Fantasy ♡ need you like a heartbeat. (starboob & ellarose.)

[ellarose]

Juliet interlaces her fingers to form a little dome over her dessert, keeping it safe as the golden dust falls around them. While Willow rises to her feet, wonderstruck, the starving girl scarfs down the melted remains of the berry-sweet custard, turning her lips and tongue an incriminating blue. It's so sweet. After licking her bowl entirely clean, she looks forlornly at the remains of Willow's discarded bowl on the ground. (Ultimately, she checks to see if Willow is watching, lifts the bowl and hurriedly laps it up as well.) It's only after she's eaten everything that she truly takes in their surroundings... considering the grass is as blue as the custard. (Would it taste of berry blitzens, too?)

"Your... castle?" Juliet repeats, climbing up to her feet before she can taste the grass. "Don't be a ninny, Juliet." She mumbles under her breath, mindful that she doesn't accidentally touch any of the colorful frogs hopping past them. Mama warned her about the frogs. The prettiest ones are the deadliest-- and these ones are really pretty. (Mama. Juliet hugs her arms around the ache in her chest, trying to focus on the sweet taste in her mouth instead of on the funny twitch in her throat. Maybe if she's extra good she'll come back for her?) Grace winds her fluffy tail comfortingly around her ankles before that dreadful lonely feeling can latch onto her again.

Juliet's heart leaps in her chest like one of the frogs when she realizes the cave she's used as a landmark for food all this time is nowhere to be seen. She's... lost. (But she was lost before, too, so does it really even matter that much?) Willow's form becomes smaller in the distance, unable to help herself from approaching the castle of her dreams. Juliet bites her lower lip, finding herself with no other choice now but to follow behind the other girl. (After all, she provides her with snacks.) A mysterious shadow that only she sees flickers through the sparkling trees behind them, provoking her to hurry.

The wood is full of all kinds of strange monsters.

"So you're a huntress and a princess?" Juliet asks, unable to hide the lilt of impressed disbelief in her tone. (This was long before she was taught the proper way to greet a royal.) Her brown eyes widen as they trek closer to the green, bajillion room castle that looms over them both. "That golden dust from before... is your father a fairy king?" She'd mentioned that he was going to build the castle, after all. "And where do you find all of your strange foods? Is that magic, too?" She purses her blue lips. "The berry blitzens were so sweet."

Lara used to tell Juliet that she asked too many questions.

A cluster of pastel pixies with flower-petal bodies glides by them. They speak to each other in echoey little chimes that only they seem to understand, freezing in their tracks upon noticing the two girls. Their chimes become whisper-soft. With the way their eyes flick left and right, they appear to be gossiping-- and gossiping about Juliet in particular. They point at their perfect hair, then at her tangled locks, their expressions aghast.

"I probably wouldn't belong in a castle." Juliet starts to doubt herself, her footsteps slowing. While the offer was undoubtedly kind, she cannot imagine anyone would be particularly happy to find the likes of her roaming the halls of such a majestic, magical place. This princess-huntress girl probably has cooks, and maids, and a royal family and friends who would turn their nose up at the likes of her. She flattens her blue lips in a serious line. Instead of voicing those fears, she tries a tougher approach. "I want to throw a rock at those pixies. I have lots of un-princess-ly thoughts like that."

As if summoned by her words, the pixies turn around and fly right at them! Before Juliet can worry whether or not they overheard what she just said, they sprinkle whirls of sparkling dust over her head. The girl squeezes her eyes shut, fearing the pixie dust might sting like soap-suds-- though it's quickly evident that there's nothing to be afraid of. One by one, the knots in her hair untangle themselves until it cascades in silky-smooth waves of red over her shoulders. Her dirty frock reshapes itself into a brand new dress that's clean and green. The blue erases itself from her lips and tongue. Some of the dust that trickles over Juliet's shoulders piles up on Grace's nose. The kit blinks and shakes her head rapidly, sending it flying everywhere. Her matted fur smoothes out and a green bow that matches Juliet's dress appears around her neck.

The pixies chime at each other, nodding with approval at their handiwork. One wipes sweat from her brow before a relieved smile stretches itself across her features. A yellow pixie flits down onto Willow's shoulder, examining her braids closely. Ultimately, she deems her hairstyle acceptable as is. As a finishing touch, though, she snaps and magics a crown of wildflowers onto her head. The pixies all clap their tiny hands to congratulate themselves on a job well done before urging the trio to continue on their path towards the castle.

"I suppose it's a good thing I didn't throw a rock at them." Juliet admits when the pixies are out of earshot. The girl's spirits have lifted considerably now that she's been cleaned up, her head lighter on her shoulders now that her hair's untangled. Her footsteps are bouncy and eager now as they approach the castle. (Though that could also be an effect of the sugar she's just eaten.) "I thought they were going to make fun of me." She shrugs and then nods at the other girl. "I like your crown, princess. Can I still live in your castle?"

 

[starboob]

It takes Willow all of five seconds to decide that she likes this new place, wherever this new place might be. (It has not yet occurred to Willow James that she does not know where this new place is or how to get back to her old place. But it will. For now she is blissful.) The grass is tall enough to reach her chest and when she spreads out her arms to run, she can feel each blade brushing up against her skin. It tickles. The little girl squeals with delight, momentarily pausing her stumble-rush over to her green castle with a bajillion rooms and a big pool with a diving board in the back. She stamps her little feet to excise some of her excitement, squealing as she does so. This has got to be the best day. (It might even be better than the day Leif licked his ice cream off his cone.) And having a friend to share it with makes it all the better!

When her new friend asks her a question about the golden dust and her pops, Willow blinks. Then again, the memory of only a second ago coming back to the child. She stares down at her chest and wiggles her fingers over it, perhaps hoping to encourage another gold rush. Nothing happens. She shrugs, her face splitting into a grin regardless.

“Oh, yes.” Willow nods sagely, turning around to face this girl with the fox companion. (Fox friends!) She shoves her hands into her pockets real cool like, walking backwards across the drawbridge over the glistening moat. Alligators leap over them and twist in midair before they splash onto the other side of the bridge. They are very talented. “He is a king. A very, very, very busy one. Hardly ever home, so I have to keep the castle protected as Hunter-Princess.”

She straightens out her flower crown once it's woven over her head and wiggles her fingers at the fairies as they leave. Mommy always says she needs to be kind to the fairies and pixies. (Even if some fairies are buttheads like Meredith...) “Pixies probably would not like it very much if you threw rocks at them,” she agrees. “They’ve gots long memories and feast on the toes of naughty children.” This is not something Mommy told her. Clover and Leif did and they know a lot of things. They’re ten.

As they approach the castle entrance, the great double doors swing open, knowing the hunter-princess has returned with the lost fox king. (This is something she has just decided about her new friend.) Inside, the castle is covered in doors—on the walls, the floor, the ceiling—everywhere there is a door leading into one of the bajillion rooms. They move along the surface, lulling like they’re being pulled along the current of a lazy river. Some of the doors swing open without prompting, showing off and enticing the girls with what’s inside. (One room appears to be entirely constructed from chocolate.) Most of the doors do remain closed.

Willow—ahem! Hunter-Princess Willow hops onto one of the closed doors on the floor as it lulls in front of her. She giggles and pats the seat next to her for the fox king and her kit to join. “I bet your thoughts are un-princess-ly because you’re a king!”

Later that afternoon, Leif will inform her that girls can’t be kings. She’ll be devastated for the rest of the evening. But for right now, she is content imagining her new friend as a king.

“So maybe your thoughts are more kingly?” Willow taps her chin, rocking her head from side to side. After a few rocks, she nods decisively, putting her hands on her hips. “Yes, I think you’re a king. The king of foxes!” Her face breaks into yet another grin as they come up with roles for each other in their game of make believe. “You’re probably just lost is all. You can stay here for as long as you want, fox king. The hunter-princess welcomes you.” She bends forward into a bow a little too fast and bumps her head against the door. “Ow.”

She rubs her forehead as she leans back up, her features suddenly turning thoughtful. “Hmm, if you’re lost… Then I bet we hafta find your crown to restore your memories!" She points briefly to her crown of flowers, then to the fox king's lack of headwear. "Where do you last 'member seeing it?”

 

[ellarose]

A fox king? Juliet's first instinct is to scrunch her nose up doubtfully. It's not that the title isn't to her liking, no... it's just that it sounds positively majestic. Far too majestic for the likes of her, anyway. Even at this age, the world hasn't allowed her to be entirely naive about her place in it. When the huntress princess speaks about remembering, her little shoulders cannot help but tense. (The last time she wore a flower crown, mama made it for her. She made a whole basketful to feed them one night. Mama was still... she was still...) She bites down on her lip to distract herself, bringing Grace into her arms. If she's to have any fun at all, she much would rather forget. She doesn't want to remember anything about her life before Grace. How many days old is her companion now? Seven? Maybe twelve?

"I'm no king. I'm a thieving rouge, that's what I am." Juliet proclaims in a matter-of-fact way that makes her sound wise beyond her five years. However, she holds herself tall and doesn't let herself shrink for an instant at this admission. (She managed to convince a real life princess that she could be a king, after all. Perhaps there is something to be said about that.) Given she's stolen from this girl on more than a few occasions now, her thieving ways ought to come as no secret between them. "...But I suppose you like that about me. I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you're a strange princess."

Juliet breaks into a friendly smile after she makes this observation. By the way her brown eyes shine, it's highly evident that she sees strangeness as a strength instead of a flaw. Mama told her many stories about princesses. If she read them from a storybook, they'd typically be captured or murdered for their beauty or their fathers would promise them off to whoever could fell the kingdom beast-- whether he be a prince or a lowly farmer boy.

There were occasions, though, where mama would make up stories of her own. In those stories, the princesses and other women had much more to do. They would solve magical riddles and escape the towers they were locked in. They would pick up their fallen lover's swords and slay the kingdom's beasts themselves. Juliet loved those stories the very most. (She's going to miss them very much. She can feel herself starting to forget pieces of her favorites... and there's not a soul in this world left to remind her what she's missing.) Anyway. This princess reminds her of a princess in one of those stories.

"You don't seem like a snob, you can defend yourself," Because she's a huntress, of course. Juliet nods, resolute in this belief. She looks from side to side, to make sure no one is watching, and then lowers her voice conspiratorially. "...and you're wearing pants." Short pants, at that. Even in mama's stories, she had never heard of such a thing!

With that, the thieving rouge rises to her tip-toes and snatches the flower crown from the huntress princess's head. With a defiant little grin she imagines a real king might wear, she sets it down on her own head.

"Catch me if you can!" Juliet challenges. With that, she takes off running down the castle halls. Grace's triangle ears perk up instantly and she rushes to follow after her companion.

Squealing and giggling, the younger Juliet and Willow chase each other all through the castle, still only exploring just a small fraction of the bajillion rooms it has to offer in the process. (Willow catches Juliet for the first time when she's distracted by the chocolate room, experimentally biting the chair legs, tables, and even the door knob to see if they're all chocolate. They are.) Juliet manages to steal it back from Willow not too long after inside a cozy library room with plush carpets, greenish lamps and massive bookcase walls. It has two whole floors filled with stories.

It's quickly apparent that both of the girls are enamoured with this room enough that their game of tag ends as they examine the walls and walls of bookcases taller than they'll ever be. Juliet may not be able to read, but it's still fascinating to her just to drag her finger along their spines. There are more than she can count up to. Probably a bajillion. To see so many stories all gathered all in one place is nothing short of extraordinary. Content to rest a moment after an afternoon of monitoring the two girl's fun, Grace hops up into a velvety chair by the balcony. Rectangles of sunset-orange light stream in through the windows. It's getting darker outside, but it's peaceful within the library.

Juliet takes a few of the books off the shelves, leafing through, and tossing the ones without pictures over her shoulder. (Unfortunately, most of them do not have pictures. At least not in this section of the room.) She supposes it would make sense for a real life kingdom to have many sophisticated, complicated books. Once again, her curiosity is piqued.

"Do you have a favorite story, hunter-princess?" Juliet asks. As she does so, she hands back the flower crown. (It does belong to a real princess, after all. She's heard enough stories to know that stealing a crown from a princess could end in execution.) Her eyes widen slightly. "Can you read all of these books? I can't read the ones without pictures.... but I could build a tower with them." She smirks. "Then we can pretend we're giants and knock them down!"

 

[starboob]

A spread of books surrounds the young girl, most of them open to the pages that have her favorite illustrations. Being that this library and castle have been conjured predominantly by Willow’s imagination, most of the books are ones that are available at her grandmas’ house and so she knows her favorite pages by heart. They even smell a little bit like the Rhode Island house—honey and thyme. It causes her to ache with longing, missing that place and also not particularly wanting to go back. Not when she is so clearly unwanted amongst the kids of the cove. At least this thieving rogue likes her. She's quite nice and she has pretty eyes. She is also very fast. Willow thinks these are all good friend shaped qualities.

She sits with her legs criss-crossed and apple sauced, tracing her finger over an illustration of a dragon breathing fire over a group of armed guards. “Easy peasy. The mountain god story is my favorite!” She jabs her crown with her fingers to straighten it out on her head, then she crosses her arms with an authoritative nod. “It’s the best story ever.”

Grandma Elva likes to remind her that there are other stories she can share with her granddaughter, but the child is insistent that she tell that one every single night. It’s been this way since she first shared the story a year ago. And if Grandma Elva tries to stray or misses a detail, Willow is right there in her lap to correct her.

“It’s got volcanoes in it.” She spins around on her bum and reaches for an open book with a black and white action shot of an eruption. She holds it out for the thieving rogue to see, tapping the picture and waggling her eyebrows. "Pretty neat, right?"

Though in response to the question of whether or not Willow can read all of these books, she frowns. “The big words confuse me and sounding things out is hard.” Impossible, even. But she’s determined. Clover and Leif make reading seem so fun and if she can read, then she can pass notes like they do!

“Building a tower sounds much more fun.” At least it does right now. So Willow never gets around to telling the thieving rogue about the mountain god. Instead the two girls stack books into towers and buildings and cities and have a marvelous time ruining everything.

When only moonlight shimmers through the windows of the library, Willow decides that it is time to return home. She can even hear mommy calling for her through some unseen steel tube. As she spins around with her little hands on her hips, searching for the exit, that same gold dust from before starts to spill out from her chest and, like before, it wraps around the two girls. Willow smiles at her newest friend and wiggles her fingers. “See you tomorrow!”

***​

The golden orb that surrounds the heroines collapses over them in a puff of golden dust. Grace sneezes. Willow shakes the stuff from her hair, blinking as the Rhode Island backyard returns to view. Though the sun still has yet to dip below the horizon, a steady breeze has since kicked up, smelling of future rain. The air itself is charged and electric. It’s going to storm tonight.

Willow recognizes this in her periphery. It doesn’t seem worth noting at the moment, not with the revelation that has just played out before them. She sinks back into the swinging bench with a slump, causing it to rock. For a minute or so, she’s silent. Then her eyes slide over to Juliet and Grace and she turns to face them fully, taking a moment to take in the archer like she’s meeting her for the first time (again).

Her throat bobs as she stares, the overwhelm getting caught in her throat before she can turn them into proper words. But maybe there aren’t words for rediscovering your first friend. ‘How could I forget?’

That question, however, has a rather simple answer. She forgot, because they eventually stopped hanging out—she doesn’t remember why, but she knows that that has to be true—and no one ever believed her when she told them about her secret world and her friend, the thieving rogue. The other kids teased her about it and so when the visits stopped happening, she simply chose to never mention the thieving rogue or their secret world ever again. Then time, wondrous time, took those memories away. 'Where was that place even?'

“You know, I got in a lot of trouble after that first day,” Willow muses. It’s all she can think to say to break the silence. “I came back and everyone was searching the beach for me. My mom held me so tight.” Tighter than she ever knew her mom was capable. She always seemed so wisp-like, even back then. “Then Leif got in trouble for losing track of me.” That, in turn, turned into Leif getting mad at Willow for wandering off. She doesn’t know how she got away with continuing to see her thieving rogue friend; she just knows that they did. Somehow. (Honestly, Leif probably wasn’t watching her that hard and even Crimson, the most responsible of them, was easily persuaded by competition and games. Willow likely only had to wait for everyone to get distracted before she wondered back to the cave.)

She looks down at their now empty bowls—bowls that have been licked clean by a certain blue-tongued dragon that has come to rejoin the group—and picks them up. “For the longest time I thought I was the one who came up with the name ‘blueberry blitzen,’ but it was you.” She grins. Of course it was Juliet. Who else has a habit for literal names? (See: short pants, flaming red cake, fish blankets, and so on.) “I can’t believe that we’ve met before and it was dessert that brought us together. Seems apt.” Her lips pull to the side as she thinks. "Do you remember that place at all? That's the one thing I can't figure out. Were we in Folklore, do you think?"

 

[ellarose]

Scattered memories tug at the edges of Juliet’s consciousness, each one demanding focus she can’t quite afford to spare as she finds herself back in the present. Her mind is a beaten path of sharp, jagged edges with sweet childhood memories nestled snugly between them. All alone in the wood, she found Willow— and a place she thought she could stay— and then found herself alone again when the magic tore it all away from her. (To her, it hadn't been just a game of pretend.)

When Willow describes everyone searching for her, Juliet can imagine it clearly. Although she wasn’t there herself, she can visualize the expressions on everyone’s faces, calling out her name, and her mother, the woman in the flowing lavender dress. (Hm.) Juliet can vaugely recall her own version of events… though there isn’t much to tell. All that awaited her in Folklore was the quiet and sinister wood, those bushes and the hollow tree she found to hide in. No one worried, no one looked for her. If anything, the squirrel who shared her hollow tree was probably displeased to see her again. Apart from Willow, Juliet’s fairly certain that no one else even knew that she and Grace existed back then.

Juliet opts to stay quiet instead of describing her side of this story, gently combing her fingers through Grace’s fur. She glances down at her companion quizzically, once more wondering if she remembered any of this. The fox simply blinks up at her, giving nothing away. Thankfully, Willow brings up the topic of blueberry blitzens. (The dessert and not the sorry state she’d been in, or the fact that she’d been a little thief.) The sorceress’s grin and talk the treat bringing them together and eases some of the tension in her shoulders, allowing her to relax. As she speaks, she can see reflections of the girl she once knew in a long forgotten land.

Were they in Folklore? If Willow had asked Juliet that question when they first met, she would have assumed that they’d never left Folklore. (After all, she hadn’t even realized she’d been crossing over into Evermore to steal food the first few times.) However... if they were in Folklore, she’d have stayed and taken shelter there. She never would have left, because there was nowhere else for her to go.

"I remember pieces of it. I thought I was dreaming... hallucinating." Juliet admits that much, her voice quiet and contemplative. "There is no such place in Folklore." She shakes her head slightly. "It's difficult to explain... but you were looking to go home. If we'd been in Folklore, I should have been able to stay." Home. She'd been eager to accept a castle with a bajillion rooms as her new home, as any child in her position would have been. Although she'd likely have been just as happy to call a little dwarf hovel her home. "I haven't seen that place since we were children."

Juliet glimpses their thread and then Willow's hand. All it took was a single touch back then... she inches a little closer as the thought captivates her. A soft boom of thunder sounds in the distance. The electricity in the sky buzzes through her veins. "Do you think we could return there if we..." She gazes into Willow's eyes, the way she did when she was young, reaches out her hand--

'Bang!' Meredith kicks the porch door open and bursts through. Juliet jerks backward, snapping her hand back to her side. "So, I've sorted through all my notes. It's about time we Scooby-Doo this shit." The fae, oblivious to the moment she just interrupted (or perhaps she knows exactly what she's doing), plops a binder down between the heroines and flips open to a page tacked with newspaper clippings (...some with crude drawings over them and certain phrases circled) and haphazard red threads. Talk about messy exes.

"...Scooby-who?" Juliet is naturally confused.

"I think it's time we started talking about you know who." Meredith says, lowering her voice conspiratorially on the 'you know who'. There's another boom of thunder, sounding closer this time, lending to the mysterious atmosphere. Rain starts to patter down on the ground in big, slow drops that gradually fall faster and bigger than before. "Ah, fuck." Meredith lunges to grab her binder before it can get wet, jabbing her thumb at the door behind her in a businesslike manner.

"You mean Dorothea?" Juliet concludes, guessing based on the photographs she'd glimpsed on the page. Meredith sighs and leans in the doorframe. She opens her mouth, undoubtedly to say something unkind when the loudest boom of thunder yet rumbles over the Rhode Island house. All of the windows shudder in anticipation.

A blindingly bright strike of lightning in the sky behind them illuminates Meredith's face, specifically the way her jaw drops as she gapes at whatever just happened over Willow and Juliet's shoulders. "Nice going, Juliet." The fae hisses, narrowing her eyes to slits and baring her sharp teeth. (Though her ire doesn't seem quite directed at Juliet. Not entirely, anyway. In fact...) "You summoned her."

Willow and Juliet turn around to find none other than Dorothea Birdsong standing on the porch steps, getting soaked in the pouring rain.

 

[starboob]

Willow blinks like she doesn’t know who Dorothea Birdsong is, like she’s never seen her before. And maybe she hasn’t, because the Dorothea Birdsong she knew would never stake the lives of real people—friends—for her own reputation. The hurt from a few days ago is still a fresh open wound and Dorothea appearing only provides the salt. Even Lucky is tense on her shoulder, stiffly watching the popstar like they expect her to attack.

Questions, a thousand of them, roll around the sorceress’s mind and the one thing she wants to say above all else? Leave. While she hasn’t turned her back on the popstar, she isn’t ready to face her either. She thought she might be able to press down her hurt to learn what Dorothea knows, but her head is light and she can already feel the tears at the corners of her eyes. Her throat bobs.

“Fuck off, Birdsong.” Meredith, however, has no such issues speaking to Dorothea. “Find someone else to get killed.”

Dorothea, to her credit, takes this comment in stride. She takes a half step forward, sweeping her now soaked tresses from her face while making eye contact with Willow and only Willow. Then she pulls something from her pocket. “I never gave you your birthday present.”

***​

Willow holds the cassette tape in her hands, a mix of emotions fighting amongst themselves. (“It’s a song I wrote thinking about you.”) She doesn’t reach for the cassette player. She isn’t sure she ever will. ‘What’s the point?’

Dorothea twists her mouth, pulling it to the side, and wringing her hands in her lap. Her guilt is written all over her face and weaves itself into each of her movements. She pulls the towel tight around her shoulders, shifting her weight like she’s getting comfortable in the loveseat while three pairs of eyes eye her warily. Skeptically.

Four mugs of untouched tea steam on the coffee table. Globs of rain smack the basement window. Every now and again, thunder will shake the entire house as the storm rolls over Elsewhere. Dorothea sits alone on the love seat that is perpendicular to the couch where the other three sit—Juliet, Willow, and then Meredith. Meredith is hunched over her binder protectively, drumming her fingers along the top. She looks between Willow and Juliet expectantly and when neither of them take the hint, she clears her throat. “So? You going to explain what possibly could fucking justify putting them in danger?”

“I didn’t think you’d help if you knew the full enormity of the truth.” There it is. The truth. It sounds just as bad out loud as it did in her head. Everyone knows it too. She can see it burning in Meredith’s eyes. She can see it in the way Willow looks away from her, like she’s her worst mistake. (Maybe she is.) “Kinsley also wanted everything to be kept under wraps. She hardly wanted to involve you three, but…” She gestures vaguely, rolling her wrist through the air to explain the involvement of higher powers. “I know—”

“That’s your fucking excuse?” Meredith leans back, arms crossed over her chest. She lifts a brow.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Dorothea snaps back. Her fists curl over her knees, shaking as she tries to contain it. “I have no one to help me—aside from Kinsley, who is just as damned as I am. I couldn’t… I knew—”

“You knew you could have taken advantage of Willow.”

“She knew I’d at least listen.” Willow still isn’t looking at Dorothea, but she corrects her friend where she’s wrong. Well, at least where she thinks she’s wrong. A small hopeful part of her still tries to see what good is left in her old friend. “Right?”

Her old friend nods, averting her gaze. “I also thought I had more time to explain the situation. I didn’t want to say anything, because I was trying to protect Kinsley and I didn’t think—Willow, Jules, you have to believe me when I say that I didn’t know that the gala was going to unfold that way. We’d both been doing so well away from Elsewhere.”

“Really?” Meredith scoffs, tosses the binder down on the table, and snaps her fingers so it flips open to a series of recent articles about the murderer on the loose. “Are you telling me Little Miss Murderer wasn’t also responsible for these? Don’t bullshit me either. These cases line up perfectly with the ones from senior year. What the fuck is going on? You owe us—at least, them,” she jerks her thumb over at the heroines, “an explanation.”

For a long moment Dorothea stares at the clipped articles. The dark circles underneath her eyes seem even more prominent now, as do her sunken hollow cheeks. Her usual mask has slipped, allowing everyone a glimpse of the songstress as she truly is: a hollow woman who hasn’t ever been herself. “You were right,” she starts, her voice low and tired. At first, she only addresses Meredith. “About her eighteenth. Well, close to right—what was your theory again?”

“That the football team summoned a daemon to fuck Kinsley and it turned her evil. Eviler.”

“Right.” She purses her lips together, then takes a deep breath. “The football team was involved, but a daemon didn’t—wasn’t—that’s not what happened.” And Kinsley has never really told her the full version of events. Even if she could recall the night in clear detail, Dorothea isn’t certain that she would. “The gist of it… The god—the tyrant god who once tried to usurp the seven and stake his claim as the sole divinity? He’s real. I mean, all the gods are, obviously,” she rambles, her voice shaking in a way that’s so uncharacteristic even Willow has to look to make sure it’s really Dorothea talking. “Um, he’s also sort of… You know how I’m a demigod? Well, yeah. Not my direct father, but my dad is descendant of his and godblood doesn’t dilute, it just skips generations and my mom—”

“Get to the point, Birdsong. He’s the one who fucked Kinsley?”

“There was no fucking involved!” Dororthea snaps, causing the hanging light to flicker. That immediately calms the cursed woman. “Sorry. That’s just not what happened. From what I understand, Kinsley’s heart was claimed by the tyrant and she became his vessel.”

“And why was the football team involved?”

“Griffith needed more casters than just himself and manipulating the football time wasn’t exactly hard.” They essentially all worshiped the ground he walked on. “He’s never been particularly good with magic, but he’s always had a way with people. Initially, he even pretended to be Kinsley’s shoulder to cry on and Kinsley was so desperate for someone to be there for her, she unquestioningly accepted his support. It wasn’t until you,” she addresses Meredith, “came at the principal with all your theories that Kinsley figured out what really happened. She only denied it—”

“To protect her reputation, I know. I always figured.” She shrugs, not even seeming the slightest bit vindicated. The victory is less satisfying knowing what it means for Willow (and Juliet).

“Does this relate at all to your condition?” Willow asks.

“No. I don’t think so.” She blows out a raspberry, unconvinced. “Who knows, I guess.”

“...Okay.” Meredith clasps her hands together and presses her two index fingers to her lips. After a brief pause, she points them at Dorothea. “Last question (for now). So if Kinsley’s the murderer, or if this tyrant god is using her for murder, why the fuck did the murders stop senior year? And why the fuck are they back? Did daddy go dormant?”

“Not my father…” She mumbles. “She can feel his presence and knows when he’s trying to come to the surface. When this initially happened she was weak. Remember—”

“That she looked like shit for a solid month? Yeah. It ruled.”

“Yes, well, she was also powerless to do anything. As she built back her strength and when she figured out what she was dealing with, she just… Closed the door. Revoked his access. I don’t know how, but that’s how she put it." Dorothea has long suspected there could be more to this parasitic relationship, though she also doesn't necessarily think Kinsley is withholding anything from her. She suspects the socialite just doesn't know how to explain it. "I guess ever since that first attempt to sacrifice Jovi, the tyrant has been louder and harder for her to resist. Hence the murders. Hence probably more murders with the statue of Reputation falling—I’m pretty sure that earthquake was a seal breaking.” Griffith was awfully smug when Dorothea returned to their home. He's been smart to not say or do anything, but Dorothea has her plants listening and watching. He'll slip eventually. "That's really everything I know. I'm sorry. Really, I am—will you guys..." 'Still help?'

 

[ellarose]

Thunder booms distantly outside. Juliet stays silent, allowing the information the time it needs to sink in. She glances over to see how Willow's taking it, knowing that her answer is the one that matters the most to everyone right now. The sorceress has reason-- good reason-- to be upset. Every right to turn Dorothea away. 'She was my first love. She was the person who made me realize I had never been loved before.' (However, knowing who Willow James is, Juliet has an inkling of what her answer will be. She won't turn her back on someone who needs her this much.) Knowing this, Juliet resolves to dig deeper. Dorothea says she's told them everything... but they got into that mess at the gala because they didn't press hard enough. There's always more, even if the idol herself doesn't recognize it yet.

"...You anticipate more murders." Juliet repeats flatly. "Aside from closing the door, have you taken any other measures to try and prevent this from happening? I understand if you don't wish to condemn your friend to a locked cell... but I shouldn't have to say that attending fairs, galas, and other public events of the sort is extremely dangerous. You both attended the gala knowing she was struggling to keep the tyrant under control." Ever since what happened to Jovi-- Dorothea said it herself. It's selfish. From what she can tell, they've both endangered people for the sake of keeping up appearances. Surely there's a certain amount of responsibility they ought to take? They may not have chosen this-- but people have died.

Juliet understands what it's like to be locked up on account of an unusual 'illness', lying deathly still in a haze while the skies outside her window changed. The difference was that her sickness had been invented by people in her life to control her. She'd been tied down without reason, it'd been senseless and frustrating. Meanwhile, these two face no apparent repercussions beyond the weight of their own guilty consciousness. It's not that she wants them to suffer the same fate, not with the likes of Griffith pulling the strings just as Brooks had once done to her... but it doesn't change the fact that these curses are impacting more than just the two of them.

"People have been killed. We could have been killed." Juliet stares at the window, watching the rain trickle in rivulets down the glass. "And you were more afraid of confiding in us than anything else." Willow had given her grace on this point... but they almost got caught up in it. They could've easily been added to the body count that's accumulated over the years thanks to their negligence. Dorothea says she had no one, but Meredith learned and tried to expose the truth-- and rather vocally from what she understands. Willow's been there from the start. Though Juliet sympathizes, though she knows the idol's feelings of loneliness are valid... she senses Dorothea has no idea what it is to truly have no one. It seems as though they both have been protected from taking any manner of accountability. Until now. She wonders if they've seen the bodies. If Kinsley remembers any of it.

Juliet sighs, exhausted by the enormity of it. Of course it's not all their fault. Dorothea and Kinsley have both been cursed. It's undeniable that they've victims in this as well. But who has been protecting the people who have fallen victim to their curses? Who has been protecting the werewolves-- the ones who have been wrongfully accused of committing those crimes?

"What exactly were you protecting Kinsley from?" Juliet asks, brown eyes flickering searchingly. Though Kinsley needs help herself, it sounds as though it's the world itself that needs protection from her right now. If Dorothea's trying to protect Kinsley from judgement of all things, then that'd be rather laughable. Especially considering it's Kinsley Prescott herself who makes it her business to press her judgement upon everyone else. (No. It's more than that. Based on the snippet of conversation they overheard between Dorothea and Hunter, Juliet can make a guess as to why.) "Were you afraid we'd suggest..." She shakes her head, scoffs before she can bring herself to say it. (They're not killers.) "That might be the way of the gods, but that's not our way."

Juliet grips her thighs until her knuckles turn white. "When we spoke, I offered to heal you. And you wouldn't know this, but it's because Willow and I tried to heal Kinsley that we..." She lifts her chin, stubbornly defiant as fear creeps up in her heart. "That we came face to face with him."

'Impossible.' The tyrant's voice echoes in Juliet's mind, the golden thread sparkling in the darkness of his prison. (Impossible. That word holds a certain power, does it not? They have something the tyrant hadn't anticipated. Something important-- given it's how they escaped his clutches in the first place. They wouldn't have lived otherwise.) Have they had it all along? Because the shade of gold is awfully similar to...

"Blueberry blitzens." Juliet utters under her breath, her eyes widening as she considers the possibility of using that mysterious realm to their advantage. "Willow, we need to talk." Then she looks from Meredith to Dorothea, her gaze serious. "...In the meantime, I'd like the two of you to compile a list of the worst possible things that could happen to Griffith King."

 

[starboob]

Willow can’t hold it in any longer. The second the door to the basement closes behind them, the sorceress comes undone. Her shoulders shake as she buries her face in her hands, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks until they’re splat, splat, splatting on the rug. It’s not that she minds crying—she’s been sensitive for as long as she can remember and is more or less inured to the mortification of being so vulnerable in front of another and, besides, this is Juliet, the one woman in the realms who can actually understand, somewhat, what she is experiencing; the betrayal and enormity both—it’s just that she wishes this didn’t have to happen now, because they still have to go back down there and face her again.

Eventually, she’s too weak to resist leaning against Juliet and lets her forehead rest against her shoulder. Juliet does not rush her. The sorceress cries and cries and cries, choking on sobs and everything she wishes she had the words to say. For now, all she can do is cry and the more she does, the less power this icky feeling has over her. As her sobs quiet and become less frequent, she leans away from the archer then takes a full step back, rubbing her eyes and, for whatever reason, doing it with an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. I know you didn’t bring me up here to cry all over you.” She reaches over to touch the tear stains on the archer’s shoulder. The realms’ tiniest glyph appears on the tip of her finger; she touches it to the oval shaped marks, drying them out in an instant. “There. What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Because they didn’t separate from the other two simply so that Willow could cry her heart out in private. She was barely holding it together back there anyway and she wouldn’t’ve have cared so much about Dorothea seeing her cry. She already has before and it wouldn’t even be the first time she’s cried because of the popstar. For now, she’d rather focus on their quest than her feelings. Her feelings are fine. Really, they are.

Though Juliet might be skeptical of Willow’s insistence they move on, she does go on to explain the connection she’s made between the fantasy realm they only just rediscovered, the golden dust, and their thread that occasionally shines gold. The sorceress looks down at the thread between their chests, noting its still golden hue. (She doesn’t think it’s gone back to that spider’s silk color since the incident, though she isn’t sure what to make of that. Not for certain, at least.)

Willow grabs her chin thoughtfully as she considers Juliet’s idea. Then she takes their thread into her palms. It feels so light, so fragile and yet… (“Impossible.”) That also lingers in the sorceress’s mind whenever she dares to think about that night. The piece of string fizzles in her palms. In spite of it’s dainty look, it’s clear there might be more to the magic of their thread than, perhaps, others. “It’s worth exploring, I think.” Kinsley may be a lot of things, but she doesn’t think the socialite actively wants to murder people. Then again, her very presence puts everyone in her immediate vicinity in danger and she knows that and still chose to attend the gala. She still chose to stay in populous places. Willow isn’t ready to say whether or not she thinks Kinsley is complicit, part of her wanting to extend empathy to the woman who had her girlhood stolen from her, but it’s hard. It’s hard because they both knew and still chose this and it’s difficult, because it confirms everything Meredith has ever said about Dorothea. (“She’s Charming Street. Forget about her, because she was never going to choose you, Wills.”)

“We should try to get back to it first. I wouldn’t want to put the Lightless or Hollowhearts in danger if that one realm is connected to Afterglow.” Well, assuming Hollowhearts are being sent to the same place. “Or others,” she adds, after a beat, recalling the pixies who gave Juliet a makeover and Willow a flower crown. The other question to consider, that Willow chooses not to voice, is whether or not Kinsley is even capable of interrealm travel. Does her condition, the connection to the tyrant, keep her Evermore bound? Hmm.

“Do you think it’s still a good idea to have Dorothea and Elise switch places?” Since they’re on the subject of hiding others in other realms. “I want Elise safe, of course, but will putting Dorothea in Folklore put others in danger?” While Hollowhearts have a mellow temperament, unlike the Lightless, they've both witnessed her almost transform. Nothing about it was gentle. Can they guarantee she'll stay away from others? Is that even possible? Will she be safe in the wood? She bites her lip. "What's your sense on this?"

 

[ellarose]

"Yes." Juliet answers unhesitatingly. When she thinks back to the panicked chaos at the faire and the gala both, the answer is simple. "I believe it is, for various reasons. Folklore is better equipped for the danger she poses in that state." It is not commonplace to carry weapons in Evermore. In Folklore, there are knights, hunters or huntresses whose jobs are specifically to protect villages from attacks and unusual creatures. The Lightless afflictions have become commonplace enough that anyone who wields a blade knows to spare those who might be cursed. Not that she believes Dorothea will end up anywhere near villages or kingdoms because... "Specifically, Millie is equipped to handle the danger she might pose. She may even be able to help her. After all, it was thanks to her magic that we were able to discover an antidote to the Lightless curse." There is no other person in Folklore that Juliet would entrust with such a task. They'll certainly learn more about the Hollowhearts if the witch of the wood is able to use her sight. "Perhaps we'll also learn if there're any connections between the Lightless and Hollowheart afflictions."

While it's simple enough for Juliet to claim that this is the best course of action, Millicent will need to agree to it first. (After the incident with Flynn, there's no telling how she will respond to such a request... although, she imagines nothing could truly be worse than asking her to house Flynn Everson. And that has already happened.) Not only that, but they'll also need both Dorothea and Elise to agree to switch places. It won't be quite so simple as finding a gateway and traveling through it, either. They've been away from Folklore for quite some time now-- far longer than Juliet has ever been away from Folklore before. There is no way of knowing if Princess Elise is still living with Nessa, or...

There must be hundreds of men scouring Folklore for the lost princess as they speak. (If one hasn't found her already.) A chill runs down Juliet's spine at the thought of Prince Devlin finding her first. Her shoulders nearly sink, she nearly sighs, but she steels herself instead. What they need right now more than anything is to be strong. Willow needs her to be strong. She might have dried the tears from her shoulder, but Juliet can still feel them there.

"That rank spoon Griffith believes that he is so far ahead of us." Juliet says, recalling the smug hologram he left for them in the hotel room. It's frustrating, because he is ahead. For now. "The interviewer knew far too much about me, he left us that cryptic message. He certainly acts as though he knows what to expect from all of us." All the more reason why they should do something bold. Something unexpected. "If Dorothea and Jovi were to go someplace he could not follow, surely that would create unprecedented problems for him."

Juliet would love nothing more than to cause problems for Griffith King. That vile, vile man. Much like Paris Brooks, her opinion of him sinks lower and lower by the second... now it's so low it has gone beyond hell itself.

"I will have to speak with Millie and Princess Elise." Juliet bites her lip. Last but not least... "We'll have to convince Dorothea as well. I sense her mind is set upon staying in Evermore because she has someone to protect. I am not sure if it's solely because of Kinsley, or if there's more she's yet to tell us about." One thing the archer can be sure of is that Dorothea's every move is quiet, careful and intentional. Thanks to Griffith's threats and influence, she's been living under his thumb... and her small rebellions simply won't be enough to change anything. (Juliet knows. She's tried it all before.) "I suspect everything will change if she openly rebels against Griffith."

If and only if. Juliet sensed that it was highly unlikely she'd agree to her proposition when they spoke before. While Dorothea exhibits a mastery over her own emotions, there was hesitation in the pauses of her hands in Juliet's hair and the faraway glaze in her violet eyes. As though running away was only a distant dream to her. Something she would never-- could never-- do.

"In order to persuade her, we'll likely have to prove that we're capable of protecting Kinsley in her stead." Juliet muses. She takes her time considering this. If the other world does not suit that purpose, then... Hm. "The mysterious tome Sabrina was carrying that night... do you suppose we could steal it from them?" Her eyes gleam, remnants of the thieving rouge coming back up to the surface. The language was unrecognizable... but if they could find someone to translate it, it could very well change everything. It might at the very least give them the direction they need going forward, or a hint at Griffith and his cult's next move. "It may possess many secrets... and, perhaps, expose a way to reverse what Griffith has done."

 

[starboob]

Dorothea is more agreeable than either Willow or Juliet had anticipated. (Maybe it’s her guilt and want to do something right for a change, or maybe she sees the opportunity for what it is. Maybe she’s learning to trust the very women who she involved in this mess that is her life.) Even so, that does not mean the cursed woman is not without her concerns or stipulations.

For a long while, Dorothea is bent over her knees, resting her chin on one fist. She stares at the edge of the table, unfocusing her vision as she considers the possibilities and the risks; as she considers what she has known for some time now: That she can no longer dawdle or be an idle passenger in her own life. Once, she thought it might save her. Once, she thought it would be easy. Once, she had been naïve. But Dorothea has never been a statue and that is what inaction means for her (and, now, it means even worse).

Those close to her have tried to convince her that being a statue is not such a bad thing and that spreading her legs for someone she loathes is all she has to do. It is easy, they say. But that’s not the story Dorothea wants for herself. She never has. Maybe once she thought she could make everyone happy if she just played the right role, but this method acting is splitting reality; and the divide between self and character grows wider by the day. She's going to fall into the chasm soon if this doesn't stop. And Dorothea is tired of being the willing sacrifice on the altar.

When she sits up, smoothing her sweat-slicked palms over her knees, an imperceptible tremor racks through her entire body. An entire future could be rewritten, pending what she says next. She swallows hard, leveling her gaze with the three women. (Willow still won’t meet her eye. It stabs her in the chest.) “If I leave—if,” she emphasizes this point, eyes wandering to the four corners of the room as if she expects someone is listening. (But this is the Rhode Island house and it is the safest place she has ever known.) “Then no one else can know.”

She pauses, again meeting the eyes of Juliet and Meredith, because Willow still won’t look at more than her socks. “Not even Kinsley can know.” Dorothea already isn’t sure whether this secret can stay between the four of them. The adage, “Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead,” was probably first spoken by Charming Street and has been proven true time and again throughout her life. As much as she wants to trust these women who have already gone over and beyond on her behalf, she can never be too careful. “Kinsley especially needs to be kept in the dark.”

She would be a liar if she said she hadn’t ever thought of an escape plan—how she’d do it and the best way to keep her loved ones safe. Acting on these plans always seemed too dangerous, too impossible… But the idea of Folklore has been in her dreams as of late. Quaint cottages in the wood. Creatures to befriend. Plants to share gossip with. It all feels abstract and tangible all at once. If she wants to grasp this future and still protect Kinsley, then she cannot know.

“It’s not that I don’t trust her, but…” Her lips twist as she pulls them to the side, searching for the words. “I don’t want to risk anything.” Dorothea regrets those words immediately. Not because she doesn’t mean it, but because of what it implies.

Willow picks up on the implication immediately. Her breath stops as heat floods her veins. She isn’t the only one who feels this—Meredith’s reaction mirrors her own and, somewhat surprising Willow, Meredith reaches for one of her bunched up fists and grounds the sorceress. When she gives a confused look, Meredith shrugs.

Earlier, when Juliet and Willow left, Meredith had been alone with Dorothea. She almost launched all the insults in her arsenal, but when she opened her mouth, all she could muster was one simple question. (“Is what’s happening to you going to happen to me too?” She had touched her chest, for the first time acknowledging her thread with someone outside of the family.) Meredith doesn’t agree with Dorothea. Meredith doesn’t like Dorothea. Meredith does understand Dorothea, to some extent.

“Willow—I didn’t mean it like that.” Dorothea, for the first time since Willow returned with sob swollen eyes, addresses her directly. “It’s not that I was willing to risk you… I just… didn’t know.” That excuse only becomes flimsier the more she says it. Her cheeks burn with a fierce pink. “I’ll be better. I’m not happy with who I’ve been lately and I’d like to change that, starting with this.” Willow doesn’t acknowledge that she’s listening. Dorothea knows she is, so she continues, “If we go forward with this, there won’t be anyone left to talk Kinsley down. No offense, but she’s not going to listen to any of you if the tyrant starts to take over. She’s barely listening to me anymore.” And, likewise, Kinsley is hardly able to reach Dorothea when she starts to transform into that horrific monster. It’s part of why she’s more open to the idea of running. “Is there a plan for that?”

She chews on the corner of her thumbnail, debating whether or not to say more. When she glances at the heroines, she realizes she has to. She owes them everything and they need to be prepared. “Griffith will suspect you. If it doesn’t come to him immediately, he’ll go after my dad and his son first.” Their innocence won’t matter to Griffith either. He’ll use them to get to Dorothea and when that doesn’t work, he’ll widen his scope and home in on the heroines. Dorothea isn’t particularly worried about the Rhode Island home; the holy grounds keep it protected. At least, for now, and she suspects Willow will want to keep her family as far away from this as possible. “You’ll be next if you’re not first. I think you should find a different base of operations and make yourself scarce here. Nothing and no one will be safe, but you can prolong certain inevitabilities." After a pause, she adds, "Under no circumstances should you assume Griffith is a step behind you. You have to assume he knows something, if not everything. I always wondered how, but since discovering his involvement with those sympathizers of the tyrant, I suspect that's how he's so informed.” Before, she thought it was only his connections as a King and while that might be part of it, his uncanny ability to know exactly where she is... That has to be him using his connection to the god against her own.

"We might have a plan to address all of that," Willow mentions, still not looking at Dorothea and addressing her none the same. "It involves stealing a tome from the Stakes. Can you help?"

 

[ellarose]

The distinct hiss of a not-cat emerges from one of the teacups sitting on the table before Dorothea can answer.

Though everyone stiffens, Lucky's the first to properly react. Their head pokes up from underneath the table, upright and alert at the ominous call of their enemy... Jeffery Von Willigans. Juliet sighs softly, reaching in her pocket for the murmuring mums she received from the apothecary. She double checks the reflection of her thigh knife before panning her gaze across the room at any other reflective surfaces she can find. Grace's eyes, the windows... it isn't long before one of the abandoned teacups on the table rattles with an impatient 'ahem!' Unlike before, the dragon trills happily at the sound of this voice.

"Everyone stay calm." Juliet advises, scooping the cup into her hands as though rescuing a tiny bird before anyone can think to smash it. (She's seen what Meredith did to her own television set, and she's fairly certain that Dorothea would be willing to resort to the same measures in order to keep her secrets.) The archer drops the murmuring mums into the tea, watching as the ripples in the surface gradually collect in unusual shapes before inviting the image of Millicent Saffron to the surface. A crown of wildflowers and leaves rests haphazardly on her messy head of brown hair, leaves and twigs sticking out in all manner of angles. "Foraging day?"

"Indeed, my darling redheaded siren." Millie grins impishly. "I've been collecting more specimens for my research." Juliet can tell that the witch likes the way those words sound on her tongue, the way she primps herself up in a queenly way while she says them. "I shall not suffer the embarrassment of returning to the impressively tall Carmilla empty handed!" She pauses, her voice light and conversational as she continues with a nod. "I refuse."

"First of all... never call me that again." Juliet starts with the most important matter of business, viscerally aware of the eyes on her. Next-- if she's calling to discuss her research, then perhaps... "Second, did you learn anything about the scissors?"

"What!? What part of that scrumptious pet name did you dislike?" Millicent asks, genuinely scandalized as she drops her jaw. (This should not surprise her by now-- but somehow, it does.) Naturally, it's the talk of names that demands her attention first and foremost. "Oh. Darling?"

The name sends shockwaves through Juliet, even if it's not initially what she had been referring to. Darling. Figments of a once lost nightmare reignite in her mind, paper stars, stitched lips and tilted stages. She shakes her head quickly to clear it. Jayden Darling does not exist. Moreover, she's left that part of her life behind her. The tournament is over.

"All of it. It was quite atrocious." Juliet brushes over it. The others are shifting, uneasy around her. The confusion in the air is palpable-- but it's always necessary to banter at least a little with Millie in order to get her in a good mood. Especially before asking a favor.

"Ah. Yet you've been allowing others to call you Jules, have you not? You're getting soft, princess." Millicent prattles on, fiddling the the stems of one of the flowers in her hair. "Princess... oh, that's right. There's been an, ah, interesting development..."

"...Who is this?" Meredith asks, her impatience finally rising to the surface. She seems to be warring with herself between inching across Willow's lap to look into the teacup while also wanting to keep a careful distance from Juliet. "What the fuck is going on right now?"

"Tsk, tsk. Banter is all I have, you feisty sauce-box. If you interrupt it, you shall derail me even further. Just like that train Juliet and Willow risked their lives on." Millicent sighs and shakes her head. Something like concern flashes through her eyes for the briefest of moments. "Goodness me. The trouble that finds the two of you! Containing it is much like herding the not-bees into a jar."

"You're... Folklorian. Like Jules." Dorothea assesses. A slight relief eases the tightness of her features as she comes to this conclusion. "Is that right?"

"Indeed! What gave it away? The accent?" Millicent beams. Juliet is beginning to think she should have taken this conversation to the other room. (What was she going to say about princesses? Something about Elise?) "Mine is particularly fearsome."

"You called Meredith a sauce box." Dorothea nearly hesitates to continue with her reasoning, though she can't disguise the slightest hint of amusement that appears in them. "...Jules called Kinsley a sauce box when they first met. Figured it was a Folklorian thing."

Meredith scrunches her face up like she tasted something sour. The concept that anyone could even begin to compare her with Kinsley Prescot-- even in an roundabout way like this-- disgusts her. This doesn't last for long, though, when the air directly above the teacup starts to shimmer and Millicent's decapitated head appears in the room. Her amber eyes shine brightly as she gazes around the room at everyone.

"Greetings! I would wave, but I lack the hands for it at the moment." Juliet nearly drops the teacup. While she is accustomed to the witch of the wood's antics, this is a new trick. She smiles mischievously at the confusion she's created. "Sawyer and I learned how to switch individual body parts."

"I see." Juliet says. She doesn't ask for elaboration-- nor does she know if she wants to. (Except... does this mean that Sawyer is wandering around headless somewhere?) Okay. She realizes the need to rein this conversation back in to where it needs to be. "We were going to ask for your help, Millie." Might as well bring it up now that they're all getting acquainted. "We're here with Dorothea, Princess Elise's... parallel twin. It may be best for both of them if they switched as soon as possible. If that happens, would you mind taking her in for us?"

"...We'll have to find the princess first." Millicent sighs, shaking her head. "The lovesick poppet."

"What do you mean?" Juliet asks, alarm rising in her. Find her. "Did she and Nettle--"

"Oh, Nettlefred got along swimmingly with the princess. So swimmingly, in fact, that my dear cousin has become nauseatingly preoccupied with the search for her own soulmate." Millicent rolls her eyes. "Anyhow. The queen made her decree... well, you already know that part. Flynnigan set off on his grand adventure to reunite with his sweetheart. When she heard that he was coming for her, the little birdie insisted that she set off on her own adventure to meet him halfway."

"Why would she do such a thing?" Juliet leans back in her seat, incredulous. Foolish. And brave, she supposes, but mostly foolish. Especially given the circumstances. "Everyone in Folklore must be searching for her right now." Elise had never left Amoria before they helped her escape that fateful day. She was hidden where they left her. Safe. But now...

"Because she's a fool in love, I suppose?" Millicent tuts. "I'm waxing poetical here, but I think the two of you inspired her. You really only have yourselves to blame." Her head bobs in such a way where it looks like she's shrugging despite the fact that she doesn't have shoulders right now. Then she swirls her head around all the way around to look at Dorothea. "So, you're Dorothy?" She squints, looking the idol up and down very carefully. (It's serious business for the witch of the wood to allow anyone into her home.) "I have some questions for you. You're not planning to crush me with a sepia farmhouse, are you?"

 

[starboob]

Willow closes her eyes and slowly nopes out of the conversation, sinking deep into the couch cushions the second that Millie’s head—and only Millie’s head—appears in her grandmas’ basement. ‘Couldn’t she have just, I dunno, projected herself into the steam?’ And the thing is? The sorceress knows that the hex girl of the wood absolutely could have done that and simply chose not to. Probably for the shock factor. No, definitely for the shock factor.

Meredith and Dorothea are split on where they stand with this development. Meredith stares at the floating head with half her lip curled and one eyebrow raised, torn between impressed and grossed out. Dorothea, on the other hand, schools her expression before anything can be made of her initial shock. And the longer that she stares at Millie’s head, the less odd it becomes. Really, she ought to be used to this—they all should be. There’s a psychic in town who famously keeps her head in a crystal ball for “the ambiance.”

…No, this is still weird; charming and weird.

When the talking head addresses her directly, scrutinizing her like a specimen under a microscope, the popstar cannot help but to straighten her posture and fold her hands neatly in her lap. She almost misses the question altogether, eyes flickering between Juliet and Willow after the Folklorian mentions how the heroines inspired her “parallel twin,” the princess. It’s the expectant little, ahem, that reminds her of the query.

She smiles at the reference, shaking her head. “I’ve no relation to Dorothy Gale. I only played her in a school play once.” Willow wrote the glyphs for all the special effects. She was too nervous to cast them herself, but Dorothea has never forgotten how impressed she was when she learned who came up with all those spells. She started noticing the sorceress more after that. “And my name is Dorothea, with an ‘uh.’”

“Oh, then is there a relation to Glinda with a ‘guh?’” Millie’s head tilts a full ninety degrees. This is very important for her to clarify. After all, everything is in a name.

“No. No relationship to Glinda the Good either. I’m Dorothea Birdsong, of Song Bird Media Industries.”

Despite the fact that Millie is only a head, the sound of dishes breaking still fills the basement. Her head snaps back to its usual tilt. She floats in close to the popstar, until they’re nose to nose. “You’re the song bird?”

In the background, Willow starts to wonder how Millie might be familiar with Dorothea and then she remembers—

“Oh, my parallel twin is going to be so jealous. Wilikers!” Her head spins to face the sorceress, accidentally (or maybe not) slapping Dorothea in the face with her hair as she whips around. “Why have you not told our dearest wolf that you know her favorite celebrity? Secret secrets are no fun, secret secrets hurt someone,” she chimes in a singsong voice.

Willow is already pinching the bridge of her nose. This is getting out of hand. “Dorothea and I only recently reconnected and I’ve been a little preoccupied lately. It hasn’t come up.” Still, even if this conversation is derailing, she doesn’t press the hex girl for an answer to the initial question. She knows she’s getting there in her own roundabout way. “But you should let me break the news to her.”

“I make no promises, but I shall try, for your sake.” She nods (more like rocks her head like a rocking chair), then turns back to the popstar in question—Dorothy with an uh. “I suppose as a favor to my twin, I can allow you to stay at my humble abode.” Nevermind that Juliet is the one who asked for this favor, but clearly it’s Sawyer’s affection for the singer that persuades the weirdo of the wood. “A few house rules upon your arrival: Track dirt to the left and be artistic about it. I have footprints in abundance and it is getting just oh so very trite. Wigs and costumes are provided upon request and, many times, without prompting. My cat,” the possum hisses in the background, “is quite handsome and I will have to get a portrait of the two of you together. Oh, and bring a gift unless you wish to perform a dance.” Her tongue pokes out from the side of her mouth as she considers the various other house rules. “I believe that just about covers it. Though we still must find your twin. Have you met before? No? Well, in that case, you’ll need to ask Sawyer for assistance. I am up to my eyebrows," she waggles them, "in my research.”

Willow is already dreading that conversation. For Dorothea’s sake, she'll have to keep her as far away from the wolf for as long as possible. Then again, a small amount of petty revenge never hurt anyone… ‘No, no. Be better than that, WJ.’ “That’s fine. We’ll have to catch up with her anyway.” Tactfully, she now broaches the subject. “How is your research with Carmilla going?”

“Carmilla is lovely. Very tall and very sharp, still.” Millie sighs wistfully. “Much like the scissors—though I suppose those are not particularly tall,” she muses, turning her head upside down. Her forehead starts to turn red, though she doesn’t seem particularly bothered. “But perhaps they once were! They are in their Reputation era, it seems—the era of reinvention and angst.”

“What??” Willow and Meredith chime in unison.

“The old version can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, 'cause it's dead!" Millie cackles like lightning; it's complemented by actual thunder from outside. She is visibly pleased by this and somehow manages to stay on topic despite this. "And now it has risen up from the dead as something new. I cannot be any more clear than that, my deer, beagle, dragon, and fox. Now, if that is all, I must return to my cat and soups.”

 

[ellarose]

"Which direction did Princess Elise take when she left Nettlefred's cottage?" Juliet slips her question in before Millicent can vanish from sight. If she doesn't ask now, her imagination will supply every possibility, every tragic fate that could befall a naive traveler like the princess in the wood. This will not stop her from worrying. (She's not worried.) Wondering will only serve to distract her. "I know you said to ask Sawyer, but surely you must know something?" The archer bites her lip, hesitating to ask more, but she cannot help but to continue. "Do you know where Prince Devlin started his search?"

"I suppose you could say she took the sea-nic route." Millicent clicks her tongue and winks. When her pun earns nothing but indifferent blinks from everyone in the room, her expression flattens. "She's in the sea." She purses her lips, somewhat resembling a puffer fish, and sways her head from side to side to give it an underwater effect. "I know what you're thinking. Why, Milfred! Wasn't the sea bleeding? Well..."

Millicent takes a deep breath, like she's bracing herself to dive underwater herself, and her head drops down into Juliet's teacup with a splash. Without explanation as to why she's made this change, her reflection reappears on the surface. As she speaks, she begins collecting some of the herbs and mushrooms she foraged into a burlap sack. (Perhaps Sawyer needed her head back.)

"The princess healed it. A soup containing her pink blob's rosey-posey magic and a dash of mer-blood did just the trick. Royal magic is not to be underestimated, I suppose." The witch shrugs with her shoulders this time, begrudgingly offering Elise credit where it is due. "No wonder every eligible prince in Folklore wants her for a bride." She rolls her eyes at this prospect. (How can magic be so desirable and undesirable at the same time?) "That said, it's highly unlikely that the winged princes will go anywhere near the water."

Juliet releases a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding, nodding slowly as she takes this information in. While the prince could easily send his cronies out to search the seven seas for him, it's a relief to know he cannot follow her himself. What with his strange, hypnotic magic... wait.

"...What about King Cayman?" Juliet's nerves reemerge at this concept. It's a well-known fact that he loves to sail and would be fully equipped to search the seas if need be.

"Oh, he completely abandoned his search for the princess. It's like I said before... he's after you, Juliet." Millie points at her, narrowing her eyes. "I know you're worried about the princess, but you need to stay put. You and Willy-J set Folklore aflame. It's toasty-toasty! Wait for it to cool down before you even think about returning to us." She pauses, a mysterious flicker crosses through her eyes, but it's gone almost as soon as it appears. "Stay away for as long as you can."

Toasty-toasty... Juliet considers telling Millie that she's begun practicing magic again, but ultimately decides against it. (It will only compel the witch to tell tales of many, many spells gone awry.) She preoccupies herself with this detail, because thinking about the implications of King Cayman hunting for her is too much right now. Still... better her than Elise, she supposes.

"Anyways... Nettlefred and I believe the sea is only temporarily fixed. The worlds are imbalanced. Topsy turvy, if you will. Rest assured I will have more to say on the matter once I've conducted more research." Millie shakes her eager, grabby hands towards her foraged finds. "I know you miss me, Juliet, but I must take my leaf."

The witch of the wood reaches into the wild wreath of flowers on her head, tugging a single leaf out. She holds it in the palm of her hand, blows it towards the surface of the teacup, and then vanishes in the ripples it creates.

Without Millicent's lively voice filling the room, for a moment all they can hear is the sound of the rain plunking against the windows and the distant sound of thunder. Dorothea takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself, and then rises from her seat.

"So you want to break into the Stakes estate..." Dorothea begins, pacing. Her expression is somewhat conflicted before she squares her shoulders and heads towards the basement door for some privacy. "Give me a minute. Let me see what I can do." No one rises to stop her. It's evident from the muffled sound of her voice on the other side that she's making a call.

"Did you come up with any ideas while we were away?" Juliet turns to Meredith, then, remembering the request she'd made before she and Willow left before. "The worst possible things that could happen to Griffith King?"

 

[starboob]

Willow drags her hands down her face, sliding down from the couch until her knees hit the table and her bum hits the floor. Elise has left the safety of Nettlefred’s seaside cottage. King Cayman is hunting Juliet down. Griffith King is several steps ahead of them and has the tyrant god on his side. As does Sabrina Stake and, presumably, the entirety of the Stake family and their garbage business criminal empire. And what do they have, save for a few scraps of information, hunches, and Charming Street allies they can't fully trust?

She rests her forehead against her knees and rubs her temples while the realms teeter on her back, carefully balanced on the knobs of her spine. Fractures open with soundless snaps. No one will notice if Willow lifts her head, smiles, and insists that she’s fine.

But Meredith is already sliding down next to her friend, temporarily putting Juliet’s question on pause. One of her arms drapes over Willow’s back and she melts, leaning all of her weight against Meredith; curling into her. All of the pettiness that holds at least half of Meredith’s personality together comes undone. She exchanges a glance with Juliet and then motions for her to join them on the floor. This is going to be a floor talk. Willow needs it.

Rain continues to pelt the small rectangular window set near the basement ceiling; wind howls directly down the pipe of the chimney, chilling the already cold room. Willow reaches for Juliet’s hand, wrapping her cold fingers around it while she buries her nose into Meredith’s shoulder. She doesn’t lift her head, she doesn’t smile, but she does say, “I’m fine. Just need to, ah, take this all in, I guess.” She gives a nervous titter that does nothing to convince Meredith that she’s fine. Meredith doesn’t press her, as much as she wants to.

Willow continues, “Catch us up on what happened with Dorothea.”

“Oh…” Red creeps up Meredith’s neck and colors her entire face in seconds. When she remembers that Juliet is only just right there, she quickly clears her throat and turns her face away from the archer. “We never got to that. I… I ended up asking her about 'the hollowing' and if it’d happen to me, because…” She trails off, tugging uncomfortably at her chest. “It–It wasn’t important. Sorry.”

And that’s yet another stone added to the pile on her back. Willow further hides her face in friend’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. The tears still push through the cracks and wet Meredith’s shoulder. Not that Meredith minds. She rubs Willow’s back, then slips her hand beneath her shirt and lightly scratches the space between her shoulder blades. “Shit, I mean it’s not that hard to think about the worst possible things to happen to Griffith.

“Just off the top of my head, we could chop off his dick or, like, put it through a blender.” She shrugs, rolling her wrist through the air. “He could get Cask of Amontillado-ed. We could rig the upcoming election; cause him to lose the precious council seat he’s been masturbating to since high school.” She clicks her tongue, ideas coming to her faster than she can articulate them. “Shock collars. Every time he thinks an evil little thought, he gets electrocuted at an ever increasing voltage until he, like, dies. And, uh, turning all his clothes Barbie pink would probably piss him off.”

That last suggestion causes Willow to pull away from Meredith’s shoulder, screwing her face up with a smile. “Yeah, that’ll really stop him.”

“You never know!” Meredith grins, encouraged now that Willow is no longer leaning against her. (She’s still holding Juliet’s hand.) “Psychological warfare should not be underestimated. Like, imagine what’d happen if you two slipped him an anti-sleeping draught. He’d be a mess.”

“Sure.” She rolls her eyes and quietly rests her cheek on Juliet’s shoulder this time, idly tracing her knuckles with her thumb. Silence falls over the group. The only noise is Dorothea’s muffled voice and storm outside. Willow is content to remain silent while Meredith ponders more ways to torture Griffith. She rests her free hand on Juliet’s bicep, taking comfort in the hard muscle beneath her clothes. She might not be invincible, but Willow thinks she’s as close as someone can get with how many times she’s risen after being knocked down. Doesn’t matter if it’s a Lightless in the wood, a gaggle of princes smashing in her ribs, or a belligerent noble in the streets of Amoria, she always comes back.

“Juliet…” Willow’s brow creases as she recalls their stay at the apothecary following the incident with the belligerent noble in the streets of Amoria. “Do you still have that lip balm from Mosley?” While they had discussed the possibility of gifting it to Lavinia Laurence, she wonders what they might be able to accomplish if they manage to somehow wrangle Griffith and apply the balm. Sabrina wouldn’t be a bad target either. Really, anyone on Charming Street might suffice. “We need more information and that lip balm…” It’s dangerous, obviously. Approximately six thousand and forty-three disaster scenarios flit through the worrier’s mind, and none of them outweigh the potential benefits. Willow bites her lip. “I mean, even just slipping him some before a town hall and messing with the pre-approved questions could damage his reputation.”

It's similar to the plan they hatched in Okeanos. While they might not win any points for originality, that plan worked. So much so that Cedrick’s true form was eventually revealed when he turned Lightless. Maybe the same or something similar will happen to Griffith. She has to hope wonder.

“Fill me in,” Meredith interrupts. “What’s this lip balm?”

“It’s like that spell I cast on Kinsley freshman year, but in lip balm form.”

The sparks in Meredith’s eyes confirm that she understands and, more than that, she’s intrigued. “Alright, alright," she nods, scooting closer to the heroines. "So how are you going to get close to him? Let alone convince him to use the stuff?”

"That's not really an issue." Her eyes flicker over to the door. "Dorothea can sneak it in with his things or even mix it with a product he already uses. If she's not up to it, I'll do it." A part of her might even want to be the one plant the lip balm on him, to prove she can. She won't be scared of the boy who tried to steal Lucky from her or the teenager who stole away her favorite summer or the man who's hurting a friend and stands to hurt so many more. On some level, she wants him to know who he's up against.

The door to the basement swings open soon after Willow finishes and Dorothea glides back in, unquestioningly taking a seat on the floor across from the other women. "Okay, are you two up for an All Hallow's Eve party?"

 

[ellarose]

Juliet stares at her reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing the face that stares back at her. It’s reminiscent of being ten years old again, standing in front of the vanity in the August mansion after Angelica and mother had their way with her. Her dirt-streaked face had been scrubbed clean, her red hair detangled and fashioned in delicate ringlets. She was dressed in a flowing gown tailored to fit her better than anything she had ever owned before in her life. (Even so, it wasn’t her.) This isn’t her, either, but it’s not supposed to be. This is the point of All Hallow’s Eve.

Right now, she looks like the classic definition of a thieving rogue. (Or perhaps a musketeer.) Juliet's attire is simple for the sake of being discreet-- with tight black leather trousers, a ruffly white blouse with the first few buttons unbuttoned, and long boots. She's also been given a black hat with a feather in it to 'add a little something extra', in Dorothea's words. (They're going for simple, but not so simple that she resembles a bored attendee who decided not to wear a costume at all.) Her red hair is tied back into a ponytail to keep it out of her way. The finest piece of the costume is the black mask that sits in front of her on the bathroom counter. She idly traces the elegant, sequined edges with the tip of her finger.

Unlike pizza, short pants and trains, All Hallow’s Eve warranted no introduction at all to Juliet. The kingdoms royals scarcely acknowledge the occasion, instead dedicating their attention to harvest festivals and All Souls Day, but Juliet knows of villages that honor the traditions of All Hallow’s Eve-- or dedicate themselves to it completely. (Juliet shudders when she considers the one populated by eerie, pumpkin-headed residents.) Moreover, it is Millicent’s favorite day of the year. The witch of the wood makes a grand spectacle of All Hallow's Eve, insisting upon preparing her spooks, seances and costumes for the entire month of October. That said, the archer's grateful that they made these plans after they had their conversation with the witch. She’d have become incoherent with excitement and likely would have devised a way to perform her floating head trick in the middle of the party. (Actually...)

It is somewhat early for All Hallow’s, though. Evidently, Evermorians love All Hallow’s Eve so much that they create occasions of which they can use it as a ‘theme’. The most important detail in all of this is that they attend this party in costume. Juliet and Willow have donned disguises in the past– but this time, they’ll have an excuse to arrive in such a manner.

Hm. How many times will Juliet have to wear a mask to go after what she wants? At this point, she is wearing masks on top of masks. Who am I? She wants to help. She wants to ruin everything. She's... confused. They're all on the same side, undeniably, they all want the same things. But she has secrets of her own. Secrets that will destroy all of this. (Willow shouldn't be leaning on the likes of her. If she looks to her for warmth, she's going to get burned.) One day... one day, she'll be crying because of her, too. The thought makes Juliet sick to her stomach.

Juliet observes the masquerade mask after she fastens it securely around her head. The ghost of Sefarina's finger coils around a strand of her hair, tugging hard. 'Finding you in a crowd is easy, my dear.' Her breath tickles her neck, there's a hand on her chest, sharp nails teasing over her racing heart. Red lips smile, sickle sharp. 'You're a torchlight in the darkness.'

Furious heat burned in Juliet's cheeks that night, betraying her like the woman standing beside her. She didn't consider the mysterious woman she'd fallen for charming. Instead, her fingers closed around the delicate edges of a crystal vial in her pocket, filled to the brim with poison. (Just like her heart.) A few steps ahead of the mastermind who fancied herself miles away, she was going to poison herself before Sefarina could.

Juliet wore a mask like this the first night she died.

***​

The Stake estate looms high, foreboding and monumental over a manicured lawn. It’s surrounded by an iron fence reminiscent of a glamorous prison cell, decorated with spikes and sprawling floral patterns. Everything is pointy and sharp. Juliet cannot help but see it and many of the other buildings on this street as imitations of Folklorian homes. In her opinion, the houses on Charming Street sorely lack the charm of the Rhode Island house. The colorful, unique houses in town and in the city were exciting. This is... perhaps a touch too familiar for her liking. Like a house that isn't truly a home.

Music bumps from the inside out, fog hisses and crawls about across the yard like a serpent, and the rose bushes are swathed in a film of spiderwebs. A giant spider with glowing red eyes has been set up ominously in the trees. A man dressed in a ridiculous spider costume holds a lopsided bottle in his hand, trying out elaborate poses to get a photo with it. A woman wearing dark make-up and an unimpressed scowl in lieu of a costume barks at him to stay still long enough for her to get the shot. "Ugh. Come on, Jared. Pick a pose and stick to it!"

"Don't rush me! Or I'm gonna tell Brooke what you told Jenny last night."

Juliet raises a brow. She has been warned in advance about these ‘decorations’. In all honesty, they're tame compared to what she's used to. After all… Millie is the sort of person who makes garlands out of severed hands. She looks up into the spider's red eyes and then down at the fool wobbling directly beneath it, struggling to balance himself on one foot. A splash of beer escapes the lips of his bottle as his arms flail around. What is he doing?

They buzz in at the gate. When Dorothea gives her name, they automatically swing open for her. Collectively, the three of them breathe a sigh of relief. Getting into the estate is surprisingly simple. However, Juliet does not think this is indicative of how their night is going to go. It's only just beginning. The three of them exchange glances before stepping inside, venturing down the stone pathway towards the house. As they walk by, Jared falls flat on his face. "Yo! It's Dorothea Birdsong." He whispers (Not really, though, because they can all hear him.) His friend doesn't react, only snickering as she snaps a picture of him on the ground covered in beer.

Even amidst a crowd full of lively people who all seem to have someone to talk to, everyone flocks naturally to Dorothea. Even wearing a gown and a mask, her heavenly aura announces her presence to everyone. (In Evermore, it would seem that she is the 'torchlight in the darkness.' Selfishly, Juliet is grateful for that right now. Unlike the outside of the Stake estate, the party raging inside is... unlike anything she's seen before. The shock of it paralyzes her. For a moment she cannot help but stare wide-eyed like a cornered doe.

The music is even louder inside, sending vibrations through the glossy floors. The people are all pressed up against each other, writhing around. They're wearing shorter short pants. Some of them appear to be wearing little more than their undergarments and headbands with animal ears. There is no perceivable order to the way anyone is standing, or where. One of the couches is covered in couples locking their lips. The social etiquette she'd been strictly raised on is spat on in a place such as this. While Juliet wishes the sight didn't scandalize her, having spent her entire life wanting to spit on those rules of social etiquette herself, it's too much to take in all at once. She's going to need a drink for this.

Dorothea is bombarded with questions as partygoers ask her how she's been, expressing their sympathies and concerns (and vulture-like interest) regarding the night of the gala. They suspected this would happen. It allows Juliet and Willow a convenient opening to sneak away. Dorothea had steeled herself, admitting that she was a bit nervous-- but they had risked their lives for her. She insisted she'd try her best to keep the eyes of other partygoers off of the heroines. Though they'd been worried about her attending yet another party with her curse, she reassured them that she has it under control-- for now. While they were hesitant, they ultimately decided to trust her.

Juliet and Willow start to sneak away, weaving through the sea of bodies. Before they can reach for each other's hands to ensure they don't get separated, a boisterous group barrels their way through the crowd, getting in between them. (They're shouting over the noise at each other, something about getting a picture with the giant spider. Next to Dorothea, it seems the giant spider is the second most popular guest in attendance.) Stunned by the lights, stiffening amidst the people around her, Juliet freezes.

"Heeeey, little lady." A man dressed in an embroidered suit and a mask seizes Willow's wrist, tugging her in towards him. "Have I seen you around somewhere before?" He grins, showing off his perfect white teeth. There's a strong scent of alcohol on his breath. "Want to dance?"

 

[starboob]

Being here dizzies the sorceress. Her heart gets stuck somewhere in her throat, swelling uncomfortably. She can’t breathe. Every which direction she turns is a possible snake. They slither at the corners of her vision and taunt her each time she spins to face them, disappearing before she can prove they’re real. She blinks harshly, twisting her features to sweep away the phantoms. It doesn’t work. Everywhere is an enemy. She can feel Sabrina’s red eyes on her back. (Red eyes she thought were rubies. Wiser now, she recognizes that they were always waving red flags.) She’s here, somewhere. A snake in the grass waiting to lunge.

Willow rubs her throat, trying to massage the lump out of it. It doesn’t do much aside from occupy her hands. This is going to be a long night. (She should have taken up Tita for a second helping at dinner. Or at least tried to force down her barely touched first serving.) The nerves flutter like restless dragons in her stomach, brushing feathery wings all over her insides.

While Dorothea shines under the spotlight, Willow is close to passing out in her shadow. She pushes her thick framed glasses up her nose and adjusts her cowboy hat accordingly. Through the charmed lenses, she identifies various guests, their costumes, and what spells they might be using to enhance or otherwise alter their physical traits. Still no sign of Sabrina. ‘Maybe this charm isn’t working?’ Or maybe Sabrina has yet to make her entrance. From the idle chatter and snippets of conversation, she's gathered that the Stake heiress has yet to show herself. None of the Stake children have shown face, in fact.

‘I have a toasty toasty feeling about this.’ She chews on the inside of her cheek and reaches for Juliet’s hand, her anchor. But her fingers don’t even graze the archer’s. The crowd comes between them first and pushes them apart. Willow looks over her shoulder for Juliet, catches a glimpse of her red ponytail just as a large hand clasps over her wrist and pulls her away.

She falls against a man's chest, wrinkling her nose when the vodka on his breath hits her. Just before the man can use this as an excuse to wrap his arm around her bare midriff, she presses her palm flat against his chest, pushes herself away, then twists out of his grip the way she’s been practicing with Juliet and Leif. “No, not interested.” She puts on her harshest scowl, backing away from the man with dark greasy hair pulled back into a high bun. Complemented by the mustache, he reminds her of her father.

And like her father, he doesn’t take the hint.

“Shy?” He grins like the big bad wolf. “C’mon, I don’t bite. ‘Nless you’re into that.”

Heat scorches her throat like a dragon, but rather than breathe her flames, she snaps a light glyph in front of his face. It flashes, obfuscates his vision, and Willow weaves into the crowd to lose Creepster McCreepenstein.

When she’s certain she’s lost the man, she uses her thread as a guide to locate Juliet and finds her stiff in a corner, taking refuge behind a ficus not too far from where they were initially separated. She pushes her glasses up her nose, canting her head to the side. “Are you okay?” Juliet nods, though Willow doesn’t quite believe her. She doesn’t push her, however. She's not okay either.

She offers her hand to Juliet, then laces their fingers together as they navigate the mansion. They push through knots of people, making their way towards the staircase. As they ascend the winding steps, a woman spills her drink all over Willow’s tie-front crop top. Another trips into Juliet. They’re offered “Midnight Elixirs” by multiple guests and decline each time. Men whistle and call towards them. (Willow starts to regret her scantily clad cowboy get-up, wishing she had gone for something traditional rather than something she hoped might, ah, get Juliet’s attention.) A fight breaks out elsewhere in the mansion and like scavengers to a carcass, a wave of guests race towards the action, clearing the staircase.

Even with the disruption, the Stakes remain yet to be seen. Willow bites the inside of her lip, looking back towards Juliet as they reach the landing on the second floor. “I figure we can start from the upper levels and then work our way down, assuming we don’t find anything here.” She squeezes Juliet’s hand.

Just at the bottom of the steps, the man from before, in a suit embroidered to mimic a peacock, watches the heroines. Shadows coil around his feet, though he doesn’t pursue them. He does nothing. He turns around and disappears into the crowd before he’s noticed.

Willow leads them down the hallway. As they approach one of the first doors, her hand hovers over the knob, about to open, when she hears the unmistakable sound of a couple… copulating. She flushes down to her shoulders and backs away. “Welp. I’ll just… We should just…” They quietly reach an agreement and scurry to the next door.

As they snoop through the manor, Willow can’t help her thoughts from wandering back to Sabrina. She traces over their memories together, pretending she might be searching for hints or clues left in them, but really it’s only her curiosity that leads her back there, wondering who Sabrina even is beneath her layers of mystery. It’s not like they actually spoke much. It was all physical. She realizes that the woman might be more of a stranger to her than if they never spoke at all. (Willow wishes they hadn’t. She wishes she never went to that party, never chugged that beer, never flirted with her in the first place.) She knows nothing about Sabrina aside from her red eyes, the shape of her, her thread, and the revelation that she's part of some cult. 'What the duck was I thinking?'

They follow the hallway along a bend where the noise from the party is significantly dulled and the crowd has thinned out. A few men in embroidered suits mill along the hall, chatting between themselves or with other guests. On one side of the hallway, bedroom doors line the wall, some occupied, others not. On the opposite wall, in the middle of it, is a set of intricately carved oak double doors. The brass handles glow faintly, almost imperceptibly. Her charmed lenses identify the spells protecting whatever is behind those doors. They should be easy enough for her to undo.

Willow stops them conveniently in front of a portrait of some Stake predecessor, pretending to take it in. “That room looks promising.” One of the embroidered suits—his makes him look like a tiger—casually leans against the double doors. Willow can feel his eyes roving over them. She pushes her glasses back up her nose. “Sleep spell. Invisibility spell. Shrinking spell. What approach do you think is best?”

 

[ellarose]

"Invisibility." It takes approximately two seconds for Juliet to give her answer, unhesitating. As a fledgling rogue, she had to learn to make herself invisible without magic. It's the best way to safely escape without drawing the fury of whoever it was she'd stolen from. If any of the other suit-clad men see the Tiger sleeping on the floor, it's going to draw their attention-- their suspicions-- towards the room. Shrinking sounds like a good way to get themselves accidentally crushed or captured in a mason jar. Invisibility is superior. "...If we found a window to sneak in through, we could get in without alerting any of the guards."

If they can break in entirely unnoticed, Tiger will continue to stand in front of the doors, offering them an extra layer of cover. Ideally, no one would realize what they'd done until it was too late. Ideally.

The heist has already begun, with Tiger's gaze fixed on the two of them standing there. Juliet glances down at her hand, still clasped in Willow's. The blood rushes into her cheeks as she considers the couples and the, ah, the noises they'd heard beyond the door they'd almost opened. Then she notes the stains on her companion's top, left by that one woman's drink. It's a short top. (That it is.) She shakes her head slightly and checks the hallway left and right. Compared to the lower floors, it's a ghost town.

"...Don't magic away the stains." Juliet says when she notices that Willow has caught her staring. She gestures to her soaked top. It might be an inconvenience and slightly uncomfortable for the time being, but circumstances such as these gives them a narrative. "Let me try something."

Juliet's hand slips from Willow's as she turns on her heel to approach Tiger outright. While he surely hasn't heard their discussion, he can clearly see that they've been speaking amongst themselves while occasionally looking his way. If they offer a decent enough explanation for it, it should lower his suspicions of them-- if only a little.

"Excuse me." Juliet begins, her heart racing a touch too fast. Nerves still crawl through her as she considers just how much of an outsider she is in a place like this. Her tongue feels like it's going to twist itself into knots. The archer attempts to imitate an Evermorian's inflection, tamping down on her accent as not to out herself as the Folklorian. Gnats. Maybe she should have had Meredith change the color of her hair. She tugs awkwardly at the brim of her hat. "My... ah, my girlfriend and I were searching for a bathroom." (...Girlfriend!?) Well, they do need an excuse to go in there together without it seeming odd, so... it's perfectly reasonable. They were holding hands before, which even further validates their story. It's all part of the plan. Never mind the fact that the very concept of escaping to a room with a lover where there are plenty of eyes to observe completely floors her. "The ones downstairs are occupied." Is this going to work? Perhaps she should have asked Willow first... "There's been an accident, you see, so it's urgent."

"Sure, I'll tell ya where to find the john." The Tiger grins, flashing a golden tooth at her. The obnoxious fragrance he wears is overwhelming from here-- the smell of a man who wants people to know he's got money. (Or to think he's got money.) "But be a doll and bring me a Midnight Elixir first. I can't leave this spot, ya see, and I'm getting real thirsty." The man's low voice vibrates with something like a purr, sending chills down Juliet's spine.

"Right. Okay. I'll... go fetch one for you." Juliet concedes through her teeth, forcing a polite smile as she dips her hat. Don't break his nose, don't break his nose, don't... (Let it be known: had their circumstances been any different, she would have broken his nose. Scoundrel.) Beyond the initial annoyance, there's a part of her that files this information away. If they find they can't sneak in through a window, it'd be easy enough to slip him something in his next elixir.

Once Juliet brings the Tiger his elixir, he gives them directions to the nearest bathroom. "Down the hall, first door on the left. Can't miss it." When he laughs and asks if there's room for one more, she pointedly ignores him. Disgusting. The audacity.

It's undoubtable that every bathroom in this mansion is enormous and this one is no exception. The floors are a glossy back tile, there's an elegant clawfoot tub, a shower with tinted glass, and a gothic vanity. Juliet releases the breath she'd been holding onto once they make it inside, closing the door and locking it behind them. Before she can let this fluster her, she heads to the shower and turns the water on so the pitter-pat is audible for anyone who might pass by.

"There." Juliet's shoulders sink with relief. Hopefully that dissolved any suspicions Tiger might have had about them. She tugs back one of the curtains over the window, peeking outside into the yard. Where there was once two people, there is now a whole crowd of people trying to get pictures with the spider. She shakes her head, incredulous. "With the invisibility spell, we should be able to climb around here unnoticed..." Her stomach sinks at the height they're at on the third floor-- but she can't let that dissuade her when they've come this far. The archer lifts the collar of her shirt where a tiny Grace is hiding on her shoulder. "Gracie, can you find the window we're looking for?"

The fox nods firmly. Of course. Her form flickers like an orange flame as she concentrates on shifting. Then she shrinks. Her fluffy tail turns to feathers, her form rounds, she grows wings and her long nose turns into a precious little beak. The only thing that doesn't change are her warm brown eyes, fiercely determined.

Juliet cracks the window, slowly to ensure it doesn't make a noise, and Grace slips out in the form of a tiny bird to fly around the Stake fortress.

"All right..." Juliet nods and crosses her arms, turning away from the window before she can look down again. It's not like this is going to be the first time she's ever scaled a building. She's done it plenty of times before. It'll be... fine. This is fine. "How does the invisibility spell work?"

 

[starboob]

Turning them invisible took little more than her mirrorball, some light glyphs, and steam from the shower. It had been a cinch. It had left her feeling confident. Now, soaked to the bone and clinging to the side of the Stake estate, Willow has several questions about the life decisions she’s made that have led her to this specific moment.

‘Don’t look down.’ It’s not that Willow is scared of heights—she hasn't been since Lucky grew wings—but, usually, if she’s this high up off the ground, she’s on the back of her trusted dragon. And while that trusted dragon is currently spotting both heroines, camouflaged in the twisting ivy, everyone knows that a single misstep ensures their discovery. They cannot fall. If they do, something worse than death might come for them.

Well, okay. That might be a bit irrational and exaggerated, and Willow would rather not chance it.

No one has noticed them. Even as they inch closer towards Grace, the smallest dot of orange on the windowsill of that locked room, the sea of people below them hardly care to look up. Their attention is entirely on the spider and Dorothea, who is posing with it and kissing the top of its head. Someone in the crowd (Jared) teases her about Griffith having competition. "Oh, please. These eyes might be darling, but I'd hate feeling like I'm being watched," the celebrity quips.

After a tense eternity, they reach Grace. A few embroidered suits are just beneath the window, though none of them are looking up. All of their eyes are on Dorothea. Willow grabs onto the lip of the window and peers inside the study. It's fully lit and empty. A dark wooden desk sits right before the window with a few papers and letters left on top. On one side of the room is roaring hearth with a dragon's skull mounted over the mantle. (Lucky shifts uncomfortably on Willow's shoulder; she rubs their nose, her stomach tightening over the sight.) And it's not even the worst display. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling, for example, is not made from crystals, but clipped fae wings. The glass bulbs, upon closer inspection, also appear to hold trapped sprites. And she doesn't want to even guess what kind of animal might have made the pelts that make up the rugs in front of the fire place. (She supposes the Stakes could only be so blatant in their disregard for the law and harboring illegal materials, as whatever creatures whose pelts are now lifeless on the floor are headless and tailless.) "Gods," she whispers. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Despite that, she presses down on her revulsion and holds her palm to the fish scale grate. A triangular glyph appears over it and then sinks into the iron. Nothing apparent happens until Willow tests the spell and pushes her hand straight through the grate and window. Lucky then takes the opportunity to phase through it themself. Once inside, the dragon sizes up and lets their tail (still camouflaged) hang out from the window to help the heroines through.

Willow pleases herself by landing in a perfectly crouched position, only to realize a second later that Juliet cannot possibly see how cool she's being, because she is, in fact, invisible. 'Ducking duck.' She straightens out, dusts off her thighs, and pans around the study, noting the built-in bookshelves that cover the wall opposite to the hearth as well as the portraits, mirrors, busts, and other artifacts on display. In wordless agreement, Juliet starts rummaging through the desk while Willow starts with the bookshelves. Her fingers graze over the spines and she notes that most are biographies of famous historical figures; though there are some preserved fairy tales that she imagines came straight from Folklore and philosophical texts, too. Some books are written in languages she does not understand, but her glasses easily decipher the words only to reveal more of the same.

Frustrated that this first room might be a bust, Willow lightly pulls on tomes and turns artifacts a quarter left, then right, as if that might reveal a secret passageway like in the movies. Nothing at all happens. The study remains as creepy and haunting as before, though the sorceress is not ready to give up, set in her belief that this room is being guarded for a reason. And, as if rewarding her determination, chains clink and scrape against each other as metal groans and squeaks its way up from the hearth.

Willow dashes towards where she last saw a floating paper and hides with Juliet beneath the desk, their legs pulled in tightly towards their chests with their knees touching. (Yes, they're invisible, but why push it?) She leans out from their hiding spot, turning to watch as the hearth flames split and the floor opens up as an old elevator car is pulled through and dings upon arrival. The car door rips open.

“No. No. I said no, so why the fuck are we still talking about this?” Sabrina’s deep, sultry tone snakes through the air. Willow stiffens and whips back underneath the desk, barely stopping herself from banging her head against it. Thankfully, the snake doesn't seem to notice and continues her phone conversation. “Get creative, then.”

The eye roll that follows is practically audible. “Shut up. I don’t care how you clean it up, just do it. I have to go. Yeah. The elixir is fine. No one’s going to die.” The double doors swing open and Sabrina struts out of the study. A second later, the doors slam closed and the only sound is their beating hearts.

"Tha—" Juliet is moving before Willow can finish. She feels her hand nudging her to follow and scrambles after her. At first she heads for the double doors, assuming that Juliet might want to go after Sabrina, until she hears the archer opening the rickety elevator door. Ah. She wheels around and slips inside the car. Only two buttons are on the inside panel and since they're already up, they punch the one to go down.

It's a longer descent than Willow expects, but maybe that's also exaggerated by the rising level of creep the further down they go. It gets colder, darker, and more dank. By the time they reach the bottom, their breath is fogging out in front of them. When they pull open the door, they enter an underground study of sorts. The entirety of this chamber is made of old stone. The walls are dark and coated in centuries of grime. Chains hang from the rafters, swinging gently. At the center of the room is a rusted iron grate with dark brown stain trailing towards the grate from a metal operating table. Aside from the elevator shaft, the only other passageway goes down a dark hall where chains scrape against the stone floors; someone coughs; another person groans; then there are yips and yelps. A shiver slips down her spine.

And, again, that is not even the worst discovery.

Just behind the operating table is a small shelf with books and jars of various sizes lining it. Though she doesn't look on purpose, she identifies preserved elf ears, faerie dust, shavings from satyr horns, mermaid eggs, and more. 'I'm going to vom. I'm seriously going to vom.' In hindsight, she should have cut ties the second she found out Sabrina is related to that Stake family. But she was fifteen, desperate to be desired, and Sabrina seemed like the impossible catch she had somehow managed to snag. (Not that Sabrina ever admitted they were dating. When Willow suggested the idea, she laughed then proceeded to mock her. "Oh, you can’t seriously think that we were ever a thing. Don’t tell me you’re that desperate and pathetic, James.")

Willow steels herself, swallowing hard, and quietly crosses the room to make her way towards Juliet.

Juliet who she is starting to see, just ever so faintly. 'Time's up.' The sorceress shakes her head and looks over her shoulder towards the elevator, then back at the archer. Just as she's peering over her shoulder to get a glimpse of the text she's staring at, the elevator starts to creak, winding its way back up. "Gnats." Her eyes search around the room, then she points, "There. The locker."

The heroines clamber into the metal locker, squeezing in as best they can. Willow holds in her breath as they tug the door shut, barely even releasing the breath once they hear it click shut. It's not until they're settled that she realizes how soft Juliet is and the only reason she's thinking about that is because... 'BerespectfulBerespectfulBerespectfulBerespectful.'

It's pretty easy to shut that thought from her mind when Sabrina's heels click against the stone floor. She's still on the phone. “I’m not worried she’s here. She was invited, dipshit. Yes, security says she came alone.” Security was ogling Dorothea’s cleavage, as Willow recalls. “Don’t explain my job to me. I—” Sabrina pauses, panning over the underground study. She sniffs the air, then clicks her tongue. “I’ll call you back."

She places the phone gently down on the operating table. It barely makes a sound. Then she drums her stiletto nails against it. Her jaw tightens. "Wherever you're hiding, I'd suggest coming out now. I might be more agreeable."

 

[ellarose]

Neither Juliet or Willow take Sabrina up on her offer, leaving her to stand there in a long stretch of silence. Bunched up in the confines of the locker, they're still and quiet. The woman narrows her eyes, surveying the room for evidence of an intruder. The prospect of being coaxed out by the promise of a 'more agreeable' Sabrina is quite ridiculous. It's highly evident from the existence of these rooms that the word 'mercy' is not in the Stake family's vocabulary. It's an especially shoddy argument as she taps her nails against a blood-soaked table.

The tap-tap-tapping accompanied by the sound of swinging chains and their racing heartbeats awakens all the monsters Juliet has been fighting to hold down.

'I shouldn't have come here.' Juliet doesn't risk breathing. She couldn't even if she wanted to. Memories overlap, one over the other, until she's paralyzed beneath a heavy blanket of panic. Sabrina's sharp eyes widen into Sefarina's doll-like ones, her red lips creeping up into that sinister grin. (The ghosts of straps dig bruised lines into her skin, the stone slab table is cold and hard against her back. It's slick with her blood. It starts to fill the room, a sea of rubies that nearly drowns her.) If parallels exist for people and places both, then perhaps this is...

Hell.

'Viola, I need you.' The thought is a betrayal, just another thing Juliet's been trying to hold down. It deepens the knife digging into her mind. Into her heart. She squeezes her eyes shut, inadvertently pressing her head against Willow's shoulder. (The last time she was pressed this close to someone...) The one person she let in, the one person who held her through the worst of these storms is gone now. She thought she was past it. But being here in this blood laden place, with the memory of those heartless corpses so fresh... 'You said you'd be here.'

Fool. It's not worth the grief or the trouble of thinking about it now. Viola's a whole world away from her now. And even if she wasn't, she still wouldn't be there for Juliet. Just as she hasn't been there for anything since--

"So that's how it is. I'm going to co--" Sabrina starts, but she doesn't get to finish. She raises her chin and tenses up, squinting at the ceiling when the chains above rattle suspiciously.

There's a faint whooshing noise, accompanied by the fluttering of wings as a flash of orange bolts across the room and grips Sabrina's full attention. Grace. Before the Stake heiress can reach for her gun, her companion, her one constant through the years, howls at a frequency that shatters every glass jar in the vicinity. Sabrina curses and ducks down, covering her head as the shards rain down over her. Sensing Juliet's distress, Grace proceeds to fly about in reckless, unpredictable patterns. She topples books from the shelves and sends the light fixtures swinging. She swoops, making a lovely disaster of the Stake's secret laboratory before darting off towards the elevator with a folder of documents in her beak.

Sabrina lifts herself back up, brushing shards of glass off of her and glaring around at the mess. "Great. Another fucking mess to clean." She hisses, looking towards the elevator and back at the lab. She has a decision to make. "Fuck." She snaps her phone up from the table. Turning on her heel, her boot squeaks in some mysterious fluid that spilled onto the floor as she stomps towards the elevator to follow after Grace.

Collectively, Juliet and Willow release the breaths they'd been holding onto. They wait to ensure that Sabrina is gone for good before piling out of the locker. Glass crunches beneath her boots. The archer holds onto the side of it to keep her balance, pinching the bridge of her nose as she steels herself. (Fates. Where would she be without Grace? Her companion gave her a chance. No matter how worked up she is, she can't bring herself to waste it. Stay safe, Gracie.) Her stomach twists with a mixture of worry and disgust as she looks around at the lab. With the contents of the jars strewn all over the floor, it looks like they've stepped onto a battlefield where several creatures have had their bodies blown to bits.

There's no time to gawk at the carnage. Before long, either Sabrina or her cleanup crew will be back to attend to all of this. Juliet moves at a brisk walk towards the shelf she'd been searching before they were interrupted. Most of the books have fallen onto the floor now. As she examines their various covers, she finally recognizes the black tome they saw that night. (She could recognize it anywhere. It still has the mark her arrow left when she targeted it that night in the temple.) Gingerly, she brushes broken glass off of the cover. A woozy feeling like dread washes over her as she touches it. The foul sensation isn't quite as poignant as touching a pair of hexed scissors, but it's unsettling nonetheless. An aura of pure evil shrouds it like clouds of smoke. Focus, Juliet.

Juliet flips through a few pages, noting the pictures of deer-- an anatomical drawing of a heart, thick black symbols depicting a language she doesn't understand. She catches herself lingering on a page with the depiction of an enormous sword, as if magnetically drawn to it. There's something oddly... familiar about it.

"This is it." Juliet breathes out. She shakes her head, setting the thought aside from now. They can look at it later. They'll figure everything out later. "We need to ge--"

That's when Sabrina kills the lights with a sharp snaaaap. A snake-like hiss sounds and Juliet instinctively clutches the tome in one hand and reaches for her dagger with the other.

"I've got to admit... I thought you were smarter than this, James." Sabrina's voice slithers in the darkness. "Did my warning mean nothing to you?"

 

[starboob]

Willow squeezes the urge to jump and swallows down her squeak—not that it matters. Sabrina’s already got her red hot eyes on them and the invisibility spell has already started to wear. Splotches of themselves are now showing. A curl of hair, the edge of her knuckle, and the toe of her shoe are fully visible; while her shoulder, knee, and chin are opaque and that opacity is spreading at an exponential rate. The sorceress estimates they have a minute and a half before they’re fully visible again. But she doesn’t dare assume that because the lights are out that they’ll still be safe once the spell wears off entirely.

Again, they’ve already been spotted.

Sabrina’s eyes are sniper scopes marking them as targets. Behind her, something slithers over the stone floor. Then something else yips, gurgles, and quiets. Her gun clicks. “Drop the grimoire.” A high pitched bark pierces the air, punctuating her demand. “Or I kill the fox.”

Lucky is on Willow’s shoulder in an instant, moved by the threat. Talons press into their companion, everything in them wanting to lunge; yet they understand the delicacy of this situation. Not the good fox. A low growl rumbles up from their throat, the length of it burning orange as flames mount within the column of their neck. A few orange licks escape from the corners of their mouth, providing just enough light to illuminate the montress in full.

‘What the hell.’ Willow jerks back on instinct, one hand rising to cover her mouth as she follows the massive snake tattoo along Sabrina's torso, the one that typically winds and coils around her stomach and down her leg. Except, now, only the top part of the tattoo is visible. At the middle of her stomach, the tattoo widens and blends into the transition of skin to scale, where the rest of Sabrina has morphed into a snake’s lower half.

It—Sabrina coils around Grace several times, constricting her midsection and bending one paw at a harsh angle. The fox struggles. Sabrina tightens around her until she stills with a sharp whimper. Still, her brown eyes are unrelenting and fierce.

Willow trembles, shakes, and chokes on fire. It’s not even a question. The heroines know what needs to happen.

The grimoire hits the floor. Juliet then stomps her boot over it, holding it firm. Her knife is raised, ready to strike if the monstress does first. It’s a wordless, ‘You first.’ The women stare each other down in the dark, each making her own silent calculations.

Even the sorceress readies herself, moving one hand over her bracelet-staff and the other towards her keychains. This is the calm before the storm and everyone knows it. Sabrina loosens her grip on Grace, enough so that she can breathe and only that. Juliet budges, pushing the book just a hair forward. Her boot never leaves the cover. Lucky dips low.

Then it happens.

Juliet steps off of the grimoire and kicks it forward in the same moment that Sabrina gives Grace enough slack to slip free. With Grace free, Lucky bolts forward. Grace whips on Sabrina the first chance she gets, gnashing her teeth. The snake bends out of the way, twisting before either companion can get to her. When she has the breadth she needs, she uses her tail like a whip and slams the pair of them into the wall, splitting cracks along the stacked stones before they collapse into an unceremonious heap. Sabrina breathes through her teeth, shaking out her arms as she readjust, then lifts her gun and takes aim at the companions.

Meanwhile, Willow slides one foot back as Juliet barrels forward. Pieces of the mirrorball spread throughout the underground torture chamber. When one shard glints in Sabrina’s eye, she wheels around just as Juliet’s fist breaks into her cheek, hooking down with all her weight. Blood sprays from the Stake heiress's mouth as she falls, dropping her gun. She muscles through recovery and scrabbles on the floor to reach her weapon, simultaneously bracing to push herself up, but Juliet moves like an arrow. She falls on the heiress like a wave and holds her down. One knee presses into the small of Sabrina’s back while one hand bruises into her shoulder. With a jerk, she flips the woman onto her back, knee now on her chest while her dagger presses into Sabrina’s pale throat.

Sabrina growls, looking down as far as she can, then up at Juliet. She leans in, testing the archer’s resolve. The archer presses back, breaking skin. The heiress heaves, looking everywhere, then into Juliet’s brown eyes. She sears them red, locking all of the archer’s limbs into place. Wasting not a second, she throws the other woman off of her and slithers towards her gun, recovers it, then searches the chambers for Willow.

When her eyes lock on the sorceress, she’s crouched over the grimoire, leafing through the pages. She doesn’t look up when the gun clicks and by the time Sabrina squeezes the trigger, it’s too late. Her green eyes widen. When the bullet collides with her forehead, Willow and the grimoire explode into goo. Sabrina jerks back, brows knitting together. She starts to move towards the steaming pile as another Willow comes up behind her. This Willow creeps on the heiress, holding her staff like a golf club. She twists her torso, then releases, swinging her staff in a swift arc to hit the back of Sabrina’s head.

In a series of rapid transitions, Sabrina’s lower half shifts back into human legs, causing her to drop to the ground, while the snake tattoo moves over her skin then peels off her back, entering the third dimension. Laithe captures the hit in his jaws before it lands. He clamps down on the staff with surprising force. Willow jerks it back, but the snake’s hold is unyielding. They twist and wrest, caught in a match of tug of war. Laithe lets go without warning and as Willow stumbles back, he darts for her stomach just as fast. His fangs sink into her skin like she’s soft butter. He lets go and reels back to go in again.

Yet as he lunges, Grace is rising on unsteady legs and when she blearily spots the predator going for the sorceress, she limps then leaps forward with her jaws wide open. She snaps at the snake, capturing him in her maw. Sabrina seizes, her muscles tensing while the fox thrashes her companion around, as if trying to pry Laithe from her skin. Her eyes brim with red again, then flash at Grace. The fox releases the snake and falls in a limp pile. (In the same instant that Sabrina paralyzes Grace, Juliet suddenly regains control of herself.) Laithe escapes into her back, slithering back over her torso, leaving behind the fox's bite mark on Sabrina’s shoulder.

As the Stake heiress collects herself from the ground, a familiar citrine stone bumps up under her chin and when she follows the length of the staff up, Willow stands over her, clutching her still bleeding stomach. Two pieces of mirror shield her eyes. “You lose.”

“You sure about that?” Sabrina cocks her brow, chest still heaving as she swallows down wave after wave of pain. Blood dribbles down her chin. Her cheek is starting to swell. Even then, even with a staff under her chin, she doesn’t back down. She continues to gather herself up until she’s standing and Willow lets her. She keeps her staff trained on her, but she never makes a move to strike.

And maybe she should have, because black smoke falls in pillars from the ceiling. When the pillars collapse and disperse, seven embroidered suits come to view—including Creeper McCreepenstein and Tiger. Most alarming, however, is that Tiger’s upper body has been transformed into a tiger. The peacock eyes on Creeper McCreepenstein’s suit blink. He smirks, “How ‘bout that dance, little lady?”

 

[ellarose]

Juliet rouses with a start, takes a sharp breath in and clambers to her feet. Ignoring the faint buzz in her ears, she surveys her surroundings and takes notice of the newcomers. Tiger? She sniffs the air and wrinkles her nose. Yes. He wears the same opulent stench. Instead of shying away from the men, she cracks her neck and massages her wrists to work the feeling back into them. It's an unexpected development, yes, but she's dealt with stranger monstrosities in the wood. Ogres, trolls, gargoyles, Lightless. Although he wears a tiger's face now, it doesn't mean she can't break his nose. (Or... or his snout?) She glances at Willow, noting her mirror eyes, and offers her the slightest nod of understanding. If the sorceress can take Sabrina without the risk of hypnosis, she'll take the goons.

Raising her knife, Juliet flies at them like an arrow before they can worm their way between Willow and Sabrina. She moves nimbly, forcing them to move backward with quick strikes of her knife, distancing them from the other women. Their animalistic qualities lend them their own speed as they avoid most of her attacks. When she has them where she wants them, she raises her leg and delivers a kick to Peacock's stomach, sending him tumbling back into Tiger. Instead of falling like dominoes, Tiger holds firm, catching his companion by the shoulders and righting him.

"I'm flattered that you wanna dance with us..." Peacock says as he catches his breath, quirking a brow as he appraises her like she's a doll on a shelf. "But I gotta admit, redheads ain't really my type."

"Thank the fates." Juliet retorts, keeping her knife trained on the two men until their backs hit the wall.

"I dunno what you're on about, my dude. I like 'em feisty." Tiger purrs with a salacious smirk that sends shivers down her spine. He reaches forward to bop the bridge of her nose and she drives her knife closer to his face. Someone might be losing a hand... paw... today if he's not careful. "You might poke an eye out with that thing." He sharpens his claws and widens his grin to show off his teeth. "Let's talk this out. We don't want to hurt you."

"Is that right?" Juliet tilts her head to the side. If she hadn't grown up in an environment where she was threatened by longer claws and sharper teeth constantly, perhaps she'd be concerned. Carefully, she watches the men as she slips her knife back into her belt. "Then let's talk." They exchange a glance, snickering to themselves, and...

Juliet punches Tiger in the face with all her strength, knocking him down onto the floor. "Shit, man." He whines, rubbing his maw. Before Peacock weasel his way out of the corner, she catches him with another swift kick to the stomach, sending him stumbling over Tiger just as he tries to right himself. As they writhe around in their heap, she grabs for her knife again and readies her stance. She's focused and sure as Tiger scrambles back up to his feet. He bares his teeth with a growl and pounces at her. Juliet makes a dance of dodging his claws, gracefully stepping left and right.

Tiger gives a slow, frenzied laugh when he finds he can't touch her. This turns into an angry grunt as he reaches in his pocket for his gun... only to fumble it between his paws before it clatters to the floor. "Damn it. No opposable thumbs... gotta get used to that."

Juliet rolls her eyes and kicks the gun away. In her peripheral, she notices Willow's doubles in the process of dog-piling Sabrina. Lucky flies in circles overhead, swooping down and swatting at her with their wings and tail whenever they find the opening to. They're trying to disarm her, but the Stake heiress doesn't relent. Even as Sabrina fires bullets, she hasn't landed any of her shots yet-- save for taking out a few of the doubles, which will occasionally dissolve into goo. The real Willow is safe, keeping a cautious distance, though Sabrina is slowly but surely forging a path towards her.

Their thread gives the real Willow away, but Juliet is confident she would be able to recognize her without it. The doubles are impressive, near perfect... but sometimes an ear or a freckle will be off just enough that she can tell it isn't Willow James.

Juliet doesn't realize she's staring until it's too late. Peacock kicks the back of her legs and they collapse out from under her. Tiger straddles her before the stars can clear from her eyes. Her knife skids across the floor. She pats the floor around her, blindly reaching for it, but it's gone beyond her grasp. She's pinned in place. Tiger's weight crushes her ribs and his paws wrap around her neck, the points of his claws digging into her soft, sensitive flesh. She reaches for his wrists and struggles to pry them off of her. Gnats. When that doesn't work, she kicks her legs out desperately, catching the leg of the operating table. It teeters from side to side before collapsing to the floor.

Slam! Grace blinks once, twice, her ears perking up at the commotion. When she sees Juliet on the ground, she picks herself up and snarls. Enough is enough. Though the companion's legs tremble beneath her, she springs into action, snapping her teeth deep into Tiger's calf. He grunts as if she's no more than a mosquito, but quickly finds that he won't be able to shake her off. She's stubborn. Seeing this, Peacock grabs the fox by her tail and yanks her back, eliciting a sharp yip. Tiger smirks that nasty smirk.

Juliet's brown eyes flash a warning that goes unheeded as the bastard's confidence swells. (They've touched Gracie for the last fucking time.) An invisible arrow answers her call, manifesting in her hand. Unhesitatingly, she slams it into Tiger's paw, driving her elbow into his throat when he releases her in shock. "What the--" She scrambles for her knife, her heart pounding as she flips it over and brings the hilt down on the side of the man's skull, knocking him out cold. The archer's up on her feet again, whirling around to find that Peacock has since tossed Grace aside and gone to help Sabrina. Now there are only two Willows left. One of them clutches the book in one hand and her stomach with the other. The real Willow, the one she would recognize anywhere. And now Sabrina can see that, too. (It took her long enough.) Shit.

"Willow!" Juliet dives for her, tackling her to the ground just before Sabrina can fire her next shot into her head. Their thread glows faintly, falling around them in slow motion as they collide. Sabrina doesn't waste a second. The heiress drops down to her stomach like a baseball player reaching for the home plate as she grabs the spine of the book, which has gone slack in Willow's hand. Juliet tears for the other half just as their thread envelops them in light and--

RIIIIIP! The loud sound of pages tearing can be heard as the heroines vanish in a flash from the Stake's secret lab.

 

[starboob]

The crisp night air leaves prickles all over Willow’s skin. Sweet notes from freshly mowed grass hit her in a welcome wave, flooding and overpowering the remnants of blood and gore still stuck in her nose. Chirping crickets, ribbiting frogs, and the faint sound of heavy metal music try to erase the faint echoes of the quieted mewls and swaying chains, but what Willow has witnessed will not be leaving her so easily. Her forehead rests heavily against the scratchy blades of grass, appreciating the softness of someone’s lawn to the cold hard stone floor. Anything is better than the dank underbelly of the Stake operation.

It’s impossible for her to not think about who or what else they left behind in that nightmarish laboratory. She squeezes her eyes shut. The stores that lined the shelves, the operating table, every illegal artifact in the locked study flit like a slide deck against the back of her eyelids. Horrifying as it is, Willow wants to go back to that place, to save the haunted and burn down the wicked. She has to.

Juliet nimbly rolls off of her and is on her feet in an instant (unsurprisingly), while Willow struggles to push herself onto her forearms. Lucky sweeps in to help her, trilling concernedly when they glance down at her still bleeding wounds. “We–we…” She grunts, bracing one hand on her thigh while the other wraps around the dragon’s neck. “Juliet, we have to go back.”

Lucky trills incredulously, huffing their dissent.

“You saw. You heard.” Willow already knows she’s not going to win this one. Between her own injuries and Grace’s, no one is prepared to go back. Even if they were to go back, getting in and finding that place the first time was a miracle in and of itself. Yet no part of Willow wants to go to sleep thinking she’s turning her back on anyone who might’ve been down there. She opens her mouth to continue, then abruptly shuts it, her face twisting into a grimace. “Crap.” She claps a hand over the wound, pressing her fingers to the four dots that refuse to close. Blood seeps between her fingers, dripping onto her abdomen. “I can still—”

Whatever Willow can still do is cut short by a car door popping open and the heaviest bass she’s ever heard spilling out and reverberating through the otherwise quiet suburb. When she turns towards the noise, Meredith is fumbling with the car radio controls and simultaneously wrestling with her seatbelt. (The seatbelt is winning.)

Oh. So they made it to the rendezvous point after all. That’s good, Willow supposes. If she remembers correctly, Meredith is supposed to have a bat with her in case she needed to, “fuck shit up,” if they didn’t make it here by 12:30am.

“Mer, we have to go back—”

“Are you insane?” Meredith shouts as she runs the short distance towards the heroines, having finally shut off the radio and ripped off her seatbelt. “You’re not Carrie at the fucking prom. Get in the fucking car and explain what the fuck happened before I go and steal my mom’s gun and shoot Sabrina in the face.”

She doesn't even have a choice. Meredith dips and throws Willow’s arm over her shoulder, hoisting her friend the rest of the way up. She takes a cursory glance at Juliet and, deciding she must be fine, herds the sorceress towards the vehicle. Lucky opens the door with their tail and with a combined effort, Willow is spread across the backseat with her head in Juliet’s lap.

Meredith slips into the driver’s seat and cranks the key. When she looks over her shoulder to check that she’s clear, her eyes land on the grimoire tucked under Juliet’s arm. The amber in her eyes glow, reacting to the shadows and dark energies wafting from the tome. Her mouth parts in slight. Her tail flicks. “The fuck did you two…”

“It’s why we need to go back.”

That’s enough for Meredith to drop her question in favor of bolting them as far from the suburbs as possible—if Willow can’t think right, then she will. She steps on the gas. “Seriously, I want an explanation.” Not that she gives either of them room to speak as she barrels to the next pressing topic in her mind. “Are we taking you to the hospital? Back to home base? Should we be teleporting—I won’t fuck it up, I can do it.”

“No. No hospitals.” Willow shakes her head and draws a glyph in the air. A spare shirt appears in her fist. Not what she was aiming for, but she hands it to Juliet anyway to hold to her stomach. She tries again and, this time, successfully summons her first aid kit. “Grandmas don’t need to know either. I have–I have drops from them, anyway. Faerie tears. It’s fine.” She fumbles with her kit, then points out the dropper to Juliet. “One per opening.”

“Uh, okay..” Meredith chews on her lips, veering sharply left. (Willow has always hated her driving.) “So you don’t want to go back home? Is Dorothea okay?”

“I don’t know and I don’t know.” Willow winces as a drop hits the first opening. It sizzles upon contact, a thin trail of steam curling into the air as the skin stitches itself together as if nothing happened. She sinks into Juliet’s lap, relieved. “But going back for Dorothea was never in the plan.”

Dorothea insisted on that. She said it was bad enough they’d be seen entering together, she didn’t want to disappear at the same time either. Even in the version of their plan where they didn't get caught, they decided it best Dorothea be seen as little as possible with them. (“There are no other ways they can hurt me. I’ll be fine.”) Willow doesn’t believe that, but she has to believe Dorothea when she says she can handle herself. Honestly, the sorceress has always wondered if the demigod would ever burst and show more than a fraction of her power.

“Sawyer.”

“What?”

“Sawyer. Right?” Willow tilts her head to confirm with Juliet. “The–The grimoire. She can–we need to figure it out. She can help. She’s up—we won’t be bothering her. It’s fine, really. I’m fine.”

Lucky trills dubiously.

 

[ellarose]

Grace groggily lifts her head, trying to mirror Willow's sentiment. I'm fine. In turn, Juliet mirrors Lucky's dubiousness with a glare. Unconvinced and firm, she shakes her head and votes against it. You are most certainly not.

"I will deliver the grimoire to Sawyer." Juliet volunteers herself and the dragon, if only to help balance the sorceress's unsteady mind. (Nor can she blame her after everything they witnessed. She knows what it is, to be held against her will. To be so utterly powerless and broken down. The very reason she fights is to free captives of fate. Hell, she'd go back for the prisoners herself if it wasn't so damned reckless. Unless...) "Meredith, take Willow and Grace someplace safe." For a second the fae's jaw twitches, like she's tempted to tell her it's not her place to call the shots, she decides against it. Eager as Meredith is to 'fuck shit up', one look at Willow is all she needs to know the archer's reasoning is sound.

Juliet presses a finger to the other woman's lips when she opens her mouth to mumble a protest, watching as her freckled cheeks turn red at the contact. She hesitates and then tucks a errant curl behind her ear. Her chest squeezes and blooms with warmth all at once. (Surely it's just that summer night air.) "Don't make the same mistakes I have. If you're to help anyone at all, you'll need to be well and rested."

Once this is settled, it only takes a few minutes before Meredith is screeching to a halt in front of the university. Lucky twists their head back and forth, conflicted to leave either heroine-- but especially Willow-- and Juliet holds up a hand to stop their fretting. "Stay with them, Luckster." She encourages, giving their nose a gentle rub. (...Luckster? Where did that come from?) "I'll be fine."

***​

Juliet wanders aimlessly around the university. It's unlike her to get lost... but since she's also lost in thought, she supposes it'll do her some good to take a walk in the fresh air before meeting with Sawyer. She dwells on Kinsley, on Griffith, Dorothea and Sabrina. The entirety of that party-- from the couples locking lips in the stairway to the cryptic lab they discovered underground. She can't help but wonder how this quest brought her here, so far away from everything she's ever known. (...How does it all relate to Folklore, to her?) 'I think you know.' The torn tome burns uncomfortably against her side.

Worrying at her lower lip, she glances around her surroundings, at the tall buildings and deserted pathways. It's late and the campus is empty. Noticing a nearby bench, Juliet settles down and sets the grimoire's pages down on her lap. She takes a deep breath in, her fingers trembling imperceptibly as she sifts through them.

The unfamiliar text swims in front of Juliet's eyes when she peers down at it. This is exactly what they needed Sawyer for. So why is she...

Juliet freezes when she comes upon a page covered in grotesque, anatomical drawings of hearts with complex diagrams beside them. On the other side, there's a depiction of ritual sword. Underneath, there's the image of the same sword struck through a heart. The archer flashes back to the symbols the cultists carried with them, to the underground lab, to the bloodied table, and even further back... Sefarina. She's tugging at a silver broach on her own cloak. Her long, pale fingers toy with it... yet another heart with a sword stuck through it, glinting in the moonlight.

Crunch. Juliet doesn't realize she's crushing the page in her hand until it's too late. She brings her other hand to her chest, where her heart jumps as frantically as a rabbit being hunted for sport. The scar just above it tingles. While she hasn't the faintest idea what any of this means, if any of it is connected, she stuffs the page deep into the pocket of her trousers.

Hastily, the archer sweeps the remainder of the pages into her arms and walks off to find Sawyer.

 

[starboob]

“Hmm.” Sawyer drums her fingers over her lips, canting her head to the side. For as much as the psychic knows and for as omniscient as she may seem, the stitch in her brow suggests that the case of the grimoire has her thoroughly stumped. (Confounded, even.) Not even putting on her special seeing eyed spectacles (as in, the kind of glasses with droopy eyes attached to slinkies) helps her suss out any clues. All she knows for certainly sure is that this halved tome Juliet and Willow have stolen will damn them all. It is, in two words, very evil. “Interesting. This is gibberish.”

The wolf flips through a few more pages, pulling her mouth to the side as she takes in the sketches and unfamiliar characters, and eventually comes to a stop on a page with a diagram of seven glyphs arranged into a heptagon. At the center of the heptagon, lines come together to connect the seven glyphs into another, more complex one that seems to take on multi-dimensions. She puckers her lips, experimentally tracing a talon over the image. As she does so, curls of gray shadows lift from the page and try to wrap around the wolf's claw. She quickly snaps her hand back to her chest, only for the shadows to leap and follow, forming into mouths full of razor sharp teeth. A glyph soon glows over the wizard's palm and ensconces her hand in light, evaporating the shadows like dust before they can so much as graze her skin.

“How pedestrian, truly. You would expect more from something primordial.” She clicks her tongue, pulling her mouth to the side once more. While she speaks with confidence, her bobbing droopy eyes can only hide so much. Though it's not even the grimoire or the doom it spells for herself that concerns her. It's not lost on the wolf that a page is missing from the halved grimoire. And it's not lost on her that a foreboding aura emanates from Juliet's pocket. Oh, she knows. She knows too much and all too well where this ends. But of course, the curse of being a psychic is silence, lest she ruin the plot the timeline. Another fracture just would not do. Fates be with Willow.

“The language of the gods is not something one can decipher or truly speak. ‘Twould break a lesser being.” Sawyer leans in conspiratorially. Even with what she knows, she manages to grin with all of her teeth. “And, my thieving rogue, ‘tis a good thing I am not lesser! I will have to consult with the blood, however. For now, I recommend you sleep. You look positively like shit." This is only offered as a matter fact, because it is a matter of fact.

Just as Juliet turns to leave, she cannot stop herself from blurting out, "Watch out for William. She is a good lad."

***​

In the days that follow the incident at the Stake estate, maroon clouds, so dark they're nearly black, cover the Evermore skies and rain blood over the city-states. Summer camps are canceled. Businesses close. Most everyone takes to shelter even before the council makes the order official. As one day of blood pours becomes two, the air becomes so noxious with the metallic smell that most take to learning spells that can cleanse oxygen. The only ones who are unbothered are the red caps and vampires. (Though the vampiric syndicate confirms the blood is some form of synthetic, which does settle some nerves. Some. Not all.)

Willow pretends this is only a coincidence and it's timing means nothing. But the stormchild knows, deep in her lightning cracked bones, that none of of this is natural. What had once been a latent evil is stirring and breaking free of his chains. She's faced him once before and by miracle alone made it out alive. It's not a tale she wants to tell.

Unsurprisingly, the blood storms have also caused the lakes that dapple Elsewhere to flood. Though Willow wonders if it's the storms at all that are causing this, since the eye of the storm has been lingering over them for the last two day, offering the smallest pocket of relief from the unrelenting downpour. Still, they flood and red seeps further and further into the woods, causing critters and beasts to flee en masse.

The sorceress stares out the windshield of her car, worrying a thorough hole through her lip. The wipers flick blood back and forth, leaving behind a trail of streaks now that her repellent charm has worn off. In spite of the shelter in place advisory, knots of people have gathered here, at the storm's eye—thrill seekers, storm chasers, and goths alike. Then there's them, the two heroines who've made efforts to lay low.

Not that anyone has come for them. Yet.

And it's that yet that is going to kill her, she's sure of it. It’s been a disturbingly quiet few days and each moment of peace brings more dread than the last. Willow does not for a second believe that this peace is because of the storm. She has a feeling they are prey being stalked, not that she has any evidence to prove that and perhaps it's only her paranoia that convinces her there are red and gold eyes everywhere. But she does know a reckoning will come. 'I wish it would just happen already.'

They've been parked for about ten minutes and still Willow hasn't summoned the courage to step out of the vehicle. She sighs, then rests her head against the steering wheel, taking a deep breath, and squeezing her eyes shut. 'One... Two... Three...'

She isn't ready-edy, but sometimes being a hero is about rising above her fear. Isn't that what being fearless is all about?

Willow rolls her head over the steering wheel, taking in her fellow heroine. (Where would she be without Juliet?) "Okay. Now or never, right?" Sawyer said they only needed a sample. They can be in and out in no time. “You have your arrows?”

 

[ellarose]

The last time Juliet followed Viola it didn’t end well.

She can hear the waves lapping at the shore, the beating of a bluebird's wings, the sharp crack of the branches as they withered. Sefarina's silky, chill-inducing laughter. No. No longer will Juliet's heart be so easily deceived. That’s what crosses her mind as she gazes at the familiar figure standing in the mist across the lake. Beside her, anxious but unaware, Willow drops to her haunches and pops the cork on her vial to collect a sample from the overflowing lake. Blood rain pitter-pats and speckles the top of the umbrella the archer holds over them both. Everything is covered in that too-vibrant, gory shade of red. It’s disgusting.

“The god responsible for this weather should be fired.” Juliet states in a humorless monotone. She learned that phrase from a sit-com on television recently. While it did very little to set any of their troubled minds at ease, the television had provided a temporary distraction from… everything. Meredith and Willow were far less interested, mumbling that the programs were ‘reruns’. The fae did appear to derive some small fraction of amusement whenever she caught one of Juliet’s rare, bewildered expressions during the occasional instance of culture shock. “It’s gross.”

It’s an attempt at diffusing the tension. A rather lame one, but an attempt nonetheless. They’ve both been anticipating an attack, though nothing has happened yet. Yet. Because something will happen. Something always does.

It will not be because Juliet August has fallen victim to illusions and trickery. Again. It has happened one too many times now, she has to wonder if she possesses even a drop of siren's blood in her veins. One might have supposed it'd have provided her a greater defense against these things. Or, perhaps, the fact that she's alive in spite of everything she's seen is all the proof she requires to know it's true.

Juliet August... who are you, really?

Who am I, who am I, who am I...

Maybe someday we'll find out. Together.

Juliet stares the apparition of Viola dead in her grey-blue eyes. She stands there, tall and regal and entirely too unbothered by the bloody water sloshing around her legs. When she notices the gardenia she twirls between her thumb and forefinger, her heart pinches. She squints and defiantly turns to watch Willow instead. She will let nothing distract her now. Following figures from her past will surely lead her back to Sefarina-- again-- or into the clutches of a monster just like her. (She destroyed the page she stole after speaking with Sawyer. Tore it to shreds and burned the remains with a toasty-toasty spell. The edges of the paper glowed ominously, but they dissolved to ashes even so, unable to withstand her flame.)

The person who had once promised to keep Juliet safe leads her to nothing but danger. She's through with the scheming puppeteers, pulling her strings from a distance. Taunting her from the shadows to protect themselves from the broken noses they'd surely receive for crossing her in any other capacity. Beware the wounded animal...

“I'm sorry that I hurt you." (Not real.) "I'm sorry that I left."

While Juliet cannot always control what she sees, she can control how she responds… at least to an extent. It's when she interacts that she loses her footing and falls. That's when the vipers strike and take her out of the fight. Of course she's learned her lesson by now. She won't leave Willow alone to fend for herself when she needs her. "The scale of this… I didn’t think it’d be like this. Ever. Are we in over our heads? No, scratch that. Are we in too deep?"

"Won't you look at me, Jules? I want to tell you everything..." Viola's voice sounds just the same, offering answers she might have traveled to the ends of the worlds for once, but it's all a lie. To be offered everything she'd have died to know, simple as that? By this eerie lake no less? She may be flirting the the edge of madness like they all say, but she's no fool. She doesn't trust it. "I can explain."

Juliet’s clenched fist twitches. Her jaw tightens. She refuses to acknowledge the figure with a response. Once she answers, she starts playing their games.

"I still love you." Viola professes. Each word is a dagger to Juliet's heart. Lies. "You wanted to run away together... off to some distant kingdom across the sea. That's what you wanted more than anything. We could go right now. Together. I'll tell you the story, the whole story, on our travels." Lies, lies, lies. "Juliet, aren't you tired of being hunted down? Tired of fighting? Come home to me... I'll keep you safe, like I should have before. Like I promised."

Juliet notices the flicker of an antler, of an outstretched claw, poised to push Willow down into the water. The creature appears in ominous lightning-like flashes, reappearing out of hiding. She dives in at the last second, pushing the sorceress aside to take her place. The uncorked sample is thrown out of her hands and spills all over the ground as the archer is thrown face-first into the water-- two claws pressing into the base of her neck, holding her there. Submerged, she writhes against its hold to no avail, the water burning in her nose and mouth. She's running out of air... 'Let's hope whatever mermaid's blood you possess saves you now.'