#twisted city duet

[wittybibliophile]

Happy Sunday...

It's weekend and I love a strong woman... Always giving strength to women. ❤ "Senora Castillo bought you a gun? why?. "She always said a woman should be two things - armed and dangerous". - Final Offer (Lauren Asher) " She is the moon, wrapped in my darkness, yet she is my light". - Twisted King ( Ria WIlde quotes R.H Sin) Xoxo, Ironically Witty!

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows | A HSR Series

Inspired by the series “Alien Stage”, a twisted contest unfolds in a modern world where contestants are thrust into a deadly competition for survival. Captured from their everyday lives, they must showcase their talents in front of a ruthless audience. Each round demands they perform alongside a partner, with a horrifying twist: the weakest performer is executed on stage if they fail to outscore their duet partner. In this high-stakes game, alliances form and betrayals lurk, as each contestant grapples with the question of how far they will go to stay alive.

Introduction

In the shadows of the modern world, beneath the glittering lights of cities and the hum of everyday life, an underground competition thrives, known only to a select few: Stages of Shadows. A secret contest broadcast to the wealthiest, most twisted elites, Stages of Shadows is not just a test of talent—it is a fight for survival.

The contestants, snatched from various walks of life, are forced to participate in this deadly spectacle. Some volunteered out of desperation, others were coerced or tricked into joining. But once they’re inside, there’s no turning back. Each round pairs them into duets, demanding that they perform their hearts out in front of unseen, sadistic judges. They must sing, dance, or showcase any skill that might save their lives, because the rules are simple: if you score lower than your partner, you die.

The performances are brutal in their intensity. Every note, every step could be their last. The weakest performer of each duet is executed on stage, their death witnessed not only by the twisted audience but also by the remaining contestants—serving as a grim reminder of what’s at stake. Contestants must face the ultimate question: how far will they go to survive? Will they forge alliances, or will they sabotage others to stay ahead?

As the competition drags on, the psychological toll begins to unravel them. In this high-stakes game of survival, trust is scarce, and betrayal lurks behind every forced smile. Friendship becomes an illusion, with each contestant knowing that their partner today could be their executioner tomorrow. And while their bodies fight for survival, their spirits slowly break under the weight of the cruelty they are forced to endure.

Behind the scenes, the twisted elite who control this dark spectacle revel in the contestants' suffering, betting fortunes on who will live and who will die. For them, it is the ultimate entertainment—human lives reduced to a sick form of amusement. The contestants are nothing more than pawns, dancing on strings for their captors' amusement.

As the rounds progress, tensions rise, and the stakes grow deadlier. Every performance, every decision carries a fatal cost. The contestants must adapt or perish, knowing that mercy has no place on this stage. For some, it's a race against time to find a way out before they too meet a brutal end. For others, it's about embracing the chaos, willing to do whatever it takes to be the last one standing.

In Stages of Shadows, talent alone isn't enough. Survival demands ruthlessness, cunning, and the will to endure. Only one can win. The rest… will become nothing more than the final note of a deadly song.

[Navigation]

[luvzshy]

See ur post that your writing about Billie again so only right I request 🫣 could you do the opposite style thing and their relationship gets hated on❤️

a/n: i CANT help it but make everything SO romantic ugh but enjoy my love!!🩷🩷

masterlist

Beautifully Broken

The rain fell softly over London, creating a rhythmic symphony against the cobblestones as you walked side by side with Billie Eilish. The city felt alive, its vibrant energy buzzing with the eclectic mix of cultures and stories that seemed to pulse through every alleyway. You loved the thrill of being here, but the looming cloud of public scrutiny cast a shadow over your heart.

Billie was a force of nature—her dark, oversized hoodie, ripped jeans, and cascading green-and-black hair made her a living canvas of rebellion. She embodied everything fierce and raw, while you were the embodiment of elegance, your tailored coat hugging your frame perfectly, your hair styled to perfection. Together, you formed an unexpected duet that turned heads, but not always for the right reasons.

As you meandered through the bustling streets, tourists and locals alike turned their heads, some with admiration, others with disdain. “She’s too polished for Billie,” a woman whispered to her friend as you passed, their laughter trailing behind you like a taunt. “What does she even see in her?”

Your stomach twisted at the words, and you instinctively pulled your coat tighter around you, as if shielding yourself from their judgment. Billie noticed your change in demeanor and stopped, turning to you with a mix of concern and defiance etched across her face.

“Hey,” she said, reaching for your hand. “Ignore them. They don’t know anything about us.” Her grip was firm, but you could sense the underlying frustration in her tone.

“It’s just hard sometimes,” you admitted, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I feel like I’m just this… delicate flower in your storm. Like I’m not enough.” The weight of their opinions hung heavy on your shoulders, threatening to crush your spirit.

Billie’s expression softened as she stepped closer, her gray-blue eyes searching yours for understanding. “You’re not just some pretty face, okay? You’re so much more than that. You keep me grounded.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her touch sending shivers down your spine. “I’m the one who’s lucky to have you. You bring a sense of calm that I never knew I needed.”

The sincerity in her words broke through the haze of doubt clouding your mind. “But they see me as this outsider, like I don’t belong in your world,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then let them think that,” she replied, her tone fierce and unwavering. “I don’t care what they say. You belong with me, and that’s all that matters.”

As the rain continued to fall, you felt a warmth radiating from Billie, a shield against the cold judgment of the world. “You make it sound so easy,” you said, a small smile breaking through your worries. “But it’s hard when all you see is the criticism.”

Billie let out a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “We’re both beautifully broken, and that’s what makes us perfect for each other. I’m a chaotic mess half the time, and you—you’re like a beautiful work of art.”

You leaned into her, feeling the comfort of her presence envelop you like a warm embrace. “You really think so?” you asked, your heart swelling at the thought.

“Absolutely,” she said, sincerity etched across her features. “You balance me out. You remind me to breathe, to slow down. In a world that constantly tries to tear us apart, we’re stronger together.”

With her words echoing in your mind, you felt the tension in your chest begin to dissipate. You leaned in closer, your forehead resting against hers, letting the world around you fade into the background. “I just wish people could see that,” you murmured, your breath mingling with the cold air.

“Who cares what they think?” Billie said, her voice fierce and protective. “Let them talk. We know the truth. We’re in this together, and no one can take that away from us.”

As you stood there, surrounded by the rain-soaked streets of London, you felt a renewed sense of strength wash over you. It didn’t matter what the world said; your love for Billie was a force all its own. You shared a kiss that felt electric, a connection that transcended the noise outside, sealing the promise that no matter what, you would always stand by her side, beautifully broken and unbreakably strong together.

[perseephoneee]

New years party with kate bishop!

new years (kate bishop x f!reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 8 of ficmas!

a/n: I genuinely like this one, and if ANYONE knows me, then they know that kate bishop has been my hero since I read the comics in 2015. i hope this is okay for my wifey @mayfieldss

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Since your first year of high school, you have been attending New Year's parties with Kate Bishop. They were always hosted by your classmate, Agatha Maloney, a bubbly girl with a penchant for party planning. The parties involved games, champagne stolen from her parents, and enough fairy lights to brighten a small city. You and Katie would show up, eat all the hors d’oeuvres (you hated the spicy chips that Kate would always consume), and perform a Bon Jovi duet. And every year, you would wait outside watching the snow fall in clumps across the city while Kate was inside kissing someone else at midnight. You used to think you were just jealous that she could find someone when you couldn’t, but now, you recognize it for what it was. You’re in love with your best friend and can never tell her. 

It was the last New Year's before you split for university. You weren’t sure if you’d have another New Year again; if you did, it wouldn’t be the same. Your classmates would have new friends and new stories. New inside jokes that you wouldn’t understand. You and Kate were attending different colleges. It's the same city, but different. Kate had a lot more money to afford a fancy university, and you were scraping by with tuition (that you were thankful for, don’t get it twisted). But even next year, what would you do when you didn’t share the same wavelength?

It didn’t stop the two of you from laughing as you bound up the doorsteps to Agatha’s. Kate wore a simple, long-sleeve black dress that ended at her knees and matching ankle boots that still made her look beautiful but rugged. You opted for a strapless jumpsuit. You and Kate had a weird apparel rule: if one person wore a dress, the other wore a jumpsuit. So that you always compliment the other person. 

“OMG, you guys came!” Agatha squealed as you approached the front door. Her blond hair was curled like a ‘20s flapper girl, her lips the color of bubblegum. She hugged both of you, almost suffocating you with her grip. “I’m so excited you came here for our last official hurrah. It’s not a party unless the dynamic duo is here.”

“You always know how to make us feel welcome,” you mumble, trying to dislodge yourself from her arms. Agatha was a sweet girl but very intense. And pushy. 

“You can let go now,” Kate choked, sending you a look of distress as Agatha officially detached herself. Kate sent you a look as you both followed Agatha into the house. Most of your classmates were experiencing the wonders of intoxication, and you appeared not to have missed a single critical moment. “Is it just me, or does she get crazier yearly?”

“She’s certifiable,” you chuckle, nudging Kate as you make a bee-line to the snacks. You shove your mouth full of pretzels and tomato cheese covered in balsamic vinegar. There’s a name for the snack, but you can’t remember and don’t care as you let the tastes overwhelm your tongue. As usual, Kate eats the hot Cheetos until her fingers are dyed red. She smiles at you over red Cheeto dust, and you think that even though she is messy, she looks beautiful. Instead of saying so, you just make fun of her. 

“Do you think that a cheetah has seen a Cheeto and thought, that’s cannibalism?” Kate asks you, eating more Cheetos. 

“I think you’re crazy,” you laugh, grabbing a plastic flute for the champagne and pouring you and Katie a glass. “A cheetah is more likely to wonder how it became a mascot wearing sunglasses.”

“Because it’s the cool thing to do, obviously,” Kate took the glass you handed her, taking a sip before excitedly motioning to the set-up karaoke machine. “Showtime!”

Every year, you debated what to perform. And you still ended up doing “Wanted Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi every year. You needed to spice up your choices, but you two were old souls who got too impassioned with Bon Jovi. During the instrumental breaks, you guys would yell out how many measures were left and march across the stage. You even had experimental pop star names (“If Beyonce goes by Sasha Fierce on stage, why shouldn’t we?” said Kate). 

You finished your duet to a round of applause like always. And just as you finished, one of the attendees turned on the New York countdown so everyone could wait till the ball dropped and the new year was ushered in. You averted your eyes when you saw Stephanie from your chemistry class taking second glances at Kate. You ignored the feeling that gripped your heart when you saw Kate looking back. You thought this would be a good cue to step outside, like every year, and watch the snow fall as you ignored your heart breaking into pieces inside the house. 

The balcony was covered in a light layer of frost. Agatha’s home always had boughs of greenery wrapped around the terrace, with beautiful sparkling lights that reflected the city spread out before you. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, letting your breath fog in front of you. You huffed like a dragon and giggled to yourself. You liked seeing the tall buildings sprawled out in front of you, the little houses in front like a treeline to the secrets further back. The sounds of the ten-minute countdown could be heard from inside, but you let it become a dull sound in your ears. You were in blissful silence until you heard the balcony door close behind you. 

“Aren’t you freezing?” Katie asked, coming up right next to you. You look over, noticing she put on her coat and a beanie to fight the freeze. 

“It gets stuffy in there,” you turned back to the city, feeling the heat of Kate’s arm next to yours.

“I hear that; it’s like a sauna,” she chuckles. You sit in silence for a while. “Can I ask a question?” You gesture for Kate to continue. 

“Why do you come out here every year?”

You let the question hang in the air, unsure how to answer. How do you tell someone that you leave because you’re in love with them? Because watching them kiss someone else kills you? Because you want to grab and kiss them as firecrackers erupt in the air, just like they would in your heart? You opt to lie instead. 

“I don’t like watching people make out,” you awkwardly chuckle. “PDA is weird.” Kate gives you a look that tells you she doesn’t believe you. Your breath is shaky as you exhale. “Maybe there’s no one available worth kissing.”

You freeze up as Kate grabs your hand with her own, intertwining your fingers. Her hands are rough and calloused from all her physical activities, compared to your soft ones untouched by nature. 

“The person I would want to share my kiss with is never here,” Kate whispers. “She always goes outside and hides.”

Your heartbeat is heard in your ears to the point where you almost miss the countdown starting from inside. You make eye contact with Kate, her blue eyes wide as she looks at you. She seems as nervous as you are, making you feel better. The party attendees start to count down from ten. 

“Y/N,” Kate says, snow coating her hair in beautiful crystals. 

There are only five seconds left on the clock. When it hits one, you lean forward and kiss Kate, enjoying the gasp she lets out from surprise. Cheers are heard not just from inside but from the city, neighbors, and everywhere as people welcome the new year. Your hand cups her face, twisting in her black hair as she wraps her arms around your middle, pulling you close. You feel freezing and yet on fire as you kiss the love of your life on New Year’s Eve. A bad taste makes you pull away. 

“Did you eat hot Cheetos right before this?” you mumble, grimacing at the spiciness on your tongue. Kate laughs, a full-bodied laugh that is your favorite sound in the world. 

“I stress eat when I’m nervous.”

“It tastes disgusting.”

“Oh shut up,” Kate chuckles, kissing you again. And again. And again.

[jessamine-rose]

⋆‧͙*̩̩͙꒰ Disjecta Membra ꒱*̩̩͙‧͙⋆

*sigh* idk what to say at this point. I’m not even a major simp for the Jester but the Pierro brainrot was very infectious. Y’all can thank @frogchiro​ for converting me and @seakicker​ for inspiring this fic  =_=

As always, thank you to @diodellet​ for suffering with me as my peer reviewer!! I’m also grateful to Kin for helping with my characterization of Pierro. I ended up writing about a very detailed darling, but I hope you enjoy their twisted tale nonetheless :>

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, coercion, blood, violence, death, psychological trauma, self-deprecation, needles, spice, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader who is a fallen goddess, pre-release Pierro

♡ 14.9k words under the cut ♡

i. memento mori

You cooked too much food again.

You stare at your dinner. Out of habit, you had also set the table for two and filled both plates before realizing your mistake. You can’t finish the cream stew all by yourself.

Great, more stale leftovers.

You shake your head and pick up your spoon.

Old habits die hard. You’d made the same mistake before, but it had taken less time for you to adjust. It was easier when someone was still there to correct you.

The kitchen is too quiet. You can only manage a few bites before you grow sick of the empty chair across from you. Picking up your plate and cutlery, you go outside and take a seat at the temple entrance.

The forest is the same as usual, shrouded in a veil of mist. Through the haze, you can spot a few woodland critters darting to and fro. Somewhere in the trees, a pair of birds are singing a harmonious duet. The pasithea flowers are in full bloom.

You wave your hand and the mist rises. The berry bushes look ripe for picking. You can already imagine the many—no, Oizys won’t be here to enjoy your cooking.

“Help.”

You startle. Has a human entered your territory?

You can sense a distressed voice along with weak movement. From what you can tell, the wanderer must be at the edge of the forest, close enough to reach the mist.

You fix your veil, draping the sheer fabric over your face, and leave the temple.

It doesn’t take long to find him. The human is slumped against a tall tree surrounded by achlys flowers. His breathing feels unsteady.

“Hello?” You slowly approach him, clearing the mist.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. You lean down to examine him.

The poor thing looks close to death. His silver hair is messy and there is a cut on the side of his face. Judging by the weapons on his person, could he be a combatant? No, his torn clothes look too fancy for an ordinary soldier.

You tap his shoulder. “Can you hear me, dear?”

He opens his eyes.

Four-pointed stars.

You draw back. Those diamond-shaped pupils...this human is clearly from Khaenri’ah.

He lifts his head, blinking blearily. Based on appearance alone, he seems too weak to attack you.

You don’t sense anyone else within the forest. You could easily give this person first aid then hide in your temple. It shouldn’t take long for him to find the city once he recovers.

A hand weakly grips your wrist. The Khaenri'ahn dazedly looks up at you.

“Who are you?”

No, that would be absolutely cruel.

You crouch down, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. His temperature is too warm. And now that you’ve taken a closer look, is that blood on his clothes?

“Shh, it’s all right,” you whisper, offering a soft smile. “You’re safe here.”

The Khaenri'ahn stares at you for a few more seconds before his eyes flutter shut. His hand lets go of your wrist and falls to his side—did he pass out already?

You glance at the berry bushes and mutter a silent apology.

At least your dinner won’t go to waste.

ii. mea culpa

Thankfully, the Khaenri'ahn’s injuries aren’t too severe. After treating his wounds, you tuck him in bed and wait for him to wake up.

Even in slumber, his expression is weary. There are faded scars mixed in with his bandages. Has he been wandering Teyvat since the fall of his nation? How did he survive?

What should you do with him?

His expression stirs, followed by a pained noise. The diamond pupils are exposed.

“Ah, you’re awake!” you exclaim, rushing to his bedside. “Do you feel better?”

“What?” He turns his head in your direction, clearly confused.

You raise a cup to his lips. “Here, drink some water first.”

He finishes the entire glass. You point at the pitcher on the nightstand.

“Are you still thirsty? Or would you like something to eat?”

He shakes his head, looking at you warily. “Not now…where am I?”

“You’re in a safe place.” You smile, placing a hand on his bandaged shoulder. “No one will hurt you in my temple.”

His eyes widen. “Your temple?”

He lunges forward. A shocked cry leaves your lips as he sits up and grabs your arm.

“You.” His gaze turns hostile. “You are a god.”

Huh, he found out sooner than intended.

“That I am.”

You might as well reveal your true form. Wispy gray marks spread across your skin.

He holds your arm in a bruising grip. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Believe it or not, I wanted to save your life.” You hold his gaze through your veil. “Don’t worry, even if my intentions were cruel, I am quite harmless for a god.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

You wince as he strengthens his hold on you. Are humans normally this strong?

“You may call me ______,” you reply calmly. “That is the name I go by nowadays. But since you are asking for my true identity, I’ll be honest: I am █████ the God of Mist.”

He glances at the shadowy swirls on your arm. “I have never heard of your title.”

“That is to be expected,” you reply. “Now could you please let go of me? I understand your aggression, but I can’t properly care for you with a broken arm.”

The Khaenri'ahn’s gaze is clear this time. Those diamond pupils fixate on your face then his bandages. After looking around the guest room, he reluctantly lets go of you.

“There, was that so difficult?” you ask him. “I am sure that you have many questions, and I can promise you my full honesty. But for now, you must rest.”

“I can—”

He tries to leave the bed, only to stumble. You catch him in time.

“Now, what did I tell you? Don’t overexert yourself.” Shaking your head, you help him back into bed. “May I know your name, dear?”

The distrustful look he gives you is an adequate response.

“Not willing? Fine, that is a wise precaution.” You check your arm for lingering marks from his grasp. “Moving on, I cooked cream stew earlier. Would you like some?”

A moment of silence precedes his response.

“Yes,” he mutters sheepishly, “and pardon my hostility.”

You smile at him. “No offense taken. It isn’t everyday that someone treats me this way.”

*✧･ﾟ

The Khaenri'ahn remains cautious. In a few weeks, he regains enough strength to leave his bed and walk around the temple. You regularly change his bandages.

“Good, you don’t seem to be sick anymore.” You remove your hand from his forehead and leave the temple. “But it will take more time for your injuries to heal.”

It would be faster if Vesta were here.

He follows you. Since leaving the guest room, he has been watching you go about your daily routine. Cooking, foraging, doing laundry, cleaning the temple, checking the animal traps.

“For a god, you live quite a humble lifestyle,” he muses. “I assumed that you would have a horde of followers catering to your every need.”

“Hardly!” you scoff. “That isn’t my style of worship.”

The path ahead of you is obscured by mist. You are quick to catch the Khaenri'ahn when he trips on the steep slope.

“Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” he mutters, averting eye contact. “Where are your followers to begin with? I have not encountered any since entering this forest.”

“That is because they are all here.”

You wave your hand and the mist disperses.

The Khaenri’ahn stops in his tracks. “This is…”

The pasithea flowers have overtaken the cemetery. You walk past the gravestones towards a pair of half-broken statues.

“I suppose you’d like an explanation. Do you know about the Archon War?”

A short pause. “I have heard stories.”

Good, you don’t need to explain that far into history.

The pasithea flowers are concentrated around the shorter statue. Deep blue flowers sprout from the cracks, concealing her face.

“This isn’t my original territory,” you explain. “Before, I shared a vast area of land with three other gods. We retreated to this forest with our followers during the war.”

The Khaenri’ahn walks over to the other statue. “They survived as well?”

His face is discolored. A damaged Claymore rests in his hands, never to be used again.

You cover the statue’s eyes with mist. “Yes, but they’re currently dead.”

Silence. Picking up a broom, you sweep the leaves around the statues.

“At first, we defended our territory,” you continue. “That was the option I voted for, but we fled after Vesta was slain. A few centuries later, Pasithea succumbed to erosion. Wait, do I need to explain what erosion is?”

He shakes his head. “I can discern the meaning of the term. You may continue.”

“Okay then. In Pasithea’s case…she went mad and it affected our people. So one of her followers decided to end her misery.”

You sidestep a patch of pasithea flowers. If you try hard enough, you can still recall the lyrics to her lullabies.

“By the time I sensed them, it was too late…her death plagued everyone in the forest with insanity, and only a few survived. And before that, I learned that my friend Havria—she established her own new territory in Liyue—was also slain by her people.”

The Khaenri’ahn remains silent. You move on to a row of gravestones engraved with curlicues.

“Over time, my followers died out. The last ones lost faith in me and left; many switched to my last friend Oizys. I don’t blame them. His fortune, Vesta’s warmth, Pasithea’s dreams…what I gave them was incomparable. All my mist did was hide them from the world.”

“And what happened to Oizys?” he asks tensely.

You hesitate. “He died at the start of the war between Celestia and Khaenri’ah. He was on the gods’ side. A few weeks after he left, I discovered his body near the forest. I…I guess he used the last of his strength to come home.”

Tears prick the corners of your vision. You straighten your veil and walk over to Oizys’s grave, noting the Khaenri’ahn’s wary expression.

“And you do not resent my people for slaying your friend?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I’d rather not cause any more deaths. And I should be asking you the same question, really.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Until now, no grass has grown over his grave. Maybe you should try planting berries.

“I took a neutral stance during the Cataclysm,” you explain, “and that angered Oizys; he always called me too kind for my own good. But if I was truly kind, shouldn’t I have stopped him from joining the war? Shouldn’t I have cared more about his future victims?”

How long will it take for his body to decompose? Is his soul at peace?

“Maybe he would still be alive. Maybe your nation would have more survivors.”

The silence is heavy. You turn to the Khaenri’ahn, noting his solemn expression.

What did it feel like to lose all of his loved ones at once? Is it even possible for him to mourn their deaths?

Finally, he looks up to face you. There is no anger in his gaze, only sympathy.

“I did not advocate for the war, either,” he says, “but I was only a mage in the royal court. For that reason, the previous ruler heeded the sages’ words over my own.”

“I see.” You put down the broom and turn away from the statues. “Let’s go. It will take half a day to clean this place, and you need more rest.”

He follows you. “If you insist.”

The two of you leave the cemetery. The area is once again shrouded in mist.

The Khaenri’ahn meets your gaze. “I am sorry for your loss, ______.”

“I must say the same to you.”

He’s had less trouble walking lately. Soon enough, he will be able to leave the forest.

You walk ahead. “Once you have fully recovered, I expect you to leave. If you don’t have a clear destination in mind, I can guide you to Oizys’s city or draw a map of Teyvat for you.”

He responds quickly this time. “Of course, I would not want to overstay my welcome.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” You turn around to face him, a sad smile on your face. “It’s for your own good, dear. There is no future for you here.”

*✧･ﾟ

After your visit to the cemetery, the Khaenri’ahn begins helping around the forest. You initially disapprove of it but he is insistent on “repaying your kindness.”

He doesn’t divulge any more personal information apart from the fact that he lived with an outlander for some time. You ask him general questions about Khaenri’ah’s culture instead; in turn, he inquires about your glory days.

“Are your old temples still standing?” he asks.

You focus on the chessboard. “The last time I checked, all of them succumbed to the elements. My friends’ temples are more intact; some of my statues are kept there.”

The Khaenri’ahn moves a black pawn. “And they remain in their place, unbothered?”

You make your next move. “More or less. I’ve run into a few adventurers, and they make the wildest assumptions about my images. They would be quite disappointed if they knew what the real thing is like.”

He looks around the temple. Your religious art had been destroyed years ago.

“I can only imagine what it is like to encounter the remnants of your previous existence. It must conjure painful memories.”

You change the topic. “Have you planned your next destination?”

“I am still undecided.”

“Maybe this question will help: What will you do now?”

The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t need bandages anymore. After months of his silent company, his departure will leave a new gap in your daily routine.

“You could start over in another nation. I’d suggest the city of Miseria as a new home; it is still thriving after Oizys’s death.”

He picks up another chess piece, planning his next move.

You continue speaking. “Or you could search for fellow survivors, maybe even preserve what is left of Khaenri’ah. Your life does not end with your nation. After some time…you will eventually move on from the calamity.”

The chess piece cracks in his hand.

You look up immediately. The Khaenri’ahn glares at you.

“Move on?” he asks angrily. “After the destruction I have witnessed, acceptance would be the most humiliating form of defeat.”

The diamonds in his eyes flash. This is your first time seeing him in such a furious state.

You glance at his clenched fist. You will need to replace the black king.

“In that case,” you reply carefully, “is vengeance a preferable option for you? It is one thing to live with resentment but taking action is a different matter.”

He returns the king to its original square and moves his queen instead. “At the moment, I have no concrete plan. But so long as I can remember the flames of Celestia’s cruelty, I would like to see them extinguished.”

“...Then so be it.”

You analyze the chessboard. The Khaenri’ahn turned out to be a formidable opponent. With how he constantly surprises you, you have no doubt that he will do well.

You are absolutely cornered. He topples your white king, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

“Checkmate.”

iii. damnatio memoriae

The remaining weeks are dreamlike. You enjoy more meals, conversations, and chess games with your temporary companion. He has more energy these days, perhaps motivated by your earlier conversation. He even smiles on a few occasions.

It only makes his departure more difficult.

“Do you have everything you need?”

The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t stop to check his bag. “You have already given me more than enough for my travels.”

“Are you sure? Do you need more food? Another blanket?”

“I can take care of myself henceforth.”

How can he be so sure?

The mist swirls around you. You guide him to the edge of the forest.

“Then I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

The Khaenri’ahn steps out of the mist. He looks nothing like the pitiful creature you first met. No traces of sickness or injury. Mended clothes—he even allowed you to embroider stars and diamonds over the holes. A bright, determined gaze directed at you.

“Thank you for everything,” he tells you. “Had you not saved me, I would have lost hope ages ago.”

You smile, shaking your head. “That was nothing, dear. Thank you for your company.”

What will he do now? Will he really seek vengeance against Celestia?

He glances at the expanding mist. “Will you remain in your territory?”

“Of course, someone needs to take care of the cemetery. Oh, and…” Your voice trails off, a pause where his unknown name should be. “I have one last thing to say to you.”

He resumes eye contact. “Yes?”

He will be fine. It would be selfish to keep him here.

The mist recedes. You lift your veil, smiling.

“Your feelings are valid. If resentment is what drives you to continue living, then let it be. What matters is that you are still alive.”

So long as he doesn't give up.

The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t say anything at first. He stares at your face, likely taking in the details usually hidden by your veil. Why, though? He has seen it plenty of times during your meals together.

You clasp your hands around his. “Take care. May you find your new purpose in life.”

That draws him out of his stupor. He nods, standing up straighter.

“Your kindness will not be forgotten, ______.”

With that, he turns around and walks in the direction of Miseria. You remain in your spot, watching his figure shrink then disappear over the horizon. Not once does he turn around.

Back to your old routine.

The temple is too quiet. The dishes are still in the sink, speckled with crumbs of berry pie. The guilt finally sets in as you pick up the Khaenri’ahn’s—no, Oizys’s plate and clean it.

You put your tableware in the dish rack. Oizys’s is transferred to the cupboard, placed beside the three long-discarded sets.

*✧･

Time passes so slowly these days.

Even before the Khaenri’ahn’s arrival, you began oversleeping without Oizys’s wakeup calls. But with the former gone, you have less reasons to leave your bed.

You still sleep on the right side. You fill the left side with pillows to make the bed feel less empty, but there is no replacement for Oizys’s late-night ramblings. After a few more washes, his scent leaves the mattress.

On Vesta’s birthday, you leave the forest and return to your old territory. Their temple is still standing, but the fire has been extinguished.

At first, you think the empty hearth is a hallucination. You can still vividly recall the moment Vesta’s mangled body burst into fire. Even in death, their soul sought to provide warmth for their followers through everlasting flames.

Even in death, they provided more than what you could ever give.

The statues haven’t fared any better. Your friends’ icons have all crumbled into shards and dust. You don’t care to look for your own scattered fragments.

You visit Sal Terrae next. After greeting Havria’s remains, you run into Morax and exchange a few words with him. You leave immediately afterwards—he is busy overseeing Liyue’s recovery from the Cataclysm, and his nation only reminds you of your once-thriving territories.

That visit is what convinces you to rest. Back home, you clean the entire cemetery; the task takes an entire day without Oizys’s help. You go to bed and only wake up months later for your religious festival.

The forest is the same. Oizys’s grave remains barren.

You greet your followers’ graves. The temple is cleaned and decorated with your old tapestries. As you pick a bouquet of achlys flowers for yourself, the Khaenri’ahn comes to mind.

Is he doing well?

What a stupid question. The fact that he hasn’t returned is a good answer.

You bake a small cake this time, just enough for one person and topped with a ring of candles.

The fire is much dimmer than Vesta’s. What else is different? Your followers would return your greetings. Havria would visit to join the celebration. Pasithea would sing your hymns. Oizys would gift you another blessing of happiness.

You blow out the candles. Smoke curls into the air and mixes with the mist.

“Happy birthday, █████.”

*✧･

You sleep for longer intervals, dedicating a few wakeful days to your friends’ birthdays and the cemetery’s maintenance. The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t return.

Years after his departure, another human wanders into the forest. Her presence awakens you early, and you bring her to your temple upon sensing her wounded state.

Her injuries are severe, and you get blood all over your robes while stitching her wounds. After a brief introduction, she explains her situation.

“Your coworkers did this to you?”

“Yes,” says Alyona. “I tried to leave our organization and was branded a traitor.”

You look at the broken mask in her hands. “Where are you from, dear?”

Her eyes are glossy with tears. “Snezhnaya. Have you heard of the Fatui, miss?”

“I haven’t.”

“That makes sense; it is the new political department of my nation. They aspire to fulfill our Archon’s vision of a perfect world, but the things I’ve seen…”

She stares at her bandaged legs. You pat her back.

“It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

Her expression turns fearful. “No, even if I—the director of the Fatui personally recruited me! He knows who I am. Once he hears about this, he won’t let me escape so easily!”

Poor thing. “And who is he, may I ask?”

She visibly shudders. “I know nothing about him but he called himself Pierro, the Jester. His gaze is terrifying; I’ll see those diamond pupils in my nightmares.”

You stare at her. “His pupils were diamond-shaped?”

“Diamonds,” she confirms. “He doesn’t look like a native of Snezhnaya, but that doesn’t matter. He is devoted to the Tsaritsa; he said it himself.”

She continues describing him. Strong build, pale blue irises, silver hair with a dark streak in it, a refined way of speaking.

“Where is she?!”

You startle. Someone—no, two people have entered the forest. One of them mentions Alyona.

“Miss?” She tugs on the hem of your veil. “I should leave. I can’t put you in danger.”

“The same can be said for you, little one.”

Outside the temple, the mist thickens. You sense the reactions of Alyona’s pursuers.

“Katya? Where did you go?!”

“How did I end up back here?”

There, she should be safe now. You smile at Alyona.

“Don’t worry about me; I’ll keep you safe until you recover. Afterwards, you can take refuge in the nearby city. The locals are kind.”

“Thank you so much, Miss ______!” She wipes her tears and looks around the temple. “Who is this temple dedicated to, anyway?”

“A nameless god,” you reply nonchalantly. “She died a long time ago.”

“That’s too bad. She must’ve been a splendid being if her priestess is this kind.”

“Not really. The world has no more use for her.”

iv. oderint dum metuant

In the years following Alyona’s departure, more Fatui defectors wander into your territory.

You help all of them. In your human guise, you treat their wounds and guide them to Miseria. Their pursuers give up after spending hours lost in your mist.

A few have stories about their leader, be it hearsay or personal anecdotes. Their narratives only provide more evidence that he could be the Khaenri’ahn you saved years ago.

Pierro, the Jester.

So it seems that the Cryo Archon took him in. He must be doing extremely well if he now holds authority over Snezhnaya. Could the Fatui’s objective align with his grudge against Celestia? Is that why he swore loyalty to the Tsaritsa?

You don’t visit Snezhnaya for confirmation. If Pierro is truly your old companion, nothing good will come out of your reunion. You are better off as a memory.

*✧･ﾟ

You sleep for an entire year this time.

Your solo celebrations have become unbearable and none of your friends will call you out for skipping their birthdays.

You do wake up for Oizys’s death anniversary. His grave remains a barren bed in the cemetery; not even your achlys flowers could flourish. The eyes of his statue have cracked, so you cover them with thicker clouds of mist.

Hunger eludes you. After greeting Oizys, you go to the kitchen and keep your tableware in the cupboard. It will only erode if you leave it in the dish rack for another year. Or what about two? Ten? A century, even?

No one will wake you up, anyway.

“______?”

You almost drop your plate. Is that an ex-Fatui acquaintance? You already forbade their visits. Before you can reinforce the mist, the person speaks again.

“█████.”

The plate shatters into pieces. You run out of the temple.

They know your real name.

The voice is familiar. And their location…

The edge of the forest has less achlys flowers these days. Someone is standing under a dead tree. Before you can call out to them, they turn in your direction and make eye contact.

Four-pointed stars.

He is the first to speak. “______, you haven’t changed at all.”

Before you know it, you are running towards him. “It’s you!”

The Khaenri’ahn gives you one of his rare smiles. “It appears that you remember me.”

“How could I not?” You stand in front of him, taking in his appearance. “Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

He looks so different. Neat hairstyle, elegant Snezhnayan clothing, a black mask over the right half of his face. Has his posture improved? His demeanor is dignified, imposing even.

You unconsciously fix your robes. “It’s been so long. What happened to you?”

“I have found a new home in Snezhnaya,” he explains, “and devoted myself to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. I believe you already know of the Fatui.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” you reply carefully. “You are the first Harbinger, correct?”

His expression turns serious. “You are not mistaken. Along with the title of Jester, I took on a new name. You may address me as Pierro.”

Was his gaze always so intense? It feels as though he is sizing you up.

You look away. “Then I can finally put a name to your face. If I may ask, why the Tsaritsa? I don’t know her personally, but the last thing I expected was for you to pledge loyalty to an Archon.”

“Neither did I,” says Pierro. His voice takes a reverent tone. “Her Majesty understands my pain. Through the Fatui, we will rebel against Celestia and create a new world.”

Your mind flits to Alyona and her successors. How many people will be sacrificed for such a lofty goal? And why do you feel so conflicted? Isn’t this what he wanted?

“I see. Your plan sounds outrageous but it must be promising if you are the one in charge,” you reply, smiling. “You’ve come so far. You should be proud of yourself.”

There is a faint glimmer in his eyes. “Your recognition is paramount.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air. What else can you say to him? Should you invite him to your temple? Why is he taking time out of his schedule to visit you anyway?

Pierro looks around the forest. “Have you been doing well?”

“More or less. Never mind me, I’d like to hear more about your new life.” You lean against the dead tree, twirling the hem of your veil. “So, a rebellion against the divine. How does one go about doing that?”

He takes a step closer to you. “Naturally, it will take years of preparation. In the present, I can see to it that our smaller objectives are accomplished.”

“All right, so what will you do now?”

“I shall overthrow the gods of the Old World, starting with you.”

Pierro slams his hand against the tree, cornering you. His other hand seizes your arm, holding it tightly enough to crush the bones.

“Pierro!” You bite back a cry of pain. “I—what are you doing?!”

Any and all traces of familiarity have left his face.

“█████, you have officially been recognized as a threat to the Fatui,” he declares. “Had you taken a neutral stance, we could have sought diplomatic relations. The assistance you have provided for the Tsaritsa’s traitors, however, cannot be overlooked.”

Of course he knows about Alyona and the others.

The mist swirls around you. Just before you can create a diversion, Pierro strengthens his grip on your arm. An unspoken warning.

You can’t keep the fear out of your voice. “I…what will you do with me?”

Overthrow the gods…will he kill you? But wait, your death could end up like Havria’s or Pasithea’s! You should warn him—

“Nevertheless, your punishment has been reduced by the mercy of Her Majesty.”

Don’t relax yet. He is still holding you. “What do you mean by that?”

Pierro puts his hand under your chin, tilting your face upwards. “What you are, truly, is an archaic god who poses little threat to the Fatui. I inferred as much from my time spent with you. For that reason, I personally pleaded your case.”

You can’t look him in the eye. “Then what exactly is my punishment?”

“I promised the Tsaritsa that I would oversee your subjugation by my side.”

“…Excuse me?”

The look on his face is completely serious. “I came here to bring you to Snezhnaya.”

Your arm shakes within his grasp. “And if I refuse?”

Pierro’s gaze pierces through your veil. “I advise you to be tactful in your decision, lest the city of Miseria be implicated.”

The mist rises.

“What do you mean?! Oizys’s people have nothing to do with this!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are they wholly innocent? They have accepted numerous Fatui defectors regardless of their circumstances. We have yet to deliver retribution to the traitors.”

“No!” You shake your head, tears filling your eyes. “Please don’t—I’ll do anything!”

Your knees hit the ground. You bow your head, allowing the mist to disperse.

“I’ll listen to you! Just don’t hurt them, I beg of you!”

This whole time, you have endangered Oizys’s followers.

Pierro’s voice cuts through the fog clouding your thoughts.

“You astound me, ______. Your compassion knows no bounds, even for those who do not worship you. I now understand why your friend had deemed you soft-hearted.”

You remain in your servile position, staring at the ground. Pierro’s hand returns to your face, gripping it roughly under your veil. His thumb strokes your cheek and catches a stray tear.

How pathetic you must look in his eyes.

It is his next words, spoken in a soft tone, which make you shudder.

“That means you are a worthy soul for the New World.”

*✧･ﾟ

You give up your territory shortly thereafter.

Pierro doesn’t let you return to your temple for any belongings. He simply guides you to the waiting carriage, keeping his hand on your back. The only thing more humiliating than your earlier display of submission are the chains cuffed to your wrists.

You take down the mist before you leave. Without its veil, the forest looks small and unremarkable. Whatever the Fatui does with it, you hope the cemetery will be preserved.

The trip to Snezhnaya is quiet. You say nothing to Pierro when he gives you a coat for the cold climate, neither when he escorts you to Zapolyarny Palace, not even during your introduction to the Tsaritsa.

You understand why he would serve her. The Cryo Archon is a sacrosanct figure and her mere presence makes you shiver. While she regards you with a cold gaze and some curious words, she clearly doesn’t perceive you as an equal.

Neither do you miss Pierro’s reverent attitude towards her. When the Tsaritsa demands your utmost loyalty, it is his gaze which scares you into bowing before her.

Never mind your pride, you are dealing with the god who made his goal possible.

After the tense meeting, you return to the carriage. Snezhnaya is a far cry from your old territory, but the people seem capable of enduring the harsh environment. They have no trouble finding their way in the snow.

Your final destination is Pierro’s estate. You give him a confused look when he identifies the grand manor, but he leads you inside.

The foyer is lined with masked servants. They silently greet Pierro; some curiously glance in your direction. Before anyone can ask, Pierro’s hand moves to your shoulder.

“This is ______,” he announces. “Henceforth, she is the lady of the estate.”

What?

The gasps that echo across the foyer aren’t yours. You can only stare at Pierro, your chains clinking with how quickly you turned to face him.

The serious look on his face is what silences everyone.

Pierro continues speaking but your mind is too foggy to process his words. His hand is still on your shoulder, a visible confirmation of his earlier statement. The unanimous “Yes, Lord Harbinger!” is what draws you back into reality.

The servants disperse. Only two women remain.

Pierro lets go of your shoulder. “I expect Lady ______ to be ready by dinnertime.”

They bow. “Yes, Lord Harbinger!”

He lightly pushes you in their direction. You hesitantly follow them, feeling his gaze on your back until you disappear up the stairs. The handmaidens lead you to a lavish bedroom.

Your own chambers. How considerate.

The shorter handmaiden takes out a key and unlocks your chains. They work quickly, cleaning you in the en suite bathroom then dressing you up. The wardrobe is fully stocked with elegant dresses, all in Snezhnayan fashion. The blue diamond jewelry looks familiar.

You don’t protest as they alter an ornate gown and help you into it. Neither do you cast a glance at your old robes discarded on the floor. They let you keep your veil, at least.

*✧･ﾟ

Pierro is already seated at the dining table when you enter.

“Your new attire befits you,” is all he says.

The handmaidens close the door behind you. You walk over to the empty chair.

Fancy tableware, gourmet food, a banquet table with more distance between the chairs.

“Thank you,” you reply bitterly, sitting down. “Is that all you have to say? Because I have so many questions for you.”

His gaze is still trained on you. “You may speak.”

“All right, where do I start?” You lift your veil, exposing your face. “I didn’t expect this kind of prison. And what did you call me earlier? I’ve had my fair share of admirers, but none were so brazen as to pursue a god.”

Your jewelry twinkles under the bright light. It matches Pierro’s diamond accessories.

His face betrays no emotion. “Make no mistake, your previous act of kindness had no bearing on my decision to save your life. You may find it to your benefit to respect your savior.”

What a charming word. “Of course, I’d hate to be a nuisance.”

You sample your soup. It tastes like borscht.

Pierro just watches you. The tension in the room is thick, so unlike your previous meals together. You aren’t in the mood for any idle conversation.

“Why am I here, Pierro?” You put down your spoon and sit back in your chair. “I can’t imagine why a prisoner of the Fatui should have such luxurious accommodations or a status like the Jester’s…partner.”

“And what were your expectations?” he asks.

“To be kept in a cell. To have my powers utilized for your organization. To be, I don’t know, treated like a pawn.”

His gaze remains unfathomable. “Was I not clear with my intentions? You are meant for the New World, so I intend to keep you safe until our objective is achieved.”

“And it just so happens that only you can fulfill the role of my warden.” You rest your head on your palm, eyes wide. “You have truly surprised me.”

What use could the New World possibly have for you?

Another uncomfortable silence. Both servings of soup are left untouched.

It is Pierro who speaks again.

“You will not be without basic needs, so long as you listen to me. Regarding your current lodgings, I will confess that it is a reciprocation of your kindness. But that is all there is to it—never forget that you would be dead if not for me.”

The diamonds in his eyes shine bright with resolution.

“Rest assured, the Fatui will not make a pawn out of you,” he continues. “From this day forth, you are liberated from your divine burden.”

You belatedly realize just how far you have fallen. Stripped of your divine attire, trapped in a foreign nation, left to the mercy of a powerful human.

Likewise, any act of defiance would only make the Tsaritsa doubt her trust in him.

“I see. Thank you, I think I have a clearer idea of my situation.”

Your appetite is nonexistent, but you force yourself to eat. The sound of metal scraping against porcelain comes only from your side of the table.

“Is the food to your satisfaction?”

You stare at your bowl. “The borscht is too sweet.”

“I will tell the chef to rectify their mistake.” After a short pause, Pierro adds, “Are you still fond of cooking?”

“Not really. I lost my passion for it a long time ago.”

“That is a shame,” he says. “You were quite adept with the knife.”

v. nitimur in vetitum semper, cupimusque negata

Pierro wasn’t lying about the reality of your prison. It takes a while to adjust to your new routine, however.

Each morning, your handmaidens wake you up early for breakfast. Your meals with Pierro remain tense; he initiates most of the conversations.

After breakfast, he leaves for Zapolyarny Palace while you remain in the manor. You have no one to interact with, given the servants’ fearful dispositions, but he is gracious enough to give you a new pastime.

“You expect me to study?”

Your desk is stacked high with books. Judging by the titles, most of them pertain to the history and culture of Snezhnaya.

Pierro takes another book off the shelf. “Did you expect a life of nothing but luxury? You have lived an idle life for the previous centuries, ______, but your archaic knowledge will prove irrelevant for the New World.”

And to think you had originally been in awe of his private library. You slump in your chair, frowning at the written worksheets.

“You are absolutely cruel.”

He gives you a stern look. “Do not think you can feign studying. Your handmaidens will supervise you to ensure your proper education.”

You glance at the two women standing by the door. What must be going through their heads right now? Did their job description prepare them for sights like this?

“And do you expect me to study all day?” you ask.

“Once you finish your studies, you may do whatever you like so long as you do not leave the estate. You need only read the introductions today.”

Honestly, he should’ve just left you to rot in a prison cell.

Pierro’s hand rests on your shoulder. “Your mental enrichment will be instrumental to your adjustment.”

He leaves the library.

Shaking your head, you open the first book. The history of Snezhnayan technology turns out to be an interesting topic, and you quickly move on to the corresponding worksheet. Aside from an enumeration quiz, there is a section for subjective questions. You mull over your answers and explain your stance.

An opportunity for psychoanalysis, perhaps. At least the political propaganda is tolerable.

Most of your free time is dedicated to naps. The manor is too warm for the natural formation of ordinary mist, while the outdoor mist is quick to freeze. The only personalized item in your bedchambers is an embroidery kit.

So he remembered another hobby of yours.

You think of Pierro’s finely-tailored suits. The style is a world away from his old Khaenri’ahn attire. Has he disposed of his old garments?

Pierro usually returns from work in time for dinner. After another tense meal, he retires to his private office. Unless he invites you over for conversation or chess games, you return to the solitude of your bedchambers.

You sleep in the middle of the bed.

*✧･ﾟ

After a few months, Pierro allows you to leave the manor for the first time.

Zapolyarny Palace is as chilly as you remember. You don’t know why he brought you with him to begin with—he just banishes you to the sofa with your books and embroidery.

…He looks hard at work. Every time you peek at him, he is writing reports at his desk or speaking with a subordinate.

Thankfully, you don’t have to greet the Tsaritsa. You do pass by the Doctor’s laboratory on the way out, only to be startled by a chorus of crazed screams and hypnotic singing.

You stop in your tracks but Pierro quickly leads you away from Dottore’s wing.

Your next destination is a town square. The visit is more of a formal tour than a leisurely stroll, and the bustling activity ceases upon Pierro’s arrival. Still, you obediently walk by his side.

“Is that the Jester?!”

“Who is his companion?”

“Their veil suits the Fatui’s masks, doesn’t it?”

“Her expression looks quite solemn.”

He doesn’t pay the whispers any attention, so you do the same. The Snezhnayan crowd isn’t here for you.

A few people catch your eye. You pause and wave at them, offering a friendly smile.

Pierro’s hand presses down on your back.

The smile leaves your face. You don’t need to turn around to know that he is glaring at you—or is it the people you’d waved at? They look frozen with fear.

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking ahead.

The both of you continue walking.

*✧･ﾟ

Pierro leaves for a mission in Mondstadt. You remain in the estate.

Without him, the days are monotonous but easygoing. You eat your meals in peace and accomplish your studies. In your second week, you make an unlikely friend.

“My lady?”

You look up from your embroidery hoop. “Yes?”

The shorter handmaiden points at the half-finished design. “What flower is this?”

Where is her coworker? This is the first time a servant has approached you on their own volition.

“Pasithea,” you reply, tracing the blue and violet threads. “It’s…a special flower which grows in only two areas of Teyvat.”

“It must be beautiful.” She glances at your finished pieces. “Your needlework is exquisite, my lady. Are you preferential to any designs?”

“Not really. Would you like to suggest one?”

She smiles. “What about a snowflake?”

Her change in disposition is welcoming. She almost reminds you of your last priestess Charis. She was always quick to suggest designs for her new robes.

“What is your name, dear?”

“Eva,” she replies brightly, “and my coworker is named Anya. Please excuse her absence today; she caught a cold.”

“Send her my regards.” You smile, straightening your veil. “And thank you for your earlier compliment. It’s been a while since someone has praised my craft.”

She tilts her head. “You are quite nice, my lady. No offense but given your introduction, none of us know what to think of you.”

“None taken,” you laugh. “Honestly, I was just as surprised as all of you.”

How long until Pierro returns? Didn’t he say two months at minimum?

“I’m suddenly craving Brightcrown tea. Could you please prepare some for me?”

“Oh, sure!” Eva walks over to the door. “I’ll be right back, my lady.”

You might as well take advantage of this opportunity.

The needle pricks your thumb. You wave your hand, allowing the blood to evaporate into mist. It swirls around the room and dissipates into the air.

One room down. It would be more effective if you use your thurible, but you shouldn’t doubt the staff’s perceptiveness. You’ll have to settle for just a little blood and dominion.

If only this territory was meant for their safety, not yours.

“My lady? Your tea will be brought here shortly.”

Eva is back. You hide your thumb, squeezing the wound to extract more mist.

“Thank you, dear. May I have a tour of the estate later?”

vi. amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus 

The remainder of Pierro’s mission is enjoyable. Eva and Anya are wonderful companions, and they introduce you to a few other servants. You chat with them often.

Your mist only claims part of the estate. Several rooms are locked with no gaps under the doors, including Pierro’s personal quarters. You do manage to sneak a few drops of blood through the keyhole of his private office.

The information gained is useless. You can only hear fragments of the servants’ chatter, mainly gossip about you or praise for your captor. They keep talking about the many benefits the Fatui provided for their hometowns, from new technology to public hearths.

At least he has made their lives easier.

You do hear about Pierro’s return ahead of time. The servants are agitated but not so much as you. You remind Eva and Anya to keep your camaraderie a secret.

He finds out, anyway.

“Your handmaidens have been terminated from their position.”

“What?”

You look up immediately. Pierro remains focused on the chessboard.

“I also dismissed two other servants,” he says, moving a pawn. “Starting tomorrow, their replacements will attend to your needs.”

“But why?”

His gaze is sharp. “I was informed that they had overstepped their boundaries. It is unprofessional for a servant to be overly friendly with the lady of the estate, much less request embroidery pieces and assistance in the kitchen.”

“That—I insisted on it!” Your hands shake, chess game forgotten.

Eva, Anya, those young cooks. All jobless because of you.

Your vision turns blurry. “Could you at least transfer them to another building or give them letters of recommendation?”

He sighs. “You are too kind for your own good, ______. What would you have done if those servants sought to take advantage of you?”

“They’re good people,” you insist, blinking back tears.

“Perhaps you are right. To which their own righteousness could have been manipulated for your personal gain.”

You glare at him. “I don’t plan to escape if that’s what you are thinking. I have nowhere to go and Miseria would be in danger.”

“Even so.” Pierro glances at your clenched fists. “Remember where your loyalties lie.”

You glance at your thumb. The wound has long healed, and your mist is currently down. You’d take this opportunity to claim Pierro’s office but he would surely notice.

“So what do you expect me to say? I understand? I’m sorry? Thank you for looking out for my safety?”

He remains unfazed by your anger. “Whatever you’d like to say. Your countenance already reveals much of your sentiments.”

“Well then.” You stand up, adjusting your veil. “What would you like to hear from me?”

There is a new medal on the wall, another personal accomplishment on display.

“Shall I sing you praises?” you ask, bowing. “Show my utmost gratitude?”

Pierro just watches you, a judgemental look on his face.

How did your last followers act in their throes of madness? It was sickening to witness.

You kneel on the floor, hands clasped together. “O, Lord Pierro, I humbly thank you for saving an undeserving creature such as myself! Had it not been for your benevolence, I would have been doomed to a life of sorrow. Your greatness is unparalleled. You have brought glory to Snezhnaya. The Tsaritsa—”

“That is enough.”

The anger in his tone is undeniable. You almost flinch from his glare.

“Cease these foolish theatrics at once,” he snarls. “It would do you well to remember that Her Majesty’s name shall not be disrespected.”

“My apologies.” Despite the shiver running down your spine, you bat your eyelashes innocently. “Shall I exclude her name and continue?”

His eyes flash. “Even a court jester has more wit about them. Sit back down.”

“Gladly.” You return to your chair, wiping the dust off your skirt. A smug smile crosses your face as you analyze the chessboard.

Your king is in a tight spot. Pierro meets your gaze, challenging you.

“Draw?” he asks.

You shake your head and make your next move.

*✧･ﾟ

Pierro wins the chess game. Nonetheless, you are quite satisfied with the results.

Your new handmaidens are more formal with you. For their sake, you avoid any sort of unnecessary interaction with them. The estate is rife with gossip following the dismissal of the old servants, and you disperse the mist. You don’t want to think about them.

With no one to appreciate your embroidery, you take to roaming the estate in your free time. The manor is extravagant for two residents and most of the rooms are vacant. During one stroll, you find a half-open door near Pierro’s bedchambers.

Isn’t this room usually locked?

“My lady, where are you going? We’re forbidden—”

You smile at your handmaiden. “Did the Jester permit you to restrain me, Esfir? If he finds out about this, I’ll gladly vouch for your innocence.”

She turns to her coworker, exasperated. “Karine, call Alec. That careless idiot…”

You go inside.

The room is dark. Opening the curtains, you find what looks like several furniture pieces covered in sheets. The locked bookcase holds ancient books and scrolls.

You uncover one item and promptly lock the door.

“My lady!” Esfir bangs on the door. “What are you doing?”

You return to the unveiled statue, hands trembling. The figure’s translucent veil and swaying thurible are flawlessly sculpted. The marble is cracked but polished to perfection.

Isn’t this your statue from Vesta’s temple?

You uncover the other items. To your horror, all of them comprise your old religious art. Broken statues, deteriorated paintings, ceremonial relics. So many images of you.

Calm down, it could be worse. The items are hidden in this room, not displayed for worship. Pierro probably stole these to erase your remaining influence. But why didn’t he just destroy them? Why is the artwork well-preserved? Why are there so many?

You can’t stand looking at those faces. They are too serene, too divine, too deceptive.

You cover the items and leave the room. Esfir and Karine surround you, along with a terrified-looking servant.

“My lady, did you—!”

You close the door behind you. “Alec, dear? Do you normally clean these items?”

He tenses. “I only dust the covers and the room. Lord Pierro forbade me from unveiling the items, lest I be…laid off like my predecessor.”

“I see.” You smile at him through your veil. “Lock the door properly next time, okay? If you aren’t careful, these items could be destroyed beyond repair one day.”

Pierro makes no mention of his secret collection later that evening, but you notice more locks installed on the doors. Despite your best efforts, Alec is fired.

*✧･ﾟ

Oizys’s birthday rolls around.

You sit by the window overlooking the garden. The estate grounds are a paradise of white snow and Snezhnayan flora. There are no berry bushes in sight.

At this hour, his festival in Miseria must’ve begun. You should be preparing for his private party right now. He always came home early for your berry shortcake.

The curtain is pulled over the window.

“How long do you plan to stare outside?”

Great, he’s here.

“Good morning.” You make no move to leave the armchair. “Why are you here?”

The door to your bedchambers is open. Esfir and Karine are gone.

Pierro rests his hand on the back of the chair. “Breakfast should have begun ages ago. Your handmaidens claim that you refuse to cooperate.”

They must be terrified right now. “I’m sorry, they tried their best. I’ll go now.”

“Are you thinking of the Child of Night?”

“...How do you know?”

He evades your question. “Your sorrow has not diminished in the slightest. Grieving his loss will not bring your friend back to life.”

You grip the armrest. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I can imagine what other thoughts are plaguing your mind,” he replies. He turns to face you, gaze somber. “However you may spin his tale, what remains certain is that you were faultless in his death.”

He’s wrong. “I know.”

Your doubt must be obvious because Pierro wraps his hand around your arm.

“What killed the Child of Night was his own foolishness,” he insists. “You may call yourself weak, unkind, cowardly even, but it was your conviction that spared you from his fate.”

Is he trying to make you feel better or worse?

“Will you please stop it?” you whisper. “I don’t want your pity right now.”

His grip on your arm tightens. “You misjudge my sentiments.”

“Really now?” You raise your head, glaring at him. “Because you have been doing a fine job at courting me, assuming that I have not misinterpreted my new title.”

Someone like you has no place by his side.

“It would be easier if you just hated me,” you mutter, blinking back tears. “At least then I would have a proper punishment.”

An audible sigh. “Such cynicism is rather unbecoming of your kindness.”

He lifts your veil.

Your eyes widen. “What are you—”

“Silence.”

The air feels cold against your face. The hand on your arm moves to your chin, tilting your face upwards. Pierro leans closer and you can only stare back at him, frozen in place.

Nothing about his gaze is condescending.

His lips press against yours.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Mist rises from the corners of the room and you hastily disperse it. Before you can fully process the soft sensation, he pulls away.

“Y-You…” The words won’t leave your mouth. “How dare…!”

“Are my intentions clearer?” Pierro gently brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears.

You can’t answer. Your heart is racing and it takes everything to hide the mist from him. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the armrest with all of your strength.

Just as abruptly as he kissed you, Pierro lets go of you and lowers your veil.

“I must leave for work,” he says. His voice resumes its authoritative tone. “I will tell the chef to cook a warm breakfast for you later.”

With that, he leaves the room. The door closes behind him.

How dare he.

Mist swirls around the bedchambers. You wipe your mouth and cover your face, bunching up your veil in your hands. The warmth in your cheeks is internal.

…Despite your mortification, the fluttery feeling in your chest is not unwelcome.

vii. dulce est desipere in loco

Pierro doesn’t acknowledge his kiss later that evening.

In the subsequent days, he works longer hours. The two of you eat separate meals. Your conversations and chess games are halted. The servants’ gossip provides no insight into his change in behavior.

What is he up to?

You answer another worksheet, taking note of the date written on the top corner. Has it been this long since your capture? Since moving to Snezhnaya, the days have felt longer.

“______.”

“Oh, why are you here?”

This is the first time he has visited you during your study sessions. Judging by the clock, he must have finished work early.

Pierro picks up one of your finished worksheets. “What an interesting opinion.”

You tilt your head. “You think so? I just wrote what was on my mind.”

In all honesty, the subjective portion is quite engaging. Occasionally, the questions are direct responses to your answers from previous tests, as though your tutor—Pierro himself?—is indirectly challenging you.

He turns to Esfir and Karine. “Lady ______ and I will eat an early dinner. You may tidy up the library and retire to the servants’ quarters.”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger!”

You hesitantly stand up. “What is the occasion?”

He places his hand on the small of your back. “Why don’t you find out?”

The hallway is quiet. You match Pierro’s pace, casting a few glances at him. He stares ahead with a neutral expression, intentions hidden. What is so important about this dinner that he must personally escort you?

He opens the double doors.

Achlys flowers.

Every vase in the room is filled with white flower spikes and large trifoliate leaves. Tapestries hang from the walls, restored to their vibrant colors.

“I…” You clap a hand over your mouth. “What is…?”

Pierro silently takes hold of your wrist and leads you inside.

Your chairs are positioned side-by-side this time. The table is set with familiar food—your favorites, all cooked and presented in your usual style. A large bouquet of achlys flowers rests on one placemat.

You lift your veil. “My eyes aren’t deceiving me, right? How did you find out?”

He pulls out the chair for you. “Why not take your place at the banquet?”

Words fail you. You sit down and pick up the bouquet. The achlys flowers are perfectly fresh, tied with ribbons in your religious color.

In the center of the table is a large cake topped with glowing candles.

“It pleases me to see that my research was fruitful.” Pierro takes his seat and faces you, a familiar smile on his face. “Happy birthday, ______.”

That is the last straw. You burst into tears.

You can’t stop crying. Tears roll down your cheeks, drip onto your skirt, soak into Pierro’s suit when he hugs you. He feels warm.

“I suggest that you cease your crying,” he murmurs. “The food will go cold.”

“Quiet,” you sniffle. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Making sure that this is real. “You can’t just surprise me like this and expect me to react calmly!”

It takes a few more minutes for the tears to stop. You reluctantly let go of Pierro, closing your eyes when his fingertips brush against your damp cheeks.

To think that he of all people would be the one to make you this happy.

The birthday candles are still lit. The flames dance in the air, brighter than any fire you’ve seen before. You blow out the candles and the flames extinguish into thin curls of smoke.

“It’s been so long since I last enjoyed my birthday,” you mutter. You slump in your chair, watching the last traces of smoke disappear. “I almost forgot just how old I am.”

What kind of life have you been living up to now?

Pierro cuts the cake and gives you a slice. The flavor is bittersweet yet familiar. It brings to mind a memory of you chastising him in your kitchen for messing up the same recipe.

You put down your spoon, feeling more tears spring to your eyes. “This is all too much for one person, you know.”

He side-eyes you. “I believe that such splendor is to be expected for a god’s festival.”

“Oh, please.” You shake your head, smiling. “You deserve a grander celebration for your own birthday. If there is one thing you humans have over us gods, it is your ability to accomplish so much within your short lifespans. Compared to you…I never did enough.”

“I care not for such festivities,” he replies, holding your hand, “and I must say that you are gravely mistaken regarding your own personal significance.”

There is something so tender about his words. His other hand cups the side of your face, beckoning you to meet his gaze. Those four-pointed stars seem to peer into your soul, shining brighter than any celestial being in the sky.

“If there is one good thing which came out of your life, it was saving mine.”

Your heart twists in your chest. Try as you might, you can’t look away.

“I…I see.” Your hand shakes within his grasp. You want nothing more than to pull your veil over your face.

He knows just the right words to win people over.

This time, it’s you who prolongs the chaste kiss he gives you. It’s you who intertwines your fingers together. It’s you who whimpers when he pulls away. To your frustration, he remains mostly unfazed but the look in his eyes doesn’t lie.

How long has it been since you last enjoyed physical intimacy? What about him?

Oh well, you could play the fool for one night.

“Well, Pierro, this has been an impressive festival,” you tell him, smirking. “But where is my offering? Did you think a paltry kiss would suffice?”

“Oh?” He holds your gaze, eyes darkened. “According to the ancient records, only the divine friends of the God of Mist were expected to provide gifts. I presumed myself to be an exception to this tradition.”

“You disappoint me. But don’t worry, you can make up for it right now.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upwards. “And what exactly do you desire from me?”

You lay a hand on his chest. The pale blue diamonds of his necktie twinkle under the light, dimmer than his eyes.

“I believe you know exactly what I want,” you reply. Wispy gray marks travel up your limbs and around your eyes. “Are you up for the challenge?”

You aren’t even given a few seconds before Pierro clutches your waist and pulls you into another kiss, stealing your breath. His other hand cups the back of your head and pulls off your veil.

“Very well,” he says. “I might as well oblige you.”

*✧･ﾟ

You are never underestimating humans ever again.

The room is dark. If you close your eyes, you can imagine yourself within a void. The Abyss, maybe. Any lovely dark place where your debauchery could go unacknowledged.

Offering? You were referring to your own birthday gift, right? So why did you end up feeling like one for your captor?

Pierro lightly shakes you. “______, have you fallen asleep?”

“No, I haven’t,” you reply quickly. You turn your head in his direction, chest heaving. “I’m just exhausted.”

The complacent gleam in his eyes is absolutely maddening. Even with his mask off, his face is both familiar and different. The way he looks at you is earnest yet far from reverent.

Is this the same person you saved all those years ago? How can the voice which once weakly cried for help whisper such degrading things in your ear?

You raise your arm to inspect your wrist. Dark bruises mix with the wispy marks, from when he pinned you to the bed. Combined with the warm ache in your abdomen and knees…

You feel utterly desecrated.

Pierro holds you tightly, turning your body to face him. Loose strands of silver hair fall over his face. Familiar scars litter his bare skin, including those you’d healed.

“We missed dinner,” he murmurs. “Would you like to eat something later? It would be a waste of the banquet preparations.”

His gaze makes you shrink. Where in the world is your veil?

You sit up. “No, I’m fine. We can eat it tomorrow.”

Somehow, the thought of your party leftovers doesn’t feel unappetizing at all.

Pierro’s mask and your veil are on the night-table, along with your diamond jewelry. Your dress should be somewhere on the floor.

He grips your arm. “Where are you going?”

You sheepishly face him, wincing at the light pressure. “Going to my room. To sleep.”

He sighs, pulling you closer. “Stay.”

“...All right.”

His bed is soft. You return to his arms and rest your head on the pillow, giving in to your exhaustion. He’s saying something. Something kind, judging by his tone. Your name.

The left side of the bed is comfortable.

viii. flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo

Your relationship has improved since your birthday.

As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve become more resigned to your captivity. It’s so easy to ignore the reality of your situation when you feel so happy.

Pierro has been kinder to you. Beneath his strict exterior, you’ve been seeing more traces of your old companion. The proximity between your chairs remains close and you permanently move to his bedchambers. Your conversations have become more intimate.

“Am I allowed to be this happy?”

“What do you mean?”

Pierro looks up from the chessboard. You move another piece.

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “It’s just…you really don’t want me to do anything for you? You’re just going to keep me around for the New World?”

He moves a black queen this time. “I told you before: Your former status is no longer a concern. There is no need for you to question your place by my side.”

“I know but—” You shake your head and focus on the game. “Never mind.”

Pierro clearly isn’t satisfied with that response. Feeling the weight of his gaze, you adjust your veil. He didn’t suspect anything from your recent Flower Ball embroidery, but your puffy eyes will be an obvious hint to Havria’s birthday.

Your king is cornered again. As you move a pawn, the door slams open.

“Lord Harbinger! There has been an emergency!”

A Fatui officer rushes inside, followed by two frantic maids. Surprised, you slide the pawn to the wrong square and knock over a few chess pieces.

The air grows cold.

“I do not recall permitting an audience with you, Lieutenant Dominik.”

Even you flinch in response. Despite his composure, Pierro’s irritation is evident. The fearful “We tried to stop him!” of the maids affirms that.

Dominik kneels on the floor. “Forgive me, my lord! But this is an urgent matter!”

Pierro turns to the maids. “Escort Lady ______ to our bedchambers.”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger!”

“Pierro.” You turn to him, hesitantly leaving the sofa. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I will see you once this matter is settled,” is all he tells you, staring down your unwelcome visitor. “I expect more competence from an informant of your ranking, Lieutenant.”

Dominik shudders, remaining in their kneeling position. You follow the maids out of his private office and into the hallway. Just as they close the door, you hear their voices.

“The Child of Ni—”

“Silence.”

What?

“My lady?” One of the maids—Sofia, you think—turns to you. “We must go.”

“Of course.” You cast a final glance at the door before you begin walking. “Thank you.”

Were they going to say ‘Night’? They couldn’t possibly be talking about him, could they?

The bedchambers are quiet. The maids leave you inside and close the door. You lie in bed, staring at the empty space next to you. You can trust Pierro…right?

Just in case, you wave your hand and imagine the private office. Soon enough, you hear two voices. Soft, fragmented, but audible.

“...divine karma…many afflicted.”

“...send more troops…Miseria.”

Did Pierro just mention Oizys’s city? Why would he still care about Miseria?

You continue listening.

“Bad…cursed. Misery, misfortune…”

“...remains? Dispirited soldiers…assured victories.”

Misery, misfortune…why are they discussing Oizys’s divine ability? What does it have to do with warfare? And what did they mean about karmic debt?

Your nails dig into the mattress.

“...others? Archon Residue…”

“The Doctor sent a report…early stages.”

“Inform me…public hearths were…exceptional fire.”

“...singing. Hallucinations have…”

The taste of metal invades your mouth but you continue to bite down on your lip.

They could only be talking about Vesta and Pasithea. And what’s this about Archon Residue and the Doctor’s involvement?!

Vesta’s extinguished fire. The strange singing you heard from the Second Harbinger’s laboratory. Their discussion of Oizys’s curse and victory.

…

Has the Fatui been using your friends’ remains this whole time?

Blood trickles down your chin. With a shaky hand, you wipe it clean and turn to the right side of the bed. Would he really do this after everything you told him?

The voices suddenly sound clearer. Have they moved closer to the door?

“Where are you going, my lord?”

“I will summon a maid. The humidity level in the room has suddenly risen.”

Pierro leaves the office.

*✧･ﾟ

“It appears that my suspicions were not unfounded.”

Pierro is straight to the point. You rise from the bed, glaring at his figure in the doorway.

On the blanket, a smear of blood evaporates into mist.

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions,” he replies, glaring. “How much of our conversation did you overhear?”

“Enough to give myself away, clearly,” you reply, gripping the bedpost. “So tell me, what is so urgent about Miseria that Lieutenant Dominik came here without permission?”

They specifically mentioned divine karma. Does this mean that Oizys…?

“There is no use in concealing information from you,” he sighs. “In summary, your former territory and the city of Miseria have been beset with curses in the previous months. We presume it to be the lingering resentment of the Child of Night.”

“And why is that?”

Pierro crosses his arms. “There have been sightings of a demon in your cemetery. It bears a striking resemblance to the religious imagery of your deceased friend.”

“I see,” you reply, gritting your teeth, “and what will you do to him?”

“That is confidential information.”

“Oh, really?” Your voice rises in volume, as does the mist on the blanket. “I think I have every right to know about Oizys and your other secrets. Tell me, what have you done with my friends’ remains?”

There is zero remorse on his face. “If you are pertaining to the Lord of the Hearth and the Goddess of Consciousness, then you can already deduce my answer.”

“How dare you!”

Mist swirls around the room, heavy and thick, but Pierro manages to cross the room towards you. You raise your arm but he catches it quickly.

“I advise you to be rational,” he snaps. “The Child of Night is dead. Whatever is prowling in your former territory is no longer your friend.”

“Don’t touch me!”

Your attempt to raise the mist is dashed as Pierro pins you to the bed. He grips your wrists with enough force to make you panic.

“Is this what you will do with me eventually?” you shout. Hot tears flow down the sides of your face. “Do you intend to make an instrument out of me as well?!”

Stupid. Not even Havria was this trustful.

“You already know how their deaths affected me, that their graves were still important to me! How could you—”

You struggle some more, only to shriek when Pierro strengthens his grip.

“I advise that you remember your place,” he says coldly, removing your veil and setting it aside. “Though your soul is worthy for the New World, even you are not safe from my scorn.”

“I don’t want to hear that right now! I’ve had enough of you and the Tsari—!”

A resounding pop interrupts you, followed by your pained scream. The only thing more excruciating than your sprained wrist is the sensation of Pierro’s fingertips wiping your tears.

“As I said, no harm will come to you so long as you are loyal to Her Majesty,” he tells you. “Your friends have long fallen, and your personal sentiments offer little insight into the importance of preserving their memory.”

“You…” Your voice is reduced to pathetic whimpers. “I…I thought I…”

Those diamond pupils hold your gaze, cold and unforgiving. “That is final.”

You should have left him to die that day.

The mist recedes.

*✧･ﾟ

You return to your old bedchambers.

The doors and windows are locked. Your embroidery kit is confiscated along with the needles. Esfir and Karine visit you with your study material and meals on a tray, but you reject most of them. It takes a while to readjust to your empty bed.

You don’t see much of Pierro in the following days. He spends less time in the estate to evade your supervision, and the servants’ gossip is hushed. You receive no more news on Oizys and your friends’ remains.

Your wrist is treated. The ice pack numbs your pain but it barely helps. You can’t forget the ruthless look on Pierro’s face when he hurt you.

You’ve never felt more angry with yourself.

Why did you let him do all of this to begin with? Out of fear or pity? Because his dreams of the New World trumped your own worthless existence?

You could spite him. Fall asleep for a century…or more? As the Tsaritsa’s underling, he is probably granted immortality. Perhaps you shouldn’t wake up at all.

But Oizys is still out there.

“Karine?”

She puts down the breakfast tray. “Yes, my lady?”

Esfir also turns to you, bandages in hand.

“When is the Jester returning from his mission?” you ask.

They exchange looks. “We are not allowed to share that information.”

“All right. Could you at least give this to him when he returns?” You give Karine a signed envelope, wincing at the pain radiating from your wrist.

“Of course, my lady. We will do so immediately.”

“Thank you for everything,” you whisper, “and I’m sorry.”

A ball of mist hovers under your palm, accompanied by flecks of light.

“My lady, what are you—!”

Your thurible is pristine from years of disuse. You quickly open it and swipe your palm through the built-in blade. Blood spills into the censer.

Dark clouds emanate from your Catalyst, obscuring the room and filtering through the keyhole. Esfir and Karine rush towards you, only to disappear into the mist. You raise the mist in the manor, hearing their screams in the hallway along with their coworkers’.

“Where am I?”

“How did we end up in the kitchen?!”

“I can’t reach the foyer!”

“Inform Lord Pierro at once!”

Their panic is unbearable. You can sense every scream, every frantic movement, every cry for help. But this time, you must resist the urge to help them.

The window is next. It takes a few tries but your thurible finally smashes the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat to the empty bedroom.

The servants will be fine. The mist will disappear in a few days, or perhaps earlier if you are slain first. Then the manor will be free from your dominion. Your signed letter will prove their innocence.

You swing your thurible, smiling. What will the Fatui make out of you, you wonder? A special weapon? A tool to spy on their enemies? Or maybe they will keep you alive to harvest your blood for the rest of eternity.

That doesn’t matter. It is only fair after all that you’ve survived.

ix. memento vivere

Miseria has fallen.

Your brief inspection is devastating. The Fatui has taken control over the city. The historic temple has been replaced with a church for the Tsaritsa. The people are consumed with misery and anxiety, likening their misfortune to a divine curse.

You almost cannot believe it. Oizys’s punishments were never this harsh.

You advance to your old territory before any Fatui officers notice you. After subduing so many pursuers, you already feel the strain from using your powers. Your thurible had to be refilled numerous times.

Your territory is even more unrecognizable. In your absence, the forest has been converted to a facility site. A Snezhnayan-style building stands in the place of your temple. The pasithea flowers have died out.

Surprisingly, the achlys flowers have multiplied. Fields of white flower spikes grow amongst the remaining flora in stark contrast to the unburied corpses.

So many masked humans. Did Oizys kill all of them?

A thick miasma of divine karma permeates the area, growing stronger as you approach the cemetery. Several graves have been excavated, leaving gaping holes in the ground. The two statues are missing.

A dark figure stands over an empty grave, holding a bloody Claymore.

“Oizys?”

He turns around. “█████?!”

The divine karma is so oppressive. You remain in your spot, but Oizys closes the distance and captures you in a tight hug. You nearly collapse from the miasma.

“It’s…is it really you?” you whisper.

A large smile cuts his shadowy face. “Who else?”

He feels so cold.

You pull away, processing the sight before you. This isn’t the body you cleaned and buried all those years ago. It is incorporeal, hazy at the edges, marred with bleeding wounds. Instead of his death suit, he is wearing his bloody robes with ruined embroidery.

You never wanted to see his mutilated corpse ever again.

No, you shouldn’t think that. This is still Oizys.

Pain throbs from your sprained wrist. You look down to find him touching your bandages.

“█████.” He grips your wrist tightly. “What happened to you?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” you reply quickly, slipping out of his grasp. “Listen, you’re in serious danger. I don’t know if there’s a way for you to leave but—”

“Leave?” He stares at you with bloodshot eyes. “I come back and you’re gone, not a trace of mist left. The next thing I know, these masked Snezhnayans take over, destroying your temple and the cemetery! And you expect me to leave after all that?”

The miasma is overwhelming. Unsettled, you take a step back.

He doesn’t notice. “And do you know what I found in my own city? Those ungrateful ants worshiping the Cryo Archon as though I had never existed!”

You shake your head vehemently. “Oizys, don’t take it out on your people. They—”

“Is this how you felt?” he laughs bitterly, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I knew it. I shouldn’t have accepted your followers back then. I should have punished them for you.”

“You can’t say that!” you exclaim. “Think about it clearly; it’s one thing to harm the Fatui but they were all innocent!”

There is a murderous look in his eyes.

“Oh, █████,” he frowns. “Have you learned nothing from how humanity abused your kindness? How they abandoned you and killed our friends?”

He’s wrong. “That…I couldn’t provide for them or fulfill my duty!”

“Those wretched creatures caused our suffering!”

His voice cracks on the last word. Oizys coughs up black smoke and you immediately approach him, only for him to step back.

“Forget it,” he snaps. “It’s useless to convince you.”

“Says the person who joined a war and gained nothing from killing what must’ve been several civilians! At least I’m still alive,” you shoot back.

“Well, I wouldn’t have died if you had joined me.”

What did he just say?

The miasma intensifies. When Oizys raises his head, there is only disdain in his eyes.

“Among our friends, why did it have to be you?” he whispers. “Maybe things would have turned out differently if someone else survived.”

“Oizys.” Tears fill your eyes. “You…you don’t really mean that, do you?”

This isn’t right. This isn’t how it usually goes. It should be you saying that and him assuring you otherwise. If even he believes that, what else can you think?

His gaze flits from your wrist to your neck. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Did those humans hurt you? Why are you wearing a foreign necklace?”

Your necklace? You look down, belatedly realizing that you are still wearing your necklace from Pierro. The pale blue diamonds twinkle in the fading light.

“Wait.” He touches the pendant under your veil. “I’ve seen this style before; it’s not from Snezhnaya. The design, the material…”

“Hey, not too close.” You try to step away but he keeps a firm grip on the chain.

“Is this from Khaenri’ah?”

You can’t look him in the eye. “I—”

“It would benefit you to lay your hands off what is mine.”

You are doomed.

Pierro enters the cemetery, wielding a sword. Despite his serious expression, his gaze is absolutely livid.

Oizys merely scoffs. “Another masked offender. How many of you—”

He stops talking, gripping your necklace tighter. His eyes fix on Pierro’s diamond accessories then his pupils.

“█████.” Any remaining warmth for you has been dashed. “Is he from that nation?”

You can’t answer him. Neither can you meet Pierro’s cold glare.

It’s too late. Oizys leaves your side and appears in front of him, swinging his Claymore, but Pierro dodges it in time. The miasma thickens.

“You wretched human!” he shouts, attempting another swipe. “How dare you!”

A dark blue galaxy-like aura appears in Pierro’s hand, shooting at Oizys’s neck. He gasps, clawing at his throat, but the Khaenri’ahn magic restrains him.

You grip your thurible. “Stop, you’ll—!”

Pierro’s glare is absolutely chilling. “I have finally been granted an audience with you, Child of Night. On behalf of my fallen compatriots, I return your blow.”

“I should have wiped out your despicable race until my dying breath!”

Oizys sets himself free and hits Pierro’s sword this time. The latter stumbles, only to quickly recover and fight back.

You rush towards them, swinging your thurible to spread the mist. Even if you can’t do much, you should at least distract Pierro and give your friend a chance to escape.

“Oizys, don’t underestimate—!”

The blade that cuts you isn’t Pierro’s.

Your back hits a gravestone, but what shocks you is the pain radiating from your cheek. Through the tear in your veil, you make out a disgusted expression.

Oizys looks away. “Just disappear already, █████.”

Why would he say such terrible things to you?

Pierro turns to you, eyes widening. Suddenly, he goes on the offense and successfully strikes Oizys in the leg. Whatever magic he had used earlier is imbued within his sword.

Oizys steps back, crashing into a patch of achlys flowers. He swings his Claymore again, slicing several flowers in the process. “Die already!”

You touch your cheek. Blood drips from the wound and onto the ground. Oizys didn’t hesitate to hurt you, not that he needed to in the first place—you were nowhere close to Pierro. The beheaded achlys flowers litter the ground, quickly trampled.

That thing is no longer Oizys.

What should you do now? The mist engulfs the entire cemetery. You can sense the entire battle. Oizys keeps flinging insults at Pierro, talking about how he will properly punish humanity this time. The latter doesn’t say much.

“You are gravely mistaken. I am not allowing her to escape from me.”

Oizys’s blade grazes his shoulder.

Pierro…did he just stumble?! Oizys laughs and hits him again.

The mist rises. You sense a shocked gasp as the ghost steps forward and gets transported to the other side of the cemetery.

“█████? Did you—”

The mist parts between you and Oizys. There is more blood on his clothes—Pierro’s, not his own. He stares at you, dumbstruck.

“Has your mind been utterly broken?!”

He runs towards you, only to disappear into a cloud of mist. You dodge his attacks, careful to keep Pierro at a distance. You take a few more steps and allow Oizys to find you.

He lunges at you, only to be splattered with a spray of blood.

Right in the eyes.

Mist rises from his eyes and wraps around his face.

He figures it out quickly. “█████! How could you do this to me?!”

His screams are too much to bear. You ignore both his frantic thoughts and the renewed pain in your arm.

Oizys begins stumbling in circles. The mist claims him, covering his eyes and obscuring his vision. This isn’t enough. It will take—

A blade cuts through his heart.

Pierro? When did he find you?

With a final cry, Oizys collapses to the ground. The miasma clears. His body turns more hazy and he ceases to think. When you approach his corpse and release your claim, his eyes are cloudy.

He’s gone.

A pained groan snaps you out of your thoughts. Pierro keels over, clutching his shoulder.

“Pierro!” Quickly, you help him sit down. “Where does it hurt? Do you feel faint?!”

Your voice can’t keep up with your thoughts. You grip his arms and inspect the wounds, horrified when you hear another hiss of pain. His mask lays on the ground, half-broken. There’s so much blood. You can’t lose—

“Compose yourself.”

He grabs your arm. The diamonds in his eyes are so clear, so bright.

“I…” You try to pull away. “Are you really all right?”

His grip is so tight, unwilling to let go. His fingertips press down on your sprained wrist, triggering another wave of pain. His glare remains terrifying.

“You will have to do more to escape from me,” he snaps.

The mist clears.

You raise your other arm. Pierro catches it in time, only for you to stomp on his foot.

He hisses in pain. “You—”

“You idiot!”

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, stinging your wounds. You try to stand up, only to collapse as dizziness overtakes you.

“______!” Pierro catches you in time, anger giving way to concern.

You glare at him. “What in the world were you thinking? Do you have no sense of self-preservation at all?!”

He examines your wounds. “That is a hypocritical statement coming from you.”

“I don’t care! It’s your fault that this all happened to begin with!”

You’ve never felt more relieved in your entire life.

You throw your arms around him and continue sobbing.

“I don’t even know the death rites for a Khaenri’ahn!” you sniffle. “How do you expect me to properly bury you?!”

Pierro lifts your veil and wipes your tears.

“You can cease your hysterics,” he says softly. “I am not letting you go anywhere.”

Behind you, Oizys’s ghost dissipates into the mist.

*✧･ﾟ

The ride home is anything but pleasant.

“The chains are still uncomfortable.”

“That is a necessary precaution.” Pierro adjusts the cuffs and gives you a stern look. “Once we return home, you will release your claim on the estate. There will be no more eavesdropping.”

At least his touch is gentle. His hand trails up your arm, from your sprained wrist to the bandaged wounds. The field doctors had been efficient.

“You will also be confined under strict surveillance,” he adds. He meets your gaze, trapping your reflection in his diamond pupils. “In our bedchambers. I will keep a proper eye on you this time.”

You sigh and lean back in your carriage seat. “You are absolutely cruel. In case you haven’t realized, I could have killed you anytime and still chose not to. And even if I wanted to do that right now, I’m too weak.”

You can’t tell if your lethargy is from blood loss or karmic debt, probably both. Despite his own wounds, Pierro seems to be in exponentially better condition.

“The creature we slew was not the true Child of Night.”

“Huh?” You look up, facing the seat across from you.

Pierro’s gaze is sympathetic. “It was nothing more than the lingering resentment of your deceased friend, so whatever claims he made were untrue.”

“I know,” you reply sheepishly.

Oizys is truly gone. No more warm smiles, blessings of happiness, or lively meals together. May his soul finally find peace.

“Here, take this.”

Mist fills the carriage. Pierro sits up in alarm, only for you to toss your thurible at him.

He catches it, surprise painting his features. “Might there be a reason why you are voluntarily surrendering your Catalyst?”

“Must I articulate my answer?” You cross your arms, leveling him with a tired look. “Take it. Add it to your creepy collection, use my blood as you see fit, I don’t care. So long as I no longer need to hold that terrible thing.”

He stares back at you for a few seconds before setting your thurible aside. “The Fatui has no use for this weapon.”

You think you can believe him this time.

You take off your veil. The fabric is torn beyond repair; you will need to sew a new one. Maybe you can ask Pierro for embroidery ideas.

Outside the window, the scenery switches to a swirling snowscape. A few Snezhnayans are walking against the blizzard.

No need to worry about them; they can persevere. If not, they should still be safe under Pierro’s leadership.

You leave your seat and walk over to Pierro’s. Pain shoots up your leg and you nearly fall, but he quickly catches you and moves you to his side.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” he mutters, but his tone is less harsh. His arm wraps around you, pulling you close.

“Hey, Pierro? Are you staying home tomorrow?”

“Why do you ask?”

You rest your head on his uninjured shoulder. “I just feel like cooking, is all. Do you have any requests?”

A short pause. When Pierro turns to you, there is a soft gleam in those four-pointed stars. A small smile cuts across his face.

“Your cream stew was my favorite.”

You smile back. “That is good to hear.”

What else? You will need to prepare the ingredients, pick the right tableware, maybe even ask Pierro if he’d like to assist you again. And so many other things.

The sky turns dark. The estate is still miles away and you will be trapped in Pierro’s company for a few more hours…and the rest of eternity for that matter. But for some reason, that fact doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

For the first time in years, you actually look forward to tomorrow.

♡

Author’s Note ๑ Side story from Pierro’s POV

Do not ask me how I ended up creating an ultra-detailed darling and a bunch of Genshin OCs for this fic. I am still processing the fact that I wrote a Pierro fic and that it turned out this way (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

If you actually read this to the end, I hope the experience was worth it!! Thank you to everyone for eagerly anticipating this and giving your lovely feedback on my previous fics. Do tell me if you enjoyed Pierro and Savior! Darling’s story, and Happy New Year~

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @kocherry @mirdance @victoria1676 @mnemosyneechan @artiifex @pierroswife @fluffy-koalala @lcveaesop @teabutmakeitazure @nicebonescomrades @ansy-tea

Thank you for your interest in reading!! @yandere-romanticaa​ @ddarker-dreams​ @cinnamonest​ @yanmaresu​

[emyluwinter]

I'm joking about Rollo having a duo with a Grimm. The rest of the fans - it will be someone from the SSR event cards!

Twist - it will be a Grimm

I'm groaning like an old teapot in a pterodactyl-HA! No seriously Rollo will have a duo with Grimm!!! Flamme wanted to do a duet with Yuu with all his might as the only adequate people. and he still wasn't allowed xD

AND THEY WILL MAKE HIM A FULLY VOICED STORY CARD?!?EXCUSE ME?!?ARE YOU SERIOUS??????THIS IS THE FIRST TIME!!! THANKS TO THE SEVEN, THIS IS NOT A DAMN CARD WITH FURNITURE!!although most likely it will also be added. Oh yeah…..and he can't be in Alchemy classes? If I understood correctly.

Crewel after Yuu and Grimm told him what happened in Flower City and Trein confirmed it. "YOU WON'T SET FOOT IN MY CLASS, FLAMME!!"

[bookworm-center]

I have a request for a Kaz Brekker au/one shot (whatever u see better fit)

Where the crow club usually as a singer on friday nights but the singer had to cancel last minute so seeing the “panic” on the other crows and crew Y/N steps up and sings even tho nobody knew she could sing and when Kaz hears it and sees her he just gets lost in her voice…

I hope this is a good idea haha

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Unsung Duet

In which Kaz's partner in crime steps up to sing.

Author's Note: Ooh, I love this request! I'm twisting it slightly but not too much; I hope that's okay! I wasn't sure if you wanted a specific song, so I went with "Six of Crows" by Gio Navas. Such a good song that's obviously inspired by the book, you should definitely listen to it. This ended up being shorter than I wanted, but I think it's not bad.

Panic floods the Crow Club in hushed whispers. The usual Friday night singer cancelled? People begin to leave, shoving their way out of the small doorway.

Kaz's panic isn't shown on his features- he's good enough at his job to know panicking is a weakness- but the other Dregs are rushing about. Rotty says something about too many people leaving, but Kaz is too busy working out a plan to respond.

Claps come from the stage, quiet and slow at first, but gradually growing. Then comes the singing.

This is a city of toxic smoke

We trade our lungs for a noose of rope

Under our feet and the tilted ground

Runaways of ashes never found

People turn around, coming back in and filling up all the seats and tables. Kaz looks up from his glass, to the singer that's taken the stage. There stands none other than his partner in crime. Y/n L/n, master of tricks. He had never heard her sing, never even knew she could, despite his reputation for knowing everything. Her eyes are closed at first, like she's trying to lose herself in the music.

Here is where the monsters hide

Only the wicked can survive

With every line, every rise and fall of the melody, every held note, Y/n gains a little more confidence. She taps her feet on the wood of the platform they call a stage.

And just like that, Kaz, along with the patrons in the Club, are swept away by her voice. There's something about the way she sings that's so enchanting and enticing, almost like a pull of unseeable magic. Her and Kaz only make eye contact once, when the song is nearly over.

A boy with a broken soul

Marching through this world alone

He fights among the cursed six of crows

Where is his heart, he may never know, never know

And that's it. The crowd bursts into applause, demanding for an encore as Y/n walks off the stage. Kaz hadn't even noticed she was finished singing, not until the bartender called his name several times.

He knew the last verse was about him. Y/n had been his best friend, his other half, his partner in crime, for so long, that they were nearly one person. She knew nearly everything about him, and he for her.

The last line gets him thinking: where is his heart?

Easy. His heart is set on revenge. It's set on destroying Pekka Rollins, ruining everything he built.

There's another response, further back in his head, in the part of him that was still Kaz Reitveld. His heart was with Y/n.

After all, they were the halves to a whole, the sun and the moon. Together they were perfect clockwork, chiming together to pull off the perfect heist.

His heart was with Y/n, his unsung duet.

[blossomhcir]

— 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.

bold what applies to your muse,

italicize what sometimes applies to them.

repost, don’t reblog.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS. the wildness of open spaces. withered trees with limbs like spiders.  abandoned homes. two souls that are the same. dying young. the ghost of a girl. revenge that does not satisfy.  tapping at the window.   knowing too much of the pains of others.   cruelty that doesn’t fade.  an unresolved past.  marrying, but not for love.   rolling hills. hair flying in the blustering wind.  sudden illness.  disinterment.  the deep pain of loss. carrying a namesake that is not your own.  facing a storm head on. an accent thick upon the tongue.  a figure on the horizon, shrouded by mist.  aging walls and rotting floorboards.   intruding upon the wake of destruction. wasting away. together in death.

JANE EYRE.   the madwoman in the attic.  candle-flame and burn stains.  soft laughter. a fire roaring in the hearth. silence in the halls. folded hands over modest skirts.  the pain of being wronged. a wedding interrupted at the altar. dark brows. a horse riding up the path.  the isolation of a church.   gray skies. landscape as bleak as your soul. finding sanctuary. a bird flying free from its cage.  discovering your worth.  returning to a place that feels like home.  falling in love in spite of yourself.   schoolyards full of children.  lying in bed while clasping a loved one’s hands in yours.   hopeless prayers. hiding in an alcove to read.  timid but strong.  being true to oneself above all.

FRANKENSTEIN.   grand prose. the glory of nature.  playing god. the spark of madness that drives creation.  stripped down to shirtsleeves.  the gritty streets of the city.  staying awake too long.   snow-capped peaks.  retreating from society. innocent recollections that become twisted. a lost paradise. lightning across a dark sky.  to be destined for one alone.  shouting from the top of a mountain. strewn corpses.  the implements of a surgeon scattered across a surface.  a bride on her wedding night.   books left open to gather dust, pulled from shelves. dark circles beneath the eyes. the deathly pallor of a corpse. things alive that shouldn’t be. desiring a love of your own.   feeling your soul restored with a bliss that cannot last. icy terrain.  unsatisfactory endings.

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. the long, fatal crack across a mirror.  unearthly voices echoing through the dark.   a duet.  snow falling against statues of angels. the lament of a violin’s strings.  resurrected hopes. the sensation of being watched.  candles blowing out on their own.  masquerade revelers. unrequited love.  the snapping of a noose. an obscured face. the scintillating light of an ornate chandelier.  mysterious and inexplicable catastrophes. watching your dreams shatter.  curtains drawing back from a stage. devils that are angels.   a soft kiss on the forehead.   scratches of red ink.  long capes and gloved hands.  retreating to the rooftop.  being led in a trance.  love as your undoing and your salvation.

NORTHANGER ABBEY.  the turrets of a gothic mansion made of stone. portraits looming above the stairwell.  suspicion of all around you. dreaming of grandeur, awaking to normalcy.   the sound of a carriage coming up the street.  top hats and fine suits. dancing at a ball. the lavish throes of society. the thrill of being introduced. a mystery that goes ignored. chests that harbor secrets.  old love letters.  thumbing through the pages of a novel.  disappointing the one you admire.  the appearance of indifference.  having your heart played with.   grand rooms housing past memories.  mistaken first impressions.  affluent personages.  kissing in the garden.

DRACULA.   your life draining out of you. a castle on a lonely precipice.  fog spreading through woodlands. dutifully kept journals.  enthusiastic correspondence with one you love.  blood dripping down the chin.  a tongue stroking sharp teeth.  the howling of wolves coming closer.   wreathes of garlic hung about the room. rosary beads and crucifixes. violence that spans centuries. tall figures that cast long shadows.  disturbing the silence of a grave.  the sensation of leaving your homeland.   not dead, only sleeping. last wishes. a long and arduous journey.  an ominous ship at sea.   the sound of shovels in the basement. eerie lights that obstruct your path. goblets of blood red wine.  a stake through the heart. to be at peace at last.

T𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @dioica ( thank you ily <3 ) T𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠: @ladyruled @sigilsongs @dariaryz @vhgr @clubf8ed and anyone else who would like to!!

[theresattrpgforthat]

I love tragic roleplaying games, like Ten Candles, Icarus, Dread, Alice is Missing. I wondered if you had any recommendations for others? Not looking for solo games at the moment (although I know there's plenty tragic ones!) and I like a bit of crunch, or at least a strong core mechanic like those mentioned above. Thanks!

THEME: Tragic Games

Hello friend. I have some games here for you to look through! I had a hard time finding specifically crunchy games. In fact, I noticed that quite a few of the games I found happened to be Belonging Outside Belonging games - games that are designed to talk about existing on the margins of society, and games that work really well when it comes to GM-less play. This kind of play allows players to step forward into tragic and dangerous situations on their own terms, and rewards them by granting them a token, which can be used to enact a much more powerful move down the road.

Our Love Will Destroy Us, by RJKGames.

You did it, exactly what the old fools of the Hunters’ Guild warned you against. Fell in love with your target, the both of you. One of you was barely trained, untested, didn’t know any better; the Guild might forgive you, but the other? You were meant to know better.

And the funniest thing? They love you back. Or they did, before Hunger consumed them. So arm yourself, with stake and cross and sweet words you never had the courage to say aloud, and clean up the mess you’ve made.

Our Love Will Destroy Us is about a duet game about a Vampire and a Vampire Hunter, who must either kill the one they love or entreat them to overcome their Hunger before sunset. The game is played using a deck of tarot cards, which will be used to resolve the Hunter’s attempts to entreat with the Vampire. Each Entreaty uses a description of an Anchor and elements called Mementos, which will help the two players fill out the story of their loved ones, including what the Vampire fears, the reason the Hunter kills, and the victories and tragedies that led up to this very moment. 

If you are looking for a close personal game of heartbreak and loss, I recommend One Love Will Destroy Us.

In the Face of Our Despair, by Rae Nedjadi. 

IN THE FACE OF DESPAIR is a collaborative storytelling game about a group of fae guardians fighting a doomed war in a forest that falls to vampiric corruption.

This game tells the story of the physical and magical corruption of the fae guardians as they lose more of their territory to the vampire  lords. Their battle will ultimately bring them to the heart of their home, where the Lord of the Forest resides. Should they survive this long, this is where they will make their last stand against the vampires and their twisted servants.

This is not a hopeful story of magical beings successfully fighting off the invaders and saving their home. All they are doing is trying to buy enough time for survivors to leave behind the forest, to preserve what little magic they can. In hopes that one day, generations from now, others will rise against these vampire lords and destroy them.

This game is related to Brinkwood: Blood of Tyrants, and while it can act as a prequel to Brinkwood, it can also work as a stand-alone game.Unlike Brinkwood, this game uses the same rules as Trophy Dark. Right not the first two incursions (adventures for Trophy) are available, with at least 5 more on the way.

Downfall, by lessthanthreegamess.

In Downfall, you choose a Flaw you want to explore and build a unique and irredeemably broken world around it. See how Greed destroys a city, how Loyalty corrupts a kingdom, or how Curiosity betrays a galactic empire. You'll craft traditions that bring your society to life, then see how it all comes tumbling down.

The game works in any kind of setting, from mythical fantasy to the real world to high-flying science fiction. It's made to tell a whole story in a single 2-4 hour session and doesn't require preparation, dice, or a GM.

You build your setting together, creating a rich physical and cultural landscape to destroy during play. If you enjoy world-building, you'll love making a society in Downfall.

This game is specifically designed for three players, and explores tragedy on a broad scale. You may be playing individual characters, but the tragedy that occurs will have consequences on the entire world around them; it is too big for any one person to fix. If you liked Icarus, you might want to try out this game.

Heaven in the Dust, by Luke Jordan.

Heaven in the Dust gives us lonely roads and crowded factories, empty bellies and heavy hearts, old grudges and swift infatuations, and always The Fates singing in the back of your head, asking "what are you gonna do now?"

Heaven in the Dust is a tragic GM-less roleplaying game about flawed Greek gods struggling with scarcity and mortality down in the dust and dirt of a hostile world.

It charts the gods' messy relationships, their tangled  feuds, their old flames and new loves, and their decisions as they attempt to build community and find happiness on a foundation of shifting sand.

It is a game of belonging outside belonging using the "No Dice, No Masters" engine for 3-6 players, and should take between 3 and 4 hours per session. No Dice, No Masters, also referred to as Belonging Outside Belonging, sets up a table where everyone around the table has the same power and opportunity to contribute to the story. These games usually have playbooks to represent characters, but will also contain setting elements that players can pick up and take turns using to figure out what the world around you is doing.

If you like re-imagining mythic stories in new settings, and if you like the idea of playing setting elements as well as characters, you might want to check this one out.

Tomb Candles, by deecity.

Tomb Candles is a module for Ten Candles set in the Locked Tomb universe (Gideon the Ninth and its sequels). Take the role of a necromancer adept, a cavalier, a Cohort soldier, or even a Blood of Eden rebel as you try to survive on a world that's swiftly dying. 

Tomb Candles includes brief setting materials, to help you and your players capture that good lesbian space necromancy magic. Refresh yourself on the lingo, and help players unfamiliar with the lore get a running start. 

If you’re not familiar with The Locked Tomb, there is basically a primer to help you run Ten Candles in the Locked Tomb setting, providing you with an initial situation that you can use to run the game in. If you’re already familiar with Ten Candles and you’re interested in exploring a new (and fascinating) setting, this free module is totally worth checking out.

After the Rain, by desksanddorks.

What do you want most? What would you lose to get it?

Those are the questions you will have to answer while playing After the Rain, a one shot roleplaying game for 3-6 players. After the Rain casts you and your friends as desperate individuals bound together in pursuit of a shared goal. Standing in your way is The Rain.

The longer you are exposed to The Rain the more you will lose your memories, experiences, and the things that make you who you are. As the game progresses, you’ll be forced to change. Will you crumble without your past experiences or adapt to the loss of your memories and embrace the new person you must become?

You start this game building characters and the pieces of them that make up who they are. These Facets could be professions, addictions, traumatic pasts, personal causes, and more. The game happens over a series of acts in which the characters will endeavour to accomplish a goal, while losing pieces of themselves in the process. Accomplishing the goal isn’t necessarily the point of the game - your characters have a very good chance of failing and the fallout might end up a better story than if you had succeeded.  

Crisis, by Mitch Schiwal.

CRISIS is a superhero RPG about saving the world and how it breaks them.  You play a group of heroes teaming up to stop what is coming for your homes. All the while you must grapple with what doing this job has cost you and how long you can keep this going.

The game is meant to grapple with the duality of being a hero. The struggle between civilian and heroic identities and what success in one has cost the other. When the clock strikes midnight and the crisis arrives, what are the things truly worth saving?

Unlike traditional superhero games that encourage players to engage with a power fantasy or a hopeful story of self-discovery, Crisis asks you to consider the loneliness that can come with falling outside what is considered normal.The hard moves that your hero will do are usually physically or emotionally difficult - and thus require a token to spend. The game also uses something called a Crisis Deck, a deck of cards that will provide prompts that will help you determine what kinds of new obstacles stand in your heroes’ way. 

Follow Me Down, by Joie Martin.

Follow Me Down is a tabletop roleplaying game for two players, inspired by the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice, and the mythology of the Greek Underworld. It is a story of love and loss that has been told many times and in many different ways. To countless generations, the characters of Orpheus and Eurydice represent the distance we are willing to go for love and the reminder that, no matter how devoted we are, love can only carry us so far. 

Follow Me Down uses the Powered by the Apocalypse rules engine and is divided into sections, called Books of the Dead, where the characters journey through different parts of the Underworld in search of one another. It is designed to be GM-less, with each player portraying two roles during the course of the game. 

As a duet game, the players will take turns embodying their character, while their counterpart picks up the role of the Fates, who lead the story towards its inevitable Denouement. At the end of the game, the players will reflect on the journey that both of their characters have travelled down, and ask themselves if they are the same people who started this journey. Will you win your loved one back, or has death left them irrevocably changed? 

His Red Hand, by Carrie Imago.

HIS RED HAND is a 3-player tragedy about fallen angels, built on Jay Dragon's Nameless Engine. 

Where do we go from here? How long can we live with the pain? 

This game is a tragedy built for a cast of three. You play as fallen angels, condemned for daring to rebel against the almighty will of their Creator, as they struggle to survive and care for each other in the face of overwhelming odds. In addition to these Characters, you will portray one of the Threats currently making their lives a living hell. All players can step in to play bit roles and add color to the world whenever it feels right to do so. The story will end when all of the Characters are dead or broken, or when you get tired of watching them suffer. 

This game system has a lot of similarities to Belonging outside Belonging, in that players will exchange tokens in order to pick up certain moves in the story. Unlike traditional Belonging Outside Belonging games, this system contains an option called “Cruel Moves”, which allow your character to take a token from someone else by doing things such as lying to another person, reminding them of things they are insecure about, or refusing to care for someone. If you are going to play this game, you definitely need to have a conversation about safety tools, and what your players are comfortable with before you start play.

Games I’ve recommended in the past.

Red Giant, by Rookie Jet Studio.

Bluebeard’s Bride, by Magpie Games.

[wittybibliophile]

Sunday is here!

New month means... Big quote time.... "It's that humans react on pure basic instinct. Survive. Fight. Live. By any means necessary. It's amazing what we are capable of given the circumstances. How many stories have you read about women murdering their attacker? Children no older than ten or eleven killing their parents just to survive. We want to live. To survive. We think we could never do such a thing but the balance between good and evil has always been a precarious thing. A slight nudge to the other side will tip the scales and once you're over that edge there's no turning back. You're in a free fall, that abyss, that darkness ready and waiting to swallow you whole". - Twisted King (Ria Wilde)

Xoxo, Ironically Witty!

[bmodiwrites]

Fingertips Putting On A Show | 1/1, 3,320

Steve Harrington is a violinist with the most beautiful hands. At first, Eddie thinks he can resist him but a certain performance makes it perfectly clear that's just not the case. Read to find out what happens when Eddie spends an entire orchestral performance thursting over Steve's hands.

Or, the one where Eddie's got a hand kink!

Be My Little Baby | 1/1, 3,542

The world, including Steve Harrington, knows that Eddie Munson is dead. For months, Steve mourned the loss of heat in his chest and the spark of life a strange boy brought to a soul floating into space without a will or path or reason. He's barely clinging on when the sight of curly brown hair makes Steve question himself. Is he going insane or does Eddie Munson live in his apartment complex?

Or; Steve and Robin do a little impromptu duet together and are caught accordingly.

The Architect of This Cage | 2/4, 10,358

After the Battle of Star Court, Steve finds himself floundering. He's losing sleep and his mind without a solution in sight. As luck would have it, Steve stumbles upon a sign for art therapy classes. Not knowing they're going to change his life, Steve signs up. Fast forward a few months and Steve is apprenticing at a tattoo shop in Hawkins when his very existence gets turned upside down again. Can a flock of bats really bring two people together? Or are Eddie and Steve just that meant to be? Read to find out what Steve makes of his life when Eddie comes walking back into it.

Or, a tattoo artist Steve au!

Can't Fight the Moonlight | 6/6, 16,749

Steve thought San Francisco had all the answers. Come to find out, the city is just another place that steals his money and beats down on his confidence. After an unfortunate night at work, Steve is helped by Gareth who pushes him towards Coyote Ugly. Steve has no idea what he's walking into until a gorgeous man in tight leather pants dancing on the bar changes his perspective. Can Eddie in combat boots and leather pants save him? Or is Steve bound to flounder the rest of his life? Read to find out what happens when a little country line dancing opens Steve up to a whole new world.

Or, a Coyote Ugly AU!

Steve's Little Green Shorts | 5/6, 6,825

One of the best parts of the year, despite never once running it, is the mile. When that special occasion comes around, Eddie gets up to 8 straight minutes of staring at Steve Harrington's glorious ass in the little green shorts Hawkins provides their students for gym class. Year after year, Eddie shapes his wants around the bounce and jiggle of that juicy butt. Then, the unexpected happens - Steve slows down and runs right in front of Eddie. It's a feast for the eyes that turns into a full body adventure.

Or, Steve seduces Eddie with his little green shorts.

He Could Be An Angel (& its sequel!) | 1/1, 1,955

Wayne uses blackmail to get Eddie to go to church. It's the preacher's son that keeps him there.

Or, a prompt fill with a Valentine's Day twist.

Oh Good God, I'm Tongue Tied | 1/1, 2,566

Before all four of them split up to go to different colleges, Steve, Robin, Eddie, & Nancy make a plan. When they graduate, they're going to go on the ultimate friend trip to celebrate. Despite up's and down's and everything in between, the plan finally comes to fruition. Steve is riding high from a big career move and has high hopes for his time spent with Eddie. After years of secretly loving him, Steve is finally ready to make his feelings known. Read to find out what happens when a little music and freedom go a long way!

Or, a desperate attempt to write a friends to lovers and there's only one bed tropes all in one!

We Were Left Unfinished | 1/1, 28,157

Their fated romance started when Eddie and Steve were in their teens. They learned to love each other hard and fast, with the sort of reckless abandon only the young can prescribe to. It seems like it's absolutely perfect, but Eddie's past becomes a burden that breaks them apart.

19 years later, Wayne Munson dies, bringing Eddie and Steve back together. Is it fate that's drawing them towards the love that never left? After his accident, Eddie's more than willing to chalk his good fortune up to just about anything. Read to find out what happens when a chance occurrence gives Eddie the second chance he's always been looking for. Will their love win out or is the past too much for them to overcome?

Or - an attempt at a story about love that's lost and then found again.

I'll Keep Playing That Goddamn Song | 1/1, 14,448

The direction of Steve Harrington's life is severely changed the summer before his junior year when he meets the uniquely odd Robin Buckley working at FYE. Their friendship leads Steve to discover a hidden talent - he's insanely great at the acoustic guitar. As the summer flies by, Robin works hard to push Steve towards the sort of life where he can be himself, excel at the guitar, and like who he wants to like. He's already convinced but the timely arrival of Eddie Munson at their place of work cements his decision. While Steve settles into himself, both as a student and a newly flourishing band nerd, thoughts of Eddie Munson plague him. He thinks the pining is where it all stops but Eddie's got different plans. After watching Steve crush a solo at the holiday concert, Eddie's convinced there's only one appropriate next step - guitar lessons with Steve Harrington. The two quickly find out that there's so much more to life than cassettes and high school drama. Friendship and love twist together to create something neither boy knows how to navigate. Find out what happens when guitar strings and miscommunication lead them down a gloriously winding road.

My Younger Heart Was Feeling New | 7/7, 17,361

It's spring break of 1984 and Steve Harrington is bored. After Nancy broke up with him, things for Steve slid into a bottomless pit of despair. He's lost and looking for something to occupy his mind when a headline catches his eye. Eddie Munson, a boy Steve only knows from junior English, is missing. Like, up and vanished into thin air, missing. Jonesing for a purpose, Steve heads out to investigate - there's something in his stomach that says it's more than the news is making it seem. Read to find out what happens when a letter changes everything.

Or, a silly try at mucking up time!

Sleepy Drabble

***these are all my own fics! one day, i'll put a rec list together but for now this is just my way of putting all of my work in one place.

[zorya-km]

Miklos & Evya — Training

The air is crisp, biting at my cheeks as I wrap my fingers around cool steel, the hilt of the practice sword an anchor in a tempestuous world. I swing, muscles straining, each stroke an expulsion of frustration and fear. Sweat beads on my brow, a testament to my exertion, mingling with the dust that billows with every movement.

"Give it a little more spin off your back foot." Miklos’ voice cut through the rhythm of my solitude. Startled, I stumbled mid-kick, narrowly avoiding a graceless fall. The Vanyalian prince emerged from the shadows, his figure outlined by the dusk light that bled into the arena.

"Or perhaps you prefer being predictable," he added, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Predictable?" I scoffed, regaining my footing. "I suppose you're here to teach me the art of surprise?"

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, the air between us charged with a strange tension that was neither entirely hostile nor friendly.

His gaze held mine, unwavering, as he picked up a training sword, the balance perfect in his hand. "Let's see if you can keep up."

We circled each other, two celestial bodies locked in an orbit dictated by the silent language of battle. His movements were fluid, a dance of danger and grace, and I found myself drawn into the tempo. Was this a lesson, or was there a sharpened edge of malice behind his strikes?

"Focus, Evya," he said as his blade met mine with a resounding ring. "Your enemies won't show mercy."

"Neither will I," I replied, a surge of determination propelling me forward.

Our swords sang a metallic duet, the notes high and clear. Whether he intended to guide or wound me, I would not flinch from what I could learn from the crossing of our blades. Atreus always said that training with someone was the best way to learn about them—I resolved to do just that.

“Are you truly always this excited to fight, or is that just for me?” he taunted. 

I smiled back, feeling the thrill of anticipation in my veins. The sting of the cut on my forearm was a sharp reminder that Miklos’s lessons were far from gentle. 

“Move your feet! Come on, you've got to move if you don't want to end up flat on your buttock!” As he stepped back, allowing me space, I pressed my hand against the fabric of my sleeve, feeling the warm dampness of blood seeping through.

"Cosmos' sake Miklos ! Are you teaching or mocking me ?" 

"Perhaps a bit of both sweet girl," he replies, his voice carrying the weight of steel and dark convictions. I cringed at the nickname. "Or maybe I'm here to learn. After all, one never knows when a friend might become an enemy—or an enemy, a friend."

I grit my teeth, countering his offensive with a calculated retreat.

"Your vision for your kingdom," he presses, aggression lacing his tone as his blade meets mine with a force that suggests more than just a sparring match. "It's naive, Evya. You must show power—it's order; it's control. Without it, your kingdom will crumble."

I shook my head, trying to ignore the pain and focus on the ideological duel now unfolding. "Control through fear is tyranny. People need hope, not an iron fist."

"Hope?" He scoffed, tossing his sword aside with a clatter. "Hope is the carrot dangled before the donkey, leading it to pull the cart. And your people have been dragging the weight of your father's legacy for far too long."

"Then help me lighten their load, not add to it!" I argued, my voice rising with passion. "Together with your kingdom we could—"

"Rule?" His lips twisted into a wry smile. 

"Serve," I affirmed without hesitation. "A ruler who does not serve their people is no ruler at all, Miklos."

"Admirable," he admitted, but his eyes betrayed a flash of scorn. "But idealism doesn't rebuild cities or fill stomachs. You must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence."

Before I could retort, the hurried steps of the page echoed across the stone training grounds, interrupting our heated exchange. [...]

Taglist (send an ask/dm to be +/-!): SS: @inkhelm @ofgoldenfools @asa-writes-stuff @voicelesscity

[saitama-division]

Welcome to the first annual Miss Hypmic Beauty Pageant!

Provided to you by the Chuohku Ward and Party of Words.

Sponsored by Sigma Inc., Toi Pharmaceutical, and E.L. Medical Co.

The Miss Hypmic Beauty Pageant is a countrywide, inclusive organization that celebrates all cultures, backgrounds and of course, Divisions. This is an opportunity for the women of the Division Rap Battles to share their stories and drive impact personally, professionally, and philosophically. The women who participate in this event serve as inspirational leaders and role models to their communities and fans all over Japan.

We have a lot of fun and exciting stuff planned for today, for both our lovely ladies and you, the audience and those watching at home! But first let’s go over the activities our contestants will be competing against each other in!

Note: Each Round will begin with a starting post in which our contestants have a time limit of 1 hour to prepare themselves until it’s time for them to go on stage (aka, making a post on their own respective blogs) then a poll will be conducted and open for a certain period of time before closing. At the final round, all the votes will be grouped together and the one who has the most will be crowned this year’s “Miss Hypmic”!

Round 1 — Fashion Show (Part 1 - ‘Represent Your City!’)

Pretty self explanatory, we’re easing the girls into the first round by a standard fashion show! But there’s a twist, we’ve given the girls a theme and they have to try their best to dress according to the theme. What’s the theme, you ask? I’m glad you asked! The theme for this section is: “Represent Your City/Division” meaning the ladies will have to show their Division Pride with how they dress!

Round 2 — Talent Show

Once again, it’s self explanatory. Our lovely contestants will have the opportunity to wow the crowd and the judges with any special talent or skill they have! Whether it’s singing, acting, gymnastics, and more! There are no limits except murder to what they can do and we eagerly await their showcases! (Note: You don’t necessarily have to write down what talent your OCs have in full detail, a picture or video will work just fine!)

Round 3 — Fashion Show (Part 2 — ‘Beach Episode!’)

Next, our beautiful contestants are back on the runway but this time it’s to have some fun in the sun with the second theme of the fashion show segment, “Beach Episode!”. Get ready to watch the girls put on their cutest or sexiest swimsuit and strut their stuff!

Round 4 — Singing/Rapping Competition

We’ve heard how these girls rap both in a group and solo but can they carry a melody? Let’s put their singing skills to the test with a singing competition! Each contestant must choose one song of their choice to sing (or rap) in front of the audience and judges, solo performances only so no duets or pair ups!

Final Round — Costume Contest (‘Nightmare Mode’)

And last but not least, the final round will be a costume contest! Our ladies will come back to the runway one last time to show their dark side in the final theme of the fashion show segment which is “Nightmare Mode”! Let’s see how the girls get freaky yet fabulous in the final event to win the crown!

I believe that’s all there is to it! We hope you are excited and looking forward to the competition which will be broadcasted to the entirety of Japan! For those of you watching at home, make sure to tag your PROFILE with the tag #miss hypmic 2023! We wish you a very good day!

To kick off the event, here’s a special performance from our lovely ladies!

‘Nxde'

Preformed by:

Lola “Aphrodite” Takahashi

Kanra “D.Vil” Akemi

Kaoru “Arachne” Shinozaki

Makina “Screen Shot” Setsukura

Moriko “Canopus” Himawari

[primordyalsoul]

GOTHIC LITERATURE.

bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes applies to them. repost, don’t reblog.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS.   the wildness of open spaces. withered trees with limbs like spiders.  abandoned homes.   two souls that are the same.   dying young. the ghost of a girl. revenge that does not satisfy. tapping at the window.  knowing too much of the pains of others. cruelty that doesn’t fade. an unresolved past.  marrying, but not for love.   rolling hills.  hair flying in the blustering wind.  sudden illness.  disinterment. the deep pain of loss. carrying a namesake that is not your own.  facing a storm head on.  an accent thick upon the tongue.  a figure on the horizon, shrouded by mist. aging walls and rotting floorboards.   intruding upon the wake of destruction.  wasting away.  together in death.

JANE EYRE.   the madwoman in the attic. candle-flame and burn stains.  soft laughter. a fire roaring in the hearth. silence in the halls. folded hands over modest skirts.  the pain of being wronged. a wedding interrupted at the altar. dark brows. a horse riding up the path. the isolation of a church.   gray skies.  landscape as bleak as your soul. finding sanctuary.  a bird flying free from its cage. discovering your worth. returning to a place that feels like home.falling in love in spite of yourself.   schoolyards full of children.  lying in bed while clasping a loved one’s hands in yours.  hopeless prayers. hiding in an alcove to read.  timid but strong.  being true to oneself above all.

FRANKENSTEIN.   grand prose. the glory of nature.  playing god. the spark of madness that drives creation. stripped down to shirtsleeves. the gritty streets of the city. staying awake too long.   snow-capped peaks.  retreating from society. innocent recollections that become twisted. a lost paradise. lightning across a dark sky.  to be destined for one alone.  shouting from the top of a mountain. strewn corpses. the implements of a surgeon scattered across a surface.  a bride on her wedding night.   books left open to gather dust, pulled from shelves. dark circles beneath the eyes. the deathly pallor of a corpse. things alive that shouldn’t be. desiring a love of your own. feeling your soul restored with a bliss that cannot last. icy terrain. unsatisfactory endings.

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. the long, fatal crack across a mirror. unearthly voices echoing through the dark.   a duet.  snow falling against statues of angels.  the lament of a violin’s strings.  resurrected hopes. the sensation of being watched. candles blowing out on their own.  masquerade revelers. unrequited love.  the snapping of a noose. an obscured face. the scintillating light of an ornate chandelier. mysterious and inexplicable catastrophes. watching your dreams shatter. curtains drawing back from a stage. devils that are angels.   a soft kiss on the forehead.  scratches of red ink. long capes and gloved hands. retreating to the rooftop.  being led in a trance. love as your undoing and your salvation.

NORTHANGER ABBEY. the turrets of a gothic mansion made of stone. portraits looming above the stairwell. suspicion of all around you. dreaming of grandeur, awaking to normalcy.   the sound of a carriage coming up the street. top hats and fine suits. dancing at a ball. the lavish throes of society. the thrill of being introduced. a mystery that goes ignored. chests that harbor secrets.  old love letters.    thumbing through the pages of a novel. disappointing the one you admire.  the appearance of indifference. having your heart played with.   grand rooms housing past memories. mistaken first impressions. affluent personages.  kissing in the garden.

DRACULA.  your life draining out of you.  a castle on a lonely precipice. fog spreading through woodlands. dutifully kept journals.  enthusiastic correspondence with one you love. blood dripping down the chin. a tongue stroking sharp teeth. the howling of wolves coming closer.   wreathes of garlic hung about the room. rosary beads and crucifixes. violence that spans centuries. tall figures that cast long shadows. disturbing the silence of a grave. the sensation of leaving your homeland.   not dead, only sleeping. last wishes. a long and arduous journey.  an ominous ship at sea.   the sound of shovels in the basement. eerie lights that obstruct your path. goblets of blood red wine. a stake through the heart. to be at peace at last.

tagged by: @alaikhadal ( thank youu <3 ) tagging: @deathleads , @razrbomb , @donutghoul , @nenegyo , @hiircgi , @acidbodywoman , @enshijou , @ghztspider / @shelliotrope , @kudakenai aaaand anyone else who wants to!!

[donutghoul-a]

GOTHIC LITERATURE.

bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes applies to them. repost, don’t reblog.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS.   the wildness of open spaces. withered trees with limbs like spiders. abandoned homes.   two souls that are the same.   dying young. the ghost of a girl. revenge that does not satisfy. tapping at the window. knowing too much of the pains of others. the cruelty that doesn’t fade. an unresolved past. marrying, but not for love. rolling hills. hair flying in the blustering wind. sudden illness. disinterment. the deep pain of loss. carrying a namesake that is not your own. facing a storm head-on. an accent thick upon the tongue. a figure on the horizon, shrouded by mist. aging walls and rotting floorboards.   intruding upon the wake of destruction. wasting away. together in death.

JANE EYRE.   the madwoman in the attic. candle flame and burn stains. soft laughter. a fire roaring in the hearth. silence in the halls. folded hands over modest skirts. the pain of being wronged. a wedding interrupted at the altar. dark brows. a horse riding up the path. the isolation of a church. gray skies. landscape as bleak as your soul. finding sanctuary. a bird flying free from its cage. discovering your worth. returning to a place that feels like home. falling in love in spite of yourself. schoolyards full of children. lying in bed while clasping a loved one’s hands in yours. hopeless prayers. hiding in an alcove to read. timid but strong. being true to oneself above all.

FRANKENSTEIN.   grand prose. the glory of nature. playing god. the spark of madness that drives creation. stripped down to shirtsleeves. the gritty streets of the city. staying awake too long.   snow-capped peaks. retreating from society. innocent recollections that become twisted. a lost paradise. lighting across a dark sky. to be destined for one alone. shouting from the top of a mountain. strewn corpses. the implements of a surgeon scattered across a surface.  a bride on her wedding night.   books left open to gather dust, pulled from shelves. dark circles beneath the eyes. the deathly pallor of a corpse. things alive that shouldn’t be. desiring a love of your own. feeling your soul restored with bliss that cannot last. icy terrain. unsatisfactory endings.

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. the long, fatal crack across a mirror. unearthly voices echoing through the dark. a duet. snow falling against statues of angels. the lament of a violin’s strings. resurrected hopes. the sensation of being watched. candles blowing out on their own. masquerade revelers. unrequited love. the snapping of a noose. an obscured face. the scintillating light of an ornate chandelier. mysterious and inexplicable catastrophes. watching your dreams shatter. curtains drawing back from a stage. devils that are angels. a soft kiss on the forehead. scratches of red ink. long capes and gloved hands. retreating to the rooftop. being led into a trance. love as your undoing and your salvation.

NORTHANGER ABBEY. the turrets of a gothic mansion made of stone. portraits looming above the stairwell. suspicion of all around you. dreaming of grandeur, awakening to normalcy. the sound of a carriage coming up the street. top hats and fine suits. dancing at a ball. the lavish throes of society. the thrill of being introduced. a mystery that goes ignored. chests that harbor secrets. old love letters. thumbing through the pages of a novel. disappointing the one you admire. the appearance of indifference. having your heart played with. grand rooms housing past memories. mistaken first impressions. affluent personages. kissing in the garden.

DRACULA.  your life draining out of you. a castle on a lonely precipice. fog spreading through woodlands. dutifully kept journals. enthusiastic correspondence with one you love. blood dripping down the chin. a tongue stroking sharp teeth. the howling of wolves coming closer. wreathes of garlic hung about the room. rosary beads and crucifixes. the violence that spans centuries. tall figures that cast long shadows. disturbing the silence of a grave. the sensation of leaving your homeland. not dead, only sleeping. last wishes. a long and arduous journey. an ominous ship at sea. the sound of shovels in the basement. eerie lights that obstruct your path. goblets of blood-red wine. a stake through the heart. to be at peace at last.

tagged by: @primordyalsoul ( *victory sign* ) tagging: @nenegyo, @numberjack, @exorciiise, @mirrorfates, @chiheru, @nulltune, @withsorrowandregret, & @knightinsourarmor ( -- oh, and you!)

[enignoema-a]

𝑮𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑪   𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬  .

𝐖𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 .    the wildness of open spaces . withered trees with limbs like spiders.   abandoned homes . two souls that are the same. dying young. the ghost of a girl. revenge that does not satisfy.  tapping at the window. knowing too much of the pains of others.   cruelty that doesn’t fade . an unresolved past. marrying , but not for love .   rolling hills .   hair flying in the blustering wind .   sudden illness .   disinterment . the deep pain of loss . carrying a namesake that is not your own.  facing a storm head on.    an accent thick upon the tongue .  a figure on the horizon , shrouded by mist .  aging walls and rotting floorboards.   intruding upon the wake of destruction .  wasting away . together in death .

𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄 . the madwoman in the attic.   candle-flame and burn stains . soft laughter.   a fire roaring in the hearth . silence in the halls.   folded hands over modest skirts . the pain of being wronged.   a wedding interrupted at the altar .   dark brows .   a horse riding up the path .   the isolation of a church .   gray skies .   landscape as bleak as your soul . finding sanctuary.  a bird flying free from its cage.   discovering your worth. returning to a place that feels like home .   falling in love in spite of yourself .  schoolyards full of children. lying in bed while clasping a loved one’s hands in yours. hopeless prayers.   hiding in an alcove to read . timid but strong.  being true to oneself above all.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍 .    grand prose .   the glory of nature .  playing god.   the spark of madness that drives creation .   stripped down to shirtsleeves .   the gritty streets of the city .  staying awake too long.   snow-capped peaks .  retreating from society.  innocent recollections that become twisted.   a lost paradise .   lightning across a dark sky .   to be destined for one alone .   shouting from the top of a mountain .  strewn corpses .   the implements of a surgeon scattered across a surface .   a bride on her wedding night . books left open to gather dust, pulled from shelves.  dark circles beneath the eyes . the deathly pallor of a corpse. things alive that shouldn’t be. desiring a love of your own. feeling your soul restored with a bliss that cannot last.   icy terrain . unsatisfactory endings.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀 .    the long , fatal crack across a mirror . unearthly voices echoing through the dark.   a duet .   snow falling against statues of angels .   the lament of a violin’s strings . resurrected hopes. the sensation of being watched. candles blowing out on their own.   masquerade revelers . unrequited love. the snapping of a noose.   an obscured face .  the scintillating light of an ornate chandelier . mysterious and inexplicable catastrophes.  watching your dreams shatter.  curtains drawing back from a stage . devils that are angels. a soft kiss on the forehead.   scratches of red ink .   long capes and gloved hands .  retreating to the rooftop .   being led in a trance .  love as your undoing and your salvation.

𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐘 .     the turrets of a gothic mansion made of stone .  portraits looming above the stairwell . suspicion of all around you.  dreaming of grandeur , awaking to normalcy .   the sound of a carriage coming up the street .   top hats and fine suits .   dancing at a ball .   the lavish throes of society .   the thrill of being introduced. a mystery that goes ignored.  chests that harbor secrets .  old love letters.  thumbing through the pages of a novel.  disappointing the one you admire. the appearance of indifference. having your heart played with. grand rooms housing past memories. mistaken first impressions.   affluent personages .   kissing in the garden .

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐀 . your life draining out of you.   a castle on a lonely precipice . fog spreading through woodlands. dutifully kept journals.  enthusiastic correspondence with one you love . blood dripping down the chin. a tongue stroking sharp teeth.  the howling of wolves coming closer .   wreathes of garlic hung about the room. rosary beads and crucifixes. violence that spans centuries.  tall figures that cast long shadows.  disturbing the silence of a grave.   the sensation of leaving your homeland .   not dead , only sleeping . last wishes.   a long and arduous journey .   an ominous ship at sea .  the sound of shovels in the basement .   eerie lights that obstruct your path .  goblets of blood red wine . a stake through the heart.  to be at peace at last.

tagged by: stole it tagging : take it