“Vel!” Cirice cries in glee, ignoring the chairs and going straight over to hug her. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

The little woman's reaction is a stark contrast to what it was before. Where she'd merely been stunned and compliant, she's now writhing and struggling. Plastered on her face is a furious scowl.

"Get- off of me!" she growls frantically before, with a single tiny palm, pushing Cirice away! The force is shocking, but not so shocking as the burning sensation where her hand touched[1]. She glares up at Cirice.

...Her eyes weren't that colour before. Burning brass. And devoid of any familiarity.

"Do NOT touch me!" she spits, then points at the chairs. "Other side, or I'll call security."

“V-Veliky?” Cirice asks, her lower lip trembling not from the pain of the light but from the rejection. The place where her palm pushed Cirice away is left scorched and red, an angry, painful burn. She stands there, unmoving and looking hurt. “What’s wrong? Why are your eyes like that? Why don’t you… Where is your bracelet?”

Her words only seem to infuriate Veliky more. "What are you talking about?! I don't know you. Now calm the hell down."

Cirice recoils as if having been struck, more than she did when she was burned, “We’re friends! I’m Cirice! Cirice Lunestre! I gave you a bracelet and made you muffins…”

The edges of the room start warbling, the shadows around them grasping at its form desperately as its pulled between wills.

Sensing her turmoil, Cyran manifests at her side at an instant, putting a hand on her shoulder. Something is wrong here. Eyeing the part of the room where the fabric of reality seems to be tearing apart, something in the back of his mind seemed to click. An innate understanding of where they were.

“Don’t lose heart, dear. This place… that’s not your Veliky.”

Well, not her waking, flesh and blood part, at least.

Leaning closer so the manifestation of her sleeping subconscious would not hear, Cyran whispered, “I believe we’ve wandered into her dream.”

“Her dream…?” Cirice asks, looking at him with bright eyes full of hurt. “Then… Who is this?”

Cirice turns to the little Veliky before them, the one that’s not quite right. “Show us the real Veliky! We want to talk to her!” She demands, not angrily, but with steely determination.

Cyran keeps a wary eye on dream-Veliky the closer Cirice gets to her, wary of another explosion. With a nod at Cirice, trusting her judgement, he moves to wander around the office, taking in all the pieces and parts of Veliky on display.

Eventually, after several seconds and breathed curses, the businesswoman produces a single piece of paper from the drawer. She stares at it for several seconds, and then closes her eyes... before opening them, cold and bitter, toward Cirice.

"So it's you. The two of you have been causing my company a lot of trouble. You realize that, right?"

She tosses the paper onto the desk, where it slides across others of its kith. But there are no words written on it, only a bizarre and incomprehensible abstract image of curving lines and scribbles. And yet the woman's arms are crossed angirly, as if it bears some offensive meaning.

"Do you know how much shit I need to deal with, every damned day, without people like you trying to fuck everything up? I mean, what the hell do you get out of this?”

Cirice looks at the scribbled mess with confusion and picks up the page, turning it around in her hands as if she can decipher it. “Um… What do you mean? This doesn’t say anything…”

She listens to Veliky’s bitter complaint, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I’m not trying to fuck anything up. I’m trying to be your friend. To make you happy. You can’t tell me you’re happy all alone with just machines. Even if you’ve got an army of BFF construct dogs they aren’t real friends. I want to be your friend silly, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.” As she talks she takes the scribbly messed up paper and lays it on the table, folding it with precision until its in the shape of a small angular bird. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

If this is truly a dream then the laws of the real world don’t have to apply, Cirice realizes and as she does the little bird in her hands starts to twitch and move of its own accord, fluttering its wings and going to land on Veliky’s head like a little crown.


"I don't know how or why we're in your dream, but I wasn't going to leave you alone in that massive bed alone, we can talk here."

---

[1] Angelic Light

The Veliky-entity, as was to be expected, doesn't appear impressed by Cirice's words - nor by the little origami bird that now rests upon her head. Arms crossed, and a scowl beneath the little cutesie creation, she almost looks silly.

But then she reaches a hand above her head, clutches the little bird... and it burns to smithereens^[1].

"Veliky" she begins, wiping the ash against her suit, "doesn't need to be happy. She just needs to do her job. Because if she can do it well, she can make the world a better place. But if she starts acting selfish - if she has a bias toward certain people - then she'll compromise her ability to do that effectively. So your manipulation isn't helping anybody."

Before continuing, she picks up the little pen-thing again and returns to work on the paper before her. "Veliky's a born leader. And a leader needs to think impartially. They can't have their decisions swayed by random bullshit that makes them laugh or cry. And she wants to change the world, so do you really think you're helping by distracting her from that? Leave us alone. It'll be better for everybody." Her tone is condescending, matter-of-fact. "I swear, with you damned people. You're just like all the rest, striking out and thinking that you're doing something good when you're actually only making the problem wor-"

She stops. A bit of that frustration ebbs, but only for the briefest moment as she looks at the pen-thing in her hand. The tip of it has snapped off, woefully inhibiting its writing ability... But she doesn't seem to care much. Instead, she just sticks the end of the pen-thing into one of the holes in the device beside her, and begins to turn the crank. There's a sound of grinding wood against metal; and, when she pulls it out, the tip has sharpened again. Only, the pen as a whole seems somewhat shorter now... Missing hardly a beat, she returns to writing.

"Just leave it be. You're only making things worse."

…

The dream Veliky clearly didn’t seem interested in conversing, so Cyran gave Cirice a look, shaking his head. This was… more than he had expected from the businesswoman. He’d always assumed that there was something soft deeper under the exterior, but how deep did her own self-deception lie?

He supposed further investigation was needed.

Veliky’s… office, for lack of a better word, was exactly what Cyran expected. Neat, efficient, personless - much how he expected the woman herself to be upon second meeting. The realization of where they were, and how they’d ended up there, was an odd one, less of a conscious thought than the innate knowledge of the dark magic that lingered in the pit of his soul.^[2]

Magic. A spell he hadn’t purposefully meant to cast, but magic that he - and by extension, Cirice - had harnessed, nonetheless.

But how were they supposed to get out? This felt an awful invasion of privacy… somehow, Cyran knew that this wasn’t just a figment of their imagination. This was truly Veliky’s sleeping realm.

And how truly sad was it that even here, when she was supposed to be getting rest, Veliky was working? That she would refer to herself in such a way?

He shouldn’t have pried - this was not Cyran’s place to step into matters that lingered in the back of Veliky’s mind. Clearly, she did not want them to get close, shown by how bitter she grew the longer that Cirice tried to remind Veliky who they were.

You people. The moniker stung more than Cyran would like to admit. Whoever this dream-apparition was, the voice of Veliky’s subconscious or not, clearly held more hatred for Cyran and Cirice than the real woman. But what was the truth? He needed to dig deeper. While Cirice moved closer to sit with Veliky at the desk, Cyran kept an eye on the both of them, wandering silently around the room. His feet brought him closer to the bookshelves that lined the walls, tomes that encompassed Veliky’s life and interest.

Titles printed along the spines advertised books on mathematics and academic textbooks - ones that Cyran would never understand in a thousand years. He knew her mind was advanced, analytic, but staring at the culmination of knowledge crammed into her mind and plaguing her dreams was a different matter entirely. Cyran picked one of the books up, flipping through the pages.

Empty.

Cyran pursed his lips, shutting the tome and picking up another. This one, titled “Contributions in Analytic and Algebraic Number Theory”, just as empty as the next.

He set those down and moved onto the next shelf.

This shelf, more concerning than the others. Pieces critiquing nobles and vigilantes alike, all pointing to what the dreamer’s perception of true justice was. And just past that, a shelf full of books with titles that made Cyran’s blood run cold for reasons he could not place.

Its Blood-Borne Falsehood

Its Whimsy Prayers

Its Sins in the Hall of Glory

Cyran turned away from the bookshelf and moved to the desk.

Cirice was making Veliky origami. The little folded bird came to life from Cirice’s love and attention, perching on Veliky’s head. Parchment wings fluttered a moment, settling down like it belonged there. While Veliky was stewing over Cirice’s offer, Cyran rested his hand on the stack of papers while he leaned over, peering at her desk - he normally was not the kind of person to invade upon one another’s privacy, but sometimes habits died hard… and it was only curious to want to know more about someone who Cirice cared for so dearly and wanted to get close to. There was an odd sort of pen in her hands, one that looked like it utilized no inkwell, and the cranking machine nearby that she'd used to sharpen the tip.

He peered over, getting a closer look at the pen. Had it been something of Veliky’s creation?

“It must be lonely, having such intellect.” He commented, more an observation to himself than something he was consciously saying to Veliky. “Did you make that…?”

He trailed off when he spotted the words written on the impossibly tall stack of papers closest to him.

Over and over again, in neat, consistent penmanship down two military-straight columns:

No more weakness. No more fear. No more weakness. No more Fear. No more weakness. No more fear. No more weakness. No more Fear. No more weakness. No more fear. No more weakness. No more Fear.

“Oh.”

Cyran suddenly understood Veliky’s mindset to a frightening degree.

There was a soft crinkling sound - Cyran glanced down at the mantra-covered paper below his hand, where he’d clenched his fist in shock, unbidden. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles, but the damage had already been done.

At the edge of perception, there's a ringing that crescendoes until it pierces the mind. The shadows grow longer as the orange light from the window grows brighter, hotter.

She's looking at him. She sees what he's done, and the brass in her eyes burns with enough intensity to scorch the soul. Her face is twisted into anger, but not the cold frustration that she so often demonstrates in the real world. It's a visceral, manic rage.

Her jaw wrenches open, and emits a scream that echoes here and in realms beyond, a second and divine authority speaking with it. "LEAVE IT ALONE!"

“My apologies.” Cyran stammered, suddenly bashful He closed his eyes. “I never meant to…” Never meant to shake her foundations so horribly. “I’ll try to fix it.” He closed his eyes, trying to get a better sense for the ever-shifting realm they currently occupied. Cirice had subconsciously exerted her influence on this place, so it was no stretch to assume he could do the same. As he ran his hand over the crinkled edges of the page, it smoothed out, leaving the words unblemished.

He set the paper back down and stepped away.

This was a mistake. He didn’t belong here at all.

---

1. Angelic Light (Veliky)
2.Expanded Mind (Astral Soul I)

The businesswoman is left with her head in her hands, resting herself on the desk. Her breaths are deep and swift. It's an attempt to calm herself, but it hardly seems to be working.

As the ashes of the origami bird flutter to the ground and Cyran gives Cirice that look that says 'leave it' but... She can't. She listens, she watches, and she's PISSED.

"I don't know who the FUCK you are. But you are NOT Veliky." Cirice says, trembling, her eyes full of passion. "You talk about her like Veliky sees her bots. Like she IS a bot. But she isn't. She's a person. A LIVING, BREATHING, PERSON." Her voice raises as the edges of the room wobble even further. Shadows pour off Cirice's form like smoke, just a little curls off her eyes. "VELIKY IS NOT A BOT, DON'T TREAT HER LIKE SHE IS ONE!

"She's whatever the HELL I say she is!" it screams, abandoning any hope of reaching calm and staring deathly at Cirice. "She's whatever she HAS to be! Whatever's she's NEEDED to be in order to change the world!"

The higher her voice rises, the more it seems to echo from somewhere both near and far.

"I don't give a shit what she wants. I don't give a shit what hurts her. Because if she fails, everyone else will hurt a lot more because of her. This isn't about her; it's about what she needs to do for the world. It's the sacrifice SHE chose. I'm just keeping her to it."

"She CHOSE to be alone? To SUFFER? Who the hell are you to hold her to these lofty goals over her? One person CANNOT change the world alone. That is WHY you NEED friends, you NEED family. The world changes without us, if want to change things we do it together!" With every word the shadows around Cirice grow, making it seem as if her own form is growing. She grabs the desk between them, claws digging notches into the wood. "I care about VELIKY, even if she doesn't care about herself!"

The Veliky slams the pen down on the desk and stands on her seat. "WHY?!"

The desk between them goes flying, sending papers into the air to rain down like painful reminders. But Cirice isn't paying attention. 

Cirice, encloaked in shadow, faces the quarterling standing as tall as she can in her chair. The height difference is still great, but this is the closest to eye-to-eye they have ever been. She stalks right up to her like a predator, getting into into her face....

And wraps her in a hug.

"Because you don't love yourself..."

Her voice is soft, a whisper tinged with tears for the person she holds tight.

The shadows around her fade away but her grip is iron, she won't let Veliky go. Even if she's burned, even if she's hurt, she'll take that pain for Veliky. Then Veliky doesn't have to bear it herself.

"Because I saw how sad and alone you are, how much you work to try to be brave and strong. The facade you wear that it's fine and it doesn't bother you. The lies you tell yourself to rationalize that its better to be this way. But you don't have to be alone. You aren't alone. I'm here. I'll be here for you always. You deserve people who love you, and I swear by Mother Moon that I will."

Cyran remembered, upon their first meeting, that he likened Veliky to one of her own constructs. That the woman built such things in an attempt to create an image of perfection - efficient, not allowing emotions to cloud their judgment, and the perfect worker. It made him wonder if, were Veliky given the opportunity to replace her heart with metal and processing units, whether she would take the opportunity to or not. She hid her vulnerabilities behind a churlish nature and by keeping others at arm’s distance. But Cyran knew there was a part of her that cared, even if she herself did not want to admit it. In the way she wore Cirice’s friendship bracelet. In the way she gave Astrid a home, once.

One could argue she was fostering relationships with assets.

But Cyran could see what those actions meant, he thought. If it were an act there would be no need for Veliky to wear a homemade gift and look at it when she thought she was alone.

But the self-deception ran deeper than Cyran could ever imagine.

Cyran wasn’t sure how Veliky was going to react to Cirice’s hugs, or her words, whispered like some sort of prayer through her tears, grief for a woman who feared her own emotions as if they were a rotten, undesirable thing. It was woefully unfortunate for her, then, that she’d met two people who didn’t give a damn about this empire, or her lofty goals and self-punitive drive to improve the world. People who cared about Veliky simply because she was, not because of what she offered.

In the silence following Cirice’s proclamation, for once, Veliky - this ideal, dream construct of hers - seemed to be shaken to her core. Cyran took the opportunity to get closer, waving his hands. The paperwork on the table disappeared. The pen in her hands disappeared.

“Please,” Cyran murmured, “Take a break from work. The world will not burn to the ground if you allow someone else to carry it on their shoulders for a bit.” He wasn’t sure he was even listening to him. It didn’t matter. With more surety than he had in Veliky’s kitchen before, Cyran completed the hug. It was an awkward movement, maneuvering around the two women, until he was resting his cheek on Cirice’s head, and running his hand through Veliky’s hair.

There was nothing else he could say that Cirice had not already. All he could do was offer himself as he was, and remind Veliky that he was there. Whether she wanted his comfort or not, he would not be leaving anytime soon.

For either of them.

They can feel its tiny body, stiff to the bone. It's frozen, drawing the shallow breaths that can only be of terror -- primal, existential fear. If its face weren't buried in Cirice' silk, its brass irises would fully bask in the orange haze. Such is its face: the face of one who sees their death approaching.

"No..." it whimpers like a child. "No...! Let go!"

That scathing heat begins to rise, like that of glass beneath the sun. Its clothes, its skin, even its hair begins to burn with a white and pure light^[1]. It raises its arms in a frenzy, flailing them back and forth in a piteous attempt to escape.

"LET GO!" it screams, inconsolable, driving a fist into Cirice's stomach. But there's no force behind its strike -- none to free it from the embrace it so fears. And its screams do not abate, but only grow more shrill, a violent and terrified throe. It cries in fury, promising all manner of justice for their transgressions; it screams in terror, repeating again and again that She will burn if they continue; it curses Veliky's name, mocking the futile care that they hold for her; it pleads for mercy, begging and screeching for them to release Her. And as its cries echo in frequencies beyond the scope of sound, reverberating far into the dream-space, so too do its voice and form become less corporeal. It's fading into lights and pitch beyond perception; and in time, its light and misery alike pass from present into past, and then into memory.

It's gone. Or perhaps merely transitioned to a state in which it can't, for the time, be seen. Either way, all that can still be heard of it is a ringing at the edge of sound, its rage and fear still lingering in its most base form. Aside from this, there is silence. The office is empty, as if it had been abandoned for years. But that otherworldly light still shines through the window, and...

...

The pen is still there, on the desk. It was meant to vanish as Cyran had wanted, and yet it remains, split into two halves. Splinters of wood jut from either dismemberment, as if reaching to one-another -- trying to hold together again, in spite of its state.

...The light grows dimmer. Somehow, the curtains on the window slide across their iron bar, slowly filling the room with impenetrable darkness. There's a sound like the slow, methodical creaking of a wooden door as the shadows enwreathe all. In every creeping finger of darkness is warmth, yet cold -- looming, yet protecting, yet pushing all away. The shelves, the chairs and even the desk seem to fade into the darkness, joining it and becoming one with the nothingness.

But not the pen. It remains, even as the wooden desk vanishes from beneath it. It lingers there, and then each half falls, slowly as a feather on stagnant air. So gradual is its descent that it begs the question of if it will ever land at all, or simply continue falling, falling, falling, falling, falling...

But then each half touches the ground of inky blackness, booming with a sound far greater than its meekness should permit. The sound dominates the room. And then there is a nothingness that seems to stretch to such a time that waiting becomes a thing of necessity -- as natural as breathing.

And then... something breaks the stillness. As subtle as the wingbeat of a butterfly, yet as mournful as a swan's last song; familiar as a lullaby from youth, yet as alien as a cry from the deep below; there is a gentle sob, permeating through the dark room as if the walls were made of stone. Not a mournful weep, but one like that of a fearful child, it seems to come from everywhere, bouncing off of every surface.

And yet...

It comes from the corner, between two shelves and just at the edge of where the last vestige of light now stretches. There, in that only glimpse of brass light, a tiny, bare foot is planted on a ground. Something is seated there, on the floor, burying its eyes into its knees and weeping. It's such a tiny creature, quivering and alone...

At being seen, it flinches in pain. Strands of flaxen hair dance in the brass light as it turns away and shields itself from sight.

"Don't... Don't look at me..."

For just a moment, its eyes can be glimpsed, shimmering the darkness. Blue, like the rime of an ice-covered lake. 

---

1. Angelic Light

The light should hurt, should burn like the fire of hate and anguish that it is, but here in the dream at least Cirice can shrug it off. The being wearing Veliky’s face thrashes and fights with all it has to try to escape the arms of its captors, but the grip is vise-like and iron. There is no escape, there is no room for doubt or compromise. There is only iron-clad determination.

As it shrieks and whimpers Cirice only holds it tighter to her, ignoring the fight and focused only on the feeling. Perhaps this is the fight of one who doesn’t think they deserve love, or one that fears it with all their heart. She isn’t sure, but either way she won’t let go.

Not now or ever.

And then her arms are empty, holding onto only the memory of the thrashing not-Veliky. Still she doesn’t let her arms fall, as if cradling the air that once was her friend’s spectre.

As all fades to darkness around them Cirice begins to worry. Perhaps Veliky is waking… Her mind reeling so hard that it fought off the exhaustion that plagued it in order to escape them…

And then they watch as the pen falls. And as it falls it booms with a sound that rings in Cirice’s ears.

And then… Silence. A pregnant pause that stretches in anticipation.

“Don’t… Don’t look at me…”

The impossibly small and fragile figure cowering in the corner and trying to hide from sight flinching away from her gaze as it sobs those words. But Cirice saw all she needed to.

There is no hesitation, no moment to fight off the advance as Cirice frees herself from Cyran’s arms gently and kneels before the tiny lonely figure. In the space of a breath there is a blanket in her arms, plush and soft, and she scoops the tiny trembling figure up into it, wrapping her tight and warm and holding her almost like a baby to her chest.

Cirice closes her eyes and kisses the tiny forehead softly. “I won’t look… But I won’t let you go.” She whispers. “You’re safe now Veliky, and you’re not alone. I’ve got you. I can keep my eyes closed as long as you need, but I won’t ever let you go…”

Veliky thrashed madly in their grip, small but mighty her panicked attempts to get away from Cirice. But.. the dream-construct wasn’t really Veliky at all, was it? This avatar must have been nothing more than the subconscious manifestation of all the lies Veliky fed to herself. The ones she forced herself to believe with every ounce of her being, given physical form. Blinding light poured from its being, unable to contain its rage in its small body. Persons it should have burned. Perhaps Cyran ought to have looked away. But even in the face of her pure, vitriolic anger, Cyran would not look away from her. He refused to be blinded by her light.^[1]

And then, all at once…

It stopped.

The curtains closed themselves, the room falling silent aside from the side of metal scraping against metal from the curtain rod, cloaking them all in protective shade, and the quiet, pained whimper of something rather small.

Don’t look at me…

But how could Cyran not? That was the real Veliky, and no matter how desperately she tried to shield herself from view, Cyran thought that this version was already much better than the construct she used to hide herself. Cirice untangled herself from him, moving to scoop up the small Veliky and hold her close.

Cyran took a step closer to the others, when -

FWOOM.

All at once the curtains and blinds snapped open, a burst of blinding light filled every single corner in the room, until even the darkened corners around the desks and bookshelves that it should not have been able to touch was encapsulated in its domain. It burned with the intensity of the sun, and all of its rage. And from the window, Cyran could see a single eye, peering in at them, unblinking. Unmoving. Merely, gazing at them with disdain - I SEE YOU.

And then, the noise began.

The sound was so difficult to make out that at first, Cyran could not rightfully identify the murmurs worming into his ears like a parasite as words. But then, like a tuning fork steadily vibrating to produce a clear sound, the noises, the voices came together and Cyran could identify them as whispers. A single, dissonant, repeated phrase.

A chant.

“N…. tas… nu… or.”

“Nul… mitas… nulla… mor.”

“Nulla infirmitas, nulla timor.”

“Nulla infirmitas, nulla timor. Nulla infirmitas, nulla timor.”

The sound swelled all around them, as if trying to cram the words into Cyran’s brain, piercing his skull. What was this? How the hell had it snuck its way into Veliky’s dream?

Perhaps, a small part of his brain reasoned, it had been here all along.

It didn’t matter now. Cyran straightened, waving his hand with a glower that promised murder to whatever godsforsaken entity had wormed its way into Veliky’s subconscious. Where Cirice’s love manifested in kind words and comfort, all Cyran could offer was this.

A mental promise to eradicate whatever that eye was from Veliky’s mind.

Permanently.

“You are not welcome here.” He threatened, voice booming enough to rattle the books where they rested in their shelves. Some of the titles fell to the floor in a heap. Blinds snapped shut and curtains swung closed, and all at once, the blinding light disappeared. The room settled into cool, protective shadow once more. Cyran released a breath, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow. He was under no illusions about the fact that thing was gone for good, but at the very least it was gone for now, and would not return.

“I am… sorry about that.” Cyran turned to Cirice and Veliky, suddenly tired from the effort of manipulating the dream to get rid of that… that thing. To Cirice, he mumbled, “We shouldn’t stay here long. I don’t think Veliky’s dream will hold much longer.”

And then, he turned his attention to Veliky.

“I am sorry for… all of this.” He gestured towards the room and the window. He tried to keep his voice level, but internally, he had the ugly, sinking suspicion that they were not the only ones Veliky didn’t want looking at her. She didn’t want that thing to see her like this either.

“You are safe now.” He whispered. “You are cared for. It’s okay just to be you in this moment.”

That was all he could give her.

---

1. All Eye

...No response. Nuzzling her face against Cirice, the little, terrified Veliky is at rest. Her eyes are shut like a newborn kit's, and her breaths are shallow and ragged. But, in Cirice's caring embrace, she is safe; in Cirice's loving arms, she doesn't need to worry. At least, not for a time. And though the shadows are so deep, and the silence is so solemn, and the walls are so near, there is a warmth -- not the swelter of before, but like the heat of a fireplace on a Winter night. It comes from Cirice; it comes from Cyran; and it even, though subtler, comes from little Veliky.

The light, shining from the tiny gap between the curtains, turns from brass to amber and then to white, like the first morning of Spring. And it fills the room, blinding, as the sounds of Veliky's breath grow calmer. It's time to wake up; the call back to the waking world is murmured by familiar sounds from just outside: birdsong, the barking of dogs, and the bustle of a waking city.

Here it comes.

---

White-pink. That's all; a universe of white-pink. And she's lost in it, not questioning; it's familiar, nostalgic. She's seen it so many times before, and heard so many times the sounds of morning, distant and present at once. So many sounds, harmonizing into reality's song. But all she can see is white-pink. The sunlight that barely gleams through her eyelids, telling her that morning has come: white-pink. So why does it look so different?

She moves her head just barely, and feels the soft, cotton pillowcase against her cheek. She moves her little hand along the sun-warmed sheets. She feels... calm. It's a sensation she isn't sure she's ever quite felt. Her mind isn't swarming with the thoughts of what she needs to do today. She isn't already anxious, she isn't already guilty, she isn't already exhausted. She isn't already being told by tiny voices, that the seconds are passing her by and scorning her. 'Mir,' it's called. Her mind, not focused on these things, is instead captured by the sensations of fabric at her fingertips, and the white-pink ocean before her, and the warmth of a blanket much too large for her, and the weight of-...

"...?"

It's very warm -- so warm that she could fall back to sleep at only a moment's lull. But as she moves only slightly, this texture doesn't feel quite like cotton. It's something closer to silk? It's comfortable, soft -- so soft that she wishes she could bring it with her, and carry it until it inevitably loses that soft touch. It's a comfortable, but unusual feeling...

So slightly, she opens her eyes, and her first sight is the tiny rays of sunlight that filter through the wool blanket. It's reminiscent of when she was young, and would awaken in her mother's arms. So close, so safe... She'd always rub her eyes, and look up to see her mother's face; the sunlight glowing on her eyes, and on her beautiful violet-tinged skin...

On her beautiful, violet-tinged skin...?

Veliky's eyes widen in shock and immediate lucidity as she beholds the sleeping face of a complete stranger, and she lets out an alarmed cry that pierces the morning! No, it's not a complete stranger -- it's the girl that broke into her house and gave her muffins, the Red Rogue, cradling Veliky in her arms!

'What happened?! Why's she in my bed?! Why's she holding me?!?!' Here's the usual chaos. In fact, it's probably even more severe than usual. In sheer panic, Veliky's eyes dart about, spotting the other home-invader: the assassin, Cyran! At least he's not also in bed, but he's asleep in a chair just beside them! Veliky's utterly flabbergasted, desperate for answers and personal space!

Of course, her answers are bound to come quickly, as her cry will quickly rouse the two from their slumber.

Cirice’s eyes stay closed as the noise began. As the chanting persisted and the light filled the room as if trying to burn them away. Whatever it was she had a promise to keep as she clutched the precious bundle closer to her chest. The chanting echoes in her ears and threatened to drive her mad, until the moment with absolute authority Cyran banished it away. His command was that of a protector, that of a mortal warning any and all things that he would bring all that is crashing down to protect those he cared for.

And the voice and the light heeded that warning.

She nodded as Cyran said they should leave, eyes still closed as the cool and comfortable shadow settled like a blanket over her shoulders. “You’re right, its almost over. Vel… Thanks for sharing this with us. For what its worth, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better dream…”

Hugging the bundle tight once more she feels the warmth of all of them together, fading into…

A cry of alarm and confusion.

Groaning, Cirice sleepily pulls Veliky closer, nuzzling her cheek into the quarterling’s soft blonde hair.

“Shhh it’s too early to shout…”

She peeks one eye open just slightly, a soft, drowsy smile creeping across her features. “Good morning, I hope you slept well… Don’t worry you’re safe, just like Cyran said…"

She yawns cutely, hugging her little Veliky bundle once more. It seems in her sleep she’d wrapped her small friend into a loose cocoon as well and held her close, not wanting either Veliky to be alone or afraid.

Awareness eluded him.

Cyran was not traditionally a heavy sleeper, not when his rest was more like meditation than proper sleep. And yet, despite the rays of sunlight peeking through the window, its warmth a gentle reminder that it was time to wake. And yet, his eyes refused to open, and his mind refused to work. Where… was he? Cyran could not remember what he’d been doing last night, much less what might cause him to feel as if he’d been drugged.

He shifted in an attempt to force some movement into his sluggish limbs, remember where he was. This soft bed, these sheets - they were not his cot in Shade’s Valley, or his travel bedroll. And why did he feel so exhausted…?

The shout that suddenly rang through the room served as a perfectly fine wake up call.

Cyran was up in an instant - immediately on guard, on his feet and reaching for his daggers in a split second? Where was the threat?

That was when his eyes landed on Cirice and Miss Veliky, and he remembered everything from last night. The break-in. Him and Cirice making muffins for Veliky. The dream. His face heated up, hastily moving to sheath his daggers. He’d meant to stay awake and keep watch, and yet, he’d fallen asleep somewhere along the line - hell, he’d even inserted himself into Veliky’s private dream! What had he been thinking? He hadn’t, of course, considering as far as he could figure, he’d done it without conscious knowledge of casting the spell, but still.

While Veliky stared in bewilderment at the two elves who had inadvertently made themselves at home in her apartment like she expected to be attacked, Cyran stared back at her, just as fearful of what she might do to them for invading her subconscious in such a way. And Cirice…

Held tightly to Veliky like an octopus, the only one of them who was not on guard at the moment.

Cyran resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“Now isn’t the time for this, sweetheart…” He mumbled under his breath in elvish before turning his attention back to Veliky, forcing himself into a stiff bow. “I am so sorry for this…” Here, he paused, realizing there was no apt descriptor for what they’d just done.

And now what were they to do? The smart thing would be to leave. But he knew he had no better luck at forcing Cirice to leave while she was comfortable than diverting a river from its course.

As if responding to his thoughts, Cirice snuggled closer to Veliky.

“Um.” He mumbled, face still feeling like the inside of an oven. “Yeah. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon. She cares about you a great deal… and she was really worried about you last night.”

He fiddled with the sheath of his dagger, unsure what to say. What was there to say? Sorry I attempted to assassinate you once upon a time, please don’t tell my goddaughter about how we met? I hope you liked the muffins - she spent a lot of time researching ingredients and recipes for you? I hope you know how much love people have for you?

… What was that eye watching us in your dream?

Cyran opened his mouth. What came out instead was, “Can I make you some coffee while you’re… otherwise indisposed?”

She's dumbstruck. She's befuddled. She's lost for words. Veliky, the no-nonsense businesswoman who's all but cut herself off from all personal interaction since before she even left her home, has woken up in the arms of an elvish girl -- an elvish girl who's far less perturbed about this situation than she is. In spite of Veliky's blatant protest, the Red Rogue only snuggles her closer.

Needless to say, Veliky isn't just warm anymore. She's utterly beet-red, and steaming like a teapot. What's her objective here? She needs to escape, right? Yes, she SHOULD escape! But she's so inconsolably stunlocked that she has no idea what she's supposed to do. And what was that about safety? What're they talking about?!

Pushing her arms forward, Veliky's barely able to pry herself any distance from Cirice's chest; the elf's cuddles are like the clutch of a vice. But she manages just enough leeway to see over Cirice's arm. She sees that Cyran has woken as well! Surely he'll be a voice of reason in all this, right? He's an experienced assassin, a hardened criminal. He must see the ridiculousness in all this.

...

He offers her coffee.

Nope. That's it. She has to get the fuck out of here. She doesn't care if she's escaping her own damned apartment, she has to go.

As if she were buried alive, Veliky struggles and writhes to escape from what feels like six feet of blankets and hugs. Cirice isn't what one would call a brute, but she's still got many times more muscle-mass than Veliky! The little quarterling musters all her strength, trying to push herself away with one hand pressing against Cirice's violet cheek, but can't even disturb the elf from her grogginess, let alone escape the literal sleeper-hold!

This isn't working. But that doesn't mean she won't keep trying. Her dignity depends on it.

"I don't know what the... HELL you two are talking about...!" she grunts through the strain. "But it is NOT okay to... invite yourself... into someone's bed! Especially-mmmf!" Her words are interrupted as she's caught in another groggy snuggle, and smothered in Cirice's chest. But she persists, using her feet and all in a valiant attempt to escape! "Especially when they're... sleeping in it!"

She's so close. She's got a good angle, with a foot planted on Cirice's sternum. If she just keeps pushing, she can finally break fr-

"M-Miss V-V-Veliky?!"

The voice freezes Veliky like death's own hand. It's a voice she knows far too well, and there are so few voices that she would fear more to hear in a situation such as this. An icy chill runs through her veins as she turns her head, revealing the befuddled and spiral-bespectacled face of a very familiar gnome that stands at the threshold of the wide-open door.

"Yoci-hmmf!" Pulled once more into the titty snare.

Frozen in place, the gnome's cheeks steadily flush until she breaks from her trance, jolting and averting her eyes in embarrassment.

"G-G-Goodness, Rogue! I-I always b-b-believed in your p-plan, but I didn't think it'd be th-th-... THIS effective! I-I-I, u-umm..."

Veliky voices a muffled protest all the while, but the gnome seems totally oblivious. Behind her spiral-lenses and above a shy smile, Yoci's eyes dart about until they fixate on the batch of muffins that still rests on the counter, at which she perks up. "I-I'll just take one of those like w-we agreed, a-and leave you a-a-alone."

She begins a scurryish scamper to the counter, but stops when she comes across Cyran. Looking up timidly, she offers a meek wave. "H-H-Hello. I-I-I'm Yoci..." Her expression harbours no recognition.

“Mmmm? Yoci…? Yoci!” Cirice stirs from her slumber at the familiar voice, absolutely clueless to Veliky’s plight until she looks down at her and sees her futile struggling. “Good morning Vel, I hope you slept well.”

She gives Veliky a small squeeze as she yawns and then slowly untangles them from each other and the blankets. “Sorry… I’m a snuggler and you’re perfect for snuggling Vel!”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stands and stretches.

“Yoci! Yeah the plan worked pretty okay I think! Eat as many muffins as you like but you don’t have to run off! Oh Cyran this is Yoci, she’s wonderful and brave and clever! Yoci this is my godfather, Cyran! Now everyone knows everyone!”

Pleased with herself and how things are going she goes to grab herself and Veliky a few muffins for breakfast.

"You fell asleep so quickly last night... I couldn't leave without getting a chance to talk to you more Vel," She says, handing her the muffin.

That seemed to be the final straw for Miss Veliky. Cyran knew that the situation was absurd - he did not blame her for being startled. He took a step forward, on guard as her tiny feet attempted to pry Cirice off of her. He doubted she could do any actual damage, but any goodwill he had for her would evaporate the moment she tried to harm Cirice. “Cirice, maybe you should let go of her…” He warned, ready to intervene the moment this went south, when -

Oh.

He recognized that voice.

Cyran turned as the mousy little gnome wearing round-rimmed spectacles made her way up the stairs to Veliky’s apartment, eyes widening in surprise when she saw the tableau in front of her. But rather than call the guards or rush to Veliky’s aid like he expected, she merely addressed Cirice - what did she mean by Rogue?- before moving to take one of the muffins.

Distantly, Cyran remembered Cirice explaining to him the night before they broke into this cafe. That she’d had a friend help her arrange all of this. With a start Cyran realized that must have been miss Yoci.

… They’d met, of course, though Cyran was not going to say that, nor did Yoci properly remember that. He would not bring it up when the mere thought of their first interaction filled him with guilt. So rarely did he have to deal with the consequences of what he did - one could hardly look their victims in the eye when they did not leave survivors in the first place. And yet, watching Yoci walk around and eat a muffin, and greet him like nothing was wrong, gnawed at him.

The image of her tear-stained face flitted through his mind.

As Cirice stood, moving to retrieve muffins for Veliky, Cyran held his hand out for the young engineer to shake. They’d started off on rough terms, and that was a burden he would always have to live with. But at the very least, he could attempt to be gentle with her, “I’m Cyran. As Cirice said, I’m her godfather.” He tilted his head to the side, speaking to everyone in the room.

“I know the situation is… unconventional, but Cirice truly means well.” He didn’t know the fully story of how her and Veliky had met, but he supposed it didn’t matter. "If you would prefer us-“ Or only me- “To leave, then we will happily do so after having taken up your evening. But Cirice worked hard to arrange all of this… to let you know that you have friends.”

A hell of a way to show it, but then again. When had things with him and Cirice - or for that matter, Veliky - been normal? He’d once been opposing ends of a blade with the businesswoman, and now, he was standing in the middle of her living room while they shared the world’s most awkward breakfast.

He gave Veliky a small smile, a knowing one. Perhaps she could have kicked them out any moment, called a squad of bots down to their location to get rid of them. But she hadn’t, yet.

Perhaps because, like Cyran thought, she didn’t want to be alone anymore, either.

He would wait for her judgment either way. And if she didn’t kick them out, then the next step was coffee.

As if the absolute ineffectiveness of her struggling weren't humiliating enough, Veliky's completely helpless as Cirice wakes up (only to squeeze Veliky yet again). She pushes with all her minuscule might, but her embarrassment is just reaffirmed as she only escapes by Cirice letting her go. Freed, yet dejected, she collapses onto the bed, sputtering as if she'd just washed onto shore.

Meanwhile, Yoci is abashed; she has to stand on her tiptoes just to shake Cyran's hand, and does so with the flimsiness of a deer trying to write a love letter. It's clear that she isn't used to shaking hands, or even the circumstances that lead to shaking hands in the first place. Clearly she isn't ignorant to this, as her voice comes out as a rushed, stuttering formality. "I-I-It's g-good to m-m-meet you. Y-Y-Your g-goddaughter is a really nice person...!"

The struggle to find something more to say is written plainly on her angular face, even with her eyes obscured behind those strange spiral-lenses. But then she realizes that she's been holding Cyran's hand far too long, and skulks away like a stagehand, though not before hearing Cirice's voice and returning a smile with the same gleam. Atop the counter she hops, then she takes a starberry muffin and chomps into the crispy top. Her crumb-strewn lips curl into a blissful grin.

Despite the awkwardness, the air in the room is suffused with a certain simple joy. Maybe it's the smell of the muffins, though no longer exactly fresh; or maybe it's the morning glow through the window, carrying hints of Spring's slow arrival; or maybe just having Yoci here, a fresh face, is what it took to turn the atmosphere. But whatever it is, not everyone in the room is feeling it -- or, at least, not everyone is partaking. And Yoci has to avert her eyes as she catches a glare from the grouch that still sulks on the bed, recovering from this mental and physical barrage of affection.

'Perfect for snuggling, my ass. The hell were they thinking?!' Veliky has to wonder as she sits up and un-ruffles her hair, glowering at the entirety of this scenario. 'Breaking and entering, conspiracy; probably tampering with the bots, too; and all with Yoci aiding and abetting them? All to make me some muffins?! Why...?'

This is exactly what's *not* supposed to happen. It feels unjust, and not only because it goes against her beliefs. All those years, the first three decades after she was born into a community that didn't want her...

'Why now, when I can't have it?!'

Just as she feels a heat beginning to rise in her chest, her thoughts are interrupted as her field of vision is filled with a terrible, yet nostalgic image from memories both old and new: a muffin. Chocolate, by the smell. The bottom is held in the delicate fingers of the girl presenting it to her: Cirice, offering it with a warm smile and warm words.

"You fell asleep so quickly last night... I couldn't leave without getting a chance to talk to you more Vel."

She was ready to rebut. She was going to shout and demand that they leave. But something stops Veliky. It isn't any one word, or any one idea, but all of what Cirice said. So they just... stayed with her? After she fell asleep? The last thing she remembers, they were... holding her. That's right; she took a bite of that muffin, and then they just held her in their arms. And she remembers... crying, in front of them. She showed them the truth -- how weak and pathetic she really is.

And yet they stayed.

...With one careful, ungloved hand, she takes the little chocolate muffin and stares at it overlong. It's different from the pastries that the chefs make downstairs. The little chips aren't spaced with any of that mathematical precision. She never realized how easy it was to tell the difference; but here, she can see that there was no automation. It was made out of an idea, with a purpose. And that purpose was her?

She looks up, to Cirice's violet-tinged face. Her white lips seem fixed on that smile, and yet it somehow never loses any of its warmth.

"Cirice...?"

It's so strange. Why can't she speak?

She looks to the right, at an assassin, cold and merciless.

"Cyran?"

He knows, as well as Veliky does, how important it is to keep the truth tucked away. And yet...

"If you would prefer us to leave, then we will happily do so after having taken up your evening. But Cirice worked hard to arrange all of this… to let you know that you have friends.”

'Friends...?' It's so surreal to hear such a word pass a killer's lips, let alone so honestly. 'But I don't...'

Does he even know the weight of what he's saying? He should, shouldn't he? A killer should, just like her, know that having those things just isn't their place in life. But he's been assigned to this girl as her godfather? He'd almost suspect that he were training her as an apprentice, and Cirice's skills in the Red Rogue operation would certainly hint at a capable mentor. But no, he's clearly trying to hide it from her...

'Selfish.' she decides at first. He's manipulating this young girl, just so he can have a family to replace the one he lost. But if that's the case, then what's he doing here? Would he really do all this just to make his daughter happy?

This doesn't make any sense. Why her? Why Veliky?

...For some reason, it feels like a rhetorical question.

But there's still someone else, the last conspirator. Veliky turns to the gnome on the counter.

"Yoci...? You knew about this. Why didn't you tell me about this? Why didn't you help me?"

Yoci quivers under Veliky's gaze which remains as cold as ever before. She picks and fidgets with the muffin's fluff, dancing her eyes around Veliky's figure -- daunting, however minuscule. But then she takes a breath, and speaks.

"W-We *are* helping y-y-you, V-Veliky..."

Why... Even one of her own employees -- her most trusted employee, even, thinks that this is for the better. Even she doesn't understand?

Veliky looks at the trio gathered in front of her. If she were to take it at face-value, she'd see a moon elf dressed in silks and beautiful makeup, a moon elf draped in leather and blades, and a little gnome delighting with a pumpkin muffin. But for someone like Veliky, who can see all the subtle ways that people regard each-other, it's possible to see what they really are -- how they see each-other. She sees a father, and two sisters. She sees a family.

And they want her to be a part of it. All of this, just to extend a hand...

It's happening. She knows that it's happening. She braces herself for that burning tide.

...

But it doesn't come. She waits for it, and waits longer... but there's nothing. Her heartbeat isn't rushing until she feels ready to pass out. Her thoughts aren't scattering around themselves, fighting for dominance like a usurped pack of dogs. It doesn't hurt. She doesn't know if this should feel freeing or not; the absence of it all is somehow unnerving, like something's just missing. But she also finds herself wondering now, in this time when she's confronted with something she fears so direly and yet feels none of that terror, why she ever felt that in the first place. Is this normal? Was that normal? What's wrong with her?

"I..." The word slipped out, without any clear destination. It just wanted to escape and fill the silence with anything at all. She thinks of some way to continue it, forming a lie that'll get her out of this, but she can't tell whether it's a lie or not. And so she just finds herself asking the simple question.

'Why do they care?'

...

...?

No answer.

...

Time passes wordlessly. The Veliky that'd been so defiant before -- the same Veliky that'd ordered the hunt on Cirice, and had stood in the face of the death that Cyran almost gave her, and that'd been a tyrant in Yoci's workplace -- is listless. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't even look at them. It's like she's just listening to herself, and still unable to understand.

It's a heavy silence. And, in a strange twist of fate, it's Yoci that breaks it.

"H-Hey, I-I have an idea." She quietly climbs off of the counter, landing with a tiny pair of bootfalls on the floor before looking to the rest with a timid. "H-How about w-we all go for a walk? It's what I-I do when I'm having trouble thinking about new designs."

Unexpectedly, like a true love's kiss on a slumbering princess' lips, the idea jolts Veliky out of her trance. She practically leaps to the floor.

"No!" she exclaims urgently. "I need to go to work. You- You people go."

After a brief scan, she finds her hat on the kitchenette table, and hops up to snatch it. But Yoci's expression retains that little smile.

"A-Actually, as far as the bots are concerned, y-y-you've been k-kidnapped. S-So, as per c-c-company protocol, you've been given the day off."

"What...?" All considered, it should be obvious. The fact that Veliky didn't think of it is a testament to how stupefied this has all left her. And yet this concept is so bizarre to her. She doesn't have work today? Nothing at all? That feels so wrong...

She jolts again as she finds Yoci clutching her arm! "Come on! L-Let's go!"

Veliky's too stunned to resist, and barely cognizant enough to even voice a complaint, as Yoci practically drags the befuddled CEO out of the room. Her half-coherent protests are heard echoing up the stairwell, growing farther away every second until they're eventually heard coming from the window instead.

And with that, Cirice and Cyran are alone again. At least, they are for the moment; Yoci's words seemed to imply an invitation to them, as well...