#Teacup Cosmetics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ijustmissyouraccenths · 7 months ago

Text

Love Story

Colette is an up and coming actor, Harry is an international popstar who fell in love with cinema. When the pair work on a rendition of Romeo and Juliet, their worlds collide as feelings develop.

CW: Brief mention of dying, Smut.

Word Count: 11,860

Colette stepped into her dressing room, a lavishly appointed space designed to echo the opulence of the Verona in which her film "Romeo and Juliet" was set. The walls were draped in deep burgundy velvet curtains, softening the room with a rich, warm texture that whispered of hidden secrets and dramatic declarations. Golden accents framed mirrors and furniture, reflecting the flickering light from several ornately carved silver candelabras positioned thoughtfully around the room.

As she entered, her eyes were drawn to the vanity, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship with an expansive mirror bordered by tiny bulbs that bathed the area in a gentle, flattering light. Upon the surface lay an array of cosmetics and brushes, each laid out with precision, their handles catching glints of light like miniature scepters waiting to bestow their magic upon her.

The air was filled with a subtle scent of roses and myrrh, creating an atmosphere that was both calming and invigorating, as if the very essence of romance and tragedy had been captured and dispersed through the room. A large window draped with heavy curtains looked out upon a secluded garden that boasted marble statues peeking through lush greenery—Juliet's own secret sanctuary.

Colette’s costume hung on a dress form; it was a stunning creation of silk and lace, the fabric dyed in shades of moonlight and adorned with delicate embroidery that mimicked the intricate patterns of an Italian tapestry. The bodice was fitted, designed to accentuate her figure while allowing for the dramatic movements required in her scenes.

Next to the dress stood a pair of custom-made shoes, their leather soft and supple, seeming almost alive, like they were molded from a piece of night itself. They were embellished with small pearls and crystals, which twinkled like stars against the shadowy backdrop.

On a small table beside her plush, velvet-covered chaise lounge lay her script, its pages worn from use yet handled with reverence. It was flanked by a quill and an inkpot—an affectation provided by the director to inspire connection to the era they were emulating—as well as a delicate teacup painted with scenes from Shakespeare’s works.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself amidst this feast for senses—a real-life canvas painted with details fit for royalty—Colette prepared mentally to step once again into Juliet's world: one where love defied reason and every corner held both beauty and sorrow. She sat at her vanity, poised to transform under the artful hands of her makeup artist, ready to breathe life into Shakespeare's timeless lover once more.

The door to her dressing room opened with a soft creak, heralding the arrival of Madame Laurette, the makeup artist whose skills transformed actresses into visions from another time. Clad in a smock splattered with the remnants of foundation and rouge from previous masterpieces, Madame Laurette carried an ancient-looking leather case, which she set down with a practiced grace next to Colette.

"Ah, my dear," Madame Laurette began, her voice a soothing melody, "today we paint the tragedy and triumph of young love upon your canvas." Her hands were deft as they opened the case, revealing rows upon rows of pots and brushes, pencils and palettes; tools of the trade laid out like a surgeon's instruments, each with a purpose to bring forth beauty from bareness.

With delicate fingers, Madame Laureette applied a light moisturizer to Colette's face, preparing the skin like a primed canvas. She then used a sponge to dab on foundation that matched Colette's complexion so perfectly it seemed as if it were but a whisper on her skin. As she worked, she spoke softly about the character of Juliet—her passion, her grace, her strength in the face of despair.

Next came the eyes—windows to Juliet's soul. Madame Laurette chose shades that reflected the hues of twilight; dusky purples and soft blues blended seamlessly to suggest a depth of emotion. The eyeliner was applied in a fine line, accentuating the shape of Colette's eyes, making them appear larger, more expressive. Lashes were curled and coated with mascara that made them flutter like the wings of a night moth.

Cheeks were next attended with a brush dusted in rose-pink blush that brought a gentle bloom to her porcelain skin, reminiscent of English roses in bloom. It was as if Juliet herself had paused in a garden, momentarily caught up in thoughts of her Romeo.

Lips were not forgotten—painted in a soft red that was bold yet not overwhelming—a color that whispered of promises and kissed by starlight. As Madame Laurette worked her magic, the transformation from actress to character was nearly complete.

Finally, Madame Laurette set everything with a light dusting of powder which seemed to pull forth an ethereal glow from within Colette herself. Standing back to admire her work, she nodded slightly as if granting approval to proceed with the act.

As Madame Laurette packed away her tools and bid her farewell with wishes of good luck, Colette took one last look at herself in the mirror. Now staring back was Juliet Capulet: tragic yet triumphant in her love—a young woman framed not only by curls dark as raven wings but also by an aura of timeless romance that would soon spill over onto the stage under countless watching stars.

Her movements were infused with an anticipatory grace that seemed woven from the very threads of the narratives she was set to embody. The costume assistant approached, a vision of focus and professionalism, carrying the garment that would complete the transformation: a dress that seemed spun from moonlight and gossamer dreams.

The dress itself was a masterpiece of historical accuracy blended with theatrical flair. Its fabric was a whisper-soft silk that flowed like water over Colette's form, pooling slightly at her feet in a shimmering cascade of sky-blue. Intricate embroidery adorned the bodice, featuring delicate vines and flowers meticulously stitched with silver thread, catching the light with every subtle movement and suggesting a lattice of morning dew. Sleeves of sheer chiffon draped elegantly from her shoulders, airy and almost translucent, giving her arms the appearance of being wrapped in wisps of cloud.

As she stepped into the dress, the assistant deftly laced up the back, pulling the strings tight enough to sculpt her waist without hindering breath—a crucial balance for any performer. The final touch was a delicate ribbon tied in a bow just below her collarbone, a nod to youthful innocence and burgeoning romance.

Once dressed, Colette floated towards the full-length mirror, her steps tentative yet poised as though she were both discovering and remembering Juliet’s haunted grace. Her reflection seemed to transcend time; here was Juliet not as mere fiction, but resurrected in flesh and blood and silk, her eyes alight with both excitement and a hint of sorrow for the tale she was to live anew.

Taking a deep breath that lifted her chest slightly against the soft confines of her dress, Colette turned away from her reflection—away from Juliet's temporary shelter—and made her way out of the dressing room. The corridor outside was lined with flickering candles encased in glass lanterns hanging from ornate metal stands, casting shadows that danced like shy phantoms on the walls.

As she walked, her dress whispered secrets only she could hear, each step a murmur of silk. Exiting the building, she stepped out into an expanse that felt less like part of a film set and more like stepping through a wrinkle in time into Verona itself. The set designers had outdone themselves; cobblestone streets wound beneath balconies overflowing with ivy and blooms. Lamps glowed softly along pathways and a distant fountain murmured in melodious tones.

Here under the vast expanse of an artificial twilight sky beginning to pin itself with stars, Colette paused at the center of an old square waiting for Harry's arrival. In this moment suspended between reality and fiction—where night air kissed her cheeks as sweetly as any lover might—she was neither Colette nor Juliet but something timeless; a whisper of love’s eternal reverie waiting to be awakened by Romeo’s pledge beneath soft-footed shadows.

Colette felt eborn into another age and another life—her heart beating rapidly with anticipation and empathy for her character’s imminent joys and sorrows. She moved towards the set where artificial stars awaited their nightly audience and real emotions would stir under painted skies.

Just as the anticipation in the air reached its peak, Harry emerged from the shadows, a figure pulled from the very pages of Shakespeare. His costume was a masterpiece of Elizabethan artistry—velvet doublet embroidered with intricate silver threads that caught the light with every subtle movement, making him shimmer like a star newly born into the night sky. His breeches were of a similar rich fabric, hugging his legs with a precision that spoke of many hours spent in the tailor’s care. Upon his feet were boots made of soft leather that whispered against the cobblestones as he moved.

His hair, usually untamed and wild, had been tamed into soft waves that framed his face, echoing the romantic heroes of old. Around his neck, a heavy chain with a cross pendant rested against his chest, gleaming softly in the lamplight. His eyes, when they met Colette's, sparkled with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy—the perfect echo of Romeo’s own youthful vibrance and passionate soul.

As Harry walked closer to where Colette stood, waiting in her character's eternal reverie, his presence seemed to draw the very essence of the night towards him. The distant murmur of the fountain seemed to harmonize with his every step, creating a melody that resonated with the quiet rustling of Colette’s gown. Each element of the scene—the glowing lamps along the pathways, the soft rustle of ivy against stone—seemed to lean towards him, as if nature itself was eager to hear the tale these two star-crossed lovers would enact.

The square they occupied breathed with an air of ancient romance; it was as though they had truly stepped back in time and were no longer actors on a set but living embodiments of their characters. The buildings surrounding them wore age like proud badges, their windows darkened save for the occasional flicker of candlelight that suggested life continuing unaware inside. Above them, the crescent moon cradled stars that had witnessed countless tales of love and tragedy.

Harry reached the center of the square, his boots clicking on the cobblestones with a rhythmic certainty. He stopped before Colette, who remained motionless, her gaze fixed upon him with an intensity that belied the serene expression on her face. Her costume—a flowing dress of midnight blue, embroidered with tiny silver threads—whispered tales of bygone elegance as it caught the breeze, fluttering lightly around her ankles.

Clearing his throat softly, Harry began to recite Romeo's lines with a tender fervor that seemed to pull at the very air around him. "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." His voice rose and fell in perfect cadence, each word a brushstroke painting emotions across the canvas of the night.

As he spoke, an unexpected gust of wind stirred the leaves around them into a gentle dance, mirroring the turmoil brewing in Romeo's heart as he gazed upon his forbidden love. The scent of rose and old stone mingled together, casting a spell over the scene that was palpable. The director, hidden in the shadows beyond the set's makeshift lights, allowed himself a small smile at the authenticity of this moment—cinema magic in its purest form.

Colette responded in kind, her voice carrying back to Harry with equal parts longing and restraint. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?" She stepped forward slightly, her hands clasped before her as if to steady her racing heart. Her eyes never left Harry's, and in them flickered the fire of Juliet's love—a burning, all-consuming flame that acknowledged neither reason nor consequence.

The crew around them had ceased all movement; even those seasoned in film felt themselves caught in the spellbinding performance unfolding before them. The prop master forgot his duties for a moment, lost in the authenticity of Colette's accent and the palpable connection between her and Harry.

Above them, clouds began to drift across the moon's face slowly veiling and unveiling the celestial glow. This natural play of light added a dramatic flair to the scene below—an unwitting collaboration between man and nature that highlighted this poignant moment of shared solitude between two lovers cursed by fate.

Every detail was perfect, the way the lamplight flickered as though trembling with anticipation; how a distant owl hooted right at Juliet’s tender confession; the subtle shift of fabric as Harry moved closer to Colette—contributed to an atmosphere thick with drama and history. Even those behind cameras or holding booms felt as if they were no longer just creating but witnessing something transcendent; a story retold yet forever new in its telling.

As Harry delivered Romeo’s pledge of undying love beneath Juliet's window conceived anew beneath towering oaks and ageless stone buildings, it was clear this was not merely a recitation but an act of truth.

The director, normally a stoic figure shadowed by the breadth of his responsibilities, allowed a rare smile to creep across his face as the final words lingered in the air, trembling like the leaves around them. His approach was silent, reverent almost, as if stepping into a sacred space that the actors had conjured with their spellbinding talent.

"Cut!" he called out, but the word was soft, filled more with awe than command. The silence that followed was profound, filled with the collective held breath of the crew before they erupted into spontaneous applause. The clapping rolled through the set like thunderous waves, each member expressing their unbridled admiration for what they had witnessed.

The director raised his hands, beckoning for quiet, his eyes gleaming with both pride and something akin to gratitude. "That," he said, his voice steady but imbued with emotion, "was nothing short of magnificent. Harry, Colette—I've seen many a scene in my years behind the camera, but what you both have delivered today transcends performance. It reaches into the core of what it means to be human; to love, to despair, to hope."

He walked over to the actors, who were still nestled in their characters' final embrace, slowly returning to themselves as they listened to his praises. "Colette," he continued, turning to her with a respectful nod. "Your Juliet is both vulnerable and fiery; you’ve given her a depth that breathes new life into Shakespeare’s lines. And Harry," he turned with equal admiration to the young actor whose eyes still held a glimmer of Romeo's passion. "You’ve played Romeo not just as a lover but as a warrior fighting against the inevitable tragedy of his fate. Exceptional work."

The surrounding buildings and trees seemed to absorb his words, casting longer shadows as if in agreement. The director then turned towards the crew members who had captured every nuanced moment on film. "And let’s not forget the incredible work of our crew—lighting, sound, props—this magic can’t happen without each piece falling perfectly into place."

He clapped his hands together once more, this time signaling an end rather than silence. "Alright folks, let’s pack up here—remember this feeling of accomplishment. We’ve got early scenes tomorrow and we need to bring this same energy."

As they disbanded gradually, whispers of praise continued amongst them like quiet ripples on a pond at dusk; everyone shared part of the triumph. Juliet’s balcony scene would be remembered not just for its beauty and tragedy but for its vivid realness that evening under the shrouded moonlight—an echo of love carried softly by the wind through the leaves of those ancient trees.

As the crew began to disperse, the air filled with the clatter of equipment being packed and the soft murmur of satisfied conversations. Harry and Colette slowly walked side by side toward the dressing rooms, their costumes slightly less pristine than they had been at the start of the day but still radiant under the fading sunlight. The path was lined with ancient oaks, their branches gnarled and stretched toward the sky like silent watchers of countless tales unfolding under their gaze.

Harry glanced at Colette, noting how the evening breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. She looked ethereal, a stark contrast to the raw intensity she had displayed on stage just moments before. "You were truly magnificent today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that lingered in the cool air. "It’s amazing how you transform so completely."

Colette smiled, a blush tinting her cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. You were incredible as well. There’s a certain ferocity you bring to Romeo that’s both thrilling and heart-wrenching."

They reached the dressing rooms, tucked behind a curtain of ivy that draped over the stone walls of the old stage building. Its doors stood like portals back to reality from the whimsical world they had just left behind on set.

Pausing by her door, Harry shuffled slightly, a mix of eagerness and hesitation playing across his features. "Colette, I was wondering, would you... perhaps care for some dinner? There’s this little place I know nearby, quite secluded, perfect for winding down."

The offer hung between them like a delicate promise; a chance to extend the enchantment of their shared performance into the evening. Colette’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. "That sounds lovely, Harry. A quiet dinner would be perfect." Her smile was inviting, bridging the gap between their on-set romance and off-set camaraderie.

As they walked towards Harry's car parked under a canopy of whispering leaves, they talked about everything from their interpretations of their characters to trivial anecdotes from their daily lives. The restaurant was nestled in an alley illuminated by strings of faint golden lights that created halos in the misty night air.

Inside, they chose a corner table surrounded by bookshelves filled with worn volumes and odd trinkets—a cozy retreat from the outside world. As they ordered, they continued to unravel layers of conversation, each topic a stepping stone deeper into each other’s thoughts and dreams.

The meal was delicious—simple fare but made with care—a reflection of the restaurant itself. They laughed over shared appetizers and lingered over wine that painted their thoughts in broader strokes. The candlelight flickered across their faces, casting soft shadows that danced to an unplayed rhythm.

By dessert, Harry found himself watching Colette with renewed appreciation as she articulated her ambitions for future roles and her vision for modern theatrical interpretation. She listened equally intently as he described his journey through being a musician and his aspirations beyond.

As Harry and Colette lingered over the last sips of their drinks, the cozy warmth of the restaurant began to feel like a protective cocoon against the crisp night air outside. They shared a quiet moment, smiling at the serendipity of their meeting and the depth of conversation it had spurred. But as they rose to leave, pushing their chairs back gently against the worn wooden floor, the surreal bubble they had enjoyed burst with abrupt clarity.

Stepping out onto the alley, they were met not by the quiet of the night but by a sudden burst of flashing lights and clamorous voices. Paparazzi, having caught wind of their dinner together, swarmed around them like moths to a flame. Cameras clicked and flashed relentlessly, capturing every gesture and expression, as reporters shouted questions trying to pierce through the veil of their private evening.

"Harry! Colette! Are you two more than just co-stars?" one voice rang out, sharper than the rest.

"Is this dinner a sign of a new Hollywood power couple?" another chimed in.

Shields up against this intrusive barrage, Harry instinctively placed a protective arm around Colette’s shoulders. He guided her gracefully yet swiftly towards his car, parked under the now ominous canopy of leaves that whispered secrets in a tone much darker than before. Each flash from the cameras cast stark shadows on the ground and painted their path in fast paced steps.

Colette kept her head down slightly, her smile replaced by a composed mask of cordial indifference; it was clear she was no stranger to these encounters but nonetheless hoped they might evade them tonight. Harry muttered a polite "have a good night" as he helped her into the passenger seat of his car.

Inside the relative safety of the vehicle, they exchanged a look—a mix of amusement and exasperation—and Harry let out a sigh as he started the engine. The lights outside continued to flash through the tinted windows as he maneuvered out of their parking spot.

The drive back was quiet at first, as if they were both processing the sudden shift from intimate conversation to public spectacle. Yet soon enough, Harry turned down the volume on an ambient tune that had started playing automatically when they entered.

"That was intense," he said, glancing over at Colette with an apologetic half-smile.

"It always is," Colette replied, turning to face him with a resigned smile. "But hey, part of our charming careers, right?"

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah, charm is one word for it."

As the car glided through the dimly lit streets, the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken thoughts. Colette broke the tension first, her voice soft but tinged with a hint of frustration.

"I sometimes wonder if this is what we signed up for, you know? The constant scrutiny, the invasion of privacy... Is it worth it in the end?" she mused, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his grip on the steering wheel tightening imperceptibly. "I ask myself that question too, especially on nights like this. It's like we're always under a microscope, every move dissected and analyzed by strangers."

A sense of comfort blossomed between them, a shared understanding born out of their parallel experiences in the spotlight. Colette turned to Harry, a spark of defiance igniting in her eyes.

"But despite all of that," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "we can't let them define us or dictate our every move. We're more than just their headlines and gossip fodder."

Harry smiled at her resolve, a flicker of admiration shimmering in his eyes. "You're right, Colette. We're artists first and foremost, creators of worlds and emotions."

Their shared conviction filled the car with a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet determination to reclaim their narrative from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. As they neared Colette's apartment building, Harry parked the car with a sense of finality.

"Thank you for tonight," Colette said sincerely, turning to face him with a genuine smile. "Even the chaos at the end, I truly enjoyed our conversation and dinner, it was really good."

Harry returned her smile warmly. "Likewise, Colette. We are more than just co-stars caught in a media frenzy."

As Colette opened the door to her apartment, the image of Harry in his Romeo costume flashed vividly across her mind. His appearance had been a perfect blend of vulnerability and valiance, his attire accentuating the expressive lines of his body as he moved with an almost ethereal grace on stage. The sheer, soft fabric of his shirt clung to him as if it were part of his own skin, and the way the stage lights had caught the highlights in his hair made him look like a figure from an old-world painting—romantic and heroic.

Inside her quiet apartment, everything seemed too still, too empty compared to the warmth of Harry's presence. She tossed her keys on the table absent-mindedly and moved towards her bedroom, her mind replaying their conversation in the car. His words echoed in her ears, blending with flashes of his smile and the intensity in his eyes when he spoke about their artistry. It was as if he'd stripped away all the glitz and scandal that so often cloaked their lives, revealing a raw, sincere connection between them.

Colette tried to settle into bed, pulling her covers close, but restlessness took over. Turning onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling around Harry’s comforting arm around her shoulders earlier that night. She remembered how secure it felt, a protective circle that shut out the incessant flash of cameras and curious stares. The smell of his cologne, a subtle mix of bergamot and sandalwood—seemed to linger on her skin, transporting her back to their fleeting moments of privacy amidst the chaos.

The more she thought about him, the more details came flooding in. How his lips curved into a smile just before he laughed, how his eyes lit up when discussing a particularly passionate scene. Even the way he held himself during their performance—confident yet tender—seemed etched into her memory with surprising clarity.

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned again in bed, fluffing her pillow in vain search for comfort. The digital clock on her bedside table glowed 2:17 AM; time was slipping by slowly tonight. Every tick seemed to resonate within the quiet room, each one reminding her of Harry’s gentle demeanor and unspoken assurances.

Why was it so difficult to push these thoughts aside? Why did every tiny detail of him seem magnified tonight? Colette knew that sleep would be elusive as long as these memories danced through her head, a sweet torment but a torment nonetheless.

Realizing that fighting it was futile, she sat up and reached for a book from her nightstand. Perhaps diving into someone else’s fictional world could ease her back from hers filled with all too real emotions spurred by Harry. Yet as she flipped through page after page, Colette found herself reading without absorbing any words. Her mind was back with Harry, reliving each moment spent together that day.

Finally surrendering to the inexorable pull of those memories, Colette set the book aside and allowed herself to reminisce about every glance exchanged and every laugh shared with Harry until tiredness eventually claimed victory over turmoil—a bittersweet end to an evening that neither camera flashes nor gossip columns could ever truly capture.

As the first rays of morning light began to filter through her gauzy curtains, Colette felt a tentative peace settle over her. The unavoidable sunrise not only heralded a new day but also the unavoidable return to set where today's scenes awaited her—scenes that would force her to bridge the gap between reality and fiction, between Colette and Juliet, Harry and Romeo.

The day unfurled slowly, each moment stretching languidly as if aware of the weight it carried. Colette arrived on set, her heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against the cage of her ribs. The set was a meticulous recreation of Verona, the air perfumed with artificial blooms that lined the faux stone balconies. It was here, beneath a painstakingly crafted balcony, that she found Harry already immersed in his role, his eyes distant yet filled with an intense purpose.

As makeup artists fluttered around them like attentive sprites, dusting their faces with powder and painting their lips, the boundary between Harry and Romeo, Colette and Juliet blurred seamlessly. The director—a wiry man with a penchant for perfection—guided them through their positions with an authoritarian yet oddly paternal touch.

"Remember," he said, his voice low and urgent as if conveying a secret, "this kiss isn’t just about passion. It’s about discovery, wonderment. You’re unveiling layers of your soul to one another."

Taking their places, Harry extended his hand with a gallantry that could either be attributed to him or to Romeo—it was hard to tell at this juncture. As Colette placed her hand in his, their fingers tentatively entwining, she wondered if he felt the same electric surge that ran up her arm.

The cameras rolled silently, capturing every nuanced expression. Around them, the crew faded into obscurity; it was just Harry and Colette, Romeo and Juliet. As Harry spoke his lines—the words Shakespeare penned centuries ago—his voice wove around her heart like a tender vine. His gaze held hers captive and in that moment, under the watchful eyes of countless unseen spectators both present and future, fiction turned into a palpable reality.

With the gentlest of motions indicative of both apprehension and certainty, Harry drew closer. His breath mingled with hers—a sweet prelude to the imminent ballet of their lips. When their lips finally met in an embrace as old as time yet fresh like dew on morning leaves, there was a hush on set so profound that even the rustle of fabric seemed sacrilege.

The kiss deepened not out of direction but from an intrinsic need to explore the burgeoning emotion that had started off as an onscreen farce but had bloomed into something indefinably real. They existed in the breath between lines; in the silence between words—their world distilled into the small space between their intertwined fingers and mingling breaths.

As they parted—an infinity encapsulated in seconds—their gazes lingered longingly; not solely because the script demanded it but because their souls hesitated to disentangle.

"Cut!" The director's voice sliced through the thick curtain of emotion, abrupt yet not unkind.

Applause broke out among the crew, bringing Harry and Colette back from Verona to the soundstage. Yet something lingered in their shared glance, a spark that neither the stark lights of the studio nor the return to their own separate lives could dim. As they stepped away from each other, there was an awkward moment of hesitation, a mutual recognition of something undefined and new swirling between them.

The rest of the day passed in a daze of repeated scenes and whispered lines. Colette found herself more aware of Harry's presence, every look and every touch magnified under the scrutinizing lens of her newfound feelings. Off-camera, they joked and laughed, but there was an unspoken agreement in their smiles, a secret tucked away behind their lighthearted banter.

When filming wrapped for the day, Colette felt the exhaustion from emotional strain more than from physical demand. The carousel of her thoughts kept spinning as she drove home, the ghost of Harry’s touch lingering like a promise on her skin.

Back at her apartment, she knew she ought to eat something or perhaps review scripts for tomorrow's shoot. Instead, she found herself at her window, gazing out into the twilight cityscape, her mind replaying every encounter with Harry. It wasn't just their characters who had discovered new emotional landscapes; Colette feared she was standing on the precipice of a revelation herself.

Her phone rang, slicing through her silence. She hesitated before answering, half-hoping it was Harry. It was her agent instead.

"Colette! Todays news came in; you were absolutely sublime! Everyone’s buzzing about the chemistry between you and Harry," her agent enthused over the line. Though meant as praise, each word weighed heavy on her soul like stones filling her pockets.

"Thanks," Colette managed to say, her voice a mere whisper against the storm inside her. "That means a lot."

"Listen," her agent continued, oblivious to Colette's turmoil, "There’s talk already about future projects for you two—maybe even some endorsements together. This could be huge for your career."

Her career. Right. That’s what mattered. Yet as Colette ended the call and sat back against the soft cushions of her couch, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this time, something else mattered more.

She finally allowed herself to consider the possibility that what was scripted for Romeo and Juliet might have woven itself into the fabric of reality for Harry and herself. Could life imitate art to such a degree? Or was it merely caught up in the whirlwind of creating something beautiful together?

The night deepened around Colette as she sat alone with her thoughts. She knew decisions lay ahead, decisions about how far she should let this potential off-screen relationship develop amidst their on-screen romance. Tonight though, she would allow herself one certainty: that in all her roles, both lived and acted, nothing had ever felt quite as dangerous or as genuine as whatever was unfolding with Harry.

The room dimmed further as the last strains of sunlight vanished, leaving only the flickering shadows cast by the streetlamps outside. Colette's mind, a whirlpool of longing and rationality, began to conjure vivid scenes of Harry reciting lines from their recent scenes. Each word, artfully delivered with his rich, emotive voice, seemed to echo through her now quiet apartment, filling the spaces between her scattered thoughts.

He had stood there on stage, beneath the opulent glow of the set lights, his eyes finding hers in the scripted moments that felt all too real. "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Harry's voice had quivered slightly with a passion that transcended performance. Colette remembered how her heart had leapt at those words, how the scripted distance between them seemed to collapse in a singularity of shared emotion.

As Romeo, he had been impetuous yet earnest, his every motion weaving a spell of youthful ardor and desperate love. And now, alone, she let her mind replay those scenes—his beseeching gaze, his hands reaching not just for Juliet but for Colette herself. Could it be that each line he delivered was an arrow aimed directly at her heart? The balcony scene unfolded again in her thoughts: Harry's silhouette framed by the mock Verona backdrop they had on set. "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out," he had declared fervently.

Could stony limits hold her emotions at bay? Her career had always been a fortress of sorts—a necessity to keep vulnerability at bay. But Harry’s portrayal of Romeo dismantled her defenses brick by brick, not through sheer force but through the tender strength of shared vulnerability.

In her mind's eye, Colette wandered back to a moment during rehearsals when Harry had improvised—off-script yet profoundly resonant—speaking directly to her soul beyond the bounds of their characters. "And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite." How his eyes had held hers, unwavering!

The thought brought an unexpected tear to Colette's eye—a tear for the uncertain future, for the potential hardships they might face together or apart, but also a tear for the beauty of a connection that might just transcend the ephemeral world of acting.

Colette rose from the couch and moved towards her window. Gazing out into the starlit cityscape, she pondered over these newly tapped depths within her heart. Perhaps tomorrow she would make decisions with consequences she couldn't yet foresee. But tonight belonged to dreams and whispered lines—a night where Harry's recitations from Romeo and Juliet swirled around her heart like a sweet yet potent incantation. Tonight was not about contracts or cameras. It was about understanding that what they might share could be as profound and real as any love story ever penned—an ode not written by Shakespeare but lived by two hearts daring enough to explore it.

As the hours ticked by, the city outside her window slowly transformed. The glaring neon signs dimmed to a soft glow, and the relentless honking of cars turned into a distant murmur, as if even New York herself had decided to catch her breath. In that serene quietude, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirping of a late-night bird, Colette's mind kept returning to Harry—to his eyes, his voice, his surprisingly delicate touch on stage.

She tried reading a book, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes as her thoughts danced back to those moments onstage when the air between them seemed charged with an electric intensity. It was in those moments when Harry's voice would deepen just so, casting out lines like spells that wrapped around her heart, binding it inexplicably to him.

Restlessness finally got the better of Colette. With a sigh, she set aside her book and picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over Harry's contact—for a moment she hesitated—but then, driven by an impulse she neither questioned nor understood fully, she pressed call.

The phone rang briefly before Harry's familiar voice filled the line. "Colette? Is everything alright?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed softly, the words feeling both foolish and necessary.

There was a pause—a thoughtful silence—and then Harry’s voice came again, quietly intense. "Come over, then. I’ve been trying to distract myself with scripts and lyrics, but it seems tonight is bent on being restless."

A small smile touched her lips; relief washed through her in gentle waves. "Give me twenty minutes?"

"Take your time," he replied with such warmth that it felt like a hug through the phone.

When Colette arrived at Harry’s apartment—a modest yet cozy space filled with stacks of books and paintings that spilled from every corner—she found him sitting on the balcony overlooking the twinkling skyline. He had two cups of tea steaming gently on a small table between them.

As she stepped out onto the balcony, he rose to greet her with an ease that belied his earlier restlessness. They didn’t speak much initially; words seemed superfluous as they sipped their tea and let the city’s nocturnal symphony envelop them.

It was only after both cups were emptied that Harry spoke again, his voice soft but clear against the backdrop of whispering winds. "You know," he began hesitantly, "tonight reminds me of our final act last week—the way Juliet looks at Romeo with such... such unguarded hope.”

"Yes," Colette whispered back, feeling that familiar pull in her chest—the inexplicable connection that seemed to thrive in shared silences and stolen glances rather than grand declarations.

"Sometimes," Harry continued, turning to face her more fully now, "I wonder whether we’re more than just actors playing parts—whether some scenes bleed into reality without us even noticing."

Colette reached out then, touching his hand lightly. "Maybe they do," she said simply. And for a long while after that, they sat there together—two figures etched against a sprawling cityscape—finding solace in each other's presence and in the quiet conviction that tonight was not merely about roles or rehearsals; it was about discovering truths hidden within lines delivered.

As the night deepened and the city's sounds ebbed into a lulling quiet, the conversation between Harry and Colette drifted from their characters' tragic romance to their own realities—careers that were as dazzling as they were demanding, personal lives constantly scrutinized by the public eye, and futures uncertain but full of potential.

"Sometimes I think about stepping away," Harry admitted, his gaze locked on the distant lights. "From the music, from the films—just to see who I am when the lights go off."

Colette nodded. The vulnerability in his voice resonated with her own unspoken fears. "It's as though we're constantly wearing masks, isn't it? Onstage or off, it's hard to tell where the character ends and where we begin."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Tonight though, being here with you—it feels real. No scripts, no audience." His eyes met hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her.

She smiled, feeling a sense of kinship forge deeper between them. "No masks," she whispered.

They sat for a moment in silence, each lost in contemplation of the rare simplicity this evening had brought them—a stark contrast to their everyday chaos. Harry eventually stood up, stretching his arms towards the starry sky before offering his hand to her. "Come on, let’s take a walk. The night’s too beautiful to spend it all sitting down."

Reluctantly leaving their secluded spot, they wandered down quiet streets lined with barely lit cafes and closed bookstores, their steps synchronized in comfortable silence. Every so often, Harry would point out an old theater or a quaint little art gallery he’d visited during his tours. Colette listened intently, her heart swelling with an affection that was new and yet profoundly familiar.

As they turned back towards Harry's apartment, he stopped suddenly under a streetlamp’s soft glow. "I haven't felt this... peaceful in months," he confessed, looking at her with an earnestness that made her heart skip.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Neither have I," she said. "It’s easy to forget what quiet feels like when your life is full of noise."

Harry nodded, his gaze lingering on her face as if memorizing every detail. "Do you think it's possible? To find peace amidst all the turmoil?"

"I think," she started, pausing to gather her thoughts under his attentive gaze, "it's about finding the right person to share in those quiet moments—the ones who hear the music in your silences."

A warm smile spread across Harry's face as he drew her closer. Underneath that streetlamp, amid the sleeping city and beneath an audience of stars, they found a momentary escape—not as Romeo and Juliet caught in Shakespearean tragedy nor as celebrities shadowed by fames relentless spotlight—but simply as Harry and Colette discovering solace within each other's company.

As they slowly headed back to his apartment, hands entwined with silent promises of more shared nights like this one, both understood that while their careers might pull them in different directions come morning, tonight was theirs—a night marked not by dialogues written by playwrights long gone but by honest words exchanged between two souls navigating through life’s vast stage together.

She felt the warmth of his hand in hers, the roughness of his skin against her own soft palm, sending shivers down her spine. She looked up at him, taking in the way he moved, so confident and yet so gentle at the same time. Colette couldn't help but feel safe in his presence. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the empty sidewalk, mixing with the distant hum of traffic and occasional howl of a lonesome siren. As they turned into an alleyway, she breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the stale smoke from a cigarette butt left behind by some passerby. The stars above twinkled like diamonds scattered across a midnight sky, their light guiding them home.

They walked hand in hand beneath the glow of the streetlamp, casting shadows on the brick wall behind them as they stepped forward. The rhythm of their stride became synced, almost like they were dancing to an unknown melody. Every now and then, Harry would point out constellations he recognized or make up stories about the ones he didn't, his voice deep and soothing like velvet caressing her ears. His laughter rang out when she teased him about his astronomical knowledge—or lack thereof—and she loved how genuine it sounded despite everything that surrounded them.

Colette paused for a moment to look at a painting on an old doorstep; it was beautifully executed yet marred by graffiti tags that told stories of love lost and hearts broken. Harry stood beside her, looking over her shoulder as if seeing it for the first time too. She noticed how his presence made even this decrepit alleyway seem somehow beautiful.

They continued walking, their steps echoing softly against the pavement as they neared Harry's apartment building. As they reached the front door, he stopped and with a flourish produced a set of keys from his jeans pocket. The metal jangled softly against each other as he unlocked it, and then they stepped inside out of the cool night air into the warmth of his cozy living room. Setting down her purse, Colette looked around at the familiar surroundings - the worn sofa, the bookshelf filled with favorite novels and framed photographs from past adventures, and the unlit fireplace waiting for winter evenings. The musty smell of old books mingled with freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchenette.

"Well," Harry began as he shut the door behind them, "I guess this is where our little adventure ends."

Colette's heart sank at his words but she forced a smile anyway. "Yeah... it was fun while it lasted."

"It always is," he agreed quietly, moving towards her and giving her one last hug before gently pushing her towards the door. "You should get some sleep though, early morning meeting tomorrow."

With one final wave goodnight, Colette slipped through the door and into the hallway, hearing it click shut behind her. Outside on the sidewalk, she took a deep breath of the cool night air and felt a slight shiver run down her spine as reality came crashing back in - work in the morning with its emails and deadlines and office politics. But for now, she allowed herself to linger on the memory of their night together: The taste of wine on her tongue still lingering; the soft buzz from alcohol fading; Harry's touch still lingering on her skin like tiny electric shocks.

As Colette closed the door behind her, she could hear the familiar clicking sound filling her with a sense of finality. The night air was crisp against her skin, carrying with it a chill that sent shivers down her spine as she took in deep breaths of the city outside. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the evening; it had been an unforgettable journey into a world she never imagined existed. But alas, all good things must come to an end, and now she found herself standing on the sidewalk once more, back in reality. The neon lights from nearby stores cast an artificial glow upon the pavement as she stepped away from Harry's cozy apartment and began to walk towards home. The sound of footsteps echoed on concrete as cars honked their horns in the distance, creating a symphony of urban noise that surrounded her.

She could still feel Harry's embrace pressing against her back as if he were wrapping his arms around hers again, sending tingles up and down her spine with each step she took away from him. She could still taste the sweetness of red wine dancing on her tongue - its tartness mixing with the lingering taste of their passionate kisses as if it were a bitter-sweet symphony only they shared. She let out a soft sigh and looked up at the starry sky above; the sight always managed to calm her nerves but tonight it only served as a reminder that their time together was over.

The streets were empty save for a few late-night stragglers making their way home from parties or bars, their laughter and music fading into nothingness as Colette walked further down the block. A soft breeze rustled through trees lining the sidewalk, leaves whispering secrets only they knew while carrying with them.

Once Colette made it home she brushed her teeth and went into her cozy bed wrapped around in her favorite cotton pajamas, snuggling deep into the softness of her sheets. She reached over to her phone on the bedside table and saw Harry's name still glowing on the screen. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered their last goodbye

As she drifted off, Colette imagines walking through Central Park once more. The crisp air rustled through trees, carrying with it the scent of autumn - earthy and musky. She could hear the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and see birds flitting from branch to branch overhead. They sat together on a bench, leaning against one another as they watched nature's greatest show for free. He held her hand closely, lacing fingers between hers as if they were always meant to be entwined like that. And then she felt a drop of rain on her nose, followed by another one on her cheek. They both laughed as they ran hand in hand towards his apartment; their shoes splashing through puddles left behind by an unexpected shower that cloud-covered sky promised earlier in the day.

Colette woke up with that same coolness brushing against her face but found herself alone in bed instead of curled up with Harry. The memory lingered like a fond dream but faded away with each blink until all that was left was reality.

Colette got ready and made her way over to the studio, today was the last day of scenes, and the scene where Romeo and Juliet meet their demise.

As she entered the bustling set, the weight of the final day pressed on her shoulders like a heavy curtain about to fall for the last time. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and melancholy, as everyone from the crew to the cast moved with a purposeful urgency, aware that this chapter was closing. Colette brushed past the props and costume racks, her mind still tangled in thoughts of Harry and the night that they had spent wrapped in each other’s company.

She found herself in front of her dressing room mirror, staring at her own reflection as she slipped into Juliet's intricate gown. Each layer of fabric seemed to wrap her tighter, not just in character but also in the realization that soon she would have to strip away this identity that had become a second skin over months of filming.

"Knock knock," came a familiar voice from the door. It was Harry, leaning against the frame with that charming smile that always seemed to disarm her.

"Hey," Colette replied, her heart skipping a beat. "Ready for the grand finale?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry said, stepping inside and helping adjust a loose strand of her hair. "It’s surreal, isn’t it? Feels like just yesterday we were stumbling through our first lines together and today we die together."

Colette nodded, feeling the corners of her eyes moisten. "I'm going to miss us—this."

Harry took her hand gently, squeezing it reassuringly. "The end of one story, Colette. Not the end of everything."

Together, they walked onto the set where the final scene awaited them—a beautifully tragic conclusion to Shakespeare’s timeless tale. The set was a somber array of shadows and light, perfectly crafting an ambiance befitting their last moment as Romeo and Juliet.

As they stepped into their marks, silence enveloped the set. The director called for quiet on set and slowly, every surrounding noise dulled into obscurity until there was nothing but the fictional world they were anchored in.

"Action!" came the resolute call.

The scene unfolded with an intensity that mirrored the raw emotions both Harry and Colette felt. They delivered their lines with a palpable passion, their voices laced with the poignant realization of both the characters' and their own impending separation. As Romeo, Harry took a vial of poison, his hands trembling slightly—a detail that added a layer of desperate realism to his performance. Colette, as Juliet, lay motionless on the stone-cold crypt, her chest rising and falling subtly, awaiting her final cue.

When it came time for Juliet to awaken, Colette's eyes fluttered open to meet Harry's gaze one last time. The sorrow in his eyes was reflected in hers; no longer just acting, they were living their characters' tragedy. As she spoke her last lines, a tear escaped down her cheek, blurring the boundary between performance and reality.

The potent mix of fiction and their personal goodbye charged through their final kiss, drawing a silent gasp from the crew around them. As Juliet drove Romeo's dagger into her chest, Colette collapsed beside Harry with a grace that spoke volumes of the artistry she had poured into her role.

For a few heartbeats after the director called "Cut!" nobody moved. The echo of their lines lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of finality. It was only when the applause broke out that Harry and Colette were pulled back from Verona to the stark reality of the studio set.

Still lying beside each other on the cold ground of the set crypt, they turned to look at each other one last time. The clapping around them faded into a distant murmur as Harry reached out to brush away another tear from Colette’s cheek.

“That was...” Harry started but seemed unable to find the right words.

“Beautiful,” Colette finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper. “And absolutely fucking heartbreaking.”

They helped each other up and took a bow to the crew whose cheers had now filled up space like light flooding into dark corners. It was over — their journey as star-crossed lovers had come to an end on screen.

Just then, the director, a tall figure with a rumpled look that spoke of endless days and sleepless nights, stepped into the circle of light. He adjusted his glasses, looking from Harry to Colette with an expression torn between admiration and the perpetual dissatisfaction of a perfectionist.

"Truly magnificent," he pronounced, though his voice carried a but that hung in the air unspoken. The crew quieted, sensing there was more to come. "However," he continued, casting a quick glance at the cameraman who nodded sheepishly, "we had a slight glitch with the lighting. One of our key lights flickered out right at the crucial moment."

A collective sigh rippled through the team, mixed with a few suppressed groans. Yet no one protested— they all knew the importance of getting it just right.

"We need to go for another take," the director declared firmly. The disappointment was palpable, but so was the resolve to perfect the art they were all crafting together.

Harry and Colette exchanged a look of weary determination. Without a word, they moved back to their starting positions beside the stone altar that served as Juliet's final resting place.

As the crew reset their equipment, Harry glanced around at the towering set pieces that recreated Verona's gothic splendor. Artificial moonlight streamed through stained glass windows crafted from gel and plastic but beautiful nonetheless. Shadows danced along walls textured to look like ancient stone, casting eerie patterns that whispered of old secrets and timeless tragedies.

Colette smoothed her velvet gown—a rich crimson that pooled around her like spilled wine—and repositioned her hairpiece, tucking a stray lock behind her ear before she lay down once more on the cold faux-marble slab.

The props master darted forward to adjust the placement of the dagger—a replica so finely crafted it seemed as sharp as truth itself—before scurrying away as silently as he had arrived.

"Places everyone!" called the assistant director, a sprightly woman whose energy seemed inexhaustible. Her voice cut through the murmured conversations and last-minute adjustments, snapping everyone back to attention.

As silence reclaimed the set, encapsulating it in a tense bubble of anticipation, the director looked over his tableau one last time. Satisfied, he lifted his hand high then brought it down sharply.

"And... action!"

In a haunting moment, Colette delved deeper into her character, her eyes brimming with an unfathomable anguish originating not in physical torment but in the profound intertwining of loss and love. As she enacted plunging the steel through heart and bone with tragic precision, Harry’s response mirrored her intensity—his visage a masterful portrayal of despair and utter helplessness.

Silently, the cameras rolled, capturing each subtle nuance: the taut muscles beneath Juliet's delicate makeup; Romeo's trembling fingertips reaching across unseen barriers; Colette's quivering shoulders as she drew breaths heavy with sorrow. When she crumpled beside Harry once more, her descent seemed like a graceful surrender—a fragile leaf succumbing to its inevitable fall.

The seconds stretched endlessly until once again the director called out "Cut!" His voice broke through Colette’s final shuddering breaths and this time when he spoke there was no hiding his satisfaction. "Perfect," he said simply, nodding with fervor.

The applause that erupted was spontaneous and heartfelt, echoing around the cavernous studio like waves crashing against a shore. Crew members wiped away tears, caught in the emotional riptide of the scene they had just witnessed.

Harry and Colette, still entangled on the ground, finally allowed themselves a small smile—exhausted, relieved, and a little incredulous at the magic they had managed to recreate. As they stood up, their faces glistening with sweat and theatrical tears, they were enveloped in a series of eager hugs and congratulations from everyone around them.

The makeup artists hurried over with their kits ready to do touch-ups, but for a moment nobody touched Harry or Colette; it was as if their looks were sacred, perfectly capturing the essence of the poignant tragedy they had just embodied. The director approached them, clapping Harry on the back and kissing Colette on both cheeks.

"I couldn't have asked for more," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You both brought Juliet and Romeo to life in a way I never could have envisioned when we first started this project."

Harry, catching his breath, nodded appreciatively. "It felt right," he admitted, looking down at his costume, stained with artificial blood that somehow felt all too real at that moment.

Colette brushed a tear from her cheek and laughed lightly. "I think I'm going to miss her," she confessed, referring to Juliet. "It's strange how a character can become a part of you."

As they made their way off the set, passing through the constructed archways and past the fabricated stone tombs, there was a collective sense of completion but also of loss; the world they had created was temporary, its dissolution inevitable now that the film was wrapped.

The wrap party later that evening was a lively affair held at a local venue adorned with replicas of props and costumes from the film. The mood was buoyant yet bittersweet as cast and crew mingled, sharing memories from months of hard work.

Colette found herself standing by a balcony overlooking the city lights, a glass of champagne in hand. Harry joined her soon after.

"It's going to be odd not seeing everyone tomorrow," he said, leaning against the railing beside her.

"Yeah," Colette agreed softly. "It's like saying goodbye to family."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again.

"What’s next for you?" he asked curiously.

Colette shrugged slightly. "A few scripts to read; maybe some time off. And you?"

"Same," Harry replied. "Though it'll be hard to top this experience."

They smiled at each other, sharing an unspoken acknowledgement of the journey they had shared. The night grew deeper around them as words gave way to shared glances and laughter from inside reached their ears—a soundtrack to endings and new beginnings alike.

“Why don’t we get out of here, go to my place for a while.” Harry said while looking over at Colette.

Colette glanced up at the stars twinkling above, considering his invitation. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the distant sounds of celebration from inside. It felt like the perfect end to an intense and transformative day.

"Sounds like a plan," she replied with a smile that matched the lightness in her heart.

They excused themselves from the party, slipping away unnoticed among the throngs of well-wishers and fellow revelers. The city's streets were quiet as they walked side by side, their footsteps syncing in a comfortable rhythm.

Arriving at Harry's place, he unlocked the door and let them into his warmly lit apartment. Colette really examined the place. The space was tastefully decorated with various mementos from his travels and projects, each piece telling a story of its own. Colette wandered over to a shelf displaying several old cameras and script binders.

"This place has character," she commented, picking up a vintage camera and examining it closely.

"Thanks," Harry said as he went to fix them some drinks in the kitchen. "It's my little sanctuary away from all the chaos."

Returning with two glasses of wine, he joined her by a large window overlooking the cityscape. They talked for hours about everything—from their fears and dreams to trivial stories from set—each conversation thread drawing them closer, weaving a new layer into their friendship.

As dawn hinted at its arrival with a soft glow on the horizon, Harry poured them each another glass of wine. "To new beginnings?" he proposed, raising his glass slightly.

"To new beginnings," Colette echoed, clinking her glass against his. They sipped their wine in serene silence, watching as the city slowly came to life.

Harry's heart raced as he leaned in closer to Colette, his breath hot against her ear. "I have to do this," he whispered urgently, desperation lacing his words. Colette's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded, giving him permission to continue. And with that, Harry pressed his lips hungrily against hers, pouring all of his pent-up desire and longing into the passionate kiss. Electricity crackled between them as their bodies molded together, fueling the intensity of their connection. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the taste of each other on their lips and the overwhelming need driving them both.

“I’ve been thinking about this since we filmed that scene.”

Colette's breath hitched at Harry’s admission. "That scene?" she inquired, her voice trembling with a heady cocktail of nerves and anticipation. He traced his thumb across the contour of her lips, nodding before reclaiming them with a renewed intensity that left no room for doubt.

"That damn scene," he murmured against the luscious curve of her mouth, his hot whispers making her shiver in response. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer so she could feel every hard inch of him against the softness of her body.

Colette's heart pounded in her chest as Harry's thumb traced the contours of her lips, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. His hot whispers sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more contact.

"That scene," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire, "made me want you even more." With that, he claimed her lips once again, his tongue diving deep into her mouth as his hands found their way up underneath her shirt. She moaned into the kiss, feeling his calloused fingertips brush against the underside of her breasts.

His touch sent electric shockwaves through her body, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. She whimpered softly against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he teased her nipples through her bra. "Harry," she gasped out between ragged breaths, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back slightly to look down at her flushed face. "Tell me you want this," he growled lowly, eyes dark and intense as they bore into hers. Colette swallowed hard before nodding frantically. "I do," she whispered back in a voice that shook with need.

Without further hesitation, Harry scooped Colette up into his strong arms and carried her over to the nearby bed. He set her down gently before kneeling down between her spread legs and gazing up at her with a hungry glint in his eyes. "You are so so fucking beautiful," he murmured approvingly as he ran his roughened hands up along the insides of her thighs until they reached their final destination: the lace-covered mound of between them.

Groaning lowly, Harry pressed his fingers against the damp material covering Colette's core and pushed them through the fabric to slide along her wet folds. She cried out softly as sensations she hadn't felt since that fateful day on set washed over her once again—sensations that only seemed to intensify now that they were alone together like this .

Harry's fingers slid deeper into Colette's wet folds, finding her swollen clit and circling it gently. She moaned loudly, arching her back as the sensations overwhelmed her. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh god yes," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed. "Please, Harry. I need you."

He pulled his fingers away from her core and stood up, pulling her with him. She stumbled to her feet, feeling unsteady from the intense pleasure he'd just given her. He backed her up against the wall, their bodies flush from chest to thighs. His hard cock pressed against her stomach, making her even wetter.

"You are so pretty, love.," he murmured again, his lips brushing against hers in a featherlight kiss. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing her ass cheeks and pulling them apart to reveal her tight little hole. "I want you to feel every inch of me inside you."

Colette shuddered at his words, imagining how good it would feel to be filled up by him. She reached down between them and took hold of his cock through his pants, stroking it slowly as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please," she whispered again.

Harry groaned deeply and grabbed hold of her wrists, lifting them above her head and pinning them against the wall next to her head. His other hand slid down between their bodies once more, pushing aside the fabric of their clothes until he could position his cockhead at her entrance. He looked into her eyes for permission before thrusting forward powerfully into her tight heat.

She cried out in shock and pleasure as he filled her completely in one swift motion. He began to move inside her slowly at first, watching as she adjusted to his size. But soon enough he picked up speed, slamming into her over and over again with a roughness that made Colette's legs shake uncontrollably beneath him."Fuck yes!" she screamed breathlessly as he took control of their coupling completely."

She could feel every inch of him, stretching and filling her while also leaving her wanting more. His grip on her waist tightened as he picked up speed, slamming into her so hard that the bed shook beneath them.

"You like that?" he growled, his voice hoarse with lust.

"God yes!" she moaned back, arching her back to meet each of his thrusts. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. He reached down between them and rubbed circles around her clit with his fingers, sending shudders of delight through her entire being.

"You're so fucking tight," he grunted, leaning down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. The sensation sent electric shocks straight to her groin, making her even wetter for him. She cried out his name as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her, causing an explosive wave of pleasure that left her breathless.

Colette found herself begging for release as he continued to thrust into her unmercifully. "Please... I need you to cum with me!" She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the brink but didn't want it without him by her side. In response, he picked up the pace even more, driving deeper than ever before as they both neared their climaxes together.

Their bodies moved in a frantic rhythm, the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft thuds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. Colette felt the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter within her, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensations Harry was eliciting from her.

Just as she thought she could take no more, Harry’s movements became even more purposeful, his strokes deepening, each pushing her further towards that edge. His mouth left her nipple with a wet pop, traveling up her neck, leaving a trail of kisses until he reached her ear. His hot breath against her ear sent another shiver down her spine as he whispered, "Let go for me, love. I’ve got you."

And with those words, Colette felt the dam break. A powerful orgasm washed over her, waves of pleasure pulsating through her as she cried out his name, her body trembling uncontrollably. Harry followed soon after, his own climax overtaking him with a groan as he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering against hers.

As they both regained their breath, Harry slowly pulled back to look at Colette, his eyes soft now with a tender glow. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before easing out of her and helping her lay down on the bed. He lay beside her, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in his warmth.

They lay there in silence for a moment, neither needing words to express what had just transpired between them. Finally, Colette turned to look at him, a shy smile playing on her lips. “That was…” she started but seemed lost for words.

“Everything,” Harry finished for her, smiling back. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. “You were everything, my Juliet.”

Colette snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace wash over her. What had started as an undeniable attraction had blossomed into something far deeper in these moments alone together. They both knew that what was happening between them wasn’t just fleeting passion; it was something that might just redefine their understanding of connection and desire.

As the night deepened, outside the confines of their intimate world, the city's sounds blended into a distant hum, almost like a lullaby meant to soothe them in their post-climactic serenity. Harry lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Colette's breathing against him, his thoughts meandering through the events that had led to this moment.

After what felt like an eternity bathed in silence and warmth, Colette stirred slightly, breaking the magical spell that had enveloped them. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability. "Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the quietude. "What does this mean for us? For tomorrow?"

Harry’s heart tightened at her words. Tomorrow. With their lives so deeply entrenched in public scrutiny and their careers always on the line, the weight of reality began to dawn on him. Yet looking into Colette's hopeful eyes, all he wanted was to delay those worries, to live in this bubble for as long as they could.

He brushed his lips against her forehead softly, choosing his words with care. "Let's not think about tomorrow yet," he murmured softly. "Tonight, it’s just you and me. No labels, no expectations. Just... us."

Colette nodded slowly, nestling back into his chest. "Just us," she echoed, allowing herself to be enveloped by the warmth of his promise.

They stayed like that for a while longer until sleep began to claim them, their bodies entwined in a quiet promise of the now with thoughts of tomorrow held at bay.

146 notes · View notes

thatskynews · 8 months ago

Text

Sky Patched Calendar Ver. 0.25.0: A Guide for Sky Events

Steam Early Access ♨️

Double Hearts and Ultimate Treasure Candles Galore (April 10th - April 16th)

Companion Cube (Permanent in the Event Shop for Steam and PC Platforms) - 50 Candles

Journey Pack (Now Available to Every Platform) - 24.99 USD

Special Traveling Spirit Visit: Dancing Performer from Season of Dreams - from April 25th to April 28th

Season of Nesting 🪺 (April 15th - June 30th)

Will be featuring a wide choice of furniture to decorate your own space in the Aviary Village

The Nesting Guide offers two Ultimate Gifts: an outfit and a figurine with dual functions as both a prop and cosmetic.

A rotating selection of stone-hewn furniture and decor will be introduced in the season: Assortment of more than 50 items that can be unlocked over time and at your own pace using a variety of in-game currency, similar to the cosmetics offered by the base game constellation Spirits.

Sky × Cinnamoroll Pop-Up Cafe 🫖 (April 27th - May 17th)

A Days-like Event with Specific Currency —five per day, which you can find through a themed Daily Quest, putting in an order at the new cafe, and taking pictures together with Cinnamoroll himself.

Please note that items from this collaboration event are not currently planned to return, and free trial spells will not be available.

IGC Items:

Cozy Teacup Headband: 22 event currency

Cozy Cafe Table: 52 event currency

(52 + 22 = 74 / 5 = 14.8 Days to collect both items within 21 Days)

IAP Items:

Cinnamoroll Pop-Up Cafe Mini Companion (A companion to perch atop your head on your adventures): 6.99 USD

Cinnamoroll Pop-Up Cafe Bowtie and Cloud Cape: 14.99 USD

Cinnamoroll Pop-Up Cafe Combo (Includes a swirled hair style and a head accessory modeled after Cinnamoroll’s ears): 14.99 USD

Cinnamoroll Pop-Up Cafe Plushie: 14.99 USD - Includes a function that allows the owner and any friends they’re holding hands with to see all the Cinnamoroll decorations in the cafe even after the event ends when the plushie is placed on the mantle in the cafe.

#sky children of the light #sky cotl #thatskygame #(sky game updates)

132 notes · View notes

kittysdiary · 1 year ago

Text

i really do live this bimbo lifestyle. cosmetic medicine procedures, long nails, trips to the med spa, winery dates, candy scented, bouncy blonde curls, tight clothes, face on pretty, body perfect, a teacup puppy in hand + i’m intelligent! i’m really the whole package 📦💓

#my post #kitty’s diary #abt me

122 notes · View notes

4rainynite · 2 years ago

Text

EAH Dorm Rooms Headcanon 11

Faybelle & Bunny

One's a fairy with a bad streak & the other's a sweet-hearted bunny, talk about an odd pair.

Besides Raven & Apple and Ramona & Justine, Bunny & Faybelle are the oddest of roommates. One has to wonder, how the heck they can live together?

My theory is Headmaster Grimm made Bunny Faybelle's roommate on purpuse to be petty. When, Alistair and Bunny arrived he seemed furious and when they brought the fake Storybook of Legends it got worse. Seriously! In 'Fairy Tail Ending' there were many empty rooms/ girls without roommates like Farrah & Justine. But, Headmaster Grimm made Bunny room with Faybelle of all people.That man has issues!

Faybelle's side: As the future Dark Fairy in Sleeping Beauty, Faybelle she is a Royal with a evil destiny and can't wait to begin her story! Not only does she love being evil she has a passion for cheerleading. As head cheerleader she makes sure she's the center of attention.

In 'Fairy's Got Talent' we get a good description of her room at Ever After High and her home.

I can see Faybelle's side of the dorm looking like her party like in 'The Tale of Two Parties', but in the books Faybelle's home was made of white stone due to Madam Thorn stating that 'light has no side' and is usually seen wearing white.

Faybelle's dorm is covered in fairy lights and probably has a dart board with people she hates that she zaps with her magic.

YIKES! I know she dislikes Raven and Apple, but that girl needs to see a counselor or something.

In the books there's a painting of the Thorn family crest in her dorm. In the center of the crest, the motto "Doers of Dark Magic" wrapped around an evil-looking eye that follows the viewer no matter where they stay in the room (this freaks Bunny out).

She has a vanity where she keeps her bottles, perfumes, and cosmetics on. She uses many products to keep her wings healthy, like leave-on conditioner and sunscreen to keep them glossy and supple.

I think Faybelle dyes her hair blonde to fir her mother's 'light has no side' idea. In 'Unfairest of Them All' her hair was originally midnight blue, the teal stripe in her hair is what didn't get bleached.

In the books she has a closet where she got a tiara out for an audition in 'Fairy's Got Talent'.

Faybelle has sprinklers in her room due to accidentally setting it on fire sometimes with her powers. The cleaning fairies hate cleaning up her dorm!

Like Raven & Briar I think Faybelle has a coffee machine in her room, due to her love of coffee.

From the information I've gathered Faybelle furniture has thorn and fairy wing designs on them and are white, black, and teal.

I can see Faybelle having a spinning wheel similiar to Briar's (only teal).

Being head cheerleader Faybelle has a trophy case filled with trophies, medals, and ribbons in cheerleading.

Like Daring I can see her dorm having a ton of mirrors.

Bunny's side: Despite being the next White Rabbit, who is always late and nervous. Bunny is calm and arrives on time.

Since, 'Fairy's Got Talent' was in Faybelle's perpective there was zero description on Bunny's side of the room. We do know Bunny is messy which is a trait shared by the other Wonderlanders since she throws carrot stems that land of Faybelle's side of the dorm. I'm guessing their dorm is the same size as Ramona and Justine due to Faybelle finds Bunny's discarded veggies on her side of the dorm and how angry she was to gain a roommate.

Because Bunny can shapeshift her side of the dorm may have things a normal rabbit would use like toys and brushes.

Bunny's side of the dorm would be decorative heavily with Wonderland themes like watches, chess pieces, and teacups.

She has a huge collection of hats and watches in her closet.

Being friends with a riddle master like Alistair (crush) Bunny has a large bookcase with books on riddles, Wonderland, and vegetables.

Alistair gave Bunny the rose and she keeps it on her nightstand.

Bunny has a mini fridge where she keeps her veggies. That and she uses the balcony in the dorm to grow more delicious veggies.

Bunny is rarely in her dorm due to all the clubs she's in: she plays horn in the school band, track and shield, chess club, taking care of the Wonderland Grove, party planning committee, and royal student council.

I honestly think besides these clubs being Bunny's hobbies and meeting new people, Bunny does them to stay away from Faybelle. In 'Fairy's Got Talent' Faybelle would scare Bunny no matter what she did. Along with the dorm sometimes catching on fire and the staring-eye-crest, Bunny most likely sleeps over at Kitty, Lizzie, and Maddie's dorms on the weekends or during study sessions.

I knew people like Faybelle (and Headmaster Grimm) in real life so having them as a roommate would be a nightmare!

Well, I did my best with Bunny with how little info there was on her.

Images from EAHWIKI & ROYALREBELWIKI

#ever after high #ever after royal #eah #dorm room #bunny blanc #faybelle thorn #my art

57 notes · View notes

leighrobertsreads · 7 months ago

Text

Spill the Tea

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Word Count: 218 Fandom: Star Trek, sixbeforelunch's incredible Vulcan-focused Pi'maat series on AO3 (set in The Next Generation / Deep Space 9 era) Pairing: sixbeforelunch's wonderful Vulcan OCs, Veral/T'Lin Link to the first story in Pi'maat, where this scene is shown from T'Lin's perspective: Kal'i'farr heh T'naehm (only visible if you're logged into AO3)

Through their bond, Veral felt a wave of disgust from T'Lin, the virtual stranger who had agreed to risk her life to save his eight months ago when he burned without a mate… and tie herself to him for the rest of their lives. They had not exchanged a word before the hasty ceremony; he was far too deep into the fever to even speak his vows.

He knew what he looked like. Cosmetic surgery was for healing wounds and serious birth defects, not for modifying a healthy but unfortunate face. He had been denied when he requested it after a few years of the unsuccessful search for a replacement for his beloved Najin, who he had shockingly lost to a cancer detected too late that Vulcan medicine had been able to heal for centuries.

Wait. The disgust wasn't directed towards him, but the contents of her teacup; more specifically, the spices in her tea.

That he could do something about.

He made eye contact with the servant, a distant cousin just beginning to work her way up in his mother's conglomerate of businesses. He lifted his right index finger to signal for a new teapot, and then his left to request that it not be spiced.

After T'Lin had her first sip, he felt surprise. And gratitude.

#fff252 #star trek #vulcans #pimaat

7 notes · View notes

braiawrites · 10 months ago

Text

Lost & Found - Chapter 8

Summary: Jude, Cardan, and Pellia head to Hollow Hall, where they encounter a few surprises—including a betrayal that could end everything. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 9168

Rating: T

Warnings: Violence, death.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER SEVEN

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

A/N: I barely edited/proofread this. What's that one meme? "No beta. We die like men." Something like that. Yeah.

Also, about what happens in this chapter...? I'm sorry in advance.

***

By the time Jude made her way back to her room, the pixie had helped herself to her host’s brushes and hair ties and rooted through her drawers looking for creams and cosmetics.

Cardan couldn’t blame her for the frustration she’d shown upon finding absolutely nothing; he had already decided that once he was turned back into himself, whether they were enemies or not—and truly, he wasn’t certain where they would stand—he would have to talk with Jude about her dismal lack of reverence for her poor skin.

Pellia had also taken it upon herself to loot the makeshift armoury beneath the bed and had found a sleek, curved knife—an assassin’s blade, she’d said, pointing out the hidden poison compartment in its hilt—which was now thrust through her belt. She’d also liberated a whetstone and was now sharpening the blade of the stolen guard’s sword, with no small amount of cursing as her shaky hands made the task more difficult.

Cardan didn’t miss the way Pellia flinched and froze momentarily at the creak of the door when Jude entered, balancing a tray of food on one hand and a steaming teapot in the other. He headbutted the door closed as she brought the tray to her vanity.

“Dinner rolls, vegetable and chicken soup, fruit—and tea, to help with the pain,” Jude announced.

“Chicken soup?”

Jude gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My sister likes to bring us human things sometimes. Here.” She nudged the tray toward Pellia. “And stop going through my stuff.”

The pixie smiled sweetly at the last part, fluttering ruby lashes at the mortal girl as if to say, Who, me? But she didn’t comment as she moved from the bed to the vanity. Cardan envied her ability to remain insolent in the face of Jude’s sharp-enough-to-cut-glass glare.

Pellia didn’t even flinch, just lifted the teapot one-handed, swore as she nearly dropped it, adjusted her grip, and poured, sloshing tea over the sides of her cup as she did. She set the pot down with a clunk and a grimace.

“What’s in it?” Pellia’s teacup was only half full, droplets running down the porcelain sides. She watched through the steam as Jude listed off a handful of herbs on her hands. Those ruby brows went up, an expression she seemed to make often.

“Girl, that’s not painkilling; that’s, like, all-sensation-in-my-entire-body killing.”

“If you don't want it—”

“No, I absolutely do. Please,” she added with a wince as Jude gripped the pot’s handle. Cardan wasn’t certain whether that wince had been borne of pain or out of the mere fact that she’d said please so genuinely, without a hint of sarcasm. He got the feeling it was both in equal measures.

As Pellia ate, Cardan joined Jude at her wardrobe to save her from committing egregious fashion sins. He hissed his disapproval to veto the tunic she was reaching for—grey on grey was not the look, especially when the leggings were a cool shade while the tunic carried warm undertones—and nosed the one beside it.

“Jude,” Pellia said quietly from her spot at the vanity. “We need to find Balekin as soon as possible. I read the letter to Madoc, and—hold on. Did you just take fashion advice from a cat? I wish I had that on video.”

Jude’s cheeks warmed slightly and Cardan meowed indignantly. I may be a cat but I still know how to dress! he wanted to shoot back.

At the same time, Jude demanded, “Why were you going through my stuff?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Her tone was, somehow, both genuinely confused and unbearably haughty, but before Jude could respond, Pellia waved it off and pointed out, “Anyway, you know cats can’t see the same colours we can, right?”

Cardan would have protested, but he had noticed colours were different, especially in the beginning. He was mostly used to it now, though, and he knew some of Jude’s wardrobe from memory anyway. This top in particular was a desaturated dark blue with green undertones, long sleeves, and a deep V-neck that she had first worn about a year ago. He knew that because the image of her in that shirt, the way it hugged her waist just right, had blazed in his mind every time he’d closed his eyes for a solid week afterward. He knew good fashion when he saw it.

“Stop changing the subject,” Jude snapped.

“I wasn’t, I just thought you should be aware that you are taking fashion advice from the equivalent of a half-blind—”

Cardan’s angry growl cut her off.

“Okay, alright, sorry,” she retreated. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, kitty.”

“The letter,” Jude demanded.

“Right, yes. The deal I made with our favourite prince was that he wouldn’t harm my sister so long as I did what he wanted. But if Balekin thinks I’m dead, then there’s no more deal. There’s no one holding him accountable.” Her hands curled into fists on the hem of her borrowed tunic. “I don’t want to think about what he might do to her then.”

“You—”

“Should have thought the deal through more and made him promise to release her once I’d caught Catboy over here?” she snapped. “Yeah, I know. I was a bit panicked, considering my fourteen-year-old human sister was kidnapped by Elfhame’s soggiest piece of toast.”

“I—what?”

“Haven’t you ever, like, spilled water on your toast? And then it gets all gross and mushy? It’s literally the worst.”

Jude shook her head. “I can’t say I have. But regardless, I wasn’t trying to blame you for it. I was just going to say, you don’t look like you’re in the best shape to go tonight. Maybe we should wait a day.”

“No.” Pellia’s tone was sharp, her eyes flinty, her mouth set in a determined line. “I can do what I have to. I don’t care about myself; I just need Amber to get home safe.” More quietly, she added, “Please.”

Jude breathed deeply, then sighed. Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. I can tell I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, so we’ll go tonight. But for now, rest.”

Pellia nodded, one corner of her mouth tweaking upward in an almost-smile. “Thank you,” she said, and the gratitude in the pixie’s red eyes was the nicest emotion Cardan had seen yet. It almost made her seem approachable.

“Try to eat something,” Jude instructed, heading into her small bathing room. “I’ll be back.”

Pellia gave a distracted wave of assent and mumbled something that could have been, “Try to stop me,” through a mouthful of soft bread. She ate quietly for a while, supplementing the meal with sips of tea.

“This stuff’s strong,” she remarked with a nod of approval toward the teapot. “Painkilling, indeed.”

Cardan would have missed the next thing she said, breathed into her teacup as she sipped, had he not been bestowed the lovely gift of heightened cat hearing: “Maybe if I drink enough it’ll kill my emotions, too.”

He twitched his ears, letting out a short mrrow of laughter. The pixie glanced at him and huffed, something between a smirk and a wry smile crossing her lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought the same thing. You want some?”

In previous times, Cardan might have said yes. Yes, tea to fix the ache in his heart. Yes, tea to let him drink away the piercing, twisting blade in his gut each time his father overlooked him or his brother tossed an insult his way. Yes, because he was empty and miserable and he loathed it, loathed himself, loathed everything about this world and his place in it.

But now? Now he wasn’t so sure.

Pellia, apparently, hadn’t missed a single one of the thoughts or feelings flickering across his face. She hummed, setting her cup down to take a spoonful of soup.

“Perhaps I did you a favour then, dear prince.”

Cardan flattened his ears at that. Certainly he had been more content in these weeks with Jude than he had been—perhaps ever in his entire life—but he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was deserving of his thanks.

“Or not.” Again, Pellia had read his thoughts on his face.

The hair along his spine puffed up involuntarily. It was unnerving—how she could read him so easily, even in this form, even having never known him.

“Don’t worry, kitty,” she smirked. “I won’t tell her how much you’ve enjoyed being her pet. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated the statement with a wink. In response, Cardan gave her an eyeroll of epic proportions.

It only served to make her laugh, which seemed to cause her pain, judging by her wince and the way she downed the remaining tea in her cup. Despite himself, Cardan felt a small amount of smug satisfaction at that fact.

It didn’t last long. Her eyes fixed on his in a way he just knew was meant to be antagonistic. Then she dipped a corner of her bread in the soup and proceeded to chew with her mouth open. He glared back, ears flattened, and hissed his most menacing hiss. He wished Jude would hurry up with her bath. At least she wasn’t annoying on purpose, unlike Pellia, who seemed to delight in getting the last word.

Rather than sit here with the pixie, Cardan headed for the balcony door, which Jude always left slightly ajar for him. But as he slipped outside, he heard Pellia call, “Don’t you want to stay and supervise me? Make sure I don’t get into trouble or steal her prized possessions or something?”

He turned back with a grumble because, damnit, she was right. If he left, nothing was stopping her from putting her grubby little hands all over everything in Jude’s room. Not that he would be much help if she did decide that was what she wanted to do—he was a cat and she was clearly trained in combat and treachery—but at least he would know she had done something. He could tell Jude, and Jude could end the pixie’s whole career with one punch. He’d seen her training, knew how fast she could move and what strength was hidden in her mortal bones. Jude was beautiful and deadly, and Pellia was roughly five feet tall and had just spilled tea on the desk while trying to pour herself another cup.

So Cardan stayed, and Pellia continued to be dreadful by the mere fact of her existence and without even doing anything at all.

They were quiet for a long while, Pellia staring across the room to the window as she ate small portions at a time, and Cardan shifting awkwardly every now and then. Pellia turned her unnatural gaze toward him, considering. His skin prickled. He wasn’t fond of the way she seemed to be sizing him up, fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her head, manipulating him into some undoubtedly terrifying plan as though he were a pawn at her disposal. He fought the twitching whiskers that were the cat equivalent of a laugh. She noticed regardless, and her own lips quirked up in a tiny, barely-there smile that didn’t match the hollow, aching look in her eyes.

She glanced away, blinking. When she looked back again, Cardan almost couldn’t see that depth hidden behind her bravado. Almost.

“Listen, kitty,” she began. Her mouth opened slightly, and she floundered a moment before she was able to force the next words through her lips on a quivering breath. “No matter how we prepare, this isn’t going to go how we plan it. Guaranteed.”

She set her tea down and wiped her hands on Jude’s borrowed clothes. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to the dagger in her belt, following its curves, tracing the seam around the top of its hilt. She nodded to herself, as if confirming something, before her eyes flicked up to meet his own again.

“We need to plan for betrayal. From all sides.” Cardan's skin prickled under the intensity of her eyes boring into his. Slowly, he nodded, flicking his ears forward.

I’m listening, the gesture said.

A grim, determined smile played across the pixie’s face. “Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking…”

~ ~ ~

Jude towel-dried and braided her wet hair after her bath. She had taken her time to soak and wash as she sorted through everything that was unfolding. Pellia’s explanation of why she was here in the first place, as well as confirming Balekin as the mastermind behind it all, had helped, but it didn’t solve things completely.

Neither Jude nor the pixie knew why Balekin had bothered with Cardan’s cat-metamorphosis in the first place, instead of just killing him the way Jude suspected he’d had done to Dain. Although, she supposed, considering Dain was widely thought to be the most popular contender for the next High King, it would make sense that Balekin might want him out of the way. And Cardan—pre–cat era, of course—was cruel and a menace, and would have presented less of a threat.

“Still seems like it would have been simpler to just kill him,” Jude mumbled to herself, then immediately felt bad for entertaining the thought.

She dressed quickly before leaving the bathroom, a habit she had gotten into since discovering her feline friend was actually the missing faerie prince.

In her room, she found that Pellia had finished eating and passed out on the bed, curled on top of the sheets. Her dishes were arranged neatly on the vanity.

Cardan chirped softly in greeting from his spot by the window.

“Has she been out long?” Jude whispered.

Cardan flicked his tail and stood for a long, languid stretch.

Jude sighed. “You could at least try to communicate with me.”

The annoyance that flared in response to Cardan’s answering yawn was quickly dampened as he twined between her feet, demanding to be picked up. She obliged.

“By tomorrow, you’ll be yourself again,” she told him, scratching the soft fur on his jaw. He purred at her touch, and she tried to pretend it didn’t make her heart ache. She wasn’t sure when she had grown so fond of him. Maybe, after this was over, she would get a cat. It wouldn’t be the same, though.

A sudden apprehension struck her. “Either that, or we’ll all be dead.”

Cardan’s purring halted abruptly at the words, and he twisted in her arms to meet her gaze, his amber eyes steady and determined. Softly, he rested one fuzzy front paw over Jude’s heart, giving her a slow blink.

There was something in his gaze, an emotion that took Jude a moment to decipher: trust. A small, hesitant smile fought its way onto her lips, and Cardan chirped softly, stretching out to poke her nose with his own.

Then he flopped bonelessly back into her arms, lifting his chin so she could scratch his favourite spot.

Jude rolled her eyes and released her grip on him. “Oops.”

He scrambled as he tumbled from her arms, somehow still managing to land gracefully, and flicked his tail at her as he strutted away, nose in the air.

She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile as she began gathering the supplies they would need to confront Balekin, leaving the cat prince of Elfhame to sulk.

~ ~ ~

The moon was sinking low in the ever-lightening sky as the trio made their way toward Hollow Hall once more. Pellia set the pace, a steady march, while Jude brought up the rear with the lithe black form of Cardan riding fluidly on her shoulder. She had quickly discovered that walking behind her was the only way she could reliably keep track of the pixie’s movements. The red-haired girl moved so quietly, her steps often syncing with Jude’s own. Despite their truce, Jude didn’t entirely trust the other girl at her back.

They walked in silence for the first half of the journey, the only sounds coming from their soft footfalls on the leaf-littered floor and the whisper of wind through the Milkweeds. Then Pellia stopped abruptly, and Jude promptly collided with the other girl’s back. Cardan meowed in alarm, scrambling to keep his place on Jude’s shoulder. His claws dug through her shirt and into her skin.

“Thanks for the warning,” Jude quipped, as equally annoyed at the cat prince as at Pellia.

“Ow,” Pellia accused. “That was rude.”

“You just stopped with no warning.”

“My bad. I didn’t realise I needed your permission to stop walking.”

“You—”

“Look,” Pellia interrupted, pointing at a low bush a few steps into the underbrush. Its dark leaves were glossy and adorned with sharp points. There was some kind of black berry clinging to the stems. The pixie crouched next to the bush and began picking the fruit.

“You’re hungry?” Jude didn’t know Pellia very well, but after the way she’d refused to wait any longer to go after her sister, she was a little taken aback by the pixie’s apparent lack of focus. Then again, stopping for a picnic was certainly unexpected, and nothing about Pellia had been predictable so far.

“No, idiot,” Pellia clarified. “It’s sanguineberry.”

Jude stepped forward to take a closer look. The berries, which she’d thought were black, actually appeared to be a deep red in colour and were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were clustered in twos and threes, but Pellia twisted them off the plant one at a time.

“Never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” The redhead shrugged. “Most people think it’s mildly poisonous—stomach cramps, excessive sweating, maybe vomiting a bit of blood for a day or two if you’re really unlucky—so it isn’t really gathered much. But actually—” she unsheathed the assassin’s dagger and pierced the flesh of a particularly large berry—“it’s a powerful analgesic.”

Pellia brought the punctured berry to her lips and sucked the juice out. It deflated like a juiced orange.

“Pellia!” Jude exclaimed, trying to grab the fruit from the pixie’s hand. She was too late. The pixie had already swallowed it, leaving the skin slightly deflated. Jude’s hands curled into fists. “I really don’t think vomiting blood is something you need to add to your condition right now.”

The pixie just laughed. “Do you actually think I’d eat something that I just told you was poisonous?”

“It is a distinct possibility.” From his spot on her shoulder, Cardan made a sound that was suspiciously close to laughter.

“Shut it, catboy,” Pellia rolled her eyes. “It’s only the skin that you can’t eat. Look.” She peeled the skin back to reveal a pulpy red interior. It looked like a warfield. “The juice is safe to ingest—and, like I said, it’s a great painkiller.” She grinned a seemingly-bloody smile, her teeth stained from the sanguineberry juice. “If you eat the skin though, then it’s a pain causer.”

“Ha ha,” Jude deadpanned. She was about done with this conversation. “Time’s ticking. We need to go.”

Pellia nodded, suddenly serious. “I just need to collect some of these first.”

At Jude’s slight frown, the pixie smirked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the plan.”

~ ~ ~

“Where did you come from?!”

The guard on patrol outside Hollow Hall was easy to sneak up on and easier to dispatch. Pellia had barely finished quipping, “Your mom’s house,” by the time Jude had the guard on the ground, face in the dirt. He was thrashing, demanding to know about his mother and whether she was safe.

“My humour is lost on you,” the pixie sighed.

“That was supposed to be funny?” It seemed more like psychological warfare than humour to Jude, but then, maybe that was what Pellia found humorous.

“At least he gets it,” Pellia shrugged, gesturing to Cardan, whose whiskers were twitching in a cat’s smile.

They left the guard—incapacitated but alive—behind and headed for the door. They halted at the sound of a voice.

“Alas returns the lost prince,” it said.

Cardan growled. Jude’s hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. Pellia let out an impressive string of curses at the sight of the enchanted door and its inhuman face. Her dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand.

“I thought you’d been here before,” Jude said. “This seems like a pretty difficult thing to miss.”

“I didn’t use the front door that time,” Pellia said, scowling at the enchanted face. “I’d heard about this thing but what the hell—who dreamed you up?”

“What would your mother think of that vocabulary?” the door chided. “Or that nursemaid of hers, for that matter? What was her name—Annie? No: Angela! I’m assuming she’s the one who raised you? Spirited you away so you couldn’t follow in your mother’s footsteps?”

“How do you—actually, nevermind. You’re creepy and I don’t need to tell you anything.” Pellia moved to shove the door open, but it spoke again.

“Ah, ah. Tell me where you’ve been hiding all of these years?” it rasped. “It mustn't have been on the Isles, or I would have known.”

Pellia gritted her teeth so hard that Jude could have sworn she heard them creaking. Her grip on the dagger’s hilt was turning her knuckles white. “One more word and I dig the point of this into your eye,” she threatened.

The door swung open.

With a last glare at the enchanted door, Pellia dragged Jude and Cardan inside. She led them out of sight of the entrance and its magical guardian before turning to face Jude.

“From here on, we split up,” she said.

Jude nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to find your sister while I go after Balekin?”

Pellia gave the other girl a half-smile. “I’m sure,” she said. Jude’s frown deepened as the pixie added, “I need you to promise me something.”

“What…?”

“I need you to promise that, no matter what you see, you won’t interfere. Balekin is my fight. I just need you to find my sister.” Pellia’s eyes were blazing once again with that same determination. It sent a chill down Jude’s spine.

After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. “Okay. You get Balekin. I’ll find Amber.”

“Thank you. And good luck.”

“You too.”

Pellia turned her ruby gaze on Cardan, and they locked eyes. “Ready, catboy?”

Mrrroow, he responded.

Pellia smiled then slipped away, practically melting into the shadows.

~ ~ ~

“She’s kind of annoying, but I hope she doesn’t get herself killed,” Jude said. She was following Cardan through the crooked stone walls of his one-time home.

Was it still? He wasn’t so sure. Although he could never say so, when he closed his eyes and thought about home, the image he found was starting to look less like Hollow Hall or the Palace and more like whitewashed walls, wooden beams, and smoky windows. It was starting to look like the arms of a mortal girl who had dedicated so much time and effort into returning his sorry self to fey form.

Cardan turned into a small room—a closet, really, and scratched at the carpeted floor. Jude got the hint, running her fingers over the rug until she found the catch in one corner where it didn’t quite fit so snugly against the wall. She drew it back to reveal a trap door and, beneath that, a ladder extending into the darkness.

“Fantastic,” she muttered. “I hope I’m not about to lower myself into a hole in the ground for no good reason.”

Cardan was half-amused and half-insulted by the implication in her words. She’ll be there, he wanted to say, but he could only chirp reassuringly.

Jude scratched under his chin with one finger before inviting him to climb up onto her shoulder.

Happily, he purred.

At the bottom of the ladder, the tunnel ran out to either side. He kept watch to make sure no one was coming, his feline eyes comfortable in the dim light. When they reached the bottom, Cardan gave a soft mrrow and gestured to the rightmost path.

The tunnel was wide but low. Had he been in his own body, Cardan would have had to hunch slightly to avoid scraping his head against the earthen ceiling. As it was, Jude had a couple of inches to spare, even at the lowest points, and Cardan was able to cling to her shoulder as she walked. This suited him just fine—he didn’t find the damp, earthy scent particularly appealing, and he didn’t want it all over his paws, thank you very much.

The tunnel began to slope downward and continued like that for another hundred metres or so. Amber’s makeshift cell was at the bottom of that slope.

The rooms beneath Hollow Hall weren’t meant to house prisoners—not really. They were a safety precaution and a way to sneak around, known only by Balekin, Cardan, and a small handful of Balekin’s inner circle.

Amber was being held in the hastily blocked off back half of an alcove that Cardan distinctly remembered as having been used to store unopened wine casks at some point. On a hook set into the hard-packed earthen wall was a key, dangling alone on a large keyring. The metal bars of the cell looked like they had been repurposed from a fence or a gate somewhere. A bucket in the corner served as a chamberpot, and a few cushions and a blanket was her bed.

All in all, it was better than Cardan had expected, considering his brother’s habitual treatment of humans.

“Amber?” Jude asked, stepping into the alcove. The girl at the back of the cell looked up. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Her mousey brown hair was tattered, her brown eyes wide and cautious as they took in the girl and cat before her. A smatter of freckles stood out against sickly skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks.

“You’re a person—a human,” Amber said, studying Jude. “Are you… awake?”

“Um, yes.”

The girl sat up a little straighter. “The others weren’t. The servants. They’re like zombies.”

Cardan could hear Jude swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way her brow furrowed, her jaw tightening.

“I’m awake,” she promised. “I’m Jude. I’m a friend of your sister’s.”

That got the girl’s attention. Amber’s whole face lit up and she was suddenly on her feet. Cardan couldn’t imagine feeling that much excitement toward any of his siblings, even the not-so-bad ones.

“Pellia’s here?” Hope was blossoming on Amber’s features, brightening her eyes and bringing her back to life.

“She is,” Jude said, grabbing the key to the cell door. “We’re getting you out.”

With a metallic click and an aching groan, the door to the cell swung out, and Amber followed, throwing her arms around Jude. The young girl’s relief was palpable. When her eyes started to water, it sent a pang through Cardan’s heart, so strong he had to look away.

That was why he was the first to see the figure that loomed out of the dark tunnel: Madoc.

“I was hoping it would not come to this,” the Redcap’s voice rumbled off the walls. Jude spun around, shoving the girl behind her.

“Madoc,” she said. Cardan knew her well enough by now to recognise the slight tilt of unease on her mouth, the way her breathing sped up ever-so-slightly when she was surprised, just for a heartbeat, before she steadied it again. He felt the hair along his back stand straighter in response to Jude’s emotions.

Apparently Madoc could read her too. “You think I was unaware all this time that you were sneaking around with that?” He jerked his chin in Cardan’s direction, a disdainful sneer curling his lips.

“A cat?” Jude said, eyes narrowing.

Cardan hissed, half at Madoc and half at Jude for acting like he was some common stray—he knew her angle, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“You are too intelligent to think I would believe that you have not figured out who that is. You broke into my office, stole my correspondence, and expected that I would not notice? Unlikely.”

Jude shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She was edging away from the open cell and toward the freedom of the alcove, nudging Amber along with her.

“Not really.” Madoc rested a hand on his sword hilt, a subtle threat. “Stop shuffling and put the girl back in the cell.”

Jude’s hand found the hilt of her own sword. “No.”

The identical shiiiing! of two swords being unsheathed simultaneously sang into the damp earthen tunnels. Cardan leaped to grab hold of Amber, trying to drag her out of harm’s way as Jude and her foster father faced off.

There was no escape with Madoc blocking the alcove entrance, so Cardan nudged the mortal girl toward the wall, where she could slip behind the open door. That way, Madoc wouldn’t be able to corral them back into the cell. A quick glance up showed him a wide-eyed, white-faced Amber. He clambered up to her shoulder and leaned in, forcing a purr in an effort to comfort her.

As steel rang against steel, Cardan tried to figure out if the trembling he was feeling was Amber’s or his own. Probably both.

He flattened his ears as Madoc slid his blade down the length of Jude’s, bringing him inside her guard. She tried to shove him back but he disengaged with a quick twist and sent her stumbling back. As she fell, the sachet of protective herbs she kept on a cord around her neck slipped from under her tunic. Madoc lashed out with one green clawed hand, snapping it from her neck.

Cardan could feel the magic tingling in the air as the Redcap opened his mouth to speak.

He couldn’t let Madoc glamour Jude.

That was the only thought on the cat prince’s mind as launched himself, all claws and teeth and feline fury—straight onto Madoc’s face. Hissing and spitting, Cardan clung to the older fey, raking his nails across green skin until blood oozed from various wounds.

Madoc screamed—in pain and anger, deep and earth-rumbling and vicious. His sword fell from his grip, hitting the dirt floor with a dull thud. He clawed at the cat whose nails were so deeply embedded in his skin, howling the whole time. His hands were bruising, grasping Cardan around the chest and neck, and try as he might, the prince couldn’t fight him off.

Thankfully, there was no need: Jude, recovering her feet and her weapon, saw the opportunity as it presented itself. She planted one foot against the wild, reeling Redcap’s hip and shoved.

Her foster father stumbled back, arms cartwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. Cardan sprang away as he fell into the cell. Amber, still behind the door, slammed it shut, and the lock engaged with a loud click!

No one spoke. Jude pocketed the key, and she and Madoc stared at each other for a long time, their panting breaths—one tired, one angry—the only sounds in the subterranean room. Slowly, Jude picked up the sachet of herbs from where it had fallen. She re-knotted the broken cord and strung it over Amber’s neck.

“To keep you safe from glamours,” she explained, but her voice seemed quiet and far away, as though it had been swallowed by the earth.

Blood roared in Cardan’s ears. He tried to take stock of his body—was everything intact? He twitched his tail, his ears, then did a full-body shake. Nothing hurt too badly. His ribs and neck were a little sore from where Madoc had grabbed him, but nothing was broken, no blood drawn.

Not mine, at least, he thought, flexing blood-sticky claws. He shuddered. There was no way he was cleaning that off the cat way.

A hand brushed his shoulder and he looked up into walnut eyes. Jude. He climbed into the proffered arms. She felt warm and solid, and Cardan could almost feel the tension of the past few minutes drain from his body.

“Thank you,” Jude whispered.

She cast one more glance at her foster father, whose hands were wrapped around the metal bars, before taking the Amber’s hand and leading her out of the alcove.

“Let’s go get your sister.”

~ ~ ~

The silver-eyed prince was in his room when she found him.

The heavy wooden door was cracked open, a sliver of wavering torchlight spilling out into the hallway. An invitation, taunting. Apparently, Balekin was expecting her.

So much for the element of surprise. She almost wanted to laugh, to release the nervous energy that was curling in her stomach, rendering her body electric with anticipation.

This is it. She was either going to free Cardan and save her sister… or die trying. Hopefully the first option, but still, her mind spun. Everything felt so similar to the first time—when she’d arrived in Faerie to confront Balekin, furious and fear-filled—and look how badly that had gone, her mind insisted.

She shook her head, as though doing so could dislodge the thoughts from her brain. She’d been stupid that time, rushing in with no plan, wielding weapons and white-hot rage as her tools of revenge. This time, she was ready. This time, she had a plan and allies and she knew what she was facing. This time, she was writing the rules.

Pellia drew her sword, the one she’d stolen from the Palace guard what felt like aeons ago. Raising it to deflect a surprise attack, she pushed the door open with one foot and stepped inside.

The centre of the room was empty except for the large area rug covering the flagstones, the furniture pushed back against the walls. In a large armchair at the far side of the room, his loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway to expose his bare chest, sat Balekin.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming in,” he sneered. He held a goblet in one hand, swirling its contents idly. A naked sword was propped against the armrest next to him. “Where’s your entourage?”

Pellia said nothing, just moved farther into the room.

“Nothing to say today? No witty remarks?”

She stopped at the edge of the rug and Balekin tsked. “Boring,” he said. “I thought you’d be more interesting now, not less. Maybe your sister’s life on the line is taking its toll, hm?”

“And whose fault is that?” Pellia responded, red eyes meeting silver.

The prince smirked. “She would have been safe if you had upheld your end of the bargain.”

“I did my part!” The words slipped from her mouth without any forethought. Her sword point was aimed at Balekin’s chest, like he wasn’t half a room away. Pellia gritted her teeth, calming her voice. “I did my part,” she repeated. “I was working for you. I was following your orders. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

Balekin hummed noncommittally. “I must say, I thought you would be a little more difficult to catch. You disappointed me, Nerium.”

“You’d know about disappointments,” she said acidly. “And can we talk about the whole ordering-to-kill-me thing, ‘cause that wasn’t part of the deal! They fucking tortured me, and I didn’t talk, but you couldn’t even do a little thing like not order my death?!”

“You were a liability.”

“Fuck off.”

“And so the teeth come out,” he chuckled. “Does that not feel better?”

“Things will be ‘better’ when I have my sister, and you’re six feet under,” Pellia snapped.

Balekin smirked. “Bold words, considering you’re the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.”

“Respectfully,” Pellia said, trying hard to keep a leash on her temper, “if one more dumbfuck sentence like that comes out of your mouth, I am going to violate the Geneva Convention.”

When Balekin’s face flickered with confusion, she said, “War crimes. I’m going to commit war crimes.”

The dark prince smirked. “You plan to fight me? In that state?” He laughed, a full-belly laugh that made Pellia want to throttle him.

She knew it wasn’t the best plan. She knew she was weak, still unhealed from her injuries and recovering from torture and starvation. But she had no other choice. She would fight, and maybe she would even get in a few good cuts before he took her down. She just had to keep him occupied long enough for Jude and Cardan to free her sister.

“Are you scared?” she taunted.

Balekin chuckled again, recognising the bait for what it was. “I am not the one who should be afraid,” he said, draining the contents of his goblet and trading the cup for his sword. He rose to his feet. “Try not to bleed all over my carpet.”

Torchlight flickered off live steel as they circled, each tracking the other’s every move. Their feet shuffled across the rug. The fireplace crackled in the background.

Maybe, if she was lucky, Pellia could get the first hit—incapacitate him early and end the fight before he could take advantage of her injured state.

Fast as a snake, she struck, aiming for the muscle between his neck and shoulder with an overhead slash. Balekin met her attack, deflecting her sword and shoving his own point-first toward her throat.

She swayed out of the way just in time, though his blade did catch the side of her neck. Blood welled from the scratch. Pellia ignored it, stepping into him in an attempt to catch him off guard. Steel screamed against steel as her blade slid down the length of his. They were locked toe-to-toe. She gritted her teeth as the prince pressed down harder. This may not have been her brightest idea, and she knew he recognised it too.

“Bad choice,” he said and hooked her ankle with one foot. Pellia went down. Her back hit the ground hard, driving the air from her lungs. She had just enough sense to roll out of the way before Balekin’s sword plunged down, piercing the rug where she had been a heartbeat before.

Pellia scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, and brought her sword back to the guard position. She was moving on autopilot, her muscles taking over while her dazed mind caught up. Balekin let her rise, smirking.

They circled again, the prince’s movements smooth and predatory while Pellia was still trying to catch her breath. Her fractured rib burned, but she pushed the pain aside, blinking rapidly. She just had to keep him occupied until Cardan found them.

This time, Balekin attacked first. He went low, slashing for her thighs, and Pellia brought her own sword down to meet him. The clash of their weapons rang off the stone walls.

She disengaged, knocking his blade away, and that was when she saw the opening. With all her strength, Pellia lunged forward, her swordpoint thrusting for his heart—

Balekin’s smile was that of a predator, baring its teeth as it moved in for the kill. He swayed out of harm’s way, caught her wrist in one hand, and threw her across the room.

Pellia soared.

During the brief moment she was in the air, she found herself hoping that Cardan wouldn’t be too angry with her for failing. She hoped he and Jude would find Amber and help her get home. She hoped her sister would be okay without her.

Then Pellia slammed into the ground.

~ ~ ~

Jude followed close on Cardan’s heels as he led the way through the stone corridors of Hollow Hall. She held her sword ready in one hand, holding onto Amber’s wrist with the other. She tried not to be frustrated at the slow but steady pace they were setting—it wasn’t fair to expect Amber to keep up after having been locked in a cell for who knows how long.

Still, she worried about Pellia facing Balekin alone when she was already injured. She would need to be one hell of a fighter to have a shot at winning that match up, and while she carried herself like someone who was capable, Jude didn’t get the sense that Pellia knew when to back down.

Which is why, despite her promise not to interfere, Jude wanted to be there to step in if it looked like Balekin had the upper hand. But first, she had to get there.

The sound of clashing steel rang out in the next corridor. Jude slowed as she rounded the corner. Halfway down the hall was an open door that spilled light from within and, about ten feet earlier, a shallow alcove. The trio stopped before it.

“Stay here,” Jude said to Amber, tucking her into the space. “And hang onto this—just in case.” Jude unsheathed the long dagger at her hip, handing it to the girl.

“Is Pellia in—” Amber started, brown eyes wide. She was craning her neck to see past Jude to the open door.

“Yes,” Jude said, pushing the girl back gently and forcing her to meet her eyes. “And I’m going to help her but you need to stay here, got it? I can’t help Pellia and watch out for you.”

Swallowing, Amber nodded, taking the weapon.

It was confirmation enough for Jude. She headed for the open doorway, Cardan racing at her heels—and stopped just inside the threshold, in time to see Pellia crash into the rug-covered floor.

Jude winced, stepping farther into the room, sword raised. Cardan hurtled past her to stand between the downed pixie and the menacing form of his older brother. Balekin regarded the cat calmly, spun his own sword, and glanced sideways at Jude.

“Oh, look: your friends have come to your rescue,” he taunted as Cardan hissed, hair puffed and claws out.

Pellia was on her back, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tried to recover the air that had been forced from her lungs. Cardan put one soft black paw on her shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she coughed.

Balekin looked almost annoyed. “Having others fight your battles for you, Nerium?” he said. “I thought you had more pride than that.”

Still breathless, Pellia struggled to sit up. “I do,” she said, swaying and blinking hard. She looked at the mortal girl, red eyes meeting walnut. “Jude, you promised.”

Jude’s lips thinned, displaying her scepticism. She searched the other girl’s face, trying to find something to indicate the pixie was okay, but Pellia was pale and swaying unsteadily.

Yes, she had promised not to step in. But if she didn’t, the chances of Pellia being alive to take her sister home at the end of this were slim. Jude tightened her grip on her weapon.

“Pellia—” Jude started, but the pixie cut her off.

“No,” she snapped. “This is my fight.”

Balekin laughed. “Stubborn to the end. Will you still feel that way when I run you through?”

Pellia smiled back, cold and ruthless. “Violence isn’t the only way to do battle, Balekin. You’re playing my game now; maybe next time you should read the rules.”

She grabbed Cardan by the scruff of his neck, hauling the cat toward her and climbing to her feet. He scrambled as she lifted him into the air, flailing against her hold until she drew her stolen dagger. She placed its tip against the delicate skin of Cardan’s throat, and he stopped struggling.

She’s going to kill him, Jude thought, stunned. She could feel the blood draining from her face. After everything, she’s going to kill him. And she’s going to use my knife to do it.

Balekin was less stunned. “You won’t kill him,” he chuckled.

“No?” Pellia gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on the hilt. “And why's that?”

“What would you gain? Killing him won't get you your sister back.” Disdain coloured the prince’s voice, but there was something else, something other—the slightest tinge of uncertainty hiding in the space between his words.

Pellia nodded, considering. “Maybe not. But what do you really know about me?” Her breathing was heavy and pained. Her eyes bore into Balekin's with a fury so hot it could have started a wildfire. “Killing him might not get me my sister back, but it sure as hell will cause you some issues,” she spat.

The fey prince was quiet for a long moment, calculating. Jude’s heart dropped all the way to her stomach. Her eyes flicked back and forth, from Pellia to Balekin, from hot, wild rage to cool, quiet calculation. Then Balekin straightened, an ugly half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I do not think you have an accurate read on my relationship with my little brother,” he explained. The words were oily smooth and indifferent. Jude wanted to scratch them off her skin. “I would not cry if he were gone. I do not care for him the way you care for that mortal brat.”

The reference to Amber caused the pixie to flinch. "I didn’t say you cared," she snapped back. “I don’t think for a moment that you'd be sad over his loss—you’d have to have a heart for that.” She held Cardan higher and stepped closer to Balekin. “I just think it would cause you some problems. How can you be his benevolent saviour if he's dead? How can you manipulate someone who owes you nothing?”

Balekin opened his mouth to speak, but Pellia shook the cat, pressing the knife closer. Cardan squawked in alarm, and his brother fell silent.

“Isn't that your plan?” she ranted, voice rising. “Isn’t it?! Massacre your family, but keep him—” she nodded to the cat hanging uncomfortably by his scruff “—safe, so you can play the saviour? So he’ll be indebted when you find the antidote to the spell that made him this way? I’m not done,” she snapped as Balekin drew breath to speak.

Veins were pulsing in the dark fey prince’s forehead, his eyes a rage-filled inferno. His jaw was so tight Jude could almost hear his teeth creaking under the strain. Any moment now, he would erupt.

“You don’t care about Cardan,” Pellia continued, “only his royal lineage. You just need someone to put the crown on your head. Well, news flash, buddy,” she scoffed, “it won’t be him.”

Balekin lunged for Pellia with an inarticulate roar. She must have seen it coming as Jude had, though, and a quick sidestep carried her out of harm’s way. The fey prince’s momentum carried him forward to trip over Pellia’s extended ankle and he skidded across the floor to stop at Jude's feet.

Jude, who jumped backward to avoid a collision. Jude, who looked up and felt the blood drain from her face. Jude, who couldn’t hide her look of complete and utter horror at the sight before her. Her heart felt as though it had stopped, and also as though it were trying to beat out of her chest. Her body was numb. She stared.

Balekin turned, too, his sword falling from his grip as he beheld the scene taking place.

“You bitch—” he snarled.

Across the room, Pellia crouched to lay the still body of Cardan on the floor. Darkness coated his cat's chest, a red stain seeping into the carpet beneath him. Jude’s dagger in her hand ran red from hilt to tip.

When she spoke, the pixie’s voice was quiet. Flat.

“What's your plan now, Balekin?”

Jude could barely tear her gaze away to see the prince’s reaction. His face contorted with fury, a hate so black it nearly seeped the light from the room. Balekin screamed and charged for Pellia—then stopped.

He looked down. The silver point of Jude’s sword protruded from his stomach. The anger fell from his face as she tried to figure out what it meant, what had happened. When Jude yanked her blade from his body with a slight squelch, he swayed, stumbled forward, then fell at Pellia's feet.

Jude barely noticed. She was halfway to Cardan, scrambling, the floor feeling oddly immaterial beneath her feet, when Pellia’s voice rang out, laced thick with glamour:

“Stop,” she commanded, and Jude felt her feet freeze beneath her.

Those stupid herbs. In trying to uphold her end of the deal, in trying to help Amber before all else, she had given up the one thing that had protected her against the glamour. She threw herself against the magic restraining her, but still her feet remained locked to the ground.

Panic began to creep through Jude’s veins and hot tears burned her eyes.

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing in Pellia’s magical hold. "Let me see him!"

The pixie looked taken aback for a moment. “I’m sorry for the pain this has caused you, Jude,” she said. She sounded sincere. It meant nothing.

“Fuck you!” Jude’s voice broke over the words. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. “How could you?! He did nothing! You were supposed to help him—you're a liar!”

Pellia shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, then, glamour lacing her voice again, she ordered, "Please, be quiet."

The air rushed from Jude's lungs. No matter how much she screamed and sobbed, no sound came out. With silent tears streaming down her face, she collapsed to her knees.

Pellia turned back to Balekin. Panting from the pain of his wound, he had struggled his way onto all fours and drawn a knife. It was a simple matter to knock one hand from under him, sending the prince crashing face-first into the carpeted floor. Pellia lowered herself to a crouch beside him and laid the edge of her dagger under his jaw.

“Ah, ah,” she tutted. “Let's not do that, shall we? You lost. Now tell me: what did you use to bind the cat spell?”

“What does it matter?” Balekin snarled. “You’ve already killed him.”

“Humour me.” Pellia’s voice was sweet and deadly, dripping honey over a razor sharp blade. “I’m ever so curious.”

When he still refused, she applied pressure to the weapon at his throat. A thin line of blood sprang up where the blade met flesh, and the prince flinched.

“The ring,” he spat, voice dripping with contempt. “The match to the one you put on him.”

Pellia smiled, cold and sharp, giving him some space to move. "Remove it for me." Balekin's fingers trembled as he did, though with rage or fear Jude couldn’t be certain. The stone set into the band was the same warm orange as the cat's eyes. Jude’s heart ached at the thought of never seeing those eyes again. As Balekin dropped the ring into Pellia's hand, the air in the room seemed to crackle. Through wet eyes, Jude looked to Cardan; shimmering white light glowed over the cat's changing body.

“Thank you,” Pellia said from her spot with Balekin. Neither she nor the prince seemed to have noticed Cardan’s transformation.

“Would that misfortune follow you, any path you take,” the injured prince spat—an ancient curse.

Pellia raised her eyebrows at him, unphased. “Go stick your dick in a toaster, fucknugget.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the naked-but-very-much-fey body of Cardan now lay.

“It’s over, Catboy. You’re good now.”

Jude didn’t understand what she meant at first. Her confusion was answered a moment later as Cardan sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. Then it hit her full force as she realised—Cardan had just sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. The shock of it was enough to stop the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Jude,” Pellia said, “I release you, as long as you promise not to stab me.”

Still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening, the girl nodded, and the glamour broke. She hurled herself across the room at the newly-returned fey prince and dipped to her knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure whether to hug him or hold his hand or die of embarrassment over the sheer amount of relief she was feeling—or over the fact that he was sitting there, fully nude and still glowing with the effects of the spell, which she was just processing now. Jude felt her cheeks flame at the realisation. Cardan, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected.

Instead, he gave her a crooked smile. “Hello, Jude,” he said.

She could feel herself turning an even deeper shade of red. “Um—hi,” she stuttered, her tongue feeling awkward in her mouth. “I’m—I’m glad you’re back.” She studied a particularly interesting spot on the stone wall behind him, refusing to meet his eyes.

That didn’t last long. Cardan began to sway as the light around him faded. Instinctively, Jude reached out to steady him. He fell against her.

“Jude,” he said again, insistent as his voice started to slur with sleep. “You need to know….”

Then he passed out.

~ ~ ~

Pellia watched as Jude hurtled across the room to Cardan's side. It had been difficult for her to intentionally allow the girl to believe she had killed Cardan. After all, Pellia knew firsthand what it was like to have someone important stolen from right under your nose—the feelings of helplessness and despair and anger that it provoked. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it had been a quick affair, just long enough to force Balekin to remove the ring that bound the spell.

Pellia wiped sanguineberry juice from the assassin's dagger before sheathing it at her hip. Her body ached, protesting its recent treatment, and she knew it would only get worse as the adrenaline faded. She wished she had thought to save some of those blessed painkilling berries, instead of putting them all into the poison vial hidden in the dagger's hilt.

“Pell?”

The pixie girl spun toward the voice. It came from the main doorway, where a slight figure stood, shrouded in shadow. Pellia swallowed.

“Amber?”

“PELLIA!” Amber exclaimed. She rushed forward, tackling her older sister in a bone-crushing hug, tears streaming down her face.

“Can’t breathe—” Pellia winced at the pain in her ribs but held on just as tight. She pulled back for a moment to fervently check her sister’s face. Amber was pale, her cheeks sunken and eyes haunted, but it was her.

Pellia took a breath that morphed into a sob. She'd done it. Amber was here. She was real and solid and alive, and she was here.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Pellia whispered., burying her face in her sister's hair as they sank to the floor.

Amber held on tighter. Her tears turned to sobs as the two girls clung to each other, neither wanting to let go. “I—I thought I was—" she hiccuped and started again. “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

Pellia's heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “You’re safe now. I’m so sorry.”

The younger girl shook her head, her face still buried in Pellia’s shoulder. “You were right,” she admitted. Her voice cracked, and she clutched at Pellia's clothes, holding on as tightly as she could. “It’s scary here.”

Pellia’s heart broke in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, stroking her sister's hair. “But it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take you home.”

***

A/N: That wasn't that bad, right? Happy ending? For everyone except dear Balekin? Also, I know this started mainly with Jude and Cardan. I'm sorry to anyone who is disappointed about the copious amounts of Pellia screentime. I haven't read FotA in like three years and I don't remember enough to write them in-character. So yeah, Pellia took over.

Theoretically, there is one more chapter to be written. Will I actually write it? Who knows. (Probably, but it'll take A Bit.) (I've learned my lesson about posting as I write... So much respect to people who are dedicated and organized enough to do that. You really gotta have the plot figured out first. Anyway. Lesson learned. If I ever write anything else, I will finish the story before posting.)

Thanks for reading, friend. Hope you enjoyed. <3

Tagging: @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @greenbriarxrose @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell @theviolettulip @lysandra-ghost-leopard @playlistmusings @black-like-my-soul @mirubyai @eldritchred @hpcdd3 @myunfortunatenightmare @angelpaulene @localgoof @garnet-baby @iamaprincessallgirlsare

#lost & found fic #fota #folk of the air #jurdan #folk of the air fanfic #holly black #elfhame #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #htkoelths #tcp #the wicked king #twk #the queen of nothing #tqon #qon

9 notes · View notes

the-devils-dictionary · 5 months ago

Text

ARSENIC, n.

A kind of cosmetic greatly affected by the ladies, whom it greatly affects in turn.

"Eat arsenic? Yes, all you get,"

Consenting, he did speak up;

"'Tis better you should eat it, pet,

Than put it in my teacup."

Joel Huck

#A #devil's dictionary

0 notes

eliavahazaleia · 1 year ago

Text

Eliavah ~ Hitsuji Cardigan & Camisole @ Equal 10 Dec. 2022

Apologize for the super delay on this update, with the holidays & other stuff I got super backed up, but this cardigan & camisole is finally updated to other bodies! After Equal 10 closes it will be added to the main-store :3 If u purchased already u can grab free re-delivery at mainstore. Pls message me if re-delivery doesn't work ~ «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» 💜Hitsuji Camisole: 🌸 Fitted for Maitreya + Petite, Legacy Female + Perky, Ebody Reborn + Juicy Rolls + Mounds, & Kupra 🌸 36 colors (6 color packs) 🌸 HUD in each color pack, & fatpack for: lace; 36 colors

💜Hitsuji Cardigan: 🌸 Fitted for Maitreya + Petite, Legacy Female + Perky, Ebody Reborn + Juicy Rolls + Mounds, Kupra, Belleza Jake, Legacy Male & CZ Slim 🌸 This doesn't use boob sliders and is very loose, so addons not listed may work as well (such as maitreya+ legacy flat, ebody teacups + flat, i just tested on listed sizes only) :) 🌸 WARNING: This is an off-shoulder items, which tends to clip in armpits area, you also may experience clipping on bigger boobs. 🌸 36 colors (6 color packs) 🌸 HUD in each color pack, & fatpack for: hearts, & trim; 36 colors

💜 Materials enabled as always!! & It's modify so you can change the tinting, and play around with the materials to your liking.

💜 Please make sure to demo! In the demo there's also notecards with more information.

Enjoy popotos ~

After the event is over, the item will be available at Eliavah inworld «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Credits:

Hair Female: Bonbon - Jessie Hair

S-CLUB Elizabeth Eyeacc - 230222 FATPACK

Gingerbread mouth: Insomnia Angel

Heart septum: Evermore

Choker: Eliavah ~ Holly Choker

Blouse: Eliavah ~ Hitsuji Camisole (@Equal 10 from December 10th 2022 to Jan 5th 2023) after event is over will be at mainstore.

Pants: Vincue / Kaylie Set

Christmas Lights around waist: Decoy Bella Jeans and String Lights «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Spiderweb tattoo: rotten . tangled love

Various baked on mesh cosmetics are by many many different stores, or some are personal made ones. If you want to know a specific one please feel free to reach out but Im wearing alot ^^;

Most of my makeup comes from Goreglam Rotten Core&Gore Muu: Loki CryBB Utopia Skins

& many more ♥ «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

#clothes #top #top - cardigan #unisex #maitreya #maitreya petite #legacy #legacy - perky #ebody reborn #ebody reborn - juicy rolls #ebody reborn - mounds #kupra #cz slim #belleza jake #legacy male #legacy male - athletic

0 notes

shepherdthomas · 7 years ago

Photo

#aethetics #aesthetic #tea #teacup #lush #lush cosmetics #lushie #bathtub #bath #water #lemon #lemon bath #earl grey #lol #cute #photography #photo

19 notes · View notes

squidwen · 3 years ago

Text

Scenario Commission #4: 💍Marriage for Monopoly💍

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Commission for @sugarandmelody

Commission info can be found here.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Summary: After graduating from NRC, it came as no surprise that Azul became an entrepreneur. He seems to have a hand in every sector…except one.

After numerous failed attempts at convincing the owner of a famous wine company to grant him shares, Azul does some digging and realises the owner has a daughter.

With business proposals not reaping any results, Azul resolves a much different kind of proposal might be needed.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

It was common knowledge that Azul Ashengrotto always had a scheme to get whatever he wanted. Nothing was safe from the tentacled entrepreneur. After his graduation, he quickly set to claiming shares in multiple industries, ranging from sport to medicine, the arts, cosmetics, law, architecture, and technology.

However, one niche company had slipped through the net.

Papers were strewn across the cephalopod’s desk after a day of non-stop scheming; their writing barely legible in the dim light pulsating from the office’s lamps. Sat on a nearby sofa, Jade watched his boss intently. He had always known Azul to be the persevering sort, but to see him like this, hunched over his documents, mumbling to himself, was almost too much to bear.

Indeed, it was incredibly entertaining.

“I must insist you take breaks, Azul,” he said, sliding a teacup across to him. The strong aroma of bergamot made Azul’s lip twitch. Jade’s mock sympathy was the last thing he needed. Bergamot, like all black teas, was supposed to stimulate the person who drank it rather than relax them.

“Don’t act like you care,” Azul spat. “You’ve wanted us to get our foot in the door of this company for as long as I have.”

Jade smiled coyly, feigning innocence. “Come now, I truly do hate to see you so…stressed. You can’t seriously still have your sights set on gaining shares in The Vinyored. Haven’t they rejected your proposals five times already?”

The Vinyored was a vintage company acclaimed around Twisted Wonderland from the Scalding Sands to the Rose Kingdom for exporting the finest beverages. Azul used to stock their Molten-Amber sherry and Bloodmoon port in Monstro Lounge when he was still a student and had caught Jade on numerous occasions sneaking sips from a secret glass while on shift as a bartender. Even after Azul had threatened to cut his wages, Jade hadn’t stopped. Not only were the drinks delicious, but addictively so.

And addictions made money.

A symphony of pops and clicks resonated from Azul’s spine as he got up and stretched. “Well you know what they say, sixth time’s the charm. And besides, I’ve come up with a different tactic.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a broken record. ‘Different tactic’ this and ‘perfect plan’ that.” Jade sighed. “So? What brilliant and fool-proof plan have you concocted-“

Azul suddenly shoved a folded piece of paper to Jade’s chest. The eel huffed, begrudgingly unfolding it, and was surprised to see a family tree scrawled across the page.

“The owner of the company has a daughter around our age,” Azul explained. “A certain (Y/N) (L/N). As his only child, she is the heir to the company. All I have to do is marry her and-“

Jade snorted.

“What? Don’t you agree it’s perfect?”

“’All I have to do is marry her’, as if a woman would say yes to merely being asked.” Jade roughly pressed the paper into Azul’s chest, his piercing eyes contradicting the meek little smile on his lips. Azul kept his face flat, but couldn’t deny the look unnerved him.

“You’ve been practically begging Mr (L/N) for a partnership for the past three years. It’s pitiful to witness you so hellbent. Floyd’s getting bored of it, too. But I suppose if you truly see no other option…you have my blessing. Consider me for your best man, won’t you?”

With that, Jade left, chuckling to himself.

Azul was left alone with his documents and dim lights. Surely this plan was brilliant and fool-proof. There was no point in him offering business proposal after business proposal only to get rejected each time. Indeed, a far different type of proposal was required in this circumstance.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Fortunately, a river flowed through The Vineyored’s vineyards and sloshed all the way to the ocean. After formulating his plan, Azul had frequently made journeys up and down it to assess (Y/N) (L/N)’s movements, hoping to introduce himself at the perfect time. The chromatophores in his skin camouflaged him flawlessly; one of the more welcome traits that came with being part octopus.

(Y/N) was sat by the river bank. Upon her lap was a sandwich and a small tea cake; a glass beside her of her family’s famous Equinox tokay. The midday light shone through the lemony liquid as she brought it to her lips, suddenly turning a deep purple once she’d taken a sip. Azul marvelled at the display. Amylase, an enzyme common in saliva, reacted with the sugar and caused the colour change.

Now was as good a time as any to make his move.

“Who knew I had so much in common with a mere glass of tokay,” Azul said as he emerged from the river.

(Y/N) jerked, her lunch tumbling into the dirt.

“Do forgive me,” Azul said, bowing humbly. “But I’m afraid I’m terribly lost. The currents are unforgiving at this time of day and I had no choice but to retreat upriver.”

“How did you not drown?”

There was no care in her words. Only suspicion. It made Azul’s skin prickle.

“D-Do not concern yourself. I am not human by default. I’ve been waiting at the bottom of the river in my merform for hours. But when I chanced a lookup, I was pleasantly surprised to see a beautiful young lady taking lunch on the river bank, and I couldn’t think of a better way to pass the time than to strike up a conversation.”

(Y/N) politely took in each word and got to her feet. Her face was soft, but the way her head was tilted back spoke volumes about how she was not impressed by Azul’s sudden appearance.

The man desperately needed something to clear the air. Looking around, he noticed her ruined lunch. “I appear to have ruined your afternoon.”

“Not quite. But I have every ability to ruin yours if you don’t leave immediately. This is private property. There’s a café outside the front gates where you can sit and wait until the tide becomes more…navigable.”

The front gate? Impossible. Azul couldn’t risk being seen. If (Y/N)’s father found him on his land it would mean the end of all hope in trying to gain shares in The Vineyored. But the mention of a café gave him an idea.

“How about I treat you?” he said.

(Y/N) raised her eyebrow.

“To lunch. I do hate being indebted to people, and it seems I owe you a meal. And an apology. I did not mean to intrude.”

“I have expensive taste.”

Azul winked at her. “Don’t we all?”

(Y/N)’s coy smirk disappeared and was replaced by a blank look of shock. Azul couldn’t help but internally rejoice. He knew how to break her defences. This would be easier than he thought.

A gentle wind swept over the vineyard. Grape vines rustled in its wake, their leaves so glossy and well-kept they seemed gold-plated. Now Azul understood where the company got its name from. The vintages made from these grapes, hanging like amethysts and peridots by their stems, truly were liquid ores, precious on the tongue. He had to get his hands on them. This place was a goldmine with leaves.

To his surprise, (Y/N) led him down a hidden dirt path to a wall covered in ivy. A door had been hewn into the granite, obscured by the creeping plant. “We’ll take the back way,” (Y/N) said, taking out a key. “I don’t want to disturb my father.”

“How very kind of you.”

“Indeed. Why, if he knew the bane of his existence, Mr. Azul Ashengrotto himself, had stepped foot in his vineyard and was trying to spirit away his only child to a spontaneous lunch, I wager he would have an aneurism.”

All the blood drained from Azul’s face.

(Y/N) just kept smiling sweetly. He hadn’t fooled her for a moment.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

On the way to the café, Azul ran through all the tips on courting he had read. Flowers, dinner, compliments, gifts, repeated in his head like a mantra. (Y/N) threaded her arm through his, making his nerves explode. He was put at ease only once they’d sat down and ordered their food. Azul quickly focused his thoughts on the décor and menu, scrutinising the tackiness of it. Adorning the exposed redbrick walls were random paintings and drawings done by local artists. There was no rhyme or reason to the place. It felt like it was half-finished.

“I admit this little restaurant hasn’t got the charm on Monstro Lounge,” said (Y/N) as she sat down. Azul wanted to kick himself. He’d forgotten to pull out her chair!

“Oh? No, yes – no. It has its own unique charm that all can appreciate.”

“Small places like this aren’t subjected to the diseconomies of scale incurred by large businesses. Tell me, do you often find it difficult to keep an eye on things? Monstro Lounge has twelve restaurants now, doesn’t it?”

The girl knows her stuff. “My initial Monstro Lounge, at my old college, was like my child. I put all my time and effort into it, and in a way, it grew up with me. I admit, expanding to multiple locations has taken the fun out of it.”

“But growing up hasn’t taken the fun out of you, right?”

Azul felt the back of his neck heat up. Thank the Great Seven their food decided to arrive at that moment. The man watched as (Y/N) poured them a glass of wine – from The Vineyored no less – and raised a toast.

“Fancy having luncheon with the famous Azul Ashengrotto,” she mused. “But would you be so kind as to explain something to me?”

Azul nodded expectantly.

“I understand the kindness of treating me to lunch after mine was ruined, but any sensible soul would have wanted to get as far away from me as possible after being accused of trespassing, especially someone that is not on good terms with the owner of the property.” (Y/N) took as slow sip of wine, relishing in the sight of Azul’s discomfort. “Come now, Azul. The whole world knows you aren’t a charitable man. What’s in it for you to spoil me like this?”

Pensively, Azul stirred his spoon through his soup; back and forth like the tail of an agitated cat.

“I was raised to be a gentleman.”

“But you trained yourself to be a businessman. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to earn my favour so that you could increase your chances of accessing shares to our company and hence monopolise the market under your name.”

(Y/N) must have known the power she wielded. Azul had been trying to claim a segment of her father’s company for years. The desperation, the need, the yearning, they were all clear as the nose on his face. The two of them ate their meal in relative silence, only speaking to ask if the other wanted more wine.

When she was finished, (Y/N) stood up and slipped a hand onto Azul’s shoulder. Her grip was firm, but not cruel. “Remember, friendships form in even the most outlandish of circumstances,” she whispered. “Until next time.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The sound of her receding footsteps was the last memory of her Azul had from that day. When he heard the café door close, he let out the longest sigh. Her presence, her aura, her words, all clogged up his lungs and made him feel as though he was drowning. Being aquatic, Azul had never truly known the feeling, but he was certain it would feel something like this.

Jade was the first to start teasing Azul about the strange purchases he’d begun to make. His romance guidebooks hadn’t prepared him in the least for (Y/N) and so he started indulging her personal preferences.

By now, Azul had been seeing her for six months, and with each new moon, he cherished her a little more. She complimented and contrasted him, kept him alert, yet also put him at ease.

She was not a woman to be played.

He saw her now as a partner more than a pawn.

As Azul was tying his bowtie, Jade’s curiosity got the better of him and he silently opened Azul’s desk in search of any new things he had bought. A small purple box stood alone in one of the drawers. When Jade opened it, he gasped and dropped it.

Azul whipped around when he heard it hit the floor.

The lid was still open, revealing a golden ring, inlaid with diamonds, with a perfectly spherical black pearl at its centre. The gold was moulded in such a way that it looked like a tentacle was coiled around the pearl, anchoring it to the rest of the ring.

“Before you ask,” Azul said gruffly, scooping it up, “it was my grandmother’s.”

“Forgive me, I don’t know why I was so surprised. I assume this if for Miss (L/N)?”

“No, obviously it’s for Floyd.”

Jade relished the flustered look on Azul’s face as he reached forward and finished tying his tie. “Really? That blush on your cheeks suggests the contrary. You’ve grown fond of her, haven’t you? Hardly professional.”

Azul swatted Jade’s hands away. “Love is a complementary good when it comes to marriage. As is wealth, charisma, intelligence…beauty…a sense of humour…”

Jade clicked his fingers, snapping Azul out of his daydreams.

“I assume the odd purchases you’ve been making are to do with trying to impress her?”

“Fail to plan, plan to fail. (Y/N) is not a generic woman. She has refined tastes. She’s not like the cheap bottles of wine you can buy at you the corner shop. She has a way about her befitting her family’s legacy, that impresses everyone in her company. Especially…”

“…you. I hope you haven’t forgotten my offer to be your best man,” said Jade. Upon his face was a peculiar smile, one Azul hadn’t seen in what felt like years. It was full of pride, genuine happiness for his childhood friend and boss. “By the way, Floyd wanted to be the flower girl.”

Azul chuckled. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Azul rendezvoused with (Y/N) by the river bank where they had first met. He’d made a habit of doing so, secretly endeared by how (Y/N) hadn’t increased security by the river mouth so that he could still visit her. The rich and healthy vineyard was a husk of what it had been in the summer. Winter had leeched all the vibrance from it, transforming the once luscious vines into gnarled ropes.

“We’re fortunate to have a vineyard large enough to produce so much wine we can sell stock all year round,” said (Y/N). “Seasonal unemployment is common in agriculture during the winter.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Azul. “. I envy places that seem to have a constant climate. They haven’t got to accommodate for the inconveniences of winter, or summers that are too hot.”

Azul had the ring box in his pocket. He constantly stroked his fingers over it, tracing the largest choice he would ever make over and over again. He didn’t intend to present (Y/N) with it today, or any day soon, but having it on his person made him feel as though he truly had his future in his hands.

“Can I confess something?”

He was so wrapped up in his daydreams that it took Azul a moment to process (Y/N)’s words.

“O-Of course.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you far longer than you have me-“

“I beg your pardon-“

“Let me finish.”

Azul sheepishly obeyed.

“That’s how I was able to tell immediately who you were. After your first business proposal to my father, I thought you were an unfortunate fool. After your second one, I thought you were just a fool. And after your fifth proposal, I couldn’t help but adore your perseverance. Ever since then I’ve been keeping track of all your endeavours and to say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’ve always admired your drive.”

Those words unlocked something inside Azul. The glee emanating from the depths of his being rose up into his stomach, his chest, his throat, and then to his mouth; demanding attention. The smile that blossomed there was joyous, contagious. (Y/N) seemed powerless to not copy it.

Soon the pair of them were chuckling. Giddy at the confession and relief that came with it. “Why thank you, my dear,” Azul said, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand and kissing it. His body had gone on autopilot. He couldn’t see anything through the haze of his happiness.

“Why, if we had met back in school,” the ring in his pocket feeling heavier by the second, “I’d have made you sign a contract with me promising to be my girlfriend.”

“I assure you, my darling, the only contract I’ll be signing with you is our marriage contract.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Author note: I’M NOT DEAD!! Thank you for reading, and thank you to SugarandMelody for this commission! My blog needed to be resurrected after such a long hiatus!

I hoped you like this :) comments, criticism and reblogs are appreciated.

- Squidwen x

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x mc #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #commisions open #reader x twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland azul #Azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader

239 notes · View notes