#esp w the way that gross king was behaving he was def up to no good
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EVER READ SOMETHING SO SDHFGJSKDGFBSDJKFSDF
Worn-Out Soles [1] | b.c
pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 10.1k notes: â this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. â mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you backâor die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2
To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist
When the soft rap of your lady in waiting sounds at the door, you barely look up before calling her in. Out of the corner of your eye, Chaeyoung curtsies in the doorway. âYour Highness.â
You continue scribbling at the papers strewn around your desk. âYes?â
âThe royal cobbler has arrived.â
The pen in your hand stops midair.
Slowly, slowly, so as to keep the smile twitching on your lips from taking up your entire face, you raise your head to see Chaeyoung standing in the doorway. âHave my sisters been informed?â
Her eyes glint with mischief and the knowledge that you havenât managed to fool her at all. âOf course.â
âWell.â You stand up, placing the pen carefully down. Steadfastly ignoring Chaeyoungâs grin, you step around the desk. âI suppose we will all just have to go and meet him, then.â
. . . . .
Yunaâs sharp squeal hits Chanâs ears even before he steps foot into the pavilion, which is all the warning he needs before five princesses accost him at the entrance, bouncing on their toes. âChan!â
âHello, Your Highnesses,â he laughs, maneuvering his heavy box around them. âWhat makes you so excited today?â
âDid you bring our shoes?â Ryujin asks eagerly.Â
Chan frowns, but not before letting them see the glint in his eye. âWas I supposed to bring shoes, now?â
Amidst the chorus of whines from the youngest and giggles from the older girls, one voice joins the fray. âWell, my sisters would be dearly disappointed if you hadnât.â
Chanâs heart skips a beat in his chest as he turns around to meet your smile. You stand in the pavilionâs entrance from where he just came, the flower-wreathed arch framing your image perfectly under the sun shining bright in the sky.Â
A sharp elbow jabs him from behind. âSay something,â Jisung hisses. âYouâre staring.â
Chan can feel his ears going red. âWould you be disappointed too, Your Highness?â he asks, making a mental note to flick his apprenticeâs forehead later.Â
âI believe I would.â You step forward with that warm smile still on your face, and for not the first time in his life, Chan wonders what good he must have done in a past life to deserve standing in your presence like this, a sunflower forever basking under the light of your grin. âYou know we all look forward to your shoes, Chan.â
Chaeyoung, your lady in waiting, mutters something under her breath. Chan doesnât quite hear it, but from the giggles of your sisters and the glare you flash at her, it canât have been anything good.Â
Chanâs ears must be flaming by now. Putting down the box, he musters his most natural smile. âWell, good thing I wonât have to disappoint any of you,â he says, undoing the latch. âCome closer, Your HighnessesâI hope you are pleased with these.â
Oohs and aahs and squeals of excitement slowly begin to fill the pavilion as Chan and his apprentices begin to hand out the shoes. Itâs with no small pride that he takes in the cries of delight from each of the princessesâwith each pair made of the finest quality material, hand stitched and sewed with sparkling thread in intricate designs, there is a reason Chan trusts very few people to help with his handiwork. He grins as the five young princesses begin to spin around the pavilion, joyous grace evident in every one of their movementsâŚ
You step forward shyly, and Chan snaps back to earth. âAnything for me?â you ask.Â
âAre you kidding?â Jisung snorts before Chan has the chance to respond. âHe spent days on yours!â
âBy all the starsâI spend days on all of them,â Chan hisses, praying his hair covers his ears.Â
âYou donât usually spend two entire weeks trying to get each design right, though.â
Chan stares at his second freckled apprentice, who only stares back with an innocent expression. Jisung he can understand being a pain in the neck, but Felix?
Your shy laugh sounds like bells. âAm I that demanding a customer?â
âOhâoh, stars, no.â Chan swallows hard, ducking into the box for the last pair of shoes. âI justââ he holds out the box and tries not to react when your fingers brush his as you take it, eyes focused intently on his faceââI just wanted to make them⌠right.â
Right? Right? Seriously, that was the only word you could come up with?
You start to untie the box, completely oblivious to Chanâs inner imminent mental breakdown. Slowly, too slowly, you lift the shoes from their cushioned spot inside, Chaeyoung taking the box from your hands. For a moment, you donât react.Â
Chan starts to lose it.Â
You donât like them. You hate them. The design isnât what you wanted, there are flaws in the fabric, something is terribly wrong with the shoes despite all the time he spent on themâheâs messed it up this time like he always feared, seriouslymessed upâ
Your eyes meet his once more, sparkling brighter than the sun and the stars. âIâChan.â You step forward, holding the shoes to your heart. âChan, theyâre beautiful. Thank you so much.â
Chanâs knees nearly give out right then and there. Thank all the stars.
âYouâreâIââ You look down at the shoes and back at him, as though youâve lost your own words. Chanâs heart soars with the shine in your expression. âYou do this every time,â you say, almost laughing. âWords canât describe how much talent you possess, how hard you must have worked for this. These are trulyâŚa work of art.â
He swallows down the overwhelming smile itching to reveal itself on his face, forces it into something smaller, more manageable, and infinitely less manic than it would have been. âIâm glad you like them, Your Highness.â
âChan! Chan!â Ryujin and Chaeryeong come running up, Yeji following behind with a half annoyed, half apologetic glance that she flashes at you. Chan watches as you turn to them, smiling first at Yeji with something in your eyes that immediately wipes the worry and annoyance from your sisterâs face, then at the younger girls clamoring for your attention. âPlay us music, please! Like you did before!â
You shoot an apologetic look at him. âGirls, donât demand things from Chan,â you admonish before turning back. âYou donât have to.â
âNo, I want to. It would be my honor.â He smiles at the young princesses. âGive me a moment to tune, yes?â
The two of them cheer before skipping away, Yeji corralling them towards the center of the pavilion. You look at him, expression soft. âYou really donât have to, you know.â
âI know,â Chan says, pulling out his small flute. âBut I enjoy it, and I have some time before my next appointment.â You still donât look convinced, so he speaks again. âTruly, Your Highness. Your sisters are adorable. I like playing my flute, and I like watching you all dance. Itâs a pleasure.â
Finally, you relent. âAll right then, Chan. Althoughââ You stop for a moment, then seem to set your jaw with determination. âMay I ask, will you be at the festival?â
Chan blinks. The Moonlight Festival, only the most important festival of the year, the festival that sees the most foreign royalty and dignitaries traveling to your kingdom to partake in the celebrations? ââŚYes, I suppose I will.â
âRight.â Your lips curl in light embarrassment. âIâŚif you happen to be by the palace that nightâŚâÂ
Behind you, Chaeyoung looks extremely amused. So do Jisung and Felix.Â
That does not bode well for either Chan or you.Â
âI know the chances are not large, but if we see each otherâŚâ You swallow hard, but your eyes donât stray from his even as your younger sisters run up to try and drag your attention away. âOnly if you can, since Iâm sure youâll be quite in demand, please save a dance for me.â
Ryujin and Chaeryeong pull you off, then, eagerly shouting for you to put on your shoes and spin with them in a dance. And as Chan watches you laugh with them, beginning to whirl across the pavilion with graceful steps as light as air, joy spilling from your fingertips into the flowers and grasses and leavesâŚ
All he can think of is his answer, which is of course.Â
. . . . .
ââŚYour Highness?â
You jerk up with a start. Immediately you tear your eyes from the magnificent pair of shoes sitting by your doorway, but it's too late. When you turn your head, Chaeyoungâs face is staring right into yours.
âStars, Chaeyoung!â You jump again. âWhat are you doing?â
âI should be asking you that, Your Highness.â She pulls back, one eyebrow raised in an arch. âYouâve been zoned out for the past five minutes.â
Itâs the shoes. Itâs the damn shoes. You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. Why must Chanâs handiwork distract you so much? Canât he make them a little less ogle-worthy, less intricate and delicate and graceful and justâa type of beautiful that words canât describeâ
âAre you sure itâs just the shoes you like?â Chaeyoung asks, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You donât even need to lift your face to see the smirk on her lips, you can hear it just fine. âOr perhaps the cobbler who made them?â
âStop it,â you mutter, dragging yourself up once more. You canât resist the urge to let your gaze wander over the shoes again, though, imagining the care and devotion that must have gone into every stitch, every design. It almost pains you to think about dancing in them, dirtying the silk and ruining Chanâs handiwork as you wear them out.Â
Chan. You just manage to catch yourself before you sigh. His face dances before you in your memories, his bashful smile, his dark hair that always seems to be ruffled by the wind, his sweet eyes crinkling as he laughs. Heâs lovelyâbeautifulâand you canât fight the heat crawling up your cheeks whenever his strong, calloused fingers brush yours every time he hands you his latest masterpiece.Â
Heâs beautiful, to be sure. Handsome in the most attractive way to you. But far more attractive is the love he brings to everything and everyone he touches, as though every person he meets couldnât help but fall in love with his soft kindness, his quiet joy, his gentle earnestness that comes with everything he does. You see it in every delicate golden stitch on the white satin slippers he made you for the upcoming festival. You see it in every seam he sews on all of the other slippers heâs made for your sisters. You feel it in every scant touch you share, see it in his eyes whenever you manage to meet his gaze.Â
Stars above, all you can think of is the dance you might share with him on the final night of the festival. If you see him, and if he sees you.Â
With a sigh, you finally look back at your lady in waiting, apologies already on your lips. âIâm sorry, Chaeyoung. I must seem a mess.â
âYou kind of do.â Chaeyoungâs blunt tone lifts the corners of your lips. âBut itâs the festival. The preparations always drive everyone mad. And combined with your little star-crossed romanceââ she easily dodges the swipe of your hand, giggling all the wayââIâm sure youâre very overwhelmed.â
The word stop finds its way onto your tongue once more, but you donât let it fall because it would be useless. And besides, Chaeyoungâs rightâyou are overwhelmed. You love the Moonlight Festival, really you do, but being one of those in charge of organizing the largest event of the kingdom every year makes you want to scream to the heavens sometimes.Â
Maybe you should try that. It sounds like it would relieve some stress.
âWell.â You look down at the piece of paper you were scribbling on before Chanâs craft distracted you (as well as thoughts of his dark hair and smiling eyes as he handed you the shoes). âAt least the guest list is finalized. I think.â
âOh?â Chaeyoung cocks her head. âWhoâs coming?â
âAn assortment of foreign royalsâJoshua and his entourage will be here, thank the starsâand some of the ambassadors whom we sent overseas will return for the occasion.â You flip through a few more sheets. âOf course we also had to account for all the nobility who will be staying at or near the palace during the week.â
âAre Jun and Jeongyeon coming back?â
A real smile spreads across your face at the mention of two of your best friends. âYes, they are,â you say. âWith Minghao and Sana.â
Chaeyoung grins. âIt will be wonderful to see them.â
âSurely it will.â You heave yourself up from behind the desk, clutching the sheaf of papers in hand. âCome with me to drop these off with my father?â
. . .
The kingâs quarters are in the wing completely opposite from yours and your sistersâ. You have no actual idea why this is the case, but you like to joke deprecatingly to Chaeyoung (when no one else is around) that itâs because he has no intention of seeing any of you more than he must. Which is a fair assumption, in your opinion. He doesnât even show up to dinner these days, just takes his meal with his advisors or foreign dignitaries alone. Unless he decides he also needs you.Â
The guards part ways upon your entrance into the west wing, bowing respectfully as you pass. You give them a brief nod before stopping in front of your fatherâs door, knocking twice on the wood.Â
âWho is it?â
âY/N.â
âCome in.â
Any trace of your previous smiles falls away as you step into the cold room. Your father hardly looks up from his desk even as you approach. âWhat is it?â
âI have the finalized guest list, as well as the other preparation details you asked for today.â You place the papers in front of him. âThat is all. Please let me know if there are any issues.â
All you get is a hum in response.Â
Only years of having dealt with this behavior keep you from doing much more than press your lips into a thin, thin line. âI will be off, then.â
Youâre opening the door when he speaks again. âY/N.â
Thereâs enough time to exchange one bemused glance with Chaeyoung before you turn around. âYes, Father?â
Heâs actually looking at you this time. In his eyes swims some sort of emotionâif you didnât know better youâd say it was something like regret or worry, but why would he feel anything like that?âas he scrutinizes your face. His throat bobs as though he swallowed something. As though he has something he wants to say, but canât. Or wonât.Â
âFather?â
All the emotion falls off his face as soon as the word hits the air. âDonât forget that you will take dinner with me tonight,â he says, eyes dropping back to the papers on his desk. âThe convoy from Ourania will have arrived by then.â
You frown. Since when have you ever forgotten an appointment and needed him to remind you? There was no reason for him to have said that, none at all. In fact, you almost feel offended, but then you look at him again.
A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow.Â
Maybe he did really have something to say, but decided against it at the last minute.Â
Whatever. You shake off the lingering discomfort. If what he wanted to say was truly important, he would have spoken. Your king may be an absent father, but he doesnât generally shirk his duties. âYes, Father,â you say, then shut the door behind you.Â
. . . . .
âWhatâs wrong with him?â
âHeâs moping, Lix.âÂ
âWell, he should stop.â
âI am not moping,â Chan says loudly as he dumps scraps of leather into a pile in the far back of the shop.
A beat of silence follows. Then Jisung snorts. âThatâs exactly what someone whoâs moping would say.â
âOr, it could be that Iâm not moping, and youâre misunderstanding things completely.â Chan turns to his two apprentices, both staring owl-eyed at him and his probably very red ears. âDid neither of you hear me ask if one of you could go out and get something for us to start dinner?â
Jisungâs shit-eating grin turns sheepish. âI forgot.â
Chan tries to hide an exasperated smile with a sigh. âItâs fine, just go now.â
Without missing a beat, Jisung grabs Felix, and with a shouted farewell, the two of them go crashing out the door.Â
Chan returns to cleaning the mess in his workshop, putting away tools, tossing leather scraps into the scrap bag as they emerge from corners he didnât even know existed. He is not moping. If anything, heâsâdaydreaming. Of something. Moping implies that he is upset. He is anything but.Â
âIf we see each otherâŚplease save a dance for me.â
He snorts a little. As if the answer would be anything but yes. Which you probably know, because over the years heâs learned that despite his attempts to hide his affections he is still extremely obvious. And if Jisung and Felix are to be believedâwhich, unfortunately, they often are, because even if theyâre loud and obnoxious and love to tease him at any point in time, theyâre very observant and usually rightâ
You hold a similar affection for him, too.Â
The knowledge doesnât do much, though. Because for all Chan loves you and prays that his love is returned, it wouldnât matter if it was. In fact, it might even be for the worse. You are a princess and he is but a cobbler, a commoner without magic, which means he could never be yours. If this were one-sided, at least you might still have a chance at happiness elsewhere. But if you truly do love him backâŚ
Chan swallows down a wave of guilt. Itâs not his fault, he knows logically. He doesnât control your feelings any more than he controls his. But in moments like this, he wishes more than anything that things could be different. That he might have magic, that he might have been born a noble, that he might have even the tiniest of chances with you.Â
Hm. Maybe he is moping. Chan sighs. He should stop. He should focus on something betterânamely the fact that he might finally have the chance to dance with you in just a couple of weeks. A smile begins to lift his lips at the thought as he exits the workroom to wait for his apprentices to return.
As if on cue, the door opens with a loud bang. Two pairs of feet tramp indoors, and then thereâs the sound of something thumping onto the table.Â
Itâs suspiciously quiet. Especially for his loudmouth apprentices.
Someone shushes the other. Probably Jisung hushing Felix. Silence ensues.Â
ââŚIs he still moping?â
âObviously, Lix.â
Chan sighs.Â
. . . . .
The week before the festival brings with it flowers, paintings, gifts from envoys from countries near and far, foreign royalty settling into the palace with their entourage or sending ambassadors if, for some terrible reason, they canât make it this year. Two days before the full moon, youâre pretty sure you havenât sat down in over twelve hoursâyou ate your lunch standing in a corner of the kitchen, and only because Yeji dragged you there under threat of knocking you out for several hours so you could take a break.Â
Beloved sister, even if not by blood. Also a royal (literally) pain in your behind sometimes. But a needed one.
The palace bustles with controlled chaos, servants in your countryâs colors and those of so many foreign lands mingling in the halls as they scurry from room to room carrying linens and luggage and trays of food. Theyâve nearly crashed into you more than once, but who can fault them for trying to do their job? Itâs all youâre trying to do, too.Â
(âChaeyoung, tell me something that will get me through this,â you ask on the third day of this mess, head in your hands as you squat on the floor.
âWell, Your Highness, on the final night of the festival I believe your beloved cobbler may save you a dance.â
She dodges the swipe of your hand with a cackle, but despite what you would have your lady in waiting believe, her words do lift the burden on your heart and make it a little easier to smile.)
Finally, the week before the full moon arrives. You stand with your father in the throne room, looking out into a sea of seated royalty all gazing back, solemn excitement dancing in their eyes.
This is what youâve been waiting for. What youâve been planning this festival forâthe celebration of the full moon, yes, but also the hum of excitement in this room, what your very country is so known for. Pride swells in your chest and you stand taller on the dais, smoothing the folds of your ceremonial robesâglowing white, accented with curves of darkness for the still not quite full moon. As each day passes, the darkness will fade from your clothes until you and most of the other festivalgoers are clothed only in white, to honor the moon and the night.
Your father finishes his little speech to a smattering of applause through the room. He turns to you and nods curtly.Â
Dipping your head in reply, you step to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience. âAs my father, king of our land and holder of our magic, just said, I first welcome you to our kingdom once more.â Another polite round of applause. Smiling, you begin to relax, letting your mouth move in the words of welcome youâve practiced so many times that you could say them in your sleep.Â
That is, until the throne room door opens with an ominous creak, cutting you off mid-sentence.Â
Confusion rustles through the crowd as people turn their heads to see who dared interrupt such a time-honored tradition. You yourself let your words fade from your lips, eyes narrowing towards the door in time to catch a glimpse of bright, fiery red.
The emblem takes you a moment to place at first. It looks familiar but not in the same way of so many other royal insignias, in the way that youâve seen it emblazoned on the clothing and jewelry of real, breathing, living people. You have only ever seen this emblem, fire curling around a spiked rose dripping blood, in textbooks. Because this emblem belongs to a kingdom only ever described to you as having risen from the depths of hell itself. Born of death and flames and blood, nothing the pure magic of your land would ever dare to touchâ
âHis Majesty, the king of Kereseia.âÂ
Your butler bows low, but even from here you can see that heâs trembling. Your eyebrows furrow furtherâyou have questions, many of which will no doubt be directed at him later when this is over and you have a chance to try and figure out just what in the world is happeningâbut thenâ
The king himself steps through the doors, flanked by an armored entourage.
Red and black drape his body, gold hung in chains around his shoulders and chest. A crown of blackest metal rests on his forehead, studded with glowing rubies and amethysts, and a matching necklace hangs around his neck. Heâs handsomeâridiculously handsome, as though he were carved from stone by the finest sculptors the land of Apollon had to offerâbut the haughty curve of his lips sends walls thrusting up around your heart, hardening your mind to his beauty.Â
He stalks up through the center aisle, coming to a stop level with the first row of seats. His boots click together on the hard floor, a sound that echoes through the now-silent hall.Â
One dangerously curved eyebrow raises, and a vision comes to you of a curved blade sparkling under the moon, arcing down in a silver flash before it buries itself in someoneâs flesh.Â
âGood evening, Your Majesty.â That haughty smile plays cruelly on his lips, sending a shudder up your spine. âI trust you know why I am here.â
Your eyes turn to your father. Outwardly, he doesnât look as though anything has gone amiss. His fingers, however, clench the arms of his throne with such force theyâve turned almost as pale as the marble itself.Â
He doesnât say anything.Â
âNo? Then perhaps I must jog your memory.â The smile disappears, revealing eyes cold as ice despite the fire burning within them. Those sitting the nearest to the king flinch. You gulp, despite yourself. âI believe I was promised an invitation to your famed festival.â
Your fatherâs jaw twitches.Â
âImagine my surprise as these past months came and went, with not a word from Your Majestyâs hand.â The princeâs theatrical sigh echoes throughout the room. âI thought it only fair, then, that I come to receive an explanation of this misunderstanding.â He tilts his head, revealing a jawline as sharp as the imaginary blade still curving in your mind. âOne does know, of course, that a promise made to a Kereseian will never be broken.â
You look straight at your father, the king, who sits wordless on his throne. Why isnât he saying anything?Â
Are these claims true? you demand through your eyes. Why did you make the promise? Why didnât you honor it?
What in the world is going on?
Silence stretches in the throne room, echoing off the stone walls and floors. With every second that passes, your fingers clench more tightly in your skirts, itching to say something, anything to rectify this mess even as your heart pounds in fear, but words wonât come to your lips because your mind is still spinning as it tries to understand the princeâs words and the implications they have on your familyâ
Your fatherâs voice cuts through the silence. âI am well aware of this.â
Your own eyes widen in shock as gasps fill the room, but he continues. âThere must have been a mistake when the invitations were sent.â
The second dangerous eyebrow rises, fire burning sinister in dark eyes. âA mistake.â
For a moment, you really think that fire might come to life and burn this entire room to the ground.Â
Your fatherâs eyes donât waver. âYes.â
Everyoneâs eyes are riveted on the two men, one high on the throne, one standing tall below. Neither of them looks like they will give in anytime soon.Â
Which means you might all be dead in a matter of minutes, if what youâve read of Kereseia is true.
âForgive me, Your Majesty.â Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as the eyes of the hall come to rest on you, including those of your father and the bloodred king. Surprisingly, your voice doesnât shake. âAllow me to clarify one thing. It is true, then, that the king had been promised a place in our celebration, and that therefore he should be allowed to participate in our festivities tomorrow.â
The entire hall seems to hold its breath as they await your fatherâs reply. Youâre not sure whether you want him to say yes or no.
âYes.â
Gods and stars above.Â
You swallow hard amidst the gasps and whispers, turning back to the king. âThen I must apologize, Your Majesty,â you say as steadily as your thudding heart will allowâanger or fear, which is it? Perhaps some of both. âI was in charge of the festivalâs guest list and many of its preparations, and yet I was never made aware of thisâŚpromise. I can only suppose that as your family has notâŚgraced ours with your presence in many years, the knowledge of this promise was perhaps misplaced or miscommunicated. For that, I do apologize, and take full responsibility.â
The Kereseian king holds your gaze for one, two, three long seconds. You swallow hard, refusing to look away, but you can feel yourself trembling all over.Â
Then that deadly, knife-blade smile begins to curve his lips once more, and you have the sudden feeling that you have just made a very, very grave mistake.Â
ââŚNo,â he finally says slowly, eyes traveling over every inch of your face. âNo, you would not have been made aware.âÂ
Even though there is still a healthy distance between you two, the oil in his voice, the deadly beauty of his face, the lascivious sweep of his gaze makes you want to take a step back. As though instead of just looking at you with his own eyes, heâdâŚlicked you, or something, instead.Â
And beyond thatâwhat does he mean? That you wouldnât have been made aware? Of course you didnât realize he was comingâyour kingdom has never invited his, as far as you knowâand your father never said anything, but his words imply that someone knew and should have told you but that he knew they never wouldâ
A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow.Â
You picture your father behind his desk, that moment of strange emotion you saw in the thin press of his lips to each other. Something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, perhaps. But something he never did.Â
Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your father. His kingâs crown stands high and haughty on his head, his hands placed on the golden armrests of his throne, but the skin of his face has drawn tight around his skull, fingers gripping his seat with undue force. You recall the readiness with which he gave his assent to the princeâs demands, the slightest shake in his voice that only a few of you could have heard. As though he knew the princeâs words had been spoken true.Â
What deal did he make with the kingdom of hell that could have resulted in this?
âAccommodations for you and your entourage will be prepared as soon as possible, Your Majesty.â You try for a smile. âUntil then, please feel free to partake in the eveningâs activities. Iâm sure you will find something to make your journey worthwhile.â
The princeâs handsome smile curls white, sharp. Like a curved daggerâs blade held up to the light, right before it plunges into your eye.Â
âYes.â He seems to lean in closer, that knife-blade grin never once faltering from his lips. âIâm sure that I will.â
. . . . .
Year after year, the Moonlight Festival has never failed to bring joy to Chanâs life. When he was young and his parents were alive, they always took him to the night markets, bought him all the sweets their money could spare, and danced with him in the crowded streets, their three giggles echoing off the laughs of everyone else around them. The royal family has never spared expense on these annual celebrations, meant to honor the entity from which Terpsichore, the kingdomâs patron deity, draws her power. All of the most famous dancers in the kingdom swear up and down that they dance better under the full moon, and as Chan laughs and spins from one person to another, joining hands with a woman and her husband before whirling off to yet another joyous stranger, he agrees. The nearly-full moon above glows pale and bright in the dark night sky, lending energy to all those who celebrate on the earth below.Â
Yet this year, the celebrations are dampened. By no fault of the royal family, of courseâeven if Chan didnât know you were the one behind almost all of the planning for this festival, he could say beyond a doubt that this yearâs festivities were fantastic, maybe even more dramatic than last yearâs. But whispers permeate the dancing, rumors of a kingdom long cut off that has come to Terpsichani for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries.Â
Kereseia.Â
Chan doesnât like to speak ill of anyone, but his parents told him tales of the Kereseians as a child to scare him into behaving. All children are told the same stories, of fire curling around thorny roses and a kingdom eager to kill.
And now they arenât just stories. The kingdom is actually here, in Chanâs homeland of Terpsichani, allegedly by invitation of the current king.Â
They havenât made an appearance in his area, not yet at least. Chan doesnât expect that they will. He more or less expects them to be like some of the haughtier royalty from other kingdoms, rarely straying from the immediate vicinity of the palaceâand for that he is thankful. Heâs not sure he wants to come face to face with any member of that entourage. Â
Though anxiety twists his stomach every time he thinks of you near them, being forced to entertain them throughout this weeklong stay.Â
Itâs not as though he could do much about it, though. Heâs just a cobbler in love with a princess, and no matter how he may fancy himself an acquaintance of your family, a friend if heâs being generous, his shoemaking privileges extend about as far as conversation with you. Which is privilege enough. He wonât be greedy. But thinking about you in that palace, being forced to speak with the Kereseian king himselfâŚ
Maybe the Kereseians are nicer than he gives them credit for. Chan doesnât know. But though he hopes thatâs true, something tells him that it's probably not.Â
Whispers still seem to permeate the excitement of the crowds as Chan fights his way to the palace on the final night of the celebrations, though nothing can fully mute his eagerness when he finally muscles his way as close as he can get to the stage. An enclosed area meant for nobility and visiting royalty blocks his full view of the stage, but no matter. The moon will be full tonight, shining from above to illuminate the loveliest spectacle of the entire festivalâthe Terpsichorean dance.Â
Named for the goddess of dance, Terpsichore herself, it is the ultimate homage to the moon. Chan knows the dance itself varies by region, but all serve the same purpose and bring the same honor. And of course, in the capital city itself, who would perform the dance but the daughters of the royal family themselves?
Chan just manages to keep himself from blushing. He watched you dance last year and the two years before wearing white and gold slippers heâd crafted himself, and it had only made him fall even more in love with you. Perhaps itâs shallow, but Chan finds it hard to believe anyone in the crowd could feel anything else if theyâd seen you spinning about so gracefully in your white robes edged with gold, a dancing ray of the moon herself.Â
More and more people crowd in as the sun sets further, until the front of the palace is packed with spectators and the sun only just peeks over the horizon. For all the teasing he had to endure from his apprentices when he left early, Chan feels endlessly grateful that he was able to secure a spot near the stage.Â
Familiar melodies begin to filter in from the musicians around the stage. The crowd begins to settle, eager whispers turning into cheers as the introduction begins for your piece. By the time the musicians have finished, the crowd is cheering and the sun has finally set, the full, pale moon beginning to hover in the sky.Â
The music pauses. Changes. Everyone falls silent and Chan finds himself holding his breath as he waits for what he knows will come nextâ
Your lovely figure draped head to toe in white silk edged in gold that just catches the moonlight, a ray of the moon sent specially to bless the kingdom now.Â
Chanâs breath lodges in his throat. His chest aches. Youâre always lovely, always so lovely, but as you begin to dance, he wonders if the word lovely even begins to capture the mystery, the beauty of your existence. No, not a single word could. But that is what his kingdomâs art is forâdance. A way to express what words cannot.Â
Just as your performance does now.Â
Itâs no ordinary dance, the way you flit through the air. No. Throughout the kingdom there are those blessed by the goddess herself with magical abilities that come with dancing talentâpainting memories through the air through a well-placed movement, calling on rain or sun to bathe the earth. Chan himself has no magic though he loves to dance, but his mother was blessed with the ability to recreate memories through her movement.Â
But those of the noble and royal lines may be blessed with a different ability, one that marks their special honor by the goddess Terpischore herself. They can weave emotion as they dance.
Just as you do now.Â
The crowd gasps, sighs, cries as one as you whirl across the stage, painting sorrow, joy, hopeâall emotions Terpsichore felt through her journey to godhood, to patronage of this kingdom, to her ultimate tie to the moon. For all Chan watches, almost refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment, he knows he could never hope to describe the sight before him, for words could never capture the beauty of your movement.Â
The song ends. You flutter your way to the front of the stage amidst cheers and shouts for an encore, and you bow once, twice, five more times before the crowd quiets enough for you to disappear behind the stage, leaving everyone to disperse under the rising moon.
Chan allows himself to be swept away with the crowd, filtering into the streets as musicians take up their instruments and begin filling the roads with cheer. He tries to stay by the palace, though, remembering your request.
âI know the chances are not large, but if we see each otherâŚplease save a dance for me.â
Ordinarily, he would never presume to take a dance from your hand. But you requested.Â
And never would he even think of saying no.Â
The minutes tick past, though, the moon rising steadily in the sky, bathing the streets in cool, lovely light. Chan laughs, dances, even catches a glimpse of his apprentices as they spin through the crowds shouting things he canât hear, but though he keeps a hopeful eye out, not once does he see you untilâ
Someone taps his shoulder, and he spins around to see a very familiar face.Â
âYourââ Just in time, he sees the finger you have on your lips and cuts himself off before revealing your location to everyone in his vicinity.Â
âSorry,â you say, smiling sheepishly. âI snuck away, I donât want to be found out so quickly.â
Youâve changed out of the filmy white robes you danced in. You still wear white, just like the rest of the crowd, but your clothes are certainly sturdier and more serviceable than your dance garments were. Even then, though, your beauty still shines beneath the moon, and Chan has to remind himself to breathe.Â
âYou were beautiful,â he says, all in a rush. Then he blushes. âI meanâyouâre always beautiful.â His blush deepens as you giggle behind a hand. âBut your performanceâŚit was beyond words.â
âThank you, Chan,â you reply sincerely, eyes shining. âIâm glad you were there to see it.â
âHow did you feel about it?â he asks. âWere you happy?â
You nod immediately. âI think it was probably the best Iâve ever danced in my life,â you laugh, pulling him clear of someone whirling past. âI was nervous, for certain. But I love this piece, and Iâve practiced it so much. Iâm very happy with how I did.â
Chanâs heart seems to burst under the brightness of your smile. âIâm incredibly happy you feel that way, Your Highness.â
âWell, I must thank you for it, too.â You hike up your skirts slightly, waggling a very familiar pair of slippers at himâwhite satin embroidered with gold accents, every stitch done by his own fingers. âYour shoes are incredibly comfortable, Chan. And so beautiful. I say this all the time, but I almost feel bad dancing in them, theyâre such works of art.â
âWell, that is what they are made for.â Your smile gives Chan the courage to continue. âAnd I will always be happy to make you more, whenever youâve worn a pair out.â
You look truly moved, your smile growing softer, shyer under the pale light of the moon. Chan himself can feel the redness of his cheeks creeping up his ears. You reach out and take his hands. âThank you, Chan. I hope this does not come across asâŚtoo much, but you are very precious to me.â Your voice takes on a serious note that wasnât there before, but your eyes shine brighter. âNot just your shoes. You are a wonderful person, and I am happy to have known you, even for the brief duration of our lives.â
Chanâs heart thuds in his chest, his ears echoing with your words. âYouâyou are very precious to me too, Your Highness,â he gets out, voice trembling. âI will forever be endlessly grateful that we have met.â
For a moment, you only stand, staring into each otherâs eyes. Chan forces himself to breathe, to take in the momentâhe will never be as close to you again as he is now.Â
âI do recall asking that you save me a dance,â you finally say, eyes sparkling. Chanâs heart leaps as you continue. âDo you have the time to indulge me, just this once?â
âOf course,â he breathes, squeezing your hand lightly. âYour Highness.â
He doesnât say the words that ached to come after, though.
For youâI have all the time in the world.Â
. . . . .
In the end, youâre not sure how long you dance with Chan. It started as one dance, but even when the crowd separated the two of you, sending you off to other partners as the crowd laughed and cheered and spun, you always came back together, over and over again, likeâŚ
Like it was meant to be.Â
A sudden ache races through your heart, and in response, you hold Chan tighter. Not enough to hurt, hopefully not enough for him to even notice. Because as right as this feels, as right as you know this is, so many others would tell you in a heartbeat that this is not your placeâwould even go so far as to physically pull the two of you apart, if they could.Â
You love Chan. Have known it for a long time, actually, ever since the day you watched him place Yunaâs first pair of slippers on her feet with the softest smile on his face and every confusing feeling youâd been trying to figure out hit you with the force of a thousand suns. Itâs been years since then and the love you have for him has never lessened, only grown.Â
And, youâre almost sure, it wouldnât be a stretch to believe that Chan loves you too.Â
Which makes it all the worse. Because if this was one-sided, at least you could comfort yourself with the cold knowledge that youâd be the only one suffering in this love that no one would accept. But if Chan loves you too, then what is this, this something-but-nothing that the two of you have now? Something that wonât just hurt you, but will also hurt him. The best thing you could do would be to end things cleanly on your end, and pray Chan will move on.Â
Only you canât. Selfishness, you suppose. The knowledge of how it feels to have Chanâs arms wrapped around you like this only makes it harderâsafe, warm, peaceful, even in this chaos of dancers under the full moon. Even this simple frame for partner dancing, closer than youâve ever dreamed but still leaving some distance that closes every so often as he pulls you out of reach of another laughing couple, is enough to make you feel lightheaded. Youâre in too deep. You couldnât try to drag yourself out of this if you tried.Â
This is the closest youâve ever been to Chan, wrapped in each otherâs arms as you spin about the roads in front of the palace, cheeks warm with sweat and laughter. Perhaps only your oldest sisters and Chaeyoung know how much courage it took for you to ask him for a dance, how nervous you were for this one little tryst to work outâbut it was worth it. Because this is likely the closest youâll ever be. The closest youâll ever allow yourself to be.Â
Youâll never tell him how you feel, after all. Even if you know, and he knows, and everyone knows. Because even though itâs meant to be, it isnât. And that hurts.Â
Chan seems to be oblivious to your thoughts as the music begins winding to a close, which youâre forever grateful for as you smile at him. His dark curls stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyes shine almost brighter than the moon itself.Â
Dancing stars, you love him. You love this gentle man who holds you with so much care, who looks at you like you hung the full moon in the sky. You love him so much.Â
âYour Highness?âÂ
You blink at Chan, whose expression has turned worried. Damn. You let yourself slip. âAre you tired?â he asks, already guiding you to the edge of the fray, away from the brunt of the music and noise. âIâm sorry, I lost track of time. You must need to return soon.â
âNo, Iâitâs all right.â You try to cheer up, but reviving your fallen smile proves harder than you thought it would. Fumbling for an excuse that isnât I was thinking about our hopeless love story and made myself upset, you say, âItâsâŚa lot of things. With the festival.â
Chanâs eyes narrow slightly. âWas itâŚâ
Your heart drops in your chest, and suddenly all the previous lightheartedness of the night has gone, replaced by a curtain of dread. âKereseia,â you finish quietly.Â
A short silence punctuates the air between you two. In the whirl of your performance, the final day of celebration, and the ecstasy of dancing in Chanâs arms for the first time in your life, youâd forgotten about the problems that sprouted in your life, fully formed, just a week ago.Â
The hand holding yours tightens its grip. You welcome the added pressure, squeezing harder as you try to ground yourself against the anxiety beginning to seep back into your chest. âSo itâs true,â Chan says lowly, his eyes turning dark. âTheyâre here.â
You nod slightly. Itâs not surprising that heâs heard something already. Rumors spread quickly, and it would only take one whisper about a kingdom as notorious as Kereseia to spark a wildfire. Really, you wish that was it. That it was just a strange delegation from a kingdom never before seen, come to demand that you include them in your celebrations once more.Â
But the king. HeâŚ
âYour Highness!âÂ
Your eyes snap open. You hadnât realized you even closed them. Chan is gripping your arms now, almost like heâs holding you upright, and you realize you must have been falling, and he caught you.Â
âIâm sorry,â you manage, trying to breathe. After the first gasp, breath comes more easily. âI justâthis week has beenâI love the festival, and I love planning it, butââ
Against your will, unwanted memories of the past week come flashing into your mind. The first time you spoke with the Kereseian king, when he interrupted the opening ceremony for nobility with his grand entrance. Those many timesâtoo many to be coincidenceâwhen you ran into him in the hallways and he begged so graciously for a moment of your time, only for you to feel dirty all over after he spoke to you, his eyes wandering over your figure all the while. When you were trying to speak with your sister and he suddenly appeared, somehow snatched you away, and by the time you realized he was holding your wrist it already felt like snakes had been wiggling up your arm.Â
âHeâs terrible,â you whisper.Â
Chan sucks in a breath and immediately you regret speaking. âWho?â he asks, voice quiet. Dangerous, maybe. âThe Kereseian king?â
Well, thereâs no denying it now. Even if you tried, he would know, anyway. âYes,â you reply miserably.
Chanâs eyes, worried and concerned, despite their hardness. Nothing like the sickly sweet, oily looks the Kereseian king had for you every time you spoke. âWhat did he do?â
âNothing.â Yet. You pray Chan didnât hear the word you left out, though something tells you he did. âItâs justâthe circumstances surrounding their visit. My father wonât tell me anything.â Not for lack of trying, too. You stormed into his office the minute you had time, seething with embarrassment at having to take responsibility for the whole mess of âmissingâ the invites for the Kereseian delegation, and beyond his trite apology for not telling you earlier, you couldnât get a word out of him beyond it will be cleared up soon and donât anger them.
Youâve seen him four times since then. Each time, though you tried, he wouldnât tell you a thing.Â
âItâs nothing, Chan,â you say again, as though repeating it will make it true. You attempt a smile. âReally. The festival will soon be over, and this Kereseian business willâŚgo away.â Hopefully. Chan doesnât look convinced, so you curve your lips wider even though you know this smile is far from reaching your eyes. You try for a joke. âAt least, it wonât be my problem to deal with. Itâll be my fatherâs.â
Chan looks at you closely, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to sink into his arms and cry and tell him everything. Instead, though, you bolster that smile, and though by the end youâre sure Chan hasnât been convinced of anything, he doesnât continue to pry. âAll right,â he says, worry still on his face, but the concern melting into a small smile instead. âBut in any case, itâs late. Maybeââ
âMaybe, Your Highness, itâs time for you to return.â
. . .
For a moment, you think that this is just a bad dream. That youâll pinch yourself and wake up, and when you do youâll be back in bed. Safe. Away from the voice.Â
But you slowly turn around, coming face to face with the Kereseian king himself.Â
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.Â
âYour Highness.â He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt at respect, the little smirk that makes your skin crawl never leaving his handsome face. âYour family is looking for you.â
âYour Majesty.â You take a small step in front of Chan, who seems to be frozen to the spot, and give  a slight curtsy. âMy sisters knew where I was. Did they send you?â
Thereâs no way they did.
âNot exactly.â His smile widens. âI heard your father ask where you were, and volunteered my services to find you.â
Behind you, Chan shifts. You raise a foot beneath your skirts and step slightly on his toes. Heâs smart. Heâll understand that that means please donât get involved.Â
âWhoâs this?â The king peers past you and you actually feel your throat close up. Not Chan, not Chan, not Chan! âI donât believe weâve met.â
âI donât believe we have either,â Chan replies, voice polite but cold. Youâve heard that tone before. It usually comes out when one of the more aloof nobles doesnât plan to give him the time of day or the proper respect due to a human being. âYour MajestyâŚ?â
For all the situation, Chanâs blatantly fake confusion almost makes you want to laugh. âChan, allow me to introduce His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.â You realize then that you donât know the kingâs name and that almost makes you laugh for real, especially as Chan dips into a stiff bow that looks anything but natural. âYour Majesty, my good friend, Chan.â
âYour good friend,â the king repeats, slowly, like heâs testing out those words on his tongue. You can almost feel Chan stiffen next to you, and you pray you wonât have to step on his foot again to keep him from trying to interject. âWell, it was a pleasure to meet you, Chan. I do have a duty to escort Her Highness back to her family, however, so I fear we must part.â
âDo not worry,â you reply quickly, as smoothly as you can before Chan can retort. âI was going to return soon, anyway. Please, Chan, have fun at the festival.â Your smile turns real, if only for a moment, as you meet his gaze. âItâs the final night. You should enjoy it.â
Chanâs eyes flicker to the side, where you know the Kereseian king stands. âSo should you.â
âAnd I did, thanks to you.â You take his hand, squeeze it for a minuteâfar longer than you should, with the kingâs gaze boring into your shoulder, but you ignore it until you have to let Chan go. âI will be all right,â you add in a whisper that hopefully only he can hear. âReally.â
He doesnât look happy. His lips press together almost into a line, his eyes dark and serious like youâve never seen before. But he must sense it when you want this to end, so he only nods, curves his lips slightly, and bows. âIn that case, have a good night, Your Highness.â When he rises, his smile is wider. âI had a wonderful time.â With that, Chan disappears into the crowd, leaving you with a man you donât trust at all.Â
Without another word, you turn back towards the palace and begin walking. If itâs a little quicker than your usual pace, you try not to let that on.
Unfortunately, the king keeps up. âI didnât know that princesses of Terpsichani were allowed dalliances outside of nobility.â
You laugh a little, trying not to let the edge in your voice sound. âWith all due respect, Your Majesty, youâve only been here a week. There is a lot of you donât know about us.â Annoyance creeps into your tone, despite your efforts to keep it out. âAnd Chan isnât a dalliance.â
âWell, he seems quite taken with you.â
Anger fizzles in your chest, threatening to spill into your words. âWeâre friends,â is all you say.
âGood, then.â
Frowning, you turn toward him. âGood?â
âI wanted to ask you something.â The kingâs eyes seem to glow under the moonlight, pulsing pools of shadow. You almost fear drowning in them. âDo you know why I have come here, to your kingdom?â
Nothing about this feels right. âI was under the impression it was for the Moonlight Festival, Your Majesty.â You turn to continue on to the palace, but his cold hand catches your wrist. Pulls you back.Â
âSo your father really told you nothing,â he murmurs, almost as though to himself. Before you can digest that, though, he continues. âIt was for the festival, Your Highness. Partially. But that was not the promise your father gave me, you know.â His lips curve and you can only think of the cruel blade of a knife, silver under the moonlight before it sinks into your flesh. âHe promised me you.â
He promised me you.Â
ââŚWhat?â
âHe promised your mother, first.â The king laughs as though you arenât reeling, about to fall if not for his wrist still grasping yours. âAnd to my father, not to me. But the poor woman was so sickly after your birth, and ill. My father wouldnât want a weak woman to bear his own child.â He peers into your eyes and you can do nothing to pull away. âThis my father said, and so yours bargained a second time. One of his daughters for my fatherâs son.â White teeth glint as he grins. âMe.â
Disgust roils in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak. âBut why?â you cry out. âWhy would my father make such a bargain in the first place?â
âDonât you know how much trouble your father and mother had, conceiving you?â He smirks. âI suppose, at some point, your father had to take matters into his own hands. And my own father wasnât going to say no to a princess with magic as strong as yours.â
Your throat feels like itâs closing up. In a horrible way, it makes senseâyou know your mother had trouble with your birth and had always wanted more children even after you were born, which is why she adopted your sisters before she diedâbut this canât be true. It canât be. âI donât believe you,â you snap, ripping your arm out of his. âI donât believe you!â
âIt doesnât matter whether or not you believe me.â Suddenly he has both of your wrists clamped between his fingers, his skin seeping cold into yours. âI will have you, a darling queen to dance with me and entertain my court day and night, and you will have my child. And with your blood, that child will be able to walk in the sun, as so many of us Kereseians cannot.âÂ
Vaguely, you realize youâve never seen one of the Kereseian delegation under daylightâalways in a room with no windows during the day, or milling about at night. You didnât know they couldnât walk in the sunlight.Â
Youâre learning so much tonight, and none of it is good.Â
âSo we can do this one of two ways.â His face is so close to yours, so handsome but so cold and so repulsive when his breath hits your skin. âYou can come willingly, and we will announce our engagement tonight to your father. It will be wonderful news to crown the final night of the Moonlight Festival, will it not? Our marriage two weeks from now on the new moon, as befits Kereseian royalty.â
A shaky breath leaves your lips. Engagement. As ifâas if you would everâ
âOver my dead body,â you snap.Â
The king isnât even fazed. âI thought you might say that,â he says with flippant ease, though if you didnât know better youâd think you heard a ripple of a snarl in his tone. âBut think wisely, Your Highness. Your father signed a contract with our kingdom of hell. We did not coerce him. He came to us. We delivered on our end, and now he must deliver on his.â He laughs. âWill you try to resist fate?â
Despair claws its way into your heart, ripping open your throat as you try to think. Try to speak. Your head is spinning and everything is wrongâyour father, who you trusted, your mother, who is deadâ
Against your will you wish you had never told Chan to leave. That he was still here with you. That you could draw from his strength in this moment where you feel so powerless. But he shouldnât be caught in this, though. Youâd never want him injured. Never want him hurt.Â
Not in the way youâre sure the Kereseian king could manage.
His memory lends you courage, though. Fate. This is no fateâit will not be your fate. You will not go willingly into the kingdom of hell, and you will not sign your life quietly away to this monster who dares claim you so.
âOver. My. Dead. Body.â
The kingâs eyes darken. âVery well, then,â he says, and just for a second his grip loosens. You try to snatch the moment to break free but then it tightens and you gasp against the pain as he brings you even closer. âI should make this clear now, though, Your Highness.â
Flames whirl up from the ground. Heat flares at your skin. And then youâre falling, falling, falling into the earth and the blistering wind is tearing your body apart piece by piece and thereâs a horrible noise in your ears that you have a terrible suspicion is your own screamâ
Your feet slam into a hard floor. You nearly buckle where you stand, knees shaking, only held up by the painful grip the king still has on your hands. Everything around you is dark, lit up by strange, curling flames, and it is cold. So cold.
He smiles down at you now. Knife blades. Weapons to kill you as his mouth comes closer to whisper in your ear.Â
âYou donât have a choice."
If you enjoyed, please donât forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3
#HI HELLO i'll be randomly reading these parts when i have time so im SORRY LINA !!! but i am here now#my knowledge of the 12 dancing princesses is very minimal btw so be warned i couldve missed a detail or a reference đđ#ANYWAY the beginning of this WAS SO CUTEGFHSDJFSDHFJSDF#LOOK AT THEM CRUSHING OVER ONE ANOTHER NOOO IM WEAK HEARTED OKAY#like actually their dynamic their relationship was SO CUTE its like im the one w a crush w the way im gushing over it#and i love the banter w chaeryeong and jisung teasing mc and chan#AND DUDE I FELT ITTTT I KNEW !!!! when the father started acting suspicious my marriage radar went off#KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP I COULD TELL and then when the hell kingdom people showed up i was like đ¤¨đ aha mhm exactly#esp w the way that gross king was behaving he was def up to no good#AND WHATS W THE DAD ???? GET REMOVED#but yes anyway i love how you set this whole thing up im genuinely so so excited to resume reading the rest#as usual your writing is phenomenal lina and i missed it <33#loved the way you described their emotions and the CONFLICT like theyre both upset by the fact that the other probs reciprocates and ;-;-;#â hold on dont step on the shattered pieces of my heart fr â #i just think its very interesting and cant wait to see how it all unfolds#ALSO YEAH I FORGOT BUT WHAT DID THE CRUSTY KING DO TO MC#the way u described him btw made me genuinely creeped out like EWEWEGEHGWJHEW jail !!! (to him)#he better not do anything istg 𤨠creep#furat's little library
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