The cuffs hummed.
Not loud. Not painful.
Just a small, constant reminder: You are not in control anymore.
We walked single file through trees that leaned inward like old women gossiping over a dying fire. Their roots coiled above ground like petrified snakes, their bark marked with scratches that looked suspiciously like names.
Names long rubbed out.
The guards said nothing. Neither did I.
I could hear Dolly somewhere behind me. She'd been gagged. Probably for the best. The last thing we needed was her calling the forest "mossy peasant filth" again.
Antic, I could tell, was to my left by the occasional sound of feathers fluffing and the muttering of poorly stifled curses like:
"...can't believe I got tackled by a shrub..."
and
"...I swear if one of these branches slaps my ass again I will fight."
Grin said nothing. Of course. Just walked like he was floating, like he'd been captured before and hadn't really left.
The forest got brighter.
Then darker.
Like it couldn't decide if it was dawn or death.
Then—
It opened.
The trees thinned suddenly, like breath sucked out of lungs, and we stepped into a clearing where the sky itself bent like a curtain of glass.
And before us stood the Gate.
Not a door. Not a wall.
A threshold—alive.
It rippled like silk when the guards approached, its color changing every second: violet, then bone white, then the deep red of wet clay.
They didn't knock.
They didn't speak.
The Gate simply opened—a vertical seam parting with the sound of string being cut.
And then the castle revealed itself.
Not towering—more like looming. Perched atop cliffs that spiraled toward clouds, every stone shimmered with an opalescent pulse, like it was breathing. Flags fluttered overhead, stitched in light. And everything smelled like old parchment, lavender, and a storm just starting to bloom.
Antic let out a low whistle.
"...okay, damn."
Dolly spat her gag out. "If one chandelier has tassels, I'm suing."
The guards didn't laugh. But one did twitch.
They led us through corridors where the walls floated a foot off the ground. Paintings blinked. Rugs unrolled just ahead of our feet like obedient tongues.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a piece of black glass: barefoot, pale dress torn at the hem, hair in a long, wild braid, eyes glowing like moonstone.
I didn't recognize the girl.
And I was the girl.
The throne room wasn't a room.
It was a sky—or something pretending to be one.
There were no walls. No floor. Just space suspended in every direction. We walked across what felt like glass, but it gave slightly underfoot, like cooled jelly. Below us: stars. Above us: constellations I'd never seen in my life. They shimmered like tiny wounds in the fabric of the world.
At the far end of the chamber, a woman sat on a throne spun from literal starlight—her body draped in robes like spilled milk over the cosmos, her skin a rich, obsidian hue glowing faintly with gold underneath. Her eyes were ancient, soft, sharp. Like she could end you kindly.
Queen Sentient.
She didn't rise.
She just… watched.
I felt her watching the way you feel heat on your neck when you're being stared at through a cracked door.
Antic muttered, "Y'know… for a 'queen,' this is less tiaras and more 'omnipotent deity who eats thunderclouds for breakfast.'"
Dolly elbowed him so hard he wheezed.
Grin bowed his head but didn't kneel.
I stood still.
Then her voice filled the space, calm and impossible to interrupt.
"You've come far," she said, not smiling but not unkind. "Fate must be desperate."
No one answered.
Then she tilted her head ever so slightly. "Child of Ennui," she said—to me.
I blinked. "...what?"
Her gaze felt like it landed inside me. I wanted to look away. I couldn't.
"You see what others avoid. You feel what's been discarded. You are bound to the Breaths. They call to you—not because of who you are, but what you are becoming."
Antic's hand brushed mine. Quiet. Nervous. I didn't pull away.
"What am I becoming?" I asked.
Queen Sentient's mouth barely moved. "Unraveling... or weaving. That depends on what you do next."
Dolly scoffed under her breath. "That's vague as shit."
"Truth often is," the Queen replied without missing a beat.
Then her attention drifted. To Antic. "And you. The deserter's son."
He flinched like she'd slapped him.
I looked at him—but he didn't look back. His jaw clenched. His feathered ears drooped just a little.
"You run well," she continued. "But you run in circles."
He finally looked up. "Better than running to nowhere."
She only nodded.
Then her eyes landed on Dolly, who stood like a cracked blade: proud, dangerous, beautiful in her sharpness.
"A heart made of porcelain is still a heart."
Dolly didn't reply. But her hand twitched toward mine. I let it rest there.
Finally, Queen Sentient looked at Grin.
And Grin... smiled. Barely. Like a whisper on his face.
She didn't speak to him. She only said, "You already know."
He bowed his head again, lower this time. "...yes."
Then the Queen rose—not all at once. It felt like the world stood up. Like gravity bent differently when she moved.
"The Breaths are unraveling," she said, and the air around us vibrated with the weight of her words. "The balance is splintering. And the crack runs straight through you, Pecola Ennui."
My knees didn't buckle, but only because I locked them.
"I don't remember who I am," I whispered.
"You remember enough to begin," she said. Then, finally—finally—smiled.
"Sleep. Eat. Tomorrow, you train. If you wish to know the truth—of your family, your blindness, your curse—then you must be strong enough to face it without flinching."
She gestured toward an arched doorway that hadn't been there before.
We walked toward it.
And the throne behind us faded like mist before the morning.
________________________________________________________
Antics Pov:
In sleeping quarters in Queen Sentient's palace, late night.
The room was too quiet. Too fancy. Too damn velvet.
I played with the sticked up spikey black hair strands one by one
I laid back on the massive, over-fluffed mattress, staring at the ceiling where starlight flickered through enchanted glass like it was watching me back. My overalls hung from a crystal hook like they didn't just smell like damp moss and shame.
No Eyes—her—was sitting cross-legged on the carpet. Palms resting on her knees, eyes glowing like twin ghost-lanterns.
She wasn't praying. Or meditating. She was just... listening.
To what, I had no clue.
She hadn't said more than five words since we got in here. Just sat like that, bathed in moonlight. Hair coiled down her back like a curtain of ink. That old ripped dress hanging off her shoulder like it was made for paintings, not people. Bare feet flexed against the plush carpet, like she didn't trust it. Like she was listening through her soles.
I didn't know how to look away. I didn't want to.
Gods help me.
I was so fucked.
"So..." I tried, folding my arms behind my head. "Whatcha thinking about, No Eyes?"
Her head tilted. She didn't turn.
"I'm wondering if carpets can lie."
I blinked. "...Like, metaphorically?"
"Fabric can carry memory. We shed skin. Oils. Dreams. All left behind."
"...Okay, that's either very poetic or very unsettling. I'm turned on and scared."
Her head turned slowly. "I didn't mean to arouse you."
My heart slammed into my ribs. "That's—No—that's not what I meant!"
She didn't blink. Just let silence stretch so far I could hear my own pulse.
I sat up too fast. "You—uh—you always talk like that?"
"Yes." She paused. "Most people stop speaking to me eventually."
My chest hurt.
I didn't like that answer.
I got up—bare feet against the cold marble, heart tap-dancing in my throat—and crossed the room. Sat across from her on the floor. Not close enough to scare her. Just... close enough to feel her heat.
"Do you wanna know why I call you No Eyes?" I asked.
She nodded once.
"Because you never told me your name."
"I forgot it," she said.
"Yeah," I murmured. "But the name I gave you wasn't supposed to be mean. It's like... you scare me. Not in a bad way. In the way good things do. Like jumping from high places and hoping wings show up."
She blinked slowly. "Do you think I have wings?"
"I think you don't need them," I said. "You're already halfway to the sky."
For once, she didn't have a literal response.
Her head lowered slightly. Her fingers brushed the floor, delicate, like searching for vibrations. "You sound sad."
"I'm not," I said too quickly.
"I wasn't asking."
That stopped me. My throat tightened.
She wasn't just listening. She heard.
I swallowed. "Do you think if I said something real... you'd keep listening?"
"I always listen," she said, without hesitation.
I shifted closer, just enough that my knee brushed hers. Her skin was warm. Not glowing. Not mystic. Just warm.
"I like your voice," I said. "Even when it confuses me. It makes me feel like there's truth under the quiet."
She tilted her head again. "You talk strangely too."
"Yeah, well... I was raised by a mushroom with abandonment issues, so."
She smiled. Barely.
I stopped breathing.
"Why do your cheeks change color?" she asked.
I touched them, instantly flustered. "Because I have no defenses left."
"Should I be worried?"
I chuckled. "Yeah. Probably."
She reached forward—hesitating, fingertips an inch from my chest. "May I?"
Gods. I nodded. Somehow.
Her hand landed over my heart. Soft. Still.
"You beat fast."
"You do things to me," I whispered.
"I didn't mean to."
"I know."
She didn't move her hand.
I didn't move at all.
Outside, the wind howled gently against the windows like an old song trying to remember its tune. Inside, she sat with me in the quiet.
And I—Antic, wildcard, walking nosebleed, flirt without a filter—had nothing smart left to say.
Except maybe this:
"Stay."
"I wasn't leaving," she replied.
She was quiet now.
Still.
Lying there in the bed across from mine, hands folded over her stomach like a resting ghost, long braid trailing over the edge of the mattress. The white of her eyes glowed faintly in the dark, like moonlight had chosen to live there instead.
And me?
I was pretending to sleep. Horribly. One eye open, the other squinting shut. Every time she shifted, I flinched. Every breath she took, I tried to sync mine to match—failed every time. My heart was not on the same rhythm. My heart was in a mosh pit.
Gods.
She had touched me. That simple. Over my chest. Over my goddamn heart.
I was doomed.
I rolled onto my back, trying to be subtle about it and smacked my elbow on the bedpost. "Ow—quietly," I whispered to myself.
A slow voice drifted from the shadows near the balcony. Deep. Dragged like fog behind a funeral carriage.
"...You...are...not...stealthy."
I jumped. "Grin!"
The tall bastard hadn't moved all evening. Just stood by the open window like an old gargoyle waiting for a thunderstorm. Arms folded. Eyes glowing soft amethyst in the dark.
"...She...knows...you...are...awake," he said.
My spine stiffened. "...No, she doesn't."
Grin turned his head. Slowly. Too slowly.
"...She...has...known...since...your...second...sigh."
Across the room, Pecola spoke without turning. "You sigh louder than the fireplace."
"I was regulating my emotions!"
"You sound like a goose with asthma," Dolly chimed in from her velvet perch, eyes covered with a rhinestone sleep mask, yet somehow still judgmental.
"Oh, here we go."
Dolly rolled dramatically to face me, even though she couldn't technically see. "Honestly, darling, you speak like your voice is stuck in molasses. All that slow, brooding rhythm like you're narrating your own failed romance novel."
"...It...is...endearing," Grin murmured from the shadows, a faint grin twitching his lips. "Or...tragic."
"I am endearing!" I snapped, sitting up. "Grin over here talks like death reading slam poetry in slow motion and you call metragic?!"
Grin didn't blink. "...Poetry...should...linger."
Pecola tilted her head toward me. "Do you breathe between each word on purpose? Or is your throat just slow?"
"I'm gonna cry."
"No, you're gonna blush," Dolly said. "Anytime she breathes in your general direction, your nose nearly breaks."
"It's a sensitive organ!"
Grin stepped forward, his robe whispering across the stone floor.
"...I...once...bled...through...my...ears...during...a...flirtation."
We all turned to him slowly.
"Wait—what?" I asked.
Grin's smile didn't waver. "...Unrelated...cause...but...the...moment...was...ruined."
Dolly groaned, "Gods save us. Every man in this room is emotionally constipated."
I turned back to Pecola. She hadn't moved. Just laid there, one hand resting on the flat of her stomach, the other curled toward her chin like she was mid-thought. Like none of this had been weird.
"You're still awake," I whispered.
She blinked. "You all talk so much, it's impossible not to be."
"Right." I paused. "So... do you wanna—"
"No," she said.
"Ouch."
"I didn't know what you were about to ask. But the answer's no."
I clutched my chest. "Unprovoked. Gutted. Shanked emotionally in my own bed."
Grin looked vaguely pleased. "...She...is...honest."
"She is mean," I whined.
"I'm literal," Pecola said calmly, finally turning her head toward me. "And you're staring again."
I turned away fast enough to sprain my spine.
"G'night," Dolly sing-songed from her bed. "Try not to moan in your dreams again, Antic."
"That was once! ONE TIME!"
"...It...was...twice," Grin said helpfully.
The ceiling was too high.
Not metaphorically.
It was just… very high. Vaulted like a church. Carved with stories I couldn't see but could feel — swirls and reliefs and symbols etched so deep into the stone they hummed against the bones of the room.