Archive of Our Own ^beta

 You are meticulous.

It was a fact of yourself that had been long ironed into your psyche. Cold. Indifferent. That's what many of the other fae saw when they looked at you. A reputation built, brick by brick, decades in the making. Practicality was your means and your ends. For a time, it afforded you much, your word trusted among the highest in the courts. Even if it was those same aristocrats that often glared with jealousy at the ears you held.

It bothered you none, however. Let the prideful claw and fester in their envy. You had little use for such proclivities. Letting emotions run rampant was how mistakes were made. And you did not make mistakes.

At least, you didn't. Until a strange thing happened. 

The winter court was a place you favored for relaxation, though your home resided in spring. It also happened to be the most distant of the courts. Much like yourself, it kept to itself, performed its functions as needed. Clinical, sharp. The King and his Queen as glacial as the icy lands they ruled. It was by their grace you held a stead, clinging to the edges of the mountains that mark the border between spring and winter. A home away from home. Your own quiet paradise. Rarely was it heard of for faeries of another season to mingle in such a way, especially in the frigidness of winter. Fortunately for you, King Glaceas and Queen Varis had found need of your services, one stormy day.

The clouds had been thick over all the seasons, a rare but not unheard of event in which the weather was shared. Rain poured in spring, summer, and autumn, while a blizzard wailed across winter's tundra. It is here where an urgent call had arrived through your own personal mirror. Intrigued, you had answered, and come face to face with the stoic King. You would have deemed it a pleasure to see him, but you could tell right away that something was wrong. The King was known for his ever-grim expression, you yourself had seen it once or twice during court meetings, but that was how you knew instantly that it was different. The lines firmer, pressed hard into a near scowl, icy purple eyes burning a low flame within.

He had asked of you your experience with ancient rights and magics, straight to the point. You answered truthfully, being a thorough archivist, head keeper of spring's oldest library. A place that granted you access to information most would either consider dangerous or boring. Not you, though. Throughout your tenor there, you had consumed much, from traditions and histories older than time itself, to the newest branches of understanding that had sprung from the fae's ever-expanding knowledge.

Seeming satisfied, the King had insisted that he only talk to you in person about his needs. You had readily complied, using the very same mirror to open a portal to winter's palace with his consent. Upon entering the cool, monolith building, you had been ushered deep into the castle, arriving at a heavily fortified door. What you'd found within had shocked you, at first.

The son of winter, the King and Queen's only heir, lay on a plush bed. His eyes had been closed, breathing heavy, clear strain and ache across his body. When you arrived, all attendants were ordered to clear the room, the door closing and sealing with a soft crackle of frost.

It was here the King revealed what happened. A poison. Something he had not seen before. One which his son suffered greatly under, being struck by an assassin's bolt. The perpetrators had long been dealt with, but all efforts to cure his son had proved moot. Auroren became iller by the day, and when his shirt was removed, you got a glimpse at why.

An ugly, dark purple marred his flesh, spreading from a star-shaped marking on his right abdomen where the arrow struck. Lines like brambles entwined an admittedly beautiful form, teal and cerulean winding with light yellow and turquoise shades. Befitting the aurora he was named for, though his face, clammy as it was, matched more to the moon, round and split delicately, akin to a crescent, by the cerulean and a matte silver. Wings like leaves were gently cradled by the mattress, ten in total, split evenly along his spinal column, only slightly opaque and capturing the aureola of the full moon within. His hair shone, a halo upon his head from which the locks flowed like satin, glimmering sapphire, platinum white, and lavender.

It was here the aforementioned strangeness began. Fae were alluring creatures by nature, meant to draw the eye and trick others into letting down their guards. You yourself were no different. Yet, for a reason you had been unable to quantify at the time, it had taken massive effort for you to look away from the distressed, slumbering prince's visage. You'd had many discussions with yourself over what, exactly, caught your attention the first time. You had come to settle on his likeness to the moon. There was no shortage of those whom admired it and its light, and you would never deny yourself among them. The moon had been your closest companion for a long time, illuminating your office and home as you spent countless hours within, reading, drawing, unwinding from whatever the day threw at you. It had become such a comfort that seeing it live, laid bare before you, had ensnared you.

Regardless, it had taken you mere moments upon examining the wound to garner what the root cause. "Your Highness," you had addressed him, promptly regarding him. "You say you have caught the guilty parties, yes?"

He had nodded. "Of course. My personal guard saw to it themselves, as did I. No one shall ever strike a blow to my court without facing my full wrath."

The dip of your head you'd given in return was not meant to boost his confidence, but acknowledge him as the unyielding force that he is. "I have no doubts about that, my King. Sadly, one may yet have slipped your grasp. Though no one could be at fault for this. After all, what reason would you have to suspect the celestials of foul play? They hardly ever interact with the other planes."

Your words made him stiffen as you carefully, ever-so-gently, traced around the wonky eight points from which the poisonous lines spread. A subtle rose gold glow trailed at your touch, and with surgical precision you extracted a small bubble of the toxin, oily yet contained by your magic. "This is indeed a very rare substance. One entirely forbidden to be made, after the chaos at the universe's creation. Pure entropy. A melding of chaos and matter that only the celestials are capable of extracting and molding from the ether. It's been so long since it has been seen, it is a wonder that even any of the remaining celestials might remember how to make it. Then again, it's been eons since a celestial has come from above at all. Correct?"

Your challenge did not break the King, not that anyone could easily tell. Yet there was an increased stoniness to his mask that told you otherwise. There had been a celestial visit, recent enough to warrant backlash to whatever occurred. He had refused to elaborate, though. He simply moved on, demanding to know what must be done.

"That is, blessedly, simple, my King. The cure for entropy is its counterpart, harmony. However, it, too, can be deadly. We are all beings crafted by both, after all. A distilled version is what you require. One from a being of light, whose blood is golden white. If you can get the aid of your fellow king, you may yet reverse this entropy before it consumes the prince completely. It will require time, though, and multiple, surgically precise infusions."

Your advice did not make him any happier. Winter was ought to stand alone, and reaching out for the aid of summer would not come without a wounded ego and bargaining. Still, Glaceas was not going to let his son be taken by such a fate. The toll would be heavy, for the purest of the required blood was, ironically, well known to reside in Summer's own heir, his youngest of ten sons. Your part in this was done, however. While you were versed in a great many things, every King surrounded themselves with those at the tops of their fields. In other words, he had those that could aid him in negotiations, and highly experienced doctors at his beck and call.

You took your leave not long after, with assurances from the King he'd contact you should things go well. He was not one to linger in debts, and you had come at his summons lacking any trace of hesitation, despite the squall outside and risks you might face.

Life had returned to a sort of normalcy, at least from a distance. No one could tell that your gaze and focus had drifted. That you kept a keen ear out for news from winter. That you started to delve deeper and deeper into the archives in search of more knowledge about the prince and his family. It did not take you long to admit to yourself you were experiencing something you never had before, not in your nigh immortal life: attraction.

This new emotion was such a fascinating thing, you found. There was plenty of research for you to delve into, others you could study from afar. Dissecting. Trying to understand it. Another puzzle that you had to solve, logic be damned. You were well aware emotions and logic did not mix, after all. Not entirely. True, they could easily temper each other, pull one back from making rash decisions, but anything related to love was never quite so simple, as much as you would like it to be. You, or anyone else. You were no idiot, after all. You cannot pull apart a concept. Place it in a chemical response, or subjugate it in a book. No, the more one tried to fit it into the image they wanted, the more it would twist, the colors of the puzzle would smear and get tangled.

So, you did what you did best. You waited. You learned. You plotted, from afar. You could never say you did not want to meet the prince again, preferably under circumstances where you might actually speak to one another. You yearned, deep inside, to get to know him. It was an intensity that was nearly maddening, but you reined yourself in. Patience is the most important tool in your arsenal. There was no need to rush. The King would reach out to you soon, you knew it. There'd been rumblings in the court about a meeting between the two Kings, and that someone, somewhere, was sworn to have seen a prince of summer traveling through autumn.

Sure enough, a few months later, you stood before your mirror, poised, hovering, hands folded neatly behind you as King Glaceas asked what you wanted for your help. That is where the first part of your plan began. "A home," you had answered swiftly. "One within the bounds of winter, that I might abide there at my whims. Much as I enjoy a good storm and the growth of spring, I am admittedly partial to your environment, my King."

You knew for a fact you had caught him unawares with your request. It was completely unheard of, truly. Of all the seasons, winter was the most inhospitable, and most other seasonal faes avoided it like a plague. The King is a being of his word, though. He had ordered its creation immediately, and soon a sprawling estate greeted you. It was gorgeous, truly. A design of enchanted white wood and ice, catching the light in a pleasing fashion. You had thanked the King, wished him well, slipping in that you were glad to know his son was making such a speedy recovery.

Glaceas did not trust you. Not fully. Such was his nature. Such was yours, too. You recognized it within each other, and while it did foster a sense of mutual respect, he was careful about your presence at first. You could feel the eyes watching you the first several months you stayed there. It was intermittent, random. Sought only as a break from your responsibilities in spring. Truly, you did admire winter. You spent many hours walking its quiet, serene landscapes. Frozen lakes and rivers, dark, unique flora, the cautious fauna that made their homes among the snow, rock, and white-capped woods. At some point, the prying attention relaxed. The threat of you lessened.

It was thus the next phase came into play. 

One twilight evening, a familiar figure arrived at your door. It had been far too long since you'd last seen him, but the image of him stayed sculpted in your mind always. 

"Hello," Auroren had greeted you, clearly feeling rather awkward. His attire shimmered a glimmering mauve and gray that complimented him perfectly, his hair braided into a veil that hung over his shoulder like the tail of a nightcap, complete with a silver star charm. The irony of it was not lost on you, though you found yourself unable to comment, nearly getting lost in your own head again. One word from such a soft, yet earthy voice, one look from eyes that shone like the ocean under moonlight, and you were almost instantly gone. It took the greatest of your willpower to regain your senses and speak.

"Good evening, my Prince," you welcome him kindly. "My, what an unexpected pleasure. What, might I ask, brings you here tonight?"

It would not take a top level mage to know why he was there, but you would indulge him. Guide the conversation, but let him think he is taking the lead. 

"Ah," he mutters, clawed fingers fidgeting together shyly. Adorable. "Sorry if I'm intruding on anything, I just...well, I wanted to thank you. From my understanding, it was you whom identified my...illness, yes?"

You smile. "Indeed. It warms me to see you in better health, my Prince. It really was no bother to assist your father, a thanks is not necessary."

Auroren frowned slightly, then, at your statement. "Nonsense," he rebuffed. "I might not be standing here if you hadn't come, even in the midst of an all-season storm. I insist, I must thank you personally."

Appearing to cave, admit defeat, you bow your head once more. "Of course, my Prince. I meant no offense. Please, come in, if you would like. Unless you are in a hurry? I would be loathe to hold you up."

Glancing behind him, Auroren appears to hesitate, but then his focus lands back on you and a small smile blooms. "No, no, that's fine. Truthfully, I do not have much to do, as of late," he admits, breaching the threshold of your abode. "Father has always been very adamant about running things himself, and given recent events I've all but been confined to the palace til recently."

Closing the door behind him, you turn to usher the prince into your sitting room. "I imagine you must have quite the cabin fever, then," you contemplate, moving to prepare a batch of tea. "Any preferences?" you asked him, indicating the kettle. Pausing as he began to sit in one of the velveteen chairs, he shook his head. "Host's pick," he declared, and you shrugged before offering another head dip.

Grabbing a citrus and lavender, one you had already placed to be a good starter, based on factors you'd learned during your research, you go quiet, giving the prince a moment to gather his thoughts. 

"I'll admit, I am usually content in the palace most days, though that is more of my own volition than anything. I do love the gardens, however, and the forests behind the castle. There is a pond deep inside it that I enjoy going to read or practice my playing," he tells you, chuckling nervously. 

Twisting with a gentle grin, you bring the tray of tea over, placing it on a floating table between your seat and his. Picking up your cup, you usher the surface and his drink toward him. Alongside the pot and china are small jars containing honey, sugar cubes, and cream. Sheepishly, the prince attempts, and fails, to subtly put a helping of each in. You pretend not to eye his actions, hiding any potential slip in your expression by blowing on your own steaming liquid before responding. 

"You play, my Prince? What type of instrument, if you do not mind my asking?" you inquire harmlessly. 

Auroren waves off your faux uncertainty. "Not at all!" he assures you, leaning back, getting comfortable in his chair and taking a sip. You can tell how it brightens him so, a sparkle lifting in his gaze. "Ah, I am versed in woodwind. Rather cliche for a fae, I know. But in all honesty, I do prefer percussion. Much to the castle's chagrin, in my learning years."

You chortle through a drink, which the prince is swift to mirror you on. Humming delight under his breath, he all but melts into the chair. "Goodness, this almost tastes exactly like the tea at home," he comments. Your giggle draws his gaze, a questioning, curious glance, accompanied by the slightest tilt of his head, it nearly makes your insides stutter and explode. 

"I have always been told I have a knack for reading people. There is no denial that I am partial to a bit of sour in my food as well, with a dollop of sweet. It seems we have that in common, alongside our love for books and nature," you divert smoothly, putting your now empty glass to the side for later. 

Auroren's face appears to lift and light up, then crumble into something a bit more timid. He plays at his locks, stroking his claws through the mesh and strands woven tightly together. The star makes a tiny jingle at his actions, revealing a tiny bell to be housed within. He suddenly seems much more...bashful. Unbeknownst to him, your own sharp digits dig in a little deeper along your armrests.

"Y-yes, well, they do sharpen the mind, after all. A-and provide a rather good story, if you choose the right one," he responds, much more muted than before.

"That they do," you agree casually. "I take it you like fiction, then, my Prince?"

Auroren nods, continuing to play with his hair while looking to the side, the fireplace, anywhere but you. Oh, this is going so much better and faster than you anticipated. Of course he would be the introverted type.

"I like to think I'm very...creative. Reading others' works, it inspires me. N-not to say I don't like history, too, just...not as much," he tells you, and you nod along.

"Understandable. It's not for everyone. Many such records can feel rather tedious to read through. Cosmos knows I've gone through more than my fair share of such novels. Though, I am nothing if not someone who enjoys the mundane just as much as the fantastic. I'd be rather ill-suited to my position in spring's library otherwise," you mull, easing the conversation full circle.

The prince perks, his teacup placed aside with a tiny flicker of regret, as if he wanted more, but withholds from asking. "Ah, so that must be how you were able to figure out what was wrong then," he mumbles. Your head motions sideways, an agreeing gesture. 

"I have dedicated many years to sifting through spring's archives. Making sure everything is where it should be, that it has not been tampered with, that information is correct and hasn't been too misconstrued throughout the eons. Accuracy is an important thing to me. Without the truth, people tend to be easily manipulated by the lies of others. I do not like to see such things happen, if I can help. After all, the very history I study is full of such people, and the way they did things should never be forgotten, so that it does not repeat. Much like bringing back such a foul, dangerous substance, and especially using it on a kind soul as yourself, my Prince. Truly awful. I am glad I could help you, in the end," you pontificate, filling the cups again.

Reclaiming his drink with an eagerness he quickly gets sheepish about, he lowers it to his lap to let it cool for a moment. "Wow, that is a very admirable level of commitment," he praises hushly, swirling his cup, orbs glued to his distorted figure within. "You are very kind yourself," he returns, whispering your name under his breath, as if afraid to address you so personally. Your smile softens, even as you cap the roaring urges hiding beneath your skin. 

"I am glad you see me that way, my Prince. Many would disagree with such an assessment. Most members of the courts find me rather cold, befitting of a place here. I do not think they mean harm with such beliefs, but then again, many of them are far more headstrong than myself, more...set in their ways, as it were."

Auroren scoffs, a proceeding chuckle lit by a faint amusement that has nothing to do with actual joy. "Yes, I can certainly understand that. They do not take kindly to those of different tastes. Less decadent. Quiet. Even the aristocrats here aren't much better, though at least the other seasons have passion, from the few interactions I've had outside winter. But their biggest blunder is thinking any lesser of you for doing what you do, being who you are. I do not think you are cold. Quite the opposite. Calm...calm is a much better term to describe you, I think. It's...nice."

"Thank you, my Prince. That...that means a lot, to me. You are equally undeserving of any strife from them. Your company has been incredibly...pleasant." You taste the word on your tongue, a heaviness that does not convey nearly as much as you would like about your thoughts concerning winter's prince. You are still new, though, and you know better than to go too fast. It is akin to a fish on a hook, as you've read about. One must be careful to not make the bait too obvious or inviting. Even the most naive or blind fish can sense when something is too good to be true.

Finishing your second cup, you stand, much to Auroren's clear disappointment. "I would love to continue this conversation, my Prince, but I am afraid it is getting rather late. I would not wish to distress your father or mother any more than they have been, particularly where you are concerned. However, my door is always open, if you wish to talk again after tonight. The only reason I would not answer to you, my Prince, is if I am in spring."

Jolting at your statement, Auroren appears to realize how dark it's become outside the window. Hurriedly, he downs the tea before gently placing the cup back on its china plate and leaping to his feet. "Cosmos, you are right, father and mother will kill me themselves if I don't get back soon! Goodness, I got so caught up in talking, I lost track of time! Forgive me for the rush, but I really must go!"

You already have the door open to let him out, smiling softly as assurance that you do not mind. "No need to fret, my Prince. I am afraid I myself am guilty of losing track of the hour. I hope it doesn't cause too many problems for you."

Scrambling down the steps, Auroren's wings begin to flap, though he otherwise stills to look back at you before he departs. The half-moon light catches on his translucent appendages, taking away your breath yet again as he speaks. "This was lovely, truly. And...and I think I would rather like seeing you again, when I am able." There's that faint blush, returning from the depths of his bashfulness. Your claws gouge along the inside of the door.

"Also, please, call me Auroren." 

With that, he'd departed. It was far from the last time you saw him, though. Oh no, no. You kept him coming back. You gave him things to look forward to. And with the guard lowered at your presence, it made it easier to observe. To memorize. To get in close, carefully watching at a distance. It was from this you learned what life was really like in winter. What the carefully built walls of the darkest season held inside. The prince, your prince, he...he was little more than a tool. An amusement, at best. The cleverly crafted facade of the winter King and Queen you thought you knew crumbled before your very eyes.

They were rigid with Auroren. Uncaring of where their son wandered. He slipped from his guard so easily, it was no wonder he'd been an easy target for the assassin. The mystery of what the king had been up to that led to it in the first place begin to nag at you. You needed to know just how far this rabbit hole went. So, with scalpel-edged precision, you snuck through the castle. Unraveled the king's security, their rounds, what they did and where they went. The King and Queen spent a great deal of time in separate rooms, just as distant with each other. The king's study was his safe haven, and the place you were most eager to search.

With the right timing, you did so with ease. You scoured every inch, used your own honed skills in magic to ensure your entrance went unnoticed, and to find whatever the king may have hidden. And oh did you find it. 

Your entire being shook with rage as you crumpled the paper in your hand. Anger is an emotion you are equally unfamiliar with. It was a consuming, burning thing. You wanted to scream. To go confront the king. But no. That was not your place. Instead, you would let his hubris catch up with him. He would not weasel himself out of this one. He would not use his son, or you, as a pawn again. You would make sure of it. Kill two birds with one stone. It was time to enact the third part of your plan, but it would come at a cost now. The prince would not take well to it, not at first. It was so obvious a blind man could see it. This would be for his own good, though. It would probably require time for you to help him understand what was really going on. He might not believe you, in the beginning. You already ache, thinking about his face when he learns the truth. But if you were going to have him save him, you had to do this. 

After all, one did not simply take a royal fae. Not without consequences. However, you'd been ready for those from day one.

You are meticulous.

Nothing left to chance. Every variable accounted for. No guards to pester you. No one to know where he'd gone. Hidden from any passing gaze on his way to your house. You flew around back when he landed, out of sight, and strode inside to await his knock. It came only moments later. You let enough time pass to make it seem like you had come from somewhere else in the house. You led him inside. Chatted. Oh, how easily the conversation flowed between you now. How you longed to have it keep being this simple, but you had a plan to complete. Your grandest one yet, even among all your years in the courts, playing the diplomat for feuding fae that insisted on making their own ridiculous plots for revenge. You'd scoffed at them so easily for their machinations, yet here you were, about to pull off something that had not been done in centuries. Who is the foolish one now?

You sat in your library this time, a location that had become your favorite place to spend time inside with the prince. It was filled with varying genres, and you knew the prince was grateful for you bringing new pieces over from spring. There was a very strict system inside winter's library, apparently as much a means to keep books from stray hands as it was about the frost that sometimes caused them to disintegrate during particularly freezing nights.

You served his favorite tea. He could never resist the citrus and lavender, though he had, by his own admission, found fondness in honeysuckle and kiwi. An interesting combination with his penchant for honey, sugar, and cream. Minutely, you worked your small silver tea spoon along the rim of your own cup, creating a low hum. You let him talk, a content smile on your face. Your expression and rapt attention seemed to catch his eye mid-rant about his latest castle escapade (which you already knew about), and then he was blushing and stuttering again. You wouldn't deny a part of you was going to relish what came next.

As he sipped the last of his drink, you waited patiently. It didn't take long. A mere few blinks, slurred confusion, and then he slumped forward. Silently, you stand, movements graceful as you round the table to linger beside the slumbering prince's form. His face looks so peaceful, despite the distress you know he will experience upon waking. For a short while, you allow yourself to admire him once more. Your fingers brush delicately along his cheek, his hair, over the rim of a wing. You shudder at how soft they each feel. Oh, how lecherous a creature you've become in his presence.

This moment cannot last long, however. There is still work you must do. Gently, you lift Auroren, holding him close to you. He is lighter than you thought, even among fae standards. It takes effort to not tighten your grip at the revelation. Instead, you divest your energy into making a portal. A hole, one which tears through one plane into the next. While you are loathe to leave the fae wilds, it is necessary. No one can know where the prince is, there must be zero signs should your homes be searched. Even any traces of the tear will be dealt with.

But that is a concern for later down the road. For now, you step into the mortal plane. The air here is foul, at least in your opinion. Steeped in the aura of man, lacking the pure, untamed magic that flows through every breath one takes within the wilds. You have gone through quite the rigorous search to locate a place in which you might keep out prying eyes, all while ensuring Auroren would maintain certain luxuries, when the time was right. A humble cottage along a small, forested lake, hidden beneath the shadow of an always snow-capped mountain. Each and every detail was prepared with Auroren's preferences in mind. Flora, decor, food. Though those would come into play later on. After the prince had settled from his initial turmoil.

Entering the building, you make your way to a solid oak door. It opens with the subtle glow of your rose gold magic, and you descend into the basement. Around the corner of the stairs, a blank wall appears to greet you. An easily crafted illusion, hiding the iron door, weaving its appearance to match the cement. You enter the chamber, giving no pause when you tread to the side of the already prepared bed, placing the prince atop it.

The room is, admittedly, minimal. That is often how Auroren prefers it, though. There is still plenty to keep him occupied, however. A line of bookshelves, crammed to the brink, a chest filled with instruments, a desk where he might indulge in art and writing. He proclaimed more skill in the latter rather than the former, though it never hurt to ensure both were accessible. 

The most important feature to the room, however, were it's many enchantments. Etched into every inch, spells meant to contain any power aside from your own. You could not leave Auroren's capabilities to chance. Pacifist he might be, that did not change the fact Auroren was a royal. Their power was rarely surpassed by others, and it had taken much digging to give yourself the means by which you would guarantee he did not break free while you tried to explain everything to him.

The shackles, of course, were a crucial part of it. Your overkill insurance, as it were. Gleaming iron wrapped around elegant wrists, chains disappearing into the floor. There is an odd mixture of emotions in your gut upon stepping back to take in your handiwork. You do not enjoy breaking the prince's trust, but at the same time, there is a darker part of you, one that you have kept rigorously contained since the start of all this, that very much enjoys the sight of the prince being completely vulnerable before you, at your mercy. Revels in how easily you were able to get his trust in the first place. You nearly shake at the sight and the thought of it all, a sliver of a shiver the only thing that manages to escape before you force yourself to take the desk seat. 

Above, along the very top of the wall beside his bed, a long, thin window allows in the thinnest of light, and provides a slight peek at the landscape outside. There is no true way the prince might use it for escape or aid, but you still placed iron bars along it, just to be safe. In the sunlight, you watch him sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The tranquil features of his face, so unbothered, untethered from the problems he will soon face. Greedily, you soak it in. You know it will be a long time before you see him so peaceful again.

Eventually, the drug runs its course. He stirs. His lids flutter, confused, groggy, lost. His head swivels sluggishly, eyes landing on you. You offer him a smile, one which he returns, though it is doused in his bewilderment. Your name utters from his lips, stilted. "I'm...I'm sorry. Did...did I fall asleep?" he questions slowly, perplexed. 

You hum, keeping yourself rooted in place. You must be delicate with your actions and words right now. "Yes, Auroren, you did," you mutter gentle, soothing. "But that is not entirely your fault."

His brow scrunches, trying to comprehend the meaning of your statement. At last, he shifts, moving to sit up. You remain mute, waiting, placing the exact moment when he both feels and sees the lengths of chains, acknowledges the metal binds on his wrists. His eyes blow wide, and they flash back to you. The first inkling of that crack, that realization of betrayal, shows itself. The uncertainty. The puzzle he cannot yet grasp, but will soon. He turns to you for answers, scared, anxious. You war with yourself, even though you knew this was coming. Even though you braced yourself, over and over again. Your grip tightens on the armrests. Auroren does not miss it this time, eyes flicking down, then back up, concern deepening.

"Auroren," you begin softly, willing your body to relax once more. "There are a great many things I need to discuss with you. Things that go back to our very first meeting, that stormy night. That which I have come to realize and uncover since then."

You let your words soak in. Let it sink through his psyche that none of this was an accident. Observed the cracks at they further splintered across his visage. "I want to go home." There is a tremble in his voice. He no longer looks at you, locking his gaze to the floor. He grips the mattress like a lifeline. Like it might save him from the stormy sea inside, that he might wake up and everything would just have been a bad dream.

It takes significant effort to not lean closer, to not gravitate towards him in comfort. You would provide no more comfort. Not now. Not for a long time. 

"I am sorry, Auroren," you tell him plainly. Truthfully. Sincerity bleeds into every syllable. "But that is not an option anymore."

For a moment, he goes completely still. As if struck, an animal blinded by a great light. It doesn't take long for him to begin shaking, though. A tremble to his frame. His voice is a near whimper when he speaks next. "Why?"

You do not answer him. Not right away. Instead, you watch him, study him, take in his current level of distress. That dark part of you writhes, and this time, you barely contain it. "Let me tell you a tale of two people, my Prince," you answer him cryptically, moving your arms to fold them into your lap. Auroren lifts his gaze just enough to offer you that same adorably confused expression, washing away the hurt, if only for a second. "Now, these two people, they were very much alike in many ways. Reserved. Strict. Each rigid in their day to day lives and the tasks they must do. To them, emotions were a concept to be placed second to sense. Yet, there were two crucial differences between these people. One, was their positions. While both held high ranks, the first could not compare to the second on such a detail. And two, what they used their cunning for."

Turning slightly, you pick up a familiar parchment, placed on the desk beside you. "For you see, where one would quell quarrels and bring peace, the other was far crueler in their intent. A sight he hid from all, until he caught the first's attention, one fateful, stormy night. He thought them to be the perfect scapegoat. Truly, he had lost his edge, believing he could outmaneuver anyone. That would be his final mistake."

You let your story build, scrutinized Auroren's reactions. Watched him put the pieces together, before you continued. "Though, there is one other thing that happened that night. A twist of fate that led to the first's own selfish desires blossoming. A turn which led them to discovering the second's treachery. For that night, they met someone. They did not speak to one another, not in the beginning, for this third was unable to at the time. The first could not forget, though. So, they did what they did best. They pulled strings. They manipulated, to their own benefit. And when the time came, everything fell into place. They and the third would get their chance to talk."

You go quiet once more. Auroren stares at you, utterly baffled. There is no use in hiding names behind the guise of a tale at this point. Meeting his gaze, you attempt to stay neutral, calm. "When I first saw you, Auroren, it was like a flip switched within me. I had never felt so intensely before. I knew there would be barriers I would have to get through, though, to have a chance to properly speak to you. And for a time, I certainly had exactly what I wanted. There is one thing you need to understand about me, though, Auroren. My dear, beloved, sweet, naive Prince."

Like flowing water, you stand, looming over the bed. Auroren shrinks, the slight softness that had dared to re-enter his blue orbs swallowed by apprehension, fear. "For every rumor, a grain of truth," you whisper, the light bending unnaturally to stretch your shadow over him. "The courts are right to be wary. To whisper behind my back. I do not seek power, but I do hold it, and I am not afraid to use it. I care little for politics, but I know how to wield it. Unlike your father. Unlike you. My aforementioned coldness is not as far fetched as I made it seem, dear Auroren. There was always a part of the plan where this could play out, even before I found out what your father had done. For you, I am a selfish creature. I would have preferred to keep you happy, but I place your safety above all else."

Petrified, Auroren hunches into the bed, making himself smaller, gripping at his shackled wrist. "W...what are you talking about? Please, you're scaring me." Opal tears build at his rims, on the verge of spilling. It tugs at your heart, yet simultaneously, that festering darkness thrashes, drinking it in gleefully.

"Your father, Auroren," you dial down the intensity of your voice. "And your mother. They both signed off on the assassination attempt. They have been plotting to hide what they've been doing, but I dug free the truth. Their little deal with a certain celestial. The game they wanted to play with your life, and mine. Well, they will lose it, now. The ball will never be in their court again, not so long as I exist."

Leaning down, you watch Auroren flinch, orbs wide with horror, and you place the paper beside him. Retreating a step, you wait for him to pick up the contract. It did not back everything you told him, but there was more evidence, squirreled away by the strongest magic that the King and Queen thought they could keep hidden, split between their offices. They had been far from child's play to obtain, yet it would be all you needed should they try to drag you down with them. 

"I far from enjoy having to show you this, Auroren," you tell him as his eyes devour each word. His hold on it tightens, quivering in his hand, tears falling in earnest. "However, I can attest that their betrayal will not go unpunished. They have nothing left to offer, after all. Except themselves. Their status. Everything they actually hold dear. They will know recompense. A celestial like that will not let them get away so easily."

Auroren stiffens at your promises, gaze snapping up to you. "Wait- wait- please. I know this looks bad, but they are still my parents. They still...I still..."

He cannot bring himself to say the word. Your perfectly placed mask slips down into a frown. Something boils within you, but you temper it. Kneeling at the bedside, you ensnare his focus. His eyes pool with his vulnerability, his conflict, shining with his tears. Gently, you lift and wipe away a glistening white trail. "My dear Auroren," you shush him tenderly. "What you had was not love. I spent many days watching the palace. I saw how you were treated, when they thought no one was looking. They did not have the best intentions for you, even if you told yourself that, over and over. It enraged me to see it. But that is all over now. None shall attempt to harm you again."

Cradling his cheek, you felt the fierceness beginning to creep back into your expression. "Their treachery will end as they deserve to have it end. And should they attempt to drag me down with them, point the finger at me as they had plotted, I will unmake them both with the evidence I have. I'll be the hero of the tale the courts will tell, though one that will contain a tragic end for one character."

Auroren's brow furrows, and you ease yourself from him. Once more, you encircle the prince, lean over him, arms on either side. "The poor, gentle prince, disappeared into the night, likely at his parents' own hands. Never to be seen in the fae wilds again. Gone without a trace. And oh, how the hero will mourn their failure, but what could they do? How could they have seen it coming, kept the prince, their dear friend, safe?"

Auroren resumes his trembling beneath you, lifting an arm to delicately but firmly grasp his chin, keep his eyes pinned to yours. "I won't allow it again," you murmur, sharp as ice. "I did not wish for things to have to go this way, for our relationship to get marred by my most extreme of measures, but I have been left little choice. You are mine, Auroren. I love you, and I will keep you safe. No matter the cost."

 Your pen taps against the clipboard, triple checking the list secured atop it. Cappuccino, fully stocked. Espresso, half supply, though you've already placed the order for more. Creams and sugars, a near overabundance after today's shipment came in. The cabinets were lined with cups and lids of varying sizes. Soft serve and syrups consume half the freezer.

"You've been staring at that clipboard for the past ten minutes. I think it's safe to say we're done with restocks and orders," your boss huffs, standing to the side by where the counter lets out onto the sitting area. 

Your hair sways as you glance his way, dark locks catching the light. "Never hurts to be sure, boss man," you quip, before forcing yourself to stand from your hunched position. Stretching, your bones crack pleasantly, tossing the pen on top of the paper. "We can never forgot the rush of last year, now can we? Nope, no more deadly mistakes here!"

The jest manages to pull a genuine chuckle from your usually stoic superior. "Fair point, though I am severely doubting you on that last one," he comments, eyeing you sternly.

A bit of the levity leaves you, smile slipping the slightest, and you try not to sigh under your breath. He wasn't a huge fan of the company you kept, you know this. Still, it wasn't like you were the most conventional person around, either. Especially not for a little town. You've had more than your fair share of parents shooting scowls your way, a few 'good Christian folk' try to 'guide you from Satan'. Having a darker, Gothic style made certain types go apeshit. Hell, there'd been more than one disparaging whisper about you 'fitting right in' with the circus folks ever since they came to town.

 So what if you hung out with them? Yeah, you did like their style. That didn't make them wrong or evil. And honestly, this whole 'disappearances' nonsense getting pegged on unconventional newcomers was starting to grate at you. You'd seen what true evil looked like, and these clowns...well, they just weren't it. At least, you didn't think so. True, they were a little macabre, and they hid behind literal masks, but that was just both parts of their jobs and who they were. Not much different from yourself, really. Pierrot and Harlequin could certainly be intense in their own ways, but they hadn't done anything outright to make you suspect anything. As for the other performers, you haven't really interacted with them the same. Jester and Doctor certainly gave interesting vibes, and Ticket Taker appeared the most docile of them all.

Not that any of that was here nor there for this conversation. You sure as hell didn't fancy getting into an argument with your boss over it. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I've got it covered," you wave him off. I know what I'm doing. He gives you an extra hard stare for a second, but lets it drop. 

"Alright. I'm heading out for the night. You know how to reach me if anything happens. Try to get of here before ten, I still don't like the idea of you being out too late after what happened with Carol," he instructs you, strict.

Your smile is more plastered on than ever. "Got it, boss man." You definitely don't have to worry about me staying too late.

With an affirmative grunt, he departs. The cafe sees little action after his departure, the day winding down into a stunning twilight. Of all the things to get tired of in this town, the view certainly wasn't it.

At some point, just on the verge of closing, you receive one of the visitors you've been expecting all day. Your lips quirk in a vague grin at the green and black clad performer's arrival. He returns your greeting ten fold, always so proud to display those faux fangs. At least, you think they were fake. Jury was still out on what exactly the hell was going on there. You at the very least suspected he filed them or something. 

"Well, well, burning the midnight oil, all for me, darling?" he chortles, leaning up against the counter. 

"Sure, Harles. You know I'm always in need of a good heater before I have to step outside to go home, and you certainly have enough red hot ego to do the job," you tease, already turning to make his usual. At least you could always rely on knowing what him and Pierrot li-

"Ah, actually, darling, I was thinking of trying a little something different tonight. A beverage fiery enough to match my aforementioned glamorous pride," he interrupts, and you twist your head to look at him. As could be expected, he wears the most shit eating of grins, posed like a peacock, overtaking the counter like he owns the place. "Do you have any recommendations? Perhaps a drink you might enjoy yourself?"

You huff lowly, amused. "I don't actually drink coffee. Shocking, I know. The only thing warm around here I'd take is a hot chocolate. Afraid I'm more in the Pierrot boat with shakes, maybe a fruit smoothie."

His expression sours a little, though whether it's at the mention of his rival or your preferences, you doubt you'll ever know. The circus clowns are rather astute at playing mysterious. Harlequin was the most unabashed among their group about voicing his opinions and plans, and that was saying something, considering how much he enjoyed teasing you about whatever wicked plots he was concocting. You still were not over that 'take you away from him' comment he'd given on the first day you met him and he learned of your connection to Pierrot.

"Well then," he clips. "How about you take a crack at it, hm? Surprise me. What do you think I'd like?"

Oh, that was a dangerous game he was playing. A part of you was tempted to mess with him. Maybe just give him his usual, or perhaps make a jab by crafting Pierrot's normal order. But no. You might not care for coffee yourself, but you still had your pride as a barista. So, he wanted something with a little kick to it, and warm....

Mulling over your ingredients, you glance from the espresso machine to Harlequin, then back again. Hm, alright. Your hands fly through the practiced motions, and what felt like the blink of an eye later, you were handing him a cup, steam rising from within. Harlequin takes it, turning around to lean back against the counter. You couldn't see his face when he took a sip, but you immediately knew when it hit his system when he jolted in place. 

"Goodness, dear one, whatever is in this...fascinating mixture you've given me?" he all but splutters, placing the cup down beside him. Not entirely unexpected. There was a lot of caffeine in particular with what you whipped up, the initial reaction was always bound to be from that first.

"Just wait," you instruct, sing song, and he shoots you a look, eyebrow raised. Then, he pauses. His brows scrunch in, and he pulls a disconcerted face before they abruptly shoot right back up. 

"Well, that is...certainly something," he notes, appearing to swirl his tongue in his mouth to re-taste the lingering flavor.

"Yup. It's all about the aftertaste with that one. Once the energy shots fade, that's when you get the good stuff," you inform him, and watch him cautiously go for another swig. There's a slight grimace when you see him mask again, consuming the coffee out of sight still, but it lessens much more quickly.

"Hm, I suppose I could get used to this," he mumbles, and your grin returns. Just in time for your phone to start going off. 

"Shit," you mutter, fumbling to turn off the alarm. "Alright, clown boy, time to clear out. I've got ten minutes before my shifts ends, and I need to make this place spick and span. I'm surprised you're even here this late. Shouldn't you be off telling another one of your violent tales?"

Harlequin pushes away from the counter, straightening himself and his outfit while swirling his cup in one hand, leaving it dangling between his fingers. "I've already finished my block for the night. I do not know if you have noticed, my dear, but it is getting dark much earlier. Besides, it is a cleaning night, and where else was I to go to escape such a fate?"

He drapes his other hand dramatically over his forehead, lids mostly shut, though you can see the peek of his green eyes from within the eye holes, and his smirk entirely gives him away. You scoff at his theatrics. "Right. So, in other words, you just want to leave all the heavy lifting and tedious work to everyone else. Especially Pierrot, I'm assuming."

Fixing his posture, you catch the tip of a tongue poking from his mask. "Guilty on all accounts, darling," he snickers. 

Rolling your eyes, you deadpan at him. "I should smack you over the head or something. Maybe knock some decency into you. Or, better yet, you can pay for that drink, and Pierrot's for next time he comes in."

Harlequin freezes, squinting at you from under his mask. "Oh, darling, we both know that's not happening," he decrees, firmly placing the money for his drink alone. You have half a mind to argue, for all the good it will do you, though merely end up shaking your head at him.

"Honestly, you two are petty beings with each other. I don't know what your beef is, but you really ought to try and settle it at some point. You can't stay mad at each other forever," you advise, handling the cash into the register.

Harlequin barks a laugh, as if you've told the funniest joke he's ever heard. "Dear one, you have no idea," he tells you. You peer up, intending to question him. Except, as per usual, he is departing after dropping another mysterious line. "Well, I must be off, little snake," he crows, referencing your piercings. You wondered when he'd use that one tonight. He found no end of amusement about it when you told him what they were called. 

"Yeah, yeah," you shoo him off. "You better go help before Jester drags you back kicking and screaming. Though I would pay good money to see that," you snark, grinning at him in the open doorway. 

Harlequin scoffs. "My, whatever do you mean? I was never anywhere else tonight aside from my tent, preparing to perform my due diligence." He places a clawed finger to his porcelain lips, winking, and then he is gone, your laughter chasing after him through the glass door. 

With the green menace swallowed by the night, your smile instantly vanishes, and you rush to clean up. Anxiously, you glance through the window, checking the moon's position in the sky. At record speed, you secure the cafe and begin to walk away. Instead of heading straight home, however, you head in the opposite direction. Farther and farther you stride, until the edge of town comes and goes. You throw the occasional look over your shoulder, checking, confirming with yourself that no one has seen you. You cannot risk anyone becoming curious at the sight of you traveling off into the night, especially with all the commotion around town lately. It's already made things so much more difficult.

Diverting from the roadside, you enter into a grove of aspen and oak trees. They shield you from view, hiding you from the prying eyes of creature and human alike. You check your phone. 10:48. You still have a little over an hour. 

Releasing a shaky sigh, you plop onto the ground. Grass cushions you, and a tiny stream flows nearby. You scoped out this spot years ago, when you first moved here. It has proven to be safe, a luxury you did not always have, particularly where the early years of your predicament were concerned. You would think, after all this time, it would get easier. That you would panic less at thought of what was about to happen. And perhaps to a degree, that was true. Still, every time it happened, you had to prepare yourself. Meditate. Calm your nerves and brace your body and soul. 

It was never easy, being at the mercy of the world, and being unable to do anything about it. 

Crossing your legs over each other, you take your pose, inhale a deep breath, and begin your meditation. You try not to focus on the negatives, the future. You ground yourself to the present. Breathe in, breathe out. Hear the wind. The shift of the leaves, the scampering of tiny animals, the trickle of the water. Let it consume you, clear your mind. You are here. You are okay. Everything will be fine, just like it always is. You've survived this cycle for lifetimes, what's one more night?

At least here and now, you do not have to fear your tormentor's presence ever again. 

Your second alarm of the night goes off. The inhale you were taking sharpens, nearly impaling your lungs and barely withholding a cough. Silently, you gather yourself. Setting your phone on top of an old stump, you begin to undress and neatly fold the clothing, placing the fabric over your device. With another sharp breath that causes your shoulders to lift then fall, you stare up at the moon and wait. It is beautiful, a night away from being full. Throughout all of this, the moon has been nothing if not a steadfast companion, despite how it ties into your plight. You cannot blame the celestial rock for the role it plays. It, too, is just an unwitting pawn in a cruel god's game. Even during the new moon, when you cannot fully discern its shape, you find it to be an anchor. It will fall, it will rise. It will see you through to the end. 

Your thoughts are cut short by a seizing of your lungs. This time, a cough does rattle out, followed by another, then you are thrown into a fit. You feel the familiar pressure in your throat, the catch of something in your airway. Instinctively, your body collapses, falling to your knees, hand holding at your blocked windpipe. At the next cough, from your mouth emerges something velveteen and soft. A purple, white, and yellow object that catches in the silvery moonlight.  

Slowly, you begin to change. Your body shrinks. Your skin tone shifts. From your lips, a green stem emerges, leaves unfurling from it. The change is never painless. It leaves your lungs and body burning from the inside out. A scarring sensation that takes days to fade to something comfortable enough to not make your muscles ache with every movement, when all is said and done.

Your hands and feet morph, stretching out into thin roots, planting themselves into the ground. Closing your eyes, you let the shift finalize, and before you know it, you are but an iris. White petals bloom, dyed by tear-shaped loops of amethyst, cut halfway through by thin yellow points. You stand out among the grass and weeds, ethereal, reaching for the star-speckled sky beside the remains of the fallen aspen.

Mutely, you sigh. Thus begins your day. It will be hours before the sun rises, and longer still til it sets and the moon replaces it once more. You have naught but you and nature to keep yourself occupied until the moon sets tomorrow morning.

However, mere minutes into your twice monthly dilemma, you catch the sound of footsteps. Internally, you stiffen. Was it a deer? A fox? Neither were much of a threat to you, quite common in this area, and most often passed you by. Still, you could never help your paranoia, especially in this form.

Then a shadow falls over you. Spacial awareness while you are like this is...odd. You can see what is around you, but only if you focus. And what you do find, when you look, makes the water that is now your blood turn from cold to ice. 

"My dear," Pierrot breathes, looming over you. The expression on his mask is aghast, a far cry from his usual smile. Panic envelops you. He saw. He saw everything. Did he follow you? Oh. Oh no. You've misplaced your trust, haven't you? Maybe the rumors were right. Why else would he do such a thing? Was he just waiting for the right moment? Well, he certainly had it. You assuredly held no means by which to defend yourself at this moment. 

Your stem quivers, rattling your leaves, petals fluttering in an invisible wind. You tremble. It had been a very long time since anyone had seen you like this. At least, anyone who was aware that it was you. Now, all you could do was wait. Anticipate the worst. Would he pluck you? Stomp on you? Gloat the power he lorded over you, unable to do anything? Treat you as some sort of fascinating specimen? It would not be the first time. You were not unfamiliar with the feeling of broken bones when you change back, with being disconnected from yourself. 

Pierrot seems to catch the unbidden motions of your floral being. The stiffness in his form eases, softens. The frown lifts itself into something small and gentle. "It is alright, my dear," he coos lowly, knees folding as he comes to kneel beside you. "You are safe. No harm shall befall to you this night, or ever. I will not allow it."

Your mind freezes in its tracks. A million questions swarm your conscious, confused, lost in the turn of events. He trailed you, stalked you, all the way out here, but he does not mean to hurt you? How is it that he does not bat an eye at witnessing something so nonsensical? Just who is Pierrot, really? What is the circus? They do not feel magical. At least, not in the way that you have become attuned to. True, there is something uncanny to them, but it never struck you as being related to the craft. It is something else entirely, if anything.

Wordlessly, Pierrot watches you. Allows you to calm. His hands fold neatly in his lap, keeping them to himself, letting you see all of him in return. He avoids startling you, as he sometimes unintentionally does. Eventually, the rigidness in your stem lessens. You let the wind flow naturally through your petals, bobbing and swaying as any other true flower would. Pierrot's smile grows, then shrinks. 

"How truly beautiful you are, my dear, even as a flower. So resplendent in the moonlight," he mutters, shattering the silence. Carefully, cautiously, with the slowness of someone approaching a cornered animal, Pierrot lifts a hand. Your motions still, holding your breath, when gloved, sharp fingers smooth along your petals. You both shiver, for entirely different reasons. Mostly.

"Yet this is not a natural thing, is it? However could this have come to pass, my iris?" he murmurs, low and soft. You wish you could answer him. Explain this wild series of events that is your life. It will have to wait, sadly. Not a peep can you speak until the dawn of a new day. Pierrot seems to realize this, reluctantly relenting from your silky blossom, hand returning to his lap.

In the end, Pierrot spends the entire day beside you. He chats to pass the time, commenting on his last show, apologizing for not being able to make it to the cafe to spend time with you. When he is unable to keep a topic going, he finds other ways to pass the time. He scoops water from the nearby stream to feed you. Plucks reeds and flowering weeds to craft flowers crowns, one which he places atop his head, while he makes the other small enough to fit in the middle of your bloom. It is a little funny, you'll admit. A flower wearing flowers. You yearn to giggle along with him, but he somehow gets the message with how your flower reacts to his actions.

When the sun sets, he lays beside you, gazing up at the stars. His attention constantly wanders, though, latching to you at every twitch of your petals. You wonder why he has not left. Does he not need to eat? Drink? Relieve himself? How can he be so sure that you will not be stuck like this forever, or at least days more? It adds to the cloud of confusion in your head. Pierrot shadowed you here, yet he has not shown any ill intent to your vulnerable self. 

Several hours after the golden light of day has surrendered to the void, you become aware of another rustle nearby. More footsteps. Pierrot shoots upward, straight as a rocket, and you bend into yourself, wary. 

Harlequin steps onto the scene, and you both tense. "Here you are, Pierrot," he purrs, narrowing his gaze at his compatriot. "Jester has been in a fuss at your lacking presence all day. What the hell have you been doing out here?"

Pierrot bristles, getting to his feet to stand between you and the other circus member. His glare says it all, and the Harlequin chuckles. It cuts off, however, when he spots something behind the performer. "Is that...?"

Risking a brief glance, Pierrot follows his gaze, landing on your clothes. In the moonlight, the unmistakable pins glint on your collar. There is no denying that the outfit belongs to you.

Harlequin's being tightens in a way you have not seen before. He wears his usual grin, but it gleams with none of its average mischief. He almost looks...angry. "Well, well, Pierrot, you mongrel. That certainly was fast. Though, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not see our precious little darling around. Wherever might they be, Pierrot? And so bare, mind you."

His teeth form a near snarl, a deadly glint and vibration to his slitted pupils that makes you think there is something you're missing. Does he suspect Pierrot harmed you, somehow? That implied it was something not outside the realm of possibility, at least in Harlequin's mind. The more you learn about the circus performers, the less certain you become about your earlier assessments.

Pierrot reacts indignantly, his own mouth twisting into a silent growl. There is no hiding his disdain at whatever Harlequin is implying, and the other clown seems to recognize that. There is a subtle shift to his stance, a predator reining itself back from where it was prepared to pounce.

Mutely, Pierrot's attention flicks sideways, to Harlequin's perspective glancing at your attire, but in reality checking on you. You have gone perfectly limp, still, doing everything in your power to have the appearance of a normal flower. Pierrot is one thing, but Harlequin is something else. You know he would tease you, at the very least, if he knew the truth. You are not certain if he would do worse, especially not after the past twenty-four hours. The growing mysteries of your new friends leave you festering with doubts. 

Pierrot, thankfully, does not rat you out. Instead, he merely shakes his head. Harlequin's unhappy smile drops into a proper frown. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he hisses. "You don't know where they are? I don't believe that for a second, you obsessive, lovesick idiot. What are you hiding, Pierrot?"

Pierrot refuses to budge, rooted in place as much as you are. Harlequin, growing annoyed, snaps his teeth. "Fine," he snips, his stare chucking metaphorical daggers at the knife thrower. "I don't have time for this anyway. You need to get back to the circus before Jester comes looking for you themselves. They are already in a foul mood, and I don't want to hear it if I return empty-handed, so get a move on."

The silent giant does not move, despite Harlequin obviously expecting him to do so. When it becomes clear he's not going to let Harlequin order him back like some sort of dog, despite the threat of Jester, the green cast member's grin upturns bitterly. "Oh, are you really looking to fight right now? I'm sure that will do wonderful things for this situation. Then again, when have I ever turned you down for such a thing, hm, Pierrot?"

He slithers forward one step, then another. The grin he wears stretches almost unnaturally. Something writhes in the darkness behind his mask, and your mental eyes widen. What the fuck is that?

Before it can go any further, however, Pierrot panics, retreating at Harlequin's advance, which makes him halt. His head tilts, bells chiming, thrown off by his much stronger rival backing down so suddenly. More perplexed then ever, Harlequin watches Pierrot debate something, then he turns and approaches you. This is it, you think. He's going to reveal your secret.

Except, that's not what happens. What takes place next might arguably be worse.

Grabbing your clothes, receiving a curious noise from Harlequin, Pierrot labors to tie your pant legs together, then vanishes the rest of your outfit, and phone, into the many folds of his own. Then, he crouches down beside you.

His claws reach out, and it instantly dawns on you what he's about to do. You quiver in your mouthless form, unable to protest, when he, very, very vigilantly, begins to dig you up. He makes sure not to nick a single root, and while you are grateful, you are equally horrified. He is taking you with him, instead of leaving you in a place where no one might bother you. Obsessive, lovesick idiot. Harlequin's words echo in your head.

When you are fully freed, he scoops up additional dirt to fill your pants, then gently places you inside. Your roots coil into the soil immediately, and you cling to them, frightened and unsure. Pierrot might not seek to harm you, but he is outright kidnapping you. He might worry about your safety, left here all alone without someone to guard you, but he has to know that you know what you're doing. That you feel safe here, after witnessing your preparations. Still, he can't bring himself to leave you alone. 

Satisfied, Pierrot rises to his feet, cradling your flower like it's the most precious thing in the whole world. Harlequin stares at him as if he's lost his mind, though the red and gold clown ignores him. Marching past his rival, it takes a second for Harlequin to follow, lingering on the enigma of what, exactly, is happening right now.

The trek to the circus is an hour tops, setting the moon ever closer to the horizon. When you arrive, Ticket Taker welcomes back his fellows with a tip of his hat, proceeding to whirl on a heel and lead them deeper inside. You pass by the pink tent, then the green, red, and make your way into Jester's lair. And it does feel like a lair. As if you're entering a private place, sacred, being allowed a glimpse into something that does not belong to you, full of darkness and shadows and myth.

Jester turns their head upon the party's arrival, grinning a smile that does not reach their purple orbs. "Ah, Pierrot, there you are. Where in the world have you been all day, hm?"

There's an air to the Jester that is intimidating always, yet in the lacking presence of an audience, it appears doubly so. Pierrot withers just the slightest at a mere glance, but he is still diligent to not disturb you. Jester's focus zips down at his cautious movements, and they sneer. "Out picking flowers? Is that what kept you for an entire day?"

Pierrot shuffles in place, allowing time for Harlequin to, rather unhelpfully, pipe up. "I did find him simply lazing about in the forest outside town. No idea what he could have been doing out there for so long, but there were someone's clothes nearby."

Harlequin titters into his hand, heavily amused at whatever trouble such a statement might get his rival into. Jester's attention snaps back to Pierrot, and their eyes narrow. "What did you do, Pierrot?" they accuse harshly.

Pierrot's bells jingle with the force that his head shakes, vehemently denying his wrongdoing. Despite your current feelings on what Pierrot has done, you instinctively curl closer to him, protective. It wasn't his fault, and Harlequin was being entirely unhelpful in this situation, as per usual.

Jester's ice cold smile turns into a scowl. "No? Can you explain to me what is going on here, then?" they seethe. 

Struggling to piece together an excuse, something which has no doubt been racing through his mind since Harlequin came to drag him back, a new voice interrupts, smooth, dull, accented. 

"What an interesting specimen you have there, Pierrot," Doctor notes, emerging from behind Jester. Pierrot stiffens, his grip tightening the slightest on your makeshift pot. Immediately, the ring leader's eyes turn to horizontal slits, following the Doctor's gaze where you unintentionally press closer to your only defender. Something about the Doctor's stare is stirring unpleasant memories, and if there is one thing you know, it is that you do not want him to touch you. Kidnapper he may be, you are certain Pierrot will, at the very least, protect you, even from his fellows.

"A color swapped iris, so out of season and yet looking so healthy. Tell me, wherever did you find it?" Doctor presses, moving closer. Pierrot recoils, shielding you from the most aloof of their troupe, baring his teeth. There are eyes trying to observe you now, far too many for your liking, and it is taking all you have to not give yourself away. 

Harlequin, too, has his interest increase in Pierrot's trophy. The one he insisted on bringing. That he could not leave behind. Even though he could do the same to his dear one, even being so callous as to take their clothes while they were, seemingly, nude and running amok in the woods. So unlike Pierrot. So unlike him at all. There was something he was missing here, and he wanted to know what it was.

"I saw him dig it up by a little stream, earlier. It was simply growing there, right next to where the little human's clothes were," he injects. A new piece to the puzzle for the others. Not just some random clothes. They knew whom he spoke of. Pierrot shot Harlequin a scorching glare, and Jester huffs.

"Enough of this," they snap. "Pierrot, you need to speak. If you have done something to endanger us, or your human has, I need to know." Their gaze bores into him, unyielding. For a second, Pierrot flinches. An instinctive reaction. Your metaphorical heart rate spikes. Is he going to cave? Tell them all what he'd seen?

He doesn't get the chance. You feel a familiar snap beneath you, a shiver through your roots that begins to spring them up, one by one. No. No, no, no, no. Not here! Not now! Extending your awareness as far as you can, you catch the smallest inkling of golden-orange light beginning to color the ground where the tent's entrance is. Panic overcomes you. Pierrot already knew your secret, and that was one person too many! Not to mention, you sure as hell didn't trust anyone else here. Especially the Doctor, with how acute his senses presented themselves to be, narrowing in on the oddity of you before anyone else. You could feel him noticing you, even now, tucked into the shadow of Pierrot, your roots slithering inward, waning, changing. Your petals furling in on themselves, returning to a bud. The lengthening of your stem.

You had no way to warn Pierrot, so caught up in deciding what to do about Jester's impatient demand for answers. Pierrot comprehends too late the growing weight in his arms. Attention shooting down to you, the performer can do little more than fret and scramble about as your humanity returns. Skin, then organs, then blood flowing through you. A startlingly loud gulp of air to refill your lungs anew, choking out the last few petals. 

You are left cradled in Pierrot's arms, nude, whole, and at the center of every single person's bug-eyed scrutiny. 

"Um, what the fuck?"

Harlequin is the first to break the silence, and you and Pierrot both jump at it, akin to the crack of a whip in the quiet that proceeded your transformation.

"How interesting," the Doctor's voice bleeds through next, and you grip at Pierrot's silky top subconsciously. You do not like his tone still. Picking up on your discomfort, the knife thrower switches back into protective mode, arm that isn't supporting you shifting to hide your form from his troupe's prying eyes. The look he casts about could easily kill.

Not that any of them pay his deathly aura any mind. "Well, that was certainly...something," Jester voices, locking onto you, despite your efforts to hide. "What peculiarity have we stumbled across this time, I wonder?"

Their hands folds together, and they all but glide closer, much to you and your defender's displeasure. "Tell me, little one. What exactly are you?"

Completely ignoring any warning signs from Pierrot about getting too close, the Jester looms, and you are forced to meet their gaze. No use in being timid now. The cat is most assuredly out of the bag. "I'm human," you state firmly, though there is a hoarseness to your voice after the suffocating treatment your cords received. "A human who just got very, very unlucky, and drew someone's ire that I shouldn't have."

Pierrot squeezes you, an attempt at comfort, you think, but it does nothing to quell how fast your heart beats beneath the Jester's intimidating, all consuming presence.

"Oh? And who might that have been?" they pry, unfolding their arms to rest an elbow in one while cupping their face in a hand, a sharp digit tapping away at the side of their head. Waiting. Expectant. You had half a mind to tell them to fuck off, but you weren't stupid. Pierrot's protection could only get you so far. Jester was the leader among them, and if they decided you proved too difficult...well, you had a sneaking suspicion you'd find out those rumors were true after all.

Defeated, your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. It's been ages since you've recounted the tale of what happened to you, short and bittersweet as it might be. You've long since learned to avoid telling anyone your secret, no matter how close you thought you were. 

"Something tells me you might know a little something about the existence of gods. Or, at least, god-like beings," you start, catching Jester and Pierrot share a glance, even as the latter still bristles at how close Jester is. "When I was actually young, a person from a long distant, far away village across the ocean, there was one such being who ruled my home. Maybe not on paper, or in the eyes of the parliament that dismissed our pleas, but he was there. Always watching, always waiting. A silent judge, juror, and executioner. Soon, it became too much. Some of us began to speak out, including myself. Maybe a bit too loudly, in all honesty, but I will not regret doing what was right. One day, while out gathering herbs in the woods, I was confronted by the god. He toyed with me as I argued with him about his form of justice. About fairness. For my 'hubris', as he called it, he cursed me. That at the very start of every day where the full or new moon would rise that my being might be left to the whims of the world. That I would learn how 'fair' the world truly was. To rub it in, he made sure I could not die, no matter how my other form might be harmed. That I would learn this lesson, over and over again. Then he...left me there, and that is how it has been since."

Mostly the truth. You will not indulge them with what really happened afterwards, however. That was none of their business. 

"Fascinating," Jester hums after absorbing your story. "Tell me, then. Is this god of yours still alive? Around you?"

You snap to attention at the thought, and a fire blazes in your eyes when it meets Jester's again. "No," you enunciate harshly. "He has long since passed on. But the curse remains."

The ring leader hums, appearing quite amused at your venom. "How fortunate. Saw to it personally, did you? Must not have been a very powerful god, then," they observe flippantly, waging a silent battle in your locked stares.

Then, just as fast as it started, your glaring match ends. Jester claps, and the shape their grin takes next does far from ease your tension. "Well then! Glad we've pieced that all together," they declare, tilting their head and clasping their arms side by side to the left of it. "However, that still leaves us with what to do now, doesn't it? You are certainly at a disadvantage here, aren't you, little one? I am sure that must not feel very good."

There's a mocking quality to Jester's words, and you have to hold back some very rude ones of your own. "Fuck, just...let me go home, there's your answer. My boss is already concerned enough, no way can I not show up today. He only knows about the two 'appointments' I have to keep a month." A silent challenge. More focus brought to the circus if you, of all people, the performers' closest friend, disappeared as well.

Jester thrums a displeased note at your underlying threat, pivoting to waltz to the center of their tent. Their arms fold neatly behind their back, and they look up, thinking. Considering their next move. 

"'Something tells me that you might know a little something about the existence of gods'. What a strange statement. How exactly did you come to that conclusion I wonder," they muse aloud, tilting their head back at an almost unnerving, unnatural angle to resettle their focus on you.

You freeze in Pierrot's arms, who is watching you with equal fascination and worry. For what, you aren't sure. Your well being? Or what you might know, or suspect?

Keeping your expression flat, you lift you limb to gesture around you in a motion that screams, 'duh'. "You lot are not exactly the most subtle about being into the strange and the occult. How the hell could I not think you might've studied up on ancient religion?"

A fair point, the Jester's expression seems to concede. There remains a glint to their eyes that does not relent so easily, though. Twisting, they storm back up to you, dismissing how both you and Pierrot go taunt, a bowstring ready to snap. A clawed hand grasps your jaw tightly, yanking your head upward, and you are once more made to secure your gaze to Jester's.

"I think..." they coo softly, slowly, savoring the building anticipation. "....that you are lying."

Their attention flits to the side. "Doctor." 

You explode, shoving and pushing against Pierrot, hollering and cursing as you attempt to squirm free. You don't care if you have to run butt naked from the circus, you do not want to know what the Doctor, let along Jester, intend to do. Except, Pierrot is completely immobile. If anything, he holds you closer, constricts you. Pain pangs in your heart, looking up at him. There is conflict in his gaze, but also yearning. Something dangerously desirous.

Obsessive, lovesick idiot.

Withdrawing from your thrashing self, Jester glances to the side, completely unbothered. "I will not allow any potential threats to the circus, whether you share in our plight to some degree or not. And especially if you personally prove a risk to our being." At this statement, they do pin you beneath their glare again.

Something wisps in your face before you can realize it, and you gag at the unexpected spray. You inhale it before you can stop yourself, and the effect is damn near instant. Your limbs lose all sensation, going limp in Pierrot's arms, and a heavy fog begins to envelop your mind. Mentally, you claw and scream, even as your eyes glaze over. Distantly, you can hear Jester talking.

"Keep your little pet contained, Pierrot," they order. "And make sure they have no access to tools of any kind. If they've killed anything like us before and lived, I won't have them handling anything they could turn on us. Not now, Harlequin," they snap at the end, their warping figure turning away from you.

Oh wait, you're the one turning away this time. Pierrot carries you off as the ring leader continues to bark commands, something about animals, proof, and the woods. It all becomes background noise to you, though, then completely cuts out when the tent flap closes behind you, leaving you alone with the performer you had trusted most. 

"Forgive me, my dear," he mutters to your barely conscious self. "That is not how I intended for things to go. If only that Harlequin hadn't pushed...!"

His snarl fades into a sigh, his golden irises falling to your bare form. The melancholy in his visage seems to diminish as he studies you, replaced by something far hungrier. "Oh, but how it brings me such joy to have you in my arms like this. Your truest form presented to me. How I longed for this day. Since the moment I met you, standing tall, unafraid of that ruffian whom struck me. To think, you still hold such justice in your heart, even after all you have endured...! And to spare it for me... My dear, you are the most wonderful creature this planet has ever seen. How I long to shower you in my affections, to give you all that have, that you might do the same in return some day! I know that day will not be today. Not with the distress you have gone through. But oh, I can wait. I can wait til the forests die away, til the sun explodes! So long as you are with me, so long as I have that chance. Do not fret about a thing until that day, my dear. I promise, I will take very good care of you."

Even as you start to finally fall to the darkness your mind battles and loses against, Pierrot nuzzles into your neck, inhaling and releasing a large, full body breath that shudders his frame. You feel the scrape of teeth, the flick of a tongue across them. "My sweet, delicious flower."

 You slump on the counter, staring vacantly out at the steady rain. The day had felt both too long and too short, few people daring to risk venturing out as a storm hung above the town. Not that you could complain too much. Given your exhaustion and the headache blooming behind your temple, the last thing you needed today was to deal with a bunch of people. Gods help any whom had proven difficult. You felt just about ready to explode or keel over just standing here. 

At least it would be an early night. Your boss told you to close up a couple hours early if traffic continued to be non existent. Fortune favored you just enough to give you such a chill boss. Not to mention a tattooed hunk, though he wasn't exactly your type. Too gruff and distant and stern. Still, he cared, which was nice.

Lids sinking closed in your pondering, you jolt at the chime of the bell. Shooting straight, preparing to put on your best customer service mask, the desire immediately extinguishes when you catch sight of the literal mask walking through the door. Ah great. Eightieth time's the charm, though you would certainly never apply such a word to the circus performer that just waltzed in, dripping from the rain.

Harlequin's smirk glints, and a theatrical crack of lightning splits the sky. Guess the universe shared your sentiments exactly. "Well, don't you just look ready to fall over?" the puppeteer ever-so-warmly greets you. In return, you offer him your favorite finger. The laugh you receive is the exact opposite of what you want to hear in response.

Rubbing at your aching forehead, you shake your head. "Can we please not do this today, you big green jackal? I am nowhere near in the mood for your shit," you grumble.

For a moment, Harlequin appears to actually pause, as if thrown off guard by the lack of your normal bite. Sharp green eyes pierce you, studying your form with a slight crinkle to his expression. "Hard day, dear one?" he asks, keeping in place. You flop back over the counter, hand motioning in a 'so-so' gesture. 

"This shit just happens every so often. Brain thinks it's funny to torment me randomly. Ain't shit to be done about it except ride it out," you inform him. "As a bonus, at least it's given me the fortitude to withstand your jackass self chittering like a squirrel in my ear all day long."

The barest hint of a smile manages to tug at your lips, imagining Harlequin's displeased look behind your cracked eyelids. Or mayhaps you were deluding yourself and he's enjoying your insults a little too much, as per usual. You swear, it was almost like he was living for your vitriol, and maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to see you finally snap as he pushed at your buttons, take a swing or shout at him. Sadistic jerkwad.

"Is that so?" he chuckles, now much closer. You still barely give him the time of day, slipping your lids up just enough to find his presence looming like the storm. 

"It is," you interject before he can finish whatever dastardly, no doubt inappropriate comment he is cooking up in his twisted little head. "At least Pierrot knows how to shut up when I ask him to, in not so harsh of words. Maybe he could give you some pointers."

This time, you do nothing to hide your cheeky grin. You catch all too well the way his face puckers at the mention of his rival, let alone the insulting idea that he might learn something from the taller clown. "Yes, well, Pierrot is a fool and an idiot. No better than a dog on a leash. If there is anyone who needs to learn anything around here, it is him," the green and black clad performer scoffs. 

The grin on your face slides down, and you shoot him a much sharper look. "Playful jackassery is one thing, Harlequin, but I won't abide by bullies in my presence, especially today. If you're not going to order anything, you need to leave."

His sharp-toothed smile twists in an unpleasant manner, but he quickly dismisses it. "Merely a joke, darling, I meant nothing by it. All part of his and I's little act," he placates you. You don't buy a word of it.

"Uh huh," you voice your skepticism. "Look, seriously, are you here for a coffee or not? I've been blessed with the chance to get off before it gets pitch black outside, and I would really like to take it."

Harlequin sighs dramatically, as if you've mortally wounded him. "Very well, kitten. Just my regular, please."

On autopilot, you move to craft his ever-beloved iced coffee, a feat that takes you all of thirty seconds before you nearly throw it at his head. Sadly, he smoothly parries your swinging arm, catching your hand in his as he moves with ease to slip the cup from your grasp personally. All of the smugness returns to his visage when his fingers brush along yours. Pupils expanding in your fury, your other arm jerks forward, twisting into his cape where a golden ribbon secures it at his throat.

Seething, you hiss from between gritted teeth. "Call me kitten one more time, regardless if there are other people here or not, and this kitty'll bite your damn head off, jackal." You had made it clear the first time he teased you with such a nickname that you wouldn't stand for it. Not to mention the context of it, him remarking about your scathing remarks reminding him of a kitten baring its claws. You'd never been so close to punching someone, and it didn't help how much he clearly savored riling you up.

Releasing him, you all but shove him away. The drink sloshes in his grip, dark liquid splashing free from the lid to splatter on his costume top. Wiping at it, he stares at you, grin spreading ear to ear. "Promise?" he purrs. When you give no reaction other than a never ending glare, he snickers, but relents. "My, someone is in a feisty mood this evening. And here I thought we were just having our usual fun."

The look you wear could make grass wither. "Get the hell out of here, Harlequin. I've got a shop to close," you command. Seeming to sense his fun is coming to an end, he relents, though not without a glance at his beverage. 

"So, is this on the house, then?" he quips, and you deadpan. "Alright, dear one, alright."

Fishing out his money, he places a couple bills by the register. "Do keep the change, darling," he offers with a wink. "Perhaps you might use it to buy something to improve that foul mood of yours."

Bribery. Great. If you didn't need it, you'd be tempted to toss the change at his face, too. "And how about you go jump off a cliff," you mutter under your breath, ringing it up. The loud slam of the cash register opening makes you wince, and you mumble a strings of curses. The ring of the shop door opening is almost opera-level music to your ears, promising you a chance to go out and handle the cause of your massive migraine.

The chuckle he gives upon exiting makes it perfectly clear he heard every word, and found it nothing if not amusing. Truly, nothing could get under his skin. The great, impervious Harlequin, master of puppets and making fun of others. You grit your teeth as something roils, tumbles, and burns in your stomach, akin to an ocean on fire. God, why did such a handsome face belong to such a huge jackass?

Stuffing that thought back to the depths where it belongs, you set about what suddenly feels like the grueling task of closing up shop. Just get through this bit and you can handle your pain.

Dragging yourself down the regular checklist, you practically throw yourself out the door and lock it. Thank fucking gods. Releasing a shuddering breath as you lean against the frame, you gather yourself before pushing away and heading off down the street. Your movements become cautious, wary, melding from shadow to shadow, glancing over your shoulder. Home is a distant, if completely forgotten, thought in your mind. You have much bigger things to worry about.

Scurrying along the edge of town, you eventually peel away from the line of crumbling buildings. Deeper and deeper you go into the woods, choosing a random direction in which to wander. The further you get from town, the worse the throbbing becomes in your head, spreading down every single nerve in your body. Eventually, it reaches a point where your body just won't listen, stumbling forward, lacking awareness of your surroundings. Or maybe it's too much of it, instead. The world swirls and pounds around you, colors and smells and touch spiraling together in a vile concoction that nearly makes you heave.

Your spine snaps audibly under the building pressure, and you lose your balance on the tree you were leaning against. Crumbling to the soaked forest floor, your jaw parts painfully wide, body shaking in a full on retch, but no sound or bile emerges. Beneath your clothes, your skin bubbles and stretches, the shade darkening every passing second. A gurgle spills thin, oily black liquid past your lips as they shrink inward, pooling at the ground. Your entire figure contorts and twists unnaturally, bones cracking, teeth and fingernails elongating, the latter morphing with your skin. 

Gasping inaudibly for air, your mass builds and builds, squishing up against the young maple you fell beside, until it cannot bear your weight anymore and topples over. Swelling hands paw at the dirt, exterior thickening and pulsating, rippling as if run off in a puddle. Pitch green vines slither across your being, tiny, bloody pink flowers popping up here and there. You gain a small snout, which you use your unoccupied hand to paw at and whimper. The skin along your forearms and lower legs hardens and cracks, patterning akin to the bark of a willow tree. Your flat, shoulder length hair grows bushier, wiry, puffing down along your back and changing shades to match your new skin tone. Your sockets widen and reshape, taking a more feline configuration, pupils shrinking into eerily bright tawny slits.

After an eternity, the agony comes to an end. Huffing large, panting breaths which stir the soil and leaves beneath you, you slowly, painfully, gather yourself. Lynx-like ears, fuzz melding seamlessly into the bush on your back that used to be regular hair, flick atop your head. Your skin ripples one last time, hardening to match the patterns on your arms and legs before it smooths out once more. Thank fuck that was over. Now to-

Your senses finally settle, and the first thing that hits you is a sharp, very familiar scent. You catch a nearby shift, a squelching of waterlogged pine needles upon the ground, responding to a heavy weight. In an instant, you are alert and moving. You thunder through the trees, yet your steps are unnervingly silent. You catch a flicker of color, white and green, and pounce before the intruder can take another step. 

The shell of your body freezes full force when you acknowledge who, exactly, is trapped between your massive paw and the ground. Harlequin stares at you, expression completely static in shock, his trademark grin stun-locked into place. Emerald orbs flit back and forth across your person, drinking you in, absorbing every detail in a sort of fascinated astonishment.

Color yourself equally surprised when he actually dares to break the silence, acting utterly casual. Like this is just a regular Tuesday morning. "My, my, well aren't you a big one? You might almost give Pierrot a run for his money," he chuckles, though it is strained beneath your crushing weight.

Recoiling, you stare at him as if he's lost his mind. Then, you catch it. A trace of something different. Something new. Something you have not smelled since your very first shift. Your hackles raise as you glare down at the Harlequin, recognizing more and more the inhuman aura of him. The ichor that flows through him, the thrum of a large, hidden shadow beneath his porcelain white mask. Snarling, you retreat, sending him skidding away in your haste to gain distance. 

The picture begins to clear. You had always known something wasn't right about your new friends. The way they moved. The way they spoke. The glow to their eyes. The glint of fangs and claws that were meant to give the illusion of being fake, part of their act and attire, but the imitation of it was too good. You hadn't shifted since before they came into town, so you couldn't have confirmed it til now. You gave them the benefit of the doubt, due to Pierrot's timid-seeming nature, though the disappearances had made you equally suspicious.

It's been an age you don't care to remember since you encountered a monster, let alone five. Harlequin's story should've given it away entirely that first night, but foolish were you to trust a sweet, bashful face. How brazen could the puppeteer be to spell it out right in front of their human audience?

As you fled, the only comfort you could take is that you were not the only monster with the blood of your fellows on your hands. Of course, back in those days, you hadn't exactly been one of them yet.

You couldn't risk a territorial dispute. Not after how much effort you put into this facade you presented to the world, juggling smoke and mirrors to distract anyone from noticing anything odd about you. At best, you might wait them out. The circus had to leave eventually. At worst, you'd become another poor soul that vanished from town. Relocation is not ideal, but you'd rather it then the hounds potentially nipping at your heels. 

When you feel you've put enough distance between you and Harlequin (and whichever members of the circus might come looking when he tells them), you slow to a halt, inhaling and exhaling large breaths. Not quite panting. You could run far, far longer than this if you wanted to. You were just getting some space to decide what to do next. Heaving a sigh, you maneuver to stand up.

Your knees morph from the deeper bend of an animal's to the more curved shape of a human's, accommodating the extra length of your lower limbs and heft of your frame. Whether on two legs or four, it bothers you none, though it does feel easier to think when you are not pacing like a beast. 

Lingering at the edge of the trees, you look out towards rolling hills, a troubled frown tugging at your features. There is no moonlight tonight, but you can see perfectly fine. Miles and miles of emptiness stretching out before you. The idea of running, of having to craft another carefully detailed persona, is tiring. You have done it so many times. To be fair, you'd have to do it again anyway, once people started noticing that the years did not seem to change you. Still, you rather liked the cafe and the home you'd decorated here. The people weren't always the best, but they weren't all bad. Not that the circus cares. For a fleeting moment, you feel bad about Carol, and whatever fate might have befallen her and the others. Too late to change it now, though.

Your guilt is interrupted by the sensation of eyes on your back, the tickle of claws along bark. Your mound of fur rises, whipping around to stare at your observer. Deadly sharp teeth flash, on full display as a growl rips out of you. There, in the darkness, you see Harlequin. But not as you've known him. No, he lacks the flashy outfit and bright mask. Instead, the being of an equally shadowy form wraps around the trunk of a tree, an arm coiling around it to gouge claws into the hardwood, while the other holds him up by a branch high above. 

His true self would tower above your human form, but he barely reaches your sternum right now, if that. Two long, curved horns protrude from his head, his figure sleek but muscled, built more for speed then power, but far from lacking in that category regardless. A tail flicks languidly at his side, bearing a tip akin to a particularly lengthy arrowhead. A sinuous, pointed tongue licks over teeth that are stubbier than yours, though no less sharp than your needle-like fangs.

"Wherever are you going off to, dear one?" he questions, his voice carrying an echo that was not there before. "We only just got to the good part."

Huffing, you narrow your tawny pupils at him. "I have no quarrel with you, or any of your circus," you rumble, low and deep, though chiming with the oddest gentle note. "But I'm not stupid enough to stick around if you're going to lay claim here."

The horned monster all but laughs in your face. "'Lay claim here'?" he crows, as if it's the funniest retort you've ever given him. "Darling, the only thing or one getting claimed around here is you."

The words strike a knowing fury in your soul, and you are bearing down upon him once again, giving him no time to react. Your jaws snap mere inches from his flesh, hand seizing the arm grabbing the branch and all but ripping him from his perch. He dangles there, scrabbling at the unexpected attack, as you growl in his face. 

"You think I don't know the stupid little games you and Pierrot have been playing since you showed up in the cafe? You fucking blurted it out less than five minutes after learning about Pierrot's interest in me. Well, guess what? I'm not some toy for you to play with!" you bellow, proceeding to raise your arm and toss him as if he was little more than a doll. Twisting midair, Harlequin manages to avoid getting sent hurtling into a tree, but he still collides with it, rattling it all the way to the top. The impact causes him to wince, digging his fingers into the wood, clinging to the pine like a cat. 

Chest rising and falling in furious puffs, you glare at the smug, if potentially more cautious, performer. "Pierrot is sweet, but he takes the slightest sign of kindness too personally. I'll grant you this, at least you don't hide your intentions behind that stupid fucking mask of yours. If this is all going to dissolve into some petty war of attention I want no part of it. I'm just about finished with this guise anyway. Don't follow me," you forbid, turning to lumber off.

You can feel in the air as Harlequin hesitates, torn at doing what he does best and disregarding all boundaries or respecting the one thing you've genuinely asked of him. 

Making his choice, he is a mere flicker of a shape, darting in front of you. Blocking your way, his steps are dramatic, flamboyant, twirling to face you, crouching, resting an elbow on his thigh above his knee, cupping his head in a palm.

"You sure do have a way of jumping to conclusions," Harlequin titters under your scorching glare. "There's no need to run, dear fuzzball."

Mouth twisting in another snarl, you prepare to knock him around some more, get him out of your way. You don't particularly enjoy the idea of harming, letting alone killing, Harlequin, rather liking his witty banter, but you won't let him cage you in. He continues before you can pounce.

"I think you rather have the wrong impression of us, darling. We don't claim territories. That would be rather difficult for a traveling circus. If we'd known there was another of our kind here, we might have just avoided this place entirely, or at least approached you far earlier. It is rather interesting, though. You did not smell like one of us until now," he notes, eyeing you curiously, head tilting. "An impressive little trick to pull, especially on Pierrot. However did you do it, hm? And why is it that you did not seem to know what we were either? You appeared quite shocked when you had me pinned before."

His inquires cut uncomfortably close to the truth of your state. The reality of how you wound up with this form. If he knew, you doubt he would stay as cordial with you, despite his own sordid history concerning cannibalism. Not that it had been cannibalism for you then. 

Of course, none of that is his business regardless. "I don't owe you anything," you sneer, shrinking your pupils to paper thinness. "Nor do I care about how your circus runs. I'm not going to put myself in an outnumbered position, especially at your word, Harlequin. Stop getting in my way."

He feigns injury, a taloned hand over his chest. "You wound me, darling. You yourself admit I have been nothing but open and honest since we met," he snickers, grin sickeningly playful. For just a second, though, it falters. Softens, almost. "Come back with me. Let me show you that you have nothing to fear."

His tail snakes back and forth, a placating motion, bordering hypnotic. "Don't you think it might be nice to not be all alone for once? To not have to run at the first sign of trouble? Or are you that much of a coward?"

Harlequin's fangs catch the light, upturning at his mocking jab. If you weren't already familiar with his audacity, you'd be stunned by it. "Goading me isn't going to get the reaction you want out of me every time, Harlequin," you growl lowly. "I'd be a liability to you, anyway, in more ways than one."

"What an interesting take. Where do you draw that conclusion from, fuzzball?" he muses, tail lashing across the earth. "What secrets are you hiding?"

You deadpan at his singsong voice, gritting your teeth. If you could just satisfy him with enough vague answers, maybe you could get him to leave you alone long enough to avoid making a mess and drawing any more attention. There was a chance that'd only make his pestering worse, but you have to try something. He's clearly not going to let you leave so easily (the plan to thrash him becomes more tempting by the second).

"No more than any of you are," you counter cryptically. "I can't...the migraines I get..."

Glancing to the side, struggling to word your predicament without giving too much away, you jump when you look back to find Harlequin far too close for your liking. For once, you were so distracted you did not hear him move. You don't like that. His own narrow pupils examine you, critical. "Have you been starving yourself, dear one?"

You rear away from him, curling your lip in silent warning. "No," you grunt. "I just...am not able to keep up my disguise for very long. Not without consequences."

He perks, straightening, a glint passing through his orbs. "I see. So it's only temporary." Harlequin appears thoughtful, scratching at his chin while he stares at you. "All the more reason you should join us. Who better to aid and understand your situation than your fellow monsters, dear one?"

The offer is benevolent on the surface, but you have lived long enough to sniff out ulterior motives when you see them. What Harlequin or the rest of the circus might receive from your companionship is a mystery even you can't unravel, not right now. To bolster their numbers? Make themselves stronger? Or...were they seeking another sacrifice to rejuvenate their power? An outsider that they could care less about, at the end of the day.

Except...they clearly had a system that kept them fed and safe. They didn't lack in might. What the hell would they really have to gain by killing another monster? Harlequin specifically as well. He wasn't the one with an obsessive attachment to you. He only wanted to screw with Pierrot. So why insist on you turning around and following him to talk to the others? Some mild fascination about encountering another monster in the wild? It didn't make sense.

The puppeteer can read your bewilderment like a book, reveling in it. Standing, he saunters forward, thick, curved clawed toes scouring gashes into the dirt. "Do you really want to pass up on this opportunity? Seems like you already have enough regrets, hm?"

Your ear flicks irritably. "We all do," you retort. Hesitating, you thunder deep in your chest. "Fine. But if this turns out to be some sort of trick or trap, I'm taking you down with me." The expression you don makes your sincerity clear.

Obviously pleased by you caving, Harlequin parades back toward the trees, signaling you to accompany him. You've half a mind to tear his damn arm off, but you contain your temper. Letting out a huff, you drag your feet to his side. For a minute, all is quiet on your travel, until he pauses the trek to retrieve his outfit. Shrinking back into himself, you admittedly somewhat enjoy the height difference. He's teased you plenty of times about it when you're in your own docile human form, and the turning of the tables leaves you amused to no end.

He does make a good point, though. You'd rather not just show up to the circus unannounced like this. If you're really letting Harlequin talk you into this, you should probably go as human and ease into it. Not to mention the risk of anyone in town seeing you.

Grumbling, you glance around, checking your surroundings. Ah, there was the old maple trunk, which means... "I'll be right back," you tell him, then shoot him a harsh glare when his interest peaks. "Stay here," you order. There is no room for him to ignore you on this one. 

Lumbering into the trees, you locate a secret stash of neatly folded clothes, wrapped in a secured plastic bag inside a bush. A cheap t-shirt, pants, and socks and worn tennis shoes, one of a few spread around your hunting grounds. It is not often that the change overcomes you before you can strip, but it does happen on occasion. You are going to have to come up with an excuse for what happened to your work outfit tomorrow. There'd been little time to even get out here before your body couldn't contain itself anymore.

This did present another problem, too. You hadn't managed to hunt yet. The insatiable part of you was not going to be happy that it hadn't been fed before you shifted back. It would just have to wait another night. You've had to make do in the past, and that included the time you didn't even have proper control of your other half.

The morph back into your human appearance is far less painful than becoming a monster. It's more oddly unpleasant than anything. The shrinking of mass and muscle, the flexing of your guts and organs either growing or vanishing altogether. The biology between humans and monsters is similar in some ways, but far, far different in others. Feeling parts of yourself come and go when you swap is quite the experience.

Adjusting to your smaller being, you stumble slightly, laboring to collect yourself. Standing in the middle of the forest naked, with a gremlin-oriented person whom had an interest in you and might come over to check even after you told him not to is far from ideal. Pushing through the mild dizziness, far from aided by your lack of sustenance, you fumble to put on your clothes. The shoes are a frustrating challenge, the laces deciding to be uncooperative when tying them. Eventually, you succeed, and storm your way back towards Harlequin.

He stands right about where you left him, maybe a little closer, peering up innocently at the canopy, apparently completely unbothered by the wait. You trust his nonchalant attitude none, but there are bigger things for you to worry about. "Let's go," you mumble irritably, grabbing his wrist as you pass and yanking him along. There's a slight stutter when you drag him forward, a falter to his steps, one he swiftly corrects. When you're assured that he's keeping pace and isn't going to try anything with your back turned, you release him like the contact burnt you, arm dropping to your side. 

Trekking toward town, you shoot glances at Harlequin. He struts next to you, smirking and meeting your eye every time. Narrowing your stare, you huff and look away. "So, how often do any of you make a habit of stalking me?"

Harlequin jolts, as if not expecting you to talk. His grin widens, and he leans closer. "Oh, no one except Pierrot. I just happened to catch you acting ever-so-suspiciously, so of course I had to investigate. You were not exactly subtle, darling."

You feel the urge to facepalm. Yeah, you guess that added up. You were pretty paranoid about anyone catching you leaving town. It often slipped you that being so cautious was a red flag in of itself. Tsking, you exhale a sigh and look around. "Sure, okay," you snark, scratching at your arm. That little tidbit about Pierrot is the least surprising thing Harlequin has told you tonight. It didn't take a romantic genius to see how head over heels the guy is for you, and you'll be the first to admit he is adorable, in his own way. Though you would never say it aloud. Then again, he is a monster, and you've no doubt there's parts of Pierrot you haven't seen yet. You've barely known any of them a full fucking week.

Your traipse falls into an awkward hush for all of five seconds. "How does a lone monster become a barista in the cafe of such a lackluster town?" Harlequin shatters the ice, electing to make this a game of twenty questions, apparently.

Watching him in your periphery, you debate your response. You have no intention of giving too much away. The less Harlequin or the others knew about you, the better. "The hell do you think it happened?" you scoff. "Can't exactly live in big cities, nor get a high profile job. Dealing with my other half wouldn't exactly be easy to hide there."

Harlequin slows for a second, looking at you, puzzled. "Other half? What an interesting way to describe it."

You subtly stiffen. Okay, maybe not the best choice of words. You've always referred to it that way, so it hasn't hit you until now that calling it that might seem peculiar, especially to natural monsters. Ones whom you know to have had a wildly distinct youth than you.

Shrugging to displace any further suspicion, you gesture at him. "You clearly have two forms yourself at this point, kinda crazy to be judging how someone else labels themselves."

Harlequin hums, seeming to concede to your point. "No offense meant, dear one," he off-handedly apologizes. You wave it away, not entirely bothered. That was more your slip up, after all, and it was nice that he held some inkling of respect for self-identification. 

Casting an inquisitive glance at him, you ask, "Do you guys go into big cities?" The notion of settling into a metropolis infested with people makes something in you writhe. You've been avoiding large crowds for a reason, and it baffles you that anyone like you might risk exposing themselves to so many humans.

"Well of course," he titters. "We are a traveling circus. And just like any other troupe we require an audience to keep ourselves going. One does not exactly get the biggest crowd in places like this. We have been quite the hit in certain cities."

"...Yeah, makes sense," you agree, pausing to mull his statement. You wonder what cities they've actually been to. New York? Las Vegas? Rio? Have they ever gone to other continents? You'd have to imagine it's a possibility. They've been at this for who knows how long, and it's not like the Americas is where the concept of a circus was born, even if it has definitely flourished across it.

Lapsing into his own thoughts, Harlequin blinks when something seems to occur to him. "Speaking of us traveling together, I do have to wonder. I made the assumption, but are you actually alone? Any others we need to worry about surprising us? A family, perhaps?"

He might as well have actually pounced on you and raked his claws across your face. Your gut recoils, and you are unable to prevent the tension that shoots along your spine at the speed of a bullet. "No," you spit out, severe and serious. Images dredge from your mind of a large bonfire and bare, dancing figures, but you shove them back down with extreme hostility.

Sensing that he struck a nerve, a deep one, Harlequin studies you for a minute. Wisely, he buries whatever remarks or follow up questions he might have had. This is not a subject you'll take lightly. If he pushed, you wouldn't hesitate to change your mind and leave. Or you'd go down the path of mauling him, depending on the gravity of his provoking.

After that, you give him an obvious cold shoulder, making it evident you are done with talking. He unmistakably finds it to be a shame, but leads onward regardless. When you catch sight of the tents, a sliver of doubt worms itself back into you. Is this really a good idea? Of course it isn't. There'd be a lot of questions between you and them, and you are positive Jester would not take kindly to some of your answers. Then again, none of them were in any place to judge, either. It was a delicate, frustrating balance.

Reaching the perimeter, you gather yourself. Fear is not something you would dare to display for this. Why the hell are you doing this again? Did you actually let Harlequin, of all people, convince you to reveal your secret to the rest of his circus? Fuck, you need to calm down and gather yourself...

Getting lost in the tumble of your mind, you about jump when a hand lands on your shoulder. Head whipping around, you are met by Pierrot, who stares at you with no uncertain level of worry. He shoots a glare at your traveling companion, casting the blame on him for you obviously being so on edge. He's not entirely wrong, in a sense, though you did come here of your own volition (mostly).

Gifting him a strained smile, you take a step back to gain your space. "I'm alright, Pierrot," you promise him. "Just....Harlequin and I had a small chat, and there's something I need to tell you. Also Jester and the others too, though I think it might be best to start with the head honcho." Your laughter is stiff, nervous, no matter how you fight to suppress your anxiety.

Frowning, Pierrot's attention lingers, drifting back and forth. His mask is retaken by a small, fretful smile, nodding with a jingle of bells and motioning for you to keep going. Harlequin, watching on, harboring an oozing satisfaction, proceeds to finish the procession to the purple tent. You don't encounter Ticket Taker or Doctor along the way, thankfully, picturing they must be doing their own things. The less of them you have crowding you during this whole debacle, the better.

Entering into the darkness, your eyes adjust slowly. By that point, Harlequin has already slipped away to retrieve Jester from wherever they are, leaving you with Pierrot. Shuffling in place, you do your best to return his still present, if weak, smile. "I need to have a small talk with you later, in private," you blurt out, voicing the first thing that came to mind, immediately wanting to smack yourself upside the head. You knew it was going to have to happen sooner rather than later, but the last thing you had meant to address right now was your situation with him. "After...well, you'll see."

Left hanging on the edge of his proverbial seat, Pierrot's brightness returns, and he gives another jingle-filled head bob. Even after all this time, the sound of bells is something soothing to you, aiding in calming your nerves.

On cue, Jester and Harlequin arrive, the former's focus latching to you. "What, exactly, is it that Harlequin insists I must see?" he asks outright, raising a brow. He stands perfectly poised and unbothered, perhaps a touch intrigued by whatever it is that's got the troublemaker in such a tizzy.

Oh boy. Moment of truth. You still can't believe you're fucking doing this. All the years must have finally caught up to you and rotted your brain. "Well...," you start reluctantly. "Harlequin and I may have discovered a little something in common about each other that might interest you. Though, I say him and I, but it's more an all of us thing, I suppose."

Jester's head clicks minutely to the side, curiosity increasing, as you take a pace back. Right, here goes nothing. 

The pulsating explosion of yourself twice in one night is the least pleasant experience you've had in years, and that's saying something. A part of you regrets shifting back in the first place, but it had been necessary to not put the other performers on high alert when you got within a hundred yards of their home. You're unable to absorb anyone's expressions as you return to your larger form, concentrating on containing any noise the pain might make you release. You've gotten rather good at hiding it over the years, but it's also been a while since you morphed more than once in a single day.

When it's done, you tower above in the proceeding quiet, save for the heavy breaths you release as you slow your racing heart. Jester is shell-stocked, frozen, gawking at you with wide, albeit still slitted, eyes. Harlequin is grinning proudly, the shape of his other form roiling beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Pierrot regards you, silent and awed. The golden irises beneath his mask wobble and shake, as if lacking belief at what he is witnessing. "My...dear?" he stutters out, unsure.

Oh godsdammit. Fuck. This is the last thing you wanted to be confronted with right now. Cringing into yourself, you sigh. No use shying from it. "...Hello, Pierrot," you rumble softly.

His head tilts, grasping at comprehension, piecing this together as reality. This is real. A gasp slips from him, and then he beams, brighter than the sun you have not seen all day. "Oh, my dear, how positively radiant you look! How exquisite! My dearest, how this fixes everything!" he gushes, rushing up to grab your massive hand. For once, it is his appendage which is swallowed by yours. You internally flinch at the contact, deflating. One look from a sweet face and you are already melting. And here you were accusing Pierrot of becoming attached to kindness too quickly.

His claws trace a spiral along your palm, brushing over one of the small blooms upon your ivy vines. "Primrose," he mutters, perking. "Adorable~. It is no wonder you always smell so lovely."

You want to take Pierrot by the shoulders and shake him. He had no right to be so cute and dangerous at the same time. How were you meant to look him in the eye and lay down the law like you'd done with Harlequin? A truly pitiful fool were you, just like Pierrot.

The moment is interrupted by Jester. His hand plants itself on Pierrot's shoulder, and he yanks the red and gold knife thrower away, directing him behind him. "They always smell like a human," Jester voices, distrustful. "All up until this very moment. How?"

Jester's teeth gnash and bare, defensive of their troupe. You cannot blame him. Your circumstances are not exactly common, and you have become all but a rarity. If there are others like you still out there in the world, they are in hiding, same as you. Though you have grave doubts about that. Not that you had to explain that part of yourself. There was a far simpler answer, one which would at least be a half truth.

"The flowers," you intone, petting at the very one Pierrot had touched. "They release a pheromone which hides my nature from others, be it animals or...our kind." 

Your pause does not go undetected, though Jester seems willing to let it slip for now. There are more pressing issues to get to. "So then you always knew what we were. You were toying with us. With Pierrot and Harlequin."

Jester's shoulders hitch, bristling, on the verge of snapping. Their figure ripples, and you see both named clowns' faces fall, preparing to leap in between you and Jester should a fight break out. "No," you thunder sternly before mellowing. "My own senses can get overwhelmed by the flowers when I'm in human form. I have to rein my senses in, lower them to the same standard as a human. I didn't have a clue about any of you until earlier tonight. Harlequin can attest."

You put the caped gremlin in the hot seat, throwing all eyes to him. Including the other two, lurking near the tent entrance. They showed up almost instantly after you transformed, yet withheld from interfering. You could tell they were equally on guard. Unsure. You were a new, unplanned variable. Ticket Taker and Doctor were not gamblers or brash, though. They wouldn't act unless it was clear that you were an actual threat to anyone here.

"Ah, yes, it was quite the meet cute, as they say," Harlequin responds to the unspoken questions. He is ever smooth, a true showman. "A quaint stroll through the woods, in which my dear one revealed themselves in all their splendor. Of course, they didn't know I was there at the time, but that was remedied quite quickly. I don't think anyone has pinned me so effectively, aside from Pierrot."

Jester stiffens, arms crossed, and you interject. "Harlequin," you growl, annoyed. "Not. Helping."

He dismisses the tension. "It's perfectly fine. I am all in one piece, as you can see. We cleared up the confusion in under a minute. Though fuzzball here was a fairly big sourpuss about it, storming off like that."

Great, the ball was back in your court. "Yeah, well, I gave you my reasoning," you snap. "You are the one who insisted I come back and not just up and leave. As predicated, this plan of yours, whatever the hell it is, has gone wonderfully."

"You were going to leave?" Pierrot rasps, interrupting your glowering at Harlequin. You flit your stare to him, fire dimming. 

"I didn't think it was a good idea to stay," you mutter, looking away. "This isn't exactly a great situation. You outnumber me, and how the hell was I meant to know how any of you would react? I still don't understand why I let Harlequin talk me into this."

There's a brief exchange between Harlequin and Pierrot, something fiery and smug, then Pierrot bypasses Jester, much to his chagrin. "You are safe here, my dear," he swears, recapturing your hand. He grins at you, a ray of pure joy. 

From the depths of your throat, you nearly purr. It cuts out when you wrestle your attention from him, hovering to meet Jester's still-suspicious gaze. "That's not really for you to decide, Pierrot," you remind him softly, withdrawing yourself this time. The last thing you need is to fuel Pierrot's desires, nor further draw Jester's ire. This could very much still go bad. You might have size on them, according to Harlequin's comment about you and Pierrot earlier, but there's little doubt they could overwhelm you if their leader concluded he didn't like having an unknown monster around.

Your loss makes Pierrot wilt, twisting to flip an apprehensive, pleading expression toward Jester. The ringleader's mouth is set in a hard line, fingers tapping along his arm in mute consideration. There is little trust to be shared between you two, eyeing each other warily. You've both got secrets and things to protect, Jester far more so than you. With your scale, and hidden capabilities and motivations, you could prove a danger to any one or two of them alone. If Pierrot is truly the circus member closest to you in weight class, that is an extra liability. If he's smitten enough, would he hesitate to hurt you, even if you were attacking a fellow performer?

Yet, you were ready to just up and leave your life behind to avoid conflict with them. You are skittish, and it was never your intention to get involved with any of them, let alone Pierrot. You just...couldn't stand seeing someone different assaulted like that. Especially by a close-minded asshole. There are at least a few things you did have in common, if Harlequin's vague history lesson is even somewhat honest.

"...I don't care what you do, so long as you don't harm anyone here," Jester declares, squinting sternly at you. "Break that rule, though, and you'll wish your death was swift."

With that, they pivot, heels clicking together before he walks away. There is a collective exhale of relief, and your stiff shoulders droop. Welp, that could have gone worse.

"Isn't this fantastic?" Harlequin chuckles, the first to speak in the wake of Jester's choice. "I very much look forward to seeing more of you, dear one~."

Pierrot's head snaps around, golden irises blazing. Harlequin waves at him, smile sharp as a razor. Scowling, you step forward, getting in the middle. A subtle growl rolls from you, dissuading them from another argument. That would make things worse, and is the last thing you want to handle right after getting Jester's approval.

Doctor seems to appear from thin air next to Pierrot, his eyes languidly examining you. His analysis drags along your vines, arm twitching as if he's about to lift it toward you. He thinks better of it when you shift, angling away from him with a warning look. Ticket Taker is nowhere to be seen, having left right after Jester did. The decreased crowd does make you a bit more comfortable, scanning back and forth from those that remain.

"Indeed," Doctor hums, meeting your gaze, his orbs flashing. "I would very much like to ask you some questions, sweetie."

You can't claim to be too shocked, but you still huff, abrasive. "Don't know about that, Doc. We'll see," you provide dubiously. The Doctor and Ticket Taker are the performers you have the least issues with, maybe even a cautious respect. Neither have butted into your life in quite the same way as the other three have, minding their own business. It is refreshing, though you would wager that that might be coming to an end here soon. At least where Doctor is concerned. You fail to picture Ticket Taker doing much more than keeping a keen eye on you, no doubt under Jester's orders, but you know the tallest figure among them will hold a vested interest in your flowers after what you said, and probably any other parts of you that are different from them. It's why, ironically, he's the one you need to avoid most. If anyone here is going to uncover that you're dissimilar to your fellow monsters in other ways, it's going to be the Doctor.

The standoff is chucked aside when Pierrot blocks your field of view, ecstatic and eager to get things back on track. "My dearest bloom, I believe you wished to speak to me?"

Oh. Right. Guess it was time to do that. You kinda overtly promised, after all. You doubt Pierrot knows what it actually is you want to discuss, but you're going to do your best to soften any sort of blow. 

Sighing, you nod and shuffle to the side. Pierrot practically twirls at your heels in his enthusiasm. You catch a glimpse of Harlequin as you pass. The puppeteer is far less pleased than he was earlier, smile thin and narrow. Almost like it's on the edge of dipping into a frown. You have a few guesses to what soured his mood, but you can only take care of so many issues at once. He got his fair share of attention already tonight, he'll just have to wait til later.

Departing the tent, you take Pierrot aside, ducking into a storage area with several crates and boxes stacked high. The space is a bit awkward and tight being in your current form, but you make do, sitting in a small patch of grass. Gesturing for Pierrot to take a seat as well, he gladly does so, plopping himself atop a wooden crate. His entire self zeroes in on you, practically bursting out of his frilly seams for you to start.

"I know you've been stalking me." No sugar coating. No easing. Not with this part. In a snap, his face falls, horrified and alarmed. Devastated. 

"My dear, I swear, I can-," he begins to spout. You hold up a massive paw-hand, silencing him. His jaw closes with an audible click, and you exhale another large lungful of air.

"Look. I like you, Pierrot. I do. You're sweet, gentle. Or at least that's how you present yourself. But I still don't exactly appreciate you shadowing my every step. I can only guess at what you've gone through, or how you see the world and emotions. Though, based on your reaction, a part of you must know what you did was wrong. And if any of this is ever going to keep going, you need to cling tight to that common sense. You've got to respect my privacy to some degree, even if you find it hard. I don't have a clue what's going to happen now that this is out in the open. I would like to see where this whole growing friendship might lead, you just need to give me room and time. There are ways I'm not like you or the others. I can't keep myself concealed forever, and it only gets worse if my emotions are wild. So, just...can you do that?" you end a little lamely, arm that you raised to motion to yourself plopping to your side.

Pierrot practically trips over himself to respond, leaping to his feet and bowing low beneath you. "My dear, I can do whatever you request of me whenever! If you need me to admire from afar, I will abstain from your presence, no matter the agony it might bring! I would never do anything to displease or harm you. Just say the word!"

Geez, he is really hamming it up. It's pretty clear from his spiel that he doesn't quite grasp what you mean, though. "Pierrot, I'm not forbidding you from saying hello," you correct him. "You're welcome to drop by the coffee shop, so long as you don't loiter and annoy my boss. We can spend time together outside of it, too, it just needs to be on my terms. Nothing like coming to my home uninvited or following me on the street."

You eye him pointedly, having basically had your suspicions confirmed about the oddities popping up around your house since Pierrot's arrival in your life. Pierrot plainly deflates at the mild scathing to your stern tone, peering up at you sheepishly. "It shall be so, my primrose," he replies with all the gravity of an ancient oath. His mood is swift to completely flip, however. A giddiness returns, straightening and smiling at you, wearing an expression that may as well have had hearts dancing around his head. Actually, have his pupils changed shape, or are you actually going crazy?

"I do so look forward to spending time with you, my dear! And to think, I do not have to fear hiding myself from you! I was so worried about scaring you, terrifying you into running off. But no! Why, just look at you! So awe-inspiring. So powerful. Truly, my dear, you are your own force to be reckoned with. How I would adore nothing more than to hold you in my own true form, dance with you beneath the starlight... Alas, Jester would very much have my head for such a reckless reveal of myself. Far too many risks, being so close to a human settlement. In fact...," Pierrot's elation wanes, mask dipping into a frown. His neck swivels, looking around, suddenly anxious.

"You...you should not be like this while we are so near. The circus is our haven, but even it has not always proven safe. You should change back quickly, my dear," he urges, peering past the containers that hide you. Seeming to expect a mob to simply apparate out of nowhere and hunt you down. You cannot say you are unfamiliar with the feeling.

Seeing the sense in his plea, you heft yourself to your feet. Only, it occurs to you that there is a slight problem. 

"Um," you begin, having to resist your own blush at your revelation. "There's a tiny issue, Pierrot. I kinda shredded my clothes when I shifted earlier. Again. And I don't exactly have spares hiding around here."

There is an obvious flare of color to his face, the performer staring at you for a minute like he blue-screened. Abruptly, he jolts into movement, running up to a group of crates around you and beginning to scour through them. You catch a few flashes of fabric, though they appear to be more decor related than anything. Until, thankfully, Pierrot yanks free a length of cloth with a flourish. Proudly, he unfurls it to display it for you, only to have his moment of levity instantly dashed. The seams are lined by neon green swirls, and there is a golden clasp shaped like a heart. Harlequin's signature is all over it.

You have to muffle a laugh at the face Pierrot pulls. He might as well have eaten a lemon whole. Looking up, you realize that you'd taken refuge just outside the green tent. It was completely unintentional, just wanting to gain some distance from Jester's abode, and neither of you seemed to register it until now.

"This won't do," he mutters angrily, moving to throw it back into the crate like the hooded cloak had personally offended him. You stop him with a gentle raise of your arm, blocking the crate off. 

"It's fine, Pierrot. I know you don't like it, but I'd rather not have to wait for you to tear the circus apart finding something else while I sit here. It's just til I get home and get into my own clothes, anyway. You can bring it right back after."

For a heartbeat, you think he might argue, then something clicks. "Bring it... My dear, are you saying you would allow me to escort you home?"

Yeah, you kinda stepped into that one. To be fair, you'd feel pretty bad if you went marching out of here while donning the colors of his bitter rival. Pierrot had been nothing but a gentleman while you were laying down your boundaries, it wouldn't hurt to spend a bit more time with him. 

Smiling lightly, you nod. "Just for tonight. So don't get too jealous, huh?" you tease. You almost playfully bap him on the shoulder, before it hits you that you'd lay him out flat if you did. Right. Change back first. 

Directing him to turn around with a spin of your finger, Pierrot complies, all but bouncing in place. Rushing to shrink yourself, you fumble, hands shaky, to toss on the cloak and secure it in place. Your inhuman stomach complains at being left wanting yet again, and you know you won't be able to delay it another night. You'll have to go back into the woods after work.

When you feel sufficiently hidden beneath the velvet that pools at your feet, gripping it shut with your hands just to be on the safe side, you loudly clear your throat. Pierrot whips about, greeting your human appearance with renewed glee. It darkens somewhat when taking in your attire, but he rushes to brush it aside, instead offering you an elbow. Wow, he's going for the whole kit and caboodle. Chuckling under your breath, you adjust your grip to hold the cloak's folds in one hand while transferring the other to the crook of his arm. His opposing hand lands atop yours, and you swear you can see hearts in his eyes again.

Carefully, you both begin to walk. Pierrot dips into silence as you do, and it strikes you that you are about to leave the circus. If he wishes to speak, he'll have to whisper into your ear, no matter if it's the middle of the night or not. You are a tad disappointed, but still enjoy his company nonetheless.

It isn't until you reach the exit that another thought hits you both, spawning from the sight of a nearby beer bottle, shattered across the sidewalk. You may have found something to conceal your bareness, but you still lacked shoes. And, judging by his expression, Pierrot was not about to let you potentially get glass or anything else stuck in your foot.

Unprompted, Pierrot literally sweeps you off your feet. You let out an admittedly embarrassing squeak at how fast your world tilts, fingers tightening around your velvet shield. You are on the verge of protesting, but you know before the words can even reach your mouth it would be a moot point. Pierrot, while he is definitely enjoying this, is also being practical. You sure as hell don't wanna walk barefoot across town to your house. You'd probably catch ten different diseases, especially if you did somehow manage to slice your feet on anything.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you settle in, much to Pierrot's delight, and he resumes the journey. As you do, you get a glimpse behind you, back into the main folds of the circus from whence you came. You spot Harlequin there, standing by his tent, observing you leave. There's a strange expression on his face, one you can't make out entirely, though his gaze is assuredly pinned to you and you alone. Your eyes meet, in that brief moment, and you see his smirk stretch. Even while you're being carried in the arms of his most despised comrade, he finds a victory to cling to.

Ha. You really have walked right into the lion's den, haven't you? That's fine. Lucky for you, you know how to bite back.