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thatnonameuser · 8 days ago

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The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 9.

“Ngh….”

Every cell in your body throbs. That’s the first thing your brain manages to register when you come to.

Your eyes burn as you struggle to open them, you can feel the stickiness of blot on your face and skin. It’s like tar, if it burned skin.

You groan and whimper, as you force your body into a sitting position, muscles screaming in exhaustion for rest. You feel like someone’s let you drown in tar and yanked you back out at the brink of death. You can feel blot sticking to your skin, dripping off of you like blood; stuck in your throat and burning and churning like bile in your stomach.

You forced down a shaky breath, before hacking up a mouthful of blot that you didn’t know was in your lungs. Are you dying? You’re not sure.

The last thing you remember is Riddle’s voice. Asking something to his mother? You’re not really sure.

“A-Ace…… Deuce? ……G-Grim?” You rasp, your tongue feels too big in your mouth. Your lips feel like someone super glued them together. You finally gather the strength to open your eyes, and with some pre-emptive struggles, you’re immediately blinded. Wherever you are it’s too bright here, it’s too white. Too- shit. After a few moments, the blinding light subsides for a moment. And you can make out shapes, slowly unblurring and becoming more detailed. But that’s the problem. You made out shapes, not colors.

“Am….Am I dreaming again?” The world is black and white, just like your dreams. A world bleached into a complete greyscale. But the one difference you can see is there’s no red color anywhere in the rose garden. Well, except the puddle of red-black color of the puddle of blot you’re sitting in.

Footsteps lead out from the puddle, staining the garden of gray perfectionism. Speaking of the garden, it’s not like Heartslabyul’s or the Queen of Hearts’ in your dreams. It’s different, because while it is beautiful, it’s completely clean. Like a hospital clean. No scattered petals from the roses on the grass, or stray leaves on the ground or even a speck of dirt on the stone pathway. Not a blade of grass is too long, or a stone out of place. You could even swear that the grass was so cleanly cut that the gardener probably was on their hands and knees with a pair of scissors and a ruler. Everything here is so clean….it’s discomforting.

But, you’re more concerned with the foot prints. If the blot is any indicator, Riddle is involved somewhat.

But why, what does a terrifyingly clean garden and house you’ve never seen have to do with any of what just happened. And why are you involved? All you remember is an otherworldly force pulling you to Riddle, getting struck with a wave of blot and then, you for some reason woke up here. Why are you involved?

With some struggle, you stumble to your feet. Your legs shake like a baby deer’s with every step through the garden. Your footsteps stain the grass along with the ones someone else, probably Riddle, left behind. But you’ll worry about that later. “Riddle?” You call out, but you receive no reply. There's no sound here. No birds tweeting, no bees buzzing, no people talking.

The back door is open, an inky handprint stains the otherwise polished wood.

“Riddle?” You call out, but nothing calls back in reply. In fact, Just devastating silence, and the few sounds you’re making. You feel a chill run up and down your spine. “I know you’re here.”

You push open the door, and it doesn’t even creak. More footprints stain the polished flooring.

You don’t want to go in but you have no choice but to follow the trail through the house. If this is anything like your dream then, there’s something that you’re meant to see. Besides, you don’t have a history of liking being stuck in places you can’t get out of.

“Riddle?” You try again. But no response. You take a hesitant step into the house,searching for any residents. Besides the footsteps stained into the floor , there’s no sign of life in the house. No matter where you look, there’s no movement, no sound of footsteps, nothing.

Just the stains of blot on the wall, all the decorations on the wall. Or it would be better to call it the achievements on the wall. From wall to wall in minimalist frames, are diplomas, medals, certificates, newspaper clippings. No photographs of fond memories, no whimsical or artsy decorations, adorable yet poorly made children’s art or even a visible picture of whoever lived here.

If the walls are not covered with achievements, it’s covered with shelves filled to the brim with books. Not storybooks, or fictional stories filled with entertaining adventures, or non-fictional anecdotes that tell interesting experiences. Journals. Textbooks. Encyclopedias. Any book that would bore a child to tears, or make adults beg for mercy should they read them. Some shelves are full of trophies rather than books. All in varying sizes, but only for first place. They’re not even whimsical activities or hobbyist or amateur events for just fun either, trophies for academics and academics alone.

You can’t help but feel a little inferior walking through the halls, and apparently whoever was in here with you didn’t like them either, having left stains and blotches of the ink on the awards and obscuring the recipient’s name from view, or their faces in the few photographs on the walls.

If this is Riddle’s house, you can understand why he’s a little nuts. This house is so minimally decorated, it looks like one of those sad houses all over the internet back home. Bland and boring, even in the black and white. This house doesn’t look like a home, it looks like a doctor’s office.

You wander the halls, following the footsteps to wherever they lead, looking for life, and finding more depressing decorations. The living room is spotless, except for the blotty footsteps, and horrifyingly untouched, the kitchen is as boring and empty with the most minimal of spices and cookbooks for the most bland of meals. The study you passed in the hallway looks like a mix between a library and a college classroom.

Not one thing in this house is remotely fun. No instruments to make lively music, no entertaining books to read, and no fun games to play. Just endless boredom and lifelessness.

You follow the footsteps through the house, more and more disturbed by how depressing this house is. If your instinct was right, then you can’t help but feel a little bad for…. “Whoa….”

As you enter the dining room, your earlier deduction proves right. Just not exactly as you thought it would.

Sitting at the dining table, obediently following the manners his mother probably ingrained into his head, is a child version of the Red Tyrant, a young Riddle Rosehearts.

And unlike the dim, dull world his youthful features are bright with color. He looks exactly like himself in the real world, albeit a decade younger. Crimson red hair, steel gray eyes, rosy cheeks, he’s a beacon of color in this greyscale world.

And frankly, he’s adorable, smiling softly as he sits as still as a statue, waiting for someone.

And the footprints you’d been following lead right up to him. So if Riddle of the present was here, then this was him. In the body of his child self.

“Riddle?” You ask, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. Can he not see you?

You feel someone faze through you. A woman, whose face is completely blacked out by shadow. But you can still make out the little heart-shaped bangs, just like Riddle’s. Is this his mother?

She sets down- “Wait, what is that?”

The ‘that’ in question is a brick decorated with leaves. An eight birthday candle sits on top of it. If that’s a cake, the baker should be sued.

A woman says, “Happy Eighth Birthday Riddle.” Her voice is snobbish, and sounds completely uninterested given that this is, as she says, Riddle’s Birthday. You can’t see her face, but you think it’s safe to say she isn’t smiling. “This year’s birthday cake is a low-sugar recipe made with nuts and lecithin-rich soy flour to improve cerebral function.”

“Your son’s birthday cake…. That is your son’s birthday cake?” You’re about 90% percent sure, the diet mongering supermodels of your world would just not get a birthday cake than eat whatever that is. And Ms (Mrs?) Rosehearts thought it was a suitable birthday cake for a kid, that looks mostly fine?

Also, you’re not convinced that this isn’t a birthday party. The dining room is as blandly decorated as the rest of the house, the only thing on the table are books as thick as actual bricks and names so long and boring that your eight-year old self would rather play with the wrapping paper than read them if you got them. Plus, besides Riddle and his mother, no one’s here. No friends singing happy birthday obnoxiously, no grandparents spoiling him with gifts, no one other than the woman who thought the inside of the compost bin was a cake.

This can’t be a celebration a loving well-off mother would give her only child.

You remember Trey had said Riddle’s mother was a perfectionist forcing her legacy onto Riddle. And Riddle seemed to think his mother’s word was a law he couldn’t break….so, you don’t have very high expectations for the woman.

While you ponder whatever’s happening before you, Riddle smiles, blowing out the candle and accepting a slice of the disgusting looking cake, before shyly raising a hand to ask a question. “Thank you. But, Mom…”

He waits for her acknowledgement to continue speaking, and you can’t even see the raging tyrant you did fifteen minutes ago. He even shys away under her gaze, shrinking in his seat as he finally asks his burning question. “Just once…I’d like to try one of those tarts covered with bright-red strawberries.” He gives her an adorable, hopeful smile once he finishes, as if hoping for a positive response with great anticipation.

But he doesn’t get one. Not even on the celebration for the day of his birth.

“Absolutely not! Those tarts are monstrously unhealthy. I might as well feed you poison!” The younger Riddle flinches, before shrinking back in his seat immediately. The demure behavior feels so opposite to his explosive rage from before. “Even just a single slice would exceed your recommended daily intake of sugar.”

You feel the same anger that you felt dealing with Riddle earlier. All she needed to say was no. Not lecture the kid till he shrank all the way into his chair. As SHE said, it’s his birthday, and he was polite about it. At least be nice about it in response, lady.

Regardless of whatever you’re thinking, she blatantly ignores Riddle’s clear disappointment and sadness in favor of dishing out an equally bland-looking meal. “Now, dinner tonight will be a tuna saute rich in DHA and omega-3 fatty acids.” This woman has to be an almond mom, because there’s no way any eight year old would know what those words even mean, let alone willingly eat that at age 8, let alone that over the slice of…brick.

“Now that you’re eight, your caloric intake should be 600 kilocalories per meal so don’t eat more than 100 grams of it.” It’s his birthday and Riddle’s eight, does this woman suck the joy out of life as a hobby or a living. What good mother forbids her child from eating something he clearly likes or wants because of a calorie recommendation. He’s eight and healthy, not a kid with diet issues?!

“What is wrong with you?” You say aloud, but she can’t hear you. You’re not saying that she should feed him nothing but junk food, but if she’s always strict about this stuff, give him a little wiggle room on his birthday.

No one hears you, and Riddle only bows his head, glum as he picks at the bland looking fish. “Yes, mom.”

You feel a burst of pity in your chest. Even if Riddle was a tyrant, no child deserves a birthday so boring and restricting as the one he did. But you guess all tyrants were children once, maybe- Wait. No.

No.

No. You are not feeling bad for Riddle. You are not going to feel bad for Riddle. Sure, he had a miserable birthday and probably upbringing because of a horrible mother didn't bother picking up a parenting book, but everyone has shitty people in their life. That’s no excuse to hurt others because of it. And he outed you, no forgiveness, not yet-

“I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….” The older Riddle’s comes in from the ether and makes you jump out of your skin. Was he trying to get you to pity him? Well, tough fucking-

The world warping interrupts you mid-thought. “Wh-What the hell?!”

Now you’re in a street in front of that beautiful, but actually severely depressing house. A young Riddle walks hand in hand with his mother, his eyes locked on the delicious looking strawberry tarts in a bakery’s window. You spot the name ‘Clover’ painted on the glass. Is that Trey’s family’s bakery?

“The local cake shop had them in the window. They shined at me like forbidden jewels.”

The tarts like Riddle are colorful and match his description. The sugary treats sparkle in the sunshine. And you can see the look of disappointment and longing on Riddle’s face as his mother tugs him away from the treasure that caught his eye, held just out of reach.

“Alright, Riddle.” If he’s just gonna show you this, and not provide any explanation, you’re providing your unsolicited commentary. “That sucks, but plenty of kids don’t get sugar or have depressing birthdays and don’t abuse or threaten to murder their classmates. This isn’t an excuse.”

No reply again.

The world warps again, and this time you’re in the study you walked past earlier. You were right in thinking it looked depressing, as the young Riddle is seated at a small desk, writing notes as his mother shuts a very thick textbook. “That’s enough classical magic study for today.” You roll your eyes at the sound of her voice, which is in your ears thanks to her snobbish tone. “Your homework is to read the first fifty pages of the philosophy of language book referenced in today’s magical philosophy texts.”

“....Fifty?”You’re taken aback at the assignment. “He’s eight!” You say, dumbstruck and outraged, at the mother that made Riddle into a monster.

Fifty pages? Of something as confusing and boring as Philosophy? That was a second year elective at NRC. A high school, for seven’s sake. He’s eight… he’s not even supposed to be learning about this yet.

But the bitch didn't hear you.

“You may now have one hour of independent study before your potionology lesson.” What the-

“Miss ma’am, He’s eight! He’s not supposed to be learning this till high school! How can you expect him to understand this?!” Still, no reaction to your reasonable words. “And why aren’t you letting him have a break?! He’s still just a kid!”

He’s not getting a break? But he might have been studying for hours. Kids need to play and have fun too. But considering a child lived here, and you hadn’t seen a single toy or child’s storybook. You didn’t think he was allowed that either.

“Thank you, Mother.” The young Riddle responds, in a polite monotone. He’s said this before, possibly every day of his life since he learned to talk.

“Don’t thank her! You’re not supposed to be studying all day long!”Despite your dislike for the present Riddle Rosehearts, you want to pull the child version out of the room and away from all the stacks of work his mother was giving him. He’s a child, not a trophy. He should be playing, not studying. Wait.

You slap yourself across the face, “No!” You do it again, “No! We are not feeling bad for him! Even if…. he really is suffering…”

“I need some time to prepare the lesson materials. I will see you in one hour, okay?” Riddle’s mother’s voice is as uncaring as it was when she wished him happy birthday.

“How can you be so heartless to your only child!?” You ask, but you know whatever answer you get won’t be a good one. This bitch is so self-centered that she wouldn’t be able to convince anyone with whatever reason she stitches together in her crazy mind..

She adjusts a stray hair on Riddle’s head, something imperfect on her perfect trophy, before leaving him alone. No gentle ruffling of his hair, no parental hug, no trace of affection. She reminds you of one of your super strict, no-nonsense teachers that was impossible to impress. Always expecting more despite how much effort was poured in.

You watch the young Riddle pull heavy books off the study’s shelves in the study, obediently following his mother’s orders, as the older continues his narration. “I was studying every possible subject, scheduled down to the minute. When I didn’t understand something, the lesson was extended until I did.”

“But you’re a child. Sure, you need to learn but you’re still a kid…. You should be playing, not learning high school level topics.” You say to the ether, but once again you get no reply.

“That was my ‘normal’.” It’s just saddening, really. To watch a child live a life enforced by a parent that raised him to be a trophy. To watch the young Riddle flip through pages of topics that don’t make sense, even to you, and you’re a decade older than him at this moment.

You sigh. No point in pretending now. “Okay, Riddle. I admit it, this sucks…. But why are you showing me this?” If Riddle is reminiscing on his traumatic childhood, why are you here to bear witness to what made him into a monster. Still, no reply.

A knock resounds from the study’s window. Both you and Riddle turn your heads to the window. Someone’s there.

“...Is someone knocking on the window? Maybe a bird?” Riddle steps away from his desk, curious. You follow him, just as curious. This place looks as empty and lifeless as a haunted house. Who would willingly scale the spiked, wrought iron to peak into the windows of the Madam Boring and her unfortunate prisoner/child. The ornate glass swings open, and both you and Riddle gasp for two very different reasons.

A boy managed to slip past the high gates of Riddle’s home. A boy that looks similar to- “Trey?”

No one hears you. But who cares. Like the rest of the world, he’s colored black and white. But the glasses are a dead giveaway. The younger Trey Clover, looks genuinely surprised that Riddle actually answered. “Whoa, he heard us!” Wait, who’s us-

“AHHHH!”

“WAUGH?!”

Both you and Riddle jump in surprise as a familiar, but much younger face pops out of nowhere. Without a body. A younger Chenya, your brain rapidly supplies, fuelled by adrenaline. So he always gave people heart attacks when he first met them. “Hey, hey. Come play with us!”

Good to know that he was always like that.

Anyway, Chenya practically made poor Riddle jump out of his skin in surprise. “Who..Who are you?”

Chenya reveals the rest of his body, giggling and smiling in his Cheshire way. “My name’s Chenya, and this is Trey. Let’s play Croquet!”

“C-Croquet?” Chenya proceeded to give Riddle, and you, another heart attack, as he dug into his clothes, pulled out a curled up hedgehog and tossed the poor creature directly into Riddle’s hands.

But the result of it was frankly adorable, as you watched Riddle’s eyes light up at the small creature resting peacefully in his palms. “He wants to play with you too.”

The sight of the lonely child’s face light up in wonder makes your heart warm up. You feel the urge to pick him up and set him outside, to save him from the prison of his mother’s making and let him have fun for the first time in forever.

But as you think that, Riddle’s budding excitement falters. “But I…” You watch him look back at the books on his desk, the reminder of his mother’s assigned task looming in the back of his mind. And her rules. “It’s my independent study time, and I have to focus.”

“Go. Go play. It’s okay to break rules once in a while.” You say, even if he can’t hear you. It’s not like the egg donor that is his mother would know. The door’s shut after all. “You can go and come back in time.” You may not be the number one fan of the present Riddle Rosehearts, but you can set aside your anger and hatred to the one that hasn’t done anything wrong yet. And honestly, you had enough of tyrants taking the fun out of everything. Even if this one would grow up to be one, you want him to have fun, for what might be the first time in his life.

Even if you can’t be heard to convince him, the child Chenya turns out to be quite the sweet talker. “That means you get to choose what you study, right? My gramps says that playing is basically a kinda study.”

The sudden epiphany causes Riddle’s eyes to widen, “Play..is learning?”

“Want to come down and join us for a little bit?” Trey offers with a bright and friendly smile on his face. You watch the genuine excitement cross Riddle’s face as he chooses between an hour of fun, and the boring work he’d probably spend every single day of his life doing if he rejected their offer.

“You can do it. Go.” Your words are wishful thinking. You have no say in how this is presented, but you want to actually see Riddle break his horrible mother’s rules.

After way too much contemplation, Riddle gives into the temptation much to your relief, and crawls out the window. “J-Just… Just for a bit then.”

Noticing his apparent struggles, Trey holds out his hand in offering. “Mind if I ask your name?”

Riddle hesitates for a second, and you briefly feel your heart accelerate out of fear for his refusal, but thankfully, he finally gives in, “R-Riddle. Riddle Rosehearts.”

The world warps again, changing scenes. And what comes next is beautiful.

After what has to be years of living under his mother’s strict rule, Riddle finally is free to let loose.

The garden that felt so empty beforehand breathed new life as the trio played. Smiles, laughs, cheers and excitedly uttered words broke the intense silence, as the grass was rolled in, the planters were shifted, and the bushes were crumpled.

It was everything short of perfect. And that was perfect in a way Riddle’s mother could never achieve.

You felt rejuvenated watching the three play. The breath you held was suffocating, caused by standing around in something made to be so perfect, and you finally let it go watching Riddle have fun, breaking the restrictive rules his mother forced him to obey.

The shrills of high-pitched laughter as the young Riddle was letting out suddenly mute as the elder voice continues his speech.

“I had the best time playing with Trey and Chenya. We did so many things that I have never done before. They both taught me things I didn’t know.” Riddle sounds so fond as he reminisces on these memories. It feels so sweet hearing the uptight and strict Riddle Rosehearts let go of his hold on the rules to enjoy having fun but….

“Where did it all go wrong?” You murmur as you watch the young Riddle struggle to tame a flamingo for a game of croquet. There’s no sign of malicious intent that you felt around the one a decade older. “You were so close to learning that the rules your mother made were insane, what changed to make you go back to who you are now?”

Here, Riddle had friends. He had fun, unshackled by his mother’s chains. Free to have fun whilst being the golden child that his mother craved.

But why did he completely one-eighty? Go from a rule breaker who broke a pointless rule to an enforcer of the most ridiculous rules.

This may be extremely beautiful and heart-warming, but it also serves an awful reminder that this young Riddle grew up to be the one that was just as strict and restrictive as his mother.

The world changes again, Back to the study, where a young Riddle pretends to work, subtly watching the window with all his focus. Trey and Chenya appear, and Riddle practically leaps out his chair to join them.

“After that I would slip out of my room everyday.” The child Riddle climbs out the window, his work abandoned in favor of playing with his friends. “During my one hour of independent study time without notifying my mother.”

“Good job.” you praise. You’re just happy to see him having fun.

The world changes again. To out in the garden.

“Whatttt? You’ve nyever had a strawberry tart before?” Chenya exclaims in surprise, kicking his heels on the bench next to Riddle.

Riddle twiddles his thumbs, shyly in his lap. “No…My mother says they’re bad for you.” Perfectly parroting another one of his mother’s bogus rules that she relentlessly drilled into his head.

Now incredibly awkward, Trey readjusts his glasses nervously. “I mean, you probably shouldn’t eat too much of it, but…calling it poison is just kinda…yikes.”

“Yeah, the only poisonous one here is her.”

But seriously, Trey actually speaking his mind feels alien to you. Trey keeping his honest thoughts and opinions to himself when Riddle’s present was the norm for his older self. Had whatever forced Riddle to change had caused Trey to change too? You’re starting to get a bad feeling.

Trey’s eyes light up with an idea, “You know, my family runs a cake shop. Let’s go get a tart right now!” He holds out his hand in offering, and the promise of the forbidden fruit his mother denied him makes Riddle’s eyes widen in excitement.

“Really?” Riddle says excitedly, before he hesitates, “But…I shouldn’t.”

“Just one slice. It’ll be fine.” Trey insists, taking Riddles’ hand in his own, before Chenya steps in and pulls Trey and Riddle out of the garden, in the direction of the Clover bakery.

“One slice for YOU maybe. I want a whole one!”

Whatever objections Riddle is yet to utter dies on his tongue as he enters the warm bakery. Another shift of scene. Inside the cake shop is full of warmth, the treats covering nearly every inch of shelves and the air filled with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries and warm sugar, chocolate and fragrant fruit. Like a literal kid in a candy store, Riddle’s eyes sparkle in awe. Everywhere he, and by proxy you, looks is full of sweets and pastries ready to be devoured. Whatever hesitation he has is rapidly dying.

“So is this what caused it? You didn’t really want to eat the tart because of your mom, but you got peer pressured into it and that made you break the rules?” You ask the ether. You still don’t understand. If Riddle was careful, like he’d said he was, why would this be important?

The Clover bakery, more specifically the part of it that’s Trey’s home, is the exact opposite of Riddle’s. Cluttered with decorations of family portraits, children’s drawing’s height markers on the doors as they grew older. Excluding the scent of sweet pastries, you can smell the love in this home. You can hear other voices, the voices of Trey’s siblings and his father joking scolding them for their pastry based gluttony. Riddle looks around in genuine curiosity, not used to the mess, warmth and life this house has in contrast to his own.

Still, the bad feeling churns in your gut, as time progresses. And as Trey returns with the fresh slices of a strawberry tart, it doesn’t dissolve despite the warmth of the new scene.

“A bright-red strawberry tart on a pure white plate.” Riddle stares at the slice with all the awe, excitement and wonder only a child could. Like a child holding their very first snowglobe, he inspects it with curiosity and barely contained excitement. “To me, it sparkled brighter than any jewel ever could.”

“Eat it. You want to eat it. So eat it.” Your demands actually are answered, as tiny hands raise the fork, shaking slightly in excitement. Riddle takes his first bite. And as soon as the strawberry hits his taste buds….

Color fills the world, chasing the bland gray away.

“The first bite was so sweet and delicious, like nothing I’d ever tasted before. With every bite, I became more and more entranced…”

Not one speck of this world remains in a dark, lifeless gray, filled with color and the life that comes with it.

All it took was a tart, but it was more than that. It was the taste of friendship, of fun. But most importantly, it was the taste of freedom. Freedom that he’d been denied over and over, that he was finally allowed to taste.

Along with the color comes the laughter chasing the dull world away, with its restrictions and its chains. You can’t even fight the smile forcing its way onto your face.

How could you not? This was just so-

“-And completely lost track of time.”

“Shit.” An icy chill runs up your spine as the world returns to that study, completely cold and dull in comparison to the warm and vibrant bakery.

The smile on your face vanishes with the color and warmth. “Oh no…”

“I put on some of the organic tea I ordered-” Riddle’s mother returns to the empty study. And the tea set she’s holding shatters on the carpet. Your joy follows it on the floor.

You hate every second of what comes next.

Riddle, in the middle of the fun time he was having, spies the clock on the wall. And notices the hour he was supposed to spend studying had ended twenty minutes ago.

His mother, searching for him in fury (not worry, you noted) finds him just as he's hurrying to leave the bakery. Trey and Chenya are right behind him, and she immediately spots the crumbs that, in his haste to leave, he’d forgotten to wipe off.

The realization that follows, and the shaming of Trey’s kind parents. As she screams at them in fury for feeding her, now bawling, son; Riddle grips her skirts while begging her to stop. Trey watches, stunned in either guilt or horror, not his parents but Riddle as he pleads with his hysterical mother. Chenya, probably using his magic, is hiding somewhere.

And then Riddle is dragged back to the depressing prison that he calls home….. to be punished. And the warmth and color is gone, replaced with a cold chill.

You feel your blood boil as the bitch screams and berates her son. “Unbelievable!” Completely irate and unreasonable, Riddle’s mother screams at him with all the fury she’d given Trey’s parents. “Not only did you abandon your study time, but I find you eating a mountain of sugar as well!!” Riddle takes her screeches and yells completely silent, trying to interject with apologies to spare himself from her wrath even further.

Riddle doesn’t even try to defend himself, too afraid of her wrath.

If he can’t…you will. Even if no one can hear you.

“SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU SELF-CENTERED BITCH!” You yell back, even if she can’t hear you. This isn’t parenting, this is abuse. You stand between the two to offer a small modicum of protection to the still crying Riddle, but you know that you’re not actually doing anything. Because you weren’t there when this happened all those years ago. Still, you can’t pacify your own anger. “JUST SHUT UP, YOU HEARTLESS WITCH!”

Riddle’s mother chooses this completely horrible moment, to turn to the window. And she spots Trey and Chenya beyond the fence that makes this house a prison. “Those two are what must have led you astray….”

“SHUT UP, YOU OLD BITCH!” Anger forces tears into your eyes. Even if….no, you’re angry but you don’t hate him. Not completely. “All they did was teach him something you never could!” You grind out through your teeth, infuriated.

“There will be no more playing with those terrible influences ever again!” Horror and panic flood Riddle’s face.

And you can feel the blood roar in your ears. “You evil!-”

Riddle fazes through you to apologize and plead with his mother to not take his friends away, to not take his happiness away. “I’m sorry, Mother!! It won’t happen again, so please!”

But the old windbag can’t see reason. “BE QUIET!” Riddle nearly bursts into tears again as she throws him off. “You broke the rules, and now you’re paying for it.”

“AND YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE LET HIM ANYWAY!” Every yell in his defense that you make goes unheard. But does it really matter? No, this tyrannical bitch is a horrible mother, and she ruined someone that could have been wonderful. “YOU’RE AN EVIL, HORRIBLE MOTHER WHO RAISED YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD TO BE A TROPHY! HE NEVER DESERVED THIS, YOU FUCKING!-”

“Honestly, it must have been too soon to allow you so much freedom.” She moves to shut the window. To separate him from sweet freedom forever.

“I simply must keep a much closer eye on you…” Darkness fills the room as the glass and shutters close. And soon all your senses can pick up is the Riddle of the past’s sorrowful pleas and sniffles slowly dissolving into silence. “I’m sorry, Mother! I’m sorry!...”

You’re going to have an explosive aneurysm with how hot your blood is boiling. Not because of Riddle, but because of his evil hag of a mother. No fucking wonder Riddle grew up to be a complete psychopath. Does this world base its laws on fucking nothing?!

And the one of the present, fills the void it made.

“Because I broke the rules….” A small window of light fills the dark. Riddle stands before it, looking in sorrow at his friends just beyond his home’s gates, but still painfully out of reach. “My days of fun were cut short.”

Chenya looks like he wants to come in again, but Trey stops him, his eyes downcast. They both go, leaving Riddle behind to the prison of his mother’s making. “That’s why I vowed to never again break my mother’s rules.”

“B-But it wasn’t your fault. You were a suffering kid being offered freedom. She was the one in the wrong.”

The hag appears behind him, holding the life of drudgery in the form of a textbook, and this time Riddle doesn’t have the freedom of a choice. He does his studies, at the hag’s behest. The color in him leeches out, turning into a cold gray that matches his monster mother’s.

“After all, my mother is the most accomplished in our town, therefore making her the most correct.”

She never was Riddle, she destroyed your life to make hers seem more accomplished.” You can only hope that your words reach his ears. He didn’t do anything wrong, he was brainwashed by his mother’s abusive parenting. And that led to disaster. “Deep down, I know you know that-”A hypothermic chill goes up and down your spine. “Huh?”

The entire room drops in temperature till its deathly cold. You whip your head around in panic for the source, desperate to see whatever the source was.

And halfway through that Riddle’s mother turns from a person, into a human-shaped pile of blot.

“AHH!” You back up until your back hits the wall. And the blot that you hadn’t noticed was on it. Blot is seeping out of the cracks and spaces of the darkening study.

This room is being flooded with blot.

And you and Riddle are still trapped here.

“Still…..How come, mama? How come my chest still hurts so much?”

“Riddle, I know that this is hard for you but you need to snap out of this!” The blot’s high enough to reach your calves now. You wade through the blot towards the child body of Riddle Rosehearts. If Riddle is the reason you’re here, he’s the way out too. You need to snap him out of this.

“I want to eat lots of tarts, even if it’s just for my birthday…”

“You can still do that, you just have to wake up!” The blot’s up to your knees now, and because it’s as thick and sticky as tar, you can barely wade through it. That’s not the only thing though. The boring and enormous textbooks Riddle’s mother burdened his childhood with, stack precariously high. Up to where the ceiling no longer is.

“And play outside all day long, and make lots and lots of friends.”

“It’s not too late, just wake up!”The blot’s at your thighs now. The towers of boring literature sway, threatening to fall at any moment and crush you both.

“Tell me, mama…” The body of the young Riddle, is suddenly engulfed in blot, and reveals the current form of the present Riddle, still in overblot. You can see the tears fall from his eyes onto the desk. His voice, not disguising the pain.

“What rule should I follow to end all of this pain?”

“Riddle, WAKE UP! You don’t have to live in pain forever!” You yell desperately. The blot’s at your waist now. Out of options, you throw yourself forward.

And your hands finally meet cold skin.

“Huh?.....I don’t?” Riddle turns and his eyes focus on you. The towers of books threatening to fall suddenly steady. The blot flooding the room stops pouring, stops rising. All is calmer now.

“You can hear me?” Riddle nods and you sigh in relief. He can finally see you, finally hear you. You embrace him as tightly as possible. “Thank goodness…I was worried we both would die here.”

His arms wrap around you, returning your embrace. “W…Why are you here?”

“I don’t know but I’m glad I’m here…” You withdraw and wipe the inky black tears spilling down his cheeks, away from his face. You take a deep breath before sighing again. “I’m sorry I had to see all that. It must have been hard for you to live like that your entire life.”

Riddle doesn’t respond, his eyes avoid meeting yours. Is it shame, guilt or something else? “How much did you see?”

“Enough. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that your mother was who she was, you didn’t deserve to suffer the way you did for so long. But you don’t have to live that life forever.”

“How?… The rules-”

You interrupt him, “The rules your mother gave you are ridiculous. Yes, kids need structure and rules to grow but they need to have fun too. And friends. And your mother stole that from you because she wanted you to be a trophy she could show off.”

“But mother was never-”

“She was wrong, Riddle. And a lot of the rules she gave you were wrong too. I know it’s hard to have your whole world crash down around you but there’s a part of you that never liked your mother’s rules….Right?”

Black tears pool in Riddle’s eyes. “I just wanted to eat a strawberry tart… Just once.”

You wipe them away, letting your hand rest on his inky/blot stained cheek. “And you can. You can make your own rules for your life. If you want to eat tarts till you’re sick, you can. If you want to play till you can’t move, you can. You don’t have to follow her rules or the Queen of Hearts’ rules, just your own. As long as you’re happy and not hurting yourself, or forcing them onto someone else, do whatever makes you happy.”

He cups your hand to his face before you can remove it. “Would…Would you do it with me? I wanted you to be my friend, I want to eat tarts till I’m sick with you….”

Ok, bit of a red flag, that's a bit concerning given the world you’re in. But you really can’t do anything if he traps you here. “Of course. But we need to get out of here to do that.”

A flash of light sparks up next to you both, causing you both to turn your heads to it. A door appears out of nowhere.

Small, tiny and barely there, but the light coming out of it shines brightly, it's not the light at the end of the tunnel. You hope at least.

“I think that’s the way out. Are you ready?” You hold out your hand in offering. “You have a lot of apologies to make, one to me included, but I’ll be there to help you.”

Riddle takes your hand, it’s warm and the blot falls away exposing his normal skin. “Not really, but let’s go.”

Riddle sets his other hand on the door knob. And the dark world fills with light.

“Riddle!” Trey’s voice is the last thing you hear before things go dark. Or, uh, white.

Consciousness hits you like a brick to the face.

You jerk upwards so fast you give yourself vertigo. The remnants of blot in your stomach churn threaten to come up with bile. But you manage to choke it down, despite how much it burns.

Ace, Deuce and Grim probably feel the same, because-

“...Hi guys-” You barely get those words out before they tackle you and your back hits the torn up ground of the rose garden. You choke out a weak cough as soon as they hug you so tightly that you can feel the air you just breathed in get squeezed out of your lungs.

But despite the pain, you laugh, now fuelled by adrenaline. “You guys, I’m okay. Let me up.” You say in between laughs.

Ace is angrier because of what you just said.“Okay, my ass ______! You stopped breathing!” Oh, shit. Okay, maybe you should stop by the nurse after this.

Deuce is more concerned, “We thought you were dead, Prefect!”

Grim like Ace is infuriated at your near death experience. “I seriously thought you were going to die, Henchman!”

“But I’m okay now. Just calm down.” After a few more seconds in their smothering embrace, they finally let you go and help you up. You scratch your fingers through Grim’s fur, soothing the tiny rage in your direbeast before giving your two friends a serious apology. “Sorry about that you guys.”

“You better be sorry. We were worried sick!” Ace smacks the top of your head, before finally calming down.“Just don’t freak us out like that again.”

Deuce, in turn, breathes a slow sigh of relief, “Just give us some warning before you try to do that again… I was worried I was going to lose you.” Your adrenaline fueled laughs are replaced with churning worry.

There would be no bad yandere thoughts after the shit storm today. “Sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible.

Cater seems to share your trio of friends' relief, “Well, it’s about time….We were just about losin’ our heads here -figure of speech, sorry - ‘cause we thought you might never wake up.”

You’re scooped up into a hug the next second, and for once you’ll let it slide. “Nice to see you again too, Cater.”

Trey is the only one yet to greet you now that you’re awake. More concerned with waking up the still unconscious Riddle.

Well, now you’re fucking concerned.

As soon as Cater lets you go, which he doesn't, you wiggled out of it; you run to Riddle’s side. “Is Riddle okay?” You ask, now very worried. Why did you wake up but not him? Did something go wrong? Is he going to die after all?!

Trey gives you an anxious expression that seems to worsen the longer “He hasn’t woken up yet.” Trey looks more worried the longer that Riddle stays unconscious. “Why hasn’t he-”

Thankfully because the universe has impeccable timing, The sound of a sharp inhale rings out, followed by a “Gah!” And Riddle’s eyes flutter open, and he’s awake. Thank goodness.

“He’s back!”

“What….What in the world happened..?” Riddle’s weak voice fills the air, and you sigh in relief.

“Ah, Mr. Rosehearts appears to have regained consciousness. Excellent.” Oh, Crowley’s here. Wait.

“Crowley, Riddle and I have been lying dead on the ground for god knows how long and you didn’t call for the school nurse?” The crow doesn’t say anything in response to your question. You’re growing sick of his antics, and he’s the person you’re relying on to send you home. How this school hadn’t been burnt to the ground is a growing mystery.

Trey, in light of Crowley’s uselessness, gives Riddle the check over he desperately needs, whilst calming whatever “Don’t worry, Riddle. Just try to rest.”

“Yo, that’s just the sort of coddling that led to him going nuts in the first place!”

“Ace, the man nearly died. Chill out.”

“Yeah, well now the garden is tore up from the floor up, not to mention that we could’ve died! _____ almost died!” Well, at least he’s concerned.

Deuce gives you a sorrowful look whilst agreeing with Ace, “He’s right, it was looking bad for a while there.” Well, they’re going to be stuck to you like glue for the imminent future.

“For cryin’ out loud. When you humans let that stress build up, the results ain’t pretty.” For a constantly hangry dire beast, Grim does say something occasionally that is very insightful. You gotta give him credit for that one.

“Yes, it isn’t Grim. Yes, it isn’t.”

“The truth is, I…. I really wanted to eat the chestnut tart…”

“Huh?” “And I don’t care if the roses are white or the flamingos are pink. And I prefer honey to sugar cubes in my tea, and I like milk tea better than lemon tea anyhow. And after a meal, I want to be the one sitting around talking with everyone…”

“Riddle…” “And I really wanted to play with you and Chenya more, Trey.” And then the tears start flowing.

“Riddle Rosehearts, in tears…. Hashtag #WOW.”

“Cater…now’s not the time…” You murmur.

“You think a few crocodile tears is all it’ll take for me to forgive you?”

“I’ll repeat. Ace, the man nearly died.”

“I’m sorry, Riddle. I knew you were suffering, and all I did was pretend not to notice.” Riddle keeps sobbing, finally letting all the pain that he contained within him for years flow out. You hug him, allowing him some comfort as he cries. Ace actually opens his mouth to object, but you motion for him to shut his mouth and keep his thoughts to himself for now. “So I’m gonna say what I should have said earlier. Your way of doing this was wrong, and you owe everyone an apology.”

Riddle can barely get out his apologies in between his loud sobs. “I’m sorry…..I’m really sorry.”

“I know I’ve been saying I wanted an apology from Riddle, but now that I got one, y’know what?”

“One stupid ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t even come close to making up for what he did!”

“Ace, I agree with you, but what part of ‘Riddle nearly died” is not clicking?!”

“DUDE! Way to be a capital-J Jerk!”

“And proud of it! Have you forgotten how he made a total fool outta me?!” “Have forgotten how he just threw away that chestnut tart we worked so hard on?! That ain’t something you can make go away with a few tears and a flimsy ‘I’m sorry’!”

“ACE!” Listen, you’re not team Riddle, but you’re team not kicking a man while he’s down post mental breakdown. Like chill out for ten seconds, and not throw a fit about an apology that you think was actually genuine.

“Wow, I ain’t never met anyone who was better at holdin’ grudges than I am.” Yeah, that’s genuinely surprising that Grim is less trouble than someone else.

“Then…then what do you want me to do?!”

“You know…. I don’t got a birthday party coming up anytime soon.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“So I demand a do-over for the unbirthday party! Except this time, we ain’t going to do squat. This time, YOU’RE the one who brings the tart!” Well that’s a fitting apology. Completely fair and appropriate. You’re surprised that- “And no getting Trey to make it for you! Do that, and then things are square between us.” There it is.

Well, after the whole day he sectioned out of your busy schedule, you’re not letting that one fly. “All offense Ace, you had a lot of people helping you make your tarts.”

“Quiet from the peanut gallery! What do you say, Riddle? We clear?”

“Yes… We’re clear.” Well, at least you have a potentially fun party in your incoming future. Maybe if the darling reveal doesn’t make the incoming future hell.

You kind of forgot Crowley was there, until he spoke again.“Ah, yes. Compromise is a beautiful thing. I believe that concludes this matter.”

“You didn’t do anything, Crowley.” You say for the umpteenth time.

Well know that the problem is solved, the garden’s a wreck. And you need a bath. “Welp, looks like we got some cleaning up to do. All that work making the garden Magicam-worthy and now it’s a total tire fire. Laaame.” Cater’s right, this is just a mess.

“Yeah, speaking of which.” You mutter as you detach yourself from Riddle, cringing from the stickiness of the remaining blot all over your skin. “I should probably go clean up.”

“I’ll help out.”

Cater is the one to actually the one to point out the obvious dangerous condition Riddle’s in now that the storm has passed.“No, why don’t you get Riddle to the nurse’s office. That was a full-blown case of overblot. We need to make absolutely sure he’s okay.”

Crowley in his perpetual uselessness proceeds to piggybank on Cater’s actually useful idea. This is really starting to bother you. “Mr.Diamond is correct. I will go along with you.” You bite your tongue before you say ‘To do what?’

“Understood. Thank you, sir.” Trey helps Riddle stand and limp to wherever the nurse’s station is. Crowley does nothing because he wants to be useless when a student nearly died. Just because.

Anyway, that leaves you, Ace, Deuce, Cater and Grim in the rose garden/ battlefield. Well, time to leave this mess behind to deal with tomorrow. And hopefully for the tired and non-magical you, not ever.

“Man, am I starved after usin’ so much magic!” As you prepare to leave and take the longest bath of your life and get Grim some much needed snacks, Grim spots and an odd stone lodged in one of the destroyed rose bushes. “Hmmm. Hey, check it out!”

“What is it?” You ask.

Grim digs it out of the destroyed brambles. “It’s another black magestone, just like the one we found in the Dwarf’s Mine!”

“You’re right. Wonder where it came from?”

“Just don’t put it in your mouth this time-”

Ace’s warning goes completely unheard, “No way. After how great the last one tasted, I can’t get that thing in my mouth fast enough!” Before you can stop him, he stuffs it in his mouth.

“And there he goes.”

“Oh, Grimmy… Have some self-respect, honey. That was literally trash.”

As if describing a five star meal, Grim goes off unprompted. “Ahhhh! Rich and sweet, but with a complex hint of bitterness in the aftertaste. Equally delicious, but with quite a different mouthfeel from the last one I ate.”

“You have such a way with words, Grim…. So I guess this is just a thing now, or?” You hope that he won’t get sick, if he does then you’re just fucked. But with your bad luck it wouldn’t be a surprise.

“As a monster, maybe his stomach works differently than ours?”Ace reasons, but you frankly don’t care.

“Even still, eating trash can’t be good for anyone.”

“As long as it keeps my food bill down, he could eat the grass for all I care.” Since Crowley won’t pay it, you might as well improvise given Grim’s gluttony.

As if on cue, Grim takes a hearty munch of the torn up grass. “Ooh! I just tried the grass, and the flavor was surprisingly pleasant! Crisp, even!”

“See? He’s fine, and if anything happens, I’ll just stop by the vet or something.” You hope this society has free vets. Just in case.

“Hey, that’s our lawn! Don’t eat that!”

“Uh, A-F-K while I go throw up….” As you all leave contemplating the workings of Grim’s digestive track, you can hear Cater say under his breath. “But….seriously, guys. Thanks.”

You had just barely caught that, “What did you say, Cater?” you ask.

Cater laughs, brushing off your question whilst poking you directly on the nose in his usual demeanor. “Nooope. Nothing at all.”

The raging storm is over. And with it, all the B.S. that came with dealing with Riddle and his overblot, you’re sad that it happened, and happy that it’s over. Like any rational human being.

Since you got out of this relatively unscathed, excluding some nausea from , you went straight to Ramshackle to take a very, very long hot soak to at least try to get the blot stuck to your skin and hair off. Turns out that uniform was garbage bound, because after three and half hours of scrubbing your skin and hair, six bath water changes and two full bottles of cheap shampoo being emptied, you were about 80% sure you got it all out.

So with your hair dripping with the remains of your bath water, you decided after all the bullshit you did today, you would just have a cozy night with Grim, trying to figure out how to gaslight Ace and Deuce into thinking you weren’t a darling.

What a great way to spend the rest of your day. But considering Ramshackle was empty, except for you, Grim and the ghosts (who thought it was funny to hide your slippers in the crawl space), you were completely satisfied.

“Henchmannnnn! My tuna!”

“Be patient, you glutton.” You laugh at Grim’s whining. He’d been like this after hour one of cleaning the blot off. While you told him where he could find his tuna, the Great Grim was bested by his inherent lack of thumbs to open the can. Thus, enter the whining and hissy fit.

“Henchman!”

“I’m opening it, chill.” The sound of the can opening fills the creaky silence of Ramshackle settling. The creaking is unsettling, but peaceful. And that’s how this evening was going to go. You ‘sharing’ a meal with Grim, alone. Making conversation in the silence as you try to figure out how to gaslight Ace and Deuce into oblivion about the darling thing. Finally a calm night because Ace and Deuce were staying in Heartslabyul tonight-

“Motherfucker, who is it now!?” You yell throwing the half opened can of tuna hard onto the counter (which ricochets onto the floor), completely pissed. The knocks on your door just remind you of how fucking unlucky you are. Is one night alone impossible? One single night?!

“Henchman, whyyy?!” Grim mourns the tuna scattered as you storm out of the kitchen.

Is one night impossible!? What did Ace and Deuce do in the three hours you left them alone!?

You yank the front door open with a booming slam, before yelling “WHAT!?” at whoever thought bothering you after a rough day was the move they would make today.

“...Did I come at a bad time?” Trey’s on your porch, an awkward expression on his face. Trey so far had to be the only one that was remotely normal. Ooo! and he was holding a cake box.

And you just yelled in his face. “Oh oops, uh, it’s you. Sorry.” You’re now as awkward as he is, your face turning warm with embarrassment.

Trey gives you a gentle smile, “I would have called first, but you don’t exactly have a phone.”

“Yeah…. “ You awkwardly scratch the back of your neck. “After everything I went through in the last three days, I thought I could get a few hours to myself and Grim.”

“I’m sorry I disturbed you. I just thought you might want these.” Trey holds out the box to you, which smells like the bakery from Riddle’s overblot memory thing? Either way, you can feel the nausea in your stomach finally soothe.

“Thank you.” Opening it, you find it full of sweet looking treats, topped with light frosting, sugary glazes and glittering toppings. “But, you didn’t have to save these for Grim and I.”

“It was nothing. I owe you an apology too, so I figured that this was the best start.” Well, considering your dinner today was going to be a bunch of instant noodles, you'll accept the apology.

“Uh, well do you want to come in? Might as well not do it on my porch.”Trey accepts, and now you have the normal one in your lounge, sitting on your couch. Great thinking, you.

“Grim! Trey’s here, he brought us food.” you call out.

As soon as the word ‘food’ is uttered, Grim shot out of your kitchen like lightning. “Where!?”Oh and of course, you called out to Grim the second you passed the kitchen. And then you and Grim played mouthball with a cookie in the dessert box. Turns out Grim was great at catch, but maybe it’s because you threw him food. Aw well, good to know in case of a competition for you to play or something.

“How have you been? You really had us worried for a moment there.”

“Better, the worst thing I got out of that was scrubbing all the blot off of me.”And the darling thing, but you weren’t going to bring that up. “I’m pretty sure that I scrubbed a bald spot into my scalp. How’s Riddle?”

“I checked on him on my way here. He’s fine, like nothing ever happened, but he’s on bedrest and isn’t allowed to use magic for the next few days.”

“Well, that’s both comforting and convenient.” Nice to know that the overblot mess didn’t cause brain damage or anything.

Trey “If you don’t mind me staying so, I thought you’d be more mad at me.”

“That ship sailed yesterday and crashed when you finally told Riddle off earlier, and let’s just say that I can understand why you kept your mouth shut for so long. And while I would punch you in the face, you brought me free food so you’re forgiven.” You stuff a mouthful of a tart slice into your mouth, humming as a delicacy hits your tastebuds.

Trey gives you a warm laugh, before saying. “Good to know. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” You say, taking another mouthful of cake.

“About what Riddle said, about you being a darling.” Shit. Fuck.

“Um…..Do you believe him?” You hope he doesn’t. Four out of five of the people you know is already too much.

The answer Trey gives you doesn’t bring you peace.“I already knew. When Riddle figured it out, he told me because he wanted me to keep an eye on the students around you. I was suspicious, but I was never sure until then.”

“....Great.” you sigh. “This just keeps getting better and better.

Trey puts a hand on your shoulder, in an attempt to soothe you. “Look, I can understand this whole darling thing is very troubling for you.”

You shrug his hand off. “How would you know? You’re not exactly the person being negatively affected by it.”

“Not exactly. Two of my siblings are darlings, one of my brothers and my little sister. I’ve seen them afraid of what their futures hold. I worry about them not being at home when I get back. I've watched them be as jumpy as you are.”

“But you see all of that and you still think it's okay to do that to the person you love.”

“It's not that, it's just the whole darling thing is seen as the lesser of two evils. I would never do anything to hurt people like you.” But you still aren't moved.

Is it worth trusting him to keep his word? Because even if you learned some things about this world, you're still a stranger. A stranger who is stumbling blind in a world you don't understand. For all you knew this could be a technique to gaslight you into thinking he's a safe bet, only to use that against you.

“You…” This is going to sound dumb, but you don’t have a lot of options right now. “You promise?”

Trey smiles at you in a way that pacifies your looming worry, “I promise.”

“Well,” you shift in your seat, “ if you won’t hurt me what about your dorm? Can you get them to forget what Riddle said?”

“Luckily,about half of them were too busy freaking out and running away to pay attention to Riddle’s speech. The other half either doesn’t believe it, or doesn’t care. Heartslabyul’s understanding of darlings is that they’re wild and unruly without us, so some of them see Riddle’s words as an insult. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Well, that’s a relief. But what about Ace, Deuce and Cater?”

“Well, Cater found out on his own. Trust me, when I say that Cater is in the know about nearly everything on campus, I mean it. But don’t worry, he doesn’t have any plans on releasing it to anyone outside of the dorm.” Phew.

“And Ace and Deuce? They were already suspicious of me…”

Trey’s gentle smile drops for a moment, an apologetic expression forming on his face. “Whether they believe it or not is up to them. I’m sorry.”

“Well, what about you? Since you know, were you ever going to…. Do anything to me?”

At that moment, Grim yawns while gorging himself on the other desserts in the box. You finish the few bites of the treat in your hands. The sweetness of the pastries fade away to the nervousness as you await in his response. And fatigue for some reason. Maybe a full belly is making you sleepy.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any plans on hurting you. I owe you one after all.” You sigh in relief. “And if things get tough, you don’t have to do anything on your own. If you need anything you can come and get me for anything. I’m always here to help.” He offers you a hug, which you gratefully accept. After the whirlwind you experienced some human contact in way that’s not fucked up feels like a welcome relief.

“Thanks Trey.” You mumble into his embrace, accidentally cut yourself off with a yawn as soon as you finish your sentence. Well, that was fast. You know that you’ve had a long day, but it was still very early so how in the world did you get tired so fast. Sure you were a little tired, but not to the point where you were starting to feel sleepy. “You should probably go…. I think I should get some sleep….”

“I should leave then, but excuse my bluntness…You should take better care of yourself.” The hell does that mean?

You’re too tired to contemplate it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.“I’ll try. Good night Trey.”

You see him out and just before you shut the door, you can hear him say, “Get some sleep, ______.” You nod in response, shutting the door. As soon as you click the lock into place, you-

“Wha-” Another wave of exhaustion hits you like a bus, to the point that you can’t stop straining your jaw with yawns. Maybe today was more exhausting than you thought.

“Still….. How did…..I-” You can’t stop yourself from yawning in between words. Your heads spinning and your visions already blurring. Your legs become so weak that you can barely keep yourself upright.

You stumble back to the lounge, Grim, his face still covered in crumbs and frosting from the box of treats Trey had brought, is snoring into the box of treats. You gingerly set him onto one of the couch cushions before plopping down on the closest possible sofa. Even if it’s safer and cleaner for you to sleep in your bed tonight, you can’t bring yourself to climb up the stairs to bed, or even carry Grim all the way there.

‘But…..’ a voice in the back of your mind says, ‘you only felt tired after you ate the treats Trey fed you. And Grim was wide awake the whole afternoon. So why?’

Your last thought before losing yourself into the dream world is….. Why am I so tired?

As you lie in a world of dreams, none of your questions are answered.

Not the one about your exhaustion.

Not the one about why you were involved with and forced to fix Riddle’s internal conflict.

And most importantly, not the one about your questions of wonderland.

Why? Because you didn’t dream of Wonderland that night. Nor of Red Kings and lost girls from Earth. You slept peacefully. Too peacefully…….

Your one hope didn’t welcome you that night. And when you eventually awoke the next morning, when you checked it out nothing had changed. Like when you were awake, the doorway it once offered was shut.

And all the information it offered was held out of reach.

And that way was how it remained for three more days.

Just dreams that you couldn’t recall, showing flashes of the odd and nonsensical things that you once did.

No dreams of containing answers, no dreams of containing new questions…

Nothing about the world through the mirror for the next three days either, all the way up to the day of the make-up unbirthday party.

To say that your mind was preoccupied nearing the make-up unbirthday would be an understatement.

But you were mentally just not there the whole way to the unbirthday party, because your mind was just preoccupied with why your nightly journeys had suddenly concluded. As far as you knew, the story had never ended there. Alice eventually got home, following a path she used to escape the Queen’s madness and wake herself up to her normal life and her normal world. If that was your way out, then you needed to figure out how to reach it.

Still, though after a stressful three days of hanging out with Ace and Deuce (three days which neither of them brought up what the darling thing, so maybe you were in the clear) while they were lumped into cleaning up the Heartslabyul garden, it was time for the unbirthday party. Yay!

“All hail our leader, the Red Sovereign himself…Housewarden Riddle!” You stifle a laugh at the goofy announcement. Guess some things won’t change, huh?

“We salute you, Dorm Leader Riddle!” On the positive side, the residents don’t sound as forced this time. Riddle must have apologized to everyone in the past few days, because they sound much happier.

“Hm. The garden roses are red, the tablecloths are white…This seems like a proper unbirthday indeed.” Riddle inspects the garden like during the first unbirthday party, but he looks significantly more relaxed. Calmer even. Ace and Deuce had told you he wasn’t enforcing the Queen of Hearts’ rules as much since he’d been discharged from the nurse’s station. Which to you is a good sign. Because it means that, a weight of the rules was lifted off his shoulders. You hope. “Is there a dormouse in the teapo-” You sure fucking hope n- “Er, well, I suppose it’s fine either way.” Phew, you can actually drink the tea this time. Also, progress! He’s started to see which rules are bullshit and which ones aren’t.

“Not everything has to change completely, you know.” Trey looks much more at peace too. With the disaster in both his and Riddle’s childhood behind them, they both look much happier. “Like maybe spread the jam on your scones, instead of on the dormouse this time?” So the dormouse wasn’t ejected from the party premises, well then you’ll stick with water.

“Let’s try to set the bar at ‘it’s great if it’s this way,’ not ‘it absolutely has to be this way.’” According to the Ace and Deuce of two hours ago, Trey’s been working on trying to get Riddle to relax his old ways and unlearn his mother’s super strictness.

“Yes, that makes sense.” Riddle had been doing well in that department. And while he’s slipped up once or twice but no one lost their heads so, once again, progress.

Ace sighs in annoyance. He and Deuce had been roped into repairing the garden along with a lot of other Heartslabyul residents. Which he, as usual, complained about, “I can’t believe we got roped into cleaning up and prepping the garden again.”

“Well, at least the dorm leader recovered from his overblot without any complications.”

“And the garden is Magi-cam worthy once again! Hashtag #no filter on this gorgeousness!” Cater in his magicam addiction snaps enough pictures to fill his phone’s gallery, but this time you don’t exactly flinch away from them. It’s a party damnit, you’re going to relax.

“Blah blah blah! Let’s just eat already!”

“Then eat we shall! I’ll get the-”

“Wait a minute!” Riddle’s voice sends the garden into terrified silence. Oh no. What’s wrong? What was messed up? Who broke a rule? Are we going to go through this mess all over again?!

“Huh?”

“There’s a white rose!” How the hell did someone miss one?! You were in this garden yesterday, and every rose was painted when you all left!

You’re not the only one panicking.

“We missed one?!”

“Ace, Deuce, I told you to make sure to paint every rose?!”

“Wait, this is our fault?!”

Even Trey’s panicking, “R-Riddle, listen…”

You jump into damage control mode. “Riddle, it was an accident!” and if Riddle freaks out again, then you’re knocking one of his teeth out. “They didn’t mean to-”

Riddle chuckles, still calm. “Well… I suppose I can overlook one or two missed roses.” Everyone in the garden nearly collapses as you let out a sigh of relief. Yay, progress…..

“Geez! Don’t give me a heart attack, Riddle!” You jokingly protest. But you’re very happy he’s not serious. Besides, practical jokes are closer to what you felt was normal.

“After all, if we work together then we should be able to get them painted in no time.”

“What? They still gotta be painted?!”

“Even so…. I’m impressed. You’ve changed, Riddle.”

“I’m starvin’ here! Let’s just get these stupid roses painted or whatever!”

“All right, is everyone ready?” After a very energizing and hunger-inducing rose painting session, you all return to the tea garden to eat and drink. And Ace, as cocky as ever, finally gets to have his cake and eat it too, or rather get his tart and-nevermind. “So what happened to that tart, Dorm Leader?”

“I made it for you, as I promised I would.” Riddle’s actually taken aback for a split second at Ace’s bluntness, but he does direct everyone’s attention to the tart set on one of the dessert tables. “Here: one strawberry tart, crafted by yours truly.” A strawberry tart that sparkles in the sunshine. It’s a little misshapen, but he tried.

“Nice! The shape’s a little off, but I can tell you put a lot of work into that glaze.”

“He’s right. It looks great, Riddle. Good job!” Riddle seems to bolster from your praise, smiling softly before Ace kills the moment.

“Oh, puh-leeze. How about we actually TRY it before you start fawning over him, _____?”

“Hold it! Don’t you start cutting that before I get my Magicam snap!-” Cater snaps a picture without anyone’s consent but who cares, the tarts ready to be cut and served “Okay, got it!”

“Tch, I see Cater hasn’t changed a bit either. All right, let’s dig in!” The tart is cut, and served for everyone. To be honest, you can’t wait to try the fruits of Riddle’s labor. He didn’t really have to make one. But he kept his word to Ace, so you’re glad to see his positive change.

And you get to eat the tart that led to this entire storm happening. You stuff the tart into your mouth and take a huge bite.

And then you choke.

It’s salty, like a mouthful of table salt salty.

“This is kinda….Salty!” You can't even join the scream of the anguished at what has to be a mountain of salt mixed into the tart makes your mouth as dry as a desert.

“What?!” Riddle’s completely taken aback by the fact all his hard work is actually the culinary equivalent of serving salt onto a plate.

“Err? This isn’t KINDA salty - it’s a full on salt lick! What did you put in this?!” You have no choice but to agree with Ace. This is not ‘accidentally added too much salt’ salty, this is ‘completely replacing all the other ingredients with just salt’ salty. How could someone who once followed rules so strictly mess up a tart recipe so badly?

After a few failed attempts, you swallow it down and wince, before dry-heaving. “Did you mistake salt for sugar?” You rasp

“No, I followed the rules exactly, and measured everything precisely! Unless…Oh!”

“What?” You rasp.

“Could it be…. from the oyster sauce?” WHAT. Trey, why?!

Deuce spits out the mouthful of salt tart into a nearby napkin. “Wait… did you actually use that Walrus-brand oyster sauce Trey jokes about?”

“But Trey said that oyster sauce is an unlisted secret ingredient in all tarts! He said all the finest bakers use it.” Damn it Trey…..

“And you actually believed him?! How could you not tell that he was joking?!”

“You fell for it too, Ace. But even then, it was only supposed to be a splash. How much did you put in?”

“It’s an unlisted ingredient! How could I measure it if he wouldn’t tell me how much to put in?!” Geez, no wonder this tart was like drinking seawater.

“Pffft..” Trey practically loses his shit laughing at the successful prank, “I can’t believe someone actually fell for the ol’ oyster sauce prank!”

Instead of flipping out, Riddle takes the realization on the chin and laughs fondly, “Yes; Quite humorous indeed. I truly am a fool.”

Even if you're sure your mouth will never be the same from taking such a big mouthful, all you can do in this situation is laugh. And everyone does.

“Ha ha! It really is so disgusting that it’s actually kind of funny!”

“Yeah, what else can we do but laugh!”

“You know, in its own weird way, I think it’s actually kinda good!”

“Well, uh, it’s an interesting flavor profile…”

In the end, you're just glad to have a taste of normalcy. After the headache the last few days have been, a break to laugh is welcomed.

The garbage tart doesn’t dampen the mood in the slightest. While it led to some discovery of Cater’s own tastes, it was actually more informative and humorous than miserable. Which in contrast to the original unbirthday party you got kicked out of, this is so much better.

What changed the mood is the new voice in the garden. “Mm mm mmm! Your baked goods are always so delightful, Trey.” Chenya appears out of nowhere, stuffing his face with the not-super salty tarts.

Both Trey and Riddle look surprised to see their childhood friend here. “Chenya?! What are you doing here?!”

Still, speaking in his carefree nonchalance, Chenya hums, “Hm? I came to celebrate my unbirthday with all of you. A very merry unbirthday to you, Riddle.”

You're not sure what caused it, but the warm atmosphere drops at least 10 degrees. “The unbirthday party is a Heartslabyul House tradition. It does not pertain to you.” Isn’t Riddle also friends with Chenya, why the hostility?

Chenya points at you and Grim, “And those two? What about them?”

“Favoritism.” You quip, because it is.

The current conversation doesn't kill Grim’s curiosity, because he asks the same question he never got answered. “Hey! You’re that weird semi-invisible cat guy from before! So you never told us- what dorm are you from?”

“Chenya isn’t even a Night Raven student.”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, and then everyone stares at you surprised by your sudden, excited outburst. They laugh slightly at your exclamation, as you flush slightly. “S-Sorry, carry on Trey.”

“He’s a student at our long-time rival school, The Royal Sword Academy.” Oh, there’s another magical school nearby? Must be if Chenya can come here and go back so quickly.

“Whaaat? You go to a different school?”

“The frickin’ Royal Sword Academy, no less?!”

“Uh, guys, why exactly is Royal Sword Academy so important?” You ask, still left out of whatever loop they’re running on.

“Did that guy just say the ‘Royal Sword Academy’?!”

“He’s one of those pompous jerk-faces?!” Hey, isn’t that guy the jerk that tried to pound your face in because of an egg? Hypocrite much?

“What?! Who’s from Royal Sword? We gotta run ‘em outta here!” You can practically feel the bloodlust emanating out of them, as the other residents try to surround him. What the hell are they-

“Well now that I’ve tasted some tart, perhaps I should see myself out.” Chenya literally vanishes, as the single minded Heartslabyul residents try to run him out after he’s already disappeared.

“Whoa, everyone turned bloodthirsty real quick.” Yeah, bloodthirst is right. They went from enjoying the party to ready to commit murder. What the hell did they have against RSA?

“Sure. Let’s not consider the possibly lethal ramifications of this.” You murmur, going thankfully unheard.

Your unspoken question is answered by Riddle. “The vast majority of Night Raven College students perceive the Royal Sword Academy as the enemy.”

“No surprise, given that they’ve kicked our butts every year for a hundred years straight…”

Oh, it’s just a school rivalry. Thank the seven. If it was something like the school having a history of stealing the darlings of the NRC students, then that was awful. “Cool. Something normal like school competition, finally.”

“Hey, stop harshin’ the vibe! This is supposed to be a day of celebration. Can’t we all just enjoy our unbirthdays?”

“Myah! Merry unbirthday or whatever! I’m gonna eat till my stomach explodes!” Grim cheers before diving into one the dessert trays.

And you do. But after a while gorging yourself on not over-salted sweets, you actually make your way to Riddle. Perhaps it's time you have your first real conversation with the no longer Crimson Tyrant. “Riddle?” Riddle almost drops his tea cup at the sound of your voice. You hadn't gotten the chance to speak with him after he'd gone to the nurse. But you weren’t expecting his surprise.

“Y-Yes, _____?”

“I’m glad you’re doing better.” You are and you aren't. Maybe it's the lingering feeling of dread that hasn't displaced itself from your mind. “Trey says you're trying to do better…”

“Yes, I have. I've been making individual apologies to everyone, and I believe that I owe you one too.”

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, you weren’t not expecting this, but you’re not surprised. “Might as well say it now.”

Riddle takes a deep breath with all the original poise he had back before his overblot. “I should not have said what I did about you and for that I am truly sorry.”

Well, if he’s truly sorry, then maybe….“And you mean it?”

“O-Of course, I should not have-”

“Then, you need to let me do something.” The itch in your palm is back. You're not as mad as you could have been then, but you still want to seek retribution.

Riddle gives you a look of confusion, “W..What is it?”

“This. Stay still.” He gives you a confused look, as you draw your fist back. His eyes widen slightly in recognition but he doesn’t make any moves to avoid it, holding still. You hit him hard enough to make him stumble a few feet back. A now inflamed bruise is painted onto his skin. “Alright, you’re partially forgiven.”

Riddle rubs the reddening bruise on his cheek, looking more surprised at your response rather than the punch. “Partially?”

“You kind of outed me to Ace and Deuce and your entire dorm, and while the former haven’t said anything that doesn’t mean they don’t believe it because they were already suspicious of me. So, partially.”

“I see.” Riddle looks disappointed, did he want you to forgive him that badly? “Then how would I earn your total forgiveness?”

You sigh, even with the day being genuinely enjoyable, your first few weeks here had been hectic. So very hectic. You just wanted to be left alone. “I just don’t want to be bothered anymore. I don’t want to be dragged into a mess because they have some stupid problem involving me.” You finish, before hastily tacking on a “No offense.”

“None taken. I deserved that. If you desire to not be bothered, I will ensure that you aren’t.” You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thanks…. I appreciate it.”

“It is no problem. And know that you are always welcome at Heartslabyul.”

“I'll…” Considering all the Heartslabyul drama you were involved in for no goddamn reason other than the fact you were existing, you needed a bit of alone time before you dropped by for sleepovers. “...Keep that in mind. But we’ve all had a hard couple of days, so let’s just enjoy the party today.”

And so you party with worry looming in the back of your mind. Sure, you’re glad that this stressful whirlwind is over, but something doesn’t feel right.

Maybe it’s your unfinished dreams? Or the reason for your sudden exhaustion? Something feels wrong, but you can’t figure out what it is.

You just hope this is the end of this.

Do stories end at the ‘the end’? Because the ending isn’t really the ending. It’s just where the narration concludes. The people in the tale continue living, facing victories and tragedies.

And this story isn’t a tale that ends with a victory for the protagonist. No, it ends with a tragedy, the bloody kind.

Shall we watch the blood on the ax dry?

#yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandereverse au

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