scarletwritesshit

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What does the dead dove tag mean?

Wonderful question!

“Dead Dove” comes from this scene in Arrested Development wherein the character Michel Bluth opens a brown paper bag that reads: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. He looks inside and sees what is in fact, a dead dove. The then says: “Well, I don’t know what I expected.”

In fandom, the tag has come to mean: “pay extra attention to the tags!” And/or “this fic is what it says on the tin!”.

So if, for example, a fic includes the tags: Body Horror, Gore, and Violence along with the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag, the author is saying “Hey I’m not joking about these tags! Read at your own discretion!”

The tag acts as an honest intensifier to whatever tags are already in the work, as the author using it wants to give a double warning for their content, that it may be triggering and that the reader should proceed with caution.

One fic tagged with Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, also includes the tags: Seriously, this fic deals with some serious and disturbing content matter, mind the tags

Thanks for asking and happy reading!

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📜Cristoforo x F!Rover📜Curtain Call Of Unscripted Feelings

Rover took ahold of the small bunch of papers and glanced down at it. It seemed as if she was always getting pulled into stuff. One minute she was fetching something for a man too lazy to walk the five steps, and somehow such a request would cause her to domino effect herself into fighting a Sentinel.

At least Cristoforo's request was simple enough. Do nothing more than read and act out a couple of lines from his latest masterpiece so that he could get a feel for the final product.

"That’s it?" Rover asked.

"Indeed, my dear lady," Cristoforo said, nodding his head. "No need for a blockbuster performance, though I have a feeling that such talent would come naturally from a hero like you."

"You flatter me greatly," she said, with a little blush, "thought it won’t be anything special since you just...asked me to read over a couple things. I don’t see how this could help you very much."

"Ah, but the ears may pick up on what the eyes cannot. Should something be out of place, this would allow me to pinpoint the issue and rectify it immediately.”

Seemed reasonable enough. That was perhaps the most normal request that could’ve come out of him, and it stood as her most tolerable mission on Rinascita to date. Definitely wasn’t anything compared to the practically nonstop TD hunting, which felt like it was beginning to consume every waking moment of her life.

She skimmed over the front page of the script. Nothing too complex, it appeared. Just some corny tale between a man and his apparent lover. Nothing she hadn’t seen before wandering around the streets.

How Rover was not tipped off that this practice was rather a devious ploy to win over her affection once and for all, even the greatest of historians would be puzzled by such a case.

In all honesty, she was just looking to be paid a few Shell Credits for her time.

"Well?" he said. "Is such doable for you?"

Rover nodded her head. "Just pay me good and my help is all yours."

"And pay you I will, my lady," Cristoforo said with a courteous bow. "Perhaps we should rehearse in an area away from the public eye? We do not wish to spoil the masterpiece before the show even begins."

Another red flag from the red-clothed man that perhaps should’ve tipped off Rover to his true intentions. However, it was unfortunately in character for a flamboyant playwright to seek assistance in such a fashion for such an undertaking, so she didn’t bother thinking twice about it.

"Where do you suggest we go, then?" Rover asked.

"Hmmm..." Cristoforo scratched his chin. "The city is not short of theaters quiet during the day. A small one will do for some mere reading."

"Lead the way," Rover said. "I only just got here, so I don’t know my way around."

With a wink, Cristoforo took Rover’s hand and lead her through the streets closely by his side. Yet another clear indicator of his intentions, but Lady Arbiter unfortunately was not the wisest.

The concert hall that he led her to was a rather humble one. Still, it’s inherit grandness was not to be understated, as the seats stretched as far back as Rover’s eyes could see. Either that, or she simply had really poor vision. Cristoforo took one huge step up onto the main stage, then reached down to help pull Rover up. He pulled out his small stack of papers and shuffled them together neatly as Rover looked down at hers.

She appeared to be starting first.

"For some very much needed context, you take on the role of a most noble soul, whose origins are most mysterious and her desire to protect a people unknown to her even stranger. I am but a humble knight, thanking her profusely for her service."

Rover nodded, understanding despite having not acted in a play before. That story did sound awfully familiar, after all.

"Well then, shall we commence rehearsal?"

Rover nodded once more, and Cristoforo cleared his throat.

"Oh, great lady from the stars!” he started, putting his soul into the words as if it were an actual performance. “My people and I thank you greatly for being the savoir we needed, yet the savior we did not deserve all the same."

"Think...naught of it. For I was only doing a service out of my own kindness." Rover stammered, the words not coming naturally to her at all.

"Your kindness to us all was undeserved, truly," Cristoforo declared, taking off his hat and bowing down. "If only there was some way that I could perhaps show my most profound thanks."

"Worry not, for I do not require such... what is that word? Such effusive forms of thanks."

Cristoforo put his hat back on his head, then walked around to Rover and put his hand on her shoulder. "Ah, but you and you alone had saved our humble lands Surely, there must be some form of compensation that is within my power to provide?”

Rover shook her head. "Nay, for I am simply fulfilling my sole purpose."

Cristoforo stepped in front of her and proudly turned to declare, "Surely, you must have far greater purpose than to be labeled as a savior and nothing more? You are one of us, after all, even we will never amount to anything as great as you."

Cristoforo was truly putting his all into the performance, despite it supposedly being only a simple read-over of a draft. Rover almost felt bad for the lack of effort from her performance. Almost.

Then again, she wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting out of her, given that wearing the mask of a drama queen wasn’t her specialty.

She glanced down at the paper and read the instructions for her to strike a most noble pose as she spoke. Not sure how she could do such a thing without feeling awkward but...

"Do not compare our power and worth, as we stand as equals here and now."

"My lady, I do not deserve such blessings," he said, pulling his hand back onto his chest. "You almost give me hope."

"Hope for what, oh valiant one?"

Cristoforo smiled, and in one hand, he held the script behind his back. In the other, he gently took ahold of Rover’s hand. With a glint in his emerald green eyes that seemed almost too genuine to be a mere act, he got down on one knee.

"Rover, my darling, your beauty has me absolutely starstruck. From the very first moment we have met, you’ve outshone all lead actors that have crossed paths with me in my lifetime. All of them were most talented souls, alas, none of which I present before you is part of a scripted deception. Now and always, I find myself at the mercy of your stunning beauty and my undying love for you."

Rover stood there in absolute awe that Cristoforo seemingly pulled such lines out of nowhere. In fact, she could argue that those lines were written not for the goddess within the play, but rather, for her specifically.

Come to think of it, was any of this truly an act? Never once had he mentioned a person’s name throughout the entirety of this rehearsal, until this very moment. And that name just so happened to be her’s.

"...Thats not in the script," Rover pointed out.

"Oh, but it most certainly is. Read a little closer, darling."

Rover squinted at the end of the script.

The man playing the noble knight proceeds to confess his undying love.

"It didn’t say anything about the knight himself being the one to confess, no?" he said with a wink.

Slowly, the pieces finally began to fall into place. Was this all a ploy to rope Rover into listening to him confess his love for her? A ploy that she walked right into and now found herself caught like a mouse drawn to a cheese trap? She hated to admit it, but she found herself quite charmed by his clever and eccentric ways.

Rover had played along for this long, so why not see the rehearsal through exactly like he had hope to?

"Where’s my line?" Rover asked, noticing the lack of continuation on her end.

"That is for you to decide, my dear. An ad-lib, if you will"

This was no performance. Cristoforo was waiting for Rover’s genuine response. The halls of the theater were empty, yet she could feel all eyes on her.

Well, the script said nothing about the hero from the story being the one to speak, so she was going to speak as herself, just as Cristoforo had.

"I suppose you don’t mind if I offer you my feedback, then?" she said.

"Ah...have at it," he said, handing her the paper and a pen, unsure as to if this was a cruel rejection or she really was just that dense.

After a moment of tapping the pen against her chin, she scribbled down something and handed it back to Cristoforo. He looked down at the paper.

Rover drops her side of the act completely, and gives the playwright her honest feelings in return.

"Well? What do you think?" Rover said.

"I am... most curious to see the direction that you will take this in," he said with a nervous laugh.

Rover grabbed ahold of his hand and yanked him forward, causing him to trip over his feet. With all phantom eyes on her, she looked at him with a smile.

Clearing her throat and picking up from where he left off, Rover said, "Do not be at the mercy of your heart, for I too share the same feelings. Charming and enchanting your words may be, it is clear that you are no actor when it comes to such honesty."

"Really? I mean- your words flatter me, but I only speak what is true in my heart," he said, in disbelief while attempting to maintain his "act."

"And in return, I only offer my utmost sincerity as well."

Rover released him from her grasp. Though he was now free to stand on his own two feet, Cristoforo found it difficult to regain his balance.

"Well? What do you think?" Rover asked.

"Ah...but, did you take a moment to read the final page?" Cristoforo said, his feet nervously tapping.

She shook her head. Rover assumed that that was the final part of his so-called performance, though she had disregarded the script the moment she pulled him into her arms. Picking it up from where she dropped it, she turned to the back of the last page. It was likely hidden from her view on purpose in the event that his planned failed to avoid further humiliation.

The two embrace each other and share a kiss.

Rover looked back up at him blank-eyed and curious.

"...Should I have perhaps omitted that section from the script?" he asked.

"What? Not going to see the rehearsal all the way through?"

Seeing Rover’s willingness, he was going to reach out and grab her first, but she yanked him close by the collar of his shirt. Though the script now mattered not to the two, Rover and Cristoforo shared a kiss, at last bringing down the curtain on their act of hiding long standing feelings from each other.

"Bravo! Bravo!"

Their eyes went wide open and their bodies froze on the spot.

Though it was quiet, the sound of someone clapping could be heard from within the rows of seats. But the theatre was closed off temporarily for their private rehearsal; who could’ve possibly weaseled their way in? A curious staff member? A nosy passerby?

Slowly, they turned to see the identity of this unwanted visitor. Sitting in one of the back row seats, though it was rather faint, was a creme colored creature excitedly clapping its paws together.

"A-Abby!?" Rover shouted. "When did you get in here?"

"The same time that you did, dummy. But your heart rate shot through the roof waking me up, so I’d figured I’d investigate. And boy, was I not disappointed," Abby said as it drifted over to the stage.

"Ah...so you mean to tell me that your companion has been observing us for the entirety of our... session?" Cristoforo said.

"Been there the entire time!" Abby declared proudly.

"Abby, just, please go back to sleep," Rover said, waving her hand with her tacet mark in front of it.

"No way! I don’t want to be caught in the crossfire of your wild thoughts," Abby protested.

"...Wild thoughts? What wild thoughts?" Rover said, flustering.

Cristoforo looked at her and gave her a wink. He couldn’t possibly know about what Rover really thought about him. All she did was attempt to sneak a glance at him on an occasion and perhaps indulge in a daydream or two about him during her downtime…

...Oh. Perhaps he had figured her out long before she knew herself.

[scarletwritesshit]

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🪦Phainon x Stelle🪦 Dead-End Trail

Aglaea was playing no jokes with Stelle. Even the witty remakes that Stelle made that could be considered to be no blatant lie, the thread jerked violently giving way to her purposeful omissions.

She couldn’t see, per say, but Stelle was convinced that Aglaea was staring her down like a cat in position for the hunt. Her forehead grew damp with sweat as she felt the golden threads around her wrists tighten. The presence of Death was looming behind her and Dan Heng a mere step away.

"One final question," Aglaea said, "Within your body lies a cosmic power unlike anything that Amphoreus has seen in its entire history. Do you intend to use this power to aid the Chrysos Heirs in defying fate and saving our people from the prophecy?"

Feeling the presence of Death himself, Dan Heng was too, struck hard by nerves. Unlike Stelle, rebirth was an option for him, but it still remained yet to be seen if Castorice had enough strength to kill him for 20 lifetimes. He glared at Stelle as if to silently say, "don’t mess this up," but Stelle’s track record for not messing things up wasn’t exactly the greatest. At that very moment, he had regretted not being sterner to her questionable choices a lot sooner, possibly avoiding them finding themselves in such a situation. It was unlikely that Stelle would be able slyly weasel her way out of this one, as one can toy with the words of a sensitive angel, but the reaper shows no mercy to traitors.

Phainon was attempting to outrun death. It wasn’t his life that was at stake, but rather, it was Stelle’s. With the force behind each step he took, he could cross a mountain with barely any more effort than a single stride. Castorice and Aglaea didn’t see what he did in her. This so-called “troublesome” descendant from the world beyond could just be what they needed to save their land, their history, their people, everything.

Savior of Amphoreus aside, Stelle was truly a most beautiful lady. Though Phainon had saved the lives of her and her companion upon their first steps on Amphoreus, he had only wished that they could’ve met under better far circumstances. Circumstances being, that the fate of the planet wasn’t at stake. Or that, at the very least, the world from beyond the sky wasn’t deemed as such a taboo to mention. He yearned simply for some way to have Stelle stand by his side without the gaze of sin being casted upon them.

It was his fault, in a way. For getting attached for when he knew damn well that the potential of such an outcome lingered.

He always lost anything that was important to him in the end, so why would things turn out differently this time?

Phainon paid no mind to his lungs screaming for air as he pushed himself to run as fast as he possibly could. It shouldn’t take him too much longer if he just kept up this pace.

Stelle, he thought, my love, please hang on just a little longer.

He didn’t want her to slip away. Even if it costed him the last of his willpower to make it, his determination burned brightly to save her one way or another.

What was Stelle to say? Their trailblaze mission was the priority, so of course she was going to use it in her favor, but she had no reason to antagonize Amphoreus, especially since saving the planet fit the mission description of a trailblazer...

"It’s a very dangerous power. I’m not sure if you’d want me to use it so recklessly…” she said.

It wasn’t a lie in the slightest. But the tread still vibrated violently regardless.

"The truth it is, technically. But you still failed to answer myquestion at hand. Castorice, a step, if you please."

Dan Heng looked at Stelle with wide eyes as the presence of death grew ever closer. How he so badly wanted to cuss her out in that moment. Castorice, no, Death herself was breathing down the necks of a Stellaron and a Vidyadhara.

“Four steps…” Aglaea said as she tapped her finger against her chin, “The two of you have failed my test.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Dan Heng pointed out.

“Yet you are an accomplice of this woman without denial. That alone is enough of a reason for me to deem you a threat to Amphoreus as well. Castorice, if you please.”

Almost there. Just hold out a little bit longer.

Before Dan Heng could say another word, or she could make an objection, Stelle felt the air around her grow deathly cold. Castorice was mere centimeters away from gripping her with the hands of death.

“Close your eyes…” Castorice said softly. “This won’t hurt one bit. It will all be over before you realize...”

Stelle and Dan Heng wanted to resist, but with every movement, Aglaea’s threads only tightened on their wrists. She felt Castorice’s touch on her skin, and before her reflexes could shoo her away, immediately, any energy within her body began to dissipate.

She put her all into standing strong, but her legs were getting weaker by the second.

The golden threads around her weakened, but she could not seize an opportunity to strike as her body was being deprived of strength at an even faster rate. Even with being freed from Aglaea’s grasp, she retained no strength to whip around and drive off Castorice.

Stelle couldn’t even utter a word of apology to Dan Heng, who still stood bound in place witnessing the entirety of her downfalls. All words had been sapped from her throat, just as her life was being taken away from her.

Castorice freed her grip, but Stelle was beyond the point of salvation. Her knees at last gave out and she collapsed onto her back.

No longer could she fight to keep her eyes open. Her last sight would have been the stars that shone above her soon to be grave, if it weren’t for Phainon leaping over her body. He caught a split second’s glimpse of Stelle’s golden eyes, which no longer shone with the same radiance as they had prior, before she closed them one final time. He landed on the ground and jammed his blade into the stone to stop himself from sliding too far from her before he starting swinging it with the last of his energy an attempt to sever the golden threads. Casotrice took a step back in order to not be caught in the crossfire, and Dan Heng could only stand helpless, still bound. Phainon eventually gave up and threw aside his blade and ran towards Stelle, crouching down and sliding her arms under her body.

Her body still felt warm. That was hopefully a good sign.

“…Stelle?” he said.

No response.

His apprehension was brief, but he laid the palm of his hand on her chest to check for a heartbeat, breathing, any possible signs of life. He wanted to hold strongly onto hope, but the woman in his arms was clearly dead. Any faith that Dan Heng still held in him quickly faded with Phainon’s sinking expression.

He couldn’t manage any words, nor could he be bothered to pay any mind to the three still looking down upon him. Phainon clenched his jaw to try and not spit out anything that he would regret, but he was teetering on the boundary of giving a second thought to the repercussions of his actions. The valiant hero-to-be’s act crumbled as Stelle’s body only grew colder in his arms. Dan Heng was somewhere in between unfathomable anger and completely breaking down into tears, though his display of emotions were rather limited by the threads that still bound him.

“Aglaea,” Phainon finally managed to say.

She tilted her head in the direction of his voice.

“…Why? She was supposed to be our savior. The one who could’ve saved Amphoreus from the prophecy.”

“A trespasser from beyond the stars? Do you truly believe such to be trusted?” she said.

Phainon gripped Stelle’s body harder, as if that would do him any good in suppressing the tears that began to run down his face.

“You don’t know a good woman when you see one,” he snarled.

“But I do know a threat to Amphoreus, however. This woman and her friend of most peculiar blood spell only further disaster for our future.”

Dan Heng had long since been pushed over the line by Casotrice ever so casually killing Stelle in such a heartless fashion, but her stinging remarks only infuriated him further. He so badly wished that he could pull her towards him and tie her own strings around her neck, but any attempts at such force were met with Agalea tightening the hold on his wrists. Any more, and the blood flow to his hands would be cut off.

“Why are you so determined to fight for her, anyways? What sort of value could this woman of questionable origin possibly hold to you?”

Phainon didn’t want to answer that. Aglaea didn’t deserve an explanation at this point anyways. Not after Phainon had lost yet another thing so dear to him, all because of her.

“Nothing. She means nothing to me,” Phainon said, attempting to shove his feelings aside with a blatant lie.

“It doesn’t take the tremor of my golden threads to know that you speak of falsehoods,” Aglaea said. “If this little man weren’t putting up such a fuss, then I would waste no time binding you so that I may pry out just how you really feel about her. Speaking of which, Casotrice, do you mind doing the honors once more?”

Castorice nodded her head, and carefully kept her distance from Phainon who would probably strike at her given the chance. Dan Heng did his best to avoid her in return, but his eyes soon filled with absolute terror upon feeling the touch of death.

Phainon didn’t have it in him to attempt to save Dan Heng. What good would even trying do for him? He couldn’t even save Stelle; someone he had sworn to protect from the moment he laid eyes upon her. Someone he wanted to fight with side by side for as long as his life would permit him to.

…A friend to accompany him on his lonely journey as a Chrysos Heir? No, he wanted her to be far more than that.

But now, Stelle was nothing.

With her body still in his hands, Phainon stood up and turned his back to Aglaea. Dan Heng, who was still standing fueled by only pure rage, was taken aback by his lack of action against either of them. Given Aglaea’s position and the power she held over Amphoreus, it would be rather unwise to strike at a time like now. But Dan Heng was still expecting just a little bit… more out of a so-called hero like Phainon. To think that Dan Heng’s final end would ultimately be a quiet one.

“You’ve lost what it means to be a hero, Aglaea,” Phainon said, paying no mind to the collapsing Dan Heng.

“Have I, now? The woman who only desires to protect her people is all of a sudden the villain in this tale?”

“Perhaps it was my honest mistake to have misjudged you.”

With Dan Heng out of the equation, Castorice took a few steps towards Phainon, but Aglaea stopped her.

“Let him go,” Aglaea said. “It would prove counterproductive to kill him now.”

Phainon no longer paid any mind to their threats. He had lost everything once, and again, and once more. There was only so many times that a man’s spirit could handle being shattered.

He held Stelle’s body closer in his arms. Never in his life had he broken a vow to protect someone so fast. Even now, he felt guilt for carrying her body to her final resting place. As much as he wanted her to live on with him somehow, his broken heart knew that such wouldn’t be right. With the last remaining remnant of his sanity, he figured it to be best to return Stelle to where she crash landed with her friend.

When he didn’t think he could lose any more, somehow he had felt that he had fallen deeper into despair.

May Phainon have a chance at finding peace in another life.

[scarletwritesshit]

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🪱 Strohl x Hulkenberg 🪱Denser Than A Silver Broadblade

Six long years, did that little king think he was slick. Strohl wasn’t buying that "most trusted allies" excuse of his, not one bit, because why did he always just so happen to be sent out with her, and only her, on missions? Awfully pointless missions, if that. Perhaps he had become just a bit too obvious, as nobody else gazed upon that all-devouring she-beast with such longing, but at the same time, nobody quite bickered with her in the same manner either.

Something about arguing with someone because you care deeply about them. In his defense, he wasn’t too keen on letting her eat something infested with parasites and gods know what else. But despite him bringing up reasonable concerns about the safety of the meat, everybody at the table would giggle when Strohl protested. Even Hulkenberg herself. Did she know? He prayed to the gods that she didn’t know. It would be a most embarrassing story, for the noble Leon Strohl da Haliaetus to have confessed his feelings only to get a simultaneous, "we know," from his comrades.

An option was for him to pull her aside for a casual outing in private. Though everybody would be able to derive his intentions, it really would be none of their business. Confessing such feelings during a mission was most inappropriate, no matter how comfortable they were with each other, so Strohl had no idea what Will was attempting to accomplish here with these constant, pointless duo missions.

Clearly, he had some sort of intention for them, as evident by the devious little smirk on his face when he once again sent him and Hulkenberg on an outing. As per usual, it wasn’t even something that required the manpower of two.

"Go scout out the population of the sandworms outside of Grand Trad."

Not even explicitly hunt them down. Even one well-trained soldier could cut down on a tad bit of overpopulation solo. But that smug look on the king's face gave away his entire scheme.

As he was polishing and sharpening his blade, Strohl glanced at his reflection. He had changed quite a bit since Will ascended to the throne six years ago. His horns had grown to be a little longer and sharper, and his face had become scruffy, and the scar through his right eyebrow never did fade away completely. Strohl kept his hair well-trimmed, unlike the king, who had let his hair grow out to his knees, and he didn’t show any intention of cutting it.

Did he think that it made him look taller or something? He had grown only an inch at most, so he wasn’t destined to be the most intimidating king in the history books. Strohl sighed and sheathed his sword, and he looked over at Hulkenberg tying her hair up. It was something she did quite often these days, mainly to help her keep cool in the heavier armor, but she also admittedly looked quite beautiful.

It felt like was he was saying that a ravenous wild animal was adorable. Then again, they’ve known each other for years and have survived traversing the deepest circles of hell, so would it really hurt for him to think such things?

Hulkenberg turned to look at him, at which point he had realized that he was accidentally staring. Strohl quickly looked away, though he knew that the blush on his face would expose him regardless. She absolutely had to know by this point, given how she was arguably the sharpest hunter in all of Euchronia. But if she knew, then why hasn’t she said anything? Does she simply not feel the same? Or was she about as stuck as he was on when and how to confess?

The mere thought of her not sharing his long-held feelings tore his heart to shreds. Sure, he completely respected her decision to not carry the burden of a formerly disgraced noble, but the blow to him would still be brutal. He tried to turn his face even further away to hide his emotions that were quickly beginning to show through, but Hulkenberg giggling in response threw him for a loop.

Was the suffering of the great Leon Strohl truly that amusing?

...Or was there an off chance that she found him cute?

"So, uh, those sandworms," Strohl said, jumping to initiate at least some form of conversation, "what does he want us to do, exactly?"

"Simply take a vague approximation of the population to assure that they are not getting out of hand," Hulkenberg said.

"What does he even expect us to do at this point? Tag every single one and give them all bloody names? Might as well just kill the bastards at this rate."

"Leon, it’s just to make sure that there isn’t a gaping sandworm mouth everywhere you step, like usual."

The first name always got him.

"A most perfect opportunity to stretch our legs and maybe catch some dinner," she continued.

"Hulkenberg, we're not strays on the road any more. We don’t have to eat like wild animals."

"But any catch would perfectly good food that would be an utter shame to discard!"

"Never mind," Strohl said with a sigh. "The faster we count these worms, the better."

The gates of Grand Trad appeared far less imposing than they used to be. Before, they merely served as a border between human-plagued sands and various tribes who were no less relentless with their words. Now, so as long as one was armed with a blade for the purpose of self-defense, crossing the sands was worth no more than a day’s trip. Such is why Strohl could not wrap his head around why the king was so insistent on sending out his two strongest soldiers for something that would be considered routine at the most. The answer was plain and simple, however, as he heard Will's devious little laughter echoing in the back of his head.

Strohl tossed around the idea of finally giving in and saying something, to, at the very least, get it off of his chest. It was certainly far less embarrassing than being shat out of a giant worm...

The desert outside of the capital walls were about as bustling as one would expect. That is to say, it wasn’t. Nothing more than a few wild dogs walking past, which hardly spared the energy to turn and look at the two of them. Though, Strohl felt as if even they were judging him for his lack of action, and he wanted to cuss them out. At the same time, perhaps he should listen to king’s not-so-subtle wishes and his delusions of judgmental wolves to take this masterfully planned moment of peace to tell Hulkenberg how he felt.

Especially since he had reached the point where he was turning against wild animals that probably have zero concept of clemar emotion.

The two of them hardly said a word to each other during the entirety of their outing. Other than the sound of the gentle breeze and their shoes kicking up the sand, not even a stray human was willing to let its presence be known. It was safe to say that the sandworm population was...more well under control, especially given how they did this perhaps not even a month ago. "Scout out the sandworms" might as well be code for "just get together already you bloody idiots."

Breaking the silence with a love confession of all things. As if Strohl couldn’t make himself any more of an awkward, embarrassing person. Again, wouldn’t be the most embarrassing thing about his history, but he still wanted to maintain some form of dignity in the presence of the woman that mattered to him the most. To hell with it, he didn’t help take down the devil incarnate by watching his colorful language, now did he?

"Lady Hulkenberg, I-" he started, before he was interrupted by her screaming.

He thought that perhaps somehow, he had unintentionally startled her by abruptly breaking the silence. Turning around to investigate, however, he quickly realized that that was not the case. There she was, with her lance skewered clean through the abdomen of a sandworm. It was furiously thrashing around its body, but Hulkenberg stood her ground and refused to let it slide off. The worm was still partially buried in the ground, but Hulkenberg lifted her lance upwards to pry it out and fully expose the creature, then jabbed her lance downwards to pin it to the ground. With the massive grub pinned in place, Hulkenberg grabbed each section of its body and snapped it with her bare hands, ensuring to destroy each of its hearts. With its internal organs decimated, the worm’s struggle ceased and fell limp as Hulkenberg wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Such a beautiful display of ferocity. To think that he was mere moments away from confessing his love for her, and now here they were gazing upon a sandworm corpse mutilated by Hulkenberg’s bare hands.

Hukenberg stepped on the corpse and yanked her lance out of it.

"Dinner’s served," she said. "You’ve been slipping lately, that thing could’ve devoured you, had I not exterminated it."

"Y-yes, my apologies," Strohl said.

"Apologies? No need for such. We got a hearty meal out of it. I just don’t want you to get eaten. Again."

"S-sorry."

"Now you’re just acting weird," Hulkenberg said, turning around to see Strohl awkwardly averting his gaze.

"Me? Weird? I’m doing just fine," Strohl said, clearly not fine.

Lance still in hand, she walked up to him and stared him down.

"Come on. Speak," she said, unaware of just how terrifying she was to him.

"...It’s not appropriate for a time like now, my lady," Strohl said, flustered and turning his head away.

"Come on," she said, prodding him with the back of her lance. "Please?"

"It’s not really that important. At least not right now."

"Who’s here to judge us? The wolves?"

Yes, the wolves. They have already eyed up Strohl one too many times.

"Also, 'my lady?'" Hulkenberg continued with a smile. "Just what exactly are you getting at here?"

Strohl had been backed into a corner. Hulkenberg staring him up close, refusing to let the topic go, with a dead sandworm behind them. Not how he wanted things to go down in the slightest. Better to give in and confess now, otherwise, he would keep himself up late at night for weeks to come cursing himself for missing the opportunity.

Strohl’s heart felt as if it were going to beat out of his chest. He really had no better options than to be honest with her.

"Since you really leave me with no other choice, I..."

It was at that moment, Strohl’s mind blanked, forgetting everything he had learned about the etiquette of the nobility. Overthinking his every little action has had the opposite of the intended effect, and now he couldn’t think at all. He couldn’t just stand there in silence and shuffle through what remained of his thoughts, so with a shaky hand, he grabbed ahold of Hulkenberg’s and held it up gently.

"My lady, over the course of our time together, I have developed some rather strong feelings for you-"

"You can be straightforward with me," Hulkenberg said, gripping his hand in return.

"A-alright, fine. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I could just...never find the proper time to confess or the right words to say."

"I know. In fact, I’m pretty sure damn there everyone knows," Hulkeberg said with a laugh.

And now Strohl had successfully made a fool out of himself.

"What the devil do you mean you know?"

"It’s hard to not think that you like me when you constantly shoot me painfully obvious gazes of admiration from directly beside where I sit. Or when you insist on arguing with me so much over the silly things because you’re ‘concerned about my well-being.’"

"I... suppose I have been lacking in terms of displaying subtle respect," Strohl said, looking down in shame and attempting to pull his hand away. But Hulkenberg gripped his hand tighter, refusing to let him back off.

"You didn’t let me finish, you dolt. I was curious to see if one day, you were going to confess. Even the king was waiting for you."

"Conspiring alongside the king for the sake of my embarrassment. Your cruelty really is beautiful."

"I did it because of just how much I care, as you would put it. But really, I care about you deeply, Leon."

"Ah, Lady Hulkenberg, you don’t have to accept-"

"No need for such formalities," she said, unintentionally gripping his hand harder. "Acting like a stuck up noble isn’t like you. I love you for who you are."

Strohl was now completely out of words. A part of him wanted to shake his fist at the sky and curse those (Will and Hulkenberg) who conspired against him to make him feel the most embarrassment possible. But he couldn’t be mad. Despite feeling like far worse than a king’s jester for not speaking sooner, he was most grateful that Hulkenberg had both accepted and shared his feelings. Still unable to find the proper words to express his thanks, he gave her a gentle kiss on top of her hand.

"My lady, I am eternally grateful," Strohl said.

To his surprised, Hulkenberg whipped around out of his grasp and crouched onto her knees in front of the sandworm. She slipped her hands under the torso of the corpse, still fresh with the smell of life.

"Save the sappy crap for later!" she said. "Be a man and help me pick this bastard up!"

Strohl sighed, but despite his utmost disgust with the creature, he couldn’t help but smile.

Never change, my lady, he thought as he picked up the opposite end of the worm.

The hike back to Grand Trad was thankfully not that long, at least in terms of distance. It simply felt that way due to the sweltering heat and the massive worm that they carried in their arms. Not to mention, the lingering embarrassment that still had yet to fade from Strohl’s consciousness.

"I think it’s safe to report back that the only sandworm in the vicinity was taken out without issue, no?" Strohl said.

"Let’s be real here, do you really believe that the goal of these expeditions was to actually keep count of the sandworms?" Hulkenberg said.

"Well uh, maybe?"

Looking back at things now, Strohl only made himself look even more like a fool. Perhaps it should’ve been incredibly obvious from the start. Pointless missions from the king, the lack of objection from Hulkenberg...he just wanted to knock himself upside the head for being a stupid, stupid idiot. But he couldn’t. Not now, at least, with a giant sandworm in his hands and girlfriend at his side.

"I cannot believe you sometimes. Those pointless scouts that the king seemingly had no reason to assign were given to us with the sole purpose of trying to push us closer together."

"With all due respect, my lady, duty comes first. And if the king were to make such a request out of me, then I have no reason to contest his orders."

"You really are dense!" Hulkenberg said, playfully pulling on the worm causing Strohl to trip over his feet. "I was worried that you weren’t going to get the message even if I did spell it out for you."

Now Strohl was painfully embarrassed more than anything. His face was burning red and he couldn’t force a single word out of his mouth.

"Oh lighten up!" she said. "You’ll have plenty of time to relax over a nice freshly caught and roasted sandworm!"

Lighten up he would, indeed, after throwing up half of his body weight from eating the sandworm.

No heads were turned as the two of them lugged the sandworm body through the capital streets. Many people were long since used to the antics of Hulkenberg, dragging whatever poor soul alongside her to help bring her haul back. And they dare not question her, either, as they knew that she was set to cook a good meal that evening for her comrades. Despite all of the king’s chefs and all of the king’s hunters, citizens spoke far and wide of her most peculiar meals being the most delectable.

Strohl would like to argue otherwise. After being in the stomach of a worm, he didn’t particularly care to stomach one himself. A small price to pay, and something he would eventually have to grow accustomed to.

Though, he wondered if their child would have such a ravenous appetite.

Ack! Why was he thinking about such things already?

"The sandworms have been tended to, and tonight’s...meal has been bought back, your highness,” Strohl said.

"I’ve also bought my boyfriend back with great success," Hulkenberg said with a smile all too big.

Damn that she-beast, Strohl thought. If she’s aiming to embarrass me further, then she’s doing a good job of it.

The usual laxed expression on the king's face turned into a devious smirk. Despite the formal position and most immense power he held, he would always be their beloved friend Will. And a good friend could never pass up an opportunity to tease them about their crushes...

It was as if a grueling six long years of his efforts paid off. A timeframe lasting for almost as long as they had all known each other.

"I thank you for bringing both back safely," Will said, doing a very poor job of hiding his grin. "Though I will admit, six years is quite the time for you to bring him back, Hulkenberg."

"Oh, can it, you," Strohl said, hiding his face. "I don’t need more than one person telling me I’m an idiot."

"It’s cute," Will remarked.

"You’re cute," Hulkenberg said, jumping at her chance.

"Arggh! Damn it, you lot!"

To think that Strohl would start feeling the same way he had back when he first met Hulkenberg: flustered and a complete mess internally. He had never quite encountered a woman as strong and beautiful as her, causing him to be a bit intimidated at first. Quickly, those feelings faded away. He had more important goals in mind, mainly doing whatever it took to strike down Louis and get Will on the throne.

Now that Will had taken charge and things had long since calmed down, those long-repressed feelings had their opportunity to make a comeback. They weren’t as temporary as he had hoped for them to be, and for six long years, he suffered at the hands of Will’s dastardly ploys because he was too much of an idiot to fess up and confess to the woman who had apparently loved him this entire time.

At least they were together finally.

But now his love and the king were far too entertained by his stupidity for his own liking.

[scarletwritesshit]

📕Clive Rosfiled x Jill Warrick 📕The Book On The Table

Written for Moongazers.

An old book rested on the professor’s cluttered desk. For its age, it was in surprisingly good shape, other than the thick layers of dust that had accumulated on the cover throughout the years it lay untouched. The student squinted at the book’s dust-caked cover. He couldn’t quite make out what the words on the cover said, but the curiosity of the book’s contents had been eating away at him for quite some time. He blankly stared at it, as if it was going to telepathically transmit the entirety of the written paragraphs within its pages.

"I see that you’ve taken an interest in that book about two very special Rosarian legends."

"Oh, is that what it is?" the student asked, his head attentively turning to look up at his professor. "I thought it was just some dusty old book."

"Dusty and old it may be, but it is an important physical record detailing the story of our nation’s two most beloved heroes and their faithful canine companion," the professor said, picking up the book and swiping the dust off the cover.

Enough dust to coat an entire grand archive was swept aside, some of it blowing towards the student and causing him to cough. The professor held a dignified posture, though he was clearly attempting to repress his gagging. After rubbing his eyes, perhaps a bit dramatically, the student cleared his throat to speak.

"Dog’s always important,” the student jokingly said.

"I know you speak with the intention to jest, but your statement holds truth nonetheless."

"...Huh?"

"Perhaps… it would be easier for you to read for yourself," the professor said, placing the still dust-filled book in front of his student, "from where it all began."

"This is a pretty hefty book," the student said, bending down to look at the pages from the side.

"The tale of our two heroes is a hefty one indeed, which is why it’s important you know about them as they are the reasons why we are blessed to live as comfortably as we do today.”

"...So, in order words, you want me to read this entire book.”

"In theory, that would be most ideal. Thorough and complete understanding always starts from the very beginning."

The student opened the book to the start of the very first chapter and was met with a wall of script. He stared at it blankly, not sure what to make of the rather small font size and seemingly large amount of info. To say the very least, the wall of text in question was of considerable size, almost stretching to the border of the page. Granted, one must expect a book to contain many written words, but even this was a lot for just one page.

"Go on," the professor said, "staring at it won’t do you much good."

Seeds of Youth, Sown in War

The tale of our land’s legendary heroes begins in the castle of Rosalinth. Two Dominants of Fire and a Dominant of Ice live peacefully in their nest before their wings are spread.

"...Two Dominants of fire? But I thought- "

"Just keep reading. It all make sense to you eventually."

Out of two Fire Dominants, one was hailed as a hero from birth into childhood. The other was swiftly discarded, treated with contempt, unloved like a bastard child. Clive Rosfiled, the family’s firstborn, the human body of Ifrit, the slayer of Ultima, the harbinger of peace, was unfortunate enough to not have a pleasure so simple as a mother’s love.

The young lady, one who would soon be known as the Ice Dominant, the kingdom’s interloper, the prisoner of war, was treated in far higher regard. Jill Warrick, and a seemingly regular wolf pup, were more loved by this boy’s mother than someone of his own lifeblood.

Having a negligent mother instils the false idea that this tale is purely a tragic one. The bonds forged between a young Clive, outsider Jill, future king Joshua, and wolf pup Torgal were far more valuable and impactful than any parental figure could even hope of offering to the young and impressionable. A bond so tightly knit that not even the raging flames of war or the unthinkable tragedies of separation could even dream of shattering. Bonds that would be refined into unbreakable ties to hold strong well beyond a lifetime, unable to be shattered by human mortality.

Three Dominants and a canine, all separate individuals, all separate accounts of the exact same years now recorded in the weathered pages of yore. Each holds significance as a standalone tale of an individual’s journey Not to downplay the impact of the four alone, but the shared account of two particular heroes have is far more influential than any named leader recorded in past and present times. The two in question are none other than the joint tale of Clive Rosfield and Jill Warrick.

Their tale starts long before the heroes’ powers were realized. When they were seemingly nothing more than a young man stripped of his rightful title and a woman offered as a gift holding no more value than an inanimate object. From nothing to something, one may assume about these two, though Clive and Jill have never equated to nothing. At least, never in the eyes of each other.

Their status and value never mattered once to each other. Clive Rosfield was not destined to be king, not due to birthright, but rather, due to the cruel strings of fate being pulled by his mother. Merely, his body served as a shield to the future king Joshua Rosfield, guarding what Clive could’ve become rather than ascending to his rightful title. Perhaps the entirety of Clive’s life and purpose revolved around being used as a tool by his mother? And perhaps the rest of the kingdom perceived him as such? The views of an individual are hard to discern within a population of many. Opinions mix and mingle, the thoughts of one cannot account for all.

The personal feelings of the kingdom’s inhabitants and the unwarranted grudge that his mother held did not affect Jill’s perception of Clive one bit. She viewed him as family. She was treated as family by him in return. An unloving mother mattered not to them one bit.

The bond of these two being solidified from such a young age is of great importance. Forces beyond the control of even the mightiest of the time’s highest-standing heroes awaited them in the future, much to their ignorance. In our modern-day era, the unfolding of this very future is regarded as common knowledge among the public. The perils of war and loss: topics all too familiar to those who have had even the slightest glimpse at the nation’s history. Clive and Jill hadn’t the slightest idea that they, along with invaluable assistance of Torgal and Joshua, would be the ones to define the continent’s future.

Every flower starts as a seed.

Every wyvern hatches from an egg.

Every story has its prologue.

"I’m not sure how this is helping your point," the student said, uninterested. "It’s just some nonsense about them growing up as good friends."

"It’s as if you hardly read a single word. That is what’s important here; the fostering of a solid foundation as friends built up from their youth," the professor said, rolling his eyes.

            "Let me guess, the next two hundred pages go into detail about just how friendly they were with each other."

"Well, the book isn’t called A Waltz of Flame and Snow for nothing."

"As if I was supposed to know that with all of the dust caked on top of the cover," the student said, rolling his eyes.

"It’s important history whether you like it or not. Every. Minute. Detail, of these two is vital to the shaping of our society to this day, down to the individual stones inlaid within the sidewalks

"Must not be that important if it’s covered with an inch of dust" the student said, snickering.

"Well, it was certainly important enough to record in a book of this size."

"Or maybe someone was just really bored."

"I think you’re the only bored one here," the teacher said, his eye twitching, "and quite frankly, I find your attitude quite disrespectful to both our nation and legends who shaped it."

"But they’re just that. Legends. Fairy tales, even. Blown out of proportion to make a good bedtime story."

The professor was quickly losing his temper with the student. He has had his fair share of frustrating pupils before, but this particular nuisance is being outright disrespectful to his face! No, he’s being disrespectful to the legacy of Clive and Jill! Somehow, he had to make him understand the blasphemy he was uttering from his mouth, as he wouldn’t last a day on the streets with that sort of attitude towards the nation’s founders. The temptation of assigning the entire book as homework was strong, but the higher ups would give him an earful for such an “unethical punishment.”

As important as their entire history is, perhaps skipping to some more notable parts would make him understand. He slipped his finger under a few pages and turned to about a quarter of the way through.

"Bedtime story, huh?" the professor said. "Read this section. See if you think it’s a child’s tale then."

The student once more rolled his eyes, begrudgingly starting to read yet another block of text.

The Weight They Carried

Where does one go, if one has nowhere left to go? In the case of such misfortune, one has very few options outside of bowing down to the will of fate’s path. Some are dragged along the trail by a cruel hand, others must trudge through painstakingly with nothing but their own sheer willpower.

Clive Rosfield was forced to carry on, though not without chains of his own dragging at his feet. With the illusion of his brother being long deceased, he set out to take the life of the perpetrator, thinking that he can bring justice to a past muddled with a lie.

"A lie is an understatement," the professor smugly commentated, "that boy’s fire burned bright until the very end!"

"What are you even talking about?"

"…A lot of context is needed, which isn’t relevant to the current point."

A brand tarnished his face, symbolic of the lack of freedom he had. He carried this grim reminder on his body everywhere he went, through every job, every encounter, as a memento of his subhuman standing. For as long as he wandered, he had no true home to return to; not even a nest to comfortably rest his wings. Tirelessly, the Wyvern soared through the land with his flock, tackling prey just to keep the privilege of getting to breathe another day.

He sank his talons into his prey as per his instructions, free will a concept of the past to him. Even in the Hideaway, it was just that: a place to hide and not to rest.

"He’s a wyvern now? I thought he was Ifrit."

"Ever heard of a metaphor?"

"Yes, but-"

"Enough chatting. Keep reading."

Where can one find home, if home is but a concept of the past? Sometimes, home isn’t a physical place, but rather, something that can be found in the comfort of a loved one’s arms. That fateful day, Lady Luck extended her greatest sympathy to Clive Rosfield and crossed the paths of the wyvern and the blade of ice.

In her time separated from her dear wyvern, the Dominant of Shiva had endured countless, unimaginable treacheries. She was captured. She was forced to fight against her will. She was bound on this path neither by choice nor necessity, but out of pure obligation to those who dared to claim ownership of her.

Jill had to survive.

Jill had to reunite with Clive Rosfield, the treasured memory of her beloved friend acting as her driving force to carry on through every sharp, painful breath.

With thanks to strings pulled by the divine, the paths of Jill and Clive ran parallel, thus allowing the two to divert their trajectory into a long-awaited clash with one another. To play the final card in the intricate crafting of their reunion, Shiva deliberately misfired an attack on the opposing army, sending the Wyvern astray by a landslide of god-like proportions. A gesture that had went greatly unappreciated and perhaps even despised by him, slaughtering a number of those assumed to be friends. Nevertheless, Clive’s path shifted with the guidance of the icy wind.

The two fated lovers did not have a reunion befitting the classic definition of prince and princess. Blades clashed and blood spilled, the air of death and destruction congesting every word uttered. Celebration was had by the shredding of bodies by Clive and Jill; individual identities becoming nothing more than a mere statistic counted once, and nevermore.

As the sparks flew and the dragon shrieked, friend morphed into foe, and vice versa. Among the dance of blood and steel, Clive Rosfield rose his blade against Jill, but halted himself as the passage of time had failed to erode the familiarity that was, and still is, Jill Warrick. A situational blunder marked the only time that he would ever raise his blade against a dear friend of his in such a deprived manner.

Their clashing blades painted the surrounding landscape a rich scarlet with the blood of their foes. In the basking radiance of their reunion, the blood dried onto the rocks and baked into the stone, serving as a permanent reminder of the blood spilled and bodies torn to those crossing the land.

After all of the years of treacherous bloodshed, the wandering wyvern now felt as if he had a home that he now held within his arms. Anchoring down in the midst of a war-torn world was suitable only for those whose minds were long eroded away. In a world blanketed by darkness, what little traces of light must be preserved and nurtured at all costs. Deep in their hearts, Clive and Jill knew this. Ongoing conflicts aside, they needed a suitable shelter above all else. For now, they felt as if they already sheltered with each other, but remaining a wanderer will only go so far.

A solid roof over their heads was a crucial first step. Clive already had a solution, being the Hideaway, as long as he would still be welcome after delivering the news of fallen allies and an enemy turned comrade. With a destination in mind, there was no use stalling further in a foul-smelling and bloodstained field. The objective now was to return and secure a roof over their heads, the crimson blood on the bottom of their shoes slowly fading out with each and every step.

"So, they don’t see each other for god knows how many years and their idea of a romantic reunion was through means of mass murder? What...lovely heroes?"

"Freedom costs blood and history is stained with it," the professor said. "Would you rather our Lady Jill have her wrists further bruised by the cuffs of slavery?"

"No, but- "

"Exactly. History isn’t pretty."

"But it is pretty boring," the student said with a smirk.

"And you’re pretty ignorant," the professor snapped back, fighting off the urge to say "stupid."

At this point, he was hardly concerned with the student showing him any amount of respect. His priorities were more focused on about actually getting his student interested enough to care about the words he was reading in the first place. If the focus on Clive and Jill wasn’t interesting, their story wasn’t short on fantastical encounters of dragons, tyrants, gods…the list went on. With that in mind, it was still a great mystery as to why the student showed such adamant disinterest in the nation’s history.

Was he raised under a rock? Was he even raised at all? Or maybe the professor had aged enough that knights and legendary creatures were no longer a “hip” and “trendy” thing to focus on.

Regardless of the answer, the legacy of Clive and Jill was important to know, and he wasn’t about to let this student be the start of a generation of intellectual decay.

"Is there anything that would make you even a little bit interested?" the professor asked, eye twitching and desperate for a solution.

"I dunno. They’re just… not all that."

"Not all that? They’re the strongest couple that our planet has had the honor of walking on its surface!"

"And apparently best friends with separation issues."

Instead of trying to disprove his snide remarks with what was currently valued as nothing more than mere claims, the professor slid the book around towards himself and began rapid flipping through the pages. He turned to a page about three-quarters of the way through and slid the book back, pointing to a specific portion of text.

"Read this. See if this is something that ‘best friends’ would be into."

The student’s face had the look of "oh joy more pointless reading just to shut my teacher up." He rolled his eyes and looked down to see that he was starting not from the beginning of a new section, but rather, in the middle of one. How was he supposed to understand anything, exactly? Nevertheless, he began reading precisely where he was instructed, just to begrudgingly please the professor.

...in which our trio finds themselves in blissful solitude not far from the shoreline. Not a single soul of human nor beast was present other than Clive, Jill, and Torgal. The stars shone for them and them alone that night, keeping watch ready to stare down interlopers who may make the unwise decision to disturb such tranquility.

With such an inconsequential offering of peace presented to Clive and Jill, a rare moment of intimate opportunity was within their reach. The frost wolf...

"Frost wolf? Since when was Torgal one of those?!"

"Since always, and its stated rather early on."

"But I don’t even remember reading it."

"That would be because you didn’t. And even if you did skim over that section, I highly doubt you would’ve been able to, or even care to, recall anything from it."

The frost wolf took matters into his own hands, or paws, as one may choose to say. He hooked his fangs on the ends of their clothing and with one fell swoop each, Torgal did Clive and Jill a favor by saving them the trouble of removing their clothing. They were quite perplexed at the actions of their four-legged companion, but it was thanks to his clever antics that they were pushed to grow even closer than they ever had been before.

A toothy grin appeared on Torgal’s face, coupled with his tail gleefully wagging and eyes shining with pride. With the understanding that his job here was complete, he would then retreat into the bushes, out of view. He buried his head in the sand, so that he would see no and hear no sin.

As the blue star of ice and red star of flame raged with passion in the night sky, Clive and Jill...

Before he read any further, the student looked up from the book. "Torgal ripped their clothes off just like that? But why?"

"What do you think happens between two naked people?"

The two of them stared at each other in complete silence. For a solid minute at the very least, the only signs of life in their bodies were the blinking of their eyes. Any longer, and moss would’ve begun to grow on their skin.

"...Definitely not things that happen between mere friends," the student finally said.

"You would be correct."

An uncomfortable air settled down thick, with the book still wide-open airing out its unspoken secrets to the occupants of the room. The professor cleared his throat before speaking again.

"...I pray that this establishes the fact that they were more than just ‘close friends?’"

"More than enough. Too much information, in fact."

Thank the gods that the professor was finally getting through that thick skull of the student’s.

"Good. Very good. I suppose we can move on now that you have the background as to why this chapter is especially significant.”

"Why couldn’t you have made me read that chapter in the first place?"

"You would be missing far more context than you already are," the professor said, flipping the pages to near the end of the book.

The student glanced at the title.

The End of Eternity

"By this point in history, many people have come and gone, but one thing remained true, and that was not even imminent death could part the likes of Clive and Jill.

"This is the end? But there’s still at least one chapter left," the student said, flipping through the last of the pages.

"This chapter marks the end of life, not the conclusion to their story. Start here," the professor said, flipping a few pages in and pointing to a paragraph.

...before the wings of the Phoenix took flight, Clive and Jill bid farewell to each other one last time, should the outcome spell the end of humanity as a whole. Neither of them wanted to accept it, but knew that this would be the last time they ever see each other while they still took living breaths. Life or death, their separation would not last longer than an eternity.

In the open sky above the sea, the core of Ultima and His influence took root, spreading His dark, infectious tentacles throughout the stretch of the continent. Slowly, He was bleeding the land dry of light, of life, of everything sustainable. The only ones who could stop Ultima were those both strong and willing to cut through the bloodshed and silence the beating heart of death. With bravery of such great proportions, great sacrifices of equal value must be made.

The first to fall was Bahamut, his colossal body crashing amongst the waves of the vast blue sea. His wings would no longer soar through the air, but rather guide him along the currents. He soared through the ocean blue, acting as its watchful eye above Levithan’s trenches.

The second of the trio to meet their demise was Phoenix, history coming full circle as he took his last breath in the arms of his brother. His body never fell out of the sky. Instead, he stayed with the clouds, keeping every day burning bright, and every night silent and tranquil.

Among imminent destruction, Clive refused to fall so easily. He had two goals to reach within the last moments of his life; one was to put Ultima to rest once and for all, the other, to give his beloved Jill a future of peace and tranquility. Clive’s body was gradually being devoured by the power of the Eikons overflowing from his body. His will was strong enough to hold against the petrification slowly consuming his body, but a driving force stronger than that was how much he wanted to protect the future for Jill. If he didn’t give it his all and the world collapsed beneath his feet, then he wouldn’t dare face a single soul for as long as what remained of his life.

Above all else, he dared not drag his most beloved down with him. If he had to sacrifice himself to preserve her smile, then so be it.

He hit Ultima with all of his might, saving the final, decisive blow for the power of Shiva that Jill had shared with him.

And for as strong as he was, his life was the final sacrifice needed to quell the spreading darkness once and for all. The sky and the sea already had their watchful overlords, and he was gently but promptly guided away from both as a result. He took his last breaths ashore on solid Earth, not being stripped of the right to breathe in the air of the new age he helped to found. He looked up in the night sky, not at his dimming star, but at the ice blue one burning just as bright as he remembered. Clive couldn’t let the tears fall as his body turned to stone. He knew this would happen, and he knew that he wanted to do this…for them…for Jill.

As the red star of Ifrit faded, Jill and Torgal cried his name into the night, and their tears watered the lands. For as long as the moon would illuminate the land, the two of them would attempt to search for Clive’s body, to no avail. In the end, his body was never recovered. His soul went on to return to the Earth, for him to protect the land that his beloved walked on even after death.

"...So, Clive did all of that for nothing in the end, eh?”

"It wasn’t all for naught," the professor corrected, "he accomplished his number one goal; protecting the lady most dear to him."

"And she got to spend the rest of her life grieving. What a wonderful lover he was."

"Not necessarily,” the professor said, turning the book around and flipping a few pages ahead. “Time is the best healer of wounds, and with Clive watching over the reborn land, Jill was never truly alone.”

The professor skimmed the page for a moment, then turned the book back around and slid it towards the student.

“See. Even Jill herself said that she was able to heal and move on.”

“Time heals all wounds, and Jill was once more able to look to the sky with a smile knowing that Clive Rosfield was always by her side and would be forevermore, physical and spiritual obstacles of no concern to the two,” the student read. “I guess she must’ve healed if she remained a badass without ever losing her mind.”

 The professor nodded his head. “He was with her wherever she went, guarding her from any soul who would even dare consider doing harm. Because of that, the legends say that every last one of the heroes that accompanied them along the way, even frost wolf Torgal, are watching over us to this very day."

"Even that Bahamut that was mentioned?"

"Even him."

The student thought for a moment, glancing at the opened book.

"...Do you perhaps need this book any time soon?" the student asked.

"Why do you ask?'

"I want to borrow it."

A smile crept across the professor’s face.

"Interested in the legend of Clive and Jill now, are we?"

"Just... looking for some additional context. That’s all."

[scarletwritesshit]

Moongazers: A Cliji Fanzine, is now live! Use the links below to download the Zine PDF and the downloadable merch!

Moongazers Zine

Moongazers Digital Merch

[scarletwritesshit]

Additional Moderator Applications - Open

We are opening up pinch hit moderator applications for finance, shipping, production, and art. Please see application for more details!

[scarletwritesshit]

I did a painting render practice of Yuna from FFX-2 for @scarletwritesshit for that chaotic secret santa event I was a part of! I hope you had a lovely holiday!

[scarletwritesshit]

Hello tumblr! First off, I wanted to announce the release of a Cliji fanzine! This is the reason we didn’t have WarfieldWeek in 2024, because most of us were working on this Zine, and it’s finally almost ready! So mark your calendars for the Zine’s release date on January 10th! It’s free and digital, so we hope to have many people engage in this huge contribution between writers, artists, cosplayers, and collectors!

And we’d also like to announce that Warfield Week will return for 2025! We have no dates or prompts yet, but with those of us busy with the Zine finished, we’ll turn our attention to hosting another week!

Zine Cover Art by MariyaElizabeth

[scarletwritesshit]

⭐ Louis Guiabern x Will ⭐ Altabury Nights

“Polaris…Kochab…Yildun…”

Seven major stars. At least, that’s what Will could recall from the book he skimmed back in Drakongrace Shinjuku. The stars that shone brightly above Altabury Heights remained untouched by the fury of war, but the concept of those so-called “constellations” were long lost to time. Supposedly, this group of stars formed a sort of… spoon shape? Yet it was simultaneously described as a bear as well. Either that, or Will was illiterate by past standards.

“You know the World Before’s names for the stars?”

Will turned around to see Louis standing behind him, arms crossed and gazing out the window all the same.

“Uh, yeah. Sorta. Just a few that I’ve learned from- “

“The books found in depths of Drakongrace Shinjuku. There’s nowhere else in the modern day that you could’ve picked up such information,” Louis pointed out.

“Safe to say you’ve been there yourself?”

“To Shinjuku, no, personally. It is, however, where a solid portion of the books that I have on my shelf come from.”

Which would explain why Will could hardly read some of the books on Louis’s shelf when he was shuffling through them to find the curse. Perhaps, they weren’t a hoard of seemingly nonsensical magical spells, but a rather, a library of the World Before’s “sciences.” As per usual, Louis’s knowledge gave way to more questions than answers, but will was neither in the position nor right state of mind for further inquiries.

“From what I could read,” Will said, thinking, “a type of study known as ‘astronomy,’ was quite prominent, with the goal of understanding the stars and how they work.”

“It was a type of science, yes. Though we study the stars though a magical lens, the people of the old world had a most fascinating way of looking at things, the cosmos included. A type of science, derived from old forms of magic, with the aim of studying what we can see in the sky and beyond.”

“And naming what they found, too.”

“Indeed,” Louis said with a nod. “Now, that craft is long lost to time. Truly a most unfortunate tragedy. The art of studying the stars is a most romantic one.”

“Science, completely replaced by magic,” Will said, “which isn’t bad on its own. It just…”

“Doesn’t feel the same?”

“…Yeah. That’s it. Though nothing is stopping me from looking out my window, it’s just that any further studies of the like would probably be shunned by the church.”

“To hell with those religious zealots,” Louis said, with a huff. “They won’t matter in a few short weeks anyways. Who are they to say that we cannot gaze upwards?”

“They haven’t stopped me once. And I certainly don’t plan on letting them stop me ever,” Will said, gazing back at the stars.

Louis put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “And you shouldn’t, dear. They fail to realize that even when their lives reach their end, the stars will live on to witness it all, both the fall of their generation and countless others after. Below them, is what they are. And to attempt to obstruct such studies of what they should bow down to is heresy.”

The topic of the cosmos was clearly something that riled up Louis, as his grip on Will’s shoulder tightened. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he slid his hand down Will’s arm and grabbed ahold of his hand. He gently guided it across the glass, nudging one of his fingers until they were both pointing at the same star in the sky.

“See this one, even brighter than the one you know as Polaris?”

Will nodded his head.

“This one was commonly referred to as Sirius. Dog star, Alhabor, countless other names refer to it, but one fact that remains never-changing is that it is the brightest star in our sky, shining through both day and night.

Will looked back at him once again, completely dumbfounded.

“During the day?” Will asked, confused. ”But don’t the stars rest once the sun rises?”

“To the ignorant observer, they may appear as such. To eyes honed and trained, Sirius can still be seen even when the moon has long since gone to rest beyond the horizon.”

“Can it really?”

“Indeed so. Which is why I suggest that you turn in for the night, as it will be awaiting you in the morning.”

“But I’m not tired,” Will protested.

“Stubborn you are, but you’ll catch a cold if you stand out like this, dear,” Louis said, draping his cape over Will with one fell swoop.

If it was intended as an incentive for Will to retire for the night, then the efforts of Louis failed greatly. He simply pushed his cape aside to continue to peer out the window at the twinkling stars. Though he was protected from the draft by Louis’s silk cape, Will’s small body still shivered in the cold air.

Will had no intention of budging from the window, not when had this clear of a view of the night sky.  Louis had no intention of leaving him standing alone to freeze to death as he was preoccupied. Accepting that they were at a stalemate, Louis leaned his head on Will’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around him, practically engulfing his entire little body. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply; for being the one trying to drag Will somewhere more comfortable, Louis was falling victim to the comfort himself.

The weight of Louis would become too much for him bear, should he doze off, so Will gently nudged him in the side to stay awake. With half opened eyes and still shoved into his shoulder, Louis lazily gazed out the window.

“…It really is getting cold,” Louis said.

“Are you sure you’re not the one freezing, trying to lure me to bed with you?”

Louis knew for a fact that he saw Will shivering, but he dared not contest his argument. Though he was not one to admit such out loud, the warmth of another was precisely what he craved in the moment. Disregarding his thoughts and Will’s comment, Louis once more gently grabbed onto one of Will’s hands, and guided it towards the group of stars he was observing prior.

“…Zeta Ursae Minoris, Epsilon Ursae Minoris…”

Will followed Louis’s hand as he guided him towards each star he named.

“…Pherkad, and Eta Ursae Minoris,” Louis finished.

Will looked at him in awe.

“I told you that I am familiar with the stars myself, no? From as far back into my youth as I can remember, all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to look upon the clear night sky with not a single obstruction present.”

“What’s stopping you from doing that whenever you wanted to nowadays?” Will asked.

“Every time I would look up, something was always in the way. Growing up in eternal shade, only for my freedom to be met with Sanctist walls. Even if I couldn’t always see them, I felt as if they were trying to guide me on my path. I was ignorant as to what my destination was, but I believe that I am confident to have found that answer.”

Will blinked at him curiously.

“All along, they were guiding me towards you. And now that I have you, in my arms, I feel as if I have fulfilled perhaps the most important journey given to me by the stars, even more valuable to me than becoming king.”

Will had a sneaking suspicion that Louis was the tired one here. He wasn’t as slick as he thought…acting all concerned for Will’s well-being when he was just using it as a rather poor cover-up to disguise his deeply rooted affection. Clever, admittedly, but Will had long since figured out the trick behind Louis’s games. Hiding his real intentions with words that were arguably just as true.

With his mind slipping from exhaustion, his act became far too easy to tear apart, and his true feelings would be no more obvious if he had admitted it himself. His eyes were growing heavy, and the only traces of light left in his eyes was that from the glittering night sky. The stars illuminated his ice-blue eyes like a snow-covered field at the height of a winter’s afternoon. His consciousness was barely present, unable to focus on the sky and the beloved prince in his arms.

“I think you’re the one who’s tired,” Will said, reaching up to gently stroke Louis’s hair.

“Whatever could you possibly mean, darling?” Louis said, clinging onto Will tighter.

“You’re practically falling asleep standing up. And here you are acting concerned for me.”

“Well, of course I am worried. It’s freezing, I cannot bear to see you get sick.”

Will nuzzled his face against Louis’s. “You’re just as cold, if not colder. And I know you…you don’t want to lay by yourself.”

“I do not wish to leave you alone,” Louis corrected, as if his argument made any difference. “While those bloody Sanctists are fast asleep in their chambers, the entire night sky belongs to us, and us alone.”

Will looked back out the window, and at that moment, both of their eyes were illuminated by the twinkling of Sirius, Polaris, and every other star of the night sky, forgotten or not. Louis was right; it was as if in that moment, the two of them were sharing an admiration for an incomprehensible force between each other with room for the eyes of no one else. Louis sank further into Will, just barely keeping his eyes open to lazily gaze.

To think that moments before, he was so eagerly flaunting his knowledge about long forgotten studies of the cosmos. And now here he was, the great Lord Louis, dozing off like a sedated cat by nothing more than the touch of another.

For an honest man, he never seemed to like speaking what was on his mind. But Will knew all too well. He was tired, he was cold, and he was yearning for his comforting presence. No harm in giving into his desires, at least for tonight.

“Like you said, the morning star will be there for us when we wake,” Will said. “Right now, I think you desperately need some rest.”

[scarletwritesshit]

my ao3 wrapped for this year

i wrote a lot of persona, wuthering waves, and a TON of honkai star rail. thats probably gonna change next year though seeing as how ive already been writing a lot for metaphor + i want to do some things for erha and tgcf

we shall see

[scarletwritesshit]

Louis Guiabern x Will🐍One Last Dance

🐍VIII. In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Count, make me dwell in safety.

Will sat down on the edge of the mattress. That was one thing Louis was right about, it sure was more than large enough to comfortably fit two people, with room to spare. A shame. He had no excuse to migrate onto the floor.

With his armor and cape off, Louis appeared slightly more...tame. He was indeed still a large, imposing man, but he seemed almost approachable in such a state. His body was slender yet fit, and his arms had just the perfect amount of mass to snap Will like a twig if he so desired. He attempted to take off his gloves by merely grabbing onto the fingertips, but the satin fabric slipped off of itself, posing great difficulty for him. Louis, lacking the patience, pried off one with his teeth, and used his now bare hand to slip the other one off with ease. Seeing him take off his gloves to reveal his smooth, strong hands made Will feel as if he was witnessing a mustari take off their helm.

Will knew that it was rude to stare. But there was something about seeing Louis in this almost barren state that was oddly soothing to his worries. In his present state, his appearance was a stark contrast to the tyrant that stood tall and proud in front of supporters and competition alike. His gaze was more relaxed, and his body was not as stiff and tense.

Not everyone can look like an imposing bastard all the time.

Louis started to unbutton the remainder of his garments, and Will instinctively grabbed his novel and shoved his face in between the pages. It wasn’t like he was in the presence of a woman, so averting his gaze was truthfully of no such concern, but it was courteous to do so nonetheless. He skimmed the pages of his book, but none of the words were registering within his mind. All he was hoping for was for Louis to finish putting on his nightshirt or whatever so that he could breathe again.

As Will was (pretending to be) engrossed in his book, Louis caught a glimpse of the flustered elda mindlessly reading(?) through it. He would have assumed that Will was simply reading a particularly embarrassing section of a light novel, if he didn’t recognize the cover of the book. It was a most curious hint as to the boy's origin, but Louis was arguably more fascinated by the red that spread throughout his face at the current moment in time. No one, not even the most virgin of Sactist nuns, would ever become that flustered reading that book, unless of course, its current purpose was no more than to serve as a cover-up.

Louis decided to not press the matter. He pulled his nightshirt over his head and tapped the top of the book to get Will’s attention.

"Fascinating novel you’ve got there," he remarked.

"Uh yeah, I read sometimes," Will blurted out.

"Light sleeper, I presume?"

"I guess."

"I suppose you are rather used to your fairy friend accompanying you during the nights. Which, if I may ask, where has she gone off too?"

Crap. Will was hoping that he wasn’t going to notice so quickly.

"I think she’s staying back at the gauntlet runner for now. She isn’t quite used to being so close to you."

Louis narrowed his eyes, but accepted his reasoning nonetheless.

"I could tell. Whenever she is ready to rendezvous, have her know that I welcome her with open arms."

"I’m… sure she will appreciate that."

"And I would appreciate it if you could keep your voice down, dear," Louis said as he walked to the other side of the bed and slipped under the blankets.

"R-right. Noted."

Will waited until he was confident that Louis was finally asleep, then he gently placed his book down on the bed and walked over to the window. He pushed the curtains aside and peeked out. No sign of Gallica. Though in fairness to her, she more than likely had no idea where they were staying for the night. And there was minimal chance of her finding Strohl and Hulkenberg so soon.

Even at night, the port was still busy with nocturnal life. Street lanterns illuminated the way for those still wandering, perhaps on their way home or simply craving a leisurely stroll. Taverns were bustling; drunkards stumbled out of the doors barely able to navigate their way back. Night vendors were few and far in between, but some felt as if they had nothing better to do than to stay up the few extra hours to try and earn a few extra in pocket change.

In a way, these sights were reminiscent of Grand Trad. No rest for the weary, the troubled, the wandering, or the money-making. Only this time, Will wasn’t looking down at a slum.

Resting at a window did him no good with a bed nearby, though he had to maintain caution as to not wake Louis on accident. Crawling under the covers was a most delicate operation, but he managed to do so without a hitch, and could breathe a sigh of relief once he allowed his body to ease up. Will laid down as far away from Louis as he possibly could, leaving himself just enough room to not roll off of the edge. He was already somewhat accustomed to sharing a bed with another, but Gallica typically rested beside his pillow.

Right by him this time, however, was another man. A man that he set out to kill. Will couldn’t even believe it himself.

The moonlight peered through the cracks of the curtains, softly illuminating the two of them. It was most unusual seeing Louis in such a vulnerable state. Granted, he had the blessing of the king’s magic to protect him from any real harm, but he seemed so serene when he wasn’t on edge. It could have just been the way the moonlight was hitting him, but he appeared almost...beautiful in this state.

Louis was sleeping soundly with his long hair draped across his shoulder and scattered throughout. A strange curiosity was silently eating away at Will. He wanted to reach out and just...touch a few strands of his hair. Of course, this posed a great risk, as there was no telling if the king’s magic would trigger a false alarm. Despite the ultimate mission at play, Will had zero intent to kill at the moment. Even if he did presently have a prime opportunity to strangle Louis, it would be a losing battle against someone well over twice his size.

Would the magic still activate despite a brief, silent truce between hunter and prey?

If Gallica were here, she would trigger it alone with her mouth. Sitting beside him, silently whispering, "You’re gonna get yourself killed!" or "What the hell are you even doing, jackass!?" the king would certainly stop him from beyond the grave, and his plan, and any to come afterwards, would be foiled immediately.

Too tired to properly weigh the risks and rewards, Will reached out and gently took some strands of Louis's hair in between his fingers. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising; the fact that the king’s magic spared him, or the fact that Louis’s hair was luxuriously soft. With a history of being a highly regarded soldier, he thought that Louis wouldn’t have time to tend to things as minuscule as such. But his hair was well kept, and Will picked up another small handful of strands, with utmost care as to not wake him.

He must be really efficient at his job to be able to keep up on his grooming, or perhaps he saved time by having others assist. Regardless as to what the answer was, Will couldn’t help himself but sneak in a few strokes, rubbing his hair in between his fingers. To think, if he actually shoved his entire face into Louis’s hair, it would be an incredible softness unmatched by any other, man or animal.

Theoretically.

If his hair was this well-kept, then perhaps… his skin was truly as fair as it looked. Will wanted to reach out and steal just one small touch on the side of his face.

But that would be too far for now.

Instead, he settled for playing with his hair, enamored by its incredible softness. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world, given how Louis was out cold. As long as he pried himself away before morning, little consequence would come from his actions. But he was feeling deathly tired at this rate, and there was no telling when he would pass out.

Will could feel his consciousness slowly slipping away.

Closing his eyes for a little bit wouldn’t hurt.

Louis woke before Will. He was well accustomed to this early to bed, early to rise type of routine, so it was rather expected. Naturally, the first thing he noticed was the sleeping elda boy that lay across from him. His hand was outstretched, with some of Louis's hair intertwined within his fingers.

Curious, he thought, that he was willing to be so close despite claiming to be wary.

As an act of courtesy, or perhaps blatant manipulation, he grabbed Will’s hand and moved it in towards his body. For someone so small, he felt so warm. This scope of warmth was almost unheard of to Louis, as every body he had come into contact with was either through pushing away those who overstepped their limits or tossing aside the stone-cold corpses of the deceased. All of which done with the protection of his gloves. Louis almost didn’t want to let Will go, but he settled for rubbing the top of his hand before gently laying it beside his body.

That would be a problem to be addressed at another time.

As Will still slept peacefully, he got up from the bed for some tea. One glass to start the morning, to soothe the mind, to prepare for one’s day, to refresh from the day prior…

...Two glasses.

He had an esteemed guest now.

Regrettably, he couldn’t just wake him up and ask for his preference. Though if he had it in his power to make it as he knew Will preferred, he would rather do so, but that is a rather miniscule problem to be addressed. Louis wanted to be as hospitable to him as possible, accounting for even the finest of details. Normally, he was on top of such things. But he had neglected to even account for a proper room for Will to stay in, giving him a basic soldiers’ room on the gauntlet runner and forcing him to share a space in the inn.

Though the blunders were minor, he was starting to slip. Simply unacceptable, at the same time, rather unusual as how could he neglect someone who had been constantly on his mind as of late?

Will slowly opened his eyes, unaware that he had actually fallen asleep during the night. He was still alive, his body was in one piece, but Louis wasn’t in the bed next to him. Somewhat of a relief, knowing that he didn’t spend the entire night next to that thing. He forced himself to sit up as he rubbed his eyes, and once his vision cleared, he saw Louis sitting on a chair with a tray of tea on a table next to him. Not the least bit surprising. He seemed pretentious enough to be a tea drinker in the morning.

Cup still in hand, Louis turned to Will.

"Finally awake, are we?" Louis asked.

"...Finally? Its barely past sunrise. How long have you even been awake for?"

"Long enough for the tea to be warm," he said, grabbing a full cup of tea. "Have some, I insist. It’s good for the body in the morning."

And thus, this was how Will was doomed to fall. Poisoned tea hand prepared by Count Louis and accepted without so much as a protest. A most undignified death for a hero whose name could have been sung with pride amongst the odes of heroes. Then again, he already shared a bed with the guy, so what more did he have to lose?

Bottoms up.

Will downed the whole thing as if he was drinking a glass of poison with the sole purpose to commit suicide. Of course, if it didn’t kill him physically, he would have to live with the curse of having accepted something personally from Louis. One way or another, the snake had already sunk its fangs into him the moment he had accepted the cup.

He stood there wide-eyed. Absolutely nothing happened.

"Is something the matter? Is it not to your liking?" Louis asked.

"Nope. Nothing. Its fine." Will said.

"Hm. You’re thinking that I poisoned it, are you not?"

Will said nothing.

"That is no more cowardly than killing a man in his sleep," he said, taking a hefty sip of his tea. "We are both still here, alive and well, are we not?"

Will would’ve sipped his tea in response if he had any left. Louis acting as if he wasn’t the most twisted, bloodthirsty bastard under than annoyingly charming smile rubbed Will the wrong way. For a fleeting moment, he wished that Gallica was here to say the thoughts that he dared not verbalize himself.

"You’re only giving me more and more reasons to trust you, hm?" Will said

"Darling, that is your decision to make. There is no logic in sleeping with a man one evening only to turn around and end his life at sunrise."

Please, I am begging you to choose your words better, Will thought, taking a deep breath in an attempt to soothe his spiking heart rate.

"...I guess you could’ve killed me by now if you really wanted to."

"Twenty times over, bare minimum."

"You have an odd way of comforting people."

"The logical truth, no matter how harsh, brings more comfort than simply draping a blanket over lies."

It was most unfortunate that the points that Louis was making were irrefutable. And Gallica wasn’t there to smack talk some sense into Will, either. He was far more inclined to believe him without his assigned voice of reason buzzing in his ear. It was almost starting to seem like Louis was the more reasonable one.

Shame that he had to be killed for being the one to have cursed the prince.

Nevertheless, Will turned his back and began changing his clothes. He managed to survive one night in the same bed as the count, at least, now it was a matter of surviving many more.