Dawn arrived without sound, washing the hospital room in pale gold light that felt entirely too fragile after everything the night had stolen.
Lara became aware of the ache before anything else.
It settled deep in her bones, heavy and unavoidable, pulling her back to consciousness piece by piece.
When her eyelids finally fluttered open, her gaze drifted across the room until it found the straight-backed hospital couch tucked against the wall.
Yve and Dylan were still there.
Yve had fallen asleep sometime during the predawn hours with her head resting heavily against Dylan’s lap.
Dylan, meanwhile, looked as though sleep had never dared to touch him at all.
The stark exhaustion carved into his face sat right beside something darker, a volatile mix of guilt, burning anger, and a long night spent staring at sterile white walls.
It was only when his bloodshot gaze drifted toward the bed that the fog cleared from his eyes.
A heartbeat later, he was leaning down, shaking Yve awake with gentle urgency.
“Lara’s awake.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before Yve bolted upright.
For a breathless second, neither of them said anything, suspended in the disbelief that the worst had passed.
Then Lara’s dry lips curved into the faintest, wobbly smile, and a single tear slipped down her bruised cheek.
The sight alone unraveled whatever fragile composure Yve had managed to hold together through the dark.
Dylan immediately excused himself into the hallway to track down a doctor, leaving the space to them.
Yve crossed the short distance to the bedside, but the closer she drew, the more her steps faltered.
The memory of yesterday still clung to her skin like grease.
Almost instinctively, she tucked her hands behind her back, hiding them away.
Lara noticed.
Despite the deep purple bruises painting her throat and the raw exhaustion etched into every line of her face, she raised a hand toward the edge of the mattress.
The gesture was small, and simple.
Yet utterly trusting.
Yve stared at the outstretched hand for a long, agonizing moment before finally surrendering to it.
Her fingers emerged from behind her back and slipped gently into Lara’s palm.
Lara’s grip was weak, barely more than a brush of skin, but it tightened all the same.
That was enough.
A fresh tear rolled down Yve’s cheek, hot and clear.
“I’m fine…” Lara whispered.
The words sounded ridiculous echoing off the white tiles of a hospital room.
Yve let out a harsh, broken laugh that caught in her throat.
“You’re not fine, Lara.
How could you be fine?”
Lara’s smile softened, stubborn and steady.
“You saved me.
So I’m fine.”
The answer shattered whatever was left of Yve’s defenses.
A choked sob broke past her lips.
“I should have killed him the first time.
I never should have let him walk away.
I could have stopped this.”
Lara listened in the quiet, her thumb brushing a slow circle across the back of Yve’s hand.
“You are not a monster, Yve.
Don’t become one for a man like that.”
The room fell still, wrapped in a heavy, comforting silence that settled between two people who understood the worst of each other.
Yve nodded, unable to trust her voice with a single syllable, and leaned forward until she could bury her face against the edge of the mattress while Lara’s arms wrapped awkwardly around her shoulders.
By the time Dylan returned with an attending physician and a pair of nurses trailing behind him, the two women were still holding onto each other.
The room instantly flooded with the sharp clatter of medical equipment and the steady hum of routine examinations.
Yve stepped back to give the staff room to work, but her eyes never left the bed.
Every sharp movement from the nurses made the knot in her chest twist tighter.
Without thinking, she reached out for an anchor.
Her hand found Dylan’s arm and stayed there, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his suit.
Dylan looked down from the bed to her face, reading the panic still echoing in her stance.
Without a word, he shifted closer, sliding an arm around her shoulders to give them a steady, grounding squeeze.
Neither of them spoke.
They simply stood side by side and watched, waiting for someone in a white coat to tell them that Lara was going to make it through.
After several long, torturous minutes, the doctor finally lowered the clipboard and offered a genuine, exhausted smile.
“We’ll need to keep her under observation for a few days, but she’s survived the worst of the trauma.”
The words settled over the room.
Yve nodded, pressing a hand over her mouth as a wave of immense relief finally broke her knees.
The nurses wheeled Lara’s bed from the room soon afterward, their quiet instructions and the rolling clatter of equipment fading down the corridor.
The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind the medical staff, the fragile wall Yve had forced herself to maintain finally gave way.
A trembling breath shuddered past her lips, followed instantly by another, the sheer weight of the relief feeling heavier and sharper than the terror that had preceded it.
All through the endless night, she had braced herself for catastrophe.
She had waited in the dark for a doctor to step through those doors with grim news, waiting to learn that Lara had paid the ultimate price for a mistake Yve would never forgive herself for making.
The thought echoed through her mind like a prayer until a choked sob finally broke free.
Yve pressed the heels of her hands against her face, trying desperately to stem the tide, but the tears came anyway, hot and relentless.
Dylan closed the distance between them without a single wasted movement.
Pulling her into the steady, solid anchor of his arms.
The warmth of him was enough to crack the last of her defenses.
Before she even realized she was moving, Yve buried her face against his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the accumulated horror of the past twenty-four hours caught up with her all at once.
Her shoulders shook violently with quiet, broken sobs, relief and exhaustion and lingering guilt tangling together until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
Dylan held her a little tighter against him, his chin resting near the top of her head.
“She’s gonna be fine,” he murmured.
His voice was rough and worn down from a night devoid of sleep.
Yve nodded blindly against him, the damp fabric of his shirt absorbing her tears.
A few moments passed before he spoke again, the words carrying the same low, rhythmic certainty.
“She’s gonna be fine.”
Another nod, smaller this time.
~~~
Ysa’s arrival was impossible to miss.
The great double doors of the estate had barely come into view when she dismounted from Caelum, her Pegacampus stretching its massive wings wide before folding them in, allowing the estate caretakers to lead the creature away.
The majestic beast went willingly enough, though not without casting a sharp, protective look toward its rider.
Victor was already waiting at the grand entrance.
A warm smile crossed Ysa’s face the moment she spotted him.
“You’ve aged.”
Victor let out a soft, dry laugh.
“It’s been twelve years, Ms.
Ysa.”
“Has it?” Ysa tilted her head, her expression entirely deadpan.
“You humans keep doing that.”
The dry observation earned another chuckle as they stepped through the threshold, entering the familiar, vaulted halls of the mansion together.
“Is he awake?” she asked, smoothing the front of her traveling coat.
“Waiting for you in the dining area.”
Ysa nodded.
The sprawling halls welcomed her like an old memory, virtually untouched by the passage of years.
The estate felt precisely as she remembered it, carrying the quiet, imposing weight of Darnell’s domain.
By the time she stepped into the dining room, breakfast had already been laid out across the long mahogany table.
Her gaze swept over the lavish spread before settling entirely on Darnell.
“You really shouldn’t have prepared so much,” she noted, pulling out a chair.
“Am I not allowed to spoil my girls?”
The genuine fondness threaded through his voice drew a bright laugh from her.
Still smiling, Ysa took the seat beside him and began filling a plate.
For a while, the conversation remained light and effortless, drifting between inconsequential topics with the easy rhythm of people who shared a very long history.
Eventually, Darnell’s attention drifted toward the intricate bracelet wrapped around her wrist, or rather, the slumbering serpent coiled heavily.
“You brought Nierven?”
Ysa glanced down at the sleeping creature, watching the faint sheen of its iridescent scales.
“You mentioned Yve misses him.”
Something noticeably softened in Darnell’s expression.
“You’re a good sister.”
Ysa gave a light, self-deprecating snort.
“I try.”
The conversation paused as they turned back to their plates, the clink of silverware filling the quiet space.
“I won’t be staying long, though,” she added after a moment, cutting a piece of fruit.
Darnell raised a single eyebrow over the rim of his cup.
“Why?”
“Mother asked me to check in on Yve.
That is the primary objective.” Ysa took a sip of her water before continuing.
“Besides, I have a long trip ahead.
The Nymthes are hosting the upcoming Haelar Convergence, so I expect to be away for a while.”
A faint, reminiscent smile touched the corners of Darnell’s mouth.
“Strange.
It feels like you only attended the last one yesterday.”
Ysa chuckled, a rich sound that echoed off the high ceilings.
“The last time Ophiuchus reached its peak brilliance, I was a hundred and twenty years old.”
Darnell paused, his fork hovering above his plate as a note of genuine surprise registered on his face.
“Really?
It has been that long?”
Ysa offered an easy shrug.
“Apparently.”
Darnell shook his head with a quiet, dry laugh.
“Time becomes increasingly inconvenient the older I get.”
Ysa rolled her eyes, though she could not suppress her amusement.
The conversation flowed naturally after that, carried by familiar company, excellent food, and the rare comfort of family.
~~~
Around ten that morning, the three of them sat together with breakfast spread across the small hospital table.
Yve had devoted herself entirely to Lara’s recovery.
Every spoonful of soup was tested first.
Every sip of water was offered before Lara could ask.
By the time half the meal had disappeared, Yve had successfully made sure Lara ate while somehow forgetting to touch her own food.
“You should eat too, Yve.” Lara’s voice carried a faint rasp, though the amusement behind it was unmistakable.
“I’ll be fine.” Yve adjusted the blanket around her before offering another spoonful.
Lara looked unconvinced.
So did Dylan.
He had already taken it upon himself to peel the shrimp from Yve’s plate while she remained completely preoccupied with Lara.
A sizable pile had formed beside her rice, yet the food sat untouched.
“Eat.”
Yve waved him off without looking.
“I’ll eat later.”
“Food’s gettin’ cold.”
“I can reheat it.”
Unfortunately, her stomach chose that precise moment to publicly disagree.
The low growl earned a faint laugh from Lara.
Yve pretended not to hear it.
Dylan wasn’t nearly as willing to play along.
A few moments later, she found herself staring at a spoonful of rice held directly in front of her.
“Here.”
Yve blinked.
“Oh…
uh…”
The surprise lasted exactly long enough for Dylan to feed her anyway.
By the time she had swallowed, a peeled shrimp quickly followed.
“I said I’d eat later.”
Dylan remained entirely unconcerned with her opinion on the matter.
Another spoonful appeared.
And somewhere during the exchange, Lara gave up pretending to intervene.
Yve continued fussing over Lara.
Dylan continued making sure Yve ate.
Neither seemed willing to stop.
In the end, Lara simply sat back and let them have their quiet standoff, watching as the two most stubborn people in the room took turns taking care of everyone except themselves.
Just as the three of them settled back into their familiar routine of fussing over one another, the door swung open.
Victor entered first, carrying an elegant bouquet of flowers and an overflowing gift basket.
Darnell followed closely behind him.
Yve was already halfway out of her seat when another figure stepped past them into the doorway.
For a breathless second, she simply stared.
Then her entire face lit up.
“Oh my heavens…
you’re here, you’re here!”
The excitement in her voice filled the room as she rushed forward and threw her arms around the woman without a shred of restraint.
Ysa laughed and returned the embrace, holding her just as tightly.
While the sisters greeted each other, Darnell made his way to Lara’s bedside.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Lara smiled faintly.
“Thank you for visiting.
And thank you for the flowers.”
“And the basket,” she added.
A small smile touched Darnell’s face.
Nearby, he exchanged a brief nod with Dylan, who returned it automatically before his gaze drifted toward the newcomer.
Whoever she was, she clearly carried an aura that demanded immediate attention.
Still holding Yve, Ysa pulled back slightly and asked, “When are you going home?”
“In fifty years.”
Ysa immediately pinched her arm.
“Ow!”
“You deserved that.”
Yve only laughed before grabbing her sister’s hands and dragging her toward the bed.
“Dylan, Lara…
this is Celeste Ysa.
My twin sister.”
That announcement raised more questions than it answered.
Lara looked from Yve to Ysa and back again, her brow furrowed.
“You have a twin sister?”
“Mhm.”
“And you never thought to mention that?”
Yve frowned, genuinely perplexed.
“I thought I did.”
Lara glanced at Dylan for backup.
Dylan merely offered a heavy shrug, though the flat expression on his face made it entirely clear this was news to him too.
Ysa’s attention briefly settled on Lara, assessing the pale skin and the lingering exhaustion.
Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her.
Her gaze shifted to Darnell, then to Dylan, before finally returning to Yve.
“Do they know?” The question was pitched low enough that Lara almost missed it.
“Only Lara,” Yve whispered back.
Ysa gave a single, decisive nod.
“Good.
Get him out of here, then.” She pointed a finger straight at Dylan.
Confusion instantly swept across the room.
Yve blinked, glancing uncertainly between the two of them.
“Oh…
uh…
okay.”
Dylan looked thoroughly unconvinced by the sudden eviction, but before he could voice a single objection, Yve had already latched onto his arm and started steering him toward the exit.
Halfway through the doorway, she paused just long enough to flash Lara an overly enthusiastic thumb-up.
Lara returned a helpless nod despite having absolutely no idea what was happening.
The reassurance seemed to satisfy Yve, because she vanished into the corridor a second later, practically hauling a bewildered Dylan along in her wake while Ysa watched them go with quiet, calculating eyes.
Outside the hospital room, the persistent hum of the corridor felt strangely distant.
Yve had barely managed a few steps away from the closed door before Dylan planted his boots and stopped her in her tracks.
“Why’d she kick me out?”
Genuine confusion roughened the edges of the question.
Yve offered an awkward shrug, scratching absently at her collarbone.
“Oh…
no reason.
She’s just not really comfortable around men she doesn’t know very well.”
Dylan gave a single nod and let the matter drop, though the lingering tension of the past twenty-four hours still hung heavy between them, quieter now that the immediate panic had faded, but far from gone.
His dark gaze drifted from her face down to the fresh white bandage carved across her cheekbone.
The sight dragged him right back to a place he had been trying desperately to avoid.
Reaching out with calloused fingertips, he brushed the edge of the gauze with agonizing care.
“Sorry.”
Yve frowned, her brows pulling together.
“For what?”
Dylan kept his eyes locked on the wound, his jaw tightening into a hard line.
“Should’ve been there.”
The heavy guilt in his voice struck her harder than the initial impact of the attack.
Her expression melted, all trace of defensiveness vanishing.
“It’s alright, Dylan.
It’s not your fault.”
A short, dry chuckle broke past his lips.
“But still,” Dylan muttered, his hand dropping back to his side.
Yve studied him for a long heartbeat before reaching up to ruffle his hair with an affectionate swipe.
The playful gesture earned an immediate, half-hearted glare.
“Hey,” she said, her voice softening into a steady murmur.
“It’s not your fault.
You said it yourself.
There’s no one to blame here but Mark.”
Dylan let out a long breath that rattled deep in his chest.
He knew the logic was sound, but knowing it did not magically erase the heavy anchor of guilt sitting in his gut.
Still, he offered a small, grudging nod.
After a moment, his practical instincts took over as his attention returned to the injury on her face.
“Let’s go get that redressed.”
Yve immediately dropped into a full pout, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Can we do it later?
I’m still hungry…”
For the first time all morning, something close to genuine amusement cracked through the exhaustion on Dylan’s face.
“Alright,” he gave in with a reluctant shake of his head.
Yve brightened instantly, her mood shifting as fast as the weather.
While Dylan found himself offering a real smile as they turned and walked together down the corridor.
~~~
Back inside the room, Ysa’s attention settled completely on Lara.
For a quiet moment, she simply studied her, taking in the purple bruises, the exhaustion, and the lingering pain that still clung to her frame despite the doctors’ confident assurances of recovery.
“How do you fare?” Ysa asked, her voice calm and measured.
“Now that you know what we are.”
Lara let out a small, tired breath.
“It was difficult at first.” Her gaze drifted briefly toward the door Yve had vanished through.
“My entire reality sort of shattered.”
Ysa nodded slowly, as though that was precisely the answer she had expected.
“Well,” she said with a faint, wry tilt of her head, “it is about to get shattered even more.”
Lara frowned, her brows drawing together.
Before she could ask what that was supposed to mean, Ysa continued.
“I will heal the major internal injuries, but I am leaving the visible bruises.
If everything vanishes overnight, that man is going to start raising suspicions.”
“What?”
A hidden mark on the back of Ysa’s neck began to glow with a soft, iridescent light.
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with a heavy, magnetic pull.
Lara felt the shift in the atmosphere before she understood it, a sudden hum of power vibrating against her skin.
Energy poured directly from Ysa, flowing into Lara’s body in a wave that was gentle yet impossibly potent.
The agonizing pain that had settled deep within her ribs began to loosen its iron grip.
The heavy, bruised pressure in her stomach eased.
Beneath her skin, torn tissue and damaged muscles mended themselves with uncanny, supernatural precision, as though time had reversed itself to carefully undo the violence of the attack.
Lara drew in a sharp, involuntary breath.
The difference was instantaneous.
For the first time since waking up, taking a breath did not feel like swallowing glass.
The tight constriction in her throat faded away, carrying off the last remnants of the trauma until all that remained were the superficial bruises Ysa had deliberately chosen to leave behind.
The soft glow on Ysa’s neck faded into shadow.
Silence rushed back into the room.
Lara sat motionless against the pillows for several seconds, staring down at her own hands as though expecting them to provide some rational explanation for what had just happened.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
Ysa smoothed the front of her coat, looking entirely satisfied with her handiwork.
“Enough.”
The answer was hardly an answer at all.
With a final nod, Ysa turned her attention toward Darnell.
“I’m off.”
Darnell rose from his chair to bid her farewell, pulling her into a brief, solid embrace before she departed.
Victor quickly followed in her wake, and not long afterward, Darnell offered a quiet nod to Lara and excused himself as well.
The room grew still once more.
Lara remained alone with her racing thoughts.
Visually, nothing had dramatically changed.
The dark bruises still painted her skin, and the raw cuts remained visible.
Yet the agony was entirely gone.
When she shifted against the mattress, her muscles no longer screamed in protest, and the deep, terrifying ache inside her chest had vanished.
Even her breathing felt light and clear.
Slowly, Lara sank back against the pillows, entirely overwhelmed and desperately confused.
Yet beneath the shock, one absolute certainty settled into her mind.
Yve had been right about everything.
Learning about sirens was only the beginning.
~~~
At the administration desk, Dylan was already reaching into his pocket for his card when the clerk casually informed them that the bill had been settled in full.
For a moment, he simply stared at her across the counter, then slipped his card back into his wallet with a heavy sigh.
He did not need to ask who had paid it.
As if summoned by the thought, Darnell appeared in the lobby moments later, flanked by Victor and Ysa.
Yve spotted her sister immediately, her posture relaxing.
“I’m just gonna catch up with Ysa.”
Dylan gave a short nod.
“Alright.”
She was already drifting away toward the two women when Dylan’s attention snapped back to Darnell.
“Can we talk?”
Darnell studied him for a brief, calculating moment before inclining his head toward a quieter alcove away from the bustle of the reception area.
Dylan did not waste time with pleasantries once they were out of earshot.
“Job offer still up?”
One of Darnell’s dark eyebrows lifted in silent inquiry.
“If it is,” Dylan continued, his voice dropping into a flat, steady register, “I’ll take it.”
For a beat, Darnell said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them.
“What changed?”
The question hung heavy in the air.
Dylan’s gaze drifted past the glass partition toward the sprawling hospital windows, watching the oblivious world move on outside.
“Wasn’t there.”
The admission was brutal in its simplicity, but it carried the full weight of everything that had gone wrong while he was away.
Darnell exhaled slowly through his nose and gave a sharp nod.
“I see.”
Neither man felt any need to elaborate.
The regret was a shared, unspoken understanding.
“You’ll be responsible for Yve,” Darnell said, his tone turning clinical and absolute.
“I know.”
Darnell slipped both hands into his coat pockets, regarding the younger man with a measured stare.
“I will have a special contract prepared.
State your conditions and your desired salary.”
Dylan opened his mouth to push back, but Darnell cut him off before the first syllable could form.
“Don’t undersell yourself.
You will be carrying a great deal of responsibility, and responsibility demands appropriate compensation.”
After a brief, stubborn hesitation, Dylan gave a grudging nod.
“I also want a report once a week.”
“Alright.”
“My secretary will help expedite the administrative transition.”
Another nod sealed the agreement.
The terms were struck with surprising ease, stripped of all corporate theater, because the decision had essentially been made long before Dylan finally spoke the words aloud.
Then Darnell raised a hand, resting it firmly against Dylan’s shoulder and giving it two solid, grounding taps before turning back toward the exit.
~~~
Mark surfaced back into awareness with a sickening lurch, his head throbbing beneath the heavy burlap sack that pressed against his sweat-slicked face.
For a few disoriented moments, the only sound reaching him was the steady, mocking rush of wind moving through an overhead canopy of trees.
The air smelled thick with damp earth, decaying leaves, and the sharp copper tang of his own stale fear, offering a vile contrast to the polished mahogany and sea air of the office where his arrogance had finally run out.
A ragged, rattling groan escaped him as he shoved his hands upward, tearing the rough fabric from his head and tossing it aside into the mud.
Forest.
Endless, towering timber stretched in every direction, the dense overhead branches swallowing the daylight and leaving the forest floor drenched in perpetual, suffocating shadow.
Panic clawed its way into his chest, tightening around his lungs until he was choking on his own breaths.
Where am I?
The question had barely formed in his frantic mind before the crunch of boots broke the brush.
Several sets of footsteps.
Too close.
Mark instinctively tried to leap backward, only to pitch forward so violently that he nearly slammed his face straight into the dirt.
Confusion flashed through him, chased instantly by a wave of nauseating vertigo.
Something was profoundly wrong.
Terribly, sickeningly wrong.
His balance was entirely gone.
His lower body felt heavy, dead, and entirely alien, refusing to answer the desperate commands of his brain.
When he twisted around to look down at himself, the shriek that tore from his throat died before it ever became a sound.
His legs were gone.
The horrifying sight shattered whatever sliver of composure he had managed to retain, plunging him into a vertigo of absolute revulsion.
Where his lower limbs should have been, there was only smooth, completely healed flesh.
No open blood vessels.
No fresh surgical wounds to justify the horror.
Just clean, taut, callous skin covering the blunt ends as though the amputation had taken place months or years ago.
As though he had always been crawling like a broken insect.
Mark clawed frantically at the loamy soil, dragging his torso backward in blind, pathetic terror, whimpering as his ruined body dragged through the filth.
He tried to scream for help, opening his jaw wide to unleash the agony tearing him apart inside.
Nothing.
Not even a rasping whisper.
His trembling hands flew to his mouth, fingers pressing desperately against his lips and jaw, prying at teeth that met only empty space.
The crushing realization hit him a second later, turning his stomach inside out.
His tongue.
Gone.
A strangled, wet, animal noise rattled in the back of his throat as absolute terror overwhelmed his senses, leaving him drooling and helpless in the dirt.
The approaching footsteps finally broke through the tree line, emerging from the deep shadows.
Men.
A dozen rough, hardened figures stepped into the clearing, hunting rifles slung casually across their backs and heavy, blood-stained machetes dangled from their belts.
Their faces lit up with grim, callous amusement the instant they spotted him twitching in the mud like a pinned beetle.
Mark tried to flee, digging his palms into the dirt to drag his mutilated frame away from them.
Movement felt clumsy, agonizingly slow, and dripping with a deep, humiliating degradation.
Every desperate heave of his upper body sent him scrambling in pathetic, circular drags across the forest floor, leaving a smeared trail behind him.
His wide, bloodshot eyes darted wildly over his own skin, searching for any rational explanation for the nightmare consuming him.
Then he noticed his hands.
The intricate whorls and loops of his fingerprints were entirely gone.
The natural ridges that marked him as a living, legally identifiable person had been completely smoothed away, leaving the pads of his fingers unnaturally flat, white, and blank.
The men surrounded him before he could process the full, horrific implications of what had been done to him, their heavy boots ringing against the dirt like a death knell.
Their voices blended together in a rapid, unfamiliar language, harsh syllables mixing with dry, mocking laughter as they studied him with the open, clinical curiosity of men inspecting a damaged pest.
Several of them pointed crude, calloused fingers directly at the healed, blank stumps where his legs used to be, trading cruel jests at his expense.
Mark shook his head frantically, opening his mouth wide to beg, to plead for a quick end, for any shred of mercy.
Without a tongue, all that emerged were broken, pathetic wet clicks and useless puffs of air, his throat straining until blue veins bulged at his temples.
The men showed no interest in his silent, slobbering desperation.
One of them stepped forward, prodding Mark hard in the ribs with the toe of a heavy, manure-caked boot before tossing a casual remark to his companions.
Laughter rippled through the group, warm and easy, as they began arguing over him like scavengers claiming a bruised piece of trash.
A thick hemp rope appeared out of nowhere, looping roughly around his chest and biting cruelly into his flesh, binding his useless arms tight to his sides.
One of the men gave the line an abrupt, experimental tug, earning another round of harsh chuckles as Mark was unceremoniously hauled forward, sliding through the sharp roots and dirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note;
I am so enjoying this LOL..Hope you guys are as well and do not worry I am still thinking about the main canon.
For the meantime, I love this AU LOLOLOL.
Never thought I’d get to see Yve and Dylan act like this.
So hard to balance Yve’s unfamiliarity with human modern society with the fact that she’s 240 years old.
Again.
240 years old.
Think about that.
Twoooooo huunnnddrreeeeddd ffooorrrtttyyyy yyeeeaarsss ooolllddd.
(Btw, has anyone ever thought why I chose her and Ysa’s birthday as June 17, 1785?)