Note: As of 03 January 2020, this story has been rewritten from start to finish! The story itself is incomplete, but everything has been updated to match my current writing style.

Hey everyone! It's been a long time since this fic updated, and the reason for it is, surprise! I've rewritten everything from the first chapter up until now. Some chapters are largely the same, while others are completely revamped. Ultimately, if you still remembered what happened last chapter, then you don't technically have to reread it in order to understand what's going on this chapter. Except that maybe you do, if you want to get even more sad, haha.

Thanks for being patient! University is a busy time of life, so I only get to be active on long weekends or breaks. I appreciate anyone reading this and giving their support. Happy New Year!

Recadency
n. a falling back or relapse

Flannel wasn't sure how he got through the next few days after that conversation, but he did. Mostly, he spent his time thinking of things he should have said or done to Nishiki, anything to make the fox feel happier, comfier, and safer than he was. Because surely, Nishiki's harmful words—his plea to be forgotten and abandoned like the useless, ugly thing he claimed he was—resulted from being unhappy with Flannel's treatment of him.

...Or so Flannel would like to believe. The truth was that Nishiki actually felt coddled in some sense, or at least he felt guilty enough that he thought the solution was for Flannel to stop caring about him entirely, rather than working the problem out. Yet he was aware of his poor judgement and bad behavior as of late, if his claims of being "messed up" were any indication of it.

So how long had Nishiki been thinking these things, anyway? At what point along the road of recovery did it occur to him that he might be worsening when he should have been improving? When did he first let this despair consume him?

On the bright side, those were the most eloquent words Flannel had heard from him yet. He still stuttered in some places and was entirely nonsensical in others, but even Flannel couldn't deny the clarity of Nishiki's words, which probably explained why he was so bad at accepting them for what they were.

Contrary to Nishiki's belief, though, Flannel never once gave up on him. At least not when it counted.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

.

.

.

"Flannel, is it alright if we talk?"

He turned to see none other than Kamui. That was a face he hadn't seen in a while! Of course, they were always around, heralding their cause, so Flannel physically saw them all the time. But they didn't properly speak to one another since before the poaching incident, and even during then. While Flannel was more than ready to put his unnecessary dislike for Kamui aside, the incident with Nishiki made him feel a whole different type of way, and it reflected in his somber tone of voice.

"Sure," he said. "It's not like I'm doing anything right now."

"It's about Nishiki. Orochi filled me in on what happened a few days ago, and I wanted to tell you that if you need anything, I'm here for you."

"You sure? 'Cause to be honest, he went berserk and it'd be the kind of thing to make you hate us even more."

"That's not true, I'm just worried about him! And this is more than just my past mistakes. There's something more important to do here." They raised a brow at Flannel, and gestured to his overall downer-posture. "So, I guess you could say, this is an unofficial pep-talk."

"Some pep," Flannel harrumphed. "But fine, I get you. I was going to do something about this, anyway."

"That's the spirit! Don't be discouraged though, since from what I heard, Nishiki's not talking to anyone right now. Not even Sakura, although he did mumble an apology when she started crying because of him."

Yikes, Flannel thought. That's bad.

"Thanks, Kamui. If I need something, I guess I'll let you know." He paused for a few seconds before continuing with a sudden resolve. "Uh, if you've got any bones by chance...maybe let me have them?"

Kamui stared long and hard, to the point where Flannel worried if he overstepped some unknown boundary. But then they broke out into sporadic laughs that were so harmonious, Flannel wondered if they'd always been so charming.

"You know what, Flannel? You've got yourself a deal."

.

.

.

"Pieri is going to talk to you and you're going to listen!"

Flannel, in the midst of sorting out logs of wood from each other, almost dropped one on his damned foot because of Pieri's sudden intrusion. Luckily he held tightly onto the timber, and gawked at the sheer audacity she had to challenge him in the woods, of all places. "Sheesh, relax! You don't have to yell every time you see me, y'know."

Pieri, dressed in a light winter coat and sans armor, for once, only pouted. "And you don't have to get mad at everything Pieri says, either!"

"Do you actually have something to say or are you here to insult me?"

"No, she has something to say."

"Then say it."

"Okay." Pieri shuffled over to one of the tree stumps, next to the discarded axes leftover by the crew assigned to lumberjack duty. She sat down on the stump, and crossed her legs. "So, Pieri has noticed that Nishiki and Flannel have both been in a really bad mood."

"Nishiki was kidnapped by poachers and tortured for weeks."

"Yes, she hasn't forgotten!" Pieri snapped. "She's not blaming him for having a bad mood. Not being able to kill anything for that long would make Pieri sad, too."

That's not the point. "That's—"

"Among other things."

Okay, better. "Alright, where are you going with this?"

"So she thinks we need to do something so your bad moods go away! Gone, bye, like enemies on the battlefield!" She threw her hands into the air and giggled, but then remembered the severity of the situation, and became solemn once more. "Maybe we should throw him a surprise party? Is his birthday soon?"

"Not even close," Flannel said. "His birthday is in the summer."

"Okay, so surprise birthday party is no good." Pieri didn't have a pen and paper, but she scribbled across the palm of her hand with her finger, as if to write these things into memory. "How about...a baby shower? Does he have baby foxes at home?"

Flannel blanched at the mere thought. "I hope not. No, I don't think so."

"Hmm...what about a 'we love you still and please stop being sad' party?"

"I think that'll just make him mad."

"Okay, you got any ideas yourself, Mr. Know-It-All?" Pieri scoffed, and hunched over on herself. "She is trying to help you out here."

"I'm going to tell you something that no one else knows except for me," Flannel suddenly spurred on. "So don't tell anyone, got it?"

He was worried he had to define "everyone" for her, but Pieri—having grown up herself the past few weeks, as well—nodded with definite understanding in her eyes. "Got it."

Flannel, pleasantly surprised, went on to say, "We had a fight. Well, not really a fight, he just told me the most depressing things I'd ever heard in my life and left me like that."

"She knows how that is."

"...Right. But one of the things he said was that he was ugly."

She gasped. It was common knowledge that Nishiki prided himself over his looks, if nothing else. How badly was he damaged for him to have abandoned such narcissism? Pieri had to know. "That's really bad. If Nishiki's ugly, we're all...uglier. Like, really, really ugly!"

"Exactly! So that's the problem right now. I think he needs something to remind him that he's not ugly at all."

"A trip to the hot springs, maybe?"

"No, we go there all the time. It's not special for him in that way."

"Should we do...face rearrangement?" Pieri whipped out a dagger from her inner coat pocket, and ran her fingers over its edge. "Pieri is no expert, but—"

"No." Flannel eyed the dagger dangerously—Nishiki would freak out if they put a blade like that too close to him for comfort—and shot her down at once. "Not happening."

"Well, how do we fix what's 'ugly' about him? It's not like we can change the way his face is or anything! There's magic to cast illusions, but that's not real at all."

"...No, but I think 'rearrangement' might just work in a different sense."

Pieri blinked. "What? You lost her."

"Let's talk about this some other time. I still gotta move these logs and think for a bit," Flannel admitted, arms starting to feel the strain of holding the log for all this time. Soon he'd have to change into his wolf form to do the rest, but he didn't want Pieri there to witness him fall back on his stronger form in order to get the job done.

Also, he seriously needed to think.

"Okay. Pieri has patrols and stable upkeep as jobs today, so you know where to find her."

"I've memorized your scent, so I definitely know where to find you."

It was a statement of fact, but she clearly took it in a different light as her face flushed pink, and she jumped to her feet in a panic. "Y-Yeah, well, you sure do know my—Pieri's—scent! See you later, Flannel!"

She ran off on her own, her fleeting figure lasting in his mind, leaving Flannel to wonder if there was something about him that made people want to get away from him so badly.

He hoped not.

.

.

.

It should have been spring by now, but a groundhog apparently decided otherwise, and the insufferable winter went on even longer than planned. The humans grumbled to themselves, tired of dressing in layers, while the inhuman species were thankful for the opportunity to transform into something a little more insulating.

Although no one complained when Lilith turned an abandoned fort into a warm sanctuary for their use, and Flannel was one of those people.

Today, his companions were Harold and Elise, both of who had been exceedingly kind to him the past few days. Harold, especially, must have felt bad considering what happened with Nishiki back in the sparring grounds. He never blamed Nishiki for what happened, and insisted that it was no one's fault in particular, but his goodwill and kindness only seemed to make things worse.

But Flannel appreciated their company, nonetheless. Elise and Harold crafted flower crowns for each other, using the winter weeds collected by a foraging group. Flannel joined in, but found it more appealing to gather the bugs and worms clinging onto the roots of the flowers, and quickly abandoned the process of making the flower crowns.

Pieri's airy voice resonated above him, reminding him of where he was. "Excuse me, but Pieri has something to say."

"Hi, Pieri!" Elise greeted her. The princess held out a spare flower crown. "Wanna wear it?"

"No thank you," she politely declined. "Give it to Harold since his is already breaking apart."

"Gosh darn it," the man cursed himself. "It really is falling apart. This flower was healthy but by the time I got to it, it wilted!"

"Hee hee! That's okay! I'll fix it for you!"

"Pieri is going to steal Flannel from you two now!" she announced as she pulled him up to his feet, giggling at his meager protests. "Bye!"

"Bye!"

"Farewell, Pieri."

She walked away from the two of them, and went as far as to shake the maggots and bugs off of Flannel's hands. "This is serious and I need your attention," she declared. "Also, gross."

"You're gross," he muttered, but ultimately complied with her sudden needs. "What is it?"

"Pieri has come up with an idea for cheering up Nishiki! Ever since you talked about 'rearrangement,' she's been thinking—"

"Shh! Not so loud, he's right over there, y'know." Flannel glanced at Nishiki, who was in the same drawing room as them, but preoccupied with the fireplace burning bright. Unlike Flannel, he was curled up in his beast form, and apparently dozing off in front of the flames. But Flannel knew better than to assume he couldn't hear them.

Pieri looked over her shoulder and nodded. "You're right, let's talk out in the hallway."

"Fine. You know, you've been talking a lot lately."

"And you've been way too serious, lately. Pieri guesses that it's all the fox business, huh?" She gestured at Nishiki as they exited the room. "It makes you think and wonder and gives you no time to have fun or play. That means you must really love him."

The door closed behind them, and they stepped farther away from the room, so as to separate themselves even more from the people inside. Flannel didn't detect any eavesdroppers, and relaxed. "Of course I do. But thanks, I guess."

"Hehe, you're all grown up now, thanking Pieri for nothing~" she teased. "You're welcome! Okay, so about my idea—"

"Which is?"

"Pieri says that we should give Nishiki a haircut!" She proffered a pair of scissors—ornate silver with a dramatic handle—from her bag, and snipped it in his face. "His hair is a little ugly right now, so this should make him feel aaaaall better! Whattaya think?"

"It would be a good idea if any of us knew how to cut hair," he pointed out. "Also, I don't think he'll let just anyone go near him with scissors. They used to do that to him, y'know."

"Pieri knows, because why else would his hair be so ugly now? So what you're saying is that you have to be the one to cut his hair, right? He might be mad at you, but you're still the only one with a chance of getting close enough."

"Yeah, but that's the problem: I don't know how to cut hair!" he repeated. "Does my hair look like it belongs to someone that cuts it?"

She examined his hair, which was long and black-and-white in color. It was unruly, tamed, in definite need of a thorough brushing or two. Not to mention that his wolf ears were placed on the sides of his head where human ears would be, so most of his fur grew behind them as a result. It was intriguing, handsome, and unique, and if Pieri was Flannel, she'd wear his hair in ponytails, braids, ribbons and all sorts of frivolities, just 'cause she could!

Luckily, she wasn't him, but she pouted at the thought of never having hair to quite match his, anyway. "No, it doesn't."

"See what I mean?"

"Then how about you learn? There are plenty of people with experience, and you could even read a book on how to cut hair!" She gasped. "Wait, you do know how to read, right?"

"Of course I do!" he snapped. "I mean, the books are boring, but if I have to read one, I can."

"Great! So here's the plan: you figure out how to cut hair, and Pieri will slowly keep scissors around Nishiki so he gets used to seeing them and doesn't freak out when you try to cut his hair later on."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Pieri will just hang out with Nishiki more often! Even if he says no, she'll be by his side, with her scissors in hand. Or maybe she'll place them on the mantle, or next to him on the table, or in front of his face so he knows it's there."

That's a crazy idea, Flannel thought bitterly to himself. And it just might work.

"I don't have any better ideas, so I guess you're on."

"Yay!" She jumped up and down, and wrapped her arms around him in an excited embrace. "Thank you! You can count on Pieri! Now you do your best to read up or maybe ask someone for advice." She hugged him a little bit tighter before letting go.

He rubbed his neck where her arms used to be, but didn't seem bothered by her overly affectionate ways. Instead, he calmly asked, "You got any ideas who I should ask? And don't say—"

"—Orochi."

"Damn you."

"And, uh, Oboro knows about that pretty stuff, too, since she's a tailor! Oh, and Felicia is really pretty and always talks about beauty tips, so maybe her?"

"Guess I've got my work cut out for me," Flannel groaned. "Fine. I'll see what I can do. Let's meet up in a couple days and show what we've got."

"Yay, Pieri is so, so happy! She won't let you down!"

It was here that Flannel had to ask himself if Pieri was doing this because she cared about Nishiki, or because she cared about Flannel, and wanted to spend more time with him. And while he supposed it didn't matter either way, part of him wished that she could learn to love Nishiki, too, since she really was a good friend, and they might have more in common than being the people who loved Flannel with all of their hearts.

Flannel didn't forget Pieri's confession the night they slept together, just as he couldn't forget the way she still loved him entirely, even though he focused all his efforts on someone else. Knowing this, he went a little easy on her, petting her head and tousling the bubblegum-hair he had come to love so much.

"I know you won't."

.

.

.

Nishiki loved the hot springs, and nothing could really change that. It felt like centuries since he'd last been in one, and he still remembered the first time he submerged, on the day following his rescue from Mara's lair. It felt like a blur, though, because Nishiki wasn't really doing anything, and Flannel had to take the lead. Yet he vaguely remembered a scene where he started screaming and sobbing, and Flannel was there to calm him down and remind him of where he was.

In all honesty, Nishiki needed someone to ground him like that, and it wasn't as if his feelings for Flannel waned at all. If anything, he truly despised himself for causing a ruckus among camp, as well as making Flannel's life that much harder. And maybe it was the impulsive side to Nishiki, but he figured if there was a problem between them, it had to be removed.

Though he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss Flannel's company right now. He would love nothing more than to submerge in the hot springs with him once again, enjoying the silence and steamy air. It wasn't like the old times, where the two of them would banter and joke around, splashing water and reminiscing about anything they wanted to. It wasn't like those times, where Flannel whined at how persistent Nishiki was, and Nishiki was just happy that Flannel was getting clean, for once in his life. It wasn't like then.

And it wasn't like before, where Nishiki had delusions of drowning, or dying, and Flannel's presence was his savior, his angel. Because if anything, Nishiki rejected religion, and insisted that the angel was a martyr—killing itself when it didn't have to, dying when it didn't need to.

Hurting himself, when he didn't need to. Which was why Nishiki told Flannel to give up on him. It was for his own good.

...Or so he made himself believe. But, Gods, it hurt to think of the reasoning and emotion behind it all, and for Nishiki it was better to close off his mind and heart, letting his body thoughtlessly exist as it did.

Ugly. Broken. Damaged.

He almost screamed, but kept the turmoil inside. Had he always been so volatile? Where was his grace, his poise? His good looks, his pride? For someone that swore to himself not to break under pressure, he really let that poacher bitch get the best of him. He really let himself fall apart into thousands of pieces, and then cried when he wasn't whole anymore. He really did that.

Nishiki sunk his body lower and lower into the hot springs until only his head was visible, hoping that his thoughts would dissipate with the steam around him. For the most part, it worked. This abandoned fortress was turned into a paradise thanks to Lilith, and so there were multiple hot springs installed for their use. Most of the other soldiers liked the main baths near the dining hall, and the one Nishiki chose in particular was secluded on its own, away.

No one would bother him here.

So why was he hearing voices that weren't his own?

"Ahem, let me repeat myself. Can Pieri join the hot springs with you?"

Nishiki didn't open his eyes. He wasn't one for small talk, or any talk, since the incident, and even before then, he and Pieri hardly interacted. He hung out with her on occasion, but mostly he knew her from her friendship with Flannel.

He wondered if they'd gotten closer to each other since then.

"...If you want," he murmured. Eyes still closed, his ears twitched as he listened out for her bright cadence. "I think most humans disapprove of it."

"Of a beast sharing a hot bath with a human, or a man sharing one with a woman?"

"Both."

"Well, sucks for them!" Pieri cackled as she stepped into the water, splashing audibly as she did so. "But, uh, thanks, Nishiki. People don't like sharing the hot springs with Pieri—they keep saying that she's 'weird' and so whenever she's in it, they don't come around."

"..."

"So for sure, no one else will bother us as long as she's here."

That's a relief. "...Yeah."

From that point on, Nishiki readied himself for endless, one-sided conversations. He was at that stage in recovery where he knew it was rude not to respond, but he was despondent and stubborn enough to ignore people, anyway.

Pieri would be no exception.

Only, she didn't start talking right away. Instead, she waded to his side, and sat near him. It wasn't too close, as he could sense noticeable distance between them, but close enough that she could lower her voice to a whisper, and he'd catch onto every word.

Smart.

"...Um, so, Pieri has to ask. Do you always soak with the scarf on?"

Nishiki finally opened his eyes and glanced down. Usually, he was good about disrobing and putting on towels, or smallclothes, or whatever bare-minimum dress code was needed for the hot springs. Flannel reminded him of it as much as he could back then. Yet today, of all days, he forgot to take off his scarf.

It was waterlogged and half-floating away from him, so he tore it off his neck and threw it to the side. "No," he answered simply. "I forgot."

"I was going to say that it would be funny, because I always soak with things in my hair."

"...Like a towel?"

"Towel, ribbons, scissors…"

Scissors? He had to look, and surely enough, Pieri's hair was tied up into a high-ponytail, only instead of a hair pin or ribbon keeping it together, it was a pair of ornate scissors. Naturally, Nishiki shrunk at the sight of it, but then he remembered that it would take effort for her to remove the scissors, let alone use it.

He relaxed, but his deep exhale did not go by unnoticed.

Pieri smiled. "She is sorry."

Gods, not you, too. "...Sorry? For what?"

"Sorry that she's never talked much to you before!"

The relief over the fact that she wasn't going to pity his poor, post-tortured state was of great comfort to Nishiki. He almost smiled. "You're friends with…with Flannel, right? It's okay."

People like him better than me, and for good reason. At least he's not a complete mess right now. Gods, I'm pathetic.

"Hehe, yeah! But just because you're close with someone doesn't mean that you can't talk to other people." Pieri leaned back against one of the walls of the pool, and sighed. "Flannel needs to learn that, too."

"...He does."

"Ah, so, you should also know that I kind of like you, anyway! Even if you and Pieri haven't talked much before."

"..."

"You're wondering why, huh? Betcha wondering 'I suck so much so why would someone like me without getting to know me?' Right?"

Nishiki didn't say anything, but the look on his face was priceless and self-explanatory.

Pieri laughed again. "It's because we have the same scent, silly!"

"We do not," Nishiki insisted. "You smell like...not like me, anyway."

"Oh, Pieri isn't being literal. She knows you and Flannel have great noses."

"So then…?"

"The smell of bloodlust," she cooed, as if it was an admirable thing and not a product of nightmares. "Blood smells so good and it all smells the same. If someone is covered in it—or has been covered in it, Pieri knows! And Pieri likes people that smell the same as her!"

He wouldn't go as far as to say that Pieri sounded like a certain captor he once knew (and suffered from), but he would say that her dreaminess over the macabre was...familiar. And almost comforting, somehow. Most likely because Flannel is the same way, although he's much less vocal about it.

No wonder they get along so well.

Nishiki tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "The same, huh…?"

"Yup, the same. Also, Pieri has noticed something different about you, too."

Here it comes. "About me?"

"Yup, about you."

"...What about me?"

"You listen to others better than before."

Stillness. He wasn't expecting that from her, at all. Even the intrusive thoughts in his head were rendered speechless. Maybe it was because they wanted to hear the words of You're so much quieter or You're so much uglier or You don't have a hold on your emotions, do you? or You're so scary now.

Those were the things that everyone else thought about him, but didn't dare say out loud.

Pieri said none of those things, however, and Nishiki was at a loss.

"Uh...um…"

"Before, you used to talk so much. And that's not a bad thing, because here Pieri is talking to you in the same way! But, like, you would constantly be talking. About your hair, your tail, the market, new products, flowers, singing, and all sorts of things! You never left room for anyone else to say anything, and sometimes you didn't listen to people, either."

"..."

"Which was why Pieri never really spoke to you. She likes talking, too, and would probably get mad if she couldn't say what she wanted to."

"So...now, it's...different? Better?"

"Different for sure. Pieri likes how attentive you are to other people these days." She tapped a finger along her lips, eyes aimed skyward as she thought of what else to say. "Not necessarily better, though. Even though you used to talk a lot, it was because you had lots of stuff to say."

"I...I guess you're right."

"So maybe I like it better when you listen, but I also like it better when you have things to say about yourself."

There was a lot to unpack in her naive yet callous words. But mostly, Nishiki was shocked to hear such thoughtfulness from someone he didn't think much about. He was also surprised to know that he wasn't totally worse from what he used to be, and that there was some good in his healing process. And another distant—yet not completely unrelated—thought was that Pieri spoke in the first-person point of view at times, contradicting her usual third-person speech patterns. It was a trait he never really noticed until he sat down and talked to her.

Maybe he was missing out on her all this time.

Actually, he thought to himself, she was the one that wanted to talk to me first, right?

"It's just...that I don't really...know what to say."

"Hmm. To me? Because you can say anything to Pieri and she won't mind much."

"No, like…" Nishiki lifted one hand, and waved it around in the air above him, and all around them. "...At all. I don't know what to say at all."

"How come?"

Because I'm fucked up? Because I'm screwed over and I ruined the one good thing in my life? Because I can't even look you in the eye?

"I don't know."

"Well, that's the thing. I don't think you have to know what you're going to say. If you want, you can sometimes just...say it."

And it was simple, classic advice, really. Follow your dreams, chase after your goals, don't let time pass you by! Only it was much more complicated than that. Sometimes, you don't need to plan everything out and anticipate every move. Life was a game, sure, but it wasn't always chess. Sometimes, life was checkers. And other times, life was charades.

Nishiki didn't need to be eloquent with his words. He didn't need to tell a story, or some wild fantasy to garner attention and love.

He just needed to be himself.

"I need to go," he said suddenly, rising from the hot water. It wasn't a panicked tone in his voice, for once, and rather it was one of urgency and purpose. "...Uh, it was…"

"...Yeah?"

"It was nice talking to you."

He left no time for her to respond as he dashed out of the hot springs, tracking hot water in every step. In the seconds it took for her to realize what he said, Nishiki was already gone, and his fleeting figure was just an image in her mind.

"It was nice talking to you, too!"

She grabbed her scissors and Nishiki's discarded scarf, and stepped outside of the hot springs.

One step closer to her goal.

.

.

.

Three days later, and Flannel was all "booked" out. He read more books in those days than he did his whole life—which is to say he read about ten books, and before he only read what was necessary to understand the common language of humans. At first, he was shocked to see the written words, and it took a few seconds for him to remember how to read.

Then it clicked, and he went through the self-help books like they were nothing. His mother—and Glimmer, since she liked reading books, too—would be proud of his progress.

He also consulted Felicia, Oboro, and Orochi, although not all at once. From Felicia, he learned that he had to be delicate about things, and to maybe be careful when holding scissors and a teatray, because you could really only hold one while the other fell to the ground and shattered.

"Jeez," Felicia said while picking up the broken fragments of the teapot by hand. "Thanks for helping me, Flannel. And sorry I couldn't be more helpful."

Flannel was pocketing the ruined shards for his own collection, knowing fully well that Felicia meant to throw them away later, and nodded. "Anytime."

From Oboro, on the other hand, he learned a variety of things, and not just about hair cuts. It took some convincing on his end to even allow the tailor to speak to him (her hatred for Nohrians was so deeply rooted, but her desire to help outweighed her personal feelings), let alone teach him, but he eventually got through. And Oboro was kind enough to keep him up-to-date on all the latest fashion trends, talking about which hairstyles were in and which were out.

"You know, in Hoshido, it's more common for men to have longer hair than women. So I like how long your hair is, especially for a Nohrian."

"Thanks?" Flannel wasn't sure if she was complimenting him or not. "Uh, so how would you go about...y'know, cutting it?"

She gasped. "This gorgeous mane? You want to cut it? Forget about it, I won't let you! If anything, I can give you tips on how to maintain it. You know, if you part your hair this way, you even have a similar style to Lord Takumi's!"

And the conversation quickly derailed from there, but Flannel noticed the way that Oboro coordinated everything—colors, textures, styles, layers—to ensure it all matched. That kind of symmetrical, pleasant thinking would be good if applied to hair, as well.

Last but not least was Orochi, who Flannel dreaded seeing the most, if only because they saw too much of each other in the recent past, and any more visitations on his end would be overkill. But the deed had to be done, and he knew she wouldn't hesitate to do anything to help Nishiki, even if it meant helping Flannel, too.

Besides, she made it worthwhile and provided him with some useful treasures (chipped rocks, frayed threads, mismatched beads) from her own personal storage of fortune-telling materials, as a show of cooperation.

"Now, hair is a delicate matter. Longer hair is difficult to maintain, but shorter hair is harder to style."

Flannel agreed with her on the sole fact that his hair was basically never maintained, and that he'd never seen Nishiki with a different hairstyle, despite the fox's known vanity.

She went on to say, "Nishiki's hair is soft, so you don't want to be too extreme with it. The parts where Vilra cut off can be fixed if you take parts from other places and brush it over. Like so," she demonstrated with her own hair, showing how one side of her head seemed thinner in comparison to the other, but by brushing over strands from the back of her head, it covered up the difference. "You know what bangs are, right?"

"Uh, these?" Flannel poked at his own fringe.

"Yes," she said. "Now, Nishiki's bangs are also unevenly cut, but they're still mostly the same as they were before. So I say brush some of the shorter hair from the side to the front, and cut it all evenly to make his bangs appear normal."

"...I think I can do that."

"Perfect! And usually, his hair is parted down the middle, or has no parting at all and the strands just stick out. Although for this venture, you might need to part his hair more to the side."

"Which side, do you think?"

"Hmm...well, if you're facing Nishiki, then part his hair to the right. Which is his left."

Directions? "Uh, I'm bad at directions, you know."

"Flannel!" Orochi scolded. "Surely you can tell the difference between left and right!"

"I can, it's just...his left, my right."

"Yes."

"Then say it like that or else I'll get confused!"

"I know you get confused easily, and I didn't need a fortune to know it. Which is why I've written down everything I'm saying to you on a piece of paper that you can use while you're cutting his hair."

"Are you serious? That's really helpful!"

"I'll say," she huffed. "Now I think that's everything. You already talked to other people about this stuff, so I think you've got what it takes to cheer him up."

"I think so, too."

"Good! Now go get him!"

Flannel nodded, took the piece of paper from Orochi, and turned on his heels. "I will!" He ran out of the room, but stopped halfway at the doorway. He shouted over his shoulder hesitantly, but loudly, all the same.

"Thanks, Orochi!"

.

.

.

"Pieri thinks she's done a good job the past few days. She's worn scissors in her hair, cut up paper pretending it was for projects, snipped off flowers, and cut off a split end in her own hair!"

"In front of Nishiki?"

"In front of Nishiki! Oh, she also keeps it in front of her when she's talking to him. At first he was nervous but now he's used to it."

"Great. I'm just about ready to start, too. I guess I'll just ask him to meet me outside, or something."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're doing something nice for Nishiki, you can't just cut his hair in the middle of the forest!"

"And why not? Forests are nice, too."

"Ugh, Flannel! No, that's not how it works. Pieri will talk to Lilith."

"Why? She already turned this abandoned fort into something usable. What else can she do?"

"Hmph. That's for me to know and you to find out! Wait for Pieri, and don't you dare start cutting Nishiki's hair without her! Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes! Sheesh, when'd you get so bossy?"

"When someone actually started listening to me for once!"

.

.

.

"See this?" Pieri asked as she spread her arms wide. "Pieri had Lilith transform this little hidey-hole into a boutique! A barber shoppe! A whatever-we-want-it-to-be!"

"Wow, this is pretty good," Flannel praised. "Thanks for that! How'd you get her to—"

"Lots and lots of offerings," Pieri explained. "You owe me."

He deflated somewhat. "Uh, right. So, here's the thing, I got a bunch of advice from the others, but I don't think any of it will actually help. I think I need to practice cutting real hair."

"Is that all? Then it's no problem! Why not just practice on someone, then?"

"Yeah, but what if it's ugly and I mess up?"

"Then it's ugly and you messed up. What's the big deal?"

He rolled his eyes. "The point is to make Nishiki feel better about himself, not worse."

"Well, lucky for you—" Pieri hummed as she untied the ribbons, her long blue-and-pink tresses falling around her in voluminous waves— "Pieri has lots of hair."

Flannel gaped. "A-Are you sure? I really like your hair, Pieri, and I don't want to screw it up."

"You won't screw it up," she reassured him. Her fingers were delicate as she ran them through her strands. "Just like you won't screw up Nishiki's hair, either. Take as much of Pieri's as you want. He cares about his appearance, but Pieri has decided that she doesn't care about hers as much."

"Okay," Flannel said. "Okay, I'll do my best." He would be using Pieri's special scissors, which were silver, ornate, and absolutely beautiful, in truth. He snipped them once, twice, then looked back to her. "Last chance to back out of this before I cut your hair for real."

Pieri merely laughed as she took a seat in front of him, letting her hair dangle off the back of the chair with ease.

"How about less talking, and more cutting? Pieri's hair isn't gonna take care of itself, you know!"

.

.

.

"U-Uh, Nishiki? Can we talk?"

He had been doing a lot of that lately, or so it seemed. Nishiki—who was lying down on the floor for no particular reason than to exist—looked up at today's offender.

It was Sakura, and he instantly felt bad for thinking negative things about her. He already made her cry by accidentally snapping at her in this state once before, and he wasn't about to do it again.

"Sure."

"Great! U-Um, if it's not too much trouble, then, uh, can you—"

"Go with you?"

"Yes!"

He got up instantly, unbothered by the smooth motion or the speed of it all. He stretched out his arms, tails, and stifled a yawn. So tired. When'd he get so tired, anyway? "Okay," he said. "Lead the way."

"O-Okay." Sakura walked ahead of him, and he couldn't help but notice that she had gotten a little taller since he last remembered. Huh. "So, um, it's actually somewhere outside of the fort."

He winced. "Is that a good idea?"

"Maybe not, but i-it's nearby and kinda important…"

"How nearby?"

"There is a small grove outside of the fort, right? There is a...cave connecting the grove to the mountains beyond."

"Why is it always caves…?"

"Huh? I didn't quite catch that."

"Never mind," he immediately said. Even though he was sadder in recent days, his fluidity of speech was near perfect again. "Let's just go."

"A-Alright. Thanks for a-agreeing to go with me."

What did he used to say to that? It had been a while since he was thanked. If he closed his eyes, he could remember certain times where his presence was thanked. Thanks for doing this favor for me, Nishiki, or Thanks for saving my life, or Thank you for everything.

To all those things and more, what did he utter in reply?

Ah, he remembered now, and just in time to grab a hold of Sakura's hand—allowing her to gently guide him to wherever it was they were going.

"You're welcome."

.

.

.

The trek to the supposed "cave" took a much shorter time than anticipated. In reality, it was only a few paces away from the back entrance of the fort, and a stone's throw away from whatever mountains they were supposedly connected to. But it was a cave alright, only unlike the other caves Nishiki had seen, this one had a noticeable entrance.

Instead of a natural opening, there was some sort of door in the front. The door was wooden, dark, and had a handle on it. The cave itself was small, and only somewhat taller than Nishiki himself. As he faced the door, he got a strange feeling, and hesitated to open it.

First, he looked at the doorknob. It was wooden, but gilded, and there was a tiny ribbon wrapped around it. Second was the smell—not of the door itself, but of whatever laid hidden behind it—and how familiar it was. It had floral notes, but also something low and sweet. A long time has passed since Nishiki used or labelled perfume bottles for his own personal use, but if he closed his eyes, he could recall the fleeting fragrance. Cherry blossoms? Jasmine? Peonies? Roses? No, roses were strong, and this smell was subtle yet fragrant.

"It's lilac," Sakura said. "Lilac and gardenia."

Lilac and gardenia, that's right. But there's also a third scent! Can she not tell? "Also camellia," Nishiki pointed out. "But it's...quiet? Weak? What's the word?"

"Subtle?"

"Yes, subtle."

"Ah, you're right. I couldn't e-even tell." Sakura laughed quietly, then pointed at the door. "Can you open that for me?"

He didn't see why he had to, but the energy it would take to refuse her—and then explain why he refused her, in turn—was too much in comparison. Nishiki nodded and obeyed at once.

He opened the door, and stepped into the threshold, holding his breath all the while.

.

.

.

Inside was nothing like he expected it to be. Caves were rocky, natural formations, often with water running through them, or long paths that wound down into dead ends. There were stalagmites and stalactites, as well as all sorts of creepy crawlies that loved the dark. Caves were often secluded places, though, and ideal for hiding a bunch of people, or things, or things of people.

This cave wasn't like that at all. If it weren't for the oddly round ceiling and walls, Nishiki swore he was inside of a building. Not just any building, either, but the beautiful artisan stores that littered the streets of Amuzia, with tiled floors and stone walls, decorated with wreaths of holly embedded with flowers. Ribbons adorned the walls, paintings hung up in honor of esteemed customers or historical events, handcrafted tables and chairs spread throughout.

There was a part of the cave room that had a lower elevation, and there were stairs leading to the "pit," where a plethora of soft cushions and pillows awaited, as well as a circular table filled with incense, bath & body assortments, and candles. Elise, Pieri, and Orochi were seated in this pit, and they all noticed Nishiki's entrance and waved at him. Elise was louder and shouted, which goaded Pieri into shouting, too, but they gave off the same sentiment.

All along the opposite wall from this lowered floor was a row of vanities, complete with pristine mirrors and antique dresser drawers, overflowing with bottles, scissors, and ribbons on the surface. Each vanity had a matching chair, except for one, whose chair sat in the middle of the room, facing the entrance and therefore facing Nishiki as he entered.

Standing behind the chair was Flannel, holding a pair of scissors.

Nishiki didn't move—he couldn't. Sakura merely giggled and dragged him along, leaving him at Flannel's behest as she joined the other girls in the casual "waiting room."

"Hey," Flannel greeted him. "Surprise."

"S-Surprise?" Nishiki glanced to the others, but they were lost in conversation among each other. Although, Orochi spared him a glance, and mouthed It's okay before returning her attention to the others.

Nishiki noticed that Pieri's hair, at least, was a bit shorter than before. Maybe Elise's, too, but it was hard to tell. He returned his gaze to Flannel, absolutely floored.

Was this really happening now?

Was it?

"Me and the others, we all just thought that you needed a little pick-me-up."

"I-I-I—"

"Now before you refuse, I already tested it out on Pieri and Elise. Orochi wouldn't let me touch her hair, and Sakura's got cut recently."

"...Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" Flannel echoed the statement back at him, hoping it sounded as ridiculous to him. "Because I care about you, that's why."

"But—"

"Because I haven't given up on you," Flannel reiterated in a lower, softer voice. "Even if you wanted me to."

To say that Nishiki's eyes were teary was an understatement. Maybe he hasn't had his daily breakdown yet, but there was so much within him that came out at once. Sadness, anger, regret, solitude? None of those began to even describe a fraction of what he felt in the moment. There were so many thoughts running around in his head that he lost track of them all, and at Flannel's gentle insistence and his own vulnerability, Nishiki's mind went absolutely quiet.

Flannel showed off the scissors—the same ones that Pieri had been hinting at earlier—in his one hand, and quirked a brow up for good measure. "Do you trust me, Nishiki?"

"I do," he croaked. "I trust you more than anything in the world."

I trust you more than I trust myself.

Flannel smiled, and for all the times he referred to Nishiki as his warmth, as his light, he sorely outdid him with a radiance of his own. "Then sit down and relax. Enjoy the gardenias and the lilacs and whatever."

"Camellias," Nishiki corrected. "There are camellias, too."

"Camellias," Flannel agreed. "That's right."

Nishiki sat down on the chair, which faced the entrance to the cave in the first place. On this side of the door, he saw stickers and crude paintings on the backside, including a poorly-drawn fox with nine blobby tails, as well as a wolf with only three legs—unless that tiny stump in the corner was supposed to be a leg. There were also flowers and stars and hearts and smiley faces, as well as ribbons and glitter and sequins thrown on.

It was clearly decorated by multiple people, all with differing artistic visions.

It was so beautiful.

Nishiki tensed up at first, especially when he heard Flannel snip the scissors over and over again. Fear seeped into him (what's he gonna do with those scissors?) but after a few repetitions, Nishiki realized Flannel was doing it for him, and the noise was to get him used to the fact that scissors would be near his head once more.

Only this time, it wouldn't be to destroy him.

This time, he'd be remade.

Reborn.

.

.

.

Perhaps it was the floral fragrances and the warmth of the candles burning, but Nishiki dozed off at some point. Then again, it was hard for him to sleep sitting up like this, especially in a chair and not on his paws, so he had to give credit to where credit was due.

Flannel was incredibly comforting, and his presence alone gave Nishiki a semblance of peace. He wasn't completely asleep, so he could still feel the scissors snipping away, and feel the brush move over his strands—shifting some of them to one side, and other parts to another. He also felt clips hold up his hair here and there, only for the scissors to do their work and for the clips to be removed in tandem. Other times, there was a spray of water to even out the more rebellious strands of hair, and Nishiki giggled the first time it happened, as it tickled the base of his neck.

His hair used to be so much longer back then, long enough that it touched his neck. Now, it was different. Now, the longest strands surpassed his chin, but nothing more. So while it was a different look than he expected, he imagined that one day he could grow it out again, or even better, shave it all off.

Nishiki could do whatever he wanted, but it had to be done by Flannel. Even if Nishiki was once the sole proprietor and manager of his own aesthetic looks, there was a delicacy and diligence to Flannel's movements that not even he could match. It was as if Flannel put his everything into this one single task of cutting Nishiki's hair, and it was so much more than anything Nishiki was capable of managing on his own.

He opened his eyes after becoming more awake, and recognized the sound of singing.

It was Flannel singing. He hadn't heard him sing before, and there were times in the past where he asked Flannel to join in a rousing drinking song, or even to sing normally so he'd know what his singing voice sounded like. All those times, Flannel merely scoffed and replied "in your dreams" before dismissing Nishiki entirely. In that vulnerable state where it seemed as if Nishiki was sleeping, Flannel must have taken the liberty to start singing.

His voice was so unexpectedly good. Not Aqua-level good, because she was a naturally gifted songstress if there ever was one, but quite pleasant to listen to, especially from someone that didn't care so much for music in the first place. Even if his words were hushed and his focus was on something else (Nishiki), he managed to carry a tune well enough for Nishiki to enjoy it.

" O Moonchild, sweet child gone asunder, become my weapon, dear child, become my hunter~ "

Nishiki feigned sleep a little bit longer, and when Flannel switched out the scissors for a brush, he opened one eye and smirked at him. "Your voice is nice," he said.

"Y-You were awake?" Flannel nearly dropped the brush, but caught himself right before he slipped. "Hey, say something next time, why don'tcha?"

"Haha, next time." Nishiki straightened out his posture and tilted his head back. "Are...are you done?"

"Almost," Flannel said. "Just a few more finishing touches."

Flannel's tongue stuck out a little bit, a tiny blep visible as he scrunched up his face in focus.

It took all the strength in Nishiki's body to resist the urge to coo at him. How cute! Only for him to realize that he had the same habit at times.

Did Flannel think it was cute when Nishiki blepped, too? He could only wonder.

"Okay, I'm done." Flannel took another brush and swept away the stray hairs off of Nishiki's body, eyeing him carefully as he did so. "...I think it looks good, but it's your hair, so."

"Can I see?"

"Oh, yeah!" Flannel whipped around, and came back with an pearl-white hand mirror. "Orochi told me you should use this and hold it up, so you can see the back of your head with the big mirror, too. Let me turn the chair a bit—"

"Mmm," Nishiki murmured, and waited for a few seconds while Flannel lifted his chair and moved him over. "Alright, I'm going to look."

"Go ahead."

Nishiki lifted the hand mirror and gazed. At first, he wasn't quite sure of what he was seeing, so he worried that his eyesight left him along with his scraps of dignity.

Then he realized that he was crying, and it was no wonder he couldn't see clearly. But through the tears, he made sure to catch a proper glimpse of himself, in those few seconds where his eyes were reasonably dry enough.

Normally, his hair was medium length, barely brushing the tops of his shoulders in soft but thick strands. Of course, Vilra gave her best effort to ruin whatever beauty remained in his appearance, and for a while, he let that—and the rest of her Gods-awful torture—eat him up. It was as if storm clouds covered everything: his mind, his body, his heart, his soul. For so long, he'd been living under a haze.

Now, his hair was much shorter. And his hair was parted to his left, the longer strands from the right side covering up for the lack of hair on his left side. The longest strands were the ones in front, and they barely passed his chin, so the rest of his hair was neatly cut and much shorter than that—some parts still stuck out, but those were aesthetic choices that Nishiki respected, in all honesty. His hair was parted to the left, or Flannel's right, to alleviate the fact that Vilra was right-handed and did most of her cuts to that side of his head. But now there was no evidence of her horrid ways, no proof to show that he had ever been "ugly" at all.

Nishiki stared at himself for so long that he was nearly entranced—by himself, by the image, by the moment in time. The spell broke when his hands trembled so badly that the mirror tumbled out of his hands. Luckily, Flannel was quick enough to catch it before the glass shattered into pieces on the floor.

Still holding the mirror, he looked to Nishiki with a worried face. "...Do you like it?"

"I...I…"

"I mean, it's a little bit better than before, but you do look different. At least your hair will grow out, though, so you can change it—"

"I love it," Nishiki gasped, afraid of the words coming out of his mouth. He neglected love just as he neglected most everything about life. So much time was wasted, and it became evident to him as he realized it. "I love it."

"That's a relief," Flannel admitted. "I was so nervous that I almost messed up a bunch of times, heh."

"I, I can't even tell! I...I...I look…" He reached out his hands with a grabby motion, and Flannel handed over the mirror without fail. Nishiki stared at himself again, eyes brimming with tears and voice wavering to a break. "I look beautiful."

"You've always been beautiful."

There were so many thoughts, so many words, so many things that Nishiki wanted to say in reply. But Flannel, as observant and eloquent as ever, managed to render him entirely speechless—those four words enough to envelop his entire being and breathe life into it. Nishiki struggled to keep calm, whimpering as he tried to stand up straight, until he had no choice but to fall back in the chair and sob.

"F-Flannel...I...I'm so—"

"I'm sorry that I've been so bad about everything," Flannel insisted. He wrapped his arms around Nishiki, and squeezed him as hard as he could without causing pain. "I love you so much. I care about you a lot. If you'll have me back, Nishiki, then I'll come back to you."

"..."

"Just say the word and I'm yours."

"Flannel…" Nishiki carefully muttered.

Flannel's breath hitched. "Yes?"

The fox hummed, and brought up his hand to meet the wolf's face. He grazed his thumb over his x-shaped scar, and stared into his eyes with something reserved yet fervent.

His lips formed the barest smile. "Well, 'Flannel' is a word, isn't it?"

.

.

.

"Wow, you look sharp," Orochi commended Nishiki, smiling. "I was worried that Flannel wouldn't be able to do your original haircut justice, but it seems I was wrong."

"I love it!" Elise chirped, and compared her hair—which was several inches shorter than it used to be—with his. "This is great!"

"Y-You look good," Sakura said. "I mean it. You've always been so handsome, though."

"Hehe, would you look at that! You look fresh and clean! All ready to get blood spilled onto you at a moment's notice!" Pieri smiled widely. Her hair was vastly shorter, with the pink parts of her strands almost completely gone, and her fringe was trimmed so her second eye was visible. The hair still obscured its green color in its entirety, but that part of her face was now revealed to the world. "Hee hee, Pieri's happy for you, Nishiki!"

"Thanks," he said. "All of you, I really...appreciate it."

"Let's head back now," Flannel said. "All the flowers are making me dizzy."

"It is fragrant in here," Orochi agreed. "It's lunchtime, too. Anyone else hungry?"

To that, the girls all erupted in unison, talking about how they craved more than the candy mints that the salon provided them. The princesses were first to leave, followed by Orochi and Pieri, who struck up an animated conversation with ease. That left Nishiki and Flannel in the back, trailing behind as they held hands.

"I missed this," Nishiki whispered as he swung their arms slowly. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Flannel muttered. "But it's okay."

"Is it really, though?"

"I promise it is."

"Okay," Nishiki conceded. "I'm so sorry. About everything."

"You don't need to apologize," Flannel insisted. "I've already forgiven you."

The two of them continued on like that, speaking in hushed tones so only they could hear, trailing behind good friends that wanted nothing but the best for them. And once they returned to the fort, they would put all the unwanted memories behind them, rectifying the wrongs that had gone on for so long.

That night, Flannel confronted Kamui, and agreed to let the past be the past, admitting that he might have overreacted from the start. Nishiki, meanwhile, approached Harold on his own, and apologized for the way he acted. It was easier said than done, because it took all of dinner and all of the night patrols to end for him to approach the man, but Harold was a sweetheart who said he never blamed Nishiki in the first place, and he reluctantly agreed to hold a "favor" over him, at the behest of the fox himself.

Pieri and Orochi gazed at the two beasts that had become so prevalent in their lives. If their younger selves were told that they'd eventually come to love beings of pure instinct and bloodlust, they wouldn't ever believe it. If months and months ago, Orochi foresaw a future in which she fell in love with Nishiki, she might have denied it. And Pieri, in all her immaturity and naivety, would never imagine that she could properly be with someone, yet her close relationship with Flannel said otherwise.

Things were changing, and they were finally changing for the better. The haze over Nishiki was a haze over everyone, and as soon as the barrier was breached—as soon as his image was saved and restored by the one person who knew him best—the cloudiness disappeared, and the sun finally came out, after long months of hiding behind a veil.

The first flowers of spring began to bloom underneath the snow, and for Kamui's army, it was just as well.

Things were looking up.

.

.

.

"Nishiki, I need to tell you something. I was going to tell you earlier, but I wanted to wait until you've regained your strength."

"Wow, Kamui, you sound so serious. What's up?"

"...It's Vilra."

Silence.

"She's still alive, and was tried by a local council. She was found guilty of all charges, including kidnapping, torture, murder, attempted murder, and...well, it's a really long list, but you get the picture."

"...Okay?"

"She is set to be executed in a few days, but if you wanted to, I could convince them to let you do the honors, instead."

"What?"

"It would only be fair, after everything she's put you through. If you don't want to, that's understandable, as well. It's your call, Nishiki."

"I see…"

"Maybe it was the wrong time to ask? You've been much better lately so I figured now would be a good of time as any…"

"No, no, I'm fine. I just...I don't think I should be taking her life at all."

"Even after what she did to you?"

"Especially after what she did to me."

"Nishiki…"

"I'm going to move on, Kamui. So, thanks for telling me, but I'm sitting this one out."

"Okay. I'll pass on the word to those that want to know. Thanks again for listening to me."

Nishiki smiled, and it was the first and last time he'd be smiling because of Vilra.

"You're welcome."

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.

.

This wasn't how she planned it. On the last day of her keeping the beast alive, she walked out into her camp, only to be surrounded by Gods-damned soldiers. And were those the Hoshidan and Nohrian royals? Her stomach turned and her smile faltered, but she kept going on, anyway.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

At first, she wasn't going to tell them where their precious little fox was. But then that stupid purple spellcaster got the best of her, and the next thing she knew, she was down on her knees, with five lances pointed at her neck, and a sword placed below her chin, forcing her gaze to look upward.

She met eyes with a dragonborn, who stood side-by-side with the wolf who got away.

She had no choice.

She watched as her hardworking underlings were taken away, some tied up to be relocated to a jail, others separated to a "culling" group as their severe criminal history was revealed. She closed her eyes, and thought to all the wrongs they had committed. The only place those criminals could live safely was with her, and now even their safe haven had become their grave. She only hoped that death would be swift, and wouldn't make them suffer like everything else in life did.

Then she saw the wolf running into the prisoner cells, the ones they used to keep the fox under lock and key—under knuckles and iron. She didn't get to see the fox's humiliating husk of a body be pulled out, but she imagined the sight of it as she was ushered away in a caravan, disarmed, bound, and headed for a local justice system.

She knew the result before the jury determined it.

And now she stood in front of a crowd of people, who were all too sick in the head and bored with their lives that their daily form of entertainment was watching a woman be put to death. Some official stood at the front of the gallows, reading out a long list of grievances and crimes with her name at the top of it. It was impressive, really, the things they brought out of the dark for her. She committed some of those crimes years ago, back when she was young and knocked up with her second kid. Stealing food to survive is nothing compared to first, second, and third-degree murder, but she wasn't the one sentencing herself to death.

The executioner approached her now, turning her past into a present, leaving her completely speechless. They bring her to the guillotine, although the blade is so high that her neck hurts from attempting to look at it, so she keeps her gaze low, and doesn't say a word when they force her on her knees, hands behind her back.

Her spells and lances are long gone by now. So are her allies, seeing as half of them were executed before her, and the other half are sitting pretty in a prison cell somewhere. All that stands before her is a faceless crowd, filled with murmurs and gasps of horror as they try to envision this woman—this mother—committing the crimes she is apparently charged with.

She thinks about her children. Her daughter would be displeased with this outcome, for sure. Her son might just cry and run into her arms as he did when he was a child, profusely apologizing for failing when he should've succeeded.

She will scorn them both in equal measures, and tell them that it's okay.

This is the life they chose, after all.

This outcome is inevitable.

"Any last words, Vilra?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"Would you like us to put that on the official statement?"

They speak so coldly, as if this is a business venture rather than a matter of life-or-death. Although in her case, there is only one option.

There only ever is one option, for all living creatures. No, for all human beings.

Those damned beasts will outlive her and the rest of the world as they know it. They don't deserve immortality, those selfish things. They don't deserve to be above the law.

Yet they are, and her failure is a testimony to that.

She doesn't answer right away. Even as the blade hangs precariously over her, even as the crowd awaits her true final statements, even as her heart begins to pound loudly out of her chest.

She doesn't answer.

She only laughs.

"Very well. There will be no 'official' statement regarding your final words due to the vulgarity of its nature, and the willingness to overlook your words is decided based on the severity of the crimes charged. On this day, the 15th of March, at exactly 4 o'clock and 27 minutes, you, Vilra of Nohr, will be executed due to the innumerable crimes listed. We will begin immediately."

She closes her eyes, and listens to the sounds of chaos. There are some overly sympathetic people—fellow mothers, young children, old people whose minds have scattered to the wind—rallying for her cause, saying she deserves a second chance, and that execution is government-sanctioned murder. There are some zealots and patriotic souls that believe this is justice due, their cries of vengeance filling the air. There are others who, out of the sheer nature that is watching someone else's life as it ends before their very eyes, began to sob and yell uncontrollably, frightened about what is to come.

She ignores all of them, and thinks about her children, thinks about the beasts who did them in, thinks about the blood on their hands, and whether it was worth it all if it meant she'd die in such a pathetic way at the very end.

She thinks about everything and nothing, and the last thing she hears is the executioner's ax strike rope.

Then everything goes dark.

…

She doesn't laugh after that.