice Housewarden. Found hiding in the rafters of another dorm. You remember when you’d died, he’d been the first to act, propping you up and taking charge just to save you a brutal end. Comforted you in his own way- though you seriously do not want to think about that right now. He’s staring out a window, typical. Speaking of typical, Azul is the farthest, having been exposed by virtue of his unauthorized business activity. He does not deign anyone a glance, resolving to write down.. something onto the pieces of paper everyone has on their desks. 

♡ The loudest one is Sebek, even when he’s far away, you can hear his voice like he’s yelling into your ear.

You nearly face-palm. 

♡ Ugh! When playing the game initially, you did not think of how horrible this team actually was. They were the worst match, and always managed to get caught up in deep waters, the kind whose sheer amount of stupidity you’d yell at. You were playing as Yuu then, so you didn’t fret over things like that, but the events have taken a drastic turn now, and you’re at one of the biggest disadvantages in the history of mankind... You're not playing this game from Yuu’s perspective anymore— you’re not guaranteed survival, you’re guaranteed death, and the clock’s still ticking.

♡ You mull it over for a second. How did the first victim even die? You remember this character... had taken a sip of some tea, traditional Pomefiore style, and had suffered a reaction. It hadn’t been described what type. A seizure? Something else? The staff only ascertained one truth: it had clearly been tampered with, and off they went. But who handed them the tea? No, there’s a little teacup set positioned in one of the corners, maybe having been left by its earlier residents - your character had taken the tea themselves. But if it was tampered with.. it was surely meant for the first victim. Ugh! One of the major cons of this is that you don’t know shit about this Pomefiore person, except that they’re..

♡ .. Not all that relevant? You’re going to be a goner at this rate. Miraculously enough, the first victim had survived the ordeal, but then had been subsequently murdered in the Nurse’s Office. You remember the art, a brutish display of crimson and bone-deep gashes, but flick the thought away amid the constriction of your throat. Your heart is beating, erratically, voraciously, helplessly.

A chair scrapes.

“You have remained unusually silent today.”

You blink, a slow realization creeping upon you. You stare into the eyes of your Vice Housewarden, who stares back with his signature, elusive smile. The light limns the countours of his face as he takes his seat, unsolicited, opposite you, chin perched upon his gloved hands.

“You would ordinarily have offered at least three  remarks regarding their appearances by now. My, it appears you've forgotten your daily critique.” Delighted, he closes his eyes and professes. You don’t know what to do, so you gulp down the water amassing in your eyes and give him an equally watery smile. He seems surprised. “..How moving! I knew today's sunlight felt particularly transformative!”

♡ Why did he..? Oh, wait! What did he say? You’d have ordinarily offered three remarks regarding their appearance. That’s right. That’s one of your character’s innate qualities.

♡ They were mean. Not overtly so, but in the ways you could feel it. Self-conceited, two-faced, if you will. Anyone could dislike them, and anyone could want to dispose of them-  it’s no surprise they died the way they died but.. this is a slasher game, isn’t it? If the first victim’s death came with the price of several others being ticked off, then it wasn’t merely a revenge kill, was it? 

Whatever. You don’t why you’re worrying about this.