#eman briar...

[steamclouds]

Finished the Hunter's Blade trilogy last week and spent the last couple days catching up on reading the Sellsword trilogy because I skipped them... just finished Servant of the Shard and......damn

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭.

— pairing; malleus draconia x reader

— summary; set in the future, where there's a threat to you and your unborn child

— notes; i was inspired to write this after watching a scene on youtube where we meet maleanor for the first time. please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It starts off as an ordinary day.

❋ You typically spend your mornings in the palace gardens, enjoying the breeze on your skin and the smell of fresh flowers. Now that you’re heavily pregnant with the future heir of Briar Valley, you’re constantly monitored by the Royal Guards, ensuring your safety in the absence of their Lord.

❋ But on this particular day, something goes wrong.

❋ The threat to your safety is swift and sudden, leaving you scrambling to protect your unborn child. Your protectors are caught off guard, leaving you vulnerable and unprotected for just a few terrifying moments.

❋ When word of the attack reaches Malleus, his blood runs cold. Then, it boils. His composure cracks, betraying the true depths of his emotions: a controlled, silent rage that emanates a chilling aura throughout the castle hall. His magic crackles in the air, the darkness swirling like a tempest around him. Everyone, guards and servants alike, can feel the suffocating weight of his fury.

❋ The guards — some of Briar Valley’s finest — stand frozen before Malleus, unable to meet his gaze with their heads bowed low. But he doesn't lash out immediately. Instead, he surveys them with a thoughtful, calculating look, purposely prolonging the tension in the otherwise silent room as they await his judgement.

❋ In his mind, he’s analysing every single one of their failings, dissecting the chain of events that allowed you and his unborn child to be placed in jeopardy. It’s a battle to restrain himself; the true depths of his emotions would surely set Briar Valley ablaze. As it is, the sky outside is already grey and overcast, reflecting the blackness of his mood.

❋ Finally, Malleus confronts the guards with a chilling calmness, his voice like the crackling embers of a storm. “Your folly,” he hisses, his words cold and precise, “could have cost Briar Valley its future.”

❋ Lilia watches from the shadows, a fond smile playing across his lips. Secretly, he’s taken aback by how much Malleus resembles his mother in this very moment. Maleanor had once looked at him the same way, with blazing eyes and a terrifying show of lightning magic, when he had arrived moments too late to protect her and her egg, a young Malleus still forming inside.  

❋ Maleanor’s fierce love had been passed down to Malleus, and he would protect you and his child just as she had protected him.

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 34: Malleus, Books and More

Malleus seems to be an avid reader, praising Sebek for checking books out from the library: “The pursuit of knowledge is always worthwhile.”

He mentions reading about overblots and Idia’s family in his own family’s history books, and gets Leona a copy of a specialist book on ancient incantations that he also has in his own library at home.

It is possible that Briar Valley’s information is somewhat outdated: Malleus says that he was taught that people in Jamil and Kalim’s hometown struggle to get enough water to survive and Kalim says, “That was ages ago.”

Malleus says that he finds he often learns much from studying things they don’t have in Briar Valley and mentions reading about Fleur City, the history of magic, shopping, and home appliances.

Malleus also mentions going to antique shops for novels and poetry collections, and during the Firelit Sky event he has Kalim take him to an antique shop where he purchases the vendor’s oldest book, centuries old and written in an extinct language. “Only historians and linguists have benefited from able to translate it. Yet you read it without even using a dictionary…”

During GloMas he comments, “there’s no substitute for experiencing a place firsthand” and “No amount of book learning could give me this feeling.”

In Book 5 Malleus comments on how not a single one of the many mages on campus—Including himself—noticed Vil’s overblot.

Rook says that the coliseum is “imbued with a special field that makes it harder for damage to spill out,” and Malleus responds with, “Mm.”

Ambrose LXIII comments on “traces of large-scale magic all over the coliseum,” but Crowley insists that he has no idea what Ambrose is talking about (Ambrose appears unconvinced).

Leona, too, picks up traces of “a massive spell cast over the whole arena,” though it is never specified if they were picking up on Vil’s overblot, Malleus’ spell to undo Vil’s damage, or something else entirely.

In Book 6 Malleus senses something emanating from the mirror linked to the Hall of Mirrors. He says it is not magic, and it is revealed that unidentified soldiers have appeared on campus--it is possible that STYX’s Charon infiltrated the school via the dark mirror.

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: "I thought you were going home for Christmas." - "Well, I couldn’t leave you all alone."

Pairing: Silver x Gn!Reader/Prefect/Yuu

Genre: Fluff

TW: NA

Silver paced up and down his room. The clacking of his boots soft and controlled, he walked from one side to the other, while a pair of garnet eyes watched him closely.

Lilia leaned back against the headboard, hand gently stroking the little sparrow that had flown in earlier to sit on Silver's desk. The tiny bird and the ancient fae watched the human boy pace patiently; the bird unaware of the reason behind his anxiousness, the fae finding amusement in it.

Silver took one look at the digital clock sitting on his desk, then continued his steps. Click clack, click clack, click clack-

The door opened, and both father and son looked towards it. Malleus entered the room, closing the door behind him with a carefulness that seemed at odds with his intimidating stature. The carefulness of a being far too powerful to be careless.

Silver looked up at the fae prince. Verdant gaze met auroral eyes, and with a shake of his head, Malleus replied to the wordless question he could see in Silver's eyes.

"They declined my offer."

Silver seemed to deflate at his words, sitting down onto his bed with a frown pulling at his lips. Lilia raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to look at Malleus better. "Oh?"

Malleus nodded, sitting next to Silver, his head turned in Lilia's direction to answer him.

"The Child of man thanked me for inviting them to Briar Valley, but said that they wished not to impose on us. I could not change their mind."

Turning to the youngest in the room, he whispered, "My apologies, Silver."

Silver shook his head, "No need to apologize, Malleus. I know you must have tried your best."

Lilia looked at the young boys in front of him. Both of whom looked very down about your refusal to visit their land. Lilia knew you meant no harm, that you merely wanted to have them enjoy their holidays without taking on the role of a gracious host to a guest. But while he was privy to knowledge of how your mind must have been working when you turned Malleus down, he was also too invested in what steps Silver would take to actually tell them that.

Ah, young love. So precious and pure... and entertaining, he thought to himself as he watched Silver deliberate on Malleus' words till he physically could before yet another one of his sleeping spells caught up to him.

Bundled up in your favorite blanket in front of the merry fire that danced in the fireplace and warmed the entirety of Ramshackle, you finished the last bit of homework Professor Crewel had assigned over the holidays. Finding your days far too free, since your friends had already left for their homes, you decided to get your sizeable portion of homework done before inevitably having to lend a helping hand to Grim, who was currently busy snoring away.

The dorm was quiet, save for the soft snores emanating from where Grim lay on the sofa, one paw leaning off the side. Even the ghosts had decided to keep a low profile, sleepily shuffling along somewhere in the dorm. The air felt like a comforting hug, lulling you into peaceful relaxation.

One that was quickly shattered by the ringing of the bell. You frowned in confusion as you sat straight, gently coaxing Grim who had startled at the sound back to sleep much like a mother with their child, before getting up to check who was at your door. As you walked to the door, your glanced over to the clock.

7:30 p.m., it read, and you hummed. Who could it be?

Twisting the doorknob, you opened to find Silver, one of his hands outstretched to ring your bell again, his other hand behind his back. He froze when he made eye contact with you, hand hovering in the air awkwardly for a few moments before dropping to his side.

"Prefect," he breathed out, his breath fogging in the chill that was synonymous with the evenings nowadays. "Silver..?" You said, words soft as you take a step toward him, a shiver running down your spine. Your cheeks darkened slightly as you gave him a smile.

Dressed in a rather simple dark green coat with a black turtle-neck and black pants, Silver looked as though he had walked out of a fashion magazine. The scarf around his neck was grey and quite obviously a handmade one. You could easily guess whose handiwork it was to be so proudly presented on the silver-haired boy, who was currently peering down at you with his silver eyelashes dusted with snowflakes.

"Oh, I'm so stupid, I should've asked you to come in," you mumbled before ushering him in, and Silver gave you a fond smile. Closing the door behind him, you looked at him properly as Silver removed his coat.

"So... what are you doing here? I thought you were going home for the holidays?"

"Well, I couldn't leave you all alone."

Your heartbeat sped as you looked up at the silver-haired boy, cheeks tinted with the slightest bit of colour at his sweet words. You let out a chuckle, missing the way Silver's eyes seemed to soften.

"I'm not alone, y'know? I have Grim and the ghosts to keep me company," you smiled, and Silver couldn't help himself. His hand reached to hold the side of your face, thumb gently caressing your cheek. You flushed at the gentle touch, looking up at him with a question in your eyes.

"And what if I am alone? What if I need your company?" He asked, words so soft that they might as well have never been spoken. You wondered if he even meant for you to hear them. Heart beating in your chest so fiercely that you worried it may burst out, you asked, "Are you upset that I turned down Malleus' invitation?"

Silver was silent for a few minutes. "Perhaps a little," he admitted bashfully. "I do not want you to feel obliged to visit Briar Valley, but... I cannot help but want to show you the place where I grew up. The place which helped shape me into who I am today."

"When you say it like that.... how am I supposed to tell you no?" You asked, shaking your head with a smile. Silver's eyes widened as his lips stretched into a slight smile. "Are you...? I mean, would you...?"

"Fine, since you asked so nicely," you playfully sigh, "I'll come visit Briar Valley with you. But Silver, you need to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Next time, just ask me directly, you dork."

Back to Masterlist...

[momo-kageyama]

A Rose Among the Shadows

—————————————————————————

Anime: shuumatsu no valkyrie

—————————————————————————

Jack the Ripper x R.femele.

—————————————————————————

Jack the Ripper meets a woman (y/n) with the personality, manner and skills of Yor Forger, who takes care of her adoptive son (b/y) with unconditional love - a boy with the intense, protective and devoted personality of Yuri Briar.

Y/n) opens up with Jack for the first time. A moment where the strong and controlled woman shows her vulnerability, her wounds, her past - and the reason for the unconditional love for her adopted son (b/y).

—————————————————————————

London, in its eternal embrace of fog and concrete, seemed to breathe sadness. The gas poles threw their yellowish light on silent streets, where the echoes of hooves and steps mixed with the smoke.

Jack the Ripper walked like a shadow through the alleys. Did You Hunt? Maybe. Or maybe he just wandered in search of something that even he didn't know how to name.

That's when he saw her for the first time.

She was in a discreet park, sitting on an old stone bench, watching a boy run through the fallen leaves. She had a serene, maternal look, but the eyes... the eyes were hiding something. A contained murderous instinct, tamed by the presence of the child who called her with joy:

- "Mom! Look what I found! A shame! Maybe from a crow!"

The boy (b/y) ran to her, smiling with a pure but firm enthusiasm, the kind of child who did not accept that his mother was underestimated.

Jack, from a distance, couldn't take his eyes off her.

She was beautiful - yes. But more than that: authentic. His gestures with the boy were tender, true. No staging. No lie.

Jack, who saw emotions as colors, noticed something rare: the light that emanated between the two was golden. Real love. Pure love.

He approached.

- "Forgive my audacity... but all this peace seems out of place on this side of the city."

She turned around, firm, without showing fear.

- "Peace is something we plant, even in the middle of the darkness."

Jack smiled. I was bewitched.

—————

The following days brought discreet meetings.

He, a masked gentleman who appeared with curious gifts for the boy (a cane with a secret compartment, a small old map, a book of riddles). She, a woman who wore gloves not for charm, but as a precaution - always alert, always controlling her instincts.

(B/y), in turn, was a miniature fortress: suspicious, jealous of his mother's attention, but fascinated by Jack - although he never admitted it.

- "He's weird. But it's polite. And I brought chocolate... I'll let him come back. For today."

Jack liked the boy. He remembered something that Jack never had. A pure love, without being based on tragedy. A love... that protected instead of hurting.

But peace doesn't last in London.

On a humid and dark night, (b/y) returned from the grocery store with a bag of bread for afternoon tea. Just another simple task. But the world is not kind to innocent people.

Two dirty men followed him. They wanted money. Or cruel fun.

The boy tried to run away, kicked one of them, bit, screamed.

But then, desperate, he shouted the only name that brought security:

- "MOM!!! MOM!!! THEY'RE TRYING TO HURT ME!"

The air seemed to stop.

The sound of the birds fell short. The city held its breath.

From behind an alley, light steps. Like those of a woman going to work.

But your look...

His eyes, until then soft and loving, were now cold steel blades.

Your aura... has changed.

Jack, who followed her from a distance, felt his heart fail for a second.

He, the artist of death, the son of madness, knew this feeling. It was the presence of someone who abandoned the human limit.

She didn't run. She walked to the men.

- "Did you touch him?"

The voice was low. Almost maternal. But it carried an ancient fury, the kind that does not manifest itself with screams - but with blood.

The man tried to pull out a knife.

But everything happened too fast.

She disarmed him with a spin. His arm broke with a snat. The other tried to run, but she hit him with a precise jump in the stomach, throwing him against a cart.

(B/y) fell to his knees, his eyes wide, tears running. But not out of fear. Of relief.

She knelt down, hugged him tightly.

- "You're safe now. Nobody touches you. Never."

Jack watched everything. Fascinated. Static.

She was perfect.

Not only by force, but by reason: she didn't kill for pleasure. Killed for love.

And the boy... had screamed for her. Because I knew she would come. Like a silent storm.

Jack took a step out of the shadow.

She looked. Still with cold eyes. But when he recognized him, his expression softened for a moment.

Jack took off his hat, lowering his head slightly.

- "I saw many deaths. Many screams. But this one was... different."

She looked at him, her son still clinging to his coat.

- "I'm a mother before anything else."

- "And that's why... you're the most dangerous creature I've ever met."

——————

Later, (b/y) drew on the floor with chalk. A woman with firm eyes and a tall, masked man next to her.

Jack watched him in silence. For the first time... I felt something like belonging. And maybe, just maybe...

He was beginning to understand what love was.

—————————————————————————

After that night that marked Jack's memory forever, life began to take a different rhythm for him - as if the fog that covered his soul began to dissipate little by little.

The following days were marked by small meetings, each loaded with a subtle mixture of curiosity, respect and a desire not yet admitted.

Jack began to visit the small flower shop where (y/n) worked - a hiding place of bright colors in the middle of London's gray. There, he saw her take care of her adoptive son with an affection that he never imagined possible.

- " b/n..." he thought, watching the boy, "a child with fire and loyalty that reminds me of what I could have been."

They talked little at first, exchanging short sentences, but always with that touch of thin tension, as if each word was chosen not to reveal too much - not too much.

Jack discovered that she was not just a delicate flower.

She had skills - precise, deadly - that she revealed only at times when protection was necessary.

One afternoon, when a thief tried to steal one of the flowers to sell, (y/n) intervened with silent agility, knocking down the man with a blow so clean that it seemed rehearsed.

Jack, outside, watched, surprised and amazed.

- "You're not just a mother..." he murmured.

- "I'm all I need to protect those I love."

——————

Over time, Jack realized that his heart, hardened by loneliness and pain, began to open to her.

It was in the serenity of her smile, in the strength with which she hugged the boy, in the way her eyes filled with light when she talked about the future.

He didn't know how to say it, he didn't know if he could. But I felt a growing desire to be more than a shadow around her.

On a rainy night, after a rare and sincere conversation under the improvised ceiling of a cafe, Jack lowered the mask from a distance.

- "You taught me that there is something beyond darkness. Something I... feared to feel."

She smiled, with that tenderness that mixed strength and peace.

- "Don't be afraid, Jack. Sometimes, the light is born inside the darkness."

——————

The boy, initially suspicious, also began to accept Jack as part of the family.

There was a remarkable moment: (b/y) held Jack's hand and said:

- "You stay next to my mother. So, I trust you."

Jack felt something hot explode in his chest - a mixture of pride and fear.

Because loving meant losing - and he didn't want to lose what he was finally finding.

Jack knew he couldn't promise anything. Your past was a storm. Your life, a thin thread over the abyss.

But when he looked at (y/n) and (b/y), he felt for the first time that maybe he could try.

That maybe, in that unlikely family, he would find a reason to continue.

And so, between shadows and lights, a silent love was born - delicate, tense, true.

—————————————————————————

The night had fallen gently on London, as if the city was shrunk in its own sins, whispering stories that no one dared to tell out loud.

Jack and (y/n) were sitting on a roof, overlooking the horizon of pale lanterns and chimneys. The wind was cold, but she was motionless. Silent.

He noticed. Something inside her was about to overflow.

- "Do you want me to go?" - he asked, kind, but attentive.

She denied it with a slight shake of her head.

- "Stay."

For a moment, just the sound of the city below. And then she started talking. Not like a warrior, not like a mother, not like a murderer.

But like a wounded soul, tired... and deeply human.

———————

Flashback: The Abandoned Child

- "I was left in a church when I was four years old. In a dirty blanket, without a name, with nothing. I was told that I cried for two days. Then, never again."

Jack looked at her, but didn't interrupt her.

- "They never adopted me. They never wanted me. It was always that 'too weird', 'too quiet', 'too scary' child. I started to understand early on that... I wasn't necessary."

Her voice faltered, but not out of weakness. It was like steel being forged.

- "So I ran away. At eleven years old, I lived on the streets. A man found me - he said I was perfect to disappear, to move without being seen. I said I could be valuable... as a murderer."

Jack heard her in absolute silence. The wind seemed to hold your breath.

- "I killed for the first time at thirteen. I found out I was good at it. Accurate, efficient. It was the first time someone said 'you have talent'. Even if it was for the darkest reason."

She stared at the emptiness, as if she were still in that alley, with her hands stained with blood.

- "So... a rainy night, after a job. I was exhausted, dirty, bloody. I felt disgusted with myself. I was wondering if that would be my life until the end..."

His voice faltered, and his eyes shone with unshed tears.

- "And then I heard a cry. A weak, high-pitched, desperate sound. I went to an alley... and saw him. A baby. Wrapped in rags. Inside a trash can."

Jack leaned over, not breathing. As if that moment was also happening to him.

- "I didn't think. I just... stopped. I stood there looking at him. He had no one. Not even a future. Not even a name. Like me one day. And then... he looked at me."

She smiled. A small smile, hurt, but real.

- "I swear by everything there is... in that second, I felt something I had never felt before. He needed me. And for the first time, someone needed me."

- "I tood him home. I gave milk, I gave heat. I gave my name. I gave everything I never had. And he grew up... calling me mother. Even when I thought I didn't deserve it."

She turned her face to Jack, finally staring at him.

- "I don't know if I'm a good mother, Jack. Sometimes I still feel... dirty. Murderer. That I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm afraid of failing with him. To hurt him unintentionally. Of not protecting him properly."

Silence.

The wind swirled the dry leaves around them.

Jack was quiet for a few seconds, digesting everything.

And then, for the first time, he took off the mask completely.

His face was vulnerable. His eyes... watery.

- "You're the purest thing I've ever seen."

She widened her eyes.

- "You, who were born from abandonment... turned pain into shelter. You, who were raised by violence, offered the world what it denied you: love."

He approached, slowly.

- "(y/n)... you are the mother I would like to have. You are the woman who taught me what it is to love someone without destroying."

And then, with extreme delicacy, Jack held her hand - as if it were made of precious porcelain.

- "You saved him. And he saved me too, even without knowing it."

The city slept below them.

Downstairs, (b/y) slept peacefully, snuggled on the couch with a blanket, oblivious to the conversation on the roof.

But above, two lonely hearts beat for the first time in a similar compass.

Jack, the monster, and (y/n), the murderer who became a mother - united not by perfection, but by complementary scars.

And in the silence of the night, a real love began to bloom. Silent. Deadly true.

—————————————————————————

After that night when (y/n) opened up to Jack, a different lightness began to inhabit the air around the two. It was not something explosive, but subtle, like the sun that begins to touch the earth shyly after a long winter.

Jack kept coming to the flower shop under the pretext of buying flowers - but it was just to see her. To hear the light laughter of the boy (b/y), who now no longer hid next to him, but gave shy pats on his arm.

On one of these afternoons, (y/n) offered Jack a herbal tea that she prepared herself.

- "It's to calm down. I know your life is full of storms."

Jack smiled - that rare smile, without a mask.

- "And you... seem to be the calm."

He liked to observe how she took care of the plants with a patient affection, the same patience with which she took care of her son.

——————

The conversations started to last longer. About the past, about dreams, about fears that they didn't have the courage to say out loud.

Jack told stories in fragments - never everything, but enough for (y/n) to see the man behind the legend.

She, in turn, spoke less, but her words carried a weight that he understood.

- "You're different from everyone I've ever met." Jack said one night, after a comfortable silence.

- "And you... are learning to be human again."

He laughed, hoarse.

- "Thanks to you."

Jack no longer hid what he felt.

On the nights when they were side by side, he looked at (y/n) with silent admiration - not for what she could do, but for what she was.

She, in turn, noticed the change - as he tried to smile more, talk less about pain and more possibilities.

—————————————————————————

On a rainy night, after protecting (b/y) from a nightmare, Jack stood next to her, in the silence of the room lit by a candle.

He held her hand, firm, but hesitant.

- "I don't know what the future holds. But I know I want to try... with you."

She smiled, eyes shining.

- "Me too."

And in that small connection - without too many words, without haste - a silent promise was made.

—————————————————————————

It was a golden late afternoon. Unusual for London, where the sky was covered by clouds and smoke. But on that day, the sun dyed the windows amber, as if the world wanted to honor a rare thing: peace.

In the small house, away from the city, Jack, (y/n) and the boy were having one of those rare normal days.

No blood, no rush, no internal struggles - just life.

—————

The morning of the three

- "Jack! It will burn the bread again!" - shouted (b/y) from the table, laughing.

- "This is experimental culinary art, young man." - Jack replied, trying to understand how a toaster worked.

(Y/n), sitting with a mug of tea, watched the two with that look of someone who never imagined witnessing something like that - and who fears losing at any moment.

But Jack... was learning. Dealing with a pot, cutting fruits for the boy's lunch box, answering a call of " Uncle Jack!" Coming from the room with invented urgency.

The once silent house now had live noises. Laughter. Steps. Voices. And memories being built effortlessly.

——————

The afternoon of construction

(B/y) I wanted to ride a kite.

Jack, despite his dark genius, offered to help - even if he had no idea how.

The two spent hours in the backyard, cutting, gluing, making mistakes and laughing. Jack, with trembling hands for never having done something like that. (b/y), with a patience that only someone with true affection could have.

At one point, the boy took a red crayon and drew something on the side of the kite: three figures holding hands.

- "This is you, mom and... me."

Jack was silent.

It was the first time he saw himself included... as part of a family.

After dinner, the boy was sleepy. (y/n) had already gone up, and Jack offered to put (b/y) to bed.

The boy lay down with an old teddy bear in his arms.

Jack pulled the blanket up to his chin, trying to imitate the way (y/n) did it.

- "Good night, little one." - said Jack, with a softer voice than he expected.

The boy yawned.

- "You're going to stay here, right?"

Jack hesitated.

- "If your mother wants... if you want... yes."

Then he came.

Simple. Natural. Without ceremony. But with a weight that broke everything inside Jack.

- "Good night, dad."

Jack stopped.

The world has stopped.

(B/y) I already had my eyes closed, as if I didn't even notice the impact of what I said. But Jack... felt as if the universe had reorganized.

Jack stood there, standing, kneeling next to the bed, in absolute silence.

He didn't cry. I couldn't. But I felt something dripping inside, like a dam that began to crack.

Father.

Not as part of a plan.

Not as a strategy.

Not as an illusion.

But as true.

(Y/n) was at the door, in silence. I had seen the whole scene.

Jack got up slowly. His eyes were clearer - and for the first time, empty of hatred.

He stared (y/n), as if asking permission to feel.

She smiled.

- "You deserved this."

He approached. He leaned his forehead against hers.

- "I've never had a name like that. I never belonged to anyone."

- "Now it belongs." - she replied, putting her hand on his chest.

The heart was beating hard. For the first time... for love.

—————————————————————————

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Good morning headmage

I was wondering if you and the other teachers went to the museum with your students this year to celebrate its 100th anniversary ?

If so what did you like there , do you have a favorite artwork ?

Have you been there before 👀?

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

"Why, of course we teachers accompanied our students to the Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art. It would be highly irresponsible of us to allow children to travel to a foreign land without chaperones!”

Crowley perked with pride. Prestige—the acknowledgement of it—tended to have that effect on him, pompous man that he was.

"Not to mention... It's an honor for us to be invited to this centennial celebration! This is a wonderful opportunity for us teachers to appreciate art alongside our young pupils—though I myself have already visited numerous times. Ah, but that is what a long lifespan and a deep respect for history does… Sharpens the mind and the spirit!”

Somehow he ended up circling around and feeding his own ego again.

You walked alongside him, tactfully staying silent and letting the headmaster ramble.

Famous faces passed by, relics of the past unearthed. Stories, centuries in the making. History coming to life around you.

Click, clack, click.

Crowley’s polished shoes and cane alternated, echoing sharply in the gallery.

“This solemn, almost reverent atmosphere is rather pleasing. It grants one the space and time to properly admire and reflect on the artwork on display.”

He raised a hand, his golden claw-shaped rings upon each finger shining under the museum’s lights. Crowley gestured to the paintings that lined the closest wall. You followed where he led your gaze.

Platinum frames, seven in total. Each held an illustration of a familiar figure—you recognized them from the stone statues lining Main Street.

“I find myself gravitating toward the classics. Perhaps I am sentimental, fufu. My bias is clear.”

The Queen of Hearts.

She looked on from up high, posed with a gavel behind a banister and flanked by card soldiers. Her face was kind and rounded, but her expression was stern. Hands folded in her lap and her hammer raised to deliver justice, she was the picture of dignified grace.

The King of Beasts.

He reclined in a dark cave, bones scattered around him. The King stood out from the others of his kind--body lanky, a scar knitting one eye, mane a deep black, and with an unmatched feline poise. He toyed with a skull in one paw, his mouth twisted into a contemplative smirk.

The Sea Witch.

She danced, tentacles curling, in an anemone garden, lilac arms outstretched to cuddle her beloved pets: two moray eels that adorned her arms like a living boa. Pinkish light spilled onto them, emanating from her bubbling cauldron. Another potion brewing to fulfill some poor, unfortunate soul's wish.

The Sorcerer of the Sands.

A thin man with a long face and a goatee pieced together a golden scarab, its light piercing the starry night. Particles of sand and glittering magic kicked up, scattering across his black and red robes. The wings of the scarab, flickering rapidly--as if about to take flight.

The Beautiful Queen.

She triumphantly held up a goblet of bubbling liquid, her radiant face reflected in it. High cheek bones, skin smooth as china, full lips, long lashes, a gown that clung to her hourglass figure. Her beauty was every bit as deadly as the poison in the glass.

The King of the Underworld.

He beamed in the painting, showing sharp teeth. Various tabletop games surrounded him, and he seemed to take great joy in maneuvering a chess piece across a board. No opponent was in view--the man was a lone player.

The Thorn Fairy.

She loomed in her spiked throne, her calm face cut severe by the gathering shadows and green candlelight. Briar crept around the tattered hem of her cloak, waiting for her next command. One word, and you felt as though they would come to life and rush at you.

The Great Seven together dominated the hallowed halls of the museum. In awe of them, you felt yourself shrink back. If was as though your body instinctively knew to kneel in the presence of such raw power.

Crowley, too, quietly bowed his head to the Seven. He held his top hat to his chest, his dark lips pursed into a serene smile.

"What visionaries! We must all strive to the same heights as they."

[dorkus-mcdingus]

Rosalie's Dream

Hoo boy this is SELF INDULGENT! I will admit that it was interesting trying to get into Malleus's mind when reflecting on what he saw before she and Grim got transported to the room beyond the mirror. Admittedly I was a bit inspired by the overblot card's voice lines.

So, enjoy a bit of BriarRose content :3

When I used my Unique Magic on Sage's Island, I only had one request.

"Everyone be blessed with dreams of neverending happiness."

I saw memories, I saw ambitions, I saw others wishing their loved ones well for an accomplishment, but when it came to the Ramshackle Prefect, I barely knew anything about her past as she never liked talking about it. I suppose even in my overblotted state, I grew curious to see what she dreamt about.

To my surprise, I saw a large city with a gilded and grand clocktower whose chimes would shake the heavens every hour. I remember Lilia telling me some stories about The Queendom of Roses (in some aspects, it reminded me of some photographs I've seen and what he described) but from the way the buildings were structured, I knew I wasn't in Twisted Wonderland. I could feel the winter air nipping at my face as the snow gently fell onto the pavement below.

No one could see me. When it comes to dreams about memories, I become like a ghost. I can't interfere with anything from a time before my birth and worlds beyond Twisted Wonderland.

In the outskirts of the city, I came across a house as large as the estates in the grand capital of Briar Valley, but the odd thing is that despite how enormous the house was, I could hear laughter emanating through the windows and doors. Of course, I decided to have a closer look.

A party it seemed. The house was decorated with the largest pine tree, embellished with red, gold, silver, and green. A gentleman and his wife, along with another woman gathered around Rosalie at a grand table while the maids and man servants stood in two straight lines as the room remained dimly lit.

Gazing at her, she looked no older than fourteen. Two years before the Night Carriage took her away. The way the warm light cast down on her auburn hair, I have never seen anything so fragile and frail in my life. One little scrape I fear would've given her the worst sort of gash.

"Happy birthday Rosalie! Happy birthday!" The crowd cheered as the cook wheeled in an massive cake all lit with fourteen candles.

Even that seemed like it was too much for me to eat. All the times, all the birthdays that passed, I had to eat whole cakes with no one to share it with. How odd for me to get envious over a human. I thought back on the tantrum I threw that one birthday and how I wanted nothing more than to have the moment she was having.

Closing her eyes, she made her wish and blew hard. From the few times she opened up to me about her life, I had an inkling about what she wished for.

"A stable life and a family who loves me for me."

Stifling down the rising bitterness welling in me, I watched as she opened up the gifts.

A pair of ballet shoes, solid rosin, a little plush cat with a pink bow acting as its collar, new sets of pajamas, barber sheers and a hair razor, a roller to help massage her hips and legs, a device that played all the music she wanted, and much more.

But the last gift was an envelope. She opened it up and began to read it aloud."

"Consider these your new housewarming gifts. Ever since we met you, we all couldn't help but fall in love with you. We know that life for you has been rather unkind, but we want to give you a brand new start. Rosalie, do you want to become..."

Rosalie O'Malley.

She didn't say anything but the look she gave told me everything. Shock, fear of the unknown, but she smiled, wiping away the tears that were beginning to dot her eyes as she hugged her new father, along with her new mother and sister as tight as she could.

It was a sweet memory, sure, but oh how I envied her. I yearned for a grand celebration with my loved ones like this. Both her mother, father, and sister clearly adored her but after getting a closer view of her face, all I could see was fear lingering behind in her happiness.

Still, it was one of the few times I saw a genuine smile from her yet she clung to this moment so desperately. Almost as if a single strike of bad luck could snuff the light like a breeze blowing out candles on a cake.

Of course, as time passed by, I saw how she came across the night carriage.

She was out on a weekend trip with her sister but wanting to take in the peace and beauty of the nature that surrounded her, she put her headphones on and took a leisurely stroll while the moon was high in the sky and the stars shined bright.

But as luck would have it, her happiness wasn't to last.

A crow with yellow eyes cawed at her, leaving a feather by her feet when all of a sudden, a set of hooves came thundering by and when she turned around, she cowered and fainted. The driver then dressed her in our ceremonial robes and stuffed her into a coffin, but her sister's voice called out to the driver and she ran after him.

I couldn't let her suffer more. To spare her from more of this pain, I took her to the realm beyond the mirror to meet the mysterious figure I overheard her and the other first years talk about. I made sure Grim was in tow to ease her worry.

Just when you think you finally know a person, there's so much more than what meets the eye. I didn't even want to think of the kind of heartache she underwent prior to her landing in Sage's Island.

[serenescribe]

Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

[hamartiah]

kuro in summary-

kuro is a roughly 3000 year old man, who's grown very disenchanted with his god given immortality. no matter how hard he tries, he cannot die. he's incredibly nihilistic and nonchalant with the idea of dying, and concepts of death. and he loves sleeping, and cooking, and cats. ( in hsr he is an emanator of yaoshi, who's tried everything he can to free himself from the path of abundance- and from life. alas, he propogates the aeon's ideals by simply existing as he is. he has a feline companion named mimi who he rescued from a gs member's lab. refusing to continue to spread the abundance he instead takes to bounty hunting, putting most his funds to his kitty copilot. )

briar in summary-

a blind halovian dreamweaver, and a powerful empath. briar moon is an invaluable asset to the family, and the dream. he's spent most his life under the family's thumb working within penacony. charming, clever, and accommodating, briar works not only to build upon and improve guest experiences, but also offers tours of particular hours to select visitors. despite how well off he is, he longs to leave penacony for good so he can experience the unpredictability of the universe at large.

[hell3bound]

Ever After High

Gender Neutral / Male / Female - OC/Reader/Y/N = ___

---------------------------------------------------

___ J. Cupid is the eldest child of Eros, while C.A. Cupid is their younger sister.

___ doesn't usually stay in one place like Cupid. ___ comes back to school or acts as a teacher's assistant to the Pied Piper because they can do whatever they want.

---------------------------------------------------

___ tours around, performing shows and hearing about True Hearts Day (because, duh, Cupid). Being a bit of a rebel (and playing Cupid for Cupid), ___ helps organize the party, ordering cakes, pastries, party streamers, etc.

However, Principal Grimm notices some of the party items and questions Cupid, who is taking them. ___ quickly uses magic to take the cakes and other supplies, putting on their best face.

"Party supplies?" Principal Grimm questions suspiciously. "Uh, yes, party supplies," Cupid replies hesitantly, trying to think of an excuse. "They are, uh, for—" ___ cuts in with Briar, "For my new show premiere." Briar adds, "Yeah, it's on the down-low, if you know what I mean. Very exclusive. Very hush-hush."

___ gathers the items with magic while Briar pushes Cupid along. "Now, if you don't mind, we're very busy and would love to chat more," ___ says, already hovering the supplies away. "But I'm sure you have a speech to write, correct? Or did I hear wrong?" ___ raises a brow, smirking mischievously.

"Then carry on," Principal Grimm says, waving them off.

As they walk away, feeling mischievous, ___ adds, "You know, Principal Grimm," pausing and looking back with a cat-like grin, "I hear that [comment about unicorn figures]." Principal Grimm stops mid-step, while ___ catches up with Briar and Cupid.

"What was that about?" Cupid or Briar asks. "Oh, nothing, just having a little fun," ___ laughs, and Cupid and Briar shrug it off.

Later, as they bring the supplies to the theater for safekeeping, they see Ashleigh and Hunter holding hands. ___ whistles with their fingers and cheers them on.

---------------------------------------------------

Goldie interviews ___ and Cupid about Ashleigh and Hunter's relationship.

"Bringing here our love experts, the Cupid siblings ___ and, well, Cupid! Thanks for being here, both of you." ___ sits more relaxed while Cupid maintains proper posture.

"Thanks for having us, Goldie," Cupid says.

"It's no problem. Now, from what I hear, Ashleigh and Hunter are in a relationship. We're here to hear from the love experts how you feel about it."

"That doesn't matter," ___ answers immediately. Goldie pauses, looking for the next words. "Could you explain?"

"Love is love. It's precious and easy to break but hard to build," ___ says, straightening up. "If they want to date, they can date. If they want to hold hands and share each other's company, they can do whatever they want." ___ gets up, bringing their pink heart-shaped glasses to stare at the audience/camera. "Just mind your own business." Black mist or smoke almost emanates from ___, something slightly changing in them.

Cupid quickly intervenes, knowing what's happening. "Well! It was so nice to be here, Goldie, thank you, but we seem to be running late, and we really gotta go. Don't want to keep the fans waiting, right? Right!" Cupid then ushers ___ out of there.

Some question what had happened, but Goldie regains her composure and continues her report. "Well, you heard it—the Cupids clearly have a positive outlook on this royal-rebel relationship. Now onto..." Goldie finishes her video/interview.

---------------------------------------------------

When ___ gets mad or angry, black ink starts to crawl from their arms, and a dark mist emanates from them.

___ cools off and talks with Cupid about how everyone is stupid for making a big deal out of something when anyone should be happy for them (though ___ is clearly projecting/talking about their own past experiences).

They talk, and ___ thanks Cupid.

"Thanks," ___ says sincerely. Cupid nudges them slightly with her shoulder. "I'm always here for you."

"Ah, yes, your oh-so-wise sage advice," ___ mockingly replies. Cupid feigns hurt, "I will have you know, brother of mine, that I have brought plenty of couples together."

___ laughs. "Yes, yes," they wave off, and both get up from the bench.

"Now, how about we go prepare for that party of yours?" Cupid smiles comfortingly. "Let's."

---------------------------------------------------

The cakes arrive, this time delivered to ___'s studio. ___ sets up all the equipment and sound checks, with a little help from fellow music lover Harper Piper.

"Thanks, girl."

"No problem. A little rebellious party here and there is just what this school needs."

"Of course, a little rebellion is good, healthy even!" They both laugh, and ___ leaves Harper to the DJ set, setting up the food and drinks, storing extras in the back room.

They dress the Billy Goats in simple tuxedos, inventory count of drinks and food, etc.

---------------------------------------------------

It's True Hearts Day now. Early birds arrive, and more come when the evening hits. The party is really hitting off, people mingling, and ___ playing host, greeting guests as they come in and testing the dance floor.

Raven arrives, and Briar calls her over. "Wow, Briar, you really know how to throw the most hexellent parties," Raven says. Briar smiles, "Well, I had some help," she puts her arm over Hopper, who stutters. ___ cuts in from nowhere, "I think what he means to say is, thank you, and it was no problem." ___ looks to Hopper, who just nods.

___ then has an idea. "And that he would really like to dance with you, Briar." Hopper looks shocked, and Briar looks surprised, glancing from ___ to Hopper. Raven, joining in the mischief, says, "I mean, Briar, you do throw good parties, but can you party that well?" "I guess you're just going to have to test those dance moves," ___ says, magicking Hopper and Raven onto the dance floor. The stunned royals both start dancing, with Briar motioning for them to dance, and so they do.

___ and Raven see this, bumping and clapping hands to show teamwork and success. "I didn't know a Cupid could be so mischievous," Raven comments.

"All is fair in love and war, my dear," ___ replies with a satisfied smile. "You could say I enjoy playing Cupid," ___ laughs at their joke, and Raven just smiles, rolling her eyes.

Maddy pops up. "Hey, you guys, do you know who's DJing tonight?" ___ smirks, "I only get the best. Speaking of which," ___ summons a microphone, "Greetings, everyone! What a great True Hearts Day we're having, huh?" The crowd cheers. "And as a little special treat, I've got some great entertainment for the night. So please, ladies and gentlemen, and everyone else in between, give a round of applause to our leading lady, Melody Piper!"

"What up, Ever After! Ready for me to drop some True Heart tunes?" Melody shouts. Everyone cheers excitedly. "Then follow me!"

---------------------------------------------------

___ is getting some food and drinks when they see Dexter with his poor little heart broken and Cupid looking hopeful. ___ makes a tough decision, knowing what they have to do.

___ brings food over to Cupid and Dexter, sitting next to them. "Why does my brother always get the girl? It's not fair," Dexter laments.

"Well, maybe you should stop thinking so much about your brother and concentrate on someone else," Cupid says, fluttering her eyes.

"Uh, who?" Dexter asks.

"You!" ___ and Cupid both poke him gently. "You spend so much time comparing yourself to Daring that you forget how great you are just the way you are," Cupid continues.

"Really?" Dexter looks hopeful.

"If someone can't see how great a guy you are, then they are blind because you are, forgive my pun, charming in your own way," ___ snickers, and so do Dexter and Cupid.

___ puts his hand on Dexter's shoulder. "I'm serious, dude. You have plenty of strengths that Daring doesn't."

"Strengths? Me?" Dexter asks, surprised.

"Yes, you," ___ continues. "You're a great listener, you're insightful, and most importantly, you care." ___ pats him on the shoulder. "And you don't look at your reflection more than others, being narcissistic," ___ jokes. "If I can see all of that after just having met you for a week, then I know you'll find someone."

___ gives Dexter a comforting hug. "Come on, friendship hug. Cupid, come on," ___ nudges with their head. They comfort Dexter for a bit, and they eat the food that ___ brought over.

---------------------------------------------------

Cupid gives her story about the history of True Hearts Day.

"And so, to encourage all of us to follow our true heart," she pauses to whistle for fairies, who gather Heart Blossoms to give one to each person, "make sure to give yours to someone special to you," she motions to everyone.

Ashlynn steps on stage beside Cupid. "Can I?" Ashlynn excuses herself and goes up to the mic. "Hunter, when I listen to my true heart, it tells me that you're my prince charming." Hunter, feeling touched, awes at her statement to everyone.

Blondie pushes Hunter back to get the scoop of new news. "But how can you be a Royal and date Hunter?"

"I don't know. But if writing our own Happily Ever After means I can't be a Royal, then call me Ashlynn Ella, the Rebel!" She steps offstage and walks over to Hunter, embracing him in a heartfelt hug.

The crowd cheers, and ___ cheers as well, adding some flower petals to fall on the lovebirds with a heart sparkles effect. "Match made," ___ softly comments. Then, seeing Raven in the corner of their eye, ___ says, "And part two begins," setting another plan in motion.

---------------------------------------------------

___ brings Dexter and Raven together to exchange hearts, aka talk about their feelings and the poem he gave to Raven.

[silmarils]

my inner world exists as a labyrinth,

beset with a host of whetted briars,

and yet with you but a hair's breadth away

from the centre, a golden glow e'er emanates.

[wastelandkatze]

ENTRY 4: The rest of the companions heard (friends') Tavs/Durges going at it one night [NSFW]

ft. my Tav, Briar, their love interest, Astarion (pre-relationship, post Act 1) and my friends Tavs/Durges: Kiyo (@dumpups)'s Durge Raegan x Karlach, and Khim's Ngojo x Gale!

CW: mature content TW: mentions of loud semi-public seggs, like they're really going at it damn...

click here for the AO3 link of this entry

“Ugh,” Briar tumbles and twists on their bedroll, even pulling their blanket over their head in hopes of drowning the wild ruckus from the adjacent tent. It didn't work of course, now with the moans followed by wet slapping of skin. The warlock pulls their hair, wondering when they’ll get a good night’s sleep, and makes a mental note to tease Raegan about their orchestra tomorrow. Maybe give them a crunchy smack on the back of their head, too. It’s great to finally have the paladin back from their homecoming, and Karlach undeniably missed the hell out of their lover who's been gone for several weeks, having forced to spend her nights alone again. But gods, couldn’t they conjure a room or something? Does it have to be now? Does it have to be here?

Briar, now with their blanket worn as a cloak, begrudgingly grabs the Bhaalspawn memoir they’ve been studying (almost throwing it towards Karlach and Raegan’s shared tent), and steps out of their shelter to look for a quieter place to snooze in.

As soon as they thought they’re safe from witnessing any more private moments, Briar was almost blinded by the purple light show emanating from Gale’s tent. Counting it as their mistake to pry more, their jaws now agape from the contorted shadows of the wizard and his sorceress, Ngojo. Thankfully, both mages took camp to consideration (unlike Karlach screaming Raegan’s name), making use of a Silence spell, but the shadow theater-ish spectacle they projected sure looks crazy. Ngojo did mention one time how Gale had this book that showed different ways of lovemaking. And it’s just in Briar’s luck that Gale and his lover decided that now, too, is the perfect time to experiment.

With no more interest to see how much more arms can sprout from the wizard’s body, Briar bolts straight to the tent that’s farthest from camp: Astarion’s tent– the only tent with an inviting light and, fortuitously, absence of any malicious activities. They peeked through the open flap of its entrance, curious to discover that the tent is vacant. The vampire must have been in the woods, hunting for sustenance. So, Briar helps themself, rounds a little corner inside while being careful of Astarion’s belongings, and reads to sleep. The chapter was as boring as they expected it to be, catching themself fluttering their eyes and banging their head in a whiplash, waking them up as they hit someone’s head.

“Ow!” the voice grunted. Briar glances on Astarion huddled close to them. There’s even a trail of drool from their mouth to the vampire’s shirt sleeve. “Sorry,” the warlock responds half-awake, wiping their saliva with their hand, “How long have I been using you as my pillow?”

“Not long.”

Briar hums, matching his unbothered demeanor, “I hope you don’t mind me staying here for the night.”

“Darling, you know I can do last-minute arrangements for you,” he smirks. Briar swats his shoulder, earning another “ouch” from him.

“Stop being a creep. You know we agreed to keep it casual when it’s just the two of us,” then they stretch until a joint popped to place, “We’re buddies, aren’t we?”

“Whatever you daywalkers call it, sure,” Astarion rolls his eyes, then pats his shoulder. Briar raised a brow. “You said we’re buddies, so come here and keep me warm before my undead body freezes in place.”

“No preys sucked dry tonight?”

“The woods are apparently a sham,” he sighs, “unless you’re offering in kindness.”

“Not tonight, sorry. I need some rest,” Briar mumbles, settling their head on his rigid shoulder while sharing their blanket with him. Astarion sits stiff, still uncomfortable with the contact’s lack of sexual intention, something he was used to.

“Gods,” Briar sighed, snapping him away from those thoughts, “If only you know how everyone’s really going at it tonight.”

“Oh, I saw. They are quite the show.”

“Please spare me the details,” Briar opens their book to where they left it off, now sharing it with Astarion as he accompanied their reading time—amused with how repulsed the warlock is. As traces of feral noises ultimately died down, so did the warlock, who didn’t last five minutes in reading and dozed off peacefully on the vampire’s shoulder. He avoided ruminating on thoughts that would sour his mood, simply focused on the warmth that his companion radiated before he entered trance. When he awoke to the sunlight’s gentle caress on his cheek—something he’ll never tire of, the same weight remained: of the blanket around him, and of the warlock’s head that now lay on his lap.

His finger twitches as he catches himself fixing the strand of hair on their face. This isn’t good; he’s acting soft again.

divider by @saradika-graphics

[souriru]

soru deimos

quick intro post bc i keep losing my intro posts and i's very annoying-

this is my self-insert, soru deimos! has a tendency to dye their hair in reds and purples, and likes wearing clothes where their cleavage shows. genderfluid, prefers they/them pronouns!!

twst! soru

soru is cheka's tutor and leona's stand-in secretary. given their educational background, they juggle both jobs with ease, but frequently fall ill since cheka still runs to them when he's sick. lives with ruggie, and some part of their salary goes to ruggie's grandma as thanks for taking them in. is best friends with briar valley's diplomat sol oberon (who gave soru the surname deimos, which is the name of the son of ares who represents the fear before battle, a reference to how badly cheka got scared of soru one time when he was sneaking sweets after dinner). dates leona.

genshin! soru

soru is also called nairozha, and they are the goddess of law. they used to live in celestia for a brief while, but were banished after they disagreed with the heavenly principles. soru then moved to the abyss, where they saw khaenri'ah being founded, and joined the crimson moon dynasty as an advisor and a healer. using the power of the abyss, soru also creates a child for themselves out of the sand (the only one in the soru-verse where they had a child before they had a lover). dates tartaglia.

hsr! soru

soru is an emanator of abundance who once used to be a memokeeper. as a memokeeper, their job used to be to be to record the history of a particular planet that was aligned with the path of abundance before it was destroyed by lan. disillusioned, soru quit being a memokeeper and decided to travel from world to world, somehow being acknowledged as an emanator by yaoshi. dates... either jingyuan or boothill, still undecided.

love and deepspace! soru

soru is a teacher who used to live peacefully in linkon city unless their boss (aka the principal) basically sold them and their info to pay off a debt he was carrying from sylus. soru then slowly settles into their new life with sylus, though not without a few issues along the way. dates sylus.

tagging: @nemisisnemi @glidiaxoxo @fungifanart @quillaffinity @twstnettle

for reference: my actual skin tone is #d6b79c aka rgb(214,183,156)

[ivyprism]

Here we go! The Dating Sim of the Year!

You start the game. You've been waiting months to play this game, and it's now here. You eagerly create your character. Your game begins with a song. You were taken aback by the game. You may choose the genre of the story and switch between the romances if you choose. The developer went above and above; it's almost amazing.

"Careful, you'll catch a cold…" You are ecstatic when a harsh and deep voice emanates from the screen. The voice acting was fantastic! You already liked Sangria. He had offered your MC a jacket while staring out with a flush on his face in the CG.

"You're my choice. Don't ever let anyone tell you anything different." As Falcon's deep and gruff voice comes through the screen, you blush slightly. He was cradling the MC you made in his arms in the CG.

"Let me be your hero... Please..." Aegean's voice came next, and it was gentle and light. As you see a CG, his voice shakes, and he is on his knees, gripping your MC's hands and looking at you pleadingly.

"Pfft... Don't look at me like that... I'll get the wrong idea." Maple's calm and cool voice followed. As your MC gazed at him, he was covering his face with his hand, an orange tint on his face.

"It's okay, I won't let you fall..." Sepia's voice was the next to be heard. Their voice was as gentle as a warm blanket and as smooth as honey. They were holding your MC's hand as they walked on water step stones in the CG.

"I told you to be careful!" Briar's rough, deep, and harsh voice was the next to come through. They were holding your MC's bridal style as they strolled in the CG. They were looking at your MC with a mixture of irritation and anxiety.

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Rosewood's upbeat and joyful voice shone through. In the CG, she was dragging your MC by the hand to a carnival.

"You're doing better, I'm proud." Juniper's calm and compassionate voice can be heard via the screen. She's sitting behind your MC in the CG, showing them how to play the guitar.

You didn't realize how this game would quite literally drag you in. But you were excited to play.

The Dating Sim Love Interests are open for asks!

[paperanddice]

Chernomoi are another of the backer created monsters for the Tome of Beasts. Tiny fey tenders to dragon lairs, they are also known as lair sprites. Many dragons will have one or more chernomoi tidying and helping protect their lair, in exchange for taking the occasional copper coin or piece of quartz from the horde. Dragons who tolerate this occasional price can count on having an exceptionally loyal follower who will watch for intruders and raise an alarm upon spotting it, but an overly greedy chernomoi or too many will push their host dragon to retaliation. Looking like tiny, winged dragonkin, chernomoi armor themselves in small coats made from the coin and gems they take, which may be useful against rats and similarly small foes but poses no impediment to strikes from larger foes.

The children of the briar are fey plant creatures that grow in deep briar patches, usually when the briars draw blood from a sorcerer or other magical creature. More rarely druids may attempt to summon up children through obscure rituals, but this is a frowned upon practice (to put it mildly), as the children are quite destructive. They attempt to gather in large numbers and vex both humanoids and fey alike, pulling pranks that can quickly turn dangerous. The least of their tricks is a pair of them teaming up to trap travellers in a patch of entangling plants, but this is often followed up by attempted murder. They may be dissuaded by interesting news and gossip, the more cruel or spiteful the better.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Chernomoi Creature 1 Uncommon Tiny Fey Perception +5; darkvision Languages Common, Draconic, Sylvan Skills Acrobatics +7, Intimidation +6, Stealth +7, Thievery +7 Str -1, Dex +4, Con +4, Int +1, Wis +0, Cha +3 Items scimitar AC 15; Fort +7, Ref +7, Will +5 HP 26; Weaknesses cold iron 2 Speed 20 feet, fly 20 feet Melee scimitar +7 (finesse, forceful, sweep), Damage 1d6+1 slashing Innate Primal Spells DC 14 ; 2nd invisibility (at will); 1st detect poison, mending (at will); cantrips (1st) detect magic, mage hand, message, prestidigitation Shriek [two actions] (primal) The chernomoi emits a loud shriek that deals 2d6 sonic damage to any creature in a 60-foot emanation (DC 15 basic Fortitude save). A creature that fails this save is also deafened for one minute. The chernomoi can't use Shriek again for 1d4 rounds.

Child of the Briar Creature 1 Tiny Fey Plant Perception +5 Languages Aklo, Briarclick Skills Acrobatics +6, Survival +8 Str -2, Dex +3, Con +0, Int +1, Wis +0, Cha +2 AC 14; Fort +3, Ref +8, Will +3 HP 26; Weaknesses fire 3, cold iron 3 Speed 20 feet, climb 10 feet Melee claw +8 (agile, finesse), Damage 1d8 slashing Ranged spitdard tongue +8 (range increment 20 feet, reload 2), Damage 1d6+2 piercing Primal Innate Spells Spells DC 15 ; 2nd entangle; Constrict [one action] 1d8 piercing, DC 17 Entangle When the child of the briar casts entangle, the area is only a 10-foot radius, and the duration is only 1 round. All children of the briar are immune to the effects of this spell. Two children of the briar can combine their entangle. In this case, the child can delay the effect of the spell until another child within 10 feet completes its casting of the spell. When the combined spell activates, the radius and duration return to the normal amount, and the save DC increases by 2.

13th Age

Chernomoi  Weakling 2nd level troop [humanoid]  Initiative: +6 Scimitar Strike +6 vs. AC - 3 damage. C: Shriek +6 vs. PD (1d3 nearby enemies) - 2 thunder damage. Natural 16+: The target is also dazed (easy save ends, 6+). Limited Use: 1/battle. Dragon Follower: The chernomoi gains a +2 bonus to attack and damage against enemies that harmed a dragon since the chernomoi’s last turn. Flight. Invisibility: While not engaged, the chernomoi can turn invisible as a standard action. It becomes visible if it attacks. AC 18 PD 16 MD 12 HP 20

Child of the Briar  1st level blocker [plant]  Initiative: +5 Thorny Claw +6 vs. AC - 5 damage. Natural Even Hit: The child of the briar can also grab the target. A grabbed enemy takes 3 damage at the start of each of the child’s turns. R: Spitdart Tongue +6 vs. AC (one nearby enemy, or far away enemy at -2 atk) - 3 damage. C: Entangle +7 vs. PD (all engaged enemies plus 1d2 nearby enemies) - The target is hampered (save ends). Special: Two children of the briar must combine their standard actions to use this attack, otherwise it has no effect. AC 15 PD 14 MD 11 HP 36

[blackjackkent]

So uh. Finally went to talk to Arabella in camp and it was...not what I expected.

She's standing next to Withers, and he appears to be giving her some sort of lecture.

"I don't believe it. They can't be..."

Hector's heart aches for the girl's loss - but before he can speak any words of comfort, the skeletal undead speaks first, slow and steady as always but unexpectedly loquacious.

"Breathe, child," he intones. "Resist not the winds of change. Let them carry thee..."

"No..." She juts out her jaw, the intense stubbornness of a young child refusing to accept a painful reality. Then, louder - "NOOOOO!"

With the burst of emotion comes a sudden burst of light, sound, energy, all emanating from within her. It catches Hector full on, blasts him backwards, the light soaking into him, the energy pouring through him, binding him to her, to the world, to the corrupted ground all around them. The vines erupt from the ground again, seizing all three of them, trapping them in place. His head aches with the sudden revelation and he tries unsuccessfully to stagger backwards from her, clutching his temple.

Dimly, as he stumbles, he can hear Withers speaking again, a near-monotone entirely at odds with the chaos around him.

"Listen. Dost thou hear it? Where creation meets ruin...where morning meets midnight. The root of all being..." A long, heavy pause. "Balance..."

Hector has fallen to his knees in the swirl of shadow around them, barely aware of what is being said -- but the girl is listening desperately, her fists clenched tight, her eyes squeezed shut, her head bowed against the wave of energy she has conjured.

"They're dead..." she whispers, her voice thick with tears. "I can't..." A pause, and then the storm of power begins to ease. Her fists clench tighter as she struggles for control. "Balance..." The word slips from her, full of grief and weariness.

Hector feels the grip of the shadowy plants around his legs begin to ease. The pain in his head gives a last lingering throb and disappears. But the energy is still swirling within him - some of Arabella's strange ability hurled into him like a javelin through his chest.

Narrator: Your very soul is tangled in shadow. Arabella's magic, wild as cursed briar. Her talent is now yours, too...

He gasps, a single sharp breath, as if he had forgotten how until this moment. Looking up, he finds Withers watching him intently.

"The girl must learn the ways of the arcane," the skeleton says, slow and blunt. "But she shan't remain here."

"Why not?" Hector mutters hoarsely, trying to shake away the unnerving feelings long enough to focus on the conversation. "I'm not sending her out there alone." He will not send this child back into that darkness, no matter what this cryptic bastard of an undead says.

Withers shrugs vaguely. "Arabella holds a power beyond reckoning," he says. "That of the decaying forest, and the seedling that bore it."

Hector raises an eyebrow. All that, simply from picking up that idol back in the grove? There is something Withers is not telling him - but when is that not the case?

"But it is unbalanced," the skeleton goes on. "Her yoke is already heavy; if she walks thy path, it will surely break. Arabella will depart, once thou dost leave this accursed lands. She will find her way safely; thus it is fated."

Arabella looks up at him with an expression of dismay and fear. "Bone Man, you're making me leave?" she whispers.

"Fear not, girl." Withers looks down at her with something strangely like a smile. "The Weave knows thy purpose. It will guide thee, if thou dost listen."

Hector shakes his head, putting out an arm to insert himself into the conversation. Hold on just a moment. "I'm not going to make you go away," he says firmly.

To his surprise, Withers rounds on him abruptly and barks in a voice full of command and quite unlike his usual dry monotone. "THOU MUST." The explosion of sound rings in Hector's head and sets it aching again.

Not waiting for a reply, Withers turns away from Hector as if he does not matter at all. Instead he looks down at Arabella, who has begun to sniffle, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

For a moment Withers does not move. Then, slowly, he lifts one hand, turns it in a subtle arcane gesture.

A burst of sudden, warm light moves from his hand to drift in a wide dome around them. Hector feels the pulse of the shadows within him edge into dormancy as the light moves through him -- but it is not for him, not really. The bulk of Withers' magic goes into Arabella, sinks through her from head to foot, through her eyes and into her mouth and her fingertips.

Narrator: You feel her grief fade as if it were your own. There is a lightness in her now, veiling the power within, soothing it.

As the light begins to slowly fade, a smile pushes its way onto Arabella's lips and she looks up at Withers with a new eagerness.

"Is that my future?" she asks him. "Is that why they died?'

"It is," Withers answers gravely, looking down at her with an air that is, in a strange way, almost paternal.

She breathes out sharply, like a laugh that isn't quite fully formed yet. "It's...wonderful..." she whispers. "Thank you, Bone Man, for being...nice..."

Astonishingly, Withers smiles, though he says nothing.

Then she turns and looks up at Hector, turning that same smile onto him, and she reaches out and grabs his hand. He can feel the strange pulsing mix of light and shadow working its way across her skin where it meets his.

"If there are people like you around...perhaps everything will be all right."

-----

She turns and scampers off deeper into the camp. Halsin isn't there (which is perhaps just as well, as Hector doesn't know quite what he would think of this latest twist of the young girl's story), but she does end up flopping down next to Karlach, and Hector can see her starting to chatter away eagerly, with more energy than they've yet seen her display.

Hector looks at Withers with a narrow, warning expression. "If what you mean to do brings harm to that girl--"

"I mean to do nothing," Withers says, perfectly calmly, his skeletal features showing no sign of either concern or confidence. "I speak only of what the Weave decides for itself."

Hector frowns. "I will see her to somewhere safe. I promised her that."

"When the time comes for her to find her purpose, boy," Withers says gravely, "thou wilt have far greater concerns to contend with, I assure thee."