Petrified of who you are (and who you have become)

How long was a day, in comparison to eternity?

That was a fundamentally unanswerable question, on multiple levels, not least of all being how it relied on relativity devoid of any other context to base itself on. Too many directions to take it in; was eternity composed of infinite days, or was eternity just a single day that never ended? Equally meaningless rhetorical questions with equally meaningless answers.

How about this: how did an incomprehensible scale of time doing nothing beyond watching your prison crumble around you… compare to your first few weeks in the outside world?

Now that was a question the former Princess, not that her title meant much of anything, could begin to answer. In fact, she already had. For two months, eleven days, and counting, that was the question she spent her time seeking the answer to. The things she’d been denied, the freedoms she’d never known, and the people like her she’d been dropped into these circumstances with.

Questions beget questions. It was hard to ignore the implications of the final item of that list. Harder, still, to justify to herself why she’d been waiting so long to ask what’d plagued her mind the moment she woke up.

How did I get here?

Thrice over now. First in the basement, a chain around her wrist; then again, a shackle at her neck; and finally, nothing binding her at all. She could still feel the phantom weight of it, even if the escalating pattern was broken; she brushed her hand against her neck, feeling the cool skin there, just to shake it off. The need to investigate everything had burned her companion once, she was not going to repeat his mistake.

Said companion was not with her now, but he was far from missing. She did not know his precise location, but she’d understood from the others that he was with… the others. The boys. Whereas her and the other girls she’d… (shared a common origin with?) (knew nothing about?) (identified with on their lack of identity?) …started living with, had taken to an absolute mansion of a house, the others had needed to seek out a place to live.

That was how one was found, by a twin-horned athlete of a woman, who sought him out like a purpose; with legs which ran to her man and pushed them both off the ground. She’d come back from that encounter satiated, wearing a grin and eyes which sparkled like violence. That was how one of theirs had been found, by a perfumed picture of a man, who sought her out like a need; with hands which grasped his girl by the waist and pulled her into an embrace. She’d come back from that encounter flustered, with a smile and eyes which shone like tears.

They, the both of them, mutually spoke of those individual encounters with great enthusiasm. “He was everything I remembered him to be,” they’d said.

This place they lived was grandiose. Large. It seemed to grow larger by the day. There were stairs and hallways here she, in the time she’d spent living here, not quite yet explored fully. There were people living here she sometimes felt she recognized, and other times were just strangers to her. She could make observations, but digging deeper was a harder chore.

They did not know how this house had electricity or running water. Much like, when Damiana came back from a date with her boy, she was not sure where the money she’d been gifted had came from. It was, like many other mysteries, just one of those things that they didn’t talk about.

What they had there was nice. What they had there was awful. What they had there was stable. What they had there was unsustainable for the long term. A constellation of contradictions that gave her a headache on a good day.

It wasn’t a question she, or anyone else, had the means to answer. They took to other questions, easier questions, to distract themselves. Questions like, “who am I?” which were then broken down further into the first question she’d ever been asked: “what’s my name?”

They couldn’t all go by “Princess,” after all.

And identities, here, were worth more than an awkward introduction; they had documents to forge.

Some of them had been easier to corral into compliance than others. The wild girl with fangs and a lashing tail behind her had all but stalked Tabitha until she could get her alone to join in on the scheme, only to be avoidant and dismissive regarding the name she’d like for herself. It was an odd dance between feigned disinterest and insistent interrogation before Tabitha had finally gotten the name “Winnie” from her.

“But you better not be taking it,” ‘Winnie’ had hissed at her, after, glancing behind her as if expecting someone to have been eavesdropping on their private conversation. “It’s mine to keep; it’s bad manners not to give what you borrow back.”

Tabitha had given up on ever learning what ‘Winnie’ was short for. She’d suggested Winnifred and the catlike girl had twisted her face in as if she’d sucked on a lemon. She was just ‘Winnie.’ She’d had to fill in a placeholder for the surname. But that was the case for the most of them.

As far as aggression and straightforwardness was concerned, the twin-horned woman had ‘Winnie’ beat. But her decisiveness left much to be desired. The most she’d come up with was in retaliation to Tabitha’s suggestions, crossed-armed and defensive. “There’s no way my real name is going to be something long like ‘Adelheide,’” she’d mocked as she rolled her eyes, then shook her head and walked off, insulted by the very idea.

‘How about you try coming up with names for ten people whose only known trait is a title of nobility, then?’ She’d thought to retort, hours later. And then been laughed at for her pitiful reaction time. And still given no name to work with.

As for her, she’d chosen her name weeks ahead of the rest: Tabitha, going by the sheer amount of times she had been confused with the character of the upcoming movie, Scarlet Hollow. Or was it a series of movies? She was not completely sure.

From what she had seen of the trailers, it would be good. Maybe she could convince one of the others to join her. They could make popcorn.

She’d floated the idea to one of the other girls, the gentlest of them all, some time ago. Now, she was trying to convince Tabitha of something. A first for her.

They were sitting on a very comfortable couch, in a living room that was not big enough for ten people, but it did try its best. It was better at some times and worse at others; for now, with most of them distracted and in other rooms, its effort was commendable. Beyond the girls themselves, it contained wine colored couches, a brown coffee table, a TV that had to be stolen from somewhere, and a computer on the corner. Thelka was currently occupying the device, staring at something intently.

There were many of the residents in the house that gave Tabitha the creeps, but Thelka was on the list of ‘on thin ice.’ She was taller than the horned one by a few centimeters, she had an ego the size of the house, and her compromising skills could really use some refining.

According to her, her name was chosen for its meaning. “Divine glory.” Tabitha counted that as Exhibit A on all three charges.

But she was not the Tabi was speaking with at the moment. She clarified the request she’d made. “So, you want to be twins on paper?”

“Yes! Damiana and Tabitha has a nice ring to it! I think,” the newly named Damiana agreed, a smile in her voice even if Tabitha couldn’t verify if it’d matched itself on her face.

She could tell that the girl— no, woman behind her was making a definite effort to be the light in others' lives, bringing up the mood. But of course, pleasing others all the time was bound to be taxing.

She let Damiana keep braiding her hair. Experimenting with new styles so they could feel even more distinct from their roommates had surely been an experience. Thinking on it, she would not mind it if her and Damiana matched. They looked alike already, and it didn’t bother her like all the other odd coincidences in her life did; if anything, it was a comfort. Why not lean into it?

“Tabi and Dami, huh?” the woman with metal bones, of all things, commented as she passed them on the way to the kitchen. Her voice was shrill like grating metal, and about as loud as it too with a smile about as wide as her face.

Either 'Dami' got to her, or she got herself a pixie cut… With those split ends, Tabitha was willing to bet it was self-inflicted. Damiana would never let herself get away with work that was anything less than perfect, especially if it was for someone else.

“But,” Razor, as she still insisted to be called even though that was not an actual name, leaned over the back of the couch. “Who’s the older one? That’s a pretty important question.”

“That’d be me,” Tabitha said.

“Me. I am,” Dami said.

Both girls glanced at each other, retorts already on their lips as to why their choice was the correct one. Satisfied at the slight chaos she helped create, Razor went to the kitchen with a cackle. And then—

“Get out of the kitchen or I’ll turn you into a living cutting board, Ava!”

And out that same doorway stumbled the nameless devil woman. Tabitha raised her eyebrows at her as they made eye contact. ‘Ava,’ huh?… She had to admit that the name did fit her a lot better than her suggestion. Short and sweet; punchy and to-the-point.

Ava’s smile was triumph leaning on the side of ‘cocky.’ Gloating of her intellectual victory. Tabitha did not need to be goaded in this game of wits. She was more surprised by the fact no fight had broken in the kitchen again. And they had not had to replace all their cutlery.

The noises from outside were starting to dim, the world reacting to the darkness. There they were, pretending to play house. Tabi had to ask questions. It wouldn’t get easier, and putting it off would only make it worse. Maybe she wasn’t brave enough to try it, not by herself, and she wasn’t about to ask Dami to be with her because she knew how hard it was for her to make choices…

Tabi almost slumped. It was only just past sunset and she was exhausted, more mentally than physically.

Even if Razor wasn’t the worst cook out of all of them (the masked one’s cooking was surprisingly edible if utterly lacking in presentation, Ava was the one who could set fire to water without even turning the stove on), Tabi wouldn’t eat. It would not have to do with the quality of the meal, but of her mind.

None of them remembered what happened before the cabin. The boys… they had been birdlike before, hadn’t they? According to the others’ testimonies, now, they were not: they looked like her. No feathers, no beaks. As confused as she felt, Dami had told her she thought the boys’ appearance was a curse. Tabi had dismissed the thought as something the fairytale-loving woman had thought up at the lack of a factual explanation.

The boys had called each of them a ‘Princess,’ and they had known it to be true. They didn’t remember any childhood to speak of. No memories of staying up late, of playing games, of first kisses, first sleepovers, first anything. Just empty voids. That was not normal.

Nothing about any of them, as much as a part of her wanted to keep pretending otherwise, was ‘normal.’ Most of the ones living in this very house with her weren’t altogether all that much more human than the boys had been in the beginning. Certainly not the animal walking heavily down the stairs, wings tucked in at her sides and tail trailing lazily behind her.

Tabitha hadn’t been sure she could speak, when they first met. She didn’t think she preferred to, even now, even if Tabitha now knew her to be capable of it. She gave no name. “I am what I am,” she’d told her, then leaned her large, lion-like head back down to rest. She’d been given no choice but to name her a Beast. Perhaps, once Tabitha had gotten to everyone else, she could be fed the scraps and hold onto the title of Princess.

On the Beast’s heels was the amalgamation that you could be kind to say were five conjoined twins. They, together with the chimera of a different kind, were the ones that would eat anything and required massive amounts of food. Then again, Tabi was sure that sustaining five people with the food quantity for one was just not feasible. Each of them had their head styled differently; another victim of Dami.

“About that name,” the centermost head spoke, turning to Tabi. The head most to the right rolled her eyes, the one to the left stifled a grin. “How about Plethora?”

Behind her came Winnie, her catlike grin widening at the promise of food. There were knots in her hair. Dami had not gotten to her yet. She smirked as she passed the five. “Because it means a lot?”

They grinned in unison. Tabi was almost sure she heard a snort in the corner, which— blackmail was more Winnie’s thing, but when Thelka was involved…

Aloud, Tabi said, “I’m not calling you that. That’s not a name!”

“A name is just a tool used to capture an aspect of who you are,” Plethora’s voices retorted. “We’d like our identifying quality to be the multitudes we find within ourselves. And this title serves our purpose.”

‘…An aspect of who you are?’ Tabitha felt a bit at odds with that explanation. She’d gotten comfortable with naming herself the way she had. It was odd, but it’d felt right. She’d grown into it. For some reason, the thought that Plethora had managed to self-reflect enough to grasp a name that truly meant something to them… bothered her.

“Did one of you download something odd again?” Thelka’s booming voice rang out, probably intending for every inhabitant of the house to hear her.

Their resident ghost, as of yet unnamed, popped up from the floor right beside her. “Not me.”

Thelka did not even flinch, eyes never straying from the screen. “This icon is new.”

Everyone walked towards her. Except Beast, who went to lounge on the couch, as cats do. Tabi paused, hesitating.

For whatever reason, she got the feeling this was big. That it was more than something that could break havoc in all their files. Some deep seated instinct in her burned, hands resting on the back of the chair Thelka was using.

“So?” Winnie asked, impatience tinting her voice. “What's the holdup? Are you not going to open it?”

Thelka, Tabi was surprised to note, was hesitating. That woman never hesitated, spoke whatever was on her mind without caring of the consequences or the feelings of the people in front of her. She and Ava were very alike in that regard.

Thelka sighed. Something about the action felt final.

There were the usual files, each labeled with their descriptions and each one protected with a different password in case some of the others tried to snoop in.

There was an executable. A simple icon in black and white, of a stylized heart with- a dagger, piercing it through without blood. As far as they could see, it had no name. A chill went down her spine, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the ghost to her left. That chill was internal.

“This isn’t one of your games, Ghost?” Thelka asked, her breath fogging by the spectre’s proximity.

“Or course it isn’t! Why would I do something like this?” She retorted.

“Then was it you, Witch?”

“Not me this time!” The aforementioned girl’s eyes darted away from the glances, choosing to focus somewhere above the screen. “Honestly, a computer program isn’t my thing!”

The cursor hovered over the icon, and Tabi found herself darting to stop it. “Hold on just a moment! We don’t know if that’s safe to open!” Granted, they had never gotten a computer virus so far, but Tabi was not about to break that streak. She had books and information in her folder, and among the many, many things she had learned, it was about viruses. While this situation didn’t make sense— the story of her life, really— she was firmly of the opinion that it was better to be safe than sorry. She only took risks if it was necessary. That part of her wouldn’t change even in this situation.

Oddly enough, Thelka seemed hesitant once more. “There’s something off about it… you feel it too.”

It was not a question, and yet Tabi did not know how to answer. There was that pit in her chest, and there was the fact she felt drawn to the program like a siren’s song.

“Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Ava spoke up for the first time. Her grin was almost frightening as she placed her hand above Thelka’s.

Making her click on the program. And open it.

Tabi was thankful when the screen went black and remained black. Her eyes would not be able to take the assault that would be a white background with the glare of the monitor’s light. Dami shrank a bit, all the same.

From the dark, white flickered into existence, still but an archipelago of islands in the sea of darkness. It shaped itself into text, awaiting it be read.

“Whatever horrors you may find in these dark spaces, have heart and see them through…” Thelka read, the tone curling upwards at the end.

“There are no premature endings. There are no wrong decisions.” Winnie took over, and something in her shoulders relaxed, a hidden tension uncurled from within.

“There are only fresh perspectives and new beginnings,” the spectre said, almost wistfully. Her eyes lidded.

And then, of a bigger size than the other sentences, “This is a love story.” Dami finished, before her face split into a smile such that the sun would have trouble competing with her. “This is good! I didn’t know there were interactive love stories!”

“That’s because the games Ava tried to make you play were all fighting games,” Beast interjected from her spot.

“After dinner? I don’t know if I can play stuff with an upset stomach—”

A soothing piano tune began to play.

Loudly.

All of them had forgotten about the little thing called the volume.

It resounded throughout the room like an explosion, pounding against their skulls and shrieking in their ears. Before they could scramble to turn it down, in unison, they registered what was on the screen as each of them froze, ice rolling down their spines locking their limbs in place.

Beast got off of the sofa at that, ears flicking and pressed down in annoyance. She placed her front paw on Ava’s back as she pushed herself up, trying to look past the mound of bodies. “What’s in there that scared you all so— oh.”

It was a drawing. Not even a finished one, it was a sketchy sort of style that was pleasing to look at but had nothing in terms of color. What the drawing was, though, was a different story entirely.

Who am I?

Each of them was familiar with that damned basement. The heavy chain around the wrist. For a moment, they could still feel it. For a moment, they could feel everything. The stone, the basement, the cold walls and floor, the dust in the air that dried their throats and made them cough and sneeze. The unrelenting boredom. The placeless sense of shame.

Which meant the girl on the screen, hunched over, was her. Them. Who they had been, once upon a time.

They were so shocked they didn’t hear the door opening, the remaining inhabitants of the house joining them. Razor came out of the kitchen as the masked one glided down, from some unseen place, a trail of darkness following her like ash. The both of them paused at the odd sight of the eight girls crowding around the computer. Razor walked towards the light coming from the screen, having enough wits to turn down the volume.

The music confused her, confused all of them. Where had they heard that before?

And then, everyone collected, all of them as one, they turned to the image on the screen. The image of themselves. The image of everything.

How did I get here?

Tabitha felt as though she were being pulled from a trance as the masked one, the one whose name she had yet to ask, took a gloved hand to her and her twin’s shoulders. She leaned down more to Dami, masked lip closing in at her ear. She shook her, much gentler than expected. Her voice was soft. Almost silent.

“Are you okay? I’m not doing this to you, am I?”

Damiana looked back, something afraid but almost eager in her eyes. Then she looked back at the screen. The music continued to play, as Tabitha regained enough awareness to view the others around her. Frozen still, shocked, as their minds struggled to process something that should have been impossible. Collectively, the most of them looked almost… afraid.

Another minute passed, the music droning on, on this side of familiar.

The contents of the screen were baffling. They had known, thanks to the warning beforehand, that this was a game, but to see the words there it was obvious this was the menu. The words ‘Slay the Princess’ sat hunched over the top right of the screen, blinding white to contrast to the darkest spot of the basement.

Who had made this? Would it bear any more similarities to what had happened in the woods? Games took a long time to plan and do, how would this mysterious author be aware of what happened? This could not be just a coincidence, Tabitha denied to herself, those did not exist.

Winnie’s voice snapped all of them back to reality, with an understandable stutter. “...W-What do we do?”

“Close it,” the masked Princess blurted out. The others whipped around to stare at her. Tabi couldn’t be sure, but she thought her eyes were wider under the mask. Was she afraid as well, or merely unsettled? Her gloved hands were still held onto Damiana’s shoulders, not quite in the same gentle reassurance and protectiveness as before. They’d pressed in closer, closer to her neck. She peered over her, hid behind her.

“What do you mean? This was sent here for a reason!” the quintet argued, voices overlapping. One confident, one unsure, one hysteric. One gleeful. One silent.

“No, I agree, shut it down.” That was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Winnie. All Tabi knew was that she and her companion had some sort of ‘history’ and most likely not the good kind. It would make sense why she would not want to relive it. If this was, indeed, what the game would do.

“It said it’s a love story, how bad can it be?” Dami asked. The breezy, almost nonchalant tone opened something in Tabi’s stomach, head whirring with a thousand different possibilities. In the meantime, Winnie’s hackles rose.

“Maybe a love story for you, but—”

“Look, I’m really, really trying not to go against the current here. I don’t want to make you all do something you don’t want to. I swear I’m not.”

At once, every other Princess stopped talking to stare at the chime in from Dami, the last person they were expecting to interfere. There was something quivering in her eyes. Tabitha moved to console her, to tell her that it was okay and she was understood, but did not get a further chance.

“—but can you blame me? So much happened! I mean— stuff that you only see in stories! Stuff you should only see in stories!” She went off, arms thrashing about, frantic. “One second I’m getting out of the cabin and freezing from the inside, the next I’m hearing one of the boys going on about how another wasn’t waking up and we were here! I ignore how I feel— the headache, the buzzing limbs, all that— and—”

She kept going, and going.

“Nobody was sure if all of us would wake up. We did but some of you were hurt badly. Some of you kept mixing up ‘I’ and ‘we.’ We didn’t know what to do. You needed help. None of us know what happens after the cabin and the boys won’t tell us anything. Maybe they can’t. That’s why we have to play this. To get actual answers to what in the world happened there and how everything fits.”

At the end of her ramble, the most Princess-like of them all was left a disheveled mess. She had a frenzied look in her eyes, fly-away hairs sticking out in places. She took a breath to collect herself, shuddering and shallow and small, smaller still.

The silence rang between them, oppressive. She knew most of them weren’t even sure that Dami had the capability for self-reflection, and that was clear from the shock on their faces. For once, all of Plethora seemed to share the same shock.

Slowly, the guilt leeched into Tabi’s heart. Because it was obvious that she was not the only one who had been having those questions robbing her of sleep. And not only because Dami, too, was having anxiety about the past, but because she had been having it alone.

Shock cleared into something resolute.

Clara pulled herself away from Damiana, hands releasing their deathgrip, and the pair breathed at a more even rate. Winnie’s eyes, trembling in the dark, steadied as they reflected the light of the screen.

One of Plethora’s heads closed their eyes in subtle contemplation, one of them stared at Damiana with complex fascination, and one of them watched on. All of them. Blinking, breathing, being.

Those at the screen looked from Damiana to themselves, then to the computer.

Tabitha’s heart was beating. It focused into something sharp.

“Just so that we’re on the same page…” Tabi breached, trying to be as delicate as possible. “We reached the same conclusion. The ones who had to slay us were the boys. And none of us have asked them about everything that happened in the cabin— surprised you went there, Thelka— but Dami’s right. This could be our chance. Nobody has to know.”

Razor grinned, one of the points of her sharp teeth nicking her lip. “Ow— I’ll get the popcorn.”

It took more than a while, especially considering the amount of popcorn that had to be made to satisfy ten women, without taking into account the fact some of them were bigger than average, but they finally were all gathered in the living room, taking up every couch, every bit of floor with pillows, blankets, cushions, sheets.

Beast took an entire sofa for herself, nestled in a blanket Dami had provided. Winnie was in a cozy little nook to her right from a few pillows.The one with the mask sat at the very edge of one of the couches. Thelka took the other couch. The quintet was half-sitting on one of the arm rests. Razor was laying on her stomach on the floor, with a pillow supporting her hips and elbows. Ava was to her left, lazing in a beanbag she had materialized from somewhere, probably Winnie’s room. Dami and Tabi took the centermost couch, swaddled in blankets. The ghost was trying, and failing, to wrap herself in a blanket.

Maybe they would have a first sleepover after all. Or, they would if the entire reason why they had decided to camp in the living room wasn’t one such as this.

From above the huge bowls of salty and sweet popcorn (with butter and honey respectively), bigger now that they had made use of the TV, was that menu which had them frozen just a while before.

Tabitha had secured control of the mouse as soon as she was able. She was, admittedly, saved from having to answer to Thelka’s rage by the ghost of all people, saying that if there was anyone more suited for a neutral playthrough it would be her. Or maybe she did not want to bear Thelka’s tendency to not look at the bigger picture.

Tabi would have to think up a name for her, and soon. She wondered if ‘Hanako’ was acceptable or if she should stay away from ghost names in general culture.

“Everyone ready?” Tabi asked, glancing around the room.

“If you are, I suppose…” Winnie said in response, wary.

“Do you need to ask?” Dami looked uncharacteristically serious. She watched the screen almost without blinking, as though she would miss the secrets it held if she looked away.

“Last time I try to be nice,” Tabi murmured.

She took a deep breath. This was it. Without trying to think about what was going to happen, she clicked on the ‘New game’ button.

The screen went black, if only for a moment, before being replaced with words. More specifically, a title. Black on white.

“This game sure has an odd definition of the word ‘Hero’,” Winnie commented as she darted to grab popcorn. “I would have used ‘Traitor’, ‘Backstabber’, ‘Two-Faced’-”

“We don’t know which one of them we’re playing as!” Tabi interrupted. Honestly, they had barely gone past the title screen and already they were interrupting! At this rate they wouldn’t finish in a month!

“You’re right, good point.”

Tabi clicked again with a roll of her eyes.

The background changed, to reveal a crude interpretation of a forest. No colors except the entire spectrum from white to black; it was charming on its own, the shadows being represented by many repeating black lines instead of changing color values. They appeared to be moving on their own slightly. It sure did its job to make it like the environment was its own thing.

She appreciated that for just a moment. One heartbeat later, text appeared at the bottom of the screen, along with, surprisingly, a voice.

Silence reigned once again. Then, pandemonium.

“Who the hell is that?!” Winnie shouted from Mount Pillow. She leaned back as soon as she heard that voice. Her tail was puffed up.

“I know Him,” the ghost murmured, leaning in a little further. She smiled as if in on a private joke. “I guess the name ‘Narrator’ does kind of fit, doesn’t it?”

Thelka laughed. The sound of it was like rolling thunder, at first a dull murmur beneath her breath, then building atop itself in a lingering crescendo until it filled the room in full, boisterous and booming. It was so deep Tabitha could feel it in her own chest, rumbling. The floor beneath her feet felt uncertain. Weak in the presence of such overwhelming strength. She chuckled softly, returning to herself; a hand to her heart, and a serene smile sent to Tabitha’s bewildered face staring at the elder woman behind her.

Elder not like a person, but like… Tabitha didn’t believe that, did she? No, no. But for just a moment… it felt…

Thelka spoke, voice like satin and breath like incense. “Don’t pay that worm any mind. He is of no true consequence; he’s only here to describe our stage.”

“Maybe Dami was right,” The quintet chimed in. “Maybe it is in a story format. The boy’s the hero, then we were a princess, now we even have a narrator!” Each head leaned in, endlessly curious.

Tabi exchanged a glance with her ‘twin’. Somehow, she did not think that was it. Instead, she said, “Hold on, that’s how it starts? No backstory, no worldbuilding, nothing? Here’s where you are, good luck?” 

“Seems straightforward enough to me, why waste time in all that when you can get to the meat of the story quicker?” Ava shrugged.

Tabi clicked again.

The ghost’s smile did not appear to hold any humor in it anymore. The wisps which composed her body seemed to stretch and tear through the air, skin tightening on her face, bone showing through translucent skin. Her eyes sank further, darkening her expression. “What an unfounded accusation to kill someone over.”

“Very specific,” Tabitha remarked in sympathy.

“And that’s it?” The masked one asked, tilting her head in her hands. “He just sends us on our way, just like that?”

“Stories always start with that. A setting, a character, a task. Honestly, don’t any of you read?” Dami interrupted. The mask turned around to just stare at her. Tabi made Dami lean back, away from her stare. The others were momentarily stunned at the unexpected change in her tone.

“Dami, I’m so proud of you right now.” Ava gave her a wide grin. Dami hesitantly smiled back.

This whole thing made no sense, none whatsoever. How could it have come into existence? Two months after the beginning of the rest of their lives, this… thing showed up out of nowhere? Sporting them as characters? It was bizarre, disturbing. Tabi couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The more she thought, the more confused she felt, until her head began to hurt.

She clicked again. A list of choices appeared before her. Hesitantly, she scrolled through, reading as she went—as did the rest of the room.

“Oh thank you, he could ask questions!” Tabitha muttered, burrowing herself deeper in the blankets. Some of the others nodded in agreement.

“You mean to tell me, he got what was the crux of the problem so quickly but he decided to go ahead anyway?” the masked one’s voice was soft as silk, but Tabi still felt a chill go down her spine.

“Maybe that way we will get to meet the others. They don’t seem like the kind to give up, though…”

“If only my little bird had seen such a way from the start…” Thelka sighed wistfully. “Even if he got there in the end, I can’t say I wouldn’t have preferred a more obedient servant.”

“I wouldn’t have minded an attitude like that, either,” the other woman said; though she wore a mask, Tabitha could imagine a pouty lip beneath it. “Better than being so overly concerned with it all. It didn’t even matter in the end!”

“Wait, why do they know Spanish?” Dami sat up a bit straighter.

Cue every other head turning to stare at her.

“I beg your biggest pardon?”

“‘Viva la revolución’, that’s Spanish for ‘Long live the revolution’. Why do they know that? Are they bilingual? Can you imagine if they had spoken a different language than us when we met?”

“Dami- Damiana-” Tabi put her free hand in the air, palm to her, to ask her to stop.

“How do you know that?” Razor inquired from her spot on the floor.

Dami tilted her head. “While Tabi was learning how everything worked, it was easy to see the language here wasn't the same we spoke, so I taught myself it. I know we haven't been here long but... did… none of you do this?”

“Note to self: Never underestimate the kid.” Tabi heard Ava mutter. Honestly, it was something everyone would have to keep in mind. Dami, apparently, was full of surprises.

“What do the ‘Explore’ options mean?” Beast asked from her sofa. As one, the others shrugged.

“We need answers, right? All set in questioning the Narrator say ‘I’!” Tabi rose her voice so everyone could hear her. A chorus of ‘I’s answered her. With a satisfied smile, she clicked on the first option.

“And He answers with nothing,” the ghost, ironically enough, narrated.

“Impressive interrogation skills, Tabitha,” Winnie snarked.

“Why is this suddenly my fault?” Tabi sighed. Her throat was starting to become sore. She had not talked this much in a while. “It technically is what the end of the world means.”

“The options changed!” Razor pointed out.

“Not changed,” the five-in-one corrected, “added to. All the rest endures.”

“Evidence, I want evidence.” Tabitha muttered.

“Agreed.”

“No objections here.”

Similarly worded comments answered her as she chose that option.

“I really want that backstory.” Tabi was getting majorly irritated by the absolute vagueness that was spewing from the Narrator’s mouth. Did a voice had a mouth?

“A dashing Hero going on a journey, helping people along the way, before reaching their goal. Tale as old as time.” Dami hummed, smiling.

“What kind of hero would he be, he didn’t even know killing someone was part of the deal!” Winnie pointed out.

“Maybe this means he doesn’t have to do it? A detour in his ultimate goal?” Dami answered, but it seemed even she knew it was a reach. Frowning the slightest bit, she poured a liberal amount of honey in the sweet popcorn bowl. When she grabbed a handful, her hands came away sticky.

“I’d prefer to linger here, actually,” Tabitha rebutted to the screen. Predictably, there was no response. “The ‘how’ and ‘why’ of murder aren’t specifics, just basic details on motivation.”

“He can’t even say what He wants us to do,” the spectre noted, to Tabi’s appreciation. She hadn’t caught that. “Almost like He knows it’s wrong.”

“Don’t give him too much credit,” Winnie snarked. “Just because he’s concealing his awfulness in language doesn’t change his nature.”

“At least that explains why he didn’t even bother to say hello…” the ghost muttered to herself. Tabitha only caught it because she was keeping an ear out for any more of her commentary.

“He can sure take his sweet time if he feels like it.”

Tabitha turned to that speaker at once; she’d been too engaged for too long in this conversation for Tabitha to not know her name. “Dollface,” she greeted, and said dollface perked right up. “What can I call you by?”

She seemed taken aback for a moment, wide eyes blinking in open surprise behind her mask. Then she settled, body relaxing even if those unsettlingly big eyes of hers didn’t. “I’m between names right now.”

“Just pick one or two. For the sake of my sanity.”

She thought it over for a few minutes, the Narrator’s line about ticking clocks still stuck up on the screen. She hummed, apparently in deep contemplation. “Clara.”

Tabi would have to put it to pen at a later date. For now, she needed to grill an uncooperative man for answers.

“An oddly specific condition,” the quintet opined.

“It’d be better if the basement had something to keep us entertained while we waited,” Ava told the group.

“I know!” Dami agreed, her voice a youthful whine. “No bed, no mattress, nothing, who even does that?!”

“He keeps using that word.” Thelka noted.

“I don’t think it means what he thinks it means,” Dami kept it going.

“How so?” Razor wondered.

“You slay dragons, or monsters, or the like. Not people.”

“Was this new option here the whole time?” Tabi muttered, clicking on the very big option that she hadn’t seen a few questions ago.

“That seems like the only way to get him to shut up.” Beast rumbled.

“What’s the point of talking? If I wanted to end the world I could just knock him out and go my way.” Ava commented while munching on popcorn. Some of it had gotten stuck in her hair. She would regret that later.

“You’re right, he definitely hasn’t met you at all.” the masked one replied.

“See?” Ava grinned.

“At least we’re keeping an open mind…” 

The screen, finally, turned black for a few moments, before an image appeared. It was a grassy, overgrown hill, surrounded by trees. In the background, a sky full of stars. On the very top of the hill, what had once been the prison of every girl there. The cabin. Wooden, unassuming in every way. Light was coming from within.

“So that’s how it looks from outside…” Winnie breathed out.

“It should have been something grander. It was housing us!” Thelka said with a nod at the screen.

Silence once again, for a moment. Then, a cacophony of noise.

“Hold up, voice? Why is there another voice?” Razor pushed herself up by the elbows, creating indents on the pillows.

“This one definitely wasn’t there when it was my turn.” Winnie’s voice was almost a growl.

“Oh. Hi, Braveheart.” the ghost muttered to herself. She had been wondering where he would appear.

“Maybe he’s like- his conscience! He’s trying to make him do the right thing!” Dami proposed, her eyes almost shining. Was this her dashing hero? He was a lot more subdued than usual!

“Knock it off, everyone,” Tabi said, her voice leaving no room for argument. She was deep in thought, and thoroughly unnerved. What was this about voices in his head? How many people had been controlling her companion? Had she gotten free just by sheer luck (and her companion’s lapse of judgment)?

“Well I say ‘listen to him’,” the Quintet said. “Killing someone is usually bad. If you entertain that thought without any extenuating circumstances then you’re a monster.” 

“I entertain it.” Razor turned her head to look at them.

“My point still stands.”

Ava choked on her juice, narrowly avoiding spraying the masked one with it.

Tabitha tried to ignore the clownery and proceeded into the cabin. The sight that greeted them all was more than a little familiar, though they never saw it from that angle.

“Someone needed to hire an interior decorator. There’s a table. Only a table! What about a chair? A cushion? Some plants?” Ava surprised everyone by saying. She looked around at the others. “What? I can’t always be the rage-gal.”

“The cabin was only intended to be temporary, then.” Spectre opined. “If it weren’t then there would be more items of comfort.”

“Can we keep going? There are other things that are far more important than whether or not the cabin was up to standard with basic furniture.”

“Like what?” Beast asked.

“Like us and this game!” Dami said at once.

“You’re not helping your case at all.”

Tabi’s eyebrows shot up. Well, this was interesting. This choice held weight, this choice looked final. She looked around the room, meeting the eyes of everyone. Another monumental choice. To take the blade, or not.

If it were her, she would take the blade, because you couldn’t be too cautious. On the other hand, she knew for a fact she had not been dangerous, and they had argued with the narrator over that fact.

Then again, her opinion wasn’t the only one that mattered, at least in this run.

“If it were me, I would want to help us. No steel claw for this one.” Beast opined. Her tail smacked Winnie in the face.

“Phew!” the aforementioned girl spat out hairs. “What did I even do to you?! If it counts for anything, I agree with the furball. If we take the knife, that is a threat.”

“The one who goes to the basement has all the power in this situation. We should show it.” Thelka added. Her face rested in one hand, a lot more interested now than she was when they were still in the forest.

“No blades,” Dami said, so low Tabi had to strain to hear her. “Please.”

“I’ve had enough of knives for a lifetime.” the ghost said.

“Either is fine by me,” the one with the mask shrugged. Okay, Tabi really needed to get their names. She was getting tired of those descriptors.

“Why NOT take the blade? Blades are great!” Razor cheered, her painted-on eyebrows going up and down. She had been made to paint them on when she got tired of the others hinting that she was too creepy without them.

“Let’s take it! What hope does the bird boy have against someone like us if he doesn’t take the blade?” Ava leaned in her seat.

“We pass,” the quintet said, far less in sync than usual.

Four versus four, with two abstaining. It figured it would end in a draw. Because luck wasn’t kind to her.

“What are you waiting for, take the blade.” Thelka waved her hand impatiently.

Tabi turned to her, smile fixed in place. It was not a real smile. “I haven’t decided yet, let me think.”

“Everyone here knows my vote is worth at least three of you.” Thelka leaned back on the couch, looking every bit the royal she was.

“Bitch-!” Winnie started to stand up, only to be stopped by yet another tail to the face. Before any of the others could do so much as start to get up as well, the noise of a door opening rang out as the screen turned black once again for a moment.

Tabi looked at Thelka straight in the eyes. “Never argue with the one making the decisions.”

The background coalesced into stairs, scissored with black lines. At the end of the stairs, wood gave way to stone as they were about to enter what was, actually, their prison. They had been under the earth. Entombed.

Nine heads snapped up so quickly Tabi was sure she heard some cracks. Like her own neck. Ow, she would feel it in the morning. “Dami? That sounds like you.”

Dami was staring straight ahead, her face so blank it scared her.

“Not quite,” Winnie intervened as she tried to pry the bowl of salted popcorn out of Razor’s infuriatingly rigid hands. “Could be me, too.”

Ava turned, slowly, towards her. “That’s hard to believe.”

“You can check later, if you don’t believe me.”

“We will!”

Were- were humans supposed to turn that shade of red? It was concerning. Dami placed her burning cheeks on the blanket. Muffled as it was, they could all hear the smile on her voice. “He’s so kind… thank you, Hero!”

“You know he can’t hear you, right?” the masked one probed.

“It’s the thought that counts!”

“Why? It’s not like she has a knife at the ready. And she’s chained up. Why would it be dangerous?” Tabi asked the screen, as if expecting it would answer.

From the sound she let out, Razor appeared to be deflating. Her whole body shook with the force of her laughter. There were actual tears running down her cheeks. She was starting to turn purple. Were they supposed to do something?

“Of coouuurse, why would it be dangerous?” Razor wheezed once she had enough air. Tabi supposed, considering the company she was keeping, that was, indeed, a stupid question.

Ava snorted loudly. “‘I’m here to slay you?’ Why is that an option? Honesty above all!” her chest rumbled with the effort of keeping her chuckles in.

Thelka had a small smile on her face, as if enjoying a private joke. “Look at the question mark, that’s not a confident answer.”

Winnie had fixated on another thing. “Why the ‘lie’ option? Is he that bad at lying to you guys?”

“You have to admit, the boys aren’t the best at social interactions.” the quintet smiled.

“We’re saving Dami, aren’t we?” Tabi looked at the others. No way she was killing her in cold blood, not when the flesh-and-blood Damiana was sitting right besides her, trying to eat popcorn without being covered in honey.

From the looks on their faces, she could tell the others felt the same way. Well, enough of the others.

“Go suck a lemon, Narrator,” Winnie tried to throw some popcorn at the screen. it landed right on Razor’s head. Tabi prayed to anything that might be listening that she wouldn’t notice.

No words were spoken, just glances with various degrees of understanding and pity.

Beast growled so loud Winnie scrambled off the sofa and went right to the floor. The growl cut itself off, a different noise building in the back of her throat, rhythmic and— oh, it was laughter. “Scared, kit?”

“Seriously, what did I ever do to you?! Yeah, the chain sucked, but we’re letting her out!” Winnie glowered from below, unconsciously massaging her right wrist.

Stone walls, a stone floor so uneven lying down was deeply uncomfortable, the only light coming from the window too high to reach. The chain, the other chain that had only seen an use in Tabi’s memories. The girl chained there, a face so alien now, so familiar. If she looked hard enough, Tabi might even find echoes of its contours in the mirror.

And yet Tabi’s mind was more enraptured with that dangling chain to the side. Was the chain for her companion all along? Had that been the case for all the other boys as well? Were they supposed to be chained alongside the Princesses? If so, did they possess world-ending powers as well? Was this all just a scheme to trap them too?

If it was, then she regretted not making conversation when it came to her own basement. Even if she had been mad at him, her silent treatment might have been a little excessive… and gone on a little too long.

"God, Hero, chill."

And there went Dami, trying to outred a tomato and winning.

“This is good, Dami! He’s underestimating you!” Winnie whooped gleefully from her newly claimed spot on the floor.

“Way to state the obvious. Of course she’s beautiful, we know, we have eyes.” the ghost said. If possible, Dami went even redder.

“...How could we forget the chains?!” Ava burst out. “Dami, I love you, but I don’t think your body is strong enough to rip those chains off!”

“Don’t worry, Ava, I have my ways.” Dami smiled sweetly at her.

“Go upstairs and get the blade!” Thelka ordered, leaning further on her seat.

“Good. Maybe the world should end if they chained us up like that!” Clara rested her chin on her gloved hands.

Tabi barely read the options that popped up before deciding to talk with the in-game Princess for a bit, prompting an unsure ‘O…kay.’

The woman on the screen made her heart ache. She did look a lot like her ‘twin’ beside her.

“I thought we were all Team Rescue Damiana? What changed?” the spectre questioned, floating over to where Tabi and Dami were.

“We are, but we want answers too.”

Another wide range of options, though thankfully less than what they’d worked through in the woods; it seems their focus had narrowed.

Those choices at the bottom of the list were final in more ways than one. The reasoning used… “it’s a fair concern to have,” Tabi admitted despite herself. “Neither of us really knew each other. It was all about trust.”

Razor, it seemed, was focused on other things. “'Let's keep you chained in a stone basement so we can get to know each other!' That’s the worst idea for a date I’ve ever heard.”

There was something like a static in the air. Tabi’s mouth tasted strange, wrong, all of a sudden. Her chest constricted with a foreign anxiety, heart skipping a beat. The moment passed, though her palms remained clammy.

She… wouldn’t be choosing to lock herself away, she guessed.

Without much further thought, Tabi maneuvered her mouse to pick the first choice. It seemed safe enough. At the incredulous looks of the women around her, she waved her free hand. “We needed something to break the ice!”

The drawing in front of them changed into a nervous posture, eyes looking away.

The way the drawing changed poses made everyone relax just a bit. That seemed more in line with the Dami they knew.

“As you wish, Your Royal Highness Damiana.” Winnie turned to her and did an exaggerated bow, not low enough that she was presenting her neck to her.

“Does Your Highness want more popcorn?” the ghost’s edges flickered with laughter.

“Is the lighting to Your Highness Dami’s liking, or should we turn off some?” Razor joined in, a too-sharp smile distorting her features.

Dami herself was laughing. “You all are bad people,” she said without heat.

A wave of laughter shook the women anew.

“Oh no, he’s a dork.” Winnie despaired.

“How- How do you think up something like that?” Tabi wondered aloud.

“Imagine, if you will with us, the Princess of Princesses. The highest authority, above all Princesses that ever could or will be. All may yield to her grandiose, ever-expansive domain,” the quintet divagued their dramatic tirade between snorts and giggles and smiles.

Thelka, unsurprisingly, scowled at the display. She was wholly without good humor. “That is called a Queen.”

“...I had forgotten about this.” Winnie said, her eyes huge.

“Me too.”

“As did I.”

“Me three.”

“That’s not how it goes, idiot.”

“So which one is it? Is she a master manipulator, or someone who would forget to make up such basic information?” Tabi asked the screen. Predictably, it didn’t answer back.

Dami smiled weakly. “Thanks for having my back.”

“What would even be the right answer, in this case?” The ghost wondered.

“SHUT HIM UP, DAMI!” Ava cheered. Mercifully, Tabitha was spared the mundane horror of buttered popcorn spraying all over the floor. It was a close call with her reckless behavior.

From the way Beast was staring at Ava’s bowl, it didn’t seem like she would’ve minded. Her own bowl, Tabitha saw, was emptied and licked clean. Saliva dribbled from her maw.

“Finally.” Clara hummed. Dami had a relieved smile on her face, mirroring the one of her screen counterpart.

“They’re the size of a hand, there’s no way he would’ve been able to do it.” the ghost shook her head.

“I doubt a key exists in the first place,” Clara said.

“Ew, I agreed with him.”

“Holy shit, Dami.” Ava blurted out. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

The screen turned black again, before reforming into a view of a heavy, closed wooden door. The sound of a lock being put in place echoed in the room.

“What the- That’s not fair!” the Quintet exclaimed.

“Could that be one of the others?” Dami suggested nervously, her hands twisting into her blanket.

“I can think of someone that would do that,” Winnie hissed.

“We all agree that yelling will do nothing, right?” Tabi asked the room.

“And trying the door won’t work, because it’s obviously locked from the outside.” Clara said.

“Down we go, then.”

Tabi blinked. “That’s an excellent point.” Something had taken control of her companion when it was her time to be freed. Could a voice conspire against them? Was such a thing even possible?

Once again, the screen went black as the view returned to that of the chained Princess, looking at them with a worried expression.

“...at least you won’t be alone,” Clara said, gently. Tabi felt her eyebrows migrate North.

“That’s the Dami we know and love,” Tabi smiled at her. Damiana’s smile was a little shaky around the edges.

“...the music’s stopped.” Beast’s comment made them jump.

“What?”

“When she said that. The music cut off. Listen, there’s only silence.”

That pit in her stomach was back. Her fingers clicked once more-

Only to see screen Dami gnawing at her arm with such a ferocity that she found bone in moments, blood barely starting to drip down her, with teeth that were not that pointy and sharp a moment ago.

“Holy SHIT!” Witch jumped back, hitting Beast’s front paws.

“I'm liking you more and more, you know?” Ava looked back at Dami, stars practically shining in her eyes.

Beast laughed. “Little kitten’s got fangs! I knew you had to have something like that somewhere!”

Dami very determinedly looked at the floor. The music had changed once again, an ominous, foreboding tune.

The screen changed to that of a blade bouncing off the stone floor.

“...what?”

“We left that upstairs!”

“What’s going on here?!”

That was the only option possible to take.

“SUCK IT, YOU INCOMPETENT STORYTELLER!” Ava’s cry rang gleefully in the room together with others, as pillows were thrown into their in celebration.

Popcorn went to the air like fireworks. Clara hugged an extremely surprised Beast. Thelka was the smuggest they had ever seen her. "I told you he was a worm."

Ava wolf whistled at the image displayed, a pair of scaly arms tearing away the Princess’ arm, as she stared at the view with huge eyes. “Nice arms!”

“The nails are too long for my liking,” Clara said.

Tabi let herself laugh, let herself focus on the almost goofy expression of the princess on the screen. "Dami, what big eyes you have!"

There were some shudders when the image showed the Princess ripping away what was left of her hand, it going to the floor.

“Adrenaline is a hell of a drug,” Ava smiled in turn with the Princess as the screen focused on her, bloody lips and everything.

Tabi blinked, trying not to think about what could happen. Dami, of all people, didn't deserve that. "I don't think shrugging off a cut off arm is because of adrenaline."

"It could be! Everything hurts more since we got here, so who knows."

The screen went black once more. Unlike before, there was text in it.

The room went cold.

“What is that supposed to mean..?”

The image was now the Princess with her back turned, with the same scaly hand gripping the bloodstained blade, pointing it at the woman’s back. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Tabi seeked Dami's hand. She had not wanted to think about it, had not wanted to know how everything had gone for her. The similarities sickened her. Their first encounter with their companions had been too alike.

Twins. The reflection of one another. She had never thought it could make sense, but it did.

Behind them, a growl built in Winnie's throat. It sounded strained, stressed, as if in preparation rather than warning.

“He can do that?!” Ava gestured frantically at the screen.

“What the fuck?” Razor bolted upright.

“He can be controlled like that?”

“Of course he can. I thought you knew.” that was Thelka. "With creatures like him, you only have to take-"

"Their will," Clara interrupted, like she couldn't stop herself. Instead of getting angry at the interruption, Thelka nodded approvingly.

"Exactly. How did you know?"

"I..." For the second time that night, Clara appeared slightly confused. "I don't know. I just do. I am what I am."

A small part of Tabi not concerned with what was happening on screen went cold at those comments. What did they mean by that? Could they take wills too? Was living together a mistake? Who had she been living with, that they discussed robbing people - people like her companion - of autonomy so nonchalantly?

Dami had started to shake. Very slightly.

On the screen, the Princess turned around, worried.

Tabi turned her gaze to the list of options, and felt her soul drop to her feet.

“No, no, no, don't do this...” Tabi muttered as she frantically moved down the wall of options. Winnie leaned in, the light from the screen making deep shadows on her face.

“YES! Oh thank God…” Tabi breathed a sigh of relief. Razor had completely shredded her pillows. Thelka watched with interest. Beast and Clara were immobile. Ava was gnashing her teeth so hard they could hear it. The ghost had wrapped herself against Dami. Maybe that was why she was shaking so badly.

Winnie scoffed. She opened her mouth, before closing it just as fast. A humorless laugh escaped her lips while wearing a smile with no trace of warmth.

On screen, the Princess moved away.

“Dami, I’m sorry…” Tabi's hand was going numb by how hard Damiana was gripping it. She bumped shoulders with her. At least, Dami had her eyes closed. "Do you want to leave the room?"

A shuddering breath. "I'll be okay."

Everyone could breathe a little easier as they saw the events unfolding, the warning having been enough for her to jump out of the way.

“No, you’re trying to make us kill someone!” the Quintet shrieked, yelled, shouted, sobbed.

“Hell no!”

“Fuck OFF!”

It was a miracle the TV was still intact.

“Saving our friend?”

“Not taking a life?”

“Not being a scrotum?”

Winnie whistled low. “You’re braver than I am, Dami. I would’ve run.”

“Okay, now throw the knife out of the open window,” the spectre instructed. “That way he won’t reach it.”

Dami’s breath hitched. Her hand clenched Tabi's own, even as Tabi's hand went slack. She stared ahead. Her mind, usually so quick, usually so locked onto anything and everything that could be of use or detriment to her, halted in its tracks. She hadn't... thought of that...

Evidently, neither had her sister.

“You’re gonna stab him, aren’t you.” Razor said. It wasn’t a question, she was looking at her knowingly.

“No she won’t. This is Dami we’re talking about!”

“...yeah, no, she’s definitely going to stab him.”

Tabi took one look at Dami and immediately left the mouse. “Damiana, look at me.”

“Damiana’s not here. Come back later.”

“We know you wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t necessary.” Winnie reached.

“It’s not in you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“It was self-defense!”

Dami shuddered. “I’m awful with a knife!”

“That’s fine!” Razor told her brightly. “I can teach you!”

“A few stab wounds are nothing compared to what I did,” Beast practically purred, “You’re okay.”

Dami emerged from the blanket nest to stare at the chimera, utterly befuddled. Tabi doubted it made her feel better. It didn't make Tabi feel good. Not at all. Mostly just dread.

She took a deep breath. Swallowed. And gave the go-ahead to keep playing.

They watched as the Princess on screen stabbed him in the chest with her eyes closed.

Tabitha couldn't help but wince. She had done the humane thing and given her controlled companion a quick death, not a butchery.

“Lesson one, honey: Look at where you’re stabbing. Lesson two: Don’t apologize! The key to it is having fun!"

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. Didn't Razor named herself that because of the aforementioned metal bones? Who had she been sharing a house with all this time?!

"Not bad, Hero! Real tough, there!" Razor sounded genuinely amused.

“He means screaming will traumatize her more you absolute bellend-”

“He’s doing it on purpose.” The quintet blinked.

“What?” Beast looked at her.

Tabitha answered for them. “Look at those descriptions- he’s dragging it out. You’re not bad with a knife, Dami, he’s the one making this last.”

"He's mad he didn't get what he wanted," Winnie added.

"I get the sentiment," Thelka nodded to herself.

The ghost frowned. "Well, stay mad."

On screen, the sobbing Princess got covered in blood.

"Shut up, Hero, I'm trying to comfort her!" that was Winnie, annoyed.

"Don't worry, Hero, we're working on it!" that was Razor, brightly.

"...sorry..." and that was Dami, behind the guilt and horror slightly embarrassed at how even someone in their death throws could tell her technique was awful.

The screen went black for a moment, before the Princess came back into view, staring down with blood everywhere on her. She knelt down, crying.

The screen went black once more. Before anyone could start to process the entire everything, it lit up slightly once again.

There was silence for a moment.

“...What?”

The game had been put in a slight pause for the living room to be cleaned and the popcorn to be swept. As the one still with the mouse, Tabi had done everything she could to strong-arm Thelka into helping. It had not worked. The only thing that had been hurt was her pride, and that stung enough.

So there she was, losing herself in the mechanical actions. She could have done it while sleeping. Which, unfortunately, meant her thoughts were free to run wild.

She just couldn’t stop thinking. She thought of the limb-locking nightmare that must have been the Narrator’s control. She thought of that prison, of knowing even for those briefest of moments exactly what it meant to be someone’s puppet.

“I had forgotten we met them before… my first time was completely different from yours, you know?” Ava was saying, lifting the entire couch so Tabi could sweep underneath. “I’d tell you, but I’m sure we will see it at some point. By the way, is this why you chose the name ‘Damiana’? Because it’s similar to ‘Damsel?’”

“No,” Dami answered, knelt down as she was, battling with a honey stain on the floor. “I just thought it was a good name- I had no idea I had a… title? Is that what that is? And why Damsel?”

Tabi busied herself by finishing sweeping the floor. As long as none of the girls had swept popcorn under the couch everything was fine. The implications of the titles were concerning, if just for the fact that she didn't know her own, and wasn't sure if she wanted to. Wasn't sure what, or who, it was that decided who was called what.

“Are you sure you don’t want any tips?” Razor wondered, still sitting on the couch Ava had just placed back down. “I don’t mind.”

Even Razor had to see her smile was not reaching her eyes. “Very sure, thank you. But you don’t have to worry. From now on, everything will be smooth sailing.”

The ghost drifted past Tabitha without a word, the chill bringing her partially back to herself for a moment. She'd been sweeping the same spot on the floor for about a solid minute now. It was late. And there was the matter of their names now... if 'Damiana' had been so close to 'Damsel,' was that of her own will? Could it have just been a coincidence?... Tabitha hoped her name was chosen of her own will. Her certainty was a bit shaken.

“Everyone ready?” Plethora said, placing themselves back down on their spot. Tabitha's movements slowed, drearily, as she checked her work.

“As soon as Tabi finishes brooming the floor-”

“Sweeping,” Clara corrected, taking her spot as well.

Ava turned back to her while she sunk on the couch. It dipped down with an ominous creak. “Huh?”

“It’s called ‘sweeping’ the floor, not ‘brooming’.”

“Same thing!”

“You need any help over here?” The ghost asked, passing by again. If nothing else, the little chills up her spine were doing a good job of keeping her awake. She blinked twice, before looking back up at the ghost, translucent and incorporeal as she was.

‘Are you capable of helping with this?’ She took a breath to ask, but her mind moved quicker than her mouth. “Do you have a name?”

“Grace,” she answered promptly, a faint smile lighting up her features. The skin on her lips was cracked and chapped, Tabi realized. How odd. When she'd passed by her the past couple times, the spirit had felt like the mist on a lazy morning. She didn't seem the dry type.

“You said that fast.”

“I picked it out for myself early on,” Grace shrugged playfully, leaning away and twisting in the air. “I heard the word sometime, decided it sounded pretty enough that I might as well use it.”

That was everyone in the house, or at least the ones who entertained her, accounted for. That task and question was squared away, then; much like the floor. Tabi tried not to glare at Thelka for not helping with the cleanup. She did make an effort. Ultimately, she did not think she succeeded.

So, there they were back again, everyone in their places, more popcorn, some drinks, and in Tabi’s case, a pit in her stomach once more. In her pajamas and nightgowns, even. Back to it. On an impulse, she passed the mouse to Ava.

“What the-? This again?” Ava spluttered indignantly as everyone read the same speech the Narrator had said from the beginning.

“I knew things repeated, but I didn’t know it was an actual loop,” Tabi commented, hands finally free to eat something. “Interesting. How do we break it?”

How had they broken it in the first place? Every one of the girls was there for a reason, so eventually the loop must have broken. There had to be a clue somewhere. He had died. Was that the boys’ collective power? Returning after death?

Not a power she would wish to have.

Again, a lot of options.

“Sure would be nice to come back after death,” Grace commented.

“It’s not that hard, you just have to will yourself back up,” Ava waved her hand, more focused on choosing the last option on screen. “He’s in for it, yeah.”

Tabi - and most of the others - waited with bated breath for her to realize just who she told that too. The moment passed without her realizing it.

“He doesn’t remember?” Razor hummed, watching with interest.

“Or he’s a great liar.” Winnie countered, half sprawled on the floor. “He definitely remembers.”

“What purpose would that have?” Tabi interrupted. “If he really tried to make him ‘slay’ us, wouldn’t it be better if he leaned into the fact he died before?”

“That one clearly didn’t count, she was under duress.”

“Of course it counts!” Dami herself interrupted. “It has to count, I wouldn’t want that swept under the rug!”

Thelka’s attention was elsewhere. “Capitalized pronouns for the one who narrates? Interesting…”

Their collective attention was brought to a halt at the next spoken line, however.

The artificial stillness that encompassed the room was broken by Winnie’s poorly disguised snort. “Oh I know who that is!”

“Do you? His voice is too loud for my liking…” Tabi muttered, sending an apologetic glance to Dami. She needn’t have bothered, unlike the first chapter, the girl looked positively radiant.

“That’s your boy?” Razor said with a smirk, though Tabi couldn’t quite tell if there was any malice behind it. “Smitten, huh? Aw, he thinks he’s in love. Cute.”

“Why isn’t anyone worried about the fact he’s also a voice?” Tabi decided to voice her feelings. It was just this side of unsettling.

“He’s not a voice anymore, is he?” Clara mused. “Even after getting his own body, he keeps visiting Damiana. That’s sweet.”

“It didn’t work. Pity. It could have been fun to see how long they could keep the ruse going.” Clara said.

Plethora snorted. “Sorry, he talks funny. Like an actor giving it his all.”

Winnie, still sprawled on the floor, was mastering the art of silent wheezes.

One of the quintet’s heads was definitely giving it her all so she wouldn’t laugh. One of the others kept talking, their lips twitching all the while, “I doubt Dami- I doubt she knew it’d be a package deal like with us… sorry…. ahaha…”

Tabi turned to her twin, “Is ‘Smitten’ his name?”

The room, aside from the glow of the screen, was dark, so Tabi couldn’t be sure if there was an actual blush gracing Dami’s cheeks. “The last time we spoke, he hadn’t decided on a name yet. I do call him Dashing-”

There was an ‘Oooooh-’ from, in Tabitha’s opinion, the most immature of them, and surprisingly, from Grace too.

“- not to his face!”

“He doesn’t even deny it?” Winnie gaped. “Either Dashing here’s a tremendously good actor or he’s actually serious.”

Dami turned her head to her, Mount Blankets reduced to Valley Of Blankets. “Of course he’s serious, why wouldn’t he be?”

“...I have so much to teach you.”

“I like him, he’s passionate!” Ava spoke up for the first time in a while. “And for the record, I agree with him.”

“A world without love isn’t worth saving… true enough.” Thelka quoted, earning herself the stares of everyone in the room. Tabitha fought off a grin as Thelka balked; it was so rare an instance in which she didn't revel in being the center of attention. “What have I said? Love can move mountains and drive people to madness or devotion. It drives the world. I thought at least some of you understood that.”

“What if we just turned around?” the Quintet asked, being silenced almost immediately by a chorus of negatives.

“Let me guess: You don’t want to just go straight to Dami, you want info, right?” Ava asked Tabi behind her. Naturally, she nodded, and Ava sighed deeply, and groaned louder when she saw the nods around the rest of the room. having already predicted this. “This could be so simple. Get in, rescue the girl, get out. But fine. We'll do it your way.”

“I’m really liking your boy, Dami. Doesn’t ask too many questions, he knows what he wants… do you think he’d be up for a spar one of these days?” Ava wondered.

Dami startled. It was a few seconds before she answered. “I could ask him… or we could invite them here. All of them.”

Beast raised her head. “All of them?” Her voice was inquisitive, almost... enthusiastic? Her head lowered, but did not relax. Her eyes shone in the dark with anticipation, her voice deepening at the prospect. “Wonderful.”

Tabi decided to jump into that bandwagon. “This is about them too, and I’m sure everyone here has questions. And if they don’t want to answer we can keep playing, but they deserve to know. It’s only fair.”

“I’m against it.” Winnie said, tail puffing. “I will put into use what Razzle-Dazzle taught me if whoever was there with me tries anything.”

“We’re not letting anyone hurt anyone, okay? It’s not fun if they’re not into it.” Ava answered.

Thelka hummed to herself. “It would be nice to see the little bird again. He would have come here,” she said to a puzzled Grace, “but he kept saying he was unworthy of my presence. Being turned into a human must have been a shock, but I am getting impatient.”

“I would like to see mine too,” Clara voted, surprisingly Tabitha. She hadn't spoken much of what she experienced before; she figured she did not have that good of relations with him. But now, her voice was a song, her tone a laugh. “Things added so abruptly between us! I did plan for us to keep in touch, and we have so much more we can do together.”

“We did not get much of a chance to truly know ours, in all his shapes,” Plethora reflected, their hands reaching to brush aside their hair from one of their faces. “If he would be obliged, we'd be happy to spend just a little more time together. We would enjoy showing him how well we've gotten to know ourselves, and to see if he has done the same in the time between our meeting and reunion.”

“Fairness is boring- but I do want to meet mine!” Razor chimed in eagerly. "Last time was fun!"

Grace sulked. “Oh, I know mine alright. It’s the others I want to see!”

“It’s settled then. Tomorrow, we’ll call them.”

“Unfortunately, the one making the decisions here is me!” Ava cheered, and began chanting, “A-VA! A-VA! OI, OI-!”

Beast glared at her.

“-Oi,” Ava finished quietly.

Tabi looked around the room. “Aren’t we going to-?”

“It’s too late to think about this shit,” Winnie interrupted her. face halfway buried in the bowl of popcorn and candy she had managed to snatch.

“I wouldn’t even know how to end the world!” Dami sprung up, glaring at the screen. Tabi thought she had never seen her so close to being frustrated.

“I say we don’t listen to anything the narrator guy says. The more he talks, the more he confuses us.” Ava said.

“If we did end worlds, it was in our nature to do it. You can't stop an earthquake, why stop us?” Thelka left the question floating in the air. Tabitha didn't know how to approach answering it, as evidently neither did anyone else.

“Wait, why didn’t you keep interrogating him?” Tabi jumped up while Ava chose the first option.

“I’m sorry, who’s the one making the decisions here?” she huffed. “I can only take so much, and Dashing there would agree with me.”

“I guess that makes you the dashing heroine, Ava?” Clara said with a laugh.

“Damn right it does!”

“Before you say anything, I am ‘proceeding to the cabin.’ I’m tired of standing around.” Ava said, before doing just that and passing through the Narrator’s warning of lying and cheating.

“One of the things I don’t like about him: he does talk too much.” Ava commented, before proceeding to the cabin once again.

“Poor Braveheart sounds so tired and they haven’t even gotten there yet,” Grace giggled.

They looked at the interior of the cabin after the image appeared before them. The stone walls, the two tapestries, a heavy, yet ornate, wooden door. A tall mirror hanging on the leftmost wall.

Winnie’s eyes bugged out and she nearly choked on the hard candy she was sucking on. “Holy SHIT! This is a nice place! Why couldn’t mine be like that?”

“You have not seen mine yet.” Thelka smirked.

“Still too empty.” Ava said.

“Why is the interior stone but the exterior wood? The windows don’t match in shape… but what if…?” Tabi was muttering to herself, too low for Dami to properly hear.

“The music changed,” Grace noted, observant as always. It was more grandiose, more ethereal.

“The mirror doesn’t have the squiggly lines.” Dami commented.

“I know, I’m approaching the mirror, see?” Ava’s fingers twitched on the mouse.

“The worm can’t see it? Intriguing.” Thelka looked interested despite herself, absently munching on popcorn.

“I still think he’s lying,” Winnie said, putting herself in a more comfortable position as Ava selected the choice to wipe the mirror clean.

Once again, they saw a clawed hand, this time posed to wipe the grim off a mirror that disappeared between a breath and the next.

“I wouldn’t care about that!” Dami protested, though she couldn’t help smiling.

“I normally would take the blade,” Ava said, turning to the room at large. “But I don’t think Dami would appreciate that in the state she’s in- besides, she needs a training session with me before I even consider fighting her.”

The aforementioned woman’s smile became just a bit strained, just a bit panicked. “Huh?”

“We’re friends, and friends push each other to the limits,” Ava said, like it made sense. “Thelka refuses because I don’t know, Miss Primandproper,” she nodded to Tabi, “Also doesn’t want to, Razor says ‘not yet’ eternally, Winnie would just stab me again-”

“What do you mean ‘again’?!”

“-shut it Tabitha, the Fantastic Five outnumber me so it wouldn’t be fair, Gracie here straight up doesn’t have a body, Nala doesn’t have opposable thumbs-”

“What did you just call me?” Beast whipped around, her ears to the sides. Ava ignored her with such ease Tabitha was briefly jealous.

“-so that only leaves you. What do you say, sometime this week?”

“...if it makes you happy.” said Damiana. Tabi saw her mouthing ‘help’.

“Amazing,” Ava smiled with all her teeth. “Now where was I- oh, yeah, no blade.”

“There’s torches and a carpet?!” Winnie fumed once again.

“Nice basement you got there, Dami,” Tabitha couldn’t help herself. "Much better than mine."

“And here’s our Damiana!” Winnie, of all people, cheered.

“HUH?!” Dami squeaked as another, bigger ‘Oooooh~’ went across the others. Tabi was reasonably sure even Clara had joined in that one.

Thelka leaned in from Throne Couch, “You could do a lot better- though he does give you the respect you deserve…”

“I agree,” Beast chirped. “There’s plenty of birds in the sky.”

“I don’t- a wedding?!”

“Easy, Dami, I’m sure he wasn’t being serious,” Tabi tried to comfort her. Honestly, he better not have been serious. That was moving just a little too quick for her tastes. He hadn't even managed to get her out of the cabin yet, could he pump the breaks a little until they'd navigated the survival scenario they were in?

“Still going for the manipulative angle? Can’t fault him, I mean look at me,” Winnie said.

“Sorry about that- I hadn’t been expecting wedding talk, is all,” Dami smiled.

“You would look wonderful in white.” Clara commented.

Was Tabitha the only one here who agreed with Hero? She felt a sudden sense of kinship to him. “Let's wait until we know each other's names before we start worrying about these things.” She sent a pointed look to Dami, wholly aware that at the present moment, Dami still didn't know Sir 'Dashing's' name quite yet.

Once again, there were the Narrator’s words of how they locked eyes with the Princess, and the chain around her wrist.

There was a carpet, of all things, on the floor, and Tabi couldn’t help the slightest stir of jealousy. But what difference would a carpet make? At the end of the day, a carpet or an additional chain weren’t that useful. Just decorations. Set piece- wait.

“Why is the window so big? Why can you see the sky from there, shouldn’t there be the ground? Grass? We’re in a basement!” Tabi blurted out.

“That’s what you focus on and not the carpet?” Razor said.

“No, she’s right,” Beast rumbled. “It’s low enough she could have, not escaped, but gone outside if she wanted to.”

Dami blushed. “I didn’t think of that?” she had been too dizzy with relief over what her surroundings changing would mean (no more rotting corpses!) than escaping at all. Besides, she had missed him.

Clara blinked at the girl on the screen. “I love your dress!”

Dami returned the smile. “Thank you!”

Thelka turned to the aforementioned ex princess, eyes almost noticeably wide. “Could you?”

“Hear him?” Dami completed the thought. “I couldn’t.”

“Would’ve been awkward if you could,” the Quintet said.

“It’s not that bad,” Grace smiled. “Trust me. Just loud.”

Tabitha made a mental note about Grace's apparent experiences. Thelka, too, apparently, though Tabitha was only interested in making conversation with the former.

“And that’s how ‘Dashing’ started?” Razor said.

“Somehow you managed to say exactly the right thing for both of them to be swayed. That takes talent!” Winnie commented.

“Especially since she didn’t know they were there,” Ava agreed.

“That’s what we said,” Thelka interrupted, “If your bird forgives you, then you should be able to forgive yourself.”

“I guess that makes sense…” Damiana agreed.

Tabi was sure this was not the end of it, however. Damiana was very conflict-averse.

“This is horrendous,” Tabi mumbled. “He either saves one of us, or entire worlds end. I don’t know if I could make the same choices he did. Two whole worlds for each of us. And we’re all here, so he saved all of us.”

“Maybe it’s not true,” Winnie argued, still gripping her bowl. “We only have the narrator’s word.”

“But we would have no way to check, the cabin would not let us.” Beast joined in.

“I told you it was a curse!” Dami argued, gesticulating so passionately Tabi would have been smacked if she didn’t dodge. “Us ending the world, the boys being birds, the looping… he must have found a way to break it! Good, too, we like the world.”

“We like this world,” Grace pointed out. “For all we know, our original worlds weren’t good.”

“Oh, I could still make some renovations to this world,” Thelka muttered.

“Agreed,” said Clara. “But this is nice for now.”

“Hero, come on, I was starting to root for you!” Winnie threw a handful of snacks at the screen, annoyed.

“He’s being cautious. It’s a lot of information to process all at once, give him a break,” Tabi felt the need to defend the voice that was the voice (heh) of reason.

“She’s still an unknown, and you did chew through your arm last time. He’s being wise.” Beast added, eyes and ears fixed on the screen.

“Sweet-heart is still dead set in freeing you.” Grace was smiling.

“His determination is charming.” Thelka nodded. “I believe I would like to meet him too.”

“...I suddenly want Dashing to read one of those old-timey books Grace is so fond of. Can you imagine him doing the voices?” the Quintet, as one, were repressing laughs.

Tabi just turned to Ava with her hands clasped at chest level. “Just one ‘explore’ option, come on.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “We have the Damsel herself here to answer those questions!”

“I kinda want to know too.” Winnie said, crawling over to them. Tabitha felt Dami shifting beside her as Winnie reached them.

“...really, is that your strategy?” Ava’s lips twitched. “Triple puppy dog eyes?”

Tabi blinked. “I do not do puppy dog eyes!”

“Yes you do.” Grace commented.

“You are doing it right now.” Razor agreed.

Beast and Thelka were trying not to laugh behind her hands. Or claws, in Beast’s case.

“No, Gracie, don't you dare join the puppy eye squad, I'm doing it! Alright, alright, I’ll pick the world ending option,” Ava laughed good-naturedly.

Winnie smirked triumphantly and held up her hands. Both twins high-fived her, Dami enthusiastically, Tabi anything but.

“Dami?” Razor turned completely incredulous eyes to her. “What?”

“That didn’t happen when I got rescued,” Damiana defended herself. Just in case, Tabi took one of her hands in hers.

Winnie was almost sparkling. “I see… you want to be freed, so you’ll just agree to what he says so he lets you out faster! That’s clever!”

“It’s not like that, Winifred!” Dami snapped, (‘Do NOT call me that!’, Winnie pouted), “I wanted to leave, and I wanted to make him happy because- well I did kill him!”

“That’s not very healthy.” Tabi mused.

“I don’t think anything in that situation was healthy.” Grace said.

“Not a confession, an appeasement.” Thelka said.

“Sweet-heart got the ‘make you happy’ thing very quick,” Grace interjected. “He’s very in tune with you.”

Tabitha's skin was crawling. Something about the way Smitten spoke just... felt wrong. As if he only spoke in service of Dami. And now he was picking out the pieces of her he liked most... she shivered. She hoped that was the end of what 'his passions' had to say about her sister's lips.

Ava snorted at the screen. “Girls, how do we feel about the world ending?”

“I’m sure Damiana could end the world if she wanted to,” Thelka opined from her ‘throne’.

“Killing it with kindness, maybe,” Winnie said. “Choose to not say anything, that way we’ll get her feelings on the matter.”

“You guys are being mean, of course I didn’t end the world! We’re still talking!” Dami protested.

“Don’t say anything.” Grace said, a sentiment echoed by Tabi.

“You are underestimating Dami, of course she could end the world! Have you seen her knit? If she thinks she can do it, she can.” Razor said.

“I would say yes to the world ending, but I want to know how you really feel. Say nothing,” Clara said, her eyes narrow behind the mask. Beast chuffed in agreement.

“I don’t think she could end the world.” Ava said. “But alright, we say nothing.”

On the screen, the woman chained looked away for a little while.

“I suppose that’s the best we could get,” Tabi sighed.

“At least we know Dami is a good person at heart, unlike some other people…” Winnie muttered.

“Was that ever in question?” the Quintet asked. “Pass me the candy.”

“No, but it’s good to have it confirmed.” Winnie passed the candy to them.

“Alright, time to rescue her!” Ava announced, pressing that option without a gram of hesitation.

“Dami,” Tabi said, slowly. “I love you, but if it’s that easy for you, I’m going to be very mad.”

Beside her, Dami tensed, which was all the answer she needed. “At me?”

“Not at you!” she was quick to say. “At fate, I suppose. At the narrator. At whatever was responsible.”

Damiana breathed in and out, her hair partially hiding her from view. “Okay. Okay, thanks for the warning.”

“I missed him. If there was any chance to see him again, I knew I had to stay there.” Dami explained.

The pit that opened in Tabi's stomach was not at all helped by the thing 'Dashing' chose to say next.

“He has a high opinion of himself, doesn’t he?” Grace said, munching on chocolate now that she had figured out how to stay solid enough to do it. “He’s completely convinced he’s a good person.”

Dami turned to her. “Isn’t he?”

“Maybe,” the spectre conceded, “But it’s still a dangerous mindset to have.”

Tabi did agree with that. In fact, she more than agreed with it. Somehow, the thing Smitten said was worse than Dami's answer; not that she cared for him to an unhealthy degree, understandable if worrying, but instead that she hadn't been given permission to leave? Was she seriously hearing that correctly?... And she didn't know what to think about any of the rabble afterwards. “I think Dashing lost it.”

“You did not pay attention to me before?” Thelka asked. “I told you, love makes the world do great things, terrible things. In his case, he loves so much he can make things happen.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, where’s the logic in that?!” Tabi turned to her fully.

“From the moment we knew there was a narrator, normal logic was thrown out of the window. Think more in story logic.”

“NO!” Tabi almost fell off her seat entirely when Dami shouted so loud her ear rang for a moment. Her eyes were wide, her hand gripping Tabi’s so hard it was painful. “I don’t want you to do that- I would never want you to do that! No matter what happens to me!”

“If the object of his devotion is lost, then it just stands to reason he would remove himself from the situation. That’s what followers do.” Thelka said beneath Damiana’s yells.

“He’s not a fo- I wouldn’t want him to do that!” Dami turned to her, eyes fierce.

Thelka was unimpressed. “Have you told him that?”

All at once, all the electric energy she seemed to possess went out of her. “No. I haven’t. I want him happy, and he wants me happy, so we don’t talk about before.”

“Then tell him, it’s that easy.” Winnie said.

“It’s not that simple!”

The scene changed once more, to depict the Princess being helped out of her shackle by the one rescuing her. The shackle went past her wrist like it was nothing.

“...are you kidding me?” Winnie gnashed her teeth. “That easy? I’m happy for you, Dami, but…”

“You’re jealous? That’s fine, I am too, a little.” Grace tried her best to comfort her. It didn’t quite work.

“I’m actually not mad,” Tabi blurted out, to her surprise. “I just wish that could have been me.”

“This seems too easy,” Ava pouted. “Where’s the conflict?”

“I’m with Ava here, where’s the bloodshed?” That came from none other than Razor.

“Your bird and mine could be friends,” Thelka blurted out. “They are surprisingly similar yet very different.”

“I think he’s friends with almost everyone in his group…” Damiana trailed off, unsure.

“At least this being so easy means we’ll get to see the narrator being annoyed.” The quintet smirked.

“Yes, the bossy one deserves it,” Grace said.

“I’m with Hero, I can’t believe it!” Tabi gaped at the screen, glaring like it had personally offended her. Had logic been thrown completely out the window? Why was Smitten more in control of the situation than the one who was acting with any semblance of rationality?

“Me neither. It’s just not fair!” Winnie grumbled, offering her some candy in solidarity. She took three and popped them in her mouth.

The screen changed slightly, the Princess without a shackle, smiling joyfully.

“Awww…” came from some at the image of the princess on the screen, smiling.

Ava turned to Dami and extended one arm. Damiana wasted no time lunging towards her, giggling at her one-armed hug.

“What? I have to play my role!” Ava laughed at Tabitha’s raised eyebrows.

The screen, once again, changed to the Princess standing there, hands clasped in front of her.

“‘Mister romance’, that’s a good one.” Winnie snickered.

“The narrator didn’t even try to take control this time,” Tabi noted.

“The fledging got new plumage, it won’t be that easy this time. Especially with the lovestruck fool there.” Beast opined.

“Damiana, a word of advice,” Thelka leaned in. “Stand taller next time, instead of asking what to do, just do it.”

“Good luck with that, I've been trying to teach her that for two months.” Tabi rolled her eyes, before smiling nervously at a scowling Damsel. “But you’re making great progress! I didn’t even think you could get angry when I met you!”

“Sorry, Dami, but I’m tired of ‘exploring’. Plus, you did want to leave, didn’t you?” Ava said.

Dami nodded happily as her screen counterpart said ‘That sounds perfect!”

Razor snorted at the change in screen, at the Princess and the rescuer holding hands. “Are sparks coming out of you? Why?”

“Why not?” the aforementioned woman countered, leaving Razor to ponder the ‘why’ indeed.

“This is more entertaining than some of the books here,” Clara said, eating popcorn… somehow.

“Plethora was right, watching him get mad is very entertaining.” Winnie smiled. Some of the Quintet smiled back.

“Braveheart is just along for the ride now.” Grace laughed.

“Aw, Dami, you look so happy!” Tabi said as the screen, once more, changed. Hand in hand, the two on the screen walking up the basement stairs towards their freedom. The smile the Princess on the screen had was mirrored by Damiana herself.

None of them scowled at the sight of the closed door and the Princess’ confused face. They just had a feeling.

“I don’t necessarily agree with the whole ‘love conquers all’ thing,” Tabi said, “But I can’t deny it gets things done in this situation.”

Ava barely glanced at the choice screen that popped up, asking if the door should be opened by the Princess, together, or by him. “Let’s do it together!” she grinned while the Princess on the screen agreed.

“She really leaned into the role, amazing,” Grace whispered to Winnie, who bit her lip to not laugh. Neither of them had been expecting that.

“HA!” Ava cheered as the screen depicted, first the door opening, then both of them out of the basement, finally. “You were right, that narrator could do nothing!”

“I told you, once a worm always a worm,” Thelka said with satisfaction.

“Like a pair of teenagers’... are we teenagers?” Tabi couldn’t help but ask.

“Do I look like a teenager to you?” Thelka sneered.

“Or I like a juvenile?” Beast joined in.

“How am I supposed to know?”

Razor smiled at the two choices, slaying the Princess or not. “Can we..?”

“I’d be expecting that, but this is Dami we’re talking about. I made her do my chores for the first week before Grace gave me an earful. She doesn’t deserve that,” Winnie said.

“But-”

“No,” surprisingly, it was Ava who said that.

Razor tilted her head in confusion. “I thought you of all people would be into that.”

“I said I was saving her and I will. Plus, it wouldn’t be a fair fight! No, we’re not doing that.”

“Guys, Dami is right here!” Tabi hissed at them.

“Just like you wanted, Dami,” Tabi felt the need to emphasize.

Without missing a beat, Ava jumped out of the couch, grabbed Damiana and lifted her into a bridal carry.

“Hey, Dashing said to sweep you off your feet, and I’m doing that!” Ava laughed.

“I don’t think that’s what it means!” Dami laughed too, giving her a kiss on the cheek. The room was dark, and Ava’s skin was pinker than hers, so she couldn’t be sure she blushed as she gave her a wide grin. Winnie whooped as yet another ‘Oooooh-’ went through the girls.

Tabi wasn’t joining in the celebrations just yet. There was something wrong with the image on screen. The background looked odd, and the Damsel looked tired.

“Ava, put her down. Dami, what else do you remember?”

The hulking woman sat back down and placed Damiana beside her.

“I think I must’ve fallen asleep right there. I don’t remember much else, to be honest.” Dami answered.

“You do look tired,” Clara agreed, looking critically at the screen.

“Where are the trees?” Winnie frowned, leaning in.

“It’s all shadow.” Grace said.

Nobody said anything. The Princess on the screen looked beyond exhausted, with deep bags under her eyes.

That’s what they saw before hands materialized out of nowhere as the Princess slumped into sleep, before retracting into themselves, taking her with them. And the world onscreen went black.

“What was that?!” Winnie jumped up, tail puffing as she almost hissed the words.

Dami wasn’t saying anything, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Something took you!” Tabitha gasped. What was that? Hands, yes, she could see, but how and from where? Where had they taken her sister and how was she brought back?

The dread that had taken hold of her from the very start of the Chapter held her tight in its palm now. But it was intensified, strengthened, by such an oddly familiar unknown. The cold... she couldn't recall anything beyond it, beyond a glimpse of the outside and a horrible numbing that ran through her body. Her memories fell away from her into a deep, empty abyss beyond that point; covered by a film she couldn’t peel away. She itched and scratched at it, searching for a place to pry herself open, but found nothing. Like it'd been scooped out, a blind spot in her psyche. It horrified her to realize she couldn't think about it at all, her mind skipping at the edges, like a roll of film with a whole section cut out. She didn't even remember falling asleep, like Damiana had. (God, she hoped that was sleep. It had to have been, right? She was here now. How did she wake up?)

“I don’t… what is this?” Razor, for once, wasn’t exuberant, wasn’t grinning.

“I don’t like this…” Thelka said, her eyes not leaving the screen.

The quintet stood in contemplation, faint recognition in their features.

Grace’s brow furrowed in thought, but she wasn’t saying anything, just gently floating to the floor, where she stayed.

Beast’s fur was on end, livid as she half-crouched and a growl tore out of her.

Ava frowned at the screen. She clicked again, only because she didn’t know what else to do. It wouldn’t be fixed by hitting something.

There were words on the screen, center aligned, not ones they had seen so far. And, in the center of the nothingness, a very familiar mirror.

“He’s terrified…” Clara said, and if Tabi didn’t know better she would have said the woman was enraptured.

The music, if it could be called that, was not helping their nerves any. It was less music and more a low, droning tone.

Dami was tense and Tabi wasn’t much better. What had happened and where were they now? She was worried about the fate of them. How they would get out of wherever this was, too.

“Poor man is scared. The least we could do is telegraph our intentions.” Ava said. “Maybe if we break it, he’ll feel better.”

“This is idiotic, I don’t want to look at that if they’re so scared. Even Dashing’s scared!” Ava sucked air between her teeth.

Tabi felt her heart going a steady 100 bpm. “I don’t think there’s another choice to be made.”

Ava’s shoulders slumped as she selected to approach the mirror. “I’m sorry…”

Ava winced, muttering apologies and silently indignant that the only choice in that situation was to ignore them.

“...did I just kill them? Permanently kill them? Why would they be silent now? What do you mean ‘gone’?” Ava was not taking this well, but she clicked once again, before Tabi could try to think of anything to comfort her. “I feel like I need to apologize for real.”

The reflection they saw was of a scaly hand hiding the features of a face, two white eyes shining from the darkness, and an ‘It’s you’.

“So this is the thanks he got for saving Dami? For saving me?” Tabitha couldn't believe it.

“I know we got different points of view here, but I think it was deserved with me,” Winnie finally seemed to get over her shock. “Can’t say this seems very fun…”

“There has to be a better reward for helping me ascend than just emptiness. I’ll make it so somehow.” Thelka said.

“What- Proceed To The Cabin?” Ava’s jaw dropped. “This again? Another cabin, another us? Where are the boys then?” she puzzled as she clicked the lone option.

The screen faded to reveal a sort of hill in the permanent nothingness, and in the very top they could see the old Damiana, inside of what appeared to be…

“Is that fire?!” Razor jumped. “Let’s get her out!”

“Something’s odd. The music changed once again.” Beast said, dropping back to her sofa. The music had indeed changed, a slow piano solo and a lone female voice accompanying it.

“Sounds like your singing, Thelka.” Grace tried to smile.

“This is not the cabin, why does it say ‘You’re at the cabin?‘” one of the Quintet said. The others had their eyes wide. Astonishment, realization, Tabi couldn’t say.

“Yes, ‘approach her’ indeed. Heroine in bloody armor, part two.” Ava clicked on that option so hard Tabi was scared for the poor mouse.

Somehow, what they found once the screen lightened once again was worse. The one who Damiana had been, trapped between they didn’t know how many hands. Two of them grabbing her arms, a few keeping her aloft, two covering her eyes, the last one moving her mouth to speak.

“Like a puppet,” Clara tilted her head, as if searching for the strings.

Tabitha shuddered. “A vessel? Dami isn’t a vessel!” she told the screen like it would answer her.

“She’s sleeping. Damiana was fine then, and is fine now.” Beast said.

“Does she look fine to you?!” Ava rounded on her.

“She looks like she’s sleeping, to me.” the chimera said.

“I hate having so many options. Why are there so many questions? I want to let her out and that’s it!” Ava glowered.

“I agree, let her out of there.” Winnie said.

“Don’t attack first, try talking. It could fight back- look at all those arms!” Tabi leaned forward.

“It’s not like birdface has the blade to slice through them either.” Razor agreed.

“Why does that thing sound like us?” Clara wondered.

“Because it’s using Dami’s mouth to speak?” Tabitha couldn’t believe that was an actual question.

“It’s not exactly her voice! It’s drowsier.” Clara argued.

“And that’s not Dami either.” Grace said, “I had my own body for company, and by now I want to think I know the difference between sleep and death. That body isn’t her anymore,” she stole an apologetic glance at Damiana. “And you know it, don’t you?”

Wordlessly, Damiana nodded. “I do. I had to see him die too.”

Tabi graced herself with five seconds to process the enormity of everything before going back to another point. “Dami isn’t a fragment of a concept, that’s insulting.”

“Whoever that thing is, she’s an ascended being. The little bird might be nothing more than an ant to her.” Thelka suggested, alternating between the being on the screen and everyone else.

“And she’s lying- or maybe she doesn’t know she’s lying,” Winnie conceded. “She said Dami and whoever that is couldn’t be separated… and here we are.”

“It doesn’t seem too bad, being there.” Damiana said. “It seems almost nice. Comfy, even.”

“I’ll still try to save you.” Ava promised.

Ava gaped at the screen, by some miracle of self control managing to not throw the mouse at the screen. “THAT’S BULLSHIT, Sleeping Beauty!”

Tabi turned to the resident spirit. “Do you think she’s like you? Incorporeal somehow?”

Grace didn’t even waste a single second. “Oh, yes.”

“Neither of them can harm the other?” Winnie wondered.

“Fine, she wins, let’s talk.” Ava grumbled. “This sucks! What’s a vessel?”

Damiana blinked, unsure what to feel about her descriptor. “Thank… you?”

Tabi was liking this less and less. “We’re not nerves and fibers, we’re people! And don’t give me that about her being a higher being, Thelka! This must have happened to you, too!” she whirled around to find Thelka only starting to open her mouth.

“That’s impossible.” she said instead. “Once you see me as I was you will understand why.” She did appreciate a good story and she was not about to spoil the most important part, her part in this.

“Why did she say Dami was molded?” Plethora wondered aloud.

“‘Do not mourn her’, oh my god we killed her,” Winnie went white. “She went out of the cabin and we killed her. The world dissolved and she died.”

“No, I don’t think she’s dead, if she’s a ‘perspective’ then it must be part of whatever this is.” Plethora opined.

“That’s not much better. I don’t see any traces of Dami there.” Grace objected. Tabi reached out to pull her back from phasing into the screen. Her hand went still with cold.

“I must be there somewhere. Teaching her to love, I think?” the delicate girl said. “So maybe not dead but… dreaming? Can the dead dream?”

“Yes they can.” Grace answered with a little sardonic smile.

“I still don’t like this.” Ava said.

Ava’s growl was such that most of the others looked at Beast first. “‘Bring me more women that I can devour so I gain their experiences!’ That’s what she's saying! Very trustworthy!” one of her hands balled into a fist.

“A creature of perception, huh..?” Tabitha wondered. That felt like a big piece of the puzzle, if they had all been originally intended to be just pieces of the whole (and god, if that didn’t make her want to be sick) and they were all so very different…

“Ava- no, don’t tell her that you’ll find a way to kill her, making her resent us is NOT a good idea!” Winnie jumped up and strayed the mouse from where it had been.

“The amount of times that ‘destroy your body’ has appeared worries me.” Tabi said as she watched Ava pick the option to ask how much they would forget. It was, all in all, a pretty good question.

“I think I should have expected that.” Razor said.

Without hesitation, Ava picked to make them forget.

Dami had been opening her mouth, possibly to reassure her that she was still there, but they all jumped with the exceedingly loud sound of broken glass.
“That was unnecessary!” Winnie said with a hand over her heart.

“Can’t say I’m too happy with what she said either. This is awful.” Grace said.

“I wasn’t expecting this.”was the only thing Clara said.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. They needed answers. And Tabitha doubted sleep would come.They wanted to know more about whatever events had brought them all together, and the one who had been present in each one, the one who could return after dying.

Who had conversed with a higher being.

Who had gotten everyone out.

Oh yes, they were very curious.

Smitten was not very good at keeping secrets from others. How could he, when his role in rescuing his Princess was only to feel? So, it stood to reason the first thing he did after receiving the strangest phone call of his life, would be to seek out another to tell him about it.

The Princesses had wanted space to discover this new world they had found themselves in, and Smitten could not fault them for that. Being human, having their own bodies, had taken some time getting used to. He did miss his feathers, truth to be told.

So, to receive a call that they wanted to meet up? All of them, not just his beloved? It was akin to the time he saw the sun for the very first time, and that was hard to top.

 As it was, he found someone soon enough, walking out of his room.

Hunched posture, larger than most of the others, black hair… yes, that had to be the one their decider referred to as the Voice of the Broken. Given the state of his hair, coming out of a nap.

He grinned. “Buenas tardes!” 

Only a few of them had the privilege of knowing more than two of their group at once. That is to say, Smitten had never met Broken in the path in the woods, had even berated their decider over the name he privately used for him - ‘Broken’ seemed like an insult and he was not about to use it- but he wondered the reason for it.

Aside from being down most of the time, he didn’t seem too bad. It would be better with time, Smitten was sure.

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when Broken seemed to deflate when seeing him and turn back around with a, “¿Qué tienen de buenas?”

“I have gotten news that will brighten that grim heart of yours, my friend!” Smitten smiled, not even faltering when Broken did stop walking back. “The ladies called to our dwelling a little while ago. They want us to go over there as soon as we can. All of us, if possible.”

Broken stopped so suddenly Smitten felt worry bubble and pop under his skin. “Not me, surely.”

“Surely, surely!” Smitten parroted back. Why was it so difficult to imagine? Their beloveds had to like all of them, even if they had unique ways of expressing said love.

Instead of answering, Broken changed course straight to the bathroom. Given that he left the door open, Smitten deemed it safe to follow. He would not make that mistake again, so he checked to save himself, and Broken, the embarrassment.

Broken was staring at himself in the mirror, so intensely it seemed to Smitten, for a moment, that his aim was to break it by his gaze alone. No, on closer inspection, he was not staring at himself, but at his beard, which he had been struggling to grow since they had gotten there.

“What troubles you so?” Smitten already knew, but he had been around the others enough to know it could not hurt to ask. “I happen to think that beard looks good on you, don’t try to set it on fire with a look.”

Broken frowned at him, and when Smitten didn’t redirect his attention somewhere else, sighed. “How is She supposed to know it’s me if I don’t look like myself?”

That was something he had not thought about. He went by the Princesses’ house a few times to keep his beloved company, and Stubborn did too in his own way, but if Broken had stayed there... “None of us look like we did before, that’s true, but,” he brightened, trying to get his companion to display at least some cheer, “I’m sure she will know it’s you in some way.”

Broken stroked his beard, his face a picture of ponderment. Progress! He was getting through to him! “She can read minds…”

Smitten had prided himself in knowing nothing in his life had taken him off guard so far. This was the moment that pride ended. What did that mean?! “...so she will know it’s you!”

“Or by my name.” Broken interrupted, still focused more inwards that outwards.

Smitten pounced on the opportunity to change the subject. “You’ve decided on a name already?”

Broken nodded, and Smitten wondered if what he saw deep in his eyes was a certain amount of pride. “Borja. She will know the meaning. And it starts with ‘B’.”

“I have to think of one soon…” Smitten had too many options at his disposal, but he knew he had to be quick, lest 'Smee' become his actual name in the eyes of the others.

He had not minded when it was a mere nickname, but he did take offense now thanks to that movie they had watched a few days ago. Smee was the name of a villain! An incompetent villain!

“You know, I’m starting to think…”

“A miracle has taken place.” Smitten might not be the best at reading the room - everyone had their faults - but even he could tell that was not meant for him to hear.

So he did not call it out.

Just as he thought he would, Bro- no, Borja said aloud a different thing. “We are the lucky ones, huh?”

Smitten jolted out of his thoughts. He had never seen the taller man call himself ‘lucky’, or any other kind of positive adjectives. Perhaps his words of encouragement had born fruit! “Whatever do you mean, my friend?

“Most of the others said their Princesses weren’t good to them,” Borja explained, giving up on his beard so far. “You and I were happy with them, no matter the odds against us.”

Smitten smiled widely. This was unexpected but not unwelcome! He had his doubts whether helping Borja out of the murky depths of despair was possible, but there was his proof that he should not give up! Clearly, time away from the woods had done him good.

“That’s the spirit! All of us were against incredible odds, but we persevered, did what we had to do, got the Princess saved and got our happy ending!”

“Do you really think so?” Borja was looking at him from the mirror. “We did what we had to do?”

“Our companions would tell you the same thing!” he said firmly.

Right, Smitten had to tell the others about this. He went back to the hallway, leaving Borja with his thoughts. At least he had convinced him to go.

From the window, he could see two of the ex Voices making their way back to the house. Smitten peered down; long blond hair, an absolutely magnificent beard, built like a tank- that one was Stubborn, or Gonzalo as he had chosen to be called. Gonchi for friends.

Smitten was very supportive of his quest for self-improvement, but challenging Hunted to a run was not it. Seeing the wardrobe of a man pale, sweaty and with trembling limbs had been something he would have deemed an imposibility a while ago. Hunted had said it was because he forgot to 'pace himself' and wanted to do too much, too quickly.

And the other person, lanky, black hair slicked back- oh. Smitten didn’t know what was about Cold… he hated him?

It could be how the other Voice was allergic to feelings, it seemed. Smitten could not understand not feeling everything to the fullest. He didn’t do apathy. It just was not in his nature to do anything of the sort. And. Besides. It was very unsettling. Not feeling anything at all.

It might be that his smile was too sharp to be actually kind.

Perhaps it was the way he riled up others on purpose. He had heard him say very unkind things to Ciro and Borja-- and in the latter’s he had jumped to his defense because everyone knew Borja would just accept it!

Voices got around. He had heard through the rumor tea mill that attempting to do that to Hunted had been why Cold had been taken to the hospital a month prior. He couldn’t say it was not deserved.

Interested, he tried to overhear their conversation.

“The end of curiosity is the first step toward death.”

“You’re halfway there then!” Gonzalo was saying- his voice was a lot louder now that they were not sharing a body. “You’re a first-class sloth!”

“Hospital’s orders,” Cold replied blandly.

“You healed by the third day and you know it! You just sit around doing nothing of value!”

“So?”

“Being lazy is the worst thing you can be!” a bit over dramatic and self-centered, but Smitten could see his point. They were trying to make this work.

“So is being envious. Why are you getting on my case when Connie cheated on his match against you the other day?”

They had already gone inside the house by then, but Smitten could clearly hear an indignant exclamation.

Oh, no. Oh, no.

Smitten sprinted, but before he could reach the area where the bedrooms were located, he could hear what followed. Did nobody in this house have the decency to lock doors? Gonzalo was advancing towards Connie, who looked about ready to hide in his scarf if that was an option.

“YOU CHEATED?!” Gonchi was roaring. 

“I-“

“You incredibly stupid-“

“W-“

“Completely fucking DENSE-“

“Gon-“

“MIND-ADDLED IDIOT-“

“Well I-“

“FOR A MATCH?! I COULD’VE KILLED YOU!”

“No, you couldn’t have.”

“YES I COULD HAVE! CONNIE, Connie! WHAT am I going to DO with you?!” Gonzalo grounded out desperately, making to shake his head until something clicked. 

Smitten knocked once on the doorframe, announcing his presence. In the next blink, Connie was next to him, relief pouring out of him in waves.

“Smee, I’m so glad you’re here-” Connie smiled, finally letting the lower half of his face out of that plaid pink-and-black scarf. “Tell Gonzalito I won’t do it again, he won’t believe me-”

Smitten gave him a look that made him shrink before putting himself between the two. Before, he wouldn’t even twitch at yet another instance of being called by that nickname, but he was getting tired.

“My friends, we need to meet up in the living room. It’s an emergency.”

“I already voted for banning Skeptic from the kitchen and I won’t change it.” Gonzalo cut him off.

Smitten blinked. Skeptic’s meals were fine, a bit too reliant on garlic, however. “What? No, that is not it. The Princesses invited all of us to their home today.”

“What?” the other two said in unison, before Gonzalo broke his momentary stillness with an overjoyed, “YES!”

Smitten called to his retreating back, “Is it too much to ask for one of you to help spread the news?”

He hoped Gonchi would tell the others downstairs, if they were there. He was so glad when Connie volunteered with nary a fight. They went together to the closest bedroom they could find, the one that belonged to Quiet. The threads that tied them together weren't really pointing there, but it was good to check.

The room was… surprisingly bare and lonely. Shadows threw themselves over the room as though reaching out in worship, pooling over ragtag sheets, turning them almost gray. No Quiet, no knickknacks, nothing. It was as if sound had gone to die there- as if the world was holding its breath. 

“Does he own enough to leave lying around?” Smitten wondered aloud. Did he have to have a talk with his friend about valuing himself?

“It was certainly fuller when I slept here,” Connie said absently.

“When you what?” Smitten repeated testily, voice a little high.

“Nightmares,” Connie answered simply. “What I went through with my princesses was… disturbing, the bladed one too. Sometimes he needs a little help in knowing what’s real.”

Going to the hospital had been an issue, the way they asked for papers and proof of identity to someone who had nothing of the sort. They had thought he should be referred to a pediatrician. Quiet did not look like a teenager, did he?

His hand throbbed with every beat of his heart. Hero (or Hiro, or Nando, or whatever he ended up choosing as his name) kept stealing concerned looks at him. Almost touched the threads tying them together, like Quiet couldn't feel the worry regardless. But those things were good. They kept him grounded.

It had been his fault. Most of the time, he would try to brave through the nightmares on his own, but the intensity of them had crept up on him so slowly he could not pinpoint when was the moment realized he could not do it on his own. After a few sleepless nights, he had chosen to go to one of his friends for comfort.

Connie and his masterful ability to distract him from his thoughts, Gonchi who had told him that whatever happened he could call for him, Hero who had been his first choice. The night before, after waking up dreaming, he had thought of going to Cheated. Maybe he had gotten disoriented in the dark or his subconscious had played tricks on him, but he had ended up accidentally knocking on Cold’s door instead.

He knew nothing could faze Cold, but he had looked like he had been expecting him. Perhaps even happy that he had chosen to knock on his door, though that might be wishful thinking. Cold had not asked a single question, had led him back to his room, had laid down with him.

Quiet did not even have time to open his mouth. An awful fog drifted over his thoughts, the face of the man in front of him losing focus in his eyes.

Something he did... something he did to him. Something Quiet had asked him to do, after a nightmare. Something only he could do, his job, really. His memories had started to feel vague, distant.

A few times, he felt sure he remembered something, only then he would begin to think of it, and it was like viewing it through a foggy mirror, a sense of detachment permeating the pictures in his head, and he would feel nothing... nothing about any of it.

The lids of his eyes had felt so heavy. Thoughts formed and broke in his head. Could not focus. Could not hold on to anything. Things stopped making sense after that.

He couldn’t remember what had happened before he fell asleep. He couldn't remember what had happened when he woke. He had been alone. He knew that. He felt like he was frozen from the inside out. He knew that.

The first semi coherent thought had been that he couldn’t stay there any longer. He had managed to pick up some of his stuff and moved them to Hero’s room. Hero spoke to him, but his voice sounded far away. He could see his mouth moving, but the words were faint, detached. Like they were coming from someone else.

He still tried to function, drifting through that fog, helping with the cooking, when he had cut his hand all along the flesh bridging his thumb and pointer finger, all the way to the tip. With the edge of a can. It cut through the fog, too.

The kitchen had resembled a murder scene (he knew, he had starred in many of those), and Oli had fainted seeing so much blood. Hence, the hospital.

It had been his fault, really.

His hand throbbed. Maybe the doctor who had stitched him up was a pediatrician, he had no idea of what age he looked like. They had fled, yes, but not before the doctor asked a few too many questions. Possibly because he had scar tissue in areas that should have killed him. And they did, for the thousandth time.

He had matching scars with Ciro and that would have been cause for concern alone. A line over his neck, from the Prisoner. A few burns, some from fire, some from acid. A gruesome knotted line cutting him in half. No scans on bones, but he would not be surprised if some had not healed right.

His chest, though he had not shown it, was a mess from when Broken had the blade, and there were starbursts over his heart, courtesy Smitten and Spectre, once upon a never. Had it truly happened if only he could remember it?

Feathers, as it turned out, could hide a lot.

“Is it bad that I’m happy?” Quiet said it so low Hero could have pretended to not hear it. He did that sometimes, redirecting his thoughts using his threads if he wanted others to not hear. It was useful to have private conversations, and to notify Paco and Hunted so they would not be startled if he suddenly entered a room.

Of course, this time he could not be as lucky.

“About what?” Hero turned his head so fast his high ponytail almost smacked him.

Quiet stared at him for a moment, words failing him. Afraid of shaping an idea into existence, of making it real.

“The wound?” Hero prompted, so gently Quiet had to break eye contact. His hand was stitched. Black thread cut through the flesh.

“It's the first one that's normal.” The first one not from Her.

They had won, in the end, their stance against the Princesses. Or it was more like a tie. Something like that. They were out of the woods, at the very least. And after the win, they had to keep going. Life went on.

Cheated tugged at his hair, willing it to grow faster. It was too short for his tastes and he swore it grew slowly just to annoy him.

He was seated on one of the couches, trying his hardest to make a rubix cube work. Skeptic (had he, in the end, chosen a name? Sherlock? Harry?) was with his nose deep in a book, glasses almost slipping from his face. He would barely be aware of his surroundings unless someone took it away from him. He knew, he had checked.

What was more unusual was Hunted right next to him, also reading. As far as he knew, Hunted did not read, but he had found that particular book and had not been able to put it down.

They clashed, in the beginning. Hunted too scared and instinctive, Cheated trapped in that melody of violence and all too willing to strike before being struck first. He was glad life went on.

“Avellano.”

Ciro blinked, doing his very best to repress a snort. “That’s a tree. Why are you naming yourself after a tree? Why are me and Paquito the only ones with good naming skills?”

“Thanks, Ciro.” the ex Voice of the Paranoid said from the kitchen. Right, that was his name now. He still had to get used to it.

“Call me Hazel, then. It’s not after a tree, it’s after the protagonist of this book- and it would be too much to call myself El-ahrairah.”

Ciro had been about to ask what that one meant, when he saw the way Hunted tensed and his eyes drifted from his book, to the door. Ciro positioned himself to the right of Hunted. Paco was too far away to notice. If he had, he too would move behind them, eyes, as always, hauntingly wide.

(It was a rhythm at that point, one the three of them know by heart.)

“Are we talking about names?” Cold made his appearance known at the same time Hunted stood to leave.

Now, Ciro could not blame him, he would follow as soon as he could get away from this tricky thing called ‘social interaction’. “Finally decided on one?” he asked, because there was no way he could get away with calling himself ‘Cold’.

“Atanasio.” Cold said with such confidence one could have been forgiven for thinking it was his actual name.

Laughter burst out of him. Was he serious? “What the fuck? That doesn’t sound remotely from here. Pick something else.”

“I don’t see anyone getting on Hero’s case over his name, hey Cold,” Skeptic interrupted from his book. “Nor mine. How does ‘Harry’ sound like?”

“Hey, Skeptic.”

“Hero will pick one eventually and you really shouldn’t pick literature names,” Ciro went to tug at his hair in exasperation before he remembered it was too short for that. “At least read books in the local language.”

“Ambrosio.”

And with that it was obvious all criticism Ciro could make would not be acknowledged. “Same bullshit as the last one, seriously?”

“Caín.”

“That sounds like you’d kill us at the first opportunity…” Cheated’s - Ciro’s, gods, he would have to get used to that - grin slipped out of his face when he realized Cold’s expression did not indicate he was joking. He grappled with the implication like one would a bar of soap.

He had the urge to back up without taking his eyes off him-- that was Hunted’s influence, he was sure. Instead, Ciro went straight to the kitchen, where Paco wa- why did it look like Paco trying to hide the fact he committed a murder?

“Paquito, I’ll sleep with a fork under my pillow tonight,” he said as a way of greeting. “Got any you haven’t used?”

Paco offered him a kitchen knife without looking up from the ones he was washing. “A knife’s better. Take mine. I’ll grab another.”

Ciro opened his mouth to say he preferred to keep away from knives for the time being, then the last two sentences registered. “...you sleep with a knife under your pillow.”

Paco looked at him like he didn’t know how the world worked. “Yes? The question is, why don’t any of you?”

“I’ve had enough of blades for a lifetime. Make it several lifetimes.”

“I didn’t do this,” Paco groused, eyes even more striking from the depths of his eye bags. “Quiet cut himself and hand wounds bleed a lot.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ciro sighed, before he perked up. “Che Paco- Paquito- you know pretty much everything that goes on here, no?”

The ex-Paranoid kept washing a cup. “Somehow the others think that giving me information is going to make me want to keep making tea for everyone… so yes.”

Ciro leaned in. “So, are you going to tell me what did Frosty do to make Hunted- sorry, Ave, of all people fuck him up?”

“Whatever it was, to make Hunted wail on him must have been pretty bad-” Paco stuttered once he saw Cold, Caín, whatever his name was on his way upstairs, and switched. Not their fault the other Voice was too disinterested to learn. “Pero sí sé porqué lo tuvieron que hospitalizar,” he leaned in as well and lowered his voice. “Parece que tenía el escroto desgarrado.”

Ciro’s hand spasmed as a cold sweat started forming on his forehead. “La puta madre que la re parió… ¿literalmente le rompió las bolas?” Before that Connie-like feeling of mischief left him, he raised his voice, “Ave, por favor, casate conmigo.”

He was rewarded by a wheezy laugh from somewhere in the house, “I’d rather not!”

Ciro blinked as Paco tried to drown his own laughter with the sound of washing. “You didn’t have to answer that fast!”

Gonchi saved him from making even more of a fool of himself. He soon wished he hadn’t.

The one who was an Opportunist in all but name did not want to answer the knock on his door, but did it anyway because it was a rare enough occurrence. He was not moving from his bed, they could talk with the door between them.

“I just sat down to read this book, it’s fantastic. What?”

‘Fantastic’ was subjective, sure, but it was fantastic to him.

“Hi Oli. You’re reading a duology and you’re at a part where they use butter as lube, it’s bound to be as well written as it is sanitary.”

“What the fuck, where are you?!” the ex-Opportunist whirled around, trying to spot him, how else would he be able to read over his shoulder? “And the dialogue and setting are very realistic, thank you very much.” Not much else was, but that was not the point.

“Of course, that's why you’re reading it: the plot. And how true to life it is, huh?” Connie’s snort was blocked by the sound of Oleander shuffling around his room to try to find him. He felt spiteful enough to check the trash can.

“It’s some sort of handwritten sci-fi novel.”

“’Some sort’, don't give me that, we both know you read all of it, Oli.”

“You WROTE all of it! What, my friend writes a full book coming up with ways to use feathers I never, and I mean never would have thought of and I am supposed to not read it? I had to hide it so many times. How did you know so many of those terms?”

“You know, you could have asked me before you took it. Did I really write it if no one will ever believe you?”

“Yes, and they will know the truth of my words once they realize it’s written how you speak. Listen, stop pausing the sex scenes to go over whatever other characters are doing, it really takes the reader out of the mood,” Oleander sighed and stood up from looking under the bed.

“While waiting for the butter to cool, or all things, Vicente started–”

The scream Oleander let out was almost high enough to break glass. “ Honestly where the fuck are you and how can you see what I’m reading.”

“It’s a secret!”

“¡Secreto en reunión es mala educación!” Oleander wanted to slam his head into the table. “Okay, what do you want?”

There was silence behind the door that did not make him feel good. Very much the opposite. Oh no.

“Whatever it is, it’s not good, huh?”

“Not really at all, but there is an interesting ending. And well, it isn’t actually over yet, more like the continuation of someth–” the rambles were starting up.

Anything that could make Contrarian go quiet like that was cause for worry. There was a pecking order, sure, but even he had to admit Connie could be useful for easing the mood. “This isn’t about her, is it?”

“Got it right in one. Smee got a very weird call a while ago and we are trying to get everyone here before we do anything. Just get down there fast before Quiet does or Gonzalo explodes. Whichever comes first. Probably the explosion. Paco is stress-baking so many cookies.”

“What kind?”

“Snowball with caramel bits.”

 Oli ran out of the room so fast he almost tripped.

“Going to the house of the people that killed us over and over? Pero ‘tamos todos locos, no!” Paco made his stance very clear, half-perched on his seat. There were two chairs unoccupied.

“I agree,” Avellano nodded, “Going where they have the advantage, knowing even one of them would be enough to kill us? That’s suicide.” 

Smitten sighed, “I don’t know what most of you went through, but the Princess- the Rival, to be more specific, told me she would not let any harm come to us. She would not lie about that!”

“I’m not even sure she can lie. She was very direct with me…” Gonchi added. None of them had to ask him for his opinion, he was practically vibrating.

“They want to see us, we need to see them,” was all Borja had to say in the matter, slouched as he was. There was a fanatical glint in his eyes that made some of the others pause, unused to such a vibrant display from the normally dour Voice. “I’ve waited for permission all this time. It would have been rude,” and then he leveled a glare at Smitten and Stubborn, “To barge in without an invitation.”

"There's no need for permission!"

“Sure, let’s all go back to the ones that killed us over and over! That’s how you sound like! Real compelling stuff!” Ciro glowered, and would have advanced towards Borja if Smitten had not prevented him.

“They’re all expecting us to go, so we can just… not go.” Connie shrugged. “Imagine their faces if we don’t show up. It’s not like they know where we live, do they?”

“It’s bound to be interesting. What could they want from us? You have left me very curious,” Caín was lounging in his chair like one would a throne.

“I’m with him,” Oli said, which, big surprise, “They called all of us for something, they need us for something. If anything, that’s leverage we can use.”

“I can’t speak for anyone’s experiences, but I don’t think it would hurt to try. Worst case scenario, we escape.” Skeptic said. “There’s something weird with this, and I want to find out what.”

“I don’t want to die again, why’s that so hard to understand?!”

“We should give them a chance!”

“Why should we?!”

“Because maybe they want to make amends, ever thought of that?!”

"It's a trick, I tell you!"

A cacophony of noise, the likes of which Ciro had already expected, based on past experiences. Nobody listening to anyone, wanting to make their voice heard. How had they resolved that last one, again? It was not something he knew how to do without relying on-

A very loud clap reverberated in the room, at the same time their threads vibrated, instantly silencing everyone. Oh, Ciro had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that the one with self preservation instincts would win and nobody would have to mention it to Quiet. He did not deserve to be dragged back to whatever the Princesses wanted with them. He had not discussed it with Ciro yet, but he could draw some conclusions based on the scars.

Ten pairs of eyes turned to the door. Quiet was there, having clapped to silence them, as he had learned to do in lieu of making them forcibly shut up. Cheated winced when he saw the stitches- that must hurt. Hero had taken his seat at some point with no one noticing.

“What’s going on?”

The day had started bad enough.

He had known something was wrong with their decider from the moment he looked at him. There had been a hollowness to his eyes, a death. Less like it was Quiet and more like a marionette; a stiff facsimile of a person tugged along by forces he could not hope to understand. Hero had tugged on his threads and Quiet didn't tug back.

He'd gone through the motions of life like a performance. Hero did not need the wound to see it. All he could do was hope that the day was a good one, but of course luck decided to spite him.

Hero had been hoping that the reappearance of Quiet would have restored things to something resembling order, but soon found out it was a pipe dream. What thing could surge from the question other than another cacophony? 

“We were-” Cold started, and Ciro struck.

“Don’t mind Frosty, we can solve disagreements without you two, you know?” Ciro smiled, clapping a hand over Cold’s mouth and shaking him a little at that last part, a dangerous warning bite to his joking tone that even Hero could pick up on that said ‘shut up or I will kill you.’ His tense posture was not doing him any favors. “There’s really nothing to worry ab- AY!” Ciro jumped back from Cold as if he was burned. “You bit me?!”

“You wouldn’t let go,” Cold shrugged, and Hero honestly did not know what was wrong with the others that they would just sidestep it neatly. "Never call me that again."

“The Princesses invited us to their residence today, we were discussing whether or not we should,” Skeptic cut in.

Hero didn’t process the words at first, he was more focused on the fact that Quiet had gone very, very still.

“That-“ Ciro spluttered, starting over and over again, “That- you just- as- without even-?! How was-?! You can’t-!”

“Take a breath and use your words.”

Use his words he did, as usual. “What the FUCK? La concha de la lora, how fucking stupid do you have to be? What part of that sounds like  ‘nothing to worry about’?! I’ll tell you what there is to be fucking sorry about. The princess inviting you over so she can find some way to chop you up until you’re a pile of meat ribbons!”

“She won’t-” Gonchi rolled his eyes. “Ciro just said that like it was a given! But he doesn’t know! Don’t think about it, that’s worked for us before!”

“Why are you trying to convince him? I know I’m going regardless.” Cold said.

Paco turned to him slowly. “Are you saying we split up- Are you out of your mind?!”

Hero knew he couldn't draw much attention. That's what his threads were for.

(worry) Still with me?

(anxiety) (weightlessness) Yes.

That was the reply. It was faint, and Quiet was shrinking back in a way that he shouldn’t be. Something in his eyes seemed to be almost phasing out, backing away. “No. No way we’re going.”

His tone was final, decisive. It was not met with silence.

“Boss, we put it to a vote-” Oli started to rise from his seat.

“You don’t count,” Quiet countered, voice still not quite normal but dear god did it try to be.

Cold rose from his seat. “This is going nowhere. I’m going. If you want to go, I’ll be at the door in half an hour.”

He did not pause his strides out of the room as the other occupants in it made even more noise. Hero didn’t even hear the doors closing. His ears were ringing.

“-ight, you’re not the one making the decisions anymore…” Oli was saying, straightening up in his seat to his full height.

“So what, you can just override me now?!” and there it was, a sudden burst of energy. 

“They want us to see them, clearly they still have affection for us,” Smitten started, before glancing at Ciro, whose disfigured visage gazed right back with barely concealed fury, “...deep down.” 

The smile that graced Quiet’s lips was not a nice one. “You’re insane, Smitten. You’ll make the others crazy too.”

For a moment, nobody moved, wanting to see who would make the next move.

“Smee wouldn’t be so in love with anything that was inherently harmful. He just wouldn’t,” Skeptic rose his hands up in defense, tone conciliatory.

“Yes, he would,” Quiet argued, with a bite in his voice, “It’s in his nature. He loves without restraint or care.”

Quiet’s statement made everyone go silent. Ciro and Connie glanced at each other.

“They want us there, they want our company,” Broken, of all people, spoke up. “We did what we had to do before. You know what’s insane, decider, to keep going like thi-”

“Borja.” Quiet’s voice cut down like a knife, and Hero wondered how and when did Quiet know the Voice’s new name.

Broken hesitated and looked away. A second later, he looked back up. “If we keep at this, they won’t want to be around us anymore. And that will be worse. What if they need us? You’re not thinking.”

“Borja,” was the only thing Quiet said, louder. “You don’t need her approval anyway, you know you’re better than this.”

“Let’s look at the fact we have now,” Skeptic said, and irritation made its presence known in Hero’s chest. Being a mediator was his job, what was he doing? “Gonchi and Smitten have gone to see their girls a few times and nothing has happened to them. Why wouldn’t I want to see the missus?”

It was like a skip in animation. One moment, Quiet was looking at Skeptic, hearing him talk, watching him push his glasses back, the next he had turned his whole body around in the opposite direction, grabbing the armrest as if about to stand. “Did he now?”

Hero placed his hand on Quiet’s shoulder at the same time Smitten sat ramrod straight, confusion clear as day on his face. Why would he be angry with Smitten, of all people? Wasn’t it obvious in hindsight that he would do his own thing, especially concerning the Princess? Maybe he should have talked about it with Quiet, but now he had to prevent him from lunging.

Skeptic took a breath. “Sorry, with all due respect...”

Quiet almost hissed out the words. “With all due respect you shut up and listen to me!”

Hero retracted his hand. And there was silence, so sudden it pressed in the ears. And there were the others shutting up, standing to attention, because they were their own people but there had been a sort or hierarchy, once.

"I remember more than all of you," Quiet finally said, leaning back down. "And if any of you were to go where they are, alone... it could hurt. More than anything in the world. You could hurt each other, too."

Quiet was a wholly different creature with the dark devotedly passing around him. Gold slashed down his neck by the turned on lights, making sunbeams out of it. The dark swallowed the light in up his face, every feature pointing towards Hero. He looked at Hero like he was the only thing in the world.

“Look, I know I’m not the one who makes the decisions anymore,” he started softly. “And my word doesn’t count for much, and you can make your own choices-“

Hero did not take his eyes off of him, disturbed. He could feel it, the change.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Quiet spoke slowly, as if trying to drive the meaning in. The whole room seemed to hold their breath, as if held in time by Quiet's gravity.

Hero looked back into his eyes, matching his seriousness. He looked older all at once, a sliver of what the other voices suspected went through showing for a moment. “I want you to swear to me what you’re telling me is true.”

Quiet did not hesitate even a moment. “I swear it’s true."

Hero felt concern swelling in his heart. So he had been right. He accepted it as fact without another thought. Something about it broke the spell, made time pass again. “Then I believe you.”

“What… just happened?” Oli was frowning, hesitant all of a sudden.

"What?" Quiet frowned in turn.

“Did you do something?" Paco interjected.

Quiet turned his head towards him, no longer a powerful presence but a merely confused one. “...No?”

Ciro was already shaking his head. “You did, something happened just now-“

Gonchi chuckled, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what that was, but it did feel nice,” Connie put his arms up as if to surrender. Hero looked around at all of them, confused.

“Look, you just saw it happen- did Quiet's eyes glow, or made something appear out of thin air? No. It was just a conversation. What’s wrong with you all?”

“Oh, you felt it,” Ave said lowly, the merest trace of a smile on his lips.

Skeptic panted, regretting his choice of leaving with a heavy backpack, of all things. Maybe it would be worth it in the end, but right now the weight of it was making him reconsider.

It had to rain soon, that level of heat at that time of the year foretold nothing but storms in the horizon. But right then, it was a nice day, the sun trying to turn them into shrimps notwithstanding. Not a cloud in the sky, birds flying, insects buzzing around. Far behind them, houses that indicated the beginning of the slow trickle of population towards a city.

It was logical nobody had wanted to settle too close to people until they mastered the art of actually being people. And they still weren’t too good at it, Skeptic would know.

“So, where is the house, Smee? I don’t think you told us,” Oleander said, already starting to sweat in his short sleeved shirt. Which served him right, he had insisted on going where the sun hit, and now they were all paying the price.

“Follow your heart, my friend, and you’ll arrive without me having to say anything,” Smitten proclaimed.

“...what?”

Skeptic glanced longingly at the cluster of trees that he could see on the other side of the road. Cold apparently got both the same idea and was bored of having the sun pelting his back and crossed the road, narrowly avoiding getting hit and nearly giving Skeptic a heart attack.

“Guys-” Borja started to chime in, thwarting Skeptic’s attempt to walk under his shadow so the sun wouldn’t hit him.

Stubborn snorted out a laugh. “We’ll find it eventually, come on.”

Maybe he could stand a few more minutes under the sun, yes. If only because he did not want to die like that.

“We’re going the right way, yes?” he heard Borja ask Smitten, “You were joking about following your heart?”

Smitten’s face was very serious indeed for half a second, before it broke into a grin. “I was, yes. Don’t call me ‘Smee’ and we won’t have any problems.”

A sharp whistle absolutely pierced his ears. Snapping his head up, he saw Caín removing his fingers from his mouth after whistling one more time for good measure. But that was not what got his attention. It was the two women that were with him. One pale haired, one a dirty blonde, and Skeptic knew who the last one was.

…How? Did he have a princess-homing-device?

One good thing about crossing the street as a group: either all of them would die, or all of them would make it to the other side. Luckily for him, the latter ended up happening. Smitten was already being hugged within an inch of his life by the petite Princess- that looked on the edge of painful, honestly. The shopping bags the two had been carrying were forgotten.

“...Dashing, I presume?” Skeptic’s once-upon-a-time missus asked, looking for all in the world like she would hurl the shopping bag on Smitten’s head. He internally recoiled when he looked at her in the eyes.

Smitten extricate himself from the hug, stars practically shining in his eyes, “Is that referring to me?”

The fair-haired one looked away, “Tabi, please, I call him that once…”

Tabi. Short for Tabitha? Skeptic committed that to memory immediately. He lowered his bag, but before he could say anything Oleander put himself in front of him.

“Are you the Princesses?” Now, Skeptic could only see the back of his brown hair, but he could imagine the kind of smile he was making. Or trying to make. “Name’s Oleander, Oli for short. The one who found you is Caín,” the man inclined his head, “You already knew Smee,” Smitten did an actual twitch at that, “This one is Skeptic, still doesn’t have a name,” he would have to think up a name and soon, “This one is Borja,” Oli tried to give the tallest member of their group a pat on the shoulder, but couldn’t quite manage it. “And-”

“I can introduce myself, Oli. Gonzalo, I’m Ava’s…” the blond trailed off, clearly looking for a word that encompassed what he felt.

“Beloved?” Smitten suggested.

“No,” Gonchi cut that in the root. “...I’m Ava’s.” he finished simply. “You invited all of us?”

“I’m Damiana, and this is Tabitha,” the one with fair hair finally introduced them.

Tabitha was scanning them, “I thought we extended the invitation to everyone. Was Ava not clear?”

“Some of us couldn’t appreciate the opportunity you gave us,” Oli cut in smoothly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m a guy who likes to keep his options open, but I really want to know what I’m dealing with here-”

“Not until everyone’s here. It’s important.” 

“They’re not-” Oli insisted.

“We’ll wait for them.” Tabitha interrupted. “We aren’t ready yet, anyway. We brought stuff to eat for when you get there- you guys do like chocolate?”

Among the sea of nods, Borja rose up, “Does She remember me?”

Tabitha hesitated, fiddling with her bag and looked at him in all his tall not-glory. A smile threatened to take over her features all of a sudden, “Are you the one Thelka says was a ‘little bird’?”

Now that Skeptic thought about it, Borja could be really intimidating if he rose up to full height like he was doing now.

Gonzalo finally seemed to have reached the end of his patience, “I’ll go back and get the others-”

“Wait!” Skeptic jumped up, “They already didn’t listen to us before, you should take someone to make a difference! ….Damiana, maybe? I’m sure they’ll answer better to her than to me.”

Smitten bristled, “Excuse me?!”

“Logically, Damiana seems like the most harmless of the two, and Gonchi is the one with the longest legs, they’ll be here quicker,” Skeptic blinked, “Sorry, forgot myself. Damiana, would you like to..?”

“Yes!” Damiana blurted out, a huge grin on her face, quite possibly not even noticing Smitten’s bewildered expression. Tabitha took the bag she had been carrying with nary a word, and the others settled against the shadows of the trees as both man and woman turned back, one practically skipping.

“I could have gone with her,” Smitten grumbled, mind still stuck in the ‘processing’ stage. He relied a bit too much on his feelings, in Skeptic’s opinion.

Skeptic wasted no time in pushing his bag into Tabitha’s arms, “I thought you’d like these. Detective and crime novels, I don’t know if you have read them but.. I couldn’t put them down.”

The woman blinked as she examined the contents of the faded green bag, a small smile making its way on her face. “I’m not familiar with most of these- why are there so many books? Your back!”

“I’ll be fine,” Skeptic smiled, tucking a hair behind his ear. It was really hot, even in the shade.

“Are you okay?” Borja interrupted.

Skeptic cursed him internally when he made her smile disappear. That was before she started talking, “Do you know where two women could get someplace to live alone? There’s been some comments from the other girls… I don’t feel safe, and then there’s the disappearances…”

Smitten’s head snapped up, eyes full of concern.

“Disappearances?” Caín leaned in from where he was almost laying down on the grass, eyes almost shining with interest. “Do tell me more.”

Skeptic nodded. He had heard something about it. "Something about it being too many people for being an exodus of runaways."

Tabitha smiled. “What else have you found out?”

He leaned in anticipation. “What is there to find?”

“That depends on what you’re looking for.”

“I’m looking for the truth," and wasn't that the point, always?

"Good. So am I."

Paco and Quiet looked like two peas in a pod, a few nervous mannerisms imitated between themselves subconsciously. It had been bad enough than more than half their flock had decided to take flight, but the waiting was almost the worst part.

Connie had been squeezing his scarf so many times by now, Hero was surprised it was still in one piece. “They will be fine, rage-boy can get them out of anything.”

“What if it’s not the Princesses?” Hero couldn’t help but ask, “What if it’s the Shifting Mound, somehow?”

“¡Salud!” Connie said at once. He couldn’t help but treat her mention like a sneeze, a small blaspheme in return for every time she was made a deity. “I doubt it. We left with her heart, she shouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“When this goes sideways, it’s on you!” Quiet called out to them from the other side of the room. Connie winced just a bit.

“I might’ve told Quiet that he has to have more than stagnation and a bit of change in him. Narrator, being himself, probably omitted what else he controls so Quiet can't control it.”

Hero raised his eyebrows. “...Why are you telling me this?”

Connie gestured to where Quiet and the others were. “Look at him, he’s experimenting. I’m so proud!”

Hero stared. As he watched, Quiet just… Hero didn’t know. Well, he knew- it was power, obviously, but it… it was his. Quiet’s power.

He raised his hands up to his mouth in a cupped motion, as though to breathe fire into them, and instead he breathed life. There was no shot of light, no song, nothing to show anything had happened at all. But when he opened his hands, something lived in his palm- the strangest flower he had ever seen. White petals and purple filaments drawing attention to the crownlike green-and-purple structure rising from its center.

And Quiet kept talking, like it was nothing. Like nothing had happened, like he put no thought in the little miracle he’d just performed, tucking it gently behind a laughing Ciro’s ear and effectively blessing him. He looked like more every moment he carried his little gift, the colors agreeing with his skin tone, turning him softer and brighter all at once.

Hero knew, on some level, that Quiet was meant to be a god, but he had never truly processed it. Perhaps Connie had understood, but they never talked about that. Quiet had been one, the Heart had told him he was one, but was he still one?

To him, Gods were people with power who held themselves above others, who had such different minds from mortals it was no wonder the Shifting Mound couldn’t understand them. Both her and the Tower had used their divinity to subjugate, and there was Quiet, making life out of thin air.

And then he did it again, just because Paco was eyeing the flower with a little too much interest. That time Hero didn’t watch his hands, too distracted by the glow that bloomed in Quiet’s eyes as he breathed out the impossible.

“Anyone would think you’re trying to poison me,” Paco said, without the nervous energy that permeated him in the construct.

“If you don’t want it-”

“I never said that.”

Suddenly, Hero understood. That was where the glow went- the silent choir, the glorious light, all that typical miracle stuff they had seen when they encountered the Tower, so different from hers all the same. It didn’t come from the flower, and it didn’t go with it either. It was in Quiet’s eyes. In Quiet.

The doorbell ringing shook him out of his thoughts. Shook the others too.

Most of the others would be the kind of person to answer the door knife in hand, especially after the revelations of the day, so that’s why he went. His body felt heavy and he wanted to just stay still somewhere, but not yet.  Hero wasn’t a fan of stagnation, after so long in a timeless patchwork where nothing changed but the princesses and the number of voices that pressed close to him. It had been exhausting, was still exhausting.

But it was better than being in the construct.

He looked out of the window before he opened the door. Honestly, they could have waited a little to go. The asphalt was melting. He could vaguely make out, in the distance, what had to be a shoe which had gotten stuck in the muck, abandoned there.

That Gonchi had only one shoe on was something Hero was not about to acknowledge. He was more distracted by the fact he had not come alone.

There was Gonchi, sweating, and standing close as if hoping to catch him if he went under, was someone Hero knew.

She looked different from what he remembered. Gone was the frilly dress, replaced by a flower-patterned one much more befitting the weather, the hair done in a low ponytail, face red from effort. Those eyes were difficult to forget. Shiny and glittering with something that seared at him. Those eyes that were so familiar.

He thought about Smitten and Borja and how meeting their Princesses would not be necessarily good. He thought about Ciro, Paco, Ave, who had to endure so much alongside him. He thought about Quiet, who had so many scars Hero could not remember him getting and that was not right, he had been there through it all, what else had been done to him-

And something tore itself free of his throat. A quivering, startled, visceral hiss that shook his form as he met those eyes.

She startled, half-hiding behind Gonzalo. “I'm sorry..?”

“Nando,” he didn’t know if deciding on a name under pressure made it count, but what was done was done.

There was something tight in his chest. There was movement behind him. They were safer together. Even if nothing was hunting them.

Ave arrived first, rushing beside him, then Quiet, then Ciro asking what was going on, finally Paco, dual-wielding kitchen knives.

Ave took one look at the woman making herself smaller, and Hero could see his tension draining away, being replaced by confusion and no less strong wariness.

Hero- no, Nando did not quite know how they had gotten back in, with Gochi downing an entire water bottle and Quiet trying to calm Paco down. His emotions had gotten the best of him again. He couldn’t blame him. He, too, was drowning in the implications.

Quiet was talking, but it didn’t register above the unearthly laughter that was coming from Paco’s mouth. He couldn’t stand it, but Quiet was doing a good job, his arm around Paco’s back, grounding him and keeping him there, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Apparently, he was just telling Paco to breathe.

Breathing. He could do that too. He was doing that. Just a bit too fast, and maybe that was a problem. He tried to take a deeper breath, but it felt like he had to fight his own body for it.

“Easy. It’s okay. Breathe. She’s not going to hurt you. I won’t let her.”

A sort of wheeze escaped Paco’s mouth, a laugh that didn’t have air to sustain itself. Nando tried breathing instead, as Quiet suggested. In and out. It lessened the tightness in his chest.

Eventually, Quiet seemed to be satisfied. “Are you with us again?”

“I never left..?” Paco was saying, eyes slightly glassy. Eventually, the tension plaguing his entire form evaporated, leaving him as limp as a ragdoll. The emotions spilling over every edge of him were slowing down. 

It had been a common occurrence in their first days in the world, so many colors and textures they had not been able to name, all overwhelming. It had been a while since Paco had such a debilitating attack.

Soon, Paco’s breathing evened out in a way that suggested he had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Bodies did that. They gave up on you. Nando wanted to do something similar. He did not think he had the energy to talk for a while.

The Princess was sitting on one of the chairs, wringing her hands together. Her dark eyes were wide. “I'm so sorry,” she said in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare him. And- are you okay?”

Ciro had been sitting nearby, squinting at her as if trying to catch her in the act. He startled very slightly when he was directly addressed. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes!” she gestured broadly at the scars that curved in each arm, scissoring over each other, “You can’t be hurt like that and be okay!”

“I'm as okay as I can be.” Ciro was looking at her up and down, at her skin. Nando understood. 

Somehow, irrationally, seeing that there were no marks on her skin was a relief. Not that an innocent person had been hurt – but that the person was innocent. Some of the Princesses left marks like that when they wanted to threaten and antagonize, and some just because, and that meant the Damsel hadn’t interacted with people like Razor a lot. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “What do you want with us?”

The Damsel blinked, “Um- you’re supposed to be there. At our house. All of you. Because it wouldn’t be fair if none of you got to see.”

“Got to see what?”

She shook her head. “When I think about it- it’s so weird!” she made a face, concentrating hard. Looking for the right words.

“That’s fine, keep your secrets,” Connie said, looking far more at ease than any of the others.

“I gotta admit, you’re good. This ‘sweet, inn-o-cent Princess’ act,” Ciro said almost to himself.

“It’s not an act,” Quiet spoke, very faintly, “She’s being genuine. You do know how to spot liars, Ciro.”

“She might be telling the truth, but how do we know the others won’t kill us as soon as they have the chance?” Ciro raised his eyebrows, fingers tapping the wooden table lightly.

“We made a vote, all of us,” the Damsel said, skin still shiny from sweat, and it was almost jarring to see that she was not picture-perfect anymore. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

“Can we trust you?” Ciro fired back, with such an intonation Nando was sure, at first, that it had been the sleeping Paco who had spoken.

“If anything happens, I’ll protect you,” Gonchi said, voice almost back to normal.

“So can I!” Ciro turned to him at once, and oh, did that touch a nerve..? “What guarantee do we have that it won’t be like before?”

“Like any of us are good enough liars to pull that off,” Damsel interrupted. She shrugged her shoulders, “Razor can’t lie to save her life and Winnie telegraphs everything. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“She’s not lying,” now, Nando was terrible at spotting liars, but when both Ave and Quiet said that, he would have felt inclined to believe them even if he had not lived through meeting the Damsel.

“They don’t need to be good at lying if they can just flatten us.”

“My Princess said she would protect us, she would not lie about that,” Gonchi insisted, standing up from his chair and swaying only slightly, “Not to me.”

“Safety in numbers. If the whole flock’s there, we have more of a chance to escape than we ever did before,” Ave chimed in. “Half of them are there already. I don’t know most of the Princesses, but at least one of us does.”

Ciro looked half furious. At the Damsel, at himself, Nando didn’t know. “¿Y cuántos se van a morir antes de que escapemos?”

“Ciro,” Nando snapped. Finally, he could talk again.

“No se va a morir nadie, Ciro,” Quiet whispered. “Te lo prometo.”

Even after spending so long in his head, looking through those very same eyes, Nando could not quite read him. An expression like that could’ve been frightening, if he didn’t trust this man… this god?... this being like he did. He believed him, when he said the Princesses could make them hurt more than anything.

They had been through so much together, after all.

And he believed in that power of his, too. The threads, the flowers, who knows what else could he do.

“No, nobody’s dying!” the Damsel insisted, and Nando’s stomach made an unpleasant lurch when he realized she had understood them. “I don’t know why that happened in the first place, or why this is happening now, but I want to know. Also- there’s a lot of things we have to talk about. And apologize for. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She sighed so hugely it was a wonder her lungs could contain that much air, “But,” and then she looked at the exhausted Paco, at Quiet and Ciro’s scars, “I’ll leave it up to you. I can’t make you go.”

The Princesses were not liars. Whatever they were, obscuring the truth like the Narrator did was simply not in their nature.

Besides, “You can’t let the others go alone, can you?” Nando asked, in barely a whisper. The others were already there, and despite the fact they did not get along too well most times, it didn’t mean he wished them to die.

Quiet shook his head slightly, put his face in his hands, and Nando heard his voice in his ear despite the fact he was nowhere near enough for that. “Of course I can’t.”

“I see how it is. You wait until I’m out of commission and make the decision without me!” Paco could not believe this had happened.

“You were asleep!” Gonchi said.

“Why have the vote at all then?!” that was another thing that was grinding his gears. All that preparation and for what?!

“I didn’t think they would actually do it,” Ciro momentarily stopped drinking from the metal-like straw, the bombilla , from the mate he had insisted on making before they set off. On one hand, a leather cup with yerba and water. On his other hand, he had a thermos, full to the brim of almost boiling water. 

If they were friendly, Ciro had said, he could just share the drink. If it was a trap, boiling water to the face would be a good distraction. Paco couldn’t say it was a bad idea. It was long-range, automatically better than a knife.

Not by much, considering they were walking towards, among others, the one that had made him stop working. Would his chant still work? And if it did, only on himself or on the others? The only reason Paco was there: they would drop like flies without him.

Ave would be the first to go down, of that he was sure.

“Why would we not?!” Smitten’s voice rang in his ears. It put his teeth on edge. Why did he insist in revealing their location to at least the entire block, he did not know.

He was not in peak condition, body heavy and mind buzzing still, so he had not said much when they finally rejoined the lovesick one’s group. There were raised eyebrows about the flowers they wore on their chests or the ears, but Paco chose to think of them like a badge of honor, for the voices that actually had common sense.

The other Princess didn’t seem to have Damiana’s sheer naivete. A good thing if she was on their side, but Paco was not fooled. They might have been friendlier than the average Princess he had the dubious pleasure to meet, but that just meant they were not to be trusted.

The only other Princess he knew, aside from the doll-like one, was the bladed one. Neither of them filled them with confidence. Despite his decider’s words, Paco couldn’t help but be on edge. Quiet had said he would not let them be hurt, but intentions mattered little in the face of something that could make them just stop. Ave would be the first to go down. Ciro too, his sense of unfairness overriding common sense.

His hearing sharpened. It was difficult with the way Ciro kept drinking, but his heartbeat was very quick. Paco had to strain his hearing against the watery rattle of sucking up a beverage Ciro no longer had - time for a refill, it seemed. 

Lungs shaky, but functioning well. 

His liver and digestive system… well Ciro might be trying to give himself blisters with the way he kept drinking that hot infusion, but nothing life-threatening. 

Nerves… Left hand shaky, possible nerve damage, but he had been like that since the beginning.

Ave next. Heart was functioning extremely quickly. Too loud. 

Lungs were working overtime, it took effort to draw a deep breath, possibly because of the heat.

Liver and digestive system- Paco’s cookies weren’t life threatening. 

Nerves, good, too responsive, even.

His heart was too loud. Something was wrong.

Paco found himself placing a hand on Ave’s back. There, under his shirt. Gauze?

Ave moved away. Immediately. Before Paco could even try to press down. Was he hurt and had not told anyone? In this situation? With the way Ave weaved his way to the middle of the group, he was willing to bet on it.

There was a movement in his peripheral, a blackness. How was the decider even more scared that even Ave was beyond him. But he was, he could feel it in his threads. His hand was still bandaged. Useless.

(worry) (exasperation) Decider, call it off. Something’s not adding up.

(resignation) I can’t do that. They chose that on their own. I can’t let them get hurt either way.

That was a flaw if Paco ever saw one. Caring too much, especially if the others were assholes. Even extending that to Princesses who were more normal-looking.

“They want to use us,” Paco went back to speaking alound, tilted his head at the two girls leading the group, carrying a grocery bag each, “I don’t know for what, but they do. That’s how this works .”

“Believe me, I believe you. I was with you, remember?” Quiet said, eyes roaming over each of the Voices. Hero was almost at his side, Cold periodically looking back to see if he was still there. “You fear that what you see and hear is a placebo. That no one wants to help you, no one can understand you. That it's easy to speak sanely without being in your skin.”

“I didn’t ask for a psychoanalysis.” Paco started.

“And because I believe you, if things go wrong, I want you to take Ciro and run,” Quiet didn’t even let him build up steam. “I’ll handle the Princesses.”

“What about you?”

Quiet flashed him what could have been a smile. “I’ll be fine. I survived this long.”

Paco stared. “You did not,” he felt obligated to say, because what about the Razor? The first Princess? Whatever had happened with the others? “You most definitely did not.”

“But I came back.”

Paco stared some more and decided ‘being too caring’ wasn’t even the first of his problems, “Okay, but that’s worse. You do know that’s worse, right?”

“Quiet, we’ve talked about this,” Hero interrupted, but didn’t get to say much. They had arrived quicker than Paco expected. Or hoped.

The group in the back had not needed to tell Connie this was a bad idea, but they still had to look at the bright side. So many ways to ruin the Princesses’ day if this turned out to be some sort of trap.

It was a pretty nice place, wooden floors, solid foundations, possibly no basements. Lots of windows if one were to count the number of curtains drawn. It wasn’t the easiest of tasks to move given the amount of people trying to get to an actual room at the same time, but the girls went first, and that was that.

Connie and Oli took the lead, arriving at a livin- what the hell was that.

"Magnificent," Smitten said from slightly behind him.

He had no idea how to describe whatever (whoever?) was lounging on an entire brown colored sofa. Part big cat? A very long necked lion, maybe? The legs were too long, there was a horn in her forehead. Those claws looked like they could cut through metal.

It was huge.

It perked up in attention, gaze zeroing somewhere behind Connie. He resisted the urge to look behind him, remembering that, yes, wasn’t Ave’s moniker the Hunted?

The chimera lowered its head back down, opened her mouth and talked , “I know,” then, her gaze shifting again, “Fledgling, hello. Back for more?”

Oh, no. Oh, this was not good.

“We’ve talked about this, be nice,” Damiana said to his left, hands on her hips, making the chimera’s eyes shift just as Connie felt movement behind him -someone changing places?- breaking its line of sight.

From behind him, Connie heard Skeptic murmur, “She’s a chimera! She shouldn’t be saying anything!” as if ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ were anything more than concepts.

Oli got over his bout of silence quickly enough, pasting his trademark fake smile. He could not straighten to his full height, something had happened when they all ended up out in the world, but he did try. “Hello! Thank you for having us! I must say, you have a lovely pla-”

Oleander dropped straight to the floor thanks to a particularly hard shove from Borja, who had walked forward like a man possessed, ignoring the beast in favor of gazing up at-

The tallest woman Connie had ever seen.

Tan skin, white hair, eyes that almost seemed to glow. Wrapped in a white dress. There was something about her expression that made Connie squint.

And then Borja dropped to his knees, bending forward to place his hands and head on the ground in front of the couch she sat upon. “I humbly implore you to pardon my absence, Your Radiance!”

Connie’s thoughts screeched to a halt at the sight of the largest Voice folding like that. He knew Borja was a downer at the best of times and utterly unfun, but he did not expect him to be so… willing to bend the knee.

He felt… uneasy? Uncomfortable? Whatever the case, this was wrong.

Those opalescent eyes appraised Borja, gaze aloof and face unreadable as Borja steadfastly remained prostrate. Oppy remained on the floor, looking up at the woman with some amount of trepidation.

Movement behind him, at the tail end of the group, “Oh no, let me through, let me through…” that was Quiet, probably feeling as disquieted as Connie felt.

The moment seemed to last a lifetime, neither party moving. The air was rife with tension , many in the room dreading what her next action would be dragging out the moment further. Her sonorous voice broke it, “I see my Priest has finally remembered his rightful place.”

“Yes.” He breathlessly agreed, voice only audible because of the heavy stillness in the air.

There was something reminiscent of those paintings he once saw about the way the woman stared down at Borja and he in turn was prostrated in front of her. Appraising eyes seemed to cut right through the voice, and yet he laid there unphased.

The scene was utterly broken by someone intruding in it. Caín didn’t shove Connie aside but it was a close thing. Without pausing, he leaned down and yanked Borja up like one would a naughty cat.

“Have some dignity,” Caín drawled, and if Connie didn’t know better he would have described that tone as disgusted. But yanking the tallest of them up like he was nothing? That was a little concerning.

Borja pushed himself away from Caín. Borja wasn’t the nicest, but nobody deserved to be looked down like… well, like that. Someone needed to take her down a few pegs.

Before either of them could keep speaking, Connie couldn’t stop himself from whispering, "Was she such a bitch from the start?"

…maybe he could have said it at a lower volume. The chimera's ear twitched, Borja tensed up, and the woman shook her head incredulously. "Such charming audacity from one so small... you cannot address me that way."

“My apologies,” Connie smirked and dropped his gaze. “Were you such a bitch from the start-” and then he looked up from under his lashes, “-Your Majesty?”

“No!”

And then all he could make out was the top of Quiet’s unruly mop. right at eye level. He had finally pushed to the front and was standing right in front of Connie. A shield. Which meant that one, at least to Quiet, was dangerous.

“Your Radiance, he’s not worth it-”

“We’ve talked about this too, Thelka. Be nice,” and that was Tabitha, hands on her hips too. “They’re our guests, so we’ll treat them with respect.”

“You never insult your host,” the woman - Thelka? - fired back. “Never.”

“You were the one being rude first by letting this poor man do that,” Damiana gestured empathically at Borja. “He apologized, so you have to accept it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me-” Borja started.

Something floated down from the top of the stairs, cutting the conversation short. At first, Connie thought it was a life-sized doll, then it straightened in midair. A brown-haired woman, wearing a strangely unsettling mask on her face and a wine colored dress. Where were her legs? Was that a ghost?

…why was he scared? His heart was beating faster all of a sudden.

“Good, you’re all here!” she crowed, doing a twirl in the air and everything. Then again, Connie was sure doing acrobatics was easier when you didn’t have to account for gravity. Then she went further up, so she could look at them in turn, “Which one are you?”

Connie turned around, almost hating himself from losing sight of the chimera. He did not envy Ave, there was danger in every corner if his instincts were right. Right at the end of the group, Ciro and Ave closed ranks, hiding Paco from view. So this was Paco’s princess. Connie couldn’t blame him for being such a nervous wreck.

“At ease, Clara,” Tabi cut through once more. “Take a seat before this place becomes too crowded. You can ask them things later.”

Could masks pout? He was sure this one could. “But-”

“We had a deal!” Tabitha raised her voice. Miraculously, the one- Clara? - did float down to the left of Thelka. Borja had seated on the left armrest of the couch she was sitting on.

Quiet whispered something under his breath. If Connie had to guess, it was meant for Borja, with the way he shook his head. When Quiet turned around, there was despair in his expression.

Their decider was not supposed to look like that. He didn’t like his insult to the tall Princess either, so what could he do to-?

There was movement down the stairs. Right, there were other Princesses. Moving aside to let them pass, he waved cheerfully at the trio- no, quintet - of conjoined women that walked down first. Sure, his first meeting with them had been a trip and a half, but that had been his fault.

He’d have to talk to them soon, if they remembered the final cabin at last.

Smitten and Damsel sat on the centermost sofa at her request, with Skeptic and Tabi near them. Skeptic kept looking at the chimera. Trying to figure her out, probably.

The next one that came downstairs was a smaller woman with a catlike grin and- was that a tail? Oh, that was so cool, sometimes he wished they could have remnants of their avian nature but apparently not-

Back to business, the catlike girl took one look halfway down the stairs and glanced at Oli. He  had decided to slump on the stairs as he waited for the pain on his back to pass. Her expression fell in pained realization before it twisted as she pointed at him, “You!”

Oli looked straight up and spread his arms wide. That smile was not a nice one even if he tried to fix it, “Me!” he said in the same tone. “It’s lovely to see you again!”

Then came- oh. Fuck.

The Razor had been hard. Not only did they have to deal with dying again and again and again against an uncaring foe, but something he was sure Gonchi had not taken into account was the mental state. That had not been a walk in the park either!

Ciro had helped a lot by himself, influencing their dear decider to focus more on winning. Connie himself and Cain had not been quite conscious by then, but they had also helped. Dulling the pain to an unhealthy level and helping Quiet take things less seriously. Not focusing on the pain, he was still able to think and plan. Even though it was useless in the end. Connie had been so tired, by the end of it.

She stopped, too, halfway down the stairs, surprisingly distracted. “Thelka, is that your little bird?”

The woman nodded with something Connie wanted to say was pride, but he couldn’t read her that well. The thing was, Borja wasn’t anyone’s, why were they saying so?

The Razor looked at Borja up and down. “...are you sure?”

“The nickname isn’t quite apt anymore,” she conceded. “But he is mine.”

Connie looked to the remaining ones - Quiet, Hero, Paco, Ciro, Ave. Caín in a corner. And himself. Was she looking for her ‘voice’? How was she supposed to know which one it was? Ciro and Quiet had the same scars in some places…

And then Gonchi stepped forward very blatantly. 

He could swear he saw stars in Razor’s eyes as she rushed down the stairs. “That’s you? Are you sure? Look at those muscles, you wouldn’t have lost so much if-”

“What do you THINK you’re doing?!”

Something Connie was learning today: there were a lot of monstrous women in the neighborhood and he had not been aware of most of them. Those footsteps weren’t of the sound a human could make. This woman was not as tall as Thelka, but she was massive. The tank top and the leggings were struggling to hold everything. Twin horns jutted out of her forehead and a long tail was visible too.

Not to repeat himself, but that was so cool. Was that why Gonchi had been so sure he could have killed him? Because he had gone toe to toe with a real-life demon? Connie got the message, no more cheating. Honestly.

The demon lady did not look happy in the slightest, advancing towards the Razor with all the elegance of an upcoming train. Connie already liked her, anyone that could make the Razor retreat like that was an alright person in his book.

“Ava, it’s not what you think-”

“Let me make something clear,” Ava said, completely ignoring Razor to approach Gonchi, her arm shooting up, snagging him by the collar and pulling him to herself. Connie felt, rather than saw, movement from Ciro the moment Ava pulled Gonchi upwards as she brought her head down to him. Connie winced, expecting a devastating blow-

Their faces slammed together. Instead of her cracking his skull open, she had initiated a passionate kiss with such intensity Connie was certain Gonchi’s lips would be bruised. 

The man in question recovered from his surprise and, despite being on his tippy toes, wrapped his arms around the back of her head to pull her deeper into the kiss that he eagerly reciprocated.

“Point taken,” Razor rolled her eyes, very unhappily setting down on the carpeted floor.

The scene in front of him was straight out of a romance film, like two lovers finally coming together after being apart for ages. And in lieu with the vibes, Connie brough his hand up to his mouth and let out a sharp wolf whistle, wiggling his raised eyebrows at them.

Gonzalo parted with her very slightly, “Shut up Connie.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Connie chuckled as he raised his hands to show his 'innocence', not even trying to hide his amusement. He was not the one who had decided to do a reenactment of a romance movie scene.

It was with his back turned to the chimera and the woman Quiet thought was dangerous that he felt a cold shiver slide down his back. He jolted, turning around to see that none of the aforementioned people had moved from their places, so what had..? 

A small flash of white caught his attention and he looked down to see… worms? Coming from the floor? Well maybe this place wasn’t as nice as he first thought.

No, that couldn't be. None of the women seemed even remotely concerned. The 'worms' emerged, flickering in and out of sight and revealing themselves to be a pair of hands splayed flat on the floor. Then arms as their owner pulled themselves upwards and floaty strands of hair escaped the floor. 

Connie took a step back, making Quiet and Hero come to his side, worried about his sudden change of posture.

Hero - or Nando, now - paled at the sight of the emerging upper torso of a woman, her skeletal features prominent as she stared up at them. He grasped Quiet's hand in a bone crushing grip as he squeaked out, "G-G-G-Ghost!"

A rather large part of Connie wanted to laugh. Ghosts, really, that’s what he was afraid of? Not the chimera, not the giant women, not the dollface?

Another, also large part of him made him stumble backwards into the nearest wall.

The ghost rose up from the floor entirely with a menacing grin, making the trio take several steps back towards the others. Long hair, a dress, a tiara -- another Princess. One that they had, apparently, actually killed, but it didn’t take. Good for her for twisting the narrative like that.

He meant that genuinely.

She giggled, giving a twirl of her ethereal dress and a bow. When she raised her head, her features had switched from skeletal to more humanlike. Connie didn’t notice he had been circling her in disbelief until he realized he was looking at her from a completely different angle.

“Hiya killer~” she said, and Connie could hear the smile in her voice. “Did I scare ya?”

“No,” Quiet answered with a quirk of the lips as Nando dragged him further backwards. Paco’s hand darted to Quiet’s shoulder to help, and Ave looked at the ghost in utter confusion before going back to stare at the chimera.

Who, Connie was now realizing, had never stopped looking at him. This was not good.

Skeptic’s jaw had dropped. “How- how are you possible?”

Smitten had fixated into a different topic. “Hiya what?”

The ghost turned around, not before practically wrapping herself around Quiet, the tatters of her spectral dress forming wispy trails behind her that curled around his form. “Water under the bridge, Sweet-heart. It’s fine. He’s a sweet guy.”

“He’s not yours,” Caín said from where he was sitting. There was something in his gaze that made Connie shiver. Maybe it was from the spectre’s proximity. Where was his princess then?

“Wait,” Ciro interrupted, forgetting about the mate still in hand and gesturing. He hissed at the scalding water burning him, but didn’t drop the object. “You’re telling me it didn’t even take?! Since when is that fair?!”

“That’s rich for you to say,” the spectre answered.

Nando had been counting under his breath, “Now that we’re all here, can you please tell us why you invited us?” before things get out of control, Connie still heard.

Tabi hesitated, “I think it’d be best if we showed you..? Have a seat.”

“...be quick.”

Now, there were not enough couches, but there were enough cushions. Connie took his seat with the group closest to the door. Ave, Hero, Quiet, Ciro, Paco. Borja stayed with that woman, Gonchi and the demon lady went beside Smitten. The catgirl was a bit away from the group, same with Cold and Oli.

Connie wasn’t sure if either Nando nor Quiet had realized they hadn’t unlinked hands yet, but he was not about to tell them. The ghost had not relinquished her spot surrounding Quiet either, but at least he didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re telling me none of you told them?” the catgirl - Winnie, she’d said her name was - asked while rolling her eyes. “Of course they’re all tense. We want you guys to play a game.”

“That’s it?” that came from Gonchi. Tabi turned on the TV and clicked on an icon they were unfamiliar with.

“What sort of game?” that was Ciro, living up to his moniker.

“What is the prize?” asked Oli, and there was a slight glint in his eyes that promised nothing good. If Connie knew something about him, it was that he was greedy. He’d have to hide his other books better once they got home.

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” Nando sighed in relief. “There’s not much that can go wrong while playing a game,” he even grinned at the spectre. She smiled back.

“Do you remember last time we tried to play WAR?” Ciro asked. Connie certainly did. It was both chaotic and amazing. “Heads would’ve rolled if Quiet here had not stepped up, and I’m not talking about Gonzalo.”

Oleander perked up in offense. “I was the other one who played with you!”

“Yeah, and you cheated like there was no tomorrow!”

"You should've seen us trying to play Monopoly," the quintet said.

The demon lady - Ava - grabbed the mouse and threw it at them with a ‘heads up!’. Connie tried to catch it, but all it did was hit Skeptic in the chest. Smirking to himself, the man focused on the screen as they all read something in white letters.

Ciro’s smirk fell flat. “A horror game? You’d love to see us squirm, I bet.”

Paco sighed from somewhere behind him. “Of course it is.”

“No, it says that there’s no wrong decisions!” Oli pointed out.

“Wait, a love story?” Smitten grinned wide. “Marvelous choice, if I do say so myself!”

There was a piano tune. A nice little melody, honestly. He could hear Paco humming it as soon as he understood the music pattern. Probably trying to ground himself.

Then the menu came in, and there was no more humming. They took a moment to take everything in. The black-and-white, the menu options, one of which was, curiously, labeled ‘Our Memories’. The basement, the cell, the princess on the screen. And of course, the title, the order every voice there had heard, their purpose, so to speak. Slay The Princess.

Caín leaned forward, and unless Connie needed his eyes checked he was almost smiling. “Isn’t this interesting?”

“Oh!” Smitten smiled, “A way to see how each of us broke our beloved princesses from their chains!”

“This isn’t funny,” Nando almost growled.

“Okay, which one of you babbled?” Oli had a grin on his face, “We’re famous and I didn’t even know? Who was it? Do I have fans?”

“We don’t know,” Tabitha answered, looking maybe a bit apologetic. “It just appeared yesterday night. We don’t know how or why.”

“I didn’t know if you’d believe me,” Damiana added.

“Maybe none of that is real,” that was Paco, talking to Quiet, who’d gone as still as a statue. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

“Why do you want us to see this?” Nando addressed the group at large.

“Knowledge,” Skeptic’s grin was almost predatory, eyes fixed on the screen, “There’s some things that haven’t been said, and that’s… fine,” yeah, no, that was definitely not fine in Skeptic’s book, “That’s a way to still gain that knowledge without anybody talking.”

“This isn’t about trust or knowledge or anything,” Quiet said, “This is about how messed up this situation is- we’re talking about our lives!”

“It’s not like we had much of a life before coming here.”

“That is NOT the point.”

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to,” Borja said curtly.

“Hablale bien,” Nando snapped at once.

Before it could devolve into yet another argument, Connie saw Skeptic pressing the ‘Continue’ button. A black screen, then an actual title screen.

“As long as it doesn’t open with-”

“This again?!"

"Let's keep an open mind," Connie grinned, "Now we'll have the opportunity to ruin His day in plenty more ways!"

"If I never hear those words again, it'll be too soon." Nando said.

“Maybe we will find a way to slay Him this time,” Cain proposed. Unsurprisingly, it was met with approval. Must have been a first.

“Woah,” Connie’s eyes went wide without his permission.

“There’s no way those were the decider’s only avenues of thoughts.” Skeptic tapped the armrest, “He’s more complex than that.”

“I’m sorry, are you calling him simple..?” Nando, ever the loyal knight, spoke up ready to make a defense.

“There have to be some limitations, Braveheart,” the- Grace said, “Otherwise the list would be too long.”

Paco was already muttering to himself, “Second’s the detective, third is the knight, fourth is me, fifth is the lovesick one, seventh the two-faced one, eighth the mopey one, tenth the chilly one, and the last one’s you,” he had obviously noticed Connie non-too-subtly staring at him.

“Very good,” was all Connie could think to say.

“Locking someone up without explaining why would make something more aggressive from the start.” Skeptic opined, “Other than that, as frustratingly vague as ever.”

“Did you expect anything else?” Caín asked.

“I expected at least different wording.”

“At least nobody’s trusting him this time,” Paco muttered.

“Come on, we know better than that.”

“What happened to him trying to make us think we were special?” Paco said.

“Come on, like anyone here really believed that one,” Ciro said.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty blatant attempt at buttering you up,” Winnie, surprisingly, agreed with him.

“Of course we were special,” Caín countered.

Ciro turned to him, “Really? You, of all people, believed that one?”

“It wasn’t a belief, it was the truth.”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“I thought you would’ve kept asking him questions,” Tabi said.

“Nah, we already had the same song and dance before and his answers won’t change,” Skeptic said.

The screen turned black for a few moments, before finally revealing a sight the boys there knew by heart. The grassy hill and the cabin itself.

There was a smattering of applause courtesy of some of the girls. Nando buried his face in his hands, mortified.

“You’ve played once before,” Quiet said, not as a question.

“Of course we did!” Ava said, having taken an entire bowl of popcorn for herself and Gonchi.

“He was nice,” Dami said.

“The rebellious one,” Thelka said. Borja nodded from his spot. Traitor.

“The voice of reason,” Winnie added.

“Wait, I’m the voice of reason, not him!” Skeptic argued. “You’ll see.”

And so, the screen showed the cabin’s interior, something that, once again, most Voices knew by heart. This one had no mirror, though.

“Which Voice are you?” the dollfaced one, Clara, of all people asked. Quiet didn’t quite look at her when answering the question. He wasn’t even shivering from Grace’s presence anymore.

“I’m just Quiet,” he said.

Connie sat up a little straighter. Was he actually going to try and fool them like that? Oh, this better have a good payoff…

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much in-game but he’ll definitely let you know when he’s disappointed in your choices,” Connie talked over Smitten opening his mouth, probably to destroy their cover story.

Quiet smiled at him, "Uno es dueño de lo que calla pero esclavo de lo que dice."

“Pff, he’s not the Decider,” Oli of all people supported his claim, “We had to have some standards. This guy has parabolic antennas for ears, for god’s sake.”

"Fuck you," Quiet mouthed.

The options list were a binary: Take the blade or Enter the basement. In Connie’s opinion, there should have been more to do. What about the windows, could they be broken? Take a piece of glass? Take the table as a weapon?

Honestly, the Narrator had no imagination. There were so many other potential things one could do!

“What?!” Nando, Quiet and Ave said together when Skeptic made the conscious choice to not, actually, go to the basement with the blade.

“What happened to ‘being without the blade makes me feel exposed?” Quiet snapped.

“Right, we can get others that way too…” Winnie mused.

“This is different,” Cain commented.

Skeptic turned around and pointed to him, “This one gets it! If we want to get as many data points as possible, we can’t just constrict ourselves to what we would do in this situation. What I would do isn’t the same as what Hero would do, for example.”

“Clever,” Tabi smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Fuck off,” Ava growled, as the chimera made her displeasure known with a louder growl. Connie saw Ave pressing himself to the wall.

“So he says that every time?” Ciro wondered.

“He does need new material,” Connie nodded.

“Slaying her would do a favor to nobody!” Smitten was a bit behind the topic.

“Oh, you hypocrite. You were sounding like Smee there for a moment,” Gonchi snarked.

“Do not call me that,” Smitten said automatically with a frown, before turning to Nando, who was trying his best to disappear into thin air, “What’s so bad about sounding like me? I thought you were an empiricist, my friend, but I’m glad to see you’re a romantic at heart.”

“¡Tragame tierra!” was the only thing Nando said, not looking at anyone. “It was a nice voice, is all.”

"Like you don't do the same thing when talking about her," Connie joined in, pointing at Ava. She looked at Gonzalo in confusion, "We don't really talk, though. We just fight."

"Yeah," Gonchi shrugged, "But every time I'm with you I learn something new."

Tabi raised her eyebrow, "You're kidding."

"No," he smiled. "I think I understand poetry now."

"Wow," most of the Quintet gasped, some even blushing. Connie couldn't blame them, who knew the ex-Stubborn was capable of that?

“What kind of options are those?” Connie laughed, “I like the fourth one.”

“Sometimes honesty isn’t the best policy,” Nando said a little behind him. “Ciro, pass me the mate?”

“You didn’t help me prepare it, you get no mate.” Ciro said resolutely. Connie saw how his eyes strayed to the chimera, who still had not taken her gaze from Ave. From what he could see, there was no intent for her to pounce yet, but it was still worrying.

“The wrong address?” Winnie snorted, munching on… something. “Really?”

It was difficult to confirm due to the lighting of the room, but Connie was almost sure Dami was blushing. “There could have been another cabin nearby, who knows.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Smee jumped at her defense, “It was a good attempt at distraction, even moreso with how improvised it was!”

“It could have been worse,” Tabi agreed.

“Didn’t I just say honesty isn’t always the best policy?” Nando sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I agree with the goody-two-shoes,” Oli sat a little straighter. “That’s disclosing information to the enemy!”

“Why waste time with lying and deceiving, that way she can start thinking of defending herself early!” Ava countered.

“She’d be distrustful either way, why would we hide our intentions?” Skeptic said. “If she trusted us less she wouldn’t be willing to talk.”

“She would be willing,” Tabi noted as the screen changed to the basement once again, “As long as you dropped the knife.”

Hero hid his face on Quiet’s shoulder, making Grace shift to the opposite side. Obviously, his hands weren’t enough shield for the smattering of laughter that shook the group.

Skeptic looked upwards, as if looking for a higher power, “Give me strength.”

Paco had stopped his… chant? to stare at Nando’s back in disbelief. Caín was half watching, half glaring at… one of that group. Had his focus changed ever since this started? Connie had no idea.

Skeptic didn’t hesitate to select the option to talk for a bit instead of dealing with the chains. The Princess on the screen didn’t seem very convinced either.

“You’d think she would have at least a cot to sleep in,” he said.

“A cot wouldn’t be worthy of her!” Borja interjected.

“THANK YOU!” Ava’s yell made them jump. “THEY GET IT!”

“Not easy, is it?” Quiet’s voice rang in the room when Skeptic took three minutes looking at the options.

“There’s so many variables and so many paths to choose from. This is exciting!” Skeptic said. Connie wasn’t sure he knew he was smiling.

Quiet looked away with a huff.

“That IS a valid question!” Skeptic clenched his free hand into a fist.

“Speaking of eating, what’s that?” Quiet pointed at whatever Winnie was happily munching on. She pointed at Oli, who immediately put a protective arm over the paper bag he had-

“Are those my cookies?” Paco asked curtly.

Oli gave him a wide grin, “Come on, Paquito-”

“It’s Paco for you.”

“-you couldn’t expect me to not bring them over, they’re so good…”

Winnie nodded, “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with him, but they are.”

Ciro whispered something in Paco’s ear, Connie couldn’t catch what, but he was surprisingly composed as the bag was passed around person to person.

“See? We’re on the same wavelength!” Skeptic said, gesturing at the woman on screen with a hand that held a cookie.

“That’s called having common sense,” Clara said.

“Too long.”

“Longer than you think, Hero. Longer than you think.”

“It’s not like we had a calendar down there.”

Such were the sort of statements that followed after that question.

“Good idea, detective,” Oli called out, “Let’s see what she has to say about that.”

“She truly has a way with words, able to convince even the hardest of hearts!” Smee said.

“It is a compelling argument, to be sure,” Nando said, almost lost in his thoughts.

“I’m convinced,” Skeptic decided. “I’m going to let her out of there.”

“Finally!” Winnie sighed. “You think too much!”

“Even you got it,” Caín said, “Just stop feeling the pain, it is that simple.”

The chimera raised her head in confusion, "What are you talking about, Unclaimed?"

Paco stared. “Did you just say pain is psychological?”

“I did.”

“Pss, Scarf,” Winnie said, suddenly near Connie, “Is there something wrong with his brain?”

“You know, I’m not too sure,” Grace answered for him as the screen changed to that of a closed wooden door.

“Back down we go!” Skeptic said, “If I recall correctly, there was no way to break open the door.”

“Isn’t there? Interesting, that never happened with me,” Caín said.

The screen, once again, returned to the chained Princess.

Skeptic looked at Nando with a raised eyebrow. “That was a good question! What happened to you then, did you feign being dimwitted just to annoy me?”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Quiet hissed out all of a sudden, “We were all doing the best we could, and he’s not dumb.”

“You don’t need to defend me,” Connie heard Nando whisper to Quiet.

“Yes he did, that was rude,” Grace said.

Almost every boy jumped at the unexpected image of the Princess chewing her arm off.

“...ew,” was all Oli could say, face slightly green. Ave, on the other hand, had turned pale.

“That determination is admirable,” Smee said, ever the hype man.

“I told you,” Caín, for his part, radiated smugness, “Not feeling pain is easy, I told you.”

“That’s strange. We only had one option when we played yesterday,” Clara commented.

“Clearly there’s a difference between us and them playing,” Thelka said.

Connie couldn’t help but laugh at the perspective trick making the in-game Princess’s eyes look huge.

“What big eyes you have!”

“All the better to see you with!” Dami answered, to his surprise. Not one to let a joke fade out, Connie talked on.

Winnie had moved seats again, “What big hair you have!”

“All the better to charm you with,” Winnie grinned a smile with dark edges. She had four cookies at hand.

Connie looked to the right once again. And decided he could let jokes fade away after all. He was not going to keep that one going if two of the Princesses that could answer were a haunted doll or could give the Big Bad Wolf a run for his money.

Caín looked positively chuffed. “Just don’t feel the pain.”

Dami turned to him, “Really? Is it that easy?”

“Yes, really.”

“Don’t listen to him, my dear,” Smitten said before glaring at Caín, “Not feeling anything at all would be tantamount to a curse.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it,” Dami was pensive for a bit.

“If you can’t feel anything you can’t laugh at jokes, don’t listen to him,” Connie added.

The screen went black. Unlike all the other times, the text remained.

Connie saw Tabitha grasp Damiana’s hand and Winnie flinch. He saw Quiet shudder.

And saw how Ciro’s rage, which he’d been keeping a tight lid on, boiled over, “He can do that?! That’s not fair-- we’re not some puppet for Him to control! Just because we didn’t want to kill her?! How is that logical, if he could do it all along why didn’t he?! That’s not okay! THAT’S CHEATING!”

His voice had risen into a shout at the end, mate gripped so hard Connie worried they would find cracks on the round cup later on.

Connie leaned over, “Are you oka-?”

“Of course I’m not okay! We were building trust and now it will be gone, it won’t even be our fault and we won’t even be able to tell her that because our luck SUCKS!”

Winnie was watching with a strange expression on her face. Quiet’s eyes were practically shining. If Connie were a betting person, he’d say he also had felt that way deep down.

“Life isn’t fair,” Thelka said, unbothered.

“Sometimes you get dealt a bad hand,” Clara continued.

“Oooo, you’re mad!” Razor laughed with glee. And like that, Connie saw the lid being put on again.

Ciro stopped moving.

“It’s not that I don’t share your feelings about the underhandedness of that villain, my friend, because I do,” Smitten hurried to say, “But you see, belief can move mountains! Do you think He would have let that option there if he wanted to?”

Skeptic was more focused on another thing, “How did that feel?”

Quiet looked away, clearly not wanting to answer. Nando did it for him, “A compulsion, something very, very difficult not to do. Like stabbing her in the heart would feel so easy in comparison to warning her. It took a lot out of our Decider.”

Huh. That sounded… had they talked about that before? On screen, the Princess moved away, not as alarmed as Connie would have been in the same situation. Honestly, this was shaping up to be a lot more action-packed than his own go at it!

“Explaining things to us would go a long way towards obeying,” Skeptic said casually, at odds with the scene unfolding.

Connie winced in sympathy at the image of the Princess trying to defend herself, one armed and all.

It was like the air got sucked out of the room. Nobody moved for a while.

“What..?” Dami breathed, eyes wide.

“That’s not right,” Clara said.

“It has to be him, right?” Razor asked the room at large.

“Yes, it has to be Him!” Smitten decided. “Who else would keep our only way of rescuing our beloved right in our reach? We- no, you must do something to get around this! He can’t win!”

“What if it’s not Him at all?” Ciro said, and everyone in the room turned to stare at him, “What if it’s someone else pulling the strings? The Decider wasn’t fighting the Narrator before we got here… I think. Everything’s hazy.”

Connie looked for Hero’s gaze. They… they were talking about the Shifting Mound, weren’t they? Could she do that? Steer them into one track so easily? Should they say something? Should Quiet say something?

“Whoever it was, it took away our options. I don’t like having less choices,” Paco said, high strung.

Winnie just stared. “You… really couldn’t help it. You had no other choice.”

“No, we didn’t,” Nando said, with as much apology in his tone as he was able.

Skeptic looked at the women in the room, “I’m sorry.”

“...Bastard,” Quiet hissed.

On screen, the Princess’ expression subtly changed. Frustration, anger, Connie couldn’t tell.

“...not that there’s anything wrong with being a damsel,” Winnie muttered.

“The text changed..?” Borja frowned.

“She’s mad,” Tabi supplied.

“Hold it, how could you know he had given up? The decider hadn’t moved!” Nando pointed out.

“The eyes are the windows to the soul,” Winnie said.

Connie, and some others, he was sure, jumped at the sudden image that appeared on screen, the Princess pouncing, claws and fangs already growing in, mid-snarl. Even without an arm, it didn’t seem to deter her any.

Even less so with the three images of her holding her own and more against a blade with only tooth and claw.

Dami had hidden her face in her hands, Tabi looked seconds away from being sick. Borja had grown pale.

“That’s certainly a way,” Razor hummed, “I would’ve never thought about it.”

“Very… physical,” Clara commented.

The next picture was of the Princess, half-shrouded in shadows, eyes glowing even without light. Tabi shuddered, turning her head to look at the resident chimera, “Beast..?”

She was looking at the screen, unblinking.

"We're staring death in the face and He's still more focused on the Princess. Why am I not surprised?" Skeptic said casually, as if he had not seeing everything they had. The contrast was jarring.

Oli was staring at the screen as though he didn't know what to think.

The Beast laughed, showing a mouth with too many teeth. "It seems I was wrong about you!" she chuffed, staring at a Winnie who was definitely not smiling, "You are no kitten at all!"

"I guess I'm not."

Tabi and Skeptic were pouring over one of her notebooks, comparing notes. Ciro was still fuming. Smitten was swearing vengance on the Narrator who had forced their hand.

"Murder is never okay, but this time you literally had no other choice," Grace was saying, "I can't say I'm happy you took the life of another... us, but whatever was there was pulling the strings. And you found a way to end it."

"It still hurt," Winnie said, "I'm not forgiving you that easily."

Quiet almost smiled, "I would be worried if you did."

Paco was whispering to Quiet, "Ave's been having trouble breathing this entire time and my chant isn't helping, I don't know what's wrong with him..."

Ave was making gestures that obviously meant 'no, nothing's wrong'. Connie guessed they would have to see.

Chapter II: The Witch.

If Skeptic were to be honest with himself, he did not see why everyone had to be there. The other Voices weren’t as eager to find the truth as he was, and the Decider actively suppressed it.

After seeing a few of those scars, Skeptic could understand why he wouldn’t talk about it, but that did not mean he could actually trust him. So, not a liar in the traditional sense, but not trustworthy either.

Luckily for him in this situation, Skeptic could collect some data about what actually happened without the decider having to be harmed in the process, nor having to corner him demanding answers, how about that? Wasn’t he nice?

“Is everyone okay?” Damiana asked the room at large. Skeptic was near enough to see her hands wrung her dress, on and on and on.

“Of course we’re okay,” Smitten reassured her before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. That was aggravating, honestly, but he had bigger concerns in mind.

“All this proves so far is that it’d have been so much easier if our dear Decider started with me instead of him,” Caín stated in his usual placid tone. From what Skeptic understood about him, he would stir the pot if things got too boring. But things were definitely not boring now..?

Nando whirled around to face him, peeking over the others. Skeptic wondered if he noticed his hand was still linked with Quiet’s, “I showed him there was another way other than obeying the Narrator.”

“And it turned out so well for all of us. Maybe if you tried harder, the decider wouldn't have ended up in… certain situations,” his eyes flickered to where that animal was. Skeptic had no idea what could have happened, but it could not have been anything good.

That was strange. Why would Caín of all people say that, if by Quiet’s own admission he didn’t directly decide anything in his route, only influence? Why would he be so direct about it?

“That’s rich coming from you!” and right on cue, Nando was voicing his thoughts aloud.

His fellow ex-voices were sharp people, most of them, shattered by the paths they chose and learned not to temper themselves, to use the pointy edges of themselves as blades. Except for Hero, who had tried to soften his edges. Skeptic had no way of knowing if the others had actually sharpened or softened. They felt sharp.

They were as dangerous as the connections between them fragile, like the webs of a spider— someone would pull at the loose threads of each other until they began to unravel.

Caín seemed to be that someone.

Nando was scoffing. “Don't forget that you were ready to follow the Narrator's orders immediately.”

“Enough,” Quiet cut in from behind him, before they could even get started. “He’s looking for a reaction, just ignore him.”

Skeptic wasn’t sure how much more he could take. The situation had made a vulture of him, hungry for dead secrets.

As much as he wanted to keep being the one with the mouse in hand, the one able to make choices (what was was so bad about it, really?) he could already see cries of unfairness forming at the mere suggestion. Which Voice could be the least predictable then..?

He threw the mouse at Connie. If what he knew about the boy was right, he would not make this boring. Which would minimize Cain acting out like that.

“Really? You’re giving this to me?” Connie grinned at him.

Winnie eyed the mouse. “Let’s see how you do this, Scarf.”

“I’m getting really tired of that speech,” Gonchi grumbled.

“You only had to hear it once. Get used to it.”

“Disembodied voice narrating everything? Ugh, I wouldn’t want that,” Clara said.

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

“Deja vu, I’ve just been in this place before…” Connie sang under his breath as he picked that option. A waste of a choice in Skeptic’s opinion, but who could say what passed Connie’s mind at any given moment.

Winnie raised an eyebrow. “His name is Opportunist?”

“Wait what did you think it was?”

“Selfish Prick.”

Try as he might, Skeptic couldn’t locate the source of the snickering. As accurate as it were. Everyone had learned early on Oleander was not a reliable source of… anything really.

“This is actually rather disappointing. He’s not even lying right!” Tabi commented, making Skeptic almost laugh.

Oli whipped his head around at her. “Try lying to someone inside your own head, see how easy it is!”

“You could start with changing your tone, for once,” she countered.

“No no, I’m with him, lying is hard,” Razor came to his defense with a smile full of sharp teeth.

Oli smiled back, but judging by the way he shrunk back like he wanted to become part of the wallpaper, that defense did not make him feel better.

Not at all.

“You’re dragging things out just to annoy me, aren’t you?” Ava said as she munched on a cookie.

Connie gave her a smile which showed too many teeth. “I actually didn’t mean to do that.”

“Listen,” Tabi started. Her eyes darted around as though looking for support. “What he’s saying makes perfect sense. Rushing through things isn’t good, and this is a morally ambiguous situation, considering what the decision-maker and company has been led to believe.”

Oli flashed her a smile. “I like you.”

“Why were you so quick to accept the looping?” Tabi, once again.

Nando shrugged. “I guess seeing is believing?”

“No point wondering what happened before,” Cain said.

“I am living proof that theory doesn’t hold up,” Grace said, floating centimeters off the floor and giving the nearby people a very welcome chill. There was a storm incoming with how hot it was outside, definitely.

Skeptic wondered if the chimera was suffering underneath that thick pelt.

“Living proof?” Dami’s lips twitched.

“I said what I said.”

Skeptic couldn't pretend to have much sympathy for Grace; it would be different, surely, if she were a living girl, but she was a ghost. Ghosts, quite inherently, were not what they appeared to be; as far as Skeptic understood from all his reading, ghosts were not simply dead people.

The theory he preferred was that ghosts were 'imprints' or 'reflections'; the prevailing understanding seemed to be that ghosts were not actually the souls of the dead. Perhaps at best, they were pieces of souls left behind by death; at worst, they were nothing more than a poor duplicate of the person who had passed on.

Like an old portrait, they looked the part and could even walk and talk and presumably think... but they weren't the actual person.

“That’s manipulative,” Paco spat out.

“Luck brought us there,” Borja blurted out, clapping a hand over his mouth at once.

“Bad luck,” Ciro shot back.

“It’s the truth,” Thelka countered, patting Borja on the head once. His pupils went huge, Skeptic could see that even from his position. “In one reality, at least. Even the worm could see it.”

Clapping went around-- wait, no, those were the sounds of most of everyone facepalming.

“I thought heroes were supposed to be humble?” Cain said, already at the ready.

“There’s nothing wrong with knowing one’s worth!” Smitten jumped at the bait immediately. “But don’t listen to what he says, my friend,” he turned to Hero.

“Hero, I trusted you,” Winnie said, though the slight twitching of her lips made it clear she wasn’t really disappointed.

“Okay, everyone lay off him,” Connie kept going.

“If you turn around and leave I will cut you,” Razor told him sweetly.

Maybe it was just the way the fading sunset light was hitting him, but Skeptic could have sworn Connie went a shade paler. “I could’ve worked that out myself, funnily enough.”

Dami turned to Oli with a sunny smile. “Don’t worry, you’re doing your best and that’s all that matters.

Oli smiled back on reflex. “Thank you! It’s nice to be appreciated! …my best in what?”

“Lying! You almost got it!”

Laughter scattered around as Oli’s smile died a painful death. “The fact not only Dami noticed but that was the only thing she could say…”

The background changed from the path in the woods to the cabin on a hill.

Cain sat a little straighter at that point, why, Skeptic couldn’t say.

“You’re trying to manipulate Him back, aren’t you?” Smitten practically begged.

“Of course, brother, I’m making him complacent!” Oli grabbed that opening with both hands.

“Idiot,” Cain said loud enough for him to hear.

Every girl turned to Ava. She took a while to realize she was being stared at. “I like this cabin, actually! Pretty rustic, looks like a hollow tree. It’s very you,” Ava smiled at Winnie. “Still needs more furniture, though.”

“It's pretty squalid in here, don't you think?” Oli opined.

Connie took the blade immediately. Upon reading the options menu, his face fell. “Why can’t I throw it away?”

“Are you insane?!” Paco almost shot up, being barely restrained by Ave digging his nails on his shoulder. “Why would you do that?!”

“That’s our only advantage, you’re not doing that!” Oli agreed.

Dami stood up from her seat, detangling her hands from Tabi’s and Smitten’s. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Get us more food when you come back,” Thelka said with a wave of the hand.

“I can do it—” Borja would have stood from where he was sitting if it wasn’t for Thelka restraining him without even touching him. It twisted Skeptic’s gut in a way he couldn’t name.

“No need, Borja, she can get it herself,” Tabitha glared at her, looking less like the chained girl Skeptic knew and more like a statue of marble.

“I have been very gracious lately, but you’re walking a razor’s edge,” she warned.

Oleander got up from his half-prone position Skeptic swore he heard his back crack several times. “I’ll go help her.”

If looks could kill, Thelka would have been frozen on the spot by Quiet’s gaze.

Tabitha shrugged, “I’m pretty good at balance.”

“But you don’t have pockets,” Razor pointed out.

“Don’t remind me,” Nando said.

“Does he say that in every chapter?” Grace was already fed up with that.

“Almost,” Quiet answered her.

Dami had come back with an orange blanket that she offered to Paco and Ave, “For the nerves. It calms me too.”

Paco seemed ready to refuse, possibly due to the heat, but Ave snatched the blanket from her hands and put it around them, “Thank you.”

She smiled back, “Welcome! Besides, that way both of us can match.”

“Both?” Cain inquired.

Dami nodded. “Twins?”

Clara’s whisper carried through the room, “Figures at least some would be pathetic enough t-”

Dami’s smile seemed carved from ice, “Hold your tongue, he’s my friend.”

Smitten and Gonchi, of all people, grabbed each of her arms to get back back into place. Ava was practically glowing.

“Anyway,” Damiana continued as though nothing had happened, “Locks of tangled hair… reminds me of Rapunzel! Maybe if you grew your hair out you could use it as ropes!”

Winnie blinked incredulous eyes away from what happened just before, “You’re just saying that because you want to make more hairstyles for me.”

“Maybe!”

“I don’t know, the description of the basement does bring to mind Beast…” Tabi mused.

“That’s not me,” the chimera confirmed.

Winnie’s nose wrinkled, “Ew, I’m not a spider!”

“Hey now, there’s nothing wrong with spiders!” Nando said. He shrunk a bit when all eyes were on him. “They’re interesting and combat a lot of bugs!”

“Keep going or he’ll get going,” Gonchi advised, and Connie obeyed.

“Red font for Winnie, interesting,” Tabi wrote something down.

“Of course she’d be mad, who wouldn’t?” Grace nodded.

"You," Quiet whispered to her.

Oli chose that moment to come back with a steaming kettle. “I read somewhere that the remedy for being upset is a hot drink, so I took upon myself to make one for you all,” he gave the room his best smile.

“Maybe he’s trying to diffuse the tension..?” Quiet’s utterly confused voice barely reached Skeptic as Oleander went around serving tea like a particularly jittery hummingbird.

“An Oleander speciality. Almost as good as my friend Paquito here. One sip and you'll understand. You’ve given us such an unique chance to see this I just had to repay it somehow. A trade, you see? A gift from you and a gift from me.”

Clara, Thelka and by extension Borja, which made Beast calm enough to drink her bowlful. Even Razor accepted it. Cain took one sip.

“So!” Oli finally sat down, “What did I miss?”

“Oh. That.”

“Little? He was little to you?” Grace asked.

Winnie nodded. “Just a little bit taller than me.”

“This whole never handling things upfront is grinding my gears, but you can’t believe she wants to talk. Hear her voice, she wants a fight,” Gonchi said.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking the sound of your own voice!” Smitten defended.

“...the wording on that was odd,” Tabi muttered to herself. “...think you’ll go somewhere else..?”

“For the record, the ‘I made a mistake’ one isn’t an actual apology,” Grace instructed.

“‘I get the sense you’re not happy with me?’ That’s gotta be my influence, I can’t believe…” Connie was laughing to himself.

“Teamwork, yes! We should get to the bottom of this!” Skeptic perked up.

“Leave her in the basement, huh?” Clara hissed, but without as much energy as it should have had.

“Announcing your intentions of killing her and then going for it,” Tabi winced. “That’s cold.”

“Really? I would say opportunistic,” Razor laughed at her own joke.

“This is already proving more interesting than my own experience,” Oli said, "I mean, everyone knows the decider doesn't have much... what's the word..." Oleander trailed off.

"Gumption?" Cain interjected at once.

"Spirit?" Borja added.

"He's not very determined," Paco said with the slightest apologetic tone.

"Yeah, exactly. You know, weak-willed."

Okay, Skeptic was not aware Quiet had such a terrifying glare. He resolved to not make him mad in the future. "You guys really suck sometimes, you know?"

“So we’ve been told,” Skeptic couldn’t help his smile. Which was why he missed the look exchanged between Quiet and Connie.

And the nod he gave to him.

And the option he hovered over until he had already picked to give her the blade.

It made sense. For all Quiet claimed to not have favorites, the second on that list was obviously Connie. He never got tired of indulging him.

The chimera turned her gaze to Connie, “Are you stupid?”

Borja, out of all possible candidates, shoved a fist into his mouth to smother the sudden giggles at the abruptness of the insult.

"What Opportunist is saying makes perfect sense," Tabi commented. "I mean, I'm sorry Winnie but you're telegraphing your betrayal with every word and he is trying to keep us alive."

Nando's eyebrows met in the middle, "So you're saying you trust Oli?"

Oleander visibly brightened at her admission. A startled, uncontrollable laughter was coming from Quiet, quickly managed into completely silent wheezes.

"Don't start with that -- Quiet, breathe, you're turning red --, I can be trustworthy!" Oli said indignantly, waving a cookie around like a tiny shield. "I'm a little hurt here!"

Quiet took noisy breaths to get air back into his lungs, laughing all the while, "You... and... trust... in the same sentence... with a positive connotation... ahaha..." another deep breath, "I know you trust me as far as you can throw me."

Oli actually paused and looked at Quiet up and down a few times. "You're small, so pretty far I’d say."

“Why are you doing that? It doesn’t make sense!” Winnie gestured to the screen.

“Exactly!” Connie said, peacockly proud of himself.

“It’s giving you the choice,” Quiet shrugged.

“To make up for our heinous actions,” Smitten added.

“It’s certainly interesting,” Cain said.

“Connie I swear to everything--”

Winnie turned to Nando, “Finish the thought. That sneaky little what?”

Nando’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. Honestly!”

Dami was focusing on another thing, “You slipped that out too!”

Winnie blinked, before sharing a smile with her.

“I guess no fighting in this one?” Ava asked hoping against hope.

“Why not pick the one that called her beautiful? It would not be a lie, and who doesn’t mind a compliment?” that was from, unsurprisingly, Smitten.

“Why not give her the chance to ruin His day too? Ruining people’s days shouldn’t be restricted to just us!” Connie grinned.

“It should if it ruins OUR day!” Skeptic said.

“...what?” Nando stammered.

“What,” echoed Borja.

“WHAT?!” and that one was Ciro.

“I’m sorry,” Winnie nods to both Nando and Quiet.

“Good job!” said an impressed Razor.

“There was no other way that could have gone,” the chimera opined, “It’s who she is. A cornered animal always strikes.”

“Great, now we have to hear him going ‘I told you so’ until our last breaths.”

“Birds die so easily, don’t they?” a surprised Grace commented, “I- I mean, there could have been a way to stop the bleeding or at least to drag him out of the cabin… right? I don’t know much about bodies…”

Paco seemed to be doing calculations in his head.

“Winnie, that was really mean,” Damiana said. She softened when she saw Winnie wilt slightly.

“Hey, the hands didn’t take her this time!” Clara interrupted.

Skeptic dove for his notes. “What hands? What are you talking about?”

“LOOK!” Connie’s yell stopped them mid movement.

On the screen, there was yet another black screen.

“…Connie, did you break the reality defying game?” Nando asked way too calmly.

“Of course not! That should be Ciro’s job!”

The black screen changed. To another title page. Which didn’t make sense, because there should be only two chapters. Yet there it was, almost mocking them.

Chapter III: The Thorn.

Skeptic felt his thread tremble just before Quiet’s laughter became able to be heard for just his Voices.

(bittersweetness) (amusement) Surprise.

“Did you know that would happen?” Thelka asked the boys at large.

Quiet turned to her, not quite looking her in the eye. "Of course not."

Yes.

Of course he had. Of course. Of course.

Grace didn’t understand why he would choose to introduce himself as one of his shards, but she was happy to play along. He had played along with her ‘claiming’ him as the shard she had met, which… wasn’t really that untrue, really.

Maybe it was too mean to call them shards. They had bodies now. Truly, they were a little realer than her, physically speaking.

They were all different from each other, but it was hard to not recognize someone she had shared a body with. Even so, part of her still couldn’t believe that it was him, not with-

-the scars that covered his skin. The stillness of the way he carried himself. The burn marks that splashed across his palms, scattered throughout with misshapen flecks. The ragged, ugly line that cut through his neck, like someone had tried to slit–

She slammed the door shut on that thought, darting for the mouse on Connie’s hand before Clara could get to it, “Thank you, Kaleidoscope.”

If one took into account the side eyes Quiet was getting, Grace was willing to bet the ‘chapter three’ was a surprise to all in the room.

Except for Plethora. They didn’t seem surprised. Then again, nothing seemed to surprise them much. It seemed like a given, considering they were five in one. But it was unusual in this case, like she knew it was coming.

The existence of a ‘chapter 3’ intrigued her. Was it something common to all of them? How would her own Chapter 3 play out, what else was there to do? A ghost couldn’t become more ghost, could they?

It would be interesting to find out. Ghosts couldn’t die twice, so Quiet would have had to die himself… but that was for another time. She had to stop getting sidetracked.

The woods were different. The trees were a lot thinner, starved centinels reaching to the sky. The dense foliage was but a couple of clumps of grass struggling to live. It made Grace think of the aftermath of a fire, of nature reclaiming what was lost.

Nando seemed to be feeling as weightless as she was with the realization there was more to come, and now he watched with a strange sense of trepidation the woods the screen showed.

“The woods changed,” Nando muttered, “I don’t remember this at all.”

Quiet did an odd sort of half smile, “It’s not that important-”

“No, it is important!” Nando turned to him, shoulders tense, “What’s happening here matters, how many chapters does this even have that I don’t remember?!”

“He’s right,” Skeptic looked up from his notes, “First the Princess changed, then the interior of the cabin, then the woods. There’s an escalation. But an escalation to what?”

“The thing in the dark,” Tabi answered, half-focused on her own notes.

Skeptic raised an eyebrow. “The thing in the dark?”

It was echoed by Quiet, tilting his head. Grace’s lips twitched, so that was what they were going to call whatever the entity was?

“Spoilers!” Razor smiled.

“Me?” Ciro breathed out, leaning in.

“Your name was ‘Cheated’?” Dami’s eyebrows raised as she reached for a cookie, “That’s not a very nice name.”

“We all know the Decider has favorites,” Skeptic pushed his glasses up.

“Hold on, why does he get to appear here? Where am I?” Oli asked in turn, frowning.

“This can’t be real,” Ciro’s head twitched to the side, almost looking at… someone, Grace couldn’t tell who. “I would remember it.”

“A version of us must have lived this,” Nando said, black eyes narrowed.

Oli sighed in relief, “There I am.”

“Unfortunately,” Winnie muttered.

“I thought you wanted to fool me twice!” Winnie blurted out.

“Nobody here blames you for that,” Smitten interrupted.

Ciro crossed his arms. “I do! You stabbed us!”

Smitten perked up, “Oh, I see where this is going!”

Skeptic turned to him, “Where is this going?”

“Are you familiar with the three act structure?” Smitten continued without waiting for an answer, “Beginning, conflict, and end.”

Thelka seemed to be thinking it over, “The second chapters would be the low point.”

“Precisely, Your Grace!” Smitten went on, emboldened by the fact someone understood, “By cruelly turning on the Princess in her moment of vulnerability, we made ourselves an enemy. But by mastering our fear and insecurity and handing over our power-”

“We killed ourselves.” Ciro finished for him.

Maybe it was Grace’s imagination, but Smitten’s smile had become the tiniest bit fixed. “No. The Act Three is the resolution.”

“You’re not blaming her?” Tabi blurted out.

Ciro looked at her like he was doubting her intelligence. “She didn’t make us have no choice, that’s His fault.”

Ava huffed a laugh. “Two whole options about leaving, someone’s getting tired of this.”

“I’d rather not get stabbed,” Paquito said, taking concerned eyes off of Ave for a moment.

“It would be mean leaving her there. Screen-Winnie was sad when she understood you were genuine,” Dami added.

“I can feel your eyes on me, Tabi,” Grace almost laughed, “I’m asking questions, don’t worry. Let’s see… this place is different…”

Tabi’s scratching of pen on paper stopped. “Her influence?”

“Winnie’s influence?” Razor wondered. “Her basement was very plant-y…”

“Could you do something with that?” Clara asked her.

Winnie’s tail puffed up. “How am I supposed to know?! How did I even ‘influence’ an entire forest?!”

“That’s very specific,” Gonchi frowned.

“And counterproductive,” Paco fretted. “When has ‘don’t think about it’ ever worked?”

“Pity you aren’t there, Smee,” Connie smiled toothily. “I don’t think you can not think of her.”

Smitten’s eyebrow did a little twitch. “I told you not to call me that,” Oh, she still couldn’t believe the lovesick heart did actually sound like that. Horrible. She was glad she didn’t meet him in her own version of events.

Connie’s grin didn’t falter, “So you say… but you still answer to it.”

Oli was staring at the screen, green eyes wide, “This is so strange. It’s me, it’s how I’d react but it’s not me!”

“How do you keep sucking more with each sentence?” that was Winnie, in equal parts disgusted and impressed.

“Oli, I don’t know what to say- Yes I do,” Nando switched gears, “Don’t ever ‘buddy’ me.”

“Got it.”

“She hurt you,” Clara stated, some sort of static coating her words. “You should hurt her back.”

“That would make us no better than her, and even then it was a moment of weakness.” Tabi gave her a withering look. “We don’t have to resort to cruelty.”

“Dying hurts,” Quiet agreed, “We should try to find a way no one ends up dead.”

“We tried last time, and we still ended up with our backs broken!” Oli said, and oh? Grace would have to get that story out later. Thinking the Narrator wouldn’t answer the thing about the looping, she decided to go to the cabin.

What greeted her was the hill and the cabin. Instead of trees, thorny plants reached towards the structure as though trying to get in.

“’My position is the only one that matters’, that only makes him look even more untrustworthy.” Tabi sighed.

Grace proceeded to the cabin, what else was there to do?

“Oh, that’s pretty.” Dami’s lips almost curled into a smile. uncaring of the destroyed cabin walls and the fact there was no roof, “This is the first time we’ve seen flowers there! And they have color!”

“What kind of flowers are those? Could we get some for here?” Ava had nothing to add interior-design wise, it seemed.

“It’s a drawing,” the one who technically was Grace’s shard drawled out.

Plethora was smiling, “How about the ones the boys have? It’s pretty weird.”

“Don’t let the windmill thingy fool you, it doesn’t fly if you spin it really fast, I know,” Connie sighed, then waited for a heartbeat, “I tried.”

Grace didn’t miss how his eyes were very focused on Quiet, or how they softened when he relaxed to the point she could feel it too, a small exhale that could have been a laugh escaping him.

‘Thanks,’ Nando mouthed at him from behind Quiet’s line of sight.

Most of the boys stiffened at that.

“We’re getting less and less options every time!” Paco griped, one hand going to his hair to give it a sharp tug.

“No steel claw, huh?” Ave barely muttered next to him.

Ciro picked up that thread, “Exactly, Avito! What the fuck is this?! She stabbed us and we don’t get to defend ourselves?!”

“Because you have been oh-so-responsible with a knife before,” Winnie pointed out.

“Aw, that’s not fair! Things are so much better with knives involved!” Razor whined. Gonchi nodded in furious agreement.

“Well I agree with Winnie,” Grace spoke up. “No good comes from having a weapon.”

“The chase is fun if the stakes are raised,” Beast commented.

Grace would have called what she saw in Thelka’s gaze ‘confusion’, but only in the privacy of her own mind, “There should always be a blade.”

“...Your Radiance?” that was Borja, looking as confused as Grace herself felt.

“There should always be a choice, little bird, just like you chose,” Thelka explained, surprisingly patient, “It makes everything have meaning. There should be a blade, it is written. To not have it is anathema.”

“What kind of fight do you even think there will be?” Ava rolled her eyes skyward. “Going at it all indecisive isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Why did it change? Why now?” Skeptic muttered to himself.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Clara said, “She could kill you before, blade or no blade I’m sure.”

“...thanks for the vote of confidence?” that was Winnie, her discomfort betrayed by her lashing tail.

Nando was muttering to himself, still processing that first change, “The woods changed and not even the blade is a constant, what if there’s a route where the blade was needed and it wasn’t there what if-” his muttering went to worst case scenarios.

“There’s a constant,” Quiet muttered to him, and Grace was sure she could only hear it because she was still very much on board with the almost cuddling she was doing, “The woods change, the blade’s gone, sure. I still have you.”

Tabi had ripped off a page that presumably held theories of where, exactly, the pristine blade could be, “I keep agreeing with you and I hate it.”

Oli put a hand over his heart, “That just means you have self preservation!”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Skeptic threw his hands in the air.

Cain sighed, looking at Oli in the eye, “Do you ever stop talking?”

“It’s good that she has it!” Smitten proclaimed, “We just have our faith in the fair lady. We've already shown her our heart. Now she has to show us hers. That’s how things work.”

“Smee, her heart will go ‘I will stab this bastard the moment he gets within stabbing distance!” Ciro shot back.

“He could have said something about the mirror!” Skeptic protested.

Grace hid a flinch as she picked the only option to wipe the mirror clean. “I was a bit hasty, sorry!”

And so they entered the basement, the screen turning black for a small bit, as the Narrator described them going past the scorched wood and into the darkness below.

“Still with me?” Grace could hear Nando whispering.

She could also feel Quiet’s shoulder shifting beneath her free hand as he nodded. “Yeah. All good so far.”

The stairs to the basement were a thorny vine raising project. It seemed dangerous to step inside.

Ciro gritted his teeth, “I hate him and his fucking voice so much. I’ve never seen his face and I know he has the world’s shittiest beard.”

Borja snorted, “What even is the world’s shittiest beard?”

Ciro spared him a glance, “Definitely not yours, Borja, that’ll be something majestic in no time.”

Dami put a hand over her mouth, “Winnie, you sound so tired…”

Tabi had a worried frown on her face, what she was thinking Grace didn’t know, but she could very well guess.

Ava had the complete opposite reaction, “WHERE IS HER DRIVE!? YOU FOUGHT WELL, GIRL!”

“What do you want me to do?!” Winnie stared up at her, “It’s a cycle!”

Grace herself had a pit on her stomach. The Princess she heard on the screen… there was defeat in her words. Like she was staring at death in the face.

“See? None of that involves death or sacrifice!” Damiana pointed out triumphantly after almost choking on popcorn in her haste to speak.

“I never really thought of the fact you guys have no choice but to get to the cabin,” Winnie said.

“At least someone gets it,” Borja murmured.

“We’re not in agreement, so I guess we don’t know what we want,” Grace summarized.

That was bringing back Grace’s last memories of life. Helplessness was something she was sure nobody liked feeling, and even if ‘helpless’ wasn’t an option to her anymore, the way the Thorn was talking stung. Both of them at the mercy of another.

Then again, with how overgrown the basement was, a good shove could get the Decider straight into the thorny vines, so maybe not completely helpless.

“Don’t give up now, we haven’t even stepped into the basement!” Gonchi protested.

“She’s not wrong, she can’t escape nor can she stop us,” Cain shrugged. Or, started to shrug before a cushion nailed him straight in the face. Grace had the sneaking suspicion it had been Borja.

Even Beast shuddered at the sight of the Princess trapped within the thorns. That had to hurt.

Oli was sweating bullets. Maybe it was from the heat. “That’s mine!”

“Excuse me? It’s not!” Nando said.

“She has the blade,” Skeptic was writing furiously, “But why now? Why not in other chapters 2? What’s the trigger? We died multiple times by her hand and she didn’t have the blade the first time.”

Grace didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if the Damsel had the blade at the beginning.

“Well, this isn’t good. How the fuck-,” Ciro said, narrowing his eyes at the screen before setting them on Winnie, “You don’t look… okay. At all.”

“Can’t you cut the vines with the blade?” Tabi wondered.

“I knew you’d have the knife,” Razor grinned, “And look at the bright side, judging that drawing, you’ll look beautiful once puberty stops.”

That tore Winnie’s eyes from the screen and Grace could swear some of her hair stood on end, “I will cut you-”

“Don’t engage or you’ll be the subject of jokes for the rest of your life as the youngest, I know.” Quiet interrupted. Some of the boys were not looking at him in a way that felt purposeful, and Grace spotted a few trying to hide smirks.

“So you have the blade?” Gonchi grinned, already raring to go, “Brilliant, show us what you got!”

“Oh, you look even worse up close,” Clara commented.

“Be nice,” Dami said with a sigh.

“How could you say that?” Smitten backed her up, “She might be injured, but that doesn’t detract from her beauty.”

“Careful now, loverboy, your girlfriend is right there,” Winnie said with an unexpected chuckle.

“Why would we be here to laugh, who’s that cruel?!” Dami exploded.

“What are you talking about?!” And that was Hurricane Ciro, “You did this to yourself!”

Winnie sat to her full height, “I didn’t-”

“We offered you the blade to break the cycle of violence, you stabbed us anyway because you didn’t trust us, but this thorn stuff is not our fault! That’s not fair! We can’t control how you feel!”

Connie was quiet, and Grace was surprised to read guilt in his expression, “You’re here because of me. The role of ‘the Decider’ is a lot harder than I thought.”

“Don’t take it personally, there weren’t ‘good’ options there,” Quiet assured him.

“Is abandoning people your first instinct?” Clara hissed.

“Hey, Choicemaker,” Ava started, and poor Quiet nearly jumped out of his skin, “That’s you, right? The one writing the options? Okay, then what the fuck?”

Grace could practically hear his heartbeat trying to slow down, “You have to understand that with Oli there, most options would lean into a certain mindset. That’s how that works.”

“Take the blade,” Cain instructed, “You’ve seen how helpless she is, trapped in the thistles. What can she do, stop us?”

“She could. Maybe she has more blades hidden somewhere,” Razor said.

“She’s afraid,” Ave countered in his usual quiet tone, “We should help, but not without saying it first.”

“You don’t need to comfort her,” Cain insisted.

“We have to make her calm down,” Dami insisted.

“Agreed. You have to ask first,” Grace said.

She did ask before she possessed Quiet, after all. It would have been… violating, otherwise. What Cain had said, did that mean he’d do whatever he wanted if he was sure nobody would stop him? Not considering others’ feelings? That was… dangerous.

She chose to tell the Thorn she wasn’t there to laugh, but to free her, she needed the blade first.

“...how is being trapped in thorns better than what happened to me? He doesn’t even need a blade to hurt- he could peck my eyes out!” Winnie said before frowning, “Wait, did he have a beak? I can’t remember…”

“I would think like that too,” Paco admitted grudgingly.

“Hey, I couldn’t even read the other options!” Tabi protested, her voice the loudest among the chorus of others saying similar things.

“Being the Decider isn’t all well and good if everyone is criticizing my choices,” Grace murmured. How did Quiet do it?

“We can still make things right just because. There’s no need to cling to the past like that. One act of kindness can spark another… at least that’s what I think.” Grace opined.

“Excellently put, my fair lady!” Smitten said, “We should look towards the future and embark on a different journey! Don’t you see? Everyone can be made better!”

“This is a cycle,” Thelka spoke, “To hurt and to heal, hurt again, heal again. It’s how relationships are built. People leaning on one another. I lean on my little bird for worship, as he leans on me for meaning. I clipped his wings, for that built our bond to each other. It is how things have to be.”

Beast grunted in agreement.

Grace was relieved to note she had not been the only one whose eyes had widened. She hoped that had not been literal, but with the way the game was going and the scars Quiet had gotten, how was she to know?

A few of the boys had turned stricken, concerned eyes to the tallest of them.

Damiana said nothing, but there was a glint in her eyes that told Grace she would at least try to approach Borja later. Good.

“We can still help her find her spark,” Gonchi finally found his voice, hopefully filing that exchange on a ‘we will talk later’ corner of his mind. “Help her live again, if you don’t fight for yourself then for who?”

“What if she hurts us again?” Ciro said, “If she doesn’t believe us? She said she wants to trust us, but what if she can’t? The whole thing isn’t even our fault, we never asked to go to the woods. She never asked to be betrayed, we were just put in a shitty situation by-” his eyes went wide, “By Him.”

Grace watched as he became animated suddenly, nearly hitting Paco in the face with his frantic his gesturing got, “Neither us nor her are at blame here. Yeah, we should team up, leave that blasted cabin and the Narrator can choke on it.”

“Spite, the best motivator!” Connie grinned.

“We haven’t tried freeing her,” Cain said, “And killing her is just too easy. I want something different from this.”

“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” was all Borja said.

“Oh please, if you mean to insult me, find new material.”

“Can we change her mind?” Gonchi wondered.

Don’t just reach for the steel claw, she’s scared enough already,” Ave advised.

“Then I’m just going to ask if I can take it.” Grace decided.

Smitten was delighted, “She trusts us. She trusts us! Doesn't that set your heart aflutter? I told you it’d go well!”

Ciro was flabbergasted. “That easy?”

Winnie halfheartedly glared at him, “It can’t have been easy!”

“You know, you’re more like Connie than you realize,” Quiet said, completely unprompted.

“Traitor,” Skeptic all but muttered.

“Siding with the enemy, really?” Connie managed to say between gritted teeth.

“Coward,” was the only thing Clara said.

“Oh, you’re awful,” Tabitha said.

“Sticking with the predictable?” Cain said.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Smitten spat out.

Quiet was just shaking his head.

Gonchi was strangely calm, merely asking Quiet, “¿Le puedo pegar?” and not even wilting after Quiet shook his head more vigorously. Grace did catch a muttered ‘Later, then’.

There was this sort of primal rage in Ave’s eyes. In most of them, really, that went beyond normal anger after a betrayal. Grace wondered if that was a side effect of being a Voice, something not quite human.

And of course, Hurricane Ciro was back for another round, “We couldn’t even resist His influence the first time and you’re siding with him?! We can’t even get mad at Winnie right because she blames us like she was the center of the universe and the thorns mean she thinks everything is HER fault! Didn’t we just say we’re both victims here?! And now you want to stab her just because?! What makes us any better than her then?! That’s not a win, that’s just cruelty! Taking joy in someone else’s pain, just because you were hurt by them before, just because you both were placed in an IMPOSSIBLE situation, a game with NO win condition? That’s BULLSHIT!” he put a hand up to silence Oli’s barely open mouth, “CALLATE! No digas nada! Nos vamos a ir los dos juntos ahora, asi que no digas nada o te parto toda la cara.”

He had to stop to breathe at that point.

“...what did he say?” Tabi muttered to her twin.

“Keep going, Grace,” Quiet said, hands over his ears.

Ava turned her head, “Really?!”

“Sorry!” was all Quiet said.

“Why am I not surprised?” Nando sighed.

“That one isn’t me! I haven’t done those things!” Oli defended himself.

“Everyone deserves a chance at redemption,” Smitten tried to placate, “All that matters is that he’s on the right path again!”

“Thanks, Smee- ten.” Oli quickly corrected himself.

“Such a pathetic attempt at distraction and subterfuge!” that was, of course, Smitten.

“I wouldn’t say distraction… maybe that’s all it takes? To be focused enough to ignore Him?” Tabi theorized aloud.

“It’s difficult to ignore a voice in your head, though,” Winnie said.

“In any sort of tale, this is where a kiss would go,” Smitten said.

Winnie grimaced in disgust. “Ew, no. I don’t even know you guys.”

“She’s not even really rescued. There’s still vines covering her,” Clara pointed out.

Winnie’s eyes went wide with horror. “Those cover me up! I don’t want everyone seeing my stuff!”

A pillow soared through the air, passed through Grace and nearly bowled Quiet over.

"Sorry, sorry, I deserved that one..."

“What does that mean?” Tabi muttered.

“I don’t think that can be moved out of the way safely,” Skeptic noted. “The vines are too big.”

“Let’s try,” Dami prompted.

“That should not have worked… How?!” Skeptic’s jaw dropped.

“Magic,” Quiet managed not to smile.

“Magic nothing! Plants aren’t supposed to move like that!”

“Winnie is half cat and you’re concerned with the movements of plants?” Nando pointed out.

Skeptic grumbled to himself.

“What can I say,” Ciro said as the tension in the room bled out, “I am a simple man.”

“It does feel good to needle him like that.” Paco agreed.

Ciro laughed, “And this is why we’re friends.”

“Whatever world would condemn an innocent like her to a cycle of violence and despair isn't a world worth saving,” Smitten proclaimed.

“You were right, Smee, that was satisfying to do,” Connie observed, “And we did ruin His day pretty spectacularly.”

Winnie was silent. Thoughtful. “Bandages, finally. And something to cover myself.”

“Would feathers suffice?” Smitten asked her, “I fear we don’t have anything else there.”

“Then you’d be cold, dummy.”

On the screen, the image looked quite pretty indeed, with the red flowers and the sky behind the Princess.

“It’s still clearly nighttime,” Skeptic couldn’t help pointing out.

“It’s so easy to rile him up, he complains the whole time!” Connie chortled.

“See, it wasn’t so bad that you can’t remember this one,” Quiet said.

Nando nodded with a sheepish grin, “I might’ve gotten a bit-”

“Overprotective?”

“What’s with the music?” Ave interrupted.

There was a silence as everyone listened. The piano of the background music had been replaced by some sort of ambient noise that wasn’t indicative of anything in nature. Grace had heard it before.

The Thorn on the screen looked happy, expectant, ready to take on the world. just like the Damsel had been before that thing took her.

“I think there’s something wrong with the screen…” Oli started.

“The screen’s fine.” Razor said.

This was worse, this was a lot worse. Thorn was aware the trees were fading, was aware of something being terribly wrong.

Contrasting her other self on the screen, Winnie’s eyes were wide with terror. “What are you doing?!” she yelled at Grace, “Help me!”

She could do nothing but click again. The Princess on the screen had hugged herself.

“What the fuck was that?!” Ciro exclaimed as a multitude of hands tore a hole in reality and stole the Princess away.

“Hands?!” Paco said, “I knew something bad was about to happen!”

“...what?” Skeptic had a frown of deep concentration in his face, trying to take it all in.

“It has to be Him!” Smitten declared, “Something took our beloved away just as we were getting a happy ending? Who else could it be?”

“Your beloved is right here,” Dami pointed out. Her tone didn’t convey it, but something in her eyes gave it away, she was slightly hurt by the comment. Tabitha had no such reservations and glared daggers (or would pristine blades be a better description?) at him.

Smitten froze for the slightest of moments, “My apologies, dearest, I misspoke. I’m just worried about the safety of our friend,” he gestured to Winnie, who was looking at the screen with terror, “And I was thinking of you, too, and the fate that surely befell you!”

“An ambush predator, huh?” Ave muttered to himself.

Cain was almost smiling, settling more comfortably in his spot, “This suddenly got a lot more interesting…”

The world on the screen, once more, faded to black, to be replaced with the mirror.

“Memory returns?” Skeptic grappled with the first thing that made sense to him. “So we’ve been here before?”

“It’s how the gameplay goes,” Clara explained, “You lose your memories at the start of every chapter one.”

Oli had noticed the mirror, and he leaned back immediately. “Nnnno. Not that!”

“I hate that thing,” Paco muttered.

“Can we just go around it this time?” Connie practically begged.

There was genuine confusion on Ciro’s face, “I don’t see what the big deal is, it’s just a mirror.”

“It’s not just a mirror,” Skeptic said.

“I feel anxious. Does anyone else feel anxious?” Borja fretted. Paco and Ave raised their hands slightly.

“Ignore the cowards and look,” Cain said with a sigh.

“Don’t you dare call me a coward!” Gonchi growled.

“I just did,” Cain smirked, “What are you going to do about it?”

Grace clicked again before a fight could brew.

“This is new,” Razor commented.

“That first option is horrible! We’re not picking that one, right?” Dami asked the group at large.

“That’s the option of an asshole, no,” Ciro agreed.

“It’s the only true one,” Cain commented.

“And how would you know?!” Skeptic nearly rounded on him.

“Why is the second option unselectable? Why shouldn’t we trust them?” Paco questioned. None of them had an answer for that. Grace chose the third option.

“The end of everything… holy shit, does that thing kill us?!” Ciro shrunk back.

“Screw that! What happened to finding the Princess?” Ava tried to shift their focus.

“Do we have to get close?”

“That is a complete lie,” Cain pointed out.

“Don’t do this,” Connie asked Grace, when they both realized the only option left on the screen was approaching the mirror.

“There’s nothing else I can do,” her useless heart clenched in her chest.

“But we’ll die,” Skeptic insisted.

The role of the Decider was a lot harder than Grace first thought, “I know.”

And just like that, she’d killed them. She’d killed three of them, not with a blade, sure, but she still did. And Quiet had to do this every time?

Yes, they were there now, but they clearly remembered what happened. For their sake, she hoped it didn’t hurt.

She gave them a little while to process it before clicking. Once again, prompted to ‘gaze into their reflection’. Except…

“What’s wrong with his hands?!” Oli’s lips curled in disgust. “Were those thorns poisonous?!”

“Oh,” Ave whispered, “More death.”

Nando’s head whipped around. Grace was pretty sure she heard a crick in his neck. “What?”

“Living bodies don’t look like that. Look, the other hand’s starting to drip.”

Whatever Nando was about to say died as a sudden gag interrupted him. Damiana had grown beyond pale, quickly lauching herself from her seat with a hand over her mouth, “Continuewithoutme!”

Frantic running, a door opening and closing, and very faintly, retching.

Smitten darted from his seat as well, “I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”

Silence reigned supreme for a few moments before Nando picked up where he left off, “He’ll find a way out of this, I mean.”

“Hm,” Skeptic said, his expression gentling ever-so-slightly. Nando’s belief was admirable, surely he could see that. “How confident of you.”

Tabi’s eyebrows seemed to be trying to take off from her forehead with how high they were. Whatever thoughts she had, she didn’t voice them.

“What-? The cabin?” Skeptic was puzzled, “Again?”

“Is the entire universe just a fractal pattern of cabins and woods?” Ciro fumed. “Are we this unlucky?”

The scene changed, once again, to a hill of nothingness, and a body held in hands. Only, not everyone could see they were hands.

“Fire?! What can we do against fire?!” Oli sat very straight.

Borja buried his face in his hands. “Oh, gods,” he mumbled, already dreading the scene that would inevitably show up.

“Oh, gods.”

Once again, the sight that greeted them was bad. The one that was Winnie once, bound. Two arms held her own arms close in an X position, two holding her body, her eyes covered again. Her jaw being moved to speak with a voice that wasn’t her own.

Later, Oli would swear he did not shriek at the sight of the thing in the dark. Not even a little bit. Paco, beside him, looked as though he was barely able to keep himself from fainting onto the floor, eyes barely seen with how he had covered himself, and Ave, with the blanket Dami had given them.

It was strange, Grace thought, how when something moved in the dark, everyone’s first instinct was to go inside and hide under the covers. As if monsters couldn’t open doors and crawl into bed with you.

“What am I looking at?” that was Skeptic, sounding slightly dazed, a hand over his forehead as though to combat an oncoming headache.

“This… is a lot to take in,” Connie mumbled, taking in the Princess held like that, propped up like a puppet with its strings cut.

Cain nodded in agreement.

“No, not metaphors!” Connie whined.

“Is that the thing in the dark?” Ave asked, to which he received nods from the girls.

“So we have been there before,” Skeptic noted. “I mean, he has been there before.”

“Just once, we played Dami’s chapter before this one.” Clara said.

“That one!” Winnie said, obviously still shaken by her onscreen kidnapping.

“Better to give Her something to look forward to.” Ciro fumed. Grace, obviously, selected it.

Borja cringed. “You would really speak to a goddess that way?”

“Good for them,” Tabi hummed, a serene smile on her face. He gave her an incredulous stare.

“Do you think it’s… wise, to antagonize something with that many hands?” Oli said nervously.

“I’d love to see her try,” Gonzalo said.

“Why’s there no option to save the princess?” Smitten was back, his arm around a waxen-faced Damiana. “Whatever that is, she’s rendered two of the maidens here captive!”

“We tried before. It didn’t work,” Winnie said dully, “I’m part of her now. There’s no going back from that.”

“So She consumes you,” Ave summarized.

“But there is a way out!” Smitten pointed out as he helped Damiana sit down. “We’re all here!”

“Good point, Dashing!” Ava smiled at him with all her teeth.

“Are you okay?” Borja asked Dami. Grace was relieved to note she nodded.

“Yes, that one!” Skeptic said, backed up by his princess counterpart.

“Vessel?” one of the boys asked, Grace couldn’t tell who.

“She refers to us as part of Her. Perspectives are, to her, the same as nerves to feel the world. It’s… disturbing.” Tabi gave a full body shudder.

“What she just said is, quoting Ciro here, bullshit,” Skeptic interrupted, “Words are difficult for her? Then keep trying to explain, ask if he understood. How’s he supposed to learn if he doesn’t ask questions?”

“It was She who prevented me to see my beloved on the big- um- small screen?” Smitten protested instantly, looking even more aghast – if possible.

“I did a great job as a Heroine, if I say so myself,” Ava bragged, a teasing glint in her eyes, “And she was radiant.”

“That’s not very nice, is it?” Nando grumbled. “Don’t go putting words in his mouth now, he never said they were useless.”

“You don’t have to defend me,” Quiet told him, “What do you think?”

“It’s horrible! She shouldn’t just discard lives like that. Calling them useless, how dare she…”

Quiet leaned back a bit into Grace, satisfied as Nando ranted for a little while.

Cain smiled that sort-of-smile again, “I like Her.”

“Excuse me?!” Oli puffed up indignantly, looking like a small, angry avian.

“I can feel the love,” Skeptic said without inflection.

“Are we not ‘anyone’?!”

“Not even he likes us,” Borja moped.

“Still with me?" Nando asked Quiet again, very lowly. It took... a concerning amount of time for him to answer back. Grace privately decided to keep an eye on him, just in case.

“Why?' The correct choice is ‘why’. Why would we thank Her?” Paco steered the conversation in a different direction.

“This is a reprieve from killing people, why shouldn’t we thank her?” Nando countered;

“There’s too much we don’t know, Paco’s right, why should we thank her?” Skeptic honored his name.

“Obviously we have to thank her, it’s how this works,” Borja said.

“Moving on,” Grace said, tired of what promised to be an endless debate.

Grace could feel her face twisting in place, “How can you say that? She hasn’t been hurt! That thing wasn’t hurt when you stabbed me in the heart, you killed me!”

She felt Quiet flinch. A vindictive part of her couldn’t help but think, Good. The rest of her submerged in a strange sort of guilt. He had done everything he could to make her up for it. It was complicated.

“She wasn’t the one he - you? - fell in love with,” Dami picked on that, momentarily confused as to who to address, the one on the screen or her own companion. “Was she?”

“Of course not!” Smitten replied, quick as lighting, “I have only eyes for you.”

“Last I checked, she wasn’t the one who went through the betrayal cycle, just me. Careful, though, with that many hands She could backstab you pretty easily,” Winnie added.

“How? She doesn’t even have claws,” Beast pointed out.

“Figure of speech.”

“He’s not wrong,” Thelka said, “People are extensions of a God’s will. It’s natural that, after claiming Winnie as her own, She would see no difference between the suffering Damiana and Winnifred experienced and her own. She owns them, they are Her. It’s that simple.”

“Show some respect, you are talking about human lives here!” Ava stood up, ready to give Thelka a piece of her mind.

“I am showing respect. See how gently she holds her gift? To take is a divine right.“

“You won’t be able to convince her, Ava. Keep going.” Quiet said, trembling in- no, that wasn’t fear. Anger.

Grace did not expect Ava to sit back down, but she did.

“She just said we aren’t her,” Dami raised her eyebrows.

“In the same way as my priest is not me,” Thelka clarified.

“But… he’s not.”

Ciro was focused on something else, “Fair price for freedom? Since when is killing someone or letting yourself be killed a fair price for anything?!”

“Being trapped isn’t a way to live,” Ave tried to answer him.

“Well fuck that!”

“The impulses are drawn to the edge…” Skeptic mused, “Could it be the wanting to escape the cabin? Those impulses?”

“If you were chained in a basement wouldn’t you want to leave?” Clara asked him back.

“Texture?! She kills us for texture?!” Winnie again, tail lashing out. “What did the skittish one say- that she consumes us? Well this Decider better find a way to make Her throw us up!”

Her hands were trembling.

“Throwing up is hard to do,” Beast commented.

“For you, maybe,” Damiana countered.

“Can’t he run?” Ave was tense, as if readying himself to do just that. By his side, Paco nodded furiously.

“I am so proud right now,” Connie said the moment he laid eyes on the one option that refused to do what She wanted.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Cain said, “But forever is an awfully long time. You would get bored before long. And you’d agree to what She wants.”

“I don’t want to know what She thinks of me!” Winnie said too late, “She killed me, She killed Dami, who cares what She thinks?!”

“That must be our actual quest,” Smitten said after peeling the thrown pillows off of him and giving Damiana one to rest her head in, “When the time is right, we must rescue the maidens from yet another unjust fate!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Nando muttered.

“I don’t want to hear it! I do deserve connections, and I- we are not just hearts for you to collect!” Winnie raged against the screen, against the heavens.

“You’re thinking too much like a mortal.” Thelka reminded her.

“I don’t CARE!”

“Mourn… so they do die,” Cain observed.

“That’s awful,” Borja whispered, staring at the screen with a mix of fear and pity. It took everything in him to keep his voice from cracking, and even so, he couldn’t stop himself from sounding afraid. “No one deserves to hear…” His words tapered off into a hesitant silence.

“At least you’re… keeping me company there?” it was a weak effort on Damiana’s part, but not one Winnie could begrudge her given her small hum of acknowledgement.

Tabi whirled around to face Grace, “Hey-”

“I don’t want to be the Decider anymore,” Grace answered. She had not been ready for the amount of responsibility it carried - she had known the Voice of the Hero, at least, and now she had to hear him die. Had to be the one to do it, in a way.

She was tired.

“Brace yourselves,” Ava warned.

“For what?”

A collective jump.

“Damn it, every time!” Ava grumbled.

Grace was inclined to agree. That sound of glass breaking was unnecessary in general and too loud compared to the volume of other stuff - it was impossible not to jump at it.

“Let me get this straight,” Skeptic held up a hand, “There’s this… goddess… outside the world that snatches you gals away after you step away from the cabin. I’m not even going to touch the perspective thing yet, my head is pounding. Where does the Narrator fit into all this?”

Tabi tried to peer at his notes but he moved the notebook away, “Still don’t know. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

“Do we have to?” Quiet sounded very, very tired. "It's suffering all the way through."

Grace didn’t even know what she would even do if she saw more tragedies taking place, be it her roommates dying, or the boys. The only thing stopping her from falling into despondency was the fact that she knew Quiet would live, against all odds, and rescue them – somehow and someway. 

"Come on, Quiet, just one more, and then off we go," Oli bargained. Why?

Quiet looked around, counting under his breath, maybe who was for or against him. "...one more."

Oli had gone straight to make more tea at some of the girls’ request.

Damiana couldn’t deny she felt a certain kinship towards him. They both wanted to make people happy, even if it was for entirely different reasons. Maybe she would have to talk to him about how this flipflopping between sides was not doing him any favors. If you’re friends with someone, you stick by them.

Her sister was on one side of her, her… lover? on the other. She leaned in to read some of Tabi’s notes.

DAMSEL
"fragment of a concept"
hands???
cold, we all felt cold
how did we get out?
the thing in the dark
vessels, perspectives. kills us?
Narrator (knew there was something going on)
Dami was in the Cabin first wrong, it was- all of us???
Voices, why are they flesh and blood now
"dashing hero" …
he offered to kill himself. talk to Dami later.

“I can’t read this,” her lover blinked, watching over her shoulder. Tabi did not have the neatest handwriting, but that could be a strength. She needed time to think, someone to talk to.

What he had said in Thorn had to be a mistake. She was his beloved, he had said so. But why would he slip up so readily, had she done something wrong? Should she start to remind him of her presence more often?

What had she done?

No, focus.

Her friend, the nervous one with the twitching fingers as though playing a piano, (Paco… short for Francisco, maybe?) was not very happy that they’d stay for one more game. The blanket she gave him seemed to help, keeping him grounded alongside his quieter twin that Beast kept eyeing. Damiana wondered if she should say something about it, he obviously was not comfortable with that.

There was someone else with the mouse. Cain, the man her knight didn’t like.

Try as she might, Damiana couldn’t read him. He asked intriguing questions about the game, made her consider avenues of thoughts she had not yet explored. She was not sure she agreed with his stance on pain, it helped people survive after all.

Other than that, his face was carved out of ice. A part of her did not want to know what would have to happen to break it. Maybe it would be like when Gonchi’s sparks flared, and he left the room metaphorically burned down. Or how Ciro was a cyclone and left everything scattered and still. Maybe, with Cain, frost would encroach, and leave the crops dead in their fields.

She had not seen him grab the mouse at all, too distracted by the thing in the dark on the screen. No, she was not thinking about that now. She supposed it was easy to take things away from a ghost.

The beginning of a story. A young man, a young woman and a wedding.

Or, a young man with unseen advisors, a young woman unjustly imprisoned and the woods.

Did anything matter other than they were happy together? That was where most retellings of most such stories ended. A perfect moment of leaving a prison hand in hand, eyes only on each other, neither considering what would happen next.

What did a happy ending mean, when the story was over?

“Why can’t we just leave?” Ave wondered in that restrained manner of his, eyes darting to a window for a moment. “Wouldn’t that be safer for us?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Connie said so quietly Dami almost didn’t hear.

“For all we know, that thing could still catch us again,” Ciro said.

It must have been scary, facing Her alone.

“We haven’t tried everything in the cabin,” Cain answered, swiftly clicking the option that would get them straight to it.

The sheer amount of apathy pouring out of his mouth made the entirety of Winnie’s face contort with disdain. It was true that the game was taking a lot longer than they had first thought, but Cain truly did not need to sound so bored about it.

“Really? No other questions? Not even one?” Skeptic was not very happy with that. It made her pulse tremble. She didn’t like conflict, and Skeptic wasn’t very easy to read. Dami couldn’t do much other than sympathize, she knew as much as him about all this.

She could swear she caught the slightest twitch of Cain’s lips. “No.”

The moment the cabin on top of the hill appeared on the screen, as lonely and grey as always, there was yet another interruption.

"I can’t believe you’re doing that. That place, that cursed cabin... it didn’t just want to trap us—it wanted us," Paco muttered, his words growing erratic. "Each step we took, it felt like the earth was dragging us down into our grave. It mocked us, as if were nothing but playthings in the hands of some sick, godless game. No end, no way out!"

Skeptic, to Tabi’s right, lifted his gaze from his notebook, the scratching of his pencil stopping, “Dragging us down- look, if you mean going down to the basement…”

Paco wiped a trembling hand over his face, gasping for air. "That place!" he spat, his voice breaking, raw with frustration. "It was like it was choking the life from us—like it was hungry. Couldn’t you feel it?"

“Then we’ll have to give it indigestion, won’t we?” Gonchi said as the Narrator on the screen gave His usual speech, and Dami didn’t have to look at him to know the fierce edge of his smile. The music suddenly stopped.

A shiver went down her spine. This was new, nobody had taken the blade so far. Was that the point, or did he want to turn to violence? Was that what he wanted, the same way Ava lit up when she and Gonchi traded blows, like Tabi and Skeptic traded words? She didn’t think that was it.

“We agreed we wouldn’t take the blade!” Tabi snapped, snapping her notebook shut as Skeptic wrote something down.

Cain did not take his eyes off the screen, “Who makes the choices here?”

“This isn’t so bad,” Ava grinned, and the light of the screen struggled to reflect on her hair, which was the color of old blood, so deeply red it was almost black. “Let’s give them a show.”

To Ava, scars were considered marks of bravery. They were something to show off, something to brag about. They were badges of honor, and even though Dami wasn’t very good at fighting or anything resembling combat, she understood where Ava came from.

But not the ones she herself had inflicted.

The loops were nothing to celebrate. A patchwork of puncture wounds where the blade shredded through skin and muscle was nothing to commemorate.

Damiana knew some about herself. She was not the smartest. She liked being around people. She could bake a mean apple strudel. She was not complicated. Those first few days, with her knight, she delighted in simple pleasures. An apple. A kiss. Good intentions, kind hearts, dreams of the future.

A new world, flowers blooming beneath their feet, he had sought her out in those first weeks. Near strangers to each other. She followed him. A single dance was not worth the price of a life, but it would at least begin to settle the score.

It was dizzying, and delightful, but despite it all, Damiana thought it was a bit too bright, a bit too quick, like looking at the sun. Would it have been better at night, maybe?

And there they went, down the basement.

The intonation was so markedly different it immediately morphed into her sister in Damiana’s mind eye. Deeper than her own voice was, with none of the nervousness that permeated her own call. A raspier, harsh voice.

Clara tilted her head, Beast’s ears perked up, Winnie’s tail lashed around once.

Her lover (they’d talked names, for a bit. She refused to influence his choice, but he did say he was partial to the name Felipe) perked up as well, “I was not aware the dulcet tones you all make could become so…”

“Cutthroat?” Ciro completed.

“No.” He seemed to be fighting back a sigh.

“Haughty?” Skeptic ventured.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connie lean in towards Winnie, who had curled in on herself as if to sleep. “What does that mean?”

A second of silence as she whispered back.

Connie nodded to himself, “Ah, I see, being a huge dick.”

“That’s NOT what I said, Scarf!”

“She is,” Thelka smiled, “I’m glad you already figured that out.”

“No I’m not?” Tabi raised one eyebrow, “Come on, you all heard the knife being picked up.”

“Hold it,” Skeptic held up a hand, “You mean to tell me you heard that, from behind a locked door, a floor away?”

“Would you please let me collect information here?!” Skeptic was gripping the pencil so tight Dami was half afraid it would break.

“No,” Cain’s tone may have not conveyed anything, but Dami wondered if he wasn’t having fun riling up Skeptic specifically and clicking on things too fast for the others to read.

It seemed not just Cain was having fun. Connie’s absolutely delighted laughter proved it.

“Fuck!” Nando blurted out, not looking at anyone in the room. “I’d forgotten about that!”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Felipe (Feli? That seemed like a good nickname) said, “Even a blind man can see beauty!”

That, at least, she could agree with. Identical twins and all that, the woman on the screen looked just like her sister, who looked just like her. Except for her sharper, guarded gaze.

“Nuh uh?” Ava guffawed again, nearly choking on a cookie.

“I was new at this, okay?” now it was Quiet’s turn to be embarrassed. Dami found herself wondering if the scars he bore hurt still. Morbidly, she thought of which one of the girls there could have caused him such pain. There were so many scars on the others too.

If that were to happen again, what would she do?

“What?” Grace gasped.

Cain glanced at her briefly, “Surprised?”

“Yes!” her face became more sunken, “It didn’t go that way back when-“

Now, Dami wouldn’t dare imply she was privy to the secrets of the resident ghost, but she was stuck with a newfound clarity that the end of the sentence would have been, ‘Back when you killed me’.

“Ignore him, he’s just being an ass.” Quiet dragged a hand over his face.

“Would a crime of passion be okay, then?” Dami asked.

“Of course not- that’s not what I meant!” Nando said, waving his hands as if to stop the upcoming questions.

“It’s not a question about how becoming this is.” Tabi blinked in confusion as she tried to process the line.

“Why not? A hero should be concerned with their image!” Oli defended, before yelping and scrambling away as Winnie repeatedly pelted him with pillows. Which Ciro was providing. “And hey, if there’s no witnesses around-”

“I always advocate for the flames of passion, myself,” Feli declared.

“Don’t we all know it,” Quiet muttered.

“...is neither an option?” Dami asked meekly.

“I’d say the passion one is better. Makes it more personal,” Clara added.

“Are we talking about the crime itself, or the likelyhood of getting caught?” Skeptic wondered. "Because if that's a factor-"

“Enough,” Cain’s voice cut through was was shaping up to be an… interesting discussion.

“Are you okay?” both Dami and Borja said at the same time. There was something hurting in Grace’s gaze, of that she was sure. She wouldn’t push, but it was there.

“I didn’t expect you to actually drop it,” Skeptic said.

“We shouldn’t restrict ourselves, didn’t you say that?” Cain asked.

Skeptic didn’t answer, but Dami did see that little smile. Still, Cain was going a little too fast for her.

“What’s the point of being the Decider if you don’t listen to the input of any of us?” Tabi asked.

Cain selected the option to tell the Princess about the world ending thing. Maybe he had wanted to do that himself, maybe he had wanted Tabi to shut up. Progress was progress. The Narrator didn’t like that, but still.

On screen, the mirage of the one who could be her sister made a face that gave Dami the shivers. Something in the hollowness of her eyes, the sudden shadows, the slight smirk.

Something that left her wary. Something that made Cain straighten a fraction of a movement. But she was looking for it, so she saw.

Dami had never thought of how intonation could change the meaning of words. The same words she herself had said, same order, cadence all wrong. More wondering than desperate, right at the edge of mocking.

“If you’re trying to make yourself look good…” Oli started.

“She’s not doing a good job, is she?” Connie finished, breaking into a smile. Oli turned away before Connie even finished his sentence.

(didn’t see the way Connie’s face crumpled.)

And the screen Princess was… examining her nails, maybe, with the most bored, irritated expression Dami had seen on her own face. On Tabi’s face.

“Did I really look like that?” There it was, a raised eyebrow. Disbelief. What did it mean that they all were the ‘first’, that they could change so much? What were they? For a moment, she felt inhuman, not real, an object given life.

She cut herself the night before, just to see if she would bleed.

Should she tell her lover about all that?

She could tell Felipe everything. Or, maybe not everything, but the important things, surely. The things that mattered. Not the things she was thinking right then, though. But that was besides the point.

Besides. She had seen Winnie long after others had gone to sleep, licking her wound. A single line, like hers. And she had been relieved, because there could have been dozens there. Dozens.

“Does anyone remember?” Tabitha asked.

“There were no clocks,” Plethora pointed out.

“I don’t remember there being a ‘day’, either,” Grace said.

“It’s not like there was much to see in the basement,” Skeptic muttered to himself.

“Because he needed something to do,” Feli exclaimed. Passionately? Of course. Felipe was always passionate, in everything he did. Whether it was ardent love or fervent hate, overzealous in his emotions. “I’d prefer our decider to take the wheel, this one doesn’t seem to have our best interests at heart.”

Tabi stopped writing, looking up. “What do you think of the decider, Quiet?”

There was something unguarded in those grey eyes, as he bluntly said, “A vessel in reverse.”
Tabi dove right back to her notes, and Dami into her mind as she tried to understand what that meant. Did that mean he fragmented instead of being whole? That he held the Voices as separate people instead of consuming?

No, that was the thing in the dark, not a vessel.

A vessel like she was. Had been.

What did that mean, a vessel in reverse? What was a vessel in the first place? Something to be filled, right? She swallowed back bile again, clutching her sister’s hand. She wanted to believe she was teaching the thing in the dark about love, to be kinder, that maybe things did not have to be this way.

And about decomposition, how bodies rotted, how the limbs paled and then there were marbling patterns, the bloating and putrefaction, the maggots, feathers falling off, the skin turning black, the fact she could see bone, by the end, the liquifying, the SMELL-

She could, distantly, hear Thelka say something. “Coward,” and her bones rattled. Was that directed towards her? Surely not, Thelka had never talked to her like that-

She hadn’t known how to use a knife in the first place, and seeing Winnie, who could’ve been her once upon a never, do it so easily… how did she learn? Why did Dami have to cause unnecessary pain?

Why hadn’t she thrown the knife away, like her sister had suggested? Was that what she had done in her own ‘chapter’, was that the obvious solution? Dami didn’t think- didn’t even consider- she was so impulsive, so unthinking. Tabitha called her her twin, but despite sharing the same face they were nothing alike. Tabi knew things, she observed, she had notebooks upon notebooks of ideas and theories and this one she won’t let Dami see because Dami was too stupid and naive. Dami hurt the one she loved because she was too scared to do it right, how to have trembling hands, she stabbed and stabbed and she couldn’t look at him in the eye because she was too selfishly concerned with her own feelings and he had cried-

Someone was saying, “Please. Please don’t.”

She had never begged like that. She didn’t even feel pain, back Then. She had forgotten so much. She could feel pain, now, but the fact she even had to check…

But what if it was easier not to? Cain had said pain was just another feeling, that it was easy to tune off. Her lover didn’t like that kind of thinking. Was it okay to think like that? Was she okay? Was she okay? She didn’t know, but maybe it would be easier to stop thinking those things. maybe she could talk to Felipe without wondering if she was committing a thought sin, or hiding things from him. Maybe she would stop having the impulse to place her hands over his chest and feel for the puncture marks that surely were there, a burning pain she wished could take away. Fire.

There was humming right by her ear, a melancholic sort of song.

Maybe if she wasn’t so scared, she could talk to him about how much she loved him, what to do now that their story ended and she didn’t feel happy enough. How much she wished he didn’t need to hurt for her, how happy they could surely be. What was happiness in the first place? Why did she have to kill her beloved when the easiest option was right there, to turn the blade on hers-

There was a banging on the door. It woke her up.

Sometimes, at night, Dami would knock on her sister’s door to see if she was awake, if she could sleep with her so she could push aside the visions of bloody hands and rotting corpses. Or Grace, who learned to knock on doors because she had no footsteps to announce her presence. Or Ava, making their house a home with all the grace of a stampede of deer. A lot more charming, though.

This sound was not like that, not hesitating or reckless. It was a demanding thing, a loud, jarring sort of vibration. Frightening.

There was Tabi, staring at her in naked concern, saying ‘I called you twice’, Skeptic, muted but not less there with graphite stains on his fingers. On her other side, Felipe, and she could see-

Something shimmering around Feli, like a caress, like a shadow, and a lot fainter around herself, just barely reaching her, making the fine hairs on her arms and neck stand up. Feli was close enough to touch and Dami couldn’t understand how she had never seen the thin strands connecting him and the small one- Quiet, was it?

The song was still being hummed in her ear, an attempt to soothe her, she realized. Or maybe himself. She didn't know if he realized she could hear him. His eyes were terrified, so that wasn’t working for him. She had hurt him too, hadn’t she? All three of them had shared a body, and she hadn't apologized for killing them.

She passed through the strands with one hand, to see if they would break, but nothing happened. She didn't even feel them. Feli grabbed her shoulders, alarmed and unseeing. The threads faded from sight eventually and Dami didn't know how to make herself see them again, but she knew she would never break them, even if she knew how.

(She felt, more than saw, Quiet almost standing up in alarm. Cain made him sit back down with words she couldn’t hear.)

She moved out of Feli’s grip while the pounding on the door kept going. Paco, Ave and even Oli flinched back from the noise. What had happened when she was thinking? They were not in the basement anymore, back up the main room of the cabin and the table was blocking the door?

“I still don’t get why He made us go back up instead of slaying her again,” Skeptic seemed to be satisfied with how she was responding to stimuli again.

That voice, she knew that voice. Damiana’s gaze turned to Clara, her true feelings, as always, kept behind the mask.

“That’s you?!” Tabi stared at the masked woman in poorly disguised shock. Her scribbling had stopped, trying to find something that tied the floating woman and the being trying to break down the door together.

“That’s me!” Clara confirmed, absentmindedly rubbing one of her hands.

“You better start running,” Ava advised, “She snapped that chain like it was nothing, the door’s got nothing on her. How come you don’t have more muscle, Clarita?”

“Can’t believe I could’ve done that the whole time…” Tabi muttered, annoyed.

“You’re being rude,” Clara said simply, but there was something static-y in her voice that made Dami shiver.

To his credit, Nando didn’t apologize. He just kept staring at the screen, giving Paco room to huddle closer. He was muttering something, Dami couldn’t catch what.

“Stop that, you’re scaring him,” Ava said. “He can’t give it his all if he’s scared.”

Clara blinked. “That’s the point.”

“Is it too late to run away?” Ave insisted, quieter than a sentence like that warranted.

Dami jumped into her sister, a little, when all of a sudden Ava stood, casting shadows over them and her back lit with the screen glow. With a fluid movement, she grabbed the choicemaker by the back of his shirt and plucked him out of the little group he had been part of.

“What is with you?! These options suck!” she yelled, lifting him high enough to see eye to eye.

“What’s your problem, Ava?!” Winnie huffed, suddenly awake and alert, “That thing sucks when you do it to me, why would he like that?!”

Ave sprung up, eyes seeming to glow with the screen light, and Ciro was right behind him, throwing the water from his thermos in an arc with a demand to, “Let him go!”

It hit her in the chest. Despite the water being steaming, the only affected thing seemed to be her clothes, not leaving much to the imagination. Dami politely looked away.

Ava looked at them, as if unsure that was supposed to have done anything. Quiet hadn’t yet moved at all, and there was something growing- feathers?

Ava shook him a little bit, “It was cute with Winnie, but- don't think this is a kitten scruff thing-”

“Of course it’s not-!” Ciro started, but Ava wasn’t hearing him.

Dami could see her bringing Quiet closer, “...Yeah, you better be sorry, there’s not a single good option there!” Then, a little lower, “What? Oh.”

Just like that, she put him back down carefully. Gently, even. Whatever she said to him, Dami couldn’t catch it, but Quiet’s eyes were wide with disbelief as he took back his spot on shaky legs, with Ciro and Ave following close behind. Ava returned to her seat like nothing had happened.

"Really, little bird, didn't mean to scare you like that," Ava insisted.

"Could you please not call me that?" his voice was uncertain. Unsure.

"Sure thing."

“Again with this?” Skeptic frowned deeply, “This doesn’t make sense. Putting us to sleep when the task hasn’t been completed.”

The screen went dark for a moment. Dami’s eyes went to Ave. They glowed.

Dami’s heart leapt in her throat. Feli made some sort of sound. Quiet put his face in his hands.

“The door didn’t open that way the first time,” Oli pointed out. The stars outside the windows had gone out. Nighttime just didn’t make stars go out. What could have happened?

“Where is she?” Beast wondered, at the same time as the Hero in the screen.

There was a short burst of static, and there was almost-Clara, floating in the air. Her mere presence made the cabin darker. Her eyes and grin contrasted eerily with the shadows on her body. There was something strange about her posture, her proportions. Like the dress wasn’t falling on top of a body at all. Like there was nothing under there.

Oli jumped, “WHAT IS THAT?!”

“Hm,” Cain merely leaned a bit further.

The princess on the screen got closer. Her expression was unhinged, flickering in and out of existence in a way unlike anything Dami had seen, and she was roommates with a ghost!

“Get out of there,” she heard Ave mutter. Beside him, Paco was as white as a sheet, Quiet was shaking, Nando looked unusually grim. Guilty?

“You waited until he was awake to do this, why?” Tabi asked through dry lips. Skeptic was utterly focused on his notebook.

“To deny someone their freedom so cruelly, even a fair lady such as herself would feel wrathful,” Feli opined. Dami couldn’t help but think this was too much.

Ava sat ramrod straight, turning a furious glare to Clara, “What did you do?” at her lack of response, she grew more agitated, “What the fuck did you do?!”

“Nothing!” Clara finally defended herself, seemingly taken aback by her response.

“You weren’t trying to get out of the cabin,” Tabi cut in, “‘Take your time with him’, what did you plan on doing, you waited until he was-” a pause, her gaze incredulous, “Were you watching him sleep?”

Oli looked like he was about to pass out.

Those huge, bulging eyes were not human. Eyes weren’t supposed to look like that, like they were independent from the body and could detach at will.

“That’s it?” Gonchi seemed focused on something else. “This is so… dispassionate.”

“Agreed,” Razor whined, “Where’s the blade? You could’ve used it.”

Tabi shuddered, hand coming up her mouth as if to retch, Clearly there was something Dami wasn’t getting. All she knew was that Clara was scary, and she was causing someone pain and she didn’t seem to care.

Seemed to be causing everyone here discomfort. Even Connie seemed scared.

Felipe was protesting something.

There was someone in front of her. The light of the screen lit him up from behind, rendering him a shadow. On his hand, the mouse, the position of the Decider. Felipe was protesting, and Tabi was shaking her head, and Clara was arguing against her chapter title, and she could see a sort of thin smile on Cain's face.

Dami took the invitation. She felt like a newborn foal, her legs barely able to support her weight. Foreign and clunky. She slowly sank into her seat. She could make things better now, and she's apologize later, and she would talk to her sister about all this.

Just after dealing with this Nightmare.

Gonzalo wasn’t liking the direction the chapter was going at all. Not the utter lack of combat, not the use of shady tactics unlike even Oleander would pull. Not the fact that one obviously wasn’t a route he would appear in and he would have to wait again to see his first meeting with Ava.

His eyes slid over to Skeptic, half-embraced with Tabitha much like Gonzalo himself was. Always with something to read or write on in one way or another. The complete opposite of Gonchi, always thinking, thinking, thinking.

Oli was- huh. He was not looking at the screen at all. He was wholly focused on the animal that was taking up a whole sofa for herself.

The way he was sitting made him look like an entirely different person, the sort of intensity Gonzalo associated with doing what he did best. If he had wings, they would have been spread wide. Oli was… studying her. Her expressions. Maybe, judging if she was preparing to pounce.That was when Gonchi’d have to come in. He wasn’t the tallest of their flock, but he was the first line of defense. And there were a lot of things to defend them from.

Cain’s head was tilted in what might have been polite interest, if the angle hadn't been a couple of centimeters too far. As if he was hypermobile, or otherwise not quite right.

His eyes were dead, inanimate, marbles in his eye sockets with an iris and pupil printed on. There was a reason why Smee called him Alf behind his back.

(Reproach) (Amusement) It’s ‘Felipe’ now, not Smee.

And that was Quiet, using their bond to communicate. He had tried to do it less and less, but not with him. It probably helped that Gonchi was one of the few ones permanently twisting the threads between his fingers. At least one part of him had to be in movement, and if it helped Quiet remember he was there in his corner, all the better.

Clara was still going on about the title card of her chapter. Gonchi did not think it was such a big deal, something attacking you while you were asleep more than deserved the ‘nightmare’ name.

There was no honor in that.

The girl with the mouse, Damiana, had just selected the option for having a sense of deja vu.

“Paquito!” Ciro smiled reflexively for a moment before it wavered and fell. “Wait, that’s the kind of bullshit you hatched in? No wonder you’re… you.”

Clara chuckled as if that had been a joke.

“Paranoid, first name Properly,” Paco snapped, “You’ll see— and stop with the apologies, it’s fine.”

Obediently, Quiet faced the screen once again.

“When has He ever done anything?” Oli wondered, back with another kettle. “He talks a lot, but it’s all posturing.”

“It’s not like He can do much, he’s just a voice,” Winnie added.

She was immediately silenced by the chorus of ‘HEY!’ that came forth from each of the flock. How dare she compare them to him? How dare she say they were useless?

Her tail puffed up, “Sorry!”

Damiana, it seemed, had rapid-clicked as her startle response. Oops.

“A man after my own heart,” Skeptic grinned. Distrustful wrecks, the both of them. Considering the glance Tabitha gave Skeptic, she agreed. Or maybe she was worried about a triad. Either could be it.

“Anyone can be a threat to anyone,” Tabi said, writing something down, “Fine, not to the world, but the Decider could be a threat to us, us to the Decider, the thing in the dark to maybe all of us…”

“You think too much.” Ava huffed.

“It is what it is,” Beast said.

Paco shuddered. Gonchi could relate. The idea of being helpless against someone wasn’t one he wanted to dwell on much.

There was something good that came from each having their own body, if that woman tried that again they could swarm her. Did her shutting-down aura work with multiple people? It was worth testing, if it came down to it.

…and now he was thinking like Skeptic. He wasn't about to tell him that.

“No pressure or anything,” Tabitha rolled her eyes.

“Gracias, papá,” Quiet sighed. Then tore his eyes away from the screen as he felt the weight of many stares. Gonzalo included, because what the fuck.

“Ew, no,” Connie wrinkled his nose, before brightening, “On second thought, He would hate that…”

“Don’t say that again,” Cain said.

“You deserve so much better than that,” Paco said.

Damiana had stopped too, her eyes filled with… something. It better not be pity or Gonchi would snap.

“What did he say?” Ava whispered to Gonchi.

“Nothing important,” Gonchi answered. Considering what Quiet told them, the Narrator was dead, so, out of sight out of mind. That was why thinking too much was a bad thing, the thoughts could twist on themselves.

“Okay, show us what you got!” Ava grinned, beautiful and fierce like only she could be.

They saw the cabin again, the same dialogue from the Narrator, something about how the Princess was too direct for lying and cheating — points in her favor if it wasn’t for how utterly impersonal everything else was — and then, the cabin itself.

Gonchi could see the appeal in not having decorations or anything, but this was a bit much. Or was it a bit too little?

“Inviting us to run away, more like,” Ave muttered.

“Clara, why?” Ava had to ask, “I expected something with a little more personality.”

Clara reared up and off the floor, “I had to make do with what I had- and the door was unnecessary, you know I can go through those.”

“Enough about the door, what about the eyes on the windows?!” Tabi pointed jerkily.

Paco nodded in — Gonchi was surprised to note — relief. “You see them too?”

“I did too.” Quiet added.

“And you never bothered to tell me?!”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to talk through an options menu, Paco?!”

“Okay, what do we do?” Damiana interrupted, looking around the room. Puzzled glances answered her.

“You’re the decider, you choose,” Tabi reminded her.

Dami shook her head a bit wildly, “I know that! But those three have gone through this already, and I want to do this right. I’m the decider now, so you’re my responsibility.”

Clara crowed, “This is gold, I haven’t even done anything yet!”

“Can you stop that?” Tabi snapped. “It’s not funny!”

“But it is! It’s too easy!”

“Stop being so mean!” Dami snapped in turn, faltering in surprise at her own boldness. “I mean… you’re scaring him. On purpose. Why?”

Clara looked at her like she didn’t know the way the world worked. “He’s doing everything himself.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, listen to him, you’re about to hyperventilate. Inhale, exhale.” Skeptic instructed.

“Easy for you to say!” Paco snapped. “You weren’t there!”

“Wish I was.”

Even if Paco looked everywhere but the screen, Gonchi wasn’t sure it would work. Bullies often read someone ignoring them as fear. They were usually right, too. If there was one thing nobody could afford to show, it was fear.

“It’s not that much different, though?” Winnie said. “Door’s gone and the table’s overturned, that’s it.”

“And the eyes.” Paco felt the need to say, like that hadn’t been very clear to every one of them.

With that, and the mirror, done, Dami had run out of choices but the one she had clearly avoided.

“Honestly, Dami… you should take it, I think,” Tabi chimed in.

“You have to defend yourself!” Ciro agreed. “She made us not function just by being near her, who’s to say she won’t do the same to the world? You see a tragedy, I see two birds and a rock.”

“Maybe she doesn’t have that there,” Dami argued, “She’s never done anything like that here. Right?” she turned to Clara.

“Right.”

“There always should be a challenge,” Thelka said instead. “Take it.”

Dami stared at them. Up until Borja noticed and pointed at himself.

“Yes, you.” Dami clarified, fiddling with a stray thread of her dress.

Borja stared like a deer in the headlights. Swallowed. Glanced up at Thelka. “Take it.”

“Now tell me how you really feel, please,” Dami asked.

Another glance up. A nod of approval. Borja nodded to himself, “I don’t think you should.”

“Why not?” Skeptic asked instead.

“Clara was mad because she was left there, anyone would be mad. Anyone would be hurt.”

“Time to stop talking, birdie.” Clara interrupted. Borja’s mouth snapped shut.

“No, keep talking,” Thelka said instead, eyes narrowing.

Like that, Borja kept going, “If you went with the blade, she’d still think you’d hurt her. Buried pain is still pain.”

Cain exhaled harshly. “Frozen things don’t move.”

“What’s the point of living if you can’t feel things, Frosty?” Gonchi felt the need, for the first time, to defend Borja.

"More tea?” Oli came back to the room, getting to work on serving it immediately. He even served another cup to Borja. As he passed Damiana, he spoke.

“I’m sure Paquito would feel a lot less scared if he had something to defend himself with,” his voice was smooth and precise and insinuating, rather like the slugs Gonchi killed in the backyard the day before.

Damiana glanced back at him.

“Good.” Nando said.

Paco sighed, “Thank you.”

Winnie couldn’t help it— she laughed. Tabi cracked a grin. Ciro snorted gleefully as Connie gave Nando a pat on the back.

“I take it back, that’s even worse,” Razor pouted.

“Not a fan of chaos and destruction?” Winnie grinned.

“Not that kind of chaos and destruction!”

“I don’t think a bomb would work,” Grace leaned closer to Nando. “Clara was flickering there, so she can’t very… what’s the word…?”

“Corporeal?” Skeptic said.

“Fleshy?” Cain asked.

“Solid?” Oli ventured.

Tabi frowned, jotting down something else and pointing it out to Skeptic. He laughed a derisive laugh.

“Maybe it can work!” Dami brightened. “Maybe if we’re confident-”

“That’s not how real life works, kid.” Skeptic interrupted. “Belief won’t help much in this case.”

“And what do you know?” Tabi defended her sister, “We’re up against someone who can kill just by being near us.”

“There has to be some sort of logic to how everything works!”

“If you aren’t confident then you lost half the battle!” Ava said.

“Why, though? Why would He omit something like that?” Tabi asked.

“Prances?” Ava snorted. “Like a deer?”

“You’re planning now?” Skeptic asked, amazed. “What happened to you when we met?”

“I wasn’t that much of an idiot,” Nando exclaimed.

Hesitantly, Dami picked the option to throw the knife.

“...What would’ve happened if you stepped into the void?” Tabi asked, not even reacting at the multitude of incredulous stares sent her way, “I’m curious.”

“We wouldn’t be able to,” Nando answered, lips slightly twitching.

“This is why you needed me there,” Connie half crouched where he sat, “You know I never miss!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Borja said, “She’s not solid, what do you think would happen if you tried that?”

“What am I looking at?” Sme- okay, fine, Felipe wondered, tilting his head.

“This isn’t a basement,” Winnie pointed out. “There’s no edges. It’s just dark. Again.”

It wasn’t just the screen. The room was darker than it had any right to be; the light didn't seem able to reach the corners, as if the shadows had a life of their own, the screen the one truly bright spot in the room...

“The planks aren’t big enough to hide behind. Crouching low won’t help either.” Ave was muttering.

Ave and Paco exchanged a glance, a moment of thought exchange. They could be very similar, in some ways.

“Nevermind, it doesn't matter if I’m not there, kid’s saying everything I would say,” Skeptic grinned.

“We’re the same age,” Nando frowned.

“Not physically, we’re not!”

“How do you think I feel about that?” Quiet said, voice wavering ever-so-slightly.

Beast’s chest rumbled with laughter, “Someone likes to play with her food.”

Connie snickered nervously, “Then we just have to keep her busy.”

“Until she gets bored of us, then we die?” Ave shot back.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Dami took a deep breath. Straightened her back. “I’ve made up my mind. We’re not going to die.”

“How are you so sure?” Paco interrupted, eyes somehow wider. “How can you be so certain?”

“I’m not, I’m asking you to trust me.” She looked at the options menu about the directions. “Where did you guys go?”

“Right, I’m pretty sure,” Nando answered.

“Then we’re going left.”

Gonchi had to laugh at the image that greeted them as the one on the screen went left. The drawing was more of a white blob suspended in the air, with huge eyes and a black something emerging from it.

The screen changed to a flickering version of Clara, cracked mask and all. The cuts on her dress resembling tentacles.

“What the-? Already?!” Ava said. Her jaw was set, lips trembling; she was furious as much as terrified, and in that moment Gonchi adored her, would have done anything for her.

The Clara on the screen went even closer, wide eyes staring and mad.

“Run away?” Ave suggested in a little whisper.

“Nothing!” Quiet blurted out, more immersed on the screen than Gonchi had thought. Well obviously, he thought, it was nothing Quiet himself had done. Who would have thought being scared of the princess would turn her into something like that?

“Seriously, just run away.”

The room was suddenly very warm, very quick, and Gonzalo felt the familiar burning of rage. The Witch had been different, equal opportunities, a balanced chapter. This one was a bully, delighting in making them scared, not even giving them the chance to fight back. Beyond unfair, as Ciro would put it.

His skin should've been boiling, bubbling into welts and sloughing off, freeing him from the body so he could do something. Except all it did was itch and burn. Break her hurt her make her bleed make her suffer they'd taken so much from all of them now he wanted to take something back how dare she how dare she HOWDARESHE

(PAIN)

Gonzalo shuddered for a moment, before realizing he’d been holding Quiet’s thread in a vice-like grip. He adjusted his grip as quickly as possible, trying to make him see- he didn’t mean to- It was an accident-

After a few entirely too long moments, he heard Quiet answering back.

(Relief) (Confusion) You were angry.

Gonzalo didn’t like feeling guilty, it was not pleasant at all, but he still sent it Quiet’s way:

(Remorse) (Concern) Not at you. I’m sorry. You okay?

(Confusion) (Trepidation) You were angry. You’re supposed to hurt me. Why aren’t you?

For the first time since he gained awareness, he wanted to kill something and make it stay dead. As soon as they went back home he'd confront Quiet about it. What did that mean? Who had taught him that?

He had barely noticed the room being plunged into darkness as the screen went black, some of them flinching at the loud burst of static.

“Clara please,” Dami turned to the star of the show, eyes wide, “Please move away.”

"You look so tired, Dami," was the only thing Clara said.

It was amazing how much "tired" sounded like "weak." And "helpless."

“La concha de tu puta madre mal cogida, in what way is this fair?!” Ciro grit his teeth, echoing what Gonchi himself was thinking.

“Everything goes dark and we die?” Tabi ventured.

Right, Paco’s little chant to calm himself down. He should have expected it to be born somewhere like the situation on the screen.

Skeptic grit his teeth. “Paco, could you stop? I’m trying to think!”

“...wait a moment. Are you keeping them alive?” Winnie turned away from the screen, facing Paco with eyes as wide as his.

"Is that it?" Clara wasn't impressed. "And for how long were you planning on keeping that up?"

"Forever if I have to." Paco said, and Gonchi had to admire his commitment.

Maybe channelling his rage into the chant wasn’t the most productive of things, but Gonchi needed something to do that didn’t involve him potentially accidentally crushing Quiet’s threads again. Ava followed.

Ciro started clapping. So did Tabi, Connie, Nando with some kind of respect.

“You’re incredible!” Dami smiled at Paco,

Ave had turned to Paco, eyes wide with horror.

“...are you… overriding her thing with your own overriding?” Skeptic tried to understand.

“What are you doing?” Ave finally found his voice, barely, “What are you doing to the body?!”

Confusion in Paco’s eyes. “I’m making it function? I just explained it! We just have to push through the pain and get her!”

Ave shook his head wildly, “You can’t just shrug off organ failure. The body is too tired, too hurt. It’s telling you to lie down and rest.”

“It can rest after we’re out of danger!” Paco insisted.

“All you’re doing is killing it slower and more painfully.”

“You’re thinking too much, fledgling,” Beast interrupted, and Gonchi swore he could hear the twins’ hearts skip a beat simultaneously, “We evolved to catch you, you evolved to avoid us in any way necessary.”

Right. Gonzalo hated her too.

“Why are you being so mean?!” Dami tried to understand, looking at the screen where the Princess pulled back, hands on her hips.

“My dear,” Felipe said, speaking for the first time in a while, “If I may relieve you of the burden you’ve chosen to carry…?”

“You may not,” Dami said resolutely, “But thanks for offering.”

“Really? I want action!” Razor pouted.

“Dami, please let me-” Tabi tried, weakly reaching for the mouse but not pressing when Dami shook her head.

“Okay, Hero wanted to know why she’s not attacking…”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Clara told Paco, and it wasn’t hard to imagine a grin from ear to ear behind the mask. It made Gonchi want to punch her, crack that mask into little pieces, make her feel even a fraction of the fear the others were experiencing.

He would do it. Just not now. If anything, he had learned restraint those few months.

His fingers still twitched when the princess on the screen was close. Very close.

He should have been there. He could have helped Paco, he was sure, they both were all about the body, about keeping it healthy.

Ciro wavered in place, trembling with rage, but neither of them could do anything, and that was infuriating.

Oli grinned, very nervously, “You sure are good with negotiations.”

Clara blinked, “Thank you!”

“I see someone is a gloves g-” Connie shut his mouth as he dodged both a pillow and a slap to the back of his neck, courtesy of Fernando. “I was trying to lighten the mood!”

“Not the time!” Nando retorted.

Faintly, Gonchi noticed the chant in the background was a lot faster.

“Why are you being so cruel? We’ve done nothing!” Dami said.

Clara sighed, crossing her arms, “Dami, they betrayed me and left me to die, I’m allowed to have some fun. You would’ve done the same!”

“Uh, I can answer that,” Winnie said, “No she wouldn’t! That's psychotic!”

“What happened after the decider got killed, ask her that,” Tabi interrupted, looking at her twin with-

Was that an attempt at puppy dog eyes?

“Okay. Okay. So it was instantaneous to you.” Tabi breathed a few times before going back to her notebook, half keeping an eye on Dami.

“Another option appeared? You’re working overtime, Choicemaker,” Ava grinned at Quiet.

“You’re not being nice at all! We didn’t even know you had this death aura thing!” Tabi whipped around to glare at her.

Paco was looking at Clara, not with fear as Gonchi had expected, but with unadulterated hatred.

Dami was starting to panic, “Um, what about destroying the world..?”

The fact the Princess on the screen was twirling in the air as she said that, like nothing in the world mattered…

“Why would you do that?” Dami turned horrified eyes to her, “The world is beautiful!”

“It is still in need of alterations,” Thelka cut in smoothly, as if reassuring a panicking child, “Fear and suffering is necessary to appreciate the good things.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s good for someone to spread fear around,” Tabi took over.

“The cabin obviously isn’t good for anyone,” Felipe interrupted, “I’m sure she must have thought that while she was trapped, but she hasn’t tried to end the world all this time! Surely that has to count!”

Clara blinked as if in a daze, “I guess I must have forgotten. It’s very fuzzy.”

Felipe’s smile slid right off his face.

“You won’t be doing that,” Plethora said, with some weight behind it.

“Nobody wants to live in a cage,” Beast said. She yawned hugely, showing all her fangs.

“You knew what she wanted to do and STILL you let her out?” Ciro said, incredulous. Quiet flinched very slightly.

Thelka nodded, as though it made perfect sense to her.

Gonchi was finding there were a lot of people there deserving of his hate. That one too, how could she enslave Borja somehow and relish in that so blatantly - the way he asked for her permission to speak…

He didn’t know how much more he could take.

“How’s that unwinding going for you?” Razor asked. “Was that literal? Because I could help after teaching Dami how to stab.”

Ciro choked on his own outrage.

“It’s been wonderful!” Clara, that monster in barely-humanish-skin smiled, “Having downtime really brings things into perspective. Makes you think on what to do next more carefully.”

Quiet whimpered. Nando positioned himself so Clara wouldn’t see him as easily, Grace doing the same thing, not that her translucence helped with much. Paco could be barely seen beneath the blanket.

Ave screamed. It was a howl of rage too wild for an animal, let alone a human being, and it cut through the dimly lit room like a razor. It was a warning and it was a promise.

And Gonchi found himself standing up between the group and her, Ava by his side, “Over my dead body.”

“Not that, please,” one of the ones behind him said, he couldn’t be too sure who.

“Settle down,” Plethora sighed, “These are our guests, aren’t they?”

Dami nodded, face pale, “Y-yes! So they have to go back if they want to!”

Clara hadn’t made a move, but Gonchi wasn’t convinced. Both him and his wife settled down right where they were, none of them taking their eyes off of her. Ciro materialized at their side.

“Alright, the marriage is on,” Oli smiled, and maybe it was the lighting, but he seemed to have turned completely white.

That took Clara’s attention away from them. She giggled. Giggled.

“Paco can’t take it!” Dami gestured at the screen desperately. As if she needed to justify herself. As if anyone that mattered would think any less of her. This wasn't enjoyable for them, and they couldn't move, so even if it wasn't the bravest option Gonzalo couldn't say anything against that.

“Why?” Dami asked, lip trembling, looking so unlike his Ava Gonzalo couldn’t wrap his head around the fact they both shared similarities at all. “Wouldn’t it be better that they chose it of their own accord?”

“It would be more significant,” Thelka agreed, looking at Clara as though to reproach her.

Connie looked at the new option that appeared and couldn’t hold on a slightly hysterical laugh, “Guess I’ll die?!”

Maybe they’d be able to move an arm, that way they could shatter that mask like Gonchi had wanted to do from the beginning. They had to get out of there somehow.

“Don’t pick that option,” Oli blurted out.

Gonchi quickly read it. 'Are you sure about that? Give it enough tries and I'm bound to win eventually. And maybe you don't get to come back like I do.'

“I don’t want to pick that either,” Dami agreed, and Gonchi wondered why, if they made her angry maybe she would slip up and they could win.

“Then choose,” Cain said.

Dami turned to him fully, and there was something… incredibly fragile in her posture. “Huh?”

“If you don’t want to keep dragging this on forever, you have to choose one of the non-Explore options.”

Gonchi was about to punch him too, at this rate. He could swear Cain was enjoying himself.

“I’m very curious to see which will it be.”

Tabitha wanted to stop this from happening, to free her sister from the pain that was sure to follow, but Dami didn't want her to. All she could do was watch and advise. And think of what to do with the information after. Tabi grasped Skeptic's left hand with her gelid right one. Neither could get warm. Secrets stole all the heat from your body.

Her sister wouldn’t set the game version of Clara free, of that she was sure. The world was one thing in the abstract, when they’d been locked in basements with only vague ideas of what it meant. Now their list of priorities had shifted drastically. The world had to be saved.

"This won't go well," Ciro declared, just as a statement of fact. "Chapter III: Bullshit."

“She will make a good choice. As they say, the future belongs to us, the optimists,” Feli insisted.

Ciro was not impressed. “I'm going to put that on your tombstone if you keep throwing sugar packet quotes at me.”

“I don’t think I want to set her free,” Dami looked everywhere but at Clara. “The you from before wanted to hurt others, and I can’t let you do that. I’m not killing you, either.”

“You’re really not the best with knives,” Ava chimed in.

“Do your worst’ won’t make her any less angry. Paco can’t keep going like that-”

“Yes I could,” Paco countered.

“You shouldn’t have to,” she answered. “So we need another game plan.”

Tabi was so proud of her at that moment, taking into account all options, the pros and the cons. If Clara herself hadn’t been in the room, she would push for the option to slay. It was something she never thought she would be pushed to consider.

If someone wasn’t remorseful, they wouldn’t change their mind at all. And the Clara on the screen wasn’t the least bit remorseful, nor did the Clara here. But something was… off.

Ave sighed, “Good.”

The Clara on the screen appeared in a blink, mask filling the entire screen, making most of the room startle. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, maddened.

Dami stiffened, “Wrong choice?”

“Don’t you start with that,” Connie told her, “I’m loving that. Makes both Him and her unhappy. Both of them were being jerks, admit it.”

Dami looked away.

Tabi exchanged a glance with Skeptic. A wrong choice in a game that told you outright there were no wrong options was strange. Antithetical to what the first screen told them. Was it just an empty threat or another puzzle piece? Was the ‘wrong choice’ going to get them answers?

“Says who?!” Ciro seethed, clenching his fists. “This is bullshit, first there’s a wrong way of slaying her now there’s wrong options?! That’s a perfectly good option and fuck whoever said that!”

“Of course there’s a good option, letting me out!” Clara shook herself out of her stupor. “I thought that was obvious!”

“That was not a good choice,” Beast agreed, pining him in place with her gaze, “It activated her prey drive.”

“What the fuck is a prey drive?!”

Well, they could see. And Tabi wished she hadn’t been able to.

She had no face, no nose, her eyes and mouth held on by something dark, though not blacker than the sheer abyss that surrounded them. Her lipless mouth was pulled on a sick grin, the teeth drawn individually. Her eyes twitched as one tear fell down on the trajectory of what should be a face.

“Que mierda es eso?!” Ciro jolted in place, hand halfway to his face in a defensive gesture.

Paco dove under the blanket, not that Tabi could blame him. By contrast, Ave had straightened to his full height, was it her imagination or was his hair standing on end?

“God, she’s ugly.” she heard Connie say, very lowly. Not lowly enough.

Clara looked at him, just looked at him, hands stilling from where she’d been trying to get her fingers under the mask. Did she have a face at all? Could she kill them if she wanted to? How could Tabi keep her sister and the others safe, if that happened?

“Aw, don’t be sad, Clara!” Razor grinned, “So you don’t have that thing called skin. You don’t need skin and organs to do stuff!”

Tabi’s pen went off the lines of her notebook because what did that mean?

Throughout the narration, the image on the screen was of the Princess, the one every girl in the room supposedly changed from (she still didn’t understand how that was possible). It was white lines on a black background, it got gradually scribbled out and bent to the side, sketches of mounds of bodies piling up on either side of the screen, their arms and hands limply reaching for nothing at all.

Or for her, perhaps.

Tabi blinked, trying to understand what was happening on the screen.

“A cycle of death and rebirth until a normal soul is made into something new,” Thelka reasoned, smiling.

Beast huffed in response, “This is just the natural cycle. An existing thing always leaves a mark.”

“Existing makes wounds?” Razor joined, “I’ve never thought of it like that!”

“I wouldn’t describe existence as something hurtful,” Felipe argued, “Living means finding good things, finding love, possibility. Not just bloodshed.”

“I guess you’re right,” Beast yawned, so wide Tabi could see it took actual effort for that massive maw to close.

The screen cut, and then an image of the Princess stood. Her weeping, teary-eyed face brought out of her hands and glanced at the material piling around her. It had been melting into a lump of flesh, no, aging unnaturally fast, her skin sloughing off her bones. Age to the point of rot.

Dami looked green. Tabi heard Felipe asking if she was okay.

Reincarnation, was that what it meant? The loops? Timeloops were a sort of cycle, but what did that have to do with Clara taking off her mask and yelling?

This she knew: They had been there for months.

This she knew: Clara, Beast, Grace, possibly Winnie weren’t human.

This she knew: Clara could do tremendous amount of harm, but she hadn’t yet.

The images didn't match up. Did the cold, or the thing In the dark, have something to do with it? Could it have taken something from Clara? The drive, the will of her own? The want to destroy?

That was what it did, hollow them out and steal away pieces of them for itself. It could have taken Dami away, taken something of her sister and never give it back. Would Tabi have noticed? Would Tabi notice if she had changed?

That didn’t matter, as soon as this stopped she would pack her bags, take her sister and run-

A rushing sound, the kind that swept away anything else.

…what had she been thinking about, again? The images didn’t match up, that was it.

Sketched silhouettes of people surrounded the image of the Princess, who looked happier and happier as more 'people' crowd around her, even downright manic. Tabi was always uncomfortable with such extreme, unhealthy grins. There was something about them that set her on edge. On the screen, the Princess’ teeth turned black as the grin reached her widest point.

She couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity when the Narrator said ‘gone the next’ and the Princess wept, still smiling.

All that went out of the window when ‘the worms have found their orifices’ meant an actual image of a grave, the Princess inside it, being completely consumed by worms.

Winnie made a sound of disgust and Dami took one hand to her face to retch. “...I’m okay, I’m okay. I can keep going.”

The image of the Princess was surrounded by images of random items and those sketched 'people'. Gradually, the people disappeared as the objects and image of the Princess melted into flesh once more.

“What is with this and melting people?” Ava shuddered in disgust.

On the screen, the Princess stood, alone, in an empty void. Identical to the beginning, identically scratched.

Borja’s breath hitched. “The water…”

Tabi looked to the side as Skeptic stiffened. His focus abruptly disappeared, to be replaced by burning, fearful recognition. But of what? Was he afraid of the water?

Most of the other boys looked uncomfortable too. That was something to note.

Connie laughed nervously, “Small victories, huh, boys?”

“What does that mean?!” Winnie leaned back, disturbed.

Tabi wanted to know too, but that was interrupted by the chapter III screen.

…Which then showed also a Chapter IV. And a V… 6th, 8th…. she counted up till 34 until the titles completely filled the screen in white. Then text appeared in black: The Moment Of Clarity.

Which completely upended everything Tabi thought she knew about the game. She had counted more than thirty chapters! What did that mean? How long could a loop be?

“No, no, what did I do..?” Dami whispered.

On the screen, there were supposed to be woods. What was there didn’t seem like woods at all. Structures resembling trees with their roots exposed, cobblestones suspended in midair in lieu of a path. No ground to speak of, even the stars were sparse there.

Thelka did not speak, but there was a glimpse of something dark and furious as she straightened to her full height. Realization flickered with cold certainty, the shadow of candle flames within grey eyes. Pale mist filled the previous dark grey of her eyes, the distinct thrum of power electrifying the air.

Even if it was merely the fraction of an echo… Tabi could not shake the chill of fear that scratched a finger up her spine. From her experiences with the thing in the dark, Gods knew only to take. And Thelka surely liked to talk about being one too.

“I'm so sorry,” Dami whispered to the room at large, her face white. She shook her head, and Tabi could feel the effort it took for her to talk about anything else. “‘Broken’? That’s not a nice name. Why did all of you get mean names?”

“It is a good name,” Thelka raised an eyebrow, “I gave it to him.”

“That’s not true, the Decider named us!” Skeptic didn’t even look up from his notes, his hand squeezing Tabi’s own.

“Not me,” Borja said.

Ciro rolled his eyes, “Borja just hatched and he’s already sick of life.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What part of ‘squeezing the world’ didn’t you understand?!”

“Why are you here?!” Tabi whirled around to point accusingly at Oli, coming back with — what else? — more tea.

“We obviously need some sort of bargaining power — here, it’s for the nerves —, I don’t know why Borja is here too.” Oli took his time answering, handing Dami a mug with different colored tea than the other. Begrudgingly, Tabi had to admire the gesture. Now that she really looked at her sister, she didn’t look well.

“Hey, hold on, Dami doesn’t have to be the Decider anymore, right?” Winnie seemed to have picked up on that too. “The chapter changed.”

“There’s been too many chapters between this one and the last one, let her have it if she feels up for it,” Ava said.

“I’m there too?” Gonchi blinked.

Ava smiled, “Stubborn, huh? It suits you.”

“You sound… tired.” Tabi said, making Ava’s smile dip into a frown.

Immediately, Borja picked up a pillow, glanced fleetingly at Thelka, then threw it at Cain with all his strength. He was prepared, this time, and the pillow hit him in the raised elbow. He put it behind his head.

“To compare the very thing that gives us life to something as fleeting as a candle…” Felipe seethed.

“It’s just as easy.” Cain answered, staring intently at the screen. Cold… Tabi couldn’t say it didn’t fit, considering what she had seen from him so far.

Beast chuckled under her breath.

“Oh,” Dami smiled tremulously, “Connie. I see now.”

Connie smiled back, it didn’t seem to reach his eyes, “That’s me.”

“No, no that’s not how it works,” Dami stole Tabi’s answer before she could formulate it. “Someone who loves you doesn’t hurt you. Love should be kind.”

Felipe went to speak. Closed his mouth. Opened it again. “My other self must have meant, love can change people! And if we’re nice to her, she should change too.”

“Why aren’t you…?” Whatever Dami was going to say, it died in her lips.

Tabi, for her part, was confused. What could have possibly happened to make Smitten appear? What sort of thing-?

A possible answer appeared in her mind. Her thoughts illuminated it. Then she chose to not acknowledge it at all.

Very carefully not looking at it.

Skeptic didn’t even look up, writing almost feverishly. "We went through a lot of chapters. It was like before, Ciro, when we die, a new one of us comes in."

“I didn’t say that!” the actual Ciro protested. Skeptic didn’t answer him. “Hello?”

Tabi could barely find her own voice when she saw the options menu appear. “Explore, Dami. We… we always have to look for the info.”

“That’s not a number,” Skeptic muttered under his breath.

Cain nodded at that.

Ave blinked. “What’s wrong with you, culebra?”

“Oli, you know how to spot liars,” Grace said-- when had she wrapped herself around Quiet so completely? “That one’s obvious.”

“I know,” Oli blanched, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Giving up power to a superior, an utter lack of scheming, blind trust in the word of someone who's proven to be untrustworthy. That was not the Oleander Tabi had seen in his own route, not the Oleander Tabi had seen in flesh and blood.

Connie gasped, going completely still.

Cain nodded, giving Connie a smile. It made his features look off. “You’re starting to understand.”

“That is not me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I suppose imitation is the sincerest form of flattery…” Cain said leadingly.

“Shut up! Shut UP!” Connie said, half furious half terrified. He would have stood if not for Winnie pushing him down by the shoulder.

Gonchi was recognizable enough, still. Tired, but not downtrodden. Still had some kind of spark to him. Oli was being genuinely kind, it seemed, something that jarred her.

What was with Smitten and the goddess comparisons? It was a very specific compliment, even when taking into account whatever must have happened until then.

It was very cold in the room. Tabi pressed herself to her sister’s side.

Tabi’s stomach dropped like a stone. She had expected that line to belong to the one she knew now was previously called Broken. Never before would she have expected Hero, Fernando, to sound so tired.

No, it was more than tiredness, it was resignation.

Cain shifted slightly. Tabi noticed because Dami turned her head to him too. He was looking at some of the group near them. Grace, wrapped around Quiet, murmuring something. Nando, not looking at the screen. Quiet, who did look at the screen very intently.

The hand holding Tabi’s own was shaking.

Dami turned slightly, “You were helping them?”

Paco spoke up for the first time, hissing, “Help?! How can you call that help?!”

Gonchi nodded, “That’s not helpful, we need to feel things!”

“It would be such an empty life, to roam around thinking in such a way!” Felipe assured her.

Nando shuddered slightly, “Don’t say that.”

Tabi could see Cain turn his head to Connie, a fluid motion, too fluid, impossibly smooth for the bones and muscle fibers of his body to achieve at that angle. She couldn’t see his face from where she was sitting, yet she saw the shadow of his smile on Connie's paling face.

“You’d care!” Nando jumped before Cain could start talking, breaking the staring contest. “You were philosophing all the way up to the basement, remember?”

Connie let out a grateful sigh as Cain tilted his head idly in Nando’s direction. “We had the same questions going up the stairs. You can’t get enough of conversations like this.”

Nando's posture straightened, almost leaning forward in his seat, then paused as he tracked the way Cain's neck seemed to crane forward in turn. He settled down and Cain did as well, eerily matching but somehow off. Tabitha noted the way both Connie and Nando shivered simultaneously as Cain's attention drifted from them both, to the figure huddled at Nando's side.

Ave slithered into Tabi’s field of view, eyes reflecting the light of the screen eerily. Like Paco, his posture was completely tense, unlike Paco, he was completely focused on Cain.

The Hunted, but even cornered animals can strike if they feel threatened. It was like he was getting ready to pounce, like he was going to attack at the slightest movement.

Tabi hoped he wouldn’t. It would spell chaos.

“What have you done to them?” Winnie asked, aghast. Was this the same Winnie who said she wouldn’t forgive them yet? Then again, Tabi supposed empathizing and forgiving weren’t the same thing.

Tabi hunched over beside Skeptic, peering at his notebook. He had only been noting the dialogue on what the past few loops were like. Seeing them so worn down must have made a number on him. That was fine, she could do the rest for him. All of them were beyond exhausted, with the attitudes to match. No new ideas, resignation. If that was so, what had they been doing so many chapters?

Was it a refusal to let her out really all it took for her to be trapped there?

That was… worrying.

Tabi couldn’t stop herself from flinching at the singsongy tone. It sounded wrong to her ears. Everything in this situation sounded wrong.

Tabi’s heart stuttered, imagining Smitten just bringing them all back to Clara over and over and over again…

“Don’t you start with that again!” Paco hissed at him. “That was idiotic enough the first time!”

“What first time?” Tabi murmured to Skeptic.

“It worked the first time!” Felipe defended himself.

“It was funny, but it didn’t work!” Contrarian— Connie, she couldn’t mix them up — piped up, halfway there to hiding in his scarf.

“It did for a little while, right, my friend?” Felipe turned to Oli, who froze mid-step.

“Stop, all of you!” Dami’s exclamation rang out in the room. She wilted at the attention the stares conveyed. “I don’t know why you’re being mean to each other in the game, you should be working together to escape, but that doesn’t mean you should do the same here! You’re friends, aren’t you?”

There were more noncommittal mumbled answers that Dami was expecting.

Dami exhaled roughly through her nose. “Why are you being so mean? Don’t you care they’re hurting?”

“Of course he doesn’t, fuck that guy.” Paco replied.

Ava snorted, “Didn’t know you were so mouthy.”

“You’d be surprised,” Gonchi said, shoulders slumping slightly in relief.

“I’m sorry, who’s the smart one?” to Tabi’s relief, Skeptic finally seemed to come out of his notebook-shell.

Borja just nodded at his not-self’s words. Thinking about it, only Skeptic seemed to actually like Cain.

But there was something else. A contradiction. The other Voices had said the Decider had been there since the beginning, and there Cold was, insisting that he had only just returned to them.

Forgetting or not feeling much… not feeling was out of the table, and amnesia was on the menu, but why would Cold give that as an option in the first place?

“Yes I can do nothing. They need a break.” Dami nodded resolutely.

“And our Choicemaker comes in with more things to do, good.” Winnie grinned.

Tabi desperately tried to muffle her snort with a hand, feeling guilty immediately after. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” Borja waved her off, “I don’t care what he thinks.”

“That’s the problem,” Ave blurted out.

Again, Paco emerged from the blanket, “What do you mean, I’m keeping all of them alive!”

“Barely. You don’t understand your limits.” Ave said, stern and tense.

“You say that to me all the time and I’m fine,” Gonchi interrupted.

“That isn’t the same!”

Dami smiled slightly, nodding. She stood up straighter in her seat. Bumped shoulders with Tabi.

“Can we see the ranking?” Razor called to Oli’s retreating back to the kitchen.

The room was silent. Not a ruffle of someone moving, not air displacing, just silent, and dark, and cold.

Tabi understood what those words meant. She understood and wished she didn’t. Because the only place ‘quiet’ they knew was where the Voices died in.

Shutting everyone else away… Was it even possible to shut Hero away? It didn’t seem likely, he was there from the beginning and he was there now, still. But the fact Cold wanted everyone but him gone was extremely worrying.

Grace had frozen too, wrapped herself a bit tighter around Quiet. Tabi couldn’t even see him from there. Worried for her shard, definitely.

Felipe moved suddenly, eyes blazing. “You scoundrel, how dare you say she needs you-?!”

Cain blinked, gaze going from Felipe, to Damiana, back at him, “She does.”

Felipe flinched as if struck. Was it her imagination, or was the room getting warmer? Cain blinked, not moving as Felipe took a step forward. "What gives you the right to say such depraved things, knave? To order yourself above one who knows her more than you? To do as you please, to subject her to such horror--"

"You would shelter her," Cain replied, voice cool. "Keep her locked away. Afraid for her, but telling her she's happy. Look. She's making choices with me."

Tabi resisted the urge to look between the two men, instead focusing on her sister. She looked paralyzed, pale and misty-eyed. Scared. Tabi's breath hitched.

"Making choices no one should have to make, you fiend!" Felipe's voice raised, and his shadow raised on the wall with it. "You dare ride a high horse as you have her ride into your battles? You dare try to separate her from those she trusts? She ended up here on your word, but acting in service of those she trusted."

“My word? She could have said no.”

“You cornered her, you absolute arse-!”

“This isn’t about her!” Ciro cut in like a knife. Tabi rubbed her eyes, she could have sworn his edges were wavering. “You fucker, when we fought-- the first time, it was all of us against her, us against the entire fucking world! Us together was the point, was it smooth sailing, no, but we knew the enemy! And now you want us to die? You’re acting like you’re better than us! I don’t know where you got that idea, but cut it the fuck out.”

Cain hadn’t copied the flurry of movement that erupted from Ciro, this time. “I don’t want you to die.”

“Oh yes, because I interest you?!”

“Yes.”

Something in Ciro retreated, some sort of realization made him get back down as Smitten was practically dragged by Dami tugging on his arm. Maybe him sitting back down in a way that hid Paco and Ave from view was unintentional.

If ineffective, because Paco peeked out from behind him, gesturing at the screen. “I have been keeping the body alive all this time, kill me and you die too.”

Cain’s eyes swept over the room. Looking for the next one to snap.

“You can try,” Oli practically chirped, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

"Can't even trust your own voices in your head, huh?" Winnie, of all people, said.

“Think you can boss us around?” Gonchi growled.

“Don’t worry, rage-boy, that won’t happen,” Connie grinned, having regained some of his color back, “I’m pretty sure the Decider likes me more than him, in any case.”

Tabi sighed at that. She could see her breath.

Cain stared at Connie, without blinking. It lasted for a few seconds, then he looked away. Tabi could see Connie shivering where he sat.

Dami clicked once. Impulsively.

Tabi felt herself flinching back, her heart stuttering. It surely was very cold in the room.

“What the fuck?” Ciro shouted, voice wavery, “That is-”

“A crock of shit!” Gonchi completed it, eyes wide.

“She’s been watching the whole time,” Paco trembled, “She’s been waiting for us to let her out.”

“All this time, She could’ve taken Clara away then?” Winnie wondered. “All this time?!”

“She’s the one limiting the choices then, it’s not Quiet’s fault,” Tabi muttered, as always writing.

“That’s it then? We can’t even do something else because She won’t let us?” Connie griped.

“What’s the fun in chasing prey that can’t run away?” that was Beast, her head resting on her paws.

“Isn’t that a good thing? If they run Clara won’t be able to catch them.” Razor said.

“Isn’t Clara like- a ghost?” Winnie said, “Shouldn’t she be able to get out herself?”

“Oh, she’s nothing like me.” Grace said resolutely.

There was only a hill suspended in nothing, cobblestones suspended in nothing. And a mirror, floating in midair.

Dami blinked, shivering in her dress, “Guys, is it possible to become selectively blin-? Oh, nevermind, a cabin’s there. In midair.”

It hurt hearing him like that. So tired.

“Are you okay?” Tabitha barely heard Grace asking him, “How do I help?”

“Exactly!” Dami nodded, “Thank you, Quiet!”

“Since when do you agree with the bastard?!” Ciro roared, hands twitching.

“I do not.” Cain said.

“That you does!”

Paco flinched back. “That’s not necessary!”

“Why do we have to touch it?” Ava wondered. “There’s no walls, we can walk around it.”

It was strange, that mirror. it wasn’t there in any chapter one, it was on the wall in a chapter 2, it was blocking the path in the two next chapters they had seen so far. Impossible to ignore. What was it?

That was… very strange. Never before had an option been so vague, so devoid of instruction or flair. Just an utilitarian ‘proceed’ that was quite at odds with the way Quiet wrote those options into existence.

Was the Choicemaker okay? Was he tired too?

From the corner of her eye, Ave straightened. Inwardly, she sighed in relief. They all needed to relax from everything this chapter did, once this was over.

“So He can see the chosen options? That’s weird…” Tabi muttered. Even weirder that he didn’t understand what the option meant.

Just like that, the reassurance and certainty Tabitha felt, that the Choicemaker out of anyone was fine, evaporated.

“What the fuck-?!” Ciro stuttered.

Grey ones, there weren’t supposed to be any grey choices, not unselected ones. Let alone in brackets, restricting choice.

Tabi opened her mouth, wanting to ask Quiet if he was okay. Something made her turn her head slightly. Ave was looking straight at her, eyes wide. Slowly, as pandemonium broke around them, he tilted his head very slightly. Right in Cain’s direction. When had he stood?

Right. That answered two of her questions. Quiet was not okay, and Cain was, maybe, someone dangerous.

…and Cold had said something remarkably like the option menu when he had last spoken… maybe that was nothing.

“How… crude,” Thelka said with a yawn. “You hurt them so much, when it could have been much easier if you didn’t brute force your way inside.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t so easy.” Clara said.

“Oh, but it is.”

Most importantly, Tabi couldn't run now because Thelka was fucking crazy.

And Clara would do untold amounts of damage from being told ‘no’ once.

What else did she have to fear in her own home? No, if she were to run she’d have to know all the threats.

A mask, completely cracked.

Gonchi grinned, muttering, “I got her.”

Then Tabi, and the rest of the room, processed what the Clara in the screen said.

“Toy?” Dami winced. “That’s-”

“I wasn’t saying that to you, Dami.” Clara said tiredly.

“That’s still bad!” Winnie said. “People aren’t toys, and you can’t just kill the Choicemaker and go around saying that!”

“You just pushed and kept pushing-- What’s this dishonor? This unfairness?” Ava seethed.

Ave gave a full body shudder.

“Her face is gone,” Winnie mumbled.

“Why does she have so many arms?!” Paco hissed.

“She looks like the thing in the dark,” Tabi realized. “So many arms…”

Was Quiet the will? Was that what he represented? There must be a reason why the options menu went all grey before Clara said all that.

Cain had sat back down. Had he noticed her staring? She hoped not, she’d have to talk with Skeptic and some others after all that was over. She wasn’t about to let them live with someone who had said he kept them around because they were interesting.

No, he was locked in a staring contest with Ave. A standstill.

She counted, the Clara on the screen had a grand total of eight arms. Tabi shuddered again, she wasn’t fond of spiders but at least they weren’t actually malicious!

Nando inhaled sharply. Tabi saw his expression and recoiled. She had yet to see Hero this mad, or mad at all, and the way Nando looked spoke of hatred.

Not that she blamed him, what the Clara on the screen was describing sent shivers down her spine. Or perhaps that was the cold. Had to be, everything in her was gelid, not just her hands.

“Over my dead body,” Nando growled.

So she took the Decider’s power but not his will? How did that work?

They were still locked in that staring contest. Tabi wondered which one would move first.

Molded... that was a very specific description. The same one the thing in the dark had spoken when talking about her sister. Like they were clay, objects. Like they were nothing.

“What is wrong with you?” Ava spluttered, balling her fists.

“He’s not a tool,” Connie seethed.

“He’s a person,” Nando continued.

“He deserves to make new memories.” Grace added.

Dami found herself aghast, “That’s not my fault!”

“Gentle? Tender? Are we seeing the same thing, Narrator?” Winnie tilted her head.

The wig, the dress, the eight gloves spreading out of her, floating alongside the Nightmare who was still spreading darkness.

The knowledge hit Tabi like a truck, that despite her missing face, her missing mask, her missing body, the Clara on the screen was quite unaffected by what had happened in the uncountable chapters before the end.

How unfair, how frustrating. What was the use of plans upon plans if there was never a way out?

The hands tore a hole in reality when the Clara on the screen slumped, taking her to the place the Voices went to die. Tabi had been half afraid they wouldn’t.

There was that mirror once again. The sight of it gave her the chills.

Tabi pushed Skeptic with her shoulder. He pushed back, a little more aware. Good, good, she would’ve really started to worry otherwise.

Tabi felt dread pooling at the base of her stomach. Where was the fear from before? Why were they so casual about it?

And then her soul fell to her feet. That wasn’t Hero’s usual dialogue. Nobody should be ready to die like that.

“No,” Nando whispered, “Not yet…”

“I don’t trust like that.” Paco muttered.

Ava held Gonchi tightly. Neither of them spoke.

“Mine isn’t,” Felipe told Damiana, “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Tabitha got her answer to who would lose the staring contest. Cain, from the plastic glass Ciro threw at him. It nailed him in the head.

“It has, my friend,” Felipe nodded at Oli. Slightly stunned, Oli nodded back.

Dami’s face was teary as the Voices faded away, “I’m sorry for what I made you do. And I hope the ‘you’ from that time find peace.”

Dami wasn’t looking at the screen. Good, because she would have seen how the body in the reflection was a dripping mess, rotting and peeling skin from itself.

Tabi could barely start to process before all that was gone and they were back with the thing in the dark, holding the remains of Clara. She still winced at the way two of the arms dug their hands into Clara’s hole of the wig.

Ciro rolled his eyes, beyond frustrated, beyond exhausted, “Oh my god… hop off his dick, lady.”

Skeptic snorted, surprising even himself.

Tabi didn’t even get to see the other options besides the one that her sister chose, confident in her role as the Decider, not afraid to face a slumbering goddess alone.

Being dehumanized like that still hurt. The thing in the dark wasn’t the one who hurt them, Clara was. But it wasn’t a bad question. Was Dami doing anything for her?

How wouldn’t that make Her worse? Even Damiana had to endure death, it changed all of them, therefore it had to change the thing in the dark as well.

Tabi locked onto one of the options, “No, not really. It all seems so distant as soon as I'm near you'.

Could it be something She did, she wondered, to make Her prey calm? Like She put all of them to sleep? Now She had the power to make people hurt and die in Her mere presence. What on earth was the thing in the dark?

For a moment, Tabi was surprised. Then she remembered the events of the chapter, and she was not. Nobody deserved to go through what they did, let alone her sister.

She tried to put herself in the shoes of the actual Decider. His memory returned, so he must remember the Damsel, the Thorn. How he had to bring Her people. But his Voices and himself had been hurt beyond measure in this route. He must be feeling…

Hurt, in pain, grieving, betrayed.

Something large and clogging in her throat made it hard to swallow.

What would Tabi herself do? If her sister, if Skeptic, if everyone she cared about was hurt to the point they gladly welcomed death.

She wouldn’t rage, maybe, she would go quiet. The thing in the dark tried to be forthcoming unlike the Narrator, but She spoke in ways that obscured meaning. Metaphor and prose and comparisons. Her voice was floaty, echoy, inhuman. It spoke through bodies like they were mere puppets. Whatever that thing was, conversation wasn’t Her forte, nor was compromise,

Nonetheless, Tabi would want an apology for past hurts, a chance to rest. An acknowledgement, maybe.

“What?” Dami breathed, “No, that’s not…”

Connie laughed, the aching kind that made the thing in her throat thicken.

Tabi should have expected that. A complete dismissal. The thing in the dark didn’t understand, couldn’t perhaps, that an assurance that the pain was temporary did nothing for the feeling very much present. That was not an apology, that was an acknowledgement of a role. What brought Her meaning, what kept Her existing.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Grace said, “It doesn’t matter how much you love someone if you hurt them. Someone who doesn’t know you can hurt you, someone who hates you. The pain could fade, but the memory will always be there. That's not for you to decide!”

What she was definitely not expecting was for Damiana to rapid-fire clicks until the mirror broke once again, signaling the end of the chapter.

“That’s it. I’m done.”

Tabi stood on shaky legs. Turned on the lights. And for a moment, as her eyes adjusted, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Beast, curled up on her sofa. Clara, made a black lump on the floor. Thelka and Borja. All of them, sound asleep.

Oleander jumped up as if electrified, “Finally, finally, finally. We have to move.”

Skeptic was shaking his head, as if waking from a dream, “What did you do?”

“Do you really think Miss Trinket would’ve let us leave?” Oli asked back as Gonchi and Ava jumped up. Ave and Paco stood together, Paco already heading for the door. “Tea wasn’t the only thing I served them.”

Tabi looked at Quiet, remembering he was not okay, and suddenly she understood.

Now that Tabi could take a good look at Quiet, she didn’t think he had moved from his position since the beginning of the chapter, or even before. His eyes were wide, hollow, distant. Staring into somwhere far away, a vast emptiness. Wherever he was, it was far away from them.

“I can carry him,” Nando insisted when Gonchi got near.

“All the way back home, you can’t, Nandito.”

He still looked like he wanted to protest, but still, Nando stood and gently prodded at Quiet's side until he rose, unsteady feet caught as each of their arms were slung over the two boys' shoulders. To his credit, Nando handled their weight well. Ave flanked to their side, eyes darting around the room, then tucked himself behind. 

Oleander hustled the rest of the group, frantically ushering them up and getting them moving as Ciro whisper-hissed to Paco something Tabi couldn't catch. Tabi held Skeptic's hand a moment before he rose, searching his expression for the same listlessness in Quiet's, though saw focus somewhere behind his eyes.

For a moment, she’d been afraid he would have been lost in his thoughts in such a way she wouldn’t be able to reach him, no matter what she did. That must have been the reason why she impulsively threw her arms around him, a reassurance that he was present in both mind and body. The relief.

And if she felt a kiss being fleetingly pressed to her forehead as she pulled away, she was cold, but she had room for one more secret.

He nodded to her, a half-hearted smile weakly forming on his lips as he stepped back, joining the rest of the group.

She had half a mind of going with, but someone would have to think up a lie to tell the sleeping ones, someone would have to pacify Thelka when she discovered Borja wasn't by her side. Winnie had fled upstairs, maybe she’d be game for theorizing. She was good at lying. They’d need to cover all the bases.

She glanced at her sister to see her boyfriend had not, actually, moved. Didn’t seem to be inclined to, even. He caught her eye.

“I’m not going with them. I already told my beloved I wasn’t going anywhere, and what sort of man would I be if I didn’t keep my promises?” he smiled.

Tabi smiled back thinly. That threw a massive obstacle in her plan to talk to Dami about Felipe’s… everything. And she was sure Damiana didn’t like this turn of events either, if her slight frown was any indication. She would figure something out, even if it was something as innocuous as ‘sisterly time’.

She blinked, realizing Ava must want a goodbye of her own, and yet—where was she? Stormed off, maybe, though Tabi thought to give herself the credit to notice an earthquake when it happened. She followed the group out the door, wondering. There, farther away than she thought they'd have managed so quickly, there was Ava—Borja's enormous body slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tabi blinked, astonished.

And in that blink  — poof — they were gone.

Avellano felt dizzy — he preferred running better than this sort of travel — but he straightened quickly, ignoring his stomach and his back. They were back home, all of them. All thanks to Oleander’s plan. To think he had thought having a culebra in the pack wouldn’t be beneficial.

Connie had recovered surprisingly quickly — he was even smiling! “Aw, you do care!”

A very reckless hatchling, that one was. He had mocked the largest predator in the area within seconds of seeing her, knew how to defend himself, knew how to make people hurt with just words. But still, he was reckless.

Oli looked away at once, whatever would come out of his mouth would be a lie, “Who’d finish writing your book if you got killed? I had to do something.”

Ave had not appreciated having a snake in their midst, but he had forgotten even opportunistic predators knew how others of their kind thought.

Someone pushed him — Paco, the one others had been calling his brother. He could see why. They were similar, Paco had pricked ears, like him, similarly on alert for threats and dangers. Unlike Ave, Paco was unstable. His self-preservation instinct was over-tuned, he shouldn't have overridden the body, he still didn’t understand the danger in ignoring one's limits yet. He would have to explain later.

“Did you see what the multi-headed one did to the bladed one?” oh, Paco was talking to him. “She was about to attack, but she didn’t.”

No, he didn’t see, he was too busy following Gonchi and Nando, trying to make sure nobody snuck up on them. A whole predator had slipped past his radar, one he knew well, two if he had to count the actual enigma that was the five-in-one.

He dodged past others to follow Gonchi and Ava, each having gone to place the incapacitated ones in their nests.

His predator had said they evolved to catch them, and his flock had evolved to evade them. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, she wasn’t wrong, that was his relationship to her (even though he failed, and it burned burned burned) , and from what he knew, that also was Ciro and Paco’s relationships to their monsters.

Contrasting that, Gonchi and Ava were a mate’s pair. They were almost ready to go at it when they were sitting there, uncaring of the danger around them. This was not how he had envisioned bringing Ava into the pack, into the flock. Gonchi may have trusted her, but she scruffed Quiet in an instant with no prior warning—and was impervious to Ciro's retaliations. A powerful, loyal mate, but a dangerous enemy. Someone extremely quick to react violently.

“Quiet’s still not answering me,” Gonchi emerged from the door, fingers thrumming what Ave knew to be the threads that connected him to Quiet, “I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s scared,” Ave said simply, “He can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You can get stuck thinking stuff you don’t want to think about?” Ava met up with them after dropping Borja, eyes wide, the sound of her hooves very noticeable, “That’s horrible!”

Yes, those two were a pair, others were… he couldn’t describe it. Borja had glided to his monster, a monster that dwarfed even the largest of the flock and stared at him with something between hunger and possession in her eyes. Borja had curled into her lap like a loyal dog to its owner. That was not natural. Something in Borja was corrupted and taken by the largest one, by that Thelka, and she was holding that something hostage.

To put it simply, Borja was sick. Infected. Everyone could see it, the adoration and need in his eyes as he looked up at her. A corruption of the way things functioned. There were flickers of truth within him. Ave had spotted it all day, the way he flinched when she raised her voice, his hunched posture — trying to hide, conceal. camouflage from his predator, even as his sickness compelled him to stay by her side.

Ave didn’t know the antidote, and he could only hope it was not contagious.

He could understand Nando being there, he was worried, he couldn’t look past it, but why was Paco there too? Surely he wasn’t there to keep him company. Ave reviewed the events in his head, Paco had told Quiet that--

Ah. Paco thought he wasn’t feeling well. Ave was touched by his concern, but that couldn’t happen, not now.

He was right at Quiet’s door, and there he would stay.

The others were a little distance away, waiting for news. Nando was there, and so was the mirage.

‘Grace’ confused him. He could see her, could hear her, but his other senses told him she was not there. She had stopped running a long time ago, yet there she was, floating instead.

Protecting someone the way she hadn’t been protected. Protecting people from her actual monster.

Ave felt his hackles rise once he spotted him in the crowd.

Him.

Ave wasn’t about to let him near one of the most vulnerable packmates.

“I know what you did,” he growled, could feel himself tensing up, “You made Quiet forget, back there, on the screen.”

Cain stopped, the slightest twitch to his lips, as if that was something to be proud of, “I did.”

“What are you talking about?” Skeptic, notebook at the ready, as always.

“He said so himself!” Connie pointed out, “Something about needing to forget or to not feel much!”

Skeptic stayed still as a statue for a moment, processing. Then, a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“What?” That was Gonchi, nearly spitting fire. “What do you mean ‘thank you/?!”

“Ave said Quiet’s scared.” Skeptic started, making to hold his hands up then letting them hang at his sides. “Forgetting the terror is a mercy.”

Ave felt the beginnings of a growl in his throat. In what way could having a predator near him make him any less scared? Especially someone who said he wanted to thin out the pack?!

“I helped him last night,” Cain said, a stone wall, “I just have to help him again. He thinks he’s in pain. I can show him he’s not. Take the suffering away.”

Nando recovered quickly from that revelation. “He wasn’t okay this morning-- he wouldn’t answer me, he got hurt.”

“He hurt him,” Paco nodded. “We all saw that.”

“You did too!” Skeptic gasped, hands shaking, glasses askew. “I failed, and everyone else did, so many times I couldn't even give you a number.”

“Nobody knows what happened in those chapters.” Paco said, tensing alongside Ave.

"I know what you did with the metal one. What you and the flighty one tried. Panicking and dodging didn't save us, it just prolonged it. You had no plan. You weren't thinking."

“How did taking away his choices help him?” Nando glowered, teeth clenched. Tense, ready to rush them.

“You were telling him to give up the whole time, Cain at least helped end things. Accept it, Cain did more for Quiet than you ever did."

It dawned on Ave. Skeptic was terrified, still. His hands shook. Couldn’t think right. Like Paco and his overturning. He had to make him see straight. Had to protect. Explain.

“Quiet doesn’t need him right now,” Nando countered, drawing to his full height. If he was hurt from the comment, he wasn't showing it. “I’ve been helping him with his shutdowns the whole time. It will pass, it always does.”

Cain did the same, looking down at him. Intimidation attempt. “It will pass without you.”

Ave saw the slightest of trembles in Nando’s frame. “He just needs time.”

"How much? A day? A week? Months? You know it was bad. You were so willing to give in before. Begging to forget."

“That wasn’t here and now. I’m not leaving him alone.” Ave wondered if Nando realized one of his hands was curling into a fist.

Cain was moving, going on the prowl. The same monster who had called him worthless. The first monster Ave had taken on and won. The same monster who had hurt Quiet. Who wanted to hurt him again.

Cain shifted, not breaking stride, not even looking at him. And then Ave saw it: his opening.

And he pounced.

Ave licked a droplet starting to drop from his lower lip as Nando finished dragging the bureau in front of the door. His nerves had calmed somewhat, though his back was starting to ache.

He’d gotten him in the hand. Cain had reacted. Pity. He’d been aiming for his neck. At least he had gotten first blood.

Nando walked back, further into Quiet’s nest. Sat on the opposite edge, frozen, as though not knowing if he should look at the door or at Quiet himself.

"Si alguien llega a pasar por esa puerta, me lo como al horno con papas." Ave tried reassuring him.

There was still a commotion outside, but they were safe. The entrance was blocked, and the only non-corporeal didn’t wish them harm. He’d need to wash his mouth — the taste was vile — but first he had to help Quiet.

Sitting on the bed, staring at nothing. Fear everywhere, but body relaxing. Preparing for a death that wouldn’t come. Thin hands relaxed at his sides.

The chooser confused him, sometimes.

Like Ave, he was more affectionate now; less skittish and afraid. Not fond of being snuck up on. Always tired. Overturned instincts, tended to freeze or fawn in response to a threat.

But he placed himself in front of Connie when it seemed like the larger monster, Thelka, would attack. Didn’t even think about it. Why?

He didn’t tend to eat much.

That was something Ave noticed more and more. Quiet would have a plate and always struggle to finish it, but couldn’t seem to set it aside. The first few times, he wouldn't leave the table until he was reminded of it. He still seemed intent to give at least a bit of his portion to Ave.

Avellano didn’t know hunger as intimately as his friend seemed to. There had been nights when his packmates were too rowdy to risk nearing, but that rarely happened for several nights in a row. Maybe he might not tolerate food well. Yet Ave always saw Quiet with a full plate, which was then looked at with this upsetting dread. 

And so, he always accepted Quiet’s offer to finish his plate. He couldn’t stand watching Quiet agonize, slowly forcing down bite after bite.  Not that overloading your stomach to the point of nausea was any better.

He didn’t want to call it fragility... but he didn’t want to see Quiet hurting.

Nando reached out, taking one of Quiet’s hands in his. “Listen to me,” he murmured, and Quiet’s gaze was upon him at once. Not quite aware. Quick, obedient. It made something heavy drop to Ave’s stomach. “I’m here. I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”

“We’re safe.” Ave added, because everyone had been there, “Everyone’s safe. You can rest. You’ve done enough.”

Quiet blinked, looking at them. Really looking at them. Both Nando and Ave nodded. It shouldn’t have surprised them when his eyes closed and he just… slumped. Breathing changed. Asleep.

Ave had been afraid he wouldn’t trust them enough for that. Not after his failure the first time.

Nando sighed deeply. “Thank you.”

Ave nodded at him. There was no need for thanks. He’d just done as he had to.

Quiet was laying on the ground.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Honest.

That explanation being... being... um.

He was very warm, very tired and in pain. His lower back was pressing into the fuzzy rug up against the tub, and his ankles were still hooked over the edge of said tub. 

He didn't move. He was all loose-limbed, completely unsure on how long he was in the shower for – well, long enough that his fingers and toes pruned up impressively.

He had woken up to Nando halfway on top of him, tear tracks on his face. Curiously, Ave was taking up the bottom half of the bed. So, obviously, he wasn't going to wake them up. 

He hadn’t fallen. Standing was just... not an option when Quiet finally gained enough awareness to get out of the shower.

Well, it was, for about four seconds. And then Quiet flexed his leg and was rewarded with the delightful sensation of a knife being driven right below his kneecap. It rooted down to the arch of his foot, and any idea of standing was promptly thrown out the window like Connie would do.

So, he tried to drag himself out. His arms trembled the entire time, pins and needles down his spine. Then they gave out, and to the floor he went, the impact reverberating through his body and slamming the air out of him. 

Which left him in full display to no one. Every scar, every mark, every handprint etched in his disgusting body, many he shared with his Voices, so many more he didn't. The sight of them repulsed him. It made him think he hadn't escaped, not really. 

There were too many what-ifs to think about— and he still had to get up, and get dressed, and talk to Nando and Ave, and maybe wonder what was about that dream — and there was so much he had to do— it was all weighing down on him, and Quiet was hurting—

A sudden chill in the air made him want to curl up. He craned his neck to look upside down at the door-- a translucent head peeked through.

“I heard a noi- oh my god!” Grace covered her eyes at once. “I’m so sorry!”

And away she went.

His involuntary twitch to cover himself didn’t help any. It only made him hiss at the feeling of pins and needles and knives. His limbs locked up.

That reminded him of a Princess he fought once. Could slowly paralyze him if he looked at her in the eyes. What he called her escaped him, but he remembered very clearly her plucking out his eye. 

That had hurt more than some other deaths he had experienced. Quiet had racked her face with his claws for that. And then got stabbed in the throat for the trouble.

…he should get up. And apologize to Grace. Was all of yesterday real after all? It didn’t seem possible, it felt mocking, it felt unbelievable. He remembered watching the Nightmare take off her mask (and that was NOT how it looked like!) then it was--

No, he wasn’t thinking about that! He just hoped someone had taken the role of the Decider away from Dami.

The role of the Decider… like it was something so easily passed around, so easily replaceable. Like everything he did could be transferred to someone else, like he was nothing.

His limbs were heavy, like they were full of rocks. He really didn’t want to get up.

“May I come in?” Grace’s voice, from behind the door.

For the briefest of moments, he wasn’t there anymore.

Could it be a trick? Something he knew he had to refuse? He hesitated. Accept, and lose all the leverage he had. Refuse, and risk the possibility of punishment. How was he supposed to respond? Should he respond? Would he get in trouble if he said yes? Would She be angry if he said no? He was not sure, he wasn't sure, and it was enough to make his hands start to shake.

Then he remembered this was a completely different situation. And Grace couldn’t hurt him. Only if he made her really mad. Better not risk it. “Come in. No peeking.”

“Killer, I have been inside you, nothing you have there could scare me.”

The door opened, and Quiet got an answer to ‘How could a ghost carry clothes in the first place?’

The answer was, as he was seeing with his own eyes, a towel ghost. Which he grabbed at once, surprised to note she had, in fact, her eyes tightly shut. He had expected her to try to peek.

With effort, he lowered his legs to the floor, uncaring of the pain, and tried to make himself decent.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Grace said, still not looking at him.

“...should I be concerned that you of all people told me that?”

He could see her smile. “No, if you were a ghost you wouldn’t have fallen like that.”

Underwear on, sweatpants on — putting on jeans and the like on damp legs was always so needlessly complicated — and for his torso— wait.

“This is Nando’s,” Quiet said.

Grace did look at him that time. “It could be anyone’s.”

Quiet shook his head, some of his locks obscuring his vision. “No, I know how he smells like.”

“...and how does he?” She looked actually interested.

“Like the woods.”

He felt better already. Calmer. Fernando tended to have that effect on him. Being dressed at all probably helped too. He decided to just sit on the rug for now.

He looked up at her floating form, mouth opening, before all his bravado left him and went back to staring at the floor.

He shivered as Grace’s form circled him, as it was tradition. “I’m not Her, remember?”

Mischievous eyes gazing from sunken pits. An utter lack of a nose. Wavy hair floating, cloudlike. No, of course Grace wasn’t like Her. Maybe he could ask questions this time.

He’d start simple. “What happened?”

“We got away. Oleander gave sleeping tea to all the major threats-- and Thelka’s shard. You weren’t answering, so they had to improvise.”

Quiet wanted to kick himself, he had gone through with all that farce so he could help his voices in case something went wrong and he ended up becoming dead weight. And of course, they didn’t do as he asked and left him there. Everyone had gotten away safely, that was what mattered.

Wait. Oli had done that? His Opportunist? All by himself? Why?

“Why are you here?” That… came out harsher than Quiet had wanted it to. “Why did you claim me as your shard?”

Grace giggled, “I did say I’d end up haunting you, remember? But,” she looked away from him, whatever she was remembering he didn’t know, “The chilly one always gave me the creeps, to be honest. I just picked the better one.”

He blinked. “And you chose me for that? You could’ve picked Nando. I know you think he’s nice.”

Her right hand came up to fix the way his hair parted, so it wouldn’t look like he had an ant trail going across his head. “You still were the one who did everything you could to help me. That counts for something.”

“Does it? Anyone could’ve done it. You’ve been in my shoes with this game.”

Grace rolled her eyes, and her head to emphasise the movement. “Killer, being the Decider was awful. It was exhausting. Crowded too. And from what I’ve seen, my route was one of the nice ones! And you kept going anyway! That’s incredible!”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

She sighed. “Go back to bed and warm up, you’ll catch a cold.”

He was standing up before he was aware. “Do you know why Ave’s sleeping here too?”

She wasn’t looking him in the eye. “I’ll tell you once you wake up again, alright? It’s dark out.”

Quiet came back to consciousness slowly. He was warm, and nothing was hurting, and he didn’t want to think. So when he opened his eyes, it was with reluctance.

Nando next to him, a blanket covering him up to his elbows. He was reading with a thoughtful expression.

Quiet knew and loved that face. He’d seen it at dusk, in some secluded part of the house, while Nando gazed at his reflection in the window, sipping on a cup of tea. Quiet'd seen it in the afternoon, while Nando thoughtfully chewed on a pencil, when he drew sketches of birds or other animals, places that for some reason seemed beyond words and which Quiet always suspected never existed. Quiet had often looked at that absent and unguarded face, but he had never looked at it in the morning, while Nando was reading.

It took an embarrassingly long time for Quiet to realize he had unintentionally captured his friend’s left arm and had so contentedly been using it as a pillow. And Nando had let him.

It felt like too much. He didn't know how to be cherished. He didn't know if he wanted to be cherished this way. Yet he never turned Nando away, only reciprocated.

It was just being held, and not even that, it was being allowed to rest, yet it felt like more. It always felt like more.

Maybe it was the grief. The way every touch, every look of his was tender and affectionate. Tender, like he might shatter in a moment's notice. Affectionate, like come tomorrow that memory would be a fever dream.

“Slept well?” Fernando tore his gaze of his book. Quiet felt caught, for a moment. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong, had he? “You’ve been sleeping for… fifteen or sixteen hours? Didn’t want to wake you. You needed the rest.”

Had he actually been asleep for that long?! He definitely missed lunch then, and he had to check on the others, after yesterday were they okay? He knew they had gotten away safely, but that didn’t mean they were okay. And why…?

“Why did you take me with you?” Quiet whispered, supporting himself with his arm so that Nando’s own could regain blood flow. “I told Paco to leave me behind if things went wrong.”

Nando closed the book. Left it on the night table. Turned towards him. Those black eyes pinned Quiet in place, but he wasn’t afraid. How could he be afraid of the one who had always been by his side, even when it wasn’t a necessity, with eyes the warmest dark and moles decorating his face like constellations?

If anything, Quiet was more afraid of disappointing him. Something frigid settled in his stomach at the mere possibility.

“You weren’t answering,” Nando whispered back. “You would have died if we left you there.”

"I die a lot. You know that. I could say I'm even used to it. And I survived, remember? I came back." Quiet tried to inject confidence into his voice.

As it turned out, Fernando could pin him to the bed pretty effortlessly. He was heavier than he appeared, but it wasn’t like Quiet was making a serious effort. He was trying to process the last second.

"And that makes it okay?" Quiet nearly shook with the intensity in Nando’s gaze. "Do you think that makes it fine?" he asked, voice getting lower. "Because it's not. This shouldn't even be a choice now, it isn't healthy-"

"Trying to tough out a death on behalf of someone else isn't healthy? We did that once!" Quiet said, keenly aware of how he wouldn’t be able to move until Nando let him.

Too far. He'd just crossed a line, and he knew it. The truth was, he didn't want to die. He may have been a thing, but he was a living thing.

“I was wrong that time.” Nando blinked away the hurt Quiet had definitely seen, smiling.  “And luckily for you, I’m not gonna let you try.”

“But—”

"I’m serious. I don't want to find out what sort of person I would become, if you were taken away from me."

Quiet frowned. He couldn’t picture Nando changing for the worse, not for him. He kept his eyes open so he wouldn’t see blood and gore and silence behind his closed lids. "If you were ripped away from me, I don't think I’d be strong enough to bear it."

“Glad that’s settled.”

Nando peeled himself off of Quiet and laid back down, grabbing his book again. Quiet wondered why he was keeping him company so late. Like he was guarding him. The bureau was still halfway blocking the door.

“Are you two done?”

Quiet startled, nearly covering himself with the blankets. He wasn’t two, for the love of everything. Ave had just walked out of the bathroom, looking at Nando with a peeved expression. “Glad to see you moving, Quiet.”

Don’t get him wrong, Ave was one of his people that Quiet valued the most, but he still didn’t know why he was in his room of all places. Maybe the Beast had scared him and had wanted company? Quiet himself did that enough after a nightmare…

“The ghost wants to talk to you,” Ave informed him, jaw set. Quiet could understand, most of the Princesses weren’t people Ave would want in the pack. And even if they were, they were still other, and Ave wouldn’t trust them as a matter of principle. “Privately, I think.”

Ave then proceeded to stare at Nando until he got the message to start moving. Which he did, taking his book with him. Knowing him, he would be less than thirty steps away by the time Quiet finished talking.

The door had barely closed when Grace floated in, without knocking this time. She circled him one or two times before settling down next to him. Briefly, Quiet wondered if she could sleep at all.

“How much do you remember from yesterday?”

“Clara took off her mask and then… I was here.” He decided to not tell her what he had seen. He would rather forget it.

“Well, yes, she took off her mask and-- there was a lot of… weird stuff about cycles and death and rebirth. I don’t think reincarnation is a thing for me so I wasn’t paying much attention to that. Then there were many chapter names at once, and the title--”

“The Moment of Clarity.” Quiet completed.

Grace nodded. “You’d forgotten everything. Your shards weren’t acting right. On the screen and here.”

Quiet sighed so deeply he felt his lungs ache. “I never wanted them to see that.”

The thought of his people, his people seeing themselves in their worst moments because of something he had chosen to do made him feel sick. How he’d let everyone down. They had shattered because of him.

“The room kept getting colder-- the others kept shivering. I felt it too, a little.” Grace continued. “And… you know how I said I picked the best shard?”

Quiet tried to find some mockery or condescension in her voice. He found none. Grace had the title of the strangest princess he had ever encountered.

“I am very glad I didn’t pick the chilly one.”

Exasperation came out of his next exhale at the same time he felt a pit in his stomach. “What did Cain do?”

“What didn’t he do?” Grace took a breath she didn’t need. “He just began… picking on others. Teasing. Fighting. First with Connie, and… the him on the screen said something bad. Something terrible, truly terrible. And they all froze and they didn’t know how to react. Then the Sweet-heart did react-”

“Who?”

“‘Lovesick shard’ was too much of a mouthful.”

“Ah.” Felipe, then.

“And they fought-- over Damiana, though I’m not sure why when she was hardly the central point of the real argument--and Ciro jumped in, too.”

Quiet felt like he had stepped into a weird parallel universe for a moment. “Cain fought with someone for a girl?”

Grace shook her head, “I think he was just trying to anger Felipe more. You know,” she smiled softly, “I think some of the others like you. Winnie straight up called you 'our choicemaker'.”

That was something he had never expected to hear. The Witch liking him. It was also strange to think about, how the girls had taken to the ‘we’ game so readily.

He chose to ignore the fluttering in his soul for the moment. He’d think of what it meant that one of the girls was apparently fond of him after.

"The options menu was wrong too. A bit before the end, there were choices that couldn't be selected, and the girls thought the 'choicemaker' had been killed."

"What did the choices say?"

It was strange to see her face halfway to skeletal. "Lies."

If he thought about it, he could have an idea. "Let me guess. Something about how I was something to be used. I have heard that one before, and it's the simple truth. It's what I was made for, it's what I am."

Even stranger to see a ghost go completely, utterly still. “That’s not true.”

He’d rebelled against it, once. “I’m a gate.”

“Killer, I don’t know what that means but—”

“She said that I shaped the Princesses with what I did, but they always tried to leave the cabin, to leave for the Long Quiet.” He knew how it went by heart. “To them I was a gate to something more, and any hurt I caused them was a fair price for freedom. Not a person, not an equal, a gateway. But it’s okay, I’m fine with it.”

“If that’s what She told you, then She doesn’t know anything at all.”

“But that’s what you did,” he said, confused. “You made me carry you out, remember?”

Wrong choice. He knew from the moment she looked at him like that. Her misty form became darker.

“Yeah, I did ask to hitch a ride with you, but I didn’t just use you like some supernatural taxi! How can-?!”

She stopped talking abruptly, her eyes going wide.

Quiet’s back was flat against the headboard, found his own hands protectively covering his chest. His heart was traitorously pounding in his ribs as he let out a slow breath.

Grace looked more like a statue than a ghost. “You thought I was going to hurt you.”

His chest felt odd, like he couldn’t take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

He breathed, waiting for her next movement. She breathed, her chest rising and lowering, even though she didn’t need to. The moment passed. Why? “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” she said so quickly he couldn’t discern if it was a lie. “I’m angry for you.”

“Why?”

“Kill- Quiet,” Grace began, and he couldn’t help but startle. “When we were joined together, it wasn’t in silence, remember? We talked. I learned about you, learned how you worked. I made a friend. And She made you forget that.”

Quiet still had his hands over his chest. A ridiculous gesture, he knew she could pluck his heart out the same way his eye had been.

Her eyes were huge all of a sudden, almost too close to him. “Do you think I’m disposable?”

The sudden non sequitur left him reeling. He shook his head.

“I’m not disposable. You are not disposable. You’re far more than a ride to hitch. You just… forgot. That’s not your fault.”

It all seemed so far away, that was all.

“...What happened after we escaped?” His voice was almost interrupted by another thought. He had almost said ‘after I died’.

“Things got… messy.”

“Messy how?” Now that he thought about it, he could imagine things happening if tension was high. “What did they do this time?”

He was being unfair. His people were grown, their mistakes were their own.

Grace raised her eyebrows. “Killer, there shouldn’t be a ‘this time’.”

“How bad is it?”

“Cain wanted to make you forget yesterday… none of the others liked that. He knew that and he pushed again until the wild one attacked him.”

Quiet wanted to put his hands on his head. Those two had come to blows again?! “Push? Cain doesn’t push.”

She shook her head at him, her form undefined at the edges. “Cain did push. The others were worried he’d hurt you. Besides,” she sniffed, “he didn’t ask. Was all proud that he’d made you forget the night before.”

They had been worried about him. The unfamiliar feeling made him almost smile, if not for what he was hearing. “He wouldn’t hurt me, he just… makes it difficult to feel for a while. That’s his thing.”

“The others thought he was the one who had made you forget, on the screen.”

That made him frown. Could that be a possibility? He didn’t think of that lost time much, actively avoided thinking about it. Could Cain, or Cold as he was back then, made him forget so much? Like what he had asked Cain to do not long ago? He had asked, had he not?

“I don't think I like the person behind those eyes, is all.” Grace finished.

He nodded, sincerely appreciating the perspective of someone from the outside looking in. Even if she had been part of the flock for a little while, back when there was a cabin, a knife, and glass shards.

She seemed to be thinking something similar. “What you said earlier… I hurt you, didn’t I?”

Quiet raised his eyebrows. “It was my fault,” he kept going when she tried to speak, “I’m serious. It wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t treat you badly-”

That made that horrified look in her eyes recede. No, mix with something else. “You can’t hurt me, remember?”

He nodded. “You didn’t take kindly to having your death recreated, or me not agreeing to the ride. So tearing out my heart was the way to go.”

She stared at him. Oddly enough, she seemed more human-looking in the throes of disbelief. Skin darkened in an approximation of how she’d been in life-- he could almost see a nose, too! “I did that because you didn’t want to be possessed? Would opening the door and saying ‘Get out’ have done the trick?”

It was his turn to blink. “I don’t know,” he said, finally. “I never thought about it.”

There had never been much time to think, only to act. The times where he could think it was under pressure, or he could do nothing but think. Opening a door sounded so simple, so logical.

“Anyway,” she said with forced cheer. “Now that you’re awake, I can stop being traumatized.”

She was smiling, so was this a lighter topic? “What happened?”

“Killer, whoever said passing through walls could be a cool power was stupid,” she told him seriously. “You’re the third person I’ve had to see naked, and this is the third time since I got here!”

That was… troubling. “Who…?”

“The first time, Gonchi was naked, and Ava… she soon would’ve been, too.” Grace grimaced. “The second time they weren’t even making noise! I don’t know how they did that. I didn’t know you could even bend that way!”

He very much did not want those images inside his head. He was not thinking about that. “My sincerest condolences.”

Quiet lingered just before the doorway to the living room. There was definitely noise. High tension in the air, but not the dangerous kind. Anticipation and amusement came from his people’s threads. 

Well, almost. Borja was sulking in a corner, utterly waterlogged and glaring at nothing. Experience had taught Quiet to stay away from him and his hands when he was like that. Out of the window, he could see an impressive storm. Buckets of rain poured, and occasionally lightning lit up the sky, followed by the crackle of thunder.

“What are they playing at?” the ghost tailing him whispered.

“Time Trial,” he felt a smile tug at his lips. This had the potential to be hilarious. “You play it in teams. You got dice with 1, 2 and 0 only. Roll the dice, pick a card with five random things written in it. And you have to describe the things to your teammates without saying the name in 30 seconds. The number on the dice subtracts from the number of correct answers.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Paco was reading a card in front of Oli and Connie, both of whom were tense with anticipation. Quiet couldn’t see the words from where he was, but he felt himself being easily swept up in the atmosphere.

“One, two, three, go!” Ciro flipped the hourglass. Minute-glass?

“007.” Paco started, so quickly he almost didn’t open his mouth.

“James Bond!” Oli said at once.

“Yes! ” Paco grinned. “Uh, day of the year where couples act all disgusting with each other.”

“Their anniversary.” Connie opined.

“No!”

“Birthdays?”

“No! Next one! Famous tennis player-”

“Next!” both Oli and Connie said together.

“Tinkerbell is a…” Paco asked leadingly.

“Man.” Oli said, with complete confidence.

Quiet had to snap a hand over his mouth as nearly all his threads vibrated with the same amusement. A flock of birds, screaming with laughter, crowing in chaotic unison. Connie leaned on a bewildered Oli for support. Ciro didn’t care that the time had run out, he was laughing so hard he was silent.

“I don’t think I’ve seen that movie!”

“Trans Tinkerbell, let’s go.”

Connie was wheezing with how hard he was laughing.

Quiet got his own laughter under control, crossed the threshold and swallowed his screech. It probably would have been a chirp, had he still been avian-like, but it wasn’t. But he still swallowed it back down and nearly slammed the door shut from the force of his flinch.

Cain was—

Right there.

Sitting on one of the couches like the most inconspicuous statue and just watching. Unfortunately for Quiet, it had already become a habit. Cain scaring him. Sometimes without even meaning to.

He didn’t want to slam the door, so he might have overcorrected a little by stepping forward, arms flailing in their effort to grab something to stop his momentum. The door swung open, taking Quiet with it.

Cain stared at him, waving slightly with — Quiet was alarmed to note — a bandaged hand.

“They were in quite the fuss last night.” Cain gestured with his head at the chorus of dwindling laughter. “It was amusing. You should've seen it... a shame. Oh well. There will be much more to see in the future, I suppose.”

“A fuss that you started.” Grace said. There was a shock of cold on his shoulders. It felt almost nice. She floated until she was in front of him.

“Yes. I did. Do you have something to say about that?”

“Not to you.” Grace seemed like she wanted to say a lot of things indeed.

Before Quiet could ask Cain for confirmation on what he knew, he felt a tug on one of his threads.

With the laughter dying down, Ciro had been sucking on the straw from the side of his mouth, like he was pretending to be the protagonist of a tango. The moment he laid eyes on Quiet, however, he gestured to him with his mate, offering it without hesitation as he tugged on his string. (Relief) (Welcome)

Incredibly, Quiet was tempted to accept it. Drinking mate was a way of remaining silent, of taking his time.

Then his eyes veered to the right, where Ave had just stepped out to join Quiet — where had he been? — and something there sharpened. Ciro gestured to Paco, who turned with his eyes wide. Looking for something. For what?

Those were practiced movements, Ave, Paco and Ciro usually moved like a group. There was one missing. And that one was the target.

Quiet could feel Ave stopping all movement. How he didn’t know who to focus on. Too many gazes on him, and he didn’t know which one to engage with.

So he didn’t. Quiet felt the tension of his muscles about to take off like they were his own. No, those were his own, copying him. If Ave wanted to run, Quiet would run with him. Ave never did well on his own for long like that.

Ave didn’t get to take two steps before slamming into a suddenly-there Ciro, “No you don’t!”

“Just- not here!” Ave hissed.

Ciro obliged, the world warping. Quiet hunched his shoulders. His stomach was dancing the macarena, the pain reverberating in his skull. He had enough headaches to realize the kind of pain meant he would have to throw up to make it fade, but he had nothing in his stomach.

They — Ave, Ciro, Paco, himself — had been brought to Ave’s room. Quiet had never really been inside it.

The bed, fit between two walls, was undone, resembling more of a nest of blankets than anything else. There was a sort of organized chaos, things stuffed in nooks and crannies. Under a desk Quiet could spot a decently-sized food stash. A big window covered by old curtains, from which they could see the storm raging on.

“You said you wanted to wait until the Decider was better,” Paco started, and Quiet couldn’t describe the emotion that swelled inside him, Paco still thought of him as the leader, no matter if he intentionally lowered himself in rank or was out of commission for the actual danger. “He’s better now. There’s something in your breathing. You’ve been hiding it, but I could tell. You’re wheezing. What’s wrong?”

Ave was tense, head snapping up to each of them. “I’m fine!”

(Calm) (Assurance) How can I help if I don’t know?

“It doesn’t hurt!” he insisted, and Quiet could hear it, a whistling sound. But he also could see how Ave retreated to a corner, tense, tense, tense.

“Let him breathe!” he snapped, so he wouldn’t descend into trapped, trapped, trapped. “Let him be!”

Ciro sighed. “Just let us see whatever has Paco crazed here and we’ll cut the bullshit!”

Ave stared at them for one more moment, affronted. Then, to Quiet’s surprise, he took off his hoodie with quick movements. He could see bandages and gauze tightly wrapping on his shoulder, up to the point he could see, along with several burns that he matched with. Ave peeled the bandages away quickly, trying to get it over with. Whistling filled the air, impossible to ignore.

Then he turned around.

For a single moment that lasted an eternity, Quiet couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. The first word his mind supplied him with was Fury.

A quarter of his back was gone. A tremendous hole that went from his left shoulder to his elbow. The skin went pink just before the edge, turning the red of flesh in the inner edge. He could see how much of a person was muscle. He could see five of his ribs and his scapula still with bits of flesh attached, along with the white bones of his spine. He could see his lung moving behind its boney cage, pumping oxygen, the cause of the whistling sound.

Ciro took several steps backwards. “What the fuck is that?!”

Paco had, immediately, started the chant that had kept Quiet himself alive once. It didn’t escape his ears that there was less whistling, less effort, to breathe. Ave had been hiding such a tremendous injury for months. Months! He could have, should have died in hours from it.

Quiet would never let him shatter like his father had. That much was clear in the way he was still alive. Was that a mercy? Ave didn’t seem to be bothered by it…

“Are you out of your mind?! That thing last night could-”

“I know.” Ave said tersely.

Quiet sighed. Honestly, he could scarcely believe Ave had chosen to do that, to hide that injury for months, because it should have been enough to kill him, and if not he must have been in pain, must have gone through efforts to hide it all this time, even when running and fighting.

He could have gotten hurt even more. And Quiet would have had no idea. But that couldn’t happen again. So he made sure to make Ave know, through their connection, that he wasn’t angry with him. Disappointment, however, he was feeling all of it. Not a loss of trust, nothing quite so damaging, nothing quite so devastating.

All at once, Ave seemed to wilt.

(Remorse) (Guilt) I’m sorry.

(Tiredness) (Forgiveness) Don’t do it again, okay?

Quiet had an idea. Someone who could heal even if his temperament made him want anything but. It was obvious, truly. So he plucked one of his threads and gave it a tug.

(Drowsiness) (Warmth) Too early to be up.

(Urgency) (Impatience) Wake up, Gonchi, we need you here.

A moment of silence, then the unique feeling of ‘holy-shit-you’re-awake’ before they all could hear footsteps rapidly approaching them. It was a very unique feeling, the fact that Quiet knew Gonchi was using his thread as a rope to locate him.

It was polite to knock. Therefore, Gonchi didn’t, slamming the door open. Quiet chose not to mention the state of his clothes, and this was the first time he saw a knotted beard of all things. What he was aware of, however, was the way Gonchi’s enthusiasm died a swift death when he got an eyeful of Ave’s condition.

True to form, he only froze for one moment. Long enough for Ave to turn back around, reluctant to let anyone else see.

“Why are you here?” Paco started.

“Quiet called me," Gonzalo answered simply, already focusing on Ave. “Who did that to you?”

Ave’s mouth snapped shut.

Gonchi shook his head, rushing towards Ave, who was tenser than a spring.

“Careful, he bites,” Ciro warned before Gonchi could put his hand on him.

“Oh, I know.”

Quiet looked between them all. There was something he was missing, why were Paco, Gonchi and Ciro smiling, why was Ave not meeting his eyes-?

Wait, back up. Reassess that thought. He was pretty sure what they were referring to.

“Why did you call him?” Paco turned to Quiet, “Last time I checked, I was responsible for making the body function.”

Gonchi blinked, turning to him as well, “Ah, ¿no te habíamos dicho?”

“Tell me what?” Evidently, Paco was not in the mood for jokes.

“Oh yeah,” Ciro turned to Quiet as well, “¿No se lo habías dicho?”

Paco’s eyelid developed a twitch as he, too, stared at Quiet.

Sometimes, Quiet would blame Connie’s subconscious influence for some of the things he ended up choosing. This time, he had no one to blame but himself, “Oh,” he continued the third beat, unable to stop the grin spreading on his face, “¿No te lo había dicho?”

“Enough of that!” Paco raged, “What did you not tell me?!”

“Gonchi doesn’t just fight hard, you know?”

Both Paco and Ave shook their heads in perfect unison.

“I mean, Gonzalo here always needed a little something in order to keep up with Ava-”

“The fuck do you mean by that?!”

Quiet didn’t flinch when Gonchi slammed his palm into the wall, eyes like suns about to go supernova. He didn’t.

It was a very close thing, though.

“You heal.” Quiet said simply, crossing his arms so they wouldn’t notice his hands shaking. “Do you think you could do the same to Ave?”

Gonchi’s grin was smug in the way only experience could flavor it. “I don’t think, I know. Look.”

Under Ave’s and Paco’s watchful eyes, he placed a hand right beside Ave’s injury. 

It began to show at once. Muscles reknitting themselves in a way that made Quiet look away, blood connecting with itself and flowing once more. The sounds were something that made Ave wince and Ciro flinch. Paco started his chant once more. Ave’s hands were gripping each other tightly. Quiet could relate, normal healing itched at the best of times, regrowing stuff like that was not pleasant in the least. To Ave’s credit, he didn’t move away.

When Gonchi was done, Quiet could have sworn the one who had been his nimble Voice looked a bit thinner. And that was after all the effort Quiet had gone through to make him gain weight!

“Better?” Gonchi asked, obviously proud of himself. The grin that Ave gave him couldn’t be described in any manner other than…

“Hungry?” Quiet asked in turn.

“Starving.”

“Hold it!” Gonchi held up a hand, his expression twisting in some kind of horrified realization. “You had an actual hole on your back. You weren’t breathing right.”

Ave cocked his head. “Yes?”

“And you have been jogging with me since we got here, but I’ve never-”

“Gonchi,” Ave interrupted him, slowly moving towards the door. “Can you run?”

The larger man blinked in bewilderment. “What kind of question is that? You've seen me, f course I can.”

Ave’s lips stretched into what could only be called a smirk. “Really? I think not.”

Then, he was out of the room in the next blink. One blink later, Gonchi had given chase.

It was far too late for an actual lunch, so he settled with a mug of cocoa and a jelly sandwich. Surely, he could keep at least half the sandwich down. He just had to keep going past the point his stomach gurgled. Ave was already on his third sandwich for crying out loud!

The mood was… tense. Borja practically had his own little stormcloud where he was sulking by the window (mission accomplished, Connie had burst out laughing when Quiet sent that little image to his head), nobody was looking at Cain at all and he was starting to suspect it was deliberate. Then Skeptic showed up ( “Harrier, or Harri, if you want,” he heard, what did he mean ‘if he wanted’, that was his name. People deserved to have names).

Nando wasn't looking at Harri. In contrast, Ciro seemed committed to personally burning a hole through the sides of his head with laser vision. Harri wasn't necessarily avoiding either's gaze; instead, he looked to Quiet. Quiet looked down at his half-eaten sandwich and, recognizing he needed an excuse to be doing so, took a tiny bite. It was starting to taste like nothing. The next time, it would taste even worse. He's so tired of eating. He sharply looked back up, burying the unheeded thoughts. Harri was scanning the room. For what, Quiet didn't know, but he must've made some kind of assessment, because he looked towards Quiet again and nodded his head to the side. 

...It took Quiet a second to realize his thread was being tugged. 

(...curiosity?) (Intrigue?) (Urgency) need to talk.

Of course, he followed him, taking his plate with him. If he didn’t, he’d definitely get concerned looks, even if Ave needed the nutrients more than he did. With nary a sound, Nando followed him. He could feel the others’ eyes on him.

…wait, both Connie and Oii were following him. Looking to spread gossip around, he could guess. Cain too, stood up, and that caused Ave, Paco and Ciro to stand as well (Quiet put his plate back down). Only Ciro splintered from the group.

This was defeating the point of a private conversation. He could read that in Harri’s expression after he left the room, turned around, and saw four more people than necessary.

Quiet shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “What did you want to talk about?”

His eyes were distant. Stuck thinking? Still in his head. Quiet could assume if he touched him, he’d be transported into Harri’s mind room. That was wholly unpleasant when one wasn’t expecting it. “I wanted to talk about the memories you have and we don’t.”

Quiet tried not to react. Of course, it was going to come up one way or another. They deserved to know. Then why did it feel like he was on the edge of an abyss once more?

“Look at what happened last night,” Harri insisted, the keyholes that were his pupils contracted, “We have to know if something we’ll see in that game can affect you so badly.”

“He doesn’t have to tell you.” Connie interrupted. Quiet could feel him getting close.

“He doesn’t have to go back there either.” Nando backed him up.

For a moment, he was tempted to agree with them. To say no, he didn’t want to talk about it, might never be ready to talk about it. But they deserved to know, they had been with him every step of the way, even if they didn’t remember. They were the ones who had done everything. And who knows, maybe he’d be able to get some answers of his own, too.

There they went, to the dining room, and they took out the chairs from their places on the table. Most of the others had joined too, Felipe a glaring absence. The air hummed low, the tension over last night still hadn’t quite spilled over.

Oli just wanted a chance to tell the Decider what he had done, but having new information was good too! If only he had the certainty the others would stop teasing him over mixing up Tinkerbell with Timberlake…

“No more secrets, right?” Quiet sat in his chair. His posture was all wrong, not how one would think a leader would carry himself. His back wasn’t straight, he wasn’t even looking at them in the eyes. Nervous. “I suppose it’s best to start with proof I’m telling the truth?”

For one single moment, Oli felt vindicated, because Quiet screwed them over, letting her walk behind them, but then…

Without looking at anyone else, Quiet took off his shirt, long-sleeved, like what most of them were wearing.

All thoughts flew from Oli’s head as he tried to process what he was seeing. There were scars everywhere, and they were… bad. Too many to count, to see- they all started overlapping. A tapestry of pain.

“Did you get cut in half?!” that was Nando, pale under his moles. There was a scar Oli could barely see, but it was there. A continuous, gnarled line in Quiet’s abdomen.

Quiet stared at him for a moment. Raised his hand to grasp something — Nando’s thread, maybe — then lowered it. “I didn’t get cut. I was bitten.”

Ave made some kind of sound Oli couldn’t identify. “No,” he begged, eyes wide. “No.”

Quiet looked away from him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t fast enough. There was nothing we could have done.”

Oli thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to deal with whatever Ave had to. It sounded like Oli himself wouldn’t have helped at all, if he were to hatch in that one, that animal that was big enough to do that to them. He was more of a words kind of guy, no direct confrontations needed. It was called self preservation!

Not that it seemed to have amounted to much, in the end, considering the state of Quiet’s body.

Broken wrists, fracture lines down his arms. Bite marks. Oli remembered those, he should have those too, why didn’t he? He pressed his teeth together to avoid saying anything.

His chest was a mess, Oli could see puncture wounds, some kind of tearing all along his front, and he saw shapes. And he forced his brain to not recognize those shapes. He was scared. He had been used to it, once, but what he was seeing went beyond his wildest and worst imaginings.

He startled when the sweatpants followed suit, that really was not necessary, they understood enough, there were many, many chapters--

One of his ankles was oddly shaped, that was the first thing Oli could focus on. The bone that protruded wasn’t smooth, like it had been shattered to pieces and healed wrong. There were bite marks as well. And there, on the inner thighs — the thought escaped his hands before he could bury it — were handprints, impossible to ignore.

He wanted to vomit. He wanted to cry.

“You’re cold,” Connie pointed out when Quiet shivered, voice on the edge of wavering. “Get dressed again, you could— you could get sick.”

He did, as quick as he could. Oli had to accept that he wouldn’t want anyone ogling him when he was exposed like that. He couldn't keep looking at his chest. He couldn't look at his legs, his inner thighs, it burned his eyes to look.

“What were your questions?” Quiet asked, in the middle of trying to shove his head past the (wrong) hole of the shirt, changing courses.

The others, Oli included, turned to stare at Harri.

"What...?" Harri said in the tone of a man who's breached the surface tension of an ocean after spending too long underwater. Had he actually not been paying attention? Connie already looked like he wanted to riot.

After a moment, Harri composed himself, pushing up his glasses. Took a moment to take a deep breath. “How did you get these scars, and how did we not get these scars?”

Quiet looked at them with that horrible expression, something worse than guilt. "You know we had to deal with Princesses to get here, and that's how you all got your scars. What you don't know is that it wasn't my first time doing it. The chapter threes and beyond you never lived. I did."

That only gave Oli more questions. He wasn’t very well-versed in fantasy, Quiet and Nando liked to read on that, he was a more grounded kind of guy. All Oli understood was that he was lucky he had only hatched twice that he could remember.

“Who did this to you, who was with you when it happened, who helped?” rapid-fire questions from the one persona non-grata of them.

Quiet blinked. “I thought that was clear? The Princess did this. Who was with me… it varied, I mean, you saw it already, but… Nando. Always him.” and he looked at him with something in his eyes that made Oli want to look away. Like he was interrupting a private moment.

“Where was it? The woods, the cabin?”

Quiet took a deep breath. Released it. “We were in a… let’s call it a construct.”

From the corner of his eye, Oli saw Gonchi leaning over to whisper to Harri, “what’s that mean?”

“Something man-made.” Harri whispered back. Then, louder, “someone made it, then. Who?”

“It was Him.” Honestly, Oli had been thinking that too. There was nobody else there aside from the girls. “To contain us.”

“Why?” It was like watching a ping pong match. Question, answer, question, answer. Barely a moment to think of anything else to say. Barely a moment for anyone else in the group to have a word.

Quiet’s eyes roamed the room, checking for something. Oli mirrored him. They were all seated, all hanging onto his words. The mark of a good storyteller, if the subject hadn’t been obviously something said storyteller didn’t want to talk about. “Because of what She is. What I am.”

Oli could hear the capital letter, but it was the second sentence that sent his thoughts spinning, “You mean..?”

Quiet nodded. “The thing in the dark is the Shifting Mound-”

“Salud!” Connie said at once, as though he had sneezed. Quiet looked half like he wanted to reproach him, half was trying not to smile. Sometimes, Oli thought Connie was an idiot. Other times, like this one, he was glad for the joke.

“-or Transformation, you could say. And I’m a god, like Her.”

The tone was all wrong. Like Quiet didn’t believe it himself, like it was a false title. But Oli had seen some of the things he could do, that they all could do. If that was not a god, then what was? It sure was lucky that Oli had thrown in his lot with Quiet, now that he knew.

“You?” Borja spoke up for the first time.

“I don’t like your tone…” Ciro grinned. With teeth.

“Yes, me? You guys too, I think. Technically.” Quiet tried to smile. He didn’t quite succeed. Borja’s tone had completely gone over his head. See, this was one of those moments Oli would tug on his thread and make him aware of the disrespect, but he didn’t think he should, not now.

Oli’s heart was pounding. He could not let this devolve into another fight so soon. “A god. I always knew I was special.”

“You are special,” Quiet said simply, “I’d even say unique.”

Before Oli could ever start basking in the compliment, Quiet continued. “I had… a task, let’s say, that I needed to do. That’s why I was made: to rid the world of death.”

“What?” Ciro frowned. Oli couldn’t blame him, he was still trying to process the thing with being gods and there was now another thing to take into account. Wasn’t death a pretty important thing? A last resource to take down people who could hurt them?

“Within Her multitudes, She also had death as a concept. The actual thing. Destroying Her destroys it, and with it, His ideas of fear and suffering. Am- Am I going too fast?” Quiet blinked, looking at each of them.

In Oli’s opinion, he was going fast enough. Maybe a bit too fast for him. The subject matter was a bit too complicated. He looked around the room — was Gonchi understanding at all? He’d have to compare notes later.

“Who cares about death? I’ve died plenty of times and I’m fine!” Gonchi waved him off. Cain, of all people, hummed his agreement.

“If death isn’t so bad, then why am I here?!” Paco bristled, eyes unnervingly wide.

“Death is something to avoid, but the body keeps the score, as we all learned,” Ave said. Oli noticed Paco wilting slightly.

“Death is bullshit is what it is! Too easy and too painful to die, with how shitty our luck is!” Ciro completed the trio.

“You’re missing the point,” Quiet raised his eyebrows. “It’s not the experience of death He was afraid of, it’s the permanence of it. Once you die, truly die, that’s it. And that’s what He wanted to avoid. His world would face destruction, and He did what he thought was right.”

“But that’s not fair! We didn’t die-die, but it still really hurts! We had no time for breaks, no moment to stop!”

Connie blinked. “The world seems fine to me.”

Quiet shook his head, “That didn’t matter to Him. He told me He’d gladly put two infinite beings through what we’d been through to save infinite lives from oblivion. Needs of the many, right?”

Nando stared in open concern.

Harri frowned so deeply he seemed to have holes when the light didn’t hit. “All that doesn’t tell me anything! What was His plan, how did He do all that. Unless-” he sat up straighter, thirsty for knowledge, “Was He a god, too? Why haven’t we seen Him here?”

Quiet flinched in his seat, taking a particularly shaky breath. “No, he was nothing like us. He was painfully mortal. I couldn’t-- He’s gone.”

Harri’s eyes widened, taken aback. “...I don’t know how to feel.”

“YES!” At once, everyone turned to look at Paco of all people, who looked like his birthday had come early (they’d have to look into that later). “Oh, come on, the itch in the back of our head is gone! No more strings, no more lies, forever! He’ll never haunt us again! Oh, that’s good to hear!” He smiled.

“At least He won’t try to put us in danger anymore.” Ave muttered.

Oli himself felt kind of sad about it.

“Good riddance.” Gonchi said, something echoed by Borja and Cain.

“That still sounds insane,” Harri muttered to himself. “Okay, so this construct… how did it… work?”

Quiet already had the answer prepared. “The construct we were in existed in many places at once. Any time I failed, any time I thought ourselves dead, it would restart and shunt our consciousness into another world.”

That explained the many Princesses, the chapter 3s. It was almost too much for Oli to comprehend.

“How are we a god? Were we always one?” Harri nearly stumbled verbally over himself. “I mean, were you?”

“The Narrator tore us in two,” Quiet explained, and Oli could see Ave and Ciro flinch. “Before being us, we were the cycle of life and death. The endless pattern of creation and destruction. He tore it in two and shaped the fraying threads into me and Her.”

“Twins?” Paco wondered.

If that was the case then only one of the ‘twins’ had gotten good looks, and it obviously wasn’t Her.

Quiet laughed without humor, “That wasn’t something She was interested in, no.”

Harri was practically vibrating with eagerness. No point wondering what part of this he wanted to know more of. “Tell me about this Transformation.”

Quiet’s slight grin fell, and he hid his eyes from view.

“You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to.” Nando interjected. “Don’t look at me like that, Harri. We don’t know what he’s been through.”

“You met Her?” Gonchi asked, smiling, “Did you fight Her? Any of my moves put to use?”

“It wasn’t a fight, Gonchi,” Quiet sighed, “Not even a battle of wits, Oli. She wasn’t interested in compromising, or in changing Her mind in the slightest.”

Oli blinked and sat back on his chair, he hadn’t even started to open his mouth!

“After He shattered… She did say the rest of the Princesses would find their way back to her by gravity, all pulled into one great mass that continued to pull in everything else.” Quiet gesticulated wildly, trying to get his point across.

“Was She trying to escape the construct?” Paco asked.

Quiet shook his head. “No, trying to reach me. She broke through the first layer of me, like a tidal wave. I think I might’ve blacked out for a moment?”

Oli abruptly stopped listening. Because he knew, he knew what Quiet was referring to. For a moment, he did. Then he slammed the door shut on that thought. Kept listening.

“She’s a mountain of Princesses, all reaching to the same body. I think. It was like looking at the sun’s pupil.” Quiet recalled, and Oli tried to imagine it. He couldn’t. “I had… a lot of questions-”

“Of course you did,” Harri said.

“She doesn’t like when I ask questions, is all. Every time I asked one, or made an argument for why ending the world wasn’t something I wanted, she…” Quiet fumbled with his words. “It was less an answer and more of making me relive all that happened to me, from Her perspective too.”

Ave winced. Ciro hissed in sympathy. Oli rubbed his own back. Breaking it had hurt. it was one of the reasons he insisted his room had no stairs near.

“If there was one thing I didn’t need to hear, it was the Razor sprouting poetry about how killing me was good, actually.” Quiet grumbled to himself.

“SHE WHAT?!” If this kept going, Hurricane Ciro would leave no survivors.

Oli turned his gaze away from him in case Ciro decided to make him the first casualty. He gritted his teeth. The bladed one was a humbling experience, someone who not only was convinced enough of what she wanted, but she didn’t even let him talk.

“She went back under the tides soon enough,” Quiet reassured him. Tried to. “We argued, and we argued, until I just… couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t have done it on your own forever,” Nando said. Like he knew something the others didn’t.

“I’m sorry, it was my fault,” Quiet lifted his head up to look at him. Oli couldn’t read him, he didn’t know what that emotion was, other than ‘fragile’. “I wasn’t patient enough.”

Whatever reassurances Nando was about to say died a quick death. Oli saw his eyes widen, posture like he was about to stand up, “What?”

“She would never change her mind,” Quiet looked back down. “She wouldn’t let me leave, so… I took Her offer.”

Absolutely uncompromising, wasn’t She? It was a strange feeling, but for a moment, he was almost proud. Recognizing the threat for what it was, making himself useful? It was better than any plan Oli'd come up with, that was for sure. He had taught him well.

“What happened to you?” Ave asked, hesitant.

Quiet didn’t answer for a moment too long. Oli wondered if he’d noticed he was shaking. “I guess the closest analogy is-- I was swallowed up, consumed. Remodeled into what She needed. The center and the borders of Her. The eyes to Perceive. Seamstress and Thread.”

"Swallowed," Ave echoed, and said no more. Oli had no clue what to make of the faraway look in his eyes, but, well--the flighty one tended to focus on words like that.

Quiet kept describing. He dictated things Oli didn't sign up to hear. He didn't really need all these details, did he? Just the concept was enough. He couldn't really understand what Quiet was saying, anyway. Too... metaphysical, for a guy like him.  All he could gather from the details was that it was painful. Agony. Caught between gentle hands that pried him from himself, whispering sweet nothings and hissing condemnations in the same breath, moving and still all at once. Something touching him, something filling him, making him feel sick. Nature abhorred a vacuum, and he was leaving more than himself behind. Awake and aware as they'd always been through each and every moment. Never alone.

Quiet was right to submit and surrender when he did, then, was all Oli kept thinking. As early as possible. If this was what She was like when She loved him, then it was a miracle She never hated him. He was glad, for a moment, that he was not in Quiet's shoes.

“I think I went-- numb, at some point,” Quiet said, voice cracking, and Oli couldn’t fault him for that, everyone had their limits. “But-- I always remembered, before long.”

Oli wondered if being numb was a mercy. Surely, there must have been an exit somewhere. Quiet had found it, after all. He had escaped.

"I kept asking for you," Quiet gasped, and the blood in Oli's veins ran cold. "I just wanted to have you all with me, any of you."

Oli decided he didn't like looking at the expression on Quiet's face. It made his teeth clench uncomfortably in his mouth. Did something to his gut. He looked over, and, ah, Nando's expression was having not too dissimilar of an effect on him. He was not sure where to look.

"Where were we?" Someone asked. Oli should know who, but he'd never heard anyone use that tone of voice before. What was that emotion?

Nando choked. "Jumbled up, in--in Her."

Oli kept gritting his teeth. That was not an appropriate time to smile, so he wouldn't open his mouth. He just needed to keep listening. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that Nando answered that question. He saw Connie nodding and wondered why he was so out of the loop. That wasn’t like him. He was supposed to know as much as possible about people.

"I couldn't close my-- I was always watching," Quiet interrupted himself. "I was watching, but I just couldn't see. There was too much to see."

"You couldn't catch a glimpse of us? Where we might've gone?"

"Either I was just tremendously unlucky, or She was hiding you from me on purpose. I don't know."

"Bullshit."

Oli felt inclined to agree.

Quiet risked a glance up to the crowd in the room. An expression crossed their face--some sick twist between serenity and need and something incomprehensible. "I missed you," he said with an undeniable air of authority Oli couldn't ignore. "I had to go back. I had to."

"You went back," Oli blinked, pausing to process, "you went back for us?"

"Of course." Oli preened, just a bit, then stopped before it showed on his face. It wasn't appropriate. He'd just gained favor with the group, he couldn't lose it so fast. "You're so much more important than I'll ever be."

Ah. Oli didn't feel like preening at that. He must not have schooled his expression fast enough, because Quiet added, "I mean it."

“Don’t.” Ciro blurted out nonsensically. Oli understood. Usually, compliments were nice to hear, but how Quiet talked about them, like they were worth their weight in blood and gold, like they were the most precious things in the world… it made something in his gut twist.

"He was wrong." Borja spoke up, unexpectedly. Frankly, Oli had forgotten he was there. And that was a feat considering how tall he was. "He put too much on your shoulders, with the purpose talk."

“Thank you!” Connie cheered, smiling like a miniature sun, “You get it!”

"You weren't made for anything,” Borja continued, “You aren't a god, you're a person."

“Exactly!” Nando nodded empathically.

Oli wasn’t so sure about that. Being a God had to come with benefits, and it would definitely mean being more powerful than other people. If nothing else, it meant another layer of protection. Surely others could see that!

"You didn't have to fight Her."

Oleander’s train of thought derailed and crashed. He didn’t think there were survivors. Borja couldn’t be saying what he thought he was. Not after hearing the same thing they did.

"You didn't have to struggle. You only had to give in--that was the issue. You were holding onto responsibilities He had no right to push onto you. He didn't understand. He had no hope to understand. But," Borja inhaled, looking up to the skies, mouth still open--as if listening to the patterns of the rain. Fingers twitching, thrumming invisible strings. "But She could've shown you. Given you a real purpose."

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Ciro screeched, balling his fists. “He’s not a toy, what the fuck kind of purpose-?!”

“He is.” Borja said it like it was a fact. Like the sky was blue. The room went silent. “One She clearly enjoyed using, too. Things are only real when someone else is around to use them, and She clearly claimed that one.”

Quiet’s eyes were wide as he stared at him. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Oli wasn’t sure he could realize he was crying.

“Don’t you see?” Borja said, his head falling down to look Quiet in the eyes, something fervent in his expression. Quiet, impossibly, grew stiller by the second. “You gave so much. To Her, and to us. It’s how people like us pay tribute. And in return,” he sighed, a delirium playing in the wind. “She loved you.”

(Consumption) (Betrayal) (Skepticism) (Blind devotion) (Rivalry) (Submission) (Terror) (Longing) (Pain) (Unfamiliarity) AND AT THE CENTER OF IT ALL—

The sound of a steel trap slamming shut.

Oleander stopped listening, shuddering as far too much began rushing through him with neither warning nor preamble. Visions that were not his own danced between his eyes, his head splitting open, his breath stuttering. The wind was knocked out of him from the force with which he closed the door. Its hinges rattled, but the thread stopped feeding him Quiet’s bloodletting repository, so that would have to be enough.

Shakily, Oli removed his hands from the sides of his head.

The noise did not stop. Recovery of his auditory senses only led to harsher stimulation. Pandemonium around him. Quiet had all but doubled over, begging through sobs for mercy and peace and forgiveness—Paco stood in front of him, Nando and Connie to his hides, chanting in hushed breaths—screaming, to his left, he hadn’t known Ciro’s voice could get so shrill. His head spun as he flinched back, seeking— back to the wall, she can’t stab you if she can’t get to —but not finding where Borja’d been tossed. Where did Gonchi go? 

"She tried," Quiet sobbed as he tried to make his words keep coming. "She tried to make me see—make me understand it was the only thing I was g-good for, but I wouldn't believe Her. I c-couldn't. But She, please, She-" he gagged. He was beyond sobbing, now.

The noise died down all at once, a clap sounding through the air as Ciro’s trembling form vanished from the room and he, presumably, landed harshly in his own room. Quiet was choking too much to continue speaking. And, no matter how frantic, Paco’s chants had never been the loudest.

Oli—swallowed.

Paused.

His train of thought slowly came back into commission. Oli continued not to move, even as Nando’s hands approached, froze, and retracted from Quiet’s peripherals. Even as they started back up again, apologizing for not understanding. (They shouldn’t. They shouldn’t understand. Borja shouldn’t ‘understand’, either, even if Oli—)

Oli leaned into the wall again. All of a sudden, he knew with dead certainty that if he were there, he would've made it worse. And Oli- and Oli would've t-told Quiet to settle down and let it h- let- oh, god-

He slinked down the wall, just slightly. Continued not to move, because he has no right to. And there were twenty kilos of rocks in his stomach. And the force at which he was biting down was pinning his body to the floor. Because Oli taught him this.

He rose as the rest of the gang—or those that yet remained—crowded around Quiet... and slinked away, like the snake he was. He knew, even if Quiet didn’t, that he wasn’t one of them. That Oli was himself, and the others were themselves, and he couldn’t help. He was- he was nothing, to them. And he was not sure how to explain that to Quiet, if he’d ever understand it. And as his feet moved, to get out of the room, something in his mind clicked.

"Vessel in reverse."

Oli was many things, and one of those things was a damn good listener. He noticed inflections, details, the things people didn't mean to say, but meant anyway. And he noticed Quiet say that he was nothing without Her. Nothing at all, in general. And he can never forget the way Quiet spoke about him--about all of them, as if they were the most precious things in the world. Worth their weight in gold and blood. (It was the worst compliment he had ever received.) Oli knew now. He found the information he needed.

Being the one with information was supposed to feel good. It was why he listened for it. But this? This?... No. He didn't want this, no thank you. Because he kind of wanted to throw up about it, really!

What kind of blackmail material was that?

That Quiet loved them? And hated himself? Oli had no clue what he could've possibly done to deserve the reverence Quiet held for him, but he had it. And he realized, now that was granted, that he had to use it. Someone had to order around those fools until Quiet... got better, and... and, Nando would need someone to defer to. Need someone to– not defer to– what's the mushy word? Depend on.

He shuddered. He took a breath. He couldn't lose his composure, too; someone had to be the strong one. Oli could make himself that someone. Earn his keep. He took a second glance at the tears rolling down everyone's cheeks. Took a second to reach up and feel his own dry face. Took up the role of temporary leader. Took up some responsibility, to make himself useful before anyone found out he was not.

And then, after that was over, when he locked himself in his room, maybe he could... cry. Or vomit. Or scream. Or whatever it was that had been building in his throat all this time. 

When Skep— Harri had practically called for a meeting, Borja had been trying, once again, to brave the storm outside to return to his rightful place. He was almost glad he had decided to wait, he had learned a lot from what transpired. Important things. Things that shouldn’t have been kept a secret in the first place. Things that were outright wrong, even! People had biases, and that had been clear as day.

Quiet, a god… Borja had never heard such blasphemy in all his existence.

Gods didn’t cry, didn’t give themselves up in offering for their worshippers. Gods didn’t look upon their disciples with eyes equally as adoring as they were terrified—didn’t flinch, never faltered… and they never, ever apologized. All qualities Quiet showed in spades. Not to mention the weakness displayed on their skin.

Not a person, not a deity. But still, Borja had waited for too long before his Goddess called for him instead of going of his own volition. Because the Decider told him to. Borja could have lost what mattered to him at the hands of something that thought itself a deity when in reality it was so insignificant.

It was, as Harri was fond of saying, elementary. It was the right of a god to take: therefore, it was the duty of the people to give. Quiet had even done as much when Borja was with him! Sure, he had needed persuasion, but the end justified the means a thousand times over!

Quiet didn’t understand, not like Borja did, that She would surely make him return, so why go through all the trouble of getting away from Her? He would understand in time. Borja would make him understand.

He would understand, if he saw She was just giving him a purpose. He would. He would.

But for now, his attempts to spread the truth were met with disregard if not outright disdain, and that had gotten him kicked out of his homestead. Borja was not the type to instigate conflict, nor was he the type to size up his opponents—he simply knew, innately, that he had no chance of victory. Between the raw force that was Gonzalo and Ciro’s verbal assault, that had been made doubly clear. The rain, in comparison, was a much cooler foe. At him, it launched neither profanities nor punches so hard he could hear something in his skull crack; only a cold, gentle, unyielding assault. Something he could grow familiar to the patterns of.

Still, there was something better than the rain out here.

He just had to make his way towards Her. Being careful of the water, trying to not let the current that wanted to go past his ankle drag him down the road. He almost lost his shoe, and had to run down a whole block to retrieve it lest it be swallowed by one of the rainpipes.

A pilgrimage to his goddess, trekking through the desert to find Her dwelling. Except it wasn’t a desert because it was raining and that made it worse. It made his limbs turn into lead and his chest felt tight and for a moment he was drowning on air. He had not resisted, that time, because sensible people know resisting only makes it hurt more.

Regardless, drowning was not a peaceful way to go.

But he would not drown here. He just needed to proceed to the— Thelka’s house. He needed to see Her. A sudden shock of anxiety ran through his chest—he’d been waiting a long time, lingering in these empty spaces, ignoring Her call. She wanted him to see Her. He needed to see Her. He redoubled his pace through the rain despite how his breaths became shallower with each step.

Until he heard a squelch somewhere in front of him that he most definitely did not make.

First he saw eyes gleaming, irises an almost purple color over pale green scleras, round and black-lined and one wrong move from retaliation.

Their owner was walking in the same direction as him, covered in something dark and wetter, denser than the rain. Try as he might, he couldn’t discern the color. Oh. It was the sharp one.

He leaned low to the ground. Flee, an instinct in his heart that reminded him of Ave urged, but Borja retorted that wouldn’t work, not with her so close. Fight, came the feeling which must have overpowered Gonchi when he broke his nose, but Borja disregarded it as well. Fighting never worked. The spark within him died as fast as it lit.

Freezing, however…

Borja held his breath. The woman before him turned in all sorts of directions, as if looking for something she’d lost—or looking for something to find. Left, right, a couple steps forward this way or that before returning to the same center position. It seemed aimless. It seemed intentional. Borja wondered, irrationally, if she was looking for him as his pulse increased and he felt its speed, its volume, in his throat. A chill ran up his arms as a tickle formed at the back of his neck, but he would not move. He would not.

And then—seemingly out of nowhere—he spotted eyes in the dark of the rain. Shining. Staring. He shivered, and she approached; the chimera.

She seemed to flicker between her normal, mismatched form and a creature that towered over all like some sort of ancient monument. 

'Why don’t you come closer?' her patient eyes seemed to say. 'Surely, I couldn't reach you.'

As if sensing those eyes opening, the Razor turned around in a fluid motion, looking straight at him. Intentional, then. Looking for someone. Singleminded she might have been at the cabin, but she was not stupid.

“I was looking for a mortal, but I guess I’ve caught a Prince.” She smiled, words grating together and yet somehow as sharp as knives. Satisfaction carved on her face, something like gleeful madness sparking in her eyes.

Something sweeter graced the air, enticing and hypnotic. Dangerous.

'Go on,' it cooed. 'Do something. Come on, let’s dance.'

‘Laying low’ was not an option anymore. In response to the electricity in the air, Borja could only feel his own energy being drained out of him—a sudden sense of helplessness taking its place. It didn’t work before, but maybe it’d work now. He raised his hands above his head and fell into a full bow at her feet. This time, the surrender was unconditional.

Borja closed his eyes and believed. The problem was the Decider. The problem was the Decider. The problem was…

The Razor pouted. “Don’t bother, Beastie, that one isn’t fun at all.” A blade, slick with something dark, almost clipping his ear. Borja didn’t move. “Not that I have any issues with you, personally, though! You’re just boring and lame and don’t do much. Plus, Thelka wouldn’t be happy and I don’t really want to deal with that.”

Yes, those were his Goddess’... companions? Gods didn’t do ‘friends’. Maybe… wait.

“Her Grace… still sees fit to keep Her claim?” Borja’s voice was trembling. The rain did more damage than he thought he did—but most things tend to, at the end of the day. That had been his purpose; to sustain damage. He swallowed. His mouth was dry. It seemed impossible, with all the rain.

“Hm, I don’t know… Maybe! Let’s find out!”

Borja very carefully didn’t look at the sharp one’s bloodstained clothes, at the chimera’s bloody two rows of fangs. He was getting to his destination, wasn’t that all that mattered?

Dami had been about to follow her sister, offering moral support while Tabi said something to Plethora. It was like last night had not happened: how nobody except them were wary of Clara; how, Tabi explained, sometimes not saying anything was as bad as saying the wrong thing; how it was all rubbing her the wrong way. But the situation had changed.

Damiana stared at Borja, at the way he gingerly moved, as though in pain, and wondered what happened. Wondered if he’d let her help, after he talked with Thelka. Wondered if he’d let her help with Thelka.

Maybe he would let her. Maybe she could do something about it. Maybe she just didn’t want to think about last night. Not just about Clara and the way the her on the screen had been, or how the boys had felt the need to drug some of the others to feel safe enough to leave, or how her boyfriend hadn’t asked about them even once.

How Damiana woke up in the middle of the night with a cut off scream, leftover fear making shadows dance like flames. Darkness pressed down on her chest, heavy and relentless. Felipe had taken the other sofa in the living room, the one Beast wasn’t occupying. Tabi, next to her, silently opened her eyes.

Dami was about to lie down and attempt to get back to sleep when she saw something black peeking out from under her duvet. She lifted it up to expose it.

There were scorch marks on her sheets. She remembered gripping them when she woke up.

Remembered someone's face, in the dream, burned.

(She could have set the bed on fire. She could have set the bed on fire. She could have burned her sister in the bed on fire. She—) 

She went to get a glass of water below. And dared disturb Thelka from her rest, now that she discovered she could sleep and, coincidentally, sleeping did feel nice.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware of the others’... power leaking, she supposed she could call it, but neither Tabitha nor her had anything of the sort happen to them until then.

Thelka said a lot of things Damiana processed more or less accurately, but it really boiled down to: that power was one that needed an outlet. Take Ava, for example: a bleeding cut, a twisted wrist, a bad fall- none of those bothered her, for her body mended itself nearly instantly in response.

But if that power did not have any wound to heal, well. It would find other ways out of her body.

"You're lucky," Dami heard Razor tell Winnie once when finally, finally her nosebleed stopped (oh God, the sink had looked like a crime scene), "an overproduction of blood is easy. You’re all planty, and plants grow. Imagine you had your ribs overgrow and curl inward! Until they pierce your lungs!"

What Razor had to have meant by that was it could be much worse. It's going to be okay! But what Damiana heard was: you need to give this power an outlet or you WILL suffer from it.

Like Winnie had tried to do, then it grew from more blood than necessary to plants growing in her skin. Seeing the what-could-have-been on the screen answered the ‘why’ of that particular downside, at least.

…She guessed the fire was how it manifested for her. 

Ave was standing guard again. It was just until Quiet washed his face, but he couldn’t risk it. He knew Quiet didn’t see himself as worthy of protection, but there had to be something else he could do. Some way to atone from the way all of them had catastrophically failed in their purpose, duty, need. Prey wasn’t supposed to excuse the predator for what they did, even moreso when they played with their food.

It wasn’t like he had any hope to win against Her, Ave knew that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He vaguely remembered when he was still a Voice. The sky bursting open, neither gently nor softly, but like a body breaking.

Why had Ave not gone to help, how had he not awakened that first time, when Quiet was chipping away at his chrysalids? A fledgling on the cusp of getting his flight wings, not knowing still how to fly, face to face with danger. He felt like– 

Like–  

Ave remembered unfolding. 

He remembered something pouring into his veins, filling everything like a river bursting from its banks. Remembered it swirling in currents strong enough to sweep him off his feet…and then getting stronger.  

The flock had called ‘hatching’ when they first stirred into aware consciousness. If each of them had been inside an egg, then there had been a shell between them and the world. A barrier. Strong and fragile all the same.

And, of an egg, Hunted was to be the yolk. The nourishment for Her, that which was implanted into the egg. Feeding on him, all of him becoming Her, until She broke from what used to be him. Her, hatching from the egg shell of his corpse, like he, at some point in the distant past, had hatched from Quiet. What became of him was not natural, was not birth, was not welcome. It was the defilement and corruption of a preexisting life.

There was no beauty there. No poetry.  Just the raw writhing of water finding or making cracks in the shells. Pounding against the eggs as if to punish them for being barriers.

There was no tenderness. It wasn’t about grace or purpose, but about hunger and surrender, the weight of billions of impacts stripping the world bare. And something in Hunted loosened against his will, unraveling in the rhythm, in the relentless burning that reminded him of his own first breaking, of the times he couldn’t stop failing. Something building like a tide until it was pushing him into itself, seeping inside of him through hairline cracks in his being that flaked, that crumbled under the strain, taking pieces of him with it until the whole of him, no longer him, had been swept free of his shell and washed away by the tides.

The corruption of a hatching. The shell cracked, and he cracked with it, letting it flood him, letting it drench everything he thought was safe.

That had been how She hunted. Thinning out the pack and leaving one alive to play with. No more, they had been alone before, that was how She had been able to get them. No more. They would run to the ends of the worlds if they had to.

Damiana wasn’t even surprised to see Winnie eavesdropping from behind the door of Thelka’s room. What she was somewhat surprised by was Tabi doing the exact same thing, one of her hands carefully trying to pluck developing blossoms from Winnie’s arm as painlessly as possible.

Her sister smiled sardonically when she saw her, gesturing to the door with her head. “You might as well.”

Dami tried not to smile in response. She couldn’t. Dami crept behind the door, only allowing herself enough viewing room to see the situation.

Thelka leaned in, her face only centimeters from Borja’s as she spoke in a low, honeyed voice. “You don’t doubt me, do you, little bird?” The words slipped from her lips with an unnerving calm, but there was a quiet pressure in them—an unspoken challenge. “Because I can see it. I can see when you start to question me, when you wonder if I’m truly here for you.”

The younger man blinked, caught off guard. Frowned, just a little.

 “You think I would abandon you, don’t you?” Thelka continued, her voice almost affectionate now, like she was speaking to a child who had just made a terrible mistake. “You think that, with all the things we’ve seen, I would punish my own priest for something he didn’t instigate?”

“I don’t think that, Your Radiance,” Borja’s voice was stronger than Damiana had expected, staring at her head-on. “I came bearing news. You see…” he trained off, waited for an interruption that didn’t happen. “You see, I was trying to get one of the others to see the light.”

Thelka shifted on her seat, her eyes alight with interest.

“It pains me to say that You are not the only Goddess they encountered. The thing in the dark-”

“A deluded, if powerful force of nature,” Thelka summarized, and Dami choked on her retort. How could she be so calm?! “Is that the one who would claim the shard of ice?”

Borja shook his head. “One of them’s been lying. The reason we’re all here is their attempts to leave their fate, and Her, behind.”

Dami looked back at the others. Tabi had a hand over her mouth, her expression conveying how she dearly wanted to say something that wasn’t very polite.

Behind her, Winnie’s throat bobbed up and down, staring daggers at Borja, a small flower growing over her brow as she mouthed, “that bitch.”

“That’s… unacceptable.”

“Of course it is,” Borja breathed the words as though they were being drawn from him. “It is inconceivable that they would reject their destiny. It– She was nothing if not patient with them, of this I am certain despite their attempts to dissuade us and delude themselves further.”

Borja continued, spilling secrets as though they were of no worth at all. Dami got the impression that she was hearing something she was not allowed to know. And yet Borja’s voice retained a certain allure, speaking in mumbled and muted passions, with an air of authority she’d never before heard in his tone. It was like he became a different person altogether. He lectured as though he had the answers, and Dami needed only ask questions. But Dami did not think, from the things Borja was saying, she’d had the right to ask. Not from the talk of unraveling, not from the horrific visions spoken of in the tone of miracles and natural wonders. He spoke of horrors beyond comprehension the way Dami heard Tabi talk about stars and constellations. Said “relentless” and “uncompromising” like they were compliments.

“It was wrong of them, to reject a goddess who would love them unconditionally if only he would do his duty and pledge themself to her as I to you,” Borja finished, and Dami shuddered. There, at least, she could understand. He was not wrong. He inhaled sharply, then, like he had only just realized a mistake he’d made. It was the kind of gasp Dami would make if she’d stepped on a friend’s shoes, just sharper. Harsher. More afraid. “Not that I would expect such a blessing from you, your Grace.”

There was an allure, to be loved and to be known, to be cherished and adored, and it was a gift Dami never thought one had a right to reject. It’s how you become happy, isn’t it? But the person Borja spoke of did not sound happy. Thelka hummed, the electricity coursing through the air in waves aligned with the vocalizations in her throat, the kinetic force pushing through Dami for a moment. It was a loud voice. It was a dominant voice. Dami felt… soothed. 

She watched as Thelka leaned down to the man. Wrapped one arm around his back and shoulders, pulling him into her hold, as the other was gently placed on his head. Her palm moved in circles, caressing his head as her fingers dug into his scalp. His head fell forward into her hands, receptive. “My priest,” she cooed, her voice low and intentional in its direction, and Dami shook off whatever it was that overcame her for a moment. “My pet.”

Dami felt like she’d been splashed with ice cold water. Couldn’t believe what she’d heard. She must have misheard, she decided, in the split second it took for Thelka to continue.

“You are a good disciple,” Thelka said, and Dami heard the way she drew out her words. Cooing. Singing.

She needed… to help. Get to Borja alone somehow. People weren't pets. She started, raising from where she’d crouched behind the door, only to feel a clenched hand on her shoulder. She turned, startled, to see Winnie frantically shaking her head. “Not now,” she hissed at her. “They’ll know we’re listening!”

No, Dami thought, sudden and forceful and aghast. She couldn't wait, couldn’t be scared. Her friend needed her! She shook her head at Winnie, and Winnie’s tail lashed behind her as the hold on Dami’s shoulder became tighter. Dami looked to Tabi for support. Her sister looked frozen, expression too complex to name. Mumbling silently to herself. Then she, too, shook her head at Dami. “Later,” she mouthed clearly so Dami could read her lips, silent, watching. “Too risky.”

“Why?” Dami hissed back. Tabi again shook her head, more gently, and pulled Winnie away from holding her back.

Behind the closed door, Thelka spoke. “You have suffered well in my absence… look at what they have done to you. It is heathenism. Do not worry. I will fix you a worship ground, here, to rest as I restore you. You need not return to those that wish to lead you astray. You will be a good bird. My good bird.”

“Yours.” Dami nearly hadn’t caught that single word, hushed as it was.

“I own you. You are mine and mine alone. No one has the right to touch you but me.”

“Yes; as you say. Yours and yours alone.”

“No one will take you. You are open to none but me.”

“Yes; as you want. Open only to you.”

“Your heart is mine to take.”

“Yes. My heart is yours.”

“Your mind is mine to change.”

“Yes. My mind is yours.”

“Your spirit is mine to break.”

“Yes. My spirit is yours.”

The echo was sickening. Despite herself, Dami leaned closer and closer to the door with each call and response. Resisting was impossible; there was a black hole behind that door, pulling her in. It was like they kept getting quieter, in solitude, in secrecy. Not for the next call; the pair returned to speaking volume, then, the change almost booming in comparison to their prayer.

“You are mine.”

“Yes; as your right. I am yours. To command. To take, to change, to break. All of it. Always.”

“As pledged?”

“As pledged.”

“Good bird.” Dami returned to her place behind the door just in time to see Thelka ruffle her disciple’s hair, and for him to rise and begin walking away towards the door. Towards Dami. And for her, flinching back, to throw a fleeting glance in Thelka’s direction—and, impossibly, make direct eye contact, a serene and amused smile on her face.

Winnie hastily retreated, Tabi following on her heels. Dami stood rooted to the spot, waiting for Borja to open the door. He did a double take when he saw her there, gaze somewhere between chastising and confused.

“Were you…?”

Dami could have asked ‘why did you tell her that?,’ could have asked ‘are the others okay?,’ could have asked ‘you know you’re not a pet, right?’

“Are you okay?” was what came out of her mouth instead.

Borja’s whole posture relaxed, smiling slightly. It reached his eye, even. “You are very kind, but I’m okay. Never better, truly.”

The thing was, “you’re bleeding.”

Borja blinked as he touched his lip gingerly, a bit surprised. “...ah.”

Nando had never put much thought in how he was always the First voice Quiet had, in all the loops. Never truly stopped to think how Nando was the one who knew him the most, how he was a little bit more like Quiet than the others, in the way Nando was a little more himself than others were.

Maybe, he should have thought of that. Maybe that way the dream he had wouldn’t have caught him so off guard, maybe he would have decided already whether to tell Quiet or to keep it to himself.

He was already telling Connie, grip tight around the steaming mug someone had poured from him. Quiet had gone off to wash his face. And the words had just… started coming.

He had been worried sick for Quiet, even after he had fallen asleep, so nightmares were something to be expected. He doubted it was a mere dream, however.

For starters, he was back in the Ocean. Not submerged beneath, not feeling bones creak from the force of the tides, but above it. Soaring. But the waves weren’t of water. Between one blink and the next, they changed back and forth, from water into… something else.

Bodies.

Water, the currents ebbing and flowing and forming whirlpools and foam. Bodies upon bodies upon bodies, hands reaching for him, hands to take. One in particular grabbing his ankle with enough force to almost break the bone, pulling him under, coiling around him. His head above water, just barely. Couldn’t move, the currents, so many hands, prevented it. It was so cold.

Some of the water— for a lack of a better descriptor— rising, shaping itself. He could see the dark world behind it (feathers?) like distorted glass. Then he blinked again.

From the peak of the hill emerged a vast mound of several bodies— far too many pairs of eyes, each shining but utterly empty on their own. Eyes of porcelain dolls. Marbles painted over.

Then came the arms like an ant’s feelers reaching out towards the sky. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, moving nonstop. Nando could feel the rhythm of the tides on his own skin. He struggled against it, in vain.

And then, Her.

She crawled out of the torn threads, climbing the mound made of Her own husks until She reached its peak.

At first, six pairs of arms emerged from a chrysalis made of pale hair, before the chrysalis gradually unraveled into a legless torso held up and worshipped by the husks below. And then, five heads unveiled from that pale hair. Two facing away, two partially sideways, and one looking straight ahead. 

No different from each of the husks— the same hair, the same body type and skin, the same face, the same eyes, the same voice— and yet. It was all off.

Arms that always reached out, not in the way a person would to grab or hold something, more akin to how a bird puffed its feathers to intimidate others, or a spider held its legs up to strike its prey down. Hands that looked gentle, yet never hesitating to close into fists at the first opportunity. A disarming smile concealing unkind words, not reflected in kind at times by the husks. Eyes with a light not unlike Nando would imagine looking up to the moon in the sky from the depths of a well, cool pale gaze lacking any of the warmth he was familiar with from the living people he knew.

Knowing what he knew now, and even before then— he did not need to hear what Quiet had been made to say to realize this goddess wasn’t one he ever wanted to worship.

The Shifting Mound— and what a pretentious, obnoxious title— held Herself the way Thelka did: like She was the most powerful being in the room.

It was not an obvious thing, as most powerful beings didn’t need to portray their power like a neon sign. But Nando had seen Oli trying to straighten his back, had heard him talk. So he saw it in the straight line of Her shoulders and the upright curve of Her spines, in the fold of Her fingers curled neither too loose nor too tense. Just like Thelka, the Shifting Mound set Nando's blood to a quiet boil the moment he laid eyes on Her.

Nando could even see some "Vessels" he didn’t recognize held within Her multitudes, appearing strikingly similar to the drawn art of the impossibility they’d been forced to play. Held close and carefully, in loose grasps, with indifference, far too tight. All of them with covered eyes. Nando felt palms on the sides of his head, seeking to shield him from the light— from needing to see through any eyes but Hers. He shook rapidly, and they fell away.

That being, the one who had shattered him and had Quiet at Her mercy. All because Nando couldn’t be quick enough. The thought had gotten stuck somewhere in his mind: what had he done?

What had She done?

There was no depth to what he was seeing, barely shadows. What was he looking at? He blinked again.

The mask shattered. A million tiny seams in the forms of each and every body unfurled. What did not open up to blood and viscera, thousands of gurgling stomachs and millions of glossy eyes and incomprehensibly many pulsing hearts, opened to reveal it was no more than the fleeting image of shadows cast by hand puppets, a play of light and shadow. Hands frantically grasped and pulled at fleshy, clotting threads of nerves and sinew. A mockery of the threads Quiet had. An ocean of blood. 

A hold that just a moment ago was cold and numb and devoid of sensation turned blistering and slick and overstimulating. Nando writhed, and She writhed with him. There was no tidal wave, no pattern, no ebb and flow, just the chaotic motion of organic material.

What Nando could identify as the main body had changed its shape. The six arms that once sprouted from humanlike torsos had ripped open, skin tearing, popping, and exploding from the force of what was trapped inside finally bursting free. And what was inside wasn’t bones, pink with blood and recognizable by their shapes. It was thin and silvery, grasping at threads to— needles. They were their own paradox, grey and lifeless on their own among all the warmth and red. They moved as one, in waves, catching on the great sea of red and reeling in what it hooked, changing its shape into what it would weave.

What they hooked was not red.

It was dark, the color of glass. Long tendrils peeled out from the mass of desecrated carcasses, their ends fraying into sand and ash. Making the tear that much wider. There was no definite end to them, too frayed for it. There was a word to describe those dark tendrils, Nando recognized them for who what they were, but then the needles pierced each one and Nando couldn’t identify them at all. Wouldn’t.

She was… making… something. Forcing the tendrils to accommodate to one shape. Twisting them among each other. Knitting.

His heart hurt in his chest. Nando wouldn’t be too slow again, he was right there, he was right there, if he could just— reach forward and help—

The main body moved, gliding almost, towards him. He was being lifted, then, still embraced by the scent of death all around him, but separated from the mass. Presented to Her like an offering.

His blood had entered a flash boil, his mind on the first stages of frigid. Talking would usually be his first instinct, make Her see with even one of those uncountable number of eyes that She was hurting the one who those threads belonged to. But She wasn’t interested in talking, was She?

She reached forward, towards his chest. Fingers hot like molten metal and cold like death dragged claws against him. Nando grit his teeth.

And blinked.

And saw Her.

A Majesty who saw Herself as Everything. An all-consuming flame that demanded to be fed, not to offer warmth to the one feeding it, but to continue growing and spreading its influence wherever it went. Like staring into the Sun’s pupil.

She was many, and She was one. She was together, and She was alone. 

Pressure mounted on his shoulders, in his head, throughout his chest. Feelings not his own flooded through him. Frustration. ‘You are hiding the contours of his heart from Me.’ 

Rage. Cold spite. Nando glared into the Sun. She smiled. Her eyes on eyes on eyes made contact with his own, but were not looking at him at all. They bore through him like sunbeams, radiant and radioactive and ripping through him, trying to find access to his shadow behind through sheer force.

The pressure increased. Pain splintered across his whole body. Everything hurt. ‘You struggle against what you cannot understand. What makes a shriveling little worm think it could deny Contrast Itself?’

Clarity. An overwhelming impulse. A mouth quicker than his mind— thoughts quicker than his sense. ‘I already did.’

Trillions of hearts synchronized into a single heartbeat. Then, a nuclear explosion as each ran out of sync yet pounded in unison. Hands clawed into his chest—blood filled his lungs—metal pierced and flayed him alive—unwound, deconstructed, emptied—a prying force, loud and agonizing and angry—a need to lash out.

The end of the pain was almost enough for shock to creep in. Almost.

A blink. The needles stopped. Nando tried to put them out of his mind. He was starting to shake. He needed to breathe.

Another blink. Something had changed once more. She was no longer scantily clad in only Her own strands of hair, but adorned in sickeningly familiar bloodstained threads — woven into a form fitting layered dress of dark feathers, stained red with blood and bound together with her pristine hair.

They wrapped around Her neck and shoulders in a diamond shape, partially exposing Her chest but covering up the rest. Feathers and strands were arranged similarly to the dresses brides would wear in Feli's telenovelas, simple and subtle ruffles of feathers lining the curved shape of Her body.

Blank husks clung to the hem of the dark feathered dress, pretty-pale hands reaching up to pet loose strands that glistened red, starkly contrasting with Her unblemished complexion as She smugly stared down at him. It was grotesque. It was disgusting.

Seeing him come to his senses, She did a twirl in Her new dress, showing it across infinite sides and infinite angles. She laughed, mirthful and cruel, as it swayed with the movement, as She danced on Her own with pieces of him to keep Her company, as She made Nando watch. It conformed to Her near perfectly. Defined Her form so snugly. It felt like with every movement She made, the feathers trembled in fear and the strands tightened around them.

It made Nando sick to his stomach. He suspected it was supposed to be some sort of show of affection towards Quiet, but two words burned clearly into him in its place. Obsession. Need. She wouldn't let go of him for as long as She existed. It said everything that She would wear the suffering She inflicted on him as something to cherish rather than to be ashamed of.

He swallowed the burning of his revulsion and tried his best to push away from Her, to look away from the display She put on for him. ‘He doesn’t want to see you.’

A twitch from one of Her faces. A sunspot. He hit a nerve. ‘He already has.’ A distant look, an inhuman grin. The break of dawn at midnight. ‘Just as I have seen him. Beautiful and adored and everlasting. Unlike you.’

Nando opened his mouth. His voice was scratchy and tired and raw. But above all that, it was scoffing. “‘Adored’?” And deities weren’t the only beings that could speak truth. “You hurt him.”

A gross understatement. ‘His suffering was an impermanent means to a beautiful end.  Our union ascended past the petty, fickle concerns of pain or death.’ A deep sigh. Longing. ‘It was how things are meant to be.’

“You’re wrong.”

‘And you are no ‘you’ at all. A delusion that stole away a piece of a soul and convinced itself it was more. ' A sudden force pushed against Nando’s will. The impressions She made on him were harsh and pressuring and loud, words red and burning and laced in blood. A lingering threat to shatter him where he stood. And then—release. ‘But I do not need to break you. You shall fade with the inevitable passage of time. I only need wait for him to reprise the steps to our dance.’

“He won’t.”

‘He knows the consequences of trying to keep me trapped for eternity. The things it would do to us both. But it doesn't have to be so terrible. In a world with both of us, nothing has to last forever.’

“He doesn’t want to see you.” He repeated aloud. “He made his choice,” a small part of him wanted to laugh, to spit on Her face. He blamed Connie and his influence. “And it wasn’t you.”

A reaction. The grip around him past the point of tight. Bones creaking, heart hammering in his chest. And then slowly, gently almost, She put Her hands over his mouth. Over his nose. Another blink. Water once again, coalescing in an inhuman shape. What should have been hands melted together. The water was freezing, and Nando didn’t spare that much thought before he realized he couldn't breathe.

A snake, wrapping him in coils as She submerged him and pulled him up, again and again and again. All the while She was watching, and he couldn’t read Her, faces like marble. He blinked and the image did not change. If he didn’t asphyxiate, he would drown.

Everything went white, and—

He had woken up to dark. Familiar smells, familiar ceiling. Afterimages behind his eyelids. With every blink, a new nightmare. Quiet, next to him, hair damp. For once, sleeping unaware. Ave’s eyes shining from the darkness, questioning.

Now, after yet more revelations, Nando wondered if he had had a feeling things would not go well. It wasn't usual that he woke up angry. 

With every word Quiet had spoken, Nando’s heart got louder until it was so loud in his ears that it threatened to deafen him. What they knew. The dream. The way that goddess talked about Quiet reeked of ownership, possession nearly tangible. Despite the act, there was a dark, proprietary look in Her eyes.

You are never going to find him, Nando thought, carefully checking to see that the rage he was feeling wasn’t showing on his face. After what they had learned, it was near impossible for it to not show. He could feel it burning in his eyes. I won't let you.

Felipe had not yet regretted his choice of staying behind to guard his love, but the sight that was Borja’s face almost made him reconsider. Almost.

He had always felt a certain kinship with the taller man, one of the only ones who appreciated, or at least listened to, his poetics about his love. Who tended to agree when he talked about Cain and his opinions. Who actually appreciated his cooking.

All that to say, when he saw the split lip and blooming black eye, the first emotion he recognized was rage.

Borja wouldn't have fought back, it wasn’t in his nature. And the list of people who would assault him like that was low. Low enough to be nonexistent, or so Felipe had thought. Clearly, they had shared a dwelling with some dishonorable people.

Which led him to the current situation of him trying to patch him up. It wasn't something Felipe was used to doing, his movements clumsy to even himself. Dashing heroes didn’t usually patch themselves or others up, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn. He led his compatriot to the kitchen— not what he imagined he’d first be doing here, nor with who— and ran warm water from the sink, soaking a rag. He turned, pushing Borja’s outstretched and open palms aside to dab the rag on his friend’s face, as gently as he could allow while washing away the blood leaking from his lip. It was a deep cut, swelling by the second. Borja froze at the touch, then relaxed as Felipe went on. He hoped that meant he was doing something that worked.

Once Borja looked presentable, as a man of his stature should, Felipe turned to fret over the refrigerator in search of something to hold over that dastardly black eye. 

As he searched, he tried to find words for conversation. Something boisterous and proud, to raise his compatriot’s spirits. Instead, unlike himself, he could come up with only questions. Burning in his chest. Just embers, at first, but as he turned back with a pack of frozen vegetables, it grew to a roaring flame.

“Who?” He said at last, his voice crackling in the strain and heat from his heart.

Borja took a long moment to respond. Long enough that Felipe handed off the pack of vegetables and dug into his pockets for some lip balm.

He had half the mind to apply it himself, frazzled as he was by Borja’s state, though the taller man luckily had the sense to grab the balm from Felipe’s hands only centimeters away from his face. He saw him wince as he applied it, rubbing his lips together with squinted eyes. Felipe blinked. He supposed the sweet taste wasn’t for everyone.

He fretted about whether or not Dami had the same displeased reaction when Borja finally spoke up, frowning—and suddenly, Felipe’s attention was only on him. Answers, finally; that way he knew how to act. He wasn't made to sit still and quiet. In his opinion, he should be always acting, be it rescuing people or making his love happy or defending from threats.

Borja’s tone was apologetic, “I know Gonzalo's your brother,” he started, and Felipe blinked, since when? “But his temper leaves a lot to be desired.”

“What?” Felipe blurted out. Opened his mouth to ask something else. Words didn't come for a moment. “But he only fights if— if people ask for it.”

“I didn't ask,” Borja said sharply, before his cadence softened. “But you're not wrong. He wouldn't have done it before.”

“This doesn't make sense— he wouldn't just attack you for no reason. His temper— his escalated passions, you say, my friend, they were misdirected. He must have misunderstood you.”

“It's not his fault,” Borja turned his palms up to him, placating in a way he shouldn’t be. He was the one who was attacked! “He isn't someone who can spot falsehoods easily. Most of them aren't.”

Felipe latched onto that last thing. Had someone deceived all of them? Enough so they would turn their back on one of their own? “Most of them?”

“Everyone knows the Decider’s word is law.”

It almost took the wind out of Felipe’s sails. Even after all they had seen… “No, surely not. He has been… agitated, recently, yes, but…”

“You have seen it, then,” Borja said, leaning back. “You saw how afraid he was, when he realized you were seeing Dami? When you defied his unspoken word?”

It was a hard thing to forget. Felipe tried, of course. It was the right thing to do, to be the bigger man and forgive and forget his friend’s misplaced comments in a moment of weakness. But it was hard.

“But it wasn’t just because of that, Feli,” Borja said hastily. He moved as if to grab Felipe’s hands in his, forgetting the cold compress he needed to keep on his eye, leaning forward and taking it off a moment. 

“Ah,” Feli fretted, taking his friend’s hand and delicately pushing it back to his eye. “Don’t forget your state.” He winced, and Felipe wilted. He was not doing enough.

A heartbeat. Felipe would give him as many as he needed, if he must collect himself. Then Borja continued. “We all have our Princesses. But him… his is missing.”

“Of course,” Felipe nodded, understanding coming to him at once. A broken heart—a heart that needs mended, a heart that needs care and attention, but is pushing it away. Pity, a gentle sorrow, washed over him at the thought—it sounded terribly lonely. “It is a betrayed passion for us, then, yes? Allowing jealousy to drive wedges between himself and us, for he led each of us to our beloved, but has none to claim for his own?”

“Not quite, but close,” Borja said in a hushed whisper. Leaned in like he was telling a secret. “There is passion betrayed… but it is he who betrayed his love.”

“No,” Felipe gasped.

“Of course. And he wanted the rest of us to forget ours, in turn, and become like him. Bitter and lonely, wallowing in his pains with no attention paid to his blessings.”

“He wouldn't do that… We both came from him.”

Then again, they weren't the only ones who did, and there was a ghost in their midst…

“You should have seen the commotion last night. He is picking his favorites, and tossing out the rest.” Borja huffed, then. Felipe hesitated to call it a laugh. It was devoid of humor. “Like trash in the rain. He never did value me at all.”

Felipe opened his mouth to counter, but Borja was on a roll now. He wouldn’t stop. “And he did not value Her. His love. You don’t understand—the Thing we’ve seen in the dark, on the screen, She loved him. She loved him so terribly She promised him Everything, because She was Everything, and he could have been Everything too if only he’d accepted Her.”

Borja was not a man of many words, Felipe had thought, before. But the way he ranted now was unlike anything the man had ever heard before. The truth unfolded before Felipe. Borja was not quiet. Borja was a poet, he just needed a chance to express himself. And the words he breathed like air Felipe could scarcely understand in mind, but felt call to him in spirit. His heart pounded.

The tale Borja spun rolled over Felipe. Of a first impression, confused yet familiar and longing, and a promise made between the pairing. Promises turned into gifts, and gifts into conversations. A long and arduous process, but one made all the sweeter by the reunions in-between, Her growing stronger by the meeting and him replenished by the respite She offered him.

A question on the tip of Felipe’s tongue, in the beginning, washed away in the romance of the tale. It was beautiful. In the end, that was all that ever mattered. “She was patient, Felipe,” Borja told him. “He tried to make it sound otherwise, but She was. She would have waited eternity to be with him, She gave him all the time in the world. Always at his side, never alone, only requesting him to do and be the same as Her. Requesting, in return, simple love.”

“He refused,” Borja said, and Felipe’s heart stuttered. “He blamed Her for everything they went through, together, as one. Acted as if his partner were his captor, his suffering Her design. She was brilliant radiance, and he quiet shadow, and he blamed Her for his own nature. For sacrifices he made of his own will.”

“But it was a gift,” Felipe argued to no one. “He could not expect them back, or anything in return. A gift is given for the love of who you gift to. Sacrifices in the name of love are the greatest sacrifices of all.”

Borja nodded, slow and deliberate. Closed his eyes and slouched down again, sighing. He sounded tired. “I said as much.”

It took Felipe a moment to gauge the implication. “And for that, he…?”

“He played the victim.” Borja shook his head, staring at the ceiling as if it would give him answers. “The others believed him because they were inclined to. They didn’t give me a chance to state my case. You… Well, you’ve seen what Gonzalo did. Ciro, I could tell, would have done the same if his voice alone did not cut it.”

Felipe could not believe the whole house was caught in this web of lies. Surely Borja had someone in his corner. He could imagine at least one friendly face. “Fernando. I cannot imagine he would have stood for it.”

“He did not,” Borja agreed, and Felipe breathed a sigh of relief. Too early. “He was kneeling at the Decider’s feet, instead.”

Felipe tried to picture that. It was hard.

“I tried to make the Decider see…” Borja started, not meeting his eyes, “tried to make him understand it was the only thing he could do to make everything okay again, that his place was with Her, but he wouldn’t believe me. I’m starting to think he couldn’t.”

“He's— it can't have been on purpose…” Felipe himself didn't know who he was defending. The Decider? His fellow Voice?

Borja scoffed, almost derisive. “You have seen how Fernando looks at him. He would excuse everything under the sun for him.”

Felipe raised his eyebrows, “Nando was the first guide, the shield to his… blade,” he tripped over his words at the not very apt comparison. All he had learned was throwing him off, he had to try to look for an explanation. “Of course he would be indulgent.”

Borja looked at him like he was waiting for something. Like he was getting to something obvious. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Borja leaned back and had a long, long sigh. Felipe worried he’d tired him out with these questions.

“Are you jesting?”

Felipe frowned, slightly insulted. He did not jest, not about important things, and least of all about matters of love. Who did he think he was, Connie? He was capable of taking things seriously. 

Borja took the sign in Felipe’s lack of an answer. “Yes, Fernando was Quiet’s first guide. As far as Quiet is concerned, his most important and favored guide of all. We know what he thinks of us, what he thought of the rest. Of the names he granted us, none could stand up to the likes of ‘Hero,’ wouldn’t you say, ‘Smitten’?”

Felipe shook his head. He was not the type to rank, not friends.

The name he got was what he was, ‘he who feels with all he has’, or perhaps ‘lightning strike’. As descriptive of himself as it could be. Borja had not been granted that privilege, if he recalled it correctly. He had not been named by the Decider.

Smitten. He who loves without restraint or care. Quiet had called him crazy for acting on his nature. But what did their names have to do with all that? He gestured at Borja to go on.

“Quiet favored his guide more than his goddess. His second-in-command above his betrothed. His Hero above his Princess.” Borja slumped under Felipe’s unblinking stare. “Back then, the Decider listened to Hero moreso than anyone or anything else, against all reason or care, did he not?”

Yes, Felipe did remember what led to his hatching. But he remembered Nando’s hesitance, too, unreasonable in the face of the perfection of his Dami. In hindsight, it was a relief. Felipe wasn’t sure if he could stand to share. But back then, it was baffling, and the Decider knew it too. “He saw the error of his ways.”

Borja nodded. “I managed to convince him of the right path, as well. But with… our current circumstances, he has been led astray once more. Coddled by Nando, and leaning into the hold. That is what Quiet wants, and what he hungered for and was denied with his goddess, and so rejected Her in favor of him. That selfish and needy support.”

“Why would he reject love in favor of something so empty?”

“It is a different kind of love.” Borja shook his head slowly, disapproving, and Felipe closed his eyes in recognition. 

Now he could understand why Quiet looked at Fernando like he was his north star, visible even in his darkest moments, in the way he would follow him forever in open disregard of all the galaxy’s light. Why he looked at the Princesses, at the best of times, like faded flowers, in the way time made their beauty unrecognizable to his eyes.

Why Fernando did the same, however, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around. Watching Quiet like his own personal jasmine crop, blooming brighter and stronger far past his expiration date, in the way he lit up at each new sign of life and nurtured his growth with each passing day.

Quiet was… young. There was something in Felipe, in Gonzalo, even in Skeptic, that Quiet just… lacked. That gravitational pull towards an unknown, electric destiny, the desire that made even the harshest pains pale in the light of its presence. An instinct he hadn’t yet grown into. He was unlikely to understand it until he matured. At the end of the day, that was the heart of the issue: the immaturity.

It wasn't even that much of a stretch to call him the collective soft spot of the flock. It made sense, for the others to be… indulgent, with him. In their own ways. Those indulgences would sustain him until the greater need made itself known, and Quiet could be as he was supposed to be, with who he was supposed to be with. But it seemed they’d gone too far; not just confusing their Decider in the needs he must feel and indulge, but confusing themselves in the process, right and wrong touches and words twisting into each other and mixing meaning with purpose with need.

Perhaps this was but a consequence of the number of members of the flock and the Princesses being uneven. Fernando never did have a princess of his own, did he? A pair of lonely souls was still a pairing. Some sacrifices need to be made in the name of love.

Felipe tried to imagine his compatriots— his acquaintances ganging up on Borja. Tried to imagine anything that would come out of his soft, meek, tempered voice that could inspire such an all-consuming rage towards him, that could ever justify such barbarism against his friend. He looked at Borja now, his hunched posture and swelling eye and red lip. He couldn’t imagine it.

All he could think of was a group coddling around Quiet for wounds that had long-since healed, as Borja was cast out, bleeding, in the rain, for finally gathering the courage to voice his thoughts to the group. For trying to remind them of how things should be.

Everyone had a little selfishness within them. Felipe included.

He knew that when he first laid his eyes on Damiana, and his heart sung, this one, I shall have this one and nobody else.

He knew that when he found himself willing to sacrifice anybody —even the world and its entire population—if it meant Damiana’s continued survival and happiness.

He knew that because he was hatched from a selfish person. If what Borja said was true — and between the busted lip and bruised eye, what reason could he have to lie? — the person Felipe was grown from had lived a tale of happiness and pain with his other half, only for him to reach out with greedy, wicked hands and tear heaven asunder.

Torn apart his own happy ending over dissatisfaction with his choices.

Because it all just wasn’t good enough for him.

Felipe was not aware of how his eyes glowed, as bright and furious as a forest fire. His very presence seeped into the corners of the room, gathering shadows to his limbs as he rose. “ How d̶͈̦̞̍̍a̸̡̛̦̰͂r̸̜̟͗́ẻ̴̛̖͘ ̴̪̮̫͗ ̴̦̀h̸̯̿ë̵̤́-̸̩̏-̷͖̓"̶̹̿

On the face of things, Felipe was a soft, gentle, chipper man. The type to, if he had to have some special quality, have an affinity to heal. To mend the broken. To patch the torn. He played the part of that type of man, because it was the type of man he needed to be. It was the type of man that the type of woman Dami was needed to be with. A Damsel to heal, and a Dashing Hero to heal her. He practiced that part with Borja, often and always, because in some ways Borja could remind Felipe of her. He greeted him in the house’s halls and found him in its dark corners, hidden away from the world, and spoke to him about shallow and inconsequential asides. Distracted him from his woes. And now, played his part though he did not have the knowledge, and tried to heal.

But Felipe, deep down, was not the man with an affinity to heal. He was a man of passion. Greater than that, a man of desire. And right now he was filled up to the brim with it. Felipe was angry— beyond anger— beyond reason. He was the darkness of the walls in a lit room. He was the shadow in the corner of one’s vision. He was the empty space beneath the bed and in the corner. And in each of these secret places, he was angry.

Something in him unraveled, and he became.

Connie wasn’t used to being afraid. Not in the way Oli was, so much that it bled into the moments when Quiet calmed down the slightest bit and the first words out of Oli’s mouth was to tell him to go wash his face.

The role of leader was ill-fitting on him, but he had spoken before Nando could. Gonchi had left, maybe to let his rage loose, maybe to tell that girl about what happened. Grace emerged from the spot behind the wall she had undoubtedly been spying from, in the direction Quiet had disappeared to. Cain had started to rise, then aborted the movement. Harri had sat there, something dangerously close to regret shining in his eyes.

Connie was angry, angrier than he ever was before, and he didn’t trust himself. So, mechanically, he followed the group. Watched as each of them had coffee, or tea, or cocoa, or mate, took note of Quiet’s half eaten sandwich.

And then Nando started talking. About a dream he had that night. And Connie wasn’t Harri, but even he could think the timing was too coincidental. What was he supposed to do? What were all of them supposed to do? The whole situation was a whirlwind that sucked them in whether they wanted to be there or not.

More than half of Connie's existence was spent in whirlwinds. He didn't like, though he was used to, things that didn't make sense.

Like Before. After what had been Plethora once, after the mirror, he had woken up somewhere far away. And he had been alone. And he had been in the water. The world had warped and he with it. There was no way to take a third option against a tsunami, only swim against the current or with it, except there was no current, nobody to make unhappy except himself and the water wanted him to drown, so he tried to persevere, tried to not show fear. He was a pebble in its path that it wanted to sand off. He couldn't breathe, he was crushed he was stretched thin he wanted to be out of there he never liked pain let him out his lungs kept filling and he couldn't cough it up and he was so very tired and he was— lost —slipped through the cracks—falling—falling— falling—

Air. He had no physical form, but he could feel whatever that was— that white, blinding liquid— pouring itself out of his throat as he hacked his lungs out.

A cobblestone floor. A wooden floor. A cracked floor. He was at the cabin again. As mismatched as always.

Outside, hands slammed against the windows. Waves tried to break the glass.

Whatever could pass for a body, a soul, whatever Connie was, felt tattered and worn, hazardously holding on like it was not meant to be. A realization: he had been lucky.

He huddled against a wall, and breathed.

Until the cabin door opened.

Something had been strange wrong different about Connie's decider.

He had felt... shattered. Weathered and worn. Looking at the cabin with disbelieving eyes for one moment. Collapsing the next, sobbing. Connie's companion had chosen to let his nausea at the confusing geometry of the place evaporate the moment the decider's knees buckled.

He was as waterlogged as Connie, the moment he slammed into this room. Connie had some theories about what happened. None of them were good. None of them had even come close.

A feeling had emanated from him, a heaviness that neither of the Voices could reach, as if it was being hidden by a barrier. A wall that they just couldn’t climb over. But beyond it, they could sense something. Something heavy and hollow and afraid, and sad too. Too much sadness to measure.

He could have let Hero do all the mushy work, Connie wasn't a good part of them after all. But he had thought of the decider's soul, fraying at the edges and barely managing to shape something resembling a body, like it had forgotten how. He thought of the utter terror on his face when they stepped into the cabin. He thought of his kindness, and his fear—how at odds the two emotions were with each other.

The decider had needed him.

And so, he had lied. 'I've been here since you left me here.'

He had felt the weight of Hero’s eyes on him. But there was no way he would let the decider worry even more, not when he rejected the script entirely and wouldn’t even go down the basement, blade or no blade. The decider had needed him, and that was that.

After... After , the thought still reverberated in Connie's head, along with the knowledge that in a dead timeline he did drown. And Quiet had been hurt. And Quiet had needed him then. 

“We barely made it out,” Nando said, plunging him back to the present—and then his breath hitched. He went silent for just a moment. “I didn’t think either of us would.”

And even so, even after all that happened, they still chose to take Connie with them. Gave him another chance. “We did.”

A long pause. Connie fidgeted in the silence. Then, Nando lifted his head and looked him dead in the eyes. Connie tensed and went still. “Could we do it again?”

There was something terribly flat in Nando’s tone. Not tired, not resigned, not even empty. A steady, stabilized pulse, a humming energy so consistent it would be mistaken for no energy at all. In that tone was neither the security of a hardened promise nor the direction of an intentional threat, but the textured nothing of a place far away. An answer trapped in the form of a question.

Connie swallowed. Commitment was scary. Took a long breath out, and said, “we don’t have to.”

The energy in the room cut. Nando blinked. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Connie tried to make himself forget the words Borja had spat at them. Who said Quiet wasn't a God? On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing. Connie had yet to meet a sane God. He reached his hand to touch one of the walls, tapped it twice, "this is my heaven."

Nando opened his mouth. Closed it, unsure. “I’m sure Quiet would be flattered to hear that—”

“No me estas entendiendo.” Connie shook his head. Took a breath. He wasn’t one to get serious, it was almost anathema to him. “This is my heaven, and I believe in no gods.”

Connie could be the first to tell people that one of his many flaws was his inability to know when to shut up. He had never expected it to be literal, words pouring out like a faucet with years of backup. “I believe in Gonchi. I believe in hands that could just as easily shatter my skull as they could mend my spine, and which pick and choose which capacity to embrace through split-second choices and bloodstained songs.

“I believe in Ave. I believe in a man missing a quarter of his back and yet had legs that could sprint faster than us all anyway. I believe in something other than a man. I believe in an instinct only he has, beyond us both, that knows how to dodge and in what directions. I believe in claws that rend and teeth that bite.

“I believe in Paco. I believe in attentive eyes, the ones that caught how to keep us alive before we knew how to live, and the ones learning to live now in recipes and pots and pans. 

“I believe in you. No, don’t give me that look, I do. I believe in a force that could keep us all moving and a certainty that keeps us all standing. I believe in a spine that withstood the full blunt force of a tsunami and strained to push through it. I believe in whatever it was we could call ourselves before, the presence you inhabited and the sound of your voice in our shared head. I believe in the whole of you at the end of Before who chose to stick by us.

“I believe in Quiet. I believe in decisions, and life, and things I have not seen. I believe in wings that withstood eternity, that spread and fly after their flight feathers were ripped out, that fold over and swaddle each of us in down feathers that couldn’t be plucked. I believe in the threads that connect each of us together. 

“I believe in hands that build and guard our gates; in instinct that protects from things we cannot name; in eyes that learn when to stare and when to sleep; in unbreakable spines that never fold; in an unspoken understanding and a network of quiet things. There are no gods, but we live as a pantheon in this heaven.

No false deity is allowed inside.”

Connie took a breath. His lungs were spent, his throat parched, but he felt lighter than he had in all his life. The room came back into focus.

Nando blinked, bemusement and fondness warring in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in anything.”

Connie finally smiled. “Shh, don’t tell.”

The room had come back into focus, which meant he remembered there were people around him, which meant most of the house’s inhabitants were there, which meant he was watching his reputation go up in flames.

Gonchi was sniffling, for the love of everything!

And Oli was staring at him with the sort of grin Connie had grown used to seeing in his own face, not his. Connie didn’t think that lightly, but. Bitch.

Bitch, nothing. Bitching was the one thing Ciro was equipped to do, and by the gods he was going to do it. It’s not like he had much else to do last night. Other than wiping blood away from floorboards.

It had been one of the worst nights in Ciro’s existence. What a confirmation, that all the bullshit he and they ever endured could be wrapped up in one little cosmic game at their expense. What a way to spend an evening, having to be around her again, with the blades and her nonchalant cruelty. And after, being stuck between trying to wrap his head around Cain literally admitting he kept everyone alive just 'cause they were "interesting" to him, the fucking prick, and that not-Cain's hatred of the rest of them for no discernible reason beyond that he was an asshole— and he— and—

“And Harri brought Cain into our room— our shared room, mind you!— to clean and dress the wounds Ave gave him— deserved! Fucking deserved! — and I heard him talking, I could hear that goddamn tone and it was fucking placating and what the fuck was he thinking, what the fuck was he going on about with Paco— saying Paco didn't help— saying Ave didn't help…!? And he was defending Cain?! The same one who wanted to wipe Quiet’s memories?!”

To think that Ciro ever thought Cain was good, while fighting that woman. To think that, at one point, he appreciated the blurring of the lines between life and death, appreciated that he only needed to count the number of times the damned dust-eating motherfucking Narrator said she skewered them rather than the times they all felt their heart stop beating. Not any-fucking-more! Not when he was not stopping there, when he wanted to wipe memories and feelings and very selves away.

Ave had the right idea.

“And on top of that, Harri didn’t even give Quiet space before forcing him to talk about that diosa malparida!”

“I don’t think She was birthed from anything—“

“ME VALE VERGA! The unfairness of it all, Quiet didn't ask for this. None of us fucking asked for this! We went through so much hell, just to be told in the end that that was the fucking warmup round?! ” his vocal chords ached from the effort, but it was a good kind of burn, it let out the embers in his chest. “We died, we left him alone , he had to escape by himself and we couldn’t DO anything!”

Everyone had seen Ciro angry before, but none yet had the chance to look into his eyes as he was. Now all of them were beholden to that unique and delightful privilege: to see the same blue-gray coloration, and yet no similarities to note at all.

Angry as he was, they were the blue-greens-gray of a trapped hurricane, no longer contained within his iris but encompassing the entirety of his eyes, flickers of lightning and shipwrecks and debris glittering across them, ever-moving. His pupils were the only still part of his gaze, instead of black, a small circle of sky blue, the Eye of his Eye, one could say.

Ciro, having apparently said his piece, heaved breaths in the open space of the room. Oli was grateful for the calm after the storm. Maybe tensions could de-escalate around here, for a change?

“Harri helped him?” Connie frowned. “After all that?”

“Someone had to.” Harri chose that moment to announce his presence. Well—more accurately, he’d announced his presence a couple minutes earlier with his corrections on Transformation’s origins, but it was that moment that he truly asserted his place in the room. If Oli would make a teensy eensy critique, well, he could really use some lessons on proper timing. Or a proper point to interject on.

A fire ignited beneath Ciro again, enough for him to rise to his full height and stare Harri down. Oli flinched; he wasn’t sure how to deal with this. His head swiveled over to Harri just as the two rivals made eye contact— and Oli blinked, shocked at the expression on his face. His eyes were filled with remorse. It looked like his eyes had grown so big— so big that they were the only thing he could focus on. There was so much hurt in his eyes that he couldn’t have cried if he’d wanted to. He stood there looking at Ciro for a moment that was endless. 

What else was there to say?

Oli remembered asking, a few days into his life as an actual individual, ‘what is the cost, what are you getting from this, what am I sacrificing,’ and not believing Quiet when he replied ‘nothing, nothing at all.’

Having spent less than half an hour just trying to keep the men in the room from assaulting each other again… he had to wonder why Quiet, apparently, wanted this cacophony back in his head. These guys were outside his and he was still getting a headache. He should’ve thought twice about this whole “mediator” thing. He did not like it one bit. They were beyond loud when they wanted to be.

And he had no clue how to stop the maelstrom of noise that would surely follow— he had told Harri to go somewhere else, do something else, but had he listened? Noooo.

Connie stood up as if electrified. “Anyone want to take bets on which one of the mini-Transformations gets kicked out of their house first?”

A small part of Oli couldn’t help but go ha, like I’ll forget that speech anytime soon. That’s what you get for making fun of me. Unfortunately, another part of him appreciated the topic change. He settled for a smug look instead. Nothing quite like a smug look to clue someone in on how utterly aware of their shortcomings you are.

(And if he’d been waiting to hear his own name in Connie’s voice and been left with empty air instead, well, he made extra sure not to think about that.)

Taking the bait for what it was, or perhaps mistaking it for an olive branch, Harri perked up. “I’ll get the whiteboard out.”

“Guys… we shouldn’t bet on that.” Nando’s sigh could have been heard twenty blocks over.

Harri perked up even more when he looked at Nando and Nando didn’t look away. “Don’t think of it as betting. Think of it as strategic speculation. So we know what we’re up against once it happens.”

Oli felt his lips twitch up. He could spot attempts at mirroring when he saw them in action, but he wasn’t about to let him win, all the same. He was still one of the two personas non gratas of the house. He still wasn't looking at Harri. “That’s devious as hell (and I love you for it, didn’t know that side of you) but it’s absolutely still betting because money is changing hands.” 

Harri went to the hallway, third door to the left. His room. A few long moments later, he was carrying a whiteboard almost bigger than himself, markers on their way to slipping from his fingers. With a grin, he placed it leaning on one side of the table.

In the center of it, in bold red letters, there was the phrase ‘HOW TO KILL GOD’.

Before Oli could even begin to process that, there was a knock on the door.

Nando looked up after a slight delay. He looked a decade older than he was a day or so ago, eyes tired and posture heavy. Oli hopped up. “Wwwelll, I’ll let you boys get right on to it, I’ve got some greetings to manage!” And so he sprinted away.

He opened the door. He was expecting two men. Wrong again: three women were behind it.

Damiana, hair and dress and jacket soaked through, hair almost flat from the rain, shivering. Scared and unsure.

Tabitha, her braid dripping water, hand still poised to knock once more, a frantic look in her eyes. Desperate yet focused.

Winnie had blue shadows under her eyes, dirty fingernails, and wild hair. (He could swear there were plants stuck in it.) She flinched back at the sight of him, hunching over in the rain. Distainful but defenseless.

They looked fractured. Angry and frustrated and hungry all at the same time. Intruders, was his first thought. Then, foreign to him: unsafe, in relation to them. Danger, in relation to where they came from. He could close the door, right now… Or…

Dami opened her mouth. Hesitated. “May we come in?”

Borja was a witness, once more, of something unnatural. Of Felipe blending with the shadows of the room until he was one, rising in size until he brushed the ceiling. His eyes strayed from his glowing eyes to his hands – those claws were meant to hurt. Borja hoped he didn’t choose his target in him—then he stopped hoping altogether.

There was no space for hope here. There was a being of darkness in the room, and he was so blindingly angry, trembling with it to the point his edges unraveled into something shaky and undefined. Borja felt like he was burning alive, past the point of sweating. The anger crushed him. It pushed in on all sides, eagerly coming down on him like a collapsing building—he couldn’t breathe, mouth opening in a gasp—

He fell to his knees. The light dimmed — ‘shadow’ wasn’t a proper name for whatever Felipe had turned into, not with the way it seemed to actively suck up the light’s ray, nor the way it spread on the walls like a creeping mold. It simultaneously stole away the light that was and choked out what light would remain. It was more solid, with mass.

Not even quiet, either. The air hummed, a high pitched sound, like lightning about to strike. Ringing in his ears.

What was going on?

He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, cold and clammy, patting him down. He felt another pair of hands, warm and resolute, hoisting him up. Another pair of hands, nondescript and unfamiliar, briskly scooting him aside.

“Damiana will come back soon,” five voices rang out at once, as one, as soon as their combined origin turned from Borja towards the shadows on the wall. Their multifaceted tones all came together into one voice. Steadfast, calm, and soothing. One of Plethora’s hands raised as if to grasp his. “You don’t need to worry. Time spent away from her is still time spent in reference to her.”

Something flickered in the air. The darkness expanded, the scene skipping like a broken record as the shadows on the walls bent down to crowd the quintuplet. From where he stood in the dark, Borja could not make out their faces, just their multifaceted form; a light in the dark. A hand reached out as a hand drew back as a hand curled into a fist as all of them reacted, but none of them chose, allowing a pause in the rhythm of the shadow’s dance so it might collect itself enough to—

“She left? She abandoned me for him? Abandoning love for him? No, that’s not right. That’s not it at all. She left because he lied to her, because he lied to all of us, he lied to me. We do not have to live in lies any longer.”

—speak, in a tone Borja had never heard before this very moment. Frantic and fast paced like the words burst out of him, then abruptly calm and collected.

Somehow, the latter scared him more.

Plethora stared him down, their arms casually hanging at their sides and defensively raised to push him out of their personal space and reaching to pat him comfortingly. They spoke, their voices messy, “are you sure of what you want to do? We can—” they cleared their throat, voices syncing back up again, “we can help you find your way down the paths you have to walk.”

A whisper in unseen places as the house creaked in place of the darkness’s joints. Felipe leaned down to them, murmuring. “There is only one thing to do.”

“There are many,” they replied, cocking their heads to the side playfully. There was, somehow, a wink in their tone in absence of a light to show it on their faces. “That is the nature of choice, we’re learning. There are many things to do, but only one choice that can be made in a single lifetime. In the end, it’s all we can do to trust the choices we’re making are the right choices.”

“There’s no two options, just one.”

Massive talons were caught in smaller hands, two pairs each as the third joined each other politely at Plethora’s middle. They spoke as one, monotone and flat, “Yours is a desire borne of the narrow view of a single life,” and again as many, curious and inquisitive, “and what motivates you, what drive pushes you down that path you feel you must walk?”

Borja wasn’t sure asking that was a good idea. Who knew what could set him off? He nearly moved, if just to rise, if just to warn her of the dangers of her assertions at a time like this, but he couldn’t even see his own hand raised in front of his face. He couldn’t speak over them. The darkness would surely choke out the noise.

Somehow, the shadows slumped further down. Then—something like a smile, silver on black, winked from the darkness.

“Her.”

Plethora nodded—then shook their head—then nodded again. “Her. You are hers. And she—yours.” A pause. Uncertainty filled the air as the shadows shook. In rage? In agreement? In flattery? Felipe’s expression, if such a thing could even be identified, was unreadable. Unknowable. “That union, the one you cherish so dearly… is that it? Is that what—” a break in the script, three different conclusions, “—you’re after? —you’re protecting? —you want?” 

A longer pause. Plethora leaned, backwards then forwards, fighting with themselves. They opened their mouths again, a discordant song playing as each member of the chorus found their own lyrics to sing. It was indecipherable among the black—the only visible point being the movement of their body. Their arms flailed, shaking and grasping blindly in their confusion, in their frustration. Then they went silent. Still.

A long silence. A short pause. The distant sound of breathing. 

Borja watched as suddenly Plethora went limp, limbs dangling where they fell and head nodding forward. He startled, nearly making an approach back towards the center of the room, the center of attention, when the conjoined quintuplet began twitching. Something in their expressions changed, shifting, and when they next spoke, only a single voice rose from their chorus. Soft, gentle, and just a little meek.

If Borja didn’t know any better, he’d say it reminded him of Dami.

“It must be lonely, out there, don’t you think? Without Hers to guide Her, all alone in the dark. Not knowing when he’ll be back, if he’ll come for Her at all.” 

The darkness flinched as though struck, light escaping its grasp for just a moment and flooding the room. Borja could see, again, just a moment. And just a moment was long enough to see several pairs of closed eyes, serene smiles, and one—one bright-eyed face staring Felipe down as his claws shook in her grasp.

“But it’s all going to be okay! We know that, all of us, because of the feeling we all share. You included.” Plethora nodded, her hands stroking Felipe’s, massaging unseen tensions in unseen fibers in unseen muscles. Arms lowered into the touch. “We all know it,” she continued warmly as he faltered and crumbled into her hold, “that warmth in our chest, that gentle glow that makes all the bad go away—that makes the bad not so bad, not with them. And it never got weaker in his absence, only stronger, and stronger, and stronger with each return, each cherished moment of reunion. You’ve felt it too, you remember what it was like to be taken by the moment.” 

There was something fond in Plethora’s tone, a laugh on the current personality’s lips as she spoke on her own. Borja wondered, the thought unheeded, what she was laughing about. If the laughter was even real. It didn’t feel real. Nothing so happy could ever be real.

Not that he would ever, ever, say that aloud. He didn’t want Plethora to stop calming Felipe and the anger to come back.

“It’s how things are meant to be. And that memory, that feeling, will never, ever, ever go away. So nothing can ever be truly bad. Not as long as the both of them exist.” Plethora continued to hold Felipe, him lowering into her and her lowering into him. Dragging each other down into the depths of their dark embrace. “That’s what the game was about, right? A reminder of all they’ve been through together. Is there anything more real than that?”

If someone asked Borja, which they wouldn’t, he’d tell them just that was nowhere near enough. There had to be something to pay for the transgression. Pay homage, either through worship or sacrifice.

Still, Plethora continued to hold Felipe, and still she continued whispering sweet nothings and warm promises and cold assurances towards the mass of darkness Borja once recognized as a man he knew. He blinked, squinting harshly to make out even the slightest of details from the display. Massages of his hands progressed into rubbing his arms, pulling him down until they could get at his shoulders. A neverending collage of touches, a tapestry of contact woven onto Felipe as he continued to sink deeper and deeper into them.

Borja came to the startling, if in hindsight not quite shocking, realization that this wasn’t about comfort. This was the conquering of a monster. It was about wearing Felipe down. Eroding his will one touch at a time, until anger melted into bliss.

Borja knew it would work eventually, for one simple reason: he had come from Quiet.

No matter how strong he was, no matter how strong his will was, he would break simply because he was meant to.

With enough time, the shadows of the room receded, just enough for Borja to begin making out its form again, and Felipe leaned against the quintuplet, trembling. Arms that were once limp now rose, faces waking up to smile in the embrace. They shushed his continued mutterings, arguments dying as they were made, continuing to stroke his arms and grip his shoulders. It was still not enough—Borja could see it in his claws and shaking form, the edges of the shadows whipping and lashing out at the light, could see that Felipe was still angry. But he was less so. Enough to be smaller—smaller, again, than Borja, though larger than he by all accounts had a right to be, still. A very small part of him hoped that didn’t come with any height changes for Felipe once the shadow was gone.

Not that he thought this was going to be a one-and-done kind of thing. Felipe didn’t get angry often, but his ability to seethe was uncontested, even moreso than what Borja had thought. He’d tapped on something putrid while feeling for a weakness in his stronghold, and come away with a pressure point on a dam he never knew existed. With the right timing, that pressure could be instrumental in turning the house’s tensions away from them both. He’d have to keep it in mind—and find a sweet spot, so that he wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

He huffed a breath, overcome by the weight of his newfound responsibilities, and Plethora reacted, their turned head visible in the weak light that yet survived. He watched them watch him, their cool, empty, gentle eyes regarding, evaluating, and watching him in wary yet noncommital concern.

A twitch, a transition, and a slight change in expression. More guarded, more distrusting, but not hostile. Tabitha, Borja’s mind supplied, before, No, that’s not right.

“In a way, it hasn't been much time at all, but it must feel, for Her, like it's been forever since She last saw him. And he thinks he’s not coming back… But She’s patient. She can wait as long as it takes.” Their other faces blinked placidly at him.

Well, patient, Felipe was not. Borja was already picturing what light would bring. His friend wasn’t the kind of person to let go of his feelings after consulting them with the pillow. If anything, time to think only made them stronger. They tended to stew a lot on their feelings, Felipe and him.

“We’ll try to be quick.” He offered. He knew how dangerous it would be to promise something concrete without having the means to actually do it. But he was never someone to go back on his word, even less so about something like this. As recalcitrant as Quiet was about the whole situation, Borja was sure he had been listening to him before the others reacted.

He just had to keep pushing. Keep up the touches, and Quiet’s ego would be conquered yet, their soul saved from their misplaced devotions. Maintain contact at all costs, as Plethora showed him the way for. It would work. He could make him listen, yet.

If not, he had backup.

“We know you will.” 

Quiet had never had the best control over his emotions. He had control over some things. His thoughts, sometimes. His choices, sometimes. His body, sometimes. Control was never a certainty at any point in his life, never on the specifics, but there was always either something he could expect to be able to do or something he could expect himself incapable of. Emotions tended to be his incapability. And that’s without taking into account the Voices that amplified and deadened those emotions. Which took the work of regulation away from him, leaving him even more inept in their absence. 

So, overall, he shouldn’t have been surprised that when he tried to explain what happened before, the memories dragged him down.

Down.

Down.

And he couldn’t push himself back up. He still remembered. He couldn’t bury it. Not when it had been most of his long and short existence. Through the endless loops, She had shaped him. She had destroyed him. And She had reveled in it.

He had broken free from Her. It wasn't like She could make a tear into the world and spirit him away the way She had done with the Princesses, right? Right? (There was a space that the Voice of the Paranoid had long since crawled out of, a space he used to occupy. The Decider was lingering in that space, now.)

Would having no heart change the way She behaved or were Her countless other vessels enough for her to maintain Her shape, without him to see?

Time spent away from Her, he knew the phrase. Even so, no matter what She told him before he took Her hand, he wondered if She would still be mad at the weeks or months that passed.

If. (He couldn’t recall the condition he needed to meet for the favorable outcome. Did She tell him? He didn’t want Her to be mad at him. He didn’t want them both to hate each other.)

The fact he had forgotten something She told him was almost a novelty. He used to do his best to remember every word, She did so loathe repeating herself. ‘Punishment’ and ‘retribution’ and ‘deserving’ might not have been concepts that existed to Her. They were still very, very real to him. He deserved all of it. He deserved none of it. All of it could have been avoided had he just done the right things from the start. None of it could have been avoided, he was meant to suffer, it was meant to be. It was his fault.

It was his fault.

It was strange to consider how he had craved contact the way that happened with the Dragon, with the Wild— he had named each and every princess, continuing to refer to them as such was a small act of rebellion back then. People, they had been people! —and how he had shied away from it back then. From Her thoughts, Her changing.

How She had to have him, broken, bent, remade into the shape She desired. And how even now, every step he took in suffering—whether he resisted or embraced it—was a victory for Her. In his defiance, She would always win—and in his surrender, She’d have him without trying. He remembered how it felt, his essence, his thread bending and snapping under the weight of Her designs. She had set the path, plotted the course, and no matter how hard he fought to break free, he could never escape. Not from Her.

There was no other existence but this—no other purpose. He was Her canvas, Her puppet, Her plaything. His existence, his suffering, was Hers to command, and there would never be a release, never a finality.

Never, never, never—

Something yanked him up, severing that train of thought so quickly he didn't realize right away. Three of his threads burned from within, a safety net, a rope. He could think again. Needles in his eyes made the world blurry, his ears were ringing to the chime of the pain splitting his skull, his throat burned with the taste of metal… but he could think.

Ave, Ciro and Paco were apologizing, he recognized, not so much hearing their words past the ringing as he did feel their anguish burning his chest from the inside out. Something was gurgling inside him—or outside of him, sticky popping sounding out somewhere on his temple. Apologizing? To him? For getting him back to his senses? Paco was rubbing at his eyes and Ave was clutching at the sides of his head and Ciro was choking and— and they didn't look— why were they afraid?

Something wet was trickling from Quiet’s ear; he wiped it with his sleeve and it came back red. The tears in his eyes burned. He coughed, hacking out the lump in his throat. Red again. Typical. Mundane. Unimportant.

More importantly: he could hear his Voices again.

Everything was good. Good as gold.

(concern) (anguish) (pain)

Not everything. He’d hurt them again, he could see the proof of it, and intent never mattered and Voices got around. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it, of course -- it was hard to argue that when that dead timeline was a result of his own choices. He tried not to blink at the red-tinged memories behind his eyelids.

Paco stopped dead.

(betrayal) (distrust) (fear) (notminenotminenotminenevermine)

Hands rubbing at Paco’s eyes came away red, trembling. Quiet could feel his pulse thrumming throughout his head, in his face and throat. He swallowed thickly, blinking away the blood between them. Bloodshot eyes stared back into his own in unconcealed horror.

Ave took a step towards him, deliberately slow. Quiet remembered being told not to flinch. Quiet remembered being told they owed it to their body to move. Ave took another step forward. Quiet remembered a compulsion to play dead. Quiet remembered a recommendation to lie down and sleep. Another step. Quiet could almost remember… words, real words, something like…

Hands on his shoulders. A gentle nudging, then arms wrapping around him. A word like “safety.” A sensation of closing his eyes. A word like “rest.” Carefully, carefully, reaching up to return the hug. A word… like…

Quiet remembered nothing like this.

Something weighty slammed into Quiet, then, Ave hissing as another pair of arms grabbed them and pushed them forward into a hold. Not quite a hold. Harsher than that, sharp around the edges, not delicate and gentle like Ave had been but rough and desperate.

I’m here. I’m here, I’m here!

Ave was still hissing, scolding, but Quiet didn’t need to hear those words. These were new words. Buzzing in his chest, building in his eyes and his throat and his ears, nonverbal but spoken all the same. Ciro’s hug was tight—if he’d grabbed him higher up, nearer to his neck, it would be more of a strangle than a hug, truly. Tight enough that Quiet was starting to think he wouldn’t be letting go at all. Locked in place. Grounded. Not going anywhere.

Nothing would drag him down again.

Two of these three threads were pulsing with the unique thrums of (apology) (regret), and for the life of him Quiet couldn’t understand why, if anything he should be apologizing to them for making them hurt themselves…

A memory of blades. A memory of burning.

Quiet opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when the red almost overfilled. No matter how many times, he could never get used to the taste of blood.

To both of them, he asked,

(curiosity) (confusion) Why are you sorry?

And, to Ciro,

(admiration) (adoration) We had a whole crew, a team of incredible people that could think up every strategy from every angle you could think of. And I saw them try every single one, and she tore through us like we were nothing but a blade of grass.

And, to Ave,

(admiration) (sympathy) We had no backup, we couldn’t stop to think of a strategy, but the fact we survived for so long was only because of you. Always just a little bit longer, because of you. This was never designed to be fair.

(regret) (anger) There's always something different I could have done—

(unworthy) (defeat) I should have been faster—

(urgency) There was nothing we could have done!

Two flinches at once. Ave loosened his grip, pulled away. Like he was trying to give Quiet space, keep him from shattering. Ciro tightened his grip, pulled Quiet tighter. Like he was trying to be his space, keep him together.

(rejection) Bullshit, I— (desperation) I have to believe there was something we could do. Because if there wasn't, then we... (realization) (exhaustion) (regret) we had fuck all to rely on, didn’t we? And you all were relying on me, and— and…

Never fair, no matter what happened, and two of his Voices had the unfortunate fate of hatching when none of his choices, none of his tricks or his smarts or his instincts mattered. But that was it, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what his memories told him just a little bit ago? How it was how it was supposed to be?

Somehow, for his Voices, it always felt different. If there was someone deserving of a fighting chance, it was them. 

Ave’s hands found Quiet’s back again, delicate and soft and uncertain. From the depths of the newly developed group hug, Quiet managed to look up high enough to see Paco still there, still there , just—distant. Hesitant. Blood still dripped and fell like tears from the corners of his eyes, but he gingerly approached—and, tentatively, placed a single hand on Quiet’s shoulder.

Pat, pat, pat. A memory of—not working, anymore.

A withdrawn touch, hands tense and trembling and red. Too much. Not yet. Then—interlinked. A better touch. A good touch. Still here.

Something in him loosened. A tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying, undone, unspooling from the knots it tied itself in. A pressure deep in his chest ebbed away as he leaned into Ave’s and Ciro’s arms, as Paco’s hand clenched in his own, his flock’s anxiety rolling through and outside of him, purifying into one singular sentiment. One distilled thought…

(Truth) I’m proud of you.

…slipping, subconsciously, through his fingers.

The effect on the immediate flock was as obvious as it was predictable. A tighter hug, a reciprocation. An acceptance of a given knowledge, with all the context necessary to understand it and the gift’s purpose.

Paco felt the thought slip through his mind’s filter and nestle someplace deeper, a fundamental truth of the world’s construction laid out before him. For a brief, startling moment, the universe was awake and aware and saw him and knew him—and he felt at ease, in the sights of intangible eyes which so unconditionally loved him. He could not touch, he could not be touched, but his attempt to be there for Quiet anyway as Quiet was always there for him was noticed and appreciated and the words-that-were-more-than-words left no room for speculation: that was enough. Paco would always be enough, even more than enough. The moment passed, but the truth never would. He rubbed his thumb over Quiet’s and felt the burning texture of another’s skin and focused on his breathing, focused on the increased pulses of his friends. This was more than enough.

A cold mind in a cold vessel. A bright extension of soul presented in technicolor among his monochrome world. Praise for his closest, most special Voice, readily taken in as if expected and awaited, sucked away into the deepest of abyss.

Of course.

He responds. As is only customary towards a gift. There is more lingering in the wings of his contact, feeling along the thread for its remnants or its continuations, trailing along its spines for further responses. Nothing more; a compact, densely woven message. Nothing more to say. Cain stands just a little straighter. Proud.

Nando had been talking with Harri. Had been trying to think of ideas, had been trying to be useful. 

Then.

Nando tried to not be selfish, to think of others before himself, but he had desires. In the cabin it had been for connection, for peace, for sympathy. 

Praise had not been something he had admitted to himself, and yet. He’d always been a little weak to flattery. A little eager to please. A little… starved, for acknowledgement of his efforts and successes and him. He hadn’t yet been ready to accept this about himself, really. And still wasn’t, even after (Truth) drilled itself into his very being and forced the air out of his lungs in one smooth movement. He didn’t as much decide to open himself up to it as it were that his walls simply ceased to exist for a moment, a compressed and burning desire forced out into the open and met so readily that for half a second it were as though the desire were simply always known—and worse yet, always understood, with a promise that it would be met.

He struggled for a reply, white noise falling out of him as he stalled in place. ‘Thank you’? ‘You too’? ‘Why?’ He did not want to ask why. Then it might not happen again—he wanted it to happen again— what? No—he… he just was confused, and nervous, and happy—but mostly confused, he asserted.

Oleander was in the middle of something, but okay. Okay.

He was inviting two sodden friends in from the rain, welcoming them in and gaining their favors and quite charismatically pulling from them the reasons for their visits. He was about to try and turn the odd one out away, before her influence corrupted the other two into scheming as his back was turned. But he was also playing host, and de facto leader, and a mediator and a great many things of a great many skills he most certainly had. It was a dead certainty, of course, that his excellence would be noticed and rewarded. It hadn’t yet been. Not by the others, not by Connie in his speech. (Not that Oleander was the type that others would believe in, anyway. It would’ve been weird! He wasn’t waiting to hear what Connie had to say about him, why would anyone even think that?) But that (Truth) rang on more than the superficial, and it threw Oli off his rhythm.

That, and the pitter patter of Connie’s footsteps sprinting away to his room. That, and the sound of something dropping in the living room. That, and the entirely unrelated lump that formed in his throat and made it impossible to continue speaking aloud.

Tabitha couldn’t have predicted that being a bad influence on her sister would spiral into this.

No, that’s not right. Retrace that thought: it was spiraling even before that. What was the catalyst? When Felipe had decided to stay? It felt as though things were unraveling around her for a long, long time, before even that… but it certainly accelerated when Tabi’s twin could not escape her lover. Felipe never sat with Tabi right—not even when he had no name, no face, just a title Dami referred to him by and a single love story played on loop. That baseless skepticism grew to a strong foundation of discomfort when she heard the Voice of the “Smitten” on the screen, self-sacrificing streak made readily apparent and red flags waving rapidly before her eyes.

So, no, she wasn’t exactly thrilled that her sister’s boyfriend planned to stay the night.

She told him as much, even. Cornered him where he couldn’t escape and couldn’t escalate if her intervention went sideways. Explained how her sister was smart about many things, and dumb about others, and the careful attention she’d paid the past couple of months to determine exactly which things Dami would or wouldn’t say and could or couldn’t admit to. How Dami had changed and grown—and Tabi would facilitate that growth and be beside her for what it entailed. She ordered “Felipe,” in no uncertain terms, to be cautious of how he deemed himself fit to approach both her sister or her. Or else he’d learn just what she’d do to make him pay, if he dared hurt a single hair on her head.

His response, a lazy blink and an easy grin and a shallow remark on what a good sister Dami’s lucky to have in Tabi, did nothing to soothe her concerns.

Nor did anything that happened the rest of his “temporary stay.”

Beast and Razor had returned from who-knows-where (since when did they leave the house? She didn’t even know they were friends!) with one of the boys in tow. Not that she had seen much of them, Razor went to the bathroom in an instant. Borja had not looked good, on his way to catch a cold and injured. Sirens had started to go in her head from that alone. Why come back? Why be out at all, in this weather? Could whatever it was he came for not wait until the morning? What prompted this urgency?

The talk Thelka had with Borja was grounds enough for her to want to leave, to huddle up somewhere quiet and process what she had heard. The sheer disregard for human life Thelka had, the disrespect to Borja, the way she was not as concerned or alarmed as she should have been when talking about the thing in the dark. How she referred to the thing that had killed Damiana as a ‘powerful force of nature’.

There was a clear disconnect in the way Thelka saw the world compared to her, and a soul-deep discomfort had seized her. Time, she had just needed time , and the thought disappeared but it kept springing to life like the world’s most determined fly. 

She sprinted down the hallway to her room— 

Vertigo, like falling upwards, drifting into someplace unseen.

—why was she here? What did she come here for?

She grabbed her clothes from the closet, absentminded and dazed, and recalled (time, need time), and started pulling everything— 

A stumble in footwork, a lost move in a dance too complex to recall in its entirety.

—what was she doing? She was… reorganizing. She put her things together and put them back.

She stared at the open closet. Remembered (need more time). Forgot. Remembered (losing time). Forgot. Remembered (missing time!). Forgot. A little progress made each time. A little foggier recollection each time. A greater, greater, greater sense of foreboding— and the rhythm broke.

It’s time. Tabi felt her heart in her throat. How long has she been in her room? She had to act. Quickly!

Between lighting strikes that obscured the sound of her movements, she had started to pack her things. Had made Dami do that too, and when she refused, saying it would be beyond rude to leave her boyfriend alone when she was the one who didn’t say ‘no’ to him staying, Tabi packed Dami’s bag for her.

Tabi was not granted the time she wished for, not before Winnie had barged into her room, bag already packed, hair wild, leaves wild, eyes wilder. What she had heard: Borja and Felipe talking, Borja weaving tall tales, the nasty plotting of a nastier trick. Winnie recounted, with no small traces of stress in her tone, how Felipe sounded more agitated as it went on. “Something strange is happening between them, and it won’t be long before Loverboy has all hell break loose!”

A prophetic statement, as it turned out. Mere moments later, the lights in the house—they couldn’t have gone out, there was no power surge, and yet—there was no light left in the room. A great darkness swept over the group as Tabi’s stomach dropped.

At least Damiana came with without any further hassle.

Yes, they were cold, soaked, and would probably get sick if her freezing feet were any indication, but at least they were safe. It was like a smothering blanket over her thoughts had fallen off and she had only started to notice the shortness of her breathing.

Forget not knowing Razor and Beast were friends—what was she thinking, so placidly existing in the same space as Beast at all? An obligate carnivore no one was buying groceries for, who was only growing larger by the day, and Tabi hardly noticed. Tabi hardly thought.

People had been disappearing, she had brought that up when the boys came to visit and she didn't connect those two extremely obvious dots?!

It was like, with each step through rainwater, a greasy film somewhere in Tabi’s mind was being washed away. And the picture puzzle she was putting together, finally able to see clearly, was just as obvious as it was disturbing. Thelka, a self-proclaimed goddess, just existed in the same domestic space as her and she didn’t question it—not that they lived in the same house, and not that proclamation? What even was a god?

(Certainly not someone who could misspell her own name.)

And Clara…

Yes, Grace hadn’t been dangerous at all, but after what everyone had seen a mere day ago, how was anyone just accepting Clara after she expressed no remorse, no guilt?

Tabi kept running. It was hard—and harder for the others—but she had to think. She had to think, before the tides washed her away again, she had to break through. She had to think. It was a chant on time with the pitter-patter of the rain and the sound of footsteps behind her. She should’ve been thinking the whole time—something was keeping her, and the rain was pouring down so hard out here, and she was cold. But cold wasn't bad.

She found herself opening up to it, her body moving on its own as she tried her hardest to think . Think: something was wrong, and she needed it to change. Something different. Think: she needed a place to go, somewhere beyond that house to run to. Somewhere new. Think: somewhere with other people to talk to, people who didn't have to flounder and wade and drown in tides washing out identities. Somewhere solid.

And she knew where to go. More like: how to get where she wanted. Connections void of dots formed in her mind, understanding without context, and her body was drawn to that place her mind thought of. Knocked on a door she couldn’t describe the directions to. Locked eyes with someone she didn’t know the address of.

She felt faint. A phantom sensation of weight passed over her, like her head would simply roll off her shoulders if only she’d let it. She opened her mouth and words did not come.

Thank the gods— whatever they might be —for Dami.

Passing through the entryway of this house, Tabi kept her guard up. She would keep herself sharp, through all the worst the night had left to offer. Between the odd twitch that ran through their host—Oleander clearing his throat and choking on nothing, Tabi wondering just how much animosity remained between him and Winnie—and the Choicemaker setting fire to the railways of her train of thought with his abrupt and bloody entrance, she doubted she’d rest at all tonight. It was like his scalp was melting down his face. Last Tabi saw, Quiet wasn’t moving much at all and couldn’t possibly have given himself those head wounds.

Were things between the inhabitants of the house so wrong that they had sustained injuries? Borja had mentioned nothing about Quiet being hurt… and these wounds were far worse than a black eye and busted lip. Tabi had half the mind to call the hospital. More than half, when Quiet turned his head politely to cough and she caught a hint of red.

It was his eyes, too, the most striking thing. Grey and red did not mix well together. How was he seeing like that?

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Oleander choking, again, saying something that was possibly close to what she wanted to say. “What happened?”

Winnie acknowledged the sight with raised eyebrows. “You too, huh?”

Oleander was not so keen to let his question go, apparently. He procured a handkerchief— Tabi had no clue where from, was he just carrying that?— and wiped some blood on Quiet’s forehead. It smeared, and was then quickly replaced by the trickling flow of yet more blood. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, asking, low and quiet, “what is wrong with the bathroom sink?”

Dami sucked in a breath, murmuring, “You can’t be hurt like that and…” she paused, something flashing behind her eyes. “Can I help you somehow? Do you need a hug?”

Quiet startled at Dami’s proposition, bloodshot eyes staring at her with an unreadable expression.

Tabi had a better question: why was nobody calling the hospital? Wait, should they have called the hospital for Winnie too? Why haven’t they all seen a doctor yet?! Yes, Tabitha herself had survived years chained down with Skeptic, but that was not the point!

In the silence, Oli had drawn himself to his full height, glaring at Winnie even as blood, mixed with water, ran down her face. Green on green, across the room. None moved. None but Dami, oblivious to the tension between those two, taking a single step forward. Quiet inhaled, not sharply though certainly still in reaction—Tabi heard him cut himself off with a choking sound, a sound like drowning. His eyes were wide. Frozen. 

It’s funny; despite more of his eye being visible, Tabi only saw more red.

Dami paused. Considered. Said, “please don’t hurt yourself.”

A spell was broken. Quiet blinked, bloody tears trailing down his face, as he took a cautious step back and nodded. Dami nodded back, folding her hands together politely at her front, so Quiet could see them. Oleander tilted his head in a distinctively threatening way, sharp grin stuck on his face. Winnie grimaced back.

Oli gestured grandly as he let them pass, “after you, I insist.”

A scoff turned into a cackle, mean and short, as Winnie took Oli’s hand in her own. “And turn my back to you? After all we saw together, darling, you still think I’d grant you the opportunity to stab me in the back again?”

Tension increased as muscles twitched, Oli’s grin nearly compromised as his arm pulled out of her hold. “Even face-to-face you found a way to stab us in the back. Well, in the throat, more like, wasn’t it? All things considered, I think you can take a chance for a change.”

Dami nodded at him as she strolled past without a care— she had to be doing that on purpose.

Something ugly passed over Winnie’s face, expression too complex to name— and then she walked forward without another word. Quickly. As far from Oli as possible, it seemed to Tabi.

Which left Tabi, wasting no time getting somewhere dry. Finally grimacing at the feeling of wet socks. Finally, finally allowing herself to shiver. She needed a towel. And someone needed to look at Quiet’s injuries, and she needed to talk about what happened back at the house.

Oleander closed the door. It felt final. It felt almost anticlimactic. Were Tabi in Oleander’s place, she would’ve started asking questions. Or, she reassessed that thought hearing voices somewhere inside, she would lead them where the others were.

Which was what he was trying to do with Quiet, trying to tug him along but stopping just short of touching him. Sad and sick and just a little apologetic.

She let them lead her. The living room had chocolate couches and a sofa. An unlit fireplace. A multicolored rug. A table where mugs and mates and plates sat. It looked lived in, a book over there, a forgotten blanket there. A whiteboard. Written on it, in bold and capital letters, “HOW TO KILL GOD” and scribbled writing underneath.

Tabi paused.

Kept following, for now, with a mental note to worry about that, too, later. An ever-growing list.

A table with most of its chairs gone. Over there, in a circle, the chairs.

And them. Six pairs of eyes looked up at once and stared in one direction, just to the left of Tabi’s shoulder. Wide, uncomprehending eyes, in shock and not quite processing what it was they were looking at. Three pairs of eyes snapped up as one, not in the same direction—staring at her, then to her right. Narrowed, intentional stares; hostility came from them in waves. A break in the pattern as one pair of eyes in particular found hers, then lit up in surprised recognition. “Tabi—?”

Someone shouted, an urgent and disbelieving tone, but Tabi couldn’t hear over the sight of the grin breaking out on Skeptic’s face, over the warmth spreading on her own as she smiled at him in turn. The tide didn’t manage to wipe that away, at least. It never would. She very nearly forgot her place, leaning as if to take a step forward and join him as they’d settled in before.

Someone hissed at her. She blinked, remembering herself, and stopped where she stood.

The pattern was far from perfect. Unsynchronized from the rest of the crowd were two strikingly familiar faces in an unfamiliar place. One pair of sunken eyes, belonging to a wispy form floating above and drifting through the crowd, and one pair of burning eyes—flitting between the new arrivals of the room, not as much taking everyone in as she was sizing each of them up. Ava had an expression Tabi could only mark as somewhere between “delighted” and “horrified.”

Black eyes rose from the crowd, eyebrows furrowed and hands raised as if looking for something they might be able to do. Blue eyes nearly rose in his shadow, but stopped not unlike Tabi had stopped, slinking back down. Fernando steadily approached her left, and she glanced to see his eyes— and, thus, the others’ —trained on Quiet’s face. It was a difficult set of injuries to hide.

Quiet, to his credit, reacted about as well as could be expected. He tilted his head in faux innocence, batting his eyes and incidentally allowing a few stray tears of blood to spill. Not that there was a way to salvage it, but he wasn't a very good liar. He grinned anyway. Maybe he knew it; maybe that was the joke.

Whatever nonverbal message he was trying to communicate only seemed to tense Nando further. He whipped around with sudden conviction and pulled the largest man from the crowd, a man Tabi estimated to be about 90% muscle mass, amber eyes—and Ava following close behind him.

Nando and Gonchi passed her like she wasn't even there; in contrast, Ava flashed her a toothy grin. Tabi realized in passing she looked a lot more relaxed than she had ever seen her. Looser, more flexible. Energized…? 

Between one blink and the next, they had gone to another room. Ciro gave Winnie a smile, bluish grey eyes wrinkling at the edges. Blue eyes focused on her right as Cain waved at her sister—and she shifted slightly, moving to block his line of sight. Dami was not in a state to be interacting with a stranger like him; not when Tabi couldn’t gauge his intentions. Did he have any at all? Winnie turned back and snatched one of the unoccupied chairs, plopping herself in it.

“What are they doing here?” Paco, the one with the wide, bloody eyes spat.

She made a mental note of it. Bloody eyes, like Quiet… there had to be a connection somewhere. Was it a power leak, like Winnie had said? But his twin… Ave-something, had dried blood on his ears too… so that left…

The loudmouth, who hadn’t said a thing. Oh, he was being very expressive with his gestures, but not one word.

She was just starting to notice how hard Dami was shivering. The bud on Winnie’s forehead bloomed into a yellow rose. Tabi herself was getting the floor wet. “Can we get some towels?”

“Answer my question!” Paco shrieked, voice shrill and shaking. Tabi stepped in front of Dami. 

“It’s fine. He’s just scared.” Dami murmured.

“Scared means unpredictable,” Tabi murmured back.

“Woah woah woah there boys,” Oli interjected, stepping between the two groups outright. “Let’s not panic, alright? We have a couple good houseguests here and, well, I’m sure they’ll be very, very glad to explain just what it is they’re doing here and how they found out where we lived in juuust a few short moments. But for now let’s all play nice and give them the common courtesy of some time to dry off. Then we can get nice and comfortable with each other, yeah? Go team?”

Tabi was not about to forget that was the same man who had drugged three monsters under the guise of playing nice, but fine, she’d play along. She needed, no, deserved a towel. She could deal with hostility in the meantime.

“I was wondering when you’d join us,” Grace smiled from above. “Poor me, surrounded by all this testosterone, that can’t be good for the soul…”

Why was he trying to play good host? He had to know the boys outnumbered them two to one. They were in another territory. But no, he was ducking through a door and coming back with two fluffy blue towels.

Two.

Was that his play? Get the three girls to fight over two towels, make them pick each other off? Or was this a social test, a trap to have her ask and trip over some social faux pas and get her kicked out?

Ciro launched himself from his seat, pushed Oli out of the way and, very pointedly, took out another towel. Tabi found herself doing a double take-- what was happening to his eyes?!

“Oho, thank you, thank you friend,” Oli said, smoothly recovering with a not-so-smooth twirl, taking it from Ciro’s rigid hands. He clicked his tongue. “I am just so forgetful sometimes, my deepest and most meaningful apologies.”

A glance to Ciro’s face made it obvious he wasn’t buying it.

Tabi knew it would be smart to distangle her braid, but she was almost sure her hair would be a mess of knots no comb could brave through.

“Thank you,” Dami said for the three of them, all proper. She beamed as Oli handed the towels off to her. “Don’t worry; there’s always room to make up for your mistakes in the future! I believe in your ability to make the most of this second chance.”

Watching him stutter and freeze in place for a moment like some sort of wind-up toy was exceedingly satisfying. 

Getting dry was less so (Tabi mourned the loss of her socks, too wet to be put back on). She could hear the twitchy and jumpy ones whispering at each other. The distinct impression of being talked about was a hard one to shake off.

Winnie was trying to muster up the wits to yank the flower out of her skin when the remaining boys, and Ava, returned. Quiet looked better. No wounds opening up. No wounds at all. Not even the faintest hint that they ever existed. That was… intriguing.

And apparently Paco’s cue to start interrogations back up again, if the glare in his eye was any indication. Tabi couldn’t remember promising to give up information, just Oleander volun-telling them to but, well. She supposed expectations got around.

“We’re sorry for coming here without an invitation—” Dami started. Hesitated.

“—but we were out of time to spare.” Tabi completed the sentence before her twin so much as glanced her way.

“How did you know where to find us?” Bang, bang, Paco got his question out like a machine gun. Tabi looked at him and felt her heart skip a beat. A shiver slid through her.

Paco was an empty glass waiting to be filled; transparent, yet not eager to be sipped from, only given to. If pushed too far, off an unseen edge, perhaps, his very form seemed to promise he would shatter into something sharper than steel and slice her open himself. She needed to be careful how far this one went.

Dami looked to Tabi. She opened her mouth— and closed it. Something pushed past her, a memory too far away to recall, a thought she never had. Tabi cast a glance at Dami, vying for time to come up with anything to give as an answer. Maybe, just…

She squared her shoulders and looked Paco in the eye. “We didn’t go out looking for you, in fact we didn’t go out looking for anything or anyone at all. Where we ended up wasn’t exactly high on our priority list,” she said, tilting her head forward and narrowing her eyes. “Your house is nearby. Your house opened its door when we knocked. Your house is where we ended up.”

“That’s a weird coincidence,” he spat at her.

“Is it?” Tabi shrugged, leaning back and inspecting her nails. She could still feel his eyes burning into her, even when she averted her gaze. “Or do you just want it to be weird?”

She needed to get off this question. She didn’t have an answer. Or— no, she had an answer, she just didn’t understand it. Couldn’t put it into words even if she wanted to. Her chest constricted a little at that; it felt wrong to do things without understanding how or why it happened. It felt unreal.

“They wouldn't abandon their nest in this weather if it was safe to stay.” Ave chimed in.

“It wasn’t,” Tabi agreed readily.

“That’s just what they want us to think,” Paco ignored her, turning to Ave.

“No, no, the flighty one's right,” Oli agreed, ignoring Ave’s indignant look. “We hold the cards here and they know it. They wouldn't be here unless they needed something from us.”

Paco muttered something under his breath that sounded, to Tabi, like “something like our lives.” 

“If something happened to make you need to run away,” Nando commented suddenly, his words slow and deliberate, “then where’s Felipe?”

Paco startled, frantically checking the room as if Felipe would suddenly appear within, as if the others simply missed him and he’d be making a grand entrance now that his name’s been announced. Tabi could practically see the accusation turning over in his mind, frantic and hasty.

Quiet was frowning, eyes overbright with sudden recognition, his focus on Dami. “Are you safe?”

She blinked, straightening her posture as all the room’s attention turned onto her. She fixed the wrinkles on her dress, minutely fidgeting under the weight of so many stares. “Uh… yes? I think?”

Not a good enough answer. Tabi tapped her on the shoulder. Her sister looked… confused, and conflicted.

“She’s not,” Winnie piped up. Her tail lashed from side to side in irritation at having been made to volunteer information at all. “And before you go tossing crude accusations, it was one of yours that came to us with a blade behind his back and a shade in his step. You struck first. You started it!”

Quiet leaned back and down, like something was crushing him. “I'm sorry, I should have done something.” 

“Hold on,” Skeptic said, raising a hand up. “Roll it back. From the beginning. Felipe… you’re saying Felipe did what, exactly?”

“Well, not him-him. If we go to the beginning I'd say the fuse was… What was the name of the big one?”

The atmosphere of the room changed. A silence passed over the room. It was the sound of something being held back. Tabi crossed her arms, waiting for the tension to break.

“This is the last time I listen to you,” Gonchi clenched his fists. “You should've let me keep going.”

Okay. So that part of Borja’s story was accurate, at least. Tabi cleared her throat, preparing to enlighten the rest of the room about their little double agent problem.

“He said someone has been lying about their…” Now that Tabi thought about it, the use of the possessive was strange. It reminded her of how Thelka had talked to ‘her’ priest. “About their ‘princess’.”

Quiet stiffened. Grace reacted. The spirit shot through the air as though pushed by an unseen wind, the curls of her hair billowing out in waves as her momentum carried her up and forward, dashing towards and swirling around Quiet. Circling them as though in orbit, her hands gracing his skin and pulling away in ritual play.

“What?” Grace gasped as she circled Quiet again, performatively. “Who? Not me! I wouldn’t lie about my killer.”

Got you. “I never said it was you.”

“You shouldn't accuse a murder victim of lying about their killer, Tabi. How cold of you.” Grace said quickly, almost too quickly, her hair moving as though she were underwater. She finished her movements and came to a stop behind Quiet, resting her head on his. The picture was so perfect Tabi would almost assume Borja had to be lying, if only not because of how foundational it was to the rest of his confession to Thelka.

“What else did he say?” Skeptic cut in.

“That whoever it was that was lying was responsible for getting all the rest of us here,” Tabi continued with a breath. “Whomever it was has my thanks, for the record. I have an inkling of where I ended up which I’m not a fan of. I’ve seen as much with the others. Not exactly fond of being the little spoon.”

She caught Winnie nodding out of the corner of her eye. Quiet seemed to relax minutely by the change in topic. Not quite yet.  

“He also—” Tabi took care to enunciate this next point well, “—said that ‘whoever’ was running from a certain other whomever. Whatever. Those details…” Tabi thought back to the whiteboard, the scribbles beneath, the circle of chairs. “…I didn’t get the best picture of. Too drowned out in an agenda I wasn’t inclined to listen to. We could enlighten each other. Turn this into a conversation, rather than an interrogation.”

Drip, drip, drip slid the rainwater into the glass.

“What sort of agen-” Skeptic was already saying. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“The details don’t matter. It’s past, now.” Tabitha glanced over to the solid wall of a man near the end of the room. Cold blue eyes regarded her with empty recognition. He blinked slowly, tiredly. Was he… bored?

“Politely disagree; we can get back to that. Point is: he was saying some things he really shouldn’t have been saying, especially not to the woman—” the title felt wrong, and Tabi reveled in it, “—he was telling them to. Thelka called him her pet.”

To Tabi’s shock, Quiet nodded. Like this was something he knew already. Something expected, even. Like she’d told him that it was raining outside, an obvious fact made apparent on several counts and not shocking in the slightest.

“A pet,” she repeated, trying to make them feel the same sort of horror as she. The room shuffled uncomfortably. Ave tilted his head to the side, blood luckily having dried so that none spilled out from his ear, then righted his position.

“He’s been trained,” is all he said.

Tabi… could call that haunting echo behind closed doors “training,” if she wanted to make herself sick. She stored the observation away somewhere she wouldn’t yet have to examine it.

“Disgusting.” was all Ava said.

“So,” Connie started, laughing nervously. “We’re just glossing over the fact that Her Royal Bitchiness was given the golden ticket to the worst event of our lives?”

Oli shot Connie a look. His grin died on his face.

“Backstabber,” Winnie muttered. Ciro pointed at her in an affirmative way, opened his mouth, and sent himself into a minor coughing fit. Tabi winced.

“As I said: I should’ve hit him harder.”

“I can hit him harder,” Ava said, shoving—well, more like punching Gonchi in the shoulder. She was rewarded by a genuine smile, actual gratefulness. And a reciprocated punch to the shoulder. It sounded hard.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Nando said, exhaling sharply. He was shaking in place, arms folded tight. Eyes like coals about to get lit. “The wellbeing of other people has never been a priority of his.”

Tabi tried to not look too interested about his sudden change in attitude. The cold eyes seemed to agree, switching targets.

“More interested in the attention of his goddess than he was attentive to everyone else involved,” he went on, emboldened by the attention. “Or maybe more attentive, just in the complete opposite way than any of us were supposed to be. Trying to convince us of…”

He shuddered, then. Closed his eyes like he was recalling a bad memory. Rolled his shoulders like he was shaking it off. Then he spoke, clearly biting in even more to say.  “So no, I’m not surprised.”

“What else did he say?” Oli asked, trying to mask his tone. Maybe wanting more evidence to condemn. Maybe as angered as Winnie had been, earlier today, over revealed secrets.

“He talked about the thing in the dark.” Tabi dropped that bit of information with all the grace of dumping a bucket of icewater on an unsuspecting crowd. And looked. Watched. Studied.

Something shifted in Quiet’s expression, immediately. A distance in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Grace’s head dipped into and through Quiet’s, her form overlapping with his for a moment as she subtly glanced down at him, her face softening in covered concern.

In stark contrast, Nando shot up. His eyes burning into Tabi’s with an intensity she’d never seen in him before, his hands tensed as if preparing to do something, his entire body leaning forward on the edge of his seat.

There was a marked difference in the room once more. The temperature dropped, just slightly. Something in Connie’s expression hardened. Cain tilted his head, imperceptibly, to the side. Oli shifted from a polite, smiling host to a stone wall, equally unreadable yet markedly less personable. Ave grit his teeth, a low growl reverberating from his throat as Paco tensed into a compact wire beside him, moments away from springing. Ciro went still.

Oppressive. She couldn’t imagine why not, considering she had told them their secrets had been revealed in such a blatant violation of their most basic trust. Taking just a moment to see things from their perspective, well. Those exact reactions weren’t unjustified. She wondered if the glass was past half-empty quite yet.

“Did he, now?” Quiet asked. It was a flat tone. Disaffected. It almost reminded Tabi of herself, oddly enough. She wasn’t sure why.

Dami winced. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have—”

“It hurt you.” It was Tabi’s only question. It wasn’t really a question.

Quiet… paused. She took the turning gears in his head as her answer. He opened his mouth, but Tabi didn’t need to hear it, so she continued.

“It hurt you and you left.” She nodded, to herself or to him she wasn’t sure, but the nod was intentional nonetheless. “You brought us all here. Away from it. He tried to make it sound… different, but the truth was hidden between the lines.”

As if he’d done so all his life, Nando took the briefest of moments to turn his head and ask Quiet, the same way she’d heard him back at her house, “Still with me?”

“I hurt Her, too,” Quiet said, softly. Like the words were a confession. “That’s what he was saying. It’s true. We… made each other worse.”

A sudden rise in volume throughout the room as many voices started speaking out of turn. Tabi tried to sharpen her hearing to the best of her ability. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the loudest voice she latched onto; just the most distinctive. A silver tongue with a certain inflection fit for negotiations.

“You got all of us out even after she ‘made you worse’. Now listen, listen, listen here,” the noise in the room died down the slightest bit, “I’d say regardless of anything, who did what or what started how or whose knife ended up in whose back, nowadays we’re looking a whole lot better , eh? We’re all in need of a good forward-thinking mindset. I’m a bit of a visionary, you know—”

“Stop breathing,” Cain said. “You’re stealing the air from useful people.”

That brought the noise to a screeching halt.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“No.” 

Tabi hoped that was a joke. That he had somehow developed a sense of humor.

“If you made each other worse that just means you weren't a good match, and she was an idiot for forcing it.” Ava shrugged. Tabi stared at her— since when had she known?! Ava glanced at her and winked. What? Quiet looked bewildered, too.

“I guess the bird's out of the bag, now.”

“It was never going to last long.” 

“One thing after another in the bullshit factory,” one particularly scratched-out voice managed to strain out before dissolving into bloody, violent choking. Tabi’s throat itched in sympathy -- or maybe that was a consequence of walking in the rain.

It was nice, at least, to have something confirmed. Even if some questions still remained: if Quiet was the Decider, why was Grace still claiming him?

“No! Enough chitchatting. You still haven’t answered my question,” Paco spoke in a burst, words flying out in a single breath as if he’d been holding them back ever since the conversation started. “Why are you here? How did you find us? We’re being pursued and all of you are acting like Her little spies aren’t here to pick us off!”

Tabi tried to make herself not react to yet another impulsive accusation. She couldn’t.

Winnie hissed at him. “We were warning you of an information leak and that’s how you repay us?!”

“You are the information leak!” Paco’s voice was getting shriller by the second. Tabi hadn’t seen him inhale since he started talking. He was simultaneously pressing himself flat against his seat and seemed to be preparing to attack. “Stop acting like we’re friends! Stop acting like we know each other! I don’t know you, I can’t trust you!”

Quiet tried to take a few steadying breaths. “Paco, I can’t… think if you’re that anxious…”

“You need to be anxious, you’re—we’re in danger!” Paco turned on Quiet, spring finally set, leaping up to him like a bomb had been set off and he was his cover. “She came to Nando! She found him! She found us!”

“Paco!” Nando snapped, eyes wide. Alert. Guilty.

“That was a fading dream, nothing more,” Cain said, but wasn’t heard over the torrential downpour. The glass was filled past its brim, water leaking down its edges, and now it was fit to shatter from the stress. Most of the others were too busy recriminating Paco for what he just did. Tabi and Winnie shared a glance, keeping secrets from their leader?

“Breathe,” Quiet said, voice not as steady, “Fernando, what is he talking about?”

“I saw her last night,” Nando shuddered in visceral disgust. “She thought I was hiding you. Refused to entertain the idea you’d left by your own choice.”

“He denied her twice!” Connie added, something very close to admiration in his voice.

“A proud showing to an old memory,” Cain narrated. “But of no concern beyond.”

“It was a stress dream,” Nando exhaled, glancing at the rest of the room, then looking Quiet dead in the eyes. “It might not have meant anything. The details can come, just… not here.”

With all they had learned, if it was a stress dream, Tabi would eat her braid.

“The thing in the dark is a God,” Quiet started with all the subtlety of a murder of crows in a cemetery. “She’s most of Transformation, the Tides of Change, the High and Lows, She Who Works Her Will. Etcétera.”

“Why are you her shard?” Winnie asked. All of her was still. Her tail, her eyes, even her growing buds had stopped.

“He’s not her anything.” Nando frowned.

“I’m Her other half,” Quiet answered over Nando.

Ciro was waving his hands negatorily. He pointed to Quiet and made a slit-throat gesture, paused, then seemed to think better of that gesture and just started shaking his head frantically. Gonchi patted him on the back. Ciro swallowed thickly.

“You’re her brother?” Dami asked. Tabi was a bit surprised to note she had already dried completely.

“Do I look like—?”

The sound of a clearing throat. Winds rushing in at mach 5.

“No, ni en pedo. We’re not fucking going over all of this bullshit again, and he—” Ciro pointed at Quiet, again, with somehow greater force now with his impossibly clear voice behind it, “—is not going to be subjected to these repetitive fucking questions. I’d rather burn to death than be related to Miss Goddamn Fifty-Dozen Knives Would Make A Fine Couple’s Outing, and I’m sure she’d have it arranged like the psychopath she is if she ever heard the idea. Ugly fuckers, the lot of them. No, triple-decker fuck that, get him out of here. We aren’t goddamn siblings and she is goddamn nothing at all to us and we’ll have it stay that way thank-you-very-much.”

Tabi blinked. “Thank you.”

“No, de nada,” he then blinked. “Well what are you waiting for? ¡FUERA!”

Quiet shook his head, eyebrows raised in bafflement. “¡Ni nunca!”

“There’s no need for you to talk about all that again. Get out.”

“¡Ni nunca!”

“Stop quoting books at me!”

“¡Ni nunca!” Quiet laughed.

“That’s it. Gonchi,” and he rose, “do what you have to.”

Gonchi did not hesitate in approaching Quiet with force. Apparently guessing his preferred method of dealing with people who needed to be moved, Quiet literally dug his heels into the legs of his chair and, pivoting his ankles, hooked his feet onto it. Gonchi laughed at the stubborn showing, went around, and lifted both man and chair readily off the ground. Grace pulled back, stunned, merely floating in place as “her” shard was carried away.

The sound Quiet made, if Tabi had to be completely honest, was nothing short of hysterical. She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle what laughter escaped her. She didn’t want Quiet to think she was laughing at him, she was just…

“Get the door for me?” Gonchi said over his shoulder as though he were simply carrying a bag of groceries.

“Got it,” Ava replied, sprinting to the door. Gonchi walked through, nodding to her, and deposited the goods. Then Ava slammed the door before said deposited goods could jump from his hand-made chair prison and rush back into the room.

…she was laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Winnie too, apparently. Those cackles were hard to miss.

Grace, stranded, drifted over to Nando’s side, who looked just as stunned.

“Now,” Ciro huffed, turning on his heels to stare down the rest of the group. “Do any of you know how fucking frustrating it is to listen to a parade of bullshit bumble about in front of your face and be unable to scream at it?” He snapped his fingers, pointing to Skeptic. “You. You have notes. Summarize this shit. And you— ” he turned to Oli “—please shut the fuck up.”

Tabi was not ashamed to admit she noticeably perked up at the idea of comparing notes. A hint of something like normalcy, after the day she’d had? Yes please. Especially with someone who could understand her.

“You do know he’s listening from behind the door.” Ave was very still, like he was listening for something.

Paco still didn’t seem like he wanted to calm down. “Of course he is!”

“I’d do the same thing.” Skeptic admitted.

“Who wouldn’t?” Oli said.

“We are talking about him.” Winnie joined in.

“No, because he actually listens to me!” Paco ground out, frustrated.

“Nevermind all that, how does that Thing being a god equal us getting killed?”

Skeptic paused. Looked up at Tabi, then back down to his notes, flipping through them. Paco opened his mouth once again but was prevented from saying anything by Ava’s timely intervention of simply putting a hand over his mouth. It, obviously, didn’t calm him down any, with how he started trying to make her let go with elbows and sharp angles.

“Stop that,” Dami said, aghast, “That’s not helping!”

“No, she’s right,” Winnie backed her up. If it had been anyone else, Tabi would’ve thought she was worried. It was strange to see both of them agreeing on something. 

Ava glanced between them both and then, dangerously, fixed Paco with a hard stare… and slowly let him go. He fumbled out of her grip the moment the opportunity presented itself, nearly tripping over himself in both his haste to create distance between them both and his insistence on never letting her out of his sight. Tabi wondered why he wouldn’t turn around to flee—and then stopped wondering. She got her answer the other night. 

Paco seemed to forfeit his ability to speak in favor of simply trying to breathe. This strategy of shutting him up, Tabi observed, was effective—though not entirely ethical. She saw Dami shaking her head at Ava in disapproval in her peripherals. Ava wilted at the sight, glancing back over to Paco’s trembling form, huddling against Ciro. Whispering.

“You’re clearly the same thing as we are,” Cain started as an explanation.

That would have worked better if she didn’t know they were very different things. Tabi and the other girls had bodies since the beginning, for one, and for two, they hadn’t spawned from something else. Seemed, instead, like the something else took them in.

“Godly?” Damiana brought a hand to her chin. “That would explain the fire…” her eyes went wide at the same time Nando’s glare turned to her. “And h-his hands…”

“They certainly have power leaks of their own,” Tabi said, tapping the side of her seat in a steady rhythm as she thought. “I watched them disappear into thin air the other night.”

Winnie squaked indignantly. “What? That’s not fair! How come we’re cursed with these useless, annoying, obvious troubles and they get such useful tricks to hide up their sleeves?”

“Leak? That wasn’t a leak.” Ciro said, as if he had insider information on the matter. How intriguing.

“What does she mean, ‘fire’?” Paco hissed. He glanced in the direction Quiet used to be, then to the door—then, slightly off, like something was next to the door. Tabi glanced over to see Oli standing suspiciously straight next to the door, like he’d been leaning into it and just barely stood up in time to get caught by Tabi anyway.

Not that his innocent face was convincing, anyhow.

“A dream— no, not a dream,” Damiana corrected herself. “I think I did something.”

“You made scorch marks on the sheets.” Tabi blurted out.

Dami whipped her head to stare at her. “You wet the bed but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it!”

The sound that erupted out of Connie was not human.

“Not what you think it is,” Tabi cooly responded in the most level tone she could manage. Her attempt at stoicism only made Connie laugh harder.

Tabi took great care to not look in Skeptic’s direction.

“That's ridiculous.” she told Cain. “We aren't part of Her and you're not part of him.”

She didn't know what to think about Quiet being the Decider. The name matched, she supposed, but between the presence, the personality he chose to portray, and even his appearance (long he was not), he didn't look like the one that had tried to help Tabitha in the basement. Maybe that was the point.

Cain’s lips upturned. Tabi hesitated to call it a smile. It didn’t look right, neither on his face nor in the form of it.

“Weren't we?” Cain’s voice, as it turned out, upturned much like his lips—in an odd expression, not falling neatly into any emotional category. Rhetorical? Amused? Was that a genuine question?

There was murmurs in the group equal parts dissenting and agreeing.

“He doesn't think that,” Skeptic said. “We wouldn’t be here if he did.”

“We were together, I don’t think that counts as being a part of him,” Ciro said. “Stuck together.”

“We all share parts of each other,” Ave said. “Parts of the flock. That’s how it works.”

“I think we’re all fairly independent,” Oli started in a tone that had Tabi wondering when he’d stop. “Free spirits. Free birds, you could say—”

“Could! Could not, too,” Connie interrupted. “I don’t know about the whole ‘parts of a whole’ thing, personally, seems so technical. I think we’re just all ourselves! Why worry about the details?”

“Of course,” Cain agreed readily as if he’d been waiting for it. “We exist. That’s all that matters.”

“I don’t like it when you put it like that,” Connie said, quieter.

“Is that not what you said?”

“Would it kill you to stop being a dick?” Gonchi said.

“We were just thoughts to Her,” Winnie said. ”Not even people.”

“We—” Dami sputtered suddenly, taking a harsh breath in. “We were giving her our perspectives, it was—gifts! She was… learning from us, I think. Learning how to be a person. Or to try and be like one?”

Ava stood. Paco flinched, violently, so hard that his chair scraped on the floor and he nearly toppled straight out of it.

“Cool it with the sudden movements,” Ciro said as he grabbed Paco’s shoulders to steady him.

Ava cleared her throat. It was more like a guttural cry than a genuine attempt at dislodging anything. An announcement to the room: Ava is speaking now. “I remember it,” she said, her voice unapologetically loud. “I remember what it felt like. It was this crushing feeling, like the whole world was laying right on top of me. This pressure on my head. But the pain of it wasn’t good, it didn’t feel like pain at all, I couldn’t… move. Or the weight didn’t want me to think I could move, but I’d be damned before I let some pressure get to me.”

“You’re a monster under pressure,” Gonchi said, standing up to grab at her wrist. She nodded at him, flashing a smile with teeth.

“Straight from hell. So I pushed. I pushed against that damned whatever-it-was, pushed harder and harder like my life depended on it, like if I didn’t everything was going to give out from under me. And the pressure pushed back, waves of it, almost like… like…”

“An ocean?” Connie offered.

“Yeah! Yeah, like an ocean, just crashing against me. Absolute annihilation. Like it wanted me gone, thought it could push me out of myself. Like hell I was letting it. And the harder I pushed the more I could feel, the less it felt like I was stuck, frozen in place, the more I could almost start to see and breathe and be alive.”

Tabi saw glances being exchanged by some of the boys. A heaviness in the air. Almost like a mourning.

“Was it good?” Gonchi asked.

“Nothing was good without you,” Ava answered without a moment of hesitation. “I knew it. I needed to get back to you. Whatever it was, this ocean, it was keeping me from you, and that wasn’t what I was about. That’s not what we fought for. That wasn’t our destiny. That wasn’t mine. I had a purpose and it was you, not what the ocean said it was.”

“How…” Skeptic paused, taking a long breath. “How long did you…?”

“Oh, I never stopped,” Ava said. “I would’ve went forever.”

What were these glances? Jealousy? Envy? Nando looked almost sick. But Gonchi…

…Gonchi, she couldn’t put a name to that expression. It was something beyond words entirely. “Adoration” didn’t come close. “Pride” wasn’t intense enough.

Cain scoffed. “Like it was hard.”

“Damn straight,” Ava nodded, then grimaced. “Hardest fight of my life. Didn’t feel good for one bit of it. I started feeling these… things, around me. Like worms, but not warm. Cold. Or— no, I guess they were fingers, huh? Bunch of arms on top of each other. That was… wrong. Cold. I’d get up to that and…”

Ava, uncharacteristically, went quiet. Gonchi rubbed her arms. Tabi glanced at Dami, fidgeting in her seat.

“…I… I wouldn’t stop, not too long. I’d get back up. I wasn’t succumbing to that. If the ocean wanted to do me in, it’d have to try harder than scare tactics. I wasn’t about to do myself in, either, when I passed the bodies and started hearing it talk back to me. Ha! Words and music aren’t anything if it wasn’t going to commit to the dance, too.” No mistake, Nando flinched at that. “Sometimes I’d get hot enough, out of the cold, to even tell it that.”

“Point is,” Ava gritted her teeth like she was angry at having spoken so long. “The ocean ain’t shit, and my man was a way better fight.”

Gonzalo was, for a lack of a better word, preening. His whole being exuded self satisfaction, blond hair seeming to almost glow under the light.

“Back to your information leak…” Winnie seemed to think enough was enough in terms of processing. Her bangs were intermingled with pretty flowers. Tabi considered telling her about this, then considered how sharp Winnie’s nails were. (Dami informed her as much after an attempt at Girls’ Night.) “We know how the ocean feels about us— it’s a cruel and sadistic and terrible monster —but the little traitor in your midst let spill a lot more details about how it liked your Choicemaker, too. And then it sided with the water.”

Predictably, Gonchi’s hand, the one that wasn’t clutching Ava’s, curled into a fist. More surprisingly, Nando’s did too. His hands were  shaking.

“I recall someone calling him ‘our’ Choicemaker,” Grace grinned at Nando’s side.

“That—!” Winnie clammed up, her tail lashing behind her so fast Tabi wondered if she was maybe trying to sweep the floor. “That was different!”

There was a slight knocking at the door. Tabi turned to see Oli not-so-subtly leaning into it, pressing his whole ear against the wood.

“Of course, love hurts m—” he stopped himself, horrified, staring at the door. “No? No. No. It doesn't.”

“What?” Ciro belted. “What did he say?”

“Something wrong.”

Tabi thought she could hear the pitter patter of someone rushing away. Just in case.

“The little snitch said he'd make your Choicemaker ‘understand’.”

“Understand what?”

“If I know him, and I think I do, the answer is ‘his place.’” Nando said, and his voice was hoarfrost, a jarring contrast to his overall posture. “He practically said as much before Ciro and Gonzalo did… Whatever they did. I wasn’t paying attention to them.”

“His place by her side,” Tabi finished. Nando snapped his eyes to hers at the words. She was accurate, then? She didn’t need the confirmation.

Considering what Tabi had seen of how Thelka treated him, it made sense. 

Winnie started plucking petals off a bud on her wrist, “...Thelka wasn't the only one he talked to.”

Grace's eyes went wide a moment later. “Fuck.”

“Time for another go at the shit factory. What else went wrong?”

“Your other missing piece, who else do you think?”

Gonzalo chuckled. “Come on, what can Feli do?”

The door, judging by the slamming noises coming from the other side, was shockingly durable. It was something between a drum and a cannon shot. Or a bomb. It sounded painful. 

A few of the boys were shaking their heads as if to disperse flies.

“¡Me van a dejar pasar ya!” came from behind.

Ciro smiled, sensing an opportunity, Connie already gwaffing. “¡Ni nunca!”

“Please!”

Ciro went from smiling to dead-faced in an instant. He rushed for the door, but Oli was closer, and it slammed open with such a fervent pace Tabi half-thought it were supernatural in origin. Quiet came through quick as an exhalation, one second pouring through the door and the next—right by Dami. Breathless, glossy-eyed, hair a mess.

“You said you were safe,” he said without air.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak, stunned. “I—I’m right here, see?”

“I shouldn’t have let him—I’m so sorry—I didn’t—I should’ve stopped him,” Quiet spoke, his inflections messy, his tone messier. Like a tea kettle. He took a large step back from Dami, his hands raised close to his chest. “You weren’t safe, I wasn’t thinking, I was—this is my fault, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been alone with him—”

That was enough. “She wasn’t alone with him,” Tabi snapped, offended at the attack on her sisterly protection. “Like I would let him? Mr. Pushy? With my sister?”

Something in Quiet seemed to deflate. He almost stumbled like a marionette with its strings cut. Relief. He stared at Tabi for a long moment. It was almost nostalgic, the unreadability of his face, the long silence. Then, “thank you.”

Then, what he had said finally got through her brain. He wouldn't be so scared of something happening to her sister if he didn't have proof. Knowledge. Experience.

“I knew he was too good to be true, I knew it!” Winnie whispered to herself. Then, in a slightly louder voice, “what is it he wanted from her, huh? What was the benefit for himself? Money? Prestige? A back good for storing knives in?!”

“He didn't need knives.” His hands went to cover his chest.

Grace dropped down from above. Tabi could see him through her. “What did he do?” 

Despite being incorporeal, Tabi got the feeling, for the first time, that Grace was someone that could hurt. She hoped it wasn’t like Clara.

“It wasn’t just him, it was my fault just as much—”

“Like hell it was!” Ciro spat, interrupting Quiet.

“You weren’t there!” Quiet said, as though angered by the defense. “It was my suggestion!”

He paused, then, hunching in on himself as he turned to Tabi, then back to Dami. His hands flexed but stayed in place, like he didn’t have the right to touch her but wanted to hold her hands in comfort nonetheless. Tabi took her sister’s hand in his place. She wasn’t sure where this was going.

‘Suggestion.’ Wasn’t he the ‘Decider’?

“It was my fault. I didn’t know if the threat of the world ending was completely false, so Hero suggested we stayed in the cabin. I thought maybe we could’ve been happy there. I didn’t put much thought behind it. You had grown…” he paused there, looking for the right word the way someone would look for a specific ant in an ant trail. “Strange. Still, you weren’t happy with what I said as neither of us knew each other, and Smitten didn’t… take it well.”

“I hurt him?”

“No,” Quiet huffed. “Well, you— you didn’t do anything wrong. You just said something you wanted to say. Something honest. And he… Maybe it would be better if you heard it. I think I can pull it off.”

Quiet cleared his throat and—something in the room shifted. No, everything in the room was the same. Wasn’t the same. Was wrong in some uncanny, unidentifiable way. The lines weren’t converging the same. The lines, the borders between spaces, the empty space between the air molecules, the sound of Tabi’s own pulse in her ears, everyday breathing, something unspoken and unseen and unidentifiable… unfurled imperceptibly. He opened his mouth and spoke in a voice that was his, but not quite, filtered in some way that had it come out—

“It has to be Him! if we- if we just made these walls more fitting for a princess, if we say the right things, if--! If we just showed her the contents of our heart, she'd be happy here.”

—so terribly, distinctly familiar. Tone wrong. Tone right. Felipe, but not him at all, but everything besides his tone pointing to that name. Missing the boisterousness, it was jagged and paranoid and frantic, yet impossibly cool near the end, like a raging fire had been contained and compressed into a single ever-burning coal set to burst at a moment’s notice.

She saw a shiver like a wave pass through the room, each man pulled up straight by unseen strings as a collective horror washed through their faces. Something like recognition passed through Nando’s eyes, animus and offended. And yet Tabi felt nothing, nothing at all.

Quiet’s hands covered his chest again, but he continued to speak as though possessed.

“Don’t mind my sacrifice. It’s a fair price to pay to give her everything she doesn’t know she wants.”

The room came back into focus, normal and right and real, as Quiet reered back.

“Never do that again,” Ciro requested. Quiet smiled briefly. He was probably going to do it again. Tabi hoped it wouldn’t be so sickening next time. The words were disturbing. She imagined his actions would be worse.

“He killed us. Ripped out—” his expression twitched painfully, “—our heart without us deciding that was something we wanted to do. Framed it in our ribs like a ritual offering, a proposal of marrow and blood.”

For a heartbeat, nobody spoke, and the silence was loud.

“I didn’t know we could do that,” Cain said as if he’d just read a fun fact on a candy wrapper.

Nando blinked. Stared into the open air like he was seeing something in its shape. “I had an idea,” he responded uneasily. He swallowed. Another couple heartbeats of loud silence, pressing in on Tabi’s chest and emptying the room of its air, a silence not inclined to break except through exceptional force. 

“What is wrong with you two?!” Ciro exploded, and the vacuum was erased. “No, we shouldn’t have been able to ‘do that.’ We could do things but that? That? That’s bullshit! We could get the little things, keep ourselves armed, but it’s not like we could take that blade and drive it through our own chest!”

Nando wheezed. It was a shaky thing.

“We kind of did do that?” Connie said.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Cain agreed, and Connie very pointedly did not look in his direction.

“No, we suggested it, you said as much! Guys like us didn’t make decisions, that was the whole fucking point of the whole arrangement, wasn’t it?!”

Hah. ‘Point.’ Tabi kept that one for herself, hoping for a better reception to her little interruption. Really, she was interrupting an interruption and getting this circus back on track. “Enough. Clearly he was a threat to you. Now, how was he a threat to my sister? What was that about ‘giving her what she didn’t know she wanted?””

An idea immediately shot through Tabi’s head as soon as she finished her last question, and she gripped Dami’s hand in her own with such force she wondered, for a moment, if she was hurting her. She elected to wrap her arm around Dami’s shoulders instead, squeezing her tight in a sort of half-hug. Dami leaned into it. It felt a little better.

“You… sort of liked it. My heart.” Quiet said that absolutely insane thing apologetically. “Said it was beautiful.”

“No!” Dami shouted. “It’s not! It’s not beautiful. It’s—it’s scary! I don’t want him, or you, or anyone to be hurt. I want you to be okay, I just…”

Quiet tensed. Why?

“I just want everyone to be okay,” Dami muttered, suddenly losing her steam, slumping into Tabi’s side, curling into herself uncertainly.

“What did he do?” She asked again, lower in volume, intentional in tone.

“Redecorated the whole place. Made her feasts. Didn't let her leave.”

“That last one, what do you mean by that?” Tabi asked. Dami opened her mouth to speak but only managed a nervous hum that did nothing to put her at ease. “Dami?”

“I didn't mean to scare you.”

It was a little too late for that.

“He… he didn’t want me… to leave?” Dami said beneath her breath. “But I left. I’m not with him right now. He’s on his own. I left him on his own, and he hurt himself—”

Dami stood. Tabi’s hand trailed after her, and then she rose with her sister, a pit forming in her stomach. “Dami?”

“He’s not okay. He let me hurt him and then you’re saying he hurt you and he’s— he’s going to hurt himself, he can’t do that and be okay, I have to get back,” she rambled, suddenly making her way to the end of the room. Tabi followed, Skeptic standing up, Oli blocking her way to the door with his arm, uncertainty displaying clearly in his face, glancing over to Quiet. “I messed up. I messed up! He needs to see me, I’m hurting him again and it’s— I’m sorry, please move— either you or him, but he won’t hurt me, he loves me, I’m supposed to be there for him—”

“Dami!” Tabi yelled, grabbing her sister’s wrist. She jumped.

“I’m sorry!”

Tabi swore she could feel her heart break. She had always thought that was a metaphor, but she was finding out the pain was real.

Ava looked at her with raised eyebrows. Asking if she had to restrain her too. If that came to it Tabi hoped for her sake that Ava was… Gentler, in her approach.

"Why?"

Dami flinched and stopped dead, staring at Cain unsure and almost afraid. Tabi couldn’t blame her, she had almost forgotten he was there.

“Don’t scare me like that.”

Cain tilted his head, barely. “How should I scare you?”

Dami shook her head. “What do you mean ‘why'? He might get hurt because of me! He might hurt someone else because of me! I can't let that happen!”

"You aren't responsible for him. He isn't leashed to you. Are you leashed to him? Do you come to his beckon at any moment's notice like a trained dog?"

Winnie’s fur stood on end. “You didn't just say that.”

“I did. Are you going to do something about it?”

“I will, you--” she almost yelped when Tabi caught her tail with her free hand.

A “pet,” Thelka called Borja. Dami… was not that. Would not be turned into that. She wouldn't allow it.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. And if he hurts himself in your absence..." Cain leaned forward, a sudden interest lighting up his face as he stared through Dami. "I suppose that's one concern taking care of itself."

Dami's eyes reflected pure horror. “How can you say that?!”

Tabi got the impression, despite his persistent eye contact, that Cain wasn’t seeing Dami at all. Or, if he was, it was a sight too deep and distant to be accurate to her core. Still, his eyes dimmed somewhat in response to her question. “It’s rather straightforward,” he elaborated, folding his hands together. “You don’t need to care about him. He clearly doesn’t care for himself.”

“Someone needs to be on his side!”

“It’s not going to be you.”

Tabi did not like that proclamation. Even if she might’ve agreed with it. She turned Dami to face her instead of Cain because his eyes were starting to unsettle her. They looked… inanimate. “What he means,” Tabi said, not knowing but choosing to assume, “is that you are staying right here, with us, young missie. If what Quiet says is true, you need to keep away from him as long as this little phase lasts.”

And maybe for a good while after that, she did not add.

“Stop freaking her out, you chilly little freak!” honestly, Tabi was liking Gonchi more and more.

“She was ‘freaked out’ by the whole ordeal,” Cain responded. “I’m giving her an option to be more than that. If you have no other ideas,” he shrugged, “I suppose mine’s the only one that counts.”

“That's not even an idea, that's just letting things happen.” Skeptic pointed out.

“Letting her succumb to the burning of her heart is ‘letting things happen.’” Cain rolled his eyes. “I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. She won’t feel anything for him in the end.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The ‘chapter’ had to end someway, didn't it?”

All at once, the attention was on Quiet again. He looked pale under the stares. “We were just… seated. You weren't harmed phys— No, he held you down once or twice—”

“He did what.”

“No no, he did it to me, too, it’s fine,” Quiet said quickly, waving his hands dismissively. “He didn't let you leave, he didn’t let me leave. He grabbed our wrists and made us remain seated. Gave us… everything we were ‘supposed to have wanted,’ I think he said? I only had you to go off of. He wouldn't talk to me.”

‘Supposed to have wanted’? Tabitha knew her sister enough to know she wasn't one for grand romantic gestures or stuff like that. She was happy enough cooking apple strudel, being out in the sun. Things like that. Nobody said simple desires couldn't be beautiful.

“What's that? Did the ‘Voice of the’ prefix mean nothing now?” Tabi griped.

“You told me he said his words were only for you. That he was the voice who whispered sweet nothings in your ear.”

“Huh?” Gonzalo raised an eyebrow. “She took him with her?”

“My mistake. She touched my heart— literally— and he… poured out of me,” Quiet said, staring up towards the far wall. “The threads of my body ‘covering the surface of the room’ and reaching towards her in reciprocation of her outstretched hand.

“He became her shadow. I couldn't hear him anymore — he didn't want me to. He was outside of me. Tired of me.” Tabi didn’t know what to make of that tone. Resignation? Defeat?

“Why didn't you run?”

“I tried,” his voice cracked. “There wasn't a door. Or windows. We started at the cabin already. No blade in sight.”

Skeptic perked up, “Like-”

“With the Thorn, yes, Harri,” his gaze was fond for a moment. What was that name…? “Maybe Felipe took me there… I'm not sure…”

“No doors or windows?” Paco interrupted. “That’s not a cabin. That's a tomb.”

“No, Paco, tombs go down. We went up instead. It really threw Him off his rhythm.”

Tabi felt a small jolt at the acknowledgement of Him. He who forced Quiet to try and kill Dami—He who succeeded, with Winnie. And He who, if Tabi could guess, was what forced her to slit her would-be savior’s throat for her own self-preservation.

It was odd, to share in the mutual feeling of animosity that charged the room at the mere passing mention of Him. Looks like they all had something in common after all.

“You called us from upstairs, saying dinner was ready.”

Dami smiled very slightly. “My apple strudel?”

“...I'd love to try it sometime. There was an approximation of what might’ve been an apple. Cakes, desserts, but no, not strudel. Assortments of vegetables, varieties of bread, a centerpiece of a whole roasted bird with many wings--”

He stopped at Ave’s gasp. “What did I say?”

Ave put a hand over his mouth, then shook his head.

“All done by Felipe himself,” Quiet finished narrating after a moment.

Cain spoke, his head resting on his hand, “So that was the torture.”

“Rude!” Dami admonished, just as Oli piped up, “at least it sounded like a good spread! There had to be something good to try in it.”

“The table was so long I could barely see you on the other end. A new dress and the blade worn as a necklace.”

“Interes— no no, sorry, exciting fashion choice…” Connie tried to laugh.

“Never been fond of necklaces,” Tabi said, putting her hand up to her throat to adjust a phantom weight. “Still. A weapon so close… you could use it to defend yourself, if it detached, broke away somehow.”

“Why would the creep allow her that?” Winnie wondered. “A weapon in line of sight… he’d only need to get close.”

“Maybe that was it, then,” Quiet sighed. “A statement on how safe, how happy, he’d promised to keep us, that she could have a blade pointed right at her heart and be in no danger of death at all. That we would never die again.”

“You died because of him last time,” Winnie pointed out.

“And I never died,” Dami said, softer.

“Then… that I would never hurt her. Never be forced to. Never be able to…” Quiet went silent for a moment, unblinking. He sucked in a breath, harsh, and let it out, slow, shaky.

“How hard is it to throw a knife without me?” Connie wondered, before flinching at the glares thrown his way, “I was just thinking aloud!”

“The knife had nothing to connect to, Connie.” Quiet smiled despite himself, despite the abysmal circumstances he was describing. “I wasn’t joking when I said he became Dami’s shadow. He towered over her, over double her height, with long claws the size of her head hanging down at her either side. No muscle, no eyes. Just the absence of light, and sometimes a smile.”

“How’s that fair, there was nothing you could…” Ciro started, then stumbled over himself, winds whistling in their weakness, “do.”

At the mention of claws, Tabitha felt her heartbeat speeding up, and once again the air grew tense between the boys and the ghost by Quiet's side. She could read the mood just fine, if he had hurt Quiet he'd have to answer to them. Tabi hoped her twin wasn't included in that threat. Hoped she was safe from that protectiveness for Quiet’s safety, in the vain hope that Dami’s safety had not also been compromised… No. That was blindly optimistic. Tabi hoped her twin was included as a second person to answer for.

She wondered, morbidly, if she let escape that Felipe had hurt Damiana, how many of the ones that were left behind at her house would react to that, and how. Winnie already looked prepared to commit a murder.

“Was there no way of speaking with him? Did I really have no ideas?” Nando spoke for the first time in a while.

“We had to talk to you to leave,” Grace said, “but he wasn’t planning on letting you go. He wanted you to stay. So he wouldn’t need to talk to you.”

“But… why?” Nando asked. “Why go through all this effort for us just to ignore us?”

“We weren’t his main priority,” Quiet sighed. “I wouldn’t have liked him to speak to me like he spoke to her, anyway.”

A moment of silence as the implication sunk in.

“Was it… good? The dinner,” Dami asked hesitantly, softly.

“Oh,” Quiet sighed, leaning down as if telling a secret, or preparing for a long, long conversation. “It was indescribable.”

“In what way?” Paco asked, on the edge of his seat. “Was it— was it poisoned, or…?”

A glance across the room, and Paco and Ave locked eyes.

“It was the best meal I ever had,” Quiet said as though recalling a memory, fondness and nostalgia tinted just barely by regret and mourning. “Nothing could compare. Nothing would ever taste that good again, not even the same meal. And I would know; I had that same meal, multiple times. He kept feeding us perfection… but it wasn’t the meal itself. Just… that experience, of eating for the first time, of having something prepared just for me and sitting down for something warm and cooked and seasoned…”

Quiet paused, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap. “I got to be a person, for a little while,” he whispered so quietly he must not have meant for anyone to hear. But Tabitha did.

And was struck with two realizations simultaneously. One, this boy— this man —had also been there with her, while they waited side-by-side with shackles around their necks.

The other was that she never really thought about it, how the ‘game’ they had been playing was his entire life. How would that feel?

“Paco has you covered,” Connie said, nodding over to the man in question. He tensed, glancing at Tabi and the new arrivals. Something about the way his eyes were darting around the room had Tabi doing a mental head-count.

“Right,” he exhaled as his answer. “I can cook something for you. Anytime. Anything.”

“He’s only getting better, too!” Connie added, apparently working double-time to lighten the mood, his smile a little bigger on his face than Tabi thought it had the right to be.

Quiet smiled a little, anyway, in return. “I definitely prefer your cooking to his, Paco. It was just…”

“You never had anything to eat before.” Ave said, tinged with the same nostalgia. Probably thinking back to his own first meal.

“The absolute picture of a life. That one, singular moment… it was perfect,” Quiet laughed, bitter and cold as he continued, “and then I had it again, and again, and again… and it just kept getting worse. I was so tired. And she was, too. We all were.”

“Of course you were,” Cain agreed without inflection. “It’s everything I warned you about.”

“Fuck off,” Ciro snapped, a lot less loud that Tabi had started to expect of him.

Quiet sighed into his hand, muttering, as Tabi imagined an old polaroid fading with time, once-beautiful colors going grey and dull with age. “It was the worst meal I ever had.” 

‘His first experience at being something like a person,’ ruined. The very thought ached.

“It wasn’t that I was tired of the experience. It wasn’t me that changed; it wasn’t her, either. It wasn’t even Felipe or Him. The food was just—worse, impossibly. It kept changing. No matter how much I tried to remember how good it was the first time, to stay in that moment, the peace would never last. The peace was supposed to last. We wanted to be happy, but the changes wouldn’t let us—it kept degrading, the changes were trending down and the decline was getting sharper. We couldn’t be happy like that. But we wanted to be. We had to be, he gave us no other options.

“I wasn’t allowed not to finish dinner. That’s not how the picture played out, that’s not how the story went. I wasn’t what was supposed to happen. So I cleared my plate, each and every time. And he refilled it, each and every time. Patiently watching me from across the table, staring down at me, waiting for me to finish so he could serve me. No matter how tired I was, no matter how little it all tasted of anything, no matter how much I hated the taste or the textures or the sensation of food shoved in my mouth and passing down my throat or— or shadows on my wrists or—” Quiet broke off, there. “I had to finish. I had to, I had to.”

Ave choked, a little. “Wait. Here, what you gave me. Were you…?”

“You need it more than me,” Quiet smiled.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” Ave said. Tabi had the feeling it wasn't quite meant to.

“Is that how you found out you didn’t like vegetables?” 

In any other situation, Tabi would have laughed to herself. What was he, a child?…

“There was a goblet I just couldn't drink,” he then pointed at Oleander, palm up, as if saying ‘stop’, “It was disgusting, Oli, spare me the words. You seemed to really like it, though, more than the food… she did too, now that I think back on it…”

Oli blinked. “I was there?”

Quiet took a breath. “Didn’t I say that? Yes, you were very happy doing stuff with ‘our beautiful queenly wife,’” and Tabi had known he would mimic again at some point, she’d known it!

“Well,” Oli started, drawing out the word as he glanced over to Tabii’s sister and looked her over. “She is very pretty.”

“Obviously,” Ava agreed.

Dami reached towards Winnie with her non-sister-ocuppied arm, clenching and releasing her fist in a grabby-hands motion when she couldn’t quite reach and waited for Winnie to take her hand. “You hurt my friend,” Dami shrugged back at Oli. “So you might have to work on that first. Thank you Ava.”

Said Ava cheered in response.

Tabi was busy thinking about other things. Like ‘Voice of the Opportunist,’ of all voices, the backstabber, being the one to come in at this stage. Yet another one who she wouldn’t let get close to her sister in either form.

“You didn’t say that,” Skeptic— no, ‘Harri?,’ was that his new name? —said, opening a notebook and clicking a pen. “So Oli hatched after Felipe killed you? Why him?”

“It… depends on what we were doing before.”

“Obviously. That’s how it’s always worked. But nothing you said happened before rings clearly as Oleander to me… no offense.”

“None taken, Detective!”

“I think it was something about changing my mind last minute..? Or maybe he was that eager to be part of things. He wasn’t the only one who could hatch there, though.”

“Who else?”

“You,” Quiet said, bluntly, and then winced. “Or… Paco. You two were… close.”

“I can’t be the one to hatch there, I’m married.” 

Tabi froze, heart skipping a beat. What? What? What? “You are?”

“Not yet. Wink,” he said, verbally, as he winked. Quiet snickered very quietly. Tabi could almost predict what that glint in Dami’s eyes meant: talks about a ‘white wedding’. She didn’t see the appeal of that. She decided to shelve it for later discussion.

“Well… eventually, she said she was tired of eating and… one of the four torches of the room went out.”

Harri and Paco straightened in unison. “That’s the key!”

“If all the torches go out, there won't be any shadows left to hold us—” Paco started.

“—Just darkness without a shape!” Harri finished, his keyhole-shaped pupils almost overtaking the irises. Tabi could see the thirst being filled by the well of knowledge.

“You two are forgetting he could hurt either of them!” Nando jumped into whatever thought transmission those two were having. Quiet looked on, gaze softening, impossibly fond. He turned to him. “Did we help at all?”

“Oh, yes,” Quiet’s tone was a bit more upbeat. “You were amazing. With Harri, you two kept trying to figure out what was going on, planning how to get us out while I tried to keep him appeased.”

Harri smiled. “Of course, that's what I do.”

“And Nando helped me too, trying to keep her calm.”

“Would he have hurt you, if she was unhappy?” Ave asked, tilting his head.

Quiet had finally run out of words to say. Or formulating an answer was more complicated than a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. That had to be it, because the silence would be its own answer otherwise and Tabi did not want to hear it, but how do you not hear silence if nobody is speaking? How do you prevent the mind from coming up with worst-case scenarios? If he had been hurt, in what way, how to prevent it, how to make it not happen this time, how to keep people safe?

And then she understood. Paranoid. Of course. The one who had come into existence, ‘hatched’, as they called it, from a decisive threat to their life. A threat, and a helplessness, those seemed to be the two factors that tied both the ‘routes’ together. The common thread between a Nightmare and a ‘Happy Ending’.

Long claws the size of Dami’s head, the knowledge that ranged attacks didn’t work, Quiet readily admitting how Felipe held him down, and the description of when dinner went bad… Quiet was not Felipe’s ‘main priority,’ allegedly. If he believed that one of the pairing posed a threat to the other, whose side would he choose? How far would he go to defend her? 

What would make him stop?

“She took a lot of care to not appear so,” Quiet said, breaking the silence at last, yet the sound of it still rang in Tabi’s ears. “Like I said, he only grabbed her twice. She— sorry, you,” Quiet turned to Dami. “You sounded… scared. We were afraid for you, even Paco.”

“I didn’t ask about her,” Ave interrupted. “You, first.”

“That’s not what’s important here,” Tabi said. She had her answers: no matter his intentions, Felipe was very much a threat to her sister. Considering the blackout mere moments before they escaped the house, likely an active threat. 

Except, the wide-eyed-with-rage stare she was the target of didn’t agree. A shiver ran through her frame, the only sign of fear she permitted herself. The only sign they couldn't see. Even if she was starting to question the veracity of that claim. Even if, despite the darkness of the room and her distance from him, she could see how Ave’s pupils contracted into unmoving, focused slits. 

“Neither of them were going to be okay in that cabin,” Nando said. “Staying there was a mistake. Felipe… had signs of instability from the start.”

“What are you getting at?” Winnie asked.

“Hard to believe you wouldn’t have said something if that was the case,” Grace commented.

Tabi felt something diffuse. Ave blinked, his eyes returning to normal, no longer so sharply visible in the low light of the room. She had to agree with Nando; she’d seen as much in Dami’s run of things. Why weren’t they seeing that?

“Girls, girls, I know you’re smart,” Tabi said, raising an eyebrow when they only stared at her. “‘I will end our life without a second thought’ ringing any bells, by chance?”

Dami shuddered. Tabi felt a little bad for bringing it up so suddenly.

“What?” Nando turned to Tabi, open-mouthed for a second. “Where—?”

“Yeah, what?” Ciro said. “He can’t just do things like that, he’s not… But he did it, didn’t he? Shit…”

“He followed through, too,” Quiet said in the silence left behind. It was a confession to the open air, not meant for either present or living ears. Possibly not even meant for himself. Still, he smiled as if he just told a joke. “I don’t know why you named me ‘Decider’, you could do things just fine.”

“It’s your most interesting quality,” Cain said at once, as though the answer were self-evident.

“Oh, he has a lot better than that,” Paco responded just as automatically.

“That’s not right, though,” Nando interrupted the two before they could start squabbling. “That was your name. It mattered. We shouldn’t have been able to take that from you, let alone to hurt ourself.”

“Ourselves,” Cain corrected. “There’s no ‘ourself’ anymore.”

“Still a collective. Just a little more separate,” Grace commented.

“I shouldn’t have said that… Can I just keep going?” Quiet hurried to say, clearly not wanting to delve into the topic. “Felipe got angry every time one of the torches went out. Got angrier each time. He didn’t hurt her, but she was still scared. Defensive, avoidant. Hyperventilating, once. That’s… not fun to experience. I would’ve helped if I could.”

“I know,” was all Dami said.

“You had the idea of playing a game, so that’s what we did. Oli cheated, by the way.”

“Why was that necessary to mention?” Oli blurted out.

“You kept saying you were great at games!” Quiet said as if that was an actual answer. “When it got boring, and it did get boring eventually, we kept making up new rules. He kept making it more complicated. We tried to find more things to do, until we ran out of ideas.”

“And then?”

“He relayed what he wanted to tell me through you. ‘Isn't this enough? Isn't this what you wanted him to do?’ He said he was tired.”

Paco straightened. “That’s manipulative. Why was he trying to manipulate you?”

“After all he did, he played that card?” Winnie sneered.

“Maybe he was being genuine.” Dami offered.

“Does his intent even matter after what he did?” Harri asked.

“The point is , we were able to get out eventually. All the torches went out.” Quiet sighed. “Smitten faded away too. Even the Narrator thought you deserved to get out, after all you went through.”

There was a lot of information Tabi both could get from what was said and more stuff she wanted to know. The shadow had ‘faded away’, been killed or had it returned to Quiet’s head? How did the torches go out? Since when could the Narrator change his mind?

Dami covered her mouth with her hands. “What do you mean by that?”

“He… let you go,” Quiet finished. 

“Where did he go?” Dami asked.

Quiet stiffened. Something passed over, through, his expression. Something Tabi couldn’t place or name, but something strong. Something with weight, slumping his shoulders, that pulled him down and had Tabi’s heart sinking with him.

“All that,” Paco drawled, his tone tired, “and you still haven’t answered the question of how you knew how to find us.”

“I wish I knew,” Quiet breathed. It wasn’t something he said. And it was not a response to Paco’s question. But the conversation moved on like he wasn’t breathing at all. There were more important things to talk about.

“I think…” Tabi closed her eyes, recalling the memory of the rain. “It had something to do with our power leaks. I didn’t know where I was going, but between the rain and the need for somewhere quiet to think, I was drawn here.”

“Led here?” Paco asked.

“No. If I was ever being influenced, if something unseen was chaining me up from afar, pulling me along a path it set for me, it was by something in that house,” Tabi assured him to the best of her ability. “Leaving it behind unlocked something buried. By all means, I should’ve left sooner. There are some psychopaths in those walls.”

“Exactly!” Paco shouted, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolute madness between them!”

“Glad to have you here, instead. Two minds are better than one,” Harri said, softly. What a nice name. He smiled. “And I could use your help puzzling a few things out.”

The others were talking, he knew that, but he couldn’t understand the words. Blood was rushing in his ears. He couldn't look at Quiet in the eye.

Not with the knowledge he had failed. Worse, he had prompted another horrible sequence of events by his own suggestion. Again. Worse, that time, because he’d hurt two people who didn’t deserve it at the same time, and he couldn’t even remember it well enough to apologize. Worse, because he couldn’t even say he didn’t know well enough to know better; why, ever, would Dami of all Princesses need to be locked away?

Worse, because the hurt had come from another of his Voices and he hadn't been able to stop it, hadn’t even been able to try. When Broken had betrayed them, he had at least been able to do something.

And Quiet didn’t even think he was at fault. Quiet had said he was proud of him. Somehow, that made it worse.

If anything, he was worrying about him, like he had managed to peek at what Nando was feeling through the threads. Maybe, he’d say it wasn’t his fault.

Quiet could lie to him and he’d believe it,

because Nando couldn't believe he'd lie

or

because he wanted to believe it was true

or

because he didn't know how else to survive.

He was the second in command. He was the First. He was supposed to protect him, and yet each scar was a monument of his failures. All his fault. Not smart enough, not strong enough, not fast enough. Just enough to watch Quiet struggle, and occasionally suggest something that makes him suffer worse than anything Nando could’ve imagined.

Why did he ever speak at all? He wasn’t the Decider; he was supposed to be there for the others, not to tell Quiet what to do. He slowly tuned back into the others’ discussions, a silent promise made to himself that he would keep his mouth shut before he thoughtlessly hurt someone important again. Twice was bad enough. A third time and there’d be nothing worthwhile left of him to forgive.

“This is all well and good but somebody still owes me money,” Connie was saying slowly, gleefully, while trying to move his chair so it wouldn’t bump into anything.

“I do not!” Ciro answered at once.

“I didn’t mean you but thank you for reminding me!”

That, at the very least, was enough to distract Quiet, enough to keep him from asking about Nando just yet.

“You’ve been betting?” Quiet frowned, almost managing to sound utterly stern and disapproving.

“It’s not ‘betting’, buddy, it’s ‘strategic speculation,’” Oleander didn’t let two seconds pass before saying that ridiculous line. “But nevermind that, we were about to show you something we all have been working on.”

“All of you. In a room, together, willingly. And nothing caught on fire?”

“Not yet,” an understandably wary Paco answered. “We were just starting to brainstorm.”

Tabi perked up at the same time Ava slumped, bored already. At least the reminder of what they had been doing before gave him the will to focus on something else, for the moment. Allowing his blood to boil and his mind to wander other paths. Harri jumped up and presented the whiteboard to Quiet, without flourish but with some amount of expectant haste, popping the cap off a marker and quickly underlining, in bold titular letters, ‘HOW TO KILL GOD’ as though it were not prominent enough on its own and needed more proper indication.

Quiet stared.

“Oho?” Tabi said at once, joining Harri beside the board and reading the scribblings below with narrowed eyes.

“Nevermind, I’m in!” Ava grinned. Gonchi patted her—well, slapped her—on the back.

Dami shrunk back, glancing around the room at everyone’s reactions and locking eyes with Nando. He hoped his smile was encouraging. She didn’t smile back, just darted her eyes away and quietly took a seat near the back of the room, smoothing the fabric of her dress over repeatedly.

“This I can get behind,” Winnie admitted, taking a seat near Dami.

Quiet hadn’t spoken yet, hadn’t taken his eyes away from the whiteboard. Only shuffled closer to Nando, barely, unsurely. Nando brushed his hand over his thread, very gently.

There was no sense of safety, there was no peace of mind. There was only fear, fear, fear.