#mmmv

[chrysesthesporemage]

Hi everyone guess what!

My book Memento Mori Memento Vivere is getting published, eeee!!!

[fy-winner]

© mmmv˚ | do not edit

[afternoonmusume]

85/∞ of morning musume’s mvs: sou ja nai  

[chrysesthesporemage]

Character card for Chryses! What do you think of my friend Sora's work? She outdid herself!

I want to get these printed or make a digital character art book!

[chrysesthesporemage]

I had a lot of fun making this, what better way to show off my book characters, Chryses and Lottie ☆

[chrysesthesporemage]

Chapter 21

Chryses

The dawn light filtered through the canopy with a stubborn persistence that felt far too early. We didn't linger. The descent from the damp, heavy air of the forest was a welcome change, the path turning into a jagged, rocky trail that eventually spilled out into the startling brilliance of Neprene. The city was a shock to the senses, with streets paved in stones so deeply pigmented they looked like a reflection of the deep sea.

"How beautiful, I whispered to myself," my voice barely carrying over the sound of the distant tide. "I’d love to visit here in a less stressful time." I managed a soft, tired chuckle at the absurdity of the thought.

"We should stock up on supplies while we’re here," Belladonna rolled her shoulders. "We could use a few ready-made potions. Ilchymis, will you be joining us further?" I asked, turning to the man who had been our constant, brooding shadow.

"I’ll stay with you until you board the ship," he grunted. He stood with his arms pulled tight across his chest, a familiar defensive posture. "I’ll be here when you come back." He punctuated the promise by stomping a heavy hoof against the blue cobblestones. It was a sobering reminder of the journey ahead. His powerful deer haunches, so suited for the thickets and mountainous terrain, would find no purchase on the swaying, salt-slicked deck of a vessel.

"All right, Ilchymis. Come on."

I led our small group toward the market stalls that lined the shore. The boardwalk was a chaotic symphony of salt air and commerce, with vendors shouting over piles of silver-scaled fish, curved blades that caught the sun, and heavy harpoons forged in the Isles. Belladonna and the others drifted toward the specialized gear, their figures blurring into the crowd while staying within my peripheral vision.

I found a potion stall tucked between a shipwright and a spice merchant. Ducking my head under the colorful awning, I began to scan the rows of glass vials, my eyes tracing the labels of shimmering liquids while I mentally calculated the cost of our journey.

A tall, fair figure stepped into the stall beside me. I looked up, expecting a merchant or a fellow traveler, but the breath caught in my throat. I felt a heat rise to my cheeks, a sudden, dizzying blush as I stared at the stranger. He was handsome, older than the image I carried in my memory, but the features were unmistakable. His signature paint around his eyes gave him away, as did how he carried his wings tucked neatly behind him in a polite display of manners.

No. It could not be. It was Lunné.

"Chry?" He looked down at me, his face draining of color until he looked like a ghost standing in the morning sun. He cast a frantic, panicked look at the crowds around us before his hand closed firmly around my wrist, pulling me into the shadows behind a stack of crates.

"Lunné, is it truly you?" I reached out, my hands trembling as I gripped his arms to steady myself. "Why are you here?"

He cut me off, his hand pressing firmly over my mouth to stifle my voice.

"There is no time. You need to get out of here," he whispered, his breath hot and urgent against my ear. "If the royal guard finds you here, they will order me to capture you." He held onto me with a desperate strength, his fingers digging into my sleeves. "My love, run. I am begging you."

He looked down at me with those beautiful milk white eyes, filled with a terror that made my heart ache.

"We can't," I told him, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside me. I didn't pull away from his touch, nor did I let him go. "I have to do this. I must go to the Isles. Not even you can stop me, dear Lunné. Forget you saw me. Leave this city and allow me this one boon."

I could feel the familiar, agonizing itch behind my eyeball begin to stir at the mention of my mission. Necromoria was watching this reunion through my own sight, their cold vanity a sharp contrast to the warmth of Lunné’s hands.

Belladonna

I kept my pace steady as I finished gathering the last of the raw components for my kit. I had found a few rare botanicals that would perfect the gift I was crafting for Chryses, but the shimmering, ready-made potions on the vendor's shelf were a tempting distraction. They were elegant and intricate, though I knew better than to drain our coin on them. I tucked away the simpler supplies, knowing I could craft the smaller tonics myself with far more efficiency.

Behind me, the sharp clatter of a hoof against the blue stones made me smile. Ilchymis was never one for patience, and his theatrics were a constant rhythm to our travels. I shook my head, moving toward the next stall, until a sound sliced through the market noise.

It was Chryses. Her voice was sharp and thick with an uncertainty that made the hair on my neck stand up. I heard the words "my love" and the mention of an order to capture her.

My body tensed instantly. A dark, bubbling annoyance stirred in my gut, a heat rising up my spine like the first flicker of an aggressive spell. I didn't hesitate. I moved through the crowd with a predator's focus, my eyes narrowing as I spotted them. A stranger. He was tall, delicately handsome and unmistakably Motherian.

"Chryses," I said. My voice was even, but I let the edge of a warning bleed through the syllables. I drew nearer, my hand coming to rest on the hilt of my blade. The steel whispered a faint, cold promise beneath my palm as I stepped into the shadows of the stall.

"Is everything all right?"

I reached out, my other hand brushing Chryses’ elbow in a quiet, grounded reassurance. I wanted her to feel my presence, to know that the air between us was guarded. My gaze never shifted from the man. I gave him a look sharp enough to draw blood, a silent vow that I could carve him from his toes to his nose before he even had the chance to blink.

He looked at her with those beautiful, terrified eyes, but all I saw was a threat to the woman I had sworn to protect. The Motherian influence was a stench in this sea air, and I wasn't about to let it touch her.

Inside, I felt a familiar surge of possessiveness. This was my charge, my partner, and this impossibly beautiful ghost from her past was overstepping his bounds. I shifted my weight, my thumb grazing the crossguard of my sword, waiting for him to give me a single reason to finish what the royal guard hadn't started.

Chryses

Lunné released my arm, and the sudden absence of his touch felt like a cold draft against my skin. His gaze, which had been so soft and desperate when it was fixed on me, shifted instantly. He pierced through Belladonna with a look of intense scrutiny, as if he were trying to measure the very soul of the woman standing at my side. He was searching for her place in my life, evaluating the one who now held the position he once occupied.

I cleared my throat, the sound feeling small against the heavy tension of the market stall. "Yes, everything is fine," I said, nodding to reassure Belladonna while my heart hammered against my ribs. T"his is Lunné."

I looked back at him, and for a fleeting second, I felt my features soften. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and the tug of a memory I thought I had buried under layers of duty and ash. He was my fiancé, the man I was meant to grow old with before the war and the Rootmother’s wrath tore my world apart. Seeing him now, older and draped in the colors of a city that wanted me in chains, stirred a quiet, aching envy in the air around us.

"He was warning me," I continued, my voice gaining strength as the urgency of the situation took hold. "We may be in bigger trouble than we realize. We need to leave quickly."

I turned to move, to find Ilchymis, but Lunné’s hand caught mine before I could take a single step. I looked back at him, my breath catching in a confused, worried hitch. He didn't pull me back toward the danger. Instead, he offered a smile that was so gentle and reassuring it made my throat tight. It was the same smile he had given me a thousand times in the quiet gardens of our youth.

"Go to the eastern docks," he said softly, his voice a tether in the rising chaos. "I will distract the guards as long as I can."

Then his eyes shifted back to Belladonna. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by a coldness that was as sharp and unforgiving as a polished blade. "Don't get her killed," he commanded.

The words hung in the air, a jagged mixture of a threat and a plea. I hesitated, my fingers still tangled with his, feeling the pulse of the past pulling at me while the terrifying future loomed ahead. The itch behind my eyeball flared, a sharp prick of Necromoria’s mocking amusement at my internal struggle. I squeezed Lunné’s hand one last time, a silent goodbye to the life we could have had, and finally let go.

Belladonna

My jaw tightened until the bone throbbed, but I kept my tongue still. I watched the way their eyes searched one another, the way their fingers lingered in a tangle of shared history I could never touch. The heat that had flared in my spine moments ago vanished, replaced by a cool, deliberate calm that I wore like a suit of armor. It was safer to be cold.

My gaze locked with Lunné’s, refusing to waver even as the market bustle seemed to fade into the background. "That depends on who does the killing," I said softly. There was no gentleness in my tone, only the hard edge of a promise. "If you value her life, you will make sure your distraction does not cost it."

I drew a slow breath, forcing the irritation deep into my lungs where it couldn't interfere with my focus. I turned my back on the Motherian stranger and looked at Chryses.

"He is right. We need to get moving. Come on," I murmured, my voice low and urgent. "The longer we stay, the more you risk making his distraction useless. You will turn his help into a sacrifice if we linger."

I didn't look back as I began to lead her away toward the eastern docks. Even without turning, I could feel his eyes burning into us. I felt the weight of his suspicion and that desperate protectiveness he directed at Chryses, a sentiment I didn't trust for a single heartbeat.

I kept my hand near my blade, my ears straining for the sound of royal boots on the blue stones. Lunné was a ghost of her past, but the guards were a very real threat to her future. I would be keeping an eye on our heels until the salt spray of the Isles was the only thing left in our wake.

[chrysesthesporemage]

Chapter 7

Chryses

The next morning, we were awakened by the sweet song of nightingales outside our open window. The early morning breeze carried the heavy warmth of summer into our room, smelling of sun-baked stone and greenery. When I finally broke from my meditation, I looked down at Belladonna. She was still curled around me like a contented cat, tail and all.

I smiled and tilted my head to study her peaceful face. I wondered what she was dreaming about. It had to be something soft and pleasant, judging by the barely-there smile playing at her lips.

I gently shook her shoulder to try and coax her from sleep, but she only burrowed deeper against me. She let out a stubborn groan that was muffled by the fabric of my skirt.

"Good morning, dear," I said softly. I couldn't quite keep the amusement out of my voice.

"Zzz..." came her theatrical response.

"Now I know you're pretending to be asleep," I laughed, running my fingers through her tousled hair to smooth out the tangles.

"No," she mumbled without opening her eyes. Her voice was thick with feigned drowsiness. "You're mistaken. I'm not pretending, I am asleep. Completely unconscious. Can't hear a thing."

Her tail gave a telltale twitch of mischief, betraying her completely.

"Is that so?" I murmured, letting my voice take on a playful edge. "Then I suppose you won't mind if I just..."

Belladonna

I watched out of the corner of my eye as Chryses shook her head. She sighed as she slipped out of our cuddle, only to pull the sheets off me while I groaned in protest. My head felt like an ogre was sitting on it. The weight was more than my whole body could take, the sun was far too bright, and those damned nightingales were entirely too loud. Normally I would have been heavily scolded for even thinking such a thing.

I rolled onto my stomach, away from Chryses, and buried my face into the pillow. I was so hungover I thought I was going to be sick. Then, as if summoned by divine intervention, I caught the thick, inviting scent of coffee. Blessed be this woman. I cracked one eye open to watch her as she carefully slid a steaming mug across the small table. It sat perfectly within my reach. It smelled like salvation to a mess like me.

"Yesterday's mushroom coffee," she said, settling beside me with her own cup. "It will help the pain and nausea fade by the time we are ready to leave."

I pulled myself upright, immediately grateful for the warmth of the mug between my palms. "Is there nothing you can't do?" I took a tentative sip and sighed with relief. "This will do nicely. Thank you."

"I will get you something to eat while you get ready," she said, already moving with that efficient grace of hers. "The best cure for a hangover is greasy home fries and sausage. It isn't the largest breakfast, but it will help with what the coffee can't fix."

"Sounds absolutely disgusting," I groaned, then immediately perked up. "But it sounds so good. I could marry you right now."

She paused at the door, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, darling. I will be back with something to eat."

The casual endearment and her amused tone sent a flutter through my chest that had nothing to do with the hangover. I laughed into the pillow happily, at least until another wave of nausea hit me.

That wasn't the only thing to hit me. I felt a sudden, sharp disturbance in the room. My joy was short-lived as it turned instantly to fear. I sat up too quickly, which made my head rush and my vision swim. An acidic sting burned my nose as a burst of feathers and darkness swirled in the corner of the room.

I curled up on the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs as my mother stepped out of the portal. She smiled far too kindly behind her lace veil. The Nightingale approached me and took me into her embrace. She whispered poison into my ears while she reached out, using a cold thumb to wipe away the leftover lipstick still smeared on my lips.

Chryses

I stood there with the plate of food, the smell of salt and grease now cloying and offensive in the presence of the Nightingale. I watched the two of them, unsure of whether I should speak or not. Belladonna had not even dressed yet. Her hair was pulled up and her eyes were red-rimmed. The dark, bruised circles beneath them made her skin look even paler and her lips more parched. She looked like shit.

The Nightingale sat beside her, doting on the sickly woman with a terrifying sort of tenderness. I looked from Belladonna to the goddess, my face seizing coldly. I knew this wasn't Belladonna’s fault. It wasn't her at all. The gods were terrifying, and walking among them meant I had to speak perfectly. I had to hide my intentions and act exactly as they did. The rules for us were different than those for people living mortal lives.

Belladonna had mentioned before that the Nightingale knew how to get into a person's head and manipulate them. I had seen it before during the trials. I wanted to bite my lip so badly but I resisted. I couldn't let the Nightingale see how nervous I was.

Perhaps I had upset her by getting too close to her child. I held my arms behind my back and waited patiently for her to finish with poor Belladonna. She looked so fragile and so small. One glance told me she wasn't well at all. When our eyes met briefly, I gave her a reassuring nod. I hoped it told her I would try my best to handle this.

The Nightingale’s withering, bemused look made my stomach clench. She cleared her throat with the authority of someone accustomed to immediate obedience.

"Your eminence," I began carefully. "It has been some time since you graced me with your presence."

"I tire of pleasantries, Dove." Her voice cut through the morning air like a blade. "What have you done to my Belladonna?"

My heart stuttered. "I am not sure what you mean, my lady."

"Do not play coy with me, child." The Nightingale’s eyes blazed with a protective, predatory fury. "Look at the state of her."

I risked another glance at Belladonna. She was as pale as winter moonlight. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, pained breaths. Guilt twisted in my gut like a living thing.

"We drank heavily last night," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "And the rest is... incomprehensible. I may not have been in control of all my faculties. My apologies, mistress."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I knew exactly what had happened. I knew about my kiss and the poison coursing through her system. But admitting that would mean admitting I had endangered the one person who had shown me genuine tenderness in decades. I turned my attention to Belladonna, desperate for some sign of forgiveness, but she avoided my gaze entirely. She only stared down at her feet. I wondered if she was ashamed or angry, or simply too ill to bear looking at me. Her pallor made it impossible to tell, and the sight of her distress carved something hollow in my chest.

The Nightingale did not answer me. She was toying with me and demanding my attention even in her silence. My chest clenched as I watched her pull forth an ornately crafted knife. The tarnished silver glinted in the morning light while the amethysts winked like malevolent eyes. With her spindly, deceptively frail hands, she took Belladonna’s arm and drew the blade along her forearm in one deliberate motion. Then she positioned the knife at her wrist. Beads of sweat pooled at my companion’s temples despite the morning chill.

Belladonna could not move. She could only draw those ragged, desperate breaths. Something dark within me stirred at the sight, excited by the display of power and pain, but I shuddered it away. Damn Necromoria and their twisted influence.

"Day one in your care," the Nightingale began, her voice deceptively calm. "You two fell from the skies and she was injured as a result. That is an action that puts her body under great stress, as you would know."

I remained silent. I knew any response would only fuel her anger.

"Day two, you allowed her a taste of your toxic kiss." Her grip tightened on the blade and I saw Belladonna flinch. "My Belladonna is NOT to partake in such dangerous activities. She is to make it to the end of your journey alive." Her eyes bore into mine like burning coals. "Did I not ask you to ensure she didn't get herself hurt?"

The accusation hit like a physical blow. "That is correct, my lady," I said. My voice was steady despite the terror clawing at my throat. "Please forgive me and allow me to share the brunt of Belladonna’s punishment. I was supposed to be responsible for her well-being. I allowed her too much freedom and agency."

The words tasted like ash. "Please forgive me for my lack of initiative and judgment."

Each word was a small betrayal of everything Belladonna and I had shared. But if it would spare her further harm, I would say them. She slid the blade up the arm with a featherlight touch. Beads of blood crept up Belladonna’s skin, which stood on end from her fear. It looked like it hurt a lot despite the blade barely touching her. The Nightingale couldn't care less about her child’s discomfort as she dragged the knife painstakingly slowly.

I pushed my sleeve up and knelt before them at the bedside. I offered my bare skin to her whim because I did not want her to suffer alone. Belladonna had done nothing wrong by making her own choices. She may have been a grumpy and sarcastic woman who bantered relentlessly with me, but even I knew she was entitled to her independence. I wondered if she knew that herself. I wondered if anyone had ever told her she deserved autonomy over her own body.

"Child, you are newly blessed," the Nightingale continued. Her voice took on an almost reverent tone. "The divine you so willingly gave your body to is resting and healing. I shall not mark your skin, but you will mark my daughter so our lord may grow. Feast on her essence and grow stronger, more obedient to Necromoria."

The words hit me like ice water. "Me? I could not possibly hurt her."

"You already have, twice." The Nightingale’s smile was razor-sharp. "A third time under my supervision and permission should hardly matter. You will do what Necromoria requires of you."

My hands trembled at my sides. This was not protection. This was orchestrated cruelty, using my cursed nature as a weapon against the one person who had shown me tenderness. The weight of my contract with Necromoria pressed down like a crushing stone, but looking at Belladonna’s pale, resigned face made something in my chest tear apart.

I am sorry, Belladonna, I thought desperately. I hoped somehow she could hear the anguish in my silence. But she said nothing. She only closed her eyes as if accepting whatever fate her mother had chosen for her. The resignation in that gesture broke something fundamental inside me.

Belladonna

The silence the Nightingale left behind was heavier than the darkness she had arrived in. It pressed against my chest, making every shallow breath feel like I was inhaling shards of glass. My mother didn't just walk out; she simply ceased to be there, the shadows in the corner of the room smoothing over as if she had never stepped through them.

I stayed exactly where I was, a doll with its strings cut. My arm felt cold where the blood had been licked away, but the skin still hummed with the phantom heat of Chryses’s tongue. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at the bite mark or the faint, drying smears on my skin.

"Belladonna."

Her voice was different now. It was stripped of that warmth that had been there when we first woke up. It was the voice of a student of Necromoria, disciplined and hollow. I finally forced my gaze upward, my neck feeling stiff and fragile.

Chryses was still kneeling by the bedside, but she wasn't looking at me with that soft, tilting smile anymore. She was staring at her own hands as if she didn't recognize them. The "Dove" my mother had mocked was gone, replaced by something that looked like it had been carved out of marble and stained with red.

"I'll get the water," she said. Her movements were stiff, robotic. She didn't reach out to comfort me. She didn't offer a reassuring squeeze. She just stood up and walked toward the washbasin, her back straight and her shoulders set.

"Chryses," I rasped. My throat felt like it was coated in dust.

She stopped, but she didn't turn around. "Eat your breakfast, Belladonna. Your mother was right. You are under a great deal of stress. You need your strength if we are to continue the journey today."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. My stomach turned at the thought of the greasy sausage and fries sitting on the plate nearby, but I felt my hand move toward it anyway. The Nightingale had told her to command me, and Chryses was a quick study. She was shedding her mortality right in front of me, peel by agonizing peel.

"Are you going to do it?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Are you going to treat me like a tool? Like a sword you just sharpen and sheath when you're done?"

She finally turned. The light from the window hit her face, but it didn't soften her expression. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—a flash of that old tenderness, a spark of the woman who had laughed at my theatrical snoring only an hour ago—but she smothered it instantly.

"I am going to keep you alive," she said, her voice dropping to a low, steady hum. "That was the arrangement. I was foolish to forget that our roles aren't defined by our feelings, but by our debts."

She dipped a cloth into the basin and walked back toward me. I flinched instinctively when she reached for my arm, but she didn't stop. She took my wrist in a firm, cool grip and began to wipe away the traces of the ritual. She was thorough and efficient, cleaning the blood and the saliva with the practiced ease of a healer or a butcher.

"It hurts," I whispered, though the physical pain was the least of it.

"I know," she replied. She didn't look up. "But the pain will make you remember to be careful next time. We cannot afford another visit from her."

When she was finished, she dropped the pink-stained cloth into the water. The ripples shifted, reflecting the two of us—two ghosts trapped in a sunlit room. I looked at the bite mark again. It was a brand. A reminder that I belonged to her, and she belonged to a god that wanted to eat the world.

"Get dressed," Chryses said, walking toward her own belongings. "We leave in twenty minutes. Don't make me tell you twice."

I sat on the edge of the bed, the cold morning air finally starting to bite at my skin. The nightingales were still singing outside, but the song sounded like a dirge now. I reached for my clothes, my fingers clumsy and shaking, wondering if the version of Chryses I had started to love was gone forever, or if she was just hiding somewhere deep inside that marble shell, waiting for the dark to pass.

Chryses

The silence left in the Nightingale’s wake was heavier than the shadows she had arrived in. I hated the taste of blood. I hated when Necromoria made me sup from the chalice the Nightingale left behind, the cold flesh. I was, by all means, a zombie. I was undead for sure, but the idea of eating my own fellow man left me dizzy and hot with nausea. I could not bear the thought or the taste, but I had no other options to consider. I had to obey or suffer the consequences. If I did not, I was certain the punishments would be worse for both of us.

The Nightingale's cold eyes fell on me. The look made me shrink back. She stood up and walked to where I knelt, motioning for me to stand. I did as I was told. I stood at her breast and looked up. I was able to see the most striking woman I had ever seen under her veil. Her green hair was like the forest's ivy. She placed her cold fingers on either side of my face and kissed my crown delicately. From the corner of my eye, I could see Belladonna crying.

Belladonna did not make a sound, but her body betrayed her. She was shaking just slightly, like a string pulled too tight. Her cheeks were sopping wet and her mouth was silent. She did not even try to wipe the tears away. It gutted me. She was in distress, and I had been the one to bring her there. I told myself I had no choice and that I was following the will of my lord. I told myself I was playing the part her mother wanted. But none of those excuses made it easier to look at her. None of them made her tears feel any less like blood on my hands.

Mother was pleased. She stepped forward and knelt beside Belladonna with the same reverence one might show a sacred chalice. Her touch was gentle, so gentle it made my skin crawl.

"You are so obedient," she said softly. "My daughter could learn from you, my Dove."

Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she handed me a cloth and a small vial of salve. "Bandage her arm, and remember my words, but do try to be more positive, will you?" Her smile stretched like silk pulled too tight. "You get the treat of my child. I cultivated her to have the sweetest and most potent blood for our divine Necromoria."

I flinched at that. A treat. That was what she called her.

Mother rose and smoothed out her sleeves. "Get dressed and eat up, Belladonna. Once you are cared for, you have a busy day with Chryses. Do everything she says without complaint. I release you."

Belladonna’s voice barely rose above a whisper. "Yes, Mother."

My hands moved before I could think. I kneeled and cleaned the wound I had left behind. The blood had dried around the edges, forming a dark halo on her pale skin. I worked carefully and silently, even though my throat ached with things I could not say. I offered apologies I did not deserve to give and felt regrets I had no right to voice.

"Thank you, Nightingale," I said quietly. My eyes did not lift.

She turned her gaze back to me. Her expression was unreadable. "Have pleasant travels, Chryses. I will check in again on your growth in a week."

Then she turned away. She walked into the same shadowed corner she had emerged from. Her dark magic curled around her like smoke being drawn back into a bottle. With a whisper I could barely hear, she vanished. She left only silence and the taste of iron behind.

I looked at Belladonna again. She would not meet my eyes. I did not know if I deserved for her to. I sat in silence with her for a moment. She was slumped over from the release of the Nightingale's magic. It was so much to take in. I unsteadily climbed onto the bed beside her and rummaged through her pack. I was grabbing at this and that while my mind and hands felt like a cascading mess. I finally found the bandages. I put her hand on my knee and I wrapped her gently but firmly. I never wanted to do that to her again. The Nightingale knew how to torment me, and I hated feeling that weakness.

I stayed silent beside her. My arms felt numb and useless at my sides. In a week, the Nightingale would return. I knew I could go without Belladonna. I could travel alone. But was the price of her company and the consequences that followed really so great? Was it worth it?

Of course it was.

I looked away as she rose from the bed. I did not want to provoke the Nightingale again. Necromoria would erupt if they were woken before their time, and they would turn their wrath on me.

Belladonna

My heart ached as I watched her pack. Her trembling hands folded and placed things in her bag, which was a stark reminder of the inevitable separation to come. Once she finally left the room, muttering something about waiting downstairs, I turned and locked the washroom door behind me. I needed the solace of that quiet, dimly lit space.

I faced the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me with eyes filled with turmoil and unshed tears. I gripped the edge of the sink and lowered my head. The weight of my emotions pressed down on me like a physical force. The tears came then, hot and relentless. They streamed down my cheeks and into the basin below. My body trembled with the force of my sobs. Each one felt like a release of the profound sadness and longing that consumed me.

I let my body sag against the door, as if that thin slab of wood could keep the rest of the world out. I looked pitiful. No, I looked worse than pitiful. I looked owned.

My ears drooped and the tips twitched faintly with leftover tension. My tail hung limp behind me, trailing across the tiled floor like it no longer remembered how to move with pride. I gripped the edge of the basin until my knuckles went white just to ground myself in the here and now. My whole body was shaking with delayed tremors. It was the aftershock of surviving a morning that should never be considered normal.

The thought of losing her or being separated from Chryses had taken root in my chest like rot. Our time together had been brief, but it was real. Real things were rare in Mother’s world of manipulation. Real things bled and hoped. They held you when the nightmares clawed at the walls.

Chryses had been my balm and my warmth. She was my fragile light in a temple of shadows. Now I felt it all slipping away like sand through my fingers.

"Dammit," I hissed. My voice cracked halfway through, breaking just like the rest of me.

I braced myself against the counter and let the tears fall freely. Hot, salt-laced drops hit the porcelain with quiet finality. My ears trembled once and then fell completely flat.

"Chryses," I sobbed, the name escaping in a shuddering breath.

I curled in on myself. My tail wrapped weakly around my ankle as if even it was trying to hide. I couldn't believe she had seen me like that, so helpless and so easily commanded. Yet she had never looked at me with disgust. Not even once. She didn't recoil when Mother handed me to her like a weapon carved from devotion. She just accepted it. She didn't do it gladly, but she moved with that strange grace she always carried. It was a sharp kind of love that never said its name, but it lingered in the way her eyes softened whenever they met mine.

She made it bearable. Her presence and her quiet fury were the only things I had. She understood the dance I had to perform and the mask I was forced to wear. She didn't ask me to be more than what I was, but she made me feel like I could be. Even now, curled on the floor with my tail limp and my ears flattened in shame, I would have followed her anywhere. I hated needing her, but gods, I did.

I hissed in pain as I stood up. The wounds inflicted by my mother's words stung more sharply than any physical injury. I had tried to hide my shame and maintain a facade of strength, but the weight had become too great to bear. I took a deep, shuddering breath. I decided to face the music and see where the chips fell. I gave myself one more moment to ground myself before finally leaving the washroom.

I glanced at the plate of food, but my stomach lurched at the sight. My appetite had vanished. I was a sight, no doubt. My eyes were dark and swollen from tears and my cheeks were flushed with residual heat. Yet I had regained enough composure to pull on my armor and descend to face the world. I was clinging to the last petal of hope that remained to me.

When I found her, I noticed her gaze darting to my arm. I quickly rolled down my sleeves to conceal the telltale signs of my distress. I did not want to divert our attention from the plans that lay before us like a map to our future. Chryses’s presence anchored me. Where my breath hitched, hers was steady. Where my mind spiraled, hers moved with quiet certainty. She was a balm to the ache beneath my ribs. She was a soft pressure that reminded me I still existed outside of Mother's grip. With her, I wasn't just a tool or a treat. I was someone seen, heard, and wanted.

"That was dramatic," I muttered, brushing a tear track from my cheek.

Chryses quirked a brow and the faintest smile ghosted her lips. "Just a bit," she said. "It wouldn't have happened if I had better control."

"Pshaw," I scoffed, half-laughing despite myself. "Mother has gone off on me harder over burnt tea. This was tame."

Still, the humor didn't quite reach my chest. "Let's just try not to cross her again. She said she is returning in a week."

"A week," Chryses echoed. The word seemed to taste bitter to her. "I need to improve my standing with her. She has been helping. She is nursing me while Necromoria incubates. It wouldn't do to bite the hand that feeds, so to speak."

Her voice was dry, but I could hear the strain beneath it. I rubbed at my chest, my fingers digging into the silk over my heart as if I could rub the guilt away. When that failed, I crossed my arms and stared toward the exit. My tail gave a small, anxious flick.

Her eyes followed mine and then lingered. I could feel the shift before she even spoke.

"Belladonna," she said, her voice softer now. "Do you want to keep going with me?"

The question hit deeper than it had any right to.

"I pulled you along on a whim," she continued. "But do you want this? Whatever this adventure is? Your life is already complicated and I have dragged you into the middle of my mess. Isn't it only fair that I stand by you in yours? I am not so selfish that I can't see what you are going through."

I swallowed hard. She really didn't know how much those words meant to me.

"Of course I do," I said. I stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the slight chill of her skin. We were close enough that our shadows stitched together on the floor like thread through fabric. "I've had this adventure with you and I want to keep it going. I don't know how to escape her since I never have. I am the Nightingale’s child. She made me and she owns me."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "But she doesn't follow me. Not often. I have left before for jobs and missions that lasted months. If we are careful and if we don't provoke her again, we can move in the margins. We can stay free."

I reached out before I could lose my nerve. I slid my fingers into hers. She stiffened for just a moment. It was a flicker, barely noticeable, but I felt her heart skip a beat between us. I squeezed her hand to ground both of us. She wanted this too. She wanted freedom and an escape from everything she was bound to.

I looked down at our joined hands and then back up at her. I tilted my head to better see her face, searching for the woman I knew was still in there.

Chryses

Her hand was warm and steady. Beneath that sure grip, I could feel it. Her pulse was stuttering with a sorrow she was trying to hide. I didn't truly have the time to carry someone else’s grief. Not now. I had to find Lousheia. That woman had to die.

I wondered if the Nightingale was really so different. I couldn’t pretend not to see the parallels between them. Both were masters of manipulation. Both used devotion like a blade. The only difference was in their methods and perhaps how deeply they had embedded themselves in me.

"I just wanted to be sure," I said. I watched Belladonna with a softness I couldn't quite swallow. "I would like to help. I want to do this before my god fully claims this body, while I am still myself." My voice lowered as I looked at her. "I see no reason we can’t align our goals."

I allowed myself a small smile, though it felt heavy. "And we shouldn’t kiss again. Not unless we want your mother descending on us like a divine storm. Enough of that for now."

I turned toward the door and let the flicker of tension fall away. "Let’s get a sweet treat on the way out. I am suddenly craving a pastry."

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the pivot. She smiled as if she appreciated the change of topic, but she spoke up quickly. "Oh, yeah. Just so we’re clear, though," she added, her eyes dropping for a moment. "I don’t want you to feel like you are responsible for me. I won't get us in trouble again. I would rather help you more. I am not a problem you have to pick up."

My gaze lingered on her. I didn't like the way she diminished herself.

"I don’t need your permission to decide that," I said simply. "If I choose to be responsible for you, that is mine to carry. And I do want to help you. That isn't something you get to talk me out of."

I meant every word. I could already feel the tide of this journey shifting under our feet. If I had any say in the matter, she wouldn’t walk this path alone.

Still, beneath my resolve, something deeper gnawed at me. The hunger twisting in my gut had nothing to do with food. It was the quiet ache of wanting something far more intimate. But Belladonna still needed her strength. She hadn’t touched the meal I had set aside for her. Her body was running on nothing but defiance and will.

If I couldn't feed, then I would make sure she did. Maybe I could steal a little joy in the process. I wanted something sweeter than blood and warmer than obedience.

I approached her with a playful glint in my eye. My steps were deliberate and confident. As I drew near, I caught a flicker of emotion in her gaze. It was a hint of disappointment or perhaps a spark of longing. It sent a thrill through me. It was a challenge I was more than eager to accept. When I had sworn off our kisses, I had seen that brief flash of sadness in her eyes. It only served to fuel my desire for her to pursue me. I wanted her to show me that she craved me just as intensely as I craved her.

Belladonna

Chryses leaned in slowly and deliberately. Her movements carried the kind of careful control that demanded my full attention. I felt her fingers brush against mine, as light as silk and just as teasing. It was a whisper of contact, but it was enough to spark heat just beneath my skin. The space between us thrummed with tension and everything we were choosing not to say. I could taste it in the air. It was a craving disguised as kindness and a longing masked as play.

She didn't need to say a word. I already knew what she was doing. She wanted to remind me that there was still pleasure in this world. She wanted to show me the sweetness tucked between the cracks of our suffering. And I wanted it too. Gods, I did.

"Anyway," she murmured, her voice like velvet. "A rose chocolatine sounds divine after a night of bitter drinks."

"You like roses in baked goods?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice even. "I am going to see if they have croissants. I could go for something buttery right now."

"I do," she replied. "Roses do not grow well in Petillia. The soil just won't allow it. So rose-flavored sweets are rare. I used to get gifts from the prince of Asrea when he was alive. They were rose pastries, mostly."

She turned, as graceful as ever, and headed for the door. "Come now. We are losing daylight."

I stayed where I was, rooted to the spot for a moment. My grip tightened on my pack’s strap until my knuckles blanched. The leather creaked under the pressure. I could feel a sharp retort rising in my throat, ready to cut through the quiet like a blade, but I swallowed it down.

The sting of Mother’s words still echoed in my skull. She had peeled me bare and exposed every fault until I felt like a raw, humiliated child. I hated that Chryses had seen it. I hated even more that she was walking ahead, slipping from my reach as if she hadn't noticed how hollow I had become. But I couldn't let her drift. Not now when I needed her most.

I caught up to her just before the door. That hot, seething anger in my chest, born from Mother and fed by my own pride, began to ebb the moment I drew close to her. In its place, a calm slowly unfurled. Chryses had that effect on me. She didn't always soothe with words or gestures, but her presence steadied me like cool water on burning skin. She was a quiet anchor.

I stretched my arms above my head with feigned ease to shake off the stiffness. I pretended I didn't notice how raw I felt beneath the surface. I wouldn't ask for pity because she had enough burdens already. What I wanted wasn't sympathy. It was her understanding. I wanted her closeness and her hands. Chryses had become my mission and my clarity. She was the one thread I could follow through the chaos of my life. That was why I had asked to come. That was why I chose this path. I needed her more than I could admit, and I would do absolutely anything to stay by her side.

We ventured down the side streets until we found the bakery. As we approached, Chryses’s eyes widened with delight. She rushed to the window and pressed her palms eagerly against the glass. Her usually stoic expression melted away, replaced by a radiant smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

I paused and watched her with a mix of amusement and yearning. Her excitement was contagious. That unbridled joy sent a wave of emotions crashing over me, and I found myself rooted to the spot again. The memory of our kiss flooded my mind. I remembered the sensation of her lips against mine and the way her body had fit perfectly against me. It was a moment that had left an indelible mark on my soul. I wasn't just falling for her. I was addicted.

The scent hit me first as we stepped inside. It was warm sugar and something buttery, almost spiced. It wrapped around me and clung to my coat like perfume. I took a quiet breath and let it fill my lungs, hoping the sweetness might calm the thrum of nerves I hadn't realized I was carrying.

Chryses stood ahead of me, completely absorbed. Her eyes flitted from tray to tray like a child marveling at the stars. There was a softness to her in moments like this. It was a gentle joy that came so easily to her, yet it always caught me off guard.

"I found some bluebell pastries," she said, her voice a melody of delight. "I might spoil myself today. Ehehe."

I couldn't help but smile. "You like your pastries, don't you?" I teased, stepping up beside her. "You are a proper lady. Didn't the Petillan bakers basically revolutionize flower-themed desserts? Candied blooms on everything?"

She lit up even more. "That’s right. And they made the most beautiful floral mandalas on sugar cookies, too. Our decorators only rival Motheria’s. I am very proud of our bakers. They put a bit of magic into their work." She turned to me, and the warmth in her voice curled around something deep in my chest. "What about yourself? What do you like, my dear?"

My gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than it probably should have. "Chocolate," I answered, perhaps a little too plainly. "It is expensive, but when I get to have it, it is a real treat."

She didn't hesitate for a second. "Let me buy you chocolate then. They sell some here with the chocolatines."

Something in me stilled. She said it so casually, as if offering me sweetness came as naturally as breathing. I looked away and pretended to examine the pastries so she wouldn't see the flush creeping into my cheeks.

From behind the counter, the baker gave us a kind smile. "Those are great choices. I will ring you ladies up when you are ready."

I nodded, but I hardly heard her. My thoughts were still stuck on the warmth in Chryses’s voice when she offered to buy me chocolate. It made something inside me ache, but not from longing this time. It was the quiet, overwhelming surprise of being cared for.

Chryses

I could not betray my nature. I was trying, gods, I was truly trying to give Belladonna less attention. I wanted to keep my distance and unhook myself from whatever invisible thread tied my gaze to her every movement and every sigh. But it was so difficult. She looked so happy and so sweet. Somehow, that only made it harder.

I clung to pleasantries as though they might anchor me in something normal. The words felt strange on my tongue. They were stiff and dissonant, like I was wearing someone else’s voice. We were standing in a bakery, surrounded by warmth and sugar and the promise of comfort. It should have been a moment of peace. It should have been a simple joy.

Instead, all I could think about was how not long ago, someone had urged me to feast on her. My eyes flicked, unbidden, to the edge of her sleeve. A pale bandage peeked out like a whisper of what I had done. What they had done. The Nightingale. Necromoria.

I wondered why they would subject her to that. Why would they force her through such a cruel ritual? My lips had once marked her skin with lipstick in soft, careful strokes meant to amuse and adorn. Then those same lips had been part of the mouth that tore her. The memory surfaced, sharp and sickening, and I shuddered. It was a quiet twitch in my shoulder, like I was shaking off a nightmare that hadn't fully ended. I turned away from her and busied myself with the pastries.

I filled the basket with all our favorites for the road ahead. Almond petals. Bluebell tarts. Honeysuckle biscuits. Then, almost as if on instinct, I added a bar of dark chocolate just for Belladonna.

When I handed it to her, her face lit up with childlike joy. Her smile was so pure that it didn't seem to belong in this world. Gods above, help me. Help me not to ruin her again.

We left Asrea with our arms full of sweetness. We left the weight of our sins tucked behind us, if only for a moment. We snacked as we walked, laughing a little and feeling lighter. We were happier. For a few miles, it felt as if we were just two people on a journey, and not something far more broken than that.

[fy-winner]

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