Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋♬⋆.˚𝄢ᡣ𐭩─•──── 𖦤♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

"𝙈𝙚? 𝘼 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩? 𝙊𝙝 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙚, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧!" 

- '𝖠𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗁𝖺'.

At first, I didn't have an official design for Claire in this AU. I was using her old design, which is almost the canon Claire design, but I realized it was starting to feel outdated. So, I decided to mix a few colors from two different characters (Xister and Vivian) to create the version of Claire I have now.

"𝚄𝚑𝚖... 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗...."

- 𝙆𝙡𝙤𝙚𝙧𝙖 "𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙚" 𝙈𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙨.

In her AU, Claire's everyday appearance typically involves dyeing her hair and using colored contact lenses. However, when she's feeling too lazy to get ready, she either creates a potion herself or asks her mother for one, drinking it to transform into her usual, often-seen form.

♪♫♪⋆.˚✮🎶✮˚.⋆♪♫♪

Back to the subject:

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝟐𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩 𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬—𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Claire's Family:

In this AU, Claire is the younger sister of Xister and Vivian. Lisira is still her mother, but they do not have a father. (Sorry, Phil—apparently, you end up dying in most AUs for some reason...)

Note:

This is Claire's harem AU, but with a unique spin: the harem consists of teachers (Specifically: Miss Circle, Miss Thavel, Miss Bloomie, Miss Emily, Miss Sasha, Miss Grace, Mister Demi, and Mister Compass only). The "murderous trio" (.a.k.a. Miss Circle, Miss Thavel, and Miss Bloomie) play a significant role as they interact with Claire most frequently.

I won't include any of my OCs in this story for now, though I may add them later. However, I'm considering including OCs from Edgyaloon's Advanced Class Fpe if I feel they fit into the narrative.

Chapter Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ♫♬♪୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

"Had you noticed Miss Circle looked more pissed up than usual?" Lana asked, twirling her pencil while Abbie perked up at the mention of the math teacher.

"Yeah... Even her favorite students weren't spared from her wrath," Abbie replied.

"You mean the bullies?" Engel chimed in, with Bubble joining the conversation as they sat together with the duo.

"Where's Claire?" Lana asked.

Engel and Bubble exchanged glances before sighing in unison. "We don't know the full story, but Claire got a water dump on her again. It's the bullies, obviously, but something changed today—"

Engel leaned in, making sure no one could overhear. "Miss Thavel just happened to walk by, saw the scene, and ended up snapping at Oliver because he was the first person she saw."

"Oh wow." Abbie abandoned his homework, listening intently.

"Do you know the real kicker?" Bubble added.

"Come on, spill it!" Lana urged.

"Thavel almost went full hands-on with Oliver, if it weren't for Bloomie interfering. But ironically, not only did Oliver get attention, he also has to clean the school restrooms for a month."

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Meanwhile...

Claire was walking through the halls, hugging a black cat tightly under her arms. Everyone assumed it was Moemoe, her pet cat, but it wasn't. In truth, it was something... or someone else entirely.

"How much longer until we get to Bloomie's lab?!" hissed a whisper from the cat.

Claire glanced down with a faint smile. "We're almost there, Professor Circle," she whispered back, weaving her way through the crowd.

As she passed the canteen, she noticed her friends laughing together. A soft smile tugged at her lips.

Maybe I'll join them after this... she thought to herself.

So, what was going on? Simple. Miss Circle—or Professor Circle, the math teacher—had been turned into a cat. Why? It was the handiwork of the school bullies. And how? Even Professor Circle herself didn't know. Worse yet, she was stuck in this form and couldn't figure out how to transform back.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𝘍𝘓𝘈𝘚𝘏 𝘉𝘈𝘊𝘒♪ ༘⋆.༘⋆

⋆⋆✮♪♫↻ ⏮⏸⏭ ↺♫♪✮⋆⋆

Claire wandered the halls of the Fundamental Paper Education School, better known as the "Paper School." As she strolled, she suddenly heard Zip and Oliver's familiar laughter echoing from a nearby corridor. She stopped in her tracks, glancing toward the sound.

What are those two up to now? Claire wondered, considering walking in the opposite direction. But then she heard something else.

Wait...

Her curiosity piqued, she crept toward the source of the commotion. Claire hoped they weren't bullying someone again, though with those two, it seemed inevitable.

When she got close enough to see, she spotted Zip and Oliver laughing, their usual mischievous grins plastered across their faces. But what really caught her attention was...

A chipmunk? Wait—why is there a chipmunk in the school? she thought, narrowing her eyes.

As she moved closer, she gasped in surprise. It wasn't just any chipmunk. Standing before her was Professor Circle! But not the tall, crazy math teacher everyone feared. No, this version was a tiny puffball with small claws.

"Oh my gosh," Claire muttered under her breath.

"Aw, how cute! She's even mad!" Oliver teased, poking at the tiny creature.

"Yeah~," Zip chimed in with a mocking grin.

"You two are so dead after this!" squeaked the tiny Professor Circle, her voice high-pitched and furious.

"Oh? And what are you going to do?" Oliver sneered, smirking down at her. "Kill us with your little claws?"

Little shits! Professor Circle thought, her anger boiling over.

Without warning, she lunged at Oliver. He barely had time to dodge as the tiny black "cat" sank her sharp teeth into his hand.

Zip laughed loudly with Oliver, clutching her stomach.

"Oh man, Professor, you should've seen the face you made!~"

Oliver winced, shaking his hand in pain. "Ow, ow, ow! Stopppp!"

"TURN ME BACK!" Professor Circle hissed, her sharp teeth still clamped onto his hand.

"You could just transform back—" Oliver started, but she cut him off with a furious snarl.

"Well, with whatever potion crap you threw at me—I CAN'T change back!" Circle snapped, her voice seething with anger.

Zip giggled as she watched the chaos unfold. "Aw, look at her! She's all fired up~."

Oliver rolled his eyes and tried once more to shake off the cat version of their professor, but she refused to let go.

"Seriously, Professor, can't you just stop being a damn cat and switch back to normal?" he grumbled, tugging at her, but her claws were firmly latched onto his hand.

"Not unless you change me back THIS INSTANT!" Professor Circle yelled. Her voice, now high-pitched due to her feline form, only made Zip laugh harder.

"Aww, you can't~? What's wrong, Professor? Can't change back~?" Zip teased, her snickering growing louder.

Despite his predicament, Oliver let out a brief laugh. "Pfft... Maybe if you ask nicely, we'll fix it for you, right, Zipster~?"

But his amusement was short-lived as Professor Circle scratched him, her teeth still firmly sunk into his hand.

"Say that again, and I'll devour your hand right here," Circle warned, her narrowed eyes practically daring him to push her further.

Zip cackled loudly, clearly finding the situation hysterical, as she whipped out her phone to record. Oliver hissed in pain, tugging at his hand again, only for the bite to clamp down even tighter.

"Oh my gods, this is too good. Look at her—tiny and furious~."

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop! Dammit, knock it off!" Oliver exclaimed, shaking his hand in vain. Professor Circle didn't budge an inch.

"Yeah, right," Zip chimed in, smirking. "She's not gonna listen unless you ask nicely~."

Oliver grumbled under his breath before forcing a painfully fake smile at their feline professor. "Please let go of my hand, Professor~."

"Turn me back, and then I'll listen," Professor Circle snapped, her sharp tone making it clear she wasn't playing games.

Zip snickered again at Oliver's exaggerated fake smile and turned the camera on him, clearly reveling in the moment.

"Oh, come on, Professor, look at how sweet he's being! Beg a little more, Oliver! Be a good little boy!" she teased, grinning wickedly.

Oliver groaned, rolling his eyes before plastering on another over-the-top fake smile. "Please, Professor. Can you pretty please turn back to normal if I pweaseee ask nicely? Pwease, with a cherry on top... and a stick?~"

Zip burst into laughter, pointing the camera back at the fuming feline. Professor Circle's entire demeanor screamed murderous intent. Even as a tiny demon "cat," she could still unleash hell if pushed too far—and it looked like she was about to do exactly that.

Just as the furious professor was ready to prove her point in the most violent way possible, Claire stepped forward, deciding it was time to intervene.

"Hey! What's going on here?" Claire's voice cut through the commotion, her authoritative tone drawing everyone's attention.

Both Zip and Oliver froze, startled by her sudden appearance. The shock didn't last long before Oliver sneered, "Oh, isn't it the teacher's pet?"

Claire didn't miss a beat. Her eyes narrowed, and she smirked. "Big talk for someone who got dumped by his demon ex at prom."

Zip chuckled and slid her phone into her pocket, still wearing a sly grin. "Oh, damn, Claire, you really just gonna drop that like it's no big deal, huh?"

"Shut up! That's none of your business!" Oliver snapped at her, his irritation evident.

"Pfft, how could we not bring it up? That was one helluva scene at prom~" Zip teased, leaning in with a smirk.

"Zip, shut your trap!" Oliver shot back, now visibly annoyed.

"Make me~" Zip sneered, challenging him with a smug expression.

Oliver narrowed his eyes, glaring at Zip. Just as the tension between them started to escalate, Professor Circle suddenly perked up at the sound of Claire's voice, as if someone had flipped a switch.

"Meow. Meow! Meow! Meow!" Professor Circle's eyes lit up, and without warning, she launched herself toward Claire.

"Woah—!" Claire instinctively caught the cat mid-air. Her surprise was evident as she stared at her math professor, now purring and nuzzling into her arms like a typical house cat.

Oliver and Zip froze, their jaws slightly agape at the bizarre turn of events.

"!?!" Claire blinked, holding the cat as though she were just an ordinary feline instead of the notoriously murderous teacher.

She glanced back at Oliver and Zip, her expression still wide-eyed. "Okay, seriously... what did you two do to her this time?"

....

Zip stared at Professor Circle in shock, while Oliver stood frozen, still trying to process what had just happened. A few moments of silence passed before Zip burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.

"I can't believe it! Hahaha! She ran straight to you of all people!"

"Yeah! And look at her! She's all cutesy and cuddly with you, the teacher's pet!" Oliver added with a smirk.

"Hahaha! She's like a completely different person! Or well... a kitty instead of a person! Hahaha!" Zip chimed in, clutching her sides.

Claire narrowed her eyes at them but kept most of her focus on the now oddly affectionate Professor Circle. That's when she noticed the cat gesturing subtly with her paw. Claire's expression tightened as she realized her professor might be plotting something.

The bully duo, oblivious to the brewing storm, continued their antics.

Claire took a deep breath and asked again, her tone sharper this time. "What did you two do to her?"

Zip grinned smugly, folding her arms. That sly smile of hers didn't falter, but Oliver, starting to sweat, looked far less confident. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting the turn of events.

"Well," Zip began, her tone playful, "me and Ollie here found a little potion and thought it'd be hilarious to give it to the Professor~"

Then Zip feigned a gasp. "Oh wait! We could've thrown it at her anyway. And... we already did."

Oliver's face fell, and he immediately tried to stop her. "Zip, shhh!"

"What? She's gonna find out anyway," Zip said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Yeah, but maybe not yet!" Oliver snapped, glancing nervously at Claire.

"Why? You scared she's gonna yell at us?" Zip teased. "Pfft! The Professor can't even—"

Before she could finish, the demon "cat" sprang into action, launching herself at Zip's face like a furry missile.

"AHHH! GET HER OFF ME!" Zip screamed, flailing as Professor Circle clung to her face, claws and all.

Oliver took a step back, his jaw hanging open. "Oh crap, oh crap—"

Claire simply watched the chaos unfold with a sigh, holding the bridge of her nose. "I knew it. You two had this coming..."

And let's just say, things went south very quickly after that.

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ 𝑬𝑵𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑭𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑯 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

And so, here they were. Oliver had to take Zip to the nurse's office, and Claire had to pick up their cat professor and flee the scene. Now, on the way to Professor Bloomie's lab to figure out how to help Professor Circle turn back to normal, Claire passed by the double doors of the canteen, watching her friends chat and laugh.

Professor Circle noticed Claire's distraction, and as someone who could get quite jealous easily, Circle scratched Claire's arm. Claire winced, almost instinctively dropping the cat—though she was glad she didn't, because this was a murderess she was holding, not just a normal cat.

"Ow! What's that for?" Claire turned her gaze back to the black demon "cat" she was carrying.

Professor Circle didn't respond, instead she looked away and huffed.

Looks like she's still jealous, huh? Claire thought before speaking to her, "What's wrong with you all of a sudden?"

As they continued walking down the hallway, Professor Circle still didn't answer, only turning her head further away from Claire.

Is she seriously refusing to speak to me...? She's acting like a child now. A thought then crosses Claire's mind.

"Are you... jealous of them?"

Professor Circle's ears suddenly perked up at Claire's question.

Bingo, Claire thought, feeling a bit satisfied that she figured out what was bothering her.

"Are you really getting jealous of my friends? And don't ignore me while I'm the one carrying you," Claire said with a hint of annoyance, while her professor huffed and crossed her little arms.

"Seriously, Professor, you're acting like a child right now."

"Meow..." Professor Circle responded, turning her head back toward Claire with a slight pout.

"Don't meow at me," Claire said firmly, though mindful of her words. After all, Professor Circle could speak to her, but for now, the cat chose to communicate in cat language instead of a decent mortal one.

Professor Circle huffed, seemingly annoyed by Claire's response. The pout she was giving her didn't sit well with her either.

"Stop that. Meowing at me isn't going to solve anything," Claire said, keeping a firm tone.

The now small cat continued to pout and turn her head away from Claire, still refusing to answer her.

Looks like she's not going to listen.

Claire huffed in annoyance, and shifted Professor Circle to a different position in her arms, holding her tighter.

"After this, I'm going to spend time with Professor Thavel," Claire declared.

"Meow." Professor Circle responded, her annoyance clear, but her irritation quickly shifted to curiosity as they approached the doors to the lab. The sound of commotion behind the doors caught her attention.

Her pupils dilated with interest, and the urge to go inside grew stronger. But first, she glanced at Claire to make sure she was paying attention, then let out another meow.

It almost seemed like she wanted to be put down, Claire thought. Believing she was right, Claire knelt down slowly to set the cat down. But Claire was wrong—Professor Circle's claws dug into the fabric of her clothes, pricking her skin.

"Ow!" Claire winced and glared at the black demon "cat," but for once, Professor Circle spoke: "Go faster."

Claire raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden change in language, but shrugged it off. "Fine," she said.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

Inside the room...

Professor Bloomie was dealing with a failed student. No one else was in the class except for them.

"... An F?" The science teacher slammed the paper on the desk and glared at the trembling student.

"I..."

"Not only are you late, but you also failed my class!"

Bloomie shook her head in disappointment.

"This is your what, 3rd time failing my class?"

She picked up the paper, glancing over it before setting it back down.

"Maybe you should think about going to another school to pursue something more.... fitting," she suggested, not sounding very optimistic.

Fighting the urge to kill him right then and there, Professor Bloomie couldn't get rid of this student just yet. The student now only had two chances left. In this school, you were given five chances, and if you lost them all, your only options were either to escape or run for your life before death caught up with you.

"You're dismissed," she said dismissively, turning away from the student. She let out a tired sigh, rubbing her forehead with one hand.

"Kids these days," she muttered under her breath.

As the student left, Bloomie perked up at the sound of a knock and looked up to see one of her favorite students—or perhaps, her most "favorite" among those she favored. Her demeanor shifted as Claire stepped in, a black cat cradled in her arms.

For a brief moment, Bloomie almost mistook the cat for Moemoe, but the familiar horns quickly reminded her otherwise. It was one of her colleagues—and the most annoying one, to say the least.

Why is Miss Circle in her cat form, and why is she on Claire's arms?

"...?" Bloomie stared, puzzled.

"Hi, Professor," Claire greeted nervously, closing the door behind her as Bloomie's gaze remained fixed on the cat.

Bloomie's eyes flicked between Claire and the cat, her brows knitting together in confusion.

"Aiko... Circle?" Her gaze narrowed, studying the cat more intently, her curiosity and suspicion growing.

"What's she doing... as a cat?" she asked bluntly, her tone edged with uncertainty.

Claire shrugged. "It's... a long story," she admitted, before adding, "It's Zip and Oliver's doing again. This time, Professor Circle couldn't transform back to her human form because of whatever potion they made, and we're here to ask for your help."

As Claire spoke, the black demon "cat" stretched lazily in her arms, its presence almost too calm, too familiar. Bloomie felt an unexpected pang twist inside her, though she tried to mask it. The sight of Claire cradling the cat so easily, so naturally, stirred something within her, but she kept her expression neutral, unwilling to show her feelings too clearly.

"Of course those two are behind this..."

Bloomie muttered under her breath, a headache already starting to form at the thought of her colleagues. Her gaze flickered back to the cat, and an unexpected pang of familiarity tugged at her heart. It was fleeting, but strong enough to stir something she wasn't ready to confront.

She quickly masked it with a stern frown, unwilling to show any vulnerability in front of Claire.

"So, how do you expect me to change her back?"

She asked, her voice cool, calculated, and tinged with a layer of professionalism that barely concealed the hint of discomfort she felt.

"Well, aren't you a science teacher?" Claire asked, walking over to the table and sitting across from Bloomie, still holding the cat in her arms.

"I—"

Bloomie began to protest, already feeling a stir of annoyance at Claire's question. But she stopped short, forcing herself to maintain composure and not reveal her irritation.

"Yes, I am a science teacher," she replied, her voice slightly strained, betraying a flicker of impatience.

"But that doesn't mean I know how to turn someone back to normal..."

She paused, her gaze shifting back to the black cat in Claire's arms. For a split second, a brief flicker of discomfort flashed in her eyes, but she quickly masked it.

Claire sighed. If she didn't know better, she might have left with the cat still in her arms. But after knowing not only Professor Circle, but also Professor Bloomie and Professor Thavel, Claire was well aware of their tendency to get... possessive. With that in mind, Claire decided to employ one of her tricks.

Gently placing the cat on the table, Claire walked around it, noticing Bloomie's confusion. As Claire moved closer, she positioned herself directly in front of her science professor.

Bloomie's confusion only deepened as Claire walked around the table, her eyes following her student's deliberate movements.

"What—"
She began, puzzled, but her words were cut short as Claire positioned herself directly in front of her.

Taken aback, Bloomie's breath caught in her throat for a moment, her heart fluttering unexpectedly.

She quickly regained her composure, crossing her arms defensively and trying to maintain her professional facade.

"What are you doing...?"

Bloomie asked, her voice betraying a hint of unease.

Without warning, Claire grabbed her professor and spun her around, slamming her firmly against the desk beside them. Bloomie gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as Miss Circle let out a startled meow and darted away, equally stunned by the sudden turn of events.

The sheer audacity of her student manhandling her—and so effortlessly—left Bloomie momentarily speechless.

Bloomie was still in a state of surprise when she felt Claire's warm breath against her ear.

"Oh, please be considerate," Claire murmured, her tone as smooth as silk.

What the— Bloomie thought, but her train of thought was derailed as Claire inched closer, her voice dropping to a tone that made the room feel ten degrees warmer.

"Professor, you're more than just a scientist. You're a visionary, someone who sees possibilities where others don't." Claire tilted her head, her gaze steady and genuine. "That brilliance? That's why I need you."

Bloomie's face burned at the compliment, her mind scrambling for a response as Claire continued.

"All I want is for you to help us." Claire traced her fingers along Bloomie's arm to her shoulder, "I promise to do my part too. And if we fail?" As Claire spoke, she trailed her fingers to Bloomie's neck, brushing lightly against her pulse point. "That's okay." Claire finished with a slight shrug, a calm smile gracing her lips. "I'll find another way. But for now..."

Claire leaned in just enough to make Bloomie's breath hitch, her fingers shifting to caress her chin and jawline.

"Can you do that for me~?" she purred, her voice laced with warmth and playful charm.

Bloomie's mind went utterly blank. Her face flushed, her usual composure shattered as she gaped at her student, unable to form a single coherent word.

In that moment, Bloomie's mind was a whirlwind of mixed emotions. The boldness of Claire's actions and words caught her off guard, leaving her completely flummoxed. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath hitched as Claire caressed her chin.

Her mind, usually sharp and quick with a retort, was now a tangle of befuddlement. She struggled to respond, a jumble of stuttering half-words escaping her lips.

"I-"

She tried to compose herself, to regain some semblance of control, but her usual cool demeanor had completely deserted her.

After a few more moments of fumbling unsuccessfully with the words, Bloomie managed to gather her wits just enough to form a coherent thought.

"Yes," she responded with a firm nod, her voice a near whisper.

She tried to regain her composure, her arms falling to her sides as she forced herself to look at Claire directly.

"I will..."

She paused again, her words catching in her chest, and she found herself unable to look away from the young woman's captivating gaze.

But their moment was abruptly interrupted by a sharp, angry cat scream. Claire quickly pulled away as Bloomie shot a glare at the black demon "cat." It was clear that Professor Circle didn't appreciate what she had just witnessed, and even as a cat, her eyes burned with fury at Bloomie. Bloomie, however, wasn't backing down.

As Bloomie's gaze snapped to Professor Circle, a mix of annoyance and defiance flashed across her face. She wasn't about to let the cat's reaction ruin the moment or throw her off course.

"Don't worry about her," she muttered, waving a dismissive hand. "Leave her to me. She's just being..."

Bloomie trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Typical," she finished with a touch of exasperation.

Claire chuckled. "Yeah, I get it. But shall we start?"

Bloomie nodded slowly, still feeling somewhat flustered by Claire's previous actions. She took a deep breath, attempting to gather her thoughts and focus on the task at hand.

"Yes," she said, her voice regaining a touch of its usual firmness, "We should start."

She reached into one of her drawers and pulled out a large book, setting it down with a thud on her desk.

. ♬ ݁˖ــــــــﮩ٨ـ♪♫♪─•────

The Aftermath

"Hey! Put her down!" Miss Circle yelled as Miss Thavel lifted Claire. Unfazed by her colleague's taller height, Thavel simply smirked at the math teacher.

"She said she wanted to be with me, so I'm just doing as she told."

"Well, I'm not done with her yet."

"What did she do to tick you off so much?" Thavel asked, while Claire clung to her language teacher, knowing she was screwed now that Circle was back to normal.

"She seduced Bloomie in front of me... while I'm still a CAT!"

"That's called flirting. Stop trying to pick a fight," Bloomie interjected as she walked in, her eyes narrowing as she was met with the glowing white eyes of Miss Circle. No doubt, things were about to get heated, and Miss Thavel casually slipped away, taking her favorite student elsewhere.

Chapter Text

𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝙿𝚎𝚝 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝙰𝚄 𝙵𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🍷ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Before Phil passed away, Vivian and Xister were his and Lisira's first daughters. At this time, the girls were only 16. One evening, Vivian had a school ceremony, so Lisira accompanied her, leaving Phil and Xister alone at home. Too lazy to cook, the two decided to go out for dinner.

While they were at the restaurant eating, a random old lady appeared out of nowhere, fixing them with the most judgmental look imaginable. Both Xister and Phil raised their eyebrows as she stopped at their table.

"Isn't he a little old for you?"

What?! Both father and daughter thought in unison. There was no way anyone could mistake them for anything other than father and daughter. Still, given their contrasting appearances—and Xister being Xister—it was just believable enough to explain the misunderstanding.

"Well," Xister began, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "considering he's my dad, I'd say you're a judgmental hag."

Phil choked on his drink, nearly spraying it everywhere, while the old lady's face twisted into an expression of frustration and annoyance.

"You should respect your elders," she snapped, clearly offended.

Without missing a beat, Xister fired back, "And you should respect your youth. We're the ones who'll decide whether or not to pull your plug in like—what? Five weeks?"

Phil nearly choked again, this time doing his best to stifle his laughter. By now, he should have stepped in, but he decided to let his second daughter have her fun. The old lady stormed off in a huff, leaving Phil to finally shoot Xister a disapproving look.

"What?" Xister asked, crossing her arms defensively.

"Come on," Phil replied, leaning back in his chair. "You and I both know it'll be three weeks."

Xister smirked at the acknowledgment and, with a glint of mischief in her eyes, asked, "So can I have some beer?"

Phil chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't tell your mother, then."

────୨🥂ৎ────

Chapter Text

☆ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ⋆౨୧ ‧₊˚ 🍪 ⋅ ☆

It's been a week since Claire moved into the teachers' dorms. The students' dorm for girls was full and not yet available, so Claire had to move into a room where Miss Thavel, Miss Circle, and Miss Bloomie were living.

Fortunately, Claire was currently on good terms with the well-known murderous trio, so she wasn't worried about getting into trouble early. However, she never imagined herself spending time with them.

⋆˚🐾˖°🥮𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒🥮⋆˚🐾˖°

"You damn cat! Let go of the student!" Miss Thavel scolded as she tried to pull a black cat—Miss Circle, who had turned into a cat because she heard Claire liked them. Miss Circle did this to get Claire out of the room, which was why they were in this situation.

Claire stood there, having unwrapped her arms to let Miss Thavel get Cat Circle off her, but the cat clung to her shirt.

"Bloomie, come help me out!" Miss Thavel called as Miss Bloomie, who had just finished grading papers on the dining table, approached.

"Alright," she said, grabbing Cat Circle with both hands. Together with Miss Thavel, they started to pull, but to their dismay, Cat Circle didn't let Claire go.

Claire sighed and whispered to her cat teacher, "Miss Circle, if you let me go, I'll get you a box of Oreos, okay?"

Cat Circle's eyes lit up and, for an instant, she let Claire go. At the same time, both Bloomie and Thavel fell down, surprised by the sudden release, which led to the science teacher and language teacher falling to the floor.

"All you ever think about is food," Miss Thavel grumbled, while Bloomie groaned in annoyance, "Ow..." she muttered. Meanwhile, Claire went to her room for a brief moment and came back with a small box of Oreos as promised.

Cat Circle came running and stopped at Claire's feet. Claire knelt down, took out a pack from the box, opened it, and began to feed the black cat.

Miss Thavel got up from the floor and dusted herself. "You bribed her?!" she exclaimed, bewildered by this turn of events.

"It was the only way to get her to let me go," Claire replied nonchalantly as she continued feeding Cat Circle.

Miss Bloomie got up as well but couldn't help but chuckle. "I can't believe Cat Circle got bribed by a box of Oreos," she remarked with amusement.

Miss Thavel rolled her eyes, still annoyed. "Honestly, I didn't think she'd like your offer that much. Miss Bloomie, stop laughing."

Miss Bloomie tried to rein in her laughter, but a few giggles still escaped. "I'm sorry, it's just too funny!"

Claire raised an eyebrow as her gaze darted between the language teacher and the science teacher. "Why are you so surprised that Miss Circle likes Oreos?"

Miss Thavel crossed her arms and frowned. "She's just obsessed with them," she muttered.

Miss Bloomie agreed, "Yeah, she'd trade anything for a box of Oreos. No joke."

Claire looked at them with a hint of curiosity. "Anything...?" she inquired, her mind already imagining a mischievous idea.

Miss Thavel immediately caught on to Claire's tone and narrowed her eyes. "Claire, don't even think about it."

Miss Bloomie looked at Claire as well, sensing her curiosity. "Wait, what are you planning?"

Claire just smiled as she continued to open another Oreo pack and feed Cat Circle. She said to Miss Thavel and Miss Bloomie, "Since I like cats, I'm going to take her to bed and play with her. After all, I don't mind taking care of one, even if it's just for a day," she explained bluntly. Cat Circle let out a contented hum, clearly indifferent as long as there were Oreos involved.

Miss Thavel and Miss Bloomie exchanged a glance, realizing Claire was up to something.

Miss Thavel crossed her arms and let out a sigh, "Just don't make a mess in there," she warned, while Miss Bloomie chuckled and added, "Yeah, and please bring her back in one piece."

With that, Claire picked up Cat Circle in her arms, and she made her way toward her room. Cat Circle looked back at the science and language teachers with a smug expression, knowing she would have a fun time.

Cat Circle sat comfortably on Claire's lap, purring contently as Claire pat her. Claire couldn't help but let out a small giggle at the cat's adorable behavior. She was already fond of animals, especially cats, and seeing Cat Circle acting all cute made her heart melt a bit.

"You really do like your Oreos, don't you?" Claire teased, opening another pack and offering one to Cat Circle, who happily munched on it.

Cat Circle licked her lips after finishing the Oreo and meowed as if asking for another treat. Claire chuckled and responded, "Greedy kitty."

She decided to make a little game out of it. "I'll give you another one, but you have to work for it," Claire said with a mischievous tone.

Cat Circle's interest piqued, her ears twitching as she waited for instructions.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ɞ˚‧｡⋆

"Remind me again... why are we spying on them?" Bloomie asked, her voice laced with exasperation as she peered down the vent. Despite being a demon, Bloomie had transformed into her "cat" loaf form, much like Miss Circle's usual guise. Beside her, Miss Thavel lounged in her wendigo-inspired loaf form, resembling a compact deer.

At the moment, both teachers were awkwardly crammed in the vents, their loaf forms giving them just enough space to maneuver as they observed Claire and Circle.

"Just watching how Claire handles Aiko," Thavel replied quietly, her tone matter-of-fact.

"What? It's not like they're going to do anything unusu—" Bloomie began but froze mid-sentence.

She stared in stunned silence as Claire gently kissed the cat's forehead and gave its nose a playful bop.

Both of them blinked, their forms still.

"Well, I feel uncomfortable," Bloomie muttered, breaking the silence.

"See?!" Thavel whispered loudly, her voice tinged with vindication.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ✩₊˚.⋆⋆˚🐾˖°⋆⁺₊✧ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Bonus

Art of Claire in this AU, with some pieces hinting at her lore.

Chapter Text

Description

In Teacher's AU, Claire's character is completely different from the canon Claire from FPE, and obviously different from other Claire AUs as well. While they share a few common traits, that's about the extent of their similarities.

Claire is the younger sister of Vivian and Xister. In this AU, Vivian and Xister are not twins. However, Vivian remains the oldest, and Xister is the second oldest this time due to Claire being their younger sister.

At a young age, Claire joined a religious cult serving a goddess named "Sirin." Sirin is a deity associated with monsters, the heavens, and music. There may be more to her, but she isn't well-known unless referred to as 'Choel Dawnlight' (I might share her character info at another time).

To protect her identity after joining the cult, Claire chose another name. By night, she went by 'Adelpha,' while during the day, she lived as a simple girl named 'Claire.' However, on rare occasions, Claire could be seen as 'Adelpha' during the day if necessary.

Appearance

1.1 Real Appearance

Claire stands out because of her unique hair color—long, reddish-brown hair with a lighter gradient at the tips. Her hairstyle features a heart-shaped ahoge on top of her head, along with short black horns. Claire has a curvy figure and striking emerald-green eyes.

She is typically seen wearing dresses, and it's rare to see her in pants or jeans. She favors white dresses with black accents, or sometimes just a simple, plain white dress.

On one occasion, in her 'follower's outfit,' Claire wore a white dress with a simple yet elegant design, featuring puffed sleeves and a fitted bodice. The hemline is slightly jagged, and there's a bow attached to the back of her head. She wore matching high heels, completing the formal attire. Fun fact: This is the only time Claire ever removed her veil as 'Adelpha.'

1.2 Disguise Appearance

Claire's appearance in disguise is similar to her canon FPE version, but she wears plain, simple clothes. Instead of her signature green bow, she wears a blue one to match Xister's eye color.

1.3 Other Form

(Currently working on it.)

Personality

Claire is open and expressive, often greeting everyone with open arms. She has an energetic and cheerful demeanor, to the point where even Xister struggles to keep up with her. Xister often has to resort to drinking or other means to match her energy and vibe.

On the other hand, Oliver and Zip aren't wrong when they call Claire a two-faced (offscreen). Claire can be mischievous when provoked (in a bad way) or pushed in the right way (in a good way). It depends on who she's interacting with.

Keep in mind, Claire isn't as innocent as she may appear.

Claire cares about her friends and loves her family, but sometimes she has to lie to her friends to keep her other identity a secret. Only her family knows about her being 'Adelpha.'

Aphrosia, the Goddess of Love and Sweetness, frequently visits Claire's family as their godmother. Because of this, Claire has spent a lot of time around the embodiment of love herself, learning many things from her.

Additionally, Claire's personality and habits have been shaped by the influence of other gods, likely due to Aphrosia's tendency to take Claire to the Hellenic pantheon.

Trivia

=> In her cult life, Claire serves as both a medic and a mediator. Sometimes, she has to "dirty her hands" when it comes to sacrifices.

=> Eryx knows Claire's other identity and is often there to support her.

=> Claire doesn't know she has an older brother named Andrei. He's a forgotten character, and Vivian and Xister rarely mention him because he's away at war and has not yet returned to Saga Country.

=> If you were to place this AU Claire in any other AU—such as H.V.C AU, SagaVerse, or even the 'Claire, Queen of Skinwalkers' AU—she would likely end the story right there.

=> The Teacher's Pet Claire AU is the only AU that Eryx avoids because this Claire could end him with the help of her own goddess.

=> Claire is stronger than she appears.

=> Claire is a skilled sweet talker and a flirt.

=> Claire despises humans.

Chapter Text

────୨👁️‍🗨️ৎ────

Claire sat with her friends at their usual spot. Bubble, as always, was the group's designated gossip, chatting animatedly while Lana listened with interest. Meanwhile, Abbie and Engel were focused on studying for the next class's test.

"I don't get it—why do people say to me, 'If you're straight, why do you think she's hot?' Like, ugh!" Bubble groaned dramatically, resting her elbows lazily on the table. "And I was like, are you kidding?! I may be straight, but I'm not blind! I know beauty when I see it—especially a hottie." She punctuated her rant with a sip of her iced blueberry drink.

Lana and Claire chuckled at her indignation.

"I totally get that," Claire said, her tone conspiratorial. "Remember Miss Adelpha?"

Bubble and Lana perked up at the name.

"Really?!" Lana asked excitedly. She was a die-hard fan of Miss Adelpha.

Claire nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt but pressing on. "So, one time she came to our school, right? And during her visit, she saw this really hot guy and just casually said, 'Wow, the Goddess must've done an amazing job on that one!'"

Bubble and Lana leaned closer, hanging on every word.

"At the time, I was with Eryx, and we both just stared at her, completely confused. And then, like she realized what she'd just said, she added, 'I'm allowed to look at the menu; I just can't order.'"

"Oh, damn," Bubble said, her eyes wide.

Lana burst out laughing. "Ah, that's my favorite idol for you!"

Out of nowhere, "Hey, guys, wanna come to my house today? My dad won't be home for a while and he'll be back late," Engel chimed, his studying session with Abbie now finished.

"Sure! No big deal." Lana immediately agreed, while Bubble paused, then smiled and nodded.

"I'm coming too," Abbie added. But the four friends noticed how quiet Claire had been, and they looked at her. Claire, realizing she had been zoning out, snapped back to attention and quickly responded.

"Oh, sorry—I was just thinking. As for my answer... sorry, I can't go today. Vivian needs me for her show practice," Claire explained with a small shrug.

"Oh, okay. I mean, it's been a busy week for all of us already," Engel said.

"Yeah, we can respect that," Lana agreed, before noticing someone approaching them. It was Lizzy, one of the popular girls, and her best friend Petunia was nowhere to be seen.

"Lizzy?" Bubble asked.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here to pick up my boyfriend," Lizzy said, placing a hand on Engel's hair. He chuckled sheepishly at the wide-eyed stares from his friends.

"No freaking wayyyy!" Lana gasped, looking from Engel to Lizzy.

"...." Bubble just smiled, but Claire noticed the subtle shift in Bubble's demeanor.

"H-how?" Abbie asked, clearly taken aback.

"Um... it's a long story, actually," Engel replied. "Sorry for not telling you guys sooner, but it's been a busy week, and I just couldn't find the right time."

"Well, I've had enough of surprises," Bubble remarked. It was a good thing she didn't have a face, or else it would've been obvious just how she was feeling.

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

At the train station, Eryx and Claire (not in her disguise form, by the way) were waiting for their train. Claire sighed as she scrolled through the group chat of her friends and fellow followers.

It had been a busy week, and Claire knew she had to set some boundaries in her school life, meaning she wouldn't be able to spend time with her affair partners. Both Eryx and Claire were in their real forms but wore masks and hats to conceal their hair and faces.

Eryx sipped her coffee, leaning against the wall behind them while Claire typed out a few messages. Knowing herself, Claire figured it would be an understatement to say she wouldn't get any sleep once she arrived at the temple. As for Eryx? The skinwalker, ever the curious one, scanned the area and spotted someone familiar.

Huh... is that 'Miss Circle,' the woman Kloera was having an affair with? Eryx thought, skeptical but curious enough to ask Claire.

"Hey, Kloera..."

"Hm?" Claire looked up, noticing Eryx gesturing toward something briefly. Claire's gaze darted to the couple Eryx was referring to, and she realized it was one of her university teachers.

It was Prof. Circle—or Miss Circle, depending on what you called the tall woman. Claire's math teacher stood beside a man who looked strikingly similar to her. If not for his different eye color, many might have mistaken them for siblings. However, the matching golden rings on their fingers and their close proximity made it clear they were a couple.

Claire, unfazed, didn't see the issue. "Oh, that's her and her husband, I guess," she shrugged, returning her attention to her phone.

Eryx, on the other hand, thought differently. "Are you serious—no. Is she... like—cheating on you?"

Claire paused her typing. "...." Her cheating on me? More like she cheated on him with me, Claire thought, chuckling internally before shaking her head.

"Culture differs between yours and mine, Eryx," Claire replied with a small shake of her head. "Plus, what Miss Circle and I have is just an affair. Favors, nothing more," she explained.

Eryx raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. "Really? Goodness... what is society these days?"

"Oh, dear friend, even I have no idea. But in my case, I'm just surviving," Claire remarked, adjusting her hat.

"Oh, right on time!" Eryx grabbed Claire's hand as their train pulled in.

"Yeah, right—right on time," Claire echoed with a smile as Eryx tossed her empty plastic cup into a trash bin, and the two friends slipped onto the train.

On the train ride to their destination, Eryx and Claire took seats facing each other. The train was mostly empty, save for a few others.

As the scenery outside the window whizzed by, a comfortable silence settled between them. Claire resumed chatting with her friends on her phone, while Eryx glanced out the window, occasionally sipping her second cup of coffee.

After a few minutes, Eryx spoke up, her gaze still fixed on the scenery outside. "So, just an affair, huh?" she said casually.

Claire's fingers paused over her phone screen. She met Eryx's gaze.

Claire nodded in response. "Yes," she replied simply.

Noting Claire's noncommittal response, Eryx raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Claire set her phone down, her eyes drifting to the passing scenery outside. "Pretty much, yeah," she said with a shrug. "Miss Circle and I—"

Claire stopped mid-sentence, her lips curving into a smirk. "Well, shall we say, we help each other out. It's purely business, nothing emotional or serious."

"But let's not focus on me, okay?" Claire leaned back. "How's your new job going? I heard from Aunt Dan that you and your mentor are getting along really well." Claire asked. Eryx raised an eyebrow at the mention of her mentor, Reiko.

Eryx leaned back as well, swirling the contents of her coffee cup before taking a sip. "Ah, Reiko... Yes, she and I are getting along famously."

She smiled faintly. "She's quite intense, though. Always pushing me to learn more about our people's history and culture. I have to admit, it's pretty fascinating."

Eryx paused, taking another sip of coffee before adding, "But I think she's secretly a softie, under all that stern demeanor."

"Hm... well, that's new," Claire remarked, leaving Eryx confused until Claire explained. "Reiko tends to be a different person to different people, me included. I guess, since she's your mentor now, she wasn't as talkative as she usually is, right?"

Eryx chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're spot on. Reiko's definitely a different person around you. She never stops talking when you're around." She leaned forward, a playful smile on her lips. "So, spill the beans, Miss Mageiros—what kind of things does Reiko tell you? Any juicy stories about me?"

Claire chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, now we're talking."

»˙✧˖°🚊 ༘ ⋆｡˚»

Meanwhile....

Coincidentally, a group of friends happened to be on the same train as Claire, two of them from the university where she studied. They were unaware they were in the same car. Oliver sat next to Connor, the section they were in was crowded, so Alice and Katie were left standing, holding onto the pole.

Oliver wasn't sure if he should bring it up, but the situation before him made it too obvious to ignore. Deciding to speak up, he asked:

Oliver: Are...

His ex, Alice, had her arm around his older twin sister, Katie's waist. Oliver knew Alice and Katie were childhood friends, and while they were close, this was a little too much. Plus, he only tolerated Alice's presence because Katie still cared for her.

Oliver: Are you two a thing?

Katie: Pfft—no...

Katie quickly denied it, but Alice's arm remained firmly around her waist.

Oliver: But you two are standing really close together.

Katie: What? Allie was just being affectionate.

Connor, observing from across the car, couldn't help but interject.

Connor: ...You have an arm around my Creator's waist.

Alice spoke up, her voice calm.

Alice: We're really close friends, alright?

Connor directed his words at Katie now, raising an eyebrow.

Connor: With all due respect—you have a hand on Alice's ass, Creator.

Katie froze.

Katie: ...

Alice: ...

Oliver: ...

Katie: We're very close friends after all.

Seriously? Both Connor and Oliver thought in unison. Honestly, they were in public, yet the two girls didn't seem to give a damn about it.

Oliver sighed but froze when he noticed a reflection. He quickly turned around and saw Eryx walking past the group, but no one seemed to notice except him. Eryx casually exited the current train they were in and moved to the next section.

Weird. What the fuck is she doing here? Oliver thought.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈˙✧˖°🚉 ༘ ⋆｡˚╰┈➤

At Their Destination..... (Back to Claire and Eryx)

Claire led the way with a brisk pace, Eryx closely following her and taking in the sight of the Hellenics in their everyday attire. The air buzzed with the sound of various languages and conversations.

"So," Eryx said, her voice barely audible over the hustle and bustle, "What's on your schedule?"

"Oh, the usual—cleaning, praying, and accompanying Elaphion with business matters," Claire replied.

"You're not playing the medic this time?" Eryx asked again.

"Nah, no one told me I was needed for that role today," Claire shrugged as they rounded the corner into the alleyway.

They continued on like this for a few more turns until they neared a particular building, tucked deep in the heart of the cult's domain.

Once they reached the building, Claire glanced around, checking if there were any suspicious or unfamiliar faces nearby. The last thing they needed was to be seen by someone they didn't recognize. After confirming their safety, she turned to Eryx.

"Ready?" she asked, her hand on the door.

Eryx nodded, masking her slight nervousness. Despite having been here a few times before she had witnessed Claire in "priestess mode," she wondered what her dear friend was like behind closed doors in her role as the priestess.

"Ready," she assured.

Claire nodded once in response, then pushed open the double oak doors. The doorway led to a grand entrance hall, and as they entered, Eryx took a moment to take in the majestic sight.

The high ceiling was accentuated by polished gold trimming along the edges, and the walls were adorned with intricate carvings and paintings. The air was filled with the scent of burning incense, and the sounds of soft chanting echoed faintly in the distance.

Claire continued onward, her stride confident and purposeful.

Following closely, Eryx tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but it was difficult to keep the awe off her face. She felt as if she'd stepped into another world—one filled with ancient mysticism and powerful energy.

As they made their way deeper into the building, passing by various rooms and corridors, Eryx noticed the glances of several followers. Some nodded respectfully in greeting while others bowed slightly.

"You know, I almost forgot you're in quite an average, decent rank," Eryx said quietly, making sure Claire could hear her words as they stepped into the locker room.

"Well, that's for sure," Claire added with a nod as they pushed the curtains aside and headed to Claire's locker.

Claire quickly dialed her locker combination and retrieved her bag. After briefly checking its contents, she closed it and turned to face Eryx.

"Right, so you know the drill. Go to my office, I'll change here. I'll be there, and we can meet up later," Claire said, slinging the bag over Eryx's shoulder.

Eryx nodded, her gaze briefly darting around the room. She wasn't unfamiliar with Claire changing in front of others, but for a moment, she felt slightly uneasy under the watchful eyes of a few fellow priestesses.

Claire noticed Eryx's hesitation and placed a hand on her shoulder to grab her attention.

"I'll be alright," Claire reassured her.

"You sure?" Eryx asked, her gaze meeting Claire's.

"Positive," Claire said with a reassuring smile. "It's just changing into my outfit, which I've done countless times before. No big deal."

Eryx gave her a subtle nod, taking Claire's words at face value. She had witnessed Claire getting into her priestess attire in the locker room before, but seeing her surrounded by others added a different layer to the situation.

"Alright then," Eryx said, her expression softening. "I'll head to your office then. See you when you're ready."

"See you," Claire said with a small smile as she turned her attention back to her locker.

Eryx, feeling a bit more at ease now that Claire's reassurance, turned and exited the locker room. As the curtain parted and closed behind her, she made her way through the corridor to Claire's office.

After changing into her 'follower/priestess' outfit, Claire completed her look with a veil before leaving the locker room. Upon arriving at her office, Eryx opened the door just before Claire could grab the handle.

"See? I'm back," Claire said, stepping into the room.

"Yeah, I know," Eryx said, closing the door.

Claire quickly realized someone else was in her office. It was Faith, another follower—but not one of Sirin's. Faith was a devoted follower of Jaelasella Laendaerys.

Faith, with her signature veil, looked up from her seat in one of the armchairs and smiled faintly beneath it.

"Back already? That was fast," Faith remarked, patting the seat next to her.

"Faith?! Goodness! I didn't know you were coming to visit." Claire's eyes lit up behind her veil.

"Come, sit. We have a moment to chat before you start your duties."

As for Eryx, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at seeing Faith in Claire's office. It wasn't often they encountered other followers uninvited.

Noticing Claire's slightly surprised reaction, Eryx guessed that Faith's appearance was unexpected, but Claire didn't seem unwelcoming.

Instead, Claire joined Faith in the other armchair, settling in as if they were old friends.

‎‧₊˚✧[Ⓑⓞⓝⓤⓢ]✧˚₊‧

No one knows that every time Bubble was upset, she didn't go to the places everyone would expect a girl to hide. Instead, she simply stepped into her locker and hid there. Usually, no one noticed when she was gone. Hell, Bubble could stay in there all day, but not without texting a lie to her mom, saying she was staying at one of her friends' places. It wasn't exactly always a lie, but guilty as charged, Bubble just needed her own space.

Only Mister Broomire knew about her secret hiding spot. Well, he was the janitor, and he had to clean the whole school anyway. Bubble had always been careful, slipping in and out unnoticed, until one day she made a mistake. He found her during the school's closing hour.

Instead of scolding her, or worse, calling her out, the janitor just acted like he hadn't seen anything. This surprised Bubble, but as confusing as it was, she was relieved that someone didn't care about her presence.

Right now, Bubble was leaving the girls' restroom when she was sure every student had cleared out. She rounded the hallway, glancing over her shoulder every once in a while, checking her surroundings.

Bubble knew things were getting riskier now that Mister Barrel, the school's security guard, had returned to work. She'd have to be extra careful from now on.

She couldn't let anyone know her secret.

Living in this school had its perks—free rent, water, and plenty of opportunities—but there were also the lurking dangers, especially at night. Not that Mister Barrel would allow anything to get in, but still...

Bubble's habit of staying here had only grown now after finding out that Engel and Lizzy were dating. What Bubble hadn't expected was to feel heartbroken. She had a crush on Engel ever since they became closer as friends...

After school, Bubble headed to her locker and closed the door once she was inside. She slipped easily into her hiding spot, using her ability to change her size. Hugging her knees to her chest, she leaned against the small space, silent tears streaming from her eyes. Even without a visible face, you could read Bubble's emotions through her eyes.

Thirty minutes passed before Bubble realized she hadn't heard footsteps approaching. She thought someone was just passing by, but then, a knock came from her locker door.

Confused, she wondered who would be there at this hour. A folded piece of paper slipped through the opening of her locker, catching her attention.

Curious, Bubble grabbed it and unfolded it to find an unexpected message.

"Huh...?"

The message read: "𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓮'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓵𝓎 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶 𝓪 𝓫𝓲𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓦𝓷. 𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓽?"

Bubble knew that handwriting well... It was Zip's. Zip's handwriting was always curvy and unique. Now, Bubble realized that the person on the other side of the locker must be her.

Bubble knew Zip was a troublemaker. She was part of the infamous bully trio along with Oliver and Edward, but Zip had always singled her out. She'd throw crumpled paper, paper airplanes, and mock Bubble endlessly. Lately, however, Zip had been bullying her even more, but whenever she was alone, Bubble noticed Zip pulling out a picture and staring at it. Bubble had no idea what the picture was about.

Bubble debated her options. She knew Zip could be a snitch, and yet... at this point, her chances of staying under the radar were slim. It was either take a gamble or ignore the person outside.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🔓ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zip stood outside, eyes wide, as the locker door suddenly swung open. She took a step back as Bubble emerged.

"You actually came! I'm surprised—"

But Bubble cut her off by pulling Zip into a tight hug. Zip froze, clearly unprepared for this. Before she could speak, Bubble broke into sobs, unable to hold back the flood of emotions anymore.

Zip's eyes went wide. Her mouth opened, but for once in her life, she was speechless.

Bubble... is crying. But... not at me?? Why...?

Feeling awkward and not knowing what to say or do, Zip just stood there, arms flailing a bit.

"Uhh... uhhh... what's w-what's the matter?"

Zip mentally cursed herself, God, I sound like an idiot.

Bubble's tears came down harder, but she managed to speak through sobs. Her words were a mixture of frustration and sadness.

"Engel... He's... He's dating Lizzy."

Zip's expression turned from surprise to realization, and she finally found her voice again.

"Wait... Engel, as in the tall, nerdy guy you've been crushing on?"

Bubble nodded, her voice shaky. "Y-yeah. That's... the one."

Zip, who was used to seeing Bubble with a calm, carefree expression, was caught off guard by her tears.

"Damn, that's tough. First time getting rejected?"

"K-kind of... I didn't get a chance to confess... but honestly, it's probably for the best. I only found out they were dating today." Bubble choked on a sob.

Zip felt a pang of sympathy for Bubble. She never thought seeing her teary-eyed would have this effect on her.

"Damn, that really sucks...." Wait, why am I feeling guilty? I'm not some heartless bully or something...

Zip patted Bubble's back awkwardly, unsure what to do. "There, there... it'll be okay. You'll find someone better."

"R-really?" Bubble asked, her voice hitching with a hiccup.

Zip was taken aback. She wasn't used to seeing Bubble so vulnerable. She wasn't quite sure she liked it, but... she also felt a pang of guilt and a strange flutter in her chest.

"Err..." Zip tried to sound reassuring as she continued patting Bubble's back, which was still shaking from sobs. "Yeah, of course. You'll get over Engel, I promise."

Bubble pulled back a little, looking up at Zip with teary eyes. The sight was both pathetic and... kind of adorable?

Zip pushed that thought away, still trying to focus on comforting Bubble. I can't believe I feel bad for this girl. She's supposed to be my target.

Bubble swallowed another urge to cry, but this time, she felt a sense of relief that Zip wasn't bullying her or judging her. Without warning, Bubble wrapped her arms around Zip's neck, catching the dragon girl off guard. She buried her face against Zip's neck, her voice soft.

"Thank you..."

Zip froze, completely stunned. Bubble's sudden embrace threw her completely off guard.

"Y-you're welcome...?"

Zip was at a total loss for words. Damn. This is weird. I should be making fun of her... not... comforting her. But... she looks so...

Zip's thoughts came to another halt as Bubble's face pressed against her neck. Cute...?

Chapter Text

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

Aftercare, blood (Claire didnt get hurt, don't worry), intruder.

✩₊˚.⋆ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ⋆⁺₊✧

Hours later, Miss Circle, Miss Bloomie, and Miss Thavel were in bed, smoking while Claire laid there, wincing in pain.

"You okay?" One of them asked.

"Is that even a question?" Claire shot back, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

Claire, still recovering from the rough rounds of sex they had shared, lay exhausted, her body covered in bite marks and hickeys.

Miss Circle reached out, gently lifting one of Claire's legs to examine her swollen 'flower'.

"Baby, look at what we've done to you," Ms. Circle murmured, running a delicate finger along the red marks on Claire's inner thigh. "Maybe we were a bit too rough last night..."

"Too rough? You mean like almost breaking my hymen rough?" Claire shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ms. Thavel chuckled darkly, tapping her cigarette ash into a nearby tray. "Well, darling, that's what happens when you take three sadists all at once, masochist." She winked at Claire, her lips curling into a smirk.

Claire rolled her eyes, her tone unamused, "Yeah, yeah. If it weren't for our damn agreement, I'd be calling the damn police."

"We'd like to see you try," Miss Bloomie leaned in beside Claire, poking her nose with a mischievous grin.

"Try?" Claire laughed weakly, trying to sit up but wincing from the movements. "And risk having all three of you actual murderesses stalking me in my dreams at night? No thanks." She looked pointedly at each of their perfect faces and smirked.

"... Besides," Claire continued with a sly grin, adjusting her position gingerly, "who would believe that the university's most respected professors almost literally fucked their star student into submission?" She batted her lashes innocently.

"..."

The room filled with heavy silence for a moment before the three women burst into laughter. Ms. Circle wiped a tear from her eye, "God, you little shit. No wonder we can't get enough of fucking you senseless." She picked up her cigarette and took a long drag.

"Well, I have my ways," Claire giggled, rolling into a sushi roll and curling up with it. "By the way, where's Mister Compass? I thought he said he was staying this weekend."

"Oh, my husband?" Miss Circle replied casually. "Nah, his plans changed at the last moment, so it's just us four in my house."

"His plans changed?" Claire echoed, curiosity lacing her voice as she uncurled herself from the sushi roll and stretched languidly, her body arching like a cat. She laid back down as Miss Bloomie slowly began tracing patterns on Claire's exposed stomach.

"Mhm," Miss Thavel chimed in, grinding her cigarette butt into the ashtray. "Said something about a sudden 'business trip.' But enough about him, sweetheart."

"Business trip, my ass," Claire muttered under her breath, catching each of their amused glances. "Does he know you're all murdering me over here?" She asked sarcastically, wincing slightly as Miss Bloomie's nails traced a particularly sensitive bruise.

"Sweetie," Miss Bloomie whispered seductively, pressing a kiss near Claire's bruise while smirking. "First, we're not murdering you—just... very thoroughly breaking that perfect little body of yours." She glanced at the other two, then back at Claire.

Yeah, they're definitely trying to break me with sex... Claire thought, her expression deadpan.

"You guys are the absolute worst..." Claire muttered, her gaze flicking to the ceiling.

As if on cue, a loud bang echoed from downstairs, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The room fell silent for a moment before Ms. Circle sat up, her expression unreadable. "I think we have a visitor," she said calmly, standing and smoothing out her dress.

Claire perked up, but Miss Bloomie gently pushed her back down into the bed. "Hey, who is that? An intruder?" Claire asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"Shhh," Miss Thavel hushed, quietly retrieving a small black handgun from beneath her pillow. "Probably just some idiot teenage boy trying to steal." She stood up gracefully, motioning for Miss Bloomie to arm herself as well.

Oh damn... Claire thought, observing the two, realizing something—maybe it was a good idea after all to stay on the trio's good side and maintain their acquaintance.

"Bloomie, stay with Claire," Thavel said, her Wendigo form partially showing, antlers sprouting from her head and her clawed hands becoming sharper with every movement.

Bloomie nodded as Thavel left, closing the door behind her. Bloomie locked it before returning to bed and cuddling with Claire. Claire blinked, processing the whole situation. This is definitely not an ordinary day for a sleepover weekend... she thought.

Bloomie wrapped her arms around Claire protectively, a mischievous glint in her eyes despite the tense situation. "Comfy?" she teased softly, squeezing Claire a bit tighter. Below, another crash rang out, followed by a strangled yell that abruptly cut off.

"Yes, but believe me—this is not what I expected for my first time at this house," Claire replied.

Bloomie giggled, burying her face in Claire's hair. "Welcome to the other side of academia, sweetheart—where beauty meets beast... literally." She playfully nipped at Claire's ear just as a triumphant roar echoed from downstairs, followed by Thavel's laughter.

Claire snuggled closer to Bloomie. "Okay, for real... who did you guys piss off to have a freaking enemy breaking into the house?"

"Blame Thavel for that," Bloomie replied with a shrug, pressing a kiss to Claire's cheek.

Ms. Circle re-entered the room, looking completely unfazed. "Well, that was anticlimactic," she sighed, her gaze falling on the cuddling pair on the bed. "Thavel just tossed some idiot thief out the window. Probably broke both his legs." She shrugged as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Claire wasn't sure how to react. Maybe I should start being extra cautious around here... she thought, before letting out a huff of laughter and shaking her head. "Goodness—here I was thinking you guys were up against someone on your level or something."

Miss Circle smirked as she perched on the edge of the bed. "Oh, trust me, most people know better than to mess with us. But every now and then, some fool gets it in their head that they can outsmart the owners of this house."

Thavel entered the room with a satisfied smirk, blood splattered across her face and clothes. "See what I mean? Fucking idiots," she muttered, casually wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Ugh, go take a shower," Miss Circle said, poking one of Thavel's antlers with an irritated expression. "Now I have to clean the damn floor again because you're dripping everywhere."

Claire's eyes narrowed as she glanced at the blood soaking Thavel's clothes. "Was it just one intruder, or did you take on an army?" she asked dryly, her tone half curious, half amused.

She wasn't exactly shocked—after all, Thavel was a Wendigo, a murderer, and a cannibal—but this was by far the most blood Claire had ever seen on her language teacher. Not that she was scared. Claire had seen far worse in her life. Far, far worse.

"Just the one," Thavel replied with a smirk, stepping closer to the bed. "The idiot actually had a knife. Thought he could take on a Wendigo with that." She let out a dark, amused laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity.

Claire raised an eyebrow, suppressing a chuckle. "A knife? Seriously? That's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard for someone breaking into a house. Like—what was his plan? If it were me, I'd do better."

"Of course you would, you little minx." Bloomie grinned, affectionately patting Claire's hair.

Thavel chuckled, her antlers brushing the ceiling as she looked down at Claire. "Yeah, a real genius. Walked into the wrong house with a butter knife like he was going to take on the world." Shaking her head, she made her way toward the bathroom, muttering something under her breath about the audacity of some people.

Miss Circle let out an exasperated sigh, turning to leave the room. "Honestly, who breaks into a house with a butter knife?" she said aloud, more to herself than anyone else. "That thief must've been working with a single brain cell." She headed off to grab a mop, leaving Claire and Bloomie to their amusement.

Claire burst into giggles as she watched Miss Circle march off, shaking her head. Turning back to Bloomie, she couldn't help but grin mischievously. "I mean, seriously, where do they find these idiots? It's almost offensive to criminals everywhere to see such bad decision-making!"

Bloomie snorted, pulling Claire into a playful headlock as she chuckled. "Right? The sheer gall of that dumbass. 'Oh, I'll break into that creepy-ass house with my butter knife!' Idiot." She ruffled Claire's hair affectionately before releasing her.

⋆｡˚ ⋆°•☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ˚｡⋆

Hours later, the afternoon sun streamed through the curtains. Claire napped soundly while Miss Circle graded papers, Miss Thavel focused on online assignments, and Miss Bloomie simply rested beside Claire, content to lounge in the quiet.

Eventually, Circle and Thavel finished their tasks, and both joined Bloomie and Claire on the bed. Within an hour, all four were fast asleep, the room steeped in peaceful silence.

Miss Circle was the first to stir. She sat up, stretching her arms above her head with a wide yawn. Her gaze flicked to Miss Bloomie, curled up against Claire, and then to Miss Thavel, who sprawled lazily across the foot of the bed. "I'm hungry," Circle announced.

Bloomie murmured something unintelligible, her head still nestled on Claire's stomach. "Order pizza," Thavel suggested, rolling onto her back and cracking her neck with a satisfied sigh.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Circle agreed, reaching for her phone. "Extra cheese and pepperoni." She checked on Claire, who remained fast asleep, before placing the order.

With time to kill before the pizza arrived, the trio decided to amuse themselves with a game of truth or dare.

"Truth or dare?" Thavel asked, her sharp grin directed at Bloomie.

"Truth," Bloomie answered, sitting up slightly to meet her gaze.

Thavel's smirk widened. "Alright, who's your favorite to sleep with between the three of us?"

Bloomie snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Honestly? It's a tie between Circle and Thavel. You both are blanket thieves," she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Miss Circle gasped, feigning offense. "Excuse me! I do NOT steal blankets!"

"You absolutely do," Thavel interjected, smirking as she propped herself up on her elbows. "You're practically a human burrito when you sleep."

Bloomie chuckled, leaning back with a playful sigh. "And yet, I still tolerate all of you."

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

Meanwhile...

The so-called 'thief' dragged his feet through the forest, where a certain acquaintance was waiting for him.

"Oh? You made it just in time, Ralph," Armitage, the leader of a mafia group Ralph had connections to, said with a smirk.

"Yeah..." Ralph, the so-called 'expert thief,' let himself fall flat on his face but still managed to hold a camera, offering it to Bullseye.

"Man, they really did a number on you, huh?" Bullseye chuckled while Ralph gave a thumbs-up in return.

"That Wendigo bitch really fucked my legs up..." Ralph groaned in pain.

Armitage waved his hand, and a medic approached to treat Ralph immediately. Bullseye handed the camera to Armitage, whose eyes narrowed as he examined the footage, his expression unreadable.

So that's where you were hiding when you were off-duty, huh...? Armitage thought, his gaze focused on the screen. The picture showed four women on a couch, all affectionately close to one another, but Armitage's attention honed in on the older woman and then on the girl he was seeking.

Claire.

Armitage fought the urge to smile, while Bullseye, who always had a grin on his face, smiled freely as he peered at the image. Not that Armitage would blame him.

"It's a good thing that Eryx bitch forgot everything from the last timeline," Armitage whispered, and Bullseye nodded in agreement.

"At least Mo— I mean, Eukotos is doing fine, even though her life is surely... complicated," Bullseye remarked quietly.

"Honestly..." Armitage trailed off.

Both men broke their gazes when Ralph finally spoke up. "Why did you want me to bring a butter knife of all things?"

"Oh, it's simple. While you could die risking your life for me, the best way to escape is to let your enemy throw you out instead," Armitage explained calmly.

"She could've killed me, honestly..." Ralph muttered, still in disbelief.

Chapter Text

In this AU, I would like to explain a few things about its era. If Valar's still in reign, that means the Dark Age of Gods is continuing. While that happens, more gods will be corrupted. I want to let you know that Valar is the first true evil god because of his crimes, the first deity to violate a goddess, and while his reign continues, other gods will be influenced or affected.

Drakarys is the potential god who aims to take down Valar, so he and Valar are always in conflict. While they're busy fighting, the other gods are left to their own devices. Haena was still weakened and depressed, but not so depressed that she couldn't focus on her children. However, she couldn't do the same for the Hellenic women.

This left Ferelthis, Vilyx, and Xelphina in charge of protecting the Hellenic women. Women weren't able to roam around freely often because of what lurked in the darkness.

Adding fuel to the fire, humans (who weren't even Hellenic to begin with) took advantage of the gods' distraction, trespassing into the territories of the Hellenic countries and trying to invade. It's a good thing the Hellenic country humans still worked together to keep things running, but let's just say it was a mess.

Now, usually, the Hellenic gods would harass or bother women but wouldn't go too far because they knew better. However, in this AU, while the reign of Valar is still ongoing, some corrupted gods (no matter the excuse) start to act on their dark desires and impulses.

・・・・・

Content Warning: This scene contains themes of sexual harassment, violation, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Setia covered her mouth, struggling to hold her breath as she sensed the presence creeping past the pillar. She knew it was futile to hide, but it was better to run than face the harrowing alternative... or worse.

"Setia..."

Her eyes snapped shut as she tried to push the sickening voice from her mind. She prayed that Lisira would return to the temple soon—pray that her goddess would arrive before she had to deal with that bastard again.

The way he spoke her name—the audacity—it burned. She hated it. Even the country she lived in couldn't protect its women from the corruption of the gods. She shut her eyes tighter, squeezing her memories for warmth and comfort. She had to stay strong. Positivity, think positively. She fought to keep herself from trembling, even as her heartbeat hammered painfully in her chest.

No. No... not again.

She tried to summon Lisira—her only sanctuary. Her goddess had taken her in, shielding her after Setia fled the nightmare of Poseidonios' touch. Lisira had offered protection, security. She'd promised Setia that she would never have to face that darkness again—that she could remain safe, far from his cruelty and twisted desires.

But Poseidonios was always there. Always lurking.

Lisira... please. It's just me in the temple... Setia's thoughts were frantic, a silent plea. She prayed her goddess wasn't in trouble. If Lisira was delayed... it would be a lose-lose situation. Lisira wasn't a full goddess after all—just a demi-goddess. What if she couldn't protect Setia this time?

Her heart thundered as she heard the soft, deliberate footsteps drawing closer. The sound reverberated through the otherwise silent temple. He was close now. She could feel his gaze, burning through her like a predator hunting its prey.

"I've missed you, Setia..." His voice was low and dangerous, like the threat of a storm. There was a malicious undertone to his words that made her stomach turn.

Setia forced herself to breathe steadily, clutching the cool marble of the pillar as though it could anchor her. She had to endure this. She had to stay strong.

She clenched her jaw, willing her body to remain calm.

But the memories came flooding back—memories of the time before she had become Lisira's devoted follower, of that horrible day when Poseidonios violated her when she was still a maiden, naive and unprotected. His vile hands, his harsh words, the way he stole everything from her... He had taken her innocence with the force of a god's desire. And now, even within the sanctuary of this temple, she was not free.

"I didn't mean to leave you so soon," Poseidonios continued, his voice drawing nearer, thick with amusement and malice. "I've been waiting, Setia. Waiting for you to come back to me."

Her pulse quickened, and her body betrayed her—fear flaring within her despite her desperate attempts to stay composed. But she couldn't let him see it. She couldn't show him weakness.

"Oh, there you are."

Setia froze, her breath caught in her throat as she glanced over her shoulder. The instinct to scream was overwhelming, but she forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Without hesitation, she turned and ran.

"Oh, are we playing cat and mouse chase? That's fun, Sia."

He chuckled, the sound chasing her footsteps through the temple. She rushed through the corridors, her body trembling with each breath. She could hear him following behind her—his footsteps steady, slow, and deliberate. He was toying with her, she knew.

Setia darted between columns—anything to try and shake him from her trail. She had to get out, get somewhere safe. She had to reach Lisira—and fast.

But he was closing in, stalking her as a wolf in the woods. She knew all too well he was faster than he looked.

"Leave me alone!" Setia exclaimed as she rounded to the left. She knew it was fruitless to yell, but she needed to attract attention.

I need to leave this temple...! Setia thought to herself.

"Why are you running, silly little Setia?" He called after her. "There's nowhere to hide. Come on, I just want to talk."

His words were a taunt, and his voice was dripping with sinister honey. He was still following, his footsteps quickening. She could hear the smirk in his tone as though he was relishing the thrill of the chase.

Setia's mind raced. She clenched her fists, desperately trying to think of how to escape—how to reach the exit without him grabbing her. She couldn't let him... she wouldn't let him... not ever again.

She ducked through a doorway, her muscles screaming from the strain of the chase as she rushed to close the door behind her, pressing herself against the cold stone wall. Please... Please don't let him hear me...

But she barely had a moment to catch her breath when she heard his footsteps stop just outside the door.

"There you are," he called out, his voice carrying a chilling edge, dripping with anticipation. "Again. I knew you were in there. You can't escape me, Setia."

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a frantic drum. She moved, her body moving faster than her mind could follow, but just as she reached the far side of the room—

The door slammed open.

A hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, cold and unrelenting.

The temple echoed with a single, gut-wrenching scream.

━━━

"Ugh, I don't get why Shapely had to leave at the last moment."

"Well, Lisira was probably in danger since he left with just a note."

"Are you sure this is the right temple? It looks like no one's been here—"

The Craftsman, along with her fellow scavengers, froze at the sound of a scream.

Chapter Text

"Lisira..."

"P—Phil..." Lisira whispered, her voice trembling. She thought she'd never see her lover again, not after his soul was lost somewhere in the endless expanse of existence.

"My love..." His voice felt so near yet so far, as if he were standing just out of reach. Lisira stretched out her hand, desperate to close the distance between them, but no matter how hard she tried, it was as though an invisible barrier held her back.

"Wake up."

"Huh...?"

"Wake up, Li. They're undressing you. You need to wake up now!" His voice, firm yet laced with urgency, broke through the fog of her dream.

Lisira's eyes widened as realization hit her.

"...What?—"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Lisira.

A whisper, low and cautious.

Lisira stirred faintly. She couldn't tell how she was hearing it, but the voices... they sounded different.

Wait—

...her voices?

LISIRA!

The sudden, deafening roar tore through her mind.

Haeven: "Get up! They're touching you—"

Bane: "You're going to regret this moment if you don't move now."

Smoother: "Move, Lisira! Do you want to wake up too late?"

What? Her foggy thoughts tried to piece it together, but something sharp, something cold brushed against her skin. Cold press of fingers made her blood run cold-

Spark: "They're grabbing your straps! DO SOMETHING!"

Her body moved instinctively. A hand shot out, clawing at the predator's neck. Lisira's nails sank deep into their flesh, her power sparking to life. The familiar hue rippled through her fingertips before erupting in a violent explosion.

Lisira's eyes flew open, her breath ragged and uneven. Her chest heaved as the weight of what had just happened crashed into her. Pain radiated from her limbs, and her memories slammed into her like a tidal wave.

She remembered...

Patrolling her territory. Greeting her maidens. Returning to her temple.

And then—

Her jaw tightened as her voices erupted again, a chaotic tangle of emotions.

Haeven: "You almost let them take you!"

Bane: "Weakness isn't an excuse, Lisira."

Surge: "You're alive because of us. Don't forget that."

"Gods, tone it down!" Lisira snapped aloud, clutching her head. The headache was blinding, the yelling, shouting, and chaotic clamor making her temples throb.

Aegis: "You're still vulnerable. You need to—"

Bane: "Stop yelling at us and figure out where you are!"

She forced herself to stand, shakily at first, but her awareness sharpened as her voices argued among themselves.

Spark: "See? She's standing. I told you she'd recover."

Haeven: "Barely. She's still a mess."

Aegis: "We're not the problem. The problem is that you froze."

Spark: "She didn't freeze; she fought back. Barely, though."

Their bickering was cut off by Lisira's quick reaction—a roll to the side as a spear flew past her, embedding itself into the ground with a metallic clang.

She froze when the sickening crack of bones filled the air, followed by screams. Her head jerked toward the noise, her heart pounding.

"Shapely...?"

Her voice was weak, almost disbelieving.

There he was, her friend, standing amidst the carnage. Dead bodies surrounded him, though his own hands and body were spotless, as if untouched by the blood-soaked chaos. Yet his twitching fingers and glowing red eyes told a different story.

"Ah, I see you can still handle yourself," Shapely said, his tone unnervingly calm.

Lisira's gaze darted around, taking in the blood-soaked scene and shattered remains of her temple. Her mind pieced the fragments together.

"...Fuck."

Bane: "Language. Really fitting for a goddess."

Haeven: "Now isn't the time for sarcasm, Bane."

Surge: "She's allowed to curse. Did you see what just happened?!"

Spark: "You're alive. That's something."

Haeven: "Shut up, all of you. Let her think."

Lisira ignored them as much as she could. The memories solidified—Nykolas. His gang. The ambush. The overwhelming numbers.

The humiliation of waking up just in time to stop only man.

She hated being weak. And yet here she was, forced to wake up just before they could... she shuddered at the thought.

Aegis: "You fought. You didn't let them take anything from you."

Bane: "Barely. She was knocked out cold before we—"

Aegis: "They didn't take anything from HER."

Surge: "But they came close. Too close."

"Shut up," Lisira muttered under her breath.

"Oh, language there, Li," Shapely's voice broke through her thoughts, teasing but distant. Before she realized it, he was at her side, extending a hand.

She flinched instinctively but accepted it, her fingers trembling as he helped her to her feet. She hugged herself, her arms crossing tightly over her torn clothing, shielding what was left of her dignity.

Her voices, though unseen, could occasionally manifest as shadows within Lisira's vision, appearing as illusions only when they chose to take form. Her torn, disheveled clothing, bruises, and scratches painted a grim picture.

Spark: "You look like hell."

Haeven: "Helpful. Really helpful."

"Thanks," Lisira muttered sarcastically at the voices before shaking her head to refocus.

"I'm sorry for not coming in time," Shapely said, his words snapping her back to the moment.

"...It's okay," Lisira replied quietly, though the strain in her voice betrayed her words. She didn't believe them.

Bane: "You don't believe that."

Spark: "He did come. And she's not dead, thanks to HIM."

Haeven: "Let her breathe, for once."

Aegis:  "He could see it."

Shapely had known Lisira long enough to see it.

The shame and exhaustion radiating from her like a physical aura. The way she held herself, half-drained of her usual confidence and strength. The faint quaver in her voice that betrayed the trauma and violation she'd endured at the hands of Nykolas.

His eyes scanned her body, noting the new scars and lacerations. Her clothing...what was left of it...was torn and shredded almost beyond recognition. His grip on her hand tightened slightly.

Without another word, Shapely draped a black jacket over her shoulders, the gesture an unspoken offer of comfort.

"Thanks," Lisira murmured again, her voice softer this time. She pulled the jacket tightly around her, shielding herself both physically and emotionally as she tried to drown out the storm of voices still buzzing in her head.

Surge: "You survived. That's what matters."

Aegis: "But she needs to rest. She's drained."

Bane: "Rest later. Nykolas might still be out there."

Lisira closed her eyes and took a slow breath, grounding herself. "One thing at a time," she muttered, silencing them all for the moment.

"I guess I almost broke my promise to your late husband, didn't I—"

Lisira cut him off with a gentle nudge to his waist. "Don't blame yourself. You came, and that's what matters," she said with a sigh.

Despite her reassuring words, he could still hear the undertone to them—the subtle hint of disappointment in her own weakness and the fact she'd needed to be saved. He knew her too well for the signs to escape his attention.

Spark: "Oh, look at her. Pretending to be fine, while inside she's screaming for help. How cute."

Haeven: "She's just trying to protect him. She doesn't want him to feel guilty. But it's her own guilt, isn't it?"

Bane: "It's pathetic. Always pretending like she doesn't need anyone."

He let out a soft scoff, but it held no real fire. "What, do I get a medal for showing up?" he quipped, his attempt at humor tinged with a touch of defensiveness.

"Well, I could bake a cosmic cake afterward," Lisira forced a smile, her tone not matching the effort to hide her exhaustion.

Spark: "Cosmic cake? As if that'll fix anything. She can't even keep it together long enough to make a joke without breaking."

Haeven: "Let her be. She's trying. Can't you see it?"

Bane: "Trying. How endearing. She's still bleeding out, but sure, let's focus on the cake."

He watched as she pulled the collar of the jacket up around her chin, almost as if it could shield her from the weight of what happened.

His gaze wandered again, taking in the extent of her injuries. Her skin was littered with various scratches and cuts—minor, mostly superficial, but some deeper. His eyes lingered on a particularly nasty gash at the side of her torso, a small trickle of blood still seeping from it.

He reached out again, his hand hovering near the wound almost hesitantly. "You should let me take a look at that."

Bane: "Look at that. It's right there, bleeding. You'd think she'd just let him help."

Lisira's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's nothing," she protested, waving him off with a casualness that didn't fool him for a second.

Haeven: "It's not nothing, Lisira. You're falling apart, can't you see?"

Spark: "She's just running on fumes. Not even trying to hide it."

Her voices, however, had no such inclination to lie.

Haeven: "She's tired, Shapely."

Spark: "She needs rest. Don't push her."

Bane: "She's bleeding, for gods' sake."

Lisira ignored them, pressing the thoughts deep down. She didn't have time for their venom right now.

Chapter Text

†ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆「 ✦ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 ✦ 」⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ†

(Vivian is 18, Xister is 16, and Claire is five)

Claire sat at the table, the atmosphere both awkward and solemn. Her mother wasn't in the mood to touch the food, and Xister and Vivian were eating quietly, having purposely starved themselves just for this event. After all, who wouldn't? This was the funeral of the king of their kingdom.

The kingdom had begun to rebuild itself after the queen declared it an empire. The change was sudden, but it was considered necessary for the greater good—or so Yuko Suzuki, the queen herself, had said.

Yuko, Lisira's sister and the aunt of her three daughters, was busy elsewhere. Claire couldn't bring herself to eat, the tension in the room making it nearly impossible to swallow.

"Kloera?"

Claire glanced at her older sister, Vivian.

"...Yes?" Claire replied.

"Not hungry?" Vivian asked. There was no need for a complete sentence; Claire understood what Vivian meant.

Claire simply nodded. The three girls stiffened when their mother gracefully set her fork down, the sound loud enough to draw their attention.

"Your father is coming over. I'll be right back, okay?" Lisira said as she slowly stood up. Vivian and Xister exchanged glances, but their mother's words proved true—Phil, their father, was approaching the table. Claire suddenly stood as well.

"Mom. Let me assist you too—"

But Vivian pulled her younger sister back into her seat, much to Claire's confusion.

"Wait here," Vivian instructed.

"But, I—"

"Claire. Stay here." Xister echoed. Her voice was stern, leaving no room for disobedience.

Claire huffed and crossed her arms, her small, childlike face scrunched up in a pout. While she hated being told what to do, as any child would, she knew better than to disobey her older sisters. She remained in her seat, though she was practically vibrating with curiosity.

Xister and Vivian watched their mother and father talk just out of earshot for several minutes, both of them clearly on edge. Then, their father turned and started walking in their direction.

"Good evening, girls," Phil greeted, a strained smile on his face as he neared the table. "Having a nice time?"

Xister and Vivian both smiled back, though neither said anything in response. There was no need to force polite conversation, especially at a funeral such as this. Claire, on the other hand, had a different demeanor as she fidgeted in her seat. Her father's eyes landed on her, his smile softening slightly.

"Claire, how are you feeling?" Phil asked, though the underlying tone of his voice told the girls he already knew the answer.

Claire's eyes were downcast as she picked at her nails. "I'm hungry." she muttered.

Phil let out a soft chuckle. "Is that so? You should eat, then." he said, gently tousling her hair.

Claire swatted his hand away, and Xister quietly snickered into her palm. Phil shook his head with an amused smile, before his expression slowly turned serious. The girls' attention was fully on him, their shoulders straightening.

Phil glanced around to make sure no one else was listening before he spoke again. "Listen, girls. I have something important to tell you."

Both Xister and Vivian leaned forward in anticipation, while Claire mirrored her sisters. All three pairs of eyes watched and waited for him to continue.

Phil paused, his expression calm yet serious, as if carefully weighing his next words. He glanced at each of his daughters in turn, his piercing gaze softening but still firm, the way it always did when he was about to say something important.

"Your mother and I have been talking..." he began, crossing his arms in his usual no-nonsense way. "And we've decided it's time for you three to start a new life."

"New life?" Vivian asked, her voice soft but tinged with quiet apprehension, mindful of their surroundings.

Phil gave her a nod, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice, his tone steady and deliberate. "Your mother and I will leave at night. Promise me you'll keep this between us. Don't let your aunt find out, okay? This is important."

His gaze locked on each of them again, silently ensuring they understood the gravity of his words. It wasn't just a request—it was a firm instruction laced with the protective authority that defined him.

Xister and Vivian stared in wide-eyed silence, their hands clenching in their laps. Claire's eyes went wide, the young girl looking completely lost and confused as she clung to every word.

Phil's gaze lingered on the wide-eyed, younger girl. A brief flicker of guilt crossed his face when he saw the worry in her eyes. He inhaled deeply, releasing a weary sigh before continuing.

"Claire, sweetheart," he said, his tone gentler. "You know we're going on a trip, right?"

Claire looked between her father and sisters, her small face twisted in a mix of confusion and worry. It wasn't often that their father called her "sweetheart", and the seriousness in his voice was making her nervous.

She nodded, her voice small as she spoke. "Yes, daddy."

Phil offered a small, reassuring smile before gently patting his younger daughter's hair. "I'm sorry this is so sudden, but with your uncle's funeral... I don't think we'll have much time."

He shifted his gaze to Vivian and Xister, his tone firm yet caring. "Make sure to stick together and keep your sister close. And whatever happens, don't let her get near your aunt, okay?"

Xister and Vivian were both silent as they absorbed their father's words, the weight of the situation making the air feel heavy. Xister nodded, her face stoic, while Vivian's held that same look of worried anticipation. But at her father's mention of their aunt, a flicker of fear crossed her features.

"Aunt Yuko?" Vivian whispered.

"I'll explain once—"

Their hushed conversation was cut short by the sudden arrival of a frantic maid. Phil turned just in time, while Xister and Vivian leaned back in their chairs, feigning innocence. No one paid much attention to Claire—she was just a child, an unassuming presence amidst the tension.

"Do you need something, miss?" Phil asked, his tone calm despite the interruption.

The maid nodded hastily, her voice trembling as she delivered the news. "Y-your wife somehow had a meltdown inside the palace."

Phil froze, his eyes widening as his shoulders instinctively squared. His daughters mirrored his shock, though unlike them, he acted quickly. Muttering a terse "Excuse me," he spared a fleeting glance at his children before sprinting off without another word.

The moment he vanished from sight, Vivian and Xister's heads snapped to each other, their eyes wide.

"Do you think..?" Vivian began, her voice shaky.

"Probably," Xister cut her off.

Their eyes darted to Claire, the youngest girl completely oblivious, her gaze now focused on the commotion at the front of the room. Xister grimaced, her mind racing as she tried to come up with a plan.

⊹₊⟡⋆─── ⋆⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆☪︎⋆⭒˚.⋆⋅⋆ ──⊹₊⟡⋆

After dinner, Vivian and Xister busied themselves packing their belongings in their room. Fortunately, they hadn't brought much, so it didn't take long to organize. Meanwhile, Claire lingered near the doorway, peeking into the hallway while still staying within the room with her older siblings.

"You sure this has to do with our aunt?" Xister asked, glancing at Vivian as she folded a jacket.

"Who else could it be?" Vivian replied, her hands slightly trembling as she carefully packed a book into a trunk. "Dad looked really worried. And you know Aunt Yuko has issues."

"Well, considering our uncle died so suddenly... could she be involved?" Xister asked, zipping up the suitcase.

"I doubt it," Vivian replied, shaking her head. "Our aunt and uncle were madly in love. I don't think she'd kill someone she was so obsessed with."

"But she's obsessed." Xister countered, sitting down on her bed. "You've seen how intense she gets when she's angry."

Vivian paused, biting her lip. She couldn't deny that. Everyone in the kingdom knew about Yuko's emotional outbursts and how she could act impulsively when provoked.

"I guess you have a point," she finally admitted, moving on to packing some clothes.

While the two were talking, Claire suddenly spoke up, "Hey, guys, can I go to the bathroom real quick?" she asked.

Xister and Vivian paused their conversation, looking at Claire, their minds occupied with thoughts of their family drama.

"Yeah, go ahead," Vivian said after a moment of consideration. "Just stay in the room, alright? Don't go out into the hallway."

Claire scrunched up her face, crossing her arms. "I'm just going to the bathroom, not on an adventure," she protested.

Xister chuckled and gave her sister a playful poke. "We know, we just don't want you to wander off. Or worse, run into Aunt Yuko."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽⋆.˚✮୨ৎ✮˚.⋆☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Stepping out of the bathroom, Claire frowned at the inconvenience of having the bathrooms separate from the bedrooms. Still, this was the closest one she could find after Vivian and Xister had allowed her to leave.

As Claire started heading back, she heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Instinctively, she ducked behind the bathroom door, pressing her ear against the doorframe. At first, she thought it might be someone important, only to realize it was just the palace maids. Despite that, Claire made no move to step out.

The maids chatted and gossiped, their voices ringing down the hall. One was complaining about the amount of work she had to do, while the other listened with sympathetic complaints of her own. Their conversation soon shifted to something more personal.

"Did you hear?" one asked.

"Hear what?" the other replied, sounding both intrigued and annoyed.

The first maid huffed and leaned against the wall. "About the queen. Apparently, she started a big scene in the palace."

The second maid gasped, her eyes widening. "What? Did she have another mood swing?"

"It's not just a mood swing. I heard she ordered the guards to launch a full-blown investigation after her older sister had a complete mental breakdown," the first maid confided in a hushed tone. "Apparently, she was screaming and ranting for who knows how long, or so the guards said."

"You mean the older sis—"

"No! It's the queen. She's so furious she doesn't even care how shameless she looks."

The second maid's eyes went even wider, a look of disbelief on her face. "Really? I've never seen her get like that before..." she mused aloud.

"Me neither," the first sighed, shaking her head. "Looks like our queen finally lost it after everything that's happened lately."

Huh, Aunt Yuko wasn't so bad... did she do something bad to Dad? Claire wondered, her thoughts trailing as she listened to the maids talk about her aunt. Yuko didn't seem so bad—what's the problem?

"Hey, do you know why the queen's older sister had a mental breakdown?" the first maid asked the second, her voice dropping slightly.

The second maid clicked her tongue, her expression solemn.

"You think I really don't know? Well, the official statement was that she had a bit of a... 'freak out'." She made air quotes with her fingers. "But the truth is, she just lost it. It wasn't just a little meltdown—the queen apparently found her screaming and crying like a lunatic."

"Are you sure? I mean, I doubt she was just crying and screaming without reason. But in my opinion, that's not the full truth—meltdowns happen differently for everyone."

"Oh? Then what's your theory, miss genius?"

"Hey, I studied psychology at university before I graduated. But back to what I was saying—" The maid paused, her voice trailing off. On the other side of the door, Claire raised an eyebrow at the sudden silence.

"I heard from the other maids... Leiah instigated them to gang up on the queen's older sister. No one else knows yet, but I overheard it myself from the maids."

The first maid sucked in a breath, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

"You don't mean the head maid, do you?"

The second maid nodded, crossing her arms. Her voice remained hushed, yet firm. "Yes. Leiah has been targeting the queen's older sister for a while now, even going as far as rallying the other maids to provoke her. The queen had no idea, because the queen's older sister was too nice to even tell her about it."

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, Claire froze, taking in every word of the conversation between the two maids. They did what to Mom...?

The first maid shook her head, disbelief etched across her face. "But why? What could possibly make them do something so cruel?"

The second maid rolled her eyes. "If I had to guess? I think she's jealous. The queen's older sister is just too perfect, you see. Never loses her cool, never fails in her duties, the queen's most trusted advisor... I bet Leiah can't stand being outshined by her."

Claire had heard enough.

Purposefully, Claire drummed her fingers against the nearby wall, making a noise loud enough to alert the maids. Realizing someone was in the bathroom, they quickly left before Claire could exit.

What the hell did I just hear? Claire thought to herself as the sound of their footsteps faded down the hall. They did what to my mom? That's not right—

Unsettled and lost in her thoughts, Claire stepped out of the bathroom and began making her way back to the room, a million questions swirling in her head.

Claire knew she was just a young girl and couldn't do much with all the information swirling in her mind, but then again—

... How could she call herself her mother's daughter if her mother had been suffering in the palace all this time?

No wonder Dad wanted us to leave... Claire started walking, but her thoughts continued to race.

Claire's heart began pounding faster, and she leaned forward slightly to eavesdrop. The two people—her Aunt Yuko and an unknown, slender person—continued walking, seemingly immersed in their conversation.

"Can you believe that bastard has the audacity to leave the country for two months?" Aunt Yuko grumbled.

"Who are you talking about...?" The small, slender person asked. Her tone was cautious, as if anticipating another one of Aunt Yuko's mood swings.

"Who do you think?" Aunt Yuko snapped. "My stupid brother in law."

⋆˚࿔ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ*ੈ✩‧₊˚ɞ˚‧｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

"..."

How could she... Claire thought, feeling overwhelmed. She couldn't take it anymore—hiding and eavesdropping. What was she even supposed to do with all this information, all at once?

"Aunt Yuko."

Claire's voice caught Yuko's and the other person's attention. Both were taken aback by her sudden appearance.

"Kloera?"

"Auntie..."

"What are you doing here?" Yuko stepped forward, her presence towering over Claire as she stood still, frozen.

Claire swallowed, her heart in her throat, but she stood her ground. She had to stay strong and confront her aunt, no matter how anxious she felt.

"Aunt Yuko... do you hate Mom?" Claire blurted out.

The question hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Yuko's expression hardened, while the person behind her watched with wide, worried eyes.

"I see you overheard my conversation," Yuko said, her voice steady. "But to clear up the misunderstanding, I hate your father, not your mother."

Claire felt her breath catch in her throat. The revelation that Aunt Yuko only hated her father and not her mother filled her with a mix of confusion and relief.

"But why?" Claire pressed. "What did Dad do?"

Yuko rolled her eyes, her expression twisted with annoyance, as though the answer should have been obvious.

"That man is irresponsible," Yuko retorted. "He's always leaving the country, thinking he can just drag his family along—your mother included. But I can't allow that..."

"I know why Mom had a breakdown today," Claire cut in.

"...?" Yuko raised an eyebrow, while the person behind her gasped at Claire's boldness.

Claire met Yuko's gaze, her own eyes burning with a mixture of anger and determination.

"It's because of you," Claire accused, her voice steady and unwavering. "And the other maids. You're targeting her, aren't you?"

Taken aback by Claire's accusation, Yuko's expression darkened. The person behind her quickly spoke up, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Wait, what are you saying—"

"Quiet!" Yuko snapped, silencing them. She turned back to Claire, her voice low but cutting. "You've got my full attention now."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚────✧₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊✧────*ੈ✩‧₊˚

In the room, Xister and Vivian remained unaware of what their younger sister had overheard or what she had been doing. Xister lay on her bed, skimming through a book to pass the time, while Vivian sorted her belongings into a suitcase.

A few moments later, the door creaked open, signaling Claire's return to their shared room.

Xister tossed the book aside and jumped off the bed. "What took you so long?"

"...I saw Aunt Yuko, so I tried to avoid her the best I could."

That's all Claire said, but it was a lie—one no one questioned, as they assumed it was just a harmless excuse from a young girl.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥....⋆.˚ 𓇼

"Keep watch of her," Yuko instructed the servant, her tone commanding total obedience. The servant meekly nodded as Yuko spun around and strode off down the stairs to address the maid, leaving Claire with the other servant.

"You there."

The head maid, Leiah, flinched at the voice of her queen. Both Claire and the servant braced themselves, knowing Yuko was infamous for having no regard for the supposed dignity of royalty—or even nobility.

"Why aren't you answering, peasant? Can't you hear your Empress?" Yuko sneered.

Oh yeah... Aunt Yuko declared her kingdom as an empire now, Claire thought, watching the scene unfold.

Leiah bowed deeply, her voice laced with faux humility.

"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. How may I serve you?"

Yuko took a step closer, her gaze cold and unwavering.

"Cut the crap, Leiah," Yuko snapped. "You know exactly why I'm here. You've been tormenting my older sister, haven't you?"

Leiah's eyes widened, but she quickly regained her composure and feigned innocence.

"Whatever do you mean, Your Imperial Majesty?" Leiah inquired with a forced smile.

Yuko's gaze darkened, sensing the maid's attempt to manipulate her.

"Don't play stupid with me," Yuko hissed. "I know what you've been doing all this time, stirring up trouble and creating problems for my sister. All of it has been under your command, hasn't it?"

Leiah's face paled, but she kept her composure.

That was Leiah's mistake, though it was already a lose-lose situation for her. Yuko despised those who remained composed in such situations, especially when they were in the wrong.

"During the funeral, you dare to instigate the maids to gang up on my sister, the Lady of House Eukotos, and treat her so rudely."

The words struck a nerve with the head maid.

"Why, I don't know what you're talking abo—"

"Silence."

Leiah froze in place, her gaze flickering with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"That woman," Yuko continued, her voice dropping to a low, menacing tone, "is the one who holds the empire together in her hands, the true brain of the kingdom. Other than me. She does everything my husband can't, and more. What, pray tell, gives you the right to humiliate her like she's some common servant?"

Leiah's false pleasant demeanor began to crumble. Her gaze averted from Yuko's, and her hands trembled as she tried to maintain composure.

Seeing this, Yuko's lips curled into a cold smile. She seized Leiah's chin, forcibly lifting her head to meet her gaze.

"But maybe," Yuko continued, her words dripping with mockery, "it's a real honor... Leiah." Her eyes darkened, the sclera slowly turning pitch black. The glow of her icy blue irises burned brighter, illuminating the growing shadows on her face. She leaned in close, her breath chilling the space between them as she whispered:

"Because finally, I get to have something to put in my mouth."

Leiah's composure shattered. She flinched, her body stiff as if Yuko's words had frozen her in place. The unsettling glow of Yuko's eyes seemed to pierce straight into her soul, dragging her into a void where all pretense of control had slipped away.

"Now, answer me."

Yuko's voice echoed through the hallway, demanding an answer from the trembling Leiah. The air was thick with tension as Leiah struggled to find her voice, her mind reeling from Yuko's menacing presence.

"I-i-it's not like that, Your Imperial Majesty," Leiah finally managed to stutter out.

"Oh, no?" Yuko's grip on Leiah's chin tightened, her fingers turning a pale white. "Then what is it like?"

Leiah let out a shaky exhale, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I-"

Suddenly, Yuko yanked her forward, the movement sharp and forceful. Leiah stumbled, but Yuko's hold prevented her from falling. The two faces were so close now, that Yuko's breath grazed Leiah's skin as she whispered, her voice cold and unwavering.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Yuko's eyes bore into Leiah's, their icy stare sending a chill down the head maid's spine. She froze, her heart skipping a beat, as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Answer me!" Yuko demanded again, her voice ringing in Leiah's ears. The atmosphere was so heavy, it felt like the entire hallway was closing in on them.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I-" Leiah faltered, her tongue tied by fear and the intensity of the situation.

"Save your lies," Yuko cut in, her voice cold and cutting. "I know exactly what you've been up to. You think I haven't been keeping an eye on you?"

Leiah's face paled, her facade of innocence crumbling under Yuko's scrutiny. She tried to speak, to deny the charges, but the words stuck in her throat.

Well, that's a lie for that part, Claire thought, observing the scene unfold. She was surprised at herself for actually watching the display, especially when the person holding her didn't seem to want to be a part of it. Then, Yuko suddenly snapped her fingers twice—an unusual gesture that Claire rarely saw from her. Within moments, two maids appeared.

"....I believe a punishment should be dealt now and here," Yuko declared.

The two newly arrived maids stepped forward, their expressions betraying a mix of anticipation and unease.

Leiah's eyes widened as she watched them approach, her body seizing with dread. She tried to back away, but Yuko's grip on her chin kept her from moving. The two maids, at Yuko's command, seized Leiah's arms and held her in place.

Yuko stepped back, her gaze hard and unyielding as she looked at Leiah. The two maids struggled to keep the head maid in place, who was trying her best to pull away.

"You've grown bold," Yuko said slowly, her voice dripping with venom. "You've forgotten your place—forgotten who you serve."

Leiah shook her head, her body trembling in the grasp of the maids. "Please, Your Imperial Majesty, have mercy..."

"Mercy?" Yuko pulled a bottle from her dress pocket—something Claire had never seen before.

"Mercy?" Yuko repeated, uncapping the bottle and approaching the head maid. "I was tempted to do it my way, but then again..." Her gaze shifted to Claire and the servant behind them. "I can't traumatize my niece further."

"Your—" The maid gagged as Yuko shoved the bottle to Leiah's mouth, forcing the unfamiliar liquid down her throat. "It's acid, by the way..." Yuko sneered with a cruel smirk.

As Leiah's body trembled with pain, Claire watched in horror as the acid took effect. The maid's face contorted in agony, her skin bubbling and burning as the liquid ate away at her flesh.

Even though Leiah deserved it, the fact that Claire had to witness such a thing wasn't fitting for a five-year-old. Yet, Claire couldn't bring herself to look away, her eyes glued to the gruesome scene.

Yuko watched Claire, noting how the little girl's eyes remained fixed on the horrific display. Though her heart was usually stone-cold, seeing her niece's innocent face stirred a twinge of unease within her. The acrid scent of burning acid filled the air.

As Leiah's body went limp, her burned face unrecognizable, Yuko turned to Claire. "Do you understand now?" she asked coldly, wiping the bottle's rim on Leiah's charred uniform. "This is what happens when you disobey..."

Claire nodded slowly, and Yuko took her in her arms, adjusting her grip while keeping her lifted off the floor. "Thank you for telling me about this, Kloera."

Claire leaned into Yuko, the small child's arms wrapping around her aunt's neck as she held onto her tightly.

A moment of tense silence hung in the air before Yuko spoke again. "Take her back to her room," she barked to the maid holding Claire previously.

The maid nodded quickly, her trembling hands still tight around Claire's arm, and then hurried off down the hallway, carrying the young girl away.

♡♡♡

Chapter Text

Faith leaned back and crossed her legs.

"So," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, "It seems you've been quite busy lately."

Claire laughed softly, the sound muffled by her veil, and nodded. "As always," she replied. "What's with the sudden visit? You don't usually come here."

Faith shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, I was passing by and decided to drop in. You know, just to keep an eye on you."

Claire chuckled. She was used to Faith's habit of keeping tabs on her, and, to be honest, she found it quite endearing.

"Alright, missy, but you're not my mother," Claire said, resting her cheek on her palm.

"Huh. I'm older than you, girl," Faith retorted with a smirk.

"Centuries older, sure. But in human years, we're the same age, Miss Walker," Claire replied, raising an eyebrow behind her veil.

Faith rolled her eyes theatrically but couldn't hide her amusement. "Oh, you're cheeky," she said, shaking her head.

Claire laughed again, enjoying the banter. She glanced at Eryx, who was taking a seat at the desk, pretending to be busy sorting through documents.

"So, seriously, what's the reason for your visit?" she asked, turning back to Faith.

Despite wearing veils, Claire's revealing only her mouth and Faith's concealing her entire face—the two seemed to read each other effortlessly.

"Oh, it's simple," Faith said, leaning forward.

Claire perked up at the movement. "Hm? I'm listening," she replied.

Faith smirked knowingly. She knew Claire's curious nature all too well.

"I have some interesting news for you," Faith began, folding her arms, "And you're going to love it."

Claire's eagerness grew. "Oh, really? Do tell," she encouraged, leaning forward on the armchair, her veil shifting slightly.

Eryx watched their exchange, her piqued curiosity now making her forget the act of being 'busy.' She discreetly set the documents aside, listening closely to their conversation.

Faith took her time, savoring the anticipation on Claire's face before finally delivering the news.

"Oh, I think you'll find this quite interesting," she said playfully. "There's a great gathering coming up—a gathering for our people. All clans and sects will be there."

"Well, that's something worth hearing," Claire remarked, leaning in closer, further narrowing the gap between them.

"But that's not all, oh no," Faith added, her voice practically dripping with mischief.

Claire, intrigued, raised an eyebrow behind her veil. "I know you're dragging this on deliberately. Spit it out," she said, her tone a mixture of impatience and anticipation.

Faith feigned innocence for a moment before a sly smile crept across her face.

"There's someone coming who... I think you might find quite interesting," she said, her tone teasing as she reveled in the moment.

Claire's curiosity was immediately piqued, and she leaned in further, her full attention on Faith.
"Who? Don't keep me waiting—and drop the theatrics, Faith," Claire huffed, crossing her arms.

Faith's smirk widened beneath her veil as she finally relented.

"Well, you know the clan from the west, right?" she asked, referring to a certain group known for their distinct characteristics.

Claire nodded, her interest clearly piqued. "Of course, the Ves clan. They're the ones with that signature white hair," she said, recalling their defining feature. "They weren't exactly famous until that one incident... you know, when one of their members pretended to be a Targaryen and got their ass burned for it."

Faith chuckled at the memory. "Exactly," she said, her tone turning more serious. "And there's a member of that clan attending the gathering... and he's single."

"What, are you suggesting I seduce him?" Claire quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"Pfft—no," Faith snorted. "I'm not that low to ask you to seduce a stranger."

"So why bring him up?" Claire pressed.

Faith leaned back, a sly smile still on her lips.

"I mentioned the gathering, and you immediately think of seducing strangers. Tsk tsk, such impure thoughts, " Faith said, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Claire chuckled, unabashed. "Oh, come on, like you wouldn't be thinking the same."

"No," Faith's voice was firm. "I don't and won't stoop as low as you."

"Ah, now you're shaming me for having a bit of fun?" Claire quipped.

Faith huffed, feigning annoyance at Claire's remark.

"You're so predictable, always running after anything in trousers," she teased, shaking her head.

Claire clutched her chest, feigning hurt. "Oh, you wound me," she said dramatically. "I'm not that easy, you know. I have standards too!"

Faith chuckled at Claire's melodramatic response, clearly enjoying the banter.

Meanwhile, Eryx, silently watching the exchange, sighed as she noticed Claire shifting from her priestess mode to that other side of her personality. Eryx wasn't entirely sure if such behavior was allowed, but she wasn't one to judge.

However, the moment was abruptly interrupted by a loud yell from outside the office.

"Oops... guess our time's up," Claire said, sitting up straighter, her tone amused.

"Indeed," Faith agreed with a small nod. "Until next time," she added, her voice calm and composed as always.

Claire nodded in return, adjusting her veil as she stood up. "Eryx, fetch me a lighter—it's in the drawer of my desk."

"Got it," Eryx replied promptly, moving toward the desk.

Meanwhile, Faith casually rolled her sleeves back down, covering her hands. Claire, now composed, began preparing herself to address the commotion outside.

Eryx rummaged through the desk, eventually finding the lighter Claire requested. She held it for Claire, and as Claire took it, she noticed something.

"Your hands," Eryx said, her eyes darting to the small scars on Claire's knuckles.

Claire, now in her priestess mode, paused for a moment, looking down at her own knuckles, then glanced at Eryx.

"Don't mind these," she said with a small shrug, quickly dismissing the concern.

As Faith departed, Claire and Eryx stepped out of the room together.

Eryx leaned closer and whispered, "If things get out of hand, let me take charge this time, alright?"

Claire turned to look at Eryx, a hint of surprise in her eyes.

"You sure?" she questioned.

Eryx nodded assertively. "Positive," she confirmed, her mind already shifting into her more serious mode.

Claire, although a bit puzzled, couldn't refuse Eryx's request. She knew Eryx was competent and strong when it came to handling situations.

"Alright then," Claire said, her tone firm. "You lead, I'll follow."

Eryx nodded, her gaze sharp and focused. Claire's agreement reassured her, and her demeanor shifted further towards her protective stance.

As they walked down the halls of the building, a few other followers scurried past, whispers on their tongues.

"There they are," one said.

The duo continued, heading toward the source of the commotion—a gathering of followers in the middle of the corridor.

"What's going on here?" Claire asked one of the followers as they made room for Eryx to step into the commotion.

The follower, dressed in white robes, looked at Eryx and Claire with wide eyes before bowing quickly.

"We... we're not sure," the follower admitted, nervously glancing around at the others.

Eryx scanned the group, her attention falling on two followers, a boy and a girl, who stood in the center, arguing fervently.

The boy had his head lowered, his hands clenched into fists while the girl, her face flushed with irritation, was gesticulating wildly.

As the group of followers parted for Claire and Eryx to approach, the bickering pair came into clear view. It was evident they were siblings from the uncanny resemblance in both appearance and temperament.

Claire raised an eyebrow, observing their intense back-and-forth.

"You two." Her commanding voice cut through the noise, drawing their eyes to her.

The siblings immediately stopped their fight upon seeing Claire. The female one, the younger sister, was the first to speak up, her voice shaking slightly in both anxiety and irritation.

"He started it with his stupid pranks!" the girl exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at her older brother.

The boy merely rolled his eyes in response, clearly unbothered by the accusation.

"Come on, it was just a bit of fun," he retorted in a bored tone.

Eryx's eyes began to twitch, and her fingers twitched too—if it weren't for Claire grabbing her friend's hand to keep her calm. Claire continued, "This place isn't for pranks, unless they're small. And please, keep personal matters out of the work."

The girl grumbled under her breath, still angry over her brother's prank, while the boy simply shrugged nonchalantly.

Then, the sister turned her gaze from her brother to Eryx. She eyed her with a sense of familiarity, as if recalling some memory.

"Hey," the sister said, her voice tinged now with curiosity. "Don't I know you?"

"Oh, I do," Eryx said, removing her hand from Claire's and shoving it into her pocket. "I recall telling you not to get involved in a fuss last month."

The statement took the girl by surprise, and her brother looked up, now intrigued.

"Wait, do you two know each other?" the boy asked, glancing between the bickering pair.

Eryx nodded, shifting her weight slightly. "Unfortunately," she grumbled under her breath.

Claire, sensing the tension between Eryx and the siblings, decided to intervene.

"Let's not dwell on past incidents," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "Instead, let's focus on the matter at hand. This isn't the first time you two have disrupted the peace."

The siblings fell silent, realizing they were treading on thin ice.

The girl fidgeted with her hands, clearly embarrassed by the scolding, while the boy simply looked away, his pride bruised.

Sensing their embarrassment, Claire's expression softened behind her veil.

"Look, we're not here to belittle you," Claire said, her voice softening and taking on a more understanding tone. "We understand that sometimes things can escalate, but it's crucial to keep your emotions in check, especially in a place like this."

The siblings nodded, their faces reflecting a mix of understanding and shame.

Claire continued, "I'll let you off with a stern warning this time, but please, refrain from further disturbances. We can't have chaos like this in a place meant for worship and tranquility."

The siblings nodded once more, their heads bowed slightly, signaling their acknowledgment and agreement.

Claire, satisfied that the situation was under control for now, turned her attention to Eryx, signaling it was time to move on.

Eryx, whose grip on her friend's hand had been gradually tightening, gradually relaxed her hold as the situation settled down.

As they turned to leave, the girl suddenly spoke up, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Wait," the girl said, her voice filled with wonder, "You're the 'Red Dragon' girl, right?"

Eryx stopped in her tracks, a mix of irritation and resignation crossing her face.

"What did you just call me?" Eryx asked, her eyes narrowing as she turned around to face the girl.

Oh, for the Goddess's sake, Eryx... Claire thought.

The girl shrank back a little under Eryx's intense gaze, but she repeated the nickname.

"I... I heard some of the followers call you 'Red Dragon Girl'," she said, her voice small. "Because of your... your hair and eyes. And your temper too."

"Everyone, you're all dismissed," Claire declared loudly, and all the followers scattered, leaving only the four of them. "And you two," Claire turned to the siblings. "Get. Back. To. Work."

The siblings scurried away, hurriedly returning to their duties.

A tense silence hung in the air, only broken by Eryx's frustrated sigh.

Claire moved closer to Eryx and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"You good?" she asked, her tone gentle.

"Define 'good'," Eryx replied, her voice still tinged with irritation.

"I can't stand that stupid nickname," she continued. "It pisses me off whenever someone calls me that."

"I know..." Claire said softly.

"I'm a skinwalker, damn it," Eryx muttered, facepalming.

"I know you are," Claire repeated before leading them off. "I have a lot of duties to attend to."

⋆⁺‧₊☽₊‧.°.⋆ʚ✩ɞ⋆.°.‧₊☾₊‧⁺⋆

"You arrived early," Elaphion said, holding the newspapers while not looking at the veiled girl in front of him. Eryx closed the door behind Claire as she stepped forward.

"Ah, yes..." Claire smiled simply. After arriving at the Adrianne manor, Elaphion had been a bit busy, so he hadn't waited to greet them.

"Are you upset that I didn't come to greet you two?"

"No," Eryx answered for Claire.

Elaphion looked up from the tablet he is holding and met Eryx's eyes, amused by her blunt response.

"Ah, you're as straightforward as ever," he chuckled, then turned his gaze towards Claire.

"I assume you have a reason for visiting this early?"

"...Yes," Claire said, taking a seat across from him. "I heard you have a problem with a trading deal involving some mafia group." She cut to the chase.

Elaphion placed his tablet on the table and leaned back in his chair, studying Claire.

"I see. Word travels fast," he replied, tapping his fingers on the armrest, "Yes, I'm afraid I find myself in a troublesome situation. One that I can't handle discreetly."

"I see," Claire said with a nod. "Any other problems we should be aware of? We need to address them immediately, or there'll be a hole in our plans."

Elaphion raised an eyebrow, impressed by Claire's direct approach.

"You're quite eager to sort everything out, aren't you?" he noted, amused. "Apart from the trading issue, there are a few other matters, but nothing I can't handle on my own. Unless..." he trailed off, eyeing Claire intently.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖♡➳༻❀ ☕ ❀༺➳♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Okay, this was a bad idea.

A very bad one.

If Elaphion had known better, he never should have brought up this issue. But here he was, knowing it was futile—but hey, he had to at least give it a try.

"Well?" Claire, now known as 'Adelpha,' pointed her fan at Elaphion's maid. "Aren't you going to answer?"

"..."

The maid remained silent, while Eryx looked annoyed by the human's lack of response.

"My lady!" Elaphion grabbed Adelpha's arm, and 'Adelpha' finally turned to face him. Whether or not she wore her veil, Elaphion could feel—or sense—the glare behind it.

"Let go of me," Adelpha asked politely, though her tone left no room for argument. Elaphion paused before reluctantly releasing the priestess's arm.

"Why do you think your master called me his mistress to this mansion?"

Adelpha turned back to the maid as she spoke, while Elaphion silently questioned his life choices. Maybe he should've handled the thief situation himself rather than dragging these two women into the mess...

As the conversation unfolded, Eryx crossed her arms, her expression a mix of discomfort and annoyance. Meanwhile, Claire—well, 'Adelpha'—maintained her composure, her voice calm yet firm as she asked the question.

The maid hesitated, casting a nervous glance between Elaphion and 'Adelpha.' After a few moments of silence, a sigh escaped the maid's lips before she finally spoke.

"That..." the maid began awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "That is... a secret."

Eryx's lips curled into a sneer, and she stepped forward, a hint of impatience in her eyes.

"Oh, cut the bullshit," Eryx said harshly, her voice ringing in the room.

Adelpha, on the other hand, remained composed. "Is that so?" she said, her tone betraying no emotion.

"You clearly don't know your place, do you?" Claire asked with a smile—neither fake nor genuine. As she approached the maid, who began to tremble from some invisible force in the air, the maid flinched when Claire tapped her fan on the maid's hair.

"Hmm?" Claire loomed her fan over the maid's head.

"Adelpha—"

"She's the one." Claire declared. Even though she was veiled, she could still see through it.

"The only person bold enough to steal all the jewels is her. After all, she's wearing a necklace, and no maid wears one."

"NO! I—!" The maid quickly protested, but Adelpha's smile only grew wider as she tilted her head, watching the girl struggle to explain herself. The maid looked at Elaphion.

"My lord! It's not true, believe me! I haven't gone to your room all day when it happened, and I've had this necklace even before I started working here!"

I've been here longer than her! You must believe me, Elaphion! The maid thought as she finished.

Elaphion could sense the situation was spiraling now that the maid was speaking out loud instead of in the usual manner. "...There are too many eyes here. Let's just—"

"I demand a simple apology from this insignificant girl." Adelpha lifted the maid's chin with her fan. "After all, she humiliated me at the banquet two days ago, isn't that right, Eryx?"

Eryx nodded, her expression cold as the pair stared down the scared maid.

"It's true," Eryx said, taking pleasure in the fact that the maid had gotten herself into an inescapable bind.

"At the banquet," she continued, "This little brat of a maid intentionally spilled wine on your dress without reason. Even a five-year-old could have done a better job."

Elaphion's annoyance grew, but he held back from interrupting. He didn't have much proof of the maid's theft after all, and he'd rather not have a thief in the house.

"I see..." he said coldly. "Is that true?"

The maid looked at Elaphion desperately. Please, believe me! Please... she thought.

"No! That... that..." the maid stuttered, her gaze switching back to the two women, "I'd never..."

"Now, now," Adelpha cut the maid off as she glanced over her shoulder, directing her veiled gaze at Elaphion. "...It's unfair for a man to interfere..."

Adelpha tilted slightly downward, her gaze focused on the fan she delicately held. Her expression remained calm and composed, despite her face being covered by the veil that left only her mouth exposed. "...In a conversation between women, don't you think, my lord?"

Elaphion paused, caught off guard by 'Adelpha's' words. He opened his mouth to retort but quickly closed it, realizing that arguing would only worsen the situation.

Instead, he raised his hands in surrender, not daring to argue back.

"Fine," he said, frustration lacing his voice. "Continue..."

He glanced at his butler nearby. "...Report to me when she's done, Hael." With that, he left.

The room fell into silence as Elaphion retreated, leaving the three women alone.

The maid fidgeted nervously as she watched the master of the household leave.

"No..." she whispered to herself.

Eryx, her arms still crossed and her expression unchanged, looked at her and let out a scoff. "Trembling already?"

The room fell into silence as Elaphion retreated, leaving the three women and a butler alone.

The maid fidgeted nervously, her eyes following the master of the household as he left.

"No..." she whispered to herself.

Eryx, her arms still crossed and her expression unchanged, glanced at her and let out a scoff. "Trembling already?"

"L-Lord Elaphion is a man of integrity."

"Pfft..." Adelpha fought the urge to chuckle at the maid's first sentence.

"He will never fall for such lies, no matter who you are, whether a saint or a priestess," the maid said, despite her trembling.

"Is that so?"

Eryx said with a mocking tone, a smirk forming behind her veil.

"What makes you think he'll believe you over us?"

The maid looked at Eryx, but she couldn't find a proper response. Instead, she turned to 'Adelpha,' still hoping to find a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. If she remembered correctly, Adelpha was a kind and merciful priestess.

...However, 'Adelpha' stood silently, her gaze fixed on the maid, her fan concealing her mouth. Then the priestess spoke, her voice calm but pointed: "Oh really? So, is his integrity the reason he left you in my care and looked the other way?"

The maid's blood ran cold.

"H-He..." The girl's voice faltered for a moment before she forced herself to continue.

"H-He simply has important business to attend to."

There was a pause, before the corner's of 'Adelpha's' mouth lifted in a subtle smile.

"It's true that he does," she said. "But then, why would he leave us alone without even trying to listen to your pleas, when I—a stranger, could be lying..."

"Oh wait—" Adelpha feigned a gasp before delivering the line she had been itching to say ever since this situation began. "You're just a pathetic human who works as a maid and couldn't even keep your head low, getting yourself into this position. What a disgrace to your kind..."

The maid tensed at the priestess's words, the weight of her words sinking in.

"Disgrace?" The maid's voice cracked as she took a step back.

"You..." she tried to protest, but the words died on her tongue.

Eryx chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the interaction.

"She makes a point," Eryx said, taking a step forward. "You really are a disgrace. After all, look at how you're shaking..."

Suddenly—"My lady...!"

Eryx tsked at the abrupt interruption from Butler Hael.

"What's the matter?" Adelpha asked casually, as though her previous behavior toward the maid hadn't occurred.

"How can you say such things in this noble residence?!"

Eryx was about to step in, but 'Adelpha' didn't budge. She snapped her fan shut and pointed it at him.

"Who do you think you are to interfere?" Adelpha asked, her voice cold.

"Didn't I say it's unfair for a man to intrude in a conversation between women?" she continued, shutting him down in an instant. "You're unbelievably moronic..." Adelpha sighed.

Hael froze like a deer caught in headlights at the priestess's icy words. His eyes darted between the three women, unsure of what to say.

Eryx, now standing slightly behind 'Adelpha,' suppressed the urge to laugh at the speechless butler.

"I-I... Priestess Adelpha, insulting me is an insult to—"

"You think the lord will care if someone insults him when he isn't even here?" Eryx cut him off.

"Who do you—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Adelpha chuckled. "Oh please... with all due respect, Butler Hael, don't use that phrase. It's getting old now."

Hael shut his mouth, realizing he was outnumbered. He was about to speak, but Eryx's sharp glare made him swallow his words.

"Besides," 'Adelpha' continued, "you're a mere butler. You're clearly replaceable."

"It's a real pity... shameful, to say the least." Adelpha turned back to the maid. "You're no human, yet you're defending a thief... Imagine if your mother were in this situation and had to punish a maid. Would you side with a human over your own kin?"

The maid flinched as the priestess loomed over her.

"A thief is a thief. You know this," the priestess said, her tone sharp. Her words hit the maid harder than Eryx had seen during their conversations.

"And to think, my lord treated you as one of his own. It sickens me," she said.

Yes, yes, keep it going... Eryx mentally cheered.

The butler remained silent for a moment before bowing to the two women. "......Ring the bell when you're done, miss."

"We will," Eryx responded for the priestess, watching the butler leave the room with a smirk.

A heavy silence settled over the room, and the maid didn't dare to speak. She stood there, her gaze glued to the priestess, trembling from fear and embarrassment.

"....Now, where were we? Shall we continue what we were doing?" 'Adelpha' removed her gloves, and the maid flinched again.

"Wh-what we were doing...?"

"Well?" Eryx glanced at 'Adelpha.'

"Get on your knees."

『☕』

"Screw you. My daughters are fine," Lisira replied, sitting up straight when her friend, Mister Shapely, made a comment about Lisira raising three crazy girls.

Lisira winced at the sudden movement, while Shapely just chuckled. "Now there's my friend. Welcome back to reality." He stood beside her to check the wound.

"You could just let me heal myself."

"No can do. That's black magic, and it won't end well if it fuses with your own magic," Shapely replied without missing a beat.

Lisira huffed in annoyance, though she knew he was right.

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the gash on her side. He gently lifted the jacket away, just enough to expose the injury. It was deeper than it looked.

"This looks bad enough to need stitching," he said, gently probing the edges of the cut with his fingers.

Lisira flinched at his touch, the pain sharp and sudden despite his gentle hands. Her breath hitched in her throat, a small whimper escaping her before she could stop it.

"Easy," he muttered, his voice soft and soothing. He withdrew his hand, instead reaching to touch the skin around the wound with the tip of the index finger, his finger emitting a faint, warm glow.

"Can't have you bleed to death, now can I? Stop squirming."

"I can't die. You know that," Lisira replied.

"Your invincibility is pretty useful, until it isn't," Shapely replied with a shrug, focusing his attention on weaving the strands of magic together.

As he worked, a frown marred his face. "And of course you can't just do something simple like bleed in a non-vital place. Always gotta make it difficult. Never change, am I right?"

He cast her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile.

Lisira rolled her eyes, a flicker of her characteristic attitude resurfacing for a moment. "Oh pardon me for almost getting myself killed. I wouldn't want to cause you unnecessary anxiety."

Despite (or perhaps because) the sarcastic edge to her words, relief washed over her as his magic worked.

The pain was subsiding. A warm sensation spread throughout her body, radiating from the spot where the torn flesh was slowly but steadily knitting itself back together. She let out a sigh, her tensed muscles relaxing ever so slightly.

『Bonus』

Chapter Text

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"Here's my gift for you, Li." Nykolas handed Lisira a small box with a grin. Today was Lisira's birthday, and everyone was gathered to celebrate.

"Aww, thanks!" Lisira said, her face lighting up as she unwrapped the gift. Her eyes widened when she saw the delicate flower-shaped ring inside. "Oh my gosh, it's so pretty, Kol."

"Seriously?" Yuko, Lisira's younger sister, interjected with a scoff. "A ring? Come on, it's not like Lisira's turning into an adult today. We're still young!"

"But we're all 16 now," Nykolas replied, clearly annoyed, "and Lisira is the oldest here!"

"And it's still too early to gift my older sister a ring," Yuko hissed, her tone sharper than intended.

"Yuko—Master," Yowamushi, Yuko's servant and 'lover,' interjected gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's from her lover, after all."

Yuko rolled her eyes but chose not to argue further.

"You know, I'm just happy you guys are celebrating with me. You don't need to buy me gifts," Lisira said softly as Nykolas slipped the ring onto her finger.

"Ayyyy, Li!" Phil and his boyfriend, Liraz, appeared, both carrying gifts. "It's all about making memories, even while having fun, right?" Phil said with a grin.

"Exactly," Lisira giggled as she accepted their presents.

Nykolas suddenly snapped his fingers as though he had just remembered something important. "Oh, shoot—I almost forgot!"

He rummaged through his bag while Lisira carefully unwrapped the gifts from Phil and Liraz. Phil had given her a light purple cardigan, and Liraz's gift was an intricate flower comb.

Got it! Nykolas thought as he pulled out another box—this one black, slim, and flat.

"Hey, Lisira! I almost forgot this gift," he said, holding it out to her.

"Huh?" Lisira and the others turned to look. "Another gift?" she asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

"Maybe," Nykolas teased, "but it's from a friend of mine. He couldn't make it today."

"...Are you sure this 'friend' of yours is real?" Yuko chimed in, narrowing her eyes. "Or is this just an excuse to shower my big sis with more gifts?"

Nykolas shook his head firmly. "No, I swear—it's from a friend."

"Ohhh? Is it that 'Stellary' guy you mentioned months ago? Has he already returned to the country?" Lisira asked, running her fingers along the soft texture of the box. She hesitated to unwrap it—it felt too delicate—but not opening it would seem rude. Carefully, she removed the lid, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Inside was a pearl necklace—but not just any pearl necklace. The pearls were black, their lustrous sheen almost otherworldly.

"Oh my..." Even Yuko couldn't resist commenting.

"Pearl necklaces? But a black one?" Phil chuckled, nudging Nykolas. "Your friend must be filthy rich."

"Yeah, he is," Nykolas admitted with a sheepish grin.

"So when's this so-called friend of yours going to meet us? You never let us see him in person," Yuko said, still suspicious.

"No, he's just... busy," Nykolas replied, fumbling slightly. "I mean, he's not managing a business or anything at our age, but he's got a lot on his plate. He said he'd only visit once he's finished studying."

"Huh," Yuko muttered, narrowing her eyes again.

Lisira, however, smiled and said, "Fair enough. If he ever wants to hang out with us, let me know. I'm curious to meet him!"

────୨ৎ────

In the Present

Lisira sat perched on the balcony railing, her legs swinging idly as she stared up at the moonlit sky. If her husband saw her like this, he'd probably panic and make a fuss. Even her voices had plenty to say about her recklessness, but she had long since learned to ignore them.

Her feet tapped lightly against the stone as her gaze wandered. She wasn't worried about falling—she was a deity, after all—but she wasn't one to be needlessly reckless either.

"Li?"

A familiar voice broke her thoughts. Lisira's voices, ever persistent, suddenly fell silent.

"Shapely?" she called, turning her head but seeing no one.

Another game, she thought with mild amusement, shifting her position. She barely had time to react before a towering figure loomed over her.

Mister Shapely.

"Trying to sneak up on me, are we?" Lisira tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips.

Shapely chuckled, the booming, echoing laughter seemed to come from all around them. He reached out and casually plucked her from her perch, holding her aloft.

"It's almost too easy," he replied. "You look good in the moonlight, Lisira."

Lisira's smirk grew, unbothered by his casual display of strength. She dangled in his grasp, her hair swaying gently in the night air.

"You're being particularly chatty tonight," she observed. "Something on your mind, Shapely?"

Shapely pulled her closer, his crimson eyes locking with hers. The moonlight caught in his gaze, casting an almost ethereal glow that bordered on unsettling.

"The stars are exceptionally beautiful tonight," he said softly. "They remind me of a certain enchantress." His voice carried a playful warmth that made his words seem less weighty.

Lisira giggled, her cheeks tinged with faint amusement. "Please, you flatter me."

As Lisira's laughter softened, Shapely's smile widened—but not entirely for her sake. His sharp gaze flicked briefly past her, catching sight of a figure watching them. Though his expression didn't falter, he noted the observer with an inward sigh. The soul wasn't yet whole, still caught in some strange limbo—a glitch, one might say.

Phil stood just behind them, floating in silent judgment. His eyes burned into Shapely as though his thoughts alone could spark confrontation. I said protect her, not get handsy with my WIFE!

Relax, Shapely thought back, his inner tone dismissive. With careful ease, he hoisted Lisira onto his shoulder, her surprised laughter a fleeting distraction. The voices are bugging her. I had to do something.

Doesn't mean you have to be that playful with her! Phil's anger radiated through the connection, his voice a sharp contrast to Shapely's calm demeanor.

Shapely smirked faintly, adjusting his stance to keep Lisira balanced. If it gets her mind off things, I'd say it's worth it, he retorted, casting a sidelong glance in Phil's direction as though daring him to argue further.

Lisira, blissfully unaware of the conversation, merely settled into her new perch. She shifted her gaze to the stars, letting out a content sigh.

Phil, meanwhile, was growing increasingly irritated. His form shimmered and flickered like a fading hologram, a sure sign of his agitation. He looked ready to argue further, but stopped himself as a flicker of recognition crept into his expression.

What are you thinking? Shapely internally questioned, noticing Phil's hesitation.

...Never mind, Phil replied, his tone taking on an almost resentful edge. I still don't like it.

I wouldn't be surprised if you're getting jealous, Shapely remarked mentally, his gaze lingering on the black pearl necklace resting delicately around Lisira's neck.

Lisira, oblivious to the invisible exchange, let out a soft hum of contentment. Her eyes, half-lidded, scanned the night sky.

Phil, still bristling, tried to calm his frustration. There was little point in further argument, but it still chaffed his inner need to protect her.

I'm not jealous, he responded tersely, I just don't want you getting too cozy with her.

Shapely rolled his eyes mentally, still balancing Lisira on his shoulder. You really are making a big deal out of this, you know?

Phil's form flickered with agitation, his voice filled with irritation and concern. You know I can't help it.

Shapely could almost feel the waves of protectiveness and possession coming off Phil in waves. "Jealous might be a stretch," he mused. But you are acting like a protective dog.

Lisira hummed in confusion. "Hm?" she questioned, tilting her head slightly, "Jealous?" but Shapely was quick to respond.

"Oh, nothing," he said casually, waving it off. "I was just thinking about a jealous friend."

"Really? If they are, then they must be acting like a puppy since you mentioned a dog," Lisira quipped, her tone playful.

Shapely nearly lost his composure. His jaw almost dropped, but he managed to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside him. Even with his masked like expression, his eyes closed briefly as he fought to compose himself.

Oh, Li, I love you, but that's me you're talking about!

It's not like she can hear you, Shapely chuckled mentally, amused at the exchange.

Despite his internal turmoil, Phil couldn't help but be amused by Lisira's statement. He floated closer, eyeing them from a few feet away.

I see how it is now, he said telepathically, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. Now she's on your side too, huh?

Shapely shrugged imperceptibly, careful not to dislodge Lisira from her spot. What can I say? She clearly likes me more.

Lisira chuckled, blissfully unaware of their internal conversation. Her gaze returned to the night sky as she leaned closer to Shapely, her voice almost soft enough to be a whisper.

"You and Phil have a weird relationship, you know?"

Shapely couldn't respond, he was caught off guard by her comment. Did she hear us? He silently questioned, glancing toward Phil.

The thought was quickly brushed off, she had always been fairly intuitive. It wasn't surprising that she could guess their thoughts sometimes.

Chapter Text

Warning for Readers: This scene contains explicit content, strong language, and themes of power dynamics and aftercare in adult relationships. Reader discretion is advised.

⋆༺𓆩⚠𓆪༻⋆

Claire sighs, relieved that it's over. For once—

"Hey, Claire."

Claire looks up at Miss Circle, her eyes half-lidded and her voice hoarse. "What?" she murmurs, as Miss Circle pulls her closer, earning side glances and glares from Miss Bloomie and Miss Thavel.

"You're going to need some ice packs and a heating pad," Miss Circle says, burying her face in Claire's brunette hair.

"More like an ice bath," Miss Bloomie mutters, catching sight of Claire's inner thighs. "And some ibuprofen. Jesus, you two really went at her."

"She was the one begging for it," Miss Thavel points out, taking a drag of her cigarette. "And don't act like you didn't fuck her over too."

Claire lets out a soft groan as Miss Circle sets her leg back down, her eyes fluttering shut. She's too tired to even argue with their assessment of her situation. "Yeah, well, you three aren't exactly gentle partners during the affair," she mumbles, her voice barely audible.

"Want another round?" Miss Bloomie smirks.

"No, I'm too sore," Claire rolls her eyes.

"She's got hickeys on her chest, inner thighs, and god knows where else," Miss Thavel observed, putting out her cigarette. "Not to mention, her poor little bottom is probably swollen shut."

"Thavel," Miss Circle warned softly, "You're not helping."

"What?" Thavel arched an eyebrow.

"You're making it sound like we violated her," Miss Bloomie snapped. "She was the one moaning 'harder,' 'more,' 'spit on me,' 'choke me,' remember?"

"You mean like a... gangbang?" Miss Bloomie tilted her head.

"Exactly like that," Miss Thavel said, a devious smile spreading across her face. "All three of us taking turns, fucking her senseless until she can't walk straight the next day." Miss Bloomie and Miss Circle exchanged glances, then turned back to Claire, their expressions identical—eager and cruel.

"I call dibs on her throat," Miss Bloomie declared, "and I want to be the one to sit on her face while the others take turns with her legs over their shoulders." 

"Deal," Miss Circle agreed. "And I call dibs on her back seat. What about you, Thavel?"

"I get her front seat," Miss Thavel said, her eyes gleaming excitedly. "And I want to use the belt to keep her arms pinned above her head while I fuck her mouth." The three women shared a look, their agreement clear - Claire was in for a long, brutal night.

Claire groaned, realizing the brutal plans unfolding before her. "Geez, lay off the bondage for a damn minute, will ya?" she grumbled, attempting to push Circle away. The older woman relented, allowing Claire to prop herself up on shaky elbows. "I swear, it's like being gangbanged by a bunch of sadistic lesbians."

"Guilty as charged," Miss Circle chuckled, ruffling Claire's hair. "But you love it rough, remember? You always beg for more."

"She does have a high pain tolerance," Miss Thavel mused. "I wonder if we could..."

"What?" Claire narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"You know," Miss Thavel began slowly, "Like, push her limits more? See if she can handle even harder stuff?"

"Like whips and chains?" Miss Bloomie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Or fisting?" Thavel added. "Or maybe with more people?" Bloomie asked.

Miss Circle spoke softly. "But we've already done that with Compass and Demi. It's not like we can ask Sasha or Emily to join, and hell, I doubt Grace would say yes. We'd probably be screwed if she found out."

Claire's eyes widened, her heart racing at the thought of the intense, painful pleasures her sadistic partners were proposing. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," she panted. "Let's not get carried away here. I'm not some professional submissive or whatever."

"And yet," Miss Thavel leaned in, whispering directly into Claire's ear, "You get wetter than a fucking lake when we hint at hurting you."

"Plus, you've handled everything we've thrown at you so far," Miss Circle pointed out.

"Don't make me set more boundaries," Claire said, her tone filled with the familiar warning. The trio recoiled.

"Okay, we back up."

"Good," Claire sighed, forcing herself to sit up and managing to get off the bed without falling.

"Need my help?" Miss Circle offered, but Claire shook her head.

"No need," Claire glanced over her shoulder with a smile before entering the bathroom, not waiting for Circle's response. Miss Bloomie and Miss Thavel exchanged glances and sighed.

"Sometimes I forget this is an affair," Miss Bloomie mumbled, lying on her back. Thavel crept up beside her and snuggled up to her shorter colleague.

"Maybe we should tone down our sadistic desires or kinks before we scare her off," Miss Circle huffed, hearing the sound of running water. The tallest woman among the trio climbed back into bed, pulling Bloomie and Thavel together to cuddle up with them.

Claire came back out after a while, towel wrapped around her body, hair still damp. The trio of teachers observed her silently as she sat on the edge of the bed, toweling her hair.

"We didn't go overboard, did we?" Miss Thavel asked, and Claire shook her head. The shorter woman paused, recalling the events of the previous night, and grimaced slightly at the soreness in her body.

"Just a bit sore, nothing bad," Claire reassured, before turning to Miss Circle. "Can you grab my phone, Miss Circle? It's right beside you on the nightstand."

"Sure," came the nonchalant response, and Miss Circle handed Claire her phone. Claire unlocked it and sat back against the pillows, scrolling through the device with a tired but content expression.

"Miss Thavel," Miss Bloomie started, "What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean what are we going to do?" Thavel retorted, giving her colleague a puzzled look.

"I mean about Claire," Miss Bloomie replied, motioning to the woman lying between the three women, still fiddling with her phone.

"What about her?" Thavel asked.

"You know..." Miss Bloomie leaned in, lowering her voice to a hushed tone. "She might get tired of us eventually."

"Then we just have to make her stay," Miss Circle interjected. Bloomie and Thavel rolled their eyes at her.

"Obviously, that's the point," Bloomie said, exasperated. "But what are we going to do after that?"

"Why don't we ask her?" Thavel suggested, turning her gaze toward Claire.

"I can hear you three," Claire said, her tone dry. "And to answer your question—no, I'm not tired of you. Hell, I know better than to leave or end the agreement between us. It's not exactly easy either. Besides, exams are coming, so we're going to have to keep our distance for now."

The three women fell silent before Miss Thavel broke the silence.

"Wait a minute," Miss Thavel said, sitting up on the bed with a perplexed expression. "Exams? What exams?"

Realization dawned on Miss Bloomie and Miss Circle simultaneously. They both sat up abruptly, staring at Claire in disbelief.

"Shit. We forgot to prepare you—"

"It's alright, it's alright, it's alright," Claire interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "I can handle myself, as long as you three don't actually murder me when the exams come."

Relieved, the three teachers huffed out a sigh. Miss Thavel leaned back against the headboard, folding her arms.

"You can handle yourself huh? You haven't even started on your notes yet," Miss Thavel stated, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Miss Bloomie chimed in. "And the exam is in less than three days."

"Well, consider this our last night together for a while because I won't be able to see you three often now," Claire shrugged. I've got enough on my plate as it is, she thought to herself.

The three women exchanged glances with each other, expressions a mix of understanding and disappointment.

"That long huh..." Miss Circle mumbled, and Miss Bloomie nodded in agreement.

Miss Thavel, on the other hand, pouted like child, crossing her arms.

"I think I'm going to see you a lot less than these two," Thavel huffed, nodding at her taller coworkers. "Can't you give some more time to me?"

Miss Bloomie rolled her eyes at Miss Thavel.

"Pfft, you guys can still see me at school," Claire said, rolling her eyes.

"But only as teachers and students," Miss Thavel pointed out. "Plus, we won't have much time to spend together since Grace is dumping a hell of a workload on us."

"Oh, so seeing my face isn't enough of a luxury for you?" Claire teased, raising an amused eyebrow.

"No! No! That's not what I meant," Miss Thavel whined, her cheeks blushing slightly. Miss Circle chuckled, while the other two ladies just shook their heads.

"If you want my face, then you'll just have to wait, Thav" Claire teased once more.

Before Miss Thavel could counter, there was a knock on the bedroom door. The three teachers quickly sat up straight, trying their best to appear presentable. Claire, on the other hand, didn't seem to care one bit.

"Who is it?" Miss Circle called out.

"Grace."

Claire quickly sat up as the voice of the principal echoed from the other side of the door. Even the trio was speechless for a moment before they scrambled to get dressed, immediately helping Claire to hide.

In a flurry of panic and urgency, the three teachers quickly snatched their clothes from the floor, hastily pulling on their outfits. Claire, already in the process of getting dressed, was the only one who appeared unfazed by the rushed manner.

Miss Circle muttered under her breath as she buttoned her shirt, frantically fixing her collar and tie. Miss Bloomie hurriedly put on her skirt, while Miss Thavel struggled with the straps of her shoes, attempting to pull them up her calves.

Within a few seconds, the trio was fully dressed and stood by the door, ready to face the principal.

"Come in!" Miss Circle called out, attempting to appear composed despite their rushed appearance. The door swung open, and Principal Grace stepped into the room. Her gaze quickly swept over the three teachers, taking note of their slightly disheveled state.

"Miss Bloomie, Miss Circle, and Miss Thavel," Principal Grace greeted, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion at the teachers' appearance. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Grace wouldn't have been surprised if the trio had been fooling around. Hell, she already knew Circle and Compass had some sort of polyamorous relationship with Thavel and Bloomie, so she didn't press the matter further.

"I came to update you on the school exams," Grace said, her tone casual, as though nothing unusual had happened.

The trio, still trying their best to appear normal, nodded silently in response. Principal Grace glanced at the three teachers once more before shifting her gaze over their shoulder to the bed.

Claire, who had just finished changing into her clothes, sat on the edge of the bed, watching the scene unfold before her. Principal Grace's eyes widened for a moment before her expression returned to its usual stern state.

"Mageiros," Principal Grace stated simply.

"Yes, Principal?" Claire tilted her head curiously, a small smile on her lips.

Oh, shit. The trio thought in unison, panic flickering across their faces once more.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

"So how many people are in your harem?" Claire Aphrodisian asked, locking her pink eyes with her variant's green eyes.

Kloera "Claire" Mageiros shrugged before replying, "Outside of Eryx, I only have the teachers—Grace, Emily, Sasha, Demi, Compass, and the infamous murderous trio."

"Oh, mine is almost everyone!" Claire Aphrodisian clapped her hands while the demigoddess Claire was sipping her tea before chiming in.

"Mine is anyone I want," she said.

"You got a favorite?" Claire Rizal asked.

"Mine is Vivian," the demigoddess Claire answered.

"Mine is the trio," Kloera "Claire" Mageiros said.

"Cool, mine is Xister," Claire Aphrodisian excitedly chimed in.

"Mine is Alice," Kloera Eukotos said bluntly.

"...."

All of the Claires stared at the time-travel version of themselves.

"What? Sometimes there's an enemy-to-lover scenario," Kloera Eukotos shrugged.

"Well, you got it easy," Nurse Claire from the Science FPE AU sighed. "Mine is dealing with a whole bunch of SCPs and monsters, and while they loved me, they abused me every time I tried to do a daily check-up on them. Their researchers tried to help me out but it isn't helping."

"Here I thought we had good taste," Teacher Claire huffed.

"What? Alice is hot. Not Oliver, but I don't mind him joining."

"Shut up," Witch Claire sighed.

Chapter Text

・┆✦ʚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ɞ✦ ┆・

The Multiverse Interviewer: "What kind of girl do you prefer?"

Phil: "My wife."

Mister Shapely: "Phil's wife."

Meanwhile, Lisira, standing in the background, knows full well that Shapely is joking, but the look on Phil's face says it all: not amused.

Phil (as a ghost): "As my dying request, I ask you to protect my wife—not audition to be her next husband."

Mister Shapely chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. But his red eyes betrayed a different sentiment, glinting with amusement and mischief, as if he were silently teasing the ghost.

Mister Shapely: "What can I say? She's beautiful. Who wouldn't want her?"

Lisira couldn't help but smile at the banter, her voices chiming in with their own remarks:

Spark: "Okay, but why is this kind of hilarious?"

Haeven: "Phil needs to chill—it's just jokes."

Bane: "I don't know. Shapely might not be entirely joking."

Lisira suppressed a laugh as she ignored the commentary in her head, giving Shapely a light-hearted glare. "Don't push your luck, Shapely," she warned, though her tone was more amused than serious.

Phil groaned, throwing his ghostly hands up in exasperation. "This isn't funny!"

Haeven: "It kinda is."

Mister Shapely: "Okay, okay, I'll stop, I'll stop."

He held his clawed hands up in feigned innocence, red eyes dancing with humor.

Mister Shapely: "No need to get your ethereal underwear in a bunch, Phil. Though I appreciate your taste in women, I promise I won't try to woo your wife... unless she's into cosmic beings, of course."

Spark: "Oooh, spicy~"

Haeven: "That should rile him up.."

Bane: "What a way to start the day."

As much as the voices in Lisira's head chuckled and laughed along with Shapely's banter, the enchantress herself stayed remarkably stoic, masking her amusement behind a gentle smile.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆｡°✩

Bonus

And as for this one- cause why not? I'm just adding Lisira in.

Chapter Text

It was a normal day in the Paper School.

CRASH!

Never mind. Scratch that—Elaphion had urgent business, and it involved Claire herself.

The loud crash reverberated through the classroom as glass shattered, shards raining down onto the floor. A figure slammed through the window, landing with a heavy thud on a teacher's desk, which promptly collapsed under the impact. The room erupted into gasps and stunned silence, the students frozen in shock. Even Miss Emily, the teacher, stood wide-eyed and speechless, equally startled by the sudden intrusion.

Elaphion slowly raised his head, his piercing gaze locking immediately onto Claire.

"We don't have time!" he barked, his voice sharp and urgent.

Before Claire could fully register what was happening, he lunged at her. Reflexes kicked in as she dodged the initial grab, her body moving faster than her thoughts. But she wasn't fast enough for the follow-up.

"Wait, what—?!" Claire gasped as Elaphion snatched the back of her collar, yanking her off her feet.

Bubble, Claire's closest friend, shot to her feet in an instant. "CLAIRE!" she yelled, dashing after them without hesitation. Zip followed suit, though her steps faltered as chaos unfolded before her eyes.

"Bubble, wait!" Zip called after her.

"HEY!" Miss Emily shouted, abandoning her own composure as she tried to chase after the fleeing Elaphion, who now had Claire in his grasp.

"Hold it right there!" Bubble screamed as she sprinted after them. She managed to close the gap just as Elaphion smashed through another window, sending another cascade of glass scattering everywhere.

Zip's scream rang out as she watched Bubble leap after the pair without a second thought.

"BUBBLE!"

Miss Emily grabbed Zip, preventing her from recklessly joining the pursuit. "No, it's too risky!" Emily exclaimed, though her usually calm demeanor was shattered, her black eyes narrowing, red slits appeared as she focused intently on the man who had just kidnapped her student.

Of all students... it had to be the favorite one.

Zip stood frozen, her fists clenched as she helplessly watched. Her heart sank further when Bubble caught up to Elaphion, only to be grabbed midair. The man had anticipated her pursuit and effortlessly took her too.

"Damn it!" Zip growled, her voice laced with frustration and desperation. Meanwhile, Miss Emily slammed her hand down on the nearby alarm button, shattering the glass cover and triggering the school's alarm system.

Where the hell is Barrel when he's needed the most?! Emily thought bitterly as the blaring alarm echoed through the halls. She even had to suppress a growl.

⋆.˚✮✿✮˚.⋆

Elsewhere, Chip casually strolled through the streets, skipping school as usual. He had just turned down a deserted path near the school's forest, thinking he'd avoided any trouble for the day, when—

THUD.

Something—or rather, someone—fell from the sky right in front of him. Chip's jaw dropped as he recognized Claire and Bubble in the grasp of a strange man.

"Huh?" was all he managed to say before Elaphion's sharp gaze landed on him.

"Oh—you're coming too," Elaphion said without missing a beat.

"!!!"

Chip barely had time to blink, let alone react, before Elaphion lunged at him and dragged him into the chaotic escape.

⋆˚࿔ ❁✿❀ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back at the school, Zip and Miss Emily continued watching from the shattered window. Zip's eyes widened in sheer panic as she spotted her brother Chip being snatched up as well.

"NO! Not him too!" she shouted, her voice cracking as tears of frustration welled up.

Poor Zip.

First her crush, and now her brother.

Miss Emily, trying to keep herself composed, gritted her teeth as her mind raced. This wasn't just a kidnapping—it was escalating into something far worse.

Kevin and Zoe happened to be nearby, watching the entire scene unfold before exchanging a glance.

"Did we just... seriously witness that guy who kidnap did a Cliffjumper, SG Sideswipe, and SG Megatron all at once?" Kevin asked, sounding both impressed and bewildered.

Zoe nodded silently, while Miss Emily muttered something under her breath, her mounting frustration evident in her tense posture.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Bonus

Chapter Text

"Why do you look so tired?"

Eryx's voice cut through the quiet, her sharp gaze landing on Claire, who—despite the veil covering her eyes—still managed to look exhausted.

Before Claire could answer, a familiar voice rang through the room.

"Helloooo!~"

The doors swung open far too dramatically, heralding the arrival of a woman who took nothing but pleasure in making an entrance.

Evil Lana.

Claire's lips curled into a neutral smile—not forced, not genuine. Professional.

"Lanara Arklesis," Claire greeted, her tone smooth as she gracefully rose from her seat. "What brings you here this time?"

"Ah, just call me Lana, darling!~" Lana sang as she strode forward, her steps light, her presence anything but. "Or anything you'd like, really. I don't mind."

Claire tilted her head, watching as Lana advanced far too quickly, so she turned, stepping away before the other woman could invade her space. "Very well. Lana, you still haven't answered me."

Lana let out a dramatic sigh, twirling a loose strand of her wavy purple hair. "Oh, how rude of me." She pivoted smoothly, adjusting her path to match Claire's movements. "You know the drill. My offer still stands."

Claire continued walking, hands clasped behind her back. "But you're an ancient."

"So?" Lana adjusted her pace, her voice laced with amusement.

Claire subtly sidestepped just as Lana's hand almost brushed her shoulder.

"And jail is just a room," Eryx chimed in dryly from behind them.

Lana didn't spare her a glance. Instead, she kept her focus on Claire, closing the distance between them again. "I fail to see how that's relevant, my dear."

Claire turned toward the towering bookshelves, keeping her tone even. "You do realize how strange it is to pursue someone younger than you by... well, several centuries."

Lana hummed, stepping closer, her fingers ghosting toward Claire's wrist. "Strange? I prefer devoted."

Claire turned at the last second, smoothly avoiding her again. "Persistent would be the more fitting term."

"Persistent?" Lana echoed, lips curling into a smirk. "Perhaps. But tell me, dearest Claire, do you truly find my presence so unpleasant?"

Claire walked toward the window, placing deliberate space between them. "I find it overwhelming."

Lana chuckled, striding after her. "Overwhelming? How interesting. And yet, you never push me away."

Claire stopped in her tracks, Lana right behind her. Before the masked woman could reach out again, Claire turned swiftly, sidestepping with a poised step that sent Lana moving past her instead.

Lana exhaled in amusement, readjusting her posture as she turned to face Claire again. "You're quite good at avoiding me, you know."

"It's called grace," Claire responded, her tone light, though the tension between them was anything but.

Lana leaned forward, voice dropping into a sultry whisper. "Grace? A shame—I rather enjoy the chase."

Claire merely smiled, stepping back before Lana's hand could reach for her hair this time.

Eryx, watching the two circle each other in what was definitely not just conversation, groaned audibly.

"Third time," she muttered. "Third. Time. I still don't know what I'm witnessing."

Bonus

I made this meme out of boredom.

So basically—Lana, after failing to kidnap the Bubble from another FPE AU, decided to leave that AU alone and set her sights on another one to take a different Bubble variant as her wife. But instead, she ended up encountering another version of Claire.

And to say the least—Lana was understandably smitten at first sight. She immediately began debating whether to abandon her original plan of adding a Bubble variant to her harem or just go straight to this Claire and ask for her hand in marriage.

Spoilers: Lana got rejected. Shockingly, she actually left Claire alone after that… but Bubble from that AU still ended up being taken away anyway.

However, Lana didn’t give up so easily. She kept coming back to this AU—because unlike the others, this Claire intrigued her. Claire wasn’t exactly a saint or a sinner. She was neutral, yet unpredictable.

Just like Lana.

And that’s exactly what made Lana so drawn to her.

Chapter Text

"Why do you prefer Claires over Abbies?"

Kloera "Claire" Mageiros asked Lanara, her gaze steady. The answer came without hesitation.

"Easy. Because you're related to Lisira."

"What?" Kloera frowned, confused. "I get that my mother was favored by the gods and all, but that doesn’t make sense."

"Ah, ah, ah! That’s exactly my point." Lanara cut in smoothly, her voice laced with amusement. "You know your mother—and her other variants—are seen as... bizarrely morally nuanced figures."

"But that doesn’t make them all—" Kloera stopped mid-sentence as Lanara tilted her head ever so slightly. There was no force in her gesture, just a quiet, deliberate gentleness. And yet, it was enough to silence her.

"Hun, this is Hellenic Mythology."

"Don’t remind me," Kloera muttered, pulling away. Lanara let her.

"What is it about my bloodline that fascinates you so much? I’m not the only one."

"True." Lanara gave a slow nod of agreement before adding, "But yours is directly linked to the traditional Hellenic lineage."

Kloera tilted her head, studying her. Lanara smirked behind her mask before leaning in slightly, her sharp golden gaze never leaving Kloera’s.

She watched as Kloera lazily circled her arms around Lanara’s neck—a gesture meant for nothing more than playful teasing. It meant nothing.

Not that she couldn't cherish it.

"Indeed..." Lanara murmured, lifting her mask just enough as Kloera closed the distance.

The moment hung between them—drawn-out, deliberate. Lanara could feel the warmth of Kloera’s breath against her lips, the teasing way her fingers idly traced patterns along the back of her neck.

Lanara allowed it.

She rarely allowed anyone this close, not without intent, not without control. Yet Kloera had always been an exception—one of the few who could toe the line between teasing and testing without facing consequences.

Kloera knew it, too.

"You’re playing dangerous games again," Lanara mused, her voice smooth, almost lazy, as she reached up and casually brushed a strand of Kloera’s hair aside.

"And you’re letting me," Kloera countered, her smirk widening as she pulled back just slightly, enough to watch Lanara’s expression shift beneath the half-lifted mask.

Lanara exhaled a soft laugh, tilting her head as she studied Kloera with calculating amusement. "Is that what you think?"

Kloera hummed in response, fingers ghosting over Lanara’s collar before she leaned in again, her lips grazing the edge of the mask. "Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?"

Lanara’s grip on the mask tightened for a fleeting second before she let it slip back into place, obscuring her expression once more.

"Perhaps not," she admitted.

Kloera’s grin was infuriatingly smug as she settled more comfortably against Lanara, her arms still draped around her shoulders. "You’re soft for me," she mused.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Lanara scoffed, but she made no move to push her away.

"Mmm, no," Kloera said, tracing idle circles against Lanara’s skin with the tip of her finger. "I think I’m right. You like having me around. I mean, I get it, I’m quite charming—"

Lanara silenced her by pressing a gloved finger against her lips. "Careful, darling," she said, her tone still light but laced with something deeper, something unspoken. "You might start to believe your own delusions."

Kloera bit her lip to stifle a laugh but said nothing more, choosing instead to rest her head against Lanara’s shoulder.

For a moment, Lanara simply allowed it, exhaling a slow breath as she let herself indulge in the warmth.

It was rare for her to tolerate closeness. Rarer still for her to find amusement in it.

But Kloera was an exception.

She always had been.

And Lanara would never say it aloud, but perhaps, in another life, she wouldn’t have minded keeping her.

Perhaps.

Chapter Text

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Claire had to admit, she wasn't always the smartest person in class, especially when she started misbalancing her schedule—all thanks to a certain someone, of course!

Usually, she could handle it well, but ever since Lana 'forced' her way into Claire's life, things had started adding more to Claire's plate.

At least Claire was already smart and had average knowledge. Hope wasn't exactly something she had today—unless you counted the times she had to save her friends from potential murders. Sadly, last night, Claire was supposed to study for the test, but she happened to be 'busy'...

In the morning, panic set in as she realized she had forgotten all about the test. Now, with no time to study, Claire was about to take it. Before science class started, she quickly printed a cheat sheet and stuck it on the last page of her science notebook. The good thing was that she was allowed to bring her science notebook, but nothing else—not even printed pictures. The downside? This notebook didn't contain the new information from the previous lesson, so Claire really had no choice.

Claire prayed that Miss Bloomie wouldn't check her notebook unless absolutely necessary. It wasn't like this test was an exam, so teachers didn't need to check everything. And it's not like Bloomie would check her book thoroughly anyway.

Well, the benefit of having an affair with your science teacher.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

A day later, everyone was waiting to get their test results. While it was scary to some—since the consequences could involve death—luckily, at this university, everyone had five chances. Right now, Claire wasn't worried about her part.

(The benefit of being the teacher's pet, that is.)

Though Claire wasn't immune to nervousness, she wasn't used to being anything but a good student. Sure, she'd had some close calls, but those were the exceptions.

Gods, so this is what it feels like to be a total loser, Claire mused to herself.

When it was her turn, Miss Bloomie handed her paper back.

Huh... a C+?

Claire looked surprised, her gaze darting back to her science teacher.

"It's rare for you to have such a low grade, but at least you passed," Bloomie said, taking the paper back. When their hands brushed, she took the moment to whisper.

"I know you're not the type to cheat, but next time, hide it better... Good job though, I only caught you once."

Miss Bloomie mumbled so only Claire could hear. That brought a smile to Claire's face. While everyone else was busy talking about their grades, Claire grabbed her professor's wrist and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"My, I couldn't express my thanks to you. How about we meet up in your lab as my way of thanking you, hm?"

Little minx... Bloomie clicked her tongue.

Bloomie looked unbothered, but when she glanced at her watch, a faint blush spread across her cheeks.

"Fine," she said nonchalantly, pulling her wrist away from Claire with a huff. "I'm not staying with you all day, so make it quick."

With that, she waved Claire off and continued handing back the test papers. However, from the corner of her eye, Bloomie couldn't help but watch Claire's retreating figure with growing curiosity.

Usually, Claire was fine with walking, but recently... Bloomie had started noticing her limping or hearing her voice sound hoarse. The effects of whatever Claire had been up to were obvious, though Bloomie wasn't exactly a saint herself.

She may be part of the reason Claire couldn't walk properly, but not to this extent. Her thoughts were interrupted when the bell rang, signaling the start of recess. All the students began to leave, including Bloomie and Claire.

As everyone filtered out, Miss Bloomie paused when her favorite student walked past her. Claire flashed her a wink and a grin.

"See you at the lab~"

That tone.

With everyone gone, only Miss Bloomie remained in the classroom. She began tidying up, her thoughts lingering on Claire's words.

That girl...

A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth, followed by a soft chuckle.

What am I going to do with her? The world will never know.

Once the room was clear of any mess, Miss Bloomie packed up her things and left. Rather than heading to the teacher's lounge, she walked down a hallway and disappeared into her private lab.

She put her things away and began preparing to write on the board for her next class, waiting for Claire's arrival. Lost in her writing, Bloomie didn't notice the door to her lab suddenly—

Click.

The science professor froze. Did that door just lock itself?

Miss Bloomie's head snapped toward the door, her eyes widening in surprise. The door was definitely locked. Had she accidentally locked it herself? She double-checked, walking over to try the handle.

Locked.

"Damn it..."

As if reading her thoughts, a familiar voice slithered through the air.

"How does it feel to be in the same situation as your students?~"

What-

Bloomie turned sharply, scanning the empty room. No one. Her heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down her spine. This wasn't right. No, she was sure she was sober enough to know what was happening. Claire hadn't arrived yet, and whoever had pulled this stunt was definitely using some kind of magic.

Ugh... She scowled, brushing off the unsettling feeling. She didn't have time for this—her students would be in soon, and she needed to get everything ready for the lesson.

She walked back to her desk, ready to ignore the eerie feeling, but just as her fingers brushed the papers she had prepared, the air shifted. The temperature suddenly spiked. Bloomie froze, her instincts telling her something was horribly wrong.

Then, a quiet hum—something wrong—began to fill the air, vibrating through the walls. Before Bloomie could react, a deafening, guttural bang cracked the silence.

The lab exploded.

The first blast came from the counter, where glass beakers, filled with carefully prepared contents, ignited into a ferocious burst of flames. Chemicals boiled over, splashing across the tables, catching fire in a chaotic frenzy. The force of the explosion sent several heavy pieces of lab equipment soaring—scorching metal tongs flying through the air like deadly projectiles. Bloomie barely had time to duck before one slammed into the wall with a horrifying clink.

Bam, bam, bam! More explosions erupted in rapid succession as volatile chemicals in the lab reacted violently, setting off a catastrophic chain reaction. The overhead lights flickered, sparking and buzzing as if in protest, before finally shattering into thousands of tiny, sharp shards that rained down like hail. The acrid stench of burning metal and sulfur mingled with the pungent scent of singed paper and wood, assaulting Bloomie's senses.

She stumbled backward, hands instinctively outstretched, trying in vain to shield herself from the flying debris. The floor cracked beneath the shockwaves, and a thick plume of smoke began to rise from the wreckage of the counter, choking the air with its dark, suffocating presence.

What the hell is happening?

Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as she turned, disoriented, her mind racing to make sense of the chaos unfolding around her.

Her breath came in sharp gasps as she turned, disoriented, and then the voice came again, chillingly close.

"Don't you love a little chemistry in the morning?"

She whipped around, her eyes scanning the empty space, but no one was there. The voice was like a shadow, lingering just out of reach, a haunting presence that seemed to seep into the very air around her. Panic surged in her chest as the final blast hit—a devastating wave of force that knocked her off her feet, sending her sprawling across the floor.

For a moment, everything was silent.

The lab was in ruins. The walls were scorched, the counters shattered, and the air was thick with acrid smoke that stung her lungs. Bloomie struggled to sit up, her body aching from the sheer force of the explosion. Her heart pounded as she slowly took in the destruction surrounding her.

And then, through the ringing in her ears, the voice came again, sweet and venomous, cutting through the silence.

"Your lesson on the dangers of chemistry... is over."

Her mind raced, struggling to grasp a coherent thought amidst the chaos. Whoever had done this was clearly toying with her. That voice... she knew it—was she hallucinating?

She shook her head, trying to clear the ringing in her ears and the dizzying haze that was rapidly overtaking her. She needed to pull herself together. Bloomie stood, fighting the wave of nausea and disbelief that threatened to consume her. This was beyond messed up—it was impossible. Chemicals didn't just explode on their own.

But as she took a step toward the door, it suddenly slammed open, making her jump.

Her colleagues, Miss Thavel and Miss Circle, stood in the doorway.

Wide-eyed, they locked gazes with Bloomie.

"What happened?!"

"Are you okay?!"

Both rushed to her side, and Miss Bloomie could only collapse into their arms, her breathing heavy and erratic.

"I don't know..." She managed to say, her voice trembling. Thavel and Circle exchanged a glance, their eyes widening as they took in the state of the lab, which looked worse than the aftermath of a warzone.

"This is..." Miss Circle trailed off, her voice barely audible.

Miss Thavel's gaze snapped to Miss Bloomie. Her voice was firm, a contrast to her trembling hands. "Who did this?!"

Miss Bloomie shook her head. Her mind was spinning, a swirling mix of confusion and horror. "I don't know..."

"What do you mean, you don't know?!" Thavel's tone became more biting. She gestured towards the lab, her voice rising. "This is a total mess! How could you not know?!"

"I... I don't know!" Bloomie retorted, her frustration breaking through the panicked fear. She pushed herself off of them, managing to stand on her own unstable legs, but the room was spinning.

Thavel's eyes narrowed, a look of disbelief on her face. "You were the only one in here, right? You had to see something..."

The words stung. Was Thavel implying that she was to blame for this?

The thought was too much to bear. Bloomie gritted her teeth, her voice hoarse as the smoke continued to swirl around them.

"I was the only one in here, and I didn't see a damn thing, okay?!"

"Then—"

"Someone locked the door, and then the temperature suddenly changed. And now here I am, my fucking lab exploding!" She snapped, her frustration boiling over. Her vision blurred as she struggled to stay on her feet, her body trembling from the shock.

Circle's eyes widened, her gaze shifting towards the door. She was the more levelheaded of the three, but even her composure was faltering.

"Are you sure the locked door wasn't a safety measure?"

Thavel shot her a sharp look, but Bloomie shook her head.

"That's never happened before!" she retorted, her voice cracking. "And I swear I..." I heard a voice... But before she could voice it, she trailed off.

"Bloomie!" Miss Circle managed to catch her in time. "Shit... we need to take her to the hospital."

"No... no, I'm fine," Bloomie protested weakly, but her body was working against her. Her head was spinning, every sound and movement intensified, and the acrid smell of smoke and chemicals was overwhelming.

Thavel scoffed. "You're not fine," she said, her tone brusque. "Look at you—can you even walk?"

Bloomie tried taking a step, her legs shaking like a newborn fawn. She could hardly stand, let alone walk. Thavel shot Circle a knowing look.

"That's what I thought."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Meanwhile, in the canteen, Claire had just bought herself a quick snack. Normally, she'd eat the food she packed from home, but with her new tight schedule, fast food was the quickest way to get things over with.

She was chatting with her friends, Engel and Lizzy, when they suddenly noticed a group of teachers—and their security guard, Mister Barrel—rushing down the hallway. The direction they were headed? The science wing. Specifically... where Miss Bloomie's lab was.

Claire narrowed her eyes, confused. Then she spotted Mister Compass nearby—oddly alone, with no sign of Miss Circle.

"Guys, you two go on ahead. I need to find out what the hell's going on," Claire said, scarfing down the rest of her lunch in a few bites.

"Man, since when do you care so much about school drama?" Engel teased.

"Ever since Bubble went missing," Claire shot back, already turning to leave.

She caught up to Mister Compass, calling out, "Professor Compass!"

He was on his phone and looked like he was in a rush, heading toward the exit. His expression shifted when he noticed his favorite student.

"Claire?"

"What's going on? I saw a bunch of teachers running toward the science hallway."

There was a pause. Mister Compass looked hesitant. Just as Claire opened her mouth to press further, he finally spoke.

"Miss Bloomie's lab... it suddenly exploded."

Claire's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "Exploded? Is—Is Miss Bloomie okay?"

"She's fine, thank the gods," Compass said with a sigh. "But... the lab's completely wrecked."

Claire felt her stomach twist. The lab was destroyed? Who would—?

Hold up.

Compass noticed the concern on her face and shook his head.

"Miss Bloomie's alright, but the damage is done. Whoever caused this will be tracked down immediately, even though we haven't found them yet."

"Can I come with you? You're going to see Bloomie, right?" Claire asked quickly.

Compass raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want to come?"

Claire shrugged, her usual smirk returning. "Curiosity, that's all."

Compass sighed—he should've seen that answer coming. It seemed Claire would get her way no matter what.

"Fine," he relented. "But you're sticking right next to me, understood?"

Claire nodded, but the moment Compass looked away, her smile faded into a cold frown.
Lanara, you are so dead.

"I'll write a note to Grace for your absence," Compass added.

"Huh. I was planning to do that."

"Then now you don't have to." He opened the door and gestured for her to go first, following close behind.

At the parking lot, Mister Compass glanced around, checking to make sure no one was watching before subtly gesturing for Claire to get into his car.

"So, Bloomie's already at the hospital?" Claire asked as she slid into the front seat, pulling on her seatbelt—though she already knew the answer.

"Mhm..." Mister Compass nodded, settling into the driver's seat.

Compass turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life. He shot a warning look at Claire.

"Stay right next to me. Don't go wandering off, got it?"

Claire sighed, drumming her fingers on the armrest. "Yeah, yeah, got it. You've told me that like a million times already."

"Well, if it weren't for your little two-week disappearance, I wouldn't have to keep nagging you."

"You really missed me that much?" Claire teased. "Didn't expect you—of all my affair partners—to care."

"Let's. Not. Talk. About. That," Compass grumbled.

"Ugh. Fine, fine~" Claire rolled her eyes, then leaned back in her seat, watching out the window as the school disappeared in the distance.

About ten minutes later, they pulled up at the hospital. Compass turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, gesturing for Claire to do the same.

"Stay close. I'll escort you to Miss Bloomie's room," he said.

Claire nodded and followed him inside, her eyes roaming the hospital halls. They passed by a few nurses and patients, but no one paid them and much attention.

As they took the elevator to Bloomie's floor, Compass's phone buzzed for the fifth time. He let out an annoyed sound, unlocking the screen.

Claire took a quick peek from over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the messages.

There were multiple texts and missed calls from one contact: Miss Thavel. His expression hardened.

As soon as Compass locked his phone, he noticed Claire giving him a curious look. He huffed. "Some of my colleagues won't stop pestering me for updates."

"Yeah, I can see that," Claire replied, casually grabbing his hand—much to his confusion. Before he could say anything, she subtly nodded her head, and Compass froze.

Shit. Why is my family here?

Thinking fast, he tightened his grip and quickly pulled Claire along with him.

"I didn't think your family were the visiting hospitals type," Claire muttered.

"Neither did I," Compass agreed.

His family wasn't anything particularly unique—aside from their lineage—but they definitely weren't the warm, get-well-soon kind. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen them near a hospital. Especially his mother—who had a talent for jumping to conclusions.

And Compass, showing up with a random girl? A student, no less?

Yeah. No one wanted that kind of drama today.

Thankfully, no one questioned them as Compass hurried down the hallway—Claire having to take slightly longer strides to keep up with his pace.

They finally reached the right room—Miss Bloomie's. Compass knocked lightly, and after a few seconds, the door creaked open to reveal Miss Circle. She looked exhausted, but her lips curved into a small smile at the sight of Compass.

"You—" she started, then paused when she noticed the girl standing beside him.

"Claire? Goodness, Kloera, I didn't know you were coming," she said with a tired but warm smile, as if she hadn't just been about to say something to her husband.

Claire offered a faint smile in return. "I heard what happened."

Her eyes quickly found Miss Bloomie, sitting upright in the hospital bed and sipping coffee like it was just another day.

"Are you okay?" Claire asked, quickly stepping to her teacher's side.

"Yeah, I'm alright now," Bloomie replied, raising her cup. "But seeing your face is enough to make me feel worse."

"Seriously?" Claire laughed softly, shaking her head.

While the two of them exchanged a few words, Compass and Miss Circle stepped aside to make some calls, updating the rest of the staff.

"So, any idea who's behind this?" Claire asked, now sitting on the bed while Bloomie rested her head on her shoulder. Miss Circle and Mister Compass sat nearby in silence.

"I don't know," Miss Circle sighed, rubbing her temple.

"The least we can do is wait—" Compass began, but his words cut off as his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and groaned.

"Great. My mother."

"Well, answer her," Miss Circle said, rolling her eyes.

Compass huffed and picked up the call, leaning against the wall with a sigh. He crossed his arms, muttering into the phone, "Yes, everything's fine... No one else was hurt. Bloomie's okay. She's in stable condition. No, they haven't caught the culprit yet..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, the sound of his mother's nagging barely muffled through the speaker.

Claire winced sympathetically, exchanging a quick glance with Miss Circle, who merely shook her head in annoyance. The last thing they needed right now was a cranky mother-in-law causing more stress.

Compass finally hung up, massaging his temples. The headache he'd had earlier was only getting worse.

As he returned to his seat, Miss Circle gave him a teasing smirk. "How bad was she?"

He grumbled in response, running a hand through his hair. "As bad as always."

Then he turned to Claire. "Do you think you could heal Bloomie?"

Claire raised her eyebrows. "Huh? Are you serious? I might be Hellenic and have my own healing system, but my powers haven't awakened yet."

"You're older now. What's taking so long?"

"Good question," Claire said, adjusting her grip around Bloomie's shoulders. "Maybe I'm just a late boomer. Does that make sense?"

Compass sighed, rubbing his forehead again. He hadn't meant to sound so accusatory—he was just exhausted and worried.

Miss Circle shot him a sharp look, silently scolding him. Then she turned her attention to Claire, her voice softening.

"Don't stress about your healing powers—maybe you just need a little push. Why not give it a try?"

Well, fuck me, Claire thought. If she refused, it'd look suspicious. If she agreed, it still might look suspicious. Might as well take the gamble.

Feigning a sigh, she said, "Okay... but if it doesn't work, don't tease me, alright?" She nudged Miss Bloomie gently. "Come on, let me sit up."

Bloomie smiled faintly, shifting her position to sit upright, leaning back against the pillows. Claire knelt on the bed in front of her, carefully tracing her fingers along Bloomie's skin.

The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Compass and Miss Circle watched closely, silently praying for any sign of healing to appear.

As Claire's fingers glided across Bloomie's skin, a warm, golden aura began to form around her hands, dancing like a flickering candle flame. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but the change was there.

Mister Compass and Miss Circle were surprised that it actually worked, while Claire tried to push aside her conflicting thoughts.

She took a deep breath, focusing all her attention on the task at hand, willing her power to activate.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a soft light began to envelop Bloomie's body, as though it were being drawn in through her skin. The color returned to Bloomie's cheeks, and her eyes began to shine brighter. There was no mistaking it—her healing powers were working. At least, that's what the couple thought, but in reality, Claire had always had powers.

What did they expect from a Hellenic like her? She just had to pretend she didn't.

"It... it worked?" Miss Circle muttered.

"Guess I should congratulate myself," Claire hummed, a small smile forming on her lips. Bloomie pulled her into a tight hug.

"That's why you're my favorite."

"Uh—"

"Bloomie, she's our favorite."

"No fighting here, women," Mister Compass chimed in.

"As if you weren't possessive of her yesterday," Circle shot back.

Compass turned beet red, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He shot a sharp glare at Miss Circle. "Hey, can you not?"

Before he could respond, another sharp knock echoed from the door, breaking the tension and capturing their attention. Miss Thavel poked her head through the door, her expression clearly irritated.

"There you all are," she said bluntly, clearly in a bad mood.

Miss Thavel's irritated voice caught Compass off guard. He and Miss Circle had been so distracted with Miss Bloomie and Claire healing her that they had nearly forgotten about Miss Thavel.

Compass straightened up, bracing for the inevitable headache. "Thavel. You're here," he remarked dryly.

Miss Thavel huffed, stepping further into the room and crossing her arms. "Of course I'm here. You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun without me, did you?"

"You were fine. What got you so mad?" Miss Circle asked.

"Some idiot pulled a ridiculous prank, and I had to burn my own book to get rid of it," Thavel grumbled, her frustration making her wendigo traits flare up. Claire, sensing the tension, casually stepped out of bed, only for Thavel to snatch her up and pull her into a hug as she sat down on the floor.

"Prank?" Mister Compass arched an eyebrow.

Miss Circle chuckled softly at the sight of Thavel's behavior toward Claire, though she hid it well. "Well, that's annoying."

Compass leaned against the wall again, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. He'd almost forgotten that Miss Thavel had a habit of grabbing the nearest thing when distressed, and Claire happened to be one of those things. Or maybe Claire was the only student she'd snatch up in a moment like this.

"What kind of 'prank' requires book-burning and has you so pissed off?" he asked.

"When I was planning to leave class early to see you guys and was putting my stuff away... the textbooks—ugh, the fucking textbooks—started screaming insults when I opened them to mark the pages for my next lesson. It took me five minutes to figure out what the hell was going on, and then I had to ask Miss Snow for help, since she's a Hellenic and has some magic that could help. She did. But the last book just wouldn't stop talking, and worst of all, it kept mentioning Claire's name."

"Wait, hold up—MY name?" Claire asked, wide-eyed.

Chapter Text

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌....

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Ever since Miss Bloomie had been sent to the hospital after the explosion in her lab, Thavel had been trying to wrap up things in her class. Now that the lesson was over, she was about to mark the textbooks for the next lesson when suddenly—

She reached for the first textbook, flipping it open, expecting to see the usual list of notes. But instead, a shrill, high-pitched screech echoed from the pages.

"YOU'RE AN IDIOT!" The words appeared in bold, garish red across the first page, accompanied by a voice that seemed to come from nowhere—but from the book itself.

Thavel's eyes widened in shock. She quickly slammed the book shut, her heart racing. What in the world? She glanced around the empty room, but no one else seemed to be reacting.

She opened another textbook, more cautiously this time, only to be met with another—

"STOP BEING SUCH A FAILURE!"

The words were even louder this time, and Thavel's patience began to wear thin. She slammed this book shut too, but then—another textbook sprang open by itself, followed by another shriek.

"YOU'RE A DISASTER!"

Thavel's blood ran cold. She stared at the books, then at the door. No one was in the room to cause this. She opened yet another textbook, feeling the tension rise in her chest—

"GO BACK TO THE FOREST!"

Well, that was raci-

Thavel's hands trembled as she quickly tried to close the book, but it was no use. Another one opened. And another. And another, all of them screaming insults at her, echoing off the walls.

"YOU CAN'T TEACH ANYONE!"

"YOU'LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH!"

"NO ONE WILL EVER LIKE YOU!"

The books were opening on their own, and the insults came faster, one after another, drowning her in a chorus of cruel words.

Thavel's breath hitched. Her chest tightened as the words slammed into her like an invisible force. She slammed every book shut in panic, but it didn't stop. Each time she closed one, another would fly open.

"Who did this?" she muttered to herself, voice trembling with a mix of confusion and fury. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't make sense of it. Why was this happening?

Her eyes darted toward the door, but no one was there. She froze, then heard something—a faint whisper, just beyond the door. It was so soft, she almost thought she imagined it.

"Your lesson's over, Natalia."

Thavel's head snapped toward the door. The voice was sweet, mocking, and chillingly close. A shiver ran down her spine when it said her first name, and her hands clenched into fists.

She was going to find out who was behind this—and they would pay.

After locking the door of the classroom, Thavel rushed out to find the nearest person, desperate for help. She spotted Miss Snow walking by. Seeing another fellow Hellenic, Thavel quickly called out.

"Snow, Snow!"

Snow turned upon hearing her name being called. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as she saw Thavel running over toward her.

"Thavel? What's the matter?" she inquired, slightly alarmed by the look of distress on Thavel's face.

Thavel came to a stop in front of Snow, panting a little. "I need your help," she said between breaths. "Something's happened in my classroom and I have no idea what it is."

Snow's curiosity was piqued. "What happened?" she inquired, concern lacing her words.

Thavel took a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself. "The textbooks. They... they're talking. They're saying things, horrible things." She hesitated, as if hesitant to continue.

Talking books? Snow furrowed her brow in confusion, though a hint of disbelief flickered in her eyes. "Are you sure? That sounds... quite unusual."

Thavel nodded vigorously. "I'm not imagining things, I swear. I even slammed the books shut, but they kept opening on their own and shouting insults at me. It's like something's possessing them."

"Take me there. I'll help," Miss Snow said.

Thavel led the way back to the classroom, her steps quick and determined. As they neared the door, she slowed, her hand hovering above the handle.

"Be prepared," she warned Snow, her voice low. Then, without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

Silence greeted them, almost unnatural in its emptiness. Thavel and Snow exchanged glances, both waiting for something, anything, to happen.

And then, all at once, the books began to screech.

"Natalia, you know you're no good at teaching," one book sneered.

"Maybe you should just quit," another suggested sarcastically.

"Yeah, who needs a teacher like you?"

Thavel's gaze darkened, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in her eyes. She gripped the edge of a desk, her knuckles turning white.

Snow looked at Thavel, then back at the books. Her expression was sympathetic, but there was a hint of something else there too—disbelief, perhaps?

"Good thing I brought my handy little book with me," Miss Snow said, pulling a small book from her pocket.

"You're a witch?"

"Does it count if I'm a follower of Evantheia?" Miss Snow asked, ignoring the overlapping insults directed at Miss Thavel.

"Close enough."

Thavel watched as Snow held the small book open, reading through a few of the inscriptions. It was clear she was preparing some sort of spell, but Thavel's focus was wavering. The voices of the books were getting to her, their words digging deeper with every cruel syllable.

Snow glanced up and noticed Thavel's distress. "You need to stay focused," she said sternly.

Thavel nodded, clenching her fists again. "I'm trying," she said through gritted teeth. But her wendigo traits were slipping through, specifically the antlers and fur.

The books seemed even more outraged now. "Now it's witches too? This school is a joke!"

Thavel tried to ignore them, focusing on Miss Snow. "What are you going to do?"

Miss Snow opened her book, her eyes skimming its contents before she looked up at Thavel.

"I'm going to cast a revealing spell. It should show us if there's any enchantment or curse on the books. Maybe we'll see who might be behind this."

Thavel nodded, though inside she was a mix of impatience and skepticism. But she had no other options.

Snow began to recite the spell, her words almost sounding like gibberish to Thavel's ears. As she read, the book in her hands shimmered with a faint blue glow.

The books on the desks seemed to recognize the magic, and they began to screech louder. "Witchcraft! No! Stop!"

Snow paused, then continued, undeterred.

The classroom filled with a strange, palpable tension. Thavel could feel an odd energy, a hum in the air that almost made her skin shiver.

Snow finished the spell, and the book in her hands gleamed a bit before the glow faded. Silence fell, the only sound the harsh breathing of Thavel and Snow.

The books were still now, their voices silenced. Thavel watched them carefully, waiting to see if they would start screaming again. But nothing happened.

Snow looked at Thavel, her gaze steady. "Any change?" she asked, her voice soft.

Thavel shook her head. "They... they stopped."

The silence was almost more unnerving than the earlier onslaught. Thavel remained on edge, still expecting the books to start their taunts again at any moment.

Snow moved toward the books, her eyes narrowing as she inspected them. She ran her fingers lightly over the covers, searching for any hidden signs.

"Nothing unusual on the surface," she murmured, more to herself than to Thavel. She picked up one book and began flipping through it, studying the pages intently. Expecting more screaming, but... nothing.

Both let out a sigh of relief. Thavel felt a wave of relief wash over her until—

"Claire's wasn't yours."

Thavel froze, and Miss Snow glanced at the last book in surprise.

"Huh? Claire? Who's that—"

The book suddenly screamed again, but this time, it wasn't insulting Thavel. Instead, it mentioned someone named Claire—someone Thavel knew very well (her partner, specifically)—while Snow was left utterly confused.

Thavel's heart skipped a beat. "Claire..." she whispered, her voice suddenly tight with tension.

Snow looked at her, confusion evident on her face. "Claire? Who's Claire?"

But Thavel barely registered Snow's question. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. How did the book know about Claire? And why had it singled her out?

As she struggled with these questions, the book continued. "She doesn't belong to you...Natalia, and you're not hers." The words stung, even though they came from an inanimate object. It started sprouting more nonsense until:

"A teacher like you shouldn't—!"

Thavel immediately slammed the book shut with her clawed hands, the impact cutting the words off. Miss Snow was still processing the situation, caught off guard by Thavel's sudden action.

"Can we burn this one?"

"Uh, okay...?"

Thavel grabbed the book and headed straight for the nearby garbage bin. Her thoughts kept returning to the words the book had spoken: She doesn't belong to you... and you're not hers...

She was snapped back to reality by a hand on her shoulder—it was Miss Snow's.

"What did it mean by that?" Snow asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern. She flipped through the pages, searching for the fire spell.

"That's..." Thavel hesitated, her words trailing off. "Claire's my partner. I don't know how it knows, but I don't want it insulting her."

Snow nodded, beginning to understand. "That explains why you reacted the way you did."

She finished reciting the fire spell as the bin lit up in a small flame. Thavel dropped the book into the fire unceremoniously, watching it burn with a mix of anger and helplessness.

Snow returned her attention to Thavel, her tone more serious now. "You should find Claire. Make sure she's okay."

Thavel looked at her, her heart racing at the thought. Is Claire safe?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌....

︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶

Miss Thavel nodded, her grip on Claire loosening slightly. "Yes, your name. It kept calling you names, mentioning something about a 'cult.' I'm sure you can understand how disturbing that was to hear."

Oh my gods, what the hell have you been doing, Nara?! Claire thought to herself.

Claire managed to maintain a neutral expression, but inside, she was screaming. This was bad. Very, very bad.

"A cult?" Miss Circle chimed in, confused. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

"That's what I thought, too," Miss Thavel replied, sighing.

Compass raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "And Snow helped you, you said?"

Miss Thavel nodded. "Yes, she did. She was able to silence the book's voice and gave me instructions on how to get rid of the voices in the other books. It doesn't necessarily require burning them, but the last one did. And boy, was that such an annoyance."

"I can only imagine," Miss Circle said with a chuckle.

She knew that Miss Thavel's wendigo nature made it difficult for her to control her emotions, especially anger. Miss Circle cared for her colleague, of course, but even she had to admit that the wendigo had a short fuse. One tiny inconvenience could set her off in an instant.

"It's been a while since we all gathered together like this..." Miss Thavel muttered, her voice soft as Claire felt her language teacher bury her face in the crook of her neck.

That was true. Ever since Claire had returned to school, things hadn't quite been the same. Especially once the teachers found out about the fact that the same student they'd had an affair with was literally involved with almost everyone. Well, maybe not everyone, but still.

Miss Thavel, Miss Circle, and Mister Compass didn't get to hang out together often. They were too busy with their own classes. Plus, being cooped up in the same room usually ended in a chaotic headache. And yet...

"Hey, guys?" Claire's voice broke through, and everyone perked up. "It's been a while since we've all been together. How about we hang out this weekend? I could use a break."

Compass couldn't help but hum in agreement. "It has. Sure—feels like it's been ages."

"And all it took was an attempted murder in the science lab to bring us back together," Miss Circle joked.

"I'd be up for it," Miss Thavel added, nuzzling her face into Claire's neck. Her wendigo features, thankfully, had retreated for now.

Miss Bloomie, who'd been silently watching the ongoing conversation, couldn't help but chuckle. "Looks like my dear kitty's got us wrapped around her little finger."

Claire felt heat rising to her cheeks but stubbornly hid it behind a smirk.

"I mean, who wouldn't be? I'm the most irresistible woman in this school," she teased, hearing Miss Circle scoff, which made her laugh.

"Ah, the ego you have," Compass muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You never change, do you?"

"You're the first to complain about it," Thavel pointed out, though there was no malice in her eyes.

Compass and Circle smiled, almost fondly.

"You and your 'kitty' comment," Compass said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully.

"Oh, don't pretend you're not jealous," Miss Circle added with a coy smirk.

"And you're not at all?" he returned, raising an eyebrow.

"Jealous? No—more like irritated," Miss Circle countered. "Our brat spends more time with you than with us."

Miss Thavel hummed in agreement. "She's not wrong. We feel like you two are getting closer."

Compass let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh, come on. She's not playing favorites."

"You guys do realize that I'm still here, right?" Claire said.

"Oh, we know you're here," Miss Circle said, her lip curling into a sly smirk. "But we're still discussing the fact that you're spending too much time with a certain someone."

Compass sighed again, crossing his arms. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again—it's not like that."

"Yeah, right." Miss Thavel rolled her eyes, her expression teasing. "We're not blind, you know."

"I've been spending time with Grace and Emily, not always with Compass," Claire said. Thavel let out a low growl at the mention of the duo, burying her face further into Claire's neck.

"Are you into people with power or something?" Miss Circle asked.

Claire shrugged. "What? I never got detentions so easily unless it was necessary."

Miss Bloomie watched as Miss Circle and Miss Thavel teased an increasingly annoyed Mister Compass, enjoying every moment of it. This was her favorite form of entertainment.

"The poor guy's getting tired of your remarks," she said with a stifled chuckle.

"Oh, he can handle it," Miss Circle waved it off. "It's just a little fun teasing."

"It's more than that," Thavel replied coolly, still hugging Claire.

˙✧˖°· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ༘ ⋆｡˚

After arriving back at the University Paper school, Claire had to part ways with her teachers to continue her classes. Luckily, she had math class with Miss Circle, so she wasn't too worried.

However, in the middle of the lesson, Miss Emily knocked on the door of the math classroom, currently taught by Miss Circle, and walked in, shutting the door behind her.

"Can I take Claire back to my class to redo a history test?" she asked.

Miss Circle arched an eyebrow, a bit taken aback, while Claire looked confused. She didn't remember taking a history test.

"Sure." Miss Circle agreed, though she seemed slightly uncertain.

Miss Emily then escorted Claire back to her class, which was empty. Emily shut the door behind her.

"Professor Emily—" Claire started, but she was cut off mid-sentence when Emily silenced her with a kiss. Despite the surprise, Claire couldn't exactly deny one of her affair partners.

She returned the kiss, and Emily backed them toward the desk. Before Claire knew it, she found herself on top of the desk, with Emily caging her in with her body.

Emily's hand traveled up Claire's thigh, slipping beneath her skirt, while the other gripped her waist. Claire's hands clung to Emily's hips as their kiss deepened—hot, hungry, and breathless.

Emily's lips wandered down Claire's neck, finding that one spot that always made her shiver. A soft moan escaped Claire's lips, and her fingers slid into Emily's hair, tugging gently.

"Professor... We shouldn't—" she began, her voice breathless, but Emily cut her off with a low murmur.

"I know, I know," she whispered, her fingers teasing along Claire's inner thigh.

"Ngh... jeez, what got into you so suddenly?"

"I..." Emily hesitated, but her hands didn't stop. She nibbled Claire's neck, and Claire tilted her head to give her more access. Emily always had a habit of leaving marks—bites, little bruises—and Claire had grown used to letting her.

"It's just..." Emily exhaled, her voice quieter now. "It's been a rough day, that's all."

Claire smirked, breath hitching as Emily's teeth grazed her skin. "So that's why you're acting so desperate, huh?"

"Shut up," Emily muttered, biting down a bit harder than before, and Claire let out a soft gasp.

"No one said you could leave marks," Claire managed to say, her voice slightly strained. Emily's hand continued to slide up her thigh, and Claire tried to focus, trying to ignore the sensations sparking within her.

And Emily, ever the tease, was all too aware of the effect she was having. She pressed herself closer, her breath hot against Claire's ear.

"I'll leave as many marks as I want," she whispered, low and heated.

"Possessive much?" Claire tried to joke, but her voice betrayed her. She squirmed a bit, feeling Emily's hand still stroking her thigh under the skirt.

Emily chuckled, her mouth finding its way back to Claire's neck. "You're one to talk," she murmured against her skin, her teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh.

Claire let out a small moan at the mixture of pain and pleasure, her fingers curling in Emily's hair. She attempted to protest again, but Emily's hand wandered higher, and all her words became a shaky gasp.

"Y-you don't mind telling me about your day?" Emily asked, her voice low.

"Hm." Emily hummed, continuing her ministrations. "My history books were replaced with a claim about Lanara conquering the world."

Claire's eyes widened just slightly, her surprise coming out as a soft laugh. "What? Really?" she asked, the tone of her voice sounding genuinely amused. "Sounds like a bizarre prank."

Her face remained composed, masking any real suspicion, and she leaned back into Emily's touch, playing along effortlessly. "I bet someone's messing around with you," she added nonchalantly, her hand sliding along Emily's arm as if the situation was nothing more than a harmless joke.

Emily pulled back just slightly, her gaze locking onto Claire's face. For someone who was being touched and teased so relentlessly, Claire remained oddly calm and collected; her expression revealed nothing, giving off only an innocent curiosity.

Even as Emily's hand continued to roam under her skirt, her touch growing bolder with each passing second, Claire managed to maintain her composure. It was almost uncanny how well she could keep up appearances.

A smirk curled on Emily's lips as her fingers crept closer to Claire's inner thigh. "You don't seem too surprised."

"Recently, there've been pranks going on at this university. What is there to be surprised about?" Claire replied smoothly, her voice unwavering. Even though it wasn't a full lie but strange things started happening. Especially after Miss Snow's joining the university.

Emily chuckled, her eyes narrowing as she watched Claire intently, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just above her panties. Claire's breath hitched, but she quickly regained her composure, her back arching subtly into Emily's touch.

"You're acting quite calm, considering—" Emily paused, her touch becoming more deliberate, circling closer to where Claire needed her the most. "Considering the situation we're in right now..."

Claire's cheeks flushed at Emily's words, her breathing a little faster than usual. She wanted to play coy, to keep up her facade of nonchalance, but Emily's touch was so close, and it was taking every ounce of her willpower to not buck her hips and seek out that sweet friction.

"You're one to talk," she finally managed to say, her voice tinged with just a hint of a whimper.

Emily's eyes darkened, her smirk growing wider. She teased along the edge of Claire's panties, relishing in the way her body shifted and reacted to her touch. But even then, Claire managed to hold her own, her voice still steady.

"No one's here," Emily murmured, her fingers moving so close to where Claire needed them. "You can be a bit more honest...*"

Claire tried to hold back a soft moan, but it slipped out anyways. "H-honest about what?"

"You know what I mean." Emily's voice was a low, hot whisper against Claire's neck.

Her fingers finally reached their destination, gently rubbing through the fabric of Claire's underwear, and Claire's hips instinctively rocked forward, seeking more friction.

Emily chuckled. "See, you're not nearly as composed as you pretend to be, hm? You don't mind showing your true colors to me, right?"

Claire bit her lip to keep any more sounds from escaping, her cheeks flushed. She was trying so hard to keep herself together, but Emily had her utterly undone. She had always been able to make her come undone.

Her hips moved against Emily's hand, searching for more friction, but Emily didn't give her what she wanted. Instead, she withdrew her hand entirely, leaving Claire to whimper in frustration.

"No, I...I don't mind," she finally gasped out, her voice a breathy whisper.

Emily smirked, watching as Claire's usually composed demeanor unraveled before her. There was something gratifying about seeing her like this, vulnerable and desperate, her cool exterior replaced by a needy mess.

Hearing Claire's words, Emily's eyes flicked up, a hint of something darker in her gaze. "That's a good girl." She murmured, her hands gripping Claire's thighs, her grip just a bit too tight, possessive. "You don't mind showing me...everything, then?"

Chapter Text

At the kindergarten section, inside the art classroom, Miss Sasha was overseeing her students with a gentle smile. "Hehe, look at all of you little darlings," she cooed, watching as the kids played and worked on their little projects. She was wrapping up materials for her next lesson, a quick break before she had to head to the university building for the afternoon lecture with the older students.

As Miss Sasha was distracted, preparing her things, she didn't notice the small ball that was tossed into the room. It bounced once, then rolled across the floor. A curious child, eyes wide with interest, approached the ball, picking it up and shaking it. There was something inside, a strange shimmer that caught the child's attention.

"Look! Look!" the child called out, holding the ball up for others to see.

Soon, a small group of children gathered around, their innocent chatter rising as they ogled the mysterious ball. Miss Sasha, noticing the commotion, furrowed her brow in confusion. "What's all this about?" she asked, stepping closer to investigate the growing crowd of excited children.

Just as she was about to reach the group, the ball suddenly burst open with a loud pop.

A thick cloud of smoke erupted from the ball, enveloping the room in an instant. Miss Sasha gasped, stumbling back, coughing violently as the smoke filled her lungs. The children, startled by the sudden explosion, started coughing as well. Some of them sneezed, their faces scrunched in confusion and discomfort.

"Ugh, what is that?!" Miss Sasha wheezed, trying to wave away the dense smoke, but it only seemed to grow thicker.

The room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, as the smoke swirled around them. The sound of the kids coughing and sneezing filled the air, some of them crying as the glitter from the ball seemed to float and settle everywhere. Miss Sasha blinked as the smoke started to clear, her eyes stinging from the particles.

When the smoke finally dissipated, the chaos was far from over. The classroom was a glittering mess—every surface was covered in a shimmering dust.

One of the kids, a small girl with pigtails, let out a loud wail. "My eyes! It's in my eyes!" She rubbed them frantically, her face scrunching in pain. Another child began to cough violently, the glitter having gotten into their throat. Some kids looked around in wide-eyed confusion, but others, too, were crying, their faces smudged with the glitter that had settled on their skin.

The air was thick with the sound of choking and sneezing. Miss Sasha, now coughing herself, looked around in a mix of panic and confusion, trying to assess the situation.

"Alright, alright, calm down, everyone," she said, her voice hoarse. "It's just glitter, nothing to be scared of."

But even as she spoke, she realized something more alarming—when she looked around at the children, she noticed that every single one of them was now covered in a sparkling layer of glitter. Their faces, their arms, their clothes—all of it was covered in the shimmering dust.

Miss Sasha's eyes widened in disbelief. The glitter wasn't just a temporary mess—it was everywhere, stuck to their skin, their hair. It wasn't coming off.

One of the children, still sniffling, looked up at Miss Sasha with wide, innocent eyes and asked, "Miss Sasha, why are we all shiny now?"

She looked down at her own hand, the glitter reflecting the light in a way that made her breath catch. It was as though the glitter had embedded itself into their skin, leaving a permanent trace behind.

Her heart sank as she realized there was no easy way to fix this. The glitter wasn't just some harmless prank—it was permanent.

Miss Sasha let out a tired sigh, rubbing her temples as the children around her continued to fuss and complain, their once innocent faces now shimmering like little living diamonds.

"Okay, okay," she muttered to herself. "We'll get this cleaned up... but first, we need to figure out where that came from..."

Miss Sasha took a deep breath, trying to compose herself despite the overwhelming situation. She knew she had to keep calm and collected for the sake of the kids, but inside, her mind raced.

As the children continued to fuss and fidget, their clothes and faces now almost entirely covered in the glittering dust, Miss Sasha tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Alright, darlings," she reassured them, "let's try to calm down, okay? Can you all listen to me for a moment?"

Most of the children nodded, their sniffles and sobs slowly starting to subside. A few of the more curious ones even paused, staring up at her, the glitter on their faces sparkling in the light.

Miss Sasha crouched down to their eye level, her gaze shifting from one child to another. "Good," she said softly, "just stay calm and stay with me, okay? I'm going to figure out what happened and how to fix this."

Witches... I really need Elbara for this. Miss Sasha reached for her phone. Let's hope Broomire is in a good mood for cleaning.

Though, knowing Mister Broomire, that might not be the case.

Just as Miss Sasha was about to dial for help, a soft knock echoed on the classroom door. Startled, she looked up, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "Who..?" she called out, a trace of caution in her voice.

"It's me, Demi!" His voice rang from the other side, clearly in a hurry—and fearful?

Miss Sasha blinked in surprise. "Come in."

The door flew open, and Mister Demi rushed inside, looking winded and flustered, as if he had sprinted from the music section all the way to the kindergarten wing. His face was pale, eyes wide with an urgent panic.

"Oh—oh my gosh, what happened?" Sasha couldn't help but comment, her gaze flickering over him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Demi nodded shakily, his voice trembling. "I was getting stuff in the music room when suddenly—"

Both teachers froze when they heard it: the unmistakable sound of a haunting melody cutting through the silence.

It came from a certain room, a room that was supposed to have no one in it. But now, there was... someone. Yet this wasn't the usual cheerful tune one might expect from a classroom piano. No, this was the unmistakable sound of horror movie soundtracks—low, ominous, and eerie, sending an uncomfortable shiver down their spines.

It was just music, yet everyone felt something. Something unsettling.

Demi's eyes widened in shock. "What... what is that? It's coming from the piano."

Miss Sasha's hand instinctively shot up to her mouth, trying to process what was happening. The notes twisted and turned, becoming more frantic, more urgent. And then... chaos erupted.

The kindergarten kids, who had barely begun to recover from the earlier glitter explosion, froze at the eerie music. Their eyes widened in terror. Some began to scream, their tiny hands flying to their ears in a desperate attempt to block out the chilling melody. Others started crying, faces pale with fear, their wide eyes searching for the source of the nightmare sound.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" one child shrieked, running toward the piano. But no one could stop it. The music grew louder, more frantic, as if the piano was mocking their attempts to quell it.

Demi and Sasha exchanged frantic glances. "We need to—" Sasha started, but her words were swallowed by another wave of bone-chilling music.

The kids were losing it now. One child crawled under a desk, sobbing uncontrollably. Another shook violently, clutching Miss Sasha's leg with trembling hands. Miss Sasha rushed to calm them, but it felt as though the very walls were closing in on them, the air thick with the unsettling notes of the piano.

"Stop it!" one child wailed, grabbing at Miss Sasha's sleeve, their little hands shaking in fear.

Demi's voice cracked with urgency. "Sasha, I'm going to check it out!" He bolted from the room, heading straight for the music section.

When he reached the music room, he flung the door open and rushed in. But no matter how many buttons he pressed or keys he slammed, the sound didn't stop. Instead, it grew more unsettling—twisting and turning, as though the piano itself was alive, taunting them with its ghostly tunes.

"What is this?" 

Demi perked up, his heart racing as he turned to see a new voice.

Miss Hinata, who had followed him into the music room, covered her ears, visibly shaking. Despite the music sounding like something out of a horror film, it was affecting everyone in the building with an overwhelming negativity. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat. A chill ran down her spine as the sounds echoed through the halls, each note stirring a deeper sense of dread.

Meanwhile, back in the kindergarten classroom, the chaos was escalating. The children were no longer just crying—they were panicking. One child knocked over a stack of papers in a frantic attempt to escape the music, while another started gagging, clutching their throat as the unsettling notes seemed to suffocate the air around them.

"Make it stop!" they cried in unison, their small voices blending into a cacophony of fear.

Miss Sasha stayed behind, desperately trying to comfort the children, her own mind racing for a solution. The room was filled with cries, but it felt like every attempt to calm them only made the chaos worse.

Back in the music room, Demi finally managed to pry open the piano's cover, hoping to stop the madness. What he saw made his blood run cold—swirling, glittering notes filled the air, floating in all directions as though they were coming from nowhere.

"Is this... another prank?" Miss Hinata whispered, her face pale as she tried to make sense of the situation.

The piano let out one final, deafening chord, and then—silence.

But the damage had already been done.

The kids, still crying and whimpering, now looked as though they were frozen in shock, their faces pale and their eyes wide with terror. The classroom was a mess of fear, confusion, and chaos, the air thick with the aftermath of the terrifying sound.

Demi and Miss Hinata stood there, momentarily stunned, trying to process the chaos that had just erupted. They couldn't even begin to understand how this had happened—or why.

Demi took a shaky breath, his voice unsteady. "I think... I think we need to figure out who's behind this. I don't care if it's a prank—this is beyond that."

Miss Hinata nodded, her eyes scanning the disarray around them. As for Sasha, her eyes darted around the classroom she stayed in, taking in the sight of the frightened, glitter-covered children, still trembling from the aftereffects of the horrific sound.

It was clear this prank, whatever it was, had escalated far beyond any simple joke.

"Oh witches..." Sasha muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "We need to fix this now."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Miss Grace wondered what she was even doing with her life. Just this week, she started seeing signs of being haunted. No beating around the bush this time—she was being haunted.

In her office, she tried to ignore the strange things happening around her. Sure, living in Saga Country meant that things were always a little strange, but it was the kind of strangeness that people got used to.

The problem was—it shouldn't have been this annoying. Normally, people just dealt with the Gods' corruption and the ongoing wars, but in this case?

It was even weirder than she thought.

Grace rubbed her temples, trying to ignore one of the objects that randomly fell to the floor. And then there were the incidents.

First, the lab explosion. Then came the glitter and the horror music.

Grace had just returned from handling the second incident, only to find herself busier than ever, drowning in paperwork.

If only Claire were here...

She sighed. This week had been chaotic. Full of pranks on nearly everyone—but that was last week, right? Now it was happening again, and this time, it was targeting specific people.

"Bloomie, Thavel, Emily, Circle, Compass, Sasha, Demi... and then... me," Grace muttered, frustrated.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. "Come in," she said, expecting a student to enter, needing something.

To her surprise, it was Claire.

"Hey..." Claire said, closing the door behind her.

Grace sat up straighter. "What brings you here?" She took a sip of her coffee, ignoring the fact that it had unknowingly turned cold a few moments ago, even though she had just gotten it.

"Let's cut to the chase," Claire said, stopping in front of the principal's desk. "Everyone... I mean, your friends are waiting for you in the meeting. No one else, just them. They wanted to discuss you and... the pranks happening this week."

Grace raised an eyebrow. Everyone?

"I don't see why everyone would be needed for this," she said, standing up. "But then again, we are dealing with something strange..."

She shrugged and walked around her desk. "Let's get this over with."

"Well, it was almost everyone," Claire replied, opening the door and letting Grace out before closing it behind her. Grace locked her office door and started heading toward the meeting room, but she noticed Claire was walking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to go back to class. I only came to see you because Professor Circle asked me to," Claire explained. If by 'others,' she meant her students, was she referring to the victims of the pranks?

"Oh," Grace said, still walking. "All right."

Although the answer didn't explain why Claire was needed for the meeting, Grace brushed the thought aside and kept walking.

As she approached the meeting room, she could hear muffled voices. When Grace reached for the door, just as she was about to grab the doorknob, she felt a shiver, a strange feeling of being... watched. She paused and looked around. No one was there. She sighed, grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and stepped inside.

And boy, what the hell was this?

Miss Sasha and Mister Demi were slumped over the meeting table. Mister Compass and Miss Circle were engaged in a heated debate. Miss Emily was busy sticking together papers that she must've ripped or destroyed hours ago. Miss Bloomie was back, even though she was supposed to be in the hospital.

"What the hell..." Grace muttered, and everyone paused when they saw her enter.

"Oh, hi, Rose." Miss Emily waved with a tight smile.

"What in the gods' name is going on here?" Grace said, walking toward the center seat—the boss's chair, where she belonged as the leader of the staff.

"Well... it's been a long week, you know..." Sasha groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"More like just one day," Thavel scoffed.

"The pranks are seriously grating on my nerves," Mister Compass said, breaking off his argument with his wife, Miss Circle. He settled back into his seat while Miss Circle huffed in frustration.

"You think you have it worse?" Miss Bloomie muttered, "My lab got exploded."

But Miss Emily, with her sharp sense of hearing, heard that. "Oh, really? Mine involved some random person's name and the history books suddenly claiming they conquered the world."

"Pfft. It was just a petty prank, nothing dramatic," Miss Circle said dismissively, then added, "Me and Compass were marking the Geometry tests, only for the students to solve them incorrectly. We tried to fix it, but every time we looked away—even just for a second—the wrong answers kept appearing!"

Both Demi and Sasha lifted their heads in unison. "You think that's bad? Stop being fucking childish. Ours is as bad as Bloomie's," Miss Sasha complained with a groan. "Every child now has permanent glitter on their skin!"

"Piano only plays horror movie soundtracks," Demi stated flatly, not bothering to elaborate—everyone already knew what had happened in the kindergarten building.

"Mine? Textbooks now scream insults when opened," Miss Thavel said, crossing her arms. "You may think it's ridiculous, but trust me, they hit hard."

"I'm being haunted here," Grace remarked with a heavy sigh. "Ugh... Any ideas on who could be behind all this?" She cut straight to the main point.

Miss Sasha rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat. "Well, who else has the talent for a prank like this?" She pointed a finger at the others. "Who else could mess with us like this?"

Miss Emily shrugged. "Could be one of the students. I mean, they do get creative these days, you know."

Miss Circle nodded. "Yeah, that's a valid possibility. But... I have a different guess."

"Oh?" Grace raised an eyebrow. Everyone turned their attention to Miss Circle.

"I think... it could be someone we know." Miss Circle explained, tapping her chin with a finger.

"Well, duh," Miss Sasha said, gesturing for her to continue. "Who is it then?"

"You remember our school year," Miss Circle said, making sure to stress that specific part. "...don't you?"

Miss Sasha rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. Why would you even—"

Her words were cut off when the realization hit her. Her back stiffened, and all color drained from her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Oh no..."

Miss Bloomie looked just as stunned. "You mean—"

"No... no, you don't mean... him, right...?" Miss Emily spoke up, staring at Miss Circle.

Miss Circle returned the gaze with a nod, confirming their fears.

"Oh dear..." Miss Thavel muttered, covering her mouth.

Everyone sat in stunned silence for a few moments, processing the awful implication.

Grace broke the silence. "Are you saying... it's him?" Her words were steady, almost void of any feeling.

"The evidence points to it." Miss Circle stated simply, trying to remain calm.

A deep sense of dread filled the room. There was no way.

"I don't even want to consider the possibility," Mister Compass said, his face pale.

"None of us do," Miss Sasha replied grimly. "But given the circumstances, who else could be behind all this insanity, unless—" She paused, taking a deep breath. "Unless Marsh came back from the war, and this is his way of announcing his presence, preparing us for some kind of... 'reunion'?"

This time, the silence was thick and heavy. Nobody dared to speak, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the uneasy feeling in the air.

Finally, Miss Emily broke the tense hush. "But... it's been years. Years since we've seen that boy. Can he have changed...?"

Meanwhile....

Kloera was pacing in her dorm room, fists clenched, mind spiraling as she replayed every mistake that led to this moment. Regret clung to her like a second skin. Her voice cracked with frustration as she shouted, "LANARA, I know you're in here with me!"

She didn't care who heard her. The dorm was empty aside from them, and she needed something—someone—to yell at.

"That wasn't a prank. That was WAR!" she snapped, practically shaking with rage.

As if summoned by the sheer force of Kloera's fury, Lanara materialized lazily on her bed—as if she'd been there all along. She reclined against the pillows like they were hers, her legs elegantly crossed, a calm smile tugging at her lips.

"Shouldn't have given me permission," Lanara said with a casual shrug, like she was commenting on the weather.

Kloera let out a strangled groan and clutched her hair in both hands. "I'm going to DIE."

Lanara tilted her head, her smile sharpening into something halfway between fondness and mischief. "Oh, come on, drama queen," she said, her voice velvet-smooth but laced with that quiet, chaotic energy that always made people unsure if she was about to kiss you or burn your house down. "No one's dying. Yet."

She swung her legs off the bed, leaning forward slightly, her eyes glinting behind the half-mask. "You're fine. Look at me, Kloera." Her tone softened—barely. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Not when you're this fun to keep around."

Kloera shot her a look that teetered between betrayal and disbelief.

"I mean it," Lanara added, gentler now, though her smile still hinted at danger. "I pushed the limits, sure—but I knew you'd survive. You always do. That's one of the reasons I..." Her voice dipped just slightly, almost imperceptibly. "...like being near you."

A beat passed, her words lingering in the air like perfume and poison.

Then, with her usual cool detachment returning, Lanara added with a wink, "Besides. If things really go sideways, I'll just kidnap you and we'll run away together. Problem solved."

Kloera let out a long, weary sigh. "I was trying so hard to keep it a secret. Don't even get me started on the time you shoved Professor Compass down the stairs."

Lanara tilted her head innocently, as if she didn't understand—though the glint in her eye said otherwise. "He slipped."

"You made the floor slippery with blood magic, Lanara."

Lana simply shrugged. "Tomato, tomahto."

Kloera gave her a sharp side-eye. "I'm going to have to delete the security footage again, aren't I?"

Without missing a beat, Lanara smirked behind her half-mask, then suddenly spun Kloera around and gently laid her down on the bed.

"Already done," she said smoothly, voice like silk and sin.

Kloera, blushing in spite of herself, groaned into her hands. "Ugh. Stop being so hot when you commit crimes."

Chapter Text

Lanara loved creativity. That's why she despised those who failed to appreciate it. Just because something was schoolwork didn't mean creativity should be stripped away.

How stupid humans were to think otherwise.

The fact that two girls could pour so much effort into the same project, learn from the same class, yet receive drastically different scores—it was laughable. One was praised, the other dismissed. And for what? Because one of them didn't conform to their so-called assignment?

Ridiculous.

It annoyed Lanara, truly.

She had seen it, heard it, even experienced it herself.

Academics were important, sure, but tearing creativity out of them?

How utterly boring.

It made her fingers itch—itch to wreak havoc on whatever universe managed to catch her interest in the wrong way. Not just any irritation, but the kind that struck a nerve so deep that even the Harbinger of Ruin wanted to fix it.

Lanara may be destruction incarnate, but that didn't mean she destroyed real art. Hell, her Creator, the Primordial Architect, knew exactly what she was doing—and did nothing when she and her crew messed around with different AUs. Why? Because in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't important. Sure, it mattered, but only at the bare minimum.

She often turned a blind eye on purpose whenever newer or older AUs caught her attention. After all, they were part of the original, or whatever canon events had shaped them, so she left them alone.

Because Maelstrom had her respect—for a reason.

Even if it stood in her way.

Questionable? Sure. But not so illogical that it made no sense.

Not excusable either.

Lanara had always been blunt in her goals and reasons. She didn't dance around them. If she wanted something, it wasn't hard to figure out.

When she stumbled upon another AU—one that was supposed to be labeled as off-limits—Lanara, being Lanara, hardly cared.

It teetered between being important and just another alternative universe. Plus, if she recalled correctly, there were quite a few attractive variants in there. She might as well get herself a wife while she was at it.

Her target was supposed to be Bubble.

Weak-minded when it came to bonds, perfect for manipulation. Lanara had it all planned—possessing one of Bubble's friends, a.k.a. a variant of herself, and slipping into the cracks of their world.

It was smooth. Effortless. Until she met her.

Kloera "Claire" Mageiros.

All the hard work. All the plans and goals Lanara had been carefully orchestrating—

All. Thrown. Out. The. Window.

All because of this woman.

To say she was... interesting was an understatement.

The moment she laid eyes on this variant of Claire, Lanara knew—she was smitten.

Who wouldn't be? Not only was she beautiful, but unpredictable. Dangerous in her own right. A walking contradiction wrapped in elegance and chaos.

It was exactly what drew the Harbinger in.

They were almost the same.

Well, not entirely.

Because who could ever be like Lanara?

She was different. She was ruin itself. A bad person, through and through. To be fair, every shred of goodness and kindness in her had been stripped away long ago.

But that woman...

Kloera stood apart.

She was unlike anyone Lanara had ever encountered. A vision. Unlike any other—especially her hair. Long cascades of reddish-brown, rich like autumn leaves at their peak, fading into a lighter hue at the tips, as if kissed by the last light of dusk. The way it moved, the way it caught the glow of firelight or the cold gleam of the moon—it was something Lanara had memorized in every shade, every flicker.

And then there was that heart-shaped ahoge, a little defiant, always standing upright no matter how the wind played with her locks. A small, stubborn detail that suited Kloera too well. Just like those short black horns atop her head, a crown she never acknowledged yet wore with an effortless sort of grace.

Her eyes—emerald, deep and burning, filled with something Lanara couldn't quite name, but knew she wanted for herself. Claire was curvy, soft in all the right places, yet carrying herself with an unshaken confidence that made every movement feel deliberate. The kind of beauty that wasn't just seen but felt—a presence that lingered long after she was gone.

And Lanara had studied every part of it.

Claire carried herself with a grace that felt effortless. Always in dresses, rarely ever seen in pants. White dresses with black accents, or sometimes just a simple, plain white gown. That simple elegance—that was Lanara's favorite. It wasn't just the outfit. It was how Kloera wore it, how it reflected the carefree spirit buried beneath all her contradictions.

Kloera was a two-faced woman.

Not that Lanara minded. She loved everything about her.

Even her double life—one as a seemingly ordinary girl, the other as a devoted follower of some cult-like organization. Of course, Lanara knew what it was. She knew everything. And still, she watched.

And on that one occasion—when Kloera stepped into her follower's attire—Lanara nearly lost herself.

Dressed in white, with puffed sleeves and a fitted bodice, the hem jagged just enough to give an air of mystery. A delicate bow resting at the back of her head, high heels clicking softly against the ground as she moved.

The only time Claire ever removed her veil as 'Adelpha'.

Lanara really—really—wanted to take her by the hand and drag her into a dance right there. While stalking Kloera, of course.

Because that woman was hers.

Even if she could never have her.

Even after being rejected—twice—Lanara, uncharacteristically, chose to let her be.

And she didn't even know why.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Kloera was calmly writing in her journal when a certain presence materialized beside her.

Before a single word could be uttered, Kloera spoke, her voice smooth and calm, "What do you want, Lana?" Her smile, though gentle, held no trace of forced politeness—she was in a good mood, but one couldn't tell from the serene look on her face.

"Oh, you know~" Lanara's voice dripped with casual amusement, her hands swiftly wrapping around Kloera's chair, spinning it with practiced ease. Kloera allowed the maneuver, knowing well that resistance would only make it worse. The Corruptor of Realms was far too persistent in her approach. The moment their faces were close, Kloera didn't flinch.

"The usual," Lanara finished, her tone laced with the same playful arrogance.

Kloera, hiding the slight irritation beneath the veil, remained unfazed. If it weren't for her veil, she would've rolled her eyes. This woman... despite the constant push of her presence, she was beginning to test Kloera's limits. The flirting, the constant teasing, the hands that always seemed to find their way into unwanted places—it was getting under her skin. Yet, Kloera was strong enough to not let it show.

Despite her mask, Kloera knew Lanara was grinning, an almost tangible expression of satisfaction. She could feel it in the air.

"My offer still stands," Lanara said, the phrase worn and familiar.

It was the hundredth time she had heard it, but this time, Kloera wouldn't let the familiar annoyance pass her by.

"You know..." Kloera's voice dropped to a near purr, a deliberate shift in tone. Lanara noticed immediately, her posture tightening as she braced for the unexpected.

"If you want me so bad, why don't you become one of my partners instead?"

"Partners?" Lanara's brow quirked with intrigue. There was a flicker of something in her eyes before she swiftly closed the distance between them. Her hand gripped the armchair, her body going tense as she leaned forward.

Kloera leaned back, fully in control of the situation, her smirk deepening.

She knew she had struck a nerve.

"How quaint. If I were to lower myself to such a level," Lanara sneered, her words a mockery of the suggestion, "it would be to use you, not the other way around." Her hand shot out, grabbing Kloera's chin and tilting her head up, forcing their gazes to meet.

Kloera grinned, unfazed. "But I suppose if your desires are truly clouding your judgment," she teased, "I could entertain the idea—for a moment."

As Lanara focused on her, lost in the intensity of the moment, Kloera's foot moved in a swift motion, kicking the Corruptor of Realms in the shin. Even Lanara wasn't expecting that.

In a flash, Kloera shifted positions. Now, Lanara found herself sitting in the armchair, and Kloera was straddling her lap, a playful challenge in her eyes.

My, what a minx!

Lanara thought to herself, a sense of begrudging admiration filling her. The shift in power was more pleasing than annoying, though she'd never admit it. Thank the gods for her mask—if it weren't there, she'd be thoroughly exposed, and she could not allow Kloera to see what was underneath.

Yet, as much as she tried to stay composed, Lanara knew why she was drawn to this woman in the first place.

"You all act so all-knowing and high," Kloera remarked, her voice low and teasing. She bowed her head slightly, bringing her face to eye level with Lanara's, the veil only enhancing the mystery of her gaze. "Yet here we are. And I've got you into this position."

Lanara's chuckle was dark and amused, her hands moving to rest on Kloera's waist.

"Don't you think it's a bit unholy for a priestess to do such an act, my dear?" Lanara murmured, her words mocking but the grip on Kloera's waist tightening with undeniable interest.

Kloera hummed in response, her fingers casually toying with Lanara's necklace, the poker-themed designs catching the light, glinting under the office's illumination.

"But no one's here, is there?" Kloera's voice dropped, a slow smile pulling at her lips.

So that's where their affair truly began.

From the very first moment, Lanara made no effort to hide her desires—even the ugliest, most selfish ones.

In Lanara's defense, Kloera kissed her first.

So really, who could blame her when temptation came wrapped in something so dangerously beautiful?

Kloera took the roughness, the manhandling, the bruising touches — and laughed in Lanara's face like she wanted more.

It only made Lanara worse.

Sometimes, even the Corruptor herself wondered what kind of madness possessed her when she spoke — just once — against the growling need clawing at her chest.

"You alive?"

Her voice was low, almost feral, as she pressed herself possessively into the crook of Kloera's neck — teeth grazing the delicate skin like a silent threat.

Kloera groaned, cracked open one eye lazily, and smirked without an ounce of fear.

"Of course. You think I can't survive you?"

Lanara's fingers curled a little too tightly around her waist — a silent reminder that survival wasn't a guarantee next time if Kloera ever thought about slipping away.

"Good. Because I'm not finished with you yet."

Kloera chuckled, dragging her nails lightly down Lanara's spine, unbothered, unfazed — welcoming the monster she woke up.

"You're such a damn pervert."

Lanara just grinned against her throat, her breath hot and hungry.

Perversion was only the beginning.

After all, Kloera was the one who kissed her first.

The grin twisted into something sharper, darker, almost predatory. Lanara buried herself deeper into Kloera's skin as if she could sew herself into her, claw herself so deep that no god, no curse, no fate could ever pry them apart. The idea of Kloera ever touching someone else — smiling that wicked smile at another — made her throat tighten with a vicious, ugly hunger.

Lanara wanted to rip out the world by its roots if it even dared to look at her the wrong way. She didn't just want Kloera in bed. She wanted her soul, her mind, her heart wrapped up in thorns and caged forever — willing or not.

And yet, Kloera only laughed, dragging her closer, her nails leaving teasing trails over Lanara's spine. As if she wasn't afraid. As if she knew — and welcomed the madness she bred inside her.

That made it worse.

Lanara didn't know if she wanted to kiss her again or carve her name into Kloera's bones just to make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

Maybe both.

Maybe neither would ever be enough.

It happened sometime after, when the haze of pleasure faded just enough for reality to creep in.

Lanara sat perched above her like a starving animal, fingers tightening mercilessly around Kloera's wrists, pinning her to the ruined sheets. Her hair hung wild around her face, masking the feral look in her golden, molten eyes— pupils blown wide, trembling on the edge of something much darker than lust.

Kloera just stared up at her, lazy and languid, a slow smirk bleeding across her lips.

"You're going to snap," Kloera said simply, almost teasingly.

Lanara's breath hitched, nails digging deep enough to almost break skin. She didn't answer — couldn't — the heat in her chest burning, a vicious, ugly need screaming for more, more, more—

To mark her.

To own her.

To erase anything that wasn't hers.

The weight of the obsession strangled Lanara from the inside out.

And still, Kloera only chuckled — that slow, knowing sound that dug its claws even deeper into Lanara's unraveling mind. She tilted her head, exposing the delicate curve of her throat like an open invitation.

"As if you could ever scare me."

Those words snapped something inside Lanara.

She slammed her mouth against Kloera's neck, not biting. Not yet— but leaving bruises so deep they'd linger for days, proof to anyone who looked who she belonged to. Her hands trembled with restraint, the effort to not tear her apart leaving her raw, teeth gritted.

But Kloera just sighed contentedly, threading her fingers through Lanara's hair, pulling her closer.

Lanara realized, in that fractured, breathless moment.

She could destroy Kloera a thousand times over.

And Kloera would still hold the leash.

And worst of all?

Lanara loved it.

...

"You're the only one I'd kneel for... not because I have to, but because I want to. You're the only girl I ever considered my equal — and I'd tear this world apart just to keep you looking at me like that."

- Lanara.

Chapter Text

To think Maelstrom would go so far as to hide each powerful descendant in obscure, unpopular universes—labeling them off-limits—was a clever move.

Who would’ve thought her Creator would actually use her divine brain for once? It took Lana a decade to uncover that secret—a decade before she began targeting the powerful ones.

Lana had slain more creations over the past five or seven eons than anyone could count. Ask her the body count, and it’s always higher than yours. She craved power, devoured it—and yet, it was never enough.

To a logical person, it would seem Lana might eventually reach her limit, grow bored, and “explore” new things.

But no.

Lana was divine too—one who never had to fear the limits of the abilities she consumed. She didn’t just steal them; she remade them in her image.

Take Kloera Mageiros, for example.

A descendant of Lunara, the Titan-Goddess of the Moon and Intuition. It took Lana two entire eons to track down this radiant creature—only to find her in a dull, overlooked AU, the kind with no real plot and brainless fun.

But Lana knew better.

When she found Kloera there, she knew she'd located her target. Problem was, Kloera happened to be one of Maelstrom’s favorites. Which meant Lana couldn’t kill her… or drag her away by force to make her her wife.

So, she took a different route.

One night, during a quiet moment tangled in silk sheets, Kloera had asked her, voice low and curious, “Why exactly do you want me? Aside from... obvious reasons.”

Lanara chuckled. “Oh, Moony… you think I want more than your body?” She nibbled Kloera’s neck, already bruised and marked with her passion—though Kloera never seemed to mind.

“I know you,” Kloera murmured, her voice hitching as Lana’s teeth grazed her. “You’ve got something against me… ngh… even before we made this deal.”

Lana silenced her with a bruising kiss, which Kloera returned with equal hunger. Their breaths mingled, heated and ragged.

“I wouldn’t confirm your assumption,” Lanara said between kisses as her lips traced a path down Kloera’s chest, halting at a peculiar birthmark inked at the center of her heart. “Nor would I deny it. I am a lorekeeper, after all… my light.”

It was the Infinity Symbol.

A mark representing eternity—the infinite paths of the multiverse. It shimmered subtly, adorned with hints of stars, galaxies, and swirling nebulae. A divine signature of Maelstrom’s boundless reach.

Only those blessed by her disciples—or Maelstrom herself—carried such a mark. And those who did were beings of unimaginable power.

That symbol had two meanings. Lanara knew them both. But she chose not to speak of them.

Not tonight.

Tonight, she just wanted to ruin the woman beneath her.

Her thumb brushed the mark, a gesture unexpectedly gentle.

“You’d be far more powerful if you hadn’t chosen the path of a priestess, Kloera.”

Kloera looked down at her, cool and unbothered. “How so?”

“Your ancestor was a primordial titan and a god. And you think you’re not powerful?” Lana raised a brow.

“...I don’t know.” Kloera shoved Lanara’s face aside, her expression dimming, the mood faltering.

Lana didn’t let it. She lunged forward, stealing a kiss so deep it left Kloera gasping when she pulled away.

“You dirty slut…” Kloera panted, eyes narrowing.

Lanara only grinned, mischief gleaming in her eyes. “I’m not done with you yet, my moon.”

If Lanara couldn’t have the power she wanted, she made sure to keep it close.

That’s why Kloera was the only lover allowed to roam freely—without Lanara clinging to her like a leech.

No one in Kloera’s universe knew the truth. But everyone outside did.

Lanara only returned to Kloera once every two years. Kloera never had to know how far Lana’s crimes had gone in the meantime. These two were the worst for each other—and somehow perfect—because they never loved each other… but didn’t mind getting physically attached.

Lanara was all about control. To force something was to admit she had none—and she hated that. So she played the long game.

She’d even chuckled once when Kloera started asking personal questions—questions Lanara didn’t mind answering, because even if she told the truth, Kloera wouldn’t believe her.

Not that Lanara gave a damn.

Shaking her head with amusement, she said, “Darling, I never take what isn’t willingly given.”

Kloera raised a brow. “That’s surprisingly honorable of you.” She stretched her arms with a quiet yawn. It was 3 a.m., but Kloera didn’t need much sleep. Not when she had… other things to do. If you knew her well enough, you’d understand.

Lanara smirked, lying on her stomach as she watched her little grey fox slip on a robe.

“I may be many things—manipulative, ruthless, a master of deceit—but I am not pathetic.”

Kloera squinted over her shoulder. “And what does that mean?”

Lanara shrugged. “Forcing something is the act of a desperate creature. And desperation is… unappealing.” She paused, letting the words hang in the air. Kloera remained unreadable—either unaffected or simply good at hiding it.

“If I wanted you,” Lanara added, “I’d make you want me back.”

Kloera fought the urge to shudder, her spine tingling. Instead, she smiled to mask the unease. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

Lanara grinned behind her mask. “I do.”

Every time Kloera denied her attention, Lanara made damn sure to savor every second she was allowed inside this universe—like a thief stealing moments she believed were rightfully hers.

She was slipping away again.

Every time Kloera got dressed for someone else—painted her lips for someone else, offered her time to someone who didn’t deserve her—Lana felt it like a blade, dull and slow, dragged through her chest.

Lana leaned back in the chaise, legs crossed, but tension coiled inside her like a tightening wire.

The dress hugged Kloera like it had permission. That made Lana hate it.

It wasn’t jealousy. No, jealousy was far too soft a word for what Lana felt. This was obsession—poisonous, consuming, alive. It gnawed at her from the inside, twisting into hunger she couldn’t name. Kloera belonged to the world, but Lana wanted her cut off from it. Preserved in a private shrine of skin and bruises and moans only she could coax out of her.

Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

Because obsession was weakness. And Lana did not do weak.

So instead, she prodded. Stirred the embers. Watched Kloera spark with irritation. It was a cruel game—one she was good at.

“Seriously, what makes you see in them anyways?” she had asked, the words dripping with feigned boredom. As if this wasn’t the only thing on her mind. As if she hadn’t memorized the look in Kloera’s eyes when she lied.

Kloera rolled her eyes without missing a beat. Beautiful. Cold. Distant.

“I don’t give a fuck, and it’s not your business anyway.”

Lana almost smiled.

Of course it wasn’t her business. It never had been. But that had never stopped her.

She didn’t just want to own Kloera. That was too crude. No—Lana wanted to be inside her, buried in her breath, her bones, her thoughts. She wanted to be the reason Kloera couldn’t sleep, couldn’t love, couldn’t function without remembering her.

There were lovers. Then there was Kloera. The only one who didn’t bend beneath Lana’s control. And that made her irresistible.

Not because she was hard to get.

But because she made Lana feel—really feel—something dangerous. Something terrifying. Something goddamn divine.

Kloera. Her moonlight. Her curse.

And tonight, she would slip into someone else's arms.

Lana could almost laugh.

Because even if Kloera left, even if she gave her body to someone else—

She'd always come back.

They both knew why.

Because Lana had made sure of it.

Chapter Text

After Phil's Death...

Friday, May 12th, 9:00 p.m.

After Phil's death, the Mageiros family was unraveling. Lisira still had to move her family to Saga City—dangerous, yes, but it was under Vilyx's direct protection. There was no other choice.

Once the move was finally completed, they began funeral preparations. And now, with the burial over and the day drawing to a close, the only ones remaining were the Mageiros family and Phil's closest friends.

Liraz was comforting Achlys, who was still silently sobbing for her best friend. Lisira entered the room after saying goodbye to the last of the guests who had come to pay respects to her husband. Her children were already inside. Claire was the only one still crying; her elder sisters, Vivian and Xister, had stopped shedding tears but were no less shaken.

"Achlys... honey, it's time to move on," Liraz said gently.

Just then, Mister Shapely stepped into the room and approached Lisira.

"All clear now," he said simply.

Lisira nodded, saying nothing. Her face betrayed no emotion. Throughout the entire day, she hadn't shed a single tear—perhaps it was her way of staying strong for her children. But her friends didn't see it that way. Mister Shapely, as if sensing what might come next, placed a hand on her shoulder. She gave him a confused glance.

Achlys shook her head in response to Liraz's words. "He was my best friend..."

Lisira said nothing. She didn't want to deal with—

"AND YOU LET HIM DIE!!"

The scream struck Lisira like a slap. Vivian and Xister jerked toward Achlys in shock.

"The fuck?" Xister muttered, as Vivian quickly covered Claire's ears.

"W-What?..." Lisira gripped the fabric over her chest, trying to hold herself together even as the shock registered on her face. Mister Shapely said nothing. Yuko had just walked in, drawn by the shouting.

"What's going on—"

But Achlys wasn't finished.

"YOU NEVER THOUGHT TO TELL ME HE WAS TURNING HIMSELF IN?!" she screamed at Lisira. The room fell into stunned silence—except Shapely, who remained still.

"OI! What the hell are you saying? Don't you dare blame my sister!" Yuko snapped. "She had nothing to do with his death!"

"Achlys, she couldn't have changed anything," Liraz tried to reason. Lisira silently placed a hand on her younger sister's shoulder, shaking her head—don't escalate it, not in front of the kids. Yuko hesitated. Normally, she wouldn't have backed down. But for her nieces' sake... she stepped aside.

Achlys wasn't done.

"This is all your fault..."

"You—"

Lisira's grip on Yuko's shoulder tightened, stopping her mid-sentence. She stepped forward instead.

"I did this to you?" Lisira asked coldly.

"You should have told me," Achlys hissed. The audacity made Yuko's eye twitch. "I thought you and I—"

"I—" Lisira cut her off, her composure cracking as she raised her voice for the first time since the funeral. "I did nothing to you."

Achlys opened her mouth to respond, but Lisira didn't let her.

"I lost my husband. The father of my children." She gestured toward her daughters, who were now being led out by Mister Shapely. "And you're falling apart?"

Lisira's voice rose to a near roar.

"I don't GET to fall apart. Not even as a god. Because I have three children who still need me. So please—"

She stumbled slightly, and Yuko stepped in to steady her.

"So shut up and— a̷̸̴̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̹͓͍̘͗̀͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟ͧ̓́̿͌ͥ̉ͤ̏̕d͕ͭͮ̽ͧ͗͠͞͞ ͤͦ̅̽̈̍͏̩̠͚ḡ̷͕̤͕̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͪ̉̏̀̕͟e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅǫ͇̬͎̬̜̖̫̝͓̯͔ͦ̇͗ͭͬ͡f̨̤̪̫͈͙̺͑ͯ̀͒̽̄̕͢ ͕̩̠̬̪̟ͦ̎̂̄͂m̤̲̣̻̮̞̰̟͙͙̤̲ͧ̂͛̓̌͑ͬ̍ͣͬy̧̛̘̬̫͂̅̃̅̽̓̇ ̷̝̦̮̹̫̭̲͔̏͋̇̂̾h͚̬̲̘̥͈̼̯̜͐͋̒ͣ̔͆͂̇͟͢͢͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞̪̻͉̞̞̗̠ͫ̀̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͢͜͜ͅs̸̷͖̖̹̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳!!!" Lisira snarled, baring her fangs.

Yuko didn't restrain her. Hell, if Lisira had lunged at Achlys, she might've helped.

"Li—" Liraz quickly pulled Achlys behind him, shielding her.

"TAKE HER AWAY! GET HER OUT OF HERE!" Lisira shouted. Shapely reappeared silently behind them. Yuko rolled her eyes but stepped aside as he approached.

"BEFORE I KILL HER." Lisira finished. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes, now glowing with a black six-pointed star outlined in red, burned with grief and fury.

"Lisira," Shapely said softly.

She froze. Her tearful eyes met his empty crimson gaze.

"They're gone now," he said.

Lisira turned back. Yuko had already re-entered through another door, having led the others out.

"Shapely, leave. Me and Li—"

"Unfortunately, your imperial majesty," he interrupted, pointedly using her title to command her attention, "your kids are with Lisira's daughters. They're... upset."

Yuko narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you good with kids?"

"I'm afraid I'm not always good at comforting them."

"Tch." Yuko looked like she wanted to argue—but one look at Lisira's expression told her it was best not to. If anyone could be there for Lisira right now, it was him.

"Fine. But if anything happens to her—" she glared at him, "—you're dead."

With that, she stalked past him, out of the room.

Lisira stumbled toward the nearest couch and collapsed onto it, burying her face in her hands. Her body trembled, shoulders shaking beneath the weight of grief.

Shapely approached quietly and sat beside her without a word. He didn't try to console her with meaningless platitudes. Instead, he let the silence speak, allowing the room to breathe around them.

When she began coughing, Shapely calmly raised his hand. A glass of water manifested in his palm, and he handed it to her without hesitation. Lisira downed it in one gulp. But the water couldn't wash away the voices—the ones that lived in her mind rent-free, toxic and cruel. They stirred again, flaring her emotions, threatening to drown her from the inside out. Shapely said nothing. He let her ride the waves alone, knowing she needed to.

Lisira's grip tightened around the now-empty glass, her hand still trembling. Her thoughts spiraled back to the moments that led to this. Just two days ago, Phil had still been alive. And now... gone.

Gone, because he turned himself in. Gone, because he chose to protect Drakarys—to save the rightful king—even if it meant sacrificing his own life. Even if it meant leaving his family behind.

"Shapely..." Her voice cracked.

Shapely looked at her, the expressionless smile of his mask remaining in place as always. But his eyes—those strange, pupil-less red eyes—drooped slightly when they met hers.

"Hold me."

Lisira set the glass down firmly on the coffee table. Her voice was steady, but her body wasn't.

Shapely didn't hesitate. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms.

Their friendship had always been platonic, even if it blurred lines at times—something Phil had once accepted, to a degree. But Phil was gone now.

And all Lisira had left to lean on was another deity... Shapely, her oldest, strangest friend.

Lisira pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of ancient darkness and ozone that all godly energies shared. The voices in her head grew quieter, muffled by the soft thrum of energy that emanated from Shapely.

They sat like that for a while more, the silence stretching, wrapping the goddess and the cosmic being in an intimate, comforting bubble in the midst of overwhelming grief.

Finally, Shapely broke the silence, his smooth baritone voice unusually gentle.

"May I speak my mind, old friend?"

Lisira took a shuddering breath before replying. "You've never let my permission stop you before." She meant the words to be scathing, but only weariness seeped through.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"True enough. But this is a delicate matter."

Lisira finally drew away slightly, just enough to look at him with one red eye. "Delicate how?"

Shapely hesitated, his gaze lingering on her face. "You're hurting."

"Don't state the obvious," she snapped, a hint of her usual acid coming back to her voice.

"You're getting corrupted." Mister Shapely didn't waste time—and Lisira froze.

"I—No..." she muttered, refusing to acknowledge it. Or maybe she just didn't want to admit what she already knew. She looked down at her hands. There were no visible signs, no marks, no cracks. "Is it... my eyes again? You know that's part of my lineage."

"After all the innocent lives lost... are you choosing to turn a blind eye?"

Lisira's expression darkened. At his words, her shoulders sank slightly, the weight of memory pressing down.

"I did what I had to do to finish the mission," she said quietly. "Those kids... it was already too late for them. Even in this era, no one would've accepted them back into society, not after what they'd been through." She looked away. "What I gave them was mercy, whether you want to see it that way or not."

Shapely didn't reply. Instead, he calmly reached forward and clipped something onto her black pearl necklace.

A pendant.

Lisira's eyes slowly dropped to see what it was.

The pendant was a small diamond, its silvery surface catching the dim light and shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow. It looked delicate—just a simple piece of jewelry, innocuous and beautiful.

Lisira's gaze flicked back up to his. "What is this?"

"Your new toy," Shapely replied, his tone even, expression unchanged. "A gift... and a reminder."

Lisira reached up and touched the pendant, her fingers gliding over its cool, smooth surface. The voices in her head stirred again—but then fell quiet, silenced by the steady calm emanating from the gem.

"Just know that no matter what you've done, I still support you," Shapely said.

Lisira looked back at him, her expression unreadable. "You do?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

She tilted her head, still caressing the pendant. "Why not?"

"Because we have a deal," he said. "And that deal became a contract. Now we're bound, you and I. Might as well maintain the friendship while you're navigating your godhood."

Lisira couldn't help a small huff of amusement. This was his way of offering emotional comfort. And it worked. She felt... strangely better.

But then her thoughts twisted, memories of Phil rearing up like ugly ghosts. She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath.

"I intend to keep the promise your spouse made me swear to," Shapely said softly, tucking a loose strand of brunette hair behind her ear. "Even if you become someone else... just know, I'll still be by your side."

Lisira opened her eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. "What if there's another universe where we're enemies?"

. . .

Silence stretched between them before Shapely finally replied, his voice calm and measured.

"I'll still try to keep you safe."

Lisira let out a dry laugh. "You're either very loyal or very stupid."

"Does it have to be one or the other? Can't it simply be because you're my friend?"

He had a point. She closed her eyes and leaned back onto his shoulder again.

"Whatever..." she muttered, her eyelids fluttering as sleep finally overtook her. She passed out in his arms, and Shapely gently stroked her hair.

He made no effort to conceal the hidden presence that had been lingering, unseen, the entire time.

"What the hell did you give her?"

Phil's voice cut through the quiet. Now a ghost—glitching, unstable—he drifted beside them. His soul, fractured beyond repair, was trapped between realms, unable to move on to the Underworld, Heaven, or even Hell. Lost somewhere across the multiverse of existences.

"Just a pendant. Nothing special," Shapely replied smoothly.

"Bullshit," Phil muttered, rolling his eyes. He hovered closer, gaze softening as he looked down at his sleeping wife. "Don't get too comfortable with her."

Shapely gave a low, amused hum. "Are you jealous?"

Phil simply crossed his arms, saying nothing.

"She's my wife, not yours," he said, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.

Shapely's expression remained unchanged, but a glint of mischief sparkled in his crimson gaze as he looked at Phil. He chuckled.

"I'm not stealing her away, if that's what you're worried about."

"Tch."

Phil hovered closer, running a ghostly hand over Lisira's face. Though he couldn't actually touch her, he could feel the faint heat radiating.

"But seriously, what is the pendant about?" Phil asked, his tone shifting as he grew more serious. He reached down, attempting to stroke his wife's hair—even though she couldn't feel it, and he couldn't touch her for long.

Shapely watched the sight, his gaze lingering on Phil's ghostly form.

"What do you think it is?" he responded, his tone nonchalant. "You're smart enough to figure it out."

Phil's expression darkened. He knew there was more to it, something off about that pendant.

"A power suppressor, isn't it?" he said, his voice hard. "But not just any kind. It suppresses her... inner darkness."

"It holds her soul, silly," Shapely replied casually.

Phil immediately straightened—so abruptly that even his incorporeal spine gave a faint crack, despite him not having a physical body anymore. "Holds her soul?" he echoed, stunned.

"What? I thought you'd figured it out."

"Of course I didn't!" Phil snapped, disbelief heavy in his voice. "She can protect her own soul!"

"True," Shapely agreed with a shrug. "But isn't it tradition in your culture that every woman who marries has her soul safeguarded by her spouse?"

"It doesn't have to be," Phil muttered, clearly frustrated but keeping his voice low despite being a ghost. "Even if I'm gone, she could—"

"Are you saying," Shapely cut in smoothly, "that you wouldn't mind if your wife remarried?"

Phil fell silent, his ghostly form flickering.

He knew what Shapely meant by that question. He was goading Phil to say he wouldn't let Lisira remarry, even if he wasn't alive anymore. It itched at Phil's soul, every nerve in his non-existent body protesting at the idea.

He looked down at Lisira, sleeping peacefully against Shapely's chest. It should've been his chest...

Phil gritted his teeth, fighting down that possessive fire within him. He took a deep, pointless breath.

"She's her own person," Phil said, his voice tightly controlled. "I don't—"

But Shapely cut him off again, his tone almost patronizing.

"Oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't mind having your former life partner possibly remarried? How magnanimous of you."

Phil's eyes flashed with anger, but before he could snap back, Shapely spoke again.

"You do realize she likely will remarry eventually, right?"

"I know—"

"Congratulations," Shapely interrupted flatly. "She won't."

Phil blinked, caught off guard. "That sounds... good, but—"

"With how many 'buts' you're throwing around, you're starting to sound like a walking red flag," Shapely said with a smirk. "Almost makes me glad you're dead now."

"I made you promise to protect my wife," Phil growled. "Not mock me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Shapely drawled, sounding far from actually contrite. "Did I hurt your feelings? Tough."

Phil's form flickered with anger, his ghostly arms clenching into fists. "What the hell's your problem?"

Shapely shrugged nonchalantly. "I just find it amusing how easily you claim to be fine with your wife potentially remarrying in the future."

"I am fine with it," Phil retorted, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily. "She's her own person."

"Really?" Shapley said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're absolutely fine? Your nonexistent heart harbors no feelings on this matter at all?"

"Of course I have feelings," Phil said defensively. "You want me to be an overprotective, controlling prick who claims to love her but makes her life miserable instead?"

Shapely's smirk widened. "No, of course not. That wouldn't be fair to her." He looked down at Lisira's sleeping form, his gaze hardening as he spoke—not out of anger, or jealousy, but caution. "But she's already going down a path of inner darkness. If you're really fine with her marrying—with her being with anybody else—that'll just accelerate her corruption."

"You think I don't already know that?" Phil spat, his voice catching in his throat. "I know about her corruption, I've seen the signs, I know she's not okay—but she's capable of pulling herself back from the brink. Alone. She doesn't need a new husband to—"

"Keep her in check?"

Shapely finally chuckled. A genuine chuckle, without any condescension. "You're really deluding yourself. You actually believe she can do this without someone at her side?"

"Ughhh. That's why I chose you to be her soul guardian," Phil finally snapped, backing up as he continued levitating.

Shapely paused, surprised, before his expression returned to its usual nonchalance. "So you did choose me because I'm the only one you know who can't be corrupted."

"Well, yeah. You're a cosmic being; you don't really have a soul to begin with, which makes you the safest bet."

Shapely shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "Guess you aren't completely moronic."

"I'm not," Phil snapped back, bristling at the implication. "I just..." He trailed off, realizing that Shapely's words were getting to him.

"Just what?" Shapely prompted, eyeing him with a knowing gaze. "Don't suddenly get shy on me now."

"Nothing," Phil muttered, looking back at Lisira. His expression softened when he saw her peacefully sleeping.

Shapely was still eyeing him, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Come on, spit it out," he urged. "You can't hide anything from me anyway."

Phil sighed, feeling like a teenager caught with a crush on the popular girl. "Fine. I guess... I guess I'm... jealous, alright? Happy now?"

Shapely smirked. "Oh? Is that all?"

Phil's ghostly cheeks would've turned red, if he had any. "What do you mean, is that all?!"

"I mean exactly what I said." Shapely chuckled. "You're really telling me your 'jealousy' is the only reason why you don't want her to remarry?"

Phil's form flickered again, his translucent features betraying his discomfort. It had always been difficult for him to hide his feelings, especially from Shapely.

"That's... that's not the point!" he protested, the lie sounding as unconvincing as before. "She could handle things on her own."

"She could," agreed Shapely, his tone dry and flat. "But she'd have a much harder time without someone to ground her. Someone to keep her in check."

"And her voices are taking advantage of her vulnerability," Shapely added, and Phil winced at the reminder.

"I still recall how she drove me to the brink of insanity, all because those voices made her lose control," Phil commented.

"I wonder what she sees in you," Shapely remarked, knowing full well that might piss off his old friend.

It worked.

Phil's form flickered and crackled with irritation. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Shapely just shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, I'm just wondering. Out loud. Why she'd even look twice at a guy like you."

Phil's irritation gave way to disbelief. "Excuse me? What's wrong with me?!"

Shapely hummed softly as he pretended to think. "Well, let's see... you're not exactly the best-looking guy in the multiverse. You're a bit of a smartass, you're overly serious about everything..." He ticked the points off on his fingers. "Oh, and you're dead now, which would be hard for anyone to get over."

"Hey—" Phil began to protest, but Shapely ignored him and continued listing his flaws.

"And if we're being honest, you didn't exactly treat her well, even when you were both alive. You kept secrets from her, never told her everything you knew, and always took her for granted..."

"That's not—"

"Sure, you were a good mate and lover to her, but to be fair... in this universe, you seemed more focused on winning the war than on your own soulmate. You always got into trouble, whether you asked for it or not, and she always had to step in with her magic to save your skin," Shapely finished.

"Do you hold a grudge against me?"

"You tried to drown her when you thought she was a skinwalker."

"It was a trap."

"And what did you do?" Shapely tilted his head.

Phil opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, words failing him. He knew Shapely was right—he'd been a shitty person. Not on purpose, but in the long run, he'd really let his obsession with the war get in the way of everything that really mattered.

"But I loved her," he said weakly, though he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Shapely.

"You loved her," Shapely repeated, a hint of skepticism in his tone. "Loved her... yet never told her everything. Never trusted her with all your secrets."

Phil gritted his teeth, knowing it was true. He'd kept so much from Lisira, telling himself it was 'to protect her.' But was that really fair? He hadn't even given her a choice.

"Nykolas was one thing, and at least you're better than him—but don't let that compliment go to your head. You really drain her—from her best to her worst." Shapely gently adjusted Lisira's head to rest comfortably on his lap.

Phil felt his ghostly form flicker and crackle—not with anger this time, but with guilt. Shapely was right. He had drained Lisira, both in the best and the worst ways. And now, here he was, still trying to hold on to her... even though he was gone.

He couldn't argue. He couldn't defend himself. So he just hung there, silent and defeated, as Lisira slept in Shapely's lap.

"What do you gain from this?"

"Be specific." Shapely already knew what Phil meant, but he still wanted him to say it.

"What do you gain from... this?" Phil made a vague gesture at the two of them. "You're holding her in your lap, wearing her necklace... you're getting close to her."

Shapely raised an eyebrow. "Are you really asking me that? You really think I have ulterior motives?"

"No. But after what you told me today, you think I don't get any ideas?" Phil replied, sitting—though without a chair, obviously—still floating like the ghost he was.

Shapely shrugged. "This isn't about 'ideas' or 'ulterior motives.' This is about what Lisira needs."

Phil's form flared, glowing bright. "And you think you're the one who can give her what she needs, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." Shapely's tone was matter-of-fact. "I trust you agree."

Phil's form flickered again, his ghostly expression conflicted. He hated the way this was going—the way Shapely was so damn smug, like he already had the perfect solution.

"God , that face..." Shapely chuckled, poking Phil's cheek—or what would have been his cheek, if Phil wasn't a ghost. "You're not actually worried I'll try to steal your wife, are you? Did you think I was plotting to get her this entire time? Is that it?"

"I..." Phil paused, biting back the words that immediately came to mind. Yes.

Because the thought had crossed his mind—more than once. He'd never really trusted Shapely. Even before all this, he'd always seen him as some otherworldly being, unpredictable and powerful. He had his own agenda, and his own goals.

But even so... he was one of Phil's closest friends, and he had agreed to look after Lisira.

"No," Phil finally said, his voice quiet. "Maybe... maybe I am worried."

Shapely's expression was inscrutable as he looked down at Lisira, her head resting in his lap. Her expression was peaceful in sleep, free of the worries and fears that had weighed on her for so long.

"So let me ask you something," he said quietly. "If she does remarry, what do you think you'll do?"

The words hit Phil like a punch to the gut, making his form flicker and crackle. "Wh-what kind of question is that?"

"An important one," Shapely replied, his tone nonchalant. "You're already a ghost, and your soul is fractured beyond repair. You can't watch over her forever—and it would be unfair if she were expected to stay alone."

Phil didn't answer. His ghostly form began to flicker more rapidly, glowing brighter with each pulse. The mere thought of Lisira remarrying filled him with anger and jealousy, no matter how much he tried to suppress it.

"You'll have my blessing," Phil said quietly. He didn't explain the meaning behind his words. He simply turned and floated away. Before Shapely could respond, the ghost vanished—and Shapely wasn't surprised. His foresight had already shown him this.

Shapely slowly looked down at Lisira, then leaned back against the couch. And no, he wasn't going to marry her. But if keeping her from certain suitors meant waiting for her to decide—then wait, he would.

Chapter Text

"Alright everyone, that'll be all for today." Mister Demi slammed his book shut and set it back on his desk, watching as his students began to file out. "And don't forget—your essays are due in a couple of days!" he called out, raising his voice as the last few stragglers exited the room.

He sighed, shaking his head. He already knew how many of them would likely beg for extensions at the last minute. The rules were simple, yet strict—but he was one of the few teachers who didn't pressure his students unnecessarily, let alone threaten them with death like some of his more... intense colleagues.

Even the good teachers had limits to their patience.

Mister Demi began tidying the room, sliding books back into place as the noise in the hallway gradually faded into silence. Like many of his students, he didn't care much for theoretical lectures. He preferred hands-on learning—playing instruments, performing songs. That was what truly lit him up.

But his quiet moment didn't last long.

Footsteps approached—soft, nearly silent, barely echoing in the corridor. Demi turned, adjusting his glasses as the footsteps came to a halt just outside his classroom door.

He recognized the figure immediately: tall, dark-haired, the telltale horns. His shoulders sank—not out of fear, but a touch of disappointment. It wasn't who he'd been hoping to see. Still, he smiled.

"Hello, Kaito."

He wasn't surprised to see Mister Compass peering into the room as if expecting a trap. Demi couldn't blame him. The surge of so-called "pranks" lately had rattled everyone on staff. Whoever was behind them was clearly enjoying themselves—and driving the teachers to the edge.

Even Demi was doing his best to keep his frustrations in check, preferring to vent in private with trusted colleagues instead of lashing out like Miss Bloomie, who had recently blown up at a student for a simple mistake.

Mister Compass relaxed somewhat, but his expression remained cautious as he stepped into the classroom.

"You always leave your door unlocked?" he asked, his gaze flickering around the room as if checking for any signs of trouble.

Demi chuckled, leaning against his desk. "You act like I'm inviting trouble in."

"Well, the last time I came in here, a watermelon fell from the vent and smacked me right in the head. You slipped trying to help me—and who knows what'll happen next? Whoever this damn prankster is, I swear, I'm gonna off them before they even get the chance to get arrested."

Normally, Demi would've told his friend to calm down, not to go so extreme. But with the constant pranks—harmless or not...

"Yeah, I can agree," he muttered.

"For real?" Compass raised a brow.

"Yeah, I mean it." Demi nodded, watching as Compass approached. The taller man loomed over him while Demi casually leaned back, resting his hands on the edge of the desk behind him.

"You seem... stressed," Demi observed.

"Believe me, I got caught in one of the pranks again," Compass said, rolling his eyes. He placed a clawed hand on the desk beside Demi, half-pinning him in place—but the music teacher didn't move away.

"Is the door locked?"

Their eyes met. The air between them thickened.

"Yes," Compass whispered.

And then their mouths crashed together.

They stumbled, nearly toppling over in their sudden embrace. Demi gripped the desk for support as Compass pressed forward, deepening the kiss, leaning his weight into the man beneath him.

The room spun briefly as they moved blindly, guided less by sight than by instinct and memory. They reached the wall, and Compass pinned Demi against it with one hand, the other gripping his hips tightly.

Demi gasped softly, arching into the touch as he nipped at Compass's bottom lip.

With a fang, Compass bit back—clearly returning the favor. Demi gasped against his lips, fingers clutching the collar of the blouse Compass wore as the taller man leaned over him, caging him in. It was as natural as breathing—the way they fell into each other.

He'd been wanting this. He'd craved it—every lingering look, every brush of skin, every stolen moment. Even if Compass was a married man, they had a polyamorous relationship. That's where Demi came in—intimacy shared openly, but more often than not, it was Compass and Demi who ended up here, like this.

Compass kissed him hungrily, fiercely. One hand moved from the wall to the back of Demi's neck, fingers tangling in his hair, while the other slid down his side, slipping beneath his shirt.

The music teacher groaned, melting back against the wall as Compass's hands explored his body, tracing every curve, every muscle hidden beneath the cloth. His breathing hitched when the hand beneath his shirt slid higher, leaving heat in its wake.

"Compass," he murmured, voice rough with desire. He could feel the smirk against his neck.

Compass's lips trailed down the column of Demi's throat, teeth grazing lightly, tongue smoothing over the sting. The hand tangled in his hair gave a gentle tug, tilting Demi's head back to expose more skin.

"When was the last time you were touched like this?"

Demi let out a shaky breath. "It's usually either you or... her."

Compass raised an eyebrow but didn't pause his movements.

"I know we both want her," he said evenly. His tone wasn't cold—just matter-of-fact. "But unlike you..." He nibbled at Demi's jaw, then bit down hard, drawing a sharp whimper. "I don't love her. Not the way my wife does. She's just someone we can fuck and talk to. We're adults, after all."

"That... that's how you see Claire?" Demi forced out, and Compass swore he caught a flicker of possessiveness in his voice. Even for someone who usually took the submissive role, Demi could be very different when it came to the girl they were talking about.

"You sound like Aiko—my wife. Every time I say something shitty about her toy, she gets all agitated." That earned him a sharp bite on his pulse point—Demi's bite, and a clear warning.

"You're going to turn me off if you keep insulting Miss Mageiros."

Compass sighed. "Fine, fine. My apologies." He kissed Demi before he could throw another remark.

And just like that, Demi melted into it.

Demi groaned into the kiss, all his frustration and irritation fading into the background. His hands roamed over Compass's body, tracing the firm muscles through his shirt, feeling the heat radiating between them.

"Do you ever get tired of this? Being with me?" he managed to gasp out.

Compass caught his jaw in a firm grip, forcing him to meet his eyes. The intensity in his gaze burned through Demi, setting his nerves alight.

"Never."

The kiss was rougher this time, more desperate. Fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding their bodies together.

Demi gasped, arching his back away from the wall. Every touch seemed to ignite a fire within him, threatening to consume him whole. Compass's hands were everywhere, each caress sending sparks of heat pooling in his gut.

He tangled his fingers in Compass's hair, tugging softly, eliciting a growl from the taller man. Compass responded by pressing him harder against the wall, his knee sliding between Demi's thighs.

The music teacher's breathing hitched at the contact, a soft moan slipping from his lips as he instinctively parted his legs. His body responded on its own, eagerly chasing the delicious friction of Compass's leg pressing between his.

"You drive me crazy," Compass growled, his voice low and gravelly. His lips found Demi's throat again, trailing down to his collarbone, biting and nipping at the sensitive skin.

"...How ironic," Demi managed to choke out, breathless. "You've said that to her—twice."

"Must you bring her up every damn time?" Compass's grip tightened under Demi's chin, lifting his gaze. Demi only offered a defiant smirk in return.

"You insult her even when we're fucking, so what's the difference?" the music teacher muttered, tilting his head challengingly.

Compass's eyes narrowed at the insolent reply, a dangerous glint in his gaze. He pressed Demi harder against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head in a swift movement.

"Watch that mouth of yours, Demi," he warned, his voice low and commanding. "Or I'll find a better use for it."

Demi gasped at the sudden change in position, his body reacting instantly to Compass's firm grip. Heat flared in his lower belly, his mind struggling to form a retort.

"I wouldn't dare," Demi teased, his voice dripping with mock innocence—despite the way his hips were already bucking against Compass's leg. His eyes sparkled with defiance and desire.

"I will gag you with my cock if you don't stop talking," Compass snapped with a growl.

"Really?"

Demi challenged, smug.

For someone usually shy and nervous, Demi could be infuriatingly bold. Especially when it came to Claire—his obsession with her only seemed to intensify during moments like this, even while tangled up with someone else. And it was usually Mister Compass who bore the full brunt of this... exclusive side of his colleague.

"Geez..." Compass muttered—then silenced him with a rough kiss.

What do you even see in her? But that left unspoken.

Their lips crashed together in a fierce, almost punishing kiss. Compass's tongue forced its way into Demi's mouth, exploring and claiming every inch. His grip on Demi's wrists tightened as he pressed him further into the wall, his other hand snaking down to squeeze Demi's backside roughly.

Demi moaned into the kiss, his body melting against Compass's. He arched his back, pushing his hips forward to grind against Compass's leg trapped between them. His hands were still pinned above his head but he didn't seem to mind—he seemed to revel in being at Compass's mercy.

Compass broke the kiss suddenly, his face inches from Demi's as he panted for breath. He released Demi's wrists only to grab his thighs and lift him up, wrapping Demi's legs around his waist without warning. He carried him over to the desk, setting him down on the edge roughly.

Demi's eyes widened in surprise but quickly darkened with lust as he wrapped his legs tighter around Compass's waist. He leaned back on his elbows, spreading himself open more invitingly. "Is this where you finally shut me up?" he taunted softly.

Compass's eyes gleamed with possessive hunger at the blatant invitation. He didn't bother with words—he simply reached down and began unbuttoning Demi's pants. Demi didn't move—aside from helping his partner slide his pants off—allowing the taller man to grab his legs and push them up, hooking them over his shoulders. He buried his face between Demi's thighs without warning, his hot mouth immediately finding Demi's throbbing center.

Demi cried out sharply, his head falling back against the desk as Compass's skilled tongue delved into him. The sudden, intense pleasure made his vision blur—worse than it ever was, even with his glasses on. He could barely think straight as Compass ate him out like a starving man.

Compass feasted on Demi like he was his favorite meal, his arms wrapping around Demi's legs to keep them spread wide. He sucked and licked and nipped, driving Demi wild with pleasure. He could feel Demi's hands trembling as they gripped the desk edge, his glasses slipping down his nose.

"...Fuck, Compass," Demi gasped out, nearly blind without his glasses properly in place. His hips bucked shamelessly against that talented mouth, completely lost in sensation. With trembling fingers, he managed to push his glasses back up, but they promptly slid down again as another wave of pleasure hit.

"Gods," Compass muttered, watching Demi's body writhe. He loved reducing this usually prim and proper music teacher to a moaning, glasses-slipping mess. He spread Demi's legs wider, delving his tongue deeper, swirling it around the sensitive spot that made Demi yelp loudly.

"C-Ccompass!" Demi shouted, his voice echoing off the empty classroom walls. His back arched off the desk as he came undone, spilling himself into Compass's waiting mouth with a cry. The taller man drank him down greedily, only pulling back once Demi was completely spent.

Compass stood up slowly, licking his lips clean with a satisfied smirk. He reached out and gently pushed Demi's glasses back up his nose properly this time, his fingers lingering on Demi's cheek. "Shut you up yet?" he teased softly, his voice still rough with desire.

Demi blinked up at him, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. His glasses were slightly crooked again but he didn't bother fixing them—he was too busy staring at Compass hungrily. "Not even close," he challenged breathlessly before pulling Compass back down for another scorching kiss.

Compass groaned into the kiss, Demi's taste still on his tongue mixing with the flavor of his own lips. He pushed Demi back down onto the desk roughly, hands gripping his hips firmly. "Fuck," he muttered against Demi's mouth, "Gonna actually shut you up now."

Before Demi could respond with another smart remark, Compass quickly unbuckled his own belt and freed himself. Without further warning, he pushed inside Demi in one smooth thrust, filling him completely and finally silencing that smart mouth with a deep groan of pleasure instead of words.

Demi's mouth fell open in a perfect O as he was suddenly, completely filled. He moaned loudly, his fingers scrambling to find purchase on the desk as Compass began to move with slow, powerful thrusts that hit every single one of Demi's sensitive spots. "Ah—ah—"

"Yeah, that's it," Compass panted, picking up the pace. He wrapped an arm around Demi's waist and lifted him up slightly, changing the angle so he could go even deeper. The new position had Demi crying out shamelessly, his glasses falling off completely in his pleasure.

"Fuck—Compass—I'm gonna—" Demi managed to choke out between moans. His body was tight around Compass, squeezing him like a vice as he neared his second orgasm of the second round. He reached out blindly for something to hold onto and knocked over a stack of sheet music.

Compass watched the music flutter to the ground, hearing Demi's desperate cries. He leaned down and captured Demi's mouth in a fierce kiss, swallowing his moans as he felt Demi's body clamp down around him one last time before he too was lost in his own pleasure.

"Holy..." Demi panted once he could speak again. His body was boneless, glasses nowhere to be found, and his hair was probably a complete mess. He watched lazily as Compass pulled out slowly, his brain barely functioning. He managed to smirk slightly, "You were supposed to shut me up."

Compass laughed softly, catching his breath. He ran a hand through his hair before leaning down to kiss Demi again—slower this time.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered against his mouth. "Real smart mouth on you, and you can't even see without your glasses." He tapped Demi's nose playfully.

"Whatever..." Demi chuckled weakly.

Two rounds in the afternoon? At school, no less?

Sometimes he wondered how Compass never seemed to care about their very public surroundings—but judging by the fact that Compass was now redressing himself, even helping Demi with his pants, the music teacher didn't exactly protest either.

Demi groaned softly, his body still thrumming with the remnants of their encounter. He watched as Compass finished straightening his clothes, feeling strangely vulnerable as the cool air kissed his heated skin. Even though he was now fully dressed, Demi still felt sore.

"You do realize how risky that was, right?" he murmured, clumsily adjusting his own clothes. "Anyone could've walked in at any moment."

Compass paused, glancing up with a cocky grin.

"What, you scared?" he teased.

"Well, Sasha walked in on us last time," Demi reminded him calmly, wiping the remaining sweat from his forehead. "You should consider yourself lucky our dear colleague didn't snitch. Aiko still doesn't know about our affair—not even before she brought Claire into the picture."

"Please," Compass scoffed, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "Like she would. She likes you too much to rat you out. Besides, she knows we have an open relationship."

Demi snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Open, you say." He reached for his glasses, but Compass caught his hand before he could put them on. Demi paused, giving him a curious look.

Compass studied him for a moment, something flickering in his gaze. Then, with unexpected gentleness, he took the glasses from Demi's hand and slid them onto his face. Despite the earlier intimacy, that simple gesture felt oddly tender.

"I've always wondered," Compass murmured, "what is it you even see in that Claire girl?"

"Pfft—" Demi chuckled, the sound uncharacteristically amused. A faint smirk curved his lips, revealing a glimpse of his small fangs. Most might think he was just some strange creature with no known species or origin—but the truth? He was a mixed breed, part Hellenic and something else... something still unknown. "You fuck her too."

Something flashed across Compass's eyes, a hint of irritation quickly hidden behind a nonchalant shrug.

"She's easy. Not demanding. Fun."

"And that's all it takes for you," Demi replied dryly. He began gathering the papers strewn across his desk, trying to appear nonchalant—even as his heart gave a little pang. But Compass knew him well enough now to notice the subtle signs. He placed a hand over Demi's, stilling his movements.

"Hey." Compass's voice was stern but not unkind. Demi looked up, meeting the math teacher's gaze.

"Stop sulking," Compass said bluntly. "It doesn't suit you."

Demi bristled, his jaw clenching slightly.

"I'm not sulking," he retorted, trying to pull his hand free.

Compass tightened his grip, his hold gentle but firm.

"You are," he accused. "You get like this every time Claire's name comes up."

"Could you blame me? You've always looked down on my kind."

"Your kind?" Compass arched an eyebrow, catching the subtle defensiveness in Demi's tone. Though the music teacher remained calm and never raised his voice, it always stirred suspicion in the science and mathematics teacher—especially when it came to Demi's possessive obsession with Claire.

"She's just a university student."

"And also a woman," Demi replied sharply, though his voice stayed even as he quickly went about organizing his desk.

Compass's eyes narrowed, reading the subtext behind Demi's words.

"You realize she doesn't belong to you," he said bluntly.

Demi bristled, irritation flaring. He jerked his hand free from Compass's grip, but before he could fire back, Compass seized his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"You're getting possessive again," Compass said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "I thought we talked about this."

Demi scowled, his cheeks flushed—but his gaze remained defiant.

"You're not even Hellenic."

"Half," Demi corrected coldly.

"That's only because you drink her blood," Compass shot back.

Demi flinched. And in the next breath, he moved—swiftly. In a blur of motion, he spun them around, slamming Compass against the desk. The taller man's eyes widened as Demi loomed over him, using their new position to gain control.

"Listen. I was born Hellenic long before you ever existed," Demi growled. "I may be half now, but that's only because I'm stuck in this stupid mortal body. I only became Hellenic again because of her."

His growing fangs flashed into view as he spoke, though he didn't bare them like a wild animal. He simply stared down at Compass, unwavering and intense. Even if they were just colleagues with benefits, Demi didn't love anyone romantically—only physically.

But when it came to Claire... he would admit: he had a thing for her.

Despite the dangerous gleam in Demi's eyes, Compass merely looked irritated. He didn't flinch or show any sign of fear, meeting Demi's gaze with a steady, unimpressed stare.

"You're getting too worked up," he said coolly. "And you're still being possessive."

He tried to push himself off the desk, but Demi didn't move. One hand snapped up to Compass's throat and slammed him back down onto the desk. His other hand gripped Compass's wrists, holding him firmly in place. The tension between them crackled, the air thick with unspoken hostility.

Demi leaned in, his voice quiet but laced with cold certainty. "What I have with her is my business. We may all be part of her little web, but just know this—you and your wife? You're just her toys. I'm her real partner."

Compass hissed as Demi's claws dug into his skin.

Compass clenched his jaw, anger flashing in his eyes. He tried to buck his hips, but Demi easily restrained him, pressing him more firmly against the desk.

With a low growl, Compass bared his fangs, bristling at Demi's claim.

"You think you're special to her?" he spat. "You're just as disposable as the rest of us. She just happens to favor you right now. But the moment you cross her..."

His gaze flicked to the hand still curled around his throat, then back to Demi's face.

How the hell did it go from that to this? Compass thought bitterly—but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Demi suddenly loosened his grip.

Compass took the opening and shoved him back. To his surprise, Demi let it happen without resistance.

His answer came a second later—a knock at the door.

"Demi?"

It was Claire.

Compass scowled as Demi calmly adjusted himself, his more unearthly traits receding as if nothing had happened.

"Claire? Where were you?" Demi asked smoothly, his tone light.

"Helping Thavel keep Bloomie in check," she replied, rubbing her forearm with a tired sigh. "The pranks weren't as bad today."

While she spoke, Compass straightened up and adjusted his tie, focusing on the small, mundane motion—anything to distract himself from the tension still thick in the room.

"I see. That is good to hear." Demi flashed Claire a warm smile, all traces of their earlier argument vanishing in his pleasant demeanor.

As Claire and Demi chatted, Compass discreetly smoothed out his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, trying to present a composed front. But his gaze flicked towards Demi—the other man looked infuriatingly nonchalant. The only remnants of their heated argument were their disheveled appearances and the faint flush on Compass's neck, where Demi had grabbed him.

∘₊✧✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✧₊∘

Meanwhile or more likely at the same time....

Gods, they're more shameless than I am, Claire thought, leaning her back against the locked door as she listened to the muffled sounds from the other side.

She had originally planned to check in on them, maybe share some good news, and finally take things slow after forcing Lana to tone down her pranks. But that plan had been derailed. Right now, she was dealing with the growing strain between her and Lana.

I guess this is my fault for letting things spiral out of control, she mused, the memory of her latest argument with the Corruptor still vivid in her mind. Still, Claire remained unfazed.

Now that I know who kidnapped Bubble... Her eyes rolled as she glanced down the empty hallway. There were no signs of anything supernatural—no flickering lights, no ominous presence.

She knew she might not be able to get her friend back. But one thing was certain: she was going to make Lana regret it.

Chapter Text

"Sooner or later, I had to find another plaything," Lanara commented, watching as the intimate scene drew to a close. Shameless. Absolutely shameless. And yet, it thrilled her. Who wouldn't enjoy a little free yaoi drama with some boy-love fluff thrown in? Especially when the duo decided to argue —almost getting into a fight—right after having sex. Hah!

Now that bastard of a 'reaper' had finally shown himself. In hindsight, she should have wiped out every last trace of corruption in her old world eons ago. And now? Now she had to deal with this nuisance—someone bold enough to compete for Her Moonlight .

So he was the only one to survive? That means... he's rebelling now? Hm. At least he's become an amusing puzzle. Something to toy with. Something to unravel. More entertainment for her, then.

Though who would've guessed he'd get so possessively obsessed over Kloera? He really thinks he can make her jealous? Pft. What a petty little man. Doesn't even realize he's a waste of space.

Of course, the Creator just had to keep him around—probably just to piss her off. Typical. But Lanara? She didn't often get mad, or angry, or even frustrated.

Oh no no no...

She had learned a few things from Orphessa. That influence had been immensely useful—especially before Lanara twisted the knife in that little betrayal of virtue.

Speaking of Kloera... "Sooner or later, she'll have me on my knees, begging for her," Lanara muttered, a hologram flickering to life beside her as she multitasked with casual ease.

"Heh... I'd love to do that~"

And she meant it. Lanara adored being wrapped in someone's spell—just for a moment. Letting them believe they were the one in control. A carefully spun illusion. All so she could pounce when they least expected it.

Still, if Evil Engel were here, he'd probably make some snide comment. Call her a pervert, just because of that look on her face—especially since she wasn't wearing her mask at the moment.

Whatever. For now, her attention shifted.

She needed to check in on her latest project .

🅱🅾🅽🆄🆂

I make a playlist (hadn't make it yet but I only write down here just in case if I'm in a mood to do something else once I'm done with the exams) with songs that reminds me of Lanara- (Don't ask me why I'm doing this =D)

Strictly slow and reverb.

 - Jagwar Twin - Happy Face

- Melanie Martinez - Tag, You're It

- 5 Seconds of Summer - Teeth

- The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army

- Portugal. The Man - Feel It Still

- Halsey - Control

- Melanie Martinez - Mad Hatter

- Charlotte Lawrence - Joke's On You

- Sabrina Carpenter – Looking at Me

- The Neighbourhood - Lurk

- Queen - Killer Queen

- Katy Berry - I kissed a girl

- Britney Spears - Gimme More

- Autoheart - Stalker's Tango

- Sam Smith, Kim Petras - Unholy

- Mother Mother - Verbatim

- Tata Young - Sexy Naughty B*tchy me

- Marina and the Diamonds - Bubblegum B*tch

- Taylor Swift - Look What You Made Me Do 

- Sabrina Claudio - Cross Your Mind

Chapter Text

"Don't get too distracted."

That was the last thing that annoying woman had told Claire—right before she blacked out from exhaustion. Now, groaning as she rolled out of bed, Claire winced. Four days had passed since she left for her first phase season, and now she was back at school... drifting through the gates in a blissed-out haze.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this satisfied—or this sore. Lanara hadn't been joking when she promised to wear her out.

Oblivious to the reactions around her, Claire strolled toward the building. She didn't notice the way people—especially Hellenics, half-Hellenics, or any being remotely associated with them—suddenly recoiled, stepping back and covering their noses. Her scent was practically radiating off her in waves, potent and unmistakable.

Claire, yawning behind a hand, didn't stop to consider it. She hadn't even had the strength to go through her full makeup routine. Just the bare minimum: mascara and lip gloss. Usually, she kept it light, but today even blush felt unnecessary—her cheeks were still tinged pink, flushed from the memory of Lanara's scent, which still clung to her skin like a possessive signature.

Her hips ached in the best way, so she settled for her usual loafers and let her mind wander. Maybe—if she asked nicely—Miss Bloomie would bring her one of those caramel macchiatos with an extra shot of espresso.

Dreaming of caffeine and yawning so wide her jaw cracked, she almost didn't hear Mister Demi call her name from the entrance.

"Claire!" the music professor greeted, jogging toward the stairs with a smile. Mister Compass trailed in after him, offering a lazy wave. "You're back! How was your h—HOLY SHIT!"

Demi's briefcase crashed to the ground as he recoiled, clutching his nose in both hands. Being half-Hellenic, he was especially sensitive—thanks to her.

Startled by the commotion, Claire blinked out of her fog.

"Demi?" Compass hurried to his partner's side. "What's the ma—fucking hell, Mageious!" The moment he got within range, he too staggered back, pinching his nostrils shut and glaring at Claire like she was a walking chemical weapon. Though he wasn't Hellenic—or even close—his demon instincts screamed danger, reacting on instinct. And Compass did know a thing or two about Hellenic pheromones. Probably from experience. Probably.

Okay, really. Claire knew she smelled a little intense today, but this felt like an overreaction. So Lanara had doused her in her scent—big deal. It only screamed murder to any Hellenic fool enough to look at her sideways.

"What did you do?" Demi gasped, still visibly appalled. Claire didn't miss the flicker of jealousy in his expression. Great. As amusing as it was, she'd definitely have some explaining to do to her other affair partners.

"More like who you did," Compass snickered behind his hand. At least he wasn't the jealous type. Gods, Claire was grateful for that.

Then Demi went pale. "Drakarys, please tell me you didn't hook up with a god," he demanded, panic rising in his voice. "You better get Emily to collect your assignments. If Grace catches a whiff of you like this, she'll throw you straight into the psych ward."

Claire blinked. A god? Honestly... not a bad cover story.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, dear," she replied sweetly, brushing past them without a care, while the hallway around her buzzed with confused—and stunned—stares.

︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶

Hellenic Scents and Influence

· · ─ ·. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.· ─ · ·

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

So you'll see this new chapter, let me break it to you. I'll be putting two versions of my Author's Note too cause why not? I'm worried that it might be making sense so....

(1) Author's Note:
Something I forgot to mention—or even write a book about—is that Hellenics in the Multiverse Saga have scents or phenomena, and both non-Hellenics and Hellenics can smell them. But usually, it's the Hellenics who can pick up the scent faster than a human or even a non-Hellenic.

So here's the breakdown about Hellenic scents: they can be anything. Like, ANYTHING. Specifically speaking as the Creator of this AU, the Multiverse, and the fandom I intend to build—if I can play my cards right while also pulling myself together in my personal life—

It all depends on the character I create or make a version out of.

I did originally write a story explaining how it works between Miss Grace and my OC, Eupha, as a ship, but I never got the chance to publish it.

Oh, and Hellenic scents can influence or even hypnotize someone. The chances are astoundingly low—but not zero. The scent can put you in a trance-like state, like you're sleepy but not asleep—like you're awake, but also not awake. Sometimes, Hellenic scents can trigger a state of lust, or just simply put you at ease.

However, there are chances—rare ones—where you might encounter a specific Hellenic whose scent can straight-up kill you. Like aura, but not aura. Their scent is all it takes—your nose inhales, and that's it. You're dead. Like breathing in a deadly gas—you just collapse.

This only affects humans, mortals, and non-Hellenic creatures.

As for Hellenics? Well, they usually take it as a sign to either back off—or run. Because a Hellenic who releases a murderous scent is seen as someone claimed by a god—or someone even stronger. In other cases, it just means that Hellenic is not someone you want to mess with. And no—it's not because they smell "bad" or because the murderous Hellenic is "smelly."
Their scent is straight murder.

(2) Author's Note:
Something I forgot to mention—or even write a full story about—is that Hellenics in the Multiverse Saga have unique scents or phenomena associated with them. Both Hellenics and non-Hellenics can detect these scents, but Hellenics tend to pick up on them much faster than humans or other non-Hellenic beings.

Let me break it down: Hellenic scents can be anything. Literally anything. As the Creator of this AU, the Multiverse, and the fandom I hope to build (if I can just keep my life together long enough to pull it off), the scents depend entirely on the character—whether original or a version of an existing one.

I actually wrote a story that explores how it works between Miss Grace and my OC, Eupha, as a ship—but I never got around to publishing it.

Now, here's the thing: Hellenic scents can influence others. Sometimes even hypnotize them. The chances are astoundingly low, but not zero. A Hellenic scent might lull someone into a trance-like state—like you're awake but not quite, sleepy but not asleep. It can induce lust, or simply a sense of peace and calm.

However, there are rare cases where a Hellenic's scent can straight-up kill. Like a deadly gas. One inhale—and that's it. You collapse. It's not aura, but it's like aura. A scent that's fatal to mortals, humans, and non-Hellenic beings.

And for other Hellenics? If they pick up on that kind of scent, it's either a sign to back off—or run. A Hellenic who releases a "murderous scent" is usually someone claimed by a god, or someone far stronger. In other cases, it simply means: don't mess with them.

And no, this isn't about smelling "bad." The scent isn't disgusting—it's just pure, overwhelming murder. Their presence doesn't reek—it annihilates.

Chapter Text

It was no secret—Claire had a habit of laying on top of her affair partners whenever they were involved. She often ended up sprawled across Miss Thavel, usually somewhere between Miss Circle and Miss Bloomie after their rough, drawn-out sex marathons. Other times, Miss Circle clung to her possessively while cuddling. And as for Mister Compass? Claire always found a way to climb on top of him, whether he joined in the "fun" or not.

But it wasn't always about sex. Sometimes, Claire simply wanted to relax—chill with her partners, limbs tangled, body draped across theirs—and call it a night or a lazy day. Miss Emily preferred Claire underneath, which she didn't mind... most of the time. But let's be honest—imagine trying to do your own thing while someone hovers over you all the time. Who wouldn't get annoyed? Sasha wasn't bad either, though Claire had her complaints. She preferred resting her head on Sasha's soft belly, just lying there.

Grace? That woman straight-up dominated her. Claire didn't mind, really, but gods, it always started with a wrestling match in bed when all she wanted was a cuddle. Communication was supposed to be key in any relationship—even casual ones—but with Claire's entanglements, "key" was often left at the door.

Then there was the juggling of secrets. None of the trio knew about the others. Claire kept it all hidden, layered and sealed behind her practiced smile. But amidst the chaos of flings and facades, there was one lover—one—who got something different. Something more intimate. Not even the murderous trio, the gentle Sasha, the powerful Grace or Emily, or even loyal Mister Compass got this version of her.

This certain person didn't have to initiate. Claire responded to them. She liked being treated like a mistress. And they? Obedient, when it mattered.

Not that he was her favorite... but his obsessive, possessive devotion certainly gave him a spot above the others.

No one knew that Claire reserved this part of herself for—

︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨∘₊✧──────✧₊∘୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶

"Kloera, my lady... you're making a mess on me," said Mister Demi, the music teacher. He didn't move despite the complaint, while Claire lounged lazily on his chest—one hand holding a half-eaten coconut chocolate macaron, the other texting a friend.

"It's just crumbs," Claire replied with a shrug, taking another delicate bite. She liked this type of biscuit. The kind she could slowly savor, dragging the moment out.

"You better get me a box next time. But not too many, or you'll end up stuffing them into my face again."

Claire shrugged again. "Can't a woman enjoy doing whatever she wants?"

"Smart words, dear—but I'm afraid I can't break character when dealing with a feisty lady like you." Demi's hand slid up to rub her thigh. Lucky him—Claire was wearing one of her usual bedtime outfits: a loose, sheer lingerie slip. If you knew her well, you wouldn't be surprised. Sleepwear, for Claire, usually meant lingerie.

She lowered her phone and raised an eyebrow at him. "You've been acting all old-fashioned and calling me 'lady' all night. Aren't you already breaking character?"

"That doesn't count." Demi shook his head, reaching for another macaron. He held it to her lips.

Does he think I'm a fucking kid? Claire narrowed her eyes, bit the macaron—and deliberately bit his finger too. Demi, of course, took delight in that.

"You always spend your time with that trio... don't you get bored?"

"I like it rough, and they know how to deliver. You think I'd keep offering my body to them just for fun? I'm doing it to keep my friends safe." She had a point.

"Hmmm..." Demi pouted, almost childishly.

Claire gave him a look. "You're reminding me of someone."

"Who?" he asked, perking up. Of all the teachers, he couldn't think of anyone who acted like this in private with Claire.

"A lady has her secrets." She giggled at his expression.

"What—hey, don't leave me hanging—"

She pushed him down just as he started to sit up.

"Did I say you could sit up?"

"My apologies, my lady..."

"Geez. Stop acting like a dog." She sighed, no longer interested in banter, and began to sit up. "I'm leaving."

"What?! So soon?" Demi sat up as she climbed out of bed. "You just came an hour ago!"

Claire snatched the long unbuttoned shirt from the edge of the bed and slipped it on—his, not hers. She didn't care. "You kind of ruined the mood," she said casually, now standing at the edge of the bed.

Demi wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She looked down—and met his damn puppy eyes.

I swear this is an imposter... she clicked her tongue but didn't dwell on it. She didn't resist as Demi pulled her into his lap once more.

He nuzzled his face into her neck, pressing soft kisses along her clothed shoulder.

"Stay," he murmured. "Just for a minute, my lady... please?"

Demi's arms tightened possessively around her waist. Claire rolled her eyes and scoffed—but her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at the unexpected tenderness.

Who would've thought he could be this clingy?

"You're acting like a child," she muttered, her voice lacking any real edge. Truthfully, she didn't mind the affection. Not that she'd ever admit it aloud.

At least he's gentle, she thought, shifting her weight as she swung her hips to straddle his lap.

"To think that the shy little teacher would turn out to be this clingy," she remarked, leaning down until her short hair fell forward like a curtain around them.

He let out a low sound of satisfaction as she straddled him, tightening his hold even more.

Demi shifted his hands to Claire's hips, pulling her down against his growing excitement. He nuzzled his face into her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

"Mmm, you know you like it," he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Claire could feel his desire growing, his body practically thrumming with want. She knew he was holding back, though. He was always careful not to push her too far or move too fast.

He's always so polite... even now.

Claire rolled her eyes, feigning indifference to his words—but the shiver that slid down her spine betrayed her. She leaned in, her lips brushing close to his ear.

"Don't get too cocky," she whispered. "I could be off to see Grace right now, you know."

At the mere mention of Grace's name, Demi's grip on her hips tightened. Claire smirked. She knew exactly how he felt about her and her infamous trio.

"What do you even see in them...?" Demi asked slowly, almost cautiously.

Claire didn't answer right away. Instead, she let the silence stretch as she slipped the unbuttoned white shirt from her shoulders, casually ignoring the question.

"Who?" she replied at last, voice cool and careless—making sure not to reveal that she was already well ahead of his suspicions. After all, Demi didn't know the full extent of her affairs.

Not yet.

Demi's eyes flicked to the shirt slipping down Claire's shoulders, her bare skin just barely visible in the low candlelight. He swallowed, hard.

"Don't change the subject," he protested, trying to keep his voice steady. "You know who I'm talking about. Grace. And the other two..."

The jealousy in his voice was undeniable now. Claire couldn't help but smirk.

"What? Are you jealous?" she asked sweetly, raising an eyebrow. "Are you actually getting possessive?"

Demi bristled at the question, his grip on her hips hardening.

"No," he lied, his voice tight. "Of course not. I just... I don't understand what you see in them. They're so rough, violent. They don't treat you like—"

He broke off suddenly, his eyes wide as he realized he was on the verge of saying too much.

Like a lady. The words hung unspoken between them, but Claire heard them loud and clear.

Claire let a smirk play on her lips. Demi was too easy to read. She knew exactly how to push his buttons.

"Oh, really?" she asked lazily, shifting in his lap ever so slightly. Her movements were calculated, designed to taunt. "And how do you treat me, mister shy-and-polite teacher?"

His grip on her hips tightened again. She could feel the tension radiating off him. It was obvious he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Demi inhaled sharply as Claire shifted in his lap, his gaze snapping up to meet hers.

"I treat you with respect," he ground out, his voice low and strained. "I treat you with kindness, with care... I treat you like a lady. Something I doubt they do."

He couldn't help but let a hint of venom slip into his words at that last part. He hated the idea of Claire with those... animals.

He was so deep in thought that when Claire called his name, he didn't respond—so she took the obvious route.

"RHYS!"

Demi blinked, startled, just as Claire shook his shoulders.

"You're no different," she said coldly. "Ignoring me now? Is that your thing—ignoring a lady?"

The mention of his full name jolted Demi out of his thoughts. He looked at her, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Wha—No! Of course not, I—"

But Claire cut him off with a scoff, her expression hardening.

"Oh, please. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't even realize I was talking to you! Or do I need to scream at you now?"

She was mocking him, and she knew it. But Demi's pride bristled.

"You don't have to yell," he snapped.

Claire smirked at the snap in his voice. She'd finally struck a nerve.

"Oh? Don't I?" she asked, her tone mocking. She shifted again in his lap, pressing down on the bulge in his pants. "Am I being too loud for you, mister teacher?"

Demi's breath caught in his throat at the contact. His hands instinctively moved to her hips, holding her in place, but he was quickly losing control of the situation.

"Forgive me, my lady."

"Stop with the—ehhh!" Claire yelped as Demi suddenly flipped her over and started tickling her.

"Stop!—pfft—!" she laughed, squirming beneath him.

Demi smirked at her sudden outburst as Claire squirmed under his fingers. He knew exactly how to make her laugh, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"What was that?" he teased, his fingers dancing along her sides. "I couldn't quite hear you, my lady."

He continued tickling her, his eyes glittering with amusement. Claire's laughter filled the room, the sound like music to his ears. It was rare to see her like this, so carefree and vulnerable.

"Mercy! Mercy!" she gasped between laughs.

Demi relented, finally letting up on the tickling. He hovered over Claire, pinning her to the bed, their faces inches apart. His chest rose and fell with ragged breath, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"Had enough?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

Claire's cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "You... you're insufferable," she managed to pant out.

"Well, it's your fault for turning me on, my lady," Demi said, planting his hands on either side of Claire as he hovered over her.

Claire didn't resist—at least, not at first.

"What, you want me to take responsibility now?" she shot back, eyes sharp with challenge.

Demi's eyes darkened at her words. Something about the way she was challenging him—taunting him, even—made him want to push her further. To see how far she would go before crumbling beneath him.

"Maybe I do," he shot back, one hand gripping her wrist and pinning it to the bed. "Maybe I want you to take responsibility for the fire you started in my veins."

Claire's breath hitched at the sudden roughness in his voice. She tried to twist her wrist free, but his grip was unyielding.

Claire struggled against his grip, her breath quickening as the tension in the room thickened. She was losing control, and he could tell she liked it.

"You... you bastard," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "Let go of me!"

But Demi didn't budge. He simply leaned in closer, his face just inches from hers.

"Why should I?" he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "You're mine right now, my lady. And I'm going to do exactly what I want with you."

Her defiance was just fueling the fire inside him. Without warning, Demi captured her lips in a searing kiss, his mouth crushing against hers with a primal desperation.

He felt her gasp against him, her body responding involuntarily to the sudden intensity of the moment. His hand gripped her wrist tighter, pinning it above her head.

Claire's defiance melted away as he kissed her—her body betraying her with a rush of heat. Despite her best efforts, she found herself kissing him back fiercely, her free hand gripping at his shoulder.

His possessive hold had her reeling, her thoughts clouding with desire. She hated how he could make her feel so vulnerable, so out of control. But at the same time... she loved it.

"Damn you..." she whispered between kisses, her voice ragged.

Demi deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth with a hunger that matched her own. He released her wrist, his hand immediately sliding up her arm, over her shoulder, to tangle in her hair.

He was losing himself in the moment, his body taking over. All his carefully cultivated self-control was out the window, replaced by a single-minded need for her.

"You're mine," he muttered against her lips, his fingers tightening in her hair. "All. Mine."

Claire was just about to turn the tables on him—until a sudden knock startled them both. Their eyes widened as they glanced toward the locked door.

"I thought you said no one was coming today," Claire hissed, shoving him away while he was still caught off guard.

Demi stumbled backwards, cursing under his breath as he caught his balance. He had been so caught up in the moment, he had completely forgotten about the world outside their bubble.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound came again, more insistent this time. Whoever it was didn't seem to be going away anytime soon.

Demi swore again, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'll... I'll handle it," he said, reluctantly disentangling himself from the bed. "Stay here."

Claire watched with a mixture of irritation and resignation as Demi reluctantly straightened his shirt and made his way to the door. She couldn't believe the timing.

Whoever it is, I'm already pissed at them for ruining the mood.

She sat up in the bed, adjusting her nightgown and trying to compose herself. She still felt flushed from their previous encounter, her heart thudding in her chest.

Demi paused just outside the door, taking a deep breath to try and regain some composure. He knew he must look like a wrecked mess, his hair tousled and his shirt rumpled, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He swung the door open, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. "Yes?" he asked gruffly.

The person on the other side of the door was none other than Grace—the principal. She looked completely unfazed by the late-night visit, her expression cool and composed.

"Ah, Demi," she said, her tone almost bored. "I see I'm not interrupting anything." Her eyes flicked past him, toward the bed.

Claire's eye twitched. "You again?" she muttered, while Demi tried to block Grace's view of her.

But, as if sensing exactly what he was doing, Grace casually tilted her head to peer over his shoulder.

"Who are you having over?" she asked smoothly.

Demi's heart skipped a beat as Grace peered past him, catching a glimpse of Claire sitting on the bed. He cursed internally, desperately trying to cover up the situation.

"Nobody! Nobody important," he said quickly, shifting to block Grace's view again. "What do you need, Grace? It's late."

Grace raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. She seemed to enjoy making him squirm under her cool gaze.

"Oh, really?" she drawled, a hint of mockery in her tone. "Because it sounded like someone was with you, making rather... interesting noises."

Demi felt his face grow hot with embarrassment, cursing the woman's keen hearing. He could feel Claire's eyes on him, likely glaring daggers.

"I... we were just... having a conversation," he stammered lamely.

Claire facepalmed. This man wasn't an idiot—so why was he acting dumb right now?

Grace's smirk widened, clearly amused by his attempt at lies.

"A conversation?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Is that what you call it?"

Demi could practically feel Claire's irritation growing behind him. She was practically seething with frustration, no doubt cursing him for being such a terrible liar.

"Yes... a conversation. That's all," he insisted, his voice strained.

Grace simply hummed, her gaze roaming over his disheveled state. Clearly, she didn't believe him for a second.

Grace stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she took in his rumpled shirt and mussed up hair. It was abundantly clear that something more than a "conversation" had happened in that room.

"You know," she said slowly, her voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness. "I did hear some rather interesting moans earlier. Sounded like someone was having quite a fun time."

Demi's face burned with embarrassment. He could feel Claire bristling with frustration behind him, probably itching to confront Grace herself.

Grace took another step forward, now standing directly in front of him. Even in casual attire, she was an intimidating presence. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone.

"And you know something, Demi?"

He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest. Whatever she was about to say, he had a sinking feeling he wasn't going to like it.

"What?" he managed to rasp, his voice dry and hoarse.

"I'll give you a chance to kindly let this student go," Grace said, now towering over him, "and I'll pretend none of this ever happened."

Meanwhile, Claire wasted no time getting dressed—she didn't believe for a second that Demi could stop Grace at this point.

No wonder your wife died, Claire thought coldly, buttoning up her blouse.

As for the professors? Yeah... Demi eventually gave up.

"That's what I thought," Grace remarked as Demi stepped aside and Claire came into view.

"You'd better keep your word."

Claire extended her hand—only for Grace to grab it and pull her firmly to her side.

Demi could only watch in frustration as Grace manhandled Claire, pulling her closer. His heart sank as he realized there was nothing he could do to stop her.

"Grace, wait—" he started, but she ignored him, her grip firm on Claire's arm.

Claire shot him a scathing glare over her shoulder—part anger, part disappointment, and a hint of something else. And just like that, she was being hauled away by the principal, leaving Demi feeling helpless and miserable.

Damn...

Damn.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Meanwhile, with Grace and Claire...

Their walk was heavy with awkward silence. Claire remained unfazed by the bruising grip on her hand as Miss Grace led her not to her own dorm, but to Grace's instead.

Claire seemed oddly content with her current predicament—until Grace finally broke the silence.

"First the trio, and now him?"

"So what?" Claire replied coolly. "That's my business, not yours."

"At this rate, you'll be working your way through every teacher in the school," Grace snapped, trying her best not to raise her voice at the university student—who, to make matters worse, happened to be her own casual fling every Thursday.

Claire rolled her eyes, annoyed at the implication. "I do as I please."

Grace let out a scoff, her grip on Claire's wrist tightening as she unlocked the dormitory door. "You're toying with people's feelings, you know that right? All for what? Your own entertainment?"

Claire merely shrugged, not caring much for the lecture. "I'm just having fun, that's all."

Grace shook her head, exasperated. "One of these days, this little game of yours is going to backfire on you, Claire."

"You do realize I only use my body as a means to protect my friends, right?" Claire said as she stepped into Grace's dorm.

Grace slammed the door shut behind them and locked it.

"But you have me," Grace pointed out.

"You don't control the murders happening in this school," Claire shot back without missing a beat.

Grace whirled on her, eyes flashing with anger.

"And you're not some kind of hero for sleeping around to 'protect your friends,'" she snapped. "You're just using people, Claire. Acting like your needs are the only ones that matter."

Claire stepped closer, eyes narrowing in defiance. "And what exactly do you think matters? Your petty jealousy?"

Grace bristled, feeling cornered. "It's not jealousy—it's... it's concern, damn it."

"You think I'm not aware of my own actions?" Claire asked, moving to sit in the chair by the desk as if she owned it.

"Of course you're an adult, but you're—"

"And that's the point," Claire cut in. "I make my own decisions. Even if one day, those choices get me killed—or worse."

She leaned back, voice cold but steady. "You should know this is the Dark Age of the gods. Every day is a threat, especially for women like us. Children grow up with the constant, suffocating gaze of their own families. And in this school, security barely lifts a finger while people keep dying."

"There are rules, mind you," Grace said, stepping toward her. "You think you've got it all figured out? That the future will play out exactly how you imagine?"

She planted her hands on the armrests of the chair, caging Claire in.

"I only do what I can to keep the people I care about alive," Claire replied evenly. "Besides, if I die—"

"Don't." Grace growled, gripping Claire's chin, her voice low and trembling with something more than anger.

Claire met her gaze unflinchingly, her lip curling in a slight smirk.

"What's the matter," she teased, tilting her chin up to meet Grace's heated gaze. "Are you actually worried about me?"

Grace tightened her grip, eyes narrowing. Claire's smirk only grew wider, enjoying the slight shift in power dynamics.

"Of course I'm worried, you insolent brat," she hissed, fingers digging into Claire's jaw. "Don't you understand how reckless you're being?"

"Reckless?" Claire echoed, mock-innocence lacing her voice. "Or just resourceful?"

Grace clenched her teeth, clearly torn between wanting to shake her and wanting to kiss her.

"You're playing with fire," she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

"Fire?" Claire echoed again, feigning ignorance as she reached to brush her fingers gently along Grace's wrist. "I love it hot."

Grace leaned down, ready to shut this brat up for good—only for Claire's hand to suddenly cover her mouth just as she was about to claim her lips. Claire winced slightly, feeling the sting of blood as Grace's fang dug into her palm.

"Remind me again," Claire said calmly, unfazed, "who started this affair between us?"

Despite being the one to initiate the contact, Grace still felt like the one who was cornered here, and it pissed her off. She growled, trying to push past Claire's slender hand to claim her lips.

"You're a menace," she murmured against her palm. "A damn brat."

Claire didn't budge, still pinning Grace in place with her slender fingers.

"And a brat you keep crawling back to, night after night."

Grace's lip curled in frustration—because she knew it was true. She couldn't get enough of Claire, no matter how infuriating she was. She had tried, oh, oh so many times to end this thing between them... to find comfort in something—someone else.

But none of them felt like this.

None of them challenged her, or made her feel alive the way Claire did.

None of them made her burn with this maddening, burning desire.

"You're mine," she growled, her eyes filled with a fierce possessiveness. "Mine, goddamn it."

Claire's smirk widened, a thrill running through her at the possessive tone in Grace's voice. She'd come to crave it, in a way—that feeling of being claimed, owned by the woman staring down at her.

"So show me," she purred, a hint of challenge in her eyes. "Prove it."

"Oh, I'll prove it," Grace hissed.

She leaned down, capturing Claire's mouth in a rough, possessive kiss. Her hand tangled in Claire's hair, tilting her head back to deepen it as she pressed her body forward, crowding Claire against the chair.

Claire met her with equal fervor, a mix of defiance and surrender in her response. She nipped at Grace's lower lip, tugging it playfully before tangling her fingers in her hair and pulling her even closer.

You're so easy to manipulate, Principal, Claire thought as they finally broke the kiss.

Without a word, she raised her hand and languidly licked the thin streak of blood from her palm—immediately catching Grace's attention, her eyes darkening with want.

Grace's breath hitched as she watched Claire lick the blood from her palm. The sight sent a jolt of desire straight through her.

She stepped forward, voice low and dangerous.

"That's it," she growled. "I'm done being gentle."

"You never were," Claire muttered—just before Grace crashed their lips together again.

Grace's hands roamed over Claire's body, gripping and squeezing as if trying to leave her mark on every inch of her skin. In one swift motion, she lifted Claire and set her down on the desk, scattering papers and knocking over a pen holder in her haste.

As she began undressing her, Grace paused—realizing Claire was wearing lingerie beneath her now unbuttoned dress.

Grace muttered a curse under her breath.

"Seriously?"

Claire just grinned in response.

"You really are trying to kill me, aren't you?" Grace groaned, her fingers tracing the lace edges of the black lingerie. Claire just shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned back on the desk, her dress riding up to reveal more of the provocative set.

Grace's hands shook slightly as she slowly unhooked the lace bra, revealing Claire's bare chest. She took a moment to appreciate the view before leaning down to capture one of the hardening peaks in her mouth, sucking and nibbling gently.

"Gods," Grace whispered against her skin, switching her attention to the other breast. Claire gasped, her fingers tangling in Grace's hair to hold her closer. Grace's hands traced down Claire's sides, hooked her thumbs under the lace panties and slowly began to pull them down.

As Grace slid the panties down Claire's legs, she took a moment to admire the full view of her - spread out on the desk like a sacrifice. She threw the lingerie aside and stepped between Claire's thighs, pressing her own clad body against her naked one.

"You have no idea how sexy you look right now," Grace murmured, grinding slowly against Claire. The other woman moaned softly, wrapping her legs around Grace's waist unconsciously. "No wonder I can't control myself around you," Grace growled softly, unbuttoning her own shirt slowly.

Claire bit her lip, watching as Grace slowly revealed her own skin.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be the mature one," she teased breathlessly, her hands sliding up Grace's exposed stomach.

Grace chuckled darkly, catching Claire's wrists and pinning them above her head.

"Stay still for me."

"I'll try," Claire murmured as Grace finally stripped away the last layers of her outfit.

Grace released Claire's wrists, only to immediately capture both of her legs and throw them over her shoulders. She pressed a firm kiss to Claire's inner thigh before trailing her lips upwards, intentionally teasing and avoiding her center. Claire whined softly, her hips lifting involuntarily seeking contact.

Grace chuckled against her skin, the vibrations sending shivers down Claire's spine. She continued her slow torture, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin of her thighs and hips. Just when Claire thought she couldn't take the teasing anymore, Grace finally pressed a soft kiss to her center.

Claire gasped, her back arching off the desk as Grace's tongue parted her folds. She cried out softly, her fingers tangling in Grace's hair as the other woman began to lick and suck at her most sensitive spot. Grace's hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as she devoured her.

"Fuck," Claire gasped, her legs shaking where they were thrown over Grace's shoulders. Grace didn't let up, instead pressing her tongue flat against Claire's clit and slowly moving it in a back-and-forth motion that had Claire squirming and moaning uncontrollably.

Grace's eyes flicked up to meet Claire's gaze, a smug smirk on her lips as she continued her slow torture. She could feel Claire's legs trembling, hear her soft moans and whimpers growing louder. She knew she had her right on the edge, and she was loving every moment of it.

With one final, hard suck on her clit, Grace sent Claire over the edge. She cried out, her body convulsing as she came apart on Grace's tongue. The other woman lapped up every drop, humming in satisfaction before slowly pulling away and standing up between her legs again.

Claire panted, her body still trembling with sensitivity as Grace stood up. She looked completely debauched—hair tousled, skin flushed, lips slightly parted.

Grace swallowed hard, then lifted Claire effortlessly into her arms, carrying her in a bridal hold toward the bed. Just the taste of her had left Grace aching with want—something Claire noticed immediately.

"This isn't over yet," Grace murmured, dragging her tongue slowly along Claire's neck before sinking her teeth in gently, marking her.

Claire shivered, wrapping her arms around Grace's neck as she was carried to the bed. She could feel just how turned on Grace was—and the realization sent a delicious thrill through her. She knew exactly what Grace wanted... and she was more than willing to give it.

This was going to be a long night.

═══════

"Well, this is disappointing," Mister Shapely muttered aloud, knowing full well that no one would hear him—no one except Lisira, who was still trying to recover from the incident that had happened not too long ago.

For an eldritch god gifted with foresight—able to perceive the future but choosing never to interfere—Shapely had made certain compromises just to remain in this particular AU.

He had learned to block out the noise—the overwhelming flood of futures, pasts, and even the present—because dealing with all of them at once was... unbearable.

"Shapely, did something happen again?" Lisira asked weakly.

"Oh, no, Li. Just rest. I'll handle the rest for ya," Shapely said quickly, brushing off his thoughts as he turned toward his demigoddess friend. Despite his words, he gently scooped her up and placed her on his shoulder.

"You know I can walk, right?"

"It's safer this way," Shapely replied with a chuckle.

"Besides, you're a lady and I'm your partner—so it's only right I treat you like one, the best way I can," Shapely added, deliberately ignoring the yelling echoing in his head, unheard by anyone but him.

"SHE SAID SHE CAN WALK, PUT HER DOWN!!!"

Back to Grace and Claire- Hours later...

The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and quiet moans. The two women lay tangled in the sheets, limbs entwined, skin slick with sweat. Grace's head rested between Claire's breasts as she caught her breath, while Claire gently stroked her hair with trembling fingers.

Claire's gaze drifted to the ceiling, lost in thought.

There was a reason she had included Grace in her harem. She may be a bit controlling, but her authority actually works in this school... Claire mused, slowly glancing down at the university's principal lying in her arms.

Now the real problem—how was she going to explain this to the trio she was already favoring?

They were getting suspicious. Claire couldn't afford that. They didn't need to know the extent of her affairs. Demi had already been a close call... and now Grace?

This is tricky... she thought, trying to piece together a plan to maintain the delicate balance of her double life.

On the surface, she was just a student. But nothing about her life was ordinary—not with a skinwalker serving her as a childhood friend, an eldritch god guarding her mother and the Mageious bloodline, and a tangled love life involving her professors at Paper University.

If Claire didn't keep a tight grip on everything, it would all spiral out of control.

And she knew better than anyone—when karma came, it didn't knock. It shattered.

Grace stirred, shifting her head to look up at Claire, her expression unusually soft.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she murmured, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind the student's ear.

Claire blinked, surprised by the tenderness in Grace's gesture. She'd expected a snarky remark, a hint of jealousy at their current situation. But instead... there was just concern, plain as day.

Claire was caught off guard. She was used to having a grip on their dynamic, keeping the upper hand always.

This side of Grace was... unfamiliar.

"How come you're so calm about it?" Claire asked, casually. "I mean, you know you're not my first... and yet, you never seem to mind me being with someone else."

"Aside from those rare occasions when you stupidly interfere right before I'm about to get laid, of course," Claire added with a shrug.

Grace tensed, bristling at the playful taunt. She didn't like to be reminded of those times when her jealousy got the better of her.

"I— I don't mind," she grumbled, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. "You do whatever... whoever you want. It's none of my business."

She tried to sound nonchalant about it, but the faint edge in her voice betrayed her true feelings. It bothered her more than she cared to admit.

"Good, 'cause I'd rather not have things get awkward between us if one of us decides to call it quits," Claire said, her gaze flicking away.

Grace's heart clenched at the casual nonchalance in Claire's voice. She wanted to protest, to tell Claire that she didn't want things to end—not like this, anyway. But she held her tongue, knowing that any sign of weakness would only make Claire bolder.

Instead, she forced a shrug, masking her emotions behind a veneer of indifference. "Of course. Why would it be awkward? We're just... casual."

"Just casual."

The word tasted bitter on Grace's tongue, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn't want to admit how much it stung to hear Claire talk about it like it was nothing.

She told herself it was just her ego taking a hit—a bruise to her pride. But there was more to it than that...

"Right. Casual," she echoed, forcing a shrug. "We're just... having fun. Nothing serious."

"You're getting stressed again for some reason," Claire pointed out, eyeing her curiously.

Grace tensed, cursing silently. She had the sinking feeling Claire could see right through her.

"I'm not stressed," she said sharply, defensively. "I just... don't like how flippant you're being about all this."

It was already hard enough to keep her feelings in check, and Claire's casual attitude only made it worse. Why did she have to be so damn nonchalant all the time?

"Don't get attached there, Miss Yearwood," Claire said, slowly sitting up. Grace had to move to let the university student climb out of bed.

"I told you not to call me that."

"It's the only way to get you off me without using force," Claire replied calmly, gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.

Grace clenched her fists, watching her dress. She hated how she always ended up being the one left wanting more, while Claire acted like nothing had happened.

It was all just casual between us, she reminded herself firmly. Claire was right. What happened between them was never supposed to mean anything.

But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her chest ached. She knew damn well that casual stopped being an option for her a long time ago.

Ever guess of who has Claire's heart in a genuine way?

Chapter Text

Author's Note:

For those confused about the title, it's Shapely Careful Protection. It may sound straightforward at first, but the deeper you read, the darker it becomes—especially once you analyze or reread Mister Shapely's personality as portrayed in the Edgyverse FPE wiki. I've done my best to stay true to his character, and I wanted to expand on how I interpret and depict characters that aren't my own.

Please know: I never intend to look down on any character, nor do I wish to make anyone from Edgyverse seem "bad." I say this out of concern—because in this story, Shapely may come across as more emotionally detached, with his care focused primarily on Lisira. That said, I have emphasized that he does grow emotionally attached to her and shows care in his own way—the way he believes Lisira would appreciate, based on his personal view of affection and protection.

Keep in mind: everything Shapely does here, he does for Lisira's sake. However, I can't dive as deeply into his character as I'd like—not until I've seen more of his interactions with others. I know there are comics on Twitter, but I'm not on the platform much anymore, so access is limited. Please don't blame me for that.

Also, I want to clarify that this story takes place in my AU. If anything in it makes you uncomfortable, please understand that I've already provided content warnings to the best of my ability. AO3's tagging system helps a lot with this, but I still want to say it here, before the chapter begins.

There are subtle but serious dark themes in this story. If any of it resonates with personal experiences, I urge you—please seek help. No one deserves to go through such pain. In this chapter, both Lisira and Setia will experience heavy moments. Lisira's struggles come more into focus near the end, while Setia begins to show signs early on.

Remember, this is fictional—but that doesn't mean it doesn't affect me as I write. I love my characters deeply, even though I put them through a lot. That's simply how I shape their journeys, how I make them make sense—to me.

With all that said, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺∘₊✧──────✧₊∘༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Where are you going?" Lisira asked, rubbing her eyes as the sudden light from the window stirred her. Shapely was at the edge of the room, methodically shutting the window shutters to block out the cool night air.

"Oh, you know." Shapely shrugged his shoulders with his hands raised. "Off to challenge the fundamentally flawed education system again. Apparently, schools still don't know the difference between a black hole and a teacher's social life." His voice was flat—bone-dry with sarcasm, as always.

Lisira let out a sleepy chuckle. Sometimes she wondered why he even became a teacher—let alone in her universe. "When will you come back? The usual?" she asked, sitting up slowly, her silver-gilt covers falling around her waist.

Before she could fully rise, Shapely was already beside her. He pressed a palm to her shoulder, guiding her back down with a gentle firmness that didn't match his usual irreverent demeanor.

"Lie down," he said. "You're barely out of your first Hellenic season week. If your body gives out, I'm not resurrecting you—I'm not that committed."

"I know I'm not a kid," Lisira murmured, settling into the pillows again. "You don't have to pamper me."

Shapely paused. His silhouette lingered beside her bed for a breath too long before he spoke again.

"You're not a kid. You're a walking disaster with divinity in your blood and a temple full of hormonal devotees."

"You—"

"That's exactly why I'm pampering you." A flicker of something softer passed through his voice, almost too subtle to catch. "I'll stop by the temple, check on the maidens, chase off any cultist trying to worship your feet. You just rest."

Lisira blinked, surprised at his commitment—even though she knew he cared, in his own way, of course. Shapely turned, coat flaring faintly, his steps already fading toward the door.

"Phil used to get jealous when I did this, you know," he added without looking back, the smirk evident in his tone. "Good times."

"Agreed..." Lisira allowed herself to giggle at the thought before drifting off to slumber. Shapely silently left the room once his deity friend finally came to another well-deserved rest.

The temple was bustling, as always.

This was the heart of worship and ritual dedicated to the godling—devotees, priestesses, and maidens from all corners of the realms moved with choreographed devotion, lighting incense, singing hymns, and offering fruits of mortal reverence.

Shapely ascended the main steps with an unhurried stride, his eyes scanning the crowds without interest. Some were knelt before a towering statue of Lisira, burning offerings and whispering their desperate prayers. Others mingled idly, trading gossip under the guise of piety.

He let his hood fall from his head, revealing that perpetually unimpressed gaze, and looked up at the marble sculpture that loomed over the courtyard.

A flawless rendering of Lisira—serene expression, elegant posture, flowing fabric that defied gravity.

At least they did her justice, he mused.

Still doesn't compare. The real one had a pulse—and far more opinions.

A few maidens finally noticed him. Or more accurately, they dared to acknowledge his presence now that it was too obvious to ignore. They gave stiff nods, murmured hollow greetings, and promptly moved out of his line of sight—as if proximity alone might trigger divine sarcasm or an unwanted comment.

Smart.

Shapely didn't want to talk to any of them. Not now. Not ever, really.

Well—except for one.

His sharp eyes swept the temple interior.

Setia wasn't here today.

That only meant one thing.

If that sea god has anything to do with her absence, he thought grimly, he'd better be ready to deal with the mess. Because Shapely had no intention of spending his whole afternoon cleaning up someone else's divine tantrum.

Not today.

Not when he was already this close to lighting the entire place on fire just to see if the incense worked better.

Shapely finally spotted Setia by the temple gates, her slender frame half-hidden in the shadows. She stood still, posture tight, gaze lowered—but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease.

He approached silently, each step calculated. He stopped a few paces away, his eyes flicking—brief but exact—to the faint, discolored marks around her neck and wrists. Setia noticed and immediately tugged her cloak tighter, attempting to hide them.

Too late.

The sight sparked something uncomfortable in him: sympathy. And, more potently, annoyance.

Security in this place is laughable. One slip, and everyone panics—then blames their own god like that'll undo the damage.

His eye twitched—only for a fraction of a second. Setia didn't notice. She was too busy looking like she wanted to disappear into the stone wall.

"Miss Solace," he greeted flatly.

Setia flinched. Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide and wary. Still jumpy. Still raw.

She didn't say anything right away. Didn't need to. Shapely could already imagine what had happened—or at least the parts she wouldn't say out loud.

He considered the various ways to deal with it.

He had enough evidence. Enough reason. One precise obliteration and that sorry excuse of a sea deity would be permanently removed from circulation.

But that would cause a disruption in divine hierarchy. Political ripple effects. The Council would throw a fit. Someone—probably Lisira—would be expected to fill the vacuum, and Shapely had zero intention of giving her another burden to carry.

So instead of annihilating a god, he just stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, tension simmering just under the surface.

"Was this worth risking your neck for?" he asked dryly, his voice low enough not to carry. "Or did divine idiocy simply have a free afternoon?"

Setia didn't reply right away, but her eyes lowered again, shame burning beneath the surface. He didn't push her for an answer.

He didn't need one.

Stars, this dark age was testing his patience more than usual.

Silence fell between them—tense, brittle, and heavy, like the moment just before a storm breaks.

Shapely was about to turn away, his patience already thinning to threads, when Setia finally spoke. Her voice was soft and strained, like someone trying to patch broken glass.

"It... it won't happen again, sir," she said, forcing a confidence she clearly didn't feel.

He paused, glancing back at her. The torchlight caught the curve of her cheek, the bruise along her collarbone, the barely masked flinch in her eyes. Something twisted inside him—an emotion somewhere between pity and exasperation.

He let out a short, humorless snort.

"Sir?" he echoed, his voice so dry it could've withered a tree.

Setia blinked, then flushed. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't." He raised a hand—not sharply, just enough to stop her without making her shrink. A rare display of restraint. He didn't move closer, either; he kept his distance. She'd had enough proximity for one day.

"Please. With all due respect, Miss Solace," he said coolly, "aren't you supposed to be hiding in this temple or back at the safe house?" He tilted his head, just slightly. "Your daughter isn't at home as often as you seem to think."

That landed like a stone. Setia's eyes widened, a breath catching in her throat.

Shapely watched the effect his words had. He wasn't cruel for the sake of it—he just didn't waste time. Not when there were lives in play.

"Come on," he said after a moment, turning on his heel. "You'll walk with me. I'll escort you back myself."

Setia hesitated. "You don't have to—"

"I really do," he cut in flatly. "You've made it exceptionally clear that you can't go ten steps without being hunted by overcompensating aquatic royalty. So unless you'd prefer another bruising, you'll walk. With me. Now."

He didn't look back to see if she followed.

Setia followed, her steps faltering slightly. Every instinct urged her to argue, to insist she could handle herself, but the marks on her skin disagreed. She bit back a retort and simply went along, her shoulders so tense they could snap.

They walked in uncomfortable silence, the sound of their footfalls echoing in the emptying temple. Shapely seemed utterly unbothered by the situation, his gaze sweeping the area with a practiced eye. To outsiders, they probably looked like an escort and a prisoner—not god and mortal.

Later that night...

✦•┈๑⋅⋯∘₊✧✧₊∘⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Meanwhile....

Lisira didn't know how long she'd been asleep. Normally, she wouldn't mind—rest was part of the rhythm. But it always slightly annoyed her when Shapely took over tasks she was supposed to handle. Still, during the first phase of the Hellenic season, she let it slide—for now.

The first phase was always the worst. The start of the season, in particular, was the cruelest.

Painful beyond measure—though never fatal—it chipped away at strength and clarity until even gods felt almost mortal. Of course, it wasn't the gods who experienced these seasons. Only demigods and pureblood Hellenics. And, as Lisira had seen for herself, even a half-Hellenic wasn't always immune.

Thankfully, she only had to endure it for a week. Now in the second week, she was mostly back to normal—just weaker. Shapely had grown more watchful and protective, which she didn't mind, considering the dark age they were living through. Besides, her strength had been steadily declining during that first week. The first phase always brought sickness, making it difficult to stay active, even as a demigoddess.

Lisira wasn't sure when exactly she'd woken again, only that it was now early evening. Hm... She should get herself a glass of water. Slowly and carefully, she climbed out of bed, wincing as she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Her body felt like it had been through a shock—or maybe that was just the result of staying in bed too long.

She didn't want to seem lazy, but the season left her little choice. No matter how many excuses she offered, Shapely always made sure she returned to bed and rested. Sometimes, Lisira wished she could just be a full goddess already—leave the fragility behind.

But then again...

Would she end up like them?

The Corrupted Gods.

Yeah, no. Becoming a full god was already a full-time job. Being a demigoddess was demanding enough—and that was still her duty, after all.

"Sigh... Why even create seasons?" Lisira muttered, leaning against the wall. She barely noticed the faint, unseen breeze that stirred behind her.

Stepping out of her bedroom, she made her way downstairs to get that glass of water.

The house was quiet—almost too quiet. Her eldest daughters were out working, as usual. Lisira supported their careers wholeheartedly, but it still worried her that they were working so late into the night. Shapely had reassured her more than once: They're grown, they can handle themselves.

Lisira knew that. But still—what kind of mother wouldn't worry?

Kloera was busy spending her nights at the university she attended. Lisira found herself wondering how her youngest was doing.

Was Kloera doing well? Was she eating properly? She wasn't skipping lunch just to save money, was she? And how was she sleeping—could she rest easily in a dorm shared with her own professors? No one was bothering her... right?

Lisira doubted anyone would dare trouble her daughter. Still, knowing Kloera's kind and gentle nature, she couldn't help but worry. What if someone took advantage of that? What if she was being bullied?

But then again, Lisira reminded herself—Kloera could take care of herself. She had Vivian and Xister by her side too. With them around, she was far from alone.

With that comforting thought, Lisira let her worries drift away.

She yawned as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Huh. She must've overslept again. Maybe it was time to ask Shapely if she could do something else besides just sleeping or napping all day. At the very least, she knew how to restore some of her energy—gathering herbs and brewing a healing potion for herself. That method required a bit more hands-on effort, but she could walk around without pushing herself too far.

Not a bad idea, Lisira thought, making her way to the kitchen.

The window was open, letting in the cool evening air. She didn't mind. It wasn't open wide enough to let in raccoons or, worse, an intruder. And if there was someone uninvited, she would know. Even in her weakened state, Lisira's senses were still sharp where it counted.

Approaching the counter, she opened a cabinet to grab one of the many glass cups from the impressive collection her late husband had once adored. Her gaze softened as she picked up a blue one—clear, simple, yet elegant in its design.

She could see why Phil had loved them. He always appreciated the simple things in life.

So did she.

Lisira turned on the tap and watched as the water poured into the beautifully blue glass cup. She hummed a quiet tune as she waited for it to fill, the gentle sound echoing in the stillness of the house.

It was unusually quiet.

She wondered if Shapely was running late. If it had something to do with Setia, then Lisira couldn't blame either of them—not with everything Setia was going through...

Noticing the cup nearly full, Lisira quickly turned off the tap and took a long, satisfying sip.

While enjoying the moment, Lisira decided to take her half-full glass of water back to her bedroom upstairs. She had barely made it halfway up when a sudden clatter echoed from downstairs.

Just when she thought she might finally have a peaceful evening—of course.

She froze mid-step. Had Shapely returned already?

No... that's not how he makes his presence known.

Lisira tiptoed back down a couple of steps, cautiously peering into the darkness below. The house was unlit—Shapely must have left the lights off. That wasn't unusual, but she could see in the dark, thanks to her nature. Still, only the faint moonlight bled in through the windows.

Wait... didn't Shapely draw the curtains before he left?

A sinking feeling twisted in her stomach.

This was ridiculous. No, actually—it was obvious. There was a person in the house. Her house.

A burglar? An intruder?

...Or worse.

Lisira shook her head and descended the stairs—quickly, but soundlessly. She doubted it was Nykolas—he was a coward, and even if he did try something, it wouldn't be like this. Still, the chance wasn't zero.

She tightened her grip on the now-empty glass and downed the remaining water in one smooth motion, surprisingly without choking, even as she moved to investigate the noise.

She was a demigoddess. And if life was anything like a horror movie—well, she knew the odds.

And Lisira was in no bloody mood for this.

She could feel them stirring now—her voices. Great. She had almost forgotten they existed.

Bane: "You're lucky we're awake now. We might actually offer some damn advice."

His voice was acidic—if he had a form, she imagined he'd be coiled like a serpent, hissing every word.

Bane: "Or better yet, strangle you and finally free you from this pathetic life."

Aegis: "You're not the smart one here."

Cold. Clinical. Always judging. Just her luck.

She didn't need them—not now, not ever.

Aegis: "You shouldn't be handling this. You act before you think. You always do."

Please shut up. You're not even clever.

If it weren't for the situation, Lisira might've rolled her eyes.

Smother (soft, breathy, wounded): "Why's your heart racing...? What's all this noise, Li? Are you scared again? I can feel it..."

Haeven (gentle, almost motherly): "Smother, hush. Not everything deserves your tears. There's no need to panic yet, my friend."

Lisira ignored them all and prowled down the remaining stairs. The noise was coming from her office.

Wait. My office?

The realization hit just as a familiar, irritating voice curled in her gut like a toxin.

Snare (sharp, sneering): "Oh look, she thinks she's a spy now. So sneaky. So brave."

Spark: "Ooooh, what game are we playing? Are we hunting... or being hunted?~"

Surge: "You're a damn goddess. Walk in. End it. Break their fucking spine."

Vilyx... it couldn't get worse, Lisira groaned inwardly.

The voices began to overlap again, buzzing in her mind like a swarm. But she ignored them—as always. They weren't real. They never had been. They were fragments, echoes—delusions she refused to give power.

Carefully, she cloaked herself—muffling her aura, her steps, her breath.

If she was lucky, she'd give the intruder a heart attack before they even noticed her.

Then—

"I can sense your energy, my dear."

What the fuck.

Lisira flinched. Every voice in her head went silent.

The voice that called to her was wrong. Cheerful, but chilling. Familiar... and yet not.

Snare, Spark, and Surge (in unison): "Yeah no, I'm calling it quits. Bye."

Aegis (for once, shaken): "That's... THAT'S NOT HOW WE ARE BORN FOR THIS—!"

For the first time, even the clinical voice was yelling. Gods, Lisira nearly stumbled. Despite all her care—despite everything—she'd been caught.

How? She hadn't sensed a thing. No aura. No shift in air. No Hellenic trace at all.

Not even a scent.

I'm calling Shapely—

Her voice trembled, barely more than a breath. Fingers reached toward the edge of her coat pocket where the communicator sat.

But then—

Aegis (commanding, rigid, voice like iron snapped into place): "No, no, no! You can handle this. Stay in control, Lisira."

The words crashed against her will, freezing her.

No—! I'm HELLA NOT!!

Lisira's panic surged, her body already reacting before her mind caught up. She forced her mouth open to scream—to call—but a white-hot agony lanced through her throat.

Choking pain.

She stumbled, clutching her neck as the pressure in her chest swelled. A violent cough tore through her lungs, sharp and wet.

Silver.

She stared at her palm. Silver blood. Her blood. She was breaking.

"Come on in," the voice cooed from the darkness, syrupy and sickening. "I promise I won't bite. Up to you though, dearie."

She froze. She knew that tone. Mockery dipped in honey. Confidence dressed as charm.

What is going on with you all?! Don't you guys want me alive?!

Bane (biting, dry and snarling): "Jus' face your fear. What's the damn point of power if you run every time it breathes down your neck?"

The rage in his tone wasn't hot—it was cold. Like sharpened steel pressed to her spine. Then came the sobbing.

Smother (choked, barely a whisper between gasps): "She's scared... she's so scared again... it's happening all over... please don't go closer, Li, please—"

The voice was like a child trapped in a storm, breaking apart inside her.

Haeven (soft, wavering, a frayed lullaby): "Smother, hush... hush, darling... she's still standing, that's enough... that's enough..."

She reached out—metaphorically—a voice of warmth trying to soothe Lisira, maybe even herself.

But it didn't last.

Aegis (cutting in like a whip): "Haeven, stop. Coddling won't save her. She needs clarity, not comfort. You'll make her weak again."

Lisira's knees buckled. The voices overlapped, clashing in her skull—panic, pressure, cruelty, pity. All while the intruder's voice echoed again.

"Tick-tock, my love. How long shall we play this game?"

And not one of them had an answer.

Surge (wired, seething, like static in her bones): "Either you do it yourself, or we're manipulating you to do it for us!!"

Great. A threat—and one that's definitely happening.

Lisira's teeth clenched. Her patience cracked.

Fine.

FINE.

She stomped down the last few steps, fury rising like a goddamn tidal wave. No more creeping. No more pretending. If she was about to spiral, she was taking the damn door with her.

She kicked it open—hard.

CRACK.

The study came into view—and there he was.

In the middle of her ransacked office, surrounded by toppled drawers, spilled papers, and shattered organization—

Othello.

Of all people.

The man who turned her world inside out. The one stitched into the seams of her trauma.

Her mouth went dry.

Spark (sing-song, twisted with delight): "Wow, man of your trauma. How romantic~!"

Lisira froze in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it were the only thing holding her upright. Her mind was fraying again, her will snagged in the web of voices crawling beneath her skin.

Why the hell am I even listening to them?

Why aren't I running? Why don't I just burn this whole place down and walk away?

But she knew the answer.

Or worse—maybe she didn't.

Aegis (snapping, defensive, sharp like broken glass): "It's for your own good. In our defense, we know you. Better than anyone."

Her heart thundered in her ears.

And Othello—

That bastard—

That ghost in the shape of a man—

Looked up from his kneeling spot by the drawer and gave her a delicate, spider-fingered little wave.

"Oh, you're home! How delightful. Hope you don't mind—I've made a bit of a mess."

The floor was a battlefield of case files—medical notes, divine charts, trauma logs—her entire practice, laid bare and trampled.

And this deserting wretch was trying to pick the lock on her desk drawer like a drunk burglar with no shame.

Lisira's blood boiled.

She roared, "What the hell are you doing in my house?!"

The moment her voice hit the air, her mind exploded.

The Voices (in chaotic cheer):

"WOO! SHE DID IT!"
"THAT'S OUR GIRL!"
"Tear him apart, Li!!"
"Yell louder!! Use the rage!"
"Do it again!!"

The irony slapped her in the face.

These same voices—
the ones that used to silence her,
shame her,
drive her to tears—

were now cheering like a drunk crowd in a divine colosseum.

Gods, she was unstable. Why were they cheering when she was walking into danger?

Aegis (cool, composed now): "You're a god now. Of course you can handle him."

The insight voice finally cut through, calm and self-assured, once the chorus faded—while Lisira kept her glare locked on the intruder.

Oh, Lisira wanted to cry so BAD.

"What are you doing here?" she asked slowly, her voice strained.

Her ex tilted his head at an unnatural angle, silver strands falling into hollow eyes that glittered with far too much delight for the situation. He was still crouched among the wreckage like it was a playground—papers crumpled beneath his boots, drawers hanging off their hinges like broken limbs.

"Ohhh~" he drawled, voice velvet-smooth and cracked at the edges, "You wound me, my little sunlight-scourged siren. You used to say that in such softer tones..."

He giggled.
Giggled.

Aegis: "Remind me again what you ever saw in this guy?"

Don't fucking ask, Lisira snapped internally.

She forced herself to speak, voice laced with venom. "Enough of your nonsense. What do you want? Back to tormenting me again? Haven't I become boring by now?"

But he ignored her, raising a long, bony finger like a smug professor about to lecture a student.

"You know," he mused, "if you really wanted privacy, you shouldn't have locked this drawer with a ward that screams heartbreak. How could I not come take a peek~?"

He glanced up through pale lashes, grin stretched too wide, too sweet—like a porcelain mask painted with both affection and madness.

"And don't be so cruel, darling... Can't an old lover drop by unannounced?"

His tone softened into a low, false murmur—mockingly tender, as if this were some sort of charming reunion. As if he missed her.

Lisira didn't move. Didn't blink.

Her body screamed to back away. Her spine tried to lock in place. She was trying not to tremble.

And her voices weren't helping-

Spark (whispering like a delighted child): "Oooh he's flirting. He's trying to flirt."

Snare: "Is it flirting if it feels like a necromancer hitting on your spine?"

Aegis (flatly): "We should've set the office on fire."

Othello stood at last—slowly, fluidly—rising more like a ghost than a man. Then he gave her a bow.

A full, dramatic flourish, one arm out, the other behind his back. A grotesque mockery of courtesy.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, voice bright and grating. "Be honest now~ I missed you. You scream in such a lovely tone. I nearly made a song of it, once."

Lisira's stomach turned. Her legs twitched, unsure—forward or backward? Fight or flee?

And Othello just kept smiling.

A too-white smile. All charm. No warmth.

"What... what do you want from me?" she finally managed, backing away step by step. He noticed. Instantly.

Of course he did.

It reminded her how much worse he was than Nykolas.

"It's been so long, hasn't it?..." he cooed.

"Don't bullshit me, Othello." Lisira snarled.

He hummed, eyes flicking to her mouth as she hissed, sharp fangs now visible.

"My, my... you really have ascended, haven't you?" he said with a delighted gasp. "A goddess now? Congratulations! If I'd known, I might've kept you around a bit longer~"

Lisira braced herself mentally. Even as a demigoddess, this man—this creature—was no joke. He could overpower her. He always could. She was only a minor goddess now, after all.

Then his smile deepened, slow and serpentine.

"I heard," he whispered, almost playfully, "today is the first phase of the season, no?"

Lisira's blood ran cold.

Her worst fears were confirmed.

Smother: "Run! Li, you have to run!"

Bane: "Just let her be—she can take him down!-"

Aegis: "BANE! FOR THE LOVE OF OUR EXISTENCE, SHE'S A VICTIM—AND VICTIMS DON'T PULL BRAVERY OUT OF NOWHERE!"

For once, the insight voice made sense.

But Lisira wasn't listening. Not really. Not with her body clammy and her breath catching in her throat. Cold sweat prickled down her spine.

Back to reality—
Back to him.

She swallowed hard.

"So... what? I'm fine on my own," she said, voice brittle, defensive, trembling just slightly. "What do you want from me?"

Othello's lips peeled back into a grin—too wide, too delighted.

"Oh, my darling~," he purred, voice lilting like a lullaby made of blades. "Why must you ruin such a dramatic reunion with dull questions? Mmm?"

He stepped forward—slow, exaggerated—his boots crunching on broken glass and scattered memories. Each movement theatrical, as though he was center stage in a show only he could see. The long tails of his coat trailed behind him like unraveling shadows.

Lisira backed away, her fingers curling instinctively around the pendant at her throat.

"I want nothing from you," he whispered—
—and then charged.

A scythe materialized in his grip with a clang of dark magic. He came for her like a bolt from the underworld, and Lisira barely had time to yelp, leaping back without turning her back. Smart. She knew better than that.

His hand swiped out as he passed, fingers like claws aiming for her throat.

A strand of silver hair fell over his face, framing that gaunt, gleaming smile as he giggled again.

"Except everything, of course~!"

"You always were stubborn," he crooned.

Lisira summoned her lance in a shimmer of divine energy, blocking his sickle just in time. Steel rang against steel.

"But that's what made watching you break so... delicious. Mmmhmhmhm~"

"You're gross!" she snapped, slashing toward him—not with hesitation, but fury. Her spear sliced through the side of his coat, and the shredded fabric fluttered like a torn curtain.

He stepped back with a delighted gasp.
"Oh, my favorite coat! You'll pay for that, sweet Lysia~"

Lisira's breath caught. Her heart pounded like a bird inside a cage. She kept her distance, circling carefully.

Spark: "He's so creepy. Like, I kind of love it. I hate that I love it."

Snare: "I'm going to vomit."

Haeven: "He's disassembling your sanity with a smile."

Othello's eerie gaze snapped to her like he'd heard them.

And of course—he had.

Lisira had almost forgotten: he knew about the voices. Could hear them. Maybe even more than she could.

"Not bad," he drawled, rolling his shoulders lazily. "For a newly crowned goddess."

Then he lunged again, scythe sweeping low. She leapt, nearly kicking him in the face as she flipped over and rolled to the far side of the room.

"Heheheh..." His laugh came sudden, breathy, and unhinged. "It has been so long, hasn't it? Li? Or should I say... Lysia~?"

Her eyes narrowed.

That name—he said it like it meant something. Like it still belonged to him.

Her grip tightened.

And she charged.

This time, with purpose.

Othello leapt back, graceful and infuriating, avoiding her strike with barely a blink.

But she was ready. The moment he dodged, she twisted her spear—not blindly, but with muscle memory, precision.

Training.

The kind she only got from fighting alongside her husband—the kind you don't forget when it counts.

For once, she was glad she'd listened.

Because she wasn't that fragile girl anymore.

And Othello?

He might still be smiling— but this time, she saw a flicker of interest turn to caution.

Took him long enough.

Lisira's feet slid into stance, her lance gleaming with divine light. Without a word, she surged forward—weapon first—and Othello met her in kind.

Steel clashed with steel. The shockwave rattled the air.

Sparks scattered like dying stars between them as they locked blades. Lisira pushed hard, gritting her teeth. Othello leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart.

"Mmm~ You're really seducing me now..." he crooned, voice a dark purr—silk hiding rot.

Lisira's eye twitched. Disgusting. Her next swing came fast—reckless—but he twisted away, laughing like this was a ballroom dance.

She charged again, slashing low. He dodged. Another strike—he deflected it lazily with the handle of his scythe, spinning it with flourish before countering.

Spark: "Oh gods, he's actually enjoying this."

Bane: "He's not even trying yet—come on, Lisira, break his ribs!"

Aegis: "Do not listen to Spark. And Bane, you're not helping—she needs a plan."

"Come now, Lysia~," Othello sang, spinning past her and dragging his scythe across her shoulder. The blade grazed skin. Divine blood welled from the cut.

"You're holding back~ Is it the voices again? Still crowding in your little head?"

Lisira spun, slamming her lance down hard enough to crater the floor.

"Shut the hell up!" she roared, fury coating every move.

Othello caught her blade mid-swing with his scythe shaft, eyes glinting with delight. His laugh—a low, ragged thing—curled at her spine like an unwelcome breath.

"Ohhh, how I missed that scream~"

He pressed in, blades grinding. "So full of fire now... You've grown into such a fun little goddess."

Smother: "Li, he's baiting you! He wants you reckless—don't fall for it!"

Snare: "Kick him in the teeth! Now's your chance!"

Haeven: "You're panicking. He thrives on your panic. Breathe, Lisira. Focus."

Lisira leapt back, panting, eyes narrowing. Her grip on her lance ached with tension.

"You're a parasite, Othello," she spat. "Couldn't even let go of the past."

He grinned, dragging his scythe across the ground—metal shrieking like a banshee. "Mmm~ Past? You? My darling—you've been rotting ever since you left me~"

He lunged.

She braced herself. They clashed again—blow after blow, metal wailing with every hit. She ducked a wide sweep, rolled beneath his guard, and jabbed her lance into his side. Blood bloomed. His coat tore.

But he laughed.

"Oh yes! That's the one!" he howled, spinning and sweeping at her legs.

She jumped, barely clearing it, twisting midair to avoid the follow-up slash.

Aegis: "Hit his shoulder joint—he's weaker on the left!"

Spark: "Do a flip and stab him in the soul! That's a thing, right?!"

Bane: "No guts, no glory! GO FULL PSYCHO, LISIRA!"

She landed hard and charged. Her spear aimed straight for his heart—

He vanished.

Then reappeared behind her.

"Peekaboo~" he whispered, swinging his scythe.

She ducked—barely. The blade sliced through strands of her hair.

Too close.

Lisira snarled, turning with a vicious uppercut—this time she landed it. Othello staggered, cheek slashed open.

"Now that's the woman I remember," he rasped, grinning through crimson teeth. "So fierce. So broken. You're practically art."

Panting, her arms trembling, she kept her grip tight.

Then—he disappeared again.

The blunt end of his scythe slammed into the back of her knees. She hit the ground, hard. Before she could recover, Othello pinned her with his weight, pressing her down, looming over her like rot crawling through gold.

Lisira's breath hitched—panic rising too fast.

"N-No, no, no!" she gasped, trying to throw him off.

He leaned in—close—but didn't touch. He never really did.

"Oh Lisira... I don't want you because you're strong now, love," he whispered, grin twitching. "I want you because you're cracking. Little fissures forming already. And I do so enjoy watching porcelain break."

A breath. Childlike, cruel:

"I missed you, you know."

"SHAPELY!!"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The temple was quiet.

Shapely returned alone—his coat draped over one shoulder, gloves still damp with seawater. He paused before the towering marble statue of Lisira, his gaze unreadable.

Then, without ceremony, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Miles away, in the cold black sea, an underwater palace imploded. Wards shattered. Divine screams echoed into a hollow, silent prism of obsidian—sealing a god in a cage of his own cowardice.

The god would not die.

But he'd be very, very quiet for a long time.

Just... muted- For a very, very long time if you catch his drill.

Back at the temple, Shapely turned and walked down the steps without a word.

No glory. No warnings. No gods left to protest.

Just one less problem for Lisira to clean up.

Shapely exhaled slowly through his nose, adjusted the hem of his sleeve, and turned to leave. His steps echoed faintly across the polished stone. The temple shadows welcomed him like an old habit.

His plan was simple. Return. Sit. Possibly boil tea. Avoid people.

But then—

What the...–

His stride halted.

His breath didn't hitch. His face didn't shift.

But something in the threads of reality itself pulled taut. Like a taut string straining to snap. His eyes flicked to the edge of the horizon—though no one else would've seen it.

He felt it.

A disturbance.

A violation.

And then—he heard it.

"SHAPELY!!!"

The scream cracked the veil between realms. It wasn't just a cry—it was a summons. Raw. Desperate. Familiar.

Lisira.

He moved.

No flourish. No flash. No trail of smoke or wind.

He simply wasn't in the temple anymore.

∘₊✧⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘✧₊∘

The world didn't shake.

There was no thunder. No divine fanfare.

But Othello's words froze in his throat.

A thin, unnatural sliver tore silently through the air—as if reality had been rewritten with surgical intent.

Then a gloved hand clamped around the back of his neck. Not hard—but just deep enough to choke.

In the next breath, he was gone—ripped off Lisira like a parasite peeled from living flesh—and slammed into the floor with pinpoint precision.

Shapely stood over him.

His face was unreadable.

Not furious. Focused.

Like someone cleaning a stain.

"You're late," Lisira gasped, her voice raw with pain.

Shapely adjusted his coat sleeve without looking at her, his gaze locked on Othello like a scalpel waiting to make its second cut.

"You screamed," he said flatly. "That's never part of the plan."

Othello let out a sputtering, raspy laugh, grinning even through pain. "Oh... I've missed you too, Mister Shapely~"

Shapely didn't respond.

He simply lifted a hand—and snapped his fingers.

A pulse of shadow bloomed out from his fingertips. Ancient runes unfurled midair, spiraling down into the floor, anchoring Othello in place like a pinned insect. The seal tightened—precise, silent, merciless.

"Speak again," Shapely said, voice like ice, "and I'll make it permanent."

Only then did he turn to Lisira.

His tone didn't change—but something in his posture did. Barely. Just enough for her to recognize it.

"You're bleeding."

"I noticed," Lisira muttered, coughing into her sleeve.

"Try not to do that," he said dryly. "You're difficult to repair."

"I know—" But the words cut off as her body gave a violent shudder, her knees buckling. She coughed again—harder this time—until flecks of divine blood touched her lip.

Shapely noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed—and the seal he'd placed on Othello tightened.

He knew the bastard would escape eventually.

But damn, he thought coldly, not before I make him regret breathing in her direction.

"He... drugged you," Shapely stated. Not asked. Stated.

Lisira nodded weakly. "I don't know what it was... but..." she coughed again, shoulders trembling. "It—"

"Lisira."

She swayed.

He moved.

One knee bend, perfectly timed, arms catching her just as she collapsed. Her body slumped into him, trembling, breath ragged.

Shapely held her with the care of someone handling a priceless, fragile thing—not because it was delicate, but because it mattered.

"I've got you," he murmured.

Not loud. Not soft. Just true.

And behind him, the seal pulsed again—tighter, colder. No longer just containment.

It was a warning.

Othello wouldn't get a second chance.

Lisira didn't even open her eyes, her breath still quick and uneven. For once, she didn't protest. She just curled her fists in his shirt, leaning into him, like that act alone could chase away the weakness lacing through her veins.

Shapely let her. No sarcastic comments. No dry jabs. He simply supported her weight, his arms solid and warm, as if promising to shoulder every ounce of her pain until she could stand on her own again.

It was more than he'd ever done for anyone.

They stood like that for minutes, until the tremors in Lisira's body began to fade and her breathing evened out. Shapely hadn't said a word the entire time. He simply waited—steady, patient—his gaze flicking between the sealed abomination on the ground and the wounded goddess in his arms.

Finally, when he judged there was less risk of her collapsing again, he murmured, "Better?"

Lisira opened her eyes slowly. Her gaze was distant, unfocused—whatever Othello had dosed her with was still clouding her mind—but she gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod.

Shapely muttered a curse under his breath, barely audible. His attention shifted, not to the seal—but beyond.

Phil?

Silence.

Phil.

Still nothing.

Shapely's eye twitched.

Of course.

How could he have forgotten?

That bastard—he'd gotten to Phil long before he ever reached Lisira.

His arms tightened around her—not quite a hug, but close enough for her to notice. His voice stayed low, even, controlled.

"Lisira."

She blinked, awareness slowly returning to her eyes. He waited until he was certain she could hear him before asking, "Do you know what that bastard poisoned you with?"

Lisira took a breath, trying to push through the fog in her head. When she spoke, her voice was soft, slightly slurred.

"A concoction of... nightshade... and blackthorn... I think."

His expression darkened.

"Use your healing," he said immediately, no hesitation.

Without waiting, he slipped an arm beneath her legs and lifted her with effortless efficiency, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. His gaze cut back to the seal, sharp and cold.

"Even I can't erase him," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "But turning him in might be the right choice."

Then, under his breath—more to himself than to her—

"For now."

Chapter Text

"Soooo...."

"No." Kloera replied simply, eyes scanning the documents before her. She signed one, flipped to the next.

Eryx stood beside her, arms loosely crossed behind her back, trying—and failing—not to fidget. She was trying to find the courage to ask her friend out. But it wasn't exactly easy.

Especially not when Kloera only had two more papers to sign before she'd be done. And worse, Kloera thought Eryx was here just to suggest a break—not confess anything.

How am I supposed to ask her out like this?!

Eryx wanted to facepalm. Her fingers twitched, but she kept her posture rigid.

"Anything new this evening, bestie?" she tried, voice light—too light.

In private, their friendship had room for more playful jabs. The nickname, though, made Eryx wince.

Kloera, I love you, but you could call me literally anything except that.

Kloera tilted her head toward her, catching the edge of Eryx's expression—clearly sulking. But Kloera couldn't always read through her veil of restraint.

"No, Kloera," Eryx said finally, keeping her voice steady. "You're done. For now, you're free. I think it's the perfect time to patrol around."

Kloera stretched, arms reaching high with a soft groan before rising from her seat.

"Great idea. I hate sitting here all night."

She took the offered hand without hesitation, and the two of them left the office, stepping into the cooler night air for a stroll.

"You hungry?" Eryx asked casually as they walked.

"Not really," Kloera said. "Are you?"

"Uhm..." Eryx hesitated, thinking. She hadn't eaten much—just dry rations and some bland leftovers. "I didn't get to hunt today," she admitted.

There was a beat of silence. Kloera stopped walking.

"Kloera?"

"How could you not tell me?!" Kloera snapped, tightening her grip on Eryx's arm.

Eryx blinked. She shouldn't be surprised—but Kloera's outbursts always caught her off guard.

"Oh Vilyx," Kloera muttered, turning on her heel. "We're going back. I'm grabbing my rifle."

"Kloera, you don't have to—"

"You're abusing yourself."

Kloera didn't wait for argument. She dragged them both back toward the building, determination in her stride. "That's drawing too much attention," Eryx hissed as they returned to the office.

"Eryx, you're a skinwalker," Kloera shot back. "It's in your nature to hunt—and to consume. It's part of your survival."

"I'm still alive," Eryx snapped.

"Barely. You're hurting your own system."

Kloera stormed ahead, her annoyance showing in the set of her shoulders. Eryx quickened her own pace, keeping up easily with a scowl.

"I'm fine," she said tightly. "I can manage."

"Oh please, I can see you wasting away, you idiot!" Kloera retorted. "You haven't eaten properly in—what—days?!"

"Shush." Eryx pulled Kloera closer, noticing a few confused stares aimed their way. "We can't have people misunderstanding what's going on."

"Then come with me," Kloera said, her voice low but firm. "We hunt together."

Eryx sighed. "Fine."

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀⋆.ೃ࿔* :･

The forest was quieter than usual, the wind rustling the leaves in a gentle dance. The two women stayed close, their footsteps silent on the forest floor. The moon was high, a pale silver glow filtering through the trees.

Eryx moved with easy grace, her eyes scanning the surrounding underbrush. She had a natural hunting ability, honed from years of practice. But even she wasn't immune to the gnawing hunger that grew with every passing hour.

Kloera's presence was a familiar comfort, her sharp eyes flickering between the shadows. "Over there," she whispered suddenly.

Eryx followed Kloera's gaze. In the distance, a small group of rabbits foraged in a clearing, blissfully unaware of the predators watching them.

"Good spot," Eryx murmured, stepping forward slowly, her feet barely disturbing the leaves beneath her.

Kloera slipped off to find a hidden vantage point of her own. She was hunting too—just in case Eryx missed. Not that Eryx had ever failed to catch one before.

Eryx crept closer, careful not to let the leaves rustle. The rabbits remained oblivious, still munching on the foliage.

She crouched low, tensing her limbs.

In a swift, graceful movement, she pounced. The rabbits scattered, but Eryx was faster. She grabbed one, swiftly breaking its neck.

There was a rustle from Kloera's side—she was watching. Eryx turned, holding up the dead rabbit. "Got one," she called out softly.

A shot rang out—Kloera had pulled the trigger too. "Me too!" she called out, spotting one of the rabbits finally drop.

Eryx shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Show off."

She made her way over to Kloera's hiding spot, still holding the dead rabbit. "Looks like we both got something."

Kloera lowered her rifle, beaming. "You're just jealous."

Eryx rolled her eyes, her smile widening. "Oh, sure, I'm so jealous of your one rabbit."

"Geez, you should eat it now," Kloera remarked as she stood up. "I'm going to get mine."

She jogged off toward the spot where she'd shot her rabbit, while Eryx simply shrugged and took a hefty bite out of the one she'd already caught.

Being a skinwalker, raw meat—or a freshly killed animal—never fazed her.

Eryx sighed, swallowing a mouthful of raw meat. It tasted slightly gamey, but it was more satisfying than anything she'd eaten in days.

A quiet rustle made her glance up. Kloera approached from the distance, carrying her own kill.

"You started without me?" she teased.

"You took too long," Eryx retorted. "I was hungry."

Kloera smirked. "You're always hungry," she said, stopping beside her.

It didn't take long for Eryx to finish the first rabbit.

"Here." Kloera handed over her own kill, which Eryx accepted gratefully.

"You're not one to savor them," Kloera remarked, watching Eryx eat the second rabbit more slowly.

"I don't want to swallow a bullet."

"Eh, I already made sure it was out before giving it to you," Kloera reassured her, earning a small smile from Eryx.

Eryx finished off the second rabbit, feeling the hunger in her stomach abate slightly. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, feeling slightly lighter.

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest. There was a comfort to hunting together that Eryx hadn't realized she missed. It was... nice.

She glanced over at Kloera, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

"Hey, Kloera? Can I ask you something?"

Kloera looked over at Eryx, curiosity piqued. "Yeah, sure. What's on your mind?"

Eryx hesitated. She hadn't exactly planned this part in her head. But now, with Kloera sitting beside her, there was no backing out.

"Well..." She took a deep breath, trying to sound casual. "I... I was wondering..."

She trailed off, feeling suddenly nervous.

Kloera tilted her head, sensing the change in Eryx's demeanor. "You can ask me anything, you know that."

There goes my chance!

Eryx opened her mouth. "I was thinking of checking out—"

BANG!

A sudden gunshot cut her off. Both of them flinched.

Eryx's eye twitched. Was she doomed to be interrupted every time?

Kloera quickly scanned the area as they both jumped to their feet.

"We should go," she said cautiously, already loading her rifle.

Eryx nodded grimly. As much as she wanted to finish her question, safety came first.

"Agreed," she said, scanning the forest around them. She could make out a faint trail of smoke in the distance.

"Looks like it came from that way," she said, motioning with her chin.

Kloera followed her gaze. "Probably hunters," she murmured. "We should still be careful."

Eryx nodded silently.

"Probably just out hunting like us," Kloera guessed, though Eryx doubted she was truly letting her guard down.

As if on cue, someone emerged from the trees, waving casually.

"Hey, you! Sorry—we didn't mean to startle you!"

Kloera and Eryx stared at the figure in the distance—a boy. A human.

Eryx looked away, wisely so, her mood clearly shifting toward agitation. Kloera, in contrast, forced a polite smile in his direction.

"It's alright! Just... be more careful next time!" she called back, her voice light but her mind counting every second.

She could already see the signs—Eryx was on the edge. Her subtle signals were unmistakable. If they stayed much longer, Eryx would snap and attack.

After all, both she and her skinwalker best friend despised humans.

The human, seemingly oblivious to their tension, chuckled nervously as he approached. A flicker of panic crossed Kloera's face—who wouldn't be uneasy? Humans, especially hunters, rarely came this close. This almost never happened.

"Yeah, sorry about that. We didn't know anyone else was out here."

His gaze shifted between the two of them, lingering a bit too long on Eryx.

"Is she okay? I saw blood on her."

"We've been hunting rabbits for their skins," Kloera replied smoothly, gesturing toward a blood-smeared bag slung over her shoulder—though in truth, it held little more than two boxes of bullets for her rifle. Neither of them had started skinning yet.

"Oh, I see," the boy said, nodding.

"Are you here alone?" Kloera asked.

He shook his head. "No, I came with my uncle."

"Then you should head back to him," Kloera said, her tone calm but final.

Eryx watched the boy closely, her gaze sharp and alert. He seemed harmless enough, but she never let her guard down around humans—especially male ones.

She cast a glance at Kloera. The tension between them was almost palpable. Eryx could tell—Kloera was holding herself back too. She was also on edge.

The boy lingered, still standing just a little too close.

"Can I see it?" he asked, eyes hopeful.

Kloera's lips twitched.

"No, kid." She shook her head, her hand tightening around her rifle, more to stop herself from shoving him than anything else.

"It's pretty gory. Not something someone your age should be looking at."

The boy pouted, clearly disappointed. "But all the big kids get to see it at the hunting club."

Eryx bristled at his words, her expression darkening.

The hunting club. How lovely. She clenched her fists, her jaw tightening.

"Can I..." Eryx began, turning to Kloera.

But the veiled woman immediately shook her head.

"No. Don't you dare."

Despite the cloth half-covering her face, Eryx could feel the glare beneath it—a silent but firm warning to behave.

"What? I was just asking," Eryx muttered.

The boy, oblivious to the deeper tension between them, noticed the shift but didn't quite grasp how far he'd overstepped.

"I'm afraid I can't show a young boy something that graphic," Kloera said, her tone firm but measured. "Whether you've seen gore before or not, your uncle's probably worried sick about you being here with us."

The boy shifted uncomfortably, his gaze shifting from Kloera to Eryx.

He glanced between them, seeming to realize that his questions had crossed a line.

Eryx was still glaring daggers, her fists clenching and unclenching. She was trying to keep control, but the more he talked, the more her temper flared.

Kloera, sensing the danger, placed a gentle hand on Eryx's shoulder, silently pleading with her not to snap.

Eryx took a deep breath, her hands slowly unclenching. She knew Kloera was right—but it was hard to hold back her anger.

Especially when the kid was standing right there, looking so clueless about how badly things could end in an instant.

Eryx knew firsthand how easy it was for humans to underestimate skinwalkers. They always did.

But they were also easy to anger, with their cocky attitudes and their arrogant assumptions. They never learned their place, despite the fact that humans were so easily breakable.

And just as Eryx was starting to plan how she'd hide a body—if the boy's uncle didn't show up soon—

"Felix!!"

Kloera immediately stepped in front of Eryx, pulling her back behind her.

The boy turned toward the voice. "Uncle?"

"Yeah! I think I'm gonna go now!" he said quickly, already backing away.

Eryx rolled her eyes. Finally...

It took every ounce of her self-control not to mutter something snide as she watched the boy hurry off.

Kloera exhaled quietly, her stance finally easing.

"That was close," she murmured.

Eryx crossed her arms.

"Too close. We should've chased him off the moment he showed up."

Kloera gave her a pointed look.

"He was just a boy, Eryx. He meant no harm. You know that."

"I wanted to orphan that child so badly..." Eryx muttered darkly.

Kloera held out her bag. "Hold this."

Eryx raised an eyebrow, confused—until she saw Kloera shift her rifle and aim into the trees.

BANG!

"UNCLE!!"

A scream rang out—unmistakably the boy's. A cry of shock, no doubt confirming that Kloera had hit her target.

And no, the boy was fine.

For now.

Eryx's eyes widened. She turned to Kloera, who was already lowering the rifle, calm and composed.

"So?" Kloera said smoothly. "It's been a while since we last hunted humans... hasn't it?"

A slow smirk curled across Eryx's lips. Her pupils narrowed into slits.

A sharp, chilling sound filled the air—Eryx's laughter.

It was a sound that would've sent a shiver down anyone's spine. The laugh had an almost unhinged quality to it, and there was something wild and dangerous in her demeanor.

Kloera just watched in silence, calmly packing away her rifle.

It took a moment for Eryx to regain her composure, and her eyes were still sharp with excitement and blood-lust.

The thrill of the hunt had just begun.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Kloera stood calmly at Eryx's side, watching the chaos unfold.

Human screams pierced the air, tangled with the echo of gunfire and the guttural snarls of skinwalkers.

It was beautiful—a symphony of violence—and it sent a dark thrill through Kloera's veins. She loved a good hunt.

Eryx, meanwhile, reveled in the carnage. Her eyes all but glowed, her movements fluid and precise despite the bloodshed around her. A natural-born predator. A force no one could stop.

As the last survivor stumbled into Eryx's grasp, she bared her fangs, jaws opening wide to tear a chunk from the human's skull.

Kloera pulled off her veil—there was no use trying to keep it clean now. Her once-white clothes were already drenched in blood from the hunters she'd gunned down in the woods.

Even if the goddesses were watching, she doubted they would interfere.

Because if there's one thing the Hellenics and the gods all agreed on—

It's that everyone hates humans.

And they've always looked down on them.

"Having fun?" Kloera asked once things had finally settled. She cast a few basic spells to extinguish lingering fires—smoke still drifted from where the chaos had flared.

Eryx had just finished skinning another victim. She nodded, breath steady. "Yeah. I haven't felt that kind of thrill in a long time."

Kloera chuckled quietly.

Eryx glanced at her, studying the calm in her expression. This side of Kloera always stirred something in her—a dangerous softness, a reason to fall in love.

But she buried it.

Kloera had never loved anyone.

At least, not romantically.

As the adrenaline from the hunt wore off, Eryx felt exhaustion set in. Her limbs ached in protest—she shouldn't have pushed herself so hard.

She sat down heavily, not caring that she landed in a pile of leaves and dead grass.

Eryx winced at the discomfort.

"Ow..."

She glanced at Kloera, who was still standing nearby.

"You're not tired?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too whiny.

Kloera chuckled softly, sitting down beside her.

"A little. I'm not the one who was tearing through the woods like a rabid tiger, though."

Eryx groaned at the comment, flopping back onto the ground dramatically.

"Shut up."

Kloera couldn't help a small grin.

"I'm just saying. You tend to go a bit... overboard sometimes."

"Like you're one to talk," Eryx snorted, rolling onto her side. "You killed more than I did with that sniper of yours."

There was a brief pause, as if Kloera was thinking of a retort.

"It's not my fault that I'm a better shot than you," she finally said, smirk audible in her tone.

Eryx scowled. Of course Kloera would bring that up.

"Oh, shut up," Eryx muttered sourly. "I could outshoot you any day, and you know it."

Kloera's smirk widened. "Really? Says the girl who missed the first rabbit?"

Eryx shot her a scowl. That one stung—a lot.

"That was back when I just started hunting, okay?"

Kloera snickered. "Oh?"

"You little—"

Eryx tackled her, and the two collapsed into laughter, their mirth echoing through the woods, undisturbed by the chaos they had left in their wake.

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧⋆.ೃ࿔* :･

Meanwhile...

Unbeknownst to the two women, a third party lingered nearby.

Lounging leisurely against the twisted trunk of a tree, the man flipped a page of his worn, leather-bound book. With a casual stroke of his quill, he crossed out a name.

A low, raspy chuckle bubbled from his throat.

Though distant enough not to be noticed, he was close enough to see everything—the laughter, the bond, the blood-soaked aftermath. It was delightful.

"Felix Cooper... born March 25th, somewhere in the middle of the Dark Age..." he read aloud, voice smooth but laced with amusement.

"Died June 24th, same age... under extreme pressure." A pause. A grin.

"Note: nothing special. Hah... a naïve boy, full of potential... snuffed out by the weight of reality." He cackled softly.

"Pathetic."

He shifted slightly, long silver strands spilling over one shoulder as he turned his gaze to the two women laughing below.

"Ohoho~ My, what an interesting friendship..." he mused, voice lilting and playful.
With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the book shut with a final, echoing clack.

"Both so pretty, so deadly... and such a bond between them..."

He curled a leg up beneath him, grin widening in the shadows beneath his bangs.

"Now that's a story I wouldn't mind digging up again later... Hehehehehe~"

He arched an eyebrow when the brunette's gaze briefly flicked toward him.

What an honor...

He relished being noticed—even if it was rare. Even the Hellenics never seemed to sense his presence. So for a pureblood—and a brunette, no less—to glance his way?

How adorable.

But the moment passed.

Eventually, he sighed and stretched, brushing dust off his coat. There were more names to check, more deaths to record.

The dead never waited long.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

During their playful wrestling, Kloera paused for the briefest moment. Something caught her eye—behind them. It wasn't near, but not far either. Just enough to make out a silhouette perched in a tree.

Huh?

"Kloera?"

Eryx blinked in confusion from above, her laughter fading as she noticed Kloera's sudden shift in focus.

"Ah—my bad," Kloera said quickly, forcing a smile. "Thought I saw an animal behind us."

Eryx glanced over her shoulder, but she didn't spot anything. Just tall trees and a dark forest.

Kloera seemed off, though. She was still staring in the same direction, her eyes oddly focused.

"I don't think we're alone," Kloera said, planting her elbows on the ground as she pushed herself up into a seated position.

Eryx, still straddling her, sat up straighter and followed her gaze. She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"What a mood killer," she muttered.

Kloera dusted herself off.

"Let's go. I'm full now," Eryx said, offering a hand to help Kloera up.

"Figures," Kloera replied with a small smirk. "Let's head home."

Chapter Text

"What?" Kloera didn't bother hiding the hostility in her voice. Lanara only floated closer instead of backing off.

"Ah, ah, ah," she chastised, as if Kloera had just made a crucial mistake. "That's not how you treat your lover."

"So what?" Kloera forced herself not to rip the Corruptor's throat out. Being half Valaryon and half Hellenic, with bloodlines rooted deeply in both lineages, made her a pureblood—which only meant her seasons were chaotic.

Unlike the Hellenics, who stayed calm unless pushed past their limits—usually preferring sleep, serenity, or solitude—the Valaryons were far less restrained. Though both shared divine ancestry, that was where the similarities ended.

So, what happens when you inherit your father's aggression and violent instincts, and your mother's manipulative, masochistic tendencies?

You get a ticking time bomb. A volatile child of both worlds. A typical Hellenic offspring—if you asked the wrong kind of scholar.

With a groan, Kloera rubbed her temples and tossed her bag onto the desk, not caring where it landed or what it knocked over. She collapsed into bed. It was Friday, meaning she didn't have to stay at the university.

She recalled a few of her affair partners offering to help with her first phase season, but she'd turned them down—sharply. Her bad mood only worsened after Miss Snow, unaware of the unique biology of a Valaryon-Hellenic hybrid, asked if she was "on her time of the month."

Kloera had snapped.

Luckily, no one was hurt—just Miss Snow stammering out an apology, which Kloera begrudgingly accepted.

"What a shitty day," she muttered into the sheets, voice muffled—but Lanara heard it anyway.

"Awww, do you miss my pranks now?"

"No."

"Darling~! All you have to do is ask—"

"I don't need sex to solve my problems, Nara." Kloera snapped, using the nickname on purpose, knowing it would disarm her.

Despite herself, her body relaxed slightly as she felt fingers weaving into her short brunette hair.

Then—

She yelped. Lanara had yanked a fistful of it. "FUCK—"

"What did I say about giving me that attitude?" Lanara asked, amused.

With a low growl, Kloera flipped them over. Lanara chuckled, letting her. But the moment Kloera realized she was on top of that bitch, she quickly backed away.

"What? Backing down now?" Lanara teased.

"I'm getting sick at this rate."

Lanara propped her elbows up on the bed, her grin unbothered. "How so?"

"Must I spell it out?"

"Yes."

"Leave."

"Nope~"

Kloera facepalmed. These were the rare moments when Lanara managed to get under her skin and still witness her reaction. Normally, Kloera had a sharp response ready for the Corruptor—but not tonight.

Lanara was practically glowing—not with warmth, but with the quiet thrill of how easy it was to twist Kloera's vulnerabilities around her fingers. The way her voice trembled. The way her composure cracked in subtle fractures. It was adorable.

She almost felt bad.

Almost.

Her smirk dimmed just slightly as her gaze landed on Kloera's face—creased with exhaustion, defiance barely clinging on like damp ash.

Lanara didn't speak for a moment. She studied her.

She hated seeing her like this. Not because it made her feel guilty—Lanara didn't do guilt. But because it meant someone else might've gotten close. Someone who didn't deserve to.

She knew Kloera had options. Too many, honestly. Lovers, flings, desperate admirers willing to grovel just for a taste. Any one of them would have tripped over themselves to "help" her through this season.

Lanara's jaw tensed. Her fingers curled once, then loosened.

She leaned in—not slow, not fast, just measured. Controlled. Always controlled.

"You really think any of them would survive you?" she murmured, voice like black velvet. "They'd break before the second hour."

Her eyes stayed locked on Kloera's.

"I don't help you because I care about your comfort," Lanara said plainly, voice steady. "I do it because I can. Because no one else can handle you. Because you're mine—and I don't share."

No theatrics. No flare of magic. Just words like a dagger: precise, honed, final.

And then, with a slight tilt of her head, her lips curved again—not in cruelty, but in possession.

"You should rest," she said. "You're no good to me when you're this pathetic."

But she didn't leave. Of course she didn't.

She never did.

Kloera was used to being underestimated. Her appearance was soft, almost delicate, and that in itself was a weapon; people tended to mistake her kindness for weakness.

Lanara was different. She saw Kloera for who she really was—and she saw everything.

The way her breath hitched slightly when Lanara leaned in. The subtle clench in her fist when she reminded her how vulnerable she was right now.

Kloera glared. "Shut up."

But Lanara gripped Kloera's chin, tilting it up with that maddening calm. "Remember, dearie—the contract."

Kloera said nothing. She only glared before grabbing Lanara's poker-themed necklace and yanking her down, capturing her lips with force. Lanara responded instantly, deepening the kiss like she'd been waiting for it.

Kloera opened her mouth without hesitation. She was used to Lanara taking the lead. Their teeth clashed—sharp, familiar. Her elongated canines scraped Lanara's with purpose.

There was always a reason she agreed to this arrangement. Since she couldn't be "herself" around her beloved trio, the only one who ever saw this raw, unfiltered side of her—the side no one was supposed to witness—was the last person you'd ever want to be vulnerable around.

Lanara bit her bottom lip—gently, playfully. She always did. It drove Kloera insane.

Kloera snarled into the kiss and snapped her fangs, hard enough to break skin.

Lanara didn't flinch. She simply bit back.

Kloera squeaked in surprise at the sudden sting. Lanara's canines were deceptively sharp—blood welled at the corner of her lip. Kloera had bitten plenty of people before, both intentionally and not. A few close calls with her affair partners, sure. But none of them had ever bitten her back. Not like this. Not so casually.

Since when did she have fangs too? The thought came unbidden, laced with a chill Kloera didn't expect.

Still shocked, Kloera pushed her away. But Lanara—never one for boundaries—closed the space again, grabbed her wrists, and pinned them to either side of the bed.

Annoyed but compliant, Kloera let her. Her arms went limp in Lanara's hold as the Corruptor's tongue gently soothed the punctured skin.

"Last time I bit someone," Kloera muttered, "they tried to hit me."

"And did they succeed?" Lanara asked, clearly entertained.

"Of course not." Kloera scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I can't take a Hellenic to bed without holding back. Most of my seasons are spent with strangers."

"And you kill them in bed?"

Kloera narrowed her eyes. "How did you guess that?"

Lanara grinned. "You hate humans, and you love killing them in the most embarrassing way possible."

Kloera pursed her lips, clearly annoyed.

"Shut up and kiss me again," she huffed.

Lanara laughed at her impatience. But she'd been expecting that response.

"So demanding, so impatient," she chided playfully. But there was a hint of smug satisfaction in her voice. She loved getting a rise out of Kloera.

She leaned in, their mouths inches apart. Lanara paused just long enough to watch Kloera's expression—expectant, eager. Desperate.

Then she captured Kloera's lips in a harsh, possessive kiss. She let go of Kloera's wrists, only to grab her face tightly, holding her in place.

Kloera gave up on any pretense of composure. She kissed back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in Lanara's hair, pulling her closer with a quiet desperation.

Lanara's touch was possessive—her hands roaming as if she were claiming what was already hers.

Kloera gasped when Lanara broke from her lips and began trailing hot kisses down her throat.

She wanted to protest, to tell her to slow down—but Lanara knew. She knew every weak spot, every sensitive inch of her. She didn't need permission.

The moment Kloera parted her lips to speak, she hissed instead—Lanara had sunk her sharp canines into her neck. There was no doubt it would bleed.

"You're not a damn vampire," Kloera muttered as Lanara licked the blood away with deliberate slowness. Her complaint earned a low chuckle.

"Weren't you the one always saying, 'you like it rough, my moon?'"

"Shut up." Kloera dragged her nails down Lanara's back hard enough to tear fabric. She didn't have claws, but her nails were sharp enough to do damage.

Lanara smirked against her skin.

"I bet you can only make me bleed when there's no fabric in the way."

"I can still do it through the damn fabric." Kloera growled, pulling her into another kiss. This time, Lanara let her take the lead—but she didn't allow her to change positions.

Not yet.

Lanara pulled away, leaving her panting. Kloera wasn't used to this. She was never this out of breath. But Lanara always knew how to push her limits.

She tried to sit up, to change positions—but Lanara had anticipated it.

With one firm arm around her waist, she flipped Kloera onto her stomach and straddled her thighs.

Kloera gasped, face pressed into the pillow. She could feel the heat of Lanara's body against her back, surrounding her.

Quickly—before Lanara could do something Kloera would painfully predict—she snapped, "You better not shapeshift into a male."

Without even looking at her, Lanara laughed. She bit one of her gloves to tug it off, all while keeping Kloera pinned.

"Moonlight," she purred, "I know your preferences."

Kloera shuddered. She hated when Lanara called her "Moonlight", or any version of it. The nicknames were always so sickly sweet coming from her mouth, purred out with that same infuriating smugness.

But when she was pinned beneath Lanara like this, she couldn't deny how much it affected her. How every time she said it, it sent a jolt of heat through her body.

Kloera gritted her teeth. "I hate you," she growled into the pillow.

Lanara chuckled, her voice low and smug.

"And yet here you are—pinned under me."

She leaned down, pressing a deceitfully gentle kiss to Kloera's shoulder blade. Goosebumps rose in its wake, betraying her.

"You always say that," Lanara whispered, lips brushing skin, "but you're always begging for more."

Kloera refused to respond. Stubborn as ever. She knew Lanara was right—but like hell she'd admit it. Not when she felt this exposed.

Her breath caught when Lanara's teeth sank into the nape of her neck—sharp, possessive. A jolt shot down her spine.

Then—thunk.

Kloera flinched violently as cold metal sank into the mattress beside her neck. A blade. A real one. Too close.

"Warn me next time, asshole!"

"Hah! No promises." Lanara grinned as she tugged the blade back with practiced ease, letting the tension linger in the air. She cut through Kloera's blouse without hesitation, the fabric splitting open with a satisfying sound. Then came the skirt—neatly, slowly sliced away.

A thin line of blood welled where the blade had almost kissed her skin.

Lanara licked it. Lazily. Like tasting wine.

"I wonder who's the kinkiest one here," Kloera muttered, half-annoyed, half-aroused.

Lanara smirked against her back. "Oh, Moonlight... you keep making it so easy to prove it's you."

Kloera tried not to shiver when Lanara's cool hands roved across her bare skin. They were tantalizingly slow, tracing her spine, her sides, the curve of her ass—anywhere but where she wanted them most.

It was maddening. Intentionally so.

"You're... a sadist," Kloera gritted out, straining beneath her weight.

"I already made it obvious, sweetie." Lanara tapped Kloera's head, and with that touch, the illusion shattered.

Kloera's true hair spilled out—long, reddish-brown strands with a soft gradient of lighter color at the tips. A heart-shaped ahoge curled defiantly at the top, and short black horns curved from her skull.

Lanara grinned and toyed with the left horn, her touch both teasing and possessive. Then, without warning, she dragged the blade across Kloera's shoulder—just enough to draw blood.

Kloera growled. Her instincts told her to fight back, to strike, to bite, but she forced herself to stay still.

Even though the sting of the cut made something dark and heated curl deep in her gut...

Lanara's voice was low and amused when she whispered, "You like that, sweetheart?"

Kloera huffed out a sharp exhale. Yes. She refused to say it out loud, but her body betrayed her. Her breathing was coming quicker now, her muscles rigid with tension and something else. Need.

"I don't want to beg."

"I'm aware," Lanara replied smoothly, her hand trailing down Kloera's spine before she summoned a pair of handcuffs with a flick of her fingers. "You act like this is the first time we've done this."

"As if you never say that."

"Moonlight, you always fight me until I have to overpower you."

"That's just how I am, idiot—"

Kloera hissed as Lanara suddenly stabbed her other shoulder—not deep, just enough to sting and bleed.

"Even when you're not in the mood, I'll take any excuse to hurt you, doll."

Oh great. She's pissed.

Drawing from painful personal experience, Kloera quickly flipped them over while Lanara was distracted unlocking the cuffs.

"This is about me, not you."

"Pfft. That's my girl." Lanara snapped her fingers. The cuffs vanished, replaced by chains of black obsidian that wrapped around Kloera's wrists mid-motion—yanking her back down with a sharp tug.

"And take off your clothes. I can't be the only one naked," Kloera snapped.

Lanara looked down at her with a grin, then smoothly loosened her tie and began unbuttoning her blouse—slow and deliberate.

Kloera watched her through narrowed eyes, her gaze sharp. Normally, she'd be enjoying the view. But right now, with the sting in her shoulders and the irritation bubbling beneath her skin...

She couldn't deny that part of her was pissed.

"Hurry it up." She hissed, tugging on the chains.

Lanara looked back up at her, that insufferable smirk still tugging at her lips. She kept going at her own pace.

Kloera's glare intensified, a silent warning. She was on edge—literally, since the obsidian chains were starting to dig into her wrists.

But Lanara just took her sweet time, like she always did. She shrugged off her blouse and carefully folded it, placing it to the side with her usual precision.

When she finally, finally began unfastening her pants, Kloera let out an impatient snarl.

"Any day now would be great."

Lanara chuckled. "Impatient, are we?"

Kloera gritted her teeth. "Just get. On. With. It."

Lanara slowly slid the pants down her legs, revealing lacy underwear beneath. It was all in that slow, deliberate way that made Kloera want to smack her.

Lanara smirked as she noticed the irritation in Kloera's expression—she knew what she was doing, and she enjoyed it. She folded the trousers and placed them next to the shirt.

"Better?"

Kloera narrowed her eyes, her gaze locked on Lanara's figure. The annoyance simmered beneath the surface—but she couldn't deny the view. Couldn't deny her.

"You know it's not," she muttered, voice low with both frustration and need.

She tugged against the obsidian chains again—impatient, aroused. The cuffs bit into her skin, scraping just enough to sting. Just enough to remind her.

Lanara chuckled, calm and cruel as ever. "Such a needy little doll."

Kloera bristled at the nickname. A taunt. A reminder of her place beneath her. And yet...

Lanara climbed on top of her with languid ease, crawling forward until her weight pinned Kloera down again.

"What, nothing to say now?" she whispered, her mouth brushing Kloera's ear. "All bark until I've got you like this."

Kloera's breath hitched. Her wrists strained once more against the chains—but she didn't stop her.

She never stopped her.

Lanara settled on top of her, straddling her thighs. Bare skin against bare skin—the heat of it sent a sharp jolt through Kloera's body.

She leaned in, slow and deliberate, her form pressing close until Kloera could feel everything: every muscle, every curve, every breath. Their faces hovered inches apart, noses nearly touching.

Lanara's gaze burned—intense, possessive. Her lips curled into a sly, knowing smirk, and her voice dropped into a low purr.

"I like seeing you like this, y'know."

Kloera clenched her jaw, refusing to respond.

Lanara reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.

That smirk.

Kloera hated it. Hated how smug she always was. How infuriating she became when she had the upper hand.

But more than anything, she hated how small it made her feel. Like a toy. A doll. Something to be played with and tossed aside at a whim.

She bared her teeth in defiance—but the moment faltered as Lanara's thumb traced slowly along her bottom lip, stealing the breath right out of her.

"Shall we, my moon?" Lanara whispered.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Asker: What kind of safe word do you two use?

Kloera: What's a safe word again?

Lanara: A "no."

Kloera: Yeah, we don't do that, kid.

Kalice: ...

XelAiden: ...

Coliver: ...

Edward: AYE-YO, WHAT THE HELL—

Mocha: Damn, they outfreaked us.

Fun fact about Lanara:

She's known for her domineering presence and need for control, yet she intentionally avoids letting anyone truly figure her out. Only one person gets to see past the theatrics—yep, it's Kloera from the Teacher's Pet AU, of course. Lanara lives for the mystery. She enjoys watching everyone guess who she is, knowing full well they'll never get it right. You might think you've predicted her, but she'll flip the script just to throw you off.

She won't reveal herself unless I, the Creator, say something. Why bother explaining who you are when your Creator already knows you inside and out? That's just who Lanara is. Even if you think you're close to her, all you've met is the mask. The real her—her layers, her walls—that's a long journey most won't survive. Kloera is the only one who ever got that close. Lanara made sure she stayed alive, consequence-free, even while playing with fire.

And about those times Lanara seemed to "help" in Kloera's AU?

Spoilers: She only did that so Bubble could gain confidence—completely unaware that she was being cultivated as prey. And once Lanara got her right where she wanted? Well... you can guess the rest. Lanara breaks it herself.

Chapter Text

https://youtu.be/gLEaLmXizzI

Creator: Work experience has finally come to an end, and I'm finally free! But the real question is—how many stories can I actually complete or update during this holiday?

Maelstrom: Nice try, bitch. You're taking a break and crawling back to your old fandoms. Don't forget the damn reason you even created this fandom in the first place.

???: What a shame. We're back to square one.

Orphessa: We're not resetting—

Lana: clicks

Lana: Sounds like a scam to me.

⚠️ Content Warning:
This scene contains graphic violence, blood and gore, implications of assault, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised.

Claire hit the edge of the table hard. Pain bloomed in her back and shot up her spine, forcing a rough, involuntary grunt from her throat. She barely registered it. The man standing over her—with his short blond hair and electric blue eyes—knew absolutely nothing about her, except whatever half-truths his boss had spoon-fed him. That ignorance would be his undoing.

Her veil was gone. Her nose was bleeding, and her face bore bruises she didn't bother to protect. What mattered now was getting rid of this man before she and Eryx went for the real target—his boss.

The bloodied priestess tilted her head to the left, letting her hair fall away from her uncovered eye. Her head throbbed, but Claire was used to pain. She gave her captor a slow, deliberate grin, revealing the telltale fangs that marked her kind. A subtle but unmistakable Hellenic trait.

"You have shameful manners," she murmured, her voice laced with insolence. "Do you really think you'll earn my favor by doing this?"

It was bait. And if the fool took it, she'd get all the information she needed—both for the Elders and herself.

His response was a sharp slap across her face, splitting the inside of her cheek. Claire tasted silver blood and licked her dry lips, unbothered.

Even unbound, she wouldn't stand a chance in her current condition. The man was at least twice her size, with bulging muscles beneath a cheap blue suit. She was battered, weak, and bound. But she could still see it plain as day: this man was a pawn. He just didn't know it yet.

She'd learned—painfully—that even with brutal training and all the violent defenses she'd mastered, she couldn't overpower a human backed by supernatural forces. Underestimating anyone was a death wish, even if the prey strutted like an arrogant fool who believed he could take down a Hellenic.

"'Gain your company's favor?'" the man mocked, straightening up and sneering down at her. His laugh was coarse, ugly, and Claire's lips flattened with disdain.
"Whore. When we're done here, we'll be taking your cult and everything you've built. You'll be nothing, you arrogant brat."

"I see," Claire said flatly, bored.
Typical. More misinformation. It was the hundredth time someone called her order a cult. And he thought she was the leader? Amusing.

Even in an era where the gods had abandoned the Hellenics, divinity still ran in their veins. Who needed divine protection when your emotions could awaken the primal force locked within you? Then again, it wasn't foolproof—especially in situations like this.

Claire cast her gaze downward, her face shifting into something meek and subdued. She sensed it now. And then, like a trap springing, she snapped her eyes up and locked gazes with the man.

"Well, Eryx," she said calmly. "I think it's time we left."

"What the hell are you—"

His words were drowned out by the shatter of glass. Then three more crashes followed by a sickening thump as his knees buckled and he collapsed. A claw was neatly lodged through the back of his skull.

"I didn't come too late, did I?"

Claire smiled despite the blood and bruises. "No. You're right on time."

Eryx exhaled, then yanked her claw free. In one swift, fluid motion, she plunged her hand into the man's chest, tore out his heart, and bit into it with relish—like something straight out of a horror film.

Skinwalkers like Eryx were rare. And her specific breed? Far worse. Unlike others, she craved organs—especially hearts—over typical prey meat.

"Remind me again what we're doing?" Eryx asked after swallowing.

"Getting rid of some bastards who thought they could mess with Sirin... and then take down a monster who literally rules other monsters," Claire said with a shrug, still bound.

"Honestly," Eryx muttered, ripping through the leather restraints with ease. The manacles shattered against the floor with a wooden crunch. "Humans are getting bolder. Going against things that rip them apart."

"Pfft... My mother always told me to be kind to everyone. But even she wouldn't understand—humans don't change. Good people tend to become monsters anyway." Claire winced as she reached up to tie her hair back.

Eryx's sharp eyes caught a smear of blood running down Claire's thigh. Her expression shifted instantly—darkening. "They—"

Before she could finish, Claire cut her off. "My seduction attempt failed. But they didn't touch me. Not like that. If that's what you're worried about."

Eryx raised a skeptical brow. "How? Those ape-shits were literally—"

"Let's not be racist," Claire said, jabbing her lightly in the gut. "We're seconds away from being swarmed."

"More than that," Eryx snapped.

"Which is why I'm stopping you," Claire muttered, rolling her eyes.

More like—even if we're fictional, the Creator can't risk a scandal for safety reasons.

Author's Note:

This song is technically out of context, but FNAF remains one of my oldest and favorite fandoms—and it's part of the Multiverse Saga. There's a thematic link between the song and my personas, especially the concept of pain, fusion, and identity loss. Some of my personas suffer or even die once I "fuse" with them. That's part of the lore, though it doesn't necessarily apply to every story unless I choose to include it.

After all, none of their fates are exactly the same. If you're a Creator yourself, you'll catch the drift.

This is a glimpse into the lore of my personas—especially my main persona—through the lyrics of I Can't Fix You. Each line reflects a specific character's inner struggle:

Celphina's LORE

"This is what happens when you leave it to someone else.
If you want it done right, you should just do it yourself."

Maelstrom's LORE

"You oversaturate your world with nothing but machines"
(replace "machines" with "creations")
"You might make everyone happy, but you're dead inside just like me."

Orphessa's LORE

"And now we're here at a standstill
I wonder if you feel
The kind of pain that rips your insides out."

—and—
"Is it because I can't be her (you)??"

May Blue, May Pink, and Maydeo's LORE

"We have a lot more in common
Than you would be calm with
It's like we're the same person, me and you
We both don't know what we can do."

Lisira's LORE (from the Forced Retirement AU)

"Made your mistakes and make me hurt
I can't fix you."
(She just got promoted last year, for context.)

May Blue's LORE

"My feigning fading
You've been mourning your loss here
And that's grinding my gears
How can a human lose their self-control?"

May Pink's LORE

"I've been trying for so long
To sing you the right song
To show you something different every day
So you hear what I have to say—
Like puzzle pieces."

Chapter Text

Content Warning:

This chapter contains mature and potentially distressing content, including:

Violence

Attempted sexual assault (non-explicit)

Trauma aftermath

Blood/injury

Themes of psychological distress and coping

Set during the Dark Age of Gods in an alternate universe, this scene explores the brutal cost of rebellion, vulnerability, and survival in a war-torn divine world. While not graphic, these elements are handled with emotional weight and narrative consequence.

Reader discretion is strongly advised.

If you are sensitive to these themes or are a survivor, please prioritize your well-being. Feel free to skip this chapter or reach out to support resources if needed.

During the Mid Dark Age of Gods...

"How do you always end up in these situations?"

It was early morning. Cold, damp, and reeking of blood and old curses. Shadows stretched long in the alley where everything gleamed red and black—like some bastardized painting. Not exactly unfamiliar for either of them, but still grim enough to make even Mister Shapely's patience twitch.

Organ trafficking. Witch covens. A splintered pantheon devouring itself. The Dark Age of Gods was just another Tuesday, and Valar's reign of terror was still dragging its broken, bleeding heels across the continent. Shapely had half a mind to personally send Drakarys a fruit basket—filled with vipers.

He crouched beside the collapsed figure of Lisira, exhaling a long, drawn-out sigh. Not that he needed breath, but the affectation soothed him.

"This better not become a weekly occurrence," he muttered, unfastening the chains at her wrists with one gloved hand. The cuffs snapped open with a click that echoed louder than it should've.

Lisira slumped down further along the wall. Her breathing came in shallow bursts, red lips parted, and her knees were scraped and trembling. Her face was smudged—makeup or blood, it was hard to tell in this light.

"I found them out, didn't I?" she rasped.

"True." His tone was nonchalant, but flat. "Not that you had to be the one dangling as bait. Again."

Lisira didn't answer. She didn't need to. That look in her eyes—the one she wore when she volunteered herself to shield the other women in the rebel cell—was answer enough. She was stubborn. Brave. Self-sacrificing. Foolish.

She was still mortal.

Shapely sighed again as he reached for the cuffs around her ankles. Her skin was cold beneath his gloves. He worked silently, efficiently. The metal hit the cobblestone with a dull clang, right next to a floating eyeball in a puddle.

He glanced down. The puddle blinked.

Charming.

As he adjusted her ruined skirt, his hand paused. There—deep bruises blooming along her inner thigh. His perpetual grin—etched into the mask of his face—twitched, ever so slightly. A tremor beneath the surface.

"Did they—?"

"Almost." Lisira cut in, voice unreadable. Steady. Too steady.

That set off something quiet inside him. He mentally jotted a note to himself: remind Phil to keep his hands to himself—ask before touching her, even if it's something as innocent as a hug. Shapely may have tolerated Phil as her new lover, but Lisira's trauma made boundaries sacred. Non-negotiable.

"I'm taking you to Vilyx when we're done here." His tone was flat, but there was concern in the precision of his movements, in the way he gently fixed her torn sash.

Lisira tugged absently at the black lace of her dress, clearly distracted. The whole outfit was in tatters, showing too much skin—not all of it due to damage. Shapely hadn't seen her in anything resembling finery in years. The dress didn't look out of place on her, even now, bloodstained and torn. She always wore survival like an accessory.

But now she was rubbing makeup off her face with shaking fingers, and he could tell she wasn't listening. Not really.

The alley was quiet again—save for distant thunder and the occasional drip of something wet. Blood, rain. Maybe both. A finger lay a few feet away, bent backward at an unnatural angle.

"You didn't have to..." Lisira muttered, wincing as she tried to stand, "...make such a mess."

"I didn't appreciate how they were treating my friend." His voice was calm. Even.

And then, with the same tone as someone mentioning a mild inconvenience: "I'll need to contact Othella."

Lisira's knees buckled and Shapely caught her before she hit the stones. She clung to him, more instinct than trust, but the gesture made something cold in him soften.

"Of all people... why him?" he asked flatly.

"He's been with my family for generations," she mumbled.

Shapely looked at her sidelong. She wasn't ascended yet. Still so human. So breakable.

He didn't say anything more.

Just held her steady for a moment longer, letting silence fill the void where sentiment would have gone—if he were someone else.

But he wasn't.

So instead, he focused on wiping blood off her cheek.

And next time?

Next time, he was going to make sure they never got that close again.

Lisira's breathing slowed. Her lashes fluttered once, twice—then fell still. The trembling in her limbs gradually faded as her muscles gave up the fight. She leaned fully against him, her body slumping sideways like a marionette with its strings cut.

For once, she didn't pretend to be fine.

Shapely remained still, almost statuesque. One gloved hand settled at her waist—firm, steady. Not comforting in the traditional sense, but grounding. Functional. Unshakeable.

Her skin was cold. Her frame, frail beneath the ornate wreckage of fabric and lace. He could feel the fine ridges of her ribs under his palm. The fragile architecture of mortality.

He took in the rest without flinching: the bruises, the scratches, the torn dress. A smear of blood trailing behind her ear. A split lip. His black-lensed eyes flicked over each wound with detached precision—cataloguing them, silently calculating who would answer for them. The perpetual grin of his mask gave nothing away.

Only the faint shift of his posture betrayed him.

"Shapely?"

Her voice was a whisper. Not weak. Tired.

"Yes?" he answered, monotone but immediate—he never made her wait.

"...Hold me."

There was no pause. No quip. No dissection of her vulnerability. He simply complied.

Without flourish or comment, he wrapped his arms around her.

Lisira buried her face against his chest, her breath warm through the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt. She didn't care if the stains spread. Neither did he.

He held her there, not as a knight, not as a savior—just as himself.

Unmoving. Solid. Constant.

In the alley still slick with rain and gore, under the red-streaked dawn of another cursed day, Mister Shapely said nothing.

But that silence?

It meant more than any promise could.

After she eventually fell asleep, Shapely scooped her up, cradled her against his chest with her head pillowed under his chin. She was so small. Even more fragile like this. The thought almost made him laugh. The legendary Enchanter of Valaryon, reduced to a ragdoll of limp limbs and bloody clothing.

He carried her down the deserted streets, avoiding the main roads that were still filled with the night watch. No telling who they'd run into, and while she was in no state for a confrontation, he was feeling irritable.

Arriving at the hideout, Mister Shapely would normally resort to teleportation—but the thought of seeing Phil's face made him reconsider.

He clicked his tongue faintly.

This version of Phil was a damn headache—especially in universes where the war hadn't ended. Arrogant. Brash. Too loud for Shapely's taste. He reminded himself, with no small relief, that this wasn't canon. Just the timeline they were stuck in.

With a long-suffering sigh, Shapely ducked through the entrance—arms full with Lisira's sleeping form. He angled his head to avoid clipping the archway, the movement fluid despite his height. Even his exaggerated ears twitched ever so slightly, adjusting like antennae to avoid brushing the ceiling. Technically part of his mask, but they'd always behaved more like limbs.

He hated ducking.

Still, better this than waking her. She needed rest. Real rest.

The place was alive with activity. Arguments, papers rustling, maps unrolled. At least everyone was here. Good. He didn't feel like explaining himself six separate times.

He entered without ceremony.

Phil was mid-discussion with Liraz and Achlys, while Yuko and Alois stood over a marked map, her servant-pet close by her shoulder. Raised voices collided until the instant Shapely stepped through the threshold. The air shifted. Eyes turned.

Phil and Yuko's expressions morphed the second they saw what he carried—Lisira, unconscious and curled against his chest, her skin pale and bruises visible beneath torn black lace.

"What happened?!" Yuko blurted, half a step forward.

"Quiet," Shapely cut her off without even raising his voice. He didn't need to.

The tone alone did the work. Cold. Crisp. Final.

Thank the void Lisira was a heavy sleeper. Last time she wasn't, the voices woke up too—and he wasn't keen to see that horror again.

"Stell— I mean, Shapely," Phil stumbled, catching himself mid-slip. Old habits. Shapely didn't react. He never did. That nickname had long outlived its usefulness.

"She's not waking up until tomorrow," Shapely announced, tone final. "Let's call it a night."

"I-Is she okay?" Phil's voice wavered—almost pitifully.

Shapely turned his head slowly toward him.

"...You need me to answer that?"

Shapely didn't answer when Phil falter, realizing his own mistake. He shifted slightly when Phil moved toward them, a blur of concern and guilt. And the moment Phil reached out—just a hand, not even touching her skin, only aiming for her hair—that's where Shapely drew the line.

In an instant, Shapely turned his body, pulling Lisira out of reach, fluid as a shadow. A silent, unspoken barrier snapped into place.

Touch her, and he would make sure the next hand Phil raised was his last.

Once everyone else wisely stayed out of his way, Mister Shapely shut the door behind him with a soft click—then locked it.

Not for his privacy.

For hers.

He crossed the threshold of Lisira's chambers and moved like a shadow, steps calculated, deliberate. He didn't bother with lights; his eyes, whatever they were, adjusted easily.

Her bed greeted him like a familiar obligation—ornate and well-kept, despite the chaos outside its walls. Carefully, he lay her down, adjusting the sheets so they wouldn't brush too harshly against her skin.

Even among the Hellenics, Lisira was an anomaly. Immortal by classification, but not indestructible. And Mister Shapely, for all his cosmic abstraction, knew exactly how thin the thread could be—especially in a timeline like this one, where she hadn't yet ascended.

She could die.

So, precautions.

He moved to the dresser. He could've conjured everything in an instant. A gesture. A thought. His magic could unravel dimensions. But this? Bandages and antiseptic?

That wasn't what his abilities were for.

And besides—best not to leave traces. Magic marked timelines, even minor use. He had no intention of contaminating this branch any more than he already had.

With a slow, clawed hand, he opened the drawer and retrieved a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a simple med kit.

Efficient. Mundane. Clean.

He returned to her bedside and knelt with unnatural grace. Her breathing was steady now, the color returning to her face. Her healing factor had already begun its quiet work—internal injuries mending beneath the surface. Still, the bruises remained. Cuts. Blood dried on pale skin.

Shapely focused only on what met the eye.

The surface. The visible.

He unscrewed the bottle cap with a mechanical click, poured the alcohol onto a cloth, and began to work.

Careful. Methodical. Not gentle—but exact.

He cleaned away the blood in slow motions, as if preserving her dignity through ritual. He said nothing. He never did when it came to this.

Just kept working. Quiet. Devoted. In his own eerie way.

He didn't offer comfort. Didn't murmur soft words or call her by name.

He simply kept her safe.

As he always did.

He moved on, methodically tending to each injury.

Bandages over the worst wounds. Wrapping her bruised wrists with careful precision. The scratches along her legs took the most time—the fabric of her stockings had been torn to ribbons. He didn't hesitate. His fingers remained steady. His expression, unreadable. Every movement smooth. Clinical. Efficient.

And yet—

A sharp sensation twisted in his chest. He ignored it. Something too close to... protectiveness.

Or worse—pity.

He exhaled slowly through his teeth.

He would never pity her. He couldn't.

Lisira was fierce. Relentless. A storm contained in delicate skin. A survivor in a world that devoured softness and spit out ruin. She was a force in her own right, and he refused to think of her as anything less.

During the silence of her recovery, her body shifted slightly. A flicker of movement beneath the sheets. She stirred.

"...S-Shapley?..."

Her voice was faint. Barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer.

Didn't flinch.

Because it didn't matter. A fleeting moment. A phantom reflex. The kind of fragile noise dreams borrowed before vanishing into quiet again.

Her eyes—half-lidded—drifted closed once more.

And just like that, Lisira returned to her dreamless sleep.

Shapely remained beside her, still and silent. A shadow with purpose.

Watching.

Guarding.

Saying nothing.

· · ─ ·✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦· ─ · ·

"Claire?"

Eryx didn't hesitate. The second she heard the knock—soft but deliberate—against the wall, she burst into the interrogation room.

Shouts erupted instantly. Gunshots followed, echoing through the hall like thunder. Screams of confusion turned into cries of fear and agony as the chaos unfolded. It didn't take long before the sterile room was painted in blood. The massacre was swift—and now Eryx stood there, soaked in it.

She rushed to Claire's side, tearing the muzzle from her mouth before beginning to undo the bindings.

"Gotta admit," Claire rasped, stretching her jaw slightly. "Being chained and muzzled is a new one."

Eryx snapped one shackle after another with ease. "Well... I guess it's a good thing you're still snarky. But it's also—" She stopped, catching the look in Claire's eyes.

A tired, cold fury.

"I hate that they've finally stopped underestimating Hellenics," Claire muttered, her voice low.

"How so? They should at least leave our kind alone," Eryx said, frowning in confusion.

Claire shook her head. "They're already working on new strategies. And while the gods aren't paying attention to us anymore, we'll just end up dying off—quietly." Her voice was tired. "Sure, the humans might stop bothering us for a while... but eventually, they'll try again. Hurt us. Or worse."

With that, Claire let herself collapse into her friend's arms, too exhausted to keep herself upright any longer.

"So they do have some brains," Eryx grumbled, slinging one arm around Claire's petite form to keep her steady.

"I know." Claire leaned her head against her friend, letting the other girl carry her for a moment. This was a rare moment of vulnerability. And, after all, who else would she let close enough to see that side of herself?

With that in mind, Eryx wrapped both of her arms around Claire, holding her tight. Her grip was firm, almost possessive, as if she'd do anything to keep Claire safe.

Claire didn't pull away. It felt... nice. Safe.

She allowed herself to melt into the embrace, feeling every muscle relax against Eryx's body.

"The worst part is..." She paused, closing her tired eyes. "They had me worried that you wouldn't come. That I wouldn't see you again."

Eryx's eyes darkened at her words. She pulled Claire closer, burying her face in the crook of her friend's neck.

"Don't think like that." Her voice was low, rough with emotion—protective. "You know I'll always come for you. Always ."

She tightened her grip. "Everything they said was a lie. I'll never fail you. Remember that."

"...Okay," Claire whispered.

Eryx glanced around, alert now. Then, without a word, she scooped Claire into her arms—carrying her in a bridal hold.

"We should get out of here before more of them show up."

Author's Note:

The cycle continues. Much like Lisira's situation, Claire also has someone backing her—Eryx. It's no surprise, really, when you're the daughter of Lisira. Vivian and Xister didn't share the same fate, simply because they weren't the 'heirs' or the 'chosen ones.' No one else in the Mageious family knows the truth—except Lisira and Claire themselves.

Chapter Text

This was actually happening. Right now. Claire wondered what kind of sick joke fate was playing on her. Had she been that bad lately? Had karma finally cashed in all her sins at once?

Parent-teacher meetings. A mundane horror. And worse—Lisira wasn't available.

She got the bombshell through a casual text from Vivian:

"Hey. Mom's busy. Good luck!"

Fuck.

"Seriously, why can't you come to my university instead?!" Claire hissed during a call with her older sister, Xister, fumbling with her earrings as she got dressed.

"Ehhhh... yeah, that sucks, I know," Xister replied, lazily. "But I got a date."

Claire groaned. "Okay, valid reason, I guess. But what about Vivian?"

"Busy. Something about taking her ex to court. It's messy."

"Oh. Actually, wait—that sounds really worth the gossip later," Claire muttered, half impressed. "But who the hell am I supposed to go with then?"

"I mean, we do have one person left in the family..."

Claire froze mid-step. A chill ran down her spine.

"...Don't you dare say—"

"Shapely."

"Shit."

"Welllllll, he's your only option."

Claire clenched her teeth. "I get that he's the kind of uncle we need in an emergency, but I don't think—"

Her phone buzzed.

Incoming call: Mister Shapely

Claire stared at the screen like it was a death sentence.

"I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS!!"

✦•┈๑⋅⋯∘₊✧──────✧₊∘⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Later, At the Meeting...

Claire wanted to dig a hole straight through the floor and never come out again.

The tension? Palpable. Like breathing soup. Thick, heavy, and choking. Even the principal looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.

And Mister Shapely? Sitting beside her? Utterly unbothered. Not by the stares, not by the whispers, not by the fact that the room's temperature seemed to drop the moment he entered.

He was pristine as always—suit immaculate, posture perfect, presence...otherworldly. Claire didn't know if he just didn't notice the stares, or if he simply did not care. Honestly, she was praying for the latter. It would somehow be less terrifying.

Of course, everyone knew Mister Shapely. He was a prominent educator, an expert in spacetime theory, and by some cruel twist of cosmic irony, also a close friend of her mother.

But more importantly—he was an eldritch being. A literal one.

And now everyone knew he was involved with the Mageious family outside of school.

Claire could practically feel the rumors seeding themselves in real time.

As Miss Grace skimmed through Claire's academic record, Shapely sat in stoic silence, hands folded neatly, one leg crossed. When he did speak, it was only when necessary—and with that usual unbothered cadence, smooth and deliberate:

"Miss Claire's test results are acceptable, if not mildly predictable. She performs adequately within linear systems but flounders when emotional tangents cloud logic. A common Mageious trait, I suppose."

The way he said it wasn't even insulting. It was...matter-of-fact. Cold and amused at the same time. Grace didn't even know how to respond.

Claire stared straight ahead, wishing she could evaporate.

"If there are behavioral concerns, kindly submit them in triplicate. I'll personally ensure Lisira reviews them—assuming she doesn't toss them into a star first."

And just like that, he ended the meeting.

When it was time to leave, Claire walked beside him with quiet mortification as he hummed—yes, hummed—to himself, hands clasped behind his back like an art critic on tour.

As they exited the building, he spoke again without looking at her:

"You did well enough not to embarrass Lisira. That, at least, is worth noting."

"...Thanks?" Claire muttered, not sure if that was a compliment or not.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must cleanse myself. Mortality's scent clings like cheap cologne."

And with that, he vanished. Literally. Into thin air. No poof. No sparkle. Just gone.

Claire stood alone in front of the university doors, rubbing her temple.

"I hate parent-teacher meetings."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

"Okay, so!" Lisira called out cheerfully, knife in hand as she chopped vegetables. "How'd it go?"

She didn't need to turn around—the kitchen was open to the living room, so she could chat without missing a beat. Claire had just stepped inside, dropping her bag near the entrance as Vivian and Xister lounged on the couch, pretending they hadn't ditched her earlier.

Claire sighed.

"Well..."

That one word was enough. Both Vivian and Xister instinctively perked up—then immediately recoiled when Claire shot them a look that could curdle milk.

"...Not so bad," Claire finally said, deadpan, peeling off her jacket.

Before anyone could question that claim, Mister Shapely manifested beside Lisira, without warning, without sound—just there, as if reality made room for him by force.

"Accurate," he said smoothly, as though he had the final word.

Lisira blinked, startled for only a second. "Oh! Well, that's lovely. I was worried about everyone else's reactions."

"Reasonable," Shapely replied, casually leaning against the counter—like this was his home, like kitchen surfaces weren't sacred, and like personal space wasn't a concept he acknowledged.

Without asking, he reached into the special jar marked with faintly glowing runes and pulled out a single, shimmering cosmo biscuit—one Lisira had baked specifically for him. He inspected it like a jeweler studying a rare gem, then bit into it with clinical approval.

Lisira just smiled, amused. "You could ask first, you know."

Shapely didn't bother looking at her. "I could. But it's unnecessary."

Claire dropped into the nearest chair, looking utterly done. "He spoke during the meeting, you guys. Actual words. Like full sentences. I think the principal aged five years."

Vivian chuckled.

Xister snorted. "Man, we should've come just to see that."

Claire didn't even look at them. "You're both dead to me."

Lisira laughed under her breath and slid the cutting board aside. "Sounds like everything went exactly as expected."

"Mm," Shapely hummed, licking a bit of stardust glaze from his thumb. "Mortals stared. I endured. Claire survived. Lisira remains pleased. A satisfying outcome."

Claire groaned into her hands. "Never again. I swear, I'd rather be possessed."

"Tempting," Shapely mused lightly. "But I believe that's someone else's department."

"At least everything went well—" Vivian began casually.

"VIVIAN."

Claire cut her off with a tight, not-so-friendly smile. "You have no idea how many people came up to me today after finding out Shapely is involved with our family. It's like—I don't even see the big deal, but apparently everyone else does. And I get it, but also—MY GOSH."

Vivian raised her hands in mock surrender, smirking.

"Aw, maybe it helped you make some new friends, hm?" Lisira teased from the kitchen, clearly enjoying herself.

Claire opened her mouth to fire back—only to catch that look from Shapely.

Just a glance. Subtle. Measured. Enough.

Claire clamped her mouth shut and sank into the couch instead, arms folded in pure defeat.

"...Not worth it," she muttered under her breath.

Shapely, of course, said nothing. Just returned to calmly nibbling on his cosmo biscuit like a god who didn't need to win—because he already had.

Chapter Text

The first thing Claire noticed was the cold.

The lust-induced heat had faded from her limbs, replaced by a series of small tremors. Could you blame her? Her thighs were still wet—sticky. The cool air bit at her skin, cruelly tracing the mess left between her legs. Knowing the person she shared her bed with, Claire bit her lip to stifle a whimper, her breath catching in her throat.

Miss Circle's weight was still draped over her, keeping Claire trapped—caged—and warm only where their bodies touched. This was why she hated being on the bottom after. The aftermath always felt worse when her professor's body was the only heat anchoring her to the bed. Circle's breath came slow and steady, panting softly against the hollow of Claire's shoulder. Her teeth rested just above the skin—where she had bitten. Where she had claimed.

Claire didn't bother moving. She wasn't sure she could.

Her wrists twitched above her head, still loosely bound to the bedframe by the now-broken handcuffs. Her fingers ached from how tightly they had curled. Annoyance prickled beneath the dull burn of embarrassment. She shouldn't feel this way—not now—but being stuck like this was starting to grate on her nerves.

She wasn't surprised by the position they'd ended up in. The only real discomfort came from the cuffs, which her professor hadn't removed. Miss Circle—whom Claire referred to formally even in private—had always been handsy. One of Circle's arms was slung around Claire's waist, her face pressed lazily against Claire's bare chest, and the other hand was draped possessively over Claire's backside.

With the strength of a Hellenic, Claire broke the cuffs with ease, the metal giving way with a soft snap. Quietly, she flexed her fingers, testing for stiffness. Satisfied they still worked, she reached out with one hand to gently stroke one of her professor's black horns.

This earned a low, pleased sound in response. Claire couldn't help a small, amused smile, stroking the horn again.

The horned creature shifted slightly, murmuring incoherently into the crook of Claire's neck, and her arm clenched around Claire's waist. Claire stiffened instinctively, feeling the cold press of an inhumanly sharp tooth against her skin—a silent warning.

Stay still.

With a huff, Claire relented, dropping her head to the pillow and staring vacantly up at the ceiling. She was used to Circle's possessiveness by now, and while it irritated her on principle, there was little point in trying to fight against it.

Instead, she focused on the weight of Circle against her. She felt...warm. Heavy. But despite how trapped she felt, there was something familiar, even comfortable, about the way they tangled together.

"You're heavy," Claire murmured. Her tone was light and teasing, though there was a hint of truth in the complaint. The pressure of her professor's weight left her feeling a little breathless, and her skin was still slick with a cold sheen of sweat.

Circle made another low sound, nuzzling against her in response. The hand at the base of Claire's spine shifted, lazily tracing idle patterns against her skin.

"I'm serious," Claire protested weakly.

She couldn't help shivering as the hand travelled down the slope of her backside, tracing across her hipbone. She could feel the calloused fingers pressing marks into the flesh, and that familiar, possessive hold sent a shiver up her spine.

"I can't feel my legs," she continued, her tone slightly breathy. "You're crushing me."

As though in response, the hand on her hip squeezed gently, and Circle shifted once more, her leg slipping between Claire's thighs. The pressure was just enough to send a jolt of sensation through her, and Claire bit her lip to stifle a gasp.

Circle didn't respond, merely nuzzling her face into the crook of Claire's neck. Her breath was hot against the sensitive skin, and Claire could feel the tip of her professor's sharp teeth.

"You're not even listening, are you?" Claire muttered.

There was no hiding the edge of irritation in her voice now, and despite her stubborn pride, she squirmed beneath Circle, trying to free herself.

She knew it was useless. Circle was too heavy, too strong, and too damn possessive for her to get away. She felt like a trapped rabbit, struggling helplessly against a panther.

After a bit of back and forth, Claire finally managed to slip out of her teacher's grasp—without having to plead or pry her way free. She dodged as Miss Circle's black claw shot out, swift and playful.

"No. You stay there. I'm taking a shower," Claire snapped, irritation laced in her voice. It was ridiculous that she even had to assert her dominance over something this simple. Then again, knowing Miss Circle, if she really felt like it, she would've pinned Claire down without much effort.

Luckily, the professor just grumbled in protest but stayed in bed, settling back against the pillows. Claire finally made it to the bathroom—though it was more of a limp than a walk.

Claire paused in front of the mirror, letting her gaze roam over her reflection. The sight was a stark reminder of the hours that had passed. The bite marks and scratches dotted her skin, the bruises left in the wake of Circle's teeth and hands.

Claire grimaced, touching her fingers to one of the darkest marks on her neck. It wasn't the first time she'd suffered the consequences of Circle's possessiveness. She should've been used to it by now.

Thavel would leave more marks than that, Claire was sure of it—but her real concern was what her language professor would do once she saw them. Claire already knew: once that woman saw the state of her skin, there'd be no escaping that damn Wendigo's bed again anytime soon.

"Ughhhh..." Claire groaned, locking the bathroom door behind her before starting her usual routine—shower first, brushing her teeth, then washing her face. She was so focused on cleaning herself up that she didn't hear the faint click of the front door unlocking.

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, towel around her body and hair still damp, she took exactly one step before almost stumbling backward with a squeak.

Mister Compass stood there.

Miss Circle's husband.

He had just returned from overtime tutoring with the other students. And since they weren't at the dorms or university right now—

"AH—!" Claire yelped, immediately bolting for her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her.

The sound startled Miss Circle fully awake.

"Huh—"

"The fuck, Aiko?!"

And just like that, drama.

Claire let out a sigh, already hearing Mister Compass raising his voice in the hallway. It was always something like 'OF ALL PEOPLE, WHY THAT GIRL?' or 'What's wrong with you? You agreed, so deal with it!'

The consequence of this arrangement? Dealing with her other professor's jealousy—because his wife kept choosing Claire over him. She got it, really. She understood the bitterness. But still—

Wasn't he the one who brought up the idea of inviting her over again?

Never mind.

Claire dressed quickly, throwing on whatever clothes she could find—which ended up being a loose white shirt and shorts. From behind the bedroom door, the argument continued, voices muffled but unmistakably heated. She could only catch fragments, but it was more than enough.

She sighed, running a hand through her still-damp hair. Great. Just great. This was the last thing she needed right now. She should've known better than to let Miss Circle get carried away. Honestly, it was a miracle Mister Compass hadn't walked in on them mid-act.

Miss Circle groaned beside her, pulling the comforter over her head with a disgruntled huff. Claire could still hear the low rumble of Mister Compass raising his voice, the argument growing sharper.

Perfect.

The very last thing Claire wanted was to get dragged into another round of their dysfunctional drama. She could already guess what this was about—Mister Compass airing his grievances for the hundredth time, and she wasn't in the mood to deal with his jealous outbursts.

The voices escalated—Miss Circle snapping back, Mister Compass ranting about rules and how they were being ignored.

Claire had heard enough.

Grabbing her phone, she called Eryx, then opened the window and waited. Five minutes later, like clockwork, her best friend pulled up out front. Claire groaned, rubbing her temples as if she could massage away the budding migraine. The shouting continued behind her, seeping through the walls.

Trying to be a little courteous, Claire sent a quick text to Miss Circle:

"Left. Don't kill each other. :)"

Then, without hesitation, she climbed out the window and hopped down just as Eryx stepped out of the car.

The skinwalker caught her easily. "He throwing a tantrum again?"

"Yeah," Claire muttered as Eryx carried her to the car. "Ridiculous timing, right?"

Claire groaned softly, settling in the passenger seat. She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples.

Eryx slid into the driver's seat, starting the car. "You know, one of these days, you're gonna have to set some boundaries."

Claire huffed, opening one eye to glare at her best friend. "You're telling me. Try telling that to Circle."

Eryx raised an eyebrow. "She still refusing to rein in her husband, huh?"

"Oh yeah. Just about as cooperative as a stubborn mule," Claire replied, rolling her eyes. "I swear, they both have the emotional maturity of a damn toddler."

Eryx chuckled, shaking her head. "I don't know how you put up with them, honestly. They're like a walking, talking soap opera."

Claire let out a weary sigh. "You're telling me. I think I've become immune to their bullshit at this point."

Eryx stifled a laugh. "Well, you must be a saint then. I'd have given up on them long ago."

Claire smirked. "Nah, I'm just too stubborn to quit now."

Eryx huffed, shooting her a teasing glance. "Yeah, stubborn and a bit masochistic."

Claire groaned, sinking deeper into her seat. "Oh, shut it. I do not have a masochistic streak."

Eryx snickered, clearly enjoying herself. "Please. The amount of crap you put up with from both of them? Borderline masochistic."

"Hey! Rude." Claire pouted, grabbing the neatly folded blanket beside her and draping it over herself like armor.

Eryx laughed, eyes flicking to the road with a playful glint. "Am I wrong, though?"

Claire rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. "Shut up. You're supposed to be on my side."

"Not when you're digging a hole so deep I'm worried you'll never crawl out."

Claire groaned louder. "Geez, I know I'm juggling multiple affairs, but I have reasons. Some good. Some... not so good."

"Oh, right—good because of your family and friends, and bad because your social skills are so shot you cope by sleeping with people."

"I'm this close to jumping out of the car," Claire said, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

She didn't even mention it—because why bother? If she was going to do it, she'd do it.

"Okay, okay! Whether you mean that or not, don't," Eryx said quickly, throwing one hand up in surrender as they pulled into her driveway.

Claire gave her a look. "Please don't let go of the wheel while driving," she muttered as they walked up to Eryx's apartment.

Eryx rolled her eyes. "Lighten up, it was a joke. And I wasn't even going that fast."

Claire huffed, pushing past her friend and into the apartment. "You call that slow?"

Eryx followed behind, shutting the door. "You sound like a mother hen."

"Someone has to be the voice of reason here."

Eryx chuckled, shaking her head as she made her way to the kitchen. "You? A voice of reason? Never."

"Excuse you," Claire retorted, flopping onto Eryx's couch and pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "I am the definition of rational decision-making."

Eryx called from the kitchen, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, of course, my mistake. Because rational decision-making clearly includes sleeping with—not one—but half the teaching staff at your university. Two of them married, no less. Makes perfect sense."

"I need to have fun too!" Claire huffed.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe we're having this talk right now, Xister!"

Vivian stormed down the bustling afternoon streets, her expression so thunderous that people scrambled to get out of her way.

"Vivi~ You're worrying way too much. We'll be fine~"

"HOW ARE WE GOING TO BE FINE WHEN WE HAVE—" The petite magician yanked out her wallet and peeked inside.

"A THOUSAND DOLLARS TO LAST US THREE WEEKS?"

"You're overthinking it," Xister said with a lazy laugh, eyes still glued to her handheld game—until Vivian shoved a wad of crumpled receipts into her face.

"How did you spend ninety percent of our first paycheck on drugs alone?!"

Xister finally tucked her game away as they stopped at a street crossing. She sighed dramatically.

"Big sis, you can't pin all the blame on me when you bought that full set of tarot cards—or whatever that overpriced crap was—while you were drunk."

Xister smirked in victory as Vivian instinctively snapped her sister's mouth shut. Right. They were both equally guilty of blowing through their paycheck.

"Mom's going to kill us when she finds out what we did," Vivian groaned.

"Well, we could always ask Dad for more."

"I doubt he can after Mom finds out," Vivian muttered bitterly.

"Like I said—don't worry about it. I'll come up with something."

Xister gave her sister a hard pat on the back, but Vivian just stared down at the sidewalk, questioning her life choices as her lashes fluttered with quiet despair.

Man, Xister really wished she hadn't broken her phone last week while prank-calling the FBI.

"What plan could you possibly have to bail us out of this..."

"Hmm~" Xister's eyes scanned the street—then lit up as a sleek black limo turned the corner.

She grinned. "Hey, can you play along?"

Vivian followed her gaze, spotted the limo, and then looked back at Xister with reluctant understanding.

"Sure..." she said, a bit hesitantly.

Xister linked her arm with Vivian's. They shared a brief half-hug—the calm before the storm.

With a mischievous grin, Xister turned back around while Vivian clenched her eyes shut, readying herself to activate her ability. The limo sped toward them.

Then—

WHAM—!

In one swift motion, Xister shoved Vivian into the street.

Screeeeeeech! CRASH!

"Kyaaa!!"

Screams echoed as the crowd scattered and reformed in chaos, gathering around the scene in shock. The front of the limo was crumpled, its hood dented inward. Just ahead, Vivian lay motionless, facedown on the asphalt.

"Oh my goodness! What happened?!" A woman in expensive jewelry and designer clothes jumped out of the limo, heels clicking furiously as she rushed to the front, followed by a panicked chauffeur. She gasped at the sight of Vivian.

Just then, Xister bolted forward, dropping to her knees beside her sister with a dramatic skid.

"Via!"

She cradled Vivian in her arms, gripping her bloodied hand as she stared down in feigned despair. The onlookers gasped. Murmurs spread like wildfire through the crowd.

Vivian coughed weakly, lifting a trembling hand, eyes scrunched in pain.

"Agh... Big sister... it hurts so much..."

Xister nearly lost it.

She bit her lip hard to stop herself from laughing as Vivian called her "big sister." She knows Vivian hates calling Xister that.

Fucking hell, sis.

The crowd continued to murmur and whisper, watching the heart-wrenching scene. A few people started recording.

Meanwhile, the chauffeur and the limo driver examined the damage, shaking their heads in concern.

The woman in jewelry leaned over Vivian with a frown.

"My God... Is she all right? Call the paramedics! Quick!" she cried out, reaching for her phone.

The crowd murmured in agreement, some already on the phone.

Xister glanced down at Vivian, whose eyes were now half-lidded. She could tell her sister was struggling hard to keep her lips from twitching into a smirk.

Meanwhile, an ambulance appeared in the distance, its sirens blaring. Xister let out a shaky sigh as the situation escalated further. She stroked her sister's hair, pretending to sob.

"Vivi, stay with us. They'll be here soon, okay? Hang on... Please, please hang on..."

The ambulance screeched to a halt beside them, paramedics rushing forward.

Xister reluctantly lifted Vivian off the ground, allowing them to take over. Vivian winced and groaned, playing her role to perfection.

As they secured her on a stretcher, the woman in jewelry stepped forward, looking at Xister with sympathy.

"I feel so awful," she said, her voice laced with guilt. "I truly hope she'll be okay."

Xister nodded, forcing herself to stay focused and keep up the act. She wiped a tear from her cheek, trying to compose herself.

"Thank you, ma'am. She means the world to me."

As the paramedics prepared to load Vivian into the ambulance, the woman in jewelry reached out to pat Xister's shoulder.

"If there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to contact me. I'll cover all the medical expenses, of course."

Xister nodded again, trying to feign appreciation through her "distraught" expression. Deep down, she was still holding back laughter, amazed at how well their plan was working.

As the woman handed over her business card, Xister took it and tucked it into her pocket.

Just then, the paramedic called out to her.

"Miss? We're ready to move her. You can ride with us in the ambulance if you'd like."

Xister hesitated for a moment, glancing down at Vivian, who was still playing her part perfectly. Finally, she nodded.

"Of course. I won't leave her side."

With that, she climbed into the back of the ambulance, taking a seat beside the paramedics as they began checking Vivian's vital signs. The woman in jewelry waved goodbye, looking genuinely remorseful.

As the ambulance doors closed, Xister's facade finally broke, and she let out a soft snort of amusement.

"You're seriously too good at this, Via..."

As the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring, Vivian allowed herself a smug little smirk, the act slipping for a brief moment.

"You can count me on," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. Xister rolled her eyes but couldn't help chuckling.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But don't deny- I'm a goddamn genius."

The paramedics busied themselves with hooking up various monitoring equipment to Vivian. Their expressions were serious and focused, unaware of the sisters' casual conversation just a few feet away.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

An hour later...

The scent of truffle oil and seared wagyu filled the air, an almost heavenly contrast to the burning rubber and shrieking chaos from an hour ago.

Xister leaned back into the plush velvet booth, one leg slung over the other, sipping from a crystal glass like she was born into royalty. Her sunglasses were still on—indoors—and a designer shopping bag hung lazily from her wrist like an accessory.

"To reckless plans and dramatic performances." She raised her glass with a smirk.

Vivian sat across from her, poking a golden fork into her foie gras with the dead-eyed focus of someone whose soul had just left their body.

"I got hit by a car, Xister."

"Lightly tapped." Xister waved it off. "You had your shield spell. Barely a bruise. We got paid. You got a new dress. I got us lobster." She gestured at the plate like it made everything better.

Vivian narrowed her eyes. "My ribs still feel like a xylophone."

"Well, that's what the caviar's for. Builds character." Xister grinned as she dipped a chip into something she couldn't pronounce.

Their table was cluttered with luxurious excess—half-eaten appetizers, three desserts already ordered "just to look at them," and enough shopping bags to suggest someone had robbed a boutique at wand-point.

Vivian sighed and slumped back in her seat, but her eyes softened as she reached for a chocolate-dusted soufflé.

"I still can't believe that woman gave us ten grand and an apology."

"People love a good tragedy," Xister said, mouth full. "And we? We gave them an Oscar-worthy sobfest. Now eat. You almost died, remember?"

Vivian snorted and shook her head, but she finally cracked a smile as she picked up her champagne flute.

"To emotional manipulation."

"And reckless sibling bonds," Xister clinked her glass against hers.

They drank, surrounded by glittering chandeliers, velvet curtains, and the soft lull of jazz—two con artists in expensive clothes, toasting to a con that shouldn't have worked but somehow did.

Xister glanced around the extravagant restaurant, her smile sly and satisfied.

"Can you believe the quality of the rich?" she chuckled, eyeing a nearby group of men in tailored suits who kept giving them long, curious stares.

Vivian raised an eyebrow, watching them with a hint of suspicion.

"They're probably wondering how the two most underdressed people here can afford food that costs more than our rent."

The evening carried on with lavish decadence. By the time they stumbled out of the restaurant, Xister's credit card limit was shattered, and Vivian's arms were laden with shopping bags and dessert boxes.

With the adrenaline starting to wear off, they were both giddy and exhausted—Vivian slightly more so, with her supposed injuries.

As they approached Xister's car, Vivian yawned, stretching her back with a wince.

"I seriously think my spine is crooked now."

"Quit being so dramatic," Xister teased, though the hint of genuine concern in her voice betrayed her playful tone.

As they piled into the car, Xister let out a sigh of contentment, sinking into the driver's seat.

"Tonight was... surprisingly successful, huh?" she said, glancing over at Vivian.

Vivian nodded slowly, staring out the window at the passing neon lights.

"Yeah," she agreed, a hint of satisfaction creeping into her voice. "For a bunch of amateurs, we pulled it off flawlessly."

"I wonder how we're supposed to explain all this stuff to our parents," Vivian muttered, eyeing the mountain of shopping bags piled in the backseat.

Xister, mid-air and about to light a cigarette, froze.

"Ah, shit."

Damn it... They forgot about that detail...

Xister glanced over at the shopping bags, groaning as she tossed the lighter back in the center console.

"Oh, crap... Forgot about that little problem."

She leaned back, running a hand through her hair in irritation.

"We better think up a damn good excuse for all this before Mom and Dad start asking questions."

Chapter Text

Claire was sleeping—or at least, that's what Demi believed.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, seeking warmth and comfort after their moment of intimacy. Pressing his forehead gently against the nape of her neck, he murmured, "Good night, Emilia..."

Several minutes passed before Claire's eyes slowly opened, revealing that she hadn't been asleep at all.

She shifted in his arms to face him, watching his sleeping expression.

Originally, Claire never considered adding Demi to her harem. He had always remained loyal to his late wife, and she respected that. But now, for some reason, he pursued her—not out of love, but because she reminded him, physically, of Emilia.

Claire couldn't entirely fault him. After all, her own mother had stayed single after her father's death, never taking another lover. Demi, however, had not made the same choice.

She gently tugged a strand of his white hair behind his ear and whispered to no one,

"You should've let her go."

Demi stirred in his sleep, subconsciously shifting closer to the warmth of Claire's body. His arm slung over her as if finding an anchor, even in slumber. An inaudible sigh escaped him as his head nuzzled lightly against her shoulder.

Her words whispered in the silence, though he couldn't hear them, brought a subtle frown to his half-lidded eyes. He murmured, still mostly within the grip of his dreams, "Emilia..."

Claire watched as he murmured the name of his late wife. A twinge of guilt tugged at her heart strings, knowing exactly why he held onto her. She sighed, gently running her fingers through his silvery-white hair. It was as soft as silk—similar to her own.

Tearing her gaze from his sleeping face, she stared at the ceiling above, silently replaying her words in her mind.

She knew he was clinging to her as a substitute, a way to fill the void left by Emilia's passing.

⚠️ Content Warning:

This scene contains strong language, emotional abuse, mentions of suicide, grooming, and psychological confrontation. Reader discretion is advised.

BONUS

Othello: "To think the only reason I still exist is because of you two miserable excuses for men."

'Othello' (Evil Demi): "Hey! We're not things, alright? And don't start pretending you're some kind of saint."

Mister Demi: ...

Othello (dryly): "You're right. I'm not a saint. But at least I'm not pathetic."

He turns to Mister Demi, eyes narrowing.

Othello: "You—so nervous all the damn time, clinging to your 'composure' like it's the only thing keeping you alive. You loved Emilia, huh? Then maybe you should've just died with her. At least then I wouldn't have to share a soul with you."

Mister Demi looks down, jaw tight, hands trembling slightly.

Othello: "And of all people... you go after Lady Lisira's daughter? Seriously?"

He turns sharply to Evil Demi, disgust flickering on his face.

Othello: "And you. You didn't just put Claire in danger. You put Lisira's daughter in danger. For what? To play the hero?"

Evil Demi: "I didn't—!"

Othello (cutting him off): "Save it. Honestly? I'm glad that damn corruptor saved her instead of you."

Silence.

Othello: "You both chased after women who look like your dead wife. That's not love. That's desperation. It's gross."

He exhales slowly, like he's tired of even breathing the same air as them.

Othello: "I didn't ask to be stuck in this twisted soul cycle. But if I have to be here... I'll make one thing clear: I'm nothing like either of you."

'Othello' (Evil Demi): "At least I didn't break into an ex's house just to scare her!"

Othello: "At least I'm not out here grooming the younger version of my dead wife."

'Othello' (Evil Demi): "I did not—!"

Othello: "Don't you dare deny it. Don't even try to gaslight me, you bastard. You're a waste of space in this existence."

Mister Demi: "...Eh?"

Othello (throws him a look): "And gods above, have you ever looked in a mirror? You dress like grief and delusion had a baby."

He turns coldly toward Mister Demi.

Othello: "And you."

Mister Demi: "Y-Yeah?"

Othello: "Either grow a spine... or go join your wife in the grave. Just pick one already."

Chapter Text

The first time she killed was at the age of fifteen.

It was easy enough to subdue the man—a poor fool who had dared to cross the Mageious family. A swift kick to his ankles had him collapsing onto the pavement. There was no need for her ability; even at that age, Lisira's lithe frame held strength enough to shatter bone.

Othello lingered behind her like a ghost. Or perhaps more like a puppeteer, watching his marionette dance, his movements slow and deliberate as he approached the man scrambling for his life.

Lisira didn't flinch at the man's panicked cries as he fumbled for the gun tucked in his coat. But the weapon barely saw the light of the moon before a well-aimed kick sent it clattering across the pavement. In a last desperate attempt at survival, the man flopped onto his belly, crawling like a squashed insect. She grabbed him by the scruff, dragged him to the curb, and positioned his teeth against the concrete.

She hesitated only for a heartbeat.

Then—crack.

The bone-crunching impact of her boot against his skull was quickly drowned out by his piercing scream. Lisira flinched only slightly, flipping his convulsing body with her foot. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle, blood glistening where the bone had split through flesh. It should have been repulsive. Instead, it was numbing.

She inhaled sharply and drew her gun—the one her sister had gifted her for their first mission together. Her hands trembled as she aimed at the writhing man. Finger on the trigger. But she hesitated.

A chuckle—light, melodic, and unsettling—echoed from behind her.

"Li~iii, if you keep him waiting like that, he's going to suffer even more, and not in the fun way..." Othello sing-songed, voice lilting with amusement, like a man telling ghost stories to children around a campfire. "Mercy, darling. Mercy is a performance, too."

She tried again. Still, her finger refused to move.

With a dramatic sigh, Othello stepped closer. She felt his presence at her back, not touching—never quite—but enclosing her all the same, like a shadow draping itself over her form. A bandaged hand slid down her arm, serpentine and cold, before curling gently around her own trembling grip.

"Here, allow me~," he whispered into her ear, breath cold as mist. Then—bang, bang, bang.

Silence.

Lisira trembled beneath the weight of that stillness, her ears ringing in the quiet of the cold night. The warmth behind her vanished as Othello stepped away, already humming an eerie little tune to himself as if nothing had happened.

The gun slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. She felt nothing. No remorse. No triumph. Only numbness.

Othello turned, tilting his head with a gleam in his dual-colored eyes, and reached forward to gently ruffle her hair.

"Ohhh, don't worry, sweetie~ You'll get used to it~ Eventually~," he cooed, voice laced with mock sympathy and twisted glee.

Lisira wished Yuko could've been the one to accompany her tonight. She hadn't expected it to feel like this. To look like this.

As Othello stooped to begin reaping the man's soul—fingers moving with exaggerated ceremony—Lisira reached out and tugged at his sleeve.

"...Othello?"

He paused, arching a brow beneath silvery bangs, lips curling into a curious grin. "Mmm? Yes, dearie?"

"Why... why can't we just turn him in? If he did a bad thing, shouldn't we... shouldn't we give him to the police?"

Othello gave a long, theatrical sigh, as though she'd asked him why spiders had so many legs.

With a soft clack of his tongue, he crouched to meet her eye, gloved hand gently lifting her chin so she stared directly into his—those twin green irises glinting with eerie wisdom.

"Ohhh, precious child... In this rotten era, the justice system is like a puppet with tangled strings," he murmured with a chuckle. "Give him to the police, you say? My, my. They'd sooner pat him on the head than drag him to court."

"...Okay," Lisira murmured, rubbing her forearm nervously.

She knew this was how her household survived. Everyone had blood on their hands. But no matter how much she tried to bury the memory, she couldn't shake the image of broken bones, the screams, the way Othello laughed through it all.

A part of her understood.

But another part—a part that still felt like a child—wished she hadn't seen it at all.

When the soul was finally reaped, the night fell into a strange hush—still and cold, like the breath of death itself.

Lisira glanced around uneasily, then sighed and bent to retrieve her gun. Her fingers had barely curled around it when a sudden touch on her shoulder made her flinch. She twisted on instinct, hand flying to her side, eyes wild.

Only to find Othello blinking innocently at her, his lips twitching.

And then—he laughed.

A low, rattling laugh that spilled out like bones tumbling from a coffin. "Ohohoho~! Oh, darling, that was a sharp little reflex—nearly took my arm off!" he chuckled, tilting his head with delighted mischief.

"T-This is not funny!" Lisira snapped, her cheeks red from embarrassment.

"I knooow, I know~" Othello wheezed, wiping an imaginary tear beneath his fringe, though he struggled to suppress another bout of laughter. "My sincerest apologies, little lady! Consider this your official initiation~"

He managed to compose himself with an exaggerated inhale, then straightened his coat with a flourish. Silence fell again—save for the faint hum of the city in the distance.

Lisira stood stiffly, shoulders tight, and though she clenched the weapon with steady hands, the slight tremble of her fingers didn't escape Othello's gaze. He watched her quietly, the smile fading into something more solemn.

Even the most seasoned butchers, he thought, had once trembled at the sound of breaking bone.

"You've got a gentle heart, Lisira," he murmured at last, voice lowered to a grave whisper, the kind that danced on the line between a lullaby and an omen. "Don't lose it too quickly. Not many mages in this era keep their souls soft and sweet without them getting spoiled."

She looked at him sharply, uncertain if it was a compliment or a warning. Her posture eased just slightly, her eyes distant.

"And yet..." he added with a grin curling at the corners of his pale lips, "That lovely softness of yours could be your very downfall~ All it takes is one second. One blink. And poof! Off goes your pretty little head~!"

Lisira frowned.

Othello chuckled again, softer this time. "Come now, no more gloom. Let's get you home before your little girl gets worried and starts raising the dead looking for you~"

With a dramatic bow, he extended a gloved hand toward her.

Lisira hesitated, then placed her hand in his.

It was warm. Steady.

Comforting... even if it belonged to a man who laughed with corpses and danced with death.

The ride home was peaceful. Othello, for once, remained relatively quiet, humming to himself as the carriage lurched through the streets—a bizarre little tune, eerily melodic yet soothing all the same.

Lisira sat across from him, watching the city pass by through the windows. The dim light from streetlamps filtered through the glass in long, yellow streaks, casting a strange veil over her features.

She fidgeted with her gold ring, fingers tracing the engraved designs with nervous energy. Every now and again, the carriage would hit a bump in the road, jolting her in her seat.

The familiar silhouette of the manor soon appeared in the distance, looming over the surrounding trees like a sleeping monster. Othello chuckled softly, as if sharing a private joke with himself.

Lisira glanced at him, curious, but before she could ask, the carriage came to a shuddering stop right beside the gate.

Othello was out first, stretching languidly before he opened the door for her, offering a gentlemanly hand. She accepted it, stepping out cautiously onto the walkway leading up the mansion.

As they approached the manor, the grand front doors slid open, revealing a lone figure standing in the light—Yuko, Lisira's older sister, waiting with barely concealed anxiety.

In a heartbeat, she was in front of them, her worry melting into palpable relief as her eyes scanned Lisira from head to toe.

"Thank God," she breathed, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I was worried sick! What took you so long? Are you hurt anywhere? Did something happen—?"

Her voice cut off the moment she noticed Othello behind her sister. Her expression shifted instantly, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Seriously?" she snapped. "What are you, playing gentleman now?"

Othello merely chuckled, unbothered. "Don't fret, Lady Yuko~ Your little songbird is safe... just a touch rattled by the evening breeze, is all."

Yuko looked ready to spit fire, but before she could speak, Lisira quickly placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her with a gentle squeeze.

"It's fine... really," she murmured, just loud enough for her sister to hear.

Yuko held her gaze for a moment longer before reluctantly biting her tongue, though her glare toward Othello lingered like a storm cloud refusing to pass.

═══════

⚠️ Content Warning:

This scene contains graphic depictions of sexual violence aftermath, trauma, emotional distress, and references to rape and assault. It includes imagery of physical and psychological harm, particularly involving a minor. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Please take care when reading.

People often asked Othello—half-joking, half-suspicious—who the only one was that hadn't killed in the Mageious family.

Sometimes, he lied. Sometimes, he'd hum and spin riddles, leave them with a gleam in his mismatched eyes and let their imaginations do the rest. But now and then—on a rare day when the air was heavy and the dead unusually silent—he would smile faintly and say, in that crypt-deep whisper:

"Lisira. She's the only one who kept things interesting, you know~"

No one ever asked what he meant by that. Most were too unnerved by the tone.

She was the youngest. The softest. The last flicker of decency left in a family that had long since bartered its soul for power. Othello wasn't blood, but he was useful. The elders tolerated him. The children feared him. But Lisira... Lisira listened. She laughed at his jokes. She'd linger just a bit longer after his cryptic tales. And for that, he'd kept an eye on her—even if he pretended otherwise.

He never intended to care. But even a reaper slips sometimes.

And when she turned seventeen, everything unraveled.