#but i couldn't resist with that prompt

[heatherfield]

@giftober 2023 | Day 10: new

What about new? I want new.

The New Adventures of Peter and Wendy, 1.12 “Fear and Loathing in Neverland” [x]

[rosenkranz-does-things]

Dulcie sketch for @thelockedtombcfp 🧡

[sarcasticscribbles]

Gerry Keay with top surgery scars 👉👈

Mornin' smoke

[smilefullofcaligari]

Hazbin Autumn Week Day 2: Classic Halloween Costume

As any mature and powerful individuals would, the Vees were competing at scaring as much of the V tower workers on Halloween as possible

Ooh, was this a tough race.

Bonus:

[saphstories]

Writing prompt idea #2: Shadora date that's super silly but Rory's having the best time so Shadow is too (I've been playing too much Love and Deepspace and the claw machine dates are so cute they make me SICK)

Shut Up and Drive

“Where are we going?”

“I already told you, Light. It’s a surprise.”

“You hate surprises.”

“Not when they’re for you.”

“Hypocrite.”

“You love me.”

Aurora snorted. “I’d love you more if I weren’t blindfolded right now.”

“How else would I make sure you wouldn’t peek?” 

“You don’t trust me?”

“Normally? With my life. Right now? Not as far as I can throw you.”

“Spoilsport.” She pouted. “Wait…what’s that noise?”

“Just another minute.” There was laughter in Shadow’s tone, and Aurora grinned despite herself, allowing him to position her just as he wanted. Her ears twitched and wiggled, trying to place the odd roaring sounds, when warm lips suddenly pressed against hers, a hand on her cheek. Her tail wagged; she leaned into the kiss eagerly.

“Wa-Was that my surprise?” Aurora breathlessly asked.

“No. That was a bonus.” She could hear the smirk in Shadow’s tone and rolled her eyes behind the blindfold, hands on her hips.

“You know, for the Ultimate Lifeform, you’re awfully slow with your reveals.” She drawled.

 “So impatient.” Shadow tsked.

Aurora’s retort was cut off by blinding light chasing away the darkness, and she blinked repeatedly, then gasped, stars in her emerald eyes at the karts roaring by, bordered to the asphalt track by tires and multicolored flags. “Go-karts?” She squealed, bouncing on her heels, and didn’t give Shadow a chance to answer, instead yanked him by the wrist to the ticket window.

“You are going down, Spaceman.” Aurora crowed, revving the engine of her bright green kart and shooting a smug smirk towards Shadow.

Shadow flipped down his shades and pressed his foot to the gas pedal. It was no Dark Rider, of course, but it would do splendidly for his purposes.

Red.

Yellow.

Green.

Go!  

“GET BACK HERE, SPACEMAN!”

"SHUT UP AND DRIVE, LIGHT!"

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

[tlmtwelve]

Tech and Phee will take no prisoners in the water gun fight 🔫

[wavy-arms]

[a-ramblinrose]

JOMP BPC || June 13 || Representation Matters: Nick "I'm bi, actually." Nelson from Heartstopper by Alice Oseman

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist from this meme: Shadowzel, “You know better than most the pain a lie can inflict.” 

-----

Shadowheart lies on her back in her tent, staring up at the dark fabric backlit by the moon hanging low over Rivington, and broods.

You’re being stupid, she tells herself firmly. Lae’zel has her own concerns. She doesn’t owe you her company every night.

Which is, of course, perfectly true. But it doesn’t change the fact that Shadowheart got used to it, out there in the Shadowlands. It became habit, every night, to see Lae’zel crawling through her tent flap, to expend the day’s frustration and tension in a blaze of heat. To fall asleep with Lae’zel’s warmth cuddled against her side, the “soft touch” that it had taken the gith so much courage to ask for and Shadowheart just as much courage to offer.

And ever since the Shadowfell, since Shar’s torment and Aylin’s revelations, Shadowheart has been so terribly, terribly cold. Lae’zel’s warmth saved her on the road to Baldur’s Gate, more than Shadowheart has ever articulated aloud.

And now it’s gone. It’s been three days since Lae’zel came to her, and Shadowheart feels the loss as keenly as if her heart has been torn out.

What is wrong with you? she chastises herself. You’re stronger than this.

But she isn’t, it seems. Not anymore. Not with the loss of her faith, the torment she has suffered. Not with how terribly lonely the world is, with her sense of purpose ripped away. Not without Lae’zel.

She grunts irritably and sits up, crawling out into the open air.

Lae’zel is sitting by her own tent, cross-legged. She has a dagger out in one hand and is turning it carefully in the moonlight, examining the keenness of its edge. Her catlike eyes are narrowed with intense focus and she does not look up as Shadowheart approaches, but she does speak all the same. “What is it, Shadowheart?”

Shadowheart resists the urge to fidget her weight from foot to foot. Lae’zel’s voice sounds oddly flat, without any of her usual energy and heat. That has been the case for several days as well, and really it’s even more troubling than Shadowheart’s own selfish desires. 

“I was going to ask you the same question,” she says carefully. Pressing Lae’zel when she’s in a snit is often akin to poking an injured bear with a stick - but she isn’t sure that’s even what’s really going on here. This isn’t anger; it’s just an air of general disinterest, which is far more unnerving from the gith’s usual fiery personality. “Another night you haven’t come to bed. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Lae’zel draws the edge of the blade experimentally along her fingertips and nods in satisfaction to feel its sharpness. A pause, then she looks up and studies Shadowheart’s face intently. “Why should it be?”

The direct question feels extremely unfair. Neither of them have ever been good at articulating their feelings out loud, and Lae’zel knows this about Shadowheart. It is one of the things that binds them together, those feelings that exist without words. “Since when am I the one who has to explain these things?” Shadowheart says moodily, automatically slipping into the usual bickering banter that characterizes most of their conversation.

But again, Lae’zel doesn’t rise to it, just watches her unblinking. “Tell me,” she says coolly.

Shadowheart frowns. “Well,” she says unsteadily, thrown off by the irregular rhythm of the conversation. “You’ve been quiet lately. I’ve barely seen you for three days, even at night. You don’t want to talk.” A pause. “Is it because of Vlaakith’s little invasion into our camp?”

Lae’zel cocks her head to one side. “Vlaakith,” she says thoughtfully, more to herself than to Shadowheart. “Yes. Of course.”

Shadowheart stiffens. “Of course?” she says hotly. “How can it be of course when you won’t talk to me?” Her lips purse, and then she voices the fear sitting at the back of all these thoughts. “Did I do something, Lae’zel? What is this about? Don’t just… pretend like everything is normal, not to me.” A pause. She swallows, looks down and away. “You of all people know the pain a lie can inflict,” she mutters. “Don’t toy with me, Lae’zel. If something’s wrong… I need you to tell me.”

Silence. She looks up cautiously and finds that Lae’zel has stopped looking at her. Her attention is back on the blade she’s examining, utterly unmoved by this heartfelt plea. And something in Shadowheart’s chest seems to twist painfully at this lack of response.

“Damn you,” she mutters. “I don’t ask for much. But I thought we-- I thought you--” She stops; her voice is dangerously on the edge of cracking. She was so much stronger than this, once, but in the wake of all her recent torment, it is too much.

“Look at me, damn it!” she snaps. 

She lashes out with one hand, grabbing for the dagger that has occupied all of Lae’zel’s attention. It’s an awkward motion without forethought, and she fumbles it. In twisting the blade away, she scores its needle-sharp edge along the back of Lae’zel’s hand.

The cut is crisp and clean, and silver-white blood wells up to pool on Lae’zel’s skin.

Shadowheart freezes, her fingers going white-knuckled on the hilt of the dagger. She has seen Lae’zel’s blood before, all too many times. She has seen it painted on enemy blades and across her own hands in healing afterwards. It is not silver, but a deep ruby red that is almost black.

Shadowheart’s blood runs cold. Oh. Oh… shit. 

She darts backwards a step, lifting the blade point-first towards the thing she thought was Lae’zel. “You bitch,” she snaps. “What have you done with her?”

Orin smiles slowly with Lae’zel’s face. “A quick eye the Sharran has,” she murmurs. “Perhaps I should pluck it out… trail the blood down your pretty face…” Her head twists, Lae’zel’s form dripping off of her to reveal the pale face and blank white eyes underneath. Only the smile remains the same, unchanging as her form shifts. 

“What fun it is to watch you wriggle, wondering, worrying… but no, fear not, little worm, for your precious pet’s guts do not paint the ground… yet.” The changeling giggles excitedly. “She would die too easily; the Murder Lord craves a sweeter meal.” 

Her smile twists, almost impossibly wide on her face and full of gleeful malice. “If you would have her still gasp out her mewling breaths, then other blood must be spilled to buy her. We have much to talk about, you and I.”

[yingleis]

Hehe, could I request a Pei Sijing fic with prompt 2 "needing help but being unable to ask for it"? Any choice of pairings or no pairings 👀

[read it on ao3]

Wen Xiao hears a sharp hiss of pain, quickly stifled as she rounds the corner– and sees Pei jiejie attempting to sew.

Now that was a sight she hadn't expected to come across today

Pei jiejie, representative of the Prime Minister, ex-commander of the Chongwu camp, bested by a mere sewing needle was something that Wen Xiao hadn't thought possible.

“If Pei jiejie needed help, all she needed to do is ask,” Wen Xiao says with a smile, gently taking the sewing needle and robe into her hands.

Wen Xiao looks over the robe carefully, noting the tear that Pei jiejie had been attempting to mend. It wasn't unsalvageable– it was simply a long gash along the side that needed stitching– though it may have been if Wen Xiao hadn't intervened.

She looks from the large, clumsy stitches to Pei jiejie, who flushes. “Don't tease me.”

“I would never,” Wen Xiao promises, suppressing a giggle. She was here to help, not embarrass Pei jiejie.

For someone who had been all but forced into the role as her family’s breadwinner, it made sense that Pei Sijing didn't have the time to pick up needlework. Wen Xiao would never fault her for that.

“If it's too much trouble–”

“Pei jiejie is never trouble,” Wen Xiao says firmly, undoing the stitches with practiced ease.

Pei Sijing does not reply, a pretty blush decorating her cheeks when Wen Xiao sneaks a look at her.

Contrary to her expectations, Pei jiejie does not leave, choosing instead to remain and watch as she sews.

A comfortable silence blankets them, something which Wen Xiao is more than happy to indulge in– except that she cannot help the question that nags at her– has been since she heard Pei jiejie prick her finger.

“Why didn't you ask me for help?” Wen Xiao cautiously asks, making sure to keep her tone gentle, non-confrontational. As neutral as she could. “Did I not do a good job of patching up your didi?”

Pei jiejie shifts, her eyes flickering to the robe, to Wen Xiao, and back to her hands as she says silently, “A-Heng is A-Heng, I cannot allow anything to happen to him.”

—

She should have seen it coming. To bring her didi’s puppet with her meant that it would get exposed to the harsh weather, to the scrapes that they inevitably found themselves in.

But she hadn't, and it wasn't until the arm on A-Heng’s puppet breaks that she realises the condition she'd let it deteriorate into. Scratched and stained with dirt, it was a far cry from the pristine condition that Cheng Huang had managed to maintain it in.

“I’m sorry, A-Heng, jiejie has let you down.”

Puppet or not, it was where her brother’s soul resided, and to let it reach such a state felt like she had failed him once more.

“Wen Xiao,” she gasps, stumbling into the goddess’s study. Pei Sijing hardly knows how she'd made her way there, only that Wen Xiao was the first person that came to mind. “A-Heng's puppet–”

“Pei jiejie!” Wen Xiao is there in an instant, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders, careful hands supporting her over to her daybed.

“Can I?” She asks, waiting for Pei Sijing’s approval before slowly taking A-Heng out of her hands.

“I failed him,” Pei Sijing says, the pressure on her chest near unbearable as she stares at the broken puppet in Wen Xiao’s delicate hands. “I didn't even realize– I forgot that puppets– and now–”

Wen Xiao gently places A-Heng between them, taking Pei Sijing’s hands into hers, easing them out of the balled up fists they'd subconsciously curled into.

“I'll fix him up, and return him to you good as new. Even better than when Cheng Huang had him,” she says, expression determined. “I promise, Pei daren.”

(It is both reassuring and confusing, to have Wen Xiao look at her with such intensity, and Pei Sijing abruptly makes her escape, embarrassed by the situation that she had placed herself in.

To expose her vulnerabilities so openly, and to have them embraced and met with such sincerity instead of harsh fists and even sharper words, it was something she doesn't know how to react to).

—

“Why didn't you ask me for help?” Wen Xiao had asked, and Pei Sijing does not know how to answer.

Wen Xiao had indeed made good on her word, handing A-Heng back to her with his arm reattached, his puppet robes carefully stitched and the scratches carefully filled in and smoothened out.

(She did not mention a word of Pei Sijing’s breakdown, simply leaving her with a light reminder to join them at lunch).

She'd not been in a good state when she went to Wen Xiao with A-Heng’s puppet, and had been embarrassed by how she had been so easily affected afterwards– though she did not regret her choice– Wen Xiao had done a beautiful job with fixing up A-Heng, but to approach her again for something as simple as sewing up a robe, it felt too demeaning.

“No, you did a good job with A-Heng,” Pei Sijing hurriedly says, looking guiltily at the robes in Wen Xiao’s grip. “I just… I didn't know how to ask.”

She had been determined to learn how to sew, since she now had the time to, only that she hadn't expected it to be so hard.

How others made it look so simple, Pei Sijing couldn't comprehend.

Even Wen Xiao had simply taken a glance at her robes and gotten started right away, gracefully weaving the needle between the fabric, the stitches miniscule and near invisible as the tear slowly closes up.

Pei Sijing had been reluctant to ask for help– doing so felt like failure, felt like admitting defeat, and she had been raised in a household where success was the only acceptable option.

But this was Wen Xiao, she reminds herself. Wen Xiao, who'd embraced all their flaws, who could even accept a demon who had massacred entire villages and taken him in.

Wen Xiao, who never called her a failure for not being able to protect them, who never saw her as lesser than the other figures in their ragtag group.

“Can you… teach me? How to sew?” Pei Sijing asks hesitantly, the words tasting unfamiliar in her mouth.

Wen Xiao gives her a pleased, absolutely radiant smile that made her heart beat impossibly faster, her face heating up as their gazes meet.

“I thought you'd never ask, Pei jiejie.”

[softcitrus2345]

Hi, I absolutely love your art!! I wanted to ask about the latest kinktober prompt? When Damien woke up in Matt's body, Matt had what I think are claw marks? If they are, what happened to him? Again, I love your art and I hope you have a nice day!!

Congratulations, anon! You have unlocked: LEMON'S OC LORE

The difference in tone between their canon stories and what I share of them here is so funny to me XDD Sorry if I threw yall off with the sudden angst posting, it won't happen too often here-

Thank you so much for the ask anon! I really appreciate your sweet comments and curiosity about my silly little fictional guys ;;w;;

[breannasfluff]

fairy!! (Hyrule)

congrats on 500!!!!!!

“Wars? Can’t you teach me to sew?”

Hyrule glances up to watch Wild sit next to the captain, fabric in hand. 

Warriors looks surprised as well, but puts aside the book he was reading. “Sure. What are you making?”

“Just need to learn some basic stitches.” The champion neatly avoids the question.

With a shrug, Warriors grabs the thread and string. “Ok, first you’re going to need to make a knot and…”

Hyrule rapidly loses interest in the description. He knows how to sew enough to mend rips, but not make new outfits. It’s too bad, because his fairy form is stuck with the same outfit time after time. While he can buy a new tunic, where is he going to get clothes sized for a fairy?

Still, it’s a silly need and Hyrule pushes it away. They’ve got bigger things to worry about.

Hyrule and Wild are wandering through the woods, enjoying both the peace and the time to explore. The champion keeps shooting him darting look; something clearly on his mind.

The traveler gives him a smile and lets him be. He’ll get to it when he’s ready.

“Hey, Roolie…” Well, he didn’t need to wait long at all. Wild stares at his slate screen, then finally taps it for something to materialize. “Here.”

“What?” He’s not expecting something small shoved into his hands.

Wild’s clearly embarrassed. “Sorry it’s not better quality.”

“Hey, let me actually look at the thing first.” Hyrule holds up the item, but can’t hold back a frown as he tries to figure it out. It’s a small tube with a little elastic on one side. 

“Wow,” he says, because what in Hyrule is it?

“Oh, here’s the other part.” Wild passes over another piece of fabric.

Rather than help, this only adds to the confusion. It’s an even smaller tube, stretchy, with two long strips attached to one end. 

Hyrule juggles the pieces before finally turning to Wild with a sheepish look. “Ok, I give up, can you explain it?”

If Wild was embarrassed before, he’s rapidly turning red as a tomato. “It’s…clothes.”

Clothes. Tiny…clothes? Why would Hyrule need–

“You know, for your fairy form. Thought you might like something new.”

Oh! Hyrule stares at the items in his hand again, mentally adjusting the size. He’s so used to his fae side being a secret that it never crossed his mind. 

“You…you made me clothes? New clothes?”

Wild plucks the items back and holds them up for explanation. “This is a skirt. I know it’s simple but…I’m not great at sewing. And this is a top. See, the strips are so you can wrap it in different styles around your arms or neck. I saw it in Gerudo Town once and it seemed pretty cool.”

The rest of the explanation slowly fades away as Hyrule stares at the clothes. Wild…learned to sew…for him? The stitching isn’t perfect and the shapes are simple, but it doesn’t matter. Wild made something just for him, for a secret that no one else knows.

“Wild,” he interrupts whatever rambling story Wild has moved on to. Hyrule makes sure to catch his eye when he says, “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

The champion ducks his head with a shy smile. “Want to try them on?”

“Absolutely. Now give them here!”

[demodoggonetired]

" I'm Batty 4 U "

For the @steddiemicrofic September Prompt: Charm || 548 Words || Rating: T || Warnings: implied verbally absuvie parent, implied period-typical homophobia

It sweeps through the group like wildfire after the whole Vecna ordeal. Something about everyone trying to go back to normal, re-engaging with non-world-ending topics.

Out window shopping, El happens upon a charm bracelet display and within the week convinces Hopper to buy one for her and Max. And who’s to deny the girl that's suffered through so much. 

El states it as her “momento of who she is, and those who helped her find that definition.” All while thumbing the rainbow and sunflower charms. 

So it’s no surprise when Robin, Nancy, and Erica are seen wearing their own charm bracelet designs after Girl’s Night. Then through a spidering chain of conversations and convincing, the rest of the party soon each have custom bracelets.

For Steve though, the issue is that he’s just not a bracelet sort of guy. The occasional pinching when it doesn’t sit right. Constant jangling and shifting every time you move. It’s not for him.

(Plus he knows his Dad would make him throw it out if he ever saw it. “Jewelry isn’t for men.” and all that. (Of course I don’t agree, Robin. But I still don’t want to risk it getting tossed.))

Until Robin solves the problem for him. Turning his bracelet into a keychain for his car keys. And he didn’t realize just how much he’d come to care for said keychain once it’d stop pinching his wrist. 

Exactly as El had painted it from the get-go; a constant reminder that he’s more than the harsh words his dad sneers as “encouragement”.

Of who he matters to and of who matters to him. His family. 

But it’s not for another few months that his keychain gains a companion.

“Hey, uh. Hey, Stevie.”

They’d danced around one another for weeks. From exchanged glances at the hospital, to touching under the guise of lending a hand, pulling excuses to spend time together.

“Yea?”

Finally culminating in Steve getting fed up and testing the waters with a kiss ‘hello’. 

“I know we’ve only been technically dating for a month now. But I’m pretty sure I remember you being a big relationship guy back in high school, and I figured well ‘Stevie probably never had someone buy him the cheesy anniversary gifts he bought for others’-”

“They weren't cheesy, they were well thought out-”

“And so, I got you something as a faux sort of ‘Happy One Month Anniversary’ gift.”

Eddie shoves the little trinket into Steve’s hands, forcing him to drop his book. 

“Small towns, especially Hawkins in particular, suck and so I figured this is as public as we’d be able to be. And I know the bat was maybe a bold choice considering the bites and all that shit but- Actually maybe this was a bad idea- Ya know what, give it back right now, Stevie. This was stupid- I’m gonna do something else.”

Deftly leaning away, Steve hooks his arm around his boyfriend so he can’t lunge for the keychain again.

“Oh hell no. My boyfriend gave this to me, it’s mine now. You can’t take Ozzy from me.”

“Ozzy? What?”

“Yeah, the little bat charm. His name’s Ozzy, he told me so himself.”

“What-?? Shit- Jesus Christ, you’re so lame. Come here so I can kiss your lame, adorable face.”

[theragethatisdesire]

CONGRATS ON THE 1000 FOLLOWERS!! YOU DESERVE IT A LOT!!

could i request plug!eren with 13?

thank you so much!! have a very nice day/night!!

HIIII angel thank you so much!!! you may absolutely request plug!eren with 13 i love him

i think the prompt works very well with fluff, but honestly, i came up with something smutty and funny so i'm going to go with that

nsfw below the cut <3

"Eren? You home?" You drop your keys unceremoniously on the counter, looking eagerly around for your boyfriend.

You've been gone for the last week to a literary conference in a city three hours away, too long to commute every morning so you ended up with a hotel room. Six days for most couples isn't too long, but for you and Eren? You don't think you've gone twenty-four hours without him inside of you since you became official.

"Baby? That you?" Eren appears around the corner, bare-chested and low-hanging sweatpants hugging his hips.

You don't think you'll ever get used to how gorgeous he is, tall, dark, and mean-looking, but with the sweetest heart you've ever had the privilege of knowing. A slow grin spreads across your face that mirrors the one he's sporting, and you leap into his arms without a second thought.

"Missed you so much," Eren smiles into the wet kiss you plant on him.

"Missed you more," you giggle against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist, "thought about you every day."

"I could tell," Eren hums, a little groan escaping him as you kiss down his neck, "all those nasty texts you were sending me?"

"Hey," you pout, pulling back to face him as he carries you over to the couch, "you sent them right back."

"Of course I did," Eren concedes, mouthing at the sensitive spot below your ear, "couldn't stop thinking about the day you'd get back and I could taste that sweet little pussy again."

A broken whimper slips past your lips, and you grind down into his lap, realizing just how needy you've been for him over the last week. The sexting was hardly more than a tease of the real thing; Eren's more than just "good" in bed, he's a menace, never stopping until you're practically shoving and kicking him off you. Then again, sometimes even that doesn't work.

You rock your hips steadily against his clothed, already-hard cock, moaning far too easily as he holds you to him, kissing you with so much force you swear your lips may already be bruising.

"Feels so fucking good," Eren growls against your mouth, "take what you want, baby, I'm all yours."

"Eren," you sigh, rolling your hips faster, "missed you so much."

Hardly two minutes have ticked by, Eren's hands pawing at your body, you panting into his mouth desperately, before he grabs your hips hard and stills you, a broken moan leaking out into your mouth.

"Fuck," Eren looks down at his crotch, face turning a deep shade of red. You follow his gaze to find a wet patch on his sweatpants, and your eyes flick back up to him, jaw slightly ajar in shock.

"You came?" You can't help but giggle at him, at how flustered he gets.

"Of course I came, it's you and it's been a fucking week," Eren chuckles despite his embarrassment, nipping at your jaw, "I'm sorry, baby, I couldn't help it. Just missed you so much."

"That's not very gentlemanly of you," you chastise him, an airy laugh leaving your lips as Eren smacks your ass.

"Don't tease me," he says, grinning, "I've got a mouth and two fingers with your name on them. You'll get yours, don't you worry."

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizontober 2023 | 15: train (watch out grazer training dummies!)

(bonus below the cut)

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Purity of Mind: A Bluebeard Retelling

Dora looked so innocent, asleep on her bed. The fresh white bandages binding her crown looked more like a mark of holiness than disaster. The doctor claimed she'd fallen from a balcony and hit her head upon a stair rail. Adam thought it seemed too suspicious an accident. A disaster on the one day he'd left the house? His sure-footed little wife wouldn't have stumbled like that--not unless she were nearly out of her wits. Perhaps fleeing from some great terror.

"She'll wake soon," the doctor assured him. "Her body's healed enough, but with a head injury like that, there's no telling what state her brain will be in."

The state itself, Adam thought, would be telling enough.

As if roused by the doctor's words, Dora's eyelids fluttered. She sat up, pale and trembling. Her gaze landed upon Adam, and she started to scream.

"Who are you?" she shrieked, gathering the bedclothes to cover herself. "What are you doing in my room?"

Adam had steeled himself for the usual accusations, but this left him off-balance.

Finally, he managed to say, "Dora, it's just me. Adam. Your husband."

"I have no husband!"

"We wed six months ago."

"Liar!" she shrieked. "I'd never marry a man with such an awful beard!"

Adam stroked his blue-black whiskers, neatly trimmed for his homecoming. A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat; after months of her tiptoeing around him, her frankness was amusing. "I paid your parents richly for the privilege."

Dora paused at that. The mercenary child of mercenary parents--the tale would ring true, no matter her objections to his facial hair. Yet the bewilderment didn't fade from her face. "I've never seen this house before."

"You've been mistress here six months."

"I don't believe you."

"Whether you believe me or not, it's true. You fell from a staircase and hit your head."

Her eyes were fire. "I'll bet you pushed me!"

"I was away from home. I only just returned." He would never have opted for such an impersonal death. It was much more satisfying to feel the life draining away beneath his fingers.

The thought brought him back to reality. No need to wrestle with her delusions; only one truth mattered.

"Dora," Adam asked. "Where are the keys?"

"What keys?"

"I left the keys of the house in your keeping. I'll need them returned."

"I never had any keys!"

Adam looked to the doctor, who said, "We've found no keys on her person."

Missing? Impossible. Adam stormed from the room and set the servants searching for the keys. Nothing in her wardrobe. Nothing in the rooms. Nothing in the gardens.

The door on the third floor was locked, with no signs of entry.

Adam returned to the sickroom as the sun was setting. Dora sat quietly on her bed, having been calmly convinced of her new reality, completely unaware of the turmoil she'd thrown his life into.

He could have torn her limb from limb right there, but he had no proof yet she was deserving of it. For the moment, his strategy was gentleness.

He sat on the bed beside her. "Dora, my dove, think. Can you remember where the keys might be?"

"I can't even remember you."

Adam examined her in every detail--the tips of her fingers, the whites of her eyes, the curl of her lips. No signs of deception.

"You truly can't remember anything?"

Tears glittered in her eyes as she shook her head.

She looked as innocent as a newborn babe. The timid little fool he'd married couldn't fake such total ignorance. If she'd peered behind the door, she'd lost the memory of what she'd seen. If she'd disobeyed, he had no way of knowing.

A new twist to the game--a second chance.

Adam left the room in a state of contentment. He could get new keys made. His secret was safe--locked away either behind the door or in his wife's blank mind.

And if her memory returned? If she had memories of that bloody chamber?

He could always kill her later.