Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a skittering in the undergrowth as a small, feline figure made her way across to the warm stones by the nearby waterway. Leaves bristled along with raised hackles as a tufted tail settled along the riverbank, an elven ear twitching for any sign of danger before she leaned down and began to drink. These woods were dangerous for any creature, but being roughly the size of a mouse, Witch knew better than to trust any sound that she couldn’t pinpoint before giving it a proper indication. But for now, it seemed she was safe enough to catch her breath before meeting back up.

The near-silent approach of a predator from above, however, had been an unsightly interruption to rhe morning’s errand. The shadow of the raven finally betrayed him, as long, jagged talons settled not far from her location and a mocking laugh emanated from deep within his throat.

“Well hello there,” he scoffed, reaching forward with an almost lazy ease. “It seems we meet again. You didn’t really think you could escape so easily, did you?”

Barely a jolt left the small figure as she turned to face him, all vim and vigor as her feline features made way for a widened grin.

“Hah! As if. I knew you’d be following close behind, and I’ve been ready for you.”

“Really, now? Then let’s see about that.”

As the raven’s talons reared in for a swoop, it seemed that the little creature allowed her foe to come forward - only to sink her teeth into his bare legs, stabbing downward with a pair of twin daggers on her legs crafted from the teeth of a shrew. The venom seeping in from the wounds seemed to paralyze him momentarily, enough for her to give a taunt of her own - before the creature flipped over in the water, knocking her down along with it.

There was a gasp as she tried to surface, choking on the sudden inhalation. As the raven struggled to get up, there was the rough pull of another hand dragging her upward -

She didn’t need to meet the gaze to tell whose it was, pulling her begraggled form into her arms and removing them from the fight.

“Witch, I thought I said to stay on the other side of the riverbank.”

“I was watching out; if you’d let me take one more stab at him, I would’ve gotten the bird off our backs for good. And besides, I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t. I was watching.”

 Throwing her younger sister across her back, the older Borrower steadied herself; while lacking the same wild nature as the scamp, there was no denying the two of them had the same roots. While her tail was shorter and less defined in its tuft, elven ears smaller and narrower, they still came from the same wild blood that this forest had provided. There was a sharp pain from the claws that dug at the tangled briar armor along her arms; unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time that Witch was growing restless in her arms, and it likely wouldn’t be the last, either. But this was no time for the fickle teenager to be having a fit over a lost catch when they needed to survive.

This game of cat and mouse - or, rather, bird and elven being - was all too familiar, and had started almost two years in the past. The chase was scarcely over yet, and this wouldn’t be the last time the ragged fellow turned to chase them.

A creature from beside the riverbank seemed to notice them, rearing their head with a flick of an ear. Feline gaze pricked and a singular horn lowered amidst the growth of two on either side, they knelt down for the arrival of the sisters to clamber along their massive back. Their back talons raked into the dirt for good measure, vestigial wings fluttering impatiently. It seemed that the raven wasn’t far behind.

“You go first,” Thorn barked, handing Witch off to the larger creature. Snagging the fidgety Borrower in careful claws, Beast laid her by her shoulder blades before reaching back. The crack of splintering wood was resounding underfoot.

Reaching back, there was a shrill cry. The sound of the raven was cut off as another bird tore into it, tearing through the wings with deft talons. This allowed Beast enough of a moment to finally grab her second catch, dragging her along with the first as they absconded into the next section of the forest on steady haunches. All the while, Thorn kept one hand along the small saddle they’d kept along her back, another on Witch to keep her close. The Borrower herself had curled inward, tail curled around herself in a mix of unease and anger, trying to mask the former as they bounded onward.

That was too close. And sure enough, once they were in the clear, they knew that would be a stern talking-to by their primary caretaker in this forest.

“You two were late,” Beast growled, her voice gruff and harsh. “And sloppy. I thought I taught you better.” Her gaze narrowed as she paused for a moment, looking over at Witch. “Especially you. I didn’t tell you to go digging up those shrew carcasses for nothing. Didn’t the venom at least stunt the bastard?”

“Oh, it did,” Witch snarled back, “but the wretched thing got back up and pulled me under. I could’ve dragged him down with me, if I had a little more time. It’s not my fault he takes this whole ‘immortality’ thing so unseriously.”

“He is immortal,” Beast emphasized. “He knows he can just come back, and so there’s no point in resisting if he’s bested. Killing him isn’t what matters; it’s that you get away.”

Up ahead, there were the tracks of a cervine creature; his body resembled that of a tiny, tricolored stag, with the haunches and wings of a bird. 

“ He can explain it better than I can.”

Beast gave a trill, and there was an understanding nod as he bounded down.

“Pardon, Beast,” the stag greeted her, giving a small wave of his tail. “You wished to speak?”

“Hunted.” She gestured to her back. “The Prey seek guidance regarding the Raven.”

“Oh, yes.” Hunted lowered his head, looking over them with a note of uncertainty. “Your best chance is to outrun him. But I think we all know that there is only so much space in this forest, and you can’t do this forever. Especially as young as you are.”

“He’s gone for now.”

Emerging from the clearing, the Raven’s bloodstained killer emerged - a small crow named Hero, with messy, unkempt feathers. The crow blew a tuft of his own out of his face before approaching. “Relentless, isn’t he? I’m sorry; I didn’t see him approach sooner or else I would’ve caught him.”

“Your timing was precise. We could use someone who has as sharp a wit around here,” Beast replied, giving the crow a nod.

“He was easier this time than usual; seemed a bit subdued from what I could tell. I think your venom trick might’ve actually worked for something.”

“See?” Witch protested, turning a clawed hand in Hero’s direction. “I could’ve killed him again. I’ve done it before. If I had just dug in a little deeper-“

“And he could’ve killed you this time,” Thorn growled back, nudging Witch back in towards the center of the saddle. “Just because you’ve managed to slit his throat a couple of times or hit the right artery by chance doesn’t mean we can keep this up.”

“How many times has it even been? It seems like it’s been… A while since he’s been on your trail.” Hero took flight just a little above them, giving a tilt of his head.

“This was the twenty-third,” Hunted murmured, not missing a beat. “I remember when you first escaped into the woods and began making your way up towards the hill.” The peryton circled, lowering his ears.

“I think it’s time that you consider the Cabin. We all know the resident there, and I’m sure he’d be happy to take you all in. It’s one of the few places where the raven can’t reach - especially while you’re dealing with these two.” His head tilted from Beast to the borrowers on her back, giving a reluctant sigh. “Now, I understand your hesitancy given it’s with one of the larger beings, but…”

“Yes?”

“We can stand by you as long as we can, but we cannot be in all parts of the woods at once. Even with eleven of us, there’s only so much ground we can cover - and unfortunately, we only have so much life we can give as well. Eventually, he will win,” Hunted urged. “And a life spent ducking and dodging isn’t worth it if there’s one that could be left secure with someone we can trust.”

“How far is it?”

Hunted turned towards the eldest of the sisters, giving a flick of an ear.

“It’s not. If you left now, you’d be there before nightfall. I always thought that was where you were headed - but I understand why you waited, given your past. I assure you I wouldn’t be sending you there if I didn’t know you would be safe. He’s just as wary of the raven as the rest of us.”

There was a pause as Thorn considered it. Thankfully, it seemed for the moment Witch had been distracted by the sharpening of her blades - the distinct sound of shrew enamel on the tiny whetstone chunks confirmed as much. Being smuggled into affairs with the underground trading ring, the idea of being around any of the larger bipeds that roamed these lands wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but if it was somewhere with food, water, and shelter, perhaps it was indeed worth the risk.

“And, about this ‘larger being’ -“

“He’s a cryptid, like you. Like all of us, really.”

That definitely made the choice a little more appealing. This world had enough scorn for magic and mysticism as is, and most weren’t as eager to turn in their wild brethren in fear of becoming the spectacle themselves. Especially when the larger the beast, the higher the cost for their capture, care, or worse. The market worked in dangerous ways, and the group of them knew it all too well as they plodded down the worn trails beneath the howling wind of the afternoon.

“That would mean he’d know we were there, from the sound of it. I don’t know if that’s wise.”

The first rule of survival: don’t be seen. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t socialize; don’t negotiate trade with the larger kin, no matter how nice they seemed. It only ever ended in tragedy. Subconsciously, Thorn ran a hand along the uneven scar jutting across her breastbone; too many close calls came from diving in too soon, or too late.

The soft shink of the whetstone continued in the corner - this time, it seemed that Witch had stolen the blade off her own bag, sharpening it with careful concentration.

“I have worse than the shrew if he even thinks of getting close,” Witch cackled to herself, looking over for a moment. From one pocket, she took a cloth, dipping it into a yellow fluid before going over to polish the sword. “Adder venom should do the trick -“

“Where did you even get that?”

Witch narrowed her eyes, giving a mischievous purr through smiling, sharp-fanged lips as her tail flicked towards their mentor. 

“Where do you think?”

“Personally, I think it’s a good thing that she has a hobby,” Beast replied nonchalantly, knowing well the response would be met at the dismay of her older sister. “It’ll help her study their bites, and build up to a proper immunity to the venoms each carries. In any case, I’ve been making the kills while she learns how to hunt. I wouldn’t be starting her off on anything so dangerous.” 

There was a huff of disapproval as Beast plodded on, as if that should’ve been obvious. “She’s right, though. You may want to take the venom just in case. Better to have something on you than not, isn’t it?”

There was a hesitation as Thorn looked over at Witch, her tail twitching almost impatiently to scrub the surface of the blade in toxins. If they were expected to behave as guests for one of the larger entities, this wasn’t a mannerism they could keep in domestic company - but the same fear was getting the better of the both of them.

Beast was right. Better to have than to do without, especially if they were cornered. Thorn gestured absently for the blade, met with a huff of disappointment - only for the spark of interest to reignite as she ushered her sister forward, venom in hand.

“Why don’t you show me how to do it this time?”

“I had a feeling you’d come around eventually,” Witch beamed, scrambling over to her with items in tow. “We’re going to make that wretched thing beg for mercy if he tries to pull anything. Okay, so, the first thing you want to do is….”

As the siblings rambled on along Beast’s back, there was a small shake of Hunted’s head as he listened in, looking over his partner somewhat worriedly.

“I’m starting to have my doubts about this.”

Chapter Text

The trek through the woods was calm as stag and monster traversed, their footsteps carrying on in quiet succession. Between the pair of them, it seemed even the dastardly Raven didn’t dare get close, knowing well that the pair of them together were a sight to behold when teamed up. For even though Hunted was meek alone, Beast’s venomous bite and sharp temper was something he’d learned the hard way to avoid - and snatching the prey settled along her back wasn’t worth it for the moment when he’d have another chance.

The exhaustion from the day was beginning to settle on the pair of siblings, curled up restlessly within the confines of relative safety. Weapons stowed and properly glossed with the appropriate amount of ammunition, Witch had finally taken to curling up against her sister’s chest, tail twitching in rhythm to every pulse of the beating heart within. An absent hand lingered against the scar as she began to drift off, lingering on the dredged air of that dastardly holding place.

It always seemed to happen when they moved locations, drumming into her like a mantra as the tap of rustic pens began to permeate her ears.

——

“Mark this one as Fae.”

The scribbling of a faceless worker echoed from above, placing a vial down on the counter beside the cages. A small, weakly squirming figure dangled from one hand, depositing a single drop of blood into a container before stuffing them back into their designated place in the room. Another followed, with the twitch from a prick, and a tsk tsk as they shook their head.

“Nope. Common Borrower. We can’t place any bets on that one, but at the very least we can send them back to the markets. Who knows? Maybe some simpleton wants a captive audience.”

The classification process was always the first step in determining who stayed here or returned to bidding. Humanity’s obsession with the strange had started long ago, as had its desire to torment it. But the decision on whether to auction off the smaller beings - Borrowers - it found to the public sphere of the black market or else send them to a much crueler fate laid with one specific thing: the possession of magical blood. And unfortunately for the two who remained huddled in the corner of an unnoticed cage, there was only one way this was going to go.

“Alright, two left. Give me the smaller one.”

Witch growled as a hand reached over towards her; the slight flinch abated as a cross section of vines slashed and dug at the hand which pervaded.

“Well, I don’t think we even need a blood test for the other,” the voice cackled, trying to reach over and dig along the ever-growing prison. “Give me a strong read for Fae on the older one.”

“Looks like a Wild variant. They both are.”

The angry swishing of the tails behind the pair seemed to catch the eye of both of the classifiers; these identifications, of course, were hollow to any but the people “grading” their so-called specimens. Wild or Domestic, “Fae” or Borrower - they were all colloquial for how good or “evil” their souls were considered. Lavish businessmen would pay a pretty penny to have a more domestic variant in their home or office spaces as a token of good luck, but Wild magic was known to be gambler’s favorite bargaining chips when it came to the Ring. Woodland witchcraft lasted longer than the spells cast by homestead borrowers; trickier to counter, feistier and harder for predators to take down with instinct at the depth of their core. And with the bloodied wounds which clung from the thistles that had dug in deep through human flesh, it was clear why. 

“That’s a show people would pay to see. Look like they’re fairly powerful.”

The hand reached in again; the pull of vines grew stronger. A tangle of additional briars joined the veiny chorus, strangling the fingers until they began to shake.

“Very powerful indeed. I think we may have some solid competition for our champion.”

There was a quirk of the brow. Hesitantly, Witch turned her head.

The infamous Ring was not unlike a miniature boxing stand in the center of the darkened tent; puffs of sickening purple smoke permeated the room within the black market’s chambers. The stench of dozens of mythic game from a variety of different places whinnied and barked from small cages, including the gnawed-on ones of a particularly sullen chimera in the corner. The cage stood partially unlocked by hard-working claws, with a snarl plainly written on the she-beast’s face. 

There was a sign on the front which distinctly read

  VENOMOUS; STAY BACK.

This was the same creature who’d been tasked with their capture, her potent breath used to pacify the pair and travel without intervention. It seemed this massive creature got no reprieve, either; just as much a victim in this cruel system as the cargo she was forced to carry. The way that the beast within looked over the graders now was filled with a similar look of absolute contempt and disgust, drawing back a snarling lip as she met eyes with the pair in the cage across the room from her. It was strange how likely enemies could bond over something like that so easily; not a word needed, just a glance and an undeniable mutual fury.

The Beast looked over at their captors, giving a growl. Witch looked over at them even closer, growling back. There was a nod, and a crooked smile from the creature as the roar got louder, angrier from the far corner. As did Witch’s.

“Try not to draw too much attention,” Thorn reminded, pulling Witch in closer. The teenager wriggled in her grasp, following the eyes of the pervasive creature instead. Better to have a distraction from the present than keep dwelling on it.

“Too late for that,” Witch growled back. “They know what we’re capable of now. Besides, if we win, they might leave us out for long enough to find a way out of here. And if not, I can just bite their stupid little necks-“

Her chance for violence presented itself almost immediately. Unguarded by vines, it seemed that finally, one of the trappers had gotten a hand in. With a rough motion, it flicked the pair of siblings apart, ignoring the yowling that persisted in response. The once weary, defeated features of Thorn had shifted to ones which better matched her sister’s; feline, loathing, and volatile as claws dug into open fingers. But Witch was even more brutal with the effect, as her teeth dug straight through unguarded flesh and muscle, snapping at fragile bones to the triumph of high-pitched shrieks.

“Okay, that’s it,” the figure growled, wrenching the tiny attacker from the mangled, bloodied mess of his hands. “Go gather up the bets. If I have to throw both of them in then I will, but I am not letting these two sit here and make our job harder. The wilds have truly sent their most wicked this time.”

“On it. And the other?”

“Just make sure they stay separated. Wild magic is stronger in pairs.”

Each of the men grabbed a sister, growling and snarling as claws raked desperately for the other. Unfortunately, at the height of a few inches, the rival’s strength was unparalleled. Throwing each individual into a separate cage, they placed them down on opposite sides of the room; with Witch situated on a table not far from the larger catches. Either they didn’t care if the other creatures had their fill of her first, or more likely, they were focused on securing their “better contender” for the time being. Even they could tell Thorn’s magic was stronger.

Yet again, it seemed that casualties were to be expected, and she was left to the side deliberately. The scent of fresh foliage associated with her sister was gone. A small, angry tremble began to take over her body, rattling the bars and tearing with tooth and claw.

Thankfully, it seemed that she’d at least gotten the respect of her neighbor as a resigned chuckle rose up beside her.

“You’ve still got fight in you,” the creature spoke, giving a dip of her head. “Most give up by this point; I’m rather impressed.”

There was an agitated snap at the bars of their own cage, running a claw against the partially free padlock.

Witch squinted her eyes. “What is it to you?”

“A lot more than you think. As you can imagine, this isn’t an ideal situation for either of us, caged and regarded with the bile one gives vermin.” A horned head tilted towards the onlooking crowd, watching the ropes snap from the neck of a kicking peryton. “I’m sure you and I would both tear this group to pieces if given the opportunity.”

There was a spark of interest in the teen’s eyes for a moment, watching as the stag bit at his captors and bound out of sight. “You still could,” Witch explored, “if you didn’t have the chains. Get yourself out of here just like that.”

There was a twitch of a feline ear as the creature looked over. “You seem to have missed the point. That’s if I wasn’t bound.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Witch replied, giving a nod. Her eyes didn’t dare look over yet; avoiding eye contact, making her wait until she decided to make the suggestion more blatant. 

“Maybe we could make a deal. Mutually beneficial.”

The soft swish of a tail came naturally on its own. The danger of making a bargain didn’t even occur to the little Borrower as she inspected the chains, noticing the ridges along them and the missing pieces which were too narrow to accommodate the hulking creature’s claws.

The Beast raised a brow, but didn’t stop her from continuing.

“You’re awfully brave, or else awfully foolish. Speak.”

“If you can get me out of here, I think that I can break those for you.”

The Beast leaned back, gazing questioningly at the Borrower with deep-set eyes. “You’d have to come in here to do that. You do know that I bear the claws and teeth of a predator, or else you haven’t been paying attention.”

“As do I,” Witch replied, giving an arrogant tilt of the head. The very way she carried herself either spoke of utter foolishness, or admirable confidence. Whichever it was, it would be clearer after the deed was done. “Unless you want to be stuck here forever, I’d recommend you take my word for it and no one has to get bitten. I presume you’re not keen to know why everyone fears me so much they’d rather task their scouts to slay me.”

There was a huff as her words set in. A mischievous feline grin spread across the Borrower’s lips, knowing well regardless if out of pity or genuine curiosity, either way she’d won some part of the argument.

“So, what’ll it be?”

The sound of teeth splintered the thin metal beside her, swallowing the tiny cage bars that had been torn off. The Beast looked back over at her expectantly, raising a brow.

“Your move.”

Witch nodded, leaping from the small ledge she’d been placed on to one of the creature’s cage bars. Sliding down it, she first went for the padlock, placing a hand over it. Woven roots found their way along the crevices in between, hearing the soft clicks as it unlatched the complex inner workings.

“That’s step one,” she chirped, leaping down onto one of Beast’s massive paws. “Now, let’s see what I can do about the one around here.”

The sound of footsteps began to approach.

“Hurry,” Beast urged.

Witch nodded, scrabbling at the ripped metal seam. The same roots began to crack the metal bit by bit -

A tooth dropped on the floor next to her. Looking up, she noticed the Beast looking down at her, wiggling out of the falsely secured chain.

“That should do it. When you make your way out, take that with you, and best of luck.”

Witch nodded. Roots wove themselves into a hilt and handle, forming the tooth into a makeshift dagger. As the footsteps approached, it seemed the familiar voices grew nearer. The Beast shuffled slightly, curling her tail over the shackled paw - and Witch along with it.

“Stay very still.”

Despite the innate urge to twitch and fidget, even Witch knew this was scarcely the time - sticking to the tuft of Beast’s tail, scarcely making a sound.

“Dang. Did you leave the kid over by the cage? It’s no use if the other one won’t fight,” they growled, shaking their head. “Besides, I usually like to start this fella off with an appetizer. Gets him more invested when the real competition comes in; he’s got a pretty good score both in and out of the Ring.”

There was a squawk on their shoulder as a massive, scarred-up raven shuffled from one arm to the next. 

“Isn’t that the Raven you use on the gatherings, too? He’s incredible.”

“Oh, this guy? Absolutely. Granted, not all of them make it back in one piece. We’re still working on the concept of ‘live catch.’”

Beast shifted where she stood. As expected, every portion of this conversation was unnerving, and to be expected - testing the waters to see if she was harboring the evidence. The “catch and release” stunt wasn’t foreign to most of the creatures there; it was practically code to put down primal urges in favor of assistance. At the very least, until escape was achieved for one or both parties involved.

“Lucky for him,” the handler chuckled, giving the bird a scritch along the side of the head, “he doesn’t need to worry about that tonight.”

The rattling of a cage in the other captor’s hand seemed to catch Witch’s attention. And not just that; there was that earthy scent again, permeating between the fibers of fur she was hiding in. Hopefully, she brushed a few away and chanced a glance.

Relief and dread seemed to flood her as the suspicion was confirmed; resigned to the corner of the handheld birdcage was the form she’d expected. And judging by the slight twitching of her sister’s nose, her own scent had been caught, but more discreetly.

“Psst! Hey!”

The short hiss caught Thorn’s attention immediately - as did it pique Beast’s, brushing her back down with a paw. Feline eyes met the inquisitive sister’s, giving a slight roll of them downwards to indicate it was all part of the plan. A small sigh of relief escaped Thorn’s lips, mixed with the hanging grief. At least one of them had a chance of making it out of here alive.

“Well,” the captor spoke up, “I suppose we might as well let them bet on how it takes for him to slaughter the main course -“

There was a calculated step as the raven brushed his handler off with a wing, squinting over at the tuft of ginger fur which had mingled in with Beast’s. Steadily, the raven drew closer, squinting as they watched it for a sign of movement.

No one dared to make a sound. Scarcely anyone blinked. There was a soft drumroll of feet as it seemed this particular individual had taken the foolish option; opposed to scurrying to the shelter of the venomous protector, they had opted for running out straight towards him-

“Aha!”

Swift claws caught the wriggling form easily. Claws pretended to fail their purchase as the Raven opened the cage once more, shoving in the younger borrower. There was a smug sort of confidence there as she sat, dagger in hand behind her back - a kind which was not returned in the slightest by her horrified sister.

“There,” Witch purred. “Now they’ve finally learned to keep us together.”

There was a blinking, speechless horror on Thorn’s face. Scratched up hands shakily drew her in, although the grip from sharp fingertips told Witch she was in trouble for the stunt she’d pulled.

“Now we’re both going to die.”

“We’re both going to win,” Witch corrected, steadying herself against the footfalls of the humans carrying them. “And I think you and I both know how.”

——

The sprinkle of rain began to patter down on the back of Beast; the forest was always so much nicer to traverse when compared with the travesty of the darkened bestiary’s corners. Witch always had a way of snuggling down on her chest, Thorn observed, when it came to dragging on deeper in the forest; her body grew limp, her limbs twisted like a crescent much like any sleeping cat. It was cute, but also saddening. She didn’t used to be this determined to twist inward before the incident.

Judging by the twitch and growls in her sleep, it seemed obvious what the cause was immediately. An absent hand brushed along the tangled locks of hair that lingered along her face, giving a scratch or two along the woven crown of twigs until the shifting stopped. And then, the hand returned.

——-

The Ring was always busy when it came to the first fights of the night; glass casing surrounded the areas around it like a rat maze, with a door which permitted the next “contestant” entrance in, but not a way back out after a certain amount of time elapsed. People huddled on the sides of the miniature boxing setup as the raven situated on his perch above, shackled to the side to avoid too high of an advantage in altitude. Close combat was the key, after all - otherwise, there would be nothing to bet on. A Fae’s magic was generally better if they could reach the target, and points were deducted if the offensive was given an unfair advantage. But of course, this only mattered to the gamblers. A corpse couldn’t exactly call for a rematch.

“That Raven looks pretty tough,” one of them noted, counting out bills. “$200 says she won’t last five minutes.”

“You think five? I was thinking three or less.”

On one corner of the Ring, Witch squatted down on all fours, watching her target with intense concentration. This was only broken for a moment by the lingering gaze of the borrower behind her, raising her ears with a small grin.

“You are going to get yourself killed,” Thorn growled. “Are you not seeing the size of that thing?”

“I’ll be fine,” Witch insisted, lowering her ears with a huff. “We faced plenty of predators out in the wild. I can do it again.”

“That wasn’t close combat. You’re going to have to be sharper with your senses and much more precise.”

Witch felt for the dagger along the belt of her dress.

“I can be precise. One good hit and it’s over.”

“That’s my point.”

“No. For him.”

Trying to talk sense into the bloodthirsty whirlwind of a younger sister wasn’t going well. In Witch’s mind, every new threat was just another chance to go all in for the kill - and in this case, that “kill” was very likely to be herself. The Raven had no name yet quite a reputation amidst the prisoners of the market; he was fast, deadly, and a favorite amidst the gamblers. The scarce few gladiators who returned from him were usually missing at least a limb or two, and much higher in skill than a feisty, twitching mess of a fourteen year old.

There was no way this wouldn’t end in blood. The door still wouldn’t budge; the glass was too thick to try and jam open just yet. And until it came down to life or death, getting cut and bruised up wouldn’t help either of them in trying to arrive into the mess that way. It would be easier to just guide Witch’s bloodlust in the right direction.

“You certainly seem like you’re prepared for this,” cackled the Raven, looking his opponent up and down. “Especially when you have such a makeshift weapon as backup. Generally my rivals cower as they rush towards me; this should make things more interesting.”

The air tensed as the referee held up the whistle. The fact this was even being treated like a leisurely activity was enough to turn Thorn’s stomach, let alone the fact the Raven was trained to listen for it. It didn’t help that it seemed Witch was, too.

“On a count of three-“

“I bid you a bitter end like the landscapes you’ve ruined.”

“And I hope you get to suffer just as much as me when I finally slit your throat.”

The whistle rang through the tent. In an instant the Raven ascended a foot in the air, the chain around his foot rattling as he went in for a dive. Immediately, Witch noticed, ducking out of the way. A few prickly briars leapt up to greet him on his dive downwards, briefly ensnaring his feet.

There was a soft cackling from behind him.

“Oh, sorry - what was that you were saying?”

Clawed palms bent upwards, giving him a mocking grin. Another leap back, making a direct hit against the raven’s back with jagged claws.

“You’re just as hideous as me. So if you think you’re going to kill me, then I’m taking you down with me!”

“Nonsense,” the Raven scoffed, shooting out for the Borrower with extended talons. They scarcely grazed Witch’s face, albeit left a trickle of blood in their place. The scent was tantalizing.

“You can’t kill me,” the Raven growled, attempting to make another move. “And you’d do better to move on and accept the facts before you make this slow and torturous. I can make this easy if you let me.”

“And why would I do that?” Razor-sharp splinters encroached on his beak this time, making a vice grip as he struggled to break free. “I’m not one to give up, unlike you.”

“Oh, you think I’ve given up?”

There was a furious growl and a sharp snap of the briars. From within the Raven’s beak, several unnaturally sharp teeth began to jut out, baring into a snarl. The sight of an even more formidable foe only seemed to amp up the mania in Witch’s eyes; the horror, however, wasn’t lost on Thorn.

Okay. Now it was time to start slamming at the door.

“I don’t have to play easy. I figured I would let you settle in first and make this last the crowd a little longer. But fine. You don’t want to fool around, do you? Then let’s make things more interesting.”

Stalking forward, he gave an irritated shake of his head, feathers bristling.

“On with the show, as they say.”

Toothy beak unfurled, giving a warning snap as it descending. Pivoting down, there was a rake of claws against the side just to goad his opponent to keep up this manic taste for blood -

There was a cracking sound at the door. The raven tilted his head, noticing the handle where the “opponent” was usually supplied a small steel dagger was missing, giving a grin of amusement.

“You didn’t come alone, did you?”

Taking advantage of the jolt as Witch looked back, the raven threw the little creature back with a toss of his beak. The edges snagged along her limbs, drawing out thin, shallow scratches and the taste of elven blood.

“Let’s see if your little savior gets here in time or not.”

Taking the bait, it seemed that the Borrower’s confidence streak was running out. A rush forward had her directly in the proximity of those talons, slicing a few precise cuts to her face. Shallow again, almost delicate; it was as though the whole thing was a game to him as Witch retracted, scaling his leg in a moment of weakness.

Teeth bit down along his chest. Flesh ripped from bone as she dug in - deep. Retreating with a sizable chunk of flesh for her size, a mocking purr flowed from her lips as she took it and scampered down. His own arrogance twisted to anger.

“Out of all the Fae I’ve encountered, you are by far the worst. Do you think you’ll be the first Borrower I’ve devoured? The first I’ve taken down in the Ring? I will not be bested by the likes of you. And if you think that I’m going down that easily, think again.”

The bleeding wound shown in plain view, the raven flitted up in the air. The gust of wind stirred up from his movements, he began his descent downward -

Only for a raucous screech to take over as his wings enfolded in a tangle of briars, howling and snapping madly as he tried to break from them.

Witch scarcely needed to look up to know the cause; if nothing else, the shadow said it all as it stood in front of her, alert and unmoving.

“Thorn,” Witch breathed. The soft huff of annoyance left her on instinct, but even then the relief was undeniable. “I… I almost had him-“

“I know.” The air of concentration was still there, steering the vines closer to the raven’s heart. But even without seeing her face, the slight raise of her tail indicated an ounce of pride. “Keep him distracted; keep riling him up. It looks like the madder he gets, the sloppier his maneuvers.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Witch purred, her own tail swishing with delight. “The buzzard doesn’t know what’s coming for him.”

Another definitive snap seemed to indicate that the ravenous creature was almost free.

“Watch. The teeth.”

The last of the bindings fell away. Scratched up and bleeding, the raven beat lacerated wings furiously, slicing into newly evacuated ground moments after the Borrowers jumped from the spot.

“Finally, we have some true competition.” 

His steely gaze fixated on Thorn this time, who had shifted to the opposite side of the arena from her sister. The vines had begun to tear apart the glass of this structured prison, but it seemed there would be no respite for the two of them regardless. The chained down creature wouldn’t stop pursuing them until at least one of them was dead - both of them, if he was lucky. But it seemed that the rapid flick of steel in steady palms had caught this scavenger’s attention; appeal to instinct. Trick of the light. It was the smart thing to do in keeping his attention.

“At least one of you was smart enough to take the Blade from the wall. I’ve been waiting for a worthy opponent for some time.”

“Let’s see if the feeling is mutual,” Thorn retorted, lifting it up. Eyes alert, tail raised - thankfully, the scent of fear wasn’t an issue with a creature who lacked that sense’s potency. For what he could see and hear, the same confidence shone in both competitors, but this one was a more even, realistic depiction.

In truth, he didn’t have to know that the true showmanship of hand to hand was off in the other claws. All that mattered in that moment was giving Witch enough distance to survive the match - and if luck permitted, make one hell of a fight to shatter this prison once and for all. Surviving it herself was secondary so long as the raven fell and the chance permitted for the other to get away. 

Knowing that, it still stung as Witch watched with a sort of beaming confidence, tail flicking back and forth with giddy anticipation. Better not to show it, or else there was no way of getting her to cooperate.

A flick of a tail; their silent, mutual signal to scatter. Witch bolted across the arena on all fours, causing the raven to lose focus; Thorn closed the distance with a swipe of the blade. The raven staggered backward. Briars snagged at his feet, growling at the trick. Disgruntled, he tried to fly off instead; a mix of briars and thistles rooted straight to pin feathers, wincing as he shook them off haphazardly. Another twist as he landed, pinning her against the glass with the dagger in hand. A swipe forward and the trap continued to work it’s dark magic, inflicting wound after wound in passing. 

The vines grew taught the more frequently the raven was ensnared.

Combined, the magic between Wild Borrowers was indeed strong; rooted in ivy or the deepest underbrush, there was a distinct connection there that needed no words. The tangles and webs of the symphonic flow continued, jutting in and out, lacerating skin and tearing at sinew. And while the strikes of the raven continued, it seemed that the distraction from the two of them simultaneously left his determined footwork askew. The most he could put on youngest or eldest remained minimal damage; the majority of cuts sustained from either remained the necessary gouges of their own prickly handiwork from close stabs and slashes with sword or fang. As the battle wore on, the scent of blood from each grew stronger, but it seemed that the most wounded remained the larger foe as he began to relent. The crowd remained speechless.

“See? I told you,” Witch breathed, wiping the blood from her sister’s cheek. “We’re going to win.”

“No, you won’t.”

The voice of the raven echoed behind them. Launching forward with limited strength, Thorn barely had the time to pull her sister back before the beak snapped shut millimeters from where Witch had been standing. A weaving of vines curled against the base of his head, weakly trying to hold it shut; up close, he was a frightening sight. Despite the desire to do otherwise, Witch shrank back in his shadow as the vines elapsed awkwardly from his form.

“What’s wrong? Lost your fighting spirit?”

The only response was a soft, angry panting. The raven’s talons were secured against thick, hostile vines, creeping up along strangled legs. The source led straight back to a pair of arms struggling against a pointed talon, which already seemed to have dug into an exposed place along Thorn’s chest. There was an onlook of horror.

“I told you both that you couldn’t expect to beat me,” the Raven chided mockingly, feeling the twitch as his claw threatened to bury deeper. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that the thistles rooted it in place. “Perhaps the most pesky of sorts, but you’re not the first prey who’ve given fight. It just means that I’ll be ridding the world of an eviler magic than usual.” Feeling the gaze of the younger borrower, the Raven gave a shrug of his wings.

“But don’t worry. That can come momentarily. Since you both seem so attached, I can do this on one rough stroke. You live together, you fight together, so now die together. I don’t have to be a complete monster about it.”

He didn’t say another word before the raven’s head lunged downward; Witch, by instinct, was faster. Adrenaline fueling her every move, the little creature scampered up, finding the ripped out space down his chest and stabbing down with the makeshift knife - hard. There was a sputter as the venom seeped in, giving several more punctures in its place; open wounds cascaded with pus and venom as his lungs choked with infected blood. The Raven barely even got his head onto the ground before the life drained out of beady eyes, giving Witch mere moments to scamper back out from under him before he crashed to the ground.

There was an uneasy silence in between the gasps and hushed murmurs of the crowd. Angry voices began to rise up as the very few who’d bet on the underdogs were relieved; but none of that mattered right now. For the moment, the shaken, feisty borrower dug in tooth and nail, scrambling over to the limp body of her sister.

The raven’s talon was still embedded; there was still life in those eyes, albeit weak and pained. This would make things much easier.

Witch got to work immediately. Placing a finger down against Thorn’s wrist, she steadied herself against the rhythmic pulse that flowed from the source; a grounding point to shift the mage’s essence from harm to healing. The soft flow of moss emanated from the opposite hand, gathering it in thick handfuls; the next step would need to be quick and precise. Dragging over the raven’s head, Witch angled it to the  of the dug-in claw; with a snap of the beak, she managed to clip it as cleanly as possible. Packing in the remainder of the space with moss, Witch’s tail swished back and forth desperately as the pressure of her hands grew stronger, tears pricking her eyes.

“What are you-?”

“Shut up. Just… Shh.”

 Another twist of the finger; a sticky webbing, wrapping it carefully around the moss to keep it firmly in place. Smearing a drop of her own blood over it, Witch placed two fingers over the bindings, watching the combined bandages strengthen. The touch of blood generally helped add in vitality where other spells did not, even if she was newer to the incantation.

“Come on,” Witch whispered, giving an indicative flick of her tail over to the broken barrier of glass. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Witch-“

“No. I’m not leaving you here. I’ll find another way.”

There was the absent creak of a cage door behind them as something sauntered out. Peeking from in between the angered audience, that single muddied horn was distinct as it slunk its way near silently across the voices of onlookers; no doubt, making a worthy escape now that it was offered.

“I’ve never seen a fight like that. How on earth did the vermin manage to kill the titan in his prime?”

“Bad omens indeed! Wicked creatures! The next time he comes back, they’ll all be sorry.”

A pointed ear swiveled for the sound, then stopped in her tracks. But it seemed that like most of them, the tilt of the horn indicated looking upwards instead.

“Wait - ‘the next time’ that -?”

“You didn’t think we were quite finished, did you?”

The familiar cackle of the raven resounded from above them. The dead body remained lifeless as ever, slowly beginning to dematerialize; a single glance up confirmed what no one wanted to speak.

“Slain in combat by a couple of morsels - now that is an evil trick. In all my years I’ve never seen anyone as foul as the pair of you, and I don’t intend to end this chapter unfinished. Not when the stakes are this high.”

The raven descended on the flinching pair. But it seemed that this time, he never made it to his destination as a pair of massive fangs dug into his neck, catching him midair with a shriek as they flung him to the side.

The crowd parted as the massive chimera scrambled up halfway onto the Ring, flicking an angered tail as she looked over the pair of Borrowers. Steely eyes narrowed as the crowd fleed, giving a growl.

“Over here, Prey,” she rumbled, fishing for an emptied flagon. “I’m risking a lot by stopping for you.”

A twitch of Witch’s tail indicated the situation; Beast huffed, but understood. A brisk, yet surprisingly gentle paw shoved them in, recoiling at the reek of beer which seeped in through the watertight wood within. But either way, it was safer than being carried in a predator’s mouth, and the scent would mask their own. The raucous cries had all but faded away from there for both of them as the alcoholic stench worked its chloroformatic agenda, with only the light footfalls of Beast and the screaming gamblers backing their escape.

——-

“We’re almost there. Just keep following me, and watch your step.”

Hunted’s voice brought Beast out of the trance. Carrying the pair of borrowers on back was much easier than carrying them by any other vessel; at least there, they were easy enough to keep track of. Back at the tents, she was a tool, betrayed by humanity’s greed and desire to harm; out here, she was respected. No one dared to mess with the small beings who called her their home bound companion, brushing through leaves or snow with careful steps. The forest all knew it was where she belonged.

Saving the pair wasn’t the easy choice, but it had been the right one in the end for all of them. Perhaps it was empathy which had driven Witch to her side at the beginning; perhaps mere curiosity, or arrogance. But in the end, these little prey were not unlike her with their wit and vitality - they shared the same paths untread; the same hatred for humanity. That kind of hatred had woven something of a family into the three of them as they scavenged and learned each other’s ways. Hate turned inward towards affection; mutual betrayals a guide towards mutual shelters. 

But most of all, these two Borrowers harbored something deeper than what even personal bonds offered: a powerful magic which needed to stay out of the wrong hands. The raven wanted its source for a reason - and come hell or high water, Beast wasn’t going to let the day come where he got ahold of a shred.

The entire world might depend on keeping that monster at bay.

The sunlit aroma of the wildflowers was beginning to die down as the sky began to darken. Upon moonlit haunches the peryton guided the small pack, wagging his cervine tail as the hill finally came into view.

“It’s just up top here,” Hunted whispered, giving Beast a nudge. “You may want to rouse the Fae.”

Feeling the cryptid’s breath closeby, Witch stretched and unfurled from her sister’s side. The slight dig of claws against bare flesh had a hand shoving her to the side with a twitch of annoyance.

“No claws,” Thorn groaned sleepily. “You can’t keep doing that.” Although it seemed that her eyes, too, had drifted to the hill. 

There was finally a path through the woods. And on that path, at the top of the hill, there was a cabin.

They were getting closer.

“I’ll go ahead and let him know you’ve arrived,” Hunted managed, giving a small wag of his tail. “Hero already flew ahead hours ago to let him know that we’d be here. Feel free to make yourselves situated however you like.”

The remaining journey only took a few minutes longer as Beast made her way up the path. It barely took Witch any time to shimmy off and dismount, grinning from ear to ear; Thorn took a moment longer, scampering down one of Beast’s legs expectantly. The click of footsteps grew louder and louder as the owner of the house approached, stepping out to greet them.

No one spoke a word for a moment.

Witch’s hackles raised, tactlessly spinning a finger in the figure’s general direction. Both Borrowers stepped back as they looked over the sight of two wide, unblinking eyes staring down, accompanied by the clicking of a curious beak.

This had to be some kind of joke.

“Was there no plan of mentioning the obvious?”

Chapter Text

There was an uneasy tension which spread by the front door as the silence filled the cabin steps. The homeowner’s talons extended nervously, feathers prickling upward with anxiety. He watched the pair of Borrowers with a sense of unease and forced grace; clearly, the word “chivalry” was not something he was accustomed to if this was an indicative example.

“Well, yes,” Hunted replied, lowering his ears. “But right now, the more important part was getting away from the Raven. Then we could discuss the details once we were here.”

Both sisters watched the homeowner in a mix of distrust and spellbound horror. Witch grasped for a blade by the belt strapped across her waist, never breaking eye contact; a single hand cautioned her against it, withdrawing with only a twitch of reluctance. Beast’s own gaze narrowed, but knew better than to act now while the threat was passive. Especially not while Hunted kept his watch behind her, passively watching with an aura of ease. He knew better than to send them anywhere unsafe.

“The details?” Witch scoffed. “That is three ravens stacked on top of each other. The beak matches. The talons match. I’m not going in there. Forget it.”

There was a huff as she straightened her back, crossing her arms against her chest. Thorn still hadn’t moved an inch from where she stood, watching him with a timid sort of curiosity. The gesture seemed genuine, but Witch was right; being stared at by yet another beastly visage was not exactly appealing.

He seemed lost, as though trying to speak and his voice was missing. The other hand brushed against the back of his neck almost bashfully, closing his eyes. The gesture was in earnest. Was he mute, or too stunned to speak?

Thorn didn’t have much more time to question it. Another creature made his approach, as often happened in the forest’s haunt - a blur of black, white, and red who merely scampered in the front door from the bushes, not waiting for an invite. Beast situated herself to pounce, although relaxed as it seemed to approach this new fellow instead.

“Mmh. Apologies for my late entrance; I had to make sure I picked the proper- oh, no no no! Quiet, good fellow, we talked about this.” This new soul - a well-groomed badger - immediately went for the cryptid’s hand, nipping it into place. “Talons down. Down. You want to be a proper ladykiller, not a brute. Suave, and earnest.” From there, the badger thrust a rose into his hand, giving an irritated huff. 

“Present your beloved with a gift.”

Well, that was certainly an entrance. 

“Um…”

There was an awkward silence which spread over the room. This awkward gentleman - Quiet - looked over the badger with a shake of his head.

“Smitten, this is really not the time-“

“Nonsense! A lovely maiden shows up on your doorstep and you don’t have the grace to greet her?”

“They’re here for shelter, not… Courtship.” Quiet gave an apologetic look down, indicating this had not been part of his plan. Thorn nodded, confirming there was no offense taken. The wildlife on their side tended to be rather, well, intense. Matchmakers in particular were known for taking every opportunity that was presented, appropriate timing or not.

But the badger was hardly listening. His eyes redirected to Thorn’s side, noticing the younger borrower snickering at the strange creature and his antics. Parental delight in his eyes sparked this time, tenfold.

“Oh, heavens! No one told me there would be this darling little angel here as well-“

Witch pointed the blade in his direction, giving a growl.

“Watch it.”

Smitten scooted back, although the eager grin on his face never left. His demeanor shifted to something much more chivalrous.

“In due time, of course. Your age certainly hasn’t impacted your abilities. I presume the lot of you are tired from that egregious hike -“

The badger dipped his head in respect to the others, noticing Beast.

“Been a while since we’ve seen another chimera. I presume you’ll be in for a nice surprise.”

Quiet softly brushed the badger aside.

“I’m presuming they’ll want in, before the owls start arriving.”

“Says the raven,” Witch scowled.

Thorn took her hand, feeling the rapid pulse against bristling hairs. No words were needed, although the flattening of her ears indicated it wasn’t what Witch wanted to hear.

Didn’t matter. Staying alive was more important than whatever innate grudges Witch had at the moment. And while the unease was mutual, there wasn’t the same immediate desire to throw him off as a threat which permeated every aspect of Witch’s temperament.

That didn’t mean that Thorn intended to be getting anywhere close enough to confirm or deny those suspicions, of course. Watching from a distance would be good enough.

At least, whatever distance they could logistically make for the time being.

Quiet;s hand shifted towards the handle. The lock clicked slowly. “Well, um, welcome in. I hope that things are at the very least up to code for the pair of you here.”

The door creaked open, revealing what to the small borrowers was a much larger establishment than the outside let on. It seemed that once the cabin opened fully, it was homey; a sparse amount of furniture laid in the corners of the front room, draped in regal red cloth. The front door held a wooden table, where perched on its edge was a polished hunting knife not unlike Thorn’s own. Whether the blacksmith was the same, however, was unlikely; after all, it would be peculiar if the one made for the black market arenas wasn’t someone more familiar with borrowers. And this fellow - Quiet - seemed a little less than familiar by the way he shuffled awkwardly, several pairs of wings tucked behind his back.

There were an assortment of different climbing spaces that would come in handy, as they walked in behind him; the badger seemed to have courteously closed the door behind them, but brushed enough debris aside in case they decided that leaving unannounced was the better option. So this suave fellow was more used to their kind than the hulking corvid - whether that was assuring or not, Thorn wasn’t entirely certain as the plucky mustelid took his place beside her, giving a soft chuckle.

“Forgive the old fellow,” he purred, giving a twitch of his ears. “He’s hardly got a soul to talk to of your kind in some time. But, of course, we’ve made sure that he knows the rules. Hiding spots, plenty of climbing room, the tunnels all intact from the last resident -“

Thorn bristled.

“- The last resident?”

There was a flicker of electricity as a chandelier buzzed from above. Just how fancy was this cabin? It almost felt more like a haunted mansion from within. And then -

Witch gave a shudder, pulling her tail around her like a scarf. The goosebumps spread to Thorn’s skin as well, feeling the prick of a chill.

“Um… Why is is so cold?”

“Oh. That would be her. Spectre! We have company.”

“Oh, I know.” The voice that followed was chilling and ethereal, echoes overlapping upon each other throughout the house.

Smitten flattened his ears, gesturing to the pair of Borrowers next to him.

“…. Live company.”

There wasn’t a response. The chill began to grow in a singular spot, followed by a ghostly echo. Both Borrower’s ears pricked.

“This place is haunted?”

There was a sense of curiosity in Witch’s voice, tilting her head. The spectral trail was surprisingly easy to follow, hinting at a scent of rot and…. Produce. Hmm. That wasn’t a reassuring combination.

“It’s a long story,” Quiet muttered, notably stiffening with unease. The slight twinge of fear seemed to radiate off of him - something which Thorn seemed to catch onto immediately. However, her attention was diverted by the back and forth twitch of a tail in front of her, setting up its next move.

Okay, maybe Witch had a point. With the way things were going, it was probably easier to wind up explaining things a little more… Subtly. The fear was suspicious.

A small tap to the back of her little sister’s back got her attention immediately.

“Hey! What?”

Thorn stiffened. A simple tilt of the head indicated towards the bird leading forward, then a subtle sniff in the air. The subtle bend of her tail flicked inquisitively.

You smell it too?

Witch nodded, giving a roll of her eyes over to the bird and badger.

“To be clear for later,” Quiet sighed,  “you do not have to woo every creature that shows up on our doorstep. Just let me explain everything; it’ll be much easier if I do. Spectre’s… Fickle.”

“Oh, I know that. But you may want company when you do. Or need I remind you how many other damsels have gotten quite a chill upon the sight of her?” Smitten huffed, giving a shake of his head. “Besides, I’m sure a good discussion with her would’ve more than welcomed that handsome devil Mothman into your abode -“

The sisters exchanged apprehensive looks.

Something’s off, Thorn indicated with a twitch of an eye, looking over from Quiet to her sister. Seemed that Witch had likewise picked up on it, spinning one finger by her forehead in a circle. Another sniff at the air.

Yeah, I know they’re avoiding explanation. What do you want to do about it?

A small head tilt; the place it was coming from was clear. And the uneasiness which followed upon recognizing that distinctive place was, in fact, the kitchen wasn’t necessarily a settling sign, especially when it seemed that Witch was already getting ready to pounce.

But of course, going towards that direction wasn’t the best idea before determining the figure’s intentions. Were they a vengeful spirit, based on the way that their host spoke of her? Or merely just, well, challenging to deal with?

“You should bring them here,” echoed the phantom, giving another flicker of the lights. The darkness shrouded the environment for a brief moment, followed by a shake of Quiet’s head. “That way I can get a better introduction.”

“It would be easier with the lights.”

“Would it? They seem to be navigating just fine without. Your guests seem… Wild; curious. I’d like to meet them.”

A genuine, soft chuckle emanated around the space as Witch had already begun her path towards the kitchen. Seems that some things never changed, and even despite the circumstances, it was nice seeing that childhood wonder return to Witch’s eyes opposed to bloodlust. If things worked out, perhaps this could be a friend opposed to the usual foe…

That was, of course, presuming this was a mischievous ghost with good intentions. Thorn knew better than to let her sister wind up taking too much of the lead, scampering forward.

“I told you this would happen,” Smitten huffed, giving a tilt of his head. “Well, you know what they say. Ladies first, after all - and I think they have the right idea. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get the new residents something to eat after being on their way so long? You would scarcely want to be a bad host.”

The pointed way the badger stared up at the avian indicated that he was in on this charade, too. Whether it was for the purpose of lessening some kind of impending blow or else to cover up for him was unsure, but judging by the uneasy reluctance in which he followed, it seemed that the badger was decidedly on their side opposed to his. But either way, it was better to get things over with; a hostile phantom wouldn’t let them leave unscathed, and a playful one was, honestly, more welcome company than not.

The issue would be keeping up with Witch as she managed to get the leading ground. While Thorn was definitely not the slowest of her kind, very few rivaled the exact precision that the smaller Borrower had when it came to decisive maneuvers. Just as skilled on two feet as four, it gave the wilder of the siblings the upper hand to gain more ground as she wove and darted across the tile flooring towards the familiar kitchen scene - or at least, familiar if you were a common house borrower. The “domestic” front was frankly pretty strange to the majority of them, with its heightened countertops and sparse climbing room except for tall steel handles on rugged drawers. Judging by how clean they were, the only thing that had pierced them was the occasional fish hook or barbed implement; this seemed like it had indeed been a domestic resident’s old haunt.

But that didn't discourage Witch. Her claws were hardy and angled deep into the unpolished wood, tearing at splinters in the drawers as she scampered up in alignment with the scent. It seemed that for a moment, Thorn mostly held back; her whirlwind of a sister was on the trail, to the ghostly reek of a prior death long gone. “Phantom Trail,” so they called it; it took a Fae familiar with death’s grasp to discriminate the scent from a fresher kill. But judging by every little twitch of Witch’s nose, she was even more determined to find it first.

“Awfully scrappy, that little darling.”

The chuckle behind Thorn made her jump, before realizing it was just the badger watching with a familiar eye of parental admiration. “Daresay, it’s a good thing that someone’s watching out for her. Would you like a lift? I know the whole ‘household madness’ can be a rather unbecoming sight.”

This creature was surprisingly gentlemanly now, with the twinkle in his eye as he lifted a paw, claws turned away. At least someone in this house knew how to treat Borrowers.

“I think I’ll take you up on that, actually,” Thorn responded, giving a thankful nod as she stepped on. “Appreciated.”

The badger had already stepped forward and deposited his guest onto the countertop with a wistful sigh by the time the less-than-adept host finally made it into the room (at least someone had manners, and it wasn’t him). By this time, Witch had tracked the trail over to the fridge, nose twitching with confusion and uncertainty.

“It ends… Here? That’s… Huh.” However, the look of mild concern indicated that she did, and didn’t want to consider it an option.

Turning back to Thorn, Witch gave a tilt of her head, shaking it sadly. Something luminous seemed to rise out from within the shadows.

“That’s where the trail stops - I can always check agai -!!!”

Leaping back on all fours, Witch’s back arched like a cat, feeling her tail puff up from base to tip. Gradually, it seemed the figure rose bit by bit; pale, ghastly, with hollowed sockets and a skeletal grin of amusement. Stumbling back to to her feet, however, the desire to reach for her own dagger faded as Witch processed the exact size of this ghost before them - and, rather, the way in which she hovered before her, watching with an air of curiosity and nothing more.

“… Oh. I guess we found the ‘last borrower.’”

The tail twitch grew softer. The gentle, softened curiosity began to stir as Witch approached; it seemed it took a ghost to rouse that old childlike wonder, one Thorn sometimes questioned still existing. But as the soft approach on careful steps continued, sauntering forward with that same awe and delight as Witch carefully picked up the tails of her dress to step forward, it was undeniable.

Okay. Maybe arriving at this corvid’s house wasn’t a complete mistake.

“It’s been ages since we’ve seen anyone free-roaming,” Witch managed, giving a twitch of her nose in greeting. A careful hand reached out, expecting to grasp more than air. For a moment, Thorn suppressed a chuckle; that was the first rule of phantasmic beings, and it was humorous to watch how foolish fascination had broken it. “Domestic, too…”

It startled Thorn slightly as the figure reached out and extended her own hand to Witch’s, managing to actually grasp it. A shiver ran along Witch’s spine as the gesture was returned, giving a sniff along her neck as the spirit giggled. Clearly, neither of these two was used to any company - let alone ones from such opposing roots.

“You’re different from the others,” the phantom commented, brushing her thumb over the top of Witch’s hand. “Hardly even surprised.”

“Oh, I knew about all of this ghost business,” Witch huffed, offended at the mere suggestion of disbelief. “Just never been close enough in the aftermath to see any.” Or perhaps never close enough to death herself beforehand, if the legends were true. The blinding grasp of fear usually struck too deep for others to get a proper reading.

From the looks of it, Quiet knew better than to interrupt this sacred little greeting. Thorn watched him cautiously out of the corner of her eye, but relaxed as he said and did nothing, merely standing back with the curious badger as they exchanged glances.

“She just wanted company,” Smitten reminded, raising a brow. “Your Beloved tends to want the first say about her roommates - and from the look of it, she rather approves.” Looking back over, the badger gave a look of surprise as the child stepped forward. 

“Well, I’ll be. This may actually be good for both of them.”

There was a shift of Witch’s eyes, scrunching up her eyes as she looked over at the bird in the corner distrustingly. The teen leaned in closer, giving a more pointed sniff along the phantom’s neck. Same scent, same exact untimely end.

The distrusting perplexion grew. No; that couldn’t be right.

Thankfully, even without the company of many Fae, it was clear enough to the spectral figure what Witch was doing. Following scents was a wild borrower’s way of picking up on common threads in life and death, so this would take a more direct approach. 

“I’m sure it’s much harder to decipher from here. May I show you instead?”

There was a tentative look in Witch’s eye, momentarily shrinking back. Her gaze flitted from her sister’s nervous gaze, then to Quiet’s with an ounce of spite. Seeing that there was no attempt to advance without permission, however, she stepped forward again with a nod. Only then did it seem the haunting figure approached, hovering at eye level.

Hopefully this wouldn’t be taken in spite.

Carefully, the phantom placed a fingertip against the messy, almost nonexistent part of the wild borrower’s hair. Inquisitively, Witch raised a brow, but didn’t protest. It seemed that the lean of trust was strangely natural between the pair of them; her scent was one of one of a kinder soul, and not a plotting opponent out for revenge. Acquiescence in her presence made sense, giving a dip of her head. The chill lingered as it circled her, digging carefully against the nerves of her scalp. This spirit was searching for something, no doubt - a connection point, a trail of thought. Most likely, a way into her head if Witch could guess. And while she could feel the concern of Thorn looking on, the same nerves for once did not concern this bloodthirsty little pipsqueak.

There was some sort of signal that kept coming and going in waves, but it wasn’t strong enough except for a weak static that made everything feel a little dizzying. So that was correct, then; it was a check up on which neural receptors would “take” in order to send the visual. One by one they seemed to fire up and shut off, getting closer the more were tested.

This amount of vulnerability was, admittedly, strange for the teen; especially when the end result required a bit of telepathy at its source. Usually, no one except for Thorn even got to lay a hand on her, so permitting a complete stranger to scratch along the mess of twigs in her locks and weave a hand through her hair was pretty alien. But something about her liked it, giving a soft purr as the ghost searched for… Something a little more grounded than stray synapses. Could this ghost just reach in if she wanted to?

Could, probably. Would, it was a clear no. Borrowers were used to helping each other out, and that included those who had passed on. The inclusion of “Hi, ghost!” and “why ghost?” usually went together pretty solidly -

So this is what it’s like in your head. I suppose that’s one way of putting it, besides simply “warning the living.”

It took all of Witch’s energy not to jolt back as the comment echoed back straight at her. Okay, that answered the question.

Oh, sorry. Too direct?

No, perfectly acceptable. Regardless -

The hand remained where it was, although the sting of coldness had numbed its way through by now. Let’s see if I can still do this from mostly out here; I just need one more thing to get that signal sent. Bear with me.

Something new seemed to have taken hold as the other hand grasped Witch’s, tracing along the scars from the gladiatorial victory. Near-death wounds, or places of revival; Death’s Echoes, as ghosts called them. Witch squinted her eyes shut, twitching along with every touch. The vision was becoming clearer. As the chilled finger traced the talon marks from Witch’s arm down to the hand that had touched dying blood -

“Witch? What is she -?!”

The sentence never finished as the images came through in a swift, steady blur. Bright lights swallowed up into nothing, the frigid cold, the infinitesimal dagger -

“NO!”

Eyes snapped open. She didn’t even need to think as blade found its place all too easily in a maddened teen’s claws, giving a thick slice against the chilled air before her. The spirit leapt back, becoming incorporeal once more a few paces back. All tactile connections abated, looking over Witch apologetically.

Oh. That was right. Bristling, growling fury returned to an apologetic look back, realizing her mistake as Witch slowly lowered her own weapon. A hand tentatively reached out to offer her own apology - but it seemed another one behind her was faster, offering a much bolder hiss from behind.

“Get back.”

The hand settled upon Witch’s own was familiar, feeling the bristling fur against those palms as they pulled her closer.

“It’s not her fault, it’s -“

“I don’t know what that was, but it’s not happening again. Get behind me.”

Witch shook her head. A harmless weave of vines snuck their way around Thorn’s wrists, wriggling out of her grasp. 

“Um, what’s going on over there?”

The nervous question echoed from over in the corner of the room, where Quiet stood to watch the chaos between the borrowers unfold. Smitten merely shook his head, placing a paw to his forehead.

“I think you and I both know what’s happening, good fellow. Brush up on that little speech of yours; here we go again.”

As Witch stepped out to face her incredulous sister, she gave her a twitch of her tail; raised up, all of the tuft bristling into a single blade. Her hand turned it towards the counter’s edge, glaring.

Thorn lowered hers into the same motion, shaking her head vigorously.

No, you are not going to stab him! What are you thinking?

“It’s not her who’s the issue here. Did you really think he would just take us in without another intention in mind? Fool, fool, fool! He’s been plotting something since the very beginning.” A wicked smile spread danced across Witch’s lips, much as the dagger of Beast’s fang did across her fingers. “And we are no strangers to dealing with filth like him.”

Quiet looked over at the shifting phantom, who looked over at him curiously.

“Spectre? What exactly did you tell her?”

“She asked how I got like this, so I showed her,” the ghost responded, placing a finger to her temple innocently. “If I remember correctly, this all is your fault in technicality, Killer.”

Thorn took a brisk step back. The brambles from Witch’s hex snapped off.

“I’m sorry… Go back just a minute -“

“No, you heard me right.”

Smitten sighed. “Quiet, at least this time explain yourself for once-“

“This isn’t the first time you’ve lured Borrowers here, is it?” The truth began to dawn on Thorn as well, reaching for her own blade. “Okay, change of plan. Witch, get back. You’re not doing any stabbing.”

The growl of disappointment was immeasurable.

“I am.”

A chirp of approval in its place.

There was a swish of metal as the eldest drew her own blade, still coated in the adder’s sheen. Witch was right. There was an upper edge in adding a bit of a biohazard to otherwise minuscule weapons.

The pathetic bird’s feathers drooped in defeat, lifting his hands up almost in surrender. Was he actually giving in to their display?

“Spectre, can you at least elaborate further? This is a lot more complicated than all of that.”

“Hmm… I might. Depends on how badly you land this. And how much they actually want to stab you. I suspect they’ll calm down once you elaborate.”

There was a fixated gaze on him as this ghost, Spectre - did she really just go by ‘Spectre?’ - looked on Almost tauntingly at her murderer. For what Thorn could tell, he deserved it. Her nerves were steeled alongside her sister.

“Okay, I’ll try.” Quiet shrank back, clearing his throat. “Let’s just say this whole thing was a bit of an accident. Not that it makes it any better, but-“

“Faster, Wretch.” Witch flicked the blade, deepening the snarl in her throat. Even for a young, tiny thing, she was intimidating; hardy as a trained soldier. “Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Well, um, okay. To begin with, this was before I knew much about the existence of your kind. Let alone that I actually had anyone in the house-“

“Just say it. Or better yet, open the fridge.”

“The… Fridge?”

The realization of Witch’s statement seemed to fall twice as hard on the eldest. For while the youngest remained steeled and prepared to cut a decisive blow, Thorn frankly seemed ready to vomit on the spot.

There was a sigh from Spectre.

“And yet you always worry that I’ll frighten off the newcomers, Killer.” 

A disapproving shake of Spectre’s head indicated, well… Disappointment over anger as she turned to circle Quiet instead, hovering just a few inches above his face. And the look given back was almost familiar as he grimaced, averting his gaze as though being scolded.

“It doesn’t help when you just throw the whole ‘left to die in the fridge’ thing like it was deliberate,” he muttered, feathers bristling. “You really amp it up a lot more than it needs to be.”

The exchange was uncomfortably familiarized, almost as if these two were allies opposed to enemies. While Witch’s gaze still filled with venom and vitriol, Thorn was distanced enough to notice the familiarized banter for what it was, lowering her own blade.

“… Okay. A lot of questions -“

Both Quiet and Spectre turned towards the pair of Borrowers, tilting their heads.

“Yeah, okay,” Quiet managed, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not as adversarial as it looks.”

“Explain it to them, not to me,” Spectre reminded, hovering over his head with a coy smirk. “We really need to work on your introductions.”

“Okay, yes. There’s a Borrower in the fridge.”

Placing a palm to his forehead, Quiet opened the door. The frosty embrace illuminated with the same sickening static as the hovering figure, and the sparse array of vegetables and butchered meat gave way to something more horrendous.

From the looks of it, that body had been there a long time with how completely frozen stiff and near-cryogenic the layers of ice had wrapped around it. But it didn’t make it any easier to process as the startled gasp came out of one borrower; a bitter chuckle from the other.

“You really thought you could fool us, didn’t you?” The fear was still trailing from Witch even as she spoke, hiding it behind her bold words. “You have another thing coming if you expect us to wind up as your leftovers.”

“That’s… Not what happened. I didn’t see her.”

“I went in to grab something, and never had the chance to come out,” Spectre added in almost complete nonchalance. “After a few minutes of trying to find a way out, it wasn’t worth waiting out the inevitable. So I took matters into my own hands.”

As Spectre spoke, the deep slash marks across her chest became more apparent. Thorn recoiled slightly, placing a hand where she felt her own stirring deep within.

Maybe they did have some things in common. It seemed that Spectre had noticed the very moment they stepped into the cabin, as if reading it off from aura alone.

“So then, the body-“

“I asked him to leave it in case someone else tried to get in. A warning, you might say. An omen if you prefer.”

“In case that wasn’t obvious by everything said, the fridge is off limits,” Quiet managed, grimacing. “Ask me if you need anything out of there.”

“Noted. Witch?”

Witch proceeded to stare daggers at Quiet the entire time, although even she had begun to soften her gaze as the conversation progressed. Her grip loosened, begrudgingly sheathing the weapon back into her belt with a tilt of her head.

“Then there’d better be food left out throughout this kitchen. We can provide for ourselves, and prefer to do so. We will not be left to demand it every time like pets or livestock.”

“I’d recommend leaving the pantry accessible; desperate beings will resort to desperate measures. We’d rather not have a repeat, right?”

The almost teasing way in which Spectre hovered and flirted around her inadvertent killer was, well, intriguing to watch. Even despite the nerves which still stirred innately deep within, it wasn’t hard for Thorn to see who, precisely, held the cards in their relationship as she placed a finger along the bird’s beak.

Fascinating. So this was a place in which the Borrower was in control? Even Witch seemed to have noticed, despite the aura of hate.

“Why don’t you set things out and I’ll get them settled? You’re not supposed to know about the passages, and I imagine they’d like to move in undisturbed.”

“If you think that’s best.”

Without a note of hesitation, Quiet acquiescenced, giving a shuffle of his wings as he stepped out of the room. The badger followed, giving them a curt nod as he stepped out.

“Your companion should be in shortly with your belongings. She’s been checking the parameters to confirm no sign of that pesky scavenger in the vicinity, and I’ll be sure to let her in once she’s satisfied. In the meantime, do let me know if there’s anything I can get you all. I live to entertain the ladies of the house, after all.”

“Appreciated. Thank you.”

Giving a soft trill, the badger followed the warmer body in the house, leaving the borrowers to talk amidst themselves. The darkness and cooling chill in the house had been a fairly immediate adjustment to the pair of sisters, finally dropping their guard once sight and scent of Quiet left their senses.

“Apologies for the scare,” Spectre finally hummed, shifting somewhere between the pair of them. “I have been over this with him, but it doesn’t stick.”

“That’s not your fault,” Thorn shrugged, giving a flick of her tail. “It sounds like he’s quite a hassle to deal with. But not dangerous?”

“Not deliberately,” Spectre replied. “He means no harm. But for those who do not live in our shadows, it can be hard to understand that every movement holds an entirely different velocity.” There was an air of intrigue as Spectre trailed over the inquisitive newcomer, her gaze tilting downward as she approached. “Although I’m rather surprised it’s him who bothers you the most.”

“Why wouldn’t it? You’re passively existing while he-“

“Knows his place.”

There was an alarming enthusiasm as Witch tilted her head, but the spark in her eyes was that of mischief over bloodlust. That was not a good sign.

“… Okay, no. We are not doing this again.”

“He understands how this works,” Witch insisted. “The wretch is clumsy and uncoordinated, but he knows better than to mess with something that can come back and haunt him. He’s scared of us.”

“I really don’t think that’s-“

“If it isn’t, then I’ll make it. There has to be some way. He wouldn’t just bow down like that if there wasn’t a reason.”

Thorn and Spectre exchanged glances; that “reason” likely wasn’t fear, and had a pretty obvious inclination by the way they interacted. There wasn’t any expectation to see any sort of ring at this stage of life, but the playful lift of one finger confirmed otherwise. Wrapped in a tangle of dead vines and wilted petals, it seemed that an organic signifier had been exchanged for the usual metal vows.

Okay. That was cute. The strange bird-man got some points for that, especially since it wouldn’t have been easy to craft from his size and stature.

“There’s always room for others if we take a liking to them,” Spectre purred, noticing the deep-set eyes on the ring. “But of course, that comes with time.”

What that was implying, Thorn wasn’t entirely sure, but she felt Spectre take her hand in hers as Witch continued ranting in the foreground.

“But I think I already like you. So we’ll see.”

Talk about getting a foot in the door. She’d scarcely even met this phantom, and the sly little lady was already coming onto her. There was a soft, nervous gulp as Thorn’s ears lowered, not fully reciprocating or pulling away.

“Understood. So… You said there were rooms, right?”

“-All I’m saying is just - oh, neither of you are even listening, are you?! What gives? Seriousl- oh.”

Anger switched to curiosity as Witch turned back around, giving a purr of amusement.

“Nevermind, by all means continue.” There was a knowing smirk as Witch crossed paths with her sister, tail flicking deviously. “But I think I’ll go ahead and find my way towards Beast. I think she may need some help with getting all the teeth unpacked - and I think it’d be a good idea to have my own side of the tunnels this time. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Even if the first cue had been missed, Witch was not slow to the second as she gave her sister a teasing look. The swish of her tail was all that was left as the devious little Borrower absconded, the soft clink of her hands and feet finding purchase on the metal of the drawer handles all the way down.

So that left Thorn with the ghost. There was a softer look as she turned her head over towards the kitchen’s corners, releasing her grasp on Thorn’s hand with a small grin.

“I have a feeling the two of you will get along just fine.”

Someone help her. (This absolute shitpost of a meme by me)

Chapter Text

There was a soft whirring of static as the outlets came into view on the far side of the kitchen counters. This phantasmic woman - Spectre - seemed to be making it worse with her presence. Thorn didn’t need confirmation to tell the gaze behind her was one of approval, however, even as she tentatively approached to sniff for any stray sparks in the air. So this must be the right place.

Why?

Electrical sockets were generally a no-go location when it came to Borrowing; at normal size, humans could be electrocuted by them by directing the currents too close. A Borrower could die from a singular touch. Nay, even too close proximity. But if this was the location of the Borrower’s old haunt when living, then clearly she’d gotten it to work for her well enough to stay alive. Her death hadn’t been that kind of biological shock.

“Below that.”

Okay, good. So that meant she didn’t need to worry about charging directly into any of it. The corporeal hand drew Thorn’s wrist forward, wincing from the sharp icy flow that followed as it trailed to a small incision in the wall. Most likely, she’d never get used to the ghost’s strange on-off tangibility.

Peeling back a small bit of wallpaper was easy enough with clawed fingertips. While not as pronounced as Witch, they got the job done easily enough to reveal the small door that had been carved out and applied with a small thumbtack handle. Twisting it carefully, Thorn stepped into the small shelter, making sure to smooth back the decorations behind her. Even if Quiet was aware of their presence, these passages had been kept secret for long enough - Thorn didn’t expect to break that specific code today.

Rule one: don’t get seen. That one had already failed a dozen times over. Rule two: don’t lead them to your homes. Run away and divert as needed. That, she could always do if necessary.

“I wouldn't,” the eerie voice replied as it brushed along her fingertips. “Remember why you’re here.”

There it was again; that same bristling unease she’d felt watching this woman embracing Witch in that calm trance. It wasn’t possession exactly - telepathy? It seemed more like telepathy. It wasn’t fun being read like that. It made them targets.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thorn lied, keeping the distrust from her voice the best she could.

“You’re thinking it,” Spectre murmured softly, giving an understanding shake of the head. “Everyone does once they get here.”

There was a touch of sadness in her voice as she hovered in the darkness over a small tin cabinet, a coil of twine dancing along its dented figure. Thorn opened her mouth to speak; nothing came out.

“I don’t need to read your thoughts to know that. You’re picking up the pieces right where they were left off - it’s a bit intimidating, isn’t it?”

Thorn blinked, lowering her hackles. Even without the light, she could tell well enough what Spectre meant. Cloaked in death, it was clear that this place had not seen anyone for ages; a fine filament had made its home along cozy shelves of borrowed goods, tinkerings, and half-finished projects. 

Thimbles of paint left dried in place unemptied on the corner of a cardboard desk. Feather tips languished beside hardened inks and smaller journals in the corners. Paintings and works left unfinished; diagrams of hearts and vibrant nerves which sprawled across the walls of the little storage facility in deep permanent dyes and charcoals. Now this certainly had Thorn standing still a moment, looking over them with a sense of newfound wonder.

“What is all of this?”

“This is where I kept all my records,” Spectre replied, giving a breath of amusement. “Some records just happened to be… Deeper than others.”

“I don’t think I’ve known anyone else who had anatomy charts this detailed.”

“You get to see a lot if you live with a huntsman and his chimera.” 

Interesting information. So Quiet was a huntsman? That would explain the knife in the front, and all the frozen meat in the midst of -

A queasy step seemed to have Thorn nearly skyrocketing backwards. The fact a being who should not have physical presence was the one to catch her almost made it worse.

“From a distance, of course. The chimera is trained to avoid us unless approached. Likely rescued from a similar situation as all of you.”

Well, that was good news. Beast’s kind was known to be rather ravenous when it came to Borrowers, and as far as the sisters knew she was the only exception. But their often doglike nature did present the possibility for alternative training; perhaps this one had previously been one of the “retrievers” humans used to capture their kind opposed to slaying them. 

“Mmh” was about all that Thorn could manage. Pausing for a moment, she turned towards the small hollow paths in the drywall which lead down in winding configurations; some illuminated by lights, others left in the dark.

“You’re one of the few I’ve seen to have a storeroom right at the front like this. You didn’t worry about it getting found?”

“It’s more convenient that way. Besides, if I ever borrowed something by mistake, I could always toss it back.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” There was a small drift coming from one of the currents. “So, which way would you recommend?”

There was that mischievous head tilt, watching as Spectre raised a brow.

“I think I’ll leave that up to you to figure out. After all, I can’t be giving away all my secrets right away.”

Thorn furrowed her brow. “So long as it’s not actual skeletons in the closet, I think I’ll manage.”

There was a chuckle. “Didn’t your sister say something about teeth?”

“We use them for weapons. That’s different.” Thorn brushed past the ghost, her tail whipping the small wisps of ectoplasm aside in her descent. This time, she decided to take the path to the left; it looked the easiest to navigate, and by all indications it was most likely the kitchen space.

Sure enough, the warm glow of a few hearth lights seemed to flicker as Spectre entered. Dim bulbs from small contraptions which had long since past their prime whirred mechanically in the harshly paved space, crudely wired to a makeshift stove. The air was choked with iron and burnished copper, oxidizing from its age and lack of use. Rusting pans and kettles seemed to have kept their stasis by the small hearth in the corner, which judging by the state of the twigs beneath had thankfully been unlit on Spectre’s last night alive.

There was no stench of rot and decay, either; that meant likely no molding food in the stocks. Just a few sprouting acorns in the corner and almonds in the corner -

“Witch is going to be thrilled you still have some of these,” Thorn commented, straining to pick one of them up.

“Glad something here could be of use then. Even if most of the food stores are depleted due to, well, the obvious.”

“Of course. I don’t know if she’ll be able to leach much cyanide out of them if they’ve been here this long, though-“

The look in Spectre’s eyes shifted from amusement to concern. Thorn sighed.

“Oh, right. The cyanide. She, um - I would say it’s a Fae thing, but-“

“Is that safe?”

Thorn hesitated. “… Complicated. Technically speaking? Yes, if she heals faster than the toxins accumulate. It’s a learned immunity we picked up from humanity. Difference is, our survival rate is higher than theirs.” There was an uncomfortable silence that followed, as if this was not the first time she’d been cornered with the subject. “Poisonings were a lot more common on the Market. The less you were vulnerable to, the better.” 

Thankfully, Spectre got the memo on it being a touchy subject. The teen was alive, after all; while perhaps not the healthiest method of gaining immunity, there were indeed records of Mithridatic Fae throughout history. But perhaps not to the extent at which Thorn was implying.

“Perhaps I should show you to the next one,” Spectre offered this time, hoping to present a distraction. This indeed was welcomed, watching as her living counterpart placed the almond back down and followed straight across.

This room was much more rugged in its digging; a small store room, perhaps, with a dull, makeshift couple of cork chairs. In one corner was the tin “frame” of what could've been either a bed or a sofa, but was sparse of any additional borrowings which would’ve indicated its purpose aside from that. Frankly, it seemed a little hollow.

“This was initially the plan for a guest room, but I suppose it didn't pan out before the clock ran out.” 

Oh. That was actually rather sad. And given the way in which Spectre indicated how potential guests reacted to her current state -

“I think Witch mentioned wanting to have her own space,” Thorn offered, hopefully bettering the situation. “Perhaps this would work?”

The look on Spectre’s face brightened. So it seemed this did indeed please the ghost.

“Perfect. I’ll let her know once she gets here.”

The lingering sight of the ghost beside her was still somewhat unsettling, but it was more so as she’d said - the nerves of occupying the space after knowing the fate of its prior occupant. Not to mention, getting the tour from said occupant was just a touch chilling, even if this guide was staunchly steeled in her benevolence. There was something about Spectre that felt off, or at least hauntingly familiar - echoes of a past she couldn’t shake. Not the poor woman’s fault, of course.

“I tried not to take up too much space in case he did find the tunnels,” Spectre murmured, snapping Thorn from her internal dialogue. “This last one should be yours.” 

This time, Spectre offered her hand. Trancelike, Thorn took it without hesitation. There was a soft, reassuring smile despite the palpable sting of frigidity spreading over formerly lacerated palms. It seemed to make sense in that moment how Witch had taken to her so quickly despite it all; a single, phantasmic ally in the clamoring sea of enemies. Step by step, the tunnel led down further still…

The soft rushing of pipes rang softly in Thorn’s sensitive ears. So this must’ve been closer to the heart of the plumbing; a bold move if something went wrong or the drywall had to be stripped. Another tunnel seemed to point downward, leading down under the floorboards, if the shift in altitude gave any indication; the most secure place in the entire vicinity.

“Down there is the emergency shelter. Turn left for the bedroom.”

This was impressively intricate.

“How long were you here?”

“About seven years. Long enough to know the lay of the land; which parts of the walls were stable and which led to vital wiring.”

“You really did know this would be where things came to pass, then.”

“Or if not, I would leave something behind for the next visitor. I could tell well enough just by watching from a distance he meant no harm; this house was safe. That was something I always intended to take to my grave - restless as that may be in this state.”

The soft warmth of cloth napkin scraps was the first thing that seemed to cushion this particular environment, serving as a vibrant rug. The soft padding of a nicely draped sponge bed and handkerchief blankets the next, cotton and bits of feathers from the host himself stitched up into the pillows. At the side of the bed was a small desk made from a cork, carefully cleaned of its alcoholic residue. And on the way up from the path untread, several staples provided a proper ladder…

“I can see you’re impressed.” There was that mischievous, skeletal grin. Clearly compliments did quite a bit for her ego. “Better to be over prepared, just in case. But that’s not even the best part.”

The icy hand eagerly wrapped around Thorn’s own, jolting her momentarily; despite her nerves, seeing this side to the ghost was honestly endearing. Perhaps her fears about Spectre were all wrong; she seemed alright in the end - just a lost, lonely soul who’d been waiting probably as long as they’d been captive for empathetic company and guests of her own. Something about that alone permitted the pull to lead all on its own as a soft ticking began to fill the space around them…

“It’s a little dusty. Feel free to brush it away.”

The soft debris of a mirrored door led directly towards the sound. Cogs clicked and gears whirred, stepping out to gaze inward by the mechanisms of a grandfather clock down the other hall.

“I wouldn’t recommend going in,” Spectre noted, “ but sometimes it is nice to watch. I used to be able to sit there for hours and listen to it tick…”

Already, it seemed that the mechanical rhythm was droning its own pulse into the living. If this house had a heartbeat, then this was truly it. Hidden behind the walls but with enough space to work, the small banisters on the sides leading down to permit access in and out…

“Wouldn’t there be notice if there was a hole back here?”

“That’s always been there. Piece snapped off eons ago; makes maintenance easier,” Spectre explained. “Even before us, Quiet’s had his guests. He might’ve left it open that way on purpose, just in case.”

The wildlife. That one didn’t need to be questioned - his familiarity with the motley crew of unusual Cryptids and overfamiliar others told Thorn well enough who those were. So perhaps, then, this was just another extension of the woods in some respects - so long as it remained closer off and well maintained from the outer threats. A microcosm for what laid beyond.

“I do hope all of this has been helpful,” Spectre chuckled, circling Thorn with that strange ethereal grace. “I look forward to seeing what you do with the place. It hasn’t seen much use in a matter of years… About time someone brought some life back into it.”

“Immensely,” Thorn replied, giving a thankful nod towards the hovering phantom. “We’ll certainly do our best to do it some justice.”

Down below, there was the padding of two massive creatures and the fiercely excited voice which could’ve only belonged to one particular borrower. The clink of bags deposited themselves on the counter one by one, as Thorn scurried back towards her sister’s eager helpers to notice the familiar faces - and one new in the mix.

Right as expected, Beast had padded in beside Witch, helping the young teen offload their luggage from the saddlebags draped over her side. But next to her was a chimera of even larger stature; a grayhound’s length, definitively feline in facial features, with six skittering legs instead of four.

“Oh - there you are!” Witch grabbed a bag by her teeth, dragging it over before continuing. “Just getting started with the bags - and got an extra pair of paws involved while we were at it.”

So this must be the one that Spectre had mentioned. The other chimera perked up, steely gray eyes fixated on Thorn. Tentatively, she approached the curious creature leaning beside the countertops. When she dipped her head to indicate passivity, only then did Thorn take her cue to steady a hand against shedding velvet antlers and run a hand against the bristling furs of her ragged mane.

“This is Den,” Beast continued for her, giving a dip of her own. “She was a pack member of mine prior to our capture. Human tongues are rather hard for her to formulate, so she may not be able to speak to you directly. But she is indeed listening.”

Den nodded, taking a bag from her own back and depositing it by Thorn’s side with a silent huff. The scars along her face and sides seemed to reek of humanity’s abuse, exchanging knowing glances.

“I presume that the pair of you will be wanting to set things up yourselves,” Beast murmured, depositing her youngest charge onto the table. “As for us, I believe we have a lot to catch up on.” With a soft brush of her neck, Beast nuzzled against her pack mate’s pelt; this was met with an almost inaudible growl of surprise. Nevertheless, the larger feline reciprocated, giving one look back as the chimeras retired to the main living space of the cabin.

That left Witch and Thorn to the luggage. Exploratively, Witch picked up a bag in her teeth, then another across her back.

“We should be able to get settled before the morning,” Witch purred, her voice a little muffled. “Just show me which one I should take, and once we’re there I can do the rest.”

————-

Unpacking the bags didn’t take long at all; the majority of what the sisters carried with them was the necessities for survival, and scarcely anything this elaborate. Witch had long since managed to make herself at home by the time that Thorn had even settled her own bags; the pouch of shrew’s teeth laid beside her bed, with a few fur blankets and covers thrown haphazardly into the tin “bedframe” Spectre had been working on. Even without a mattress at present, Witch had always been more than happy to sleep in a nest, and now was no different. She was comfortably asleep in the thicket of fur in no time, tail curled in like a sleeping mouse within her fuzzy fortress.

Thorn, however, was a bit more restless. Her own blade had been placed beside the nightside table, along with the spare vial of adder’s venom Witch had let her use. The pair of boots she typically wore settled in the corner of the room next to the mirror, alongside the few vials of non-lethal poisons kept for emergency usage. A couple of sedatives and tonics lingered close to the desk, wondering if it would be worth taking one of them.

Or, rather, was it safe to? The vibe of the house hadn’t been fully established yet. Staying alert may still have been the best idea, so for now, perhaps resting opposed to sleeping would be in her best interest. But it wasn’t long until even that attempt was dismissed, catching her in a brief whirlwind.

The hovering figure always came in the same way; gold tiara glinting, blonde and overshadowed by the fire, blue dress torn by her chest with that deadly raven’s scar. And right in front of her down below was Witch’s trembling, stricken form, struggling for words.

“You wretch! You brought them here, didn’t you?!”

“No, I-“

“After all this time, I thought I finally found a friend. But you were just another monster, weren’t you?” 

Both young, both stupid. Helpless against the fray each and every time. The chimeras knew precisely when and how to strike as they brushed past the quarrel, and no words would keep them from that. The thicket of yet another Borrower encampment found and destroyed by mutual foolishness, and only one person to blame.

It wasn’t them. It never was them. The teary eyes of a maddened, anguished thirteen year old girl Thorn was scarcely able to drag back. In the end, this would be where they took their last stand in the wild. It all came down to this.

So then why did the horror always feel the same when Beast descended upon them like some harbinger of death?

Something hovered on the other side of the bed. Thorn didn’t need to open her eyes to know what it was.

“I can feel your presence,” Thorn growled, tail twitching like an angry cat. Being disrupted from sleep by the same unhappy dreams wasn’t unusual practice, but being disrupted by their strangely nosy host was just another stab wound in the midst of all of this. “You’re getting awfully close this time of night. What do you want?”

“Your companion asked me to check up on you.”

Oh, of course she did. Beast was prone to these little “survival check” wake-ups in the middle of the night to make sure that both sisters’ senses were sharp; well intentioned, maybe, but exhausting. Thorn gave a more deliberate flop on the bed.

“Tell her I passed the check.”

There was a small sigh of amusement. The side of the bed beside Thorn grew colder.

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

The fur along Thorn’s tail stiffened.

“What do you want?”

“You mutter in your sleep - you know that?”

The cold almost felt welcoming as it came closer, forming fractals along the sore spots on the Borrower’s back. Unintentionally, she leaned into it.

“What is it to you?”

The words were more defeated than anything, knowing well their ghastly host wouldn’t wind up leaving without whatever it was. “Don’t you have somewhere to be at this hour? It’s the middle of the night. Don’t you -“

“Ghosts don’t need sleep,” Spectre replied gently, pulling back ever so slightly. “Most of the time I just wander the house at this time.” Then, with the slightest bite: “I generally do check my older haunts, but it would seem that’s less of an option now that they’re occupied.”

She did have a point. They were guests here, even if this particular phantom’s overfamiliarity was getting on her nerves. How did she manage to trust people she just met so easily? Did the bridge between life and death mean it no longer mattered? Thorn liked it even less with what that meant for how easily Witch had taken to her for someone who’d bite anyone else. Some kind of trickery was afoot.

“You seemed like you could use some company.”

“I don’t, but thank you.”

Although this was partially a lie. The memories of the woodland paths weren’t necessarily pleasant, and it would’ve been nice to have someone to unload to - that is, if there was anyone who she trusted. But this cheeky little ghost wasn’t exactly someone she could call ‘trustworthy’ when every word out of her mouth seemed to be a riddle, or a slight delivered with coy undertone.

Why Witch actually seemed to want them to be sharing the room together was beyond her. Did her little sister actually think she was that lonely?

“If you want me to, I can leave,” Spectre offered, hovering beside the bed now opposed to on it. “I’m sure that the adjustment can make things seem… Heavy. This wasn’t the first house I lived in; I do know how challenging the woods can be.”

Now that caught Thorn’s attention. Tentatively, she sat up, still avoiding eye contact.

“You didn’t strike me as the outdoorsy type,” Thorn admitted, looking Spectre over. From up close, she actually wasn’t all that intimidating; while her features still remained skeletal and hollow, the same mischief from earlier had decreased substantially. No, she seemed sincere enough.

“I wasn’t. But I’m sure you don’t need a refresher at how hard it is to coexist with humanity.”

“Yeah, no kidding…”

The vines around her chest had softened for the night, although even now Thorn could feel the prickle of the brambles beginning to poke their way back up and claw back towards the surface. House Borrowers - the “traditional” kind that took scraps and lost objects from human homes - were a scrappy bunch, and no less respected than any intelligent Wild cousin. It took a lot to remain unseen, and intelligence or similarities aside, they were generally treated about the same as any common pest upon discovery. Trappings, fumes, and ruthless pets were common ways of “dealing” with these unwanted visitors.

“I had to vacate my first residence. And my second. So that meant turning further into the woods and finding somewhere a bit more remote to avoid being caught.”

Depending on the house, some were determined to keep the family “pest” as a pet; others wanted them gone, and would chase the Borrower some lengths to make sure. Others were just interested in the turnout they could get on the Black Markets if the given individual had any special gifts to entertain with - like a dragon keeping a Princess locked up for entertainment’s sake as it decided whether or not to devour them. These tricks were all very familiar in Thorn’s book, relocations included.

“I’m taking it you found the same woods, then?“

“Or they found me. One can’t exactly say.” There was that same wry smile with closed eyes; leaving it up to interpretation, perhaps, or else unsure. “A bat saw me out walking one night and swooped down on me. And then the rest lead me onto the path here.”

She was always so matter-of-fact. Was the event so far away that it no longer bothered her, or did it never?

“What matters is that I’m here, and that you’re able to get the answers you need. I try not to look too far in the past; the people there were cruel, and the pickings were sparse. Even if my time here was short-lived, it was much better than any of that. At least this time I knew it was an accident.”

“I suppose that is better, all things considered.” It was an unnerving thought, but if a choice of fate came down to being torn apart by the Raven or haphazardly shut into a fridge, it was pretty clear what was the answer. “Even if it’s grim.”

“Life is grim,” Spectre replied. “But I think we both know that.”

Thorn jolted back as Spectre leaned closer, now hovering directly above her on the bed. The phantom’s gaze drifted curiously towards her chest, giving a raised brow of interest. Instinctively, Thorn wrapped both hands around her bosom with a look of offended incredulity. Spectre’s reach, however, went over them to settle a little bit above before pulling back.

“I am curious how you managed to survive a mark like that. Especially considering how much of the talon is still in there…”

…Oh. That made a lot more sense. Embarrassed, Thorn removed her hands.

“With help,” Thorn answered carefully, giving a glance back over at Spectre. Thankfully, it seemed that she got the gist and circled back to her haunt on the bed, looking back with those chillingly curious eyes. “But I presume you figured that.”

“I did.” A small nod, and then the ghostly echo as Spectre’s presence shifted again. For heaven’s sake, did this phantom ever sit still? “Although I’m rather impressed that someone as young as your sister had the capability to heal it.”

Okay that had crossed a line. Without even realizing what she was doing, Thorn sat bolt upright, hissing. A swift rake of clawed fingertips swiped upon Spectre’s general direction; she merely dodged them, wide-eyed and unblinking.

“So it seems that’s a common thread between the two of you…”

“What do you want? I’ll ask again.” Growling from her spot hunched over the bedpost, Thorn had now entered the attack position of a cornered predator; snarling, hunched over, dead-set on an all too eager host. “ What were you trying to do taking information from my sister?”

“We merely swapped details on the places our Echoes formed,” Spectre replied, holding one hand to the side palm up nonchalantly. “One source of information for another - simple as that. But no need to worry; it isn’t like anyone else would ever see them. I can’t transfer any of that through without an exchange of personal details, and knowing the truth behind what happened here was more important to her.” There was a lilt in her voice as she inquired further:

“So how did it feel to come back?”

There was a bolt upright fear which filled Thorn’s eyes, processing the question which had been placed before her.

“… Come back?”

“From the dead,” Spectre answered, as if she was talking about weekend plans. “Judging by the formation, it seems like it faded momentarily, only to spring back once you-“

“- No, no, that’s not right.”

There was a deep pounding of blood in Thorn’s ears now. Claws dug into silken handkerchief sheets. “But I watched Witch slay the damn bird right as-“

“- Everything went dark, and you died. And then you came back, with a scar to mark the occasion. That’s how it works; a Time Capsule of every time you cheat death.” 

Her fingertip circled the formation of the claw. “If I’m reading it correctly, you rendered Him mortal. At least, partially.” Spectre looked over the startled Borrower tentatively, scrunching her nose in concern. “What you have is a rare mark of victory.”

“Is it? Or is that just what I’m supposed to think now that I have to live with it?” An angry hiss returned as the claws jutted against old scars, tracing the paths where talons scathed in reckless abandon. 

A demise. So that was what this was all about. No wonder this phantom was so insistent on haunting her every move.

“You’re alive now. You’re safe. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

There was a softer sigh as Spectre retreated slightly, uncertain if it was better just to give Thorn her space.

“I know it can be hard to adjust after all you’ve been through -“

“You wouldn’t, though. You were never in the Ring.” The stink of adrenaline was permeating the air by now as Thorn gravitated to the side of the bed, feet dangling off the end as she contemplated, hands clasped. “You didn’t have to watch dozens of drunken humans cheer on your demise - and it sounds like they won . And you certainly didn’t have to risk everything just to secure a few more days for -“

“She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”

The paranoid tail twitching stopped. Oh; that wasn’t mockery in the tone. The ghost was serious.

“She’s the last bit of family I have. Sounds cliche, I’m sure - the whole ‘orphan’ situation.” Turning just the slightest bit back towards Spectre, Thorn placed her hands behind her back until it arched comfortably inward. “But we don’t really know much after capture if the ones that humans take live or die. Survival is unlikely, and captive at best. Not exactly a life.”

“And ‘gifted’ Borrowers tend to be even more valuable to them. I can imagine that it had challenges of its own.”

“The nearby village was on the hunt for Fae. Our enclave managed to stay mostly protected until mother went missing. Witch found one of the humans - I guess domestic Borrowers still call them “beans?” - bleeding out and revived them. And, well, I suppose you know what happened from there.”

Spectre nodded solemnly. “The child revealed her?”

“Not on purpose, no. But she kept coming back to meet up. We had no way of knowing at the time we were dealing with nobility - she didn’t need to say anything for one of the guards to figure out where she was sneaking out to and identify the mark on her chest as one of ours.” There was a sharp inhale. “I don’t blame either of them. They’re kids; they didn’t know better…”

There was a stiffness to the air as that familiar brush of cold seemed to settle against one shoulder. This time, Thorn leaned into it as it materialized.

“We were all at the Markets first before being separated; Witch is the last of that community I managed to salvage. Saw a lot of things I’d like to forget; learned many of our tricks. But we’ve still managed to stay together despite it, and I don’t intend for that to stop now.”

“Well, that’s the good news,” chuckled Spectre. “You don't have to worry about that anymore. Just be sure to go easy on yourself as you get settled. I’ve made sure that Quiet knows not to expect much of you for some time; these arrangements can be much harder for him to understand than us.”

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

There was the lingering chill in the air as Spectre trailed the air; a hand drifted towards Thorn’s face, tracing a gentle hand against her cheek. This time, she offered no resistance.

“It’ll be okay. I know it’s a lot, but you’re not alone. Just remember you can ask if you need anything, alright?”

The adrenaline was fading. The soft wisps caressed the faded scars along Thorn’s cheek, leaning into the effervescent grasp until it was gone.

“I’m taking it you would like to sleep now?”

“Mmh.”

“Figured as much. Good night.”

There wasn’t much that Thorn could really muster except for a timid, thankful glance as she managed to cross eyes with the figure. This she got back in turn, watching the curt nod as her peculiar visitor vanished from sight.

 Maybe Witch was right. She was peculiar, that one, but it didn’t seem like she meant any actual harm. That didn’t mean Thorn exactly liked being interrupted unannounced.

Whatever; that conversation could be dealt with in the morning. For right now, she flopped haphazardly back onto the bed, tucking the sheet back onto the sponge that served as the mattress. Maybe now she could try and go back to sleep -

“Geez - and I thought I stank in the dead of night. What - did you think you could kill her again if you tried hard enough?”

Well, speak of the devil.

There was that familiar trill on the other side of the corridor; a flicking tail, and that small purr of amusement. Thorn gave a groan, deciding whether or not to humor Witch’s prattling.

“You were supposed to be asleep hours ago,” she replied bluntly. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, I didn’t need to be anywhere near to hear every word,” Witch snickered, lips curling into a smirk of amusement. This was just a game to the little teen; of course she was playing it up. “You were growling up the paths as if your life depended on it. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t leave sooner.”

“And I’m surprised you have any stance on this that isn’t trying to bite the hand that feeds.”

“I can cooperate when it’s in our favor,” Witch replied, giving a flick of a stray hair. Then, somewhat softer: “But I’m confused why you’re not. Isn’t it your job to be scouting out the safe paths and all that? You’re supposed to be the ‘bleeding heart’ between the two of us, not me.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Witch bounded over towards her sister on all fours, scrambling up onto the bed and into her lap. The visible relaxation was striking as the scent of tension faded.

“I just don’t want to get stuck here with hosts we don’t know,” Thorn admitted with a sigh. “And I don’t want you getting attached again to people we can’t know for sure are genuine.”

Witch squinted. “This is about the whole ‘mind read, memory swap’ thing, isn’t it? That’s standard custom; it’s like a greeting. I didn’t tell anything more than I needed to, or wanted to,” Witch scoffed, waving a hand. “They’re like us; to get information, you have to give. And be sparing about it. It isn’t like she knows all about the Markets - just the Ring. And if she wants to earn more, she’ll have to show we can trust her.” There was a flicker of amusement in Witch’s eye.

“The living still hold the cards with ghosts; we just entertain them. You actually told her more than I did.”

The smirk broadened as Witch pulled her sister’s tail in towards her.

“They can’t enter without our permission, anyways - ghosts are like vampires,” Witch added nonchalantly. “At least, the nicer ones are. Wraiths I guess are a little more hostile, but definitely not what we’re dealing with here. I remember a good bit back from the forest community.”

“I just don’t want this to become like that. You know how that ended -“

“Oh, do I ever.”

The fur on the teen’s limbs bristled, every hair raised on nimble hackles. “If I ever see her again-“

“Hey, hey.”

A gentle hand patted down along her spine, forcing Witch to relax. With a reluctant grumble, the sullen teen acquiesced.

“But this doesn’t feel like that,” Witch admitted, tugging at a few strands of dangling hair to Thorn’s chagrin. “There’s only two of them, for starters - it isn’t like an entire pack waiting to pounce.”

“‘Feels like it’ and ‘is it’ are two different things,” Thorn reminded, trying to pull Witch’s hands away. When she started the catlike batting, there usually wasn’t a way to stop her.

“I know what I’m doing, Thorn; I’m not a baby anymore,” Witch huffed, crossing the strands of her sister’s hair over into a small braid. “I know you’re just trying to look out for us, but don’t you think that maybe once we could just watch from a distance? We have spaces to hide, and plenty of room for weapons. And it doesn’t even seem like this one has the gall to take issue with it. And if he does? We stab him. Plain and simple.”

The close-eyed tilt of arrogance was a common move from this feline Borrower, but never before had it seemed so calm and genuine. “Besides, this place is run by the ghost of one of us; so long as we follow her rules, we’ll be fine.”

This amount of sensibility from Witch was, well… Startling. There had been a time when she was indeed this even-toned and calculated, but it’d been years since.

“What’s your deal with her, anyways? You seem less worried about the bird man than Spectre.”

“He’s keeping his distance. She’s not.”

“We kind of are in her old haunts. Literally.” A tongue click of annoyance followed Witch’s words, as if that was obvious. “Are you sure there isn’t a more personal reason here?”

That purr in Witch’s voice was never a good indicator. Reclining slightly in her lap, it seemed that Thorn’s suspicions were confirmed as a clawed hand reached up; warmth and a numbing ache stifled the pain against the frigid residue along her chest. Then it returned, placing Witch’s hand over hers.

“You didn’t tell me that I died.”

“Didn’t have to,” Witch managed, although it seemed the same aching grief stung in her voice. “I brought you back.”

“The ghost -“

“Spectre.”

“She really just goes by ‘Spectre?’”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Anyways - Spectre said it had to do with why the raven’s been after us. Like it locked in a piece of him within us that he didn’t get back because him and I both died.” 

“Yeah, that’d be correct.” Witch shifted her weight, leaning so that she toppled Thorn over onto the bed. “Sounds like we made a blood pact with him without meaning to.” A cackle echoed from her upon the realization.

“What?”

“Oh, is that why he's still missing that chunk of flesh? I devoured every piece of that I could get ahold of! Shows him.”

“Witch! Great… So you’re stuck in it, too.”

“Duh. We knew that already. But now he has to live with looking hideous for crossing us. Worth it.” Witch shrugged. “Besides, didn’t we kinda render him half-mortal? That means we must be-!”

“No less careful than we have been.” A strong grip took hold of Witch’s arms. Grumbling, the teen relaxed in her sister’s arms. “Even if that was the case, we’d likely have to find that out by almost dying again. It’s not worth the risk.”

Despite the twitch of reluctance, Witch pondered it for only a moment and nodded.

“I guess. We can’t rough him up if we’re dead - at least not dead dead. The whole ‘ghost’ thing seems like it gets kinda boring after a while. Soo… Staying here and playing it safe?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then you need to stop fighting with your girlfriend. We need her on our side, nothing less.”

There was a splutter of confusion that followed. That coy feline smirk returned to Witch’s face, sticking out her tongue.

“Y… You little shit! Oh, I’m getting you for that one!”

With a playful growl, Thorn advanced on the bed to topple over Witch, nipping at her ears. Giggling, Witch reciprocated with a few painless pawing gestures back as the amicable fracas continued. Tails flicking and softly butting heads, the play fight continued with a roar of laughter and a chorus of feral vocalizations from within the walls of the small cabin. Once all was said and done, however, it seemed that Witch attempted to slink away, giving a little trill of victory.

“Well, seeing as you’re doing better now-“

This, of course, was met by the immediate flop of Thorn’s full weight on top of her.

“Oof! Okay, fine. You win. One more night before I get the room to myself? But you’re going to have to move over.”

Giving a few gloating purrs of her own, Thorn made herself amenable to this request - albeit never fully let go of the grip around Witch’s wriggling form. Shifting to the side, she finally let one arm droop, curling around the smaller borrower like a sleeping cat.

“You are such a sore loser,” Witch grumbled, kneading down one of the pillows as she leaned in to sleep. “Don’t get into the habit of any of this.”

Nearby the fridge, Spectre waited until the noise of the two borrowers died down and drifted off into peace. Once her duties as hostess had been fulfilled to her satisfaction, she gave a soft smile as she retired to Quiet’s side for the night to get some “rest” of her own.

“They’re getting used to things,” Spectre mused, shifting to settle along his palm. “It’s a process, but this will come to pass.”

“I certainly hope so,” Quiet mumbled sleepily, shifting the placement of his hand so that it allowed her easier access. There was a stiffening cold as she circled, lingering a moment to rest. “I know how frightening this must be-“

“You don’t. But you can imagine it, yes.” The gentle, firm correction left her lips, sinking down into taloned flesh. “Remember to give them a wide berth as they get settled; so far, I believe things will work out. You recovered things well with them, despite everything.” 

The teasing note left her lips as she traced over leathery skin, leaving icy pinpricks at her touch.

“Now they just have to get used to both of us.” 

The conversation elapsed as her form vanished into the flesh of his hand. The soft talons curled inward, twitching softly in sleep. Carefully, Quiet petted it with his other hand before placing a smaller blanket and pillow beneath, finally situating to sleep himself.

Hopefully tomorrow would be a better day.

Chapter Text

“Get up, Wretch.”

5AM, on the dot. Blurry vision swam at the sensation of a hard, aching pain against Quiet’s windpipe, and the sensation of something sharp against his chest. Trying to take in a gasp, it seemed that the strangulating pain got tighter. Eyes scrambling to focus, he put up a sleeping hand in desperation, gripping the side of the bed sheets as if to try and get some grounding - no, this was real. At last, it finally settled on the ginger form settled right over his chest, a hand up as though manipulating a noose around his throat.

Oh. Right. He’d forgotten that taking in the Fae had its own trials and risks accordingly, but the eldest had sworn they came for peace and shelter. It seemed the youngest, however, had other plans.

“Witch-”

The voice trailing from the other side of the room was distinct, albeit almost half-hearted dismay and disappointment. There was no attempt from Thorn, it seemed, to intervene, although it seemed that Witch’s grip on the vines did loosen. Judging by the eerie calm by Witch carried out the act, this hadn’t been the first of the larger beings that the child had done this. The details he presumed were marred in a certain level of deeper grief for the little ones, especially if even the more sensible of the two seemed to consider this a common necessity.

“He’s starving us,” Witch growled, raising a brow. “You and I both checked.”

“I said we'd check and ask in the morning,” Thorn mumbled, nearly incoherent. 

Where the hell was she? Still hiding? Probably. That was unfortunate; a hand on the situation would’ve really been useful, from either her or the still sleeping form in his stiffened hand -

Well, it seemed par the course. The Borrowers weren’t exactly on his side so much as fighting against their own distinct cycle of violence. Whether it was justified or not didn’t mean he liked being the scapegoat for humanity’s atrocities.

Quiet took the opening to lightly nudge the roots away. They only bound to his fingers now, hearing the soft cackle and a swish of a tail against his feathers.

“Okay… Okay. No more strangling. Please.” Heaving a sigh, he let his plumicorns droop. “I can get you food if you let me go,” he managed, wheezing. “Deal?”

Witch considered it for a moment, giving a tilt of her head. Finally, she nodded, shifting her hand. The the roots retreated.

“Thank you,” he breathed, clutching his chest. “Was that so hard?”

“I suppose we’ll see,” Witch replied, giving him a snaggletoothed grin. “This isn’t over yet. If I’m to keep my promise, then you’d better keep to yours.”

For a moment, the little Borrower eyed him distrustingly where she sat along his chest. Her claws remained embedded for a moment, watching to see if he would make any moves to dislodge her, pick her up, or worse - but no. The feathered fellow only leaned back then up, giving a few taps of his fingers along the bed and a subtle shake of his hand beside the covers of the bed. There was a wisp of… Something familiarly frosty which slid to the other side of the bed, giving a sleepy stretch as it finally emerged.

Witch blinked, not so much in discomfort of fear as much as confusion. “Oh, is that how it works?”

For a moment, the now-familiar form of Spectre merely laid there, legs folded to the side. She sleepily propped herself up with one arm to look up at Quiet with a sense of sleepy annoyance. While she didn’t say a word, it was fairly clear by expression alone she was displeased at being awoken so abruptly.

“I could’ve really used your help,” Quiet huffed, giving a tilt of his head towards his chest. Then, a little softer to the disgruntled teen: “Would you mind letting go of the claws now? Maybe you should go and get a head start?”

There was the small sigh from Quiet’s side as Spectre understood the situation.

“You forgot to leave things out last night, didn’t you?”

“I thought you had-“

“I can’t do much of anything like this,” Spectre reminded, a glint of danger in her eye. “It isn’t as though I can hold onto things and bring them to them now that I’m dead.”

There was that intriguing look again that passed between corvid and Borrower; the unsettling look of what Witch could only distinguish as guilt and fear, keeping Quiet mindful of where he tread. Well, she had certainly done her part in making sure that he knew who he was messing with. But for now, the assistance wasn’t bad - and besides, it was amusing to watch.

“Is that why you left me to deal with this one?”

“Hmm?”

Spectre gazed up curiously, noticing the slight rope burn and cuts from the brambles. There was a curious smirk in response, looking from Quiet to Witch. 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Not used to Fae yet? Afraid of a few tiny scratches and vines curling around your neck?” There was a taunting air as Witch retracted her claws, retaining eye contact as she licked the blood from them. “Good.”

Quiet winced. This level of hostility and outright sadism from a child her age was startling. He turned towards Spectre for advice almost pleadingly; however, it seemed for once, she was just as lost in the same spiral of unease as him at this particular display of aggression. 

So that confirmed it; this wasn’t just a traditional Borrower behavior. Somewhere, something had gone horribly wrong, and judging by the look of sympathy and grief which crossed her features, she had some inkling of what.  

“You’ll learn eventually not to question it,” was about all she could muster. Cautiously, Spectre lifted herself from Quiet’s side; it seemed upon her approach, the child began to settle.

“ Why don’t we get a head start? You might as well get accustomed to the major tunnels sooner than later.”

Witch hesitated for a moment, then gave a nod.

“Perfect. That way you’ll be able to-“

But Spectre trailed off as it seemed that Witch wasn’t listening. There was a look of angered, pained remorse as she stared down at the lacerations on Quiet’s chest, then back up at the snags and tears from the brambles. Meeting eyes with him, there was indeed that deep, sharp fear she’d been wanting from the moment she got here, to insist she was in charge - and yet, it rang hollow as the piercing white of his eyes. Was this really what she wanted?

Most people would’ve crushed her by now - or tried to, more so - for much less. But there was a distinct sense of pacifism which set in as more than terror as he looked over her, refusing to even lift a talon against her. No, this was deliberate mercy mingled with… a kind of empathetic sadness. As if somehow he wanted to be the one to apologize to her instead, but couldn’t.

“Witch?”

“Stupid Wretch,” she huffed, breaking off into breathless laughter. “You really are a pathetic mess, aren’t you?”

This time, Witch concentrated as she placed a hand on her own wrist, focusing on the pulse. Quiet flinched as she put her hand down once more against the scratches -

But this time, a warm, golden glow emanated instead. The Borrower in the corner blinked, straining to catch sight of it. The slightest hint of yarrow spread from her fingertips, flicking a stray finger upward to produce the same along the vine wounds.

But it was half-assed. A small taste of healing magic, giving only the minimal dose that would still need time to heal and scar over.

“Do the rest yourself,” Witch barked, raising her tail as she got back to her feet. “I’m not performing any more ‘miracle cures’ for your kind.”

Giving a glare, she jumped down to follow Spectre, leaving both Quiet and her anxiously observant sister in a sense of numb shock.

Did she actually try and heal him?!

It had been years ago since the last time Witch was placed in that situation, and she remembered it well. The fields of that valley were something which they would never return to in their fullest, and as far as Witch was concerned, it was all her fault. That beautiful, stupid girl lying in the grass, with that all-too-familiar wound from a now all-too-familiar enemy. Fate, or perhaps deliberate pattern, had a way of being unfortunately humorous, didn’t it?

Witch wrinkled her nose as she followed Spectre through the tunnels, catching the spark of electricity. The swish of her tail caught the ghost’s attention, but Spectre knew better to pry; the information was something that she had been given the prior night, and it seemed the past was a bit more touchy to the living than the dead. Better to just let the child process everything in her own time.

That hot summer day, the scent of blood had caught the young Borrower sharply. She had been told to avoid the larger folk - “beans,” as some of the domestic refugees called them - but this particular one seemed harmless. A golden child in that pale blue dress, blond hair strewn on the grass. Were it not the scene of an attempted murder, the visage would’ve been picturesque; a sleeping beauty opposed to a damsel in distress. But this particular girl was, just as she was at the time, just a little over thirteen; hardly at an age to suffer this gruesome fate. Especially not when the wound had been botched, striking away from anything vital.

Taboo practices be damned.

Witch knew what she had to do.

Clawed hands scaled up the strained body, feeling each and every rasping breath. The pool of blood trickled from the Damsel’s chest onto her once-pristine dress, staining into Witch’s as she pressed nearer.

The wound was deep; deeper than what Witch was used to curing. But with a bit of practice, she knew even back then she had the ability to do it if she believed in herself. And besides, no one else was around to help… No, it had to be her.

The process was familiar. A touch of her own pulse. The sharp scent of healing foliage packing deep into a stab wound, the tip of that previously-unknown implement buried deep within: a talon tip. The very memory of it still stung, feeling a sense of warmth and dread clinging to her present form as the past all came back in vivid color.

Blue. Everything around her was blue. Her dress, the endless sky, the forget-me-nots that had been splattered with the bloodstained impact…

It was hypnotizing.

There it was again; that delightful stink of fresh blooms and the princess’s perfume - so artificial, so human. Each blue eye opened up slowly as the blood clotted on her chest and the wound sealed itself - the same spell she’d use on her own sister two years to come to prevent oncoming death - or perhaps reverse it.

Witch’s first Echo. The remnant of Death’s edge embedded beside a still-beating heart, whose receiver stared down at the mage with a sense of wonder and delight.

A deep sense of curiosity hid poorly on the corners of those eyes as they met; one in awe, one cautious, yet curious.

“You-“

“You were hurt,” Witch grumbled, giving a soft tsk tsk. She’d wipe the blood from her hand as though it was merely an inconvenience; a staggering difference between their worlds. “You should be more careful out here. These woods will crush the life out of -“

“You saved me. Oh, you’re my tiny little hero, aren’t you?”

“Lay off; it was nothing-“

When that Damsel’s hand came close, that’s when Witch knew she should’ve run. But the siren’s call of this maiden had kept her hostage, only growling weakly in protest.

This was the first of many hugs she’d receive. Enfolded in blue, steadied by the drumroll of a heart that she’d reset, things felt alright. It was okay to relax for the moment before she headed back, and lean into the gesture.

But by now she’d stiffened, and hugs were a rare occurrence. Those who tried knew the fury of her claws and teeth with only one exception. Beast wasn’t one for hugging, anyways; only the occasional ruffle of her hair with a stray claw for a proper hunt, a defended attack on training. A scorpion needed few comforts in the grand scheme of things, and if that left her with just the sharper embrace of her sister then so be it.

The days that had been spent with this Damsel, however, were kinder. Hovered on the lip of the moon’s crescent, she would abscond from the village beneath and run to the hills with the finest pickings, and within its light they would have a grander feast than any Borrower could ever imagine. Small blueberry muffins and chiffon cakes seemed to be a favorite of the sweeter love; the color-changing tea of pea flowers Witch’s own delight. And from there, it seemed that Witch returned the favor with hazelnuts and lavender blooms - smaller gatherings to split between the two of them, side by side.

In the evenings alone, they would go in search of truffles and blackberries along the forest clearing, to devour alone under the moonlit sky. A kinder love, from a soft, naive lover. One who more than once, Witch had taken advantage of to lead towards clumps of stinkhorn and empty briars, much to her amusement.

“I thought you’d be more upset,” Witch pondered, quirking a brow.

“But you’re so happy with them; how could I be?”

Even back then, this amount of doting was peculiar. Witch knew she was no heir, no champion sorceress like her sister - so having someone who loved her unconditionally was a welcome change despite the warning signs. The hunts for millipedes and moss and reeds didn’t seem to bother this particular maiden at all; rather marveling at every peculiar thing that was presented at her feet and the antics which persisted with every one. To her, the unusual mannerisms of the forest dweller were just as wonderful as anyone from her homestead; a lovely creature opposed to a wretch.

The traditional flower crowns were swapped with tangled of matted kelp and salvinia blooms, carefully secured by the tenderest of fingers. And for her own touch, Witch scattered a few foxglove petals as a poisoned deterrent; her first of many tricks of its kind.

“I think it suits you,” the maiden would say, carefully tucking a final bloom behind one of Witch’s sensitive ears. “Unconventional, but lovely all the same.”

Unconventional Adoration (artist: FreshCaughtLeeches)

“You’re missing something from yours,” Witch chirped. That’s when she made her mistake. By weaving her own briars into the young girl’s hair, she’d left a definitive sign for them to follow. “There. Now we’re both unconventional.” A tender paw caressed the pulse mark along her lover’s wrist, nudging her head along it. “Until we meet again.”

A bow had broken their exchange; with that, Witch was sure she should've known who she was dealing with. But no. Her feet tread those paths and followed home quite easily, unfollowed by human soul; if only then she’d known it would be their last visit in peace.

But now, she was in a cabin, far deeper in the woods. Witch had gotten used to the tunnel navigation system well enough; Spectre seemed to be rather straightforward with hers, unlike the maze of burrows which laid underground in the wilder territories. Bent-out wires and hollow tubing replaced the sturdy earthen paths; the sound of pipes an orchestrated melody instead of the cacophony of several voices overlapping. No sound of other wildlife in these, devoid of other sounds; both a blessing and a curse, longing subconsciously for home. But she would adapt as she always had as she made her way along from the walls back to the kitchen drawers, shimmying up them with the same ease as the prior night.

“You really know your way around, don’t you?” There was a hint of amusement in Spectre’s tone, watching Witch scamper back up to the kitchen counters and towards the fridge with a particular moxie.

“Scent,” Witch mumbled, ears flicking back. “I can smell where the food is. I could tell from the other room, and all the way in the walls. Makes it extra frustrating when it’s locked away.”

There were the heavy footsteps following behind a ways, and the swish of wings folding awkwardly to fit into the space - whoever had designed it clearly had not intended for someone of his wingspan to live here.

“Alright,” Quiet yawned, averting his gaze, “may I come in now and open things up?”

“That would be best,” Spectre replied, giving a nod of approval. “And once you’re done setting things out and opening the spaces, I advise you leave. Borrowing is a rather private matter for the most of us.”

Quiet nodded, opening the fridge. Witch watched intently as he set out a variety of meats and what looked like fresh cheeses, along with familiar herbs; sage, lemongrass, aloe. Other varieties seemed like they were procured from the markets from further lands, and once Quiet backed away she was definitely going to have her fill of those for tonics and spellcasting.

“You got any rat poison?”

Quiet’s wings snapped open in shock along his back.

“N…No. That’s unsafe to have around with all the creatures that come around, I- rat poison? Why do you want with-?”

Witch looked up at him smugly. From her bag, she pulled out a flask of something Quiet couldn’t quite distinguish, but could only guess was some kind of poison. She sipped slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“I’m low on foxglove and oleander. And since I won’t be able to go outside for the foreseeable future, I need an alternative.“

There was a soft shudder as it seemed whatever she drank was taking effect. A faint glow emanated from Witch’s hand, placing it to her heart. The symptoms ebbed away.

“Oh, dear god. No, I am not giving you more poison.”

Witch shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m practically immune to everything in this forest; that’s no skin off my back. Besides, I can probably ask Beast if she can get me more Scorpion since she can still come and go as she pleases.”

Quiet sighed as he closed the fridge. He kept his back turned upon request.

“I really don’t think you need any poison in your system, frankly.”

“Tch. I wouldn’t expect a behemoth like you to understand. This is a very special kind of poison.” As she spoke, there was a particular kind of delight that awoke in Witch’s eyes, standing back with a swish of her tail. “In fact, it’s better if you don’t.”

Noticing that the provisions had finally been laid out, Witch took her turn to scramble for her pickings of loose objects and supplies from the fridge and open pantry.

————

“What is that?”

Witch looked over the small, bulbous vial handed to her with an eye of curiosity. The Damsel handed it over to her with an air of pained comfort, as though knowing there was something sinister about it. Something felt off.

“You mentioned wanting to build up immunity, right? This is called Scorpion’s Tonic. According to what I’ve heard, it’s supposed to lock in your magic and keep you safe in case-“

“- We get found out by humans so our magic can’t be drained. I’m familiar,” Witch murmured, uneasily. “But this is a Fae spell, and a relatively hard one to make without Chimeras.” There was a squint of distrust.

 “… Where did you get this?”

The maiden seemed to hesitate. “A chimera gave it to me.”

“I can smell that,” Witch growled. “A captive one. From somewhere fancy.” Then, more pointed: “Come to think of it, you did always bring rather lavish pickings-“

A turn of the vial in Witch’s hands:

“This is a royal seal on the bottom. Who are you?”

The girl stiffened. “It’s like I told you; I’m just a Damsel.”

Witch laughed in disbelief.

“You believe that myth - that I’m going to take your name? You believe everything they’ve told you, don’t you?” Then, even quieter:

“You’re the Princess, aren’t you?”

The Damsel - no, the Princess - gave a resigned hang of her head. That was when she finally removed an item from her hand: a burnished gold tiara.

Witch’s features twisted into a discomforted smile as the Princess spoke again.

“And you must be Wild’s heir. One of my guards recognized the roots; I’m so sorry-“

“You didn’t take them out?!”

“I was trying to when they came past-“

Witch gave a snarl. “Of course! Of course this is what I get for trusting someone like you!” Biting her lip, Witch wiped hurriedly at her eyes but it was no use - the tears came anyways. “You wretch! How could you?!”

“I came to warn you,” the Princess said shakily, reaching out for Witch; but it was too late for that, it seemed. Instead of a warm embrace, her hand snagged on thorny brambles, bleeding out open wounds.

“You shouldn’t have!” Witch shrieked. “Maybe your stupid kingdom was right! Maybe you should be afraid of us; you’ve made yourself a terrible enemy with the Fae. The next time I see you, I’m going straight for your throat!”

With a defiant slash, Witch cut across the flesh of her palm - deep. There was a shriek that resounded at the wound, feeling the blood pour out upon the impact. Witch looked up, huffing and panting, her eyes locked in defiance - but there was no rush to grab any form of first aid at all. No, if anything…

“Go ahead.”

Witch balked. “What?!”

“If that’s what makes you happy.”

There was no invisible hand this time guiding her decisions. Over the time spent in the forest, every decision became the Princess’s own. She remained knelt on her knees by Witch’s side, keeping that solemn, remorseful face pricked with tears.

“I was always supposed to die here. If not by divinity, then perhaps it’s by your hand.”

The autumnal blooms of crocus and poppy were painted with her blood now, grimacing at the uneasy fate that arose within the moment’s passing. 

“No. Get up.” With a growl, Witch placed her hand defiantly against the Princess’s own -

Only to be pushed away.

“Leave it. I deserve it.”

 From the corner of her eye, there was something in the distance… The Princess’s eyes went wider still as she registered.

“We were supposed to have more time-“

“You knew they were headed here.” The momentary sympathy in Witch’s eyes immediately vanished. “This was a distraction, wasn’t it?”

“No; I was trying to keep them away from the woods so you could get away.”

“And so you lead them into the open paths?!” Witch gave a shaky laugh. “You fool! I led you into the woods to keep you away; you brought them right to us!”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t know! Next time I’ll be sure to check-“

“There won’t be a next time.” Witch’s eyes brimmed with angry, frightened tears. “This is it for us. If this pack doesn’t finish us off…”

Already, it seemed that the horses and chimeras were descending upon the landscape.

“I…” Witch pushed her away. “Which chimera was it?”

“The one with the single bladed horn. Two budding on the sides.”

There wasn’t a response as Witch turned around.

“I’m going to see if I can stall them - where are you going?”

Witch could barely bring herself to meet the Princesses' eyes.

“To protect what little family I have left.”

———

From the corner of her eye, Witch noticed a crocus bloom drift down and land on the counter. That was the first thing she advanced on, stomping it to the ground. Her way of Borrowing was much different than the domestic sorts; opposed to using grappling hooks and a variety of tools to maneuver, every single gadget Witch needed was built-in. Claws for climbing, a tail for balance, double-jointed legs for switching between two and four legs. Even her spine was accommodating to the tighter spaces, fitting much like a traditional cat’s into spots which seemed impossible.

With her own pickings, she was gathering up a variety of different things; a corkscrew, a copper piece, a piece of a chicken nugget that looked like it’d been left out for too long which she hastily stuffed into her mouth (interesting - so other birds weren’t off his menu). When it came to foods, she was definitely coming back to that variety of meats and cheeses, not to mention all the-

There was a tremble as her eyes fell again on that singular bloom on the counter. Its petals were still fresh, only the claw marks from her own back paws raking into it. Still in its prime, this autumnal bloom seemed to be hinting at something unfinished.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. A moment’s anger seized her once more, bounding over with a heavy bag and ripping it apart with her teeth. Satisfied and aching, those final pieces she scattered haphazard in her hair.

Loved and loathed. Now, they finally  blended together in a perfect symphony.

———

Torches. They had to bring torches. Whether it was to confuse their “catch” or else burn down Wild’s woods, Witch wasn’t sure then, and was even less sure now except to say that it had been years since either of them had seen their mother. Everyone knew that the forest was left with the heir still growing - and it seemed that now, they believed they had found it. Dissuasion wouldn’t work here; even at the time Witch knew that. Watching her new enemy try and negotiate was almost worse than her standing back instead.

As far as the humans knew, their own heir had been cooperating with the Fae’s; a lie to try and keep Thorn out of it had backfired. They were done for.

Their only hope now was to find that chimera. While the teachings of Borrower society had given her many other details, Witch didn’t need to be told about their domestication when it was so clearly obvious. A once-mutualistic ally had turned ravenous predator in humanity’s hands, starved and left alone in cages until their instinct forced through willpower and collective thought. The newer generations knew not of their sacred pact; the older ones, however, would rather die than defile it.

There was a rough impact against Witch’s side, thrusting her into open arms. She didn’t need confirmation to tell that Thorn had found her first.

“Thorn-“

“Everyone we could get through the tunnels already left. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Witch felt the breath run rapid, brushing away the tears. It seemed for a moment her sister softened, loosening the intensity of her grip.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Thorn breathed, keeping the stern compassion of a worried parent. “Right now-“

“We need to find Mom’s chimera.”

Witch sniffed. The scent of flames and the reeking breath of the beasts was heavy, but it was discernible. The younger chimeras pounced and hissed, throwing unconscious borrowers into small jars or bottles with a toss of their heads - but there were one or two who stood off to the side, eyeing the barbaric nature of their kin in disgust.

Doused in the flames, there was the skin-and-bones form of a massive creature. Her mane was a mass of matted tangles, adorned with scars from what looked like chained abrasions and human mistreatment. Unlike the others, she seemingly showed no interest in the Borrowers at all - merely sniffing out for something to the side of the forest clearing.

“If we go over there, we won’t get out.”

“It’s too late for that now,” Witch growled, nipping at her sister’s tail to avoid the fires. “She might recognize us. Didn’t you say she’s met you before?”

“A long time ago,” Thorn managed, following Witch’s lead reluctantly. The flames had encircled most of the area; humanity stood by the scene cowardly, letting their “hounds” do the work for them. Typical. “But that would be relying on a lot more than scent alone-“

“It sounds like she recognizes our magic,” Witch coughed, keeping stride. “So if we can just show her-“

Avoiding the tumultuous horde was harder than it looked. Fleeing Borrowers scampered from ruined hideaways; roofs were ripped from earthen pathways. Leafy coverings smoldered; the screams of Borrowers who -

There was a sharp tug on Witch’s side as a hand covered her eyes. ‘Didn’t make it’ was all she needed to know, judging by the trembling at her side and bristle of fur. She knew well enough that some of the newer chimeras got “carried away,” and were permitted to do so long as they brought back most of their catch.

“You need to call this off,” came that ringing voice in the distance. “They’re not dangerous! They’re kind, and intelligent, and… and…”

By now they’d been noticed. The sniffing Beast’s eyes widened, leaping strides through the fray. Her strides tracked flames as she walked, pushing past the other chimeras in the fray. Tentatively, they approached, pushing aside the soot that collected on the brambles above. Fallen shelters would not hide them now. The other beasts clearly viewed them as prey, or bait to earn their keep from soon-to be captors. It was now or never, staring her down in the blind hope that this wasn’t a ruse.

Once they had met even ground, there was a pause. She was even more massive than they could’ve imagined; three times the size of a domestic cat, supple musculature proving that not even hunger could deprive her of strength and vitality. The singular horn upon her head was just as the Princess had described; jagged on one edge like a unicorn’s, her fur a splotchy kelp green amidst pale patches of brown to blend in with the forest’s dappled light. Crooked talons splayed out behind her, a front paw splayed out with claws raised in front of them. She spoke no words, her freckled face focusing in on them with an almost beseeching look.

She had their scent. She clearly recognized them, and made no moves to attack. So what was next?

Breathing ragged, it was Thorn to make the next mistake. Calmly lowering a hand, she knelt to the ground and practiced the motion she had been taught. A faint white glow rose from the ground as an entwined chorus of voices rose up, lingering just at the touch of her fingertips -

That was, at least, the motion she’d been taught to identify herself to the Beast if they’d been alone. As the hollow echo of the woods rang out, every chimera lifted their heads from their chosen prey; jaws dropped hapless Borrowers who scuttled away, bottles on saddlebags cracked to release their captives. For a moment, the whole scene lay silent as it seemed obvious what this was all about:

“The Heiress! She’s here!”

“You idiot!”  

A rank screech erupted from the Beast’s mouth, noticing the immediate surge of attention. A sneaky removal was no longer an option; it was either letting Wild’s daughters be torn to pieces, or going along with this inane plan. And unfortunately, it seemed that the eldest - the one set to inherit the entire cycle - was just a little short on the uptake.

It was more than desperation to get to them first that fueled this massive predator this time, lunging towards them jaws open with a horrific screech -

A look of dread didn’t even begin to describe it as Thorn took it all in. Locked on all sides by ravenous forms, the only one that was supposed to help seemed just as ready to pounce on them as any other monster here. Heart beating wildly, stiff on the spot, it seemed that freezing like prey had earned Thorn, impossibly, even fewer points as Witch proceeded to light a pine needle on fire and stand that ground for her. 

‘Now there’s who should be heiress,’ surely Beast was thinking. ‘Not this shivering wreck of a nineteen year old in the corner.’ But the thoughts of a soon-be devourer didn’t really matter so much as getting there and reaching out before the fog hit. There was only one option here: blind, perhaps even foolish trust in the one possible ally, or else all was lost.

That toxic trail of chimera breath; a potent, vibrant chloroform. Witch had barely a chance to see it before the world again was snatched away from her with a holler, feeling every single muscle around her small form jolt with oncoming impact. The back of an elbow against her nose and mouth, a tail tucked against her eyes; every single one of Thorn’s protective appendages covering her own weak spots instead, leaving herself completely vulnerable.

Every single part of Witch wanted to scream. A desperate tail flicked, trying to feel around to return the gesture in kind - but it was too late. Even from within this remorseful fortress she could tell those weary eyes were staring straight up at their new captor, somewhere between surrender and regret.

A shaky breath. A weakening of grasp. Then, finally, as the fumes subsided, a groan as they both plummeted to the side. As the arms around her unfolded, Witch scrambled desperately towards her sister’s side, nuzzling tearfully towards her chest.

There was still life. She gave a momentary sigh of relief. However, all relief was cut short as those dreaded claws swooped down.

Witch bit furiously at the paws, even though they merely scooped up the unconscious form to deposit her in one of the spherical vials on her bag. A second had caught Witch by the tail, dangling her above those frightening jaws with partial amusement. Witch growled all the more persistently as she drew nearer, watching the teeth-

“Now you have an understanding of things.”

Opening her eyes, Witch realized that she hadn’t been tossed in like a hapless morsel. No, if this was an act, it was a fairly clever one. She merely tilted her head and let the Beast continue.

“Keep yourself in check. I expected Wild’s daughters to be much brighter than this, but you certainly have her spirit. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, preything.” 

Whether that was a threat or a clue, Witch would learn eventually was the latter - but for now it was an ominous threat as she was placed alongside her sister’s unconscious body for the first time; not the last. Beast tilted her head for the pack to abscond, watching them scatter like rats behind her amidst greedy, filthy human hands.

Beside one of them, the form of the damn Princess was held securely by one arm. There was a shriek as she spotted the familiar form settled in the glass.

Despite her protests, more and more guards seemed to show up and practically throw her to the side of one horse. That was an oddly rough treatment for someone of noble rank…

It didn’t matter. As Witch caught her eye, tears of hatred ran across her cheeks. A single sharp root had crept into the tiny space, shattering a crack into the glass.

———

“I’m sorry for staying around. You wanted me to leave, right?”

Upon Quiet’s words, Witch’s focus snapped back from the darkened corners of her mind. Why was she thinking about all of this now? It wasn’t as if she’d buried it. And what did she want right now?

“Stay.”

It seemed her own voice had chosen for her.

Quiet tilted his head. “Isn’t that against your rules?”

“Everything we’re doing here is against our rules,” Witch snarked back, pointing a clawed finger downward. “I said stay.”

“… This is sending very mixed signals,” Quiet admitted, although remained in his corner. He could tell based on the variety of different things clanging haphazardly to the floor like a cat in frenzy, that was definitely where she was. Then, with a surprised purr:

“You actually do keep a pea flower blend. Fascinating.”

Well, that went one of the more expensive things from the market’s hauls. Stifling a groan as he side eyed the mess of broken jars and dented cans on the floor, he felt just about ready to leave against this snippy teenager’s orders regardless.

Then a strange thing happened. The sound of four-legged scampering grew nearer as he braved for an impact that never came. Instead, there was merely the subtle tap of a flat hand, claws held upward. Quiet chanced a look.

What he saw looking down at him was not the same vivid, fearsome creature who had gone for his throat in the dead of morning, but a hesitantly shifting child, giving a soft flick of her tail.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any pastries lying around to go with it, now, would you?”

Quiet blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You know,” Witch sighed, straightening up a little, “like cakes, muffins-“

“No no, I got all that. Are you… Asking me to go find you something?”

Witch’s ears flicked back. Despite the scowl on her face, she nodded.

Okay, that was new. Out of either of the two Borrowers to be approaching him this soon, the one who had practically strangled him to death was not the one he theorized would be getting this close to taloned hands.

“I’ll see what I can find.”

No sooner had he moved his hand that he felt the painful skittering sensation of tiny hands and feet running over his hand, rodent-like in stride. The recoil was met with an air of satisfaction from this tiny little Borrower immediately.

“Oh,” Witch chirped, “so you are afraid of us after all.”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be afraid of someone who tried to kill me in my sleep,” Quiet huffed, irritated. This was a child he was talking to, and a severely traumatized one at that; one did not simply ‘become’ a venomous monster from birth. That was something developed. And judging by the way she was already beginning to act, this wasn’t entirely in her nature.

He knew best to leave that alone.

“Can you move to the side so that I can just-?”

“Why don’t you try it and see?” There was a spark of mischief in the Borrower’s eye as she watched him curiously, feline mouth twitching in delight. But despite Witch’s usual eye for antics, it wasn’t bloodthirst this time. Tricky nature, perhaps, but something a bit less… Evil?

Quiet groaned, and gave the softest nudge he could manage. Almost immediately he yelped and staggered back, feeling the sensation of a thousand bite wounds and searing pains, followed by that signature cackle of delight in return.

Nevermind; evil. Definitely evil.

“Oh, that’s right,” Witch chuckled, her voice teetering on mania. “You can’t. And you know why? Because I can’t trust you, and you can’t trust me.” 

The look of eager intrigue faded yet again no sign for retaliation; a growl rose up in her throat, Almost sounding… Desperate?

 “…Fine. Give me your hand.”

“Why? So you can do that again?!”

Witch looked up at him darkly, opening up her palm. The smoldering remains of brambles had formed into charcoal within one palm, looking up at him begrudgingly.

“No, so that I can detoxify the venom before it spreads.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Boldly, Witch dropped her collective borrowings onto the counter, scrambling up one of Quiet’s lowered wings. As he folded it awkwardly, it seemed her grip didn’t falter, rather holding on and clambering along his back instead. Despite the fact that she continued to scramble, ratlike, along from back to head, it seemed that her own advancements caused no damage. By the time she did manage to drop down to his hand, it seemed that he had frozen to the spot. Getting to the pulse was easy enough by looping her tail over one finger and holding onto the underside, placing the hand down to his wrist with the antidote more firmly.

The numbing sensation abated. Almost immediately, Quiet regained his senses. Witch fluidly leapt from his hand back onto the counter like a squirrel, grabbing her bag once more with the nonchalance of any escaped creature.

Quiet blinked. “The hell was the point in that?”

“There wasn’t one. Just… Forget it.”

Watching her turn away with an even more disheveled air than usual, Quiet almost pitied this strange, frightened monster. The inherent desire to inflict harm was indeed not intrinsic; much as he refused to turn a talon against this peculiar child, she seemed to refuse to let him die from each wound she made. She seemed to just be assurring he knew she was a threat if he so much as dared lay a finger against her in premeditated self defense. Well, message received.

Not a monster after all. Just a scared, incertain teenager who had been through things he didn’t dare question. The fact she was willing to even get this close at all was impressive.

“Do you still want me to get those for you?”

It seemed that got her attention. Even despite the lash out, even now…

“You don’t have to. I don’t know what I was doing, trying to-”

A brush of his own hand cut off her thoughts. Blinking, she heard again the hiss of pain as Quiet retracted, but didn’t pull away in suspicion. Witch turned her head. Grumbling, she pawed back with the magic again, and the symptoms abated.

Another nudge - more playful this time. Oh, was he trying to make a game out of this?

A slap back. A little nudge. This time, when he reached out, the venom didn’t hit.

A slightly firmer paw back - placing both of her hands down on his.

For a moment, she didn’t move from the spot. Just two hands placed against the back of his, daring him to move from the spot. And when he didn’t move, it seemed her nerves were solidified.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

This feeling was unfamiliar to her. Calm and patient, despite his daunting size. Steadily, she placed her hands further up, pawing along the smooth, leathery skin along his hands. It seemed with the sudden security which had taken over a space of prior unease, the motion became repetitive and soothing. But to imagine that this had managed to happen over the span of one day…

Is she… Kneading?

The only thing that Witch could do was nod. The tiny weight of her form slithered off, looking at him expectantly.

Oh, right. The food.

Quiet tiptoed over to the other side of the room, retrieving a portion of one lemon tart and breaking it into pieces. He placed two of them down in front of her. Witch chose the larger half for herself before stowing away the other, watching Quiet with a fading unease as he ate not too far from her side. A calm had filled the room once more as the scorpion lowered her barbs - unbeknownst to the worried gaze which had permeated the walls in a fur-clad static.

Yet again, the scorpion was befriending the frog. And if those honeyed words were left to linger, he was bound to strike when she was most vulnerable.

Enough waiting around. Enough time spent lurking in the shadows.

Play your games all you want. If you think it’s that simple to break our pact, you have another thing coming.

The lashing tail shook the interior walls, knocking picture frames off them in a nervous clatter.

Tonight’s borrowing was on her end, and she would be sure that Quiet didn’t get any smart ideas of how this was done.

Chapter Text

There was something about this that always stung. Even enveloped in the comforts of home with a seemingly benevolent host, things didn’t feel quite right. 

The most venomous creature in the woods had lowered her claws. Witch had actually chosen pacifism opposed to ripping Quiet limb for limb. And what’s more, she has actually taken food directly from him; immune as she was, these were things her sister would’ve never considered from anyone, much less one who so resembled their previous assailant.

But was it really because he was harmless, or was there something more lingering beneath the surface? Either way, Thorn intended to find out first.

We can’t get away from it, can we? We trust someone, they try to kill us. We trust no one, everything else tries to kill us. I’ve died now what - once? Twice? - because of this whole charade, and I’m not letting it happen again. Either he comes out to talk, or I’ll make him.

The cover of darkness; a welcome treat for any nocturnal creature; a Borrower’s traditional haunt. When beans were asleep and the household stilled, things were generally much calmer. The drip of tap water was one of the few sounds that encompassed the room as Thorn set out, sniffing for any trace of their peculiar host in the vicinity. Currently, it was faded enough.

No trace of Spectre except the looming presence emanating from the fridge. Not a ruffle of a feather from Quiet. Perhaps their little standoff could wait, then, if he wasn't around. Thorn certainly didn't mind consulting the matter with one of her own beforehand, tiptoeing towards the fridge.

That was, at least, until that familiar voice spoke up out of nowhere, making her hair stand on end.

“Oh, Witch. Didn’t expect to see you out again so soon.”

Where the hell did he come from?!

The figure in the corner didn’t respond. Shrouded in the darkness of the night, the only thing visible was the twitch of a tufted tail and the glint of glowing, feline eyes turned towards the fridge.

“You know, if you’re still hungry I can always open that and-“

“Stop talking to me and leave. You are not supposed to be acknowledging my presence.”

Not Witch. Okay; that was a much sharper tone than Quiet had expected from her older sister, especially when it seemed up until this point they had something of a rapport going.

“I’m sorry,” Quiet murmured, dropping his feathers, “did… did I do something wrong?”

“You’re breaking our agreement,” Thorn spat. “We stay here, you leave us be. Did you not hear what your wife told you? This is a private matter. You’re not supposed to be here. So get what you need, and get out.”

“I’m sorry, but this is my house.” There was a slight raise in Quiet’s tone, raising a brow. “Am I not allowed to walk around it?”

“That is not what I said and you know it. Don’t twist my words, corvid.”  

Okay, yeah - it was personal. It was taking all of Quiet’s willpower to avoid escalating things into a fight.

“All I’m trying to do is get what I need, and, I dunno, now that you’re here maybe I could be on standby in case you need help. I know that wouldn’t be ideal in most cases, but since I already-“

An almost deranged laugh broke off his sentence immediately.

“On standby? What do you think you are - some kind of secret agent? I don’t need your help, and I’m better off without it. You have more than crossed the line at this point. I suggest you leave. Right. Now.”

“Again with the mixed messages… I’m told to leave, then to stay, then to leave immediately. So which one is it with the two of you?”

It seemed that the arguing had caught Spectre’s attention, floating wearily from her spot by the fridge. It only took her a moment of shifting gazes between borrower and husband to process the issue, narrowing them towards him with a shake of her head.

“You are crossing into dangerous territory, Killer. The Fae take even less kindly to these disputes than other Borrowers.” 

Her gaze shifted to Thorn momentarily, drifting over to her for a moment. There was that typical spark of mischief in her eye, whispering in her ear.

“Although I think it may be better if you give him what he wants. Show him how it’s done - your way. Give him a proper deterrent from asking to stick around again.”

“There is absolutely no way I’m-“

“I can make sure he won’t move from that spot. Possession, remember?”

Thorn pondered it for a moment.

“I thought your range was more limited.”

“It doesn’t have to be if I tap into his nerves.”

Now that certainly caught her attention. Vengeance was generally beneath her, but in this case it was more about setting household boundaries… Right? There was a spark of that same moral guilt, but she shoved it back down.

“Just tell me what you plan to do, and I can help you set the stage a bit better. After all, if he’s going to be so insistent about it-“

A shiver ran down Thorn’s spine, straight down to the tail. There was a soft puff along the edges of the collective fur -

Oh. Of course, that was just the arm along her shoulder.

“So, what do you say?”

“If you think that’s what it’ll take-“

Instinctively, Thorn reached out her hand to shake on it. Feeling even that dead, chilled hand in hers was better than none, the adrenaline of the moment more than enough incentive to carry forward.

It had been some time since she’d held real power in her hands. And with a pretty much zero-stakes situation like this, it was particularly appealing.

“So, what’s the decision?” Quiet stood in the corner somewhat meekly, scratching the back of his head. God, that feigned innocence was obnoxious.

“I’m doing it. But you have to stay right there.”

“Understood.”

There was a bitter chuckle from Thorn’s side of the room, features returning to their feline nature.

“No,” she purred, “I don’t think you do.”

A staticky flicker of the lights; Spectre’s contribution as she stood there on all fours, more creature than person. A startled gasp; the sudden cry as Quiet realized he was pinned to the spot.

“Oh, would it be a bad time to mention that Fae hunt opposed to borrow?”

It was time to give it her all.

With Spectre completely on her side, the thought of having an onlooker wasn’t terrifying. Thorn knew well enough in her wilder form, things would be easier to scale, harness, gather. It generally was something which she held back except for the direst of emergencies, but all of Quiet’s poking and prodding had struck a nerve within her; it might not have been life or death, but it certainly was an opportune time to wind up giving this fiend a taste of his own medicine.

Just to make sure that he was still looking, she shot a catlike eye back in his direction. She could practically feel the fear stinging into him as he stood there, paralyzed, and unable to do anything about it.

“You’re starting to get it, aren’t you?”

That same callous tone more associated with Witch, flicking a tail almost mockingly in his direction. But then again, it made sense there was some vocal similarity; they were related, after all. Blood was something that kept them alive, bound souls together and flowed from those who died, as Beast had always said - and even if not always the proudest of her more pacifist apprentice, the mentor’s lessons had stuck regardless. 

Tonight would be the night she made Beast proud.

Scaling objects wasn’t an easy task when everything was so smooth, missing the target a couple times with pained or angry hisses. But Thorn knew that regardless, she would adapt; “ground is ground,” as Hunted would always say. It didn’t matter what form it took, for there were always advantages to it. Deft claws slashed and stabbed at available food sources, stuffing grains of salt and pieces of dried salami haphazardly into a small bag slung across her shoulder. But not before nibbling off a piece for herself, beginning to ease her nerves a bit now that the gnaw of hunger had been satisfied.

Unfortunately, Quiet had to ruin it by speaking.

“I thought your sister was the wild one.”

“Oh, no no no.” An unstable, amused chuckle left Thorn’s lips. “There is no ‘wild one’ with Fae, and we certainly aren’t some little house pet at beck and call. So what, you thought I was ‘domesticated’ or something? That’s funny - that’s so funny.” The longer that Thorn rambled on, the more and more unsettlingly amused her tone until it snapped back to the same cold tenor. “We are wild, so you’d better get used to it.”

“Quiet, I would advise you-“

“What happened? This isn’t how things started out. If you want me to leave, then I can go ahead and leave. I’m sorry; I was out of line. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s a bit too late for that. Your words are as hollow as your bones; easily broken. You already came here with the intent of making this a spectacle; you really don’t understand, do you?”

There was a tense pause. Thorn’s breathing was quick and ragged, as though every single spike in tone and sudden jolt as she foraged the kitchen was agony.

“No, I don’t. Okay? And it sounds like I never will.”

There was a hesitant air as Thorn watched him, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“Did you come here to gawk, or did you really come here to understand?”

“I want to know,” Quiet breathed, desperate. “If you’re going to be living under my roof, shouldn’t I at least know how to best provide?”

There was that lacerating swish of a tail. Skittering footsteps had arrived from the tunnel down below, hidden from view from both of them to observe the chaos unfolding just in case backup was needed.

“You don’t need to. But if you really want to know? I can guarantee this won’t be pleasant for you.”

There was a mix of remorse and frustration in her words as the Borrower absconded with the night’s findings and disappeared out of sight. For a moment, the air was still, and Quiet was left in the chilling air of the darkened kitchen foreground.

“She’s… Gone? But I thought that she-“

The sentence was cut short by the spring of thick, hostile vegetation from the foyer, cutting off both entrances. From the vineyard there was no sign of the culprit, but it was clear from the context of every stabbing thistle who had cast them.

“Let’s start with the basics,” a sourceless voice growled. “We’re all named for a reason. And clearly, you haven’t been taking mine seriously enough.”

There was a flash of fierce emerald eyes for a moment as Thorn emerged from what was now a Fae-made jungle on the counter, only to vanish once again from sight. Chimera hunting behavior; an ambush predator relying on disorientation, surprise and strength to finish off an opponent. Even on a smaller scale, it was terrifying.

Keeping up with her visually would be impossible; Quiet knew well enough from his hunts with Den that the prey usually lost. And from the way that Hunted discussed the lone chimera out in the woods, she was even more formidable than his own, training up her kits to be just as strong. And if that was the case-

Something - or rather someone - side-swiped him. The feeling of claws raked his taloned hand, then vanished once more. Then again, and again, and again.

“Ow! Fuck…”

“Are you starting to understand now?” The growl from the Borrower wasn’t taunting like Quiet expected. It was surprisingly even; level, asking genuinely as she went on. “Imagine something like this, but multiplied tenfold. That is the damage output we’rs up against, so your perspective will always be muddled. You could do a thousand things worse. But this? This is all we can do to defend ourselves.” 

“It looks like you can do worse,” Quiet murmured, eyeing the thorny prison.

“Don’t tempt me,” Thorn growled. “You wouldn’t have any skin left by the time it was through.”

Another side swipe. A chance at a bite.

“Wha- Hey!”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? But you’re still standing. Whereas if you retaliated, I’d be thrown probably a good several yards. Break more than just a couple bones. Isn’t that right?”

Quiet looked down as he felt the stabbing of vines weaving along his fingertips. The rush of blood that wasn’t his along with it. The twist of a tail along… Wait a moment.

Looking down, he seemed to be correct. This feisty Borrower had indeed woven middle and forefinger together in a tangled mess of briars, with herself along with it in a bleeding mess. Instinct told him to reach out and pull her away from it, despite possession holding him steady - but the look in her eyes was defiant, locked on his with obvious intention.

But worst of all, it seemed that she’d deliberately guided a talon straight to her neck, baring herself to it with a sense of will that seemed to be almost threatening him to move. Even if he had control, Quiet would’ve stayed perfectly still.

“Are you getting the picture now ?!”

Words echoed through gritted teeth. Shaky tears pricked her eyes, shuddering as the vines finally retreated. Now that he could see her up close, those heavy scratches on her body did resemble talon scarring more than vines with the comparative damage, especially the one along -

The singular move of Quiet’s own volition was to gently drop her back onto the counter as vines the untethered, backing up with a panicked breath. His talons folded inward, hands pulled defiantly towards his own body.

Thorn stared blankly at him in numb shock. Of all the reactions she’d expected to have, this was not one of them.

The tension seemed to fade for a moment. There was a look of remorse on the corvid’s face as he regarded her, worriedly watching from a safe distance. He was taking it all in after all, not just watching in spectacle. 

His intentions were… Pure.

Thorn didn’t know how to react.

“I-“ 

He dropped me? He had every chance to break from her control this entire time, and yet - ?!

“I can imagine that was a lot to present,” Quiet managed, resisting his instinct to assist. “But for what it’s worth… I appreciate it. Truly.”

“This… This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to-“

There was a small choke as all impressions of this strange bird were shattered. Maybe Witch was right, after all. He was stupid, he was callous, yes; but cruelty didn’t seem to be within his nature. He had crossed the line and paid for it dearly, and instead of resenting he was, well, repenting. Human nature wasn’t in his textbook.

“You expected me to slit your throat, didn’t you?” Quiet sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that. I told you that you could stay here unhindered, and I’m sticking to it. I may not have known all the fine print, but that’s irrelevant.”

It didn’t take a scent check to tell he wasn’t lying. Quiet’s tone indicated well enough that he was quite serious about the matter. So no stabbing; that was… Nice, wasn’t it?

A small, weary smile seemed to settle on the Borrower’s lips. Tail shifted, feeling the strain of the realization and the gravitational pull of powers stretched far beyond their natural limits. The vines blocking the exits retreated and slithered back to her. The countertop became devoid of its hostile haunt of foliage as she stumbled forward.

“… Thorn?”

There was a slump of her body and a soft gasp from the far side of the room. Gravity seemed to come first as she heard the next lines from the nervous corvid.

“I am so sorry for this-“

Thorn wasn’t sure which came first: the exhaustion which sent her near-colliding with the countertop, the swift, panicked footsteps which bolted in her direction, or the skittering shriek from the other side as Witch tried to get there faster.

Codebreaking. That’s what the ominous warning was for . It was laughable, really, after that entire speech… This was how it ended.

Not with a deliberate, cruel death, but just some idiot toying with fate.

But nevertheless, it was certainly good he did. For instead of a neck-breaking collision, it seemed that the leathery flesh of Quiet’s open palm had nullified the blow completely.

Such Perilous Empathy (source: TerritorialRain)

Don’t let another being hold you. That was paramount, and here it was broken in an instant with unconscious form in trembling hand. Witch skidded to a halt mere inches from it, horrified; every single fiber of her being froze upon the spot. There was the ebb of pale ghastly essence rising from his head as Spectre emerged from his cerebral cortex, drifting down uneasily to the child’s side to assess the situation: a frightened teen, a clueless corvid, and a borrower so numb with shock it’d taken everything from her to process.

“You’ve really done it now, Killer.”

Chapter Text

There was a bristle of the hair along Witch’s limbs, watching tentatively as the situation unfolded.

Why? Why did this keep happening? Every single time she could remember there was cause to take a stand, Thorn would always dip out at the last second. The first time, it seemed to be for the sake of simple protective measures; a way to affirm the lesser of seventeen evils in the chimera pack. The second still remained a defiant last stand against a larger foe; a vibrant force of brutality where if they were going down, they were taking that blasted bird with them.

But this… This was stupid. Daresay a self-inflicted (and possibly permanent) punishment for lashing out. Had her will really been broken that severely?

“What else was I supposed to do? Just watch her fall to her death?” Quiet’s words were soft and uneasy. Even he remained well aware of the severity of what had just occurred, and had a feeling there was much more to this than what laid on the surface. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. Let’s just take things one step at a ti-“

There were those small, clawed hands against his forefinger again. This time, however, the look in them wasn’t hostile or arrogant as two dilated pupils stared up at him tearfully, wordless and thankful.

Oh, shit. That really was just a kid. Quiet kept Witch’s gaze for a moment before pulling back to seek advice from his ghastly counterpart.

“You may want to find an alternative to your hand, to start with,” Spectre crooned. “I doubt she’ll take lightly to being held by the time she wakes up.”

There was a small tilt of Spectre’s head towards a small basket on the counter, holding a spare couple of hand towels. Giving a nod, he carefully curled the talons away as he adjusted his grip - only for a shaky stumble to join in, glowering up at his surprise.

For who could’ve possibly joined Thorn’s side in the palm of his hand except-?

“Not a word, Wretch.”

Clearly, even she had mixed feelings about it. The dangerous glint in Witch’s eye confirmed doubt as she settled in, tail wrapping against one of Thorn’s deeply-scarred wrists.

That was fine. He could easily leave the two of them be as he walked over, sliding the basket over with one hand and depositing both Borrowers into the nest of linen. It seemed that the necessary adjustments were ones the young girl was already getting to work on immediately; biting the edge of a towel to fold it over; making sure that there was enough elevation to avoid a head rush. That confirmed Quiet’s suspicion this toxic creature had more medical prowess than just a few spells. It still hurt to see that the look of worry in her eyes, however, was mingled with a sense of anger and betrayal.

It always had to be when things were finally going well. And instead of getting to recover and enjoy the calm after the storm…

Witch gave a growl of contempt as she stared down. Did it always have to feel like it was on purpose? Did Thorn not trust her to front the blows, to take the chances, to make her own course of action? Or was it really just the sheer desire to-

Witch squeezes her eyes shut. No; she would not entertain that thought. There had to be another explanation for this. But she wouldn’t rest until she heard it from her big sister directly, and against all medical intelligence had grown too impatient to wait for an answer.

“Wake up!”

A sharp hiss broke out from Witch’s mouth, claws angled away to give a quick, sharp slap. Witch felt her hand nearly make impact, only to be roughly grabbed on the spot by a firm, trembling hand.

Witch jolted. Of course she wasn’t that stupid. Snarling features twisted into an uneven grin, the pair of them growling at each other.

“Cute,” Witch sneered. “Did you think faking that fall would gain you sympathy?” A further press down, growling deeper. Okay, that wasn’t Thorn’s usual strength shoving back, so maybe ‘faked’ was an unfair accusation. “Look around you. All you did was land yourself all snug and cozy into their care. Little counterproductive.”

There was a grimace as Thorn looked up, opening her mouth as though desperate to counter. Only a cough came out; the strength died out, wincing as Witch fell on top of her. Rage diminished to pure concern.

“You might want to back off and give her some space,” Quiet offered, looking over nervously. “If all of your instincts are as sharp as rumor says, it’s possible that's what drew her out of it.”

Witch didn’t answer back. Her steps, however, indicated that she was indeed heeding his words as she settled to the other side of the makeshift nest. The gaze of frustration from Thorn, too, abated as Witch laid down beside her. Neither wanted to be separated despite interpersonal frustrations.

Okay. At least Thorn knew she wasn’t being left at the mercy of this, well, merci ful corvid. The dizziness didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, but neither did the small, warm pressure as a few kneading hands had found the self-inflicted wounds with a chiding grumble.

“What the hell did you do?” Witch mumbled, kneading over the small lacerations across an even bloodier gown. “These are from your spells . I can smell the lingering aura.” Raising a cautionary brow, she chanced another look up - only to rescind it when it wasn’t returned.

“I…. Don’t know. I just-“ But Thorn’s gaze didn’t situate towards her sister’s. Instead, her exhausted eyes lingered upwards, noticing the way that Quiet stood in the background.

The strange fellow seemed to be bordering on pacing, like a lover awaiting the news from the medic on their sweetheart’s condition. Except this wasn’t that invasive, lovey-dovey air; it was tender and afraid, nothing more, nothing less. His eyes seemed to flicker from her sister as she carefully toiled away at the obvious bleeding wounds and scarring - now, that was interesting. Pretty much anyone else would’ve insisted on poking and prodding, trying to do the job of playing doctor themselves… Lots of Borrowers got hurt that way by well-intending, inexperienced hands that didn’t know their strength.

So he was paying attention. As far as it looked, he’d essentially laid her down there and let Witch - the one with actual medical experience - commit to the rest.

“I’m sorry to ask, but is there anything I can do?”

This time, there wasn’t the immediate hatred rising up within her as Quiet asked. There was the temptation to do something - anything - to indicate that stance had changed on him, but every time Thorn tried to speak, it seemed to come out choked. So instead, she looked at him beseechingly. It felt pathetic.

“Oh, right,” Quiet mumbled with a nod. “It’s okay; I’m more than capable working with it like this if that’s easier. I’m actually not too bad with nonverbal communication; Den happens to be nearly mute, and we still get along fine.”

The plodding steps of the chimera into the room and the gentle reach upwards into his arms seemed to only make this statement softer. He took but a moment to butt heads with her, scratching her cheeks before returning his gaze to a much more comfortable patient.

So this was just his general demeanor. He’d befriended a wide slew of unusual cryptids, after all; technically, his being one hadn’t really occurred to her much aside from his height and predatory features. But it was true now, really thinking for a moment: if humanity saw him, he was just as likely to wind up in chains as any of them. That was presuming he even made it that far, and wasn’t simply shot down for sport like most of the larger entities. Come to think of it, he hadn’t really mentioned any others of his kind…

There had been a rather grave mischaracterization in lumping him alongside the rest.

Meeting eye contact with him was still frightening. But nevertheless, Thorn managed with a wince to reach up and tap her throat.

“That’s what I figured,” Quiet nodded. “Just a moment.”

The sound of awkward shuffling and shifting wings led over to the sink; there was the soft drip of the faucet before carrying over what looked like a tiny, handmade ceramic cup. Whether this had been collected before or after Spectre’s death was anyone’s guess, but judging by the slight indents in areas where talons seemed to have carved the - wait a minute. Had he actually spent time making things the proper size for their potential “guests?”

There was that rigid feeling of guilt again as he handed it over to Witch - not her - as a sort of liaison between them. This was only the second night, and he’d already figured out how this dynamic worked. In all technicality that was worth some sort of praise.

“I’m terribly sorry about this evening,” Quiet managed, actually - he was turning his back? Avoiding eye contact? And folding his - okay. He was shaping up immediately without having to be told. Talons down, feathers slicked back… There was that checklist again, nailing each and every one in rapid succession. “You were right to call me out on it. I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

As Witch held the cup steady for her to drink, Thorn looked over to see the damage that had actually been caused. A few deep scratches all the way down the side of his thumb and raking down the back of his hand, a bite or two on the other side. Pinpricks from the briars snagged the full length; any passerby would’ve mistaken the onslaught for the ambush of a very angry house cat, and mixed with the regret there was a swell of pride in inflicting wounds severe enough to conflate with a larger predator. 

Thankfully, nothing too serious. He could heal those just fine on his own. But nevertheless, there was still one question digging at her, clawing for its way out. Once the effects of dehydration had worn off enough, in the midst of his nervous rambling she took her chance-

“Why?”

Quiet chanced a look over.

“M- Why? You had every right to be-“

“N…No. I mean-“ Shaky, uneasy breaths as she dared to meet his eye. “ Why are you helping me?”

Quiet blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? I invited you in. You aren’t the first who’ve come here; I’m well aware there’s no such thing as an ‘off the run’ Borrower. Otherwise, there would be no need.”

“That’s just how this goes,” Witch responded in Thorn’s stead, lowering her head. “Takes a nasty thing to know one. The only reason you’re in the clear is because you’d rather asphyxiate on viper than strike me back.” The look of grief had risen up again to mischief; okay, this child was still working through things after all.

“You’re not nasty-“

“You poisoned him?”

“Yep!” Turning away from Quiet’s affirmation to respond to Thorn’s instead, that arrogant whimsy had returned to Witch’s tone as she lifted her tail in pride. “Oh, please - tell me you didn’t think I would just sit nicely next to this scatterbrain before he got a real taste of what I could do.” There was a sigh as she sat back down amidst the hand towels. “It’s just like I said: make him fear us; earn his respect. I know that’s why you did it, too.”

“Now that we have all of that out of the way, you're also welcome to just ask,” Quiet offered. His head had returned to the other direction. “It doesn’t need to be a life-or-death situation every time. Sometimes it can just be a question.”

“But we both tried to kill you,” Thorn urged, returning to the prior statement. “Why wouldn't that warrant-“

Quiet’s long, amused chuckle cut off her remaining words. His hand drifted down to his side, where the phantasmic presence of Spectre was circling.

“You are not my first or even worst offenders. Remind me; what was it again?”

“The rusted hatchet. You kept running for twenty minutes,” Spectre replied nonchalantly as ever. “But when I finally cornered you, you wouldn’t stay still. A few seconds sooner and instead of grazing past your shoulder, it would’ve been planted in your heart.” There was an almost coy smugness as Spectre recalled it, tracing that distinctive ‘x’ over his chest. “And then we’d match.”

Perhaps Witch was correct in saying it all connected back to fear in the end. They’d all made their mark, and earned his respect.

“Point being,” Quiet continued, “it doesn’t warrant any of the ire you’re surely expecting. Even if my usual guests don’t stay long, that isn’t for lack of trying.” A saddened sigh passed through his beak, shaking his head. “The fact you’re both still here despite it all is a miracle.”

Thorn quirked a brow. Deciding this was probably the time to ask about the recurrent subject:

“What usually happens to the others?”

“They panic and flee,” Quiet answered. “Usually it isn’t even seeing me that frightens them off.”

“The chill of death is too much for them,” Spectre added, equally remorseful. “I scarcely get a word in before they presume the worst.”

“In all fairness,” Thorn scoffed, “you did give quite an introduction when we got here.”

“You’re the first two who even saw me for more than a second. All the others have turned to run; I suppose I was a bit curious and got carried away.” There was that smirk again. “But I was right. You are braver than the others.”

There was a finite throbbing in Thorn’s head as the reality of it dawned on her. Here she was, practically bundled up in a pile of towels, being… Cared for and talking to her larger host and his wife. It didn’t matter if conditions meant he already knew she was there; it was a little bit humiliating. But at the same time, it didn’t feel horrible having someone else tending to her for once.

“… Ugh.”

“Are you alright? I was going to check and make sure you didn’t sustain any further damage, but I’d need to get into your head to do that.”

Thorn blinked. She was… Asking permission? Was this normal here?

“Maybe later,” was about all she could muster in response.

Spectre nodded. “Of course. That’s why I wanted to make sure.”

So “No” was in fact an option.

A hand brushed against the deep talon wounds. They really weren’t making this up. Both bird and ghost really did value their consent. That was… Strange. Welcoming.

Thorn decided better than to dwell on apparent fact. “In either case, we didn’t have much choice. It was either staying here, or else-“

“Dodging the Echo.”

Spectre stated it plainly, giving a soft sigh. “We’ve known about him for some time before this, but he’s never been so persistent.”

“Wait - the Echo?”

Spectre turned in the direction of the injured Borrower. “I believe you know him as The Raven. Echo, Harbinger; his titles all bear the same meaning. Others refer to him simply as ‘Narrator’ as he believes he controls fate itself. He’s a persistent murderer determined to exterminate the Fae. But why he’s so focused on you two in particular evades me.”

Judging by the look in her eye, it seemed that Spectre was aware and not telling for the sake of their privacy. This was one of the few times those deep, horrendous gashes felt like a blessing opposed to a nuisance as Thorn’s gaze drifted down to the branching mark on her palm, marred by scars and lacerations.

The Heiress was unidentifiable by mark alone, but no doubt the bravado from tonight had confirmed any of this ghost’s suspicions about their origin. One did not simply get stalked relentlessly through the woods without reason.

“Regardless, it’s a good thing that you are here,” Quiet added. “Even for all the bumps in the road.” Then, with a soft chuckle: “Just… Maybe less stabbing and poison and, um… whatever that was going forward? I don’t mind pretending not to see you once you’re healed up.”

It seemed that even now the thought of inflicting harm made him deeply uncomfortable . This man was a huntsman, and yet the notion of taking a talon and raking down utterly disgusted him. It was clear by the strained way he looked down at them, grimacing.

“I’m going to have to do something about these…”

“You really mean it.”

His head shifted, plumicorns raising. For a moment, Thorn found herself staring dead in the eye with a very carnivorous bird, the whites of his eyes gleaming. With his beak slack with shock, each and every one of those unnaturally placed canines were visible in their sharp ivory glory within, taloned hand turned downwards like a startled animal. But he looked just as scared as her in the end; just another wild beast unsure of whether to run or stand their ground. There was that soft, slow blink that all Fae associated with their feline routes understood:

Wait - he trusts me?

Den. That’s probably where he learned it. Stiffened limbs relaxed. There was a tense exhale that passed over both of them.

I can’t. Not now; not yet.

There was a soft smile as he recognized the results.

“That’s okay. I figured as much.”

Somewhere next to her, there was a subtle understanding by the soft purr stirring the towels that the one who had returned it was Witch. And judging by all given evidence, that was actually okay.

“But yes,” Quiet continued, “I do. I know that will come with time, but you're not the only one who’s qualms with humanity. As you can imagine, I’m not exactly easy on the eyes.” 

A dramatic sweep of his hands went from head to thigh on either side to demonstrate, shifting back and forth for effect. That got a chuckle out of both siblings. Okay; maybe he was a bit of a charmer.

Thorn balked. Oh, no. Surely she’d just hit her head harder than expected. There was no way she was actually taking interest in this… Strange, gigantic cryptid and his weird flair. Either way, Witch blinked in surprise as Thorn ducked her head just a little bit away from view.

“Pretty much any time I wind up outside of this cabin, it’s the same thing: arrows, blades, torches. The good ‘ol ‘slay the monster’ nonsense,” Quiet grumbled. “There are cryptid-friendly markets and places in the woods where I can get the essentials, but it’s not like the world is a safe place for any of us. They see me? Omen of Death. Bam! Reaper. Oh no, run awaaay!”

It seemed as he continued, Quiet’s melodrama was beginning to become a bit more animated, with little slaps of his hand and raises of both palms to imitate fleeing villagers. Okay, no; it was endearing and she hated it. If it didn’t raise more attention, perhaps Thorn would’ve ducked down even further.

“It’s like they think I’m going to, I dunno, eat them piecemeal? The whole thing is incredibly bizarre. In either case, I’m sure I’m someone the markets would be drooling to get their hands on.”

“So it comes down to Cryptid’s Law, then, doesn’t it?”

Cryptid’s Law: the simple practice of defending your fellow victims of human hands. It was what Beast followed when they’d been pushed into the Ring. Now, it seemed Quiet employed the same. Any future ruler of the forest had to know it by heart, and Thorn was well accustomed to the practice between species of welcoming refugees. It was how they’d gotten their current allies to begin with.

“Of course. And then some.” Softly, Quiet allowed Spectre to drift from his hand over towards the pair of sisters, still keeping a respectful distance. “Well? It’s a bit early, but-“

“No. I could tell the moment they came here. This feels right.”

It was Witch’s turn to pipe up. “Now, hang on just a moment -“

“Nothing sinister, promise,” Quiet chuckled. “In fact, this might help to know. Part of why the door was open to your kind was because we’d tried a few times to see if we could complete that unfinished business, and the missing thread always seemed to be-“

“Actual companionship,” Spectre finished morosely. “People I could grow and change with who understood what this life was like.” Tentatively, Spectre crept forward; as the scarred hand ushered her forward, only then she obliged. “It was always so lonely running from house to house, never staying long in a community before having to leave. I wanted what they took from me - a real life with other Borrowers. And I figured once I had company, maybe even like this I could experience a trace of that.”

Phantasmic tears trickled down her cheeks, reaching out without expectation of anything in return. So when the grasp settled again on hers, relieved shock seemed to overwhelm her as she looked down.

The look in Thorn’s eyes seemed bolder now, regaining strength bit by bit as all intentions and motives were revealed in good intent. Even still, her eyes seemed to drift away as she formulated her words.

“Look, you’re… A bit forward, yes. But you haven’t been a bad host. It’s all just a lot to take in at once.”

“So you’re saying you’d prefer to take it slow?” Oh, this ghost was so deliberate with every flirtatious comment. But nevertheless, it wasn’t threatening or invasive now that the rules had been set. And now, it seemed she wasn’t entirely closed off to the notion of quipping back.

“Please. I would prefer getting to know my hostess first.” There was a slight glimmer of mischief as Thorn feigned nudging her away; two could certainly play at that game. “In either case, we really can’t go anywhere else; might as well.”

“Glad to have at least gotten that sorted,” Quiet chuckled. “You know what they say about a happy wife.” One of his fingers ran along his own ring: unlike Spectre’s, it seemed this one was made out of a carved antler. Fossilized flowers situated themselves in place of precious stones, although had just as dazzling an effect.

So this really was where things stood in the end: the lonely ghost of a Borrower and her doting, overwhelmed corvid husband trying his best to accommodate for mortal company. The fact things had taken such a rough turn immediately showed how little faith they had in anyone - and judging by the way he spoke of treatment from others, perhaps both Bird and Borrower presumed it was merely what they deserved.

“This whole thing sucks, doesn’t it?”

A tense grin followed Thorn’s words, immediately feeling the presence of her sister’s hand on her chest trying to keep her heartbeat steady. It wasn't necessary; for the first time in years, it seemed like maybe it was okay to feel for once. It felt good to be angry again.

Gently, Thorn removed it. Witch pulled back as if to argue, but finally dropped it back down reluctantly.

Quiet quirked a brow upon her words.

“What - humans?”

“Everything. Their whole high-and-mighty system. The way they deal with us, hunt us down-“

“- The sport hunting-“

“- The distillery- “

“Pardon?”

The blank horror in Quiet’s eyes indicated that he’d gotten the gist. A frantic tail swish and back-and-forth motion of Witch’s hand to her throat indicated it was best to move on from that specific topic immediately as a disquieted look fell on both siblings’ faces.

“…. Nevermind. There’s a lot of shit that happens to us in captivity.”

“Understandable,” Quiet managed, honestly relieved it was left at that. Perhaps it was good he didn’t know the full extent of their past. “I know I’ve asked, but if there really is anything I can do at this point to make things easier, do let me know.”

Perhaps now was the best time to bring it up; after all, they did seem to be receptive, despite Thorn’s fears.

“I can’t exactly go anywhere right now. Maybe it would be best to start with clearer ground rules.”

“Yes please.” There was an almost breathy begging in Quiet’s tone. “That was extremely confusing. I’d like to avoid it for the future.”

The tense hostility in Thorn’s gaze abated; empathy seemed to finally take over. For once, it was okay to show the feeling was mutual.

“Me too.” Clearing her throat, Thorn decided it best she started off the conversation. “First off, I would still prefer contact to be minimal. This is… Still very unnatural.”

There was a soft swish of her tail as she spoke, gaze harshening just slightly as though expecting to be challenged on this. Instead, Quiet merely dipped his head and nodded. “Understood. I’ll take that as a ‘don’t speak unless spoken to’ basis.”

“That includes Borrowing. I’d much rather be alone for that-“

“Trust me, after all of that, I certainly won’t cross you again,” Quiet chuckled, raising his hand in surprising amusement. It was strange how even after everything, he was regarding this whole blunder as a conversation between old friends. “Just one question: does that mean leaving things out in random places is completely off the table?”

Thorn shook her head. “No; that’s fine. That might make it easier.”

“And I don’t mind either way if you’re in or out of the room,” Witch interjected. “But if you are, you’d better not be standing around and make yourself useful.” Naturally, that feline smirk had made its way back to her lips. She’d found a system that worked, and clearly she was happy to abuse it.

“… Right; okay. So it is that both of you have different preferences with this. Glad we got that cleared up.” Quiet’s attention shifted to Thorn temporarily. “And, let me guess: ‘host breaking all conduct’ left some red flags?”

There was a squint of irritation as Thorn nodded her head, wordless. If he knew that, then why had he done it to begin with? He was obnoxiously hard to read.

“Alright. And what about for the time be-“

“It was a minor fall. I’ll be fine by morning.” There was that stiff bristle of her tail again, cuing Quiet that he’d pressed too far. Despite her seemingly passive demeanor, he now knew the storm that laid beneath Thorn’s pleasantries and calmer aura. But it was soon to pass. “But for what it’s worth… Thank you.”

“No need,” Quiet said with a shake of his head. “It’s my fault we got into that whole mess to begin with.”

Thorn wasn’t going to argue with that. It was his fault, and if he was taking responsibility for it that was a step in the right direction.

Quiet tilted his head towards them. “Surely there’s more to it?”

“Um…” This one was going to be harder to express within the current conditions. “A lot of the things we’re used to gathering are from outside. If it would be possible to step out briefly with Beast every so often to be able to get ahold of them-“

Quiet did a double take. “I really don’t think that's a good ide-ow!”

Quiet looked down as Den clawed her way up to him, looking over the Borrowers and giving him a few grand gestures.

“Huh- what? You already talked to Beast about this?”

Den nodded. Her paw brushed back her mane dramatically, and Quiet sighed. 

“Oh, of course he wants to be involved…” Quiet’s eyes drifted back to the Borrowers with a reluctant sigh. “Den’s confirmed she and Beast have both offered to liaison. And Smitten’s apparently dying to mentor the both of you-“

Witch groaned. “Tell me it isn’t some kind of ‘cotillion fancy-shmancy’ nonsense.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Quiet responded. “While I’m sure he’d be thrilled to do some kind of etiquette, he’s fairly flexible to the interests of whoever comes his way. I have seen that he’s fairly good with combat training and ballards; I have a suspicion at least one of those appeals.”

Now that had caught Thorn’s attention. As useful as the lessons from Beast were, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have a more encouraging mentor added to the mix. Being constantly chided on pacifist reservations and distained for ‘meekly evading like prey’ wasn't always what she needed to hear. The same spark seemed to shine in Witch’s eyes, chuckling.

“Oh, I suspected from the beginning he was itching to fight. I’ll gladly take him up on that.”

Quiet chuckled nervously. “That’s not quite what I-“

Thorn put up a hand to cut him off. Arguing with Witch at this point was pointless. Quiet sputtered as he saw it, but listened.

“Um… Alright. I’ll let him know. I think that’s about everything I could remember. You?”

“I can’t really think of anything else right now,” Thorn admitted. “If anything else comes up, well, I guess I’ll let you know.”

“You should probably rest, then,” Spectre offered. “That must’ve taken a lot out of you.”

Taking her cue, Thorn gave a nod.

“Yeah. I think now I probably should.”

“Of course,” Quiet replied, turning to face the bedroom. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. Really.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, both Borrowers and ghost watched in silence as Quiet exited, giving a slight shift of his tail feathers with every step. Once he had exited the room, there was a small tap of a reddish bottle against her side as Witch slid over the familiar potion.

“Tonic,” Witch hissed. “Beast went and refilled our supply this evening. And you definitely need it, with how much magic you drained.”

There was no hesitation as Thorn took the vial into her hands, even with a curious household Borrower like Spectre watching. Even with a household as safe as this one, it was better to be careful and keep that reserve up and locked away from external use. Too many bad things happened without it.

Chapter Text

Retiring for bed that night was troublesome. Left without spouse or soul to guide him, Quiet was left alone to stew with his thoughts and fears. ‘Omen of Death.’ That was right - the way people regarded creatures like the Echo multiplied tenfold when in his presence, scattering much like the Borrowers before him. At the time, he almost pitied them, with their sorrowful eyes as he crossed their paths. But now each and every story from the Fae confirmed who the humans were, what he always knew about them deep down: there was no sympathy left to give.

He had seen more than enough to confirm that. His own knife knew the taste of their flesh and blood, no matter how passive he was around this neck of the woods. Quiet fished into his nightside drawer, looking for that golden headpiece from a winter afternoon not long ago. As he found it, he rolled back onto the bed, finally permitting himself to close his eyes. But whether he would get any sleep was uncertain in these conditions.

You know what they see you as, a familiar voice rang out. A Monster. A Bad Omen. A mere vessel for a blade against your throat. At some point, this forest probably had hundreds of your kind out roaming free, but as they made their shapes known with flourish and grandeur, humanity capitalized on your differences to weave a Fallen Angel fable and cut down your populations one by one. Do you even remember who bore you? Your family? Your ancestors? Or was it merely a case of finding a ransacked human nest on this path in the woods to hide and finding your way through it all alone to survive?

Quiet breathed heavily, feeling those lingering memories begin to stir from the back of his mind.

No; that’s wrong, Quiet bit back. I wasn’t alone. I had them.

Yes, the secondary voice in his head corrected itself. I supposed you did have “them.” The Wildlife and fellow Cryptids who found you young and at their own most vulnerable - escapees of their own traps and miseries. Some of them you found on your hunts, some spared, some assisting you in gathering tools - some even trying to take from you. You found uses for all of them. Including those who were too scared to approach, wouldn’t come with you until you bested them in combat, head-on. What did they decide to call themselves again?

Quiet chuckled. The Voices of the Woods. They work in the service of the Wild, and I suppose they got bored waiting for her to come back. The majority seem to be fairly familiar with - wait, you don’t think…?

The secondary voice scoffed. What; fancy yourself the clumsy protector of a couple princesses? I would’ve expected that your matchmaker would’ve pinpointed an heiress on the spot.

There was a threatening amount of curiosity in that voice that made Quiet know so much as thinking it was a dangerous blunder. It seemed to only nestle at the edges of his thoughts when he was alone, so he knew to be careful in responding - especially when he knew what it was after and why. He would’ve; you’re correct. Besides, I doubt you’d know any more than I do.

Another chuckle resonated in response. I know many things, but perhaps my memory is a bit flawed. It was around the shift in the seasons that you met, wasn’t it?

Quiet permitted the memory to take hold instead of responding directly. Drinking in the silence was easier than speaking the whole thing aloud once more, so he let it be.

It had been three years past; a few after Spectre’s presence had shaken his resolve - a time where instead of vengeance, he was left entwined in their sacred vows of phantasmic matrimony. A time where Borrowers were still new to him, cryptid markets were scarce, and his haunts led out of the forest only when necessary to hunt and scour for items he could find nowhere else. But upon doing so, he gained knowledge of the same damning practice the other voice reminded him of. Humanity saw the unusual as a burden, mere fodder for the pyre of a higher god to save them from these roaming “monsters.” It was better not to get too close.

Sacrifices of blood and gore from “lesser animals” were commonplace, yes. Cryptids, monsters, quadrupeds of unusual stature - these were the awful practices that Quiet expected to see while passing Tower’s shrine on his way through the woods, but the current was worse than even he thought them capable.

Human sacrifices were a rare sighting, and the crowd around it was exquisite. Clearly, the people who had shown up were in their worshiper’s best attire, as if this were some holy ceremony opposed to a murder they were about to watch taking place.

There was a stage in the center, with a bolted shackle against it. Desperately, a singular black and white creature muttered curses under his breath, working to bite it free. The crowd masked most details except for a marred and stained blue dress, this woman’s blond hair - 

Quiet felt his heart stop.

…Not a woman. That was a child .

“Remember why we’re here,” echoed the priest. “To bring an end to one whose rule conspires with Fae. Tower’s might struck her down, and they rewound her from a merciful end. Now she claims that we should let those meddlesome fiends go. What do you think?”

“Slay the witch!”

“Cut her throat! I want to be the first to see her bleed!”

The crowd’s clamoring got louder and louder. Quiet’s cloaked form stepped behind them, feathers bristling. Somehow, he had to get up there.

A kingdom surrounded with an absent king. Was no one doing anything about this? It wasn’t as though the monarchy was his favorite, but slaying a child - this was evil. 

And it only grew worse hearing her voice: desperate, hypnotic and pleading. This crowd could not deny their sins when she cried out just the same as any girl her age.

“You have to believe me; they’re lying to you! The Fae aren’t trying to hurt anyone-“

But yet again, it was drowned out with no remorse.

“I would expect just as much nonsense from a changeling.”

A red-clad figure snuck behind her with a chuckle, roughly tossing her head to one side. As the blonde strands parted, there it was: a singular elven ear. So that explained the rough treatment; if the Fae had lent magic to the Royal family to conceive, no doubt someone would be watching for signs as she came into her power.

Quiet felt his grip drift into the pocket of his cloak. Intentions were clear enough; he didn't have to see anything else as an even more hideous thing escaped the Priest’s mouth:

“Now, who would like to slay her?”

Bravado was often welcomed at these unholy performances - people who believed that by purging particularly dangerous “evils,” Tower would reward them handsomely upon death. Quiet had been ready the whole time.

“I would.”

Quiet’s voice echoed deep and gruff, pushing and shoving through any other volunteers with a specific sense of purpose. He was easily towering over the usual head of a person, cryptid features hidden awkwardly as he stepped up to the stage.

“Well, sir, I-“

The priest urged the red-cloaked figure to hand him over a weapon: a small steel blade, more cleanly polished than the hunting implement he was planning on and with further reach.

“Here you go,” the priest chuckled. “Feel free to take our holiest weapon for this riteous task, the Pristine Bla-“

There was a shriek, and an awful squelch as Quiet ripped straight through his belly. The priest locked his dying gaze on the bird as Quiet ripped it out, letting the blood drain out through the wooden grates. As the supposed executioner tried for a vengeful blow, Quiet was quicker; a quick slice aligned against the throat. Cold, calculated rage emanated through every fiber of his being, making sure each one got a good look at him first. Then he let him fall, deliberately stepping over this horrid man with a crunch of his skull as he spread his wings to the increasing horror of the crowd.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Leave, before your own judgment comes.”

Screaming. What a hideous sight from a crowd that knew well they would inflict worse onto a child . Nevertheless, the chaos was welcome as he approached the shaken fourteen year old girl, protected only by a snarling badger familiar. And with one silent slash of the blade-

The chains unwound from her trembling form. The startled teen looked up, breathless.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Quiet mumbled, kneeling to her side. A taloned hand extended towards her, noticing the hesitation for just a moment. “I’ll explain on the way.”

“Oh, are you with them?”  

There was a hopeful spark in her eyes as the Princess spoke, but it faded quickly as confusion set into those blank eyes.

“I’m just a wanderer, I’m afraid. But from one cryptid to another, you’d best get out of here as soon as possible.“

“Absolutely. But there’s just one thing I need to do first.”

Quiet blinked as nimble hands stole the blade from his hands, running foolishly towards the direction of the very castle which was under siege.

“What is she-?”

There was a laugh from beside him. The badger looked up with more than a glint of interest, tail raised inquisitively.

“Ah, young love,” he chortled. “She’s off to rescue her fair maiden, from what I’ve heard; unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll make it much further than we did before without a proper mercenary.”

Smitten’s next words set the course of the kingdom’s fate.

“So, what have you? Feeling up for a side quest and really stick it to those subjugating scoundrels?”

———

As if sensing his own inner turmoil, there was plodding of a squat form in the hallway. Nobody had heard him come in, but that was typical. The house had plenty of hidden burrows and doors even Quiet didn’t fully understand that allowed them to come and please, and judging by the small nudge of a grate beside him it’d come from the air shafts.

The voice in his head was gone. Good riddance.

“I heard about what you did tonight,” the badger crooned, closing his path with a small click. “Sounds like you received some points in the young lady’s favor.”

“She hates me,” Quiet grumbled. He gave a flick of his palm, showing the various wounds run rampant. “She nearly made me kill her to prove it.”

Smitten turned his head and chuckled. “Oh my. Spiteful lover; I see. Well, you know what they say; every rose has its thorns,” he continued, unphased. “And usually the ones who put up briars guard the most beautiful blooms of all. Better to let them rise on their own than yank them out.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, the badger leapt up and circled the foot of the bed.

“That wasn’t my intention; yanking her out. I was just trying to be courteous; it seems that I can't even do that right.”

“They prefer to stay hidden, dear fellow,” Smitten chided playfully. “That was a fool’s errand, and you know it. Coaxing out the Fae is even more challenging than your dearest - but, at the very least, it seems she did indeed get her dying wish. They seem snug and cozy out there, all bundled up…”

A wistful sigh escaped the badger’s mouth. “So you might still get a chance to reconcile.”

“The fact that Spectre’s taken to another in her fold doesn’t automatically mean she’ll make it into mine,” Quiet reminded. “I just… I wish that either of them would take this with stride.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t logical to expect it from the refugees. While unfair to him to bear their sins, it was at least understandable from every word that Thorn had barked and slashed across his skin. But why, still, was he left to deal with all the aftermath alone when his other half knew better than that?

Smitten blinked. “Oh. So it’s not just the newcomer that’s giving you trouble.”

Quiet sighed, gesturing to the side. “The bed is warmer than usual; does that not cue you in enough?”

“Oh no, I’m well aware.” The badger crept forward. “Sometimes the excitement of being understood in a way that no other can may lead to, well… The accidental offcast of the other. That doesn’t mean her frigid curtains don’t long to drape around your heart where they belong. Love and longing are complicated matters, and the dead have even more complex desires lingering on the edge of their tangibilities.” 

Smitten’s eyes met compassionately with his, dark and unblinking. “Talk with her tomorrow and see what she says. But in the meantime,” Smitten grunted, shifting forward, “you seem like you might need some company tonight. Mind if I stay?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Matters of the heart are my speciality,” Smitten chuckled, “and I could sense yours was a little disturbed. Alright, then, move over-“

The badger nosed over against Quiet’s back, folding himself between the corvid’s massive, splayed-out wings. “Till tomorrow, old friend,” he chirped, curling into a ball. “I suspect your mourning dove is more than obliged to talk. And who knows; perhaps you’ll have more than one bird in the hand by the end of-“

“- I think that’s enough right now,” Quiet grumbled. “I’d rather just sleep.”

“Very well, dear fellow,” Smitten huffed, reclining by his pulse. “Very well indeed.”

And while the warmer body of an old friend didn’t nearly match up to what was absent, it was enough to keep the noise out of his mind and finally get some peace that night.

The kitchen’s scene was just as restless as Quiet’s own. By now, Witch had settled comfortably in her spot beside her sister, returning to dormouse sleeping position. Only a tail twitch or hum seemed to disturb her otherwise silent sleep, leaving Thorn to linger on the cusp of yet another insomniac’s nightmare. One didn’t get darkened circles under the eyes for nothing, after all; every attempt was awoken by a burst of vivid memory she couldn’t shake.

A lingering chill swept over her; instinctively, she grabbed for her blade, thrusting it upwards. There was a soft sigh of disappointment as the cold touch merely went through it to stroke her palm. A trickle of embarrassment crept up as Thorn returned it to her side.

“… Ghost. Right.”

“Your reflexes are getting better,” rumbled a voice from down below. Thorn didn’t need to turn her head to know that was Beast. Better to explain to her what’d happened.

“Look, I’m sorry about -“

“Sorry?” Beast scoffed. “A Queen does not apologize for a bold act of self defense.”

Thorn’s eyes widened. That was the first time Beast had actually acknowledged anything but scorn towards her inheritance.

“I read the lingering trails of mana once you were done. A bit of overuse on the block-off, but a fine, fearsome hunt. You’ve finally begun to understand what we are and what we’re up against.” Then, with a bit of remorse:

“I was wrong to question your methods. You have been learning rather well, kit.”

Kit. Not Prey. This was a step up.

“What made you change your mind?”

Beast shifted upon her spot down below, tail twitching. “Read my next move.”

“You’re crouching; about to pounce.”

No sooner had Thorn answered that the massive creature leapt up onto the counter beside them, leaving enough room to leave the basket undisturbed. Witch, impressively, remained asleep through the whole ordeal.

“My point exactly,” Beast rumbled. “You’re finally understanding that pain is part of the consequence of your rule. That nature cannot exist without the ties between the survivors and the deceased, and it is the bonds between them that keep us humble.” As if on cue, she gave a nod of respect towards Spectre, lying down beside the basket. “It seems you’ve formed a very unique one indeed.”

Spectre turned towards Beast, returning the gesture. Having a chimera in the vicinity was scarcely new, but Den was a creature of no words, and communicated exclusively with Quiet unless prompted. Beast was, well, far more traditional in the ways of that natural bond between Borrowers; a little strange, but not unwelcome. More company was far better than less.

“I’m sure any other ghost would do the same,” Spectre replied softly. “All we’ve ever done is try to survive. It’s no skin off our back to relay the paths which lead to tragedy - not as if we have any left to give.” The final note was left in morbid whimsy, giving a shrug of her shoulders. “Even though I may not need them, staying within the bounds of this house has its perks in still knowing where the safe spots are to gather food and find shelter within - you can’t sleep, can you?”

Spectre turned towards her prickly counterpart, who lay beside her restlessly. Clearly, the attempt had been made over and over in vain, but it wasn’t the talking which had been keeping her awake.

Thorn didn’t respond. Only a single look of utter distress seemed to cross her, struggling for words.

Spectre tutted. “That’s what I thought; I expected you’d be already out by now. Well, if you do want help-“

A gentle hand reached over, brushing gently at a few stray locks of hair.

“I can always take that little nightmare away from you, but you’d have to let me in.”

The look of unease widened. This was only the second night here, and seeing what she could do to someone as immense as Quiet -

“A-Are you asking to…?”

“It’d be temporary. If you need me to leave or it gets to be too much, you can always tell me.”

Thorn hesitated. “And I wouldn’t be paralyzed like-?“

“Quiet and I have a… System. But no. Control is given, not taken away. I can’t access anything without your permission.”

“Shouldn’t you be with him? This is usually the time when I thought you retired for the night.”

The ghost’s pattern was hard to read, but even from a distance there was an obvious rift that the newer presence in the house had caused. The last thing that she wanted was to make it worse - especially after seeing what had happened with his prior panic after the fact. Was the strange bird man okay? How was he faring now?

And why did she suddenly care so much?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave while you’re in this state, additional support or not,” Spectre replied. “Quiet seemed like he needed some time alone to process. Much in the same way that there are parts of my life he cannot fathom, the same applies to him.”

“I see.” A part of her told Thorn there was an additional, more selfish reason for Spectre’s lingering, but it wasn’t one that she blamed her for in the slightest. A ghost left to linger away from any contact got to be selfish when it came to the first signs of common life, right?

There was a moment before Thorn spoke. “… If you’re okay with that. But fair warning: you’re not going to like what you see.”

“I think I can rest fine with that. I have been for quite a while now, after all - even if not in peace,” Spectre purred, placing a careful hand along Thorn’s cheek. For a moment, their eyes met, before Thorn broke the contact. “There’s much I can learn from the two of you; lives I never lived, no matter how unpleasant.”

“Your mother would be proud of you,” Beast purred. “Respect for the dead was one of her main tenants.”

So it wasn’t just hollow encouragement after a failed hunt. Beast was proud of her. It seemed that alone set the course of action, even if already decided, ebbing away the final stressors of the night.

Thorn’s body relaxed, extending a hand towards Spectre’s. This was taken in kind, looking over her expectantly.

“So, is that a ‘yes?’”

Final confirmation. She wasn’t making any moves without complete consent; it was unfamiliar after so long trapped in cages like livestock. But she still didn’t know if the confirmation was more for her sake or Spectre’s or both:

“Yes. I want it to stop.”

The soft gaze swam in weary, tired eyes. The frigid touch against Thorn’s skin grew immeasurable, taking up pinpricks to stabbing icy pain along hand, arm, torso and neck as Spectre began to settle. It was hard at first to resist the urge to cry out, but held it in for fear of waking up Witch a few paces away. 

It was agony, then a soft, spectacular numbing as it shifted along nerves in spirals and massaged out phantom pains which shouldn’t have existed. Tender muscles seemed to ease as it sunk in, vision clouding over with the fractals. Then, finally:

Finally a place where there isn’t so much empty space. This is much more comfortable; thank you.

That did get a jolt from Thorn. Of course, the expectation was that it would be sudden-

-Right. I should’ve given you some warning. Well, in any case, I suppose you can tell now that I’m here. How do you feel?

Heavy. There was no other way to describe this sensation than a numbing, dull ache of cold that began to smooth out all nerve tissue like a strange ethereal massage. It was like the sensation of trying to get out of bed in the morning and being unable to -

So that’s perfect! Now, just close your eyes, and leave everything else to me.

… I’m not getting another word out, am I? Fine. In any case, sleep sounds pretty nice about now. Might as well go ahead and just -

But the next words didn’t seem to process. By the time that any form of coherent thought could formulate, it seemed that Thorn had crashed, finally lulled to sleep by the comforting drone of hushed whispers and cold blankets enveloping all else and stealing away the horrendous memories.

But not the case for an all too curious voyeur, watching the horrors of the past unwind once more in lieu of this wounded, potential lover. The gift of a memory was immense for a soul this guarded, and Spectre knew well to honor it.

______

Hazy, blurred vision began to stir from a drug-induced sleep. A desperate form on the outside, tail twitching upon tap after tap. It seemed that the effects of Beast’s dark magic had indeed rendered obsolete on Witch as she attempted to rouse her sister, growing more frightened by the moment. But slumped in the corner of a metallic cage, it was hard to sit up, let alone stand while the magic ran rampant through Thorn’s system.

Voices seemed to bellow from the room behind them as that traitorous chimera paced, her shadow twitching like a hound in waiting. She stopped right beside their own cage, as though expecting a sign of life from her so-expected heiress to spring back to life. 

A growl rose in her throat. Thorn blinked, raising a weary hand in her direction.

“Are you… Trying to tell me something?” The words from the Fae came out choked, and Beast scoffed in disgust.

“I shouldn’t have to instruct Wild’s daughter on what to do when her future subjects are caught,” Beast lamented, looking over one shoulder as she turned her back. “This is your kingdom in danger. It’s in your blood; seize your opportunity and escape. Then find me if you’re still alive thereafter. I expected more of you, Heiress.”

“No, wait-“

A pathetic gesture, really. But in the daze of sleep, it was all that Thorn could really muster.

Witch, however, wasn’t going to give up so easily. Scuttling towards the front of the cage, she leapt up and shook its bars with a frightful hiss. Beast stopped for a moment to catch her eye. A singular roar emanated back, before continuing away from the pair of them.

“Great; we lost he alliance,” Witch huffed. “And she must’ve been our way out of here.”

“And our way in,” Thorn reminded ruefully. “But I'll take that over being torn apart by the others in her pack.”

“You might change your mind once you see what it’s actually like here.” 

An unfamiliar voice piped up this time - calmer than seemed practical, with the clank of heavy chains. Looking across a few paces, it was clear the way that these cubic cages were organized was no accident; a microcosmic prison yard, with each space facing the other across. But the walls on all sides except facing out towards the front blocked off contact to the neighbor. If math was correct, there were at least six of these structures - maybe one or two on top of each other. It was hard to see above.

“Who are you?”

“What does it matter who anyone is? I’m just another prisoner here.” The voice sounded bored; tired. “But while you’re stuck, I might as well fill you in on the basics, Your Highness. That is, if you plan on there being a world left after this.”

So more than just the chimeras has sensed the Network awakening. Thorn brushed her palm, deciding now was not the time to question it.

“I should be right across from you,” the voice conceded. “That way, we can talk face to face.” 

Looking over, it seemed that this was indeed correct; the figure sat bound by the wrists - and good god, neck too?! -  to the back of the cage, her air of calm skepticism. A single look into those deadened eyes told Thorn that she had seen more than enough of this place, but information came with a cost. 

“Good. So the effects of the fog wore off in time. Thankfully, it seems that most of your enclave made it out; they mostly had their targets set on a select few based on who they dragged in while you were asleep. But even still, they seem to have been foolish in their roommate assignments. Your friend here looks about ready to go.”

Thorn paused. Roommate? It seemed like this borrower was alone at first -

“Damn right I am. Like I said, I could rip those chains out, easy. Heck, I could crush this tin can and split the bones of those bedraggled human ha - oh no.”

The boldened visage of Adversary shrank immediately upon noticing the cage across from her, the spaded tail tucking awkwardly around one leg.

“Okay… Spleens. We’re talking more like ripping out their spleens now.”

This got at least a smile out of the adjacent captive. As dismaying as it was to see that anyone from the territories joined in this miserable fate, at least it was of the boldest of their fleet.

“Briar,” Adversary breathed, “I thought you shredded your way through.” Absent, distressed hands crushed the cage bars between her fists. Indeed, a little more pressure would’ve ripped them clean off.

In usual circumstances, that nickname alone stirred their usual courting dance; a bold swish of tufted tail, a spark of mischief as clawed fingertips sank into shoulderblade in the strong embrace a few inches away. But right now, all passions of the heart faded, giving way for sweeping guilt and rank, chilling fear.

The once-boldened voice of the Heiress came off choked and strained, as though from lack of use.

“I had to go back for this one,” Thorn grumbled, lifting one of Witch’s elongated ears.

“Oh.” There was a disappointed shake of Adversary’s head, her broad shoulder flexing as she shrugged. “Let me guess -“

“Human interaction.”

The red sheen of the draconic Fae’s skin paled momentarily. Then, flashing a grin in an attempt to recover -

“She try to fight off Her Royal Pain at least?”

“Can you two knock it off?” Witch twitched in Thorn’s lap, draped over like a sad rug more than a living being. Her head turned away from the jeers from her other community member, tail lashing as it whipped deliberately into her sister’s face. “Next time I see her, I’ll do it right. I won’t hesitate.” 

With eyes, impossibly, dimmer than Thorn’s, Witch lifted up a clawed hand stained with dried blood. There was a soft, sick smile as she looked over at Adversary.

“Gave the girl a nasty cut to remember me by. Wouldn’t let me touch it; won’t heal properly. She’ll remember what she’s done.”

Adversary chuckled. “Good. So long as we’ve left our mark, that’s damning enough for me. If they think I’m going down easy, ohh, they’ve got another thing coming.”

“You’ll probably make it out alive,” Thorn noted, giving a nod. “As for the rest of us…”

Adversary scoffed. “Now, don’t talk like that. You think I’m going to just leave you two-“

Witch stopped listening. Curling inwards, she instead retired to her spot, fishing into the only possessions she’d been grabbed with. Spare twine, a few barbs, a blown out torch - the Tonic. She lifted it from the worn burlap sack, giving a hesitant tilt of her head.

It was risky. Possibly lethal at her age. Scorpion’s Tonic was considered a “coming of age” spell for Fae above fifteen, and presently she was a year or two short. But surely, in the situation they were in, this was more important, right?

Usually, she would’ve consulted Thorn first, but right now, that didn’t seem like an option as she looked over the squabbling crowd with a furrowed brow. Tentatively, she uncorked the bottle and began to drink.

“- Besides, just think about it,” Adversary continued. “They have that whole Arena thing, right? Think about it, Rose. Just you and me, kicking ass and taking names-“

Witch rolled her eyes as her attention briefly came back into conversation. “Briar Rose-“ that goofy little petname of hers for Thorn - it worked every time in charming her, but this was scarcely the time. They needed to get out.

“I don’t know,” Thorn admitted. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to take on the hounds they usually put into that circle. I don’t think anyone is.”

“That’s the point,” piped up the unfamiliar… Prisoner. “They don’t want you to win . The Ring is rigged against you.”

Adversary waved a hand dismissively. “Pssht. As if more talon wounds and bites are going to deter me; the more they make me bleed, the stronger I’ll fight back! They really think they can-“

“- Drain your mana clean away,” the borrower murmured, shrugging in her chains. She shifted, avoiding eye contact as she counted a few variables: “possibly rendering a few nerves obsolete - and oh, you’re lucky if that’s all they’re taking.”

There was a darkening look on this prisoner’s face, somewhere between twisted amusement and anguish. Thorn couldn’t tell, tail bristling. She didn’t want to know, but at the same time had to for any chance to survive.

“Wait… What do you mean?”

“Do you know how wine is made here?” There was a clank of the chains around her neck as the Prisoner looked over. “Do you know why it’s so dark compared to your own made out in the woods?”

There was an onlook of horror as Prisoner continued.

Okay. Witch knew that taking the Tonic was worth it, whether she lived through it or not.

“Or perhaps you’ve heard the rumors about how in order to obtain a Fae’s magic-“

“You’re fucking kidding me.”  

The growl of disbelief came out a hiss of horror, catlike features returning to Thorn’s aid. The shuffle from place to place was bad enough, and Adversary was right; there were technically ways to brute through gladiatorial combat, so long as the youngest parties weren’t tossed in as sacrifices. But the mere notion of what this disturbingly calm Borrower was suggesting…

Hesitantly, Thorn scanned the room. Giving a tap to Witch to get off her lap, the Heiress peered through tiny tears in the thin sheet metal and enlarged them with the aid of her claws.

This was definitely the Royal cellar; barrels of wine, expensive cuts of hanging meat, cheeses, and jerkies were lingering on the scene. The stone of the basement was polished nicely, but still had the lingering stench of a familiar scent above the glowing sconces on the wall:

“It smells like… Iron?“

“Smell closer, Fae,” the Prisoner instructed.

A singular squint at one of the wine barrels seemed to confirm the damning suspicion:

‘FAE SPIRITS.’

Thorn stumbled back. Witch clumsily nudged her back up, giving a grunt of frustrated alarm.

“What? What is it?!”

“Oh no no - we have to get out of here.”

“I would say ‘good luck with that,’” the Prisoner scoffed, “but I think your friend over here is about ready to take this whole place down with her. If you alert the guards, though, they won’t care if you drown first before chugging the whole bottle. They’re impatient; greedy . Be careful with how you proceed.”

“You’ll need some of this, too,” Witch choked, handing over the half-empty bottle of Tonic. Her steps were woozy, eyesight unfocused as she struggled to stand. “First dose after a while poisons them , too, doesn’t it?”

Thorn stared at the poison-drunk Borrower. “What di- whe- no. Heal - heal, now!” Thrusting herself forward, Thorn rammed her sister to the ground, pressing Witch’s hand over her chest. With the other, she grabbed the Tonic from her hand, fur bristling. “Please tell me you didn’t chug this-“

“Had to,” Witch chuckled weakly. “Our two options are taking a potion or becoming one. Do you really think that the guards are going to sit around and let us wait around while we slowly down an entire vial of this?”

 Thankfully, it seemed the healing glow took. A few sparse marigold blooms entwined under the pulse, ebbing away at the toxic flow. So at the very least Witch wasn’t fighting the assistance Thorn snaked in place with a softer vine of her own. 

“What you did was really stupid,” Thorn growled, breathless. “Just… Hang in there, okay? Once we get out of here-“

There was a broady laugh from the other cage. “Come on; she reminds me of us when we were her age,” Adversary grinned. “You were dying to get your hands on Tonic at seven. I could handle the stuff earlier than that. She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and I spat up half of it the first time we tried.” There was a soft huff as Thorn rolled her eyes back, grateful for the distraction. By now, Witch had already propped herself up; the worst of the symptoms were ebbing away. Good. “Scorpion’s Tonic isn’t something to mess with haphazard; it’s a safeguard from them.”

“It sounds like she has the right idea,” Prisoner answered. “They usually test your blood first to check if you’re Fae or not. And if they detect poison, they’re less likely to throw you in. And at best… We could even kill them and get out of here.” Glancing to the side, there was a quick scan for the guards. “I don’t suppose either of you have poison in your blood already, do you? Perhaps a spell or two?”

“Just endurance, I’m afraid,” Adversary shrugged. “And I think Witch is a little young to be doing the whole ‘jailbreak from hell’ routine.”

Prisoner squinted as she watched Thorn kneel beside the squirming, protesting Borrower, growling as she placed a few red speckled blooms across her sister’s chest.

“No, I don’t care if you’re not hurting now,” Thorn insisted. “Your first dose of Scorpion does hurt, high tolerance or not. Even Adversary can vouch for this. Now take it.”

“Oh man,” Adversary replied with a shake of her head. “Does it ever-“

“That’ll work.”

“What?” 

Both older Borrowers looked up, leaving only Witch to grumble meekly as they addressed the more experienced hostage.

“Opioids,” Prisoner stated clearly. “Those are poppies, aren’t they?”

“They’re mostly for situations like this,” Thorn explained, noticing Witch batting aimlessly at the air. That would be the medicine, not the Tonic’s effect. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a lethal poison.”

“Not at the doses you’re giving it,” Prisoner uttered darkly. “But I think you and I both know it’s fatal if you double that amount. Humans do it to themselves all the time. You’ve been measuring carefully; I can tell. And if you’re worried it won't be enough, I believe the shelves in there have some things that’ll mix nicely with it.”

“But how would I ever get that to them? Magic isn’t taken like they seem to think, it’s gi-“

The darkening smile on Prisoner’s face confirmed it. Thorn, apprehensively, lowered her tail, voice raising with an edge of instability.

“You want me to walk out and offer it open-handed to a pack of cannibals?!”

“It’s your duty as rising Queen to protect your subjects,” Prisoner reminded with a simple brush of her hand. “You’re the only one who has a strong enough toxin on you to complete the task unhindered, and in either case we’re not sending you in there alone. You’ll have help.” Prisoner turned her head, glancing up to an unseen figure. “I’m presuming you’ve been waiting long enough for this moment.”

The ceiling above the royal siblings buckled with leadened steps. There was a scraping that made both them flinch.

“You need my help? Now what would you need with a sweet little thing like me?” This voice somewhere above was deceiving, grating in every syllable. “I can’t think of what you would want with a poor, unarmed little-“

“Drop it, Razor. Save it for when you’re inside the room.” Prisoner’s eyes squinted, indicating disinterest.

“Oh! Well, in that case-“

A horrible squelch erupted from the cage above. There was a shout of awe and delight as Adversary slammed her fists together - that was generally not a good sign. And sure enough, a flash of red and blonde streaks catapulted from the bindings and leapt down to the other side of the cages below. A nimble Borrower surely wasn’t unwelcome here.

“Thank goodness,” Razor whined, tossing her hands haphazardly to her side by Prisoner’s cage. “It was so boring up there.”

Then, almost as if tempting fate… Thorn squinted. Was she holding a knife? And what, precisely, was the reddened mess dangling by her side? Did she want to know?

“Put that away,” Prisoner scoffed. “You don’t need to be wasting it.”

“You’re no fun.” There was a shink, and it blended clean into the crimson of her dress. Which, frankly, seemed to also have blades jutting out of it on the silvery edges -

Okay, maybe it was better to stop staring and concentrate.

“We found the queen.”

Razor looked over to where Prisoner’s gaze led, blinking in gleeful surprise as she put up a bloodied hand.

“Hmm? Oh hi! We’ve been waiting some time for you.“ Razor’s eyes scanned the cage in dismay. “You don’t belong in there. Let me help.”

“No no, wait-“ But Prisoner’s grumbles of annoyance fell on an apathetic target as the figure raced towards them all at once. It was too late.

Thorn tensed as rapid footsteps began to approach, giving way for a form with immensely sharp teeth. An entire arm appeared to be missing in place of a - why was there a knife in place of an entire arm?! That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t even normal for Fae. Oh no, and they were stuck here, too…

On instinct, her own hackles raised and ducked, bracing for impact. She knew she couldn’t hope to outpace a speed like that cornered like a trapped rodent. Better to just close her eyes and wait. This was clearly the end.

The cage bar clicked, padlock snapping clean off. The door swung open, watching her step back. Bemused, Thorn took a cautious step back as she looked over this…

Was she Fae? The sword slotted for an arm and pointed ears indicated yes, but there was no tail in sight. The sharpened teeth would’ve distinguished wild descent, but no; they seemed to be aligned with her power. So maybe she was domestic after all. Fae who mastered household equipment in their magic weren’t uncommon with domestic cousins, but manipulating limbs into them took it a step further. And this one had a dangerous air to her, smile disappearing.

“What? Did you want me to stab you?” The Fae’s voice was unsettlingly eager as she waved her bladed arm. “Come ooooon.”

To be honest, Thorn didn’t exactly want to leave her sister unprotected with this strange being lurking right outside. Thankfully, she didn’t need to think about it too long.

“Alright; like it or not, I’m snapping this thing off,” came the gruff voice of Adversary, following the swift tear of metal from the outer wall. Judging by the three different snaps that followed, it didn’t take long to figure out whose it was as the pair of handcuffs across snapped off, along with the longer chain.

“Don’t bother with getting closer,” Prisoner huffed, slapping her hand away as it brushed against her throat. “The only way to get that one off is surgical removal.”

“Nonsense-“

“We have more important things to deal with.”

Prisoner’s gaze hinted at their current dilemma. Razor crossed her arms as Thorn circled like a trap-happy animal, impossibly resigning to the darkness of the prison cell beside the sleepy ginger body. This was unbelievable.

“She’s going to get all of us killed,” Prisoner huffed. “That’s presuming Razor doesn’t lose her temper first-“

“It’s my turn with the baby, Thorn.” Adversary grunted as she pushed the cage bars aside and stepped out into the fray. She gave an appreciative nod towards Razor’s implement as she passed before stepping forward, practically hauling the thinner Borrower into her grasp.

Adversary always smelt of sweat and peat. There was a natural aroma of home that had been bitterly ripped from them that flexed through her biceps and slammed down roughly on her skull against Thorn’s own; that growling sigh where you could practically taste the smoke billowing from her nostrils.

“We talked about this, remember?” Adversary’s gruff voice continued as her textured palms took Thorn’s, tracing the budding scars from the chimera attack with interest. “If you had to go out to fight, I’d babysit. And vice versa. That was always the deal. I’ll be right here when you get back.” Then, softer: 

“And I’ll be the first to greet the new tattoos you pick up. Maybe punch yourself out a new earring, huh?”

There was a giggle that followed which sounded stupid even to Thorn herself. Despite her rigid exterior, Adversary was quite the charmer - and those threads of young love weren’t lost on either teenager now. Giving a rough kiss, Adversary swept Thorn from behind with a tap below the tail, tossing her out of the cage towards destiny. Flustered, Thorn dared look back, wagging her tail almost expectantly.

“Knock ‘em dead, Briar,” Adversary roared, boasting her shark-like teeth. “You know how to make them bleed.” Once Adversary had swooped in and picked up the tiny, restless form of the healing Borrower, Thorn finally redirected attention towards the sharper Fae in question.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to get caught, and then you follow,” Razor stated matter-of-factly. Her bladed forearm sheathed itself, rewinding the lacerated skin around it. “You should go hide.”

There was a tense air that spread over the surrounding cellar at the realization. Being caught meant that people would come back out here, and chanced the others being caught - and with the ripped up cages front and center, that put everyone at risk. Surely, they had noticed that? Or were they too preoccupied to care? There weren’t a lot of spaces to hide in this place, and with the wreckage to boot they would tear this place to shreds to find any stragglers. Bolts would be replaced, the escapees and ransackers punished…

Razor squinted at the damage, frowning. A few thin curtains tapped at the cage bars and shredded platinum wiring, enclosing ocular ribbons over the mess.  That was, at least, if they could see it. Ohh. So she could do glamours too?

The plan was clearer now as Thorn hunkered down beside one piece of sheet metal that had courteously vanished from human sight. From here, she could easily keep track of Witch by earshot alone until it was time to go.

Remember what’s at stake. What’s at stake for everyone. You still have a chance to make things right for the ones who got caught.

Just for good measure, better to take a revitalizing swig of that Tonic in case these bastards did try anything. Hitting them with a nasty bite of poison sounded pretty good about now.

————

The evening of the castle’s siege, not far above the horrors in the winery below, was one that no party would ever scrape from their minds. A breathless corvid mercenary, a panting badger, and a damsel’s armed ire storming in with every twitching muscle laid chase - a young woman, much like the Rising Wild, still coming into her power that'd been thrust violently onto shoulders far too young. As priests in ill-fitting armor attempted to block the path, the Princess aimed a blow; it clanged awkwardly, still squeaking out a small “sorry!” by nothing but habit.

The race back into the palace was certainly more challenging for the Princess with everything else under siege. Broken glass and splattered paints of blood - the Divine Order certainly hadn’t left a single part of this castle go to waste. Nevertheless, the Princess clutched the Pristine Blade tightly in her hand as she trudged forward, grimacing at the sight laid strewn about her.

This was where they’d been overtaken. Imposter guards laid in wait and tasters which slipped through poisoned wine had offered up a fine feast - taking out the comatose and making allies out of those who succumbed to the luxuries they brought instead. Those who choked on them were often the ones who they had wanted to assassinate to begin with; all the way up to the the Royal chambers. A single vial of Scorpion’s Tonic; a foolish toast to undying love; had revealed its hidden toxins and warned the Princess herself from partaking. 

She knew exactly why they’d left this place to rot in decay. The townsfolk had grown weary over the frequent poachings of the mythical folk out in the woods, but Tower’s Order had grown a cultlike presence over the lands years ago that was too great to stifle. Rumors kept from their firstborn daughter indicated their desires were selfish; that benefits of the forest’s survival were to the monarchs alone as they hid their monstrous daughter away within. Naturally, any self-respecting creature would seek revenge for what humanity had done, and so the best thing to do was to cut both down: from the root. And thus the tie between Princess and Wild would be set to burn, unbeknownst that neither would go down without a fight.

The woods had ears. Twenty-two of them, to be precise. And for this specific occasion, it seemed a desperate lover’s hand had beckoned the Voice of the Smitten to drop the chalice from the table.

“Oh, Tower’s ingrace,” the Badger staggered back, horrified as the crimson spray howled as it landed on a lighter carpet. “That’s blood!”

“Not just any blood,” the Princess shuddered, kneeling down to investigate. “ Fae blood.”

By now, Quiet had managed to yank a broadsword from the stiffened hand of a dead guard, kneeling down to the bottle. “It’s what? Oh, shit. Thank the Wilds my wife is safe dead at home-“

Smitten squinted in amusement. “You’re an odd fellow, aren’t you?” Then, returning to the topic: “I don’t know how, or why, but yes. Highly toxic when drunk to excess; single drop is a mighty weapon on its own in the right context. Poisons their own, and - hey!”

There was a shriek as Quiet dipped his fingers into the reddening stain, smearing the red streak across the fuming badger’s fur.

“You absolute heathen! This is beyond barbaric, insolent, i… this stain won’t come out of the white patches for weeks!”

“We need to hide our scent if there’s chimeras in the vicinity, and it’s better if we all smell the same to confuse them,” Quiet explained. Then, looking over apologetically towards the Princess: “I’m so sorry you have to witness all of this. Are you able to, or…? I don’t want to smear it on if it’ll actually hurt you.”

It seemed the chokehold of shock had taken over those pale blue eyes as she stared into Quiet’s. But nevertheless she leaned forward and allowed his fingers to glide across her cheek to apply the smear of blood accordingly.

“I’ll be fine so long as I don’t ingest it. Just be careful not to cut me when you apply it.”

Scent deterrents. Now that she’d begun to grow a little more familiarized with her own Fae origins, the reek of them was more potent. Better to just get as used to this as she possibly could, and be thankful that her bloodline was domestic opposed to wild. Whatever was going on with her own betrothed, it was probably ten times worse with a nose that keen.

Once they had all been slathered in a proper layer of the viscous wine, the Princess rose from her crouched position.

“We need to keep moving. There’s one more place we need to go before we can figure out where they’re keeping her-“

“And then it’s off to your beloved!” Smitten practically trilled the words, tail wagging with delight. “She deserves a true knight in shining armor; oh, please tell me we’re stopping for some good equipment! Can you imagine popping open your helmet to reveal your golden glory?”

“Not the time,” Quiet chided. “I’m sure whatever this is, it’s more important.”

As they descended a nearby staircase, there was a pinprick of a tiny knife and hostile male voices as it shattered an adjacent cellar’s glass. 

————-

“Hey! What’s the big idea?!”

There was a growl as one man shot out of one chair, shadow now coming into clear view as the frosted window parted.

“I thought I told you to lock ‘em down good, Jim.” A skinny fellow held up a deck of cards, sifting through them with an air of disinterest. “Not our fault the middleman got stalled. But it sure will be if we lose their prize.”

“Ugh,” grumbled the first voice. “We were just supposed to be here for the fun part, not dealing with these pixies in the aftermath.”

“Fae. They’re Fae, knucklehead.” The card dealer shrugged, handing a few to the man seat across from him. “And that’s too bad. If one of them is causing a ruckus, well… We’ve got all night. Bottle’s still full. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss a single troublemaker, right? So why don’t you go see to it?” 

There was a greed - no, hunger in these sleazeball’s words as they poked and prodded each other forward. It was clear they didn’t intend for their pacing little culprit to survive as one man stepped out to investigate the commotion.

“There you are,” Razor grinned. “I was hoping someone would finally come back. My cage came unlocked. I figured you would want to know the materials aren’t the sturdiest.”

The Borrower in question waved a hand over to the savaged bars, catching an obvious look of unease as the man rubbed the back of his head. “Uhh… Yeah. Sure. Are you asking if we should get you another compartment so that you’re more secure for departure?”

There was an excited gasp as Razor clapped both hands together, jumping up and down. If she wasn’t such a blatantly ominous actress, she would be adorable. “That’s a thought! Would you mind?” Her gaze narrowed, smile threatening.

“Not at all,” the man responded, reaching for a falconer’s glove in the corner. “But now, you’ll have to come with me while I see what we have. That thing looks like it’s toast.”

That was a strange thing to have lying around. Why a falconer’s glove? There didn’t seem to be many raptors kept in the kingdom walls or else they’d have seen them. That was ignoring the fact this man could tell this woman was armed and dangerous, but nevertheless. Hawks, eagles, maybe phoenixes if it was fireproof? It was hard to think of what else could possibly be the intended familiar of that specific garment. What over birds were there in the kingdom?

A bleeding blur of taloned feet and a tall corvid’s head was visible from the darkened cracks in the ceiling. Far too big to be falconed, a sword in the mouth, lunging forward - by the graces above, what was that?! 

It’d thrown her off concentration was what; stupid thing. The last thing the heiress saw properly was a hand waving back in the palm of this human’s hand as those bladed teeth resurfaced. An index finger switched to knife, stabbing a tiny incision into the hand through the glove as he walked away.

Perfect. Now she had a blood trail to follow.

The cue was clear enough. Thorn took it to move.

If there was one thing Borrowers were not lacking, it was mobility. No loss of limb nor limitation of one specific sense would slow their ability to get around, adapting by mere seconds in the heat of the moment to get around. Testing the structure of the table’s wood indicated that it shredded down, and clawing it would leave few marks. It was worth the risk of a silent sliding descent without wasting any magic.

There was a twitch of one ear beside the table as the chimera seemed to notice her escape. This time, when they turned to face her, Thorn was ready. A quick slash across the face made the Beast shake her head. Lips now formed into a calm smile of approval.

“Reactive. Good.” The Beast’s head shifted to a hole in the wall, giving a flick of the tail. Then, she stood up and waited for the heiress to cross before pawing at the door herself.

“The cat wants in,” one of them grumbled, giving it a quick unlatch. The padding of footsteps followed suit with the creaking of chairs as Thorn made her way through the cellar walls in a wary hunker.

This was a prison. The feeling of dirt and rust between the slats in each part of this pipe confirmed it. No one had used the inner workings of this chamber in some time, collecting hints of mica and permeating sod. It was hard to take in a breath as she clambered forward. Parts of the ruptured pipe seemed to be fraying to the touch. Thankfully, Fae were scarcely victims of tetanus.

I would hope this at least makes me less appetizing. I doubt it, though - not against an enemy like this.

But soon enough, the sloppy construction work did indeed lead out to the other side behind some shelving units - vials, jars, and specimen contaminants which had been knocked over. This honestly looked like it had been a medical lab before the triad of brutes took over. Supposedly, they’d never know with all this fancy equipment smashed and records torn apart.

Presently, a vial which marked itself as “snake oil” was her current haunt. A bluff medicine, but combined with real poison it could be manipulated into something worse. Maybe while Razor worked she could see if this lab had something she could combine her own handiwork with for an instant knock-out; insect wings, dragon claws…

“Thank you so much for bringing me away from that awful compartment,” Razor’s voice echoed from down below. “ Someone ripped the whole thing open while I was in there, picked the locks and then left before you could even get there!”

She was being melodramatic in the gloved hand of this captor, and Thorn wasn’t entirely sure if this strange new Fae was trying or deliberately failing in her act of composure. Either way, it seemed that she was indeed keeping them distracted, and that’s what she needed right now as she searched the shelves.

“So the little lady wants a new little cage, is that right?” One of the other men seemed to speak up from down below, setting their cards down. Two figures leered over with a look of intrigue that did not belong on human faces. “We’ll see what we can do. Why don’t you stay out here with us a little while until we find something suitable?”

Already, the words were sending chills up Thorn’s spine. Perhaps this whole “nice girl” act actually was smart, watching Razor pause a moment and place a hand to her cheek. The singular bladed finger she kept behind her back. More were threatening to press to the surface.

“Hmmmm…”

Razor circled the open desk of cards and sat down on top of one the man was clearly reaching to play. There was a noticeable frustration as they locked eyes.

The jig was up. Either this coy little Borrower pried malfeasance upfront and center, or else he pretended not to see. That was… Clever. Perhaps one for her own book.

“What do you really want? You got some kind of trick up your sleeve? Got a weapon on you?”

It seemed the man had chosen violence, and got an even response of a shake of the head. “Nope! I just figured I would see what you were up to. So many of the others have been waiting a long time and seen no one home. And besides, where would I even put a weapon that could hurt any of you? It would be so strange to assume I had more than a needle on me. You would see a needle, wouldn’t you?”

Oh boy, here we go. Better to just grab the closest thing before someone got the idea to start snooping. These jars were glass, after all. Powdered scales and chimera teeth - those would be perfect, but too locked up. A small crack seemed to be viable in one jar - this had better work.

“Do you see anything?” Razor’s voice gained that cutting edge as the lies got fiercer. “See these? Hands! Perfectly norma-“

“There’s a blade embedded in her fist,” the second onlooker pointed out. “Several of them, actually. Right between the digits.”

Razor looked down and blinked. “You know, I’d forgotten those were there. It’s easy to forget when I’m so small and you’re so big and sliceable-“

Those bladed teeth were back. It took no effort looking down as she snuck into the glass for Thorn to confirm that as the tiny blademaster advanced, lead forth by the shrieks of sadists getting a taste of their own medicine.

Nightshade. A classic if she could get just a few leaves and get out. Of course, going in to begin with was risky but it seemed that with the current fight the captor’s minds were… well, preoccupied. A single look over confirmed as much as Razor yanked her hand away from - yeah, okay. That was enough information. Fight handled, distraction dealt with, and at least someone here was having fun. Because even after succeeding with enfolding the nightshade berries within the poppy petals, that was certainly not her.

So far, so good. An entire situation handled, and still not caught. This would typically be the perfect time to head back unannounced and wait for another chance, but no. There was a mission to be had, and that required revealing herself by choice.

Thorn winced as she pushed the glass from the shelf and watched it shatter. It scarcely took a second for two rough, suffocatingly tight hands to rip her frantically clawing body from the shelving unit and dump her on the table with a huff of exhaustion.

Two of the three men seemed near the point of collapse as they staggered back, attacked by a flurry of more than paper cuts. A fierce yet gleeful borrower grinned at her from behind bloody, needle-sharp teeth.

“Ladies,” crooned the third, giving a shake of his head. He reached into his back pocket to light a cigarette, letting the whole room fill with noxious smoke. “We don’t have to fight, now, do we?”

Good. So trial by intoxication would be easy.

“Let’s just play this nice and simple. What can we get for ya?”

Chapter Text

Thorn did her best to size up these men - carefully. They were an exhausted, bleeding mess, with only one of them spared from the slaughter. Any form of sleaziness they were trying to use right now was to a disadvantage; at least one of their targets was untouchable. And, well, looking Thorn over, they weren’t so sure about the second. Comparatively, a few tiny prickles was worth it when the alternative was a solid rending. So that meant she was exposed. Great.

The key to this interaction was sleight of hand. Nimble hands wove their dark magic - that’s right; nimble. This had been before those deep palm scars had rendered movement and sensation more challenging all the way from fingertips to wrist, and it was a good thing a secondary witness was taking it in so it didn’t have to ache all over again to remember.

“I suppose we should ask the same of you. We’re here for a reason, are we not?”

The bold words left Thorn’s mouth, letting the petals fold and berries stain slightly in her hands. One of the men snickered, drinking straight from the wine bottle. A trickle of viscous, bloody fluid seeped down his chin.

“Princess doesn’t get it yet,” he jeered. “It’s just the way things run around here.”

“Yeah,” a second muttered, wiping a few bloody spatters off their cheek. “They say to catch, and we fetch. Don’t have to make it harder than it needs to be.”

These men absolutely reeked. One of the downsides of Wild Fae genetics was that keen sense of smell around human habitats; they always had that particular stench of sweat; testosterone; estrogen; decay . But these particular captors seemed to have it worse than usual; a fishier smell of vinegar, lye, and other putrid chemicals likely used in distillation. They weren’t good at hiding their intentions, were they?

“You could’ve easily scampered off,” inquired the man with a flick of his cigar, “but both of you are still here. So, tell me, what brings you here? There’s gotta be something you’re after.”

Was it better to be honest? Minus the poison, it could help gauge where they stood. Deflection certainly hadn’t done any good, and asking about the bottle would be a solid way to catch the wrong kind of interest.

“Well… Some better amenities would be nice,” Thorn started, avoiding eye contact. “Perhaps some food, water?”

There was a rattle from the other side of the wall. A cacophony of figures seemed to stir to life at the mere mention of sustenance. Thorn could almost see them through that interwoven sixth sense of the Network; a multitude of frail, clawed hands scraping the air before them; each other; their own arms and severed hands in desperation. The slam of a brutish human arm against the wall interrupted the skeletal trance as it retreated to the hollows of their cells, abandoned once again.

So there were others here. And judging from the ease at which the Network picked up on them, they were dying.

“Thieves don’t get cushy treatment,” the card player snickered. “We get your whole deal - you want to ‘borrow’ this, ‘borrow’ that - next thing, you want to ‘borrow’ the Crown Jewels. Already took care of one Princess, so now you’d better shut your mouth and sit tight. We don’t have to do this whole thing civil-like.”

“I’m sorry, did you actually want to talk or not?” 

The bitter, breathless question slipped out before Thorn could stop herself. Every part of the plan about playing it safe has gone out the window; this was about standing her ground. Already, the fearsome Fae beside her was coiling for another strike. They wouldn’t go for it if they were smart.

The man furthest took another long drag of his cigar. For a moment, his hardened gaze fell upon her, challengingly. Common tactic. Predators in the woods often sized up weaker members in a group. Thorn kept it directly, narrowing it until he finally slapped the broader man harshly on the back.

“Why don’t you shut your gob and pour these ladies a drink?”

 Cigar man must be the leader. The other two were lackeys.

That was about as much thought as they got out before, as expected, these men reached for the bottle and siphoned it into two [likely unsanitized] caps of test tubes. Their residue seemed to already be mixing with what, impossibly, was a less appetizing cannibalistic fare. So much for saving face.

“Oh, that’s not -“

The slender figure in the corner shuffled his deck, squinting. Razor squinted back.

“You’ve been eyeing that bottle an awful lot,” the dealer challenged. “Stuff ain’t cheap.” 

The hunger in the gaze returned. A thick, dazed fear in Thorn ran ragged despite attempts to smooth it back, not even wanting to look over at the sound of small sips and confused trills next to her began. 

Great, so the other Borrower had no issue with vampirism. But then again, that was to be expected with a Fae named “Razor,” wasn’t it?

“Your friend seems to like it just fine,” he added, giving a shrug. “I always figured the lot of you were animals when it came right down to it. And I mean, unless you plan on replacing it-“

“- I would.”

That was an opportunity if she ever saw one. The man squinted at her - as did something… long and blonde curled up around his neck.

By the Wilds, please tell me that’s not a Weasel.

The fun never ended here, did it?

“And how, tell me, would you plan on doing that?” The cold words reeked of anticipation; both man and mongrel seemed ready to pounce. 

“I know what’s in that bottle. You and I both know that. How many of those have you been drinking, and have you actually gained anything from it or not?”

One of the men checked over the label. “Stuff’s too distilled. That’s why we prefer doing it ourselves.” A grin; all teeth. Thorn stood her ground.

“You don’t need our blood for that. You won’t gain anything unless it’s presented to you. But, if you’ll allow me-“

The card dealer turned from his crew towards the heiress. His body language was obnoxiously relaxed. Then, after a moment he turned towards the slinky form on his shoulder. 

“Check her.” 

There was a look of intrigue as the creature - yep, definitely weasel - looked over at its master and gave a nod. Next, there was a twinkle in its eye as the weasel glanced back and gave a wink towards the Heiress. So he was playing both sides for advantage.

Not to be trusted, that one; she knew the moment he slid down to strike. This game of wits was familiar, but low from such a cushy opponent. Weasels were common familiars kept by huntsmen to ravage narrow Borrower tunnels, and the confusing maneuvers of their “war dance” made them harder to evade in the open. But with just as serrated an ally standing a few paces away, this one wouldn’t get far.

…Probably.

This weasel, however, didn’t seem to be coming in for a fight. His headlong stride and clear avoidance of Razor’s path seemed to say it all as he opted for the more vulnerable target. Moreover, it seemed by leaving Razor the space to take her own pickings (she was still fixated on the damn wine), he’d avoided a single scratch.

“I’ll be taking that, thank you.” One of the weasel’s paws shot out, kneeling by Thorn’s own, er… “helping” of the sanguine tonic with a few laps of his tongue. Then, catching her gaze: “What? You certainly weren’t going to be touching it.”

With a huff, the weasel glanced from eager crowd to hesitant Borrower. A few more sips passed in silence as he focused on his target, watching every twitch sadistically. After what seemed an eternity, he pushed over an emptied serving and stepped forward:

“Alright. Toll taken; I’ll talk.”

Immediately, a burst of vines snagged along one forepaw, leaving rigid cuts along his coarse fur. This he merely huffed at, swiping forward with the same paw in lazy ease. The jolt that followed seemed to make his target all too easy as deft claws snared the blooms and clutched them to his chest with a snicker.

Well, shit. There went the only edge she had against these men.

“You’re a jumpy little heiress, aren’t you? Oh, that look of shock on your face is priceless, ” he sneered, pawing a petal jeeringly. “Sweetheart, if you have a weapon, it belongs behind your back.” A paw flicked over the wrapped blooms. What was he doing?!

 “Hmm, not bad craftsmanship. Suppose it’ll have to do for now.”

There was quite an audacity around this one. Right now, he had her cornered, and there was little Thorn could do about it. Avoiding the weasel was one thing, but they were still in the presence of several hungry humans. If only that damn chimera would actually do something other than linger beneath the wooden table - did she actually care enough to intervene?! Clearly, someone who knew the stakes should. Or else maybe it was just that she herself needed to get better at this whole situation.

Someone is going to die here. Please let it not be us.

This all boiled down to how this Opportunist presented himself. And right now, watching him turn and bolt away conspiratorially with the blossoms, it wasn’t looking good.

“Excellent news,” the Opportunist crowed, standing in the center of the table. “She indeed brings magic. And not just any magic; these are a rather special kind of flower. Oh yes! You’ve gotten lucky, boys.” There was a snicker as he looked back over towards the pair of Borrowers, grinning. “Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve had a real high?” 

————

The labyrinth of castle tunnels seemed mostly undisturbed when it came to the lower levels. All fighting came up top, with little support below. The occasional bashed-in weapon or dented gauntlet seemed to glimmer in these empty halls, letting the sounds of footsteps grow on the cobblestone basement below. To the left, the cellar; to the right, an armory. This was the area they should’ve protected to begin with, but what’s done was done. The guards had let it go to waste for a reason as the Princess took neither passage and went straight ahead to greet the abandoned souls within the third corridor.

“Where are you taking us?”

The Princess turned around. It seemed the strange avian was pondering the surroundings worriedly, giving a clack of his beak. Talons clicked unceremoniously on the flooring as he shuffled, uncertain - but it seemed that he was still keeping pace. Hopefully he wasn’t getting cold feet.

“The Bestiary,” the Princess murmured, voice turning more solemn. “There’s someone here who should be able to help.”

There was a click of the lock as the door to the vacant space opened and gave way to the spectacle of remaining chimeras. Many seemed to be recovering from their own specific hunts, gnawing on bones which had been thrown in haphazard to keep the beasts from resisting. Several looked to have been given sedatives to mark them improper watchdogs. Tentatively, the Princess picked up the hem of her dress as she entered. The forms of the remaining creatures awake snapped to attention at the scent of Fae blood, rattling their chains or pawing at kennels as they tried to reach her.

“Hang on, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Quiet murmured, watching the pack snarling and salivating. “Aren’t they trained to-?”

“Wait, good fellow,” Smitten huffed, putting a stocky paw against his leg. “The Lady has a plan here. We’re just here to run interference if anything goes wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

Smitten chuckled. “I’ve been around a long time, and Wilds’ heirs seldom choose poor company. In order to find Her Divinity this cycle, we have to play her game. That includes trusting her allies and vessels.”

Quiet squinted. “And sic a chimera on her again?”

There was a breath of unease - perhaps offense? - as Smitten squinted back. “Oh… Dear. This really isn’t the time for someone to be catching up on their history lessons. Just watch.”

The Princess waited momentarily for the crowd to settle. Standing in its center, she was safe from most of them as she squinted through the darkness. A single cage had been left unattended in the corner with a large, malnourished creature’s back towards the commotion. A flick of the furry tuft indicated it had heard, but did not wish to interrupt. This was the only chimera who was silent.

A soft whistle swept through the air. Immediately, the gangly beasts retreated. The silent chimera, comparatively, turned their antlered head. The Princess knelt down and patted her knees in indication to approach. The rest clicked into place therein. The relaxed creature obeyed her command, although there was a hesitation in the skittering steps of six legs passing by the others.

Quiet looked over, bemused. “Huh. I didn’t expect them to all just back up like that…”

There was a deep chuckle as Smitten stepped forward. “Have faith in these maidens; they nary leave themselves unarmed by wits. And a damsel of pure heart oft leaves hidden the lengths she’ll go for Justice.” Padding into the room with theatrical banter, the badger settled beside the Princess with a gaze of approval. “Excellent choice. The Old Guard still remembers their allegiance.”

The chimera looked over him and gave a bow of her head. Then, tongue sweeping -

“Gyah! Have mercy; my pelt’s been through enough disheveling today-“

The Princess giggled at the pawing badger, only to squeak in alarm as the creature barreled her over to the stone floor with a flurry of affectionate licks.

“Hey, hey- Den! Get off!” But it seemed her protests and playful wrestling with this animal were only interrupted by the clearing throat of the corvid behind them.

“Princess-“

“Right.” Stumbling to her feet, the Princess held the creature’s cheeks to her face to whisper in close. “We need your help to track a scent. Would you be able to assist?”

Reaching into her pocket, the Princess retrieved a small twig that’d come from her own forest adornments. Den sniffed close, pondering it a moment - her steps took off in the opposite direction from whence they came, leading back around to the other side of the cellar. The door, consequently, was locked - which didn’t help in hearing what sounded like a very tense negotiation between the smaller folk.

“Damnit,” Quiet mumbled under his breath. “I would just slam it in if we weren’t at risk of hurting the Fae.” His blank eyes looked over with a tilt of his head. “Does this open up anywhere else?”

“There’s a trap door by the kitchen that leads down,” the Princess replied. “We’d just have to go back around the dining room, and-“

There was a grimace upon the realization. She’d been hauled off before most of the venoms took effect on the diners, and chances were no one had bothered clearing the area. But it was a risk she had to take; poison or no poison. Besides, the immunity should still be in her favor there.

“We’ll need someone to hold off the guards if they come through in the meantime. Do you think you can do that?”

Quiet nodded. “Show me where and I’ll keep it secure.”

The Princess nudged the chimera towards him. “Take Den with you. She has antivenom; it’ll be safer if anyone comes in with poison.”

“And I’m coming with you,” Smitten echoed as he approached the Princess. “You’ll need someone experienced with handling the castle’s vermin. I have a nagging suspicion someone is here that ought not to be. And I intend to avoid any martyrs.” Several scars glistened along the badger’s rough coat; clearly, he’d seen his fair share of skirmishes. “All set? If so, destiny awaits.”

Quiet winces as he stepped away from the door. The final sound which escaped were raspy chokes from the windows of the old study, and heavy, head-sized thuds against a mahogany table piece.

It seemed, at least, the Fae had won this time around. But how true or not that was, they’d have to see.

——

As Quiet left the adjacent door, heavy breathing filled the castle cellar buried deep below. The remaining shreds of poppy petals laid absent on these thugs’ desk, next to the dead eyes of several voracious men. Looming over, they had been a spectacle; here, paralyzed and choking out, it was almost worse. The Opportunist gave a brief shake of his head, uttering a soft tsk tsk tsk.

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled darkly, scampering over to the face of the card dealer in feigned sympathy. “Well, that’s certainly a high of a lifetime, am I right? To be fair, I might’ve miscalculated a bit; opium does intensify with a bit of drink. I didn’t realize you didn’t know that.” He leaned theatrically against the dying man, placing a claw along their chin with a laugh. “So, you feeling magical now? Or did the cat finally catch your tongue?”

Thorn stared in horror at the state of the room. Bloodied spit had trickled besides their mouths, with only one left to hold on. They deserved this; there was no mistake. But it was still hard to take in the instantaneous effects of her own dark magic. 

A murder, even if justified, was never easy. Especially not the first of several surely yet to come.

The glasses of poppy-speckled wine tipped over, leaving a bloody pool in its trace. Sprays of sanguine fluid flew through the air across from the pair of Borrowers; one flinching, one observing with disturbingly ardent curiosity.

“Hmm… So there are other ways to kill the big ones. I thought I was going to just slice them to pieces.”

Razor’s presence was a grating sound on all things ethical and sane. Even for people this vile, the death they faced was a bit overkill. But a Borrower did not get to choose how they murdered their captors. This was about survival , and no amount of convincing otherwise would change that.

“What did you put in that?” A growl rose in the leader’s throat; the only one who hadn’t fallen for the trap. Without the heavy lacerations from Razor’s assault, he was just as formidable here as had been before - only this time, all the cards were on the table.

“I was merely making sure that you knew this was a trap; sometimes it takes a few expendables to make the point,” the Opportunist chuckled. “Really, when you come right down to it, you should be blaming her and not me-“

“You.”

Hands slammed on the table. It was taking all of Thorn’s current concentration not to fall over, wincing as he geared up for a definitive strike. The air bristled with impact as muscle memory took the place of cognizant thought. She had a weapon. This would just take a quick strike-

Thorn wasn’t quite sure how the palm of his hand met her teeth first. But that certainly seemed to be the case as the man gasped and recoiled, inflicting a bleeding wound across her face with the flick of a nail. But it seemed the immediate backwards slide wasn’t of his own momentum; that chimera was dragging him by one foot with a sharp bite of her own.

“Faster,” Beast growled from behind bared teeth. “Go back to your pack and reconvene before it’s too late; and make it count . I’m putting a lot on the line staying here for prey like you.”

Thorn didn’t need to be told twice. Taking the lead this time, a catlike scurry through the tunnels was all that it took to finally make her way through. A few poppy petals were the final thing left in her place; a warning, perhaps, for whoever recovered the bodies.

These Borrowers were not going down without a fight.

——

And neither was the Princess.

There was no decorum as the darkened room began to filter in with the heavy, putrid air of burning charcoal on hanging sconces. With purple drapes, gold-trimmed carpets, and visages of stained glass across the centuries, the dining room would’ve been an exquisite sight, if it weren’t littered with the spatters of blood - both human and Borrower in the form of sanguinary consumption. Axes and unsheathed weapons laid waste to cavernous, disassembled bodies; some guards, some royalty, some… Familiar.

It was hard to take the sight of the slaughtered king sitting at the head of the table. His mouth still trickled the same elixir that had taken them hostage from its stolen magic. Somewhere, the Princess knew how she was raised wasn’t the pinnacle of loving parentage. The Fae seldom lent out their own magic, and it seemed he intended to keep its existence within these walls like some awful secret. Like a disappointment on an otherwise “normal” child.

A secret kept even from her. For while her powers grew stronger, the more insistent the calls for total obedience. The supernatural, and anything outside of royal protocol, were forbidden. To question for oneself was an act of betrayal.

At least, that was until she met Witch. Two traitorous teenagers joined together by spite and love - ones who paid dearly for the crime of free spirit. She wouldn’t let this end here. It couldn’t.

Now, the only thing left of that rule was a few bloodied bodies. For all intents and purposes, she was free. But that alone was hard to fathom.

“This place is… Unnatural.” 

Smitten pranced onto the table, knocking over a poisoned roll of bread.

“Yes,” the Princess breathed. “It is.”

“So artificial,” he continued, raising his claws in anguish. “So lifeless. Drab scenery like this can really alter the mind, no matter how they dress it up. This is sacrilege. Torment. They kept you here for an awful long time, didn’t they?” His eyes met hers, tilting his head. The Princess bowed her head in a respectful nod.

“They tried to keep me away from the world beyond. Permanently, if they’d won.” A few chipped pieces of oak fell from the table legs. “They didn’t want me to know about any of this. About who I was.”

Smitten sighed, raising his head.

“They ask for the Fae’s assistance, then scorn the child delivered to their doorstep. They decide to keep you locked up here and deny you all information about your birth. How humanity continues to defy all sensibilities.” There was a tone of remorse as he shook his head, sniffing the sulfuric air.

“I wasn’t what they were looking for; I was too curious,” the Princess responded, her voice distant as she scoured the area for anything useful. “They didn’t expect the Fae side to be noticeable enough.”

Smitten scoffed. “And so what? Seems they could use a reminder that caged birds don’t sing.”

“They wanted to keep the dance their own; to bring me up to take over. I suppose I paid the price for disobeying.”

“And mighty good you did; can scarcely imagine an arranged partner bringing you that same joy as your own.” Smitten sighed, jumping off the table to circle back around to her.

“Well, now you’re free from all of that. You took it into your own hands. It’s yours now.” The badger pawed over to a sconce on the wall. “Everything that they kept from you, take it.” With a swipe of one paw, the light evaporated. “Be you Fae or human or in between, you are a force of nature they tried to stifle. Humanity be damned, if they cannot see what you have to offer then we’ll show them, once and for all.”

A swift, angered slash knocked the sconce to the floor. The Princess jumped, and he bowed his head apologetically. 

“Ahem… Getting ahead of myself. We shouldn’t linger too long with your betrothed in chains. Even if they did manage to throw off their captors-“

“Wait. I think we’re being followed,” The Princess whispered. 

“Oh, good,” Smitten grumbled. “This is exactly why you needed accompaniment - you know what to do.” This time, the Princess breathed in deep to attune herself. The heavy stench of copper, metal, rot and gore -

It was unpleasant, yes. But it was another way of getting around this place, long forgotten. No longer having to rely on sight and the swirling torrent of images, the  unwanted presence became clearer.

There was a black feather not unlike Quiet’s trailing from the heavens. The scent of fresh meat hung lucid from the perch of a ravenous creature who had either not noticed, or not cared.

A singular raven stood beside the windowsill, pecking. The scent trails finally aligned as the click of talons settled on the ledge. The turn of his head was almost mechanical.

“Hello there.”

The deep voice sauntered down from the stained glass above as a sizable raven stood stagnant from his perch. The Raven studied both figures for a moment. There was an agitated puff as the black and white familiar stood his ground, eyeing the opponent with heavy suspicion.

“Echo.”

“Servant.” The Echo denied the dignity of a title. “Go crawl back to the Wild where you belong.” A talon dragged along the stone walls. “We don’t have to make this difficult.”

“When he descends, run ,” Smitten whispered. “I’ll hold him off.”

“But-“

“I can handle him. And you have more chivalrous things to attend to than this mere mongrel.”

The silence was deafening. A beak of razor sharp teeth illuminated in the pale moonlight, as though questioning his move. By the time that wings fluttered open and began their descending dive -

-The badger’s coarse body leapt up, catching him midair. There was a shriek of rage as Smitten tussled him to the floor, wincing at the slash of claws that worked its way into an exposed neck.

“Now!”

Smitten’s eyes leapt desperately towards the Princess. There was a pleading glance and nothing more; footsteps found their purchase despite the guilt, knowing for a fact that time was of the essence.

She had to get their first. There was no alternative. There was no telling what could possibly have happened in that basement, but the sound of its progressive assault began to carry from up the steps.

——-

Back at the cages, it seemed that the remaining three Borrowers were left uneasily on standby. “She should’ve been back by now,” Prisoner grumbled, placing a hand to her forehead. “Please tell me she actually dealt with it.”

“She will; I’m sure of it,” Adversary asserted.

Prisoner wasn’t as impressed. “Should we be worried yet?” 

“Why would we? She’s fought off far worse than a couple brutes back home. Probably just making sure the job is done.” There was a flick of agitation as Adversary’s tail traced the metal prison. Her grip still remained firm on Witch’s stirring form, seemingly recovered from the most of the poison’s effects. There was still the weariness as she settled in Adversary’s grasp; the past hour or so had been a confusing, hazy blur, and she twitch of sleep seemed it wouldn’t shake. But during that interval, the words she’d heard were… Interesting.

Keen hearing and a sharp sense of wit picked up the familiar in the midst of the unknown. Somewhere trailing far above the grates, there was that angelic voice that had charmed her from the start - but it was harsher; more determined.

There was a bubbling ache in her chest. Correct; this clearly was the castle. And if this was the cellar… 

Did the Princess even know they were here?

“There you are.” Adversary’s gruff voice echoed out at Thorn’s approach, her own tail raised assertively. “I knew that you could do it. You know how this goes just as well as I -“

Witch’s body stiffened. “She’s hurt.”

Witch wriggled out of Adversary’s grasp, running quadrupedal towards her sister. The weeping wound across the side of one cheek was clear even from here, leaping up with a touch of her own magic.

Any attempt to meet her sister’s gaze was slighted. Numb eyes wandered imaginary lengths as the cut healed unevenly; the remainder tore a scarred gash in its place. The wrap along tender fingers was the only way Witch could tell she’d even noticed.

“… Thank you.”

Some things just wouldn’t heal. It was a lesson they would both have to learn the hard way; blood had been spilled. There was no turning back.

“You kill all of them?” Prisoner turned towards Thorn expectantly. There was only the solemn nod; it seemed the heiress understood this was above emotion. “Good. Then we can finally get out of here.”

“There’s hundreds more Borrowers here in the other room,” Thorn choked. “We shouldn’t just leave them there.”

“We need to make sure we don’t join them,” Prisoner stated plainly. “Going in would stall vital time. And in case you’ve forgotten, we need you to stay alive.” There was a look of cold empathy as she regarded the rising queen. “We can’t save everyone. Do you even have any clue how you’d bust open the locks?”

There was a heavy stomp of a hoof behind her as Adversary cracked her knuckles.

“No. You can’t seriously expect to break each one by hand-“

“Try me. Give me five minutes.”

A lingering scent was beginning to trail in from the top of the corridor; faintly bloodied, but palpable. Witch could smell the distinct cascade of familiar foliage;  giving a small sniff to the air, it seemed to be getting closer. But it was mixed with something else…

There was someone else in the fray. But it seemed between the squabbling, she was the only one who noticed until the steps were near the cellar’s entrance. A chirp of alarm arose; one which only caught Thorn’s attention. But thankfully, a slam against the wall above seemed to be the thing that cued the others in.

“They’re gathering recruits,” Prisoner scoffed. “Their scouts must’ve been out of commission for too long and they’re checking up. Run.”

The final word came out more like a command than an urgency. Razor didn’t budge. Adversary’s gaze lingered from monarch to strategist, unsure whose hand to take.

Thorn’s attention had, much like Witch’s own, drifted above. That desperate child’s voice, now filled with a sense of dignity and rage… It was familiar. But that didn’t mean that staying out in the open was the proper protocol. 

“It’s her,” Witch murmured. “I don’t know how or why-“

There was a sharp bite against the sleeve of her dress. She didn’t have to even look over to tell what that signal meant; Thorn wasn’t about to hear her out on this one.

“We need to get to shelter,” Thorn finally echoed. Her words remained dutiful, albeit stripped of anything but hollow tones. “If there’s time, we can go back. For her; for anyone else. They’re right; we need to get out of here ourselves.”

“She sounds like she’s being followed-“

“That’s my point. We’re not going to be able to fight off armed guards like this. Tunnels; now.”

Prisoner gave Thorn a nod of respect. Finally, it seemed the heiress was taking the proper steps forward. Her hand locked around Razor’s functional wrist, dragging the protesting Borrower towards the tunnel in the corner. This one, however, was more of a semi-dugout corridor than one that lead anywhere. Hopefully Razor behaved, or else they were all in trouble. 

“I can take them! Let me go; I can slice them down just as easily as last time!”

“We need to get out, not start a battle,” Prisoner scolded like a disapproving parent. “If things go south, you know what to do.”

Adversary looked over from Prisoner to Thorn, giving a curt nod. “As much as I’d love to see them bleed this time, it’s not a fair fight. There’s no honor in a place like this.” Instead, her gaze drifted down to her partner; it was obvious that speaking, much less moving was difficult for her other half. This was easily fixed with a brisk snatch around Thorn’s waist, throwing her over one shoulder. “Come on; you need to stay alive if we’re ever going to get that fight. And I am personally looking forward to going down in battle for your ascension.”

“Once we’re safe,” Thorn murmured. “Then I’m yours.”

With the other hand, Adversary ushered Witch to her side. The door opened from above; the descent was silent. Cautiously the three descended down the path towards safety. Witch followed suit, but as Adversary made her way down with Thorn draped over one shoulder, something caught her attention. A flick of an elven ear caught what was footsteps growing closer -

A hand jutted out. Stinking of sweat and bloodied from another skirmish - this wasn’t something she wanted to arise from the shadowy confines of this prison. Instinctively, she dodged and scratched, managing to throw off the felon draped in dark clothing. But as they went in for another attempt to grab the youngest of the group, something sharp hit their back and made them recoil with a yelp.

The flash of a silver blade found its target, and proceeded to retract. There was a kick of scuffed up regal flats in their direction as the assailant stumbled back, chest exposed. And that was when it went straight for the heart. Again and again and again, but missing vitals. A shaky breath seemed to come from the attacker, as though trying to stifle an apology they didn’t deserve.

Despite it all, Witch stopped to watch with a tilt of her head. “Jugular,” she murmured, raising her voice just enough to be audible. As if on command, the blade danced across a bloody throat, finally dropping the choking body to the floor. “Close enough.”

Glancing up like a cornered predator, the attacker glanced up. Blue irises glinted from what little light shone down from above. The shadows could only hold so much; light reflected well off of their own eyes, yet this was different. And even without a proper introduction, even with the jagged edges of a dented helmet concealing the top of her head, the little Fae could tell who she was staring at.

Humans didn’t usually have eyes that shone in the dark. It was definitely her, but something was wrong. She smelled different; reeked of a scent Witch dared not place on a blood-spattered face. But that gaze, oh; it was paralyzing. Longing. Feral.

What was she supposed to say to this? Did the Princess want her back as a partner, a friend? Or perhaps now weak and vulnerable, she intended on holding them hostage as pets now. A chirp of alarm signaled to Witch that regardless, it was time to go. A nod of acknowledgement down on fours was all the speech Witch gave back; she’d seen and known who this was, but lost the ability to trust. 

“Wait-!”

But it was too late for a quick recovery. As the Princess scrambled to Witch’s side, all she caught of the Borrower in her escape was her tail.

Two sets of feral eyes widened in horror. The grip was strong, but tender as the tufted end lashed in protest. Carefully, Witch turned around, claws raised to inflict the first wound in the coming altercation -

But it never came. The Princess looked over towards her with a pleading gaze, and Witch merely shook her head. 

“I’m leaving. You had your chance to make things right.”

A saddened, understanding vow. The Princess allowed the final ligaments of the tail to pass through the space between her fingers. Witch scurried towards the table legs, noticing the resigned status of her companion. And to her back, she also noticed something else.

Despite everything, the Princess deserved a fair fight. And if there were still people there trying to wrangle them back up, it was better to have someone large enough to take them on in their stead.

“Behind you!”

The Princess blinked upon Witch’s warning. Her reflexes were just a bit too slow to do much more than swipe to the side as another dagger lunged towards her side, staggering to the cellar floor on all fours. The threat was close again; this was a chance to lash out. But nevertheless, Witch had to wonder: wouldn’t that just put them all as targets?

“Shit! Damned pests!”

Witch didn’t get a chance to ponder for long. Thick brambles has ensnared the attacker’s hand to their weapon, stabbing deep into an unprotected knee. Looking down, Witch caught the focused gaze of her sister weaving them further along the man’s arm. And then, a glance again for Witch to follow.

“My my, that’s why you need protection,” the Opportunist seemed to have merely spawned in again on cue as the man writhed against his viney entanglements. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to earn my council. So far I’m not impressed.”

Witch could tell that was her cue to leave. Taking her turn to leap headlong off the table, the little Borrower found herself caught alongside her sister as Adversary raced them towards safety. 

It was all up to the Princess now. Hopefully, she was strong enough to take them on.

“Go towards the back,” Adversary instructed, lifting each sibling off her shoulders and shoving them into the crevice. “If they try anything, they’ll have to go through me.” A prideful claw pointed towards her chest, slithering in alongside them. With five borrowers in the narrow space, it was hard to breathe; an anxious, freshly scarred tail flicked against the tougher of the three. Adversary returned it with her own, firm and supportive; and it seemed to be enough to relax Thorn for the present moment.

The Princess hadn’t moved from her spot, goading the new opponent to charge her again. The hesitation to strike back gave the assailant the advantage as she stumbled to her feet, noticing an easier target on the other side of the room. There was a thick slash of a blade as the mercenary turned tail to make her move; grimy fingers just barely missed as sharp metal sunk into their unprotected back. The princess was back up again, and determined to keep these brutes on the back foot.

Clearly, these merchants weren’t expecting a fight with their quarry. Steely thuds hit the doors upstairs as he wheeled around, taken aback - only to find a single child standing before her, the Blade gripped in steady hands. The woman hunkered down, then chuckled dryly.

“Princess,” the woman spat, “I thought you were supposed to be at the altar.”

There was a deep, seething rage that began to brew upon the words in Witch’s heart; of course the Royal heathen got out of things unscathed. And here they were instead, left to nearly… No, it wasn’t even something she wanted to put into thoughts. Moving on, getting away - why was she even here?

Here was the girl that she loved; that deep, sinking cacophony of a four letter word crashing into the past seeing the visage of gore along her face. While taking a stand against this merchant, she could finally pinpoint what was on her face. The stench of the vinery was just as potent on bare cheeks and arms as it mingled with her once sweetened scent.

This was no mere accident. She had become something else. And even meeting eyes with her so desperately, she wanted someone, anyone, to tell her it was something other than a trap.

There was nothing they could do. There was nothing to be done. Trapped between definitive enemy and supposed ally, the only thing left was to watch. 

The fight was fire itself. The blade pulled from the merchant’s pocket was jagged and uneven, maneuvering towards the steadied ground of the Princess. A swift dodge and kick sent the British woman flying backwards, the impact of the wall behind them breaking her skull. There was a notable look of horror even then as she looked back over, giving the Borrowers an apologetic look. The Princess would’ve still been cute if it weren’t for the dribble of Spirits condemning her to consumption.

A backup rogue managed to leap down from the staircase, blade digging into her shoulder. Giving a yelp of pain, the Princess staggered back, wincing.

“You’re going to regret only taking that helmet,” the weasel sighed, leaping from the wall to drape across her shoulders. “Clearly, you need some support. Alright, now follow my lead-“

The very sight of that foul Opportunist said it all, watching all the cunning fade away as she struggled to balance out and wield a weapon. But Witch knew better than to feel sorry for her. “What the hell is she doing? Do beans not train up their royalty? I could take that bastard down with my two hands.”

“She’s fighting more like Fae,” Prisoner commented, “but not well enough. Her knife work is sloppy. She’s not going for vitals.” Then, a little backhandedly: “It’s no wonder the coup succeeded. I doubt that she managed to escape it without help, much less back here.”

“No survivors,” Razor shrugged. “At least, that’s what they thought. I do wonder if she’s missing on purpose? Would make for a more exciting fight.” An eager grin spread across her face. “Maybe she wants help.”

Adversary blocked her way. “Don’t.” 

There was a coarse laugh from her opponent. “I thought they were joking when they sent out this many reinforcements. But no, they were right; you’re a monster .”

The words were familiar as they hit the younger Borrower’s ears; these were no mere mercenaries. Judging by the way they navigated the halls with haughtily divine grace, they were all Tower’s scouts.

And then it clicked.

That kind of altar. There were no wedding vows to be exchanged; this was a fight for their lives. Whatever rope had tethered them together had strung its cord tightly around the Princess of humans and second-born sister, but if that was by mere association or not Witch could not tell.

The weasel on the Royal’s shoulder was whispering something to her. But what, she couldn’t tell. There was a steadying grip as the Princess tightened the blade, and a twitch of one ear as she swiveled to locate her opponent.

Even under the helmet, Witch could see that spaded tip of an ear nestled beneath. Her blood went cold as the word whistled low like a warning through her brain: 

Fae.

There had been reason that the Princess had found them. There had been reason that her presence felt so strange, yet familiar. If the world ceased to let live what they could not understand, then there would always be those would find them and cherish them for what they were.

“Unconventional to them, perhaps,” Witch echoed out from the open tunnels, “but it takes one to know one. Their excuses are weak. Something nasty finds itself on those stairs, but it isn’t you.”

There was a momentary hesitation as the Princess glanced over. Their eyes met for a moment, both brimming with tears.

It was sometimes said that Scorpion’s Tonic steeled more than just resolve. And right now, looking from the advancing horde of monsters and a girl just trying to survive, there was only one entity who felt particularly stabbable right now.

Unfortunately, the moment’s hesitation had given the enemy the upper hand. Another glancing blow, another advancing foe to deal with. The Princess’s initial target went straight for his quarry as the Borrowers huddled in the corner. There was a single, sweeping blow of cold air as the flickering torchlight swallowed up its hostages in the darkness. The reaching hand had settled its grimy fingers along the peeling sediment of the wall, nails scraping just a few inches away from the Borrowers. But this time, Witch did not permit the hand that tried to sweep her back and stood guard in her stead. Instead, she nuzzled Thorn back a moment, placing gentle clawtips against unwavering fingers.

“No. It’s my turn, sis. You go get the rest of them out; there’s something I need to do first.”

There was a splutter of hesitation from the eldest sister. Witch bared her fangs, flicking her tongue over one of them.

“Please. Let me show you once that I can get us out of here and fix this mess I started.”

The draw of the fingers got nearer. It seemed the only thing stopping Razor’s aid was the proximity of the tightly-packed earth, or else it would’ve been easy. But even still, Witch knew what had to be done. With a broad leap forward, her teeth ensnared against the ragged flesh of the invasive entity. Venom injected into the assailant’s skin. There was a shriek, and a rough grab - and that was all there was to it. In the end, allowing the jagged brambled hands to scoop her up and drag her out was Witch’s alone, giving a short nod as they snapped up their target and retreated.

Every second of being dragged out of that tunnel in reverse had Witch’s heart beating a mile a minute. The foul impact of calloused skin, the stink of human sweat along clammy palms - it would’ve been torture far beyond endurance if not for the knowledge of what was yet to come. But Witch was clever, even then; by the time this villain wrenched her free, she could detect he was not alone.

Human sight was limited in the pitch black corridors. But to Changeling and Borrower, this was perfect. Bite after bite, Witch inflicted newfound venom deep and wriggled free. The form fell dead not long thereafter.

This was a momentary pause; Witch knew she wouldn’t get another chance like this. Ragged claws scrambled across the darkened paths, tail twirling along damaged tulle and silk as she made her ascent from the hem of the Princess’s dress straight into her trembling arms.

“You really came back,” Witch squeaked.

“I wasn’t leaving here without you,” the Princess chuckled, nuzzling her face close to the little Borrower. “We’ll have to be quick. It looks like someone tipped off the guards -“

“- There’s other Borrowers here besides us. Lots of them.”

The startled look in the Princess’s eyes lasted only a minute. Time was of the essence; in and out.

“Take me there.”

Witch nodded. Clambering up to her lover’s shoulders, she shoved the Opportunist to one side and scrambled towards her ear.

“It’s in the study. Door’s locked, but I can get you in.”

The sound of heavy footfalls shook the ground beside the other Borrowers as the Changeling advanced. For a moment, everything appeared to be calmer as the pair of them approached. A small tangle of roots slithered from one side of the door to the other, and with a soft click it opened before them. The stone-cold storage room showed its horrific spectacle bit by bit; first cages, then hands, laden in a spattering of blood. It seemed several of the hostages had chewed off their own limbs to avoid starvation; others to free themselves of thick, binding chains. No amount of protests could hold the heiress back as the sight grew more and more prominent; the creeping tendrils of the Network had slithered on from untrained hands, and wouldn’t stop until it made it to their destination.

One way or another, this ended now.

Walking behind Witch and the Princess, Thorn stepped into the room with a shaky breath. It was too late for most of them - but with luck, there could be a few survivors.

It was time for the lost to be spared the fight. Kneeling down in respect, Thorn placed her hand against the stony foundation once more; properly summoning the Network would be crucial. 

An echoing of solemn voices filled the space around her. The brush of an invisible hand against her cheek. The paths divided to collect more in this ceremony of quick, painless death; a final relieved exhale, and then no more.

The neural webbing slunk into cage after cage of dying form, wrapping the bodies of countless Borrowers in weaving tendrils as final breaths choked out. Their embrace was delicate; a nest of cerebral salvation that brought each one down to their thankful graves. There, they would be safe at last and join the expanses of trees that rooted deep beneath; to soil, to earth once more. And once the path was cleared, they vanished without a trace of their mortal bodies. Humanity would not exploit the dead.

It took a certain kind of emotional control to maintain the crucial role of reaper. This was not something Thorn had much ground on yet. And thus, as the flicker of fading magic dispersed, it seemed that so did the tears.

It was mercy. But why did mercy feel this hard?

“You did the right thing.” Adversary padded up to her side, the click of hooved feet echoing across the floor. “We can’t save all of them. At least this way, they get to die with a bit more dignity.” 

Thorn leaned into the soft grasp of her hand along one shoulder. There was that strong yet gentle press against her chin as Adversary lifted it to her face. “Once we carve our own path down there, you won’t have to worry about making the executive decision. It’ll come naturally, you and me…”

“It’s… Not now.” Thorn’s voice was barely a whisper. “We need to get the survivors out.”

There was a hesitation from the captives as the Changeling Princess approached the cage doors. Many of the remaining Fae backed up and cowered; others snapped aggressively at the bars of cramped cages.

“I’m with you; it’s okay.” The Princess dropped her helmet into her hands and tossed back her hair. Upon the sight of those familiar ears, many of them ceased. Some bowed in respect.

“How are we going to get them out of here?” 

Witch looked over inquisitively as the Princess raised a hand, eliciting a small spark in the palm. One by one the locks glowed with a warmth that melted them clean off, freeing them from the confines.

“I’ll be damned. You actually did it.” Prisoner looked over in calm confusion, watching as they hopped down and dispersed. Some leapt into the overturned helmet in the Princess’s hands to be deposited on the floor. So perhaps there was some sense in rescuing them, after all; Borrowers were safer together than alone, and this would make things simple enough. “Well done. I know which tunnels lead outside of the castle; presuming everyone keeps up, I can take them with me.” Despite her cold demeanor, Thorn could tell there was a spark of pride in those eyes. She’d finally earned this strategist’s favor.

Several borrowers lined up where they’d been signaled. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“We’ll follow. We’ve already gotten your scent.” Now that the area had been cleared, there was one more thing to do.

Paths cleared as the Borrowers followed Prisoner’s lead; it seemed that in the midst of things, the only one missing was Razor. Most likely she was slinking off for some new unfortunate soul to torment - and thankfully, that didn’t seem to be any of them this time. Perhaps her absence would make the newcomers less wary. Even still, there was an eyeroll from the seasoned captive as she made her way down, watching each and every Borrower trail behind her. The only one who stayed behind to wait was Adversary; always faithful, always prepared to take on a scuffle. But even she knew here and now was not the time as she leaned against the far side of the wall near the tunnel.

“Ready when you are.”

Thorn nodded, slowly approaching. But a raspy cough caught her attention millimeters away from their way out, followed by a chirp of concern. 

That was right. Witch was still with the Princess.

“Witch, come on-“

Her voice was calm yet urgent; they couldn’t linger long. But the flicking of a nervous tail along the royal’s shoulder revealed the cause for stagnant concern.

Heavy lacerations had raked themselves across her back, sides, neck. While the Princess had managed to hold off the onslaught and release the remaining survivors, she has taken a toll indeed; blood trickled from weeping wounds, falling to her knees. There was a yelp of alarm as Witch held on-

Judging by the way she was holding up, she wouldn’t last long with how tremendously she bled out. Even if vitals had been missed, the sheer number of marks told the tale well enough.

“You’d better go,” the Princess coughed. “I’ll… Figure something out.”

By now, the Opportunistic weasel had fled the scene; things were no longer in his favor. Figured.

Witch leapt down from her back. Now that the Princess was hunkered down before them on all fours, she seemed somehow less immense. Her eyes pleaded for them to leave, tears streaking down her cheeks. But it was obvious by the way that she was wounded that  leaving her here was condemning her to die. 

Was that really fair, after everything? Thorn could scarcely imagine leaving a child amidst the decay of dead, poisoned bodies - much less one as young as Witch. There was much more life left in her, and her first fight for autonomy shouldn’t be her last. Witch didn’t move from her spot, either. 

It seemed the choice was made.

So against better judgment, it was Thorn this time who approached their massive ally.

“You’re going to be okay,” the heiress echoed, gulping back the fear. “You deserve so much more than this.” 

At nineteen, the situation was horrific; thirteen was unimaginable. And yet, both she and Witch had undergone it and survived; no, they would survive. And that was the thought that finally shifted her towards scratched palms as soft vines wrapped around them like a bandage.

“We… We’re staying?” Witch chirped back in confusion, but soon noticed how tenderly her former lover was taking things in with an appreciative look towards her sister. “Those wounds are deep; if we stay to heal everything-“

“If we don’t, she’ll die. ” 

Witch jolted, looking over at the Princess with a resigned laugh. “Even now, you manage to hinder things, don’t you?” But it was obvious by the way Witch scuffled over, the sarcasm was full of fondness and fear. It was hard to know where to start.

“It doesn’t need to be all the way,” Thorn instructed. “Just enough to stop the bleeding and wrap things up.” For a Borrower who had little medical powers, Thorn was definitely onto something. “She saved us. Now, it’s our turn.”

Witch let the moment pass with a nod. “Right. Wretches stick together, after all.”

Nervously, Witch extended her hand. Pressing it against the pulse of the Princess’s wrist, she continued once more in switching over her magic.

Bog moss to package the wounds to ease the bleeding; small clumps of aloe smashed and prepared like a paste to smooth over the injuries. There was a hiss of pain as Witch placed the topical ointment on, scurrying around to get the rest. With each one, it seemed the softer vines wrapped around their applicable purchase, be it shoulder or across the neck. Working together, then seemed to be doing just fine.

“Here; take this. It should ease the pain.” Thorn approached the Princess tentatively as she conjured up the proper dosage of petals. After everything that’d occurred, spawning the poppies again left a sickened twinge in her stomach, but carried on regardless. They had just as much ability to help as harm, after all; as was the vine of life and death that strangled them both. Even if humanity had condemned who they could not understand, the Princess still had allies amidst the Fae. She was, after all, one of them. 

“Your best move is to play dead from here. Those should help make that easier. We can’t exactly carry you out-“

It seemed the Princess’s stamina got the message before her mind. A slip of one hand from beneath her and the crouching figure collapsed, eyes closing in dazed exhaustion.

For a moment, both siblings watched uneasily. But the moment was brief. Shakily, Thorn took her sister’s hand and retreated to the darkened corners. 

“You always were soft,” Adversary chuckled. “Come on; let’s get out of here.”

The memory began to dim as somewhere behind the three of them, there was a scream and shatter of glass.

The neck of the chimera, their staunchly standing scapegoat, tugged against an unyielding chain. A scolding yell from her captor, crying out for them to flee. A triad of weasels emerging from the tunnel; the familiar face which stood out between them, growing draped in vines and briars. Clawed hands raked against the Opportunist’s throat. A second, a third -

“Thorn, we have an opening! We need to leave.”

“ They won’t let us. They’ll just keep chasing and chasing until we’re dead-“

All other voices fell to silence. Even knowing that the fight wasn’t alone, the ringing in Thorn’s ears and the focal glint of vision kept her hostage. Biting, clawing, kicking against every foothold - and oh, how the claws lashed out in turn. Shreds of fabric turned mangled in unknown grasps. Forepaws lanced the length of arms and legs in deep, bloody scars. And what’s more, through all the rage and pain even Adversary couldn’t reach her. It was all spent on making sure that Witch didn’t befall the same fate.

They were always going to be gladiators. To this end, at least they got to choose how they died - not stuffed between the cork of a bottle. Surely, anything was better than that. So for everyone’s sake, that’s how she’d carry on - thrashing the creatures who turned their backs to the woods. But soon, even holding onto him was bad enough as another weasel took their turn.

In all technicality, she was right. But trying to take on a triad of mustelids unarmed was a rather foolish miscalculation - Daughter of the Wild or not. Poisonings, mercy kills to the Network - just how many more people needed to die before they got to live? The question spun round and round as feral mortality sprung back to the surface and claimed all sense of self once more. It was just luck that there were two others in this mess with her. Two others, two weasels- their luck could be better.

But it wasn’t until another weasel pried her off that the hopelessness really sunk in. Their grip wasn’t gentle; it was taking all instinct not to cry out as claws gouged into the backs of her hands. With just a few scratches all sensation was lost as a bite to the back of her neck sealed the deal; it was time to take her own advice and “drop dead” for the moment as more and more blood was lost in pools on the floor.

“Okay, that’s enough to prove the point,” the Opportunist scolded. “We need her to stay alive, remember?”

The Opportunist waited beside Thorn almost mockingly as he gave a whistle for the new humans to arrive on the scene. The other two each grabbed a Borrower - this was taunting and unfair. But nevertheless, the lashing of a defeated tail continued as he curled around her, grinning with amusement.

“You’re certainly quite the fighter. Honestly, gave me more of one than I expected -“

His gaze turned towards two looming figures, giving them a nod.

“By the way, no need to thank me for saving your lives. Any other way and they wouldn’t even bother buying you more time in the arena. Now you’ll be just as prepared to take them on as-“

The rest of the damn weasel’s rambling was silent. It seemed exhaustion and blood loss were the culprits this time of a lost and hard-fought battle, only feeling the weight of the mustelid’s teeth carrying her by the collar. The other two creatures followed suit with equally combative hauls, struggling to walk with Adversary’s grip around their neck and Witch’s kicking form. But even this seemed to be a temporary measure. 

It seemed that her mind went next as the world became hazier. Thorn wasn’t entirely sure if she’d seen or imagined a shadowy figure levitating the body of the Princess somewhere above the grate and through the corridors of the castle. But even still, a shakily bleeding hand reached out -

And everything went dark.

…..

…………

……………………

—The next thing she could remember in the midst of it all was the clatter of metal and twist of a tiny, frightened body around her.

Witch.

There was no stopping the inevitable in a new environment stinking of wildlife and bloodlust. Three out of twenty-five Borrowers lined up for the slaughter.

Five or so were auctioned off immediately to bidders in the Black Market. Some were classified as Domestic Fae and would live a somber life in captivity. But at least those ones would likely live. Two who didn’t survive the trip over - tossed out to whatever creature would take them. Those blackened talons now felt distinct as the now-familiar fiend of the raven took every scrap he was offered.

Eighteen Borrowers shoved from travel crates into birdcages- tighter, more compact. Seventeen as one cage tipped itself over and a singular Borrower managed to evade all obstacles and dart out into the night. So there was hope, after all. Another likewise seemed to cross the threshold and make their way to freedom. Despite the upcoming tournaments, spirits grew bolder. 

Naturally, Adversary was the first opponent. It seemed the challenges could be survived as she brushed off the new scrapes proudly upon recapture. The opponent would have to heal up first before taking on another, she’d said. There was time until then.

Sixteen cages, lined up one by one. A variety of chatter from Borrowers; some fearful, others determined. The tales of daring escapes from former households and wild predators filled the gloom with some light, and the time spent didn’t feel nearly as desolate. The brash form of their first champion, Adversary, arrived from the arena and back again to tell the tale each time, with more ideas to share on how to brave the tides.

Others thought they could do it; it’d be easy. But what they seemed to lack was the knowledge that within a single blow, an unseen figure would abscond in the night and lay claim to six of them with no trace but clawed-open cages. Be it some predator or thief, they did not know. But the outlooks for the remaining ten seemed tenser, and sleep did not come easily. For now, they had to keep close watch on their adored ones and pray for a kinder end.

The sparks of hope were dying out.

Ten full birdcages. Nine, then eight as two Borrowers befell a lone chimera upon their escape; the captors had learned to keep it guarded now. Seven, and Adversary’s place at the arena was moved. Clawed hands reached out desperately one last time; vines pulled away at the bitter grip that dared to try. But it seemed that strong as she was, Adversary had her own limits; a final glimpse and a promise of return were all that remained as she, too, vanished without a trace.

With every single snatch, every Borrower dragged off and cage removed, the lights got dimmer and dimmer. No tales filled the halls and stories of escape were a horror story; no one got out of here unaided. No one lived, only died.

This was torture.

Five cages remaining. The classification continued in solemn diligence. A hand snagged on briars as it tried to reach towards the angered, shaken teen within. It bought them time.

Moved to another corner. Forgotten. Alone, clutching at the final remains of a dying society. A stifled breath as Witch buried her face towards the final heart in the area still nearby. Days turned to silence, cradling the thread that untethered.

Three cages. The final shouts of a triumphant Borrower making it out of combat by the skin of their teeth. Moved back to the corner of the room with a final cage as rigid hands yanked another poor soul away.

Two. No one had made it out thus far. Just a hasty, two-man shuffle of blood tests and shunting from one place or another. Fae, or common Borrower; survivor, or cattle. This was how it worked as those hands finally reached out towards them again.

There was no one left except two sisters in a cramped birdcage, knowing what happened next.

One.

The light finally dissipated before the hand could make its way in, releasing the all-familiar sting. Somewhere far above the enclosure, there was that familiar voice echoing empathetically.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.”

The hand that extended in its place was not one of a bloodstained killer, but phantasmic; comforting. Not a moment’s hesitation passed as Thorn took it and allowed it to pull her from the bindings.

Weakened starlight began to fill the open air and sweep through the chilled night. Hushed silence spread as the world, too, faded; only that tender gaze laid upon her as Spectre pulled her upwards. The soft, half-open gaze fell open and closed. Releasing control without the knowledge of what came next would’ve been unthinkable in any context but this.

But now, it was time to let it breathe, and let it go. What had happened, happened. There was no changing that. Yet surrounded on all sides by that flickering gaze, Thorn wasn’t alone anymore.

All the secrets kept from a child too young, all those nights unslept - finally, after years there was someone else who knew. So even when that viscous, bloodied tint came through the piercing darkness of the sky, Thorn merely held her breath and let her ethereal guide take it from there.

The acidic, bitter taste of copper and fermentation choked at her lungs. The sting of alcohol threatened to clog up all senses and render them inert. Yet still clinging on, there was a gentle finger running along the tapestry of latent scars that finally broke it.

I’m not letting go. It’s okay; Breathe.

Thorn took the command and exhaled - deep. The fizzing sensation of potent residue finally let go, allowing her to surface. A gentle hand finally dragged her crawling body onto a small hill next to the tide of wine and released her, gasping.

It felt like getting spat up by an unrelenting monster. There was a shudder as the pool of viscous fluids lapped at the shores, returning to its spot down below with qualm, not quarry. The deadened gaze seemed to threaten to return, to bury it all back in - but something seemed to stop her.

Spectre’s shaky gasp. Her ardent, patient watcher, hovering just a few inches above the nonexistent landscape. It was just this hill, and the sea of bloody wine.

For a moment, no words. Hardly a glance forward. The only sound was the unceremonious drip of rotting fluids along Thorn’s drenched, aching form, begging for some kind of answer.

This time, it seemed the coy ghost was just as lost for words as she. No retorts, no clever comebacks; just an eternity staring deep and mutually horrified. The soft trickle of empathetic tears seemed to cascade gradually, even if no words came out. 

It was enough. It was vindication. The permission had finally been granted to let it all free, and Thorn took it all.

Coarse, ragged screams of rage and torment began and they did not stop. The stream of tears, every hitching, struggling breath; the dizzying sensation of relieved sinuses at the downpour of snot and saliva. There was no longer anyone to pretend to; to save face. It didn’t matter anymore how much ground beneath was dug into, how much strength was lost and gained. It just mattered that she was here, finally safe, with someone old enough to finally understand the depths of what could not be explained.

And then, it stopped.

A warm pang settled deep within an aching throat. The chill along back and spine felt soft, comforting as Thorn let the remaining purge of spit trickle down her chin. There was no honor in any of this - just the steady, finite release of cortisol throughout pleading nerves. Everything felt like it was on fire, chilled, extinguished all at once - but finally, something other than numb. The long-gone spark had begun to return to Thorn’s deadened eyes, letting this dreamscape carry on its brutal mercy.

Spectre’s gaze trailed down once more, still uncertain. A hand reached out, retracted, attempted again. There was no jumpiness left as the heiress stared up long and hard as she finally stumbled to her feet.

“……. I thought I would have more thoughts on how to help once I’d seen it,” Spectre admittedly, embarrassed. “I’m sor-“

No need. The quickened chase of footsteps launched itself into open arms - and this time, they caught her in full. The opaque form of Spectre was no longer intangible; in this lucid, fearful landscape, every silken trace of her hair and gossamer trail of that once-bloodied gown was palpable. Caught in the gentle embrace of possession, she could feel it all.

No wonder Spectre always looked so lost traversing the world outside.

But this wasn’t about her. It seemed for once, it was okay to know that as the phantom nuzzled her chin against ragged, frizzy strands of hair and draped her arms around her. Hand in hand and gazes locked, it seemed natural to take that lean forward in heady momentum -

But the moment stopped just short of Spectre’s lips. The soft brush against the phantom’s hand seemed to cue her in well enough the moment was over, looking over her with almost pleading apology.

“I’m sorry, I… Can’t.” A restless rage seemed to bubble beneath her hollowed form, tail lashing at her side. “Not here. Not now. I don’t -“

“That’s okay.” The hold against her was no less tender. “You know you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Thorn lamented. “It’s just…”

“Too soon. I can see that.”

The sadness seemed to be mutual, even if it seemed despite the empathy the pain was apparent on Spectre’s face. But even still, that willful vulnerability wasn’t cast aside when the other’s desires weren’t met. So perhaps she really was more than just a pretty face to kiss.

“I like your company no matter what form it takes. Take your time to figure it out; that isn’t the reason I’m here. I could tell you needed help.“

“And you needed someone to talk to who understood you. I guess this still serves both of us, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Talking through it felt better than the act itself. What needed communication broke the silence was understood; it was too early to move on with wounds transcending beyond the surface of skin. It would take time to become independent from Spectre’s tender care; necessary now, but too soon to determine the realness of romantic connection. Not like this.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

A resigned nod met Spectre’s words. Leaning closer once more, a gentle tilt of her head planted a chaste kiss on her forehead instead of on the lips; a reminder that someone else understood. It was okay to breathe it in.

Thorn took every opportunity.

Here they were, two victims of inhumane sights and scars that ran far beyond neural tissue. If it had been possible, this moment could’ve lingered on forever. But as promised, it seemed after checking in Spectre intended for the nightmare to end. The last moments lingered under sanguine starlight and began to fade into nothingness but the dull, healing wound that grew heavier in a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The rest of this story was something Spectre knew. A bramble-bound teen had arrived at the cabin in Quiet’s shadowy arms, unconscious and clearly wounded. The soft vines which ensnared her had kept The Princess from bleeding out; a bit of wilder magic which at the time she couldn’t place. Escorted at his sides were a startled badger and aloof Chimera; both tails flicking worriedly as they regarded her.

“Quiet?”

“Ambushed,” Quiet breathed. “They tried to slaughter the whole kingdom. Went down to rescue the Fae… There were empty cages but no sign of them. I guess she must’ve gotten them out.”

As he stepped into the cabin, his new familiars closed the door behind him. “I’m going to set up the couch, and see if I can tend to her.”

What happened next seemed to come rolling back. The corvid administered additional ointment on each cut, and Spectre stayed by his side until she arose. A Changeling child was the first and only Bean she’d seen in ages, and thank goodness for it if those memories were commonplace horrors. The girl couldn’t stay for long there; just until the wounds healed. And once all was said and done, she was escorted to the woods - with no trace of her but her crown.

Several things seemed to come from Spectre’s revalation: so it seemed their paths were linked. The Wild had indeed returned, with an aching, mortal body that enfolded around her. Somehow, the Voices’ service to both of them didn’t seem to be coincidence -

Spectre broke from a dreamscape of silence to look over her host’s palm. Marred by bruises and scarring, the tangled mark of the Wild laid on her palm. It almost resembled the marks which Quiet had scattered through his hand -

-But no. If either of them were to talk about any of this, they’d have to figure it out together. Bringing it up unprompted would only lead to more conflict.

Thankfully, morning came swiftly enough, batting curtains of golden light over the counter. Beast remained curled up around the basket as the pair of siblings scarcely stirred from the linens within. The heavy, frigid silks of Spectre’s form had kept Thorn in a dreamless sleep, hands crossed over her heart with only the occasional twitch of a tail as they rose. Much as Spectre wanted to let her remain, she’d need her current host to wake up before she could leave. The time was now.

“Come on; you’ve got to get up.” There was a cerebral tap upon her gentle words. Thorn ignored them.

“Five more minutes,” the heiress grumbled.

There was another tap - this time from her side. An ear twitched as she heard the shift of feathers and heavy form from the far side of the room, but even then didn’t stir. There was the ticklish sensation of Spectre’s own trailing along her nerves, squirming slightly at the sensation. It was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

“Come on, I hardly ever get more than three hours,” Thorn whined, shifting to the other side. This, in turn, threw her face into Witch’s sleeping arms. Thankfully this time she at least had the courtesy to sheath those darn claws -

Or not. But if they had to be out, at least Witch decided to use them to knead her tangled mess of hair opposed to leaving marks along her skin.

“Gone by morning, hmm?” Spectre chuckled as her own attention turned towards her hesitant husband. 

Comparatively, Quiet was a mess. It looked like he’d gotten sleep, but barely. His wings were folded awkwardly as he looked over his spectral wife, who by now had wriggled from Thorn’s hold into the open. There was a twitch and an absent giggle from below as she did so, watching as the heiress snuggled closer to her sister.

It was safe to leave the pair alone for now. There was a smile of relief - one that faded looking over her exhausted husband. Judging by his posture and hesitancy, there was something on his mind.

“Let’s talk in the other room.”

Quiet said nothing. Only a shallow nod, following back to the bedroom. The descent behind him was tense, rigid; better to get things sorted here and now. Padding back to the bedroom, there was a twitch from the badger who settled beside the bed. Smitten only gave an understanding nod as he leapt from its foot and carefully strode out; his work here was done.

For a moment, Quiet merely stepped to the bed with his back turned. Wings shuffled as he sat there, arms crossed; there was a tense silence that only further deadened the air in Spectre’s presence. Already, it was clear the mistake was deeper than expected.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Spectre offered, trying to soften the mood. “What ha-“

“You left me.” The words tasted acrid on his tongue, but they needed to be said. “You were so focused on siding with the Fae that you didn’t even check on me.”

Spectre looked over him, puzzled. “That’s not how I remember it. Things were abrupt last night, but you still let me take control. I… I was checking the whole time; and once it was too much- “

“You were. I could care less about that part,” Quiet murmured. “I don’t think either of us knew she would go that batshit. Frankly, you seemed just as startled - no. That’s not why I’m upset.”

“Then why-?”

“You checked on her profusely, yet scarcely even asked on my end. I was alone until Smitten picked up on it.”

Spectre hesitated. What he said was true; she hadn’t been the greatest wife that prior night. 

“I thought you needed time to process.”

“I would’ve rather been asked than assumed.” Quiet breathed a sigh, shaking his head. “Look, I know this is important to you, but I need to know before you make a move like that. The Fae have been aggressive since they first got here, and regardless of their reasons I need you as backup.”

“Understood. I’m sorry.” Spectre merely clasped her hands in front of her. “They most certainly have their reasons. But regardless, this is our house; we’re the ones who set the rules, not them. Perhaps I was a bit too lenient.”

Quiet nodded, shuffling his wings. “I could do a better job myself. I did go along with your plan in letting her run wild, even if I didn’t know what the intent was.” Then, after a pause: “Is that really what Borrowing is like?”

“… Some of it, but no. You forget that she’s Fae and I’m not. You never gave me any trouble.” Then, with a skeletal grin. “I mean, besides the obvious.” Just to test him, her features warped into a wrinkled smirk, making Quiet shudder.

“By the Wilds… Don’t do that,” Quiet breathed, laughing nervously.

There was a giggle as Spectre acquiesced to her normal disposition. “Regardless, I have a few ideas on how I might still be able to help. You don’t need all the details to give you a hint or two.” But her gaze soon lingered to the marks along the palm of his hand; how was she going to explain this? 

“How is your hand, by the way?”

“Mmh? Fine, I guess.” There was a shrug as he flipped it over. “It’ll scar over. Nothing like the castle siege.”

Yep, those were definitely the same marks as Thorn’s. Whatever it meant, it didn’t seem good.

“What about yours? You still felt the onslaught through the central nervous system.”

Spectre hesitated. Often more times than not, some form of scar or scratch would form along her phantom body - a kind of empathetic weight which the pair of them shouldered between themselves. Sure enough, the mark was there; subtle, translucent claw marks which would heal overtime. It seemed the irate Fae had caught a two-for-one special in leaving her sigil - something which, no doubt, was unaware and unwitting. Wild’s mark wasn’t just handed out to just anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” Spectre crooned. “My nerves are obsolete at this point; it’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’m better now that we talked. Thank you.” His gaze shifted softly to hers, clicking his beak. Her hovering form whisked up easily, giving a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Anytime.” 

“At least we got that settled.” Absent-mindedly, Quiet reached over to the bedside table to retrieve the blade. “I might as well do my part in making things easier, now.”

The tip of the knife pressed against his talons. In an instant, Spectre understood; her wistful form circled his shaky dominant hand.

“You’ll cut yourself with that tremor. May I—?”

A talon grazed her incorporeal chin with a nod. Fingers splayed out as he permitted her access once more, feeling the flex and ache of the ghost settling along his nerves. 

It was good to be back.

For the next half hour, not a word passed through them; just the subtle sound of clipped talons as Spectre guided his implement from within. Not a single drop of blood spilled as she carried on in due diligence, steadying the shudder of every shaky breath.

————

Snarling creatures echoed across the walls of the cabin as Quiet returned. His hand still had the chill of Spectre’s presence, adjusting to the weight of newly-trimmed fingertips. His claws weren’t necessarily the lightest, after all; it would take some getting used to with this peculiar dexterity. Hopefully it would be worth it in the long run.

“Guh- hey! That’s not fair!”

Quiet discerned Witch’s snarky voice in the fray. The sound seemed to be coming from the blanket nest, where the newer chimera had wrapped around it like a protective mother. In the mess of things, he could see a pair of tails lashing, limbs catastrophically flailing as they locked with each other. Somewhere from within his digits, there was a soft chuckle.

“What?”

“They’re sparring,” Spectre clarified. “The Fae have different ways of bonding than you and I.”

There was a growl that was definitely Thorn’s, watching the red-headed Borrower poke her head up just long enough to nip at her sister’s ears. One of Witch’s legs kicked her off, rolling Thorn to the ground.

“You’ll be fine,” Witch chirped. “Your reflexes are more than adequate.”

“You say that because you’re losing,” Thorn retorted with a contented huff. “Still, good to know. I had a feeling that whole ‘incident’ knocked more out of—”

Thorn caught sight of him, stiffening. All conversation halted as she raised a hand partway, mouth agape to show the fangs within. But her eyes communicated something different than the threat; there was that solemn, aching pleading he’d seen when Den would stray from her task and feared retaliation.

Don’t hurt me, they said.

Quiet’s own widened, then lowered with a shake of his head. Not even on my mind, his responded.

For a moment, it seemed that the Borrower stood there, taken aback; but she soon recognized that her own nonverbal language was understood. He got the sense that it would come in handy the more he interacted - be it of her own volition or mere chance. 

Her eyes softened, half lidded. Her hand retreated and mouth closed with a nod back. 

Thank you.

“You’ve been standing stiff for minutes; what are you —? Oh.” Witch blinked back at Quiet, raising her claws with a giddy grin. That one was still trouble, truce aside. “And here I thought you’d be sleeping all day. Finally decide to get your feathers preened?”

There was a mocking tone in her voice; typical. Instead of countering, however, Quiet gave a shrug. “Do these look preened? Just rolled out of bed. But it looks like so did you.” The corvid was used to emoting with his head. A doglike tilt followed his words, plumicorns erect; a typical showing of amusement. 

Thankfully, Witch caught on. “You’ve looked worse,” she chuckled. “I suppose this is an improvement.” The borrower yawned, giving a catlike stretch. The cracking of her joints was audible. Her grin turned more sinister as she dangled her blade with a laugh. “See you around.” Quiet grinned back, giving a shake of his head. It was all talk; the little one was just puffing herself up. It was lucky that she had that confidence as she approached the edge of the makeshift ‘bed’ with a flick of her tail.

“Sis?”

“I’m coming; give me just a moment.”

“Alright, suit yourself.” With a quick recoil, Witch sprung off the ledge, past Beast and basket. It was impressive, really. In an instant she’d leapt nearly a yard with those feline limbs — a feral trait which her sister seemed to be lacking. Presently, said sister was watching him with a sort of hollow intrigued as she flexed her fingers. There was a wince; it looked like it stung. But sooner than later, it seemed her magic took hold; a stream of petals fell from her hands as she trailed them along the nest. They continued to dribble like drops of blood as she, too, made her way from the basket and across the back of her mentor.

She left the table adorned with foliage. Soft vines shed their thistles as they weaved along the basket’s edge, growing more vibrant as she descended from the spot with petals in tow. Red, then white, and then the trail was cut off as she gestured for him to turn his back. But Spectre watched just as patiently until the little Borrower scuttled with her sister out of sight.

“She’s gone now,” Spectre assurres. “You can turn back around.” 

Quiet just got caught the sound and heavy thunk as Beast made her own way down. Only her tail vanished from sight as he turned to face her, admiring the floral mess left behind.

The message was clear; from bloodied roots, this Borrower, too, had laid down her claws.

It’s done, the petals echoed. There’s no bad blood between us. But it’s hard to shake the feeling there might still be; you frightened me. And I hurt you back.

How or why he could discern that from a few poppies, Quiet wasn’t sure. But what he did know was that she’d extended the olive branch; so long as he followed her word, things would be alright.

Quiet ran his fingers along the possessed hand.

“What do you say we make some breakfast? I have a feeling our guests might be hungry.”

———————

Spectre’s old haunt was dark and warm by the time the siblings returned. Neither spoke much as they passed the tapestry which spread across the walls, still adjusting to the used space. The prior night had given Thorn some context beyond just the echoed words and belongings left behind. Perhaps in another life, their hostess would’ve drafted these diagrams for the Domestic records. Thorn remained in the study as Witch transcended downwards, eyeing the scuff marks with a trail of intrigue.

They’d gotten in so late the first night that she’d scarcely gotten the chance to admire it all. Every intricate detail shone through the study from organs to nerves, to DNA strands which scrawled their sequence to the side. The careful pen marks left no abrasion, coated in heavy layers of dust and filament. Sighing, Thorn trod over to the heart. It filled the space of the room, upfront and center; the inner workings were diagrammed carefully to the side. But over top of the usual inks was something that the human eye couldn’t see; only a Borrower could detect that ectoplasmic “x” where angry nails had slashed straight through the center.

 A life lost. Another gained. Thorn placed her hand to the center and brushed the shape of her own mark in the grit before making her own descent.

We’re one in the same, you and I. I’ll do what I can to make things work.  

The plasm took it in as Thorn descended the stairs. Small dribbles of the substance filled in the cracks, yielding to the weight of this act of salvation.

The kitchen, thankfully, still radiated enough light to accommodate. Night-visioned as they were, the switch between dilated and neutral pupils was unpleasant for any Fae. Spaces like the roaring fire Witch had started were much more comfortable - at home, safe and sound. Her nerves were settling now with the filtration of opium through her veins. Taking a few of the seeds that’d clung to her fingers, a one-nailed slit of the shell revealed the fluid inside. That would be good enough for a thimble of two of tea to make it stronger.

An absent tail wrapped around the handle of the stovetop kettle; her hands fished for one of those tiny little cups. Seemed it wasn’t just Quiet who had access to clay; it looked hand-kilned by the fireplace.

You’re safe. That’s what matters.

Spectre’s words from the first night echoed in her mind. Goodness, had so much happened in the span of two? Well, this would be night three. Third time’s the charm.

She could at least try and be civil the next time around. But that took numbing the clawing instinct of fight or flight.

Thorn waited to pour the tea into the cup and settle herself. The warm, bitter taste of tannins coated her tongue as she thankfully gulped it down, feeling that calm hypnosis spread through her like wildfire. One thing the Fae had mixed feelings about was the use of poppies for anything but pain - but frankly, she couldn’t give less of a damn. Much worse rules had and would be broken; even with the truce, it would be hard to stay away from him. And somehow, she sensed that wouldn’t be his fault.

A twinge of pain hit the mark on her palm. Subconsciously, Thorn smoothed it down to silence, carrying on with her day.

________

Outside, Quiet was preparing quite the meal for his two new guests. Small hashbrown patties sizzled alongside ham omelettes, and an array of cut-up fruit decorated itself on a fancy platter. He’d figured that giving the newcomers a heartier serving would be the way to go; Witch was of decent weight, but he distinctly remembered the concerning frailty of her sister in his palm. Scrawny yet fierce indeed, but that didn’t mean the malnourished borrower couldn’t stand to gain a few more calories.

The scent of smoked meat filled the air; it wasn’t long until two Fae lined up near their spot, ferociously sniffing. Cooked meat wasn’t something they got often, especially anything that smelled so tender. Thorn seemed to hesitate in her numb trance, brows raising as she watched Quiet… Microwave a grape???

“Okay, that’s weird.”

Thorn hadn’t even realized the words had been spoken until Witch turned around.

“Science in the microwave? We’ve seen worse,” Witch shrugged.

“Eugh, don’t remind me.”

“I think we may be able to pick off things - oh! That’s new.”

Witch noticed the tiny platters, giving her sister a small nudge. “Looks like we don’t even need to scavenge the leftovers. He’s giving us the good parts!”

“Huh?” Thorn blinked. There was a small unease in her at the notion at first, but sure enough - everything seemed to be portioned out with a beautiful precision and care. Well, that was something she couldn’t turn down. Suppressing instinct would be worth it.

Scanning the room by habit, Thorn managed to look up just as the grape sparked in the microwave; with gloves mitts (okay, that was weirdly adorable) he removed it and set it down on the table. As if on cue, his eager wife slid from his hand to the cup, phasing in to nibble at the residual byproduct.

Oh, Plasma! That’s what it was. Just another reminder Quiet found ways to accommodate.

Watching her a moment, the bird gave a loving shake of his head. “The strange things I do for you,” he murmured. “Possession, microwaved fruit - at least we found a food source that works for you.” 

“Whatever works, right? Just because I don’t have to eat doesn’t mean it isn’t nice from time to time.” There was a fond look over at the other plates. “Shall I go ask the Fae what they’d prefer to drink?”

“Water's fine. Thanks.”

Both ghost and corvid blinked at the sight of Thorn arriving first; her tail was twitching restlessly on the kitchen counter, although more subdued than usual. There was a glint of fear - or perhaps embarrassment? - as she rubbed one arm tentatively from where she stood. Quiet caught himself as she averted his gaze, reciprocating in respect. Right. This Fae did not like eye contact. At least not in her civil state of mind.

“I thought you were sticking to the shadows. Have a change of heart?”

“…More like an exception.” Thanking him was still challenging. Either she’d get used to it, or else no longer have to. She still couldn’t make her mind up on which.

Thorn’s tail curled around her legs, as though trying to keep her from falling over. Even with the haze she was in, the slight unease was palpable. Quiet decided better to hand over the plate before it got any worse. 

“No need if it’s too early. I was planning on leaving it where you could find it. But while you’re still here —“ A gentle, trimmed talon slid it over - so he had meant cutting his nails. As strange as his hands looked with them that short, it was enough for Thorn to absently grasp for it as he nudged things towards her.

That was quite the sacrifice to be made for her own comfort - and one of many in successive patterns. She would surely note that for later when she was better situated. 

So instead, she took what was offered and scampered off when he wasn’t looking. Miscalculating, Quiet chanced a glance to make sure she’d gone. Much to his surprise, she’d found her dining spot behind a green jar, watching almost expectantly.

Amusement flickered in his eyes. Was it better to tell her?

“… You do know that’s glass, right? You’re not exactly hiding.”

“You’re not supposed to be looking,” Thorn retorted. “But yes. It’s… The best compromise I have right now.”

‘Stay hidden’ or ‘remain exposed In the open’ were probably what was being met dead center. This way, Quiet figured she could watch without getting close - with a weapon at the ready if he broke their bargain. He merely nodded and looked away to grab Witch’s plate —

— Gone. His hand raised in shock as he saw the rounder Borrower abscond with her helping (and a chunk of his own), carrying the plate in her mouth as she ran back on all fours. Once she’d reached her sister, she gave a smirk as the plate shifted to rest in her lap.

“Not too bad, huh?”

“Impressive!” Quiet could tell by now the teen was looking for praise, but even he could admit she was a solid scavenger. Her arrogance was earned as she settled down to nip at a piece of Thorn’s food.

The borrower practically inhaled it. With a small click of her tongue, she tilted her head and gave a nod.

“All clear.” Then, with a swish of her tail: “But of course, I’ll take what you don’t.”

Poison checking. Quiet didn’t need to ask, especially with what he knew of this teenager. There was a huff from Thorn in response, before she, too, began to eat.

This was something Quiet had never seen before. Be it crouched over and nibbling like cats or holding the plate to scrounge at things, he had never gotten a chance to see the usual dietary habits of their kind. Spectre’s was more artificial in its own right; more of a stand-in for usual consumption. Both ate heartily, with Witch finishing first with a lick of her lips - wherein her sister was more cautious, crouched over her plate with her eyes directed outwards. Towards him, as though expecting the gesture of kindness to be rescinded.

There was the eye contact - and Quiet immediately understood why it was a rarity. Wide feline eyes stared out at him; bright as a startled animal, betraying her plausible civility. Much as she’d told him, the existence of “tamed” Borrowers were purely mythological. Even the calmest of the bunch had a storm inside, and crouching uneasily over things, she was drawing the line in the sand.

Stay right where you are. I’m fine watching from a distance.

The sudden understanding of her voiceless language seemed almost too easy. But be it rescuing or being saved by a chimera, these were cues they’d learned from the same source. So when he turned his back, it seemed the fear abated.

“Hmm… Someone’s learning quick.” Witch noted. “I didn’t expect he’d be so immediate-“

Witch felt a sharp brush against her hand, somewhere between the counter and her sister’s plate.

“Hey; you already had yours,” Thorn growled. “You know what to do if you’re still hungry.”

“Oh, actually finishing it off?” Witch crouched herself, fingers playfully curled into claws. “Fine, fine. But I’ll be around.” A small swish of her tail was met with a nip as she went by; roughhousing at any point wasn’t uncommon between them. At least this time it was all fun and games.

Thorn shook her head. From fierce brawls to overhunting, there were far worse things Witch’s bloodthirst has lead her into. No harm in a little morning scrap.

“How’s your head? You want to take up the morning adventure?” Witch ran a hand over Thorn’s forehead inquisitively. Finishing up the last few swallows, Thorn cupped it in her own hands and brought it downward. 

“The fall was better than it looked: just a little sore. But you’re right; I probably should start learning the routes.” Then, with a twitch of her nose: “You’re just offering because you want to sleep in, aren’t you?”

“Hey, if we’re getting meals served to us I might as well nap. Enjoy it while it lasts, you know?” Witch shrugged. “You know what to do if I’m not up by lunchtime.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Thorn watched as Witch skittered away on all fours, giving a twitch of her tail as she absconded. Once she was out of sight, Thorn took her chance. Even if her host was awake and eating not too far away, this would be good enough.

The fridge was off limits. So naturally, that meant the journey started in the pantry.

Scaling the walls was much more challenging without the same claws that Witch had, but she’d manage. Finding different rungs in the walls would do the trick, and thankfully several of the screws and picture hooks were far enough out to climb. This took a bit of precision; it didn’t help that the unnerving scrape of silverware on those china plates was not too far from here. But Thorn managed to make her way to the middle shelf regardless, wriggling through the crack in the door. Having a slightly more flexible spine had its advantages.

Once sealed into the darkness of the pantry, her eyes began to dilate in adjustment. A few chance sniffs confirmed that Witch’s journey had been reckless and messy, with a variety of condiments scattered from the work. I should probably talk to her about that, Thorn noted with a sigh. We can’t be wasting that much food - especially while we still have permission to take the better stuff. Many Borrowers had been strangled for less.

Her own path started by the jars of fruit; pickled plums, jams, and various other preserves lined the kitchen cabinet. Obviously, taking anything too sticky would be a problem, but she could chance a plum or two. Dipping a hand into the brine was a bit unnerving, yet worth it with the salty, sour taste of the prize within. Wrapping it in a few spare bits of tissue paper would do the trick.

The droning of the feast behind her limited to a clink of glass or two: she could hear the muffled conversation as her gatherings grew. Small bits of shelf-stable cheese, powdered milk; a few almonds to grab for Witch. Most of this stuff was new to her, and she was intrigued to sample it all. Granulated sugar falling to sand in the bag, some barley - 

Then something… familiar. There was no denying the stench of

fermentation as it clogged her throat.

It’s not—- Stop it. It’s just normal alcohol; he probably uses it for cooking. There’s no reason to get—

But it was worthless trying. Instinct clouded rational thought, and in a moment she pounced.

There was a rigid thrust of something sharp across the kitchen. A tangled mess of hissing, swearing profanities rang violently from the cabinet, leaving Quiet to watch as a wine bottle dredge the wood flooring in residue.

“Okay, no.”

Shuffling over, Quiet heaved a sigh as he swept aside the broken glass. “I’m fine with rummaging, and I don’t mind if you need to ‘hunt.’ But when it comes to glass-“

There was a thrashing of vines which appeared to have split the bottle in two. Hang on, that was some trajectory for anyone her size to have thrown it. Perhaps it was better to check?

Against his better judgment, Quiet opened the pantry. There stood Thorn - or rather crouched the little borrower - with widened eyes so transfixed on the debris below she’d scarcely noticed his approach. So it looked like her intent was to break it after all.

But why was there such distaste for-?

Borrower. Red wine. Oh, shit.

Quiet blinked. His own thoughts seemed to have ebbed away by the time she’d finally looked up, still tense. But at least it seemed there was an attempt not to strike immediately, the lashing tail indicated conflict.

The widened gaze lying within her pupils diminished. There wasn’t another word as she finally scoffed, turning away to scramble in deeper.

Wasn’t ‘never turn your back’ one of those little rule book tenants she seemed so keen on following? Either way, the moderate relaxation of her body seemed to indicate one thing: she trusted him.

The air felt thick and heavy. The frigidity coated his lungs with every breath - was it easier to try and soften it, or let it be?

“It’s, uh, a little early to be drinking.”

Maybe lightening the mood would help? This ‘maybe’ proved unhelpful as the Borrower shot him a look of disdain, scrambling upwards and out of sight.

“It’s a little early for you to be getting in the way of things,” Thorn retorted, only a lashing tail and nimble hands visible. This strange, gargoyle crouch seemed to be a favorite position of hers, keeping his stare from somewhere a few shelves above. “And besides, you’re breaking our agreement. Again.”

This time, however, the consequence wasn’t a full slash of hostile vegetation. Quiet knew enough had been said. Each gaze kept the other’s, until the corvid’s hand slid down to eye the shattered glass.

“You could cut yourself,” he finally murmured. “Or, it could land on someone else. No throwing glass.”

This was certain to get the Fae’s ire; here he was, talking to her like a misbehaving cat. She kind of was, actually, when you got right down to it; behaviors and posture definitely matched. So he knew that when the lashing of her tail stopped hitting the cupboard, something seemed to have gotten through. Instead, the puzzled Borrower crawled downwards towards his line of sight and out from the shadowy abyss.

“I didn’t expect it would land that far away.”

Her tone seemed apologetic; softer, more tired. But there was still that defiant spark which held it from compliance, giving a shake of her head as she looked back. The dilation was almost pleading.

… Oh. Oh.

There wasn’t a kind way to test this, so it was better to just cut to the chase. Tentatively, Quiet reached in once more towards the back of the shelf - the scuffling immediately turned to panic. The fear in her voice presented loud and clear in every passing syllable:

“Wait, what are you doing?”

Yep, that’s what he expected. The second bottle scarcely graced his fingers before there was a trill of alarm, knowing he had to drag it out despite the apparent pain it caused. Or perhaps because of it. 

Trying to keep his composure, Quiet shuffled the bottle to one hand. Avoiding eye contact was best; he could feel every awful tremor in that frightened gaze just plenty where he was. His eyes scanned briefly over the list of ingredients, already knowing what he wouldn’t find listed. But on top of the familiar petals, she had mentioned something about a distillery; if Thorn really was one of its captives, then all wine was wine enough to take issue.

“You know, this really wasn’t a great year,” Quiet chuckled. “I don’t know why I keep this stuff around.” Then, with a surprising amount of ceremony his own arm shifted -

There was a flinch at the sound of a much larger shattering as a backhanded throw catapulted it behind him. Transparent shards fell towards the sink, leaving a hole in the vacant kitchen. Thorn merely stared.

“I…I’m sorry, did you just-?”

“Out the win-dow,” Quiet chirped in a sing-songy manner. “Whatever’s going on with it is better left out there. Haunted wine, not haunted wine, I’m not asking questions. But I think I’m better off leaving this to a one-ghost household, don’t you think? Spectre’s hospitality does have limits.”

There was a wink as he looked back. So it seemed he had caught on to the reason behind it, after all. How?

… Was it okay to laugh?

A snort of a giggle passed through the uneasy silence as Thorn bowed her head. “That was… Stupid,” she breathed, covering her face.

“It’s stupid, but you’re laughing,” Quiet guffawed. “So I guess it was just stupid enough.”

There was a grin that managed to break the tension when she looked up. It was still full of sharp, feline fangs, but they weren’t angled at him in distrust. Okay, so that was clearly a good deed. An expensive, albeit necessary one…

Quiet puzzled over the window. The break hadn’t been even, and the glass from both the floor and window sill would need immediate attention. That was probably where he should start, right?

“I should probably sweep up, and then-“

The scuttling form in the cabinet indicated he was talking to no one. It was still strange watching the feral siblings and their antics, running around much like wild animals opposed to people - but in the same respect, it was amusing. Adorable, even, when it was accompanied by such-

-No no no. That was a seething mess of a woman who would probably steal his hands if she could. He was already perfectly fine without any additional-

A hard crunch of exoskeleton seemed to jolt Quiet from his thoughts. A partial cricket (perhaps half the size of its huntress) laid pinned before clawed fingertips, looking up at him with curious, dilated eyes.

“…. Okay. I’ll just, um, leave you to it, then.”

Quiet’s own fingers skimmed the door to the pantry and closed it, shuddering. He wasn’t entirely sure what entities he had let into his house, but they weren’t the kinds of Borrowers he was used to.

“I need to grab some things from the market; do you need anythi-?”

Another hard crunch, unblinking as she stowed it into her bag. Part of him wondered if she was doing it on purpose to put him on edge. It was definitely working if so. That was cue enough to leave, closing the pantry as he settled again at the table.

“We’re going to need a new window,” Spectre mused. “Whole place looks like another murder happened.” Sticking out her tongue, Spectre circled his head expectantly. “Well, shall I join you?”

“Yeah, probably. If I’d known the lot of you could eat this much, I would’ve gotten out the reserves. Market it is.”

————-

The Markets were a familiar sighting for those associated with the woods, albeit hidden from sight behind false underbrush. Jagged curtains of briars and weeds clumped together to form the entrance, which cascaded from one side of the path to the next. Usually, these were removed through a pulley system by the neighboring wildlife, yet this time it merely took a raise of one hand to step through them seamlessly. That was… Unusual.

“Woah-ho-Ho! If it isn’t our fine feathered friend. Fancy the new spellcasting.” From the corner pulley, a silver Enfield walked over in a handstand. His unusual, bright blue fore-talons were unmistakable in their webbed glory. The market had been Contrarian’s idea in the making, and it shone enough in the strange variety which scattered market stands for the next several miles. But it was also a place of true peace between the Cryptids - of unity. Quiet reached down to scritch Contrarian behind the ears before he spoke.

“Good morning to you, too. I uh, I don’t know how I did that? But it’s a treat to be back.”

“We hope you’re coming in good standing?” Hero inquired. Contrarian’s vulpine tail was presently right-angled into a perch for his comrade, who looked like he’d seen better days. “How are the Fae behaving themselves?”

“It’s been a process,” Spectre spoke for him, faint trails of her form wicking his pharynx. “It would’ve probably been a smoother transition for domestic residents.”

“Oh! Good to see you’re in good spirits, too,” Hero replied with a dip of his head. “We’ve been curious about your whereabouts as well.”

“Oh, you know - been here, died there. The newcomers can get rather jumpy at times. Might actually be good I’m in this state for the moment.”

Hero looked over them, puzzled. Quiet sighed and raised his hand. Scar tissue was healing, but the connective neural branches of the sigil grew less separate over time.

“Now that’s Wild,” Contrarian quipped. Only Hero seemed to notice.

“It’s not funny,” Hero grumbled, shaking his head.

“Oh no, I don’t think you understood-“

“— Plenty, actually,” Hero hushed him with a foot on Enfield’s muzzle. “We should get him supplied; it looks like it’s already begun.”

Quiet cocked his head. “What’s already begun?” The look on Hero’s face didn’t bode well. But before he could respond, Spectre readjusted herself to take over.

“The outbursts. The panic. We really should find something to help ease the stress and redirect their anger.”

Spectre’s word fell above Quiet’s. That meant keeping quiet, well, to Quiet about this whole mess. Their first duties towards the Heiress had a conflict of interest now, watching as she steered him towards the markets.

 Hero threw his head into his wings. “This is bad,” he groaned. “She wasn’t supposed to - didn’t she already have someone picked out?”

“Looks like she decided to throw us all a curveball,” Contrarian shrugged, tucking his head beneath the crouched handstand. “You need to get more used to the calamity of if all. He certainly has!” The enfield’s tail flicked towards the wine splatters in Quiet’s feathers. “I would’ve given him an encore for that ol wine toss.”

“But he’s not prepared for that! For any of this!” Hero puffed up, feathers a scattered mess. “And I’m not entirely convinced she is, either. Spectre gave us a lot of tension-“

Contrarian let his back feet drop. “Well I tried to tell him, but you wouldn’t let me. Guess we’ll see what ‘Wildcard’ the heiress draws, then.” His ears flicked over towards the corvid.

“Oh, yeah? And what are we supposed to do to help?”

The Enfield rubbed his talons together. “That one’s easy - getting the basics! The Fae certainly know a thing or two about cuisine.” Coming from this cryptid, that likely wasn’t conventionally appealing.

Hero squinted. “… Do I want to know?”

“Eh. Shrimp aspic, oxtail and liver paste - you know, the usual. Sometimes those little chocolate mice that scurry around for them to chase. Say, that’s not a bad idea…” 

Contrarian bounded forward, leaving Hero yards away. “Hey, Quiet! Can I suggest tying a bell around your neck? That way they can hear you —“

Hero placed a wing over his forehead. 

“… This is going to be difficult.”

Quiet’s return that night was late, and it seemed that the Fae had gotten their share of the house unoccupied. By putting some distance, it seemed he had garnered some trust between them and allowed them some piece of mind. As he shuffled to put the market’s haul away, it seemed that the shelves were tidier than before they’d even come. Scuff marks buffed, claw marks the only indication of their presence within. Well, this was a nicer surprise to come home to. After shuffling some jars around, the fresher catch of cricket slid forward to greet him; he didn’t need to see the trace of sharp-nailed hands to understand.

“Oh, is this for me?” Quiet nudged a finger forward, sliding it into his open palm. From the granular texture, it had been adorned in a handful of spices; most likely one of the more common meals out in the woods. Well, the Fae food was much more odd than dangerous; no harm in sampling it later. He exchanged it with one of the chocolate mice from his outing. “Thank you. You said it was fine to lay some things out, so I figured I might as well-”

He scarcely got a chance to place the confection before it was swiped away immediately. Quick, hungry - so he was right after all about it being a front. The aura shifted from exhaustion to purring comfort immediately - and judging by the contented sounds of snacking in the corner, there was enough to know he hadn’t poisoned it this time.

“I’ll set out some more tonight. They’re, um, supposed to move or something if left unattended? Figured it might be of interest. Anyways, I’ll leave you be.”

Quiet turned his back. Only as he walked away did Thorn poke her head out from behind the shelf and scamper back into an adjacent tunnel. But the calm that came confined wasn’t the sake shaky relief; this was the beginning to something entirely new. She could feel it.

Quiet waited until the footsteps died away. Only then did he saunter back to his room and vanish from sight.

Chapter Text

What has been Borrowed cannot be returned. You have made a grave mistake.

The flicker was unmistakable. Lacerations marred phantasmic fingers, lingering on the edge of a dream which did not belong to her. Turning a palm over, Spectre looked over the dome of death. 

It was dark here. The woods surrounding her couldn’t keep their stasis with their unwitting passenger, shifting and turning along the leaves. Every touch seemed to go right through them; ensnaring roots of sensation made no purchase. An endless torment removed by nothing.

It felt like home. It felt like where she was meant to be. And yet, the scrabble to grasp at stray tissue merely froze them at her touch. Agony; it ached.

For someone who’d been close to several wilder haunts, it didn’t take Spectre much thought to figure out where she’d landed. This must be the fabled Network the Fae had spoken of; somewhere distant, static, and cold. Every motion of the roots tried to grasp what could not be; no body meant no entry. The words of the woods rang hollow, before twisting out of shape and form.

You do not belong here, the woods murmured. Why are you?

“I know about as much as you do,” Spectre replied. But that wasn’t entirely true, now, was it? There was more than a guess in mind as to how things came to be. Marks mistaken; one brought to the other’s destination. Had possession really crossed their roots that much?

It would seem so, the woods echoed back. Right; Spectre wasn’t the only one who could read between the lines telepathically. This place was infamous for it - so much so that those who fell into its grasp too soon began to unravel. Thankfully to her, mindshare was a typical Saturday.

“What do you want me to do about it? I can’t exactly put it back.” 

But the question was only half-sincere. If the woods really held that much disdain for her entry, then she didn’t really have much sympathy to give back. 

Nothing, the forest replied. Not much you can do now that you’ve been chosen. Let Her find Her way back and regain those threads Herself. Don’t intervene.

Chosen. There was something about that word that ached, beautiful and enraging all at once. So it seemed over the past week she had indeed gained Thorn’s trust, but the result was almost laughable. Dead yet undead, stuck in a waking dream without sign of egress. Direction seemed pointless here, especially when everything that should set nerves aflame was just as dark and dismal as this incorporeal form.

So things were supposed to be kept quiet, was that right? What about from Quiet? That wasn’t fair.

Life’s not fair, the forest echoed in that all-familiar sarcasm. Let them figure it out. It will be better if it comes naturally.

Avoiding altercation. Letting the cracks settle on their own - was that right?

Correct. Do what you must to keep the peace. Something worse is coming.

“Something worse?”

Had she wanted to comment further, Spectre never got the chance. The woods grappled with their intangible observer just long enough to get a foothold, and the scene faded away with the distinct shatter of glass. Robbed of true death, yet again.

“Ow!”

Quiet jolted awake at the sudden twitch in his palm, shortened talons bending inward. Typically, Spectre was a pretty heavy sleeper, but this night seemed different. The familiar trail seeped out of his palm, watching it form in soft wisps into his partner. She looked disturbed more so than anything, turning away from his gaze.

“Doveling…?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” For a moment she looked up, rubbing at her eyes - most likely trying to play it off as exhaustion. Yet Quiet had grown familiar with that soft red tint which settled along her sclera; something told him this was worse than a nightmare. And yet, he knew better than to pry.

“No, I was already awake. The, uh… Fae are out right now.” 

The lie slipped past easily, adjusting his fingers to settle under her chin. The tiny prickle of icy fingers settled on him curiously as she leaned into his touch. All sensation wasn’t lost to her like this; she had enough of his form etched into her mind for absent nerves to fill in the blanks. One of the few times he really noticed their differences was this; a soft little rub against the side of her cheek, her grip tightening as she curled into it like a pet hamster. It was adorable. He would let her linger as long as she wanted to.

It seemed that his lie was plausible as a raucous shriek broke out from the cupboards. Witch’s quickened footsteps were hot on the trail, giving a growl of her own as she pursued… Something. Dealing with Wild Borrowers was very different than their household counterparts. Over the course of the week, however, it seemed that he’d found an outlet for their bloodthirst.

“I’ve been letting the mice out of the bag a few at a time,” Quiet grumbled. “I’m starting to regret it; they’re a little too lifelike. But I guess it’s better to let them hunt by proxy than the real deal, right?”

“Oh, is that what they’re after?”

“Every night,” Quiet sighed. “We’re almost out of them now. You wanna tell them to pipe down?”

There had been slight amendments to the household rules over the course of their stay; notably, high-volume hunts offered invitation opposed to restraint from their antics. Or, in Quiet’s words: ‘If you keep me up, I’m roaming the house. It’s your choice what you do from there.’

“I don’t see why not,” Spectre shrugged. It seemed she didn’t need to hide the melancholic attitude at present; it was an offered distraction, and one she was willing to take as she followed Quiet’s lead. But opposed to taking his side this time, she settled carefully along his shoulder; if she couldn’t have death, then at least she still had what little life remained. That would have to be good enough.

The kitchen was exactly as they’d expected it to be; a few objects tossed haphazardly, ones which seemed to have been hastily blocked from dropping with a few protective vines. It seemed at least Thorn had grown more cautious in the midst of their truce — the same could not, however, be said for her sister. The week and a half they’d been here had offered the little one new freedoms; ones she was proud to show off to anyone who watched. As was the story as her eyes lingered up to them from her chocolate “kill,” grinning broadly.

“Hey, Witch; keep it down,” Thorn hissed, chasing silently after one of the scurrying confections. “You’re going to wake the — Oh.” Landing directly on her catch, Thorn’s eyes drifted up to the corvid in question. There was no fear there, not even annoyance; her claws nixed the enchantment on the rodent, falling lifelessly to the side.

There was still that uncomfortable eye contact, though.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Quiet huffed. Almost immediately, her gaze flitted away. Much more comfortable for both of them than being stared at by this tiny little predator.

Overall, time had changed the both of them. There was much less hostility now that they no longer regarded him as a threat, even if instinct had a tricky way of creeping in and making communication difficult. Or, well, difficult for one of them. It was progress.

Quiet heard a chuckle from above as something jelly-like oozed over from above his head. He sighed as Witch dangled her own prey from on top of the refrigerator.

That one was still a gremlin. But a much less violent one than before.

“Are you giving that to me, or is it that obvious I need to preen again?”

There was a rough splat on his head, much to his wife’s amusement. 

“I’m taking that as a yes to both.” As he reached up and licked the jam from his talons, Spectre finally made her move towards the countertops.

Being a domestic resident had its benefits, but also its disadvantages. Even in life she had never possessed a frame suited for those feral leaps and bounds. Their sharp wit and agility was more than a little enviable — and if she’d been impressed with Witch’s maneuvers, Thorn’s were beyond description. No longer gaunt and haggard, there was a new spark of life that’d ignited in its place. A silent, deadly hunter — If there was any warmth left in her, Spectre would’ve felt that heat upon her cheeks.

They were learning. 

It was fascinating watching some of the more domestic habits blend in with the Fae’s own nature; while still scrabbling to reach the cupboards, the rifling through drawers was much more careful than it had been before. There was more precision to the specific ingredients (domestic mechanics were a tad different from woodland cookery); it seemed the handful of guides Spectre had hidden around the house did indeed come in handy.

Even now it had to be so inviting, didn’t it? But she was fine for now just watching. Even the presence of others carrying on the tradition was welcome, and with them so focused she didn’t want to impose.

“How much is a thimble’s worth again?” From the other side of the room, Witch had ducked her head into a drawer. Her rear legs and tail stuck out awkwardly, pulling out a handful of sugar. “Oh, nevermind. Forgot those buckets were in here too…” 

Poking her head out, Witch gave their spectral counterpart a smirk. “Well? Are you just going to hover there, or are you coming over?” Placing the tiny thimble “bucket” to the side, there was a flick of invitation as she watched Spectre hesitate.

“Me? There isn’t really much that I can do to—“

“Don’t start,” Witch scoffed playfully. “We’ve seen you lift far worse with that little magic of yours. We wouldn’t even be this far without your resources. Might as well use them while we still have things to retrieve.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. Tentatively, Spectre settled on the countertop beside the teenager; the soft whistle of feigned inattention slipped through Quiet’s beak, turning into the other room. “I’ll leave you to it,” Quiet hummed. “Enjoy your first group Borrowing.”

“Wait, is this your first one?” Thorn fumbled with a lid on the spice rack, giving a confused tilt of her head. Spectre fancied these Borrowers and their antics; there was little guesswork about what was on their mind with such emotive bodies. But the thought had not occurred to her before then; they weren’t well versed in the loner sort, were they?

“Well, I have done it before, of course. But that’s been some years since—“

“But never with other people?” Witch sniffed along her neck, as though trying to detect a punchline that’d never come. “Huh. That’s… Strange. I thought you were around other Borrowers.”

‘Around’ and ‘with’ were two different things; that Thorn understood. Spectre had given her a little more context as to what’d happened in the past, but that had been when the heiress was still on the defensive.  It looked like that ghost wasn’t kidding. “You sure that you don’t want—“

“I’m fine.”

Thorn stepped back. There was a bite of bitterness which was not there before; better to choose her words carefully. The heiress tested the waters with a quick scurry backwards; it seemed that the longing remained. Was it simply not knowing where to start? Thorn gathered a few drops of oil before shimmying down the ledge. Maybe this required their intervention.

Presently, it seemed Spectre’s attention was diverted by one of those faux mice on the counter. Its chocolate paws brushed over a fondant body; shifting, moving with subtle motions. Her form crouched awkwardly as she raised a hand. 

What has been Borrowed cannot be returned. The voice in the woods echoed clear and long in Spectre’s mind, and finally understood. By taking the piece that was offered, that must give way to new instincts, right?

“You’re thinking about it,” Thorn noticed. Turning with a small jolt, Spectre met her eye almost bashfully. Why was she embarrassed about it? It wasn’t like they wouldn’t understand.

“I don’t follow,” Spectre lied. It was fooling no one.

Witch glimpsed over at the mouse, and then to the ghost in question.

“Sure you do,” Witch teased. “You want to try and catch it?”

Yet again, there was a breath of laughter from the other side. Thorn quickly suppressed it upon realization she’d noticed. Well, if they were inviting her…

“You make it look fun,” Spectre admitted. Had she the tail to do so, she probably would’ve been smoothing it over in her hands by now. “I don’t know if it’s feasible, but I’d like to try.”

It was a stupid thought, anyways; there was no way they were really going to entertain this. But it seemed to be the case as a familiar face peered around the corner; Beast had come out from hiding to see the commotion.

Her presence seemed to be instruction enough. Carefully, Witch slid back down to all fours with a small click of specialized joints realigning her legs and spine. How on earth was she supposed to copy that?!

“Like this,” Witch purred, only to lock eyes with a perplexed apprentice. “What? Oh, that’s right—“

“Just keep your body low to the ground,” Thorn stepped in. “Arch your back if you need to.”

Spectre did her best to follow their lead; appendages on the ground, hunkered into a crawl. No, wait; not knees? Was she supposed to do it on her feet? It felt unnatural. Even though they were less advanced, there did seem to be a more even shift of joints as Thorn redirected her own weight downward. She didn’t have that. They seemed to have forgotten. 

Spectre would have to make do with what she had. At least the weight was less evenly dispersed on Thorn compared to Witch -- favoring legs over hands, which were used more as support. Spectre copied the former as best she could, setting her eyes on the artificial target.

“Broad steps,” Witch added. “You want to go at it quickly. Sneak attack style.”

The whole thing felt a bit goofy. Standing alone was more unusual for her now with her usual powers, but hunched over like a cat was a way even this form was unaccustomed. Every limb moved out of rhythm, one by one; then a quick pounce befell the animate being. A quick swipe shot across the body, but it never made contact. There was a squeak as her hand phased through it, scampering away.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Witch’s tone was encouraging, raising a clawed hand. “You just have to lock in and grab it--”

“I can’t. No pulse.” 

Technically, not an accurate description. Spectre knew she could touch more than flesh and blood, but this imitation of life was too confusing to grasp. Pulse Paradox, as it was known to ghosts. The lights or stagnant mechanics were about as complex an animation she could control. She gave a soft smile as she looked over then, dipping her head as she stood once more.

“Thank you, anyways.” 

They didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Before they could even process, Spectre had left them in the dust, with barely a trail to follow.

Spectre theorized there was someone else who would be better help.

————-

“Am I wrong to hold my tongue?”

“Why would you be? If the Wild spoke to you, then that’s a command you’d better keep.” Beast licked a paw, brushing it behind her ears. While Wild’s daughters seldom sought her advice, the presence of this new Borrower was welcome. There was a hidden intelligence which was different than her feral kin — one which had intrigued her from the moment Beast had gotten close. “She rarely communicates with The Wandering, so what she had to say was vital.” Then, turning her head: “May I see your hand?”

Resting amidst the dusty surface of the coffee table, Spectre shuffled forward to accommodate Beast’s request. A firm claw pulled it forward, squinting down.

“Mmh. That would be Wild’s Mark.” There was a sigh as Beast repositioned herself, sitting beside the living room couch. “She should’ve given you advance notice-“

“— She doesn’t know.”

Beast flicked an ear, disappointed. “I expected as much. Seemed to have no comprehension of the information I relayed.”

“She did have quite a night.”

“A night which could’ve changed her for the better. But she struck out.” Beast sighed. “A mighty predator is nothing without wit and perception. What good is a catch you don’t even know you’ve claimed?” There was a flick of a paw in disgust. “The Heiress is powerful, when she tries to be. But by holding back and striking haphazard… She’s not ready yet. She needs more practice with gaining control. And the lot of you, when it comes to working together.”

Spectre turned away for a moment, gazing back down at her palm. Why did it always have to be the most inconvenient marks that took on undead flesh? At least this one she could blur from view with a few brushes of her palm.

“I’m presuming this would not be the time to tell her.”

“Hold your tongue, as you said.” Beast nipped at her flank to smooth out a few stray furs. “We need the cycle to fall into capable hands, and if the knowledge of its allies is unknown then things could end for the worst.” Beast gave a nostalgic sigh, bitter with the ache of old wounds. “Wild, I don’t know what happened. There was a time where I had faith. Why I was left to pick up the pieces You left behind I will never understand, but I know You had Your reasons.” Beast overturned her paw, gazing down at the faded mark of the ruling queen. “If I’d gotten to You first… Things would’ve been different.”

Remembering her current audience, Beast looked up. There was a look of intrigue on Spectre’s face. “Another time,” Beast replied. “For now, just know you’re not the only eyes out here. Don’t trouble yourself too much; if they give you any hassle, I’m happy to set them straight.”

So hold her tongue it was. Unfortunately, it seemed that would be challenging to do with the mutual curiosity of the Fae; a mocking imitation of something she’d so desired. Everything that was and ever could be a new beginning had warped, and if it went south there was only one to blame. It didn’t matter if it was her or them in the end. Humanity loved a scapegoat, and any Borrower was Fae enough.

“I’ll do my best,” Spectre managed solemnly. “I’ll buy them time to figure it out. But how much do we have left?”

“Enough to spare,” Beast answered carefully. In the other room, there was the sound of Quiet’s startled yelp, followed by mutual laughter. “Treat them all like kits. If you interrupt, then that confidence will be gone and you’ll stunt the huntress.” A claw grazed her chin. “Come to think of it, a hunt wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’m sure Den and I could hold off our own excursions for a few days to make that work.”

“If you need help whittling things down, I’m more than happy to help. As if going outside again wasn't excuse enough.” Witch’s voice echoed from the far side of the walls, barely visible from a corner of the walls. Of course the kid was snooping; despite the initial bundle of rage, but there was a fondness for the little one Spectre couldn’t shake. Beast remained unimpressed, tossing her head.

“I’m taking it you’ve known from the start, Preything.” The affectionate insult slipped off Beast’s tongue, only distinguishable by the subtle roll of her eyes. “Your nose always was sharp.”

“No, I saw it happen ,” Witch grumbled. “She was slicing the pattern in the whole fight. Why do you think I’ve been keeping her distracted? The mark’s disjointed, but it’s there.” There was an indignant huff as the little borrower scurried out, clawing her way up the table. “And I know that look he gave us after. The ‘pleading prey’ gimmick? It’s got Hunted written all over. And if she was that stupid, we know that cornered animals fight back. They both feel like prey to the other, and I don’t think we need either of their fears confirmed right now.”  

“So we’re in agreement,” Beast nodded. “We need to seal the bond before it’s too late.”

“Yes, but is —?“

“And in order to do so, we need to inflict that unity,” Beast replied with a flick of her claw. “A pack relies on trust and overcoming obstacles; it will show the true strengths between everyone.” Her eyes turned towards Den, who was nestled in the sun by the other side of the room.

“I’ve been itching for another chance,” Witch purred. “Been too long since we’ve been out.”

“It’s been a little over a week. Don’t be so dramatic,” Beast scoffed. “Besides, I’m sure the prey are grateful for the break, you vicious little thing.” Beast crouched to swat the Borrower into one paw, smoothing down her wriggling form with a grooved tongue.

“Guh — hey! I just bathed two nights ago.”

But it seemed that Beast wasn’t paying Witch much mind. The whole thing was entertaining to watch, but Spectre still felt that subtle ache regardless. She just hoped whenever things did unravel, she would be there. 

“So it’s decided? Good,” Beast purred. “I’ll ask Hunted to keep an eye on the woods while we’re indoors. Most likely he’s aware of a place or two which requires population control.”

And so the meeting was adjourned. Beast prowled over to the larger chimera, flopping down next to her in the fresh morning sun. And with Witch scrabbling off, that meant Spectre, well, alone.

I just hope you know what you’re doing.

——

Over the course of the week, all wild creatures did their part in narrowing the time in between. It seemed the efforts paid off; the house grew less tense with guiding eyes on everyone, whether they knew it or not. And time, too, seemed to ease the strain of interaction in passing between Fae and Feathered Being. More than once Quiet had found one of them sunning on the window or another asleep in a pile by their prey, scampering away awkwardly to leave what remained.

The freezers wouldn’t last forever. Stockades would run out. And with a second massive mouth to feed, Quiet certainly hadn’t stocked up with this in mind.

“Is it usual for the Chimera to remain indoors?” Quiet pondered the question beside the counter, watching the pair of them gnaw at frozen haunchmeat.

“I don’t know why you’re asking me,” Thorn answered, raising a brow as she followed his gaze. “ We’re not even used to staying inside for more than a couple hours. It doesn’t seem like there’s been any bad storms lately, but their noses are sharper than ours. They might know something that we don’t.” 

A glint flickered along Quiet’s nails. Absently, the Borrower crouched down, stalking closer.

“I would ask Hunted, but he’s been absent as of late,” Quiet mused. “Probably helping the herds migrate towards —- Okay, what are you doing over there?”

Quiet lifted his talons. The tiny form prowled away before he ever caught sight. “If I didn’t know that was you, you might’ve gotten me. And I thought your sister was fast —“

“Oh, I’m not faster.” A flicker of a candle illuminated the Borrower’s shadow, deliberately crouched over. “You just don’t hear me, so you think I am.” The shadow elongated as Thorn pawed the air, imitating a few choice swipes. She had certainly lightened up lately. “The forest doesn’t need to hide Witch in the same way it does me. By the time she’s close enough to hear —-“

“— You’re too late!” Fiercely skittering footsteps befell the opposite side of the counter, leaping for his hand. Quiet’s fingers curled around Witch’s body, softening the blow of bony joints. Within the house he predicted this was more for fun than survival, but it was obvious now that they’d better eat while the night was still young. And, hopefully, before the chimeras finished off the remainder of his stash.

“Alright, alright, heard you loud and clear,” Quiet huffed back playfully. “Let me see what I can find for dinner.” Carefully letting the little Borrower wriggle free, Quiet slunk over to the fridge.

… Only to find that there was very little then sparse produce remaining. It hadn’t been long since their last outing, and he knew well enough this wasn’t the doing of the Fae this time. Maybe there was more in the freezer? But after checking the frozen stash of meat, it seemed this, too, had been cleared out. It probably is the chimeras, he reasoned, giving a mental shake of his head. They can usually pack away more than a stag or two every couple days. Closing the drawers, there was a soft murmur of disappointment as he looked back over the pair of bewildered Borrowers.

“Well, bad news,” Quiet sighed, looking over the remaining stores of food. “We’re out of meat. I can always go out and catch something, but—“

The corvid paused as a devious paw reached up. Witch’s smirk was practically contagious. “And let you fumble after the game? If I recall, we are allowed to roam if we have a chaperone. We know paths that you don’t.”

Quiet looked over at Beast expectantly. She gave a shrug. “They’ve taken down worse than a couple boar with another paw or two. I’ve missed a proper hunt, and we finally have enough members for a small pack.” 

Witch gave a growl of excitement. “Just wait until you see what I’m capable of.”

“Likewise,” Thorn asserted, glancing up at Beast expectantly. “I’ve been practicing.”

“If you’ve mastered that snare of yours, we’ll have no issue,” Beast confided. “It’s been a while since we’ve managed to organize a proper hunt; I expect you’ve all improved. Now let’s see who all is here so we can set up the formation —“

As Beast prattled on about the logistics, it seemed that each and every Borrower was engaged with a newfound delight. One which impressed, yet excluded a singular phantom from the discussion, watching with a sense of equal interest and frustration.

It was all working out, just as planned. And yet, there was still that twinge of jealousy listening to the wildlings discuss so openly. Had they forgotten the obvious?

“—- And now for the question. How do we work in The Deceased?” Beast turned her head towards Spectre. As she looked back over, the chimera watched her for any signs of familiarity. There were none. “Center or back of the pack are still open. Any preference?”

The question caught Spectre off guard. While she had been out of the house before with Quiet’s aid, times spent out in the woods were rare and required full control without distraction. Hunting, by default, was off the table. 

“I don’t know,” Spectre replied honestly. “I’ve been able to watch a few pack hunts, but never participated.”

“Learning new things everyday?” Witch gave a grin. “We can show you how it’s done!”

A soft, disappointed gaze looked out. “That would be nice. Unfortunately, I can’t leave without—“

“A body?” All words halted as Spectre saw a hand extend to her first. And for a moment, it took Spectre a moment to recognize the face looking down on her. 

The only thing time couldn’t heal were the scars. No longer heavy-lidded, frantic, and afraid, a healthier version of Thorn gave her an assuring smile. While still gangly and wild, there was a different aura which sprung to life within the heiress and returned the kindness she’d been given. “Just let me keep control,” Thorn murmured. “You’ve already proven I can trust you.”

Then forgive me for leaving you in the dark until this is done. There was no tremble in her hand. Spectre took it.

“And I won’t slow you down?”

“Hardly. And if you do, that’ll just mean we’ll be out longer,” Thorn purred. “I don’t have any complaints.”

“I guess we’re really doing this, then,” Quiet murmured. “Well, feel free to fo—“

Witch took the lead. The door was open for less than half a second before she charged out, circling in the grass. Beast followed suit, then Den - and finally, Thorn stepped out with passenger in tow as Quiet closed the door.

The click of the lock - from the outside this time. The warm night air in her lungs. Thorn took a moment to adjust to it, dropping carefully down to all fours just to feel the dirt beneath her.

Home. There was an exhilaration which came from being back in the familiar after an agonizing period in the unknown. The earthy scent of fresh air filled her lungs, and just from a single look at Witch she could see her sister’s tears. It felt right somehow, being this close with their newfound company. A family, even; it’d been half a decade since one of those had happened.

From within those aching nerves, the now-comfortable chill relieved the warm night air. And settling at the edges of her heart, Thorn could feel the swell of pride.

“So this is what you were saying. It’s different, but it feels right.”  From somewhere within, there was the fluttery feeling of the ghost trying to reciprocate the motions. She almost managed, although it was clear the stance was awkward. But not unwelcome.

“It’s always been where we’re meant to be,” Thorn whispered in towards her chest. “It’s been an adjustment getting used to things, but for what it’s worth, thank you for sharing your world with me.” Then, with a proud chirp:

“Now, let me show you mine.”

Blades of grass tumbled from her feet as Thorn leapt from the ground. A swipe of Fae claws grazed her side; Thorn returned it with a pounce to her sister’s chest, toppling her over backwards. Laughter rang out clear and true; not the evil cackle or mischievous giggle from her companions. No, this was genuine joy for both of them. It felt good.

“Hey - no fair! Two against one,” Witch scoffed playfully as she nipped back. Small fangs tugged at her tail, reciprocated in kind. Round and round again one sibling hunted the other; and through the frenzy, they danced. Deadened nerves took in the sensation from within; every sweeping, broad gesture from the Fae ignited in this secondhand body. 

Just as the heiress had promised, it was her time to host. And getting to relax for once opposed to keeping every twitching muscle at ease, this was quite a treat for the ghost haunting within.

“You may actually have the advantage this time,” Witch noted with a tilt of her head. “Seems your scent’s mostly covered.”

So Spectre had her own gift to present her host. And learning from within a well-trained body, it seemed clear just by the practiced movements that she could learn just as well in the thick of it.

The sound of twigs snapped beneath small hooves. Looking up, it seemed that Hunted had indeed caught their scents rather quickly; he fumbled forward towards the chimeras, giving a bow of respect.

“I think it is best that you go downwind,” Hunted instructed. “There’s a handful of elk that have overpopulated and are uprooting the forest. The woods are thicker there; more obstacles. You’ll have the advantage.”

“Wait; we’re going after a whole herd? But how are we supposed to—“

You really are new to this, aren’t you? Thorn’s own thoughts cut Spectre off. No racing pulse; no tremor. Shh. Just wait and see.

Of course, Hunted helmed their multispecies pack. Beast flanked him, with Den and Quiet taking the back. Any hesitation seemed to vanish as Thorn stepped in line towards the center, with Witch to her left.

“That’s not the shrew fang, is it?” Beast raised a brow at Witch, who shook her head.

“I don’t use venom if we’re eating it. C’mon; I’m not stupid. It’s a clean blade.” Trailing behind for a moment, Witch flicked her tail mischeviously. “I know some people here can’t hold their poison.”

There was a reciprocal tail flick at Witch’s taunt, who didn’t respond much more than sticking out her tongue. This she followed up with a stride to the left, circling her spot in the formation.

“And some are a bit too familiar,” Thorn retorted. “I’m not the only one here who’s not immune.”

Quiet seemed to be trailing close behind, albeit still in that awkward shuffle that had become so familiar. His primary wings seemed to cover his face in an awkward smile; trying to appear less immense, or perhaps just nervous to approach the woods with the little ones in tow. Den padded around to give him a reassuring pat, before returning to her point in formation.

“You’ll be fine,” her eyes reassured. “Think of this time like any other.”

Quiet dipped his head, giving a response back. “Alright, if you’re sure…”

The sound of Hunted’s hooves clicked along the forest path. It was time - here and now. With the chimeras closing in, the Borrowers shuffled to the center as all began their joyous advance. For Spectre, the moment the prowl had begun it was heaven.

Tactile correspondence. The rush of blood in long-dead nerves. Despite the Fae’s anatomical differences, there was no push and ache against limber joints realigning for the chase. For every bit of fearful cowering that Thorn had shown initially, there was a hidden strength which did not seem like it would take on such a tiny, lanky form.

The forest blurred as the pair of siblings raced through the trees. Snagging branches and catching briars in their hair, the wild ones knew every scrap of this territory. Dodging and weaving, they scrambled from two legs to four with every adjustment of motion. Until finally, there was a rush of reddish brown as the herd began to move.

Spectre notably froze from within her spot. Even flanked by the chimeras, the three of them felt all too exposed. “Wait. Are you sure this is a good idea? Even wolves lose members during hunts; and even if I’m not mortal, you are.”

And this is why I said to let me keep control, Thorn mentally chuckled back at her. We’re on the inside of formation for a reason. Just watch and learn.

Den was the first to break from formation, leaving their flank exposed. Quiet was quick to refill the spot, keeping the Borrowers safe from the hooved horrors they were after. A quick leap severed several of its members, increasing their chances. But even someone as huge as Den knew not to land on top for the kill just yet; there were still too many of them capable of fighting back. They’d have to wear them out.

Alright, my turn. Pausing just a moment to raise a hand, Thorn let the vines run rampant across their paths. Beast and Quiet leapt skillfully over the branches, leaving the borrowers to bound over top and down from the fray. The trip hazard seemed to be working on some of the stragglers; they bucked against the pull, snapping the ivy which tried to bind their neck. Damnit! They’re still too strong.

“Not a bad attempt,” Beast chirped. “But have you considered treating this like the Ring? You’re stronger in pairs.”

“I was just waiting for you to ask.” Witch scuttled through the trees above, leaping from branch to branch. A thick shoot of briars entangled along Thorn’s magic before the herd, which swerved in the opposite direction.

“They’re going towards the valley,” Hunted noted. “It’s a risky move for them, but it’ll be worse for us. We need to keep plowing forward.”

And so they did. Steady haunches and ferocious claws raked their into the earth, followed by the huffing and panting of determined Borrowers. A laugh emanated somewhere deep within Thorn’s chest; a long-dead heart aligned with her own had doubled her stamina to shoot past the pack.

“You were right about this place,” Spectre murmured, awestruck. “ I can’t believe I missed all of it while I was roaming.”

You never had a pack before, Thorn reminded. It’s much different than trying to hunt solo. So, what do you think? Getting a taste of things?

“Are you kidding me?! This is amazing!”

Laughter echoed amidst the smaller members of the pack, watching Witch leap from trees to ground. Somewhere from the bushes they would’ve sworn there was a glimpse of the now-familiar badger; his eyes found Thorn’s immediately with giddy delight. There was a courteous nod from Thorn to Hunted as Smitten slunk away, letting the group carry onward without a word.

Didn’t expect to see him this far out, Thorn pondered. Isn’t he usually by the house?

“Oh, you know how They are — They come and go as needed,” Spectre crooned. “ It appears we’ve gotten everything sorted in that department.” There was the ticklish sensation of a nudge between Thorn’s ribs. “ Consider yourself lucky. He’s impossible to get rid of once he’s decided there’s an issue.”

For the next few miles it seemed that there was limitless energy in the group, tracking the herd with due diligence. But alas, even that had to give out eventually. It wasn’t long until they’d stopped by a riverbank, dipped in the hazy moonlit glow. 

The Fae were back where they’d started. But this time, they had all the more company.

“Let’s stop here to drink,” Hunted murmured. “How’s everyone doing so far?”

Thorn could feel something between a squeak and yowl of excitement through her cortex. This garnered a silent laugh in response. For as intriguing as the numbing chill and neural overlap was for her , Thorn could hardly imagine what it was like for someone who’d been robbed of sensation years ago. 

“Indescribable,” Spectre trilled. “Thank you so much.”

An absent hand traced along shared form. She was kind of cute, actually; made it feel all the—

“Oh, you think so?” The squeaky glee immediately switched around to that sultry purr, transparent fingers sliding out to linger on her arms. 

There was a small jolt as the heiress stumbled back, damning the obvious. Shit. I forgot you could hear that —

“Don’t worry,” Spectre quipped back, “ I’ll let you off easy this time.” Then, a little softer: “ How am I doing?”

The echo of affirmation reached before Thorn could herself. You’re just fine, she mentally chirped, her own fingers tracing down along tender skin. Perhaps it was good she got her own little taste of the Network before that time came. It didn’t feel bad; just strange.

Thorn could hear her soft echo as they sat there, idly by the water. After a moment or two had passed, she situated to linger along the edge and cup the water into her hands to drink. Almost immediately, there was an involuntary jolt, dropping it into the pool once more. Alarmed, Thorn twitched; hadn’t they already agreed on —

“Wait, wait — Is that—?!”

Thorn held her tongue and thoughts. What had seemed to have been a deliberate stray from the agreement was merely —

“……”

— Curiosity. Immediately, mobility returned. The lingering chill within was digging in deeper, as though shrinking down in shame. Now now, none of that. Just tell me what you were saying; it’s alright. 

“I… Is that what we look like?”  

The words were almost too timid to have come from the same ghost. Looking down, sure enough; the same reflection shone down just as the Fae had expected. Something was different this time. A chilled and hollow look flared around her eyes where Spectre’s spirit aligned, radiating a kind of phantasmic frost on the edges. Her whole form was paler than usual, yet still maintained corporeality. Yet again — you can have it for now. Yes, I’m giving you permission to move — the muscles relaxed from Thorn’s grasp as it slid into Spectre’s. A curious expression fell over the pair of them as Spectre placed their collective hand to one eye, leaning forward to dip a finger into the water.

“It’s you.”

Us, Thorn corrected, drawing her hand along her own chin till it dropped back off. I… Wow. I understand now. A murmur of amusement sauntered through the midnight air, squinting to adjust. Wait, have you never seen your reflection?

The thought hadn’t occurred until now. The alignment of chilled hands spread to her shoulders now, overlapping less evenly.

“I have,” Spectre began, “ but only through Quiet’s eye. Generally I can only peer out through one at a time, like windows too far apart. I get the picture from a higher vantage point in a broader light spectrum. But this is the first time I’ve gotten the full depth. And… Color variance you see. I suppose you both have your own advantages.”

Color? Oh. Feline pupils relied more on movement than tonal value. All colors were muted, except for the chill of red and blue. A deeper, nearly monochrome view of the world; it felt normal until Spectre had piped up. If the Network’s anything like this, perhaps I’ll get to see some of those other hues.

There was a palpable sting which settled along Thorn’s heart. Spectre caught herself, steadying what remained of her own. Better not to give into biology and keep theirs both separate. There were others waiting for Her; this would probably work out if left alone.

Are we going to continue sitting here, or can I move again? The mental nudge thrust Spectre out of her thoughts. We shouldn’t linger too long. There’s still creatures who’ll—-

The rest of her thoughts were cut off as a trout took their move. Leaping backwards, the symbiotic Borrower managed to dodge the snapping jaws mere inches from their startled form.

— Eat us if they get the chance , Thorn sighed inwardly. It seemed that for a moment her guest had, impossibly, frozen up a little more, before blinking it off.

“Right,” Spectre managed. “ It’s been a while since I had to think of anything so, well, mortal.” The terror was new. An insightful ‘new,’ but was taking far more adjustment. This was the first time in ages it was possible once more to die.