Archive of Our Own

“Ugh, move faster, Dumbo Decus! We’re losing daylight!” The blond shooed away the gnats that swarmed around her. The woods were decidedly not her favorite place.

“I’m coming, my darling!” Decus scrambled after Alice. Strong as he was, carrying all their goods and his iron maiden was cumbersome to say the least.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Useless…” she muttered under her breath. “Aramis, stop here. I’d rather walk, anyway.” Anything to reduce the insects in her face. “Why do they have to build these things out in the middle of nowhere?” It was a rhetorical question. Of course the Desians wouldn’t build the ranches just anywhere. With such precious manufacturing going on, they’d want to reduce the number of prying eyes and loose tongues. But even so, it was an inconvenience for her, and that simply wouldn’t do. She forged ahead, siccing one of her “pets” on anything that threatened them and waiting impatiently on Decus to catch up.

“We’re going to have to make camp at this rate.” Alice muttered to herself. It wasn’t as though this was uncommon, but it was a pain. Still, since Decus insisted on carrying around that silly Iron Maiden of his, even if Alice were to have her pets carry the rest of their things, the travel would be almost as slow. Light travel was fast travel, but with her tools to upkeep the Hypnos devices and all her accoutrement, well, Alice wasn’t exactly a light traveler any more than Decus was. “Ugh, I don’t know how Richter puts up with this sort of thing. Do all men enjoy filth? Is that it?”

“Depends on the man.” Decus smiled up at her, hoisting his iron maiden over some debris. “Why? Do you like rugged men, my dear?”

“Eugh. No way. The only good man is a subservient man.” Alice flicked Decus with the tip of her riding crop. It was enough for an audible snap, but she knew it wouldn’t leave a mark. The last thing she needed was Decus slowing down even more to nurse a wound. Or worse, gush over her even more.

“Then perhaps you’re more into the gentleman sort?”

“A fop? Never. I don’t mind being stronger than my peers but if that means a man that can’t take care of himself and expects me to do it, he hasn’t got a chance in hell.”

Decus just laughed. “I see.”

“Less talking, more walking, Dumbo Decus.” Alice swatted him once more. “And start thinking about dinner. I’m not eating three hours after we make camp like last time.”

“Of course, my sweet.”

“And stop with the pet names, Martel’s sake! If I hate anything more than a fop, it’s a groveler.”

“As you wish, Alice.”

*~*~*~*~*

They arrived at a clearing not long before sunset. As usual, it was Decus’ responsibility to make camp while Alice tended to her beasts. “Ugh, Porthos! What did you crawl through?!” Alice condensed water from the air with a Splash arte, directing the water to the pink and black vorpal bunny. “You too, Athos! Your muzzle is filthy.” The monsters were more suited to battle than the delicate maneuvers for cleanliness in their hypnotized state, but Alice managed enough water for the two of them to remove the grit from their fur, the mud from their feet, and the blood from their claws and snouts. “Ugh, if we could just get more intact Exspheres, I could get a Merrow or Selkie to do this.”

She dismissed the first two monsters once they were tidy. “Heel, Aramis.”

The purple spherical monster floated over and Alice retrieved several delicate tools and pieces of machinery from the monster’s saddlebag. “Line up, you three.”

Decus couldn’t help but watch her as he idly stirred their supper. Smart enough to put together such complex machines on her own. She’s amazing. Her dainty hands were well suited to the delicate work of assembling the parts and making minor adjustments. But as gentle as she was with her work, she was equally commanding. Through training and use of the Hypnos, the monsters were effective fighters, skilled service beasts, and obedient to a fault. Alice demanded precision, punctuality, and each monster performed any action required upon a single firm word. And he loved watching her work.

“Athos you better not have fleas again!” Partway through the evening training, the Hell Hound paused for a scratching fit. Alice examined the pink tufts of shoulder fur that seemed to trouble the creature. “What are you even scratching for?” Much to her relief, the beast wasn’t crawling with little black bugs, and there was no blood or irritation that she could see. “Hmmm… is it here?” She dragged a nail across the monster’s skin until it elicited a reaction. “Really. This itches? Stupid dog.” But she couldn't help smiling as she scratched the wolfish monster into submission.

Alice wasn’t one for admitting affections. Decus knew that. Even with the monsters she cared for so much, her love only emerged as discipline to the average spectator. But when she forgot herself for a moment, when those walls lowered, she could be tender.

“Decus, is that stew ready yet? You always take so long!”

“But the longer it stews, the better the flavor, right?” Decus smiled.

“Ugh, but overcooked meat is the worst.” Alice stomped over and confiscated the ladle, fishing out a chunk of stewed beef. A little ice magic had it cool enough to taste within seconds and she popped the hunk in her mouth. “It’s done. Cook that anymore and it’ll be shoe leather, Dumbo.” She fished a bowl from her pack and served herself a portion of stew. She made a point of sitting upwind from Decus. “Can you bathe tonight? You reek. I keep telling you, it’s that stupid cologne. Smells like old machine oil and foot sweat. It’s disgusting.”

“Of course, my dearest, Alice. Anything you desire.”

“Can you do it, like, now? Even from here I’m about to vomit.”

“You know if you just want to look at my body, you can say so.”

Alice nearly choked on her mouthful. “Don’t think so highly of yourself. If I wanted to see that, there are plenty of men with better bodies that I could whip into doing it.”

Decus smirked. “You could. Of course you could.” But she never would. The 765 days weren’t quite up yet. He knew the charm wouldn't work before then. But it was a gradual sort of magic, wasn't it? Love? Still, despite her insistence that she didn’t want that sort of thing, Decus removed his top before setting up the camp shower. He was sure her eyes were on him while he worked. “Just call if you need me.”

“I won’t. Take your time. I don’t want you coming back still reeking. Your body odor could attract an entire pack of vultures, I swear.” But as Decus disappeared through the treeline and out of the light of the fire, Alice couldn’t help but feel lonely in his absence. It was nothing new. It was just a constant state of being. She couldn’t afford attachment. Not now. Not ever, maybe. She didn’t know Richter’s full story, but she knew grief. She’d grown up in an orphanage, a place of bottomless grief, powerlessness, disappointment. She knew what that was like. She knew what that did to others. And as strong as Richter pretended to be, she could see his pain, especially in that stupid attachment to that kid, Emil. He would constantly sabotage his own plans for that stupid brat, and that got in the way of whatever plans he needed Marta dead for. And Alice couldn’t afford that.

If she wanted to survive in this world, she had to be strong. Stronger than anyone else. And if she couldn’t do it with the demons, and she couldn’t do it with her own power, she’d do it with machines. She’d command the strongest beasts, position herself in roles of political power where violence wouldn’t do, use her feminine wiles, her body, her tears, whatever she needed to in order to get her way. And as fond as she was of Decus, he must never get in the way of that. The idiot all but admitted that he would take her lumps to the point of fatality. Reviving the poor fool was a regular occurrence in battle. Attachment there would only bring pain.

But even among her pets, she felt alone. She ruled with fear, and knew it was only through Hypnos and constant discipline that the creatures obeyed. They had no love for her. And she had resigned herself to a life expecting the same of others. Adoration was hard to earn. Decus was only so devoted because he owed her his life. Richter only bothered with her because she made herself useful. She could never manage what Marta did, to get someone wrapped around her finger with tethers of love. And frankly she didn’t want to.

Love was fickle. Parental love was supposed to run deep. Mothers that die protecting their daughters, fathers that go to war to make a brighter future for their sons. And yet something as simple as ambition and a magical artifact could turn Brute away from Marta. If a father’s love was so powerful, how could Brute allow Richter in their ranks when he had clear ambitions for the cores above all else? How could Brute authorize any means necessary for her capture?

Love was weak. People fought and killed for it, but it was a weakness that brought otherwise strong men to their knees when the only inevitability of life occurred and its bonds were only strong enough for anything of use in the absence of real suffering. Love for the Goddess didn’t save her parents from the grave, and Decus’ affection for her was equally foolish. And any unspoken softness she had for him was the most foolish of all.

When Decus finally emerged from the woods, damp and towel-clad, Alice refused to even glance at him. “About time. Don’t even think about putting on more of that wretched cologne while I’m gone.” She took a small kettle off the fire and added the water to the camp shower trotting off past the treeline for her turn. “And if I catch you peeping like a pervert, I’ll scald you!”

Decus could only smile. It wasn’t an abundance of shyness for Alice. She was unabashed in using her femininity to get whatever she wanted. He knew that all too well. It was about control, power. Alice liked when things went her way, and though she hid many frustrations behind a cute smile and a lilting voice, anything that wasn’t just as she needed unnerved her more than she would ever admit to herself. And Decus knew that. He tried to be steady for her. Stable. The same old Dumbo Decus. He would be everything she needed in this uncertain world.

When Alice returned, the fire was lulled to embers and the bedrolls laid out in their tents. Decus had already dressed and was taking stock of their provisions. “We have any dark chocolate left?” Alice asked as she ducked into her tent to clothe herself for bed.

“Two bars.” Decus confirmed. “Do you want one?”

Alice reached her hand through the tent flaps. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Decus let his fingers brush against her palm as he handed her a bar, earning a swat for the intrusion.

“Goddess, you’re so handsy.” Alice huffed, her hand disappearing into her shelter.

“I can’t help myself.” Decus sighed. “You know me.”

“Yeah, you’re a desperate attention whore.” Alice watched Decus’ dim silhouette shift along the side of her tent, then disappear, presumably to his own tent.

“Can you blame me?”

“Well… with all the people so eager to grovel to me, no, I suppose not.” Alice popped a square of chocolate into her mouth, and slipped under her blankets.

“You know that’s not what I–” Decus stopped himself, sighing. “Nevermind. Sleep well, my dearest, Alice.”

“Try not to moan in your sleep, Dumbo Decus.” She let another square of dark chocolate melt on her tongue, folding the wrapper over and settling it beside her. The rich bitterness coated the backs of her teeth and the insides of her cheeks with an almost numbing effect, and the dryness made everything feel cottony. It wasn’t the healthiest bedtime ritual, but Alice didn’t plan on stopping. “Athos, Porthos, Aramis. Stand watch.” There was a rustle and shift as the monsters took up positions around camp. Alice buried her face in her pillow and let sleep claim her.

But it didn’t last. It had been years since she was able to sleep through the night. Any errant noise would wake her, and on the rare quiet nights, REM sleep almost always brought discomforting dreams. They weren’t always nightmares but they were never pleasant. This night was no different.

She was barefoot, treading through the ashes of Hima’s orphanage. Unlike her memories, Decus wasn’t there. She was alone. The charcoal was rough, and it crackled and crumbled under her feet. She was looking for something, though she wasn’t sure what. And as ash gave way under her, needles pierced her skin. She felt through the ash with her fingers, carefully planning a route ahead as she pulled the painful slivers from her skin. But no matter how careful she was, she kept getting pierced. Eventually her hands brushed across something smooth, and as she pulled it from the rubble, she knew. Human bone. No matter how far she walked, she never escaped the charred remains, as though no world beyond existed. And no matter how fast she ran, she never seemed to move.

It wasn’t a nightmare in the traditional sense: she didn’t feel frightened. More than anything she felt angry, lonely, lost. And when she awoke, her heart wasn’t pounding. She wasn’t sweating or breathing heavily. She was cold, stiff, achey, and utterly unable to sleep. Try as she might, tossing and turning, mind empty and exhausted, sleep just wouldn’t come. She nibbled another square of chocolate. “Decus… are you awake?”

There was no answer. Decus was always a sound sleeper. Alice supposed that couldn’t be helped. She reached a hand past her waistband, fingers running along the wiry coils beneath, applying light pressure to sensitive places. It was a frequent strategy. Release helped her sleep. But not tonight. The zenith was dull. She was used to her own touch, and the arousal was purely physical. It left her unsatisfied. Frustrated. And sleep was still elusive.

She grumbled and slipped into her shoes. She made a circuit around the camp, her monsters watching dutifully. You were supposed to stay awake a while if you couldn’t go back to sleep, weren’t you? Alice was sure she’d heard that somewhere. And exercise was a good way to spend restless energy. But she couldn’t exactly leave Decus behind. So she took to restless pacing. That just made her angrier. The night was still too dim for reading, and she wasn’t much good at starting a fire to provide herself with light.

She glanced to Decus’ tent again. Well, the fool did say he would do anything for her, and this wasn’t exactly the first time. “Decus. Hey. Wake up.” She swatted at her target’s backside with her crop.

“Huh? Wh-wha–? Something wrong, my darling?”

“Can’t sleep.” She swatted him again. “Do something about it.”

Decus yawned and stretched, sitting up as Alice ducked out of the tent. “What would you like, dearest? Warm milk?”

“I’m not a child.” Alice huffed.

“Just trying to help.” Decus shrugged following Alice into the open. “Shall I start the fire again?”

“Too much effort.”

“If you have something in mind, name it.” Decus offered.

Alice fiddled with the leather tongue of her riding crop. “Do you remember your safeword?”

Decus perked up a bit. “‘Life Bottle?’ Sure, I remember.”

“Do we have rope?” A small smile tugged at the corner of Alice’s lips.

Decus mirrored her expression. “As much as you need, mistress .”

*~*~*~*~*

Naked, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and hard just from the set up, Decus knelt on the towel Alice had been gracious enough to lay out for him. “You remember my rules?” Her voice was like a bell, and it was only that voice and the soft crunch of leaves that told Decus where she was as she circled him. He nodded obediently.

“Good boy. And your gagged safeword?”

Decus lowered his head and hummed a particular melody.

Alice dragged the tip of her crop over his bare skin, tracing up his spine. “Good puppy.”

Decus felt himself yanked forward by a rope attached to the shibari chest harness Alice had tied. A fingernail traced heart shapes across his chest. The crunch of foliage, first from one side, then the other, disorienting, dizzying. Then a sharp sting across his buttocks, the crack of leather on skin. Soft fingertips cradled his face. The sweet scent of Alice’s soaps and just the faintest hint of chocolate. Then the heat of impact tingled across his face. He wasn’t sure if he liked the sting of the crop or her hand best, but the gentle caresses between were divine.

Alice struck with precision. Thighs then upper arms. The kiss of the crop raised red petals across Decus’ skin. She was gentle where she needed to be. Soft against his abdomen, playful, teasing, she would never dare raise a welt there or risk deeper injury. Firmer across the biceps and triceps. Enough for a flush of pink but never enough to bruise. But the thighs… the thighs could endure her full force. The cracks that resounded in the trees and the resistance of flesh beneath her tool of choice were invigorating. Almost as delightful as his squirms.

Decus toppled to hands and knees at another firm tug, his shoulder blades twinging under a flurry of soft, swift strikes. Then silence. Stillness. Absence. This was worse than the beatings. Not being able to sense her. That twinge of abandonment, even as he knew it was part of the play. He whined impatiently to be greeted with the sweet sting across his buttocks, dangerously close to grazing his jewels.

“The more you whine, the longer it will be.” Alice whispered.

Decus nodded, trying to endure. He listened. The subtle twang of the rod was barely perceptible over the rush of wind in the trees. Alice always did play with the instrument. But the thrumming of flexed metal vibrating was the only sign he got of her presence, and the reminders were few and far between. And when he ached for her, for the burn of the crop leaving a fresh welt or the soft scrape of a nail along his spine, there was relief. Soft, yielding flesh against his back and the burning sliver of dampness as she straddled him, peaking his arousal. She was wet.

Alice squeezed her thighs against his hips, slowly rocking her body against him, grinding down into him, tormenting him. She used the tip of her crop to tease his length, making him writhe beneath her. She ran her fingers through his hair one moment, yanked that silly little ponytail the next, kept him guessing, kept him moaning, kept him moving.

The towel was his only constant, his only grounding force. Senseless, helpless, he was at her mercy. And when she did feel merciful, it was difficult to abide by her cardinal rule. He was forbidden from finishing without her permission. And in some ways this made the pleasure more a torture than the pain. How was he meant to resist? But he had to. Once he finished, their little game was over. That was his punishment. Failure. That gnawing feeling of leaving her unsatisfied. Never hearing his name fall from her lips in that lustful voice. The shame.

But Alice was merciful tonight. She wouldn’t push him that far. Not when she needed her own release. She unbuckled the gag, her name emerging from a tender jaw moments after. Sultry. Needy. “Alice… Alice my love…” She rose, her crop leaving a parting gift across her throne as she strode around to face him.

“No words, pet. That mouth has other chores.” She tilted his chin up, approaching, and he embraced his role with a hunger that brought color to her cheeks. His tongue knew where to go, rolling over the rosy mound in brief, tantalizing licks, venturing lower and deeper with each lick. Alice shivered, biting back moans, entwining her fingers in his purple hair. This was much more invigorating than her own touch.

He worked diligently, drinking her nectar, the salt of her body coating his tongue. Her mewling was quiet, muffled by her best efforts but not silenced. This was the only context where her whimpering did not elicit rage. These sounds were for him alone. She pulled away, and after a few quick strikes across his knuckles, her soft fingers wormed between the ropes, glancing over his skin as she freed his wrists. He put them to work immediately. When she returned, his first finger slid between her folds, begging permission, and when she shivered against his touch, he pressed forward as she moved ahead. Though she favored ice magic, her body was like fire around him, and incredibly receptive. He curled the finger toward himself, pressing along the interior until her cries were far less subtle. Then his tongue went back to its duties.

Alice barely choked back his name when the second finger entered. He didn’t deserve that satisfaction. Not yet. But she could allow him one grace for his efforts. The fingers crept further back along his scalp, seeking fabric, prying apart a firm knot, letting fabric fall away to reveal those icy eyes, half lidded with pleasure, brows furrowed in concentration.

He let them drift, gazing up at the soft peaks, heaving with each breath. The glance earned him three swift swats against each thigh, but the view had been worth it. Alice wasn’t the type written about in erotic poetry, not the buxom, well-endowed nymph of myth and legend. The only thing exceptional about her by conventional standards was a cute face. But he adored everything about her, not because he’d been taught to, not because her features were prized as desirable, but because they were all part of Alice.

Eyes of polished amber, hair like radiant spider silk, buttery smooth skin, honeyed perfume. She was a rare beauty, to be sure. But she was not from fables, not a construct of some lustful man sculpting his ideal from clay and sin. She was real. Eyes that shone like the dawn were often red with tears and sleepless nights. Hair that tangled easily, brittle tips, split ends, hair that revealed the smallest specks of dust, became unkempt after one errant breeze, hair that darkened toward the roots… Her skin was only soft if you knew where to touch, the scars of schoolyard scraps and recent dustups all recorded in detail across her body. She smelled of onion on hot days. She yelled. She bullied. She was not some sterile, unchanging, demure maiden found only in the pages of steamy fictions. She was not the sable rabbit from pet store shelves. She was Alice. Alice, with all her rough edges. Alice, who was cruel as well as fierce. Alice, who was cold but sometimes kind. Alice, the manipulator. Alice, the fighter. Alice, the honey and the sting. But for him… for Decus… she was just Alice. And in all her complexity she was simple. A girl for whom he had only the purest adoration. Alice, the savior, the beloved, the holy.

Alice’s body awakened much more readily to another’s touch than her own. The squirming unpredictability of it turned her nethers to fire and her innards to knots. Decus could be sloppy, but he knew what he was doing. And as much as he was a tool, a means to an end, Alice did entertain the thought (if only for a moment) that she was glad it was him. Because in spite of that odious perfume, his cringey pet names, his softness and utter lack of tact, he put his complete faith in her for so many years, had thrown himself between her and harm, made himself into whatever tool was needed. And so, as much as she hated to admit it… she had faith in him in return.

Even at his worst, even crazed by that strange core, he’d come back. Weak as he was to be swayed by its power, he’d been strong enough to make it through. And she supposed there was a strength in that softness of his. Because he could never be broken. He already was. He was utterly useless to anyone but her. He could never be built into anything more than he was, never be molded to a purpose that wasn’t pursuit of her. He was simple-minded, sure. But he was also single-minded. Try as she might, Alice could never find an ulterior motive. He was here, for better or for worse, because of a single action. A fool repaying a debt. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. What else would explain that unflinching dedication, despite her abuse, her ire, her animosity? He was just some idiot, too stupid or stubborn to seize a simple life somewhere else. Because no man with any brains would live like this. Would he?

Decus felt Alice pull away. He wiped his fingers in the towel.

“Roll over, mutt.”

The command was dripping with need. He obeyed.

She slipped a condom over his length. He’d done well to resist this long, but with how pent up he must be, she’d take no chances. Even with so little attention, he was already squirming. A punishing strike across the chest, and she descended on him while he gasped for air.

She was warm, hot, too hot, that alone almost broke him. But he grit his teeth and overcame it. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before. No matter how much he liked it, Decus refused to break from that alone.

“Good boy.”

She swung her hips forward, knees pinned over his hips, crop held at the ready to punish any unseemly behavior. He’s filling, and even the fight against his own instincts couldn’t stop his hips from pressing up against her. But that alone was not worth the crop, not yet. She pulled back, swinging forward again.

He was quiet.

She was not.

The tiny huff that escaped was laced with just the faintest trace of longing. She thrust again.

He’s not punished for the view, but he can’t afford to look too long. Not with what she’s doing. He’d hesitate to call it friction. She was wet enough that he gilded in with little effort. But her body clamped around him, and every movement summoned that heat inside him, the burning in the depths, and calls for his zenith. But he couldn’t. Not if he wanted his reward.

She rode, arms aloft at first, her hips doing all the work. But he’s good, he’s patient, and when her arms began to ache, she leaned down, bracing herself against his shoulders, earning more leverage… Each movement was punctuated with a sticky sound, she’s embarrassingly wet. And her voice came where it wasn’t wanted. His name sat in her throat, begging for a moan she refused to release. “Move for me.” She whispered, swallowing down words unspoken.

And he did. He thrust up into her. Powerful. Firm. His pace was erratic. Normally she’d be surprised if he could outlast her at this stage. But she was closer than she let on, her body already sparking with pleasure. She wanted to win, some competitive urge to hold out. But Decus had been good to her, and it was the purpose of this whole sordid thing. There was no reason to prolong, not when it felt this good. “Decus… f-fuck… D-Decus–!” A wave of ecstasy washed over her, her body tingling from head to toe, an enrapturing pulse that dove and breached from her nethers and her core.

She bit down on the soft flesh of her hand, the mound of the palm at the base of her thumb, and tried to silence herself. But he knew it was over. He’d done all she’d asked. Fulfilled every need for this occasion. She bore down upon him, wringing every drop of pleasure she could. He liked this part best. She gave up that cold exterior for just a moment, submitting to her body, her base instincts allowed a moment of frolic and joy. It was safe to let himself go, now. But he earned a bit extra for waiting. He braced against each shift and squirm for her to come down. Her breath came in shallow pants the way it only ever did from this and from arduous battle.

She pulled away, expecting to see his own release in the tip of the barrier between them. But it was clean, empty, and he was still achingly hard. He’d earned his reprieve. “Good boy.” She whispered again. “Good boy.”

The sheath came off and she buried him between her teeth. He didn’t last long, but he didn’t want to. All he ever wanted from these exchanges was the acceptance that came at the end. The subtle sign that as much as she lied to herself, she cared about him. His body throbbed with anticipation, and the hot tongue against his shaft coaxed out the gush. His body burned, alight with passion, pride, knowing he’d pleased her, and that she appreciated the effort. She drank down every drop.

The aftermath was serene. Alice removed the rope, casting healing artes over any injury that tended toward purple more than pink, anything that risked further pain in the morning. She seemed proud of her work.

In return, Decus brushed her hair. Their playtime tended to muss it up. She seemed calmer now. “Do you want to talk?” He asked. Alice shook her head. She usually didn’t. She didn’t like the aftercare to be too intimate.

She excused herself to heed the call of nature, and wipe the sticky liquid from between her folds. He always asks that. What even is there to talk about? It’s just a bit of fun. Letting off steam. She told herself the same lies as always. She had to.

Decus cleaned himself off and tidied the camp, slipping back into his pajamas. He wouldn’t force her to talk. Not until she was comfortable. But it did sting that she insisted on keeping him at arm’s length. But her life hadn’t been an easy one. And he’d give her whatever space she needed. He folded her night clothes and set them somewhere clean and visible, then ducked back into his tent. He waited for her footsteps before getting comfortable, and when she disappeared into her own tent without even checking on him, he turned over and closed his eyes. Still, he smiled to himself. Even if she wasn’t grateful, he was always happy to help her.

She dressed in silence. She was tired now, physically at least. But her mind buzzed, her efforts to drown out things unsaid were fruitless. The words that clawed at her tongue must never be spoken. Because everything she’d ever dared to care about before has died, gone up in smoke, or been sacrificed for her goal. But the night was quiet, and the stillness hungered for her voice, to swallow each syllable into the void of oblivion and dissolve the truth of her secret so that she never needed speak of it again.

Alice waited until she was sure Decus was asleep, crept into his tent, curling up next to him. Her throat was dry, still struggling to just speak the words, free them so they could cease their ruinous rampage in her mind and allow her rest. But one by one, she released them, and it became easier. “Decus… I know you can’t hear me… but that’s the only way I’m able to say this. I’ve been cruel to you, even though all you’ve ever done since that day is sacrifice every waking moment doing what you can for me. And all I’ve ever done is try to chase you off. I know it doesn’t seem like it but… I appreciate everything. You put up with the worst of me and only ever see the best in me. And I don’t deserve it. But when this is all over… when Richter’s made that deal for me… When I’m strong enough… strong enough that no one can ever take anything from me again… maybe I’ll grant that little wish of yours… and say it to your face one day.” She plants a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, Decus.”

She retreated to the seclusion of her own tent, heart pounding. She’d been thinking it for ages, but she’d finally let the words pass her lips. And there was freedom in that. Relief. The words vanished like smoke, but they were in the world now. Her chest was no longer a cage for violent, self-destructive longing. She could breathe, if only for tonight. As it always went, she’d soon fill up with unspoken words, and she'd have to whisper them to the moons, to the trees, to the wind. But for the moment, she was unburdened, and slumber came easily. And with the morning came the familiar comforts of that beautiful, stupid young man, head over heels, doing whatever he could for her. Bacon and eggs, toast cut into heart shapes, dried fruit steeped with their morning tea. The monsters had their rest as the sun rose, and the duo broke camp.

He’d applied more of that noxious perfume. As much as she despised the scent, it’s nostalgic. Because only Decus was stupid enough to wear that scent. And she knew he did it because he loved her.

Alice was always more cheerful the morning after. Even if she pretended she wasn't, Decus could tell. She ate more, smiled more, and seemed to glide through camp. She rested her hand on her hip, rather than the hilt of her crop. And most telling of all, when she thought she was far enough away that he couldn’t hear, she hummed to herself. And seeing her in such a good mood put Decus at ease. Come what may, mornings like these were enough to remind him just how much he adored her. Because without her, there would be no morning. There would be no world.

“Now then.” Alice secured her cap. “If we make good time today, we should reach that silly little Human Ranch. And if we find more Exspheres, we can tame more cute little pets!” she giggled to herself. “Then we’ll be even better prepared for whatever ploy that Richter has over at the Otherworldly Gate. Just think Decus, when this is over, I’ll rule the world.”

“You’ll make the perfect queen.” Decus knelt, kissing the back of her hand.

“Ugh, stop being so cheesy! I’m gonna barf.” Her crop snapped lightly across his chest, far lighter than their play last night. “Just make sure you have everything and let’s go.” She woke the monsters, mounting up on Aramis.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

And so it was that the two embarked on their final adventure.