#theme: visiting the imprisoned

[queenlucythevaliant]

Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

*

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

*

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

*

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”   

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

*

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”  

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night. 

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

“No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

*

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

*

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.  

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.” 

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs. 

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her. 

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes.  “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.” 

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.” 

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun. 

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud. 

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too. 

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in. 

*

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke. 

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes. 

[sashakielman]

Between Justice and Mercy

My very belated short story for this year's @inklings-challenge! Thank you so much to the mods for a lovely event and the opportunity to get my brain back in gear for writing!

The Imperator’s dungeons were mostly emptied ahead of his attempt at war. Though a cruel man, he was also practical. Selenara’s population was small, and most had never left its borders, by the Imperator’s decree. Political prisoners and the few who had actually committed crimes would serve for his war effort as another form of punishment. 

One prisoner yet remained, however, with whom Kazmera needed to discuss her grandfather’s twisted governance. This prisoner was too old to fight, and even if he were in the prime of his life, the Imperator would not have allowed him to go free. 

And so Selenara’s newly crowned queen made her way into the depths of the dungeons, where no trace of the weak sunlight penetrated. It was cold as winter, damp, and rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of those who died there. Kazmera repressed a shudder and walked quickly, grateful for her heavy, fur lined cloak.

It was not hard to find the prisoner she sought; he was the only one remaining on that level. It was so quiet Kazmera could hear her own heart beating as she approached his cell. 

“My lord?” she asked as she stepped forward. Her torch cast shadows into the small cell, with only enough room for a rough cot, table for eating and a candle, and a toilet in the corner. The lord sat on his cot, hunched over, the shadows making his profile appear even more aged. She placed the torch into a holder next to the cell. 

“My queen,” he said, looking up at her. “The guards warned me you might pay me a visit.”

“I am glad they did,” she replied. “So you know why I have come?”

“I can imagine,” he answered. “You want to know the truth of my crimes against your grandfather.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, and waited for him to go on. 

“It is true, my lady. I was a leader in your father’s rebellion against him.”

“That, I did not doubt,” she replied. “Did you plan to assassinate my grandfather in the midst of the coup?”

“Would your opinion of the rebellion change if I had?” For a moment, there was fire in his eyes, and Kazmera could understand why her grandfather feared this man even from his prison cell, feared his leadership skills and passion for his cause.

She paused for a moment to say a prayer for her parents’ memory. “My opinion of my father’s rebellion would not change, no. I am still grateful he tried to give us all a better life, even if my parents were murdered as a result.”  

She swallowed. “But my opinion of you would change, my lord. My father did not intend to kill his own father, of that I am certain.” She took a breath before asking her next question. “And is it true we are blood relations, my lord?” 

He did not look back up at her, his earlier defiance lost to the shadows of the past. He merely held up his left arm, and a cloud of inky black darkness appeared in his hand, contrasted even with the cell’s gloom. “Is my magic enough answer for you, dear cousin?”

“It is,” she replied. “I would honor that relationship, lord cousin, and welcome you back to my family’s table.”

“Would you?” he replied, looking back up at her this time. “I never answered your question, Queen Kazmera.”

She met his gaze. “I was merely curious. The answer, I find, matters not to my heart. My grandfather slaughtered most of our family, including my parents. I grew up alone with him. I knew his heart, and there was no kindness within it.”

She attempted to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “I think there is still kindness left in your heart, my lord. My grandfather and his enablers may have tried to destroy it, and you with it, but I do not believe they succeeded.”

He nodded stiffly. “Your father was a good man, despite your grandfather. He would have been a good king. And if you’re half the good person he was, Selenara is in good hands for the future.”

“Thank you,” she replied. 

“Don’t thank me,” he answered. “Have you shown mercy to your grandfather’s other prisoners?”

“Yes,” she answered. “As I will show mercy to you.” 

She drew a set of keys out of her pocket--a set of keys which had been difficult to obtain, and caused more bloodshed in the palace. She unlocked the door, and gestured for him to come forward.    

“What may I call you?” she asked, offering him her arm as they began their journey back upward into the light.

“Your father called me Uncle Feliks,” he replied, still gruffly but a measure less than before. 

“It suits you, Uncle,” Kazmera replied with a small smile. “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms, and we can become acquainted after you have a hot meal.” 

“Very well,” he replied. “I hope the food’s better, at least.”

She laughed. 

Each cell they passed on their way back to the palace was empty.

[teabooksandsweets]

A short – but finished – entry for this year's Inklings Challenge. These are ten drabbles serving as glimpses into the story I have planned, and of which I have begun (and intend to finish, and post later on) two different versions. Everything went a little different from my original expectations and plans, but a challenge is a challenge and I decided to make the best of it. So I finished a "miniature" version of sorts, rather than nothing. Some elements are alluded to that will appear in the longer stories.

Team Tolkien // Secondary World Fantasy // Visit the Imprisoned – Shelter the Homeless – Clothe the Naked // Finished – 1000 Words @inklings-challenge

This is not the story as told by the girl who was said to be dark-leaved; that will be a longer story, penned by said girl in her study in the tower.

She has fire and shoes — she knows what these things are now. She is warm, she is at home.

She knows many other things and will tell her tale in time.

This is also not the shorter story, as told not from too far away, which will follow in due time.

This is a glimpse into a faraway world and two lands, both not too far away.

Come along into this world.

Oh, do not ask “What is it?” — let us go and make or visit.

Let us go now, you and I —

and the bird (large, dark, a friend) will show the way, to meet a boar (Great and brown), a doe, a hare, a (strong, brown) bear, the moon, lamp and woman, wolf and man, and another man, who has a beard, and a princess or a prisoner (from what I have heard).

Her first friend in October — the girl's friend, in that land — will show the way.

Let us go.

The Princess in the Tower has shoes and fire, is not warm, is not at home.

The Prisoner in the Tower has no comfort but her conscience. (A clean conscience is no comfort in this place. Contrition is.)

If imprisonment is not undeserved, can liberation be deserved?

Her greatest grief is loneliness. The doe (water-coloured) knows, the woman (by the lamp-post) knows.

The bird (large, dark, the girl's first friend in October) knows snd leads the way, to make a visit, if a visit is her need.

(The damsel in the tower doesn't know; the girl will soon find out.)

For a girl (dark-leaved, they say) who knows neither shoes nor fire, a cuppa is a strange thing, especially if there's tea in it (— especially if there's brandy in the tea).

Pickled walnuts are another surprise if you grew up in a warm, wet forest with only fresh fruit and ripe nuts to eat.

But the greatest surprise is how a fire's warmth feels on cold skin in October air, in a stable, in strange company. Company that looks neither up to you (though you come from the forest) nor down on you (for you are dark-leaved).

Strange comfort.

The Great boar makes no promises, but he speaks the truth. He said the girl would see her tree again.

(Not yet, not yet!)

Said the girl would meet her friends again (vixen, and robin and pale blue eggs).

Said the girl ought to follow him, out of the forest, into the land beyond.

(“The wasteland!” said the girl. The boar accepted this term as hers. The bird called this place “the middle of October.”)

But what was the girl to do?

What could a (dark-leaved) girl do?

Good deeds? Great deeds? (A “naked child” in the middle of October?)

Ground like water, only dry — cold ground, that's what shoes are for. (Are there shoes for breasts? For hands? Ears? the girl wonders. A cape, perhaps, as winter-women wear. No such things in a green-leaved forest.)

The Great boar had brought the fallen leaves — sunlit leaves, golden leaves. Change scares the people of the forest. The dark-leaved children scare them, too, for they are not scared of change.

Following a hot cuppa in the stable, the girl received a cape against the cold. Out of plain kindness — and of good use for a later kindness, also plain.

The doe is the colour of water, and the moon is the colour of milk. (The hare is of the moon, but the girl doesn't know.)

A friend of the bird (her friend!) is the doe. Never seen from the forest, is the moon.

To the tower they lead — to visit the Prisoner.

(“Is she dark-leaved, too?”

“Is that what you call those who have dine horrid things?”

“It's what my people call those who might yet do that.”

“Then we are all dark-leaved except for the Princess, for she already has.”)

But leaves turn dark before they fall.

Every spring come green leaves, unless it is always spring. (So if it is always spring, it can never be spring again.)

The girl wears a crown of dark leaves, but the Princess' head is bare.

The doe leads the way up the moonlit stairs, leads them to the Prisoner.

“Who's there?” a light voice asks (an aged voice of a young throat).

“A friend — and me.”

“Come what for?”

“To see a tree in winter.”

“Oh — is it winter again? No wonder I'm so cold!”

(It's the middle of October, but for the Princess comes another spring.)

In her forest she was dark-leaved.

“But really, it's the middle of October,” she says to her friends. “My spring will come again.”

“You will want to go home.”

“I wish I knew how!”

“What — how?”

“Where!”

“Oh.”

“The forest is not my home. I will go there again (for the Great boar always tells the truth) but it will not be my home, for spring will never come in a forest that is always green.”

Spring comes after winter, after fall.

And yet, one woman's prison is another woman's castle, and one woman's desolation is another woman's solitude.

“Take my cape, for it is cold outside.”

“It's cold in here and you wear but a few leaves around your hips.”

“The fire is warm, you are cold now from within. (I know someone who can warm you with a cuppa tea.) I your woollen dress you are more naked than I am in my leaves. Take the cape and bring it back to the man in the stable, and thank him from me.”

“And then?” asks the Princess.

“Go into the forest, and find out how to turn dark leaves green again.”

And so the women parted ways.

[inklings-challenge]

2023 Inklings Challenge Stories By Theme

Feed the hungry

Give drink to the thirsty

Clothe the naked

Shelter the homeless

Visit the sick

Visit the imprisoned

Bury the dead

[muse-write]

The Starsail

Here's my Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge) for 2023! It's not exactly what I hoped it would be, but I don't see myself having much time to work on it over the next couple of days. I expect to be able to give it a more natural ending sometime soon, just not before the 21st, so look out for that.

Lieutenant Pekka met him at the atmospheric lock at the top of the gangway, saluting him sharply with the flat of his shimmering blade. “Welcome aboard, sir.”

“My ship in one piece, Thom?” Captain Vadya clapped him on the shoulder, the clang of his gauntlet star-hard against the links of the lieutenant’s mailshirt. Lieutenant Thom Pekka hurried after him as he moved up the deck toward his office, filtering through the list of data hovering in front of them at a practiced speed.

“Mostly, sir. The sails are fixed and replaced with new synthweave, the hull has been modified with  facet-steel, and the kitchen has been restocked with…” He made a face. “…The best ration-packs the Center has to offer. Quite a treat to look forward to, I’m sure. That nebula-rip tore through some roping, but we’ve got men working on it.” When the Starsail had limped into Sula’s main war-port in front of the Center of Administrative Warfare, they had feared the repairs might take weeks. Captain Vadya blew out a sigh of relief and turned a quick grin onto his first lieutenant.

“If some roping is all we lost, Thom, I’m a happy star-knight.” He continued to his office, the data visualization scattering away from the interference of his passage through it, and Pekka, with fond exasperation, swiped it back together again and pocketed the projector. 

“Where are we off to now, Captain?”

Nem Vadya paused in front of his door. “That’s a good question, Lieutenant. It’s one I won’t answer until we’re well on our way. Just trust me, huh?”

Pekka was quiet for a moment. He’d been friends with Vadya since they were children. His trust was hardly in doubt. “Another disagreement with the Admiral, sir?” This came out tentatively, with just a hint of distaste.

Vadya’s grin this time was a bit more strained, but no one could have noticed except Pekka. “Believe that if you want. Let’s just say…clear the records of our ship’s departure, and mask our trajectory. This mission is…perhaps not advised.”

Pekka’s knuckles whitened. “Heading for danger, sir?”

Vadya laughed now. “Danger finds me, Thom, I promise you!”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Pekka agreed, knowing when to pick his battles with Captain Nem Vadya and already mentally reviewing their medical inventory.

Nem Vadya shut the door to his office and leaned against it with a sigh. He was back on his ship, the familiar blue waves of his wallpaper greeting him, and the vastness of space stretching out past his window beyond the lights of the war-port. Still, he was full of nervous energy that wouldn't be relieved by the wonder of space.

He reached into the pocket of his synthweave cape and took out his mother’s note. 

My dearest Nem, it read,

I and your father are proud of your accomplishments in Sula District 3974, and wish we could have been there to greet your return in Sula proper, but unfortunately we were called away by your grandfather’s most recent crisis of health. I shall send another note concerning his state as soon as I can.

Of more pressing concern is the second letter included in this envelope. It has been four years since Zyn was taken into custody of the King’s Police, and in all that time I have not been able to gain entrance to see or speak to him. In the included letter is what I and your father wish him to know. With your advanced stature in the King’s Armed Forces, I have hopes that you will be able to give this letter to him. I know your opinion of your brother, but have pity on the grief of a parent, and do what you can.

Vadya pursed his lips. Thus had been the purpose of his meeting with Admiral Jent, which had come to naught; visiting with Zyn Vadya, traitor of the Galactic King, was firmly prohibited. “You know the rules, dear boy,” the Admiral had said, softening a bit. “Traitors, especially to the extent of your poor brother, are sentenced to a solitary life. That is their punishment.”

Vadya knew the rules quite well; he had never once wished to break them, much less for the sake of his murderous younger brother. But this letter from his mother, while restrained and pleasant, carried her unique brand of desperation; he could practically see her composure cracking. 

His father had added a short post-script:

Nem, all of the above. I love you. I trust you to do what is right.

Which was about as wordy as his father got. It made Vadya’s heart warm; his father likely had written those words with hands aching from pulling sheets of facet-steel from the compressor for ten hours, and he’d probably had his customary glass of takka immediately afterward. 

Vadya sighed and brushed his hair behind his shoulders, staring out at the void of space they’d soon be setting off into. 400 lightyears away the prison planet of Wintral slowly burned itself up beside the ever-expanded sun of the same name. And on that planet sat his younger brother, one-time failed assassin and revolutionary. And since there was no way to legally get their parents’ letter to him through the right channels, well…

Vadya would be leading his crew in an attempted prison break.

~~~~~~

By 21:00, the small mess hall was full, even with only the 14 crew members he’d chosen to accompany him out of the usual 35. They had gathered for dinner and celebratory drinks, cheering finished repairs and a fine cast-off. The depths of space were too dangerous to have real alcohol on-board, but the War Center had provided the standard limited amount of ferment-packets, which provided an extremely short-lived buzz that felt nowhere near the same. 

Vadya watched as men and women laughed and clanged metal cups together, staring through the atmospheric shields at the stars passing by at a sedate pace. Whether they knew where they were going, or what they were in for, they were pleased to be off-planet after a week of inactivity.

Vadya had spent that week meticulously planning.

The mess hall was small and hot, and his flight uniform was stifling, even with his hair pulled back. He fidgeted. On Wintral, the prison had to be ten times this uncomfortable. 

The thought made him still. His appetite, already small to begin with, was gone completely. He picked at the freshest of the ration-packets, and he had been doing so for half an hour without making much of a dent when there was an outcry on the other side of the mess hall. Vadya sighed, already moving to rise as Pekka hurried over to him, his eyes wide and his face contorted in that expression that meant he was apologetic but too duty-bound not to go through with the action.

“Captain, sir, midshipman Temner has captured a stowaway, sir.” 

Vadya paused. “A stowaway? How did they get past the sensor beacons on the gangway?”

Pekka shrugged helplessly. “You’ll have to ask her, sir.”

Her. That made a bit more sense; Sula was not a planet known for its kindness to women and girls. After a short hesitation, he unbelted his sword and blaster-holster and set them on his chair. Pekka paled. “Sir…”

“Leave it to me, Lieutenant,” Vadya said gently but firmly, and moved past him to join the huddle of bodies that had formed on the far wall. When they noticed their Captain approaching, his crew swiftly made room. It was enough to let him see the ‘her’ they were all so curious about.

She was a young woman, barely more than a teenager, perhaps 20, if that. She crouched by the wall, hands wrapped defensively around a small roll, one that had already been micro-risen. Her clothing was odd, not at all what someone should be wearing when the radiation of an atmospheric shield was all that separated them from the vacuum of space—a white blouse, plaid skirt, and sensible shoes were all well and good, but not on a starship.

This was all somewhat unimportant against the obscenities she was yelling at them. She directed these first at the largest of the men standing nearby, then more fiercely at Vadya as he approached. He stopped, belatedly realizing just how this might look to her, then after some deliberation he knelt a few feet in front of her. She went pale and her mouth snapped shut, teeth grinding together. Her glare remained as fierce as before.

Now that she was quiet, he took the opportunity to speak. “I’m Captain Nem Vadya. You’re on the starship Starsail. I hear you’re a stowaway?”

Her hands clenched around the roll she gripped. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she bit out. “You won’t believe me, but I’m not supposed to be in this world.” She bit her lip. “I swear, I’m only on this stupid ship so I can get home.”

“The Starsail’s not stupid,” Vadya corrected absently, turning her claim over in his mind. He’d heard stories in the far reaches of the system, tales of portals and wormholes, and after everything he’d experienced, someone coming from another world wasn’t the oddest thing out there. But was she telling the truth?

He observed her for a moment—her curly hair slipping out of its bow, her cheeks flushed with anger and panic, the tear-tracks almost hidden on her face—and abruptly decided it didn’t matter. She was here, after all, and he had his own mission, and they wouldn’t be going toward a portal in the far reaches of space any time soon. If she wanted to get home, she’d have to find another way. For now, she was stuck here.

“Why did you choose this ship?” he asked as gently as he could. No doubt Pekka was already tallying up the amount of rations one extra woman would use. 

She gulped. “I don’t know, it was just…the closest one. I would only have one chance.” She glanced at the group behind him. “And there were women, so I thought…” She trailed off, but he saw her point. 

“Well, unfortunately, you chose wrong. We aren’t headed toward a portal, or a wormhole, or anything that will allow you to get back home.” He met her dark eyes, noting the fear and anger and utter, utter bewilderment there, and wished he could comfort her. “I cannot tell you anything else. My crew trusts me. Will you?”

Tense silence.

It was broken in only a few seconds as Litt, the navigator shouldered his slight frame through the crowd. “And what business do we have with her, a stowaway who doesn’t even dress for a spaceflight?” Vadya observed Litt for a second. Belligerent and hotheaded he was, but not merciless, even as he glared at the girl. And Vadya saw his point. Taking stowaways on a dangerous journey into the edge of known space was not ideal, but there was nothing else to be done.

Turning from the girl, he addressed the crew. “Our business, Litt, is to take care of people who come running to us for help. We can’t take her back now, anyway.” The obvious reason his crew would come to was the time wasted, and he didn’t say the unspoken part out loud–that this spaceflight was completely off the record. “Ruka.” He singled out one of the female crewmembers, one he knew would be a stern companion but not an unkind one. “Take the girl and find her a suit and some real food. She’ll bunk with you in the womens’ cabins. She says from another world; please explain anything she needs to know, using your own discretion. And keep her safe; she chose perhaps the worst ship possible to make her escape in.”

The girl lifted her chin and met Vadya’s eyes. “And a weapon? Could I be permitted one of those?”

He surveyed her: slim, almost delicately weak. But only almost. 

He liked to think he had an honorable crew, but he knew what young men were wont to do for long voyages away from their home planets. And this girl was terrified, of him not least. The least he could do to gain her trust was to show some back.

“Ruka, give her one of your knives.”

The knife Ruka offered was a sensible pocketknife, a cheap one of Prithane make but imminently serviceable. One Ruka and her interminable sense of duty wouldn’t feel badly about dying at the blade of. The girl took it, looking relieved.

Ruka started for the door, but before she followed her, the girl turned to Vadya. “My name is Cassia. And…thank you.”

~~~~~~

It would take them time to get to Wintral, as well as many stops to refuel. Though Pekka didn’t know their exact destination, Vadya had given him information enough to allow him to make an accurate list of fueling stations and their general trajectory. Those fueling stations would only get more infrequent as they reached the edges of known space. Pekka was flitting about here and there stamping out the myriad of crises that came with crewing a warship with a skeleton crew of 14.

In general, the first few days passed in a peace so uncharacteristic that it was almost boring, and the crew was getting restless. There had been entirely too much time to think about the state of their mission and the mysterious stowaway from another world quietly keeping to herself in the women’s dormitories. 

Vadya himself was not exempt from this, and sometimes wished that Thom was a little less capable just so that he had something to do other than sit in his office and stew over his mother’s letter. A week into their mission, he summoned Cassia to his office. She appeared at his door dressed in the standard silver armored flight suit—not entirely necessary inside the pressurized cabins, but a useful precaution to take.

He had prepared a carafe of coffee and poured her some. “Cream?”

She hesitated, but she seemed less suspicious than she had the last time they’d met. “Please.”

“I guess Ruka has put in a good word for me,” he chuckled.

Cassia sipped the coffee in lieu of an answer. “Why have you called me here?”

Vadya sipped his own mug of coffee and gathered his thoughts. “How did you get to Sula?” he asked first.

Cassia’s fingers went white at the knuckles. “Please don’t answer my question with a question, Captain.”

Vadya observed her—the meticulously combed hair, the brown eyes set in a round, pretty face. There was nothing at all, beyond her dark hair and relative short stature, to set her apart from the Sulian people. “I and my crew are setting out on a particularly dangerous journey,” he relented finally. “I wonder if perhaps you’ve been sent to help us with it.”

She scoffed. “Help you? I was walking home from work looking forward to seeing my sister when a wind swept up around me and dumped me in the middle of a back alleyway. I thought I was still at home until I saw…one of your kind, whatever you are.” Her voice trembled a bit. “It was autumn at home. My favorite season.”

He didn’t know what that meant, but he put it aside for now. “So it wasn’t a portal or wormhole which brought you here.” Not one he’d ever seen, anyway.

Her eyes flashed. “Well, what else could have? I’ve read Lovecraft! Lewis!” 

He had opened his mouth to respond when a horn sounded through the speakers in his office, followed by the sound of running footsteps and Thom bursting through the door to pant out, “A sonar-dragon, sir, to port!”

Vadya tensed and rose, coffee and Cassia forgotten. “How large?” 

Thom turned grim. “Large enough. Drij shot it in the eye as soon as it turned up but it’s stubborn.”

“Well, thank the stars for Drij’s aim,” Vadya muttered, heading for his armor and assembling it. “The shields?”

“Weak but holding.”

“Recharge them to full power.” Atmospheric shields wouldn’t keep out a physical obstacle larger than a small asteroid, but if they tuned them right it might affect the sonar-dragon’s hearing. “Cassia, stay here.”

“Don’t worry,” he heard her mutter under her breath, “do you think I’d go out there?” He grabbed two pairs of deafeners on his way out and threw one to Thom, who paled but clipped them onto his ears. Vadya kept his in his hand until he’d strode out on deck and faced the chaos that awaited.

A skeleton crew was little match for a sonar-dragon, but they were putting up a fine struggle. Blasters and starswords combined made up a formidable armory, but the sonar-dragon, as stated, was large enough that a crew of 35 would have been hard-pressed to keep it at bay. Starry mist streamed from the hole Drij had gouged in its eye, but the other was bright and golden and stared down Vadya as soon as he exited the cabin. 

Vadya ignored it for now, taking a glance over his ship. The main-mast was in one piece and the synthweave sails were intact, though that hastily-repaired roping was showing signs of strain and fraying. Through the deafeners, he couldn’t hear the chaos, but he could certainly see it—and Litt’s body lying still against the navigation center in the middle, a wound in his head bleeding freely.

Vadya’s anger burned cold. He had chosen these knights for a reason—they would be the least likely to have something to lose in the event they didn’t return. But he hadn’t intended to get any of them killed, and by a sonar-dragon, at that.

The atmospheric shields glimmered above them, visible now that they’d been recharged to full power. The effect on the dragon’s hearing he’d hoped for didn’t seem forthcoming. His heart sank: there was only one tried-and-true method to slaying a sonar-dragon. With another burst of sharp anger Vadya threw the deafeners onto the deck and met the dragon’s gaze.

The sonar call of the dragon, though just on the edge of hearing, resonated through him and the ship’s hull, a pitch scientists had fought to explain for years. Immediately, the dragon’s mind—if it could be called that, for it was a mind as much as a sonar-dragon was really a dragon—touched his, sliding and slithering through his emotions and pulling on them one by one. The anger was the first to go numb, and then the concern for his crew, and the burning curiosity about Cassia, and his concerns for the quest ahead.

Vadya stood there silently struggling not to protest throughout.

Then the dragon found his memories of his brother and pounced eagerly. There went the hatred, gone cold and fizzling in his chest, and then the confused anger, and then the despair, and then the small bit of worry Vadya hadn’t even realized had been there until it went dark. The dragon stumbled over the tiny burning flicker of love still remaining and grasped at it, a bit lethargically, sluggishly, to swallow up.

No, Vadya willed as strongly as he could, no, you will not have that. 

And now that the dragon was thoroughly sated, finally full, had gotten its meal, it relented. It backed away from the ship. Before it could go, Vadya wrenched on that mental line connecting them, bound together with the sonar hum, dragged the dragon’s form close enough to him that he could see the galaxy that swirled in its one remaining eye, and stabbed his starsword through its temple.

The emotions the dragon had just swallowed up were released as it died, filled Vadya until his legs were weak with all of them at once, like someone had wrung out a sopping sponge straight into his nerves, and someone shoved Vadya’s discarded defeaners over his ears just in time, as the dragon let out an angry bellow, its pitch—reputedly—enough to knock an entire crew unconscious. 

The form of the dragon fell still and silent, and after a few minutes Vadya took off his defeaners. The crew followed suit, and the next thing Vadya heard was the cheering. Drij slapped his shoulder, Ruka saluted him sharply, Pekka hovered anxiously. 

Vadya took a couple of steps away, feeling more worn-out than he could remember even after his most hard-won battle. His legs threatened to collapse under him, and seeing it Pekka threw an arm around his shoulders to support him. Just before he let himself be led into his quarters, Vadya threw a look at the dragon’s corpse. “Get that thing off my ship.” His voice was a little monotone, but he couldn’t muster up anything beyond the weariness and jittery nerves that had overtaken him.

Pekka took him to his office, but moved past it into his actual room. Vadya groaned as he lowered himself gingerly down onto his bed. “That was more difficult than the Admiral’s stories made it sound,” he admitted, grateful to be sitting.

Pekka looked him in the eye. “You killed a sonar-dragon. A big one, too.”

Vadya shrugged uneasily. “Don’t mention it.”

“Oh, we will.”

Vadya realized belatedly that he was shuddering and that Pekka’s arm was still wrapped around his shoulders. “Do you need anything, Captain?” he asked quietly.

“Just…time,” Vadya replied, equally as quiet. At least he was able to put a little bit of inflection into that one. “Thom, don’t ever get your emotions dragged out of you and then pushed back in all at once.”

“I’d sleep it off if I were you,” came a voice from the doorway connected to his office. Cassia, true to her word, must have stayed back. She held out a cup of coffee. “Here. I can’t see how drinking something warm won’t help. Wish it was tea, but then, I’m British through and through.”

He pushed past all the extra confusion everything she said seemed to cause him and took the coffee. All told, it probably hadn’t been thirty minutes since he’d made the carafe, and it was still warm and pleasantly bitter. It energized him just a little bit. He turned to Pekka. “Go and make sure they’ve gotten that quantum-warped dragon off this ship. And, Thom…Litt?”

Pekka gave him a sad smile. “Dead on impact, sir. The dragon got him over the head.”

“Tonight, cryofreeze, then. I’m sure he went out fighting. His family deserves a real body to mourn when we get back.”

“Aye, sir.” Then Pekka, with a courteous nod at Cassia, went out into the hall, leaving the two of them alone.

Cassia tapped the hilt of her knife nervously, shifting her weight back and forth. For his part, Vadya sat still, sipping his coffee while he waited for her to speak and feeling his emotions resettle themselves gradually, each slipping back into its spot one by one. “What was that thing?” she asked finally.

Vadya tried to stand, but his legs were still shaky, so he lowered himself back onto the bed with as much dignity as he could. “Sonar-dragon. They’re hungry all the time. They feed on emotions. Hence…” His gesture encompassed the whole of him, sitting there shuddering in his room instead of commanding his ship. “They aren’t actually dragons,” he thought to add. “Just appear that way. They need a form, you see.”

“And…will we come across another one?” she asked.

“We didn’t think we’d come across that one,” he pointed out. “Wintral is just on the edge of explored space, as distant from civilization as you can get without shoving it into the unknown galaxies. After the next refuel, we’ll enter warpspeed and it should take us three years. Warpspeed will protect us a bit. I don’t know what’s going to happen beyond that.”

Cassia shook her head. “Warpspeed? What’s…no, you said we’ll be on this quest for three years? And you told no one?” Her voice sharpened. “I really did choose exactly the wrong ship to board, didn’t I?” 

“Don’t get angry at me,” Vadya snapped back. “This is a Royal Sulian Warship, you should have gone for a merchant vessel if you wanted a nice relaxing ride to the next wormhole to throw yourself into.”

Cassia looked as though she had a response to that, but she bit her cheek. “What’s the real reason you’re doing this? Going to Wintral?”

Vadya closed his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“And I’m stuck here for the next three years,” Cassia reminded him, “so I’d like to know what the plan is. And I think your crew would probably like to know why they won’t see their families for six years, and why they're down one.”

Vadya gritted his teeth, already regretting his decision to take in this strange girl. “I’ll tell you, because you deserve to know. But you won’t say a thing to my crew.”

He explained his mother’s letter, and went—briefly, because his emotions about it still hadn’t settled—into his brother’s history, and his intentions to bring him the letter, since the proper channels didn’t seem to be an option. Any other intentions he had he kept to himself. 

The coffee was long since gone, and Cassia fiddled with her empty mug. “It’s not much of a plan,” she commented finally.

“I know how I’m going to get in and how I’m going to get out, and what I’m there to do. That’s all I need.”

Cassia brushed her hair behind her ear, her dark eyes serious. “Back at home, I was studying statistics. If I had the numbers I could tell you the odds of this working to a decimal point. Right now I'll at least hazard a guess that they wouldn’t be high.”

Vadya stared at nothing. “I don’t need the exit plan to work. It’s just going to be me in there, anyway. The crew will be able to escape.”

“And when it’s reported that Captain Nem Vadya of the Starsail has been arrested for a security breach?” 

Vadya met her eyes. “I’ll be thrown in jail to be forgotten, my brother will have heard from his parents for the first time in seven years, and all 13 crewmembers on board this ship will be able to plead complete and utter innocence. If you tell anyone, you’re endangering their lives.”

[allisonreader]

The Mysterious Mansion

I promise that this is my last story I’m posting. It’s only the third one and the first one that I started…

@inklings-challenge

In the middle of the old city, there lies a mysterious plot of land that few dare to try to tread. Nary a more ominous place have you or I have ever seen, dear reader.

The plot is surrounded by high red brick walls, topped with gleaming rod iron spikes covered with gold leaf or something similar, that are as sharp as butcher's knife, and look to be as shiny as if polished every night. There are stories of people trying to climb the wall only to be stopped by being cut by the spikes.

Otherwise there is only one entrance. A gate that appears to be an impassable pile of rubble, which is deceptive. The gate gives the best glimpse of what is within the walled plot. Thick forest surrounding a long, surprisingly clear gravel driveway, leading to a grim looking three story tall, red brick mansion with a large dry stone fountain in front. With boarded up windows on the lower level, white columns on either side of the front entrance, holding up an overhang.

You would think such a place like that would be ripe with people wanting to explore it, film their explorations of it, and pretend to be ghost hunters in such a place. You wouldn’t be wrong to think so; if it weren’t for the pesky little fact that no one who has been known to enter the property has ever returned.

It’s become a well known fact that those who dare try their hand at exploring the place, have a nasty habit of disappearing. As do any search parties.

No one knows what happens to those who enter. There are many speculations as to what happens, from the mundane to the supernatural.

Those who do not believe in the supernatural tend to lean to the idea that people get lost in the forest and can’t find their way back out. Others claim that a mass murderer lives in the mansion and kills anyone who enters the grounds à la H. H. Holmes and his murder hotel.

Those who lean more towards the supernatural- like to claim aliens, vampires, werewolves or other such creatures are the culprits of stealing, killing, and keeping those who enter. Others yet claim a portal to another world lies within.

All of the different theories have combined into a plethora of urban legends about the plot of land and the mansion within. But the most outrageous conspiracy might be the theory that no one actually goes missing. That once people go in and see that there’s nothing special about the overgrown, run down plot; they leave and claim that they either never went or make themselves scarce to keep the mystique of the place.

I don’t believe that last one; due to my own experiences. Let me set the scene for you. My partner and I were given the task to go into the mansion and learn as much as possible about the place. Mostly so the place could be torn down and in filled with stores and houses.

We questioned our superior if he knew what he was asking us. If he understood the implications of sending us somewhere where it wasn’t known what happened to people who entered.

He did, but said it needed to be done anyway. The place was becoming an eyesore, and the land could be used for those other purposes. There had to be some way to learn about what the truth of the place was.

So my partner, and I said goodbye to our families and met up at the front gate.

We both stood there and just stared at the mess of the gate. We were going to have to try and figure out a way through. Did we dare try climbing over the tangled mess?

I’m not sure which of us noticed it at first; the poem on the bronze plaque. On the pillar beside the gate.

You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t quite remember how it went anymore, but it was something like this.

To enter by my gate, and to change the fate of those who wait. Come close and state; Silver gate, Silver gate, open wide to let us enter and choose our fate, for those who wait, but don’t be late to find the right state because if you don’t the make that state before it’s too late, the gate will close and you remain.

An ominous warning without much guidance to explain what that meant. Or what we were intended to do.

My partner, and I shrugged it off at the time and decided to see what would happen if we recited the poem.

We were both shocked to watch the mess of the metal sort of glow silvery as it formed a proper gate. Ornate and seemingly locked; at least, until my partner walked forward, and put her hand on the gate; which one open slowly at her touch.

She looked at me in shock before we both entered together.

Nothing seem too otherworldly along the gravel driveway. It just seemed like an overgrown plot of land. The brush and trees were thick, though we could see the mansion covered in ivy at the end of the driveway.

The walk to the front door felt longer than it likely was. Both of us were silent on the way. I was wondering if we would have to recite another poem to get into the mansion. And if we did, if this one would give us more information.

Once we got to the door, it open for us, like it had been expecting us. Which was hardly comforting.

The inside was surprising. The inside of the mansion, in that space was a bright white room with tall, white marble pillars. Columns might be more accurate description. There were at least four of them along the outside wall with the door we enter through. Between each pillar on the same wall were peachy, coral coloured velveteen curtains, which match the veining in the marble columns. There being no clear sign of where the light might be coming from to make the room so bright.

[hirayalore]

the one where sirius black escapes from azkaban and finds you.

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

rating: PG-15

content: angst, established relationship au

warning/s: swearing, kinda canon, and once more a lot of angst!!!!

note. well,,,, it’s abvious that your girl is going through it shdjshdjhs i basically have a lot of sirius imagines in my brain that i would like to write. this is the second fic i wrote that has a similar theme of sirius being reunited with a lover after he escaped azkaban and it’s likely that it won’t be the last hehehe

Sirius knew that it wasn’t wise to be here.

And yet here he was, in his Animagus form, watching you as you took your usual evening stroll at the park near your apartment building.

He was aware that after the war—after the death of Lily and James, after almost all of your friends who were part of the Order met the same demise, after his imprisonment because of what Peter Pettigrew made everyone believe—you moved to a small and quiet Muggle village, far from the wizarding world that tore you apart and changed you for the worse.

From what he has observed for days now, you were working at this old bookshop that was run by a family friend. You were some sort of assistant, arranging the books being delivered every other week and looking after the store throughout the day, acting as the cashier and all. You always wore different light colored blouses during your shift, tucked in faded jeans and matched with beige sandals, as if it was some sort of prescribed uniform that you had to wear during working hours.

Sirius could remember how the world felt like it stopped spinning when he first caught a glimpse of you again, finally finding you after weeks of trying to locate where you might have fled to. Despite how your face has matured over time and your aura has grown to be more sophisticated, he still saw the girl he fell in love with at Hogwarts, and it caused his heart to ache a thousand times more.

Nonetheless, he supposed that this new life was better for you.

You were no longer at risk to be hurt or in danger now that you were here. He could see that you were contented, that you were healed in some way after everything that you experienced—but he couldn’t deny that a small part of him wished that you at least stayed in contact with someone from the Order, knowing that it would assure Sirius that you were being looked after and wasn’t completely on your own.

Slowly following you to the bakery you often visited to grab something to eat, Sirius stopped across the street and sat there on the pavement, gazing at you from the window.

To passersby, he appeared like an intimidating large black dog waiting for his owner to come get him again. It was due to his eye-catching guise that there were people who looked at him anxiously as they walked along his path, or those who purposely avoided marching too close in fear of being mauled or chased after.

He paid them no attention whatsoever. All that mattered to him was you—and how when you turned to your left, gaze flickering outside the bakery and coincidentally landing on Sirius, he saw the instant flash of recognition that spread on your features, causing his furry black ears to shoot straight up.

****

You almost dropped the paper bag being handed to you by the cashier at the sight of the black dog on the other side of the street.

It can’t be… you told yourself, swallowing hard as the dog began to stand up from its sitting position and turn away, now walking towards the bushes where you could easily lose sight of it.

You might have been living peacefully at this Muggle town you’ve grown accustomed with over the years, have done a great job in mingling with Muggles and pretending to be one of them, but it has been two weeks since a copy of the Daily Prophet arrived at your doorstep that told you of Sirius’ escape from Azkaban, and it has easily brought you back to the world that you wished you could easily forget.

Hence, every part of you was screaming that it was him.

That the black dog you just made eye contact with was Sirius Black.

No matter how many years it has been, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of something familiar—something long forgotten that it overwhelmed you for a quick second before you found yourself running out of the bakery, sprinting to where the black dog had gone. 

You ran as fast as you could, heart pounding inside your chest, chasing after him even though you have completely lost track of where he decided to go.

You ran around the area until your knees gave out, until you had yourself convinced that maybe you were only seeing things and it wasn’t a black dog that you saw earlier.

You stopped running at an alleyway, now covered in sweat as you tried regulating your breathing from the marathon you just did. Your chest made it seem like it was close to giving out, and your eyes were stinging from either the cold or the realization of how much you needed to see Sirius.

As you turned your heel around, about to walk back to your apartment and gather your thoughts there, a shadowed figure was standing before you a few steps away, his hair long and matted, his clothes tattered and large.

You stopped breathing.

“Sirius?” you whispered, taking a purposeful step forward.

He didn’t move. He remained frozen in place as you approached him, reaching to where he was and courageously placing your palms against his cheeks, a gesture meant to check if he was really here like your eyes were showing you.

Sirius closed his eyes, inhaling sharply at the contact, and without words spoken, you pulled him close, hauling his head down to lay on your shoulder and embracing him tightly as you let out a surprised gasp at what was happening at this moment.

When you fled from your old life, you swore you never wanted to go back. You were convinced that it was no use staying when everybody was against you—when Sirius, the man you loved and the man you were supposed to marry, was convicted for a crime you knew he could never do.

Regardless of how much you pleaded to everyone to believe in you, they never did. In their eyes, Sirius Black was a treacherous friend to James Potter, that he was the reason why James and Lily were killed that night and poor little Harry had to grow up without his parents. Even Remus, his best friend, had his doubts about Sirius’ loyalty that it caused a temporary wound to yours and his friendship.

Regardless of everything though, regardless of how much you stayed away from your old life and tried moving on, you never stopped thinking about Sirius. You were always haunted by his fate, by what happened to your friends, and by what could have happened if only all you had been wiser with your decision in switching Peter as the new Secret Keeper last minute.

“You’re here.” You pulled back, staring at Sirius who was still speechless, your eyes flickering to every part of his face as if you were memorizing his features. “You’re really here. How did you find me?”

A ghost of a smile appeared in his mouth. “I have my ways.”

“Of course, you do.” You breathed out, disbelief still lacing your tone. “But you—it isn’t safe. You’re supposed to be hiding. The Dementors—”

“I know,” he said, wincing a bit at the reminder of those awful creatures. “It’s unsafe for me to be here, but I had to. I just had to see how you were. I’ll leave as soon as—”

“No.” You shook your head, your palms falling from his face so that you could hold onto his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re coming with me.”

“____, let’s not—”

“I wasn’t asking for permission, Sirius.” You told him sharply. “Come on.”

He was about to protest, to reiterate that it wasn’t safe of him to be here nor was it safe for you to be seen in contact with him, but before he could let a word out, you were already tugging him with you hurriedly to where your apartment was, aiming to go there quicker to avoid detection.

****

You were like in some sort of frantic trance, he could see that.

As soon the both of you arrived inside your apartment, you were locking the door manually and then grabbing your wand that was hidden in some sort of cabinet, soon muttering a bunch of incantations at every corner of your place in what Sirius assumed was your way of ensuring that he wouldn’t get discovered here.

You have always been a smart witch, way too smart for everyone when the both of you were still studying at Hogwarts. Even though he was considered intelligent himself, you were on another level. It reached to the point that professors allowed you to visit the restricted section of the library, keen in helping you foster your potential by giving you access to advanced magical studies—the same advanced magical studies that he assumed were where you learned the spells you were chanting right now.

When you were done, you walked towards him again, only to abruptly pause.

You gazed at him, this expression on your face making it obvious that you weren’t used to seeing him so near and within reach. Sirius reckoned that he looked horrible, with dark circles under his eyes and a thin, gaunt face that was vastly different from the appearance he had when you first fell in love with him. The realization made him a bit self-conscious, like he didn’t deserve to be here nor should have shown himself to you in such a state.

But the second you started striding to him once more, this soft smile on your face as you reached for his hands, it made him remember how he managed to survive being in Azkaban all these years. It was the confidence that even if everybody easily turned their backs on him—he still had you.

“Do you want to take a bath first? Get settled in?” you asked.

He was silent at first, and then he spoke. “You’re handling this way easier than I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you angry at me?” he replied to your question with another query himself. 

You raised an eyebrow. “For coming here?”

“For everything.” His tongue felt like sandpaper. “For being the reckless git I have always been. For getting myself locked up. For leaving you. For letting James and Lily—”

You cut him off before he could finish speaking, squeezing his arms. “Love, that wasn’t your fault.”

“But it is. I was a coward. I shouldn’t have insisted on making Peter the Secret Keeper. I should have taken the responsibility myself, regardless of whether those bloody Death Eaters hunted me down and tortured me.”

Aside from Dumbledore himself, you were only the other person that was told that Peter would be the Secret Keeper instead of Sirius. It was Sirius who told you so, not being able to keep such important information from the person he trusted the most. And so when the Potters’ location was discovered, you believed Sirius’ suspicion of Peter being the one to blame.

However, Sirius decided to go alone when he went to confront Peter about it, thus being caught up with their friend’s uncharacteristically clever plan of framing him for not only James and Lily’s death, but his murder and the murder of several Muggles as well.

“It’s not your fault,” you repeated firmly. “We had no way of foreseeing the future.”

“He’s alive, you know,” he muttered. “Peter. He’s alive.”

At that, you leaned back a bit, surprised by the declaration. Although you didn’t believe that Sirius could kill him, you didn’t believe that Peter was still alive either.

“I saw him. On the Daily Prophet. He’s the rat perched on Weasley’s shoulder,” he said. “There’s no mistaking it. I could recognize his Animagus form anywhere.”

You pressed your lips together. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m completely positive. It’s why—” he sighed, exhaling through his nose— “it’s why I escaped, ____. I have to avenge James and Lily. I have to talk to Dumbledore. There’s a lot of unfinished business I have to attend to now that the Dark Lord is rising again.”

“Unfinished business?”

“Yes, and Harry, I have to talk to him, make him understand and—”

“And what about me?”

It caught him off guard. “What?”

“Me, Sirius,” you retracted your hands, taking a step back and looking at him with absolute hurt, “what about me? Did you just plan on escaping, hurting everyone, getting your good old revenge without regard to what’s going to happen to us now that we can finally be together?”

He opened his mouth. “Don’t… don’t put it that way.”

“Then how should I put it? I mean, if I hadn’t seen you earlier, you probably wouldn’t have talked to me. You wouldn’t have shown yourself.”

“I didn’t want you to get involved,” he reasoned, attempting to regain the proximity you two had before you moved away. “I’ve been watching you for days. Weeks. And I know better than to ruin the peace you have now.”

“Peace? You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoffed. “Do you really think what I have now is peace? Before you escaped, the knowledge of you being Azkaban with those Dementors—knowing that I couldn’t do anything, knowing that I couldn’t talk to you and make sure that you were fine—” Your voice broke and your eyes began to well up rapidly. “I hadn’t slept properly since then, Sirius. Do you know why I still get newspapers from the Daily Prophet? It’s because if for some reason they found you lifeless in your prison cell—perhaps I’d finally gain the courage to stop pretending that I still want to live without you by my side.”

The implication of your words struck him. He didn’t think that his absence impacted you in that sense, that while the thought of you comforted him in the decade he has spent locked away from society, you felt the opposite, instead tormented by his case and the weight of his absence.

Without hesitating, he engulfed you in a hug, strong arms wounding itself tightly around your waist. “I—” He didn’t know what to say. He has never been good at words, anyway. “Darling, you’re the most important person to me.”

You cried on his shoulder, returning his embrace. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“I just thought…” He closed his eyes in regret for ever thinking in this manner. “I just thought you’d be better without me. That you would have wanted it. You just… you looked okay. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re a twat, Sirius.”

Despite the insult, he found himself chuckling at the reminiscent feeling of being scolded by you, his hold becoming more unyielding. “I am. Perhaps even the bloody worst one out there.”

“You are. I’m glad you know.”

“I know, love.”

“And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you muttered, a bit muffled. “I’d take you back. Every single time. So, please, always come back to me.”

He drew his head back, about to assure you about never wanting to leave you again, when he noticed your necklace and its pendant that twinkled slightly due to the light hitting it in the perfect spot.

The more he stared, the more he realized that it wasn’t an ordinary pendant or charm. It was a ring.

Your engagement ring. The exact ring he gave to you on his knees when he proposed.

Sirius never cried. He wasn’t that type of man who channeled emotions that proper way. He often resorted into inappropriate laughter or anger—but this moment right here, at the sight of your engagement ring dangling against your collarbone, the very object that he never imagined you would still have in your possession after everything that had commenced—it made his hands tremble, his throat to suddenly burn, his breath to hitch, and before he could control his composure, the dam cracked. 

“Sirius?” You exclaimed, worried.

“You still have it.” He declared in between sobs, delicately adjusting your clothes so he could see the ring better on your neck. “The ring. The engagement ring.”

You glanced down, as if forgetting you had it, and smiled slightly in understanding. “Why wouldn’t I? You told me it cost a fortune.” You teased him.

“____,” he said your name again, groaning and pressing his forehead on yours, tears still streaming down his cheeks that you were wiping away with the pads of your thumbs, “tell me anything you need. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything you want.”

He kissed you passionately and you didn’t think twice about kissing him back.

“I only need you, love,” you murmured. “Just you. Just us. That’s all I need.”

He nodded vigorously. “You have me. You always did, and you always will.” He couldn’t stop kissing you, couldn’t stop doing the one thing he felt like could make you grasp how important you were to him. “Once I fix everything, I’ll give you a good life. I won’t let anything get in between us ever again.”

Even if you wanted to reply, you couldn’t, for Sirius never strayed his mouth away from yours, as if he was afraid that the loss of touch would separate the both of you once more.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．． ❛ #HER NEW BOYFRIEND’S NEXT!

𐙚 synopsis。．short hcs/scenarios of jealous yandere aventurine & sunday ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。suggestive themes . general yandere themes, brainwashing, gaslighting in Sunday’s part, mentions of violence, mentions of scide, imprisonment, except for aventurine relationships are not established, WARNING: extremely obsessed and smitten with you, read at risk!

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。honestly why do i think sunday will be literally the most dangerous yandere you could ask for。man has all the resources to brainwash you and lock you up pls

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY．。

。… a classic yandere obsessed over control. 。literally, he will be such a control freak. he has eyes all over penacony. he would have already kept track of what kind of soulglad you drink, when you get home, what your sleep habit is, all under the span of a week, and that’s before meeting you. obviously, as your future spouse, he is just obtaining information he needs for the future! 。will treat you surprisingly equally to his other guests when you meet, he doesn’t want gossip to get around, and he wants to make this “process” as natural as possible. 。after you are successfully within his area of control, he will start to monitor you even more meticulously- who you meet, what you do in your dreams.. he is a bit disappointed you don’t visit him on your own accord, but that will all be arranged soon! 。will casually go up to your room to ask you about “room service satisfaction” when he’s actually just busy breathing in your lovely scent and assessing your room for any “threat.” 。he doesn’t like that you’re affecting his ability to work. he’s impatient, of course, but he knows that he will have to wait for the perfect opportunity to whisk you away like a knight in shining armor. And all he needs is a little pawn to play the act of a villain- oh, your little male acquaintance will do! 。he’s like that- using people around you as puppets to his grand stage. Sunday is well-informed about morals, of course. But he won’t feel much guilt, not when he knows this is all for the ‘greater good.’ “They” will approve of it. 。and so, he starts to crack his charming facade- he will start asking you for private meetings, and he will put you in a vip room so you are isolated. He does this under the mask of ‘danger,’ saying that you have faced too many threats and he needs to ensure his guest’s safety. 。If you call your friends for help? The next day, they are mysteriously gone from penacony. You call them but your phone is out of service. 。but if you are still not charmed over his chivalry.. he’ll have to settle for easier methods.

❝ WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?”

Your demand was choked with such pleasant sobs that SUNDAY couldn’t help but slip out a small victorious smirk that quickly masks itself to a concerned facade when you fix your angry watery eyes at him.

“I know it was you,” you continue, pacing around his office while he remains nonchalantly seated, trailing his eyes to your every step. “You made all my friends vanish from penacony, you had my parents escorted away to aeons know where, you stowed me here like I’m some kind of precious little jewelry for your eyes only. What do you want from me?” The evident snarl in your words merely makes Sunday tip his head a little, staring at you with the same serene look that frustrated you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you got it all wrong.” He shakes his head in disappointment and rose up from his seat, taking silent strides to you at an alarming speed that made you stumble backwards to the door. “‘They’ have done nothing for you during your stay in the Reverie. You are always disappointed with them, but you choose not to speak up. It is such a painful sight, you are just like a bird who lost its voice.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, dangerously neutral, which scares you, and makes you doubt yourself.

Maybe you were just being stupid, Sunday was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. And your friends indeed did not do much for you here, unlike Sunday, who provided you with all this luxury without accepting anything in return. You feel safe here, almost. You blink a little- the heat that had pounded through your ears was gone, and now you feel like a harmless puppy that just barked his best at a wolf.

“It‘s natural to be mad, dear.” His hand delicately entangles itself into your locks, and you stare at him, unable to say anything as he soothingly whispers. “It is hard to understand actions for the greater good. relax, sweetheart. Everything will be better now,” he purrs, staring right into your eyes. They are endless depths of azure. They are very, very mesmerizing, you think.

“Everything will be better now,” you realize, and you sigh into his arms that seemed to suddenly be present around you. But the worry disperses, you are fine with being close with him. His embrace is welcoming and soft. You don’t want to leave it ever again.

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE．。

。this man takes the cake for being the most jealous man in honkai 。he’s a charmer. he wins you over easily, because who could resist his charisma and his wealth, honestly. He flirts his way easily with you— unlike Sunday, he likes an impromptu plan, and rather enjoys surprises- any attempt of you trying to break up with him will not irritate him at all, contrary to the former. 。“Your attempts fascinate me. Too bad you lost all your bargaining chips. You gonna play another round with me, love? I’m more than willing to, you know.” 。he will be pleased, intrigued at how he can break you down again. he likes a little chase and gamble, he doesn’t want his prey served on his plate, he likes the thrill of hunt. 。he’d even be impressed if you escape him. But not for long, because he will bring you back to where you belong. 。this man will barely be angry over you. He won’t force any affection onto you, he satisfies himself by buying you expensive clothes instead, as if you are his little doll. He is content with you being a quiet and submissive trophy. 。what this man does not tolerate, however, is you being with anyone else. He cannot bear the thought that someone is around you more than he is, and that you rely on someone more than you rely on him. Aventurine has pride over his abilities, anyone taking you is like taking his most precious trump card. 。despite the jealousy he feels, he will still regard this as a particularly entertaining game. But he knows he will win this gamble, too.

❝ AH, IT’S SUCH A THRILLING GAME, ISN’T IT, SWEETHEART?”

You watch AVENTURINE toss the coin into the air and roll it around his fingers, his mesmerizing eyes examine the bitter look of defeat on your features.

“This isn’t funny,” you sobbed, despair dawning on you upon realizing that you truly lost everything to him. You had no more moves left in this game he put you in. He was merciful enough to spare your blood relatives, but your friends were gone- including the nice and sweet, innocent guy you shared friendly banter with for barely an hour.

“A gamble is fair and share, love.” He puts his hand on your waist, giving you a short kiss that tasted of wine. You felt nothing but defeat as he tossed the coin on the table where it flopped. “You just picked the wrong set of cards to play with.”

He is close to you all of a sudden, his hot breath tickling your skin, smelling of victory and wealth. His eyes stare right into you as he chuckles, the sadistic glint in his eyes glitter a little more when you feel a tear escape your eye. He leans to your ear, lightly biting your earlobe as he adds,

“Nobody wins with a deck with only clovers, my love. A shame that your cards were so… discardable.”

He laughs at that, watching your stunned face. He loves the look of surprise on you. It is endearing, it shows so well that you do not know how to play his game at all.

[soullessdianthus]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

Warnings: yandere themes (manipulation, kidnapping, imprisonment), smut (overstimulation, dubcon/noncon, breeding kink if you want to interpret like so)

Word count: 1.6k

A sound of pouring rain tapping over the window kept you awake. You glanced over the glass and saw the same image as for the days before - dense, forest line cutting the grassy, wild meadow off. The temperature inside and out was warm and it almost felt like summer in the countryside of your homeland. But it was all an illusion.

A high-tech screens had been put inside the window frames to imitate your well known surroundings. He put an effort to make this place look like a decent place. Somewhere you would feel comfortable. But this wasn’t even a real home, it was your prison. 

After you interfered a little too much with the canon events in one of the spider-verses, Miguel O’Hara visited your world in person. He demanded an explanations from Peter Parker, a friend from college, about your doings. 

Because you two learned lately about the up-coming death of uncle Ben and tried to avoid it by all means. And you almost succeed. Almost.

Miguel, a tall man with a dark look on his face, threatened Peter about the consequences of avoiding such occurrences. Parker appeared to be frightened of the stranger as Miguel’s eyes seemed to glow brightly red from frustration. 

Those piercing eyes finally found your form, standing still behind your Spiderman and only then you processed what you just heard. 

━ Wh-What? It was OUR idea to save your uncle! ━ You interrupted those two men, gesturing with your hands. But Peter didn’t even bother to look at you, he didn’t have enough courage to do so. He tried to frame you and put all the guilt on you. Which in the end, somehow worked out. 

He agreed to that mysterious spidey-guy from another universe that someone had to bear the consequences of messing up with the timeline. And Parker pointed at you. An ultimate betrayal, ripped your heart apart. 

Soon after you found yourself in that damn prison with a bracelet over your wrist to “stop you from glitching”. Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

Miguel was some kind of boss around the place you found yourself in. At least that's what Lyla told you, a artificial intelligence present in the technology around you. It was him who was responsible for you from now on as he visited you every day. 

At first, each time you saw him, you tried throwing things at him purely out of rage - a book, a small picture frame or a chair, but each time he managed to catch or turn down anything you tossed. He kept trying to explain to you what was happening and why he couldn’t let you go back into your world. Miguel stated that it was dangerous enough when a non-variant person was messing up with the timeline. 

But was this all true? There was no one else you could ask for a second opinion, you had to believe, everything Miguel told you was the truth. Obviously, you questioned everything about him and this place. It felt like you were losing your sanity and a part of yourself. 

The well-built man with brown, combed hair was very patient and understable with your rage and sorrow. Until he was not. 

O’Hara had enough of your tantrums and one time he scared you truly. Eyes turning bloody red, his veins popping out and his teeth turning into long fangs. He charged at you, shoving your whole body to the wall behind. When your eyes were filled with fear and lungs emptied themself due to the force he pushed you, Miguel contained himself and moved away quickly. 

You rarely saw him in this form, but when you finally did - you kept behaving well, not wanting to anger him again. Because you knew nothing about him. What if he was able to hurt you? Or even murder you? 

Since then, you tried to suppress any anger and try to figure out how to return to your world, your life. And the brunette kept coming back, each day just to visit you. In the end he was your only company. 

Miguel brought you new books or art supplies if you asked Lyla or him directly. The man would spend some time with you - cooking, watching movies, anything you liked to do. But it was months ago. 

For the last couple of weeks, you were practically silent and apathetic. Curling inside the armchair near the “window”, napping or sobbing quietly. You’ve been in this prison for too long and it began to crush your spirit. 

He acknowledged the change in you and tried talking about it. He kept assuring that he has to keep you here for the world’s sake and balance. Because if someone messes up with the canon again, the universe will collapse. You reprimanded yourself for leaning into his chest when he offered you a comforting hug. Because how could you ever want solace from your captor? 

That evening was no different. Miguel visited you after work and found you sitting in silence on that damn armchair. When he crouched down, trying to catch your sight, you scooted backwards in the seat. 

━ What’s wrong, cariño?

━ I want to go home. ━ Your voice full with sorrow gained his attention. Where was your spirit he adored so much? The pain in your voice almost made him feel bad. Almost.

Miguel reached towards your exposed calf and started rubbing it with his pointing finger. 

━ This is your home, tú lo sabes. [sp.: you know it] ━ His voice sounded peaceful when he reached both of his arms in your direction. His embrace was welcoming, but you knew better. It was like a sweet flavored poison, spreading slowly under your skin, killing you slowly. ━ Come here.

You pushed firmly against his shoulders as you jumped out of the chair and took a few steps back. 

━ Miguel ━ you said his name loudly, gaining his full attention. You were being hysterical again. ━ I’ve been here FOR MONTHS. I had life before, I had A PURPOSE. You took it from me!

He tried, he really tried holding himself back this time you talked back. But your whining became annoying and Miguel just knew what would make you feel better. 

He stood up to his full height, easily towering over you. Brunette came closer, taking each step slowly, like he was giving you time to calm yourself or at least apologize. But you didn’t even back out. 

Miguel was leaning to look into your glimmering eyes and he saw how much you hated him at that moment. “We need to work on that temper”, he once told you, but you thought nothing of it. 

His little, feisty nymph. That’s what he liked to think of you. 

━ Fine ━ he growled right in your face, before grabbing your arm. ━ I’ll give you a purpose. 

The sound of your heavy panting echoed through the room. You tried straightening your hands again, but unsuccessfully as your muscles gave up a long time ago. Only his strong hands kept your ass higher than your head, by the tightening grip over your already bruised hips. 

Miguel kept thrusting into your tight cunt until you were a sobbing mess. He already pushed you over the edge at least three times, devouring the little noises you made and how your pussy clenched around his swollen shaft. 

Brunette kept one of his palms spread between your shoulder blades, keeping your upper half down, making your spine arch better. 

The sweat covered the back of your bent knees, him sliding in and out of you with ease, because of your wetness. Miguel certainly knew where to touch you to make you break into pieces between his fingers. 

━ See, doesn't that feel good to be by my side, cariño? ━ He leaned over your puffing frame, cheek dipped in the sheets while he kept fucking you stupid. 

━ Mig-Miguel… I can’t… n-no more…. ━ You whispered to him, feeling as each thrust of his hips pushed his cock deeper inside of you. The coiling sensation started to build up again between your trembling legs and in stomach. ━ Please!

━ Just one more, darling. ━ He heard you clearly, but yet he kept sliding in and out of you violently, chasing his own sweet release. 

Miguel took his hand away from your back and sneaked between your puffy lips. He spreaded them, opening you up and making it easier for him to find your clit. And when he finally did so, the brunette started rubbing it in a rhythm that quickly made you reach your another orgasm that night. 

Your body tensed suddenly and then collapsed into his pelvis, sinking his swollen cock deeper. When your cunt fluttered around him uncontrollably and your eyes rolled backwards, he came inside you, clenching his teeth. 

He tilted forward and placed both of his strong hands on each side of you, while coming down from his high. He noticed your grip tightening over bed sheets and smiled, before giving you a tender kiss on the temple. 

━ Mi pequeña ninfa. Do you understand now, that only I can protect you? [sp.: My little nymph]

Miguel loved his girl no matter if she had a bad day or not. He was going to make sure, no one will ever take you from him. You’re his precious troublemaker, aren’t you?

━ You belong with me. ━ He growled into your ear.

[kupidachillea]

Achilles x You x Patroclus hcs

Author note: this took way too long. But this is respond to the request I got for more of these two and the reader. Ngl- I’m with them- I’m a sucker for those boys (Patroclus save me-)

TW (Trigger warning): Not much. It starts off as fluff then slowly branches into angst sort. Has a few Yandere themes. Achilles being possessive along with Patroclus. Slightly out of character (but hey, it’s a fan fic). Achilles and Patroclus are lonely lads and want a third-

CW (Content warning)⚠️: Slight coercion, manipulation (?), drugging with magical fruit. Forced imprisonment (?), Achilles and Patroclus are being selfish. This takes place in the modern world.

Basic summary: What happens when you decide to visit the underworld and meet two long dead heroes? Do you make new friends and form a bond or do you awaken something darker..?

🌿- You were granted permission to visit the underworld. A privilege that wasn’t given to many. It wasn’t as simple as finding a secret passage and letting yourself in.

🏺- No, Hades had gotten more stricter with all that. Not like the days of old where many heroes and mortals were able to just waltz on inside the land of the dead. You, however, were blessed enough to have the opportunity to explore and experience this world. Hades was kind enough to pardon you. As long as you followed a few simple rules of course.

🌿- One such rule was ‘Do not eat of any fruit or food in the land of the dead.’ Of course you took in his words and tried to honour them as best you could..however the moment you were granted access, that important rule slipped your mind. Now only full with excitement and wonder.

🏺- You would traverse through the foreign terrain and territory of the underworld. Occasionally seeing Hermes and giving him a greeting or so. You saw unique plants and creatures..not to mention the Shades.

🌿- For the most part the Shades were like people, living their lives in the Asphodel fields. Most of them paid you know mind while others would give you a simple wave.

🏺- Eventually though m you find yourself in the Elysian. You weren’t aware that you had traveled so far until a certain fiery blonde approached you.

🌿- He was a bit taller than you, piercing green eyes and olive skin. He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen him before. “A mortal in the land of the dead? Haven’t seen one in years…” He would mutter. A slight confused smirk on his face as he took you in.

🏺- He had that thick Greek accent that Hades would have and that’s when it hit you..this must be Achilles. He was a bit surprised to see a human all the way down here unscathed but he actually didn’t mind all that much, especially after you introduced yourself.

🌿- The two of you got to talking as you both walked through the valley together. He would ask you about how you ended up down here and you would explain your story. Of course he was a bit confused but he seemed to understand for the most part. It’s been awhile since he had a conversation with the living..and he was enjoying this little blessing in disguise.

🏺- Soon enough you both stumbled upon another man. He was a bit taller than Achilles (even if he was sitting by a tree you could tell) and his hair was a dark brown with lovely curls..his eyes were as grey as a brewing storm. His skin darker than the blonde next to you and he had visibly more scars than Achilles.

🌿- It took you a moment to realise that this was Patroclus; only when Achilles went up to greet the other did it finally click in your head.

🏺- Achilles obviously introduced you to his companion. And from there you all talked and got to know each other better. By the end of your visit you all made arrangements for you to come back and meet them.

🌿- So over the course of the next few days you’d come down to the under world just to check up on the pair of ancient warriors. You’d talk to them about life in the 21st century and they would teach about the ancient world.

🏺- Obviously you took this to your advantage. Who needs google when you have the (not so) living proof right in front of you?

🌿- But unbeknownst to you, a new feeling started to emerge inside both men. They liked you…they both did…every time you would come down to meet them, they dreaded sending you away when it was time to leave.

🏺- They hated it. They couldn’t help but worry. They didn’t think it was right. How could they protect you if you weren’t with them? Anything could happen once you left the safety of the Elysian.

🌿- They both ended up talking and discussing a plan..a way to keep you down here with them. There’s no harm in that..right?

🏺- “We’re just trying to protect the poor dear…right?” Patroclus would say, as if he was trying to justify what they were about to do to you on your next visit.

🌿- Achilles would scoff as an impish smile graced his lips. “Of course..the mortal should be grateful. It’s the only right decision..”

🏺- They both nodded to each other. Their plan was set.

🌿- The next time you came to visit, it went as usual. You all talked, joked, and conversed about each other’s day. You really enjoyed being around them and they LOVED being around you..

🏺- Eventually though, your stomach grumbled. You were hungry, you would let out a soft groan. Whining about how you wish you packed snacks. Both boys grinned..perfect.

🌿- They could now put their plan into action. Patroclus got up and went over to a fig tree, beckoning you over along with Achilles. “Well if you’re hungry, dear- why not take a fig from this tree..?” Patroclus asked softly. His voice was cool and calm, hiding any form of deceit or manipulation.

🏺- You would stare up at the fruit before going on your tip toes and picking one. It was a pretty looking fruit and you figured it would be the same as the ones on the surface..however just as you were about to take a bit you paused. Didn’t Hades warn you about having any form of food from the underworld?

🌿- Your thoughts were interrupted when Achilles spoke up. He could see the doubt and hesitation growing in your mind and he was desperate to make you forget your uncertainty. “What’s wrong? Do you not like figs? We could get you something else…” He would say.

🏺- You blinked and shook your head, telling him it was fine before you pushed your doubts aside and took a bite of the fruit. Besides, what could possibly go wrong? More than you think.. unfortunately for you..you had just made a grave mistake..

🌿- You felt a little weird but you brushed it off as being tired, meanwhile the two men looked much too happy that you had eaten the fig from this land. Their plan had worked, you were as good as theirs.

🏺- When you expressed you were feeling a bit drowsy they took it upon theirselves to get you a nice place to rest. Patroclus allowing you to rest your head on his lap as you drifted off. Achilles’ hand playing with your hair as you started to sleep.

🌿- “It’s alright, dear..just rest..we’ll be here when you wake up..” Achilles uttered, a slight smirk on his lips as he ran his calloused fingers through your hair. With his words you finally submitted to sleep.

🏺- It was done…you were now theirs. You had sealed your fate, for better or worse..

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

I have all the time in the world. How about you?

There is a theme to Aylin's threats and vows of vengeance that I've noticed and that I want to share.

Do what you will. I cannot prevent you. But you know as well as I, I will come for you. One day.

That one, for example, is for Balthazar, while she is imprisoned.

I cannot prevent you. But I can advise you. Be careful to whom you yoke your fate. One day, when he is severed from me, Ketheric will die. I will not. And when I am freed, I will remember whose recompense to claim.

Did you expect me to beg? To cry? To plead? For what. I accept my fate - for now. But the life of a divine is longer than you can fathom, Sharran. And this cold chapter will close, one day.

And those are for you, when you've yet to harm her, when she's still only warning you off. But then, if you choose to try to kill her, like so many before you:

Was it everything you hoped for? Was it sweet, Sharran, to murder a paladin of Selûne - her daughter - her sword? Congratulations - your mistress Shar will write your name on her hand. And I? I will come for you. When the time is right.

The next bit depends on your character's gender:

When your sons are grown and your beard is long and wiry; when you cannot hold your nightly water and your nose grows as long as your weary, weary days… When your daughters are grown and your chin sprouts whiskers dark - when your teeth are yellow as corn and your sleep grows short and your days are long and weary, so weary… When your children are grown and your eyes are weak; when your nose grows as long as your weary, weary days…

Ultimately, your fate will be the same:

That is when this immortal will visit you, Sharran. That is when I will show you what it is to be afraid.

All these long-term promises of one day, coupled with inevitability.

I find it so striking that most of Aylin's threats include her flaunting and flexing her immortality (as well as her flawless, long memory) over whoever has wronged her.

Present your weapon, soldier. Plunge it into the Nightsong. I cannot stop you. But know this: I never forget a face. HAH! Are you afraid, Sharran? Do you rattle and jump at the realisation that an immortal has your face emblazoned in her mind forevermore?

Everything is but a passing inconvenience to her, she claims, even a century of imprisonment and torment. Outlasting, outliving - that is simply what she does and what she chooses to intimidate with. Promising to wait until you are old and decrepit, until after you've experienced all the vagaries of age that she never will, leaving her sword hanging over your head throughout the entire miserable lifespan that she has permitted you to have.

Then, if you wrong her in a very heinous way, there's the extreme one of outliving not only you, but killing and extinguishing your entire bloodline in order to obliterate every trace of you from existence:

WHEN I AM FREE, I WILL DESTROY YOU! I WILL MURDER YOU, AND YOUR CHILDREN, AND THEIR CHILDREN BESIDE! I will rip this world apart, plank and beam, until every iota of your being is scalded by my light. This is my promise. This is my vow.

Over and over, Aylin builds her oaths of vengeance on the foundations of an utter, even proud, certainty that she will see her foe end, one way or another, due to her nature and the simple fact of her own endlessness. This is the well she keeps coming back to.

And I find all of this, this consistent insistence on it, so striking and ironic, because one of her other main emotional threads is being thoroughly enraptured by and devoted to and just so completely in love with a mortal. One who will age and die and pass into memory just like all the targets of her rage - if I think of Isobel when I re-read all of that dialogue up there, it seems to cut both ways so deeply. But then there's the extra element that every single one of these is spoken when she either knows or is (incorrectly) convinced that Isobel is dead. Isobel, who didn't get to grow old, and who is both an anchor to humanity and a very painful reminder of the truth of Aylin's situation being twofold.

Aylin will outlast what she hates, yes, but she will outlast what she loves as well.

[arsene-inc]

TTRPG Inspirations

There are 3 games that served as major inspirations for Where the magic never ends? . Let me present them and their influences

Hunt by Spencer Campbell

Of course this one hits the list, it is where i took the system. Hunt is the first Lumen game from GilaRPGs to go diceless. A sort of Lumen 1.5. After 2 years of not slaying the NaGaDeMon (game jam), I decided to not create the system but do a hack instead. And this game was in my mind a lot by in autumn 2023. Along the way, I made it more pacific, taking inspiration for the players moves in the monsters moves from Lumen games' bestiaries. But the core, the diceless, 3 ressources management system is in there. Now that Lumen 2.0 games are available, I may revise some of the design to adapt it.

Here we used to fly by Kurt Refling & Ian Howard

Well the cover should give an inkling for what I took there... This is a game about theme park, about childhood memories when the park was active and adult visiting the abandoned parc the night before it is destroyed. I love theme parks. This is where the abandoned theme park and childhood wonder come from.

The Happiest Apocalypse on Earth by Christopher Grey

The other major inspiration for the theme. A game where animatronics are alive, snow white is a vampire, costumes aren't costumes, ice cubes from the ice where Dagon is imprisoned make people go tentacles and danger wonder lurks everywhere. Also Disney songs references! Yeah! The concept here is "What if Disneyland was controlled by Cthulhu?" Also I really wanted to just copy paste the park creation part.

As for the "answer a question with a narrative effect to activate a move" thing... I honestly don't remember where i found this idea...

You can find my game here on itch :

[inklings-challenge]

Rough Count of 2023 Inklings Challenge Stories by Theme

Feed the hungry: 22

Give drink to the thirsty: 12

Clothe the naked: 18

Shelter the homeless: 24

Visit the sick: 11

Visit the imprisoned: 8

Bury the dead: 18

Obviously, a lot of these are inflated by stories doing several or all genres.

I thought "burial" would be higher based on what I saw when compiling the archives. A quick glance suggests that while it may not have the highest number of stories, it's probably the theme where the most authors chose it as the only theme.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello! 👋 Thank you for your writing and effort. Can I request a story about reader and Donna having an affair? Maybe reader is Cassandra's gf but Cassandra doesn't treat her right like she flirts with other girls in front of reader and stuff like that? In the process of Cassandra sending reader to run her errands to her aunt Donna house they fall in love. Considering that Donna is super possessive and jealous everytime she sees reader they make love and is a struggle letting reader go back to the castle

One day Donna finds a hickey on reader's neck and goes mad because reader had promised it that Cassandra and her weren't intimate anymore (Cassandra was busy with other girls). Reader tries to explain her that she didn't enjoy it but Donna in her madness and jealousy kicks her out. After that when Donna comes to her sense she realizes she can't live without reader and is willing to fight for her so she goes to the castle and lady dimitrescu thinking her sister has just come to visit her invite her to have dinner. At the dinner table she sees reader and Cassandra but reader looks sad and pale. At one point in the night Donna notices Cassandra and reader fighting and Cassandra about to raise her hand on reader so Donna sees red and punches her niece. That's all the truth comes out and lady dimistrecu having noticed how her daughter treated reader scolds her terribly in front of everybody and let reader go with Donna. G!p Donna is that's okay?

Yess!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the delay, and the language mistakes!!! :)))))

Your arms, my safe place

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, castle maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, a bit of smut, Minors DNI, angst, dark themes, (Y/N) is Cassandra's gf, but things don't go well... mentions of abuse?

Word count: 9,796, too long, sorry

Summary: You wanted to be with her, but fate has another plans for you...

N/A: HELLO AGAIN PEOPLE!!! I'm back as you see!!! Thank you for all your support all this time, you're wonderful!!! I'm here again, but I'm afraid I'm unable to update everyday, but I'll do it when I can, I guess maybe 3 times a week!!! So... Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :)) Oh, and sorry about the language mistakes!!!

Donna's hands slipped under your uniform, untying the ties that held it to your body while you worked on the buttons of the blouse of her dress. Your head spun and the excitement was overwhelming.

Determined to leave behind anything that would interrupt the moment, you broke free from your thoughts when your hands brushed her skin, when your fingers unclasped her bra with a quick movement.

Donna began to become wild, dominant, as if the simple act of claiming you, of making love to you, reminded her that you were one step closer to stop being Cassandra's, to being only hers.

After all, feeling like you were hers wasn't the same as being so. Donna knew that, and it tormented her.

A few intense kisses on your neck brought you back to reality, making you moan, close your eyes, and forget about your worries. Her lips felt soft on your skin, her teeth barely grazed you, but made you tremble.

“D-Donna, b-be careful,”  you said, making the brunette move away from your neck to slide her hands under your legs and lift you romantically, placing you gently on the bed.

“Mm?” she murmured distractedly, bringing her hips closer to yours, making you notice her imprisoned erection pressing against your body and forcing you to emit an involuntary moan.

“N-not the neck, okay? You could leave a mark on me and Ca…” you said with a slightly clearer voice, putting your hands on her shoulders and causing her expression to suddenly harden.

“Shut up,” Donna snapped at you with a cold, angry look, hitting the mattress with her fist. “D-Don't say her name,” she hissed, looking away and accelerating her breathing.

You rushed to fix things as best you could: cupping her face in your hands.

“Shh, darling, forgive me, I didn't mean… Donna, my love, I'm sorry, okay?” you said tenderly, to which the lady closed her eye and let the air out of her lungs slowly.

“I know, I… It's just that I…” she stammered without looking directly at you.

“Come here,” you said, bringing your lips closer to hers, kissing the lady to distract her from the uncomfortable truth of the situation, one that seemed increasingly difficult for the doll maker to assimilate.

The insecurities were silenced with the wet sounds of your kisses, with gasps and sighs that increased with each look, word, whisper, caress…

Your hands sought the warmth of her pale skin, her perfect breasts, her arousal struggling to free itself from the black fabric of her underwear… That was more than enough for Donna to roar anxiously, grabbing your legs and freeing her shaft, bringing it closer to your wetness.

Donna was in a hurry, her body was in a hurry to claim you and her thrusts began to move your body while you closed your eyes, noticing how your walls stretched and pleasure began to invade you.

Your hands moved erratically as she claimed your body desperately, moaning in a very low voice, grunting every time she felt you squeeze her. They were quick movements, but when you opened your eyes you felt relief; relief to see her eyes looking at you as always, with love, with tenderness, in a way Cassandra never did.

You could have lost yourself in her perfectly controlled thrusts, in all the sensations that ran through your body, but something prevented you from doing so, forcing you to focus, to finish that forbidden act as soon as possible.

“Ti amo, (Y/N),” the lady whispered, stopping to kiss you slowly, to check that her haste, her eagerness wasn’t hurting you.

“I love you, Donna,” you answered, with a melancholic smile. “D-Don't stop, please.”

She obeyed with a timid nod, resuming her movements as she separated your legs even further, taking absolute control.

The moans, the creaks of the bed accompanied your feelings until the pleasure was too intense, releasing an orgasm, revealing that your body was ready to enjoy the woman you loved, without thinking about anything else.

Her release came soon after, warming your body, caressing your walls in a wet and lustful way. Afterwards, Donna pulled away with a grunt, lying down beside you to begin your favorite part of those visits.

Yes, sex was incredible, but what you really enjoyed were those moments embraced, naked, those tender smiles of Lady Beneviento looking at you, those kisses soaked with the sweat of the effort of loving you… Yes, that was your favorite part.

After a few comforting moments of silence, you inched closer to her naked body, burying your head in her chest as her delicate hands lovingly caressed your hair.

“I could lose myself in your arms,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the passion that seemed to still reverberate off the bedroom walls.

Donna laughed softly, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead, to brush your hair away from your face as you sighed. You wondered if maybe that was her favorite part too.

Your hands tangled together, absentmindedly playing with each other as the lady in black hummed an unfamiliar tune. Your gaze focused on her soft, fine hands, contrasting with the roughness of yours.

“You know? I find incredible that we have come to this…” you sighed, losing yourself again in her gaze. “I remember the first time I came… You closed the door in my face…”

“Mm, it's true,” the brunette said, amused, with a touch of shame in her voice. “I wasn't used to visits.”

“Oh,” you continued joking, sensually bringing your lips closer to hers, without kissing them, leaving the lady frustrated, teasing her.

“Now I can't live without them,” she answered, thus beginning a fight of kisses.

“Donna,” you said, trying to get away from her addictive lips with amusement.

 “(Y/N),” she said shortly after, sitting on the bed and looking away from you for a moment.

“What's wrong?” you asked, noticing how her body separated from yours, creating a horrible feeling of cold and abandonment on your skin.

“Mm, niente, io…”

“Hey! Are you done yet?! Angie doesn't like to be alone…” A sing-song voice sounded from behind the door, breaking that tense calm, that moment of lucidity from the lady in black, those words, which, surely, would start a conversation that you didn't feel like having, not that day.

“Angie…” Donna hissed, shaking her head and rolling her eye. “Go away!”

“I don't want to! Come here now! I'm bored!” the doll shrieked, with a mocking melody in her voice.

You laughed at the doll's always irreverent attitude, and at the embarrassment that it produced in its owner.

Donna looked at you and her smile also widened, joining you in a tender and soft laugh, resting her forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), you know the way she is,” she said amused, shaking her head and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Poor Angie,” you mocked in a low voice while the doll tried to get your attention with soft knocks on the door. “Besides, I…” you said, immediately staying quiet.

“What?” the lady asked, suddenly nervous, her gaze reflecting the fear of hearing that phrase, the phrase that always stabbed a knife deep into her heart.

“It's late and…” you whispered unsure, looking away and uncovering yourself, searching for your clothes. “I have, I have to…”

“Don't say it, please,” Donna interrupted, shaking her head, grabbing your wrist.

“I'm sorry, Donna, but I have to go,” you finally said, disobeying that silent plea, making her hand gently leave your skin. “It's going to get dark.”

“But, but,” the woman said, shaking her head and searching in her mind for an excuse, some words to make you reconsider your decision.

It wasn't really a decision. Your heart ached at the thought, knowing how much it hurt Donna to see you leaving, something that was becoming more and more difficult.

In silence, you both dressed again, without looking at each other, without doing or saying anything. The tension slowly increased; a tension that couldn't be dispelled with an apology or an empty promise, not anymore.

“Can I brush your hair?” Donna asked in a whisper as you looked at yourself in the vanity, searching for a mark, anything that could give you away to your true owner.

You nodded, letting her take a brush and gently run it through your hair as you both looked at each other in the mirror. Her bright eye betrayed regret, sadness, and yours betrayed lack of sleep, tiredness, laziness…

It was an overwhelming sight, but somehow it had its own sparkle. She was at your side, her beauty accompanying you, her hands caressing you as she gently combed your hair. Donna was with you, and that made you feel complete.

“Are you two deaf!? I'm here...” the doll joked, but without causing the same laughter as before.

It was a sad moment, the only moment you hated when you were with Donna.

“(Y/N), you don't have to do it,” Donna said softly, checking the result of her movements in the mirror and bending down slowly, surrounding your waist with her arms. “Please, stay with me a little longer, please.”

“You know I can't.” It was all you managed to say, shaking your head and pushing her hands away as you got up from the chair.

“We could play chess, or, or I could teach you to cook my recipes… Or maybe we could read in silence, with the fireplace sheltering us from the cold and…” the brunette insisted, pulling your body back, holding you tighter again.

“I can't, Donna,” you said, moving away abruptly, regretting it instantly. “Don't make it more difficult for me, my love…”

“You make it difficult for me,” she replied, giving some room and moving away. “You don't know what it's like to see you leaving every week, to see you going back to… to her,” she whispered with a cold look, with her teeth clenched.

“Donna,” you reprimanded, cupping her face in your hands, fearing that the tension would suddenly explode, embittering the moment. “I'll be back, you know I always do.”

“What if one day you don't?” she asked, grabbing your wrists, hurting you.

“Honey, please let me go,” you said in a calm voice, being released instantly. “I promise I'll be back. You're the only thing that makes my life worth living.”

“But, tesoro...” she insisted, grabbing your wrists again, this time more gently. “Io...”

“Shh...” you hissed, putting two fingers on her lips before kissing them softly, noticing the salty taste of a tear that came out of your eyes involuntarily. “Donna...”

“(Y/N), don't leave,” the brunette said again, lowering her gaze, blinking erratically.

“I'll be back, darling,” you repeated like a mantra that relaxed, but at the same time, distressed you.

Finally the lady in black nodded, keeping her hand in yours, but accepting the reality.

With a passionate kiss, you pulled away from her, walking towards the bedroom door, something you couldn't do, as her grip refused to let you go.

“Donna, please...” you said, increasingly nervous, pulling on her arm. “Donna, let me go.”

She did so with an angry growl and a dark expression, turning to give you her back, making her dress dance hypnotically as she sat at the vanity, unable to watch you walk away.

“Just be patient, my love,” you said quietly, opening the bedroom door, not wanting to wait for an answer.

“It's about time! Let's play!” Angie shrieked as she saw you walk past her. “Hey, silly, are you leaving?”

“I'm sorry Angie, but I have to go back to the castle,” you said, putting on your coat, refusing to look back.

A loud noise startled you: Donna's fist hitting the vanity furiously. It was time to leave, you couldn't leave her like that, but you had to.

“Cazzo!” the brunette shrieked as she hit the furniture over and over again.

“Oops,” Angie sighed, looking at you accusingly. “It's your fault, silly.”

“I, I just…” you said sobbing, knowing that you couldn't even help her, that you couldn't stay to ease her madness. “I-I have to go…”

“Yes, go! I'll fix your mess, like always!” the doll scolded you, walking gracefully towards the bedroom. “Donna, Donna, don't do that... Donna...”

The brunette's screams and sobs echoed in the walls until you went up the elevator, turning them off like the end of a movie, the end of a melancholic symphony that split your soul in two.

“I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my love,” you sighed quietly, closing your eyes and walking automatically towards the exit, towards the cold of that place, far from the comfort and warmth of your lover's arms.

Born and raised in that forgotten village, your future was written. You couldn't be what you wanted, but what you had to be. Being just another maid was your destiny, and you had no choice but to accept it.

The castle always gladly hired any young girl who was willing to work, to serve its mistress, but the work wasn't as hard as you expected.

Alcina Dimitrescu was an imposing woman, but elegant and even kind. Little by little you got used to being there, to sharing your existence with the lady of the castle and her daughters, who, on the contrary, didn't have much in common with their mother.

Crazy, free and unhinged, yes, that seemed like a correct statement for the three Dimitrescu sisters. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela were like mischievous agents of chaos who broke the harmony and elegance of that place.

After a year working in the castle, things improved before getting worse. One of the three sisters, Cassandra, seemed to have some interest in you. You never thought that those three creatures had interests beyond blood and chaos, but for a moment, you thought you were wrong.

She approached you, laughing evilly, looking at you while you did everyday chores. Habit made your body miss those eyes when they weren't looking at you, miss that laugh when there was only silence in the castle.

An "I like you", a slight blush on her cheeks and a quick kiss were the closest thing to a confession of love that came out of her lips.

Scared by her presence, and despite yourself, attracted, you let her lips kiss yours, you let your body experience what it was like to kiss chaos itself, and you liked it.

Little by little you began to feel that beyond the blood there was a heart beating desperately for your attention, that those looks and laughs were the expression and confirmation that even the daughters of a Lord were capable of love.

You lived happily for a while. Cassandra paid attention to you, all the maids began to respect you and even the lady of the castle granted you certain privileges for, according to her, having captured the interest of her daughter.

You were in a dream, in a fairy tale. You became a wandering smile that began to see the light at the end of her dark future. But it didn't take long for you to realize that fairy tales were just that, tales.

When you couldn't be more in love, Cassandra began to lose interest.  Maybe if you had opened your eyes earlier, you wouldn't be in that situation.

But your eyes needed to see what your intuition was saying, and so it happened. You saw that the suspicions your mind was screaming at you were true.

Cassandra said you were hers, she did, but she had no qualms about flirting with other maids, whispering in their ears, chasing them down the halls, and, of course, not being careful that you didn't see her.

You believed, she said, everyone thought that Cassandra Dimitrescu was your girlfriend, they really did, you really did.

But the concept of commitment and fidelity was far from the chaos inherent in the young Dimitrescu. Deep down you didn't consider that way of thinking as evil or bad-intentioned.

You knew that she didn't make you suffer on purpose, she was just like that.

You tried to bear it, not to look at the marks on the necks of other maids. You tried to ignore it, to forget that you were hers, but she would never be yours.

The pain became unbearable and the love you felt for her began to fade away.

At that moment, just when you thought your life would be a curse, that there was no other solution than to wait patiently for Cassandra to pay attention to you, you met Donna.

The first time your girlfriend asked you to take some supplies to the old estate you even thought of running away, of never coming back. That thought left your mind as soon as it arrived; you would gain nothing, and you would lose everything.

Instead, you decided to fulfill the errand and approach the old mansion.

The rest of the Lords weren’t a mystery, but shadows that you never really managed to see. Of all of them, the village especially feared the inhabitant of that old house, Lady Beneviento.

You knew what she was capable of doing, you knew that her mind was sick, seriously injured, and that she was dangerous, very dangerous. The villagers often said that they no longer feared nightmares but the lady in black.

That day you arrived there trembling with fear, only to find a woman dressed in mourning, a woman who hid her face with a black veil, a woman who didn’t speak, whose presence evoked the night and the darkness itself.

You completed your task with a kind gesture, which was answered with a soft nod and a sharp slam of the door.

Even with that brief encounter, your head began to wander, to wonder. While you were washing dishes, cleaning a hallway, or while Cassandra was taking you, you could only see that black figure and theorize what kind of creature was hiding behind that black veil.

Over time, it became increasingly difficult to get the lady out of your head, and everything got worse when those errands became frequent.

You were unable to find out anything about her, but the slamming of doors was no longer common. Instead, Donna remained silent, looking at you, as if she were studying you, as if she wanted to check that you didn’t want to hurt her.

That apparent vulnerability sparked much more interest on your part, and you began to talk, to ask, to address that stoic figure.

Little by little those conversations moved inside the mansion. Your almost childish insistence on communicating with the lady was clearly a cry for help, a cry to forget for a moment the place you had to return to, and it worked, it worked too well.

The doll stopped being her speaker and her lips uttered a word for the first time, almost a whisper, a melodic one, impregnated with a soft and attractive accent: your name.

It was impossible to resist staying a little longer, to listen to her hoarse voice a little longer, and you simply let it happen.

She offered you tea, listening to any nonsense you had to say and answering briefly but nodding with interest. You didn't know why you were so interesting to her, until you eventually realized how alone she had been all that time.

You couldn't deny that you began to feel, to notice something more inside your chest every time you approached her, every time her pale hands touched yours when she served you tea.

Without wanting to, but without stopping it, you were falling in love with the lady in black.

One day, a day of tea and chat like any other, that black veil fell. It was removed with a gentle movement of her hands. Donna trusted you. She wanted to show herself as she was because it was inevitable to deny that she also felt something for you.

Donna was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her face was not stained with blood, her lips were not painted black. Her only eye shone without that yellowish evil you saw in Cassandra's. She was a truly beautiful woman.

The scar that the will of the Gods left on her face was one of her most horrible fears, one of her greatest insecurities. Her revelation was also a plea, a vote of confidence, of knowing if those feelings were worth it, or if you would end up falling off the cliff like her family did.

Your answer, your only answer, was a kiss. A tender, desperate kiss, the sudden capture of her lips with yours.

Knowing the consequences of entering someone else's territory, Donna accepted that forbidden relationship, just like you.

You may have felt these visits as an escape valve from your hardships at first, but you refused to see it that way. No, Donna wasn’t an escape from a place you didn't want to be, she was the place you wanted to be.

Yes, she was sick, she was crazy, but she was loving and attentive too. She smiled, she listened to you, she hugged you, she caressed you, she loved you.

You saw in her everything that Cassandra didn't have. You began to believe that it was what you really deserved, that Donna was yours, and you were hers.

The furtive kisses and caresses didn't last long. Something inside Donna made her resemble her adoptive family: jealousy, possessiveness.

She wasn't jealous of the world, she wasn't jealous of anyone who looked at you, she knew where the root of her sometimes abrupt and erratic behavior was: Cassandra.

Feeling displaced made her feel frustrated and, after making another confession to you, she took you for the first time.

Her face wasn't the only thing the Gods changed. Her body did too, enough to make her even more self-conscious. For you it was never a problem, for her, your natural reaction and your slightly mischievous smile was one more reason to love you madly.

For the first time in your life, you didn't squeeze your eyes shut. You didn't feel the need to repress the pain of some unpleasant scratches on your bare skin. All you felt were soft caresses, playful tickles on your skin, kisses that ran over your lips while your bodies moved anxiously.

Cassandra was the first, or so you thought until that moment. In reality, the first woman who truly loved you was Donna.

She made you feel comfortable, she gave you more pleasure than you could ever have felt, she told you she loved you, she whispered it in your ear while she took you slowly, not wanting to hurt you.

At first you felt guilty, you cried on her bare chest after your first time. A few kisses didn't mean that much to you, but having Donna inside you, making love with her for the first time, knowing what it was really like to feel loved, broke one of your emotional barriers.

Donna comforted you. She didn't scold you for having ruined that moment, for you feeling remorse. She understood you.

Time kept passing and the visits kept increasing. Any excuse was good to melt into her arms, to make love calmly or wildly, to feel like you had never felt before and to forget that you would have to return to the castle, that those arms wouldn’t always protect you.

After walking through the snow, without even realizing it, you returned to the castle. All the thoughts about how you met Donna and your miserable life with Cassandra had made your return a simple formality.

“(Y/N), you're back,” one of your companions, Irina, said. She was your best friend for a long time. Now, she was just another maid. “The lady was getting worried.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the doors and taking off your coat.

The heat of that castle, one that at first seemed pleasant to you, was uncomfortable, oppressive, and even more so after that tense moment with Donna, a tension that was increasingly common in your visits.

“I'm sure you all were very worried,” you said ironically, glancing sideways at the red mark on her neck, one that indicated that Cassandra had passed by there, probably tired of waiting for you.

The girl noticed what you were looking at and quickly covered herself with an apologetic smile.

“(Y/N), I'm sorry, she came over and…” she began to explain, making you snort and shake your head.

No, you didn't need to know what your girlfriend had done with her in your absence. It would probably be Cassandra herself who would tell you if she got bored.

“Cut the crap, Irina, I'm not interested,” you said in a dark voice, pushing the girl away with your hand.

“Yes, of course,” the young woman nodded, with an absurd bow, as if you were something more than her, as if you were a maid who has to be respected.

How ironic, not even your girlfriend respected you.

“Oh, there you are, I thought you had gotten lost, dear,” a deep and sensual voice appeared behind you, freezing your steps: Alcina Dimitrescu, lady of the castle.

“My lady,” you murmured with an elegant gesture, fearing that running away to your room and crying wasn’t going to be possible.

“You've taken your time, my dear, have you had any problems with Donna?” the tall woman asked, putting a hand on your back to gently push you to walk beside her.

“No, my lady, she...” you said, stopping to think about an answer, one that wouldn't raise more questions.

To Alcina, the relationship that seemed to exist between her daughter and you was real, pure and sincere. You didn't quite understand why Cassandra pretended in front of her mother. Maybe she was afraid of her, or maybe she was trying to protect you. You didn't want to know.

“Mm?” Alcina murmured arching her eyebrows, urging you to give an answer you didn't have.

“Well, she's had a breakdown,” you said without thinking, blaming poor Donna, blaming her mental illness.

You felt horrible for doing it, but you had no other choice. You didn't know the consequences of your mistress finding out about your affair.

“Gods…” the lady in white whispered, shaking her head. “Poor woman.”

“Um, I decided to stay with her until she was calmer. I hope I didn't overstep my bounds, my lady,” you said in a formal tone, looking down at the wooden floor, with the images of the previous passion sending confusing signals to your head.

“Oh, not at all, dear,” the woman said, with a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Thank you, my lady,” you whispered, wanting to run, to insult yourself for having lied, for having accused the woman you loved of your delay. “Excuse me, my lady, I would like to retire to my room, I fear I have caught a cold,” you lied again, looking for any clumsy excuse to get away from her, from any Dimitrescu who got in your way.

“Of course, I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got sick, but... (Y/N), when you are done, I would like to ask you something,” the vampire said, walking faster, confirming that you had gotten what you wanted, to be alone.

“Fine, my lady.”

The bath you took was a blessing. The heat penetrated your body naturally and the water eliminated any remaining evidence of your infidelity.

Feeling the sweat leave you, how her kisses disappeared from your skin in the soapy water was more painful than other times. The lavender disappeared to impose on your skin the sweet aroma of the castle soap, making you forget every single sensation you felt when making love with your lover, her smell, the humidity of her home, the mark of her fingers caressing your skin…

Love, forget, serve, pretend, that was your daily routine. You could only do one thing: wait for the next week, long for Donna's hugs, for her body warming yours.

If you could bear the situation, it was because you knew you would return to her but… for how long? Was Donna right and one day you wouldn’t return?

The days passed slowly, too slowly. What Alcina wanted to ask of you was simple, but you were deeply grateful for it. She wanted you to have the privilege of tidying up the wine cellar, a place where no maid was allowed to enter. Of course, you weren't just any maid.

The task was especially pleasant. While you were down there, you wouldn't have to look askance at the necks of other maids looking for Cassandra's mark on them, and even better: she couldn't bother you.

It was too cold in that place for her to bear, which made your stay down there even comfortable.

But of course, what seemed like an advantage, a respite, a longed-for relief in your daily life, would bring unexpected consequences.

One night, in your privileged room, the atmosphere was heavy with uncertainty and a bad feeling prevented you from thinking about Donna, from longing for her.

“Wakey, wakey…” a shrill, yet whispering voice stalked your ear as a lump slid under the sheets.

The ferrous scent of those lips gave her away and her childish laughter confirmed your fears: Cassandra.

“W-what are you doing here?” you asked, startled by the intrusion, by some uncomfortable kisses that were beginning to run down your neck.

“What? (Y/N), I'm your girlfriend, remember? I've come to see you,” the young Dimitrescu said, sensually dragging her words while she moved the fabric of your pajamas aside to look for more places to play.

“Hey, I don't want to be rude but… why now? Didn't you say you wanted to have fun with other maids?” you asked delicately, without altering or removing her lips from your skin.

“Oh, don't be like that, silly, you know you're special,” Cassandra purred, pulling you a little closer to her.

Your heart was beating fast and your conscience was screaming to be heard.

You didn't know how much time had passed since she got into your bed, since she physically claimed you, but you knew it was enough to affirm that there was no kind of intimacy between you two, not anymore.

That lack of interest in having sex with you relieved Lady Beneviento. Knowing that you would never be physically hers again served as a consolation every time you had to leave. You promised her you would never sleep with Cassandra again.

Of course, to make that promise was a mistake. Chaos couldn’t be predicted, and you should have known that better than anyone.

“So you suddenly remembered that I exist?” you asked again, pushing her away, just as her teeth sank into your skin, making you hiss in pain. “I thought you weren't having fun with me anymore.”

“Don't be a whiner, (Y/N). I want to take you,” she said, climbing on top of your body, dominating you with kisses that weren't reciprocated, at least not voluntarily. “Hey! Why aren't you paying attention to me? Oh, you're not mad because I had fun with Irina, are you?”

“No, but…” you denied nervously, stopping her hands from scratching your skin under your pajamas while her hips moved anxiously. “Listen, Cass, I'm really tired and…”

“What's wrong? Has Mother made you work too much?” the young woman asked, it almost seemed like she cared about you.

“No, not at all, but I would prefer that…” you murmured, fleeing from her kisses and provoking a childish moan from the vampire.

“Hey, don't move! What are you doing? Are you rejecting me?” she asked impatiently, analyzing your gaze as if she could see behind it.

“No, I...” you said, containing the trembling of your body, the irrational fear that direct question and the answer your heart had produced in you.

Even though Donna was your lover and Cassandra was your girlfriend, you didn't feel infidelity in that way. Letting Cassandra take you was much worse than having sex with Donna. It was cheating on the only person who truly mattered to you.

Breaking your promise was for you the worst of deceptions, a betrayal of the doll maker's trust, a true infidelity.

But the pressure of those chaotic eyes looking at you, demanding answers, answers that would please her, made you forget any attempt to refuse and you simply sighed, staying silent.

“That's better, hun, hun,” the young Dimitrescu laughed, amused, breaking the straps of your nightgown with a quick movement and insisting on sucking, licking, biting your skin.

You closed your eyes so as not to see, but you couldn't help but feel. Every scratch, kiss or movement was terribly painful. She was having fun, but you only suffered, you could only think about Donna, that every second that passed, every hysterical moan that came out of Cassandra's lips, was one more stab in Donna's heart.

You could only act in that way, reciprocate, obey and let yourself go.

None of Cassandra's movements unleashed pleasure in you. Her kisses weren’t hot; they didn’t provoke sensations like Donna's did. Cassandra’s fingers inside you didn't feel like Donna’s erection sliding comfortably into your walls.

It was a rough act. You just wanted it to be over soon, for Cassandra to get what she wanted, and leave you alone.

Luckily, she didn't take long.

After noticing her absence, you ran to your private bathroom naked, looking at the marks your girlfriend left on your body, washing your hands, your face, everything her lips had touched. Unlike when you took a bath after seeing Donna, that time you hoped that the smell of blood and Cassandra's perfume would disappear from your skin.

You rubbed your arms, your neck, your lips, but it didn't disappear; she couldn't disappear from you.

Crying, you went back to bed, looking for a new nightgown to spend the night in, searching for some memories with Donna that would make you forget what you had done.

But that wasn't the worst. The worst thing was that the next morning you would have to go back to the Beneviento estate, you would have to see your lover.

You thought you had the strength to do it, to force her to close her eye while she made love to you and ignore the new details of your body.

You knew you couldn't do it, you just knew it.

“I've missed you...” Donna whispered when her arms protected you again, when her lips rested on yours again. “Tesoro...”

“Me too,” you answered, letting that romantic hug comfort your wounded conscience and make you forget what happened the night before. “Um, um... Donna...” you said unsure.

“Mm?” she asked, brushing your hair away from your face as she always did, smiling at having you in her arms again.

“I was thinking… that… that…” you stammered, deciding that maybe you should suppress your desires and not have sex, at least that day. “Well, the other day you told me that you wanted to play chess or teach me your recipes… how about now?”

“I thought that before…” she murmured, looking at you confused, blinking erratically. “I would like to make you mine first, tesoro.”

“Yes, well, I know, but it's that… well, it's that… I'm on those days, you know, and…” you lied without knowing how to do it, causing the lady in black to frown, suspicious of your words.

“Oh, you're talking about your period… I-I don't remember the last time I… well, I…” Donna hesitated nervously, with a slight blush on her cheeks, cheeks that you caressed amused.

“Don't be nervous, my love,” you joked, whispering in her ear, inevitably biting her earlobe. “Just think about it. It will be much better when I come back next week.”

“Mm.” She nodded unsurely, playing with your hair, with an air of disappointment in her eye. “Fine, let's do something different.”

“Good…” you said, sighing in relief, perhaps too relieved. “How about chess?” you proposed, clapping your hands in the air and approaching the corner where you used to have tea.

“Va bene,” the lady answered, smiling distrustfully.

“Hey! Chess? Come on! Let's play hide and seek!” Angie protested, comically tugging at your dress as you walked.

“Angie, lasciala estare,” her owner ordered, making the doll cross her arms with a snort.

“Hey! What happened to you?” Angie asked, pointing at you, pointing at your neck.

The puppet's tugs had shifted your uniform dangerously, revealing a red mark on your neck, one you wanted to hide.

“For Gods’ sake, Angie, shut up...” you growled, moving your clothes to hide the mark, something that of course didn't deter Donna from slowly approaching, removing the fabric again with a moan of shock.

“What's that?” she asked.

“What's what?” you asked back, nervous.

“I-it was her, wasn't it? She wasn't supposed to touch you anymore,” Donna murmured, clenching her fists on either side of her hips. “You promised me she wouldn't touch you anymore!”

You closed your eyes, feeling the pain of guilt, the sadness of a broken promise.

“Donna, it's not what it seems, I…”

“It's exactly what it seems, (Y/N),” she said, hissing, getting dangerously close to you and grabbing your arm tightly. “You fucked her.”

Vulgar words didn't usually come out of her mouth, Lady Beneviento was losing her mind, and that time, she was right.

“You don't understand, it's not what you think, I don't…”

“Lie to me again, come on,” Donna threatened, with a hatred in her gaze that made you shudder.

“What did you want me to do?” you protested, crossing your arms, letting a childish defensive attitude take over you. “Do you think I had another option?”

“There's always another option,” she added, shaking her head. “You told me that there was nothing physical between you two anymore.”

“You don't understand, Donna.”

“I don't understand? You've fucked her, you promised me that...”

“You think it's easy?! Huh?!” you yelled, frantic. “What right do you have to judge what I do? You don't know how things are.”

Donna laughed sarcastically, with her eye wide open and her knuckles white from the pressure.

“You're right, I don't know how things are, I don't know what happens when you leave, when you go with her,” the lady in black murmured, pointing at you with her finger, her breathing becoming more and more agitated. “But it's quite clear.”

She turned her back on you, but you grabbed her shoulder, which was pushed away with a grunt and a quick movement from the brunette. You desperately tried to reassure her, to make her understand that the night when Cassandra played with you didn't mean anything.

“Listen to me, Donna, please,” you said in a less brusque, more pleading tone. “It didn't mean anything, I didn't enjoy it, I didn't want to, I…”

“Shut up! Cazzo… shut up, shut up, shut up!” Donna shrieked as she kicked the floor furiously.

“Donna, you're scaring me,” you sighed, moving away from her little by little. “If you'd just let me explain…”

“I don't want to hear your explanations!” she shrieked again. “You've deceived me, you're a bitch.”

Anger and helplessness forced you to act irrationally, slapping the lady in black, causing a painful silence to reign in the old house.

“Shit, I…” you said regretfully, trying to get closer to her again. “I didn't mean to, I couldn't… Donna, I…”

The words tried to come out of your mouth, but you weren't successful, you had reached a dangerous limit, you were walking on the edge of a cliff, and the only hand that could save you was further away than ever.

Donna stared at you, mouth agape, with a hand on her cheek, without saying anything, transmitting all her hatred with a look, one that you would never, ever forget.

“Get out of my house,” the lady murmured, looking away from you while you looked at your hand, shaking your head. “Sei una bugiarda! I don't want to see you again!”

“Donna, please, listen to me, I beg you,” you pleaded, grabbing her shaking arm, being pushed away by a rough push that almost made you lose your balance.

“Don't touch me, bitch,” she hissed in an even darker voice. “You broke your promise... Get out of my house! Get out, get out, get out!”

“Donna, Gods...” you sobbed, shaking your head as she walked towards you threateningly.

It was the first time you were afraid of her, truly afraid.

“Donna, please...” you stammered, being grabbed by the arm and letting yourself be led towards the exit.

The lady pushed you, making you fall into the snow.

“Donna! Don't treat her like that! You're stupid, listen to her!” Angie protested, hiding behind a piece of furniture, avoiding the wrath of her owner.

“I thought we were something, that I was something to you,” the lady in black growled, with her hair moved by the winter wind, while you checked that you hadn't been hurt.

“You are, I, I love you...” you said with difficulty, shaking the snow off your body. “Donna, I love you.”

“Liar! Liar, liar, liar!” the lady screamed, stamping her feet again, out of her mind, completely mad, slamming the door shut with a thunderous noise that echoed in the mountains.

“Donna…” you sobbed, tears warming your cheeks.

Just as you expected, it was all over. You had broken your promise, you had condemned yourself to a life without Donna, without the only thing that kept you fighting, and it was all because of you, because of the fear of being brave, of confronting Cassandra, of asking the lady in black to take you in her arms, and rescue you.

That fleeting thought that maybe Donna would come for you, to fight for you, was the last hope that kept you going the following days, but she wasn't going, she wasn't there, there was only you, alone, with a woman who didn't love you, with the only one who did betrayed by your lies, by an infidelity that Donna wouldn't be able to forgive.

“Remember to label the wine correctly, (Y/N),” Alcina said, on one of the endless afternoons in the winery.

What was once a refuge became a prison, one in which you would be alone, far from Cassandra, but with your thoughts and regrets as your only company.

You were no longer the same. Your complexion had turned pale, dark circles adorned your sickly presence, since, at night, your only protection against your girlfriend was to keep the window open, to let the cold in.

Over time you became a ghost of what you were, the ghost of another ghost, a long and sad shadow that didn’t want to see the light if Donna was not next to you.

Alcina's soft voice caught your attention, but unfortunately you could only emit a sad sob. It was getting harder and harder for you to pretend, to act as if you hadn't lost anything, as if everything you wanted and needed was in that castle, and not behind the forest, in the old Beneviento Estate.

“Yes, my lady,” you murmured, earning a serious look from the lady in white, who left a bottle on the table, walking towards you slowly, threateningly.

“My dear... I can't help but feel that something is wrong with you,” she said in a low voice, putting a large hand on your shoulder, forcing you to hide the tear that was welling up in one of your eyes.

“No, my lady, everything is fine,”

No, nothing was fine. Without Donna, nothing would ever be fine.

“You lie terribly,” Alcina sighed shaking her head and pulling your wrist to bring you closer to her. “Gods, look at those dark circles under your eyes, you look awful, dear.”

“I'm sorry, my lady.”

“Tell me (Y/N), has Cassandra done something bad to you?” she asked, making you be alert again.

She had never asked such a thing, your nerves were about to explode.

“Of course not, my lady,” you answered with a false smile, which tightened her grip even more while she frowned, knowing, being convinced that, again, you were lying.

“You know I hate lies, young lady, now, you are going to dry your tears and tell me…”

“Sorry, my lady,” a saving voice appeared in the cellar, making the lady of the castle growl, making her finally let you go.

“Damn it, Olga, you know that you are completely forbidden to come down here,” Alcina protested, putting her hands on her hips.

“I'm sorry, my lady, but it's just that…” the girl apologized, looking down, with her hands shaking in front of her body.

“It's just that what!?” your mistress shouted, echoing off the old walls, causing you to automatically shrink.

“Lady Beneviento is here, my lady,” the maid explained, as best she could, with her voice trembling, just like her body.

Lady Beneviento. That name made you look up quickly, your eyes suddenly opened and you let out an involuntary gasp that caught Alcina's attention for a moment, making her look at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Donna,” you whispered.

Luckily, you managed to avoid your boss's inquisitive gaze by turning around and pretending to place the bottles correctly.

“Gods, why did it take you so long to say it? You are more and more useless every day,” the tall woman protested, rubbing her eyes with contempt.

“Sorry, my lady,” Olga apologized again, pointing to the stairs. “What do I do?”

“What?” Alcina insisted, with an arrogant tone. “Has she told you what she wants?”

“W-Well, her doll was talking about some unfinished business but…” the maid murmured, making you freeze in place.

Had she come for you? Would that be possible? No, it couldn't be, she hated you. She kicked you out of her house…

“Oh, I understand,” the lady in white sighed, with a soft laugh, but looking at you out of the corner of her eye again. “Always so shy… Gods, what does it cost her to call me to say that she wants to have dinner with me? Anyway, tell the others to prepare food for one more person.”

“Yes, my lady”

“And you… go for a dress, dear, we have visitors,” she said looking at you with a different sparkle in her eyes.

“My lady, I…” you said trembling, not wanting to face Donna, not wanting to be in her presence. Not in that castle, not where she would never be yours. “I would rather not disturb and…”

“Nonsense, you are family, dear. Go on, be good and put on something nice, I am convinced that Donna is very happy to see her… errand girl…” she said with her usual irony, one that you mistook for an accusation, making you feel guilty.

You had no choice but to obey, you couldn’t do anything else.

There, in the dining room, there she was: Donna, covered with her black veil, following you with her gaze while you sat in front of her, asking with your eyes, wanting to know the reason for her unexpected presence.

The Angie doll, unlike her owner, had no problem greeting you effusively.

“See, silly? We've come... Hey, what happened to you? You look like a ghost,” the puppet whispered to you in an indiscreet manner, but just before you could ask or speak, the three Dimitrescu sisters appeared next to their mother.

“Hello, hello...” Cassandra sang while the others politely greeted their aunt. “But what do we have here, my elusive girlfriend... It seems that you can't escape from me today, huh?”

As she spoke, your blood boiled more and more, her unconsented touch on your cheeks made you burn with pain, with shame, while she sat on your lap hastily, without the slightest decorum, kissing you passionately in front of your lover.

It couldn't be worse.

“Ahem, Cassandra, darling, show some decorum, will you?” Alcina corrected, causing the young woman to wink at you and stand up, letting you see how Donna tightly gripped her fork, and how Angie tried to soften the pressure.

You’d had awkward dinners, but that one, without a doubt, was the worst of all.

If it weren't for Alcina's pleasant chat with her sister, everything would be silent. You knew that Donna wasn't paying attention. She only saw how Cassandra made fun of you by feeding you dinner with evil laughter, or speaking to you in indiscreet whispers about what she was going to do to you as soon as Donna left.

The sound of a piece of cutlery falling to the floor interrupted that tense calm. Donna had dropped her spoon and you, as helpful as ever, bent down to pick it up under the table.

You discreetly handed her the fallen object, realizing that there was something in her hand, something she left in yours and that you squeezed tightly.

A note, or so it seemed. You didn't know what it contained, what it meant, whether it was an explanation, an apology, or an insult. You were dying to know, but you couldn't, not with Cassandra beside you.

Your brain worked very hard to ignore her non-consensual assault on your privacy, focusing on the best way to find out what that piece of paper contained.

Okay, the idea was stupid, but it was the best you could come up with given the circumstances.

“Oh, wow,” you said falsely, regretting having let the glass of wine spill on your formal dress.

You were a terrible actress.

“Excuse me, but I have to go to the bathroom,” you said hastily, abruptly removing Cassandra's hand from your leg and getting up from the table.

Nervous, you ran through the halls, pretending to wash yourself so as not to raise suspicions until, finally, you opened that paper.

I have come to fight for you, to take you home in my arms, amore mio.

I don’t want, nor can, live without you

I love you

You read it once, and again, and again. The smile lit up your dull face when you understood what Donna was doing in the castle.

At last, because of Angie or her own conscience, she had come to her senses. Donna had understood that you needed her, that you never wanted to hurt her.

It didn't mean that she had forgiven you for having cheating on her, but it was a written proof of what she felt for you. She would not give up easily and she had found the courage to fight for you, even risking invading Cassandra's territory.

“Oh, Donna...” you whispered, pressing the note to your chest. “Donna, Donna, Donna…”

The sound of distant footsteps brought you out of your euphoria. Was it her? Could you finally love her, really be hers?

“Donna?” you asked out loud, getting the echo of your voice as an answer.

“Mm, no,  wrong,” a mocking voice said, one you knew, one that made you quickly put the note in your pocket. “Are you blind?”

“Cass, I…” you said as you saw your girlfriend licking her lips, coming closer while laughing, like a predator stalking its prey.

“If you wanted to see me, you didn’t have to stain that pretty dress.”

“It was an accident,” you lied, moving away from claws that were going straight for your waist. “We should go back.”

“Why the rush? It was a very lucky accident, don't you think?” she purred, forcing you to crash against the wall, with no option to escape. “Mother and the others are busy with Aunt Donna, so... well, you and I can play...”

Her tongue on your neck burned like a hot iron. The love you felt for Donna forced you to feel disgust for your girlfriend's actions. No, she wasn't going to get what she wanted that time, not when you were so close to getting the life you deserved, a life with Donna.

“No,” you said in a whisper, opening your eyes and standing firm.

“Excuse me?” Cassandra questioned, as if you had said something extraordinary, something she never thought she would hear from your lips.

“I said… No!” you screamed, pushing your girlfriend back, forcing her to step back sharply with her eyes wide open.

“What!?” she screamed angrily. “What do you mean by no? Listen, you silly girl, you are my girlfriend and…”

“No, not anymore,” you hissed. “I'm sick of you… of you making fun of me every day. It's over…”

“Why do you say those mean things to me? You don't have to… You can't say those things to me!” Cassandra yelled kicking the ground angrily, like a capricious child.

“It's over, Cassandra,” you said confidently, holding the note tightly in your hands, gaining all the courage you never thought you had.  “You are a spoiled, pampered and capricious brat… you think you have the right to play with people, with their feelings… well, I'll tell you one thing… You won’t play with me anymore!” you said furiously, trembling with fear, but without faltering.

“How dare you…” the young Dimitrescu hissed in a dangerous tone, her gaze darkening more and more. “Well, I've been very patient with you, pet. Do you think I don't know that you leave your window open to avoid me, to laugh at me? You can't avoid me! You're my girlfriend! You're mine!”

“I'll never be yours!” you shouted back, with all your strength.

Those words were too much for the young woman, who approached roughly grabbing you by the collar of your dress, almost lifting you into the air.

“You're going to pay for it, pet… You're going to…!” she shrieked, raising her hand, about to punish you for your insolence.

Something prevented her from completing her action, a pale hand wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from moving, Donna’s hand.

The lady in black appeared to save you, pushing your now ex-girlfriend away from you with a furious growl.

“Donna!” you sobbed in the middle of a desperate cry.

“What are you doing? Stay out of this, Aunt Donna,” Cassandra said surprised, to which your lover paid no attention, walking quickly towards you and cupping your face in her hands.

“Tesoro... are you okay? Did she hurt you?” the lady whispered, checking your condition while you clung to her, shedding a sea of ​​tears on her shoulder.

“I'm fine, I'm fine because you came... you came for me...” you said sobbing, finding the comfort you so lacked, the pleasant warmth of her arms.

“Of course I came... Oddio... I'm so sorry... I behaved like a fool...” she whispered in your ear, melting into you in a sincere, strong, safe embrace.

“Hey! What's going on here?” Cassandra asked, with a disgusted look at you. “What the hell…? Oh, no, it can't be true…”

“Get away from her, I won't repeat it,” Donna threatened, placing you behind her body in a protective gesture.

“You? Are you trying to snatch what's mine? Mother!” the young woman shouted, moving nervously and trying to grab you again. “You bitch… you've been cheating on me! Now you'll really pay for this and…!”

The lady in black moved quickly, pushing the young Dimitrescu aside and slapping her with a blow that left everything silent, lost in the echo of the walls.

“But, but…” Cassandra protested, incredulous at what had just happened. “You hit me!”

The sound of fast heels alerted you. Of course, that commotion alerted the lady of the castle, who was running towards you, causing a sinister smile to appear on Cassandra's wounded face.

“Mother, mother, come, come!” her daughter shrieked with childish satisfaction, pointing at you. “Aunt Donna hit me.”

Alcina looked at you briefly, studying the arms that held you, your tears, with a cold face.

“Now you are going to pay for what you have done... you are going to... Ah!” Another slap crossed the young vampire's face, but it wasn’t Donna's, but her own mother's. “Mother?”

“You stupid spoiled brat...” Alcina hissed, with her teeth grinding, with a visceral hatred towards her own daughter. “How dare you treat a girl like that?”

“What? But, but, but she…” Cassandra protested, embarrassed and terrified.

“Oh, come on, do you think I'm stupid? I know perfectly well what you were doing to poor (Y/N). Tell me, girl, what have I done wrong with you? Haven’t I educated you on how to treat ladies?”

“But…”

“Silence!” Dimitrescu shrieked, making you shrink even further into the arms of your lover, who remained stoic, ready to protect you. “Gods… (Y/N), are you okay?” she asked in a motherly tone, but visibly upset.

You simply nodded, moving away from the hand that rested on your shoulder.

“Mother, it's not fair,” Cassandra protested, with tears in her eyes, tugging at her mother's dress.

“Shut your mouth and get out of my sight! It's clear that you need new lessons… Until then, you're grounded! Go away!” the matriarch shrieked, pointing down the hallway, where the young woman, turned into a tangle of flies, fled in terror.

The tall woman sighed and seemed to calm down, turning her gaze towards you and sighing exhaustedly.

“Donna, how disappointing…” she said in a kind but accusatory tone. “I must confess that I never imagined that you, of all people, would be capable of such a thing…”

The lady in black didn’t respond, she simply hugged you tighter. She wasn’t going to let you go, she would never let you go again.

“And you…” the lady in white said. “Oh, my dear… how could you? Cheating on my daughter with Donna… no, no, no, that is not right, my dear…”

“My lady, I…” you stammered as best you could, with a sore throat, with your heart about to explode.

“Shut up,” Alcina ordered you. “You are fired. Take your things and get out of my castle… Oh, and Donna, I'm sure you won't waste the chance to have a maid like her, will you?”

You both looked at each other. You didn't know if Donna was smiling, but you were; your face regained its full brightness when you realized what was happening.

Alcina wasn't firing you, she was setting you free, allowing you, and Donna, to form the life together you dreamed of so much. It was all too good to be true; you even feared it was just a dream.

But as you left the castle in her arms, in Donna's arms, as she promised you, knowing that you wouldn't come back, that you would finally be free to be with her, you realized that it wasn't a dream, but reality, a reality you finally wanted to be in.

[writingforatwistedworld]

How would riddle, malleus and epel react to the overseer personally knowing their family their family was not aware they were the overseer (for malleus and epel the overseer met their grannys and for riddle they know his mom)

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, kidnapping, religion, cult, unhealthy relationship, threats, blood, imprisonment

Riddle Rosehearts/Epel Felmier/Malleus Draconia-Player knows one of their family members

Riddles mother

It was once more time for a holiday

NRC was prepared to host a few attractions and to have family members visit for a day or two

Riddle was warned by a letter from his mother that she was coming

So the day was here. The celebration was in full swing. And look at that, it's the mother of a certain redhead. Noo-I mean, yay...

Riddle was prepared for another scolding for something he “did wrong” but after greeting her son (in a way too stiff manner) she turned to you and... greeted you as well?

You see, little, helpful you had promised the former red tyrant to help his dorm with their celebration so you were also present when the madam came over

“Mother, why do you know the Overseer?” “What are you talking about, Riddle?”

Apparently, Trey had once invited you to meet his family after you showed interest in his siblings and the bakery. In the Queendom you had gone on a walk in the forest, slipped and twisted your ankle so badly that you couldn't walk anymore. Luckily Riddles mother came by (for some reason) and helped you, being a doctor and all

Now, lady is of course no idiot so after her son had asked her that question she was just a new addition to the garden as a statue

Riddle was terrified that you saw the polite yet also arrogant way his mother spoke to you in the past as something rude

Now, you were of course not the biggest fan of her but at least she healed you back then

Once you are gone, running off to Pomefiore to help over there, Riddle had a talk with his mother

Usually he would show her respect but today it was like the roles were reversed

Kind words and any kind of love he had left for her were thrown out of the window when he asked her “how she could have not recognized their uncrowned ruler?”

Riddle was this close to snapping and using his special magic on her

For the first time Riddles mother was afraid of her son

Never before had she seen him so angry

But oh well, better stay in line and be nice to you instead of finding out how far she could push his boundaries

It was almost like he wouldn't just chop her head off in a metaphorical sense with his special magic but rather literally in a much, much more bloody way

Epels Grandmother

Ah yes, Epels sweet sweet granny could of course not miss her beloved grandson

She even prepared some cake and other delicious treats for him. How sweet!

So when perfection themselves, the Overseer, suddenly marched over after they spotted a familiar mop of light lilac hair he nearly had a heart attack

But instead of his Granny being surprised she just said a nice hello, that it was good to see you again and how things had been since you had seen each other

Why did his granny know the Overseer? Why did his granny know God?

Now Epel couldn't of course ask that later part, considering that his villages view on you was in comparison rather... yeah let's call it “extreme”

Turns out he had forgotten something when he visited Harveston the last time and you brought it to him, only for you to meet his Grandmother before you ran into him. Giving her what he forgot the two of you had a nice little talk before you left

And this is the point when Epel felt like he was ready to bash his head against the wall

Vil must have noticed a short in Epels mood because the model just threw him a very poisonous look

So here Eprl was, standing like a lost little child between his Granny and f-ing God whilst the two of you had a nice little chat about the weather

When you finally said goodbye to the two, running off to Diasomnia because you were invited for tea, Epel was juts like “Granny, we need to talk.”

Say goodbye to your apple-free days because after that talk, there will be boxes of so-called “offerings” in front of your door. Every. Single. Day.

“Granny, don't be too shocked but you met God.” “Hoho, what are you talking about?” “...” “Oh...”

For the rest of the day her legs were so shaky that Epel was afraid for her health

I mean, come on, the very person who has drilled tales about a deity into your head finally meeting said deity is something that is guaranteed to have a way too high blood pressure

The next time you run into her she isn't entirely sweet anymore

Of course she is still nice but there is something creepy about her. The way her eyes drill into you, how her questions are always a tad bit too personal

And did she just utter a prayer with your name in it? Nah, must be your imagination

Malleus Grandmoter

How she didn't recognize you the first time you two met is a wonder considering that she has that sixth sense every Fae has that tingles even when you are being simply mentioned

But today is a great day, Malleus grandmother came over to visit her grandson, a rare day of rest for her

Maleus was just about to tell her that he had invited a guest when you showed up

So when he stood up to introduce you to her she was just like “Oh, the child of man I met that one day.”

Cue Malleus standing there like a plank

Poor man is so surprised that he can't even ask how the heck you two met each other

When he finally asked when you two met he found out that he had forgotten to send a letter of his so you had jumped through one of the mirrors and delivered it to the castle yourself

After almost getting impaled for jumping right into a heavily guarded castle you had explained yourself and boom, you had a fife minute talk with grandma Draconia

Ok, great, wonderful, but did she know that you were the Overseer?

When he told her who you were she had to set down her teacup, shock sinking into her bones

Following his words you asked what he meant with Overseer

This was the day Diasomnia saw their dorm leader drop a teacup

Like with Epel you are now more or less in trouble

I mean, yeah, it's nice to get literal national treasures sent to your doorstep but at the same time, what the heck??!

Back in the Valley of Thorns the Fae are panicking left and right

What do you mean, the Overseer has already visited us once? And we pointed all kind of sharp tools at them??!

It wouldn't be much of a surprise if you just woke up one day in a room that you had never seen before, living like a bird in a golden cage

You know, the next ruler has taken a liking to you and your loyal followers need to protect you

So sit still and don't try to run

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Amnesia Event: Only Loving You Part 1

Translated by request :)

♡———♡

One day, I lost my memory after being caught up in a runaway carriage incident in town.

Gilbert: This is troublesome. To think you'd forget all of our... intimate moments.

Gilbert: For now, we'll execute the coachman who caused the accident...

Gilbert: The problem is this distance between us.

(This is a nightmare.)

(I'm having a bad dream.)

I, Emma, who works at a small bookstore in Rhodolite, the nation of roses and art, inexplicably woke up in the castle of Obsidian, the enemy nation of military and minerals, facing a refreshing, one-eyed royal man with black hair... the absurdity of this dream makes me dizzy.

(Why am I in Obsidian? Why is a royal speaking to me?)

I rolled off the bed and escaped to the wall, but the man who introduced himself as Gilbert steadily closed the distance.

Though he seemed to be smiling, his blood-red eyes held no laughter, which was simply terrifying.

(Being the infamous royalty of Obsidian, he must have killed many people...)

(If I'm not careful, I might be killed too.)

Gilbert: Hmm, to be feared this much by my Little Rabbit, who loved me so dearly...

Gilbert: The shock is so great, I'm tempted to prepare a cage right away.

Walter: Idiot! Don't say such things, even as a joke!

The man who shouted, startling me, was a man who introduced himself as the court physician—Walter.

Walter: All you ever do is imprison or execute people when you're troubled...

Gilbert: I'm serious, you know? Because if I lock her up, Little Rabbit can't escape.

(.....!)

Walter: Stop threatening an injured person. Look, she's pale as a ghost.

Gilbert: Oh, sorry? I'm a kind and sweet villain to you, so I'll stop if you don't like it.

Gilbert: But if you keep acting like this... you know?

(I really might be locked away somewhere.)

This was no time to escape reality with fear.

I rebuked my body, which wanted to run from Gilbert, who stood before me, and held my ground.

(First, I need to understand the situation. Without any memories, I can't even know how to act properly.)

Emma: Why... am I in Obsidian?

Gilbert: Because I brought you here, of course.

Emma: Why would you bring a commoner like me...

Gilbert: Because I'm a great villain who loves my Little Rabbit.

Emma: ...Little Rabbit? Are you referring to me?

Gilbert: Yes, you. I love you, you know.

(This makes no sense.)

But indeed, my reflection was clear in his seemingly emotionless red eyes.

I felt something like sincere affection, and I had no choice but to accept Gilbert's words.

Emma: Could you please tell me the circumstances leading up to this?

Gilbert: Of course, I'll tell you everything, all night long.

Gilbert: On the bed.

(!?)

(To think I'd really be brought to the bed...)

After Walter finished tending to my injuries, I was led to a spacious, black-themed room.

I was intrigued by the shelves lined with as many books as a bookstore, but Gilbert stopped at the bed at the far end of the room without pausing and urged me to sit.

(This is probably Gilbert's room, right?)

(...If I don't obey, something terrible will happen.)

Though I tried to sit as far away as possible, Gilbert mercilessly sat down close enough for our shoulders to touch.

I quickly gave up on trying to escape.

Gilbert: Now, first we need to start from the moment you were chosen as Belle.

......

Gilbert: ––And so, you were happily loved by me, the world's great villain, and lived happily ever after.

(No, wait a minute...!)

(Was that story real!?)

I was chosen to be Belle, which selects the next king of Rhodolite, and at the same time, Gilbert, who was visiting for an exchange event, was taken with me, and now I'm his fiancée, or something like that...

(This is a joke... right?)

Gilbert: I'll have you know, I don't lie.

Emma: ..............

Gilbert: Oh, are you frozen? Can't you accept it?

Emma: ...I don't think I'll ever be able to accept it.

(It's like I've been told a grand fairy tale... it doesn't feel like my own story.)

Gilbert: I see. If your mind rejects it, then it can't be helped.

Gilbert: But your body might remember, you know?

Emma: Huh?

Gilbert, his lips curling into a smile, pushed my shoulders down onto the sheets.

I could easily imagine what would happen next, and my blood ran cold.

Emma: Please stop!

Gilbert: Why? Didn't I just tell you you're my fiancée?

Gilbert: We used to do this often.

His cold lips brushed against my ear, then bit down hard.

As I grimaced in pain, he traced his tongue over the spot.

(He's... serious...)

(But, what is this... this strange feeling?)

Despite being attacked by a strange man, I felt no revulsion at all.

It seemed "my body remembers" was indeed true—

Still, my heart couldn't keep up, and when I pushed him away, Gilbert bit my skin once more and pulled back.

Gilbert: Did you take me seriously?

Emma: ...Were you joking?

Gilbert: Well, you're injured, after all.

Gilbert: If you weren't, I would have forced you to remember.

Emma: ........

Gilbert: Didn't I tell you? I'm a kind and sweet villain to you.

Gilbert: I'll let you remember slowly.

Gilbert: Even if you lose your memory, you can never escape me... right?

Prince Gilbert cupped my hair with his fingers and placed a kiss upon it.

It was a gentle touch, conveying a sense of affection.

(Even though he's supposed to be scary... it really seems like he loves me.)

"Why he came to love me" wasn't mentioned in the previous story.

(Will the day ever come when I remember?)

(...I want to remember.)

The next day arrived, still amidst the confusion and agitation of my memory loss---

I was invited by Prince Gilbert to a quiet place filled with plants.

Gilbert: ..............

Emma: ..............

(This is boring.)

The unfamiliar equipment and the tags on the plants made it look like a laboratory.

(It "looks like"... it might actually be one.)

Prince Gilbert silently wrote complex equations on documents.

I had no idea what any of it meant.

(I wonder if there's anything I can do...)

Looking around like a suspicious person, I carefully examined each item when something caught my eye.

Emma: Roses...?

.

.

.

Part 2

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