Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moonlight no longer protected her as he greedily plucked her from the shadows, like a thief hidden in the night. She gasped for air when he pulled her into him and let out a mischievous laugh when their bodies collided. They almost toppled over the other, mumbling apologies they didn't truly mean. His arms wrapped around her back and down her waist. Chest to chest. Hearts aligning. In his embrace, the night was no longer cold. Neither was she. He tilted his head back, intoxicated with joy. He never felt anything like it before. A smile spread across his face. "I caught you." he said between ragged breaths. He was so beautiful when he smiled. Breaths mingling, hearts racing, she made no attempt to escape him. He made no attempt to let her go. She did not want him to. She reasoned to herself that she would never want him to let go of her. They were both adamantly determined to stay where they were. Holding on to the other.

It was destiny for him to hold her here. Now.

"You have me." her voice softened, vulnerable. "What will you do?" Heat flooded her cheeks as she gazed into his eyes, anticipating his next move. His eyes were no longer pitch black. They were dark and deep and alluring as the night sky-a beautiful cosmos of the ocean's deepest blues, the hot ruby rays of the sun, and the white core of a fire raging over a hearth. She saw stars-light-within him. She always knew it was within him, captivating her. The longing and desire in his eyes reflected back at her own.

His lips brushed her neck. Soft and light and fleeting. Anticipation and longing rushed through her as he relentlessly teased her. She ached for him to devour her. Whole. Over her ear, he breathed, "everything."

She welcomed it.

He has never been happier than this moment. How he wished he could immortalize it. And she would do that for him. Through her lips upon his. Everytime he thought of this moment, he would feel it on his lips and remember. Remember her touch. Remember her warmth. Remember her love for him. Her love...for him. That alone made him smile. Finally, they closed the distance. Embers kindled inside of them as their lips parted and joined. Again and again and again.

The moon was their sole witness as they began the start of the rest of their lives.

Together.

The alarm buzzed, pulling the girl out from her enchanting book. She blinked her eyes a few times, refocusing on her blurry world. She sighed, bookmarking the page to resume later. Oh, she didn't want to stop reading! The captain and his kitchen maid finally revealed their love for eachother, station nor class could not extinguish their love and there was no going back for either of them. They changed the order of their world and the consequences for it will be nothing short of fierce, and they knew that and still tread onward. She traced her fingers over the pages, love transcribed with ink and pen. True love sounded absolutely….the word was on the tip of her tongue.

Tantalizingly marvelous.

No matter how tempted she was to dive back into that wondrous world; the darkness of her own beckoned her.

An assassin's work never ends.

It was peculiar for this assassin to be chasing down a man, who was not her betrothed, on the eve of her own wedding. When she ought to be rehearsing heart wrenching vows or toasting champagne at her wedding banquet. Not executing the murder of Eliot Knox. However, it was strange for them to meet on this momentous occasion when her life would begin while his was due to end. She will always remember him and let herself savor this crossroad.

For the next hour, thirty seven minutes, and three seconds—Eliot Knox consumed this assassin's life. She knew a few things about Eliot's life. He whored. He drank. He beat his wives, one after the other. That was all she needed to know about him—beyond that was unnecessary. Men like Eliot Knox do not become better men. Men like him do not get better at amending their mistakes. Men like him only get better at repeating them.

Hence why he was here, frantically running through the corridors of his own home, tripping over the carpet underneath his feet, cursing and scrambling to pick up the bullets that fell out of his trembling hands. Forgoing the ones his hands and mind could not grasp as fear took a hold of him instead. Strangling his senses. Because dear, dear Eliot was running out on time.

He was going to die.

Not if he could help it, of course. He most certainly tried. All of her targets try. Maybe he should have tried to be a better man, a better husband. Maybe he wouldn't be here if he thought twice about beating his wife until her skull was fractured, her face battered beyond unrecognizable, and she unable to speak, leaving her jaw wired shut. A prisoner in her own body. How many more tries are men given, promising change and better days knowing full well they have no intention of changing the monsters they are inside. Eliot tried to escape. But given his countless attempts of trying, there was little chance he'd succeed.

The floorboards creaked.

The shadows moved.

Something sinister lingered in the dark.

Eliot whipped around, lifted his gun-and fired.

The frightened man fired one bullet after another. A cacophony of pops and firecrackers bounced off the walls, firing mayhem and madness into the home that was supposed to keep him safe. Finally, silence reigned. The firing came to an abrupt halt when he ran out of ammunition. A trail of smoke rose from his gun. There was a sickening moment, a mixture of calm and unease in the silence, hoping he shot his assassin or fearing that he missed.

His eyes and mouth widened, agape.

He always was a terrible shot.

He dropped his empty gun. And ran.

Eliot's eyes were blood red as he sprinted towards his safe house, where a servant-the last one- was waiting to open it up when the master would arrive. The servant was covered in blood, perhaps another's, but Eliot didn't have time to question the boy. The servant, overcome with fear, hurried to find the key among a sea of others. Clicking one over the other. Eliot, impatient, pushed him aside and grabbed a hold of the keys himself.

He found the right one and locked himself in the safe house. Leaving his servant, alone and vulnerable to the monster that awaited outside. The servant pounded on the door, pleading to be let in. Begging. Crying.

Eliot barricaded the door-whatever he could grab. Creating a mound of furniture, thus sealing himself inside his tomb.

The servant's crying stopped.

Eliot froze.

He learned forward. He pressed his ear against the cool metal and beaded sweat rolled down the wall.

Listening.

Screaming pierced his ears-his own- as something sharp and deadly slashed his legs. The thought never crossed his mind that he wasn't alone-no, no, no. He was alone. There was no one else in the safe house, but him. No one was allowed to enter but him. His knees gave out, and he collapsed on the floor. Blood pooling all around him. He turned around-willing himself to meet his assassin dead in the eyes. To curse him out, to negotiate a deal, to plead for his life-fear rendered him undecided, but his killer wasn't going to take away his options.

Wetting himself wasn't one of them.

There was no man. No killer. No human of flesh or blood.

There was only a silhouette on the wall. A shadow without an owner. It was entirely black and it was not motionless, but pulsating with life. Something that shouldn't be alive, was living. That made it all the more terrifying. All over, wild currents rippled through it like a river made of black. There were arms and legs and a head, but that's where the resemblances ended. The outline of the shadow was hunched and crooked and beastly. It was beyond human. He looked into the shadow and it looked back, sending shivers down his spine.

The arm of the beast extended past the walls. Talking form and flight. Reaching out towards the dying man.

Eliot screamed.

It pushed the furniture behind Eliot aside. It wanted to move it. It wanted to open the door.

There were more visitors that needed to be let in.

The locks broke. The knob turned. The door opened.

Eliot began to laugh hysterically.

His killer, his assassin, the monster who wanted him dead was but a little girl! His laughs echoed off the walls, yet no one laughed with him. Not the shadow monster nor the girl he mocked. The girl and the monster remained motionless as the man toppled over himself in laughter, trying to control his labored breathing. Like the shadow monster, she wore all black, blending into the night. He may have considered her little, but she looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair, dark and wavy, shaped her tear drop face and flowed down her back. He would have called her pretty, if not for the expression on her face-laced in disgust and malice for him. He was no stranger to that look in her eyes.

But he did not know her. Or did he? Thoughts raced through his mind about their acquaintanceship. Was she a prostitute he slept with? There were so many, it was hard to keep count. Was she jealous that he did not notice or love her? No…was she an illegitimate child that wanted his fortune for herself? No, he didn't see any of himself within her.

The shadow monster moved. Eliot thought it was going to attack him again. He quivered and shielded his head with his arms. Shutting his eyes and awaiting his death. But the monster did not strike. Peeking through his arms, still covering his head, he saw the shadow slither towards the girl. Fusing into her own shadow and disappearing entirely. Monster and girl. One and the same.

He realized then that he should be afraid.

Eliot snarled and snapped his teeth. Curses rolled off his tongue. "GAURDS, KILL HIS FUCKING BITCH! KILL HER! GUARDS!"

"They won't be coming to your rescue. No one will. All your guards, servants-everyone-have left the estate or died trying to fight back." The girl turned her head towards the door, where the servant was standing moments before. He fled without putting up a fight. "Your home is empty. You must have noticed that yourself, when you were running out of your home...firing bullets at me." This man was rude and a terrible shot. "There's no use calling-"

His breathing was wild and furious, just like his mind. "YOU'LL REGRET THIS YOU FUCKING CUNT. GUARDS! GAAAAAURDS! KILL THIS BITCH! KILL HER!" Eliot wouldn't stop screaming. He wouldn't stop calling for someone-anyone to save him.

Darkness brewed behind the girl's eyes. He wasn't listening to her. How vexing.

"There is no need to curse." The girl did not raise her voice, but she was still annoyed.

"Fuck you." He spat at her feet.

The girl sighed, his bark was worse than his bite. Then, she did the cruelest, most unimaginable thing she could do to a man like Eliot. She ignored him.

And left him simmering in his own shit. Fuming.

"Hey, I'm NOT DONE TALKING TO YOU-"

Another voice echoed outside. "You always wanted to have the last word, Eliot."

Eliot's eyes widened, his body trembling. The girl stepped aside, for this was not her battle to fight. No, it was his wife's fight.

Eliot's complexion faded to spoiled milk. The air was stolen from his lungs as he saw his wife standing before him. He gasped for air and swallowed, hard. "Rinah..I..I thought you were.."

"Dead? One of us will be."

Tears pooled in Eliot's eyes.

"Thank you, Psyche." Rinah said to the girl. "I can handle it from here."

"Rinah, I'm bleeding out-help me-Rinah. Please." Eliot struggled to hold onto his legs, they were going numb and cold. He sat, defenseless and scared, in a pool of his own blood.

Psyche spoke over the man, ignoring him. "Are you sure? I can stay with you, if you like."

"Rinah-baby," Eliot's lips quivered. Fear fractured his words. "I'm dying."

Rinah held on tight to her own hands, gripping and reminding herself that this was real. She was fianlly here. She was here to get her revenge. She turned her attention away from Psyche and looked Eliot dead in the eyes. "He doesn't scare me anymore."

Eliot struggled to push himself closer towards the wall. Away from her.

Psyche simply nodded and left the safe house. Closing the door behind her. Leaving the two alone. Leaving Rinah to find her peace.

This is how Rinah wanted him to see her. She was not cowering in her hospital room, not jolting at every person who walked through the door, thinking it was Eliot or one of his men that would greet her with a mocking smile and a bat. She was not pleading for his forgiveness, begging him to forgive her for being a 'bad' wife-for letting his attention wander to other women, for being the distraction that made him lose bets when he gambled, or being his punching bag when he'd lose his temper and hit her until he felt better. Everything was her fault.

No.

It was never her fault.

It was his. Always.

She was standing tall, chin up, and wearing her finest clothes. Hair pinned and braided into a bun, revealing the faint traces of now faded bruises. Still, she wore everything that made her feel beautiful, because she was. Because no matter what horrible atrocities he has committed against her in the past, no matter what sins of his own he blamed her for, he could not take away her beauty. In body or spirit. She would not give him that power over her. Tonight she was celebrating her liberation from her tyrant.

He will not see her as the scared wife he controlled for years. He will see her as the woman she always was-a woman who rises from the ashes and rebuilds herself anew. Strong. A woman that cannot be broken. A woman who does not sit idly by and lets others hurt her. Not anymore.

"Do you still recognize me, behind all the bruises? It's your handiwork." She clicked open her purse and pulled out the only item she needed tonight within it. A knife. She gripped it tightly until her knuckles were white.

He stared at his wife, at the knife, then back at her. Tears welled up in his eyes, pleading, "oh baby-"

A knife plunged deep into his throat. Making him gargle on his own blood.

"I'm sick of hearing you talk."

For once in his life, Eliot was speechless.

For once in her life, Rinah found peace.

The good thing about diners is that they're open past midnight.

"Here," Psyche placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Rinah. It was hard for the woman to hold the cup without it shaking in her hands. Psyche asked if she wanted milk. Rinah shook her head. Psyche then asked if she wanted sugar. Rinah shook her head again. The woman stared blankly into the dark liquid, watching her reflection who was blankly watching her in return. No doubt, the woman was replaying the memory of tonight's events in her head.

Rinah looked up, briefly. The woman blinked her eyes, confused. She saw Psyche pull out a canister of heavy cream out of her jacket and shake it up vigorously. Her voice was soft and wobbly. "Did you have that with you this entire time?"

Without losing a beat, Psyche spurted the canister while looking at Rinah, "Jealous?"

Rinah stifled a laugh. Holding her hand over her mouth. "Sorry."

Psyche smiled. She applied a more than generous amount to her coffee and stirred. Licking the tip of her thumb where a spot of cream was left. "Don't be, I actually swiped it from the front counter. I thought you might have needed a laugh."

"Thank you."

Psyche reached into her jacket again.

"You have another!"

"Even better." Psyche pulled out straws, and napkins. "This I actually did bring myself."

Rinah was laughing now.

Psyche ripped the paper wrapper off the straw with her teeth and stuck it in the coffee cup. She wasn't a fan of her lips touching rims no doubt hundreds have touched before her. She also didn't want a hundred indirect kisses either.

Rinah pursed her lips, then swallowed. "You're very young for a…" the woman lowered her voice and looked around them, eyeing the other customers sitting at their booths eating late night suppers of salisbury steaks coated in caramelized onions and mushrooms basking in a decadent beef sauce; or midnight breakfasts, some scarfing down stacks of golden, buttery waffles drenched in maple syrup, layered with bacon.

Psyche's mouth watered from the beautiful sight. There was genius and ingenuity all around her. This diner was going places.

"I might order that later." Psyche gulped, mumbling to herself. Her attention snapped back to Rinah. Oh, right. Assassination. "Yes. I am the youngest one in my family."

"Family? Your family approve of your career?" A touch of skepticism, and motherly concern, laced the woman's voice.

"They'd better. They're the ones who trained me while I was still in my crib." She saw how shocked Rinah looked. "Oh, it's a family business, we all start young. It's normal...for us." Psyche shrugged, as if it was not a tantamount facet of her life. Rinah's shock did not fade.

"This was my first time hiring someone…"

"Like me."

Rinah nodded. "I never thought anyone would allow me to participate myself. There were other people I contacted before you, who had other plans in mind. Yes, they made promises that I knew they would carry through without a hitch, but I wanted to do it myself. It had to be me. That, I was sure of."

Psyche leaned back, stretching. "Everyone in the trade handles things differently. Even within my own family, we all have our own ways of doing things. I can't say my family agrees with the way I handle my job-and I may not agree with theirs- but I work hard and they don't complain. Of course, I will say that my methods are unorthodox in regards to the community as a whole, however I cater to the needs of my clients and above all that is my main priority. As it should be. I either carry out the job myself, or I set the stage for my clients. Whichever they want." Psyche smiled and lightly bounced her palms out in front of her. "It's all personalized."

That, and Psyche was picky when she chose her clients. They had to meet certain...criteria. She dared not reveal what that criteria was to anyone, but people catch up over time. And the ones that do flock to her.

"You helped me, in more ways than one can ask for." Rinah smiled, faintly. "So many people were telling me to stay quiet or reassuring me that every marriage is hard no matter who I married." So many people saw her pain, yet did nothing, said nothing. Rinah was trapped in the kingdom of the blind. "He was nice and kind and loving in the beginning.."

"They always are."

"But then everything changed. He changed. It started gradually, but so slowly." She shook her head. "No, he was always like that, but I was blind or maybe I saw everything and didn't want to believe the man I fell in love with wasn't the man I married. I didn't realize I was riding a downhill slope, ready any day to crash." The fractured skull and wired jaw were the crash. In a way, she was thankful for it. She'll always despise him for putting her through so much pain, but that was her wake up call. The dim lights finally burned to full intensity, illuminating everything. Banishing the blind. "He would have killed me. I know it. He always told me his previous wife's death was an accident. I began to have my doubts when he began to.." She gripped her cup tight, almost as if she was strangling Eliot for the second time. "Anyway, a woman doesn't receive that many broken bones from falling down a flight of stairs. He tried to convince me she had brittle bone disease. Before giving up my career to marry him, I was a licensed nurse, I know what brittle bone disease looks like. I treated people with brittle bone, I studied the pathology of brittle bone, and she did not have brittle bone."

"Now he's the one with brittle bones." Psyche raised her cup to her lips, nodding. Listening to her clients talk about their lives wasn't part of the job description. But every word they'd say and every story they'd tell, no matter how different, rattled her all the way to her core. The good kind of rattling, the kind that clears away the debris left by the wake of a storm; revealing the home, the heart beneath the rubble. She wanted to listen to them.

"The gifts, the doting, the attention he'd given me when we were dating or how he'd put on an act, the loving husband, in front of friends...sometimes I wonder if he ever loved me at all." Rinah forced out a choked laugh. "You know, I wanted children, I wanted so badly to be a mother, but he told me I wasn't well enough, stable enough, or just...good enough to be one. Nothing was ever good enough for him."

Psyche took a long sip of her coffee. Nodding her head in solemn agreement. Rinah wouldn't believe just how many other women told Psyche the same thing. If these women all formed a single-file line, it would stretch a quarter around the world-and those are for the women who were able to reach out to her, not including the ones who could never have the means to. She supposed those women could circumnavigate the world. In the beginning, these men are gentlemen and treat their women like queens. But then after a while, they take away her crown, then her throne, and instead of telling their women how perfect they are, they pull out magnifying glasses, scrutinizing and exaggerating all the cracks in their armor, casting blame and shame and doubt, widening them and creating cassums. These men control women with love and then fear. In the end, all these women say the same thing: they were lied to, abused and used. "People like him don't change. He was good at hiding who he really was and when he got what he wanted from you, marriage and so on, he didn't have to hide anymore."

Rinah nodded. "I tell myself that whenever I think of him. It was never real." Tears swelled in Rinah's eyes. All the years she'd given to him, offering every last piece of herself to him. Believing he still loved her. Believing in a lie.

Psyche pulled napkins from her jacket and handed them to Rinah. "None of this is your fault. None of it."

Rinah took them, dabbing her eyes. Laughing strained laughs between tears. "Forgive me, I must be a sight."

"A beautiful one."

Rinah blew her nose. Then folded the napkin into a ball. Her eyes were red, but the tears were slowly drying up. "You're sweet."

Psyche believed it was because of all the sugar she ate.

"I don't mean to pry, but I was wondering if I may ask you a question?"

"Pry away."

"Do you enjoy your work?" Rinah quickly shook her head, shutting her eyes. "Oh wait, I didn't mean to ask it like that. Can one find joy in your occupation? I still don't think I'm asking this right."

Psyche chuckled, lightly. Assassins rarely get interviewed. "No, it's alright. Like I've said before, people in the trade do things differently and they are done for different reasons. It took me a while, but I found my reason." And in this trade, it was necessary to have a reason. It didn't matter what your reason was, you just needed to have one. And believe it. Because that was your life line, and without a line you sink.

"So, the rumors are true. You really are an angel of death."

Psyche couldn't hold in her laughter now. She was a harbinger of death, but no angel.

"It's true!" Rinah leaned forward, mouth agape. "My life has been consumed with fear for so long, I forgot what it was like not to look over my shoulder wherever I went. I may have been lucky to escape, but the girls before him…." Her gaze hardened, malice brewed within her. "He got what he deserved. If only every girl was born to be as brave as you."

Psyche looked down. She didn't believe herself to be brave. Suddenly, her phone chimed in her pocket. The transaction must have gone through. She whipped her head up, "But this is too much! And this tip!"

"When I tip, I tip." Rinah winked.

Psyche fell forward on the countertop. "God bless you." She was going to treat herself generously after this. Perhaps to the bookstore?

Rinah looked out the window of the diner and saw her sister's car pull up. She put her arms through the sleeves of her coat, "I better get going."

"I have a question for you." Psyche tipped her head towards the driveway. A smile lingered on her lips. "What does she think about all of this?"

"She would have done it herself if I hadn't paid you to."

The smile on her lips stayed.

Rinah placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, "Thank you."

The door bells chimed when she left and Psyche watched them drive away, disappearing into the night. Another satisfied client, and a job well done.

Psyche browsed through her phone, the smile on her lips fading. Angel of Death. The words ricocheted in her head to no end. She knew what she was called in the outside world. She tossed her phone onto the plush bench and sat there in silence. She was no angel. Angel implies goodness and salvation, no matter how satisfied Rinah or anyone else are with her work, her killings never fully heal her clients. She never tried to delude herself that they do. They weren't a magical remedy or a permanent fix. If the killings bring her clients a sense of peace to live in a world without fear then that's the most she can ask for. But the pain all these people feel runs deeper than the surface. All Psyche does is smooths it down, making it a less hazardous terrain to walk. One less fear to fret over.

Majority of her clients that commission her have one thing in common: fear. There was an insidious nature to fear. It's a powerful emotion that keeps us alive and out of danger, but it also makes us think the unimaginable and do the unspeakable. Fear is primal and raw and wild and unpredictable.

And profitable.

Fear governs an assassin's life.

Fear is her life's work. Fear is her currency. Fear is her bread and butter.

Psyche has her own fears. A fear, that when left alone for her mind to wait and wander, would gorge itself and metamorphosize into terror. Clawing up her throat, slashing her tongue, prying open her mouth for her to scream out to the world.

She kept her jaw shut.

She pulled out her book, but she stared mindlessly at the words. She didn't feel like reading. Tossing the book back into her bag, she rubbed her hands over her face, exhaustion weighing her down. She forced herself to think of different things. From this job and the last she has more than enough money than she knows how to spend. Ha, it's all blood money. Her bank account is all stained red. No, no, no. She grabbed her wrists, pinching her skin. Nails pressing into her flesh. Float. Float. Float away. Her mind needs to float away. Money, spending, shopping! What was she going to buy? Yes, that's the question!

Nothing came to mind.

She looked down at her wrists and loosened her grip. Her nails left red crescent moons on her skin.

She wants to treat herself….she just doesn't know what to treat herself on. What was there to buy for a girl who has everything? Oh, the devastating reality of being disgustingly rich from dead people's money.

Before she could drown in her thoughts, her phone buzzed.

She looked once at the screen and a rush of cold wind swirled within her stomach. Fear spiked up again.

It buzzed.

It kept buzzing.

It wouldn't stop.

It continued buzzing even when she was leaving the diner.

Finally, anger simmered then erupted into a full throttle boil. Damn decorum, this is a Denny's parking lot.

She softly screamed into her phone, a feat only she could accomplish. "Anomie. WHAT?!"

Her older sister's voice crackled over the phone. Sternly punctual, yet melodic. "You're late. I began thinking you left our client unsatisfied and pressured you for a refund. Not that we have such a policy or that any of our clients have the gall to refuse to pay at the end of a job well done, but the mind is left to wonder, especially mine since mother left me with the responsibility of overseeing all of my baby sisters' accounts hanging over my head. Don't leave me wondering. Otherwise I might have to pop in myself, which you and I both know neither of us want, but if need be, I'm always just a call away, foot out the door, pat on the back, or sniper on the roof. Whichever. You know me. Anyway, I hope I wasn't interrupting, to what I presume was a perfect end to a job congratulated by yet another happy, satisfied customer?"

Psyche could tell that Anomie was restraining herself from scolding her further—she must be in a good mood. Though Psyche hated when Anomie breathed down her neck like this. "I'm glad I ate the donut I was saving for you."

Anomie paused. "What about my donut?"

Psyche accentuated her words. "Your donut was smothered in this amazing gooey chocolate glaze, coated with your absolute favorite betty crocker sprinkles, and now it's in my tummy. Thanks for treating me."

"God." Anomie hoarsely sighed, lamenting her loss. "I'm so generous."

"Oh. I have to go now, I'm busy."

"Clearly not."

Psyche slowly turned around and saw her older sister sitting on a Denny's parking lot bench. Anomie's presence could have been mistaken for a statue, unmoving, all except her eyes with an impossibly faint tilt of her head. Her ice-cold stare contained a dire frigidness that ached with an unrivaled enthusiasm to be shared with anyone who dared step near, while bearing a smile, impossible to trust, that alone could bestow vicious frostbite. But, even Psyche could not deny that it made her sister all the more beautiful. And it was only fitting that she wore jewelry that reflected her unmatched brilliance. She wore solitary pearl earrings, that glimmered with the last light that touched the bottom of the Atlantic from where they were harvested, at times she even found herself boasting, rare as it was, that a sailor died while harvesting them and that made them all the more her favorite. Not a single strand of platinum blonde hair was astray, bound tight in a sleek ponytail, as it flowed over her shoulder like sterling moonlight, revealing a white turtleneck tucked snugly underneath a gray town overcoat with a belt cinched around her waist. If Anomie wasn't family, then Psyche reasoned she would have been scared, at least more than one would normally be over a stunning yet terrifying older sister. For a while they only stared at each other, waiting for the other to break this silent reverie. There was no greater pain than trying to out win her sister in a staring contest, so Psyche broke their stare and gazed into the empty parking lot. "I'm hanging up now."

Anomie did the same. She rolled around her wrist in the cold, night air. "You choose Denny's. Denny's."

Psyche snapped back at Anomie's disgust. "It's a highly respectable establishment."

"This bench is disgusting and when we go home I'm going to burn my pants."

"Then stand." Psyche shouted a whisper.

Anomie's brow creased, vexed. "Absolutely not. This is the first time I've sat down all day."

"Oh, how was work?"

"No complaints. But I need better shoes."

Psyche leaned back on her heels, swaying comfortably. "I wonder how Chaotica does everything in high heels. I twisted my ankle last Easter, when I fell down the staircase after liturgy. I think I scared the group of altar boys behind me." Psyche vividly remembered the horrifying scene at St. Adam's Episcopal Church, for the affluent and wealthy, of the upper East Side of the Tiffany Hills district where they live. Though the Moiraio Family is not an overly religious family, they still frequent church for the major holidays and to keep up appearances as a normal, albeit rich, family in their community. When Psyche fell one altar boy screamed in shock, another valiantly tried to grab the back of her dress but hardly managed and pulled her hair instead, and another who was too busy scrolling through tiktok only noticed the aftermath of her tragic descent when he stepped on her back—while wearing cleats (church soccer practice is always after sunday school.)

"There are alot of things I wonder about Chaotica. Worry over, really. Her style of footwear is the least of them. She'll wear out the ground beneath her feet first before any of her precious Ruby Slippers." The sisters watched The Wizard of Oz this past Thanksgiving, in which Chaotica impudently took a stand against Dorothy from Kansas stating that if anyone dropped a house on her to steal her favorite shoes, then the thief no matter how desperate to be stylish must die. Long live evil and long live a gnarly witch, who's absolutely killing it in her ruby encrusted stiletto pumps.

"There are no more good witches left in Oz." Psyche said. "A tornado could send a house to fall on Chaotica and it still wouldn't be enough to get her to relinquish her favorite shoes." Psyche chuckled then looked down at her own shoes, simple running sneakers; sturdy, reliable and caked with dust from this night's job. She clicked her heels three times, perhaps her other sister could be summoned the same way as a wicked witch.

"Psyche." Anomie's voice was wry, her mouth drawn into a lopsided smile. "It's nice to hear you laugh again—" The assassin stopped, lifted her chin, and listened as a faint, but all too familiar, sound echoed through the crisp night. They were acquainted with this sound far before their mother sang to them their first lullaby. Police sirens grew louder until they could no longer be ignored. Anomie's smile turned sardonic, as sick amusement sharpened her features into a cloyingly mocking grin, anticipating her little sister's next move. "Tch, tch, tch. Company? Here? This late?" Anomie clucked her tongue. "Oh, Psyche. You know better than to be this sloppy. Well, I suppose it can't be helped. Stabbing an abusive ex husband's heart out—good for Rinah by the way—while high on rage is not necessarily the cleanest of work. It's hard to think of these important details, traces of DNA or whatever, in the heat of the moment. Hey, you think they'll give you a cell with a view? Prison yards are awfully bleak, no, you're better off without." Anomie bemoaned, "Believe it or not, but I trained a rat, incrementally rewarding it with rations of welches gummies, to steal a guard's keys to escape my prison cell. Where are you going?" Anomie looked over her shoulder as Psyche backed away from the imminently arriving police. "It was phenomenal."

"Of course I believe you, rats follow rats." Psyche snipped back at her sister.

Anomie's sharp laugh pierced the air. "Don't be like that. We're expecting company." Her sardonic smile never faded, amusement brewing, as a police cruiser raced down the street; screeching an abrupt turn, daring to topple over, and hurtling down the road while possibly popping at least one tire as it viciously jolted over the sidewalk curve—its trunk popped open. Psyche's adrenaline spiked quickly, eyes dilated, and blood rushed to her limbs. Ready to fight, ready to run. Either was fine by her. Psyche saved a woman's life and freed her from a world of crippling fear, which was more than the police could do to help–accepting Eliot's bribes and wrongfully acquitted him of all his criminal activity, not limited to domestic violence. Psyche knew she wasn't traceable, executing the perfect assassinations to keep herself and her clients safe. There was nothing left at Eliot's mansion for the police to pin the crime on her or even hunt her down this quickly. Unless she was set up and her client betrayed her. No, that was impossible and Psyche would not suspect her clients. Anomie called over her shoulder as Psyche turned to run. "You think our cells will be next to each other? Oh don't run, you'll wear yourself out. Greet them kindly as you do everyone, or don't. The police like surprises."

Mocking laughter followed behind Psyche as she dared to jump a low wired fence and escape into the adjacent parking lot of a Burlington Outlet (Psyche finally figured out what she wanted, she was in the mood to buy another juicy couture purse with—holy mary mother of god please guide her—vintage jeweled charms, for her beloved collection. Her most recent acquisition was a mummy sarcophagus charm with a detachable Cleopatra.) The cruiser's headlights blindingly struck Psyche, who had one leg already off the ground and half a mind already scouring the shelves for lipgloss bracelets, before any officers belonging to the New Bledel Police Department stormed out of the cruiser to handcuff her and read out her Miranda rights. The passenger seat window rolled down—and Fergie's Glamorous played, stunning Psyche as a humiliating realization crept in, slowly retracting her leg as a mixture of laughter mingled with famed lyrics, 'G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, we flying first class up in the sky, poppin champagne livin the life.' Psyche would have been more embarrassed if this song wasn't her jam (she refused to show a hint of happiness and even, with great effort, tap her foot) as every feature under her brows defiantly pinched into quiet rage and crossed her arms as she faced the culprit inside the police cruiser. Her other (menacing) older sister, Chaotica, who of course had to steal a police cruiser for a ride home instead of sensibly calling an uber.

A pretty head of bobbed, silky black hair peeked out of the window. Along with a devilish smile. "Hellooooooooo, did you think we were real cops? Oh! The trunk popped open. Can you please fix that for us, duckie?"

Psyche silently grunted frustration as she obligingly made her way to slam the trunk closed, threatening to perpetuate her sour mood, only to her surprise find two real New Bledel police officers hogtied with rope and gagged with expensive Versace scarves, struggling and squealing to free themselves from Chaotica's tyrannical reign. They make fun of her and now they want her to be their accomplice? Psyche's mood immediately lifted, recognizing one of the officers. A sweet smile graced her face, erasing all manner of prior sourness, and excitedly waved to the hogtied and gagged young, blonde officer. "Hi Jamie." Jamie's eyes softened, swallowed his last squeal into a manly cough out of a respect for his own dignity, and a part of him melted as she called him by his name—In a foolish error of judgment, Jamie fell in love with Psyche ever since the first moment Psyche came to bail Chaotica out from jail, which was a lot—before Psyche slammed the trunk closed on him.

Chaotica pouted as she turned around to the driver, "Nefaria, she didn't like my present. After I put so much thought and care into it…that's okay! I have another one for her at home."

Psyche excitedly ran to the other side of the police cruiser. "Nefaria! I'm getting married!"

Nefaria rolled down her window, purple manicured nails firmly guiding the steering wheel. Wavy black hair framed her cherub face as silver eyeshadow and rose tinted blush glimmered against her dark skin. "Girl, he is not the love of your life. Hit him with your car."

Psyche studied her until realizing she was being serious. Psyche then huffed and turned the other way. So much for sharing good news.

"Bye bestie!" Chaotica stood on her toes and waved as Nefaria turbulently drove away. Her bestie had a home curfew to beat. Chaotica turned towards her sisters as the sound of clicking heels resonated throughout the barely packed parking lot. "You called. I came." How she came, such as joyriding a stolen police cruiser, was irrelevant. "Then I heard my name. And laughter. Denny's parking lot is going to bear witness to another casualty tonight."

"Hello Chaotica." Chaotica, the middle sister. Anomie twirled her blonde hair between her finger tips. Twirling her hair isn't a habit of hers, she just doesn't want her hair touching the back of the bench. "Everyone is arriving late, I should tell you both to come a day early just so we can meet at midnight."

"It's better to arrive late than to arrive ugly." Chaotica twirled, showing off her new dress. The dress, a deep red, breathed like fire underneath the lamppost lights.

"Sorry, you should have taken your time then."

"You." Chaotica pointed her manicured finger at Anomie. "Right here, right now."

Anomie's smile flattened into a thin line, unamused. "We'll fight to the death at another time, thank you."

"I never said to the death."

"This is Denny's. Go big or go home."

Chaotica feigned dread. "Oh, so scary."

Anomie quirked up an eyebrow.

Chaotica's laughter came to an abrupt halt. "Ok, I get it!"

"Do you?"

"Staaaaahhhuuuup." Stop, Chaotica probably meant. It was hard to tell.

"What? What is that? I'm hearing gibberish. Use REAL words for once." Anomie said, deadpanned.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Don't tell me to don't tell you what I should or shouldn't tell you what to or not to do."

"Oh my god, you ASS."

"Just saying."

Chaotica screamed in frustration.

Anomie laughed silently.

Psyche looked confused, stepping further away from them. She chimed in, briefly. "I think I'm going to leave now. Bye."

"Not so fast." Anomie stood. Hands in her pocket, nonchalant. "We'll go home together."

Chaotica trailed nearer. Both sisters closing in on the youngest. Two foxes circling a hare. A hare with a broken leg.

Fear prickled down Psyche's spine. The shadows beneath her feet began to shift and grow beyond her own.

The smile on Chaotica's lips broadened into wild amusement. She tilted her head and strands of black hair fell out of place. Staring at the ground beneath Psyche's feet. "Psyche's shadows are coming out to play. It's so cute when she gets skittish. Isn't it, Ann?"

Psyche knew something wasn't right. Anomie and Chaotica weren't here just to say hello. They for the most part ignore her at home, so why would they go out of their way to visit her at Denny's?

Anomie stepped closer. Psyche's shadows grew larger. The outline of a beast began to unfurl on the concrete.

Anomie stopped, eyes narrowing. And so did the shadows. "Chaotica, would you stop it."

Chaotica whipped her arms in the air. "I'm not doing anything to her!"

"You're giving me a headache."

"Fine."

Chaotica crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks.

Anomie continued. "Mom wanted us to come get you."

"I can manage by myself. Thanks."

"I know you can." Anomie said, without losing a beat. "But you know how mom is, she's just worried for you. We all are. Though, it's not like you're going to run away."

Psyche gripped her fists into balls. Nails digging into her skin.

Anomie's stare did not waver. A shadow cast down on her face. "Right?"

Psyche breathed. The shadows beneath her began to recede. Her voice was soft, barely audible. "Right."

"Very good, now enough dawdling. We have to get home and prepare for tomorrow, baby sister is getting married."

Chapter Text

Three assassins onboard an airship spell trouble. No doubt. If their existence on said airship was known, then it would spark mass hysteria. Cries would be screamed. Chairs would be flung. Emergency parachutes would be deployed. The National Army would be dispatched. However, three assassins who also happen to be sisters that are forced to sit next to one another, by anything but their free will spell a word that does not currently exist in the dictionary, and nor should it for the sake of public safety. Fortunately, the untold knowledge that these three girls are anything but killers means that the deployment of parachutes and the national army are (indefinitely) delayed. Marvelous news for the other passengers.

Girls are a blessing and should invoke reverence. When put together with assassins, they should invoke fear. Anomie, Chaotica, and Psyche are much more, as told by their mother, 'You are Moiraio women. We are weapons we forged ourselves. No one, no man, can dull our blades without wishing to be cut down where he stands.'

And it is an unspoken truth that Moiraio women, no matter where they go, are always followed by trouble. They are usually the ones to begin it. It is a trouble that killed all the family's men, a trouble that swindled the youngest daughter out of seeking her own happily ever after, and a trouble that tempted the middle sister to commit murder.

Right now.

"I'm going to kill you." Chaotica hissed.

"Hush. I'm thinking." Anomie shushed her, deadpanned.

"Think faster."

Anomie was caught in utter contemplation, which earned the wrath of her younger sister, Chaotica.

"Ahhh." Chaotica groaned, leaning forward on the countertop. Exhausted. "You're taking so long to order, yet you always get the same thing. You might as well try something different for once. I'll even help you pick."

"Chaotica, your assistance as always is unsolicited and unnecessary. That being said, I've decided what I want."

"Oh really." Chaotica faked surprise.

"I'll have-"

"Gin and tonic." Both girls said simultaneously.

Chaotica turned to the bartender. "She'll have her lemon edges cut up in the drink too. Five slices. She doesn't like them perched on the rim."

Anomie turned to her annoyed. "You're not going to ask for a straw as well."

"Well, I wouldn't want to baby you. I have Psyche for that."

"What?" Psyche lifted her eyes from her book. She had no idea what Chaotica said to her, being fully immersed in her reading. They all looked at her, for a moment her breath was stolen. Her stomach growled and she remembered she was starving, having not eaten anything back at the diner. Murder makes a girl hungry. She shifted in her seat, pulling on the ends of her sleeves. "What are the dinner options?" She asked, sheepishly.

"Um," the bartender rummaged through the cupboards. "We have potato chips."

Psyche balked at the bartender. She wanted a steaming hot meal, something meaty lathered in gravy served with a side of waffle fries, and cheese. God, yes, cheese. Melting and gooey and creamy. How she craved poutine. But beggars could not be choosers. "I'll take it."

She reached.

He pulled back.

Her eyes twitched.

He wouldn't hand her the bag. She prayed she wouldn't have to rip it out of his hands. She didn't know what she was capable of when faced with desperation. And she wanted to spare anyone from the sight. "Chips are served alongside drinks."

So they want her to starve and get drunk. She felt as if she was going to faint.

"Um, I don't-"

Chaotica cut her off. "She'll have a Shirley temple. We don't need a tipsy bride."

Psyche kept her eyes downcast, blushing. Bride. To hear it said out loud made everything inside of her flutter. Giddy. Excited. Nervous. She wanted to throw up, but the good kind. She repeated the word again and again in her head. That's what she was, a bride. She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile that would otherwise hurt her cheeks. Tonight, she is a bride. Tomorrow, she will be a wife. The dam broke. Now, she couldn't help but smile. She wondered if he felt the same way. Illumi.

Saying his name, even in her head, made her stomach want to do somersaults and cartwheels. Okay, maybe she really is going to throw up. She buried her face in her book, trying to clear her mind and soothe her stomach just for tonight.

The bartender handed her a bag of chips alongside her shirley temple. Psyche tore open the bag the minute he did. Chips in one hand, book in the other. Multitasking. He blinked, not knowing what to make of it. Instead of gawking, he turned to Chaotica, "The same for you?"

Chaotica leaned forward once then back again. The bartender's eyes may have slipped down to the collar of her dress. Not may have, they did. He immediately whipped them back up, admonishing himself that he shouldn't stare at women's cleavage. He preoccupied himself by grabbing a cup below the counter, as if that was the reason his gaze lingered a little too low. Chaotica noticed that he did, but gave no indication of it.

"No, I'm thinking of something...something with a little more of a kick. And sweet."

"We have citrus drop martinis."

Chaotica leaned back and looked at the bartender. Eyes meeting.

The bartender blushed.

Psyche looked at Anomie who simply shrugged and sighed to herself, here we go again.

Chaotica began what Anomie despised the most. She regaled a tale. No one loves hearing Chaotica talk more than Chaotica herself. "I remember once, I was going to ski down the slope of Mount Drius, but I was so nervous that I downed a drink they were serving at the bar. I told them any drink, it doesn't matter, they asked how strong, and I said enough to make me forget I'm making a mistake. Oh, this was the hotel at the summit, but I can't remember the name.."

"Prince hotel." The bartender said without missing a beat. Leaning forward from behind the counter.

Chaotica clapped her hands together, eyes bright with amazement. "Yes, that's the one! You've heard of it?"

The boy smiled, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. "I work there during winter holiday. Also on bar duty."

"It really is a small world." She laughed lightly, giving off airs that she and him were old time friends. "And they served this lovely sugary drink. It was this beautiful shade of purple. Oh, it was divine. It had the cutest name.."

"Crystal violet cocktail! That was our specialty drink during the winter months. That's when the violet flowers are in full bloom at the base of the mountain and we harvest them."

"I'd be lost without you! Have I seen you there before? You look so familiar." Chaotica turned to her sisters, like she was trying to confirm her suspicion and that Anomie possibly held the answer. Anomie remained uninterested. "He looks so familiar, doesn't he? I could never forget those blue eyes." Chaotica said, a little softer. A tender smile playing on her lips. An almost whisper of her voice held the promise of something more. As if this wasn't the first time she spoke of him.

"I know the recipe by heart." He chirped, a little too quickly.

"Oh I wouldn't want you to go out of your way just for me." Chaotica tilted her head down, batting her lashes. Blushing like a bride.

Anomie rolled her eyes.

"Not at all, we don't have violets on hand, but I can whip up something similar that I'd think you'd like."

Chaotica cooed to Anomie and acted as if this was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for her. Anomie squirmed away from her touch. "Thank you, I'd love that."

When he began to turn away, determined to make an off the menu drink, she called out to him with a voice as sweet as crystal violets.

"Maybe you were the one that served me."

She winked.

A smile broke across his face.

A box of citruses broke his fall.

All eyes from the room turned towards the bar. Even Psyche (briefly) looked up from her book.

He got up, brushed off his apron and laughed away the fall. Pretending his face wasn't scorching red from the embarrassing mishap.

Anomie said in a low whisper that only Chaotica could hear. "You need to mind your own business."

"Oh?" Chaotica hummed, hand underneath her chin. A stray piece of hair fell out of place. "I think I made his night."

"It's not his night you should be worrying about." Anomie's eyes traveled towards Psyche.

Psyche tensed when she felt Chaotica's gaze drifted towards her and settled there like a weight she couldn't bear to shoulder. She nuzzled her face closer to her book, trying to block out her sisters.

Chaotica sighed and relaxed her shoulders. "You're right. Poor, poor, pooooor, little, Psyche. I don't know how she can bear being the sacrificial lamb."

Psyche's brow twitched. "Don't talk about me as if I'm not here."

"I'm well aware. Maybe now you'll be forced to listen to me. I am your older sister, I do give good advice."

"Debatable." Anomie said underneath her breath, cracking a wry smile.

Chaotica glared at her.

Anomie shot it right back.

Chaotica laughed. Then shook it off, swallowing down her last laugh. She had to be serious. She had to play the wise, older sister. No, she was the wise, older sister. She slugged down her drink when it was ready, damn it was good. "Whoo! Alright, I'm ready to impart wisdom. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Mom was practically dying for one of us to marry a Zoldyck. This is what she's been vying for, for years. I'll give it to mom for building an empire all by herself after daddy died, but she really is contradictory, one moment she says we are strong independent young women who don't need men to make us powerful and the next she's dressing us up and parading us like dolls in front of those boys hoping one of them would pick one of us. It's like we were being put on the shelf awaiting inspection by that mother of theirs. It was so degrading. Hoping we were beautiful enough, strong enough, or whatever the hell that bitch wanted for her son's. Acting as if they're oh so special when they sure as hell aren't."

"Don't call her that," Psyche lifted her head up from her book. "She's going to be my mother-in-law." And Illumi was special, to Psyche at least.

"She's going to be your problem. That's what she's going to be." Chaotica corrected, voice rising.

Deep down, Psyche thought Chaotica was jealous because Kikyo didn't pick her. She picked Psyche. It was a nasty, intrusive thought that entered her head, but she couldn't deny it was thrilling and exhilarating all at once knowing that someone saw something in her that made her precious. Invaluable. It was a feeling Psyche didn't get a lot of back at home, not that either of her sisters would understand. Their Mom played favorites, and Psyche knew where she ranked among the tiers.

"Well, when I see that fucker Milluki again, I swore I would cut off his-"

Anomie cut her off, "you're diverting just a bit."

Chaotica flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Am not. I simply promised Milluki that the next time if he'd ever try to flip it out on me I'd chop off his little-"

Anomie covered Psyche's ears. Psyche swiped at her sister's hands and yelled a whisper, "I'm not a child."

"You're right. I shouldn't censor words that you're old enough to handle. So, Chaotica said she was going to chop off his yahoo."

Psyche rolled her eyes.

"And his yahoo I would gladly chop and feed it to that beastly dog of theirs." Chatoica raised her glass and so did Anomie in solidarity. "It would barely make a good enough snack for it, but anyway. Anomie, you know me, I don't go back on my promises. What kind of girl would that make me, making promises I never intended to keep?"

"Mom always said you were disturbed."

"And Milluki knows it." Chaotica nodded to herself, smugly.

Psyche remembered the incident from years ago when they visited the Zoldyck Mansion. Mom reprimanded Chaotica for threatening Milluki and for potentially ruining any relations they had left with the Zoldycks. When Kikyo found out, she reprimanded him just as much and apologized for his inappropriate behavior.

It was one of the rare occasions they were actually allowed in, being that if you couldn't open the testing gate, you weren't allowed inside. It was mortifying when Pscyhe couldn't open the gate on her first visit, and instead had to wait outside with the gatekeeper and one of her family's maids while the rest of her family went inside without her. She was able to remedy that for her next visit. Her mom made certain of it.

"It's not Milluki I'm marrying."

Chaotica tsked. "Given your betrothed, he may have been an improvement. Barely a step above maybe even less, but an improvement."

"I want this. I want him."

"That's what mom is making you think you want."

Maybe, Psyche thought. She couldn't deny that this is what her mom has been ushering her towards, but it didn't mean she wanted it any less.

"If you're expecting pin head to be your knight in shining armor, riding on a white horse to carry you off into your enchanted fairytale castle." She tapped Psyche's book. Psyche pulled it away. "You don't need me to tell you just how many women and men that hired you who believed in that same fairytale and were wrong. Very wrong."

"Illumi is not like that."

"Then what is he like?"

Psyche's breath caught.

"Go on. Tell me."

Anomie piped up, tired of her own silence. "Chaotica, end this. I think she gets your point. Everyone on the airship already does."

Chaotica turned around and many people who were looking averted their stares just in the nick of time. Nosy people. "No, Anomie. I'm waiting for Psyche to tell me. If she can."

Psyche bit the inside of her cheek, clenching her book. Finally, she exhaled. "If i'm being honest. I don't. I don't know him well enough. I don't think he knows me well enough either."

"There you have it. Let's boycott this wedding."

"But I know that we understand each other." Psyche stared down into her book, barely reading the words as she recounted an old memory. One that was replayed time and time again in her head. A memory she dared not divulge to her sisters. It was too precious to be shared. "We're more alike than you know."

Chaotica forced down a laugh. "I doubt it. Hm, I wonder what Eros would think about all of this-"

Everyone turned towards the bar. An aura so strong that could not be seen, but felt, permeated throughout the entire airship. It was dark, but not deadly. It was the kind of heavy darkness that wept and mourned in solitude, a darkness that is all too familiar for grieving hearts. Some passengers were overcome with a sudden wave of sadness. Tears sprung out of their eyes without cause or reason.

"Don't say his name." Psyche's voice was low and distant as she forced out the words beneath her breath. She turned her head slowly, revealing eyes that bore an aching pain. A menacing aching pain she would more than gladly share.

Chaotica gulped.

Anomie's glass clinked against the countertop. The aura made her lemon slices turn rotten. My drink... She lamented to herself, sorrowfully. "There is no point in arguing over what has already been decided. And I agree with Psyche. Though I think they could have spared more time to become better acquainted with each other, they'll have all the time to fill in the details after they're married. I have my opinions about Illumi, but there is no better match between our two families. You're right, this is what mom has always wanted, what she has been pushing us towards, but remember this is what daddy wanted too. It wouldn't have played out any differently if he were still alive today."

"I can't believe you're seriously pulling the daddy card out on me. Of course I know he wanted this. Without daddy, the Zoldycks wouldn't want this marriage, let alone anything to do with us," Chaotica mumbled. A sadness of another kind brewed within the assassin.

Psyche was still saddened that her daddy wouldn't be the one giving her away at the wedding. He's been dead for almost two decades now, and even though Anomie and Chaotica hold more memories of him then she herself possesses, a part of her heart aches for the love of a father she once had. The memories she holds are simply the retellings recited by the ones around her. Second hand stories they pass like treasure to hungry little hands, feasting off and admiring every detail about him. They change a little every time they are spoken, but the essence is always the same. After being told so many stories of him, she knows all of them by heart, as if she herself had a place among those memories. As if she was there all along, listening to him talk and breathe and laugh right in front of her.

No matter how much she wishes that were true, her first memory of her daddy is standing in front of his grave. His name etched into the polished tombstone. Laying down flowers at their feet. Not knowing who he was or why her sisters were crying. Anomie and Chaotica wiped away their teary eyes and blessed his grave with their sorrow, while Psyche's eyes were stone cold dry. It felt like a betrayal. That was the most dreadful part of it. She couldn't mourn for him. She couldn't cry for him.

She never even had the chance to love him first.

"Can't believe I'm going to say this, but I may be the only sane one left in the family." Chaotica sighed. "Well, if Illumi gives you any trouble, I'll chop off his yahoo for you."

"Thank you, that's so sweet?"

"You're welcome. What are sisters for."
....

She prayed the night would never end. That the moon would never set and the sun would never rise. That the day would never awaken and the night would sleep 'till no end. She hoped her prayers would float beyond the clouds into the vast expanse of space and reach whichever God or Goddess or higher power that ruled benevolently among the planets and shooting stars would grant her that wish.

When his lips met her neck, leaving a trail of blazing heat in its wake she felt as if time, for a moment, had stopped. With every kiss, every touch upon her body, he left her hungry for something beyond themselves. He granted her a taste, a morsel of eternity and left her craving for more-entire.

She moaned as he slipped her onto his bed, with tender care, a place a servant like her was forbidden to be. How she basked in the glory of their rebellion. Her red hair fanned out around her head, looking like a saint painted in a chapel surrounded by a halo of fiery light. He kissed her from one cheek to the other. Soft and tentative. Salvation, for him, was not harboring in the steeples or pews of chapel, but here in this room, with the maiden laying on his bed. Savoring each touch, her fingers trailed over the cotton comforter, imagining the outline his body made in his bed. A dream she fancied from time to time. She imagined what outline both their bodies would make intertwined together. A dream she fancied quite more often.

He too had the same dream, but tonight was not a night for dreaming. But for living. She watched as he disrobed, and admired his toned muscles underneath his tunic. His tanned skin glimmered with the faintest whisper of gold underneath the firelight. Her heartbeat thrummed in her chest and she feared it would burst out. She held onto the collar of her chemise, tight. A poor attempt at taming her wild beating heart.

Heat scorched within her as he lifted up the hem of her chemise above her knees then her thighs. For a moment he hesitated and a shrill of panic coursed through her that he was having second doubts. That this rebellion of theirs was not their march to victory but to shame and humiliation. After all, they were of two different worlds. Each that despised the other.

"You do not want me?" Her voice was weak, barely a whisper. She sat up straight, fearing-dreading-that he would confirm that painful truth to her. She should have known better, she was foolish thinking he could love someone below his own station. A servant girl.

He held her hands within his own, gracing her with gentle kisses. She only felt tenderness and warmth of the man who loved her. Stations be damned. "I want all of you, if you will have me."

"Yes." Tears of joy laced her eyes.

Without any of their garments, it was hard to tell who belonged to which class. There was no master nor servant. No nobleman nor kitchen maid. There was only a man and a woman. And a fire that blazed bright from both of their hearts-together.

He got down on his knees, and offered grace for his salvation.

Psyche's face was fuming red. Suddenly self-conscious of the book she was reading. She peered over her shoulders and watched as people drank and talked the night away. How far away could someone read the contents of her book without her imploding with embarrassment?

Through the corners of her eyes she peered at her older sister, Anomie, who was sitting to her right. There was Chaotica, to her left, savoring her own drink and flirting with the bartender. Psyche began to curl inward, slowly covering the content of her book with her arm. Ever so slowly and inconspicuously.

"I'm not looking at your book." Anomie said without looking at her little sister while twirling a crystal glass of gin and tonic in her hand. Watching lemon pulp swirl in little whirlpools and appreciating the sound of ice clinking against the glass.

Psyche came to an abrupt stop. Her face reddened even more. Somehow she didn't believe that. Anomie has eyes everywhere and she even knew what she was thinking. Either it was inturiton, paranoia or witchcraft. "I don't believe you."

Anomie shrugged. "I don't even know what your book is about. A Captain? A kitchen maid? A forbidden romance? Secret rendezvous in oh so secluded barns?" For someone who claimed to know so little, she knew very specific details. A smile she couldn't help conceal began to crack. "That page must be giving you trouble because you've been lingering on it for so long." She accentuated long.

Fuck, she knew.

Chaotica peered over her shoulder. She blinked, astonished. "Wow, I didn't know there were so many ways to describe yahoos."

Fuck, now everyone knows!

Psyche's chair screeched.

"Hm?" Anomie hummed.

"Where are you going?" The smile on Chaotica's lips only grew wider.

Psyche averted her gaze not looking her sisters in the eyes.

Chaotica slowly laid a hand over her heart, feigning concern. She wore the look believably well, as well as a cat that pretended to ignore it's prey. Peaking through one eye when the mouse isn't looking. "Was it something I said?"

Psyche began grabbing her things-her book, bag of chips, purse, shirley temple drink, and whatever shattered remains were left of her dignity. "For the remainder of the flight, we don't know each other."

"Of course. Goodbye, Psyche." Anomie deadpanned. More interested in finishing off her drink.

Chaotica sipped her drink and waved goodbye, watching as Psyche scurried to a chair in the very corner of the room. The contents of her book facing away from any wandering eyes.
......

"Hello there."

She wanted to bite the hand off whoever thought interrupting her from The Captain and I: Waves of Our Salvation was a good idea. This was the notorious page 172, and she was only going to experience reading page 172 for the first time, once. This was a moment to be savored, not disturbed.

The one doing the disturbing happened to be a young man, dressed well and nice as expected of someone who could afford a luxury flight on an airship. But after reading her historical romance novel, she had a penchant for men with ruffled auburn hair peeking beneath tricorne hats, tunics with flowing sleeves like the waves of the ocean he sails across, and a hefty parcel of property with an abundance of crops both for land and-she scanned him once down and up-otherwise. He had none of those things.

That and she was engaged. She scorned herself for not wearing her engagement ring.

Tomorrow and forever on, her love is Illumi Zoldyck. But tonight, the love of her life was Captain Theodore Sturn. Any man who existed beyond the 18th century did not interest her.

He extended his hand out to hers. He wanted to shake her hand, and for that she would have to let go of her book, for him. How dare he presume she'd let go of her book for him? Who was this man, some nobody, but a speck of dust on Captain Sturn's ship?

She looked at this hand, almost distastefully.

"It's called a handshake. It's what people do when they greet each other." His hand was still extended.

What was the polite way to tell a man, whose presence is unrequested and unwanted, to go beat it?

Fortunately, Chaotica was watching.

"Hold my drink." She said, handing it to Anomie who did so without complaint. She sipped from the top. Raising her eyebrows in astonishment. Taking another generous sip.

It didn't take long for Chaotica to get the man to follow her. A few looks, batting of her lashes, and one hell of a cat walk toward the balcony had the man following her in no time. If someone was timing it, she would have broken her own record. Alas, this was no time to applaud herself as she lured him towards the balcony.

Romantic. Just the two of them. Alone. Secluded. Lack of security cameras.

It was perfect.

The man eyed every supple curve of her body. Finally bringing his gaze up to her. Chaotica swore that men were blind to everything but boobs and butts.

"You look ravishing-"

"Let's skip the small talk." Chaotica leaned back on the railing, letting the wind ruffle her hair. It was cool and brisk. "I don't want you talking to my sister."

The man scoffed to himself. "Is this why you brought me out here? Look, she approached me first."

"Why did you spike her drink then?"

The man paled.

"My sister normally isn't this oblivious, but when she sticks her nose inside a book, well...she tends to miss what's happening around her."

"You're crazy. I would never do that." Beads of sweat pearled on his skin.

"Oh?" Chaotica leaned forward and unleashed her aura. Nen swirled around her eyes, conjuring gold rimmed glasses with three sapphire crystalline lenses. One for each eye, and another covering her forehead. Tell me all your secrets. Viewfinder. She looked into his eyes, he looked into hers, and that was all she had to do to make him lay out his memories for her to watch. Scenes played out before her. She watched as he stalked towards her with a fake smile and nefarious deeds in mind. She watched as he extended his hand out to Psyche. She watched as a white pill dropped from his hand and into her drink. She watched as Psyche looked up at him, clearly annoyed, oblivious to the pill that quickly dissolved in her drink within seconds.

Chaotica wasn't a girl that watched in silence. She acts.

She swore that without her help, Psyche was going to get herself kidnapped, killed, or both.

Chaotica peered in further, unraveling his memories one by one. "That's a ghastly little drug you use. XG909, is it? Odorless. Tasteless. Undetectable unless specifically tested for. Exactly the kind sold off the black market." Chaotica laughed, mockingly. Sifting through his memories even further, one by one like a stack of playing cards. "You've done this before? And you were never caught. Until now. Sicko."

"Who the hell are you!? An undercover cop!?"

"Oh no. Nothing noble or heroic like that for me." A twisted giggle, a wicked smile. She pressed a finger to her red lips. "But given my line of work, I've met plenty. Good natured, but boring as hell."

Faster than the wind, she was right in front of him. There was no time for him to react as she gripped him by the neck; pinning him against the railing. His back arched over the city lights below him. He grabbed his hands over hers, struggling to breath. Holding unto her for dear life.

She reached into his pocket. Knowing which one contained the pills and whistled playfully. "These cost you a fortune. Shame, you won't be needing these anymore. Whoops." She tossed them over the railing. And watched them plummet until she couldn't see them anymore.

He struggled to scream as she constricted his larynx.

"What was that?" She smiled. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me. Speak clearly, please."

His face was turning a sickening shade of purple.

"Tongue tied? Not that I'm interested in what you have to say." She cocked her head to the side. "You must have known better than to mess with my sister. No one hurts my family. Let alone attempt. Understand?"

She didn't stop using Viewfinder. She wanted to know more.

Her eyes shot fire.

The man went cold.

"You're a human trafficker too? You just keep getting shadier by the minute, pal."

When his face was turning a shade of blue, she lightened her grip-just enough to let him suck in air to breathe. "I don't want you to die. Not yet."

Tears were pooling in his blood shot eyes.

"You know, I'm feeling a bit sentimental tonight. Maybe it's because my lil sis is getting married, talk of daddy, or because of too many drinks…. Or maybe it's seeing your lovely face." She snickered. "I don't care why, but I'm not done giving advice tonight. My lil sis, the one who is getting married, goes on and on and on about why needing a reason is so damn important in this business. In life. I admit I'm not like Anomie, who kills out of a sense of duty, of honor, of family. It's tiresome being around someone who is so self-righteous all the time. I'm not like Psyche either, who paints herself as the vengeful saint and protector of lost and helpless victims. It's pathetic, but I don't judge. No, that's not for me. I still have a reason, but I don't think it should be so narrow or pertain to one thing. Their reasons focus so intently on working, that they're leaving so little time at all for living. And the time they have off when they're not working, they're still thinking about work. It's messed up. Life is all about experiencing everything to the utmost potential. Life shouldn't center around working, but living. Truly living. You see, that is why I don't have the problems they do." She learned in close, enough for her breath to touch his lips. Enough where she could feel his fear. His fear for her. She breathed it all in. A wicked smile spread across her face in ecstasy. "I kill because I like it."

She wondered how long it would take for him to look like a speck of dust.

One push was all it took to send him falling off the balcony; She leaned over the railing, excitedly. Not once did her smile fade. Watching as he plummeted towards the city lights down below.

All the way down.

And what a long way down it was.

Chapter Text

(the first scene is a flashback. Here, Illumi is 18 and Psyche is 16.)

It was their last night staying with the Zoldycks. Possibly forever.

They were supposed to leave in the morning, but urgent news came up. Obviously that was a lie, but the Zoldycks didn’t need to know that. Madame Moiraio mustered her most tragical, regretful face, feigning sadness and remorse that they couldn’t stay longer. Kiyko and Silva returned her sorrowful sympathies, but perhaps deep down they knew the ruse too and acted out the role expected of them as hospitable hosts should when guests leave prematurely. Perhaps they were glad---relieved---of their fleeing into the night.

Only cowards flee in the dark. Only people who have something to be ashamed of run away in the dead of night. Psyche thought and wished their stay hadn’t twisted into the disaster it inevitably became.

She reasoned she would never show her face to any of them again. Especially Illumi. After what happened...god...she didn’t blame Illumi if he hated her. Even Psyche hated herself for what had happened.

While the Zoldyck butlers helped the Moiraio maids pack their belongings into their car like convicts hell bent on escaping the country, Psyche was suggested to change into a sweatsuit to wear on their way back to the estate. ‘Suggest’ was not a question. It was grey and dull and hideously ugly. Perhaps that was why they made her wear it. Her dirty and torn dress made her look like a convict. Her face blared red as she trudged to her family’s car, readying for their departure. She couldn’t get there fast enough, but her legs and feet and body felt like stone. Heavy and unwilling to move. It felt like her walk of shame. All eyes staring at her, eyes that poked and prodded and prickled at her humiliation. The headlights blinded her vision, as if she was put on display---on trial--- for all of them to judge her. The clash of sweltering heat in her head like burning coal and the cold brewing in her stomach like piercing icepicks made her feel sick. Her cheeks burned with such intensity she thought she would combust on sight before setting foot in the car.

Maybe being set ablaze would be a blessing. It would be less painful than enduring all their stares!

With a click, Grava, their head maid, opened the door for Psyche. Psyche couldn’t bear to look the woman in the eyes. Grava couldn’t either. The woman knew what she’d done.

Psyche scorned herself even more. Because she was foolish enough to let it happen.

As Psyche contemplated building a pyre of wood graciously provided by the Zoldyck’s forest all around them---something weighed down in the pocket of her sweatpants. A reminder that tugged at her memory.

She stopped. Hands still clenched on the door. One foot halfway off the ground. Her sisters already had their seat belts buckled. Anomie looked disinterested as always. Chaotica miserably failed to conceal her amusement from tonight’s events, turning her head away from her little sister and biting her bottom lip, trying hard to prevent herself from laughing. From Psyche seeing her laugh. At her. Perhaps she would laugh once they were off the estate or beyond the border of The Republic of Padokea all together given her mom’s deadly glares towards the middle child. Icy glares silenced any unwanted snickering.

Her mom yelled a whisper calling out Psyche’s name. Finally she reached out her hand beckoning Psyche to enter the car.

Psyche took a step back. Mortifying her mom.

As Psyche walked back towards the Zoldycks, her mom slumped back in her seat, possibly succumbing to a heart attack.

Surprised. Kikyo and Silva didn’t know what to expect. The sons stood together side by side in a perfect line. From oldest to youngest. With Illumi at the nearest end and Kalluto and Alluka at the farthest, holding hands. Kalluto’s head laid on Alluka’s shoulder. His heavy eyelids fluttered, barely keeping himself awake, as Alluka gently patted Kalluto’s head, humming a sweet lullaby. Killua was more than wide awake, fidgeting where he stood, and looking inquisitively at Psyche than back at his parents. His gaze lingered with mischievous curiosity that rivaled her own sister. Nosy.

Psyche stopped in front of Illumi. He was wearing a sweatsuit of equal greyness, dullness, and ugliness that matched her own. They stood out from the rest, like two convicts that escaped prison, but didn’t get far enough to scrap their jumpsuits in time. His hands were shoved into his pockets. Whatever emotion he was feeling, anger, annoyance, embarrassment, humiliation---if he felt anything at all---he didn’t show it. Not on his face nor eyes nor posture. He emitted an aura of refined indifference.

He was a master at faking it.

Psyche reached into her pocket and pulled out a balisong knife.

Illumi blinked.

Killua smiled. Excitement fizzled in the little boy.

Panic surged through the butlers as they pounced into action fearing for their young master’s life. Silva quelled their apprehension with a simple wave of his hand. Halting the butlers before tearing down Psyche where she stood. One stopped himself a hair’s length away from killing the young assassin. She didn’t flinch from the near death sentence.

Illumi looked down at the knife, the handle facing him.

Killua frowned. No one was dying tonight.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your knife. I didn’t want to leave without returning it.” Her eyes were only on him. This was their last time seeing each other and she didn’t want him to call her a thief as well undoubtedly worse things.

She was only met with silence as he extended his hand out, grabbing a hold of the knife. Their fingers brushed against each other.

A quick burst of static shock snapped at their fingers.

Psyche gasped.

“Oh,” Illumi’s expression finally waned into something other than indifference. “You shocked me.”

Zeno mumbled to his son, nudging his elbow. “They shocked all of us.” Silva took a small step away from his father, rolling his eyes.

Psyche sighed, lightly. “Ah, sorry.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Psyche mouthed softly. “Never do.”

Slowly, his lips pursed into a small smile as she repeated the same words he’d spoken to her before.

She couldn’t help but smile back too.

Zeno burst out laughing. “Sparks are flying tonight.” He turned to Kiyko while laughter still lingered in his voice. “Why is everyone so serious? We were all young once.” He particularly looked only at Kikyo when he said that. Psyche couldn't see the glare hidden beneath her visor, but she felt it. “So they ran away together, how could they enjoy themselves with butlers breathing down their necks? No harm came from it. They are back now and safe, that’s all that matters. In fact, it did them good. It is not a crime to be young. Let them live. Let them have fun.”

A blush spread across Psyche’s cheek. A vulgar shyness took hold of her voice. She couldn't speak. She couldn't think. She couldn’t do anything more than hold onto the knife, which Illumi was still holding.

Kikyo roared back at her father in law. “They’re too young to be having s---”

Illumi’s mask of indifference cracked, slightly. “Mother, we walked the town. That was all.” And Psyche’s voice broke free. “Nothing happened---Yes, your town is beautiful.” They both said in unison.

Chaotica murmured to Anomie, “they walked all the way to a hotel. I’m sure they had a room with a beautiful view.” Anomie didn’t look up from her phone and continued scrolling. For a moment she stopped scrolling, lifted her hand---and flicked Chaotica on her forehead.

Any embarrassment Illumi was trying to hide now displayed itself fully all over his face. His cheeks burned bright all the way to the tips of his ears. She wondered if he felt the same way she did. He could play a stone cold statue all he wanted, but deep down he was contemplating building a pyre of his very own. Stick of matches in one hand, tank of gasoline in the other.

Zeno couldn’t help but chuckle. “We’ve made them plead their case enough for tonight, don’t you think?”

Kikyo rubbed her temples together, a splitting headache was coming on. They always happened when her father in law started talking. She’d wondered why. “We’re done discussing this. Boys, say goodbye to the girls. And Psyche.”

Psyche stiffened when her name was called. Kiyko called her name like it was a spell, releasing her from her trance. Finally letting go of the knife. Illumi held it in his hands. It felt heavier without her.

“Your mother is waiting for you. You mustn’t worry her.”

Killua, Alluka and Kalluto chorused their goodbyes. As did Psyche. Milluki simply mouthed his goodbye silently, slowly inching further away from them. Out of sight. His eyes caught Chaotica’s---she winked. He trembled. Perhaps he was still afraid of Chaotica and the warning she issued about him needing to protect certain assets. The offer was still standing and Milluki carefully weighed his options considerably. Therefore, Milluki hid behind the protection of his parents. For his and his yahoo’s safety.

Illumi pushed the knife towards Psyche. She looked at him, confused.

“Practice those knife tricks I showed you. You’re good.”

“Mh.” She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from smiling too much.

The brisk night wind revived the flicker of hope in her heart. She couldn’t contain herself as she smiled all the way back to the car, she’d never been happier holding a balisong knife. She would treasure it. She would keep it safe, she would practice every knife trick in the book and woo him with her mastery until she could give it back to him. That was their promise. One promise hidden under the other.

Return the knife.

And

‘Come back to me.’

He wanted to see her again. Perhaps the night wasn’t a total disaster afterall.

As the Moiraio family drove away, but most importantly away from earshot. Kikyo sighed heavily. Letting every tense muscle that coiled in her body finally unwind. “What happened?” Killua raised an eyebrow, confused. His question was only met with a terse hush from his mother. “It’s off to bed with all you, come along.” She grabbed the little ones by their hands and escorted them back towards the estate.

Zeno slapped Illumi on the back. “Congratulations. You’ve become a man.”

Illumi exhaled. “Grandfather....nothing happened.”

Zeno walked along the barely lit trail. He stopped, staring earnestly up into the night sky, breathing in the crisp summer air. He looked back, his blue eyes meeting Illumi’s obsidian. “But something did.”

The hush of the wind wrapped around Illumi. Cool and comforting. He recalled exactly what had happened now and when her family arrived. And everything that happened in between. He sighed, what a whirlwind of events. His grandfather was right. Something did happen.

And Illumi wasn’t displeased about it.

He breathed, suppressing a laugh, and followed his family. The forest alone was his only witness to a small, but powerful act of defiance. It was the night he learned to savor disobedience.

FAWN9 News was eager to report on the sudden and tragic death of Harley Titem. The man who plunged to his death off a commercial airship. The fall was nothing short of 7 miles. Death was swift on impact as he plummeted towards the city below. A bus broke his fall. Luckily no one was on the bus when the collision happened. The driver would have died as well, but got off to check a flat tire that blew out while he was driving. That popped tire saved his life, as he was telling reporters, each shoving their microphones past the other. No one saw what happened. Harley’s death is currently a mystery, though curious minds could not help but craft sinister theories. Internet sleuths typed fervently at their keyboards at the new gruesome death to chew on. They were feasting off all the grisly details the police had to offer. Was he drunk? Was he on psychedelics? Suicide?

Murder?

The killer herself was more than happy to answer any questions that gnawed at the curious reporters.

“It was awful!” Chaotica cried and wrapped a blanket a policeman offered her, tighter around her shoulders. She whimpered directly into the nearest microphone, making sure the camera was filming her goodside. To anyone else that did not know her, her murderous tendencies, and the crime she just committed; her crying looked believable, but not overkill or else her mascara would smear down her eyes and cheeks. She was mourning a stranger's death, but that doesn’t mean she should look like a haggard mess. “We all heard screaming but by then it was too late. His screams, oh, they keep ringing in my head, I can’t get them out, I--” She hunched forward, crying feigned tears into her blanket. Hiding her face. Careful not to smear her makeup.

Oh she should have gone into acting! Assassination was wasted on her.

The reporter sniffled tears of their own, nodding sympathies.

Chaotica’s shoulders were shaking. The look of pure terror on that man’s face---oh it was so delicious! She better stop now before she really starts laughing uncontrollably in front of them.

Fortunately, a disapproving older sister ripped her from the ravenous horde of reporters. Nothing is more sorrowful than a crying face, well perhaps, if it were a beautiful one too. Breathtakingly tragic, even. The disproportionate amount of reporters that circled Chaotica like vultures disgustingly proved that. All they did was inflate her ego! “Clearly my sister is traumatized from tonight’s events. Excuse us.” Anomie grabbed Chaotica to prevent her from being interviewed by more news reporters. Making Chaotica trip over her own heels. Anomie shot any stranglers glares preventing them from being followed.

“Anomie, you’re pulling me too hard.”

Anomie pulled harder.

“Don’t go gentle on me now.” Chaotica snickered.

“This is why we can’t go to nice places!” Anomie barked, fuming. “You do something like this every single, DAMN time.”

“Hey, what was I gonna do? Let him stalk her the whole night. I saved Psyche’s ass---”

“If she ignored him, he would have left on his own accord.”

“Anomie. That never works.”

“I can take care of myself.” Psyche snapped.

“You’re welcome.” Chaotica continued. “If only you’ve seen that lecherous pervert’s thoughts. God, it made me want to ring his neck, I let him off easy pushing him off the deck.” She turned to Psyche for backup. She found none. Some sister. “If you saw all the wonderful things he planned to do to her, even you would have burnt him to a crisp! I did everyone on that airship a favor. Interviewing me was the very least they could do.”

“Shame they couldn’t throw you a parade as well.”

“Your sarcasm is one of my favorite things about you. But yes, a parade would be lovely. And you’ll stand right beside me, basking in the glory. Though I am the one they’re celebrating, we'll share it, of course. Along with our gremlin of a little sister. Where did she go?”

Anomie ignored her incessant rambling. “I know this is very hard for you, but did you even stop to THINK,” Anomie accentuated, “TO THINK about how many cameras there were tonight? How many people would recognize you?”

“Yes! I hope all the footage they shot of me makes it on FAWN9 news. For a few minutes at most. I couldn’t have given a better performance. That man may be gone, but he is not forgotten. My tears for poor Hariot---”

“Harley. His name was Harley.”

“Hariot, Harley, whatever, will not go unnoticed!”

“God forbid you play the supporting character…”

“HARLEY may have been the lead, but how can he lead the production when he is dead? Hm? I breathed life into his role!”

Psyche muttered under her breath, “You were also the one that took it away.”

“Coming from you, I figured you would be agreeing with me? And wrong. Yes, I pushed him, but gravity did the rest.”

“I wonder what his autopsy will say. He gravitied to death?” Anomie said, rolling her eyes.

“Anomie, careful when you roll your eyes, they might get stuck in the back of your head.”

“You have a flare for the dramatics, but you shouldn’t have shown yourself on camera.”

Chaotica felt like she was pierced through the heart.

“I phoned Mom. She’s sending a maid over to FAWN9 studios right now to get rid of any evidence they caught of you on camera.” Anomie gritted her teeth, her mom yelled at her to no end over the phone. She could have sworn she’s gone death in one ear.

Chaotica’s jaw dropped. All those tears she cried over Harry….WASTED! “How could you!?”

“Not every fucking night has to be made about you!”

A mischievous feline expression formed on Chaotica’s face. Anomie was cursing. She must be really mad. “Why shouldn’t it?”

Anomie cursed under her breath, contemptuously. “You just love being the center of attention.”

“Not everyone is made to play dreary wallflowers like yourself and besides I look so good tonight. I’m meant to be a star.” Chaotica whined. “Psyche, Psyche, tell her, tell her, Psyche.”

Psyche was as far away from both of them as possible.

Chaotica shook her head, forlorn. “Shame she doesn’t like you very much.”

Anomie pulled on Chaotica harder. “Yes, I would like it too if you were a ball of gas million miles away. But I've learned not to place hope in pipe dreams.”

“Stop being so mean to meeeee. I’M MEANT TO SHINE.”

“Maybe I'll stop when you stop exhausting me at every opportunity you get.” Chaotica could see the devil horns poking through Anomie’s head. She liked to imagine they were twisted horns that oozed blood red! She looks so cute when she’s mad. It tempted her to poke a little harder.

“Oh my dear, foolish Ann, now that is a pipe dream.” Chaotica was cackling wildly.

“Now because of you, we’re going to have to take the least savory form of public transportation.”

Chaotica’s face paled. “No....”

“That’s right.” A villainous smile spread on Anomie’s lips. Chaotica could have sworn she saw pointed teeth. My Oh My, how the tables have turned. “The subway.”

“RELEASE ME.”

“YOU’VE DONE THIS TO US.”

“PSYCHE, CONVINCE HER!”

Psyche happily flipped open her book, ignoring them both. She was re-reading page 172, just in case she might have missed something. It was a long ride.

“You’re no help...I HATE TAKING THE SUBWAY. IT’S FOUL.”

“If the subway doesn’t mind, why should you?”

“Har har.” Chaotica batted her eyelashes, performing her best puppy dog eyes look. “I’ll be good from now on. I promise! No more spontaneous killings!”

“You know, if you said it with just a little more conviction than I would have believed you.”

“But I’m telling the truth.”

Anomie whipped her head around and shot a deadly glare.

Chaotica gulped. “This time I am! HONEST!”

“You said that last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that again. Time, time, time, time, time, and again.” The oldest sister’s voice was rising and rising and rising. Finally soaring. Then came the hissing. It started off so faint, one wouldn’t have noticed it until it crescendoed. It whistled and blared sharply through their ears. A sound so piercing it could cut steel. Chaotica squeezed her eyes shut and clamped one hand over her ear, the other succumbing to deafening pain. Steam. Real, white, hot steam shot out of Anomie’s ears. “Tell me, Chaotica. What will you say next time? And the next? And after that too?”

Anomi’s grip on Chaotica began to turn warm. A startling realization that it was a heat that would kindle into something more. The beginning of a fire that would soon become ablaze. Little by little.

Chaotica clawed at Anomie’s hand. Panicking. “Anomie...Anomie. Let go of me.”

Anomie kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Hypnotized in a trance. The irises of her eyes faded to white and flared, mimicking the raging core of a candle’s flame. She kept mumbling to herself as the steam blared on. Warbling nonsensical nothings. Heat rose and the air around them became warped and hot.

Shit. Anomie was having another episode. Chaotica instantly regretted everything she did and said tonight. “LET GO OF ME.”

Steam rose underneath Anomie’s grip.

Something crackled.

Chaotica screamed.

Psyche dropped her book. Adrenaline spiked throughout Psyche’s blood as a dark shadow loomed across her face. She jumped in front of Anomie. Her voice was low and soft, “forgive me.”

She plunged forward, focusing her aura into her hands and releasing it with a powerful burst. Fists clenched tight. A punch to the face couldn’t be ignored. Anomie acted reflexively and released her grip of Chaotica’s wrist. The middle child jumped back and dropped to her knees, cradling her burned wrist towards her chest. Gasping for air. Shaking.

A gust of wind. A burst of aura. Darkness met fire as the two sisters collided. Shadow monsters jumped through Psyche’s own shadow, preventing direct contact, and latched themselves onto Anomie. Her skin scorched red, orange, yellow, and white as the flames consumed her---a girl made of fire. No matter how hot the fire inside her raged, it did not burn the monsters.

Psyche sprinted off the ground and grabbed Anomie’s purse. Pouring out its contents haphazardly. Her eyes widened when she saw the prescription bottle. It was full. Barely used. Anomie hasn’t been taking her medicine. Why?

Anomie roared as the shadow monster’s grip on her loosened. Psyche dropped down to one knee as the world beneath her spinned, disorienting her. She barely had enough energy left from her job.

Heels clicked against cement. Psyche looked up as Chaotica swiped the prescription bottle from her hands. She noticed the burn on her sister’s arm, while a bitter sadness loomed in her eyes.

Chaotica was guilty of many crimes, which she wasn’t ashamed of. It didn’t matter if she were to add another to that long list. Including vandalism.

The fire hydrant turned into a geyser as water burst towards her sister. A quick way of extinguishing all her flames. Psyche’s monsters receded into her shadow as Anomie’s flames fizzled out.

Chaotica tossed the bottle at Anomie. It hit her head and clattered off the concrete. Water dripped down Anomie’s hair and skin. Her irises darkened to their original color as realization gradually took hold of her, and so did shame. She kept her head low. Eyes glued to the cracks in the cement.

Chaotica clicked her tongue. “Take your damn medicine.”

Anomie drawled out the words, sluggishly. Eyes still glued to the cement. “I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

Chaoica opened her mouth, but the words weren’t there. For once, she chose silence. She stalked off away from them both, grumbling. Psyche quickly gathered all of Anomie’s belongings back into her purse. She kneeled down before her sister and held her hand. She titled the prescription bottle and poured out a single blue pill into her hand. Anomie just stared at it as Psyche uncapped a bottle of water.

“Please.” Psyche helped her hold the water battle. Helped her lift her hand towards her lips. Helped her take her medicine. This business---assassination---leaves no one unscathed.

Anomie titled back her head and struggled to swallow the pill. It was rough and coarse and felt like a rock grated down her throat. After swallowing the pill, she downed an entire bottle of water. Psyche cupped her hands beneath Anomie’s chin, preventing water from spilling onto her blouse. When she was finished her voice was raspy and weak. “I’m sorry.”

The assassin didn’t look back as she held onto her burnt wrist, tight. There were worse things than taking the subway.

Arriving home turned out to be more pleasant than the journey to it. Chaotica and Anomie completely ignored each other while riding the underground subway. They even sat on opposite sides of the car just to prove their distaste for the other. Upon returning home, both girls growled, Chaotica stormed off to their Mom’s room screaming that Anomie was a bitch and Anomie stayed outside the mansion wanting to let off some steam on the blacklist hunters that camped outside their home. Or as Chaotica liked to call them, their adoring fans. At least they were acknowledging each other’s existence. That had to count for something?

Grava, the head maid, opened the door for Psyche and bowed her head lightly. The young assassin turned around looking at Anomie who was about to take on at least a dozen black list hunters all by herself. The eldest assassin cracked her knuckles, expectantly.

Psyche wasn’t concerned, well, maybe for the black list hunters at least. Considering Anomie was already in one of her moods....they were probably all going to die. “Do you need any help?” She asked, knowing full well that her sister wanted to be alone. But by asking, she hoped she reminded her that she wasn’t alone. None of them were.

“No, thank you.” Anomie tossed her jacket on the ground and began to stretch her muscles. Bones cracking in a fluid symphony as she did. She was itching to punch someone. Hard. Thankfully, she had an array of faces to choose from. The uglier, the better. “So, which one of you is first? Get on with it.”

She was met with a rapture of cackles from the crowd that shook her quiet neighborhood. “This is it? That bounty will be ours!” Some laughed. Others were already sure of their victory and debating how they would split the reward money.

Anomie tapped her foot on the ground, hands on her hips. Annoyed. “You’ll never get that reward money if you keep yapping.”

A black list hunter stepped forward, he bore a sword that stretched high above his head, he dragged it across the pavement and swiped it across the grounds. Creating a swirling storm of debris. Gravel and dust landed on Anomie’s shoes. She raised her eyebrows. Intimidation doesn’t work on her. His wicked smile revealed a row of yellow teeth. Neither does his rupulsing face. “Why don’t you surrender now, so we don’t have to fight. Your bounty is worth more with you alive.”

Steam began to hiss out of Anomie’s ears. “Why don’t you shove that sword up your---”

Psyche shrugged and closed the door behind her. Anomie doesn’t need her help. But those black list hunters surely need God’s.

She handed her coat and purse to Grava and began to hear the painful cries of men who regretted every choice they made in life that led them to this very moment. She wondered how long it would last. Given Anomie’s mood, she’d probably stretch it out for as long as she wanted. Their remaining time alive relied entirely on her mercy.

What poor souls...Psyche prayed a silent prayer for them.

“Grava,” Psyche looked up at her warm gray eyes, where wrinkles began to peek in the corners. “May I have something to eat?”

Grava shook her head, forlorn. “You know how your mother feels about eating meals past midnight.”

Why does everyone want her to starve? Psyche batted her eyelashes, angelically. “This may be my last meal at home.”

Grava smiled a thin line. “Breakfast will be served before your departure tomorrow. We’ll send you off with a sublime meal you’ll remember us by.”

The smile on Psyche’s face faded into a frown. She wanted to eat now. She wanted to stuff her face with piping hot food now. She wanted to eat until she couldn’t look at food ever again. NOW.

She staggered to her room, feeling light headed. Damn, she hated working late into the night. It throws off her body's circadian rhythm; her body doesn't know when to wake and when to sleep anymore. She didn’t even know if she was nocturnal or diurnal at this point. She slept when she had time to sleep.

Psyche passed a portrait of her father and pressed her fingers to the glass frame among a sea of countless other fingerprints from years past. “Hello father, I’m home.” She said to the still painting. Her father, Roentgen, was a handsome man and an assassin like no other when he was alive. His hair was a light brown and curled at the ends, he barely had any grey streaks. Along with high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and a well defined nose. His eyes were blue, beautiful even. As her Mom said he had eyes that could captivate any woman, or man. She wondered how much her Mom missed him, considering she never remarried after he died. Occasionally, there were lovers sprawled around the mansion here and there, but nothing everlasting.

Though her Mom said Roentgen was lucky to die at home, surrounded by his family. He could have died out on a mission. Losing his life as well tarnishing the family’s reputation. It was a blessing that disease took his life and not the hand of another assassin.

She fancied the world ceased when he passed. Shuddered to a stop. An unimaginable stillness. And the world lost all its shine and color and became a boring mesh of gray. Psyche tried asking her Mom, respectfully of course. What did it feel like having the second half of your heart ripped out from you?

A slow death. Her Mom replied. Arsenic would have been quicker. Kinder. She saw it there. Love. Years after his passing, it still glittered in her eyes.

Psyche wanted a love like that. A love so deep and beautiful that transcends life into death. Though she’d prefer the love of her life to stay alive for as long as possible. Illumi was strong, powerful, and healthy. He’d most likely outlive her!

Silently laughing to herself, she had nothing to worry about.

Oh no! She clapped both of her cheeks and squeezed her eyes shut. She shouldn’t even be thinking about her betrothed dying! And right before the wedding on top of it! She mustn't think of such morbid thoughts.

Banishing thoughts about dead husbands and ill fated marriages, she gazed back into the portrait of her father, smiling. She knew he would be proud of her. Her journey to this very moment was nothing short of peril and danger and loss, but...she made it. She survived. She thought he would agree that she’s grown into a fine assassin.

Hurrying past the portrait, she entered her room. She was not going to let herself cry the night before her wedding!

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her hunger. Her knees buckled in front of her dresser, she looked over her shoulder just in case anyone was watching and opened the bottom drawer. She lifted the hatch, which revealed a secret compartment.

Hidden inside was heavenly salvation!

Granola bars, energy drinks, vegetable sticks, candy bars, bubblegum and a treasure trove of more nonperishable goods! She grabbed a granola bar, one covered with dark chocolate chunks and dried cherries drizzled with a thin layer of honey. She bit into the bar and moaned. Oh, Psyche was her own guardian angel. She would never let herself starve. Damn her Mom’s strict meal times.

If Psyche wanted to eat, then she was going to eat! Killing on an empty stomach was nonsense.

Someone knocked on her door. Psyche hurriedly shoved the rest of the bar in her mouth and tucked away all her snacks. No one must know of her precious hiding place. It was hers. Only hers.

Though she supposed tomorrow on, her hiding place, this room---none of it would be her’s anymore. Home would be someplace new.

Chaotica opened the door, with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. Hm, she may be Psyche’s new favorite sister. “Knock knock.”

You say ‘knock knock’ before you enter, but who cares! Food has arrived! “Gimme.” Psyche eagerly grabbed air and gestured where Chaotica should place the grilled cheese sandwiches. Crisp, golden bread with melted cheddar cheese oozing out in the middle. Her mouth was watering.

Chaotica noddled smugly to herself. Psyche likes people better when they bring her food.

Psyche bit into the sandwich and she swore she was going to cry. She noticed the burn on her sister’s arm was gone. Healed. She wiped the corner of her mouth and swallowed. “You good?”

Chaotica hummed, showing off her flawless ivory wrist. “Mom fixed it up for me. It’s so handy being an assassin with healing abilities. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Psyche nodded. The healer assassin was a contradiction. Without her mother, Psyche’s body would be carved with scars.

Chaotica’s eyes widened. “Hurry, turn on the TV!”

They turned to FAWN9 news, which was reporting the tragic death of the man Chaotica just killed. The assassin flipped onto Psyche’s bed, and held her head in her hands. Watching the screen in anticipation. Waiting patiently.

She groaned in agony when they cut her interview out of the news. “My debut….ruined!”

“It’s not so bad.” Psyche patted Chaotica on the head. Was she crying into her pillow?

Chaotica lifted her head up, the tears were real. “What the hell am I supposed to do with the rest of my life if I can’t make it on TV?!” She slammed her head back down into Psyche’s pillow.

“I think I saw the back of your dress when they cut between scenes. It was very pretty.”

Chaotica sniffled. “I do have a nice butt.”

“Uh huh.”

“You do know that I didn't kill him just to be on the news….the interview part was just extra.”

Psyche tried to nod her sympathies. “I know. You were just looking out for me.”

Chaotica shot up, “Anomie doesn’t get it. She thinks I can’t restrain myself. Please, I would have cut down his abdomen and painted the airship with his guts if I wanted to. He wasn’t going to leave you alone. He would have followed you out when the airship landed. Watching his memories tempted me to reconsider taking up a career in creating macabre art, but I kept cool. Calm. Poised. And threw the fucker off the ship.” She raised her arms in the air, exasperated. As if saying she was right all along.

“Tomato Tomahto.”

“What?”

Psyche chewed on her sandwich. She couldn’t give an answer if her mouth was stuffed.

“You think I’m wrong?”

Psyche mumbled a sound that didn’t resemble any known language. The answer was neither a yes or a no, but somewhere in the land of in-between.

Chaotica cocked her head, “You think Anomie is right?”

Psyche swallowed, carefully considering her answer. For the wrong answer could mean certain death.

Instead of waiting for death, she embraced it. Head on. She pretended to choke on her sandwich. “W--Water.” She coughed.

Chaotica narrowed her eyes. “If you can speak you’re not choking.” She lazily reached towards Psyche’s drawer, “Alright, alright. But you need to restock on Dr. Pepper. That’s my favorite.”

Psyche’s mouth dropped open. Her voice was soft. Weak. “You know about my secret stash?”

Chaotica retracted her hands, and raised her brows. She looked between Psyche and the not so secret drawer of snacks. A deer in headlights. “It was a secret?”

Something tapped at the window, along with a yelled whisper. Chaotica whipped towards and ripped open the curtains. She saw Anomie illuminated by the front porch lights and watched as she slammed a black list hunter to the ground, mouthing the words ‘join me.’

As fun as it would be to destroy stupid men and their stupid dreams, Chaotica just didn’t feel up to it. Nor did she forgive Anomie. Still, Anomie waved her hands, ‘come down,’ she appeared to say.

Anger fumed within the assassin. She opened the window and yelled out into the night, specifically to the black list hunters below. “GET WRECKED, LOSERS.” Then slammed the window shut and closed the curtains.

She slumped back onto the bed. Psyche sipped on her fruit juice.

“So,” Chaotica breathed, examining her nails. Her eyes flicked up meeting her younger sister’s. “What was it like?”

“No, no, no,” Psyche crossed her arms, realizing that her sister just came to her room to snoop. “I am not having this conversation with you. AGAIN.”

“But I brought food to you, my starving little sister, look at you, you’re withering away!”

“You think you can bribe me? With food?”

“Bribe you? Oh no,” Chaotica accentuated with a flourish. “I was just thinking that since you’re finally marrying him and all, there’s no need to put on airs on what really happened that night when we visited the Zoldycks years ago.” She held a hand over her heart, crossing her fingers. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

Psyche sighed. “You don’t have to worry about telling anyone because there is nothing to tell.”

Chaotica, not listening, leaned over and whispered. “Did you really have sex with him? I’m not judging.”

Psyche’s face burned scarlet red, startled. The juice box fell from her hands and she hastened to pick it up.

“That’s a yes!” Chaotica squealed.

“THAT’S A NO! Just because we were alone doesn’t mean we did anything funny!”

“Psyche, it’s okay. You can finally spill the tea.” Amusement was written all over Chaotica’s face.

“There’s no tea that needs to be spilled! Nothing happened, how many more times do I have to tell you!”

“Psyche.” Chaotica whisked her index finger in the air. Commanding the room. “You both evaded the Zoldyck butlers chaperoning you, escaped the estate, fled the mountain, cut off all communication, no one knew where the heck you both were for two WHOLE days. It was insane. Everyone was starting to think you both were kidnapped. Held for ransom. Or worse. It was so exciting. Then it turns out that all along y’all went to town and checked into a hotel room. A swanky one, might I add.”

“...It wasn’t swanky. It was modest.”

“Of course, 5 stars is humble. I’m sorry that you think I don't believe you Duckie, but all that evidence leaves a lot of room for the imagination to chew on.”

“Chew on something else and don’t call me Duckie. I hate that nickname.”

“But you’re our little, baby duck.” She reached over and pinched Psyche’s cheeks. Psyche swatted her hands away.

“Speaking of which, I have a present for youuuuuu.” Chaotica sang as she carried the box hidden in the hallway and into Psyche’s room. Plopping it right on top of Psyche’s lap. “I know you didn’t want to have a bachelorette party, but Anomie---” Chaotica hissed out the name as a pebble tapped against the window, “Won’t she just quick it. Anomie and I couldn’t resist throwing together a present for you. It’s not glamorous at all, but has its practical uses. Anomie and I were supposed to give it to you together, but her loss. It will surely come in handy in your newlywed life.”

Psyche’s heart warmed, smiling. “Thank you. Both of you.” She wondered what it was?

“It’s perfect because you both can use it.”

Psyche blinked.

She carefully sifted through the pink and purple confetti and pulled out a roll of condoms.

“Oh my god.”

“I know, not enough?”

Psyche looked into the rest of the box’s contents. Shocked. “WHAT IS THIS?”

“It’s a contraception kit.” Chaotica began pointing to each item. “Here we have condoms, both internal and external, try not to go through them all that quickly. Never reuse condoms, spare yourself the tears. Dental dams. Contraceptive gel. Lubricant, you don’t want to suffer. If you want him to suffer, don’t use it---”

Psyche shut the box, almost snapping off Chaotica’s finger in the process. Almost. She didn’t want to be thinking about having sex, it was too soon! “I’m not going to be having…” Her mouth stumbled over the word, “uh, in a while.”

“I know, but you should never leave it up to the guy to teach you sex ed. Plus, you don’t want a dozen Zoldyck babies running around, if any, before you’re ready.”

Psyche’s blush shattered her brain. Babies...

“Also, if he tries to force himself on you---”

“He won’t.”

Chaotica sighed. “Alright. Just don’t let him do anything to you unless you give your consent.”

“I know, or else you’ll chop off his yahoo.”

“That’s right!”

“This is a very generous gift, now get out.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the penis pasta yet. That’s a fun one.”

Psyche gawked. “The...I'm sorry, what.”

“I wanted to add penis straws to the kit too, but Anomie said that it wouldn’t be classy.”

How could Chaotica say that word aloud so easily? And why did so much penis related merchandise exist in the world? Wait a second. She narrowed her eyes and looked at the confetti. Really looked at it. She hid her face in her hands.

“It’s penis confetti! Cute, right.”

“I want to sleep now, please.” Psyche groaned, pushing Chaotica off her bed.

“But you really should read the pamphlet, safe sex is sexy.” Another pebble tapped against the window. Fury rose within her. “I’ve had it! I’m sorry Psyche, but you’re going to have to read that pamphlet by yourself.” Chaotica roared and stormed out of the mansion. The night air chilled her skin, she wrapped her robe around her, tighter.

The yard looked like a battlefield. It wasn’t a fight---but a slaughter.

A devilish smile tugged at her lips. Maybe she should have joined in on the fun?

She stepped around the mounds of ashes that piled in heaps on the yard and walked towards her sister. Anomie kept her hands in her pockets, standing in front of the gardener’s shed.

“I gave Psyche our present without you.”

Anomie blinked. “I thought we were going to give it to her together.”

“Too bad you missed it. And she loved it.” She lied about the latter, but Anomie didn’t need to know that.

“I wonder how I’ll ever cope not being able to see her reaction. Such a pity.”

“Hmph. I do not miss your sarcasm.” Chaotica regretted not recording it.

“Speaking of presents.” Anomie glanced towards the shed.

Chaotica crossed her arms, and huffed into the night air. “Well.”

Anomie tilted her head, opened the shed and gestured for Chaotica to enter.

Chaotica clicked her tongue. “I’m not in the mood for surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

Reluctantly, Chaotica walked into the shed. She held her hands over her mouth.

And was mesmerized.

It was a black list hunter---the leader of his group of thugs. He was gagged and tied to a chair. His eyes practically popped from his head as the assassins circled around him like hungry vultures. Beside him was a table of knives. Chaotica trailed her fingers over the blades with care, lovingly. Wondering which one she should pick. Her sweet friends.

“I’m sorry, Chaotica.” Anomie breathed. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. I shouldn’t even allow myself to enter those states. I hate myself when I do. I know I need to take my medicine and I try to…”

Chaotica fiddled with a knife. “You don’t need to explain. I should apologize too. I shouldn’t have provoked you tonight, I already saw you were tired, but ignored it. I know I bother you alot…”

“You don’t bother me.” Anomie blinked. “I love having you around me.”

“REALLY? You’re not just saying that because I'm holding a knife?”

Anomie held Chaotica’s hand around her own. Fingers intertwined around the knife. “I love you even better for it.”

Chaotica’s mouth quivered as tears formed in her eyes. “Thank you for being my best friend. I didn’t mean to call you a bitch.”

Anomie tilted her back and laughed. “But, I am one. I should be the one thanking you for putting up with me.”

“OH! I almost forgot, I was researching medicinal plants that I think may help alleviate your symptoms without making you feel so groggy like your current medicine does.”

Anomie smiled, “I’d like that.”

As the sisters hugged, the black list hunter attempted to free himself, but to no avail. He reasoned that he wasn’t gagged and restrained in this shed for the sole purpose of being their captive audience ordered to aw or clap on command. Witness to their reunion. How it sickened him. By now, he should have been out of Mimbo Republic, with the reward money and both of their heads dangling off the trunk of his car. He snarled at the two assassins, consumed with rage.

“Uh oh, someone’s cranky.” Chaotica mused, drifting her knife towards the hunter.

Anomie’s eyes narrowed. The man felt something sinister brewing in the air around them. “One of his colleagues mentioned employers. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to inquire any further before he died.” She said, brushing ashes off her blouse. “I want names.”

Chaotica looked at the man and waved her hand in front of the table of weapons. “Any special requests?”

He saw the devil within her. And screamed long into the night.

Psyche laid on top of her bed and stared up at the ceiling, setting her book aside. Watching the painted stars illuminate her room with a faint glow of gold light. She flipped onto her side and looked at the balisong knife on her dresser. She borrowed it from Illumi all those years ago, and she was finally going to return it.

She may have purposely held onto it longer than she planned.

He might as purposely let her.

She curled up, pulling her blankets tighter around her. Shielding her from the dark. Heart thrumming wildly in her chest.

Tears dripped down her eyes, soaking into her blanket. She was taken aback by her surprise. These weren’t tears of broken dreams or fractured hearts.

But of joy.

Immense, uncontainable joy. Tears that were blessed with the promise of a new beginning.

After all the pain and loss and unbearable suffering she endured...good things were coming. Finally, she was done waiting.

Chapter Text

WHERE SHADOWS TOUCH FANFIC TRAILER!!!! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-kQY-dCl0k

He wasn’t here.

Psyche, shaken and trembling, stormed through the hallways of the mansion. Dress billowing behind her back against the night wind. Night shrieking. Terror looming. Intruding upon rooms that never ceased being empty and cold. Slamming open doors and calling out his name. Chanting his name alone like a solemn requiem. Her breath hitched and her eyes darted from one door to the next. Looking onward. Looking for him. More doors began appearing before her. Infinite. Neverending.

“Psyche.”

She whipped her head around as her heart skipped a beat. He called her name. Her feet moved before she could command them to. “Eros,” whispering his name. A faint smile graced her lips. “Eros, where are you? I’m here!”

She ran through the halls. Faster. Fueled with invigoration. She heard the echoes of her name spill through the night air. He was calling out to her, guiding her to him. He was trying to reach her as she was trying to reach him. His voice grew louder. She was getting close.

He was calling her---calling her home.

“Eros, tell me where you are! They’re gone. They’re all gone.” Her breath hitched as she choked down a laugh. Blood dripped down her hands. Staining her white dress blotches of crimson. “I did everything you told me to do. We can leave. We don’t have to live this life anymore. We can finally leave.”

“Psyche.”

This door. He was behind this door. She heard him call her name. Loud and clear. She stood in front of the portal. Heart pounding. Faith renewed. She was only one step away. She turned the knob.

It was locked.

Her pulse quickened as she turned the knob again. Frustration growing. Hopelessly waiting for a different outcome. Hopelessly waiting for it to unlock itself. It didn’t, yet the disappointment stung no less. “No, no, no.” Muttering to herself. Why wouldn’t it open? Why was it locked? Why wouldn’t he open it for her? “Eros. It’s me.” Her voice quivered as fear slivered through her veins. “Eros, open the door. It’s only me. Eros, for the love of God, it’s me!”

She sobbed, banging her hands against the door. Leaving an erratic pattern of red handprints on it. A mosaic of madness. “Please, open the door. Please. It’s me. Don’t be scared---”

She clamped her hands against her mouth. Tight. Stopping herself from spewing those words. Did she really say that...no..that wasn’t the right question to ask. Was he really scared...of her?

She sank to the floor, crying and shaking her head. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t be. “I haven’t changed. I’m still me.” She cried, noticing her tears mixed with their blood. Who’s blood? She didn’t even remember. Her hands were always bloody. “I’m not….I’m not…” A monster. A killer. Death. Her voice broke. “I’m still me.”

“Psyche.”

She grabbed a candelabra off from a side table and lifted it over her head. She wasn’t going to give into despair. Not yet.

And crashed it down on top of the door knob.

The impact pierced her ears as the door knob skidded across the marble floor. She huffed, dropping the candelabra and slowly pushing open the door. “Eros?”

Darkness. She was met only by darkness and emptiness.

She bolted out of the room.

He could be anywhere.

One after another. Disappointment drenched her soul as she opened portals leading to more desolate rooms. Screaming his name. No longer masking her desperation.

He could be nowhere.

She ran. Faster. Leaving a trail of distress behind her. A door fell from the ceiling, stopping her where she stood. She crashed to the floor, before the door could do the same to her. With a loud thud another door dropped beside her. Then a thunderous avalanche of doors plunged towards and shook the marble floor. Surrounding her. Claiming her. Suffocating her.

Her voice was lost among the storm of doors. Booming. Deafening.

Where is he? Where has he gone?

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gripped her hands into fists around her raven hair. She couldn’t lose him. He wouldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t abandon her. He said he wouldn’t. It was always him and her. Together till the end.

‘Us over them.’ His voice echoed in her ears. It was his vow. His pledge to her. And she believed those words, holding steadfast onto them---to him.

But did he?

He let her go. He abandoned her. He left to live the rest of his life without her.

Now, she was wailing.

Without him, her hands would always be empty---she didn’t know how to live with that pain.

She didn’t know how to live anymore. A part of her no longer wanted to.

“EROS!” Psyche screamed, twisting in her bed. Sweat drenched skin sticking to her sheets. Nightmares consuming her whole.

Anomie held onto her sister, pleading with her to awaken. Chaotica on the other side.

“Psyche,” Anomie cooed her little sister’s name. Worry creasing her brow. She nudged her sister, gently trying to prod her awake.

Psyche’s eyes remained squeezed shut. Her nightmares held on just as tight, showing no sign of letting her go.

A wave of sorrow passed over Chaotica’s sapphire eyes, “This is unbearable…”

“I know, she’s suffering.” Anomie held on to her sister, waiting for her to awaken. She was going to be here when she awakened. She will not be alone after her nightmare. She’ll have her sisters by her side. Psyche squeezed Anomie’s hand. I’m here, she thought.

“Ummmm,” Chaotica swallowed, “I meant, we’re going to be late. If we don’t leave within the hour we’ll be lucky to make it to the Zoldcyks by nightfall.”

Anomie narrowed her eyes. “Very considerate of you, Chaotica. We wouldn’t want to make the Zoldcyks wait.”

“Ok, ha, no. I’m not worried about what they think, it’s about Mom wreaking havoc downstairs! DO YOU HEAR THAT WOMAN? SHE’S INCITING WAR.” Chaotica rubbed her temples as she heard her Mom’s voice travel---boom---through the walls. Screaming last minute orders, triple checking the luggage, bursting eardrums. Their Mom was acting as if it was her own wedding they were going to be late for. Ugh. “God, Mom is a ticking time bomb that only has one volume and it’s loud loud LOUD. Psyche is going to wake up soon. For all our sakes, please. Nightmares don’t stop her. She always comes through.” She grabbed a hold of Psyche’s shoulders and shook her. “FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD. WAKE UP, PSYCHE. SAVE US.”

“Pull yourself together.” Anomie slapped Chaotica’s hands, releasing Psyche from her sister’s hysteria.

“You’re right.” Chaotica breathed. “We need something stronger. OOOHHHH,” She clapped her hands together and grabbed the book, The Captain and I: Waves of Our Salvation, off Psyche’s nightstand. She thumbed through the pages of the romance novel quickly over her little sister’s face, creating a faint breeze. “Feel the ocean wind. Immerse yourself in the sea. Smell Captain Theodore Sturn’s abs.”

Anomie grabbed the book out of Chaotica’s hands. “You annoy her in wake, and now sleep. Won’t you just quit it?”

“Nope.” Chaotica stuck her tongue out. Impishly. And grabbed back the book. “If she’s not going to wake up, then I’m going to catch up on some light reading.” She flipped through the pages, curiously. “Where’s the smut?”

“You could read for, I don't know, plot? Character development? Historical intrigue?”

“That’s all filler.” Suddenly, Chaotica’s eyes lit up and she squealed.

Anomie sighed and guessed Chaotica found what she was looking for. She grabbed the book back from her sister, and was met with a miserable sounding whine.

“Heyyyyyy.”

“Psyche now. SMUT LATER.”

“That’s boring.” Chaotica deadpanned.

“You’re her older sister, NOW ACT LIKE IT.”

Chaotica scratched her armpit. “Nah, don’t wanna.”

“What happened last night? You were going on and on about bestowing her your wise sage wisdom. This is your chance to put it all into application. Right. Now.”

“Yeaaaaah, that was more of a one time thing. I’m more of a, how would I put it, once is enough, type of person. If you weren’t listening the first time then too damn bad, y’know.”

“You literally say things on repeat.”
“Shut up, sweetie. I mean, you’re much better at bestowing sisterly wisdom than I am. Why should I take away the thing you’re so good at? It’s like it was your destiny to hit us with a cold smack of reality and smother our hopes and dreams. You are good at being the eldest. Too good. I can’t compete! Plus, with Psyche gone, I'm going to be the baby of the family again.” Chaotica lulled and leaned back on the bed and sighed peacefully. “Life is good.”

Anomie’s eyes twitched. “That makes no sense---and it doesn’t work that way.”

“Hush now.” Chaotica shushed Anomie. “The baby is napping---OH, can you grab me a coke from her drawer?”

“Since when does Psyche let you touch her secret snack drawer?”

“Since always.” Chaotica lied with ease.

“I smell a pretty little liar.”

“Thank you. I am pretty. And excuse you. A liar I am not!” Chaotica crossed her fingers, a trademark for liars. “We are this close, her and I. You wouldn’t understand. There’s an inseparable bond between us babies of the family.”

Anomie burst out laughing.

Chaotica began laughing too.

“I’m not grabbing you a coke.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Anomie wiped tears from her eyes. Laughter subsided, “anyway, Psyche is very resilient. However, I’m saying this sparingly. Eros has been dead for years. Let that sink in. No one has been hurt more from his death than Psyche. The pain---her wound---hasn’t healed.” Anomie watched as tears pooled around Psyche’s closed eyes. Dreams could breathe our greatest pleasures to life, as well as our worst pains. Magnify them too. The question as to why our own minds betray us and cause such intense torture baffled her.

“Well, killing your own twin brother can do that much damage to a person.”

“And then some.”

“I don't understand what she’s so troubled over.” Chaotica raised an eyebrow. “She should be relieved that Eros is dead. If Psyche wasn’t going to kill him, mom was. I mean, after what he did, he got what was coming his way. Eros was never like us. Not to mention he was insanely manipulative. All that time when Mom thought she finally got through to Eros,” Chaotica scoffed a mocking laugh and pointed to Psyche. ”He couldn’t do shit. He made her kill people for him knowing it was already hard for her. His targets became her targets. Inconsiderate coward couldn’t even kill by himself.”

“He never made her do anything.”

“Right, my mistake. He doesn’t make people do things for him, they just do things for him. Everything just falls into his lap.”

“You’re talking about him as if he’s still alive.”

“It feels like it.”

“Chaotica.”

“What? It’s the truth.” Chaotica’s eyes darkened. “Memories are all we have left of some people. Days, weeks, months, or even years can pass and we still feel as if it was only yesterday they were right beside us. Memories are a shot of raw emotion and a one way emotional trip to the past. They leave you drunk during the night and hungover in the morning. Even now that he’s gone, look at what he’s doing to her. He still has a hold over her. He’s still tormenting her. That’s no brother of ours. She needs to understand that.”

“I agree with what you’re saying, but we are not at the mercy of our emotions. Which many are capable of controlling with enough discipline, at least. The past has no purpose in the present if it only gets in the way and hinders our actions now. What has happened has already happened, nothing can be done over it. There is no use mulling over the details. Fine, be sad, get drunk, and hung over in the morning. But everyday can’t be like that. You need to move on and live your life. Psyche is doing that. She is making progress.”

Chaotica hummed with skepticism.

Anomie leaned back and sighed. “She is. Progress isn’t easy. It’s slow and some days messy as fuck. But she’s moving on in her life. I do believe time will help her heal and her engagement with Illumi has helped tremendously. It’s taken her mind off things, towards more pleasant ones. She’s planning a future. Something she didn’t see much of months ago. She’ll pull through, that I'm not too worried about. But there is the matter of that.” Anomie tilted her head towards the rest of the room.

“Shit.”

It was as if a tornado swept through the room and left nothing as it once was. Most objects were misplaced. Others toppled over. Some lay broken. A few ripped apart. The bookcase was nothing short of a catastrophe and the sight alone would make Psyche succumb to an instantaneous fainting spell. It wasn’t so much the room that sent both older sisters quiet, but the one responsible for the chaos.

Not one, but thing.

A black shadow slithered underneath the door and crept its way back into the room. Perhaps it finished ransacking the rest of the mansion hoping to find something, or someone. Perhaps it was what their Mom was yelling over.

Chaotica clicked her tongue, undisturbed by the troublesome shadow. “That again? I thought we got rid of it.”

“We were able to keep it dormant for a while.”

“Hell, it’s wide awake now.”

Chaotica jumped back with a startle when the shadow ripped the blanket from underneath her and sent her plummeting off the bed. Anomie barely flinched. Get rid of me? Get off my bed. As if the shadow spewed back in response.

“She did that on purpose!” Chaotica screeched, looking back at Psyche who was still trapped within her own nightmare.

Anomie sighed. “You know as well as I that Psyche wouldn't order it to do such a thing...maybe.” This shadow monster was different from Psyche’s other ones. It had a mind of its own. She narrowed her eyes further, it doesn't matter if Psyche gave that shadow any orders at all. It does what it wants when it wants. It was unpredictable and erratic in nature. In short, it was a problem. A problem that no one, let alone Psyche, could control.

This peculiar shadow first appeared after Eros died. And it hadn’t shown any signs of leaving ever since.

Chaotica could have sworn to have heard a low, hushed chuckle come from that wretched creature. “It snickered at me!

Anomie hummed. “You’re hearing things.”

Chaotica didn’t like that answer. “I am NOT crazy.”

Anomie gave her a look. Cracking a wry smile. “I know you’re trying to convince yourself otherwise but---”

Chaotica flung her hands in the air, exasperated. “The only one whose bat shit crazy here,” Chaotica lowered her voice into a whisper and pointed to Psyche, hand covering the side of her mouth where the shadow lurked, as if blocking it from hearing her, “is her.”

They both looked at the shadow, who cocked it’s head to one side and blinked.

Anomie leaned in, covered the side of her mouth just as Chaotica did, and whispered. “You’re right. It did it on purpose because you’re acting like a whiny brat. You first insult Eros, then it. Of course it’s pissed off.”

Chaotica didn’t like that answer either. “Hey, I’m just telling the truth, it’s not my problem no one likes to hear it. And I’m a whiny brat? ME?”

“It’s good that you’re able to admit it. That’s the first step to recovery.”

“I’m not whining!” Chaotica whined. “God, how is she sleeping through all of this?”

Anomie blinked and shook her head at Psyche. “I’m sorry that this is happening right in front of you.”

“Nuh-huh.” Chaotica lifted her brows. “She can’t hear you.”

“What do you know what she can or can’t hear, hm? Research suggests that even in our unconscious state, our minds take in stimuli from our surrounding environment and filter all that incoming information. Adjusting it accordingly and processing just enough not to disturb us from rest.”

“So what, she can hear everything?” Chaoitca looked at Psyche then back at Anomie, skeptically.

Psyche cried out.

Anomie narrowed her eyes, scornfully. “Look at what you’re doing to her. Is this the new you? Bothering your baby sister in her time of need?”

Chaotica gasped. “Who's the one that whined about wearing wet socks during the entire ride on our way home from the beach?”

“I don’t recall that.”

“It was you.”

Anomie turned her head towards Psyche. “Hm, I wasn’t there.”

“Don’t look at her, look at me. She doesn't know.”

“I can’t tell you the answer you want to hear because I wasn’t there.”

Chaotica was fuming in silence. “You sat shotgun. You rolled down the window, hair flying everywhere. I kept telling you to take off your socks because I wanted to turn on the AC.”

Anomie paused, then spoke. “No, that could have been anyone. Also, do you know just how filthy the carpet of your car is? People will wish they weren’t there.”

“So you admit it---”

The black shadow jumped between the two bickering sisters and draped itself over Psyche like a mourning veil.

Psyche opened her eyes, slowly.

“Great job, your whining woke her up. Good morning, Psyche.”

Psyche’s eyes flickered open, “Eros?”

Anomie’s eyes softened with pity. “No. Eros isn’t here. Remember?”

A glassy haze faded away from Psyche’s eyes as she glanced at her sisters then at her room. The chaotic aftermath of a shadow gone wild. But her eyes stayed glued on the curtain that hid the door to Eros’s room. The door that directly joined their rooms together. After he died, she couldn’t bear to look at it. Everyday, a part of Psyche hoped she would hear knocking coming from the other side. Against the better judgement of her mind, sometimes she lay in her bed, quiet as a church mouse and listened. Waiting and hoping.

It’s been dead silent for years.

The haze faded and her eyes glimmered with light. The nightmare was broken and so was her room. It was dreadful looking. And her bookshelf with all her novels....Her voice was soft, barely having the strength to speak. “My babies.”

“We’ll take care of your room.”

“We will?” Chaotica’s jaw dropped, and then she shut it when Anomie shot her a menacing look. “We will. Of course, we will.”

“Thanks---”

Chaotica swung her arms around Psyche. “YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED TODAY, AHHHHHHHHHHH. OUR LITTLE DUCKIE GREW UP SO FAST. HOW ABOUT MORNING MARGARITAS? I’LL RING UP THE MAIDS!”

Anomie smiled. “Congratulations. It’ll be a day to remember. Cherish it.” Then she whipped her head towards Chaotica, scowling. “No morning margaritas.”

“Oh, um.” Psyche rubbed her head, and lightly pushed Chaotica off her. “Can I have a moment to myself, please?”

The sisters got up from her bed and left.

Psyche felt something hidden in the palm of her hand. When she opened her palm, there was a gold chain necklace. Her heart stopped.

This belonged to Eros.

Anomie turned around. “And Psyche.”

Psyche clenched her hand around the gold chain and hid it underneath her blanket. “Hm?”

“Mom needs to speak with you.”

Psyche nodded slowly.

Even after her sisters left she still held onto the chain. She still held onto the past.

There didn’t come a day when no one wanted a Moiraio woman dead.

Outside the mansion there was a horde of blacklist hunters. A horde that made last night's crowd look like a speck of dust in comparison. The burly men piled up in front of the gate, weapons menacingly gleaming under the frightful rays of the morning sun. Red light falling from the sky like blood. Impatience was growing as men were waiting for orders to begin their siege, plunder the mansion, and drag the women out from their home by the roots of their hair. To pass the time, men were betting on who would land the killing blow upon each assassin’s head. To pass the time even more, men were warbling revolting fantasies on what they were going to do to the women before landing the killing blows.

Revolting laughter erupted around the gate.

“This won’t do at all.” A voice broke through the twisted cacophony of beasts. “You’re all in my way.”

A hundred monstrous eyes turned towards the voice.

The man, dressed finely in a suit, tugged his black leather gloves off his hands. His fingers were traced with lines, both faint and dark. They were scarred, every single one. The irises of his eyes pulsed a burning red and a wicked grin swiftly pierced his face. “Move.”

A burst of aura pushed the blacklist hunters back, shoving them onto each other. Startling them. The men raised their weapons, some raised them up in fury, others barely held them up with trembling arms.

The man cooed, “Did that frighten you? That was the point.”

“Who is this guy? Is he one of them?” One hunter gritted his teeth. “All the Moiraio men are supposed to be dead.”

“Surpriiiiiise.” The man accentuated.

A stampede of hunters raced towards him, roaring their battle cries.

Silver rings adorned the man’s thumbs. Each ring had a single jagged edge. “By the pricking of my thumbs,” With one brisk movement, he snapped his fingers, and silver cut into his skin. Rivulets of crimson and threads of blood spilled out from him. Red thread that floated effortlessly all around him. His eyes narrowed and the darkness in his eyes burned. “You know what’s coming next.”

Upon the walk to her Mom’s room, Psyche noticed the rest of the mansion was in a tragic state of disrepair. The maids were carefully repacking most of the luggage since everything in them was tossed like a whirlwind without abandon. Her shadow must have been very busy last night…

A maid was balancing herself on the top of a ladder fishing out a pair of jeans and sweaters from the crystalline chandelier.

Psyche’s heart leaped from her chest when the maid lost her balance---and was about to fall. Psyche ran and took hold of the ladder. With the extra support the young girl clawed her fingers into the wood and clung to the ladder for dear life and thankfully didn’t plummet. “Thank you, Miss. It’s so high up here.” The maid whimpered, her shoulders quivering.

“Lady Psyche, we are in the process of repacking the luggage. So far, everything is accounted for.” A maid bowed before her. He was the only maid in the household that was a man. Being a Moiraio Maid was a title---a proud title to bear. Anyone could be a Maid regardless of their gender. The man was tall and broad shouldered, as expected of a housekeeper to carry the weight and maintenance of the home, and had a pair of beautiful azure eyes that shone with resolve and deep loyalty. His name was Nulgrave and maybe the only father figure Psyche has ever had in her life. He worked for the family since she was a baby. He protected her, watched over her, and always hosted magical tea parties with her. Despite having outgrown them, she threw the most marvelous tea parties when she was a little girl. Now Psyche throws adult (™) tea parties. Her esteemed guests were no longer stuffed animals and dolls dressed in lace gowns and tophats. Real tea was served instead of imaginary tea. Real petite fours and iced cakes instead of mock plaster replicas. (though a part of her misses seeing Nulgrave in a baby blue bonnet, dressing up was mandatory for her parties. A part of her misses wearing her princess tiara and magenta witch’s cape.) But her guests now were her clients who didn’t care for tea or cakes. They only had an appetite for blood and vengeance.

“Mimette,'' Nulgrave crossed his arms and his voice boomed, “how do you expect to serve the great Moiraio Family if you cannot fetch a pair of jeans from the ceiling fixtures?”

“Buy new ones?” Mimette cried.

Nulgraved raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “Mimette, you look like a frightened cat stuck in a tree.”

“At least cats can get down on their own.”

“Can you?”

“Leave me up here to die.”

“Mimette….It is highly impractical to leave a maid dangling from the ceiling.” Nulgrave sighed and outstretched his arms. “Come back down in reverse slowly. You won’t fall.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“If you are so terrified of heights then why did you volunteer for this task?”

Hey eyes sparkled so bright that Nulgrave had to avert his gaze. “Because the best way to conquer fear is to charge at it headfast with courage and conviction in your heart, sir.”

“Did it work?”

Mimette shook her head. “My acrophobia has soared to new heights...as well as ladders.”

“Until technology progresses enough where we can live in a world without ladders, you’re going to have to learn how to navigate around them. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Psyche veered towards her Mom’s room, she realized why her shadow created a mess. She passed a door and saw the sharp white lines etched into the wood. Claw marks. Just like the pattern of red handprints in her dream. The reason everything was accounted for, the reason nothing went missing. Her shadow didn’t want to slow them down---it put on a show. A diversion. Ever since Eros died, her mom stored away all his belongings---doing all that she could to erase her own son. Everything that was ever his, she had them all locked and hidden from sentimental hands. Her shadow snatched what Psyche wouldn’t dare try to find under her Mom’s incessant, condescending eyes. She pressed her hand on the gold chain in her pocket. The last relic she possessed of Eros.

Psyche hated her Mom’s vanity table. Something about sitting in front of the mirror didn’t sit right with her. Maybe it was because she had to look at herself, forced to see what her Mom, Calypsa, saw.

A beautiful and deadly weapon forged by her own mother. Assassin first. Daughter second.

Calypsa came up behind Psyche and gently combed her youngest daughter’s hair. “My beautiful girl.” She cooed. “You are to be wed today.”

The thin line on Psyche’s lips turned into a smile.

“Are you happy?”

The smile on Psyche’s lips faded away. She thought she would be happier on her wedding day. This is what she wanted, it was her dream come true. Her eyes drifted up towards Calypsa’s in the mirror. She looked at her Mom and saw a woman who was both sublime and dangerous. Her dark hair spiraled into wavy curls that fell down her back. Her eyes were regal and jaded and cold. As if they were sculpted from granite stone. Psyche wondered if her eyes would look like her Mom’s one day. Whether one horror would set her ablaze with glacial apathy, or if she was already down a frigid and bitter path. Unaware of the growing colder days ahead of her. Slowly becoming numb to the biting frost.

No. She wanted love. She wanted to be loved. She would never lose sight of that.

Psyche nodded. “Very.”

Calypsa brushed the comb down Psyche’s hair. Psyche felt the tug. “We had an unwelcome visitor last night.”

Psyche felt the weight of Eros’s chain weigh down in her pocket like an anchor. Did Calypsa already know what her shadow stole? Did Calypsa want her to take out the gold chain from her pocket and confess? Psyche held her hands together in her lap to prevent them from betraying her.

Calypsa leaned down and the world fell silent, all but her voice. “Take it out.”

Psyche’s heart jerked to a stop. Her mouth agape, feigning confusion. “What?”

“Take it out,” Calypsa opened the palm of her hand towards Psyche. Everything in the room darkened, except for her eyes. “Or I will.”

Psyche’s voice was soft. “Please don’t take it.”

Calypsa’s voice remained stoic. Her palm was still open. “You don’t need to make this harder.”

A single tear spilled from Psyche’s eyes. “That's all I have left of him.”

Calypsa quickly opened and closed her hand. Impatience brewing. “Come along.”

Another tear spilled when Psyche closed her eyes. With all her strength, she pulled her hand out from her grasp and reached into her pocket. It felt like she was ripping out a part of herself when she handed Eros’s chain over to Calypsa. She breathed a sob when it left her hand.

Calypsa took the chain and put it in her own pocket. “Because of this little fiasco of yours, we’re going to be late. I already instructed Gravah to inform Gotoh about the our delay---”

“You don’t care.” Psyche gritted through her teeth.

“How can you say that? Of course I do.” Calypsa leaned her arms onto the back of Psyche’s chair, sighing. “Your wedding will go off without a hitch.”

“I’m not talking about the wedding.” Psyche shook her head. “Everything that belonged to Eros you hid away. You left nothing of him here. You practically erased him.”

A wicked smile played on Calypsa’s lips. “You did more to him than I, my dear. I simply cleaned up your mess.”

“I didn’t want to kill him. You know what happened.”

“We do a lot of things we don’t want to do in this profession of ours, but we carry on.”

Something snapped inside of Psyche. She slammed her hands onto the vanity table, rattling the perfume bottles. “You erased your own child and you don’t even care!” Psyche cried.

Calypsa pushed Psyche down into the chair and pulled her hair back--making her daughter scream. Forcing Psyche to look up into the mirror, meeting her Mom’s menacing eyes. Psyche grabbed Calypsa’s hands that were digging into her scalp. Tears sprung from her eyes. “I’ll waste one more moment with you. But it will be the last we will speak of this. So listen well. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your shadow slipping out and playing thief during the night. Making fools out of all of us. Slithering about the mansion trying to find what I so carefully hid for good reason. I was kind not to have everything of his burned to ashes. I hoped this issue would solve itself, but I should have known better. I shouldn’t have left it to you. That was my mistake. Fortunately, the Zoldycks don’t know about this uncontrollable nature of yours. But for how long? Don’t let them find out. They didn’t sign up for their son to marry a weak girl. And better they don’t find out for your own good. You know why you were chosen instead of your sisters? Anomie has her own affliction. My little incinerator is needed here, at home, where I can keep an eye on her. Chaotica...well I needn’t explain. She is who she is. But you. Aaaah. My youngest girl. You are perfect in all ways a parent wishes for their children. You listen. You obey.” Calypsa yanked harder. Psyche cried out. “You are not weak, Eros was weak. Don’t let his failures rub off on you. If I knew what a problem he was going to become I would have ended it all before he could point a gun to my face.”

“His biggest failure was missing.”

Calypsa grinned, callously. “Yes, it was. Shame his father didn’t have the opportunity to teach him how to properly shoot. My gain.”

“Did you ever love him at all? How could you just...”

Calypsa clicked her tongue. “Psyche, we don’t have time to psychoanalyze each other today. If you want to play that game, I’ll have Grava schedule us a date. Sounds good? It really troubles me that you care what other people think. I rarely say this, but you need to be more like Chaotica and not give a damn.”

“He wasn’t just someone. He was my brother. Your son.”

“Since you're making a list, he was also the asshole that tried to put all of us down. Including you. The dead aren’t a concern to us. I taught you that lesson well, perhaps you need a refresher.”

“No.” Psyche rasped.

“Good. You, Psyche, became my favorite when you killed him for me. Don’t lose face now. Eros is dead. You are alive. I could have lost two children that night. I’m thankful I didn't. As should you be too.”

Psyche held back tears and hissed at her Mom. “I’m not going through with the wedding.”

“Ever since you were little, you’ve always had the habit of saying things you don’t mean when you’re upset.” Calypsa laughed. “But you are because you want this. And you don’t have a choice. It's far too late to have any of those anyhow. That aside you’d be a fool to turn down joining the Zoldyck Family. So many would kill for that chance, you would know.” Calypsa let go of Psyche and the girl jostled towards the vanity. She stopped herself before she could crash into the mirror. Taking a cloth and wiping away Psyche's tears, Calypsa cooed sweetly. “Come now. You mustn't fret. There will be no tears to shed on your wedding day.``

Psyche didn’t look at anyone as she hurried to the car. While she blocked her tear ridden face from their eyes, she happened to miss a few things going on. She didn’t see the maids sweeping away piles of ashes in the yard. She didn’t notice Anomie when she asked her if she was okay. And she didn’t see that there was a man, with a smile on his face and corpses around his feet, standing outside the front gate. Cheerfully waving at them.

Another unwelcome visitor. Maybe they should start burning sage to repel them all.

Cold black bars partially covered his smiling face. Though his smile radiated with kindness, it was just as cold as the metal bars keeping him from entering their home--just as they should be. Bars are meant to cage dangerous beasts, as well as keep out any lurking monsters with shifting eyes trying to pry their way in. What stood before the Moiraio women was a man just like that. A monster with an untamed gleam in his eyes searching for even the smallest of cracks to weasel his way into. He opened his arms wide towards the women, grandly. “Ladies. How long has it been since our companies last joined in a blissful reunion?”

Calypsa tilted her head towards the man, her wide brimmed hat casting a shadow over her face. “Jax Peirce. Not long enough.”

“The longer we remain apart, the longer my heart aches. Why torture a man and let me in?”

“Aw Jax, If I were to do that then you wouldn’t want to leave. We stopped taking mutts off the streets ages ago. There are surely other establishments that desire your company?” Perhaps a junkyard, she wanted to grumble under her breath. She mustn’t start a fight today. But the longer he keeps them from leaving she’ll be more than obliged to wage a war with him tomorrow.

“Don’t waste your time flattering me. Today, I've come to see the darling girl of the hour. To bid her a long awaited adieu. Where is her---” Jax eyed Psyche in the back seat of the limousine. “There she is, how dare you tuck away a beautiful girl, hiding her. Why, I’d show her off to the world in the light of day. A beauty like that can resurrect tired, ailing hearts back to life---ah, and my heart beats again! Hello Psyche. How are you, my darling?”

“Hello uncle Jax. Fine, thank you. And you?”

“Sweet as peaches, that one. Calypsa, you have been blessed with an angel.”

Calypsa sighed, not bothering to hide the aggravation in her voice. “Psyche, what did I tell you? Roll up your window.”

“But mom, I---” Psyche’s window began rolling up before she could even finish speaking.

“Thank you, Grava.” Calypsa said to her head maid who was at the driver’s seat. Her hands were gripped over the steering wheel, ready to drive at a moment's notice. Whether it be to the Zoldyck’s or over Jax’s foot.

“Grava!” Jax exclaimed, joyously. He sauntered from one end of the gate to the other. Restless. Bustling with energy. His eyes bounced between the Moiraio women and the head maid. All eyes locked onto him. Every breath and every move he made. Carefully watching him. “You and I share fine memories we’ve formed together over the years, haven’t we? We are two knots that are too tangled to be taken apart. Won’t you smile that wondrous smile for me, just like old times?”

The head maid’s scowl could burrow into the man’s skull and come out the other side. It took all her strength, and God’s grace, not to run him over with the car---no matter how much her employer would congratulate her for it.

Jax winked at the head maid. “Next time.”

Chaotica whispered to Anomie. “How are we related to him again?”

Anomie sighed. “You really need to pay more attention. Jax Pierce is daddy’s half brother.”

“You’re grandfather’s bastard.” Calypsa clarified. Her father in law wasn’t the first nor last man in the family who shared his bed with women who weren’t his wife. It was a mystery, and a stroke of dumb luck, that the men never perished in the prehistoric era.

Jax overhead them. It was hard not to. His ears always perked up when he heard his name. “The paradoxical rewards of being illegitimate, my dear. All the glory, but none of the riches.”

Calysa clicked her tongue. “Jax, as always, your visits here are---”

“A pleasure? A Delight? Whimsically enchanting?”

“Something.”

Jax leaned forward, “Something….what?” The corners of his lips curled into a smile. “C’mon, the suspense kills me. Don’t leave me hanging.” His hands coiled around the black bars, like snakes holding onto their prey.

“How about in a ditch.” Chaotica snickered to Anomie to whom she held out her hand for a fist pump. Anomie blinked and tapped Chaotica’s fist two times. Chaotica blinked, bewildered.

“Hm, I'll take it as you’re so stunned, my presence has left you speechless. No shame in that. It has that effect on people.” Jax pointed his gloved hands to the girls. “Chaotica, is she still the feisty one?”

“Go to hell, prick.” Chaotica hissed.

Jax arched his head towards the sky and roared a laugh. “You, little miss, are a flaming ball of sunshine that I have gravely missed. Your mouth, not so much.”

Calypsa rolled her eyes. “Girls, get in the car. Now.”

“What? No welcome? No thank you? No cup of tea for a poor and weary traveler? Oh Calypsa, extend that generous, world renowned hospitality I’ve heard so much about. Spare some of that tender love and care like you’ve given my brother. Nursed him to the end of his days. How lucky he was to have you by his side.” He paused, eyes drenched with a stone cold glare.

Calypsa folded her hands over her purse. Her eyes locked with Jax’s. “Yes, lucky indeed.”

“God, I miss that son of a bitch.” Jax sucked in one side of his cheek. “I’ll alway regret not being there for him in his final days.”

“We all live with regrets, but we mustn’t stop them from living our lives. Or else we’ll make new ones.”

Jax clapped his hands together, once. “That is forward thinking and precisely why I'm here.”

“That is precisely why we are in a hurry to leave.”

“AH YES! The wedding. It seems my invitation was lost in the mail. I never received it.” He pouted.

“Oh that’s a shame.”

“A BIG shame.”

“You’re never in one place for too long. It probably ended up somewhere.” Calysa waved her hand in the air.

“Somewhere in the middle of nowhere,” Anomie whispered to herself.

Jax leaned against the gate, “Y’see, I’m only stopping through town for business, so I can’t attend the wedding. There’s always someone who wants their enemy 6 feet under, lucky me. But what hurts the most is not some lost mail through a shitty postal service, but that I had to hear about the wedding through some nobody. Some absolute nobody I had to kill on the job. Do you know how awkward that is? One minute I'm about to snap this dude’s jugular and the next I’m asking him why he knows my niece is getting married before I do. Like, who are you? I didn’t even have time to buy a proper wedding present, but I know better than to come empty handed.” He stepped on top of a corpse, another bounty hunter that wanted to stake a claim on the assassins’ heads, and mocked a bow. “Service with a smile.”

A weak hunter groaned beneath his feet, ‘help me.’

“Did I hear something?” Darkness loomed around Jax then his gaze turned to his sister in law. “Bit of advice. Make better enemies. These were no fun at all.”

The hunter groaned in pain.

“Hush, I am talking.” A thread of blood spilled from Jax’s hand, and with a flick of his wrist he sliced the hunter’s head off. “As I was saying...what was I saying….Ah i remember now. All I have to show for my efforts is this sea of corpses. Look what I have done for you. I’ve come all this way to see my darling little niece before her big send off and I take care of all these sorry sacks of shit who wanted to rain on your parade. I took care of them, no questions asked, out of the goodness of my heart. And all I ask in return is to see my brother’s children that you’ve, yes you, been keeping away from me. And,” He reached into his bag which sent the maids on high alert. Jax’s eyes sparkled. “I hand knitted a scarf that I especially made for Psyche. Here is her name. Embroidered in wisteria lavender.”

Psyche pressed her face to the window. She always wanted a hand knitted gift. Her name looked so pretty embroidered in wisteria lavender.

“She doesn’t want your ugly blood stitched rag.” Chaotica retorted.

NO! Psyche thought.

“No one likes a hater, Chaotica.” Jax folded the scarf and set it high on a pillar, away from all the blood. “I must be going, but it was great seeing you all again. And congratulations Psyche. I hope you enjoy married life. Speaking from experience, all five of my marriages were the highlights of my life.”

“Get out of here.” Calypsa growled. Every time he spoke, she felt as if she was on the verge of having an aneurysm.

As the gates opened, the Moiraio Family and Jax Pierce said their goodbyes. In their own ways. The maids never lost sight of him as the limousine drove away. The hand knit scarf was never taken off the pillar, perhaps it was put to better use as a bird’s nest. Or someday shown the kindness of being thrown in the trash. Chaotica rolled down her window and gave her uncle the middle finger, to which he returned the charming gesture by smiling and waving as if she blew him a kiss goodbye. Psyche rested her head as she looked out the window and saw her home grow smaller in the distance. She spent twenty-two years of her life in that home. It was unfair of her to call it a house of horrors since her happiest, maybe even her best, memories were there too. It was only a house. Like any normal one. A house with walls, a roof, a garden, with the exception of being the residence to deadly assassins trained since birth to become emotionless weapons fluent in the grim language of silent slaughter and vicious violence.

She will miss the garden.

She sighed, taking in one last look of it all. This would make it the second time she left home for the first time. She closed her eyes and memories rushed towards her. Her and Eros. Suitcases in one hand and hands entwined in the other. Running through the train station with freedom bursting through their lungs. The promise of a new life where no one knew who they were or what atrocities they have done. The future before them was a blank slate filled with possibility and hope. She remembered the look on his face. He was not the monster her family made him out to be. He was...He was so...

Happy.

She was happy too.

She’s happy now. She convinced herself she was happy. She had to be. She didn’t want to cry anymore because there was still hope for her. Her memories of the past, those twisted with pain and remorse and regret, she left them behind at the front gate. Along with Eros. He was dead. She was alive. And she wanted to live.

Psyche Moiraio. No. That wasn’t right anymore.

Psyche Zoldyck. Now and forever more.

Illumi stared down at the picture of his fiance. She was smiling. He couldn't deny that she was beautiful, but he wondered what she was thinking of to look as if she saw a glimpse of something wondrously divine. He wondered if that happiness transcended beyond a single frame shot. And if it did, would Kukoroo mountain make it fade.

He caressed his thumb over the picture.

It’s been years since they’ve last seen each other. How much, or little, did she change? The same could be said about him.

He didn’t have much time to ponder. Today was a busy day and many things needed to be attended to, afterall. He had to be ready. Everyone, too.

There was one more thing he couldn’t get out of his head.

She owed him a knife.

Chapter Text

She wasn't a woman for pleading. A notion her mother determinedly drilled into her like a hammer thundering onto a nail and piercing stone. Her mother, alone with only a babe in her arms after the war claimed thousands of men, taught her to never beg. Though her mother swallowed her pride and did what she must for her and her child to survive in a cold and unforgiving world, her daughter will never tread the road she was forced to walk alone on. Never. Her mother, now tired but not broken from a world that never ceased to whip her to endlessly toil away at filth and grime, gently combed her daughter's red hair with a golden brush. The cruelty of the world did not erode away her tenderness. Delicately combing through strands of ruby red hair, lace woven from the almighty sun. Just like her husband's. The woman rested her hand on her daughter's shoulder, and was met by a warm cheek.

"Saints above," the mother smiled at her daughter, holding back tears as she gazed upon her reflection in the mirror. A sight of unimaginable radiance. "You are a saint. No doubt your father is wondering how the earth has risen to the heavens for him to be able to see you in such splendid beauty now."

The girl wiped away her tears. She promised herself that she would not cry on her wedding day, but some promises are made to be broken. Just this once. She turned around and held her mother's hands within her own; simultaneously thanking her and telling her how much she loved her between sniffles and laughs and an occasional snort.

In a few turns of the sun, she would be elevated from the caste she was born into and become what she has only ever foolishly dared to dream. She was to be a married woman. Lady Sturn, wife of Captain Theodore Sturn, Sea Captain of his majesty the King's finest naval vessels. Finally she could give her mother the life she truly deserved. There will be no more cleaning, no more laboring, no more pain without reprieve of breaks, no more beatings from cruel masters. "Mother, the only thing you will ever be tired of is boredom!"

Her mother feigned an annoyed scoff. "How dare a child of mine condemn this life upon me! You terrible girl."

The bride laughed. "The absolute worst!"

Her mother kissed her gently on her forehead and bestowed upon her a final gift. She whispered to her daughter, words to hold tight to her heart. 'For there are people in the world who will do everything in their power to make you believe you have none. By God's gift of free will you have power, a right bestowed to all his children; a gift that is used and abused by those same children. The blessings and curses of our God's gift of free will. Though we are born into a caste that kneels and toils away in the dirt, we do not bow.' Her mother wagged her finger in the air, exultantly. 'You will not bow to those people. There are those who have shown you kindness, but I've lived long enough to know the fight isn't over. It never is. But you and I, we are fighters. The world hasn't thrown us battles we couldn't take down before. They cannot make you bow, only if you hand over your power to them. So live and fight. Love and triumph. Dream and rejoice. I am proud of the girl I raised and the woman I see growing before my very eyes. Blessings to you, my child-Oh no don't cry!'

A voice called out from behind the chamber door. A touch of concern, but also a playful laugh. "I hear crying. Is my wife in need of rescuing, from my wicked stepmother?"

The bride's face blushed intensely as she clamped her hands over her hot cheeks. Even now, something inside her spun with immaculate joy when he called her his wife. Shakespeare be damned, that was all the poetry she ever needed to hear. The conflicting urges to hide and the one to run steadfast into his arms consumed her whole. No. Hide. She must hide. She will have the rest of her life to run into his open arms. "It's Theo! He can't see me!"

Her mother knew he wouldn't dare open the door, but that didn't stop her from draping the lace veil over her daughter's face. "Are you testing luck to see the bride before the wedding, Theodore?"

There was a pause. Thoughtful introspection. "The risk is worth taking, madam. I can only ever see her this once, at this fleeting moment, until the next arrives."

She looked at her daughter and sighed, wistfully. "Can I walk down the aisle instead?"

"Mother!"

Mother and daughter both laughed.

The woman pretended she was urgently needed elsewhere and left her daughter and her betrothed alone.

The young bride's cheeks flushed as she approached the door and pressed her palms against the cool cedar oak. The only thing that was separating them. How far apart it made her feel from him. He was only standing beyond her, barely an arm's length away, yet she couldn't reach out to him. Is this what it means to be in love? To bear this ache that swells in her chest whenever he is near, or far. It wasn't an unpleasant ache, she welcomed it. She wanted to commit this feeling to memory, the power he has over her heart to make it sing and ache and thrum with passion.

A spark ignited within her, like when a log splits in half from the crackling flames, when the door handle turned. Instinctively, she pushed the door back earning her a startled yelp from her betrothed. Great, she was going to start off her marriage by chopping off one of her husband's fingers. She rushed out her words, "Theo, are you alright?"

"Darling," Theodore's voice carried through the wood. "Sharks should fear you."

At this moment she panicked and thought of all the ways in which her wedding was going to take place not in a chapel, but in an infirmary, with her husband placing one hand on the bible and the other in the hands of a doctor sewing back on his finger. She was a devout Christian, but she had an unfortunate tendency of accidentally doing Satan's work.

She opened the door a few inches, "let me see your hand." The bride took his hand in hers, but then stopped herself from opening the door completely when she saw Theo's fully fingered and uninjured hand, and heard him laughing. How dare he.

"Theodore," she yelled a whisper, cheeks turning red. "You're a wicked man."

"I've never not claimed wickedness as a vice, and I'm not starting now." He didn't have the decency to hide the laughter in his voice.

She blinked her eyes. They were still holding hands.

"Wait," Theodore's voice softened. "Can we stay like this, for a little longer?"

He'd never had to ask, but she hummed at his braziness and held on to her captain.

"Theodore." Her heart beated louder in her chest.

"Hm?"

"Say it."

"Say what, my darling?"

She looked down at their hands, intertwined. Still caught in a dream of disbelief that this is her life. She'd pinch herself to see if it was all real, but his touch alone, his hand in hers, confirmed it all was.

He knew. He leaned his head forward and she could feel the echoes of his voice pulsate down her skin, tingling with incredible delight.

"My wife, Araminta."

"Again."

"My beautiful wife, Araminta."

"Once more."

He laughed once, "You're not tired of that?"

"Never. I could never tire of it. I doubt I'll ever be."

"And this?"

He raised her hand to his lips and bestowed upon her a kiss.

She hummed.

"Your verdict?"

She drew out her response, leaving suspense to gnaw at him. "Once more, so I may think it over."

Her hand was a breath away from his rosy lips. His skin was smooth too, clean shaven. Her breath quickened and all her senses rushed forth upon her, every morsel of her being catching fire.

The corners of his lips curved up lightly into a grin. Impishly. He was a man of God, but he was well acquainted with the devil. "I await your verdict tonight. Araminta."

Psyche wiped her eyes with her sleeves. How many more times was she going to fall hopelessly in love with Theodore Sturn? Ah, memories of the main characters' first meeting rushed forth into her mind. Reminiscing the start of their heroic journey. Araminta, the fearlessly brave and spunky heroine, escaped the abusive house she was indentured to and secretly boarded The Queen's Galley, one of Theo's ships, by smuggling herself into crates of smuggled goods because an embargo was placed on the mystic isles as punishment for political officials siding against the king. Theo was smuggling goods to the isles because families were starving. He just had to be so purehearted. And then! Psyche's heart swooned in remembrance, a sailor, of no considerable importance other than leading the heroine to her soon to be but not yet known true love, heard a ruckus in storage and found Araminta sandwiched between crates of alfalfa beans. Fearing he was going to throw her off the ship as women back then were seen as bad omens who brought bad luck, misfortune, the plague, or all three, onto ships.

Psyche sighed at those archaic times. Men. Apparently to them all evil in the world resided in boobs. Araminta whacked the idiocy out of the sailor with her cleverness, beguiling beauty, and cool demeanor.

And a hefty frying pan.

Araminta never held a man hostage before, but she was a quick study. Night befell the ship, and so did an intruder in the Captain's cabin.

Psyche squirmed in her seat, a goofy grin stretching all across her face as she flipped back to the beginning of the book. Rereading her favorite scenes.

Calypsa, busy speaking-and apologizing-to the Zoldycks, covered her phone with her hand and asked her other daughters who were still tethered to the realm of reality and not fantasy, "Is she alright?" She carefully mouthed the words.

Chaotica looked up from her phone and mouthed. "Nope."

Captain Theodore found Araminta, the stowaway, and his sailor with a pistol pointed to his head, in his cabin. As Psyche fell back on the seat with her book glued to her face, Theodore was faced with a delicious dilemma of his own.

His voice was husky and deep, "You are not a pirate." Cautiously stepping closer towards Araminta. She cocked the pistol. He stepped back.

"No, I am a woman, but that does not make me any less dangerous."

Theodore eyed the pistol in her hands, and the sailor's beading forehead touching the black eye of the weapon. He believed that.

Theodore raised his hands and gestured to his cabinet, filled with sparkling glass bottles. He would be rude if he didn't offer his guest a drink-

Psyche's book flew out of her hands and into her mom's lap. Calypsa deadpanned, "no more reading."

Psyche balked at the command. It was as if she was asking her not to breathe! "Mom, I was literally at the scene where they were about to get married, at least let me finish that."

"YOU are about to get married." Calypsa sternly corrected.

Psyche pursed her lips, failing to suppress a smile she was too indifferent to hide, and whispered a tale of sweet gossip as if she heard it herself first hand. "The Captain's ex-fiance is attending the wedding, he invited her to show he still cares about her as a friend and that there is no malice between them, I mean, SHE was the one who cheated on him while he was away at sea. But. BUT-

Chaotica chirped, "There's butt stuff? Nice."

Psyche shushed her, "NO. The ex-fiance, Luella, is wearing the exact same gown she wore at her and Theo's engagement ball when they were still together. Of course, her family lost a considerable amount of money because her father gambled so much of it away, so she couldn't buy a new gown and that's the nicest gown she owns, but really, that's what she chose to wear? Theo's mother was going to ask her to leave until he stopped her. Because weddings aren't for making enemies. Oh, It's so scandalous!"

"That's lovely, dear." Calypsa said, barely listening as she folded the book closed and placed it beside her and the door, far away from her youngest child's hands. "You'll get dizzy from reading in the car. Look out the window and enjoy the scenery."

Psyche turned her head towards the window and looked out. Eyes glaring at the light. There was nothing more dull and disappointing than reality. She blinked her eyes and turned her attention back to her mom, who was trying to rub away a tension headache to no avail. Psyche wished there was someone for her to talk to with books about. Someone who wouldn't look at her as if she had two heads. A silent ache of loneliness slowed her heart as a memory, long kept hidden, crept its way in.

She had a person like that once. She had Eros.

No! Stop thinking about him! He's good and dead. It was for the best.

"They don't think you want this."

The cold words pierced Psyches' stomach, throttling her back to reality. She gripped her hands tight. She didn't want to stumble over her words, but that's how they came out. "They..they said that?"

"No, they didn't need to. But I will say, there is a takeaway from your book as it offered you a valuable lesson. Weddings aren't for making enemies. They're for making allies and we need them. First impressions are everything and now is not the time to waver. You need to dazzle them. Blind them. Convince them that there is no other choice, but you. There is no other woman for their son, but you. There is no other assassin that can lead the future generations of their family, but you. There is only you. I've done my part, Psyche. I made them see only you. Now, it's your turn. Don't let them lose focus."

Psyche's eyes resonated deep with conviction. "I want this more than anything."

"Then show them. Show them you are ready and willing to commit like I know you are."

Anomie added, "Becoming a Zoldyck is basically becoming a legend. So is killing one, but we want the former one for you."

Chaotica murmured under her breath as she was scrolling through instagram. "Bone your way to success."

Anomie punched her in the arm, giving a face that read 'what the fuck.'

"What the fuck." Chaotica hissed.

"You're in a bad mood today."

"What an observation. My day started off great until her," Chaotica waved her hands to Psyche, all accusatory, "evil shadow thing or WHATEVER tried to kill me. Illumi might as well be marrying two brides. A jekyll and a hyde. Except maybe it's just two hydes."

Anomie exhaled through her nose, quelling her rage. "We have been over this. The situation is under control."

"Oh, really?" Chaotica turned to Calypsa. "Do they know? Do they know we have this situation under control? Because we've been doing such a good job about it and the perfect way to start allyships is definitely by keeping secrets. It'll be a fun surprise for them down the road."

Psyche wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

Calypsa sat up straight, shoulders back. Eyes dark. "Chaotica, if you wish to be snippy with me then i'll be snippy with you. The first thing to go will be your tongue."

Anomie snapped her index and middle fingers together. Snip snip snip.

Chaotica slumped back in her seat, accepting defeat. "Everybody in this family is out to get me."

"Family doesn't kill family, dear."

Chaotica chuckled to herself then turned to Psyche. "You shouldn't tell them about Eros either."

"GIRLS. ENOUGH. Because of our delayed departure, and the traffic, the wedding ceremony is being postponed-GRAVA, WHAT IS KEEPING US STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HIGHWAY?!"

The head maid responded gravely. "There was an accident ahead of us, ma'am. From what I see, it is a mess."

Chaotica leaned on top of Psyche and gushed. Smiling. "Grava, don't go cheap on the details. Did anyone die?"

Someone will if they keep interrupting Calypsa. "Given the catastrophe up the road ahead, terrible tragedy as it was, let's hope those poor souls pull through, but thank God. Oh thank the merciful heavens." Calypsa sighed back in her seat, releasing an abundance of tension. "The disaster on the road was enough of an explanation as to why we're running late. The details of this morning's events will not be spoken about again. As I'm certain Psyche will not let it happen again.

"Yes, mom-Get off." Psyche pushed her sister back.

Chaotica rebelled by clamping her arms around Psyche and giving her a hug. This was even more terrifying than her usual behavior.

"Anomie," Psyche shrieked. "Tell her to stop."

Anomie yawned, "why? She makes her own decisions."

"That's right." Chaotica nestled her chin in Psyche's neck, sending shivers down the young assassin's spine. "You're just so cuddly-OW SHE BIT ME."

"I did not! Your hand wasn't even close to my mouth! Anomie, you saw that I didn't bite her. She's making things up again."

"Psyche," Anomie breathed and shook her head. "Why did you bite our sister? She just wants to show you that she loves you. We never raised you to be this thoughtless."

"Love me less." Psyche deadpanned.

"Never-you're so cute when you shriek!"

"Girls." Calypsa barked. "Psyche, let Chaotica hug you. She loves you. You need to accept that this is who she is and get on with it."

"Thank you, mommy." Chaotica's eyes sparkled.

Psyche's jaw dropped.

"Yay! You're my best friend in the whole world." Chaotica cheered and snuggled Psyche harder. Whispering into her ear. "I win."

As Psyche contemplated flinging herself out the car door for a quick and peaceful death, she remembered that it wasn't she who needed to die today.

"Oh my god, GRAVA STOP THE CAR."

"Permitting if the ambulance in front of us drives any slower." Grava honked her horn at the car ahead.

The driver of the ambulance rolled his window down and gave them a look. He didn't need to say anything more to tell them to fuck off.

Psyche ducked her head. What has she done? If were to fling herself out of the car now, she'd be denied medical aid for sure. But that wasn't the problem at hand.

"Mom," Psyche turned to Calypsa, "Mind if I kill?"

Dezmon Foile was going to die. This did not shock him. In fact, he anticipated it.

Dezmon Foile cocked his rifle and aimed into the desolate field. Why was he shooting round after round of bullets all by himself? Dezmon didn't need a reason. He shot a bullet into the field; the bullet skewering trees, bark exploding, birds flying. He took a moment and appreciated the sound of the bullet slicing the air with godspeed. Feeling it ricochet through the barrel, traveling up his arms, and savoring the way it made his body recoil from its powerful smite. He could fire wherever he wanted and whenever he wanted. This was his property, his land-his kingdom.

As its king he'd do anything to protect it from those who wanted nothing but destroy it.

His eyes frantically darted between the trees and the bushes and the bromegrass. Sweat falling down his brow. This was no time for folly as his enemies were large and numerous.

His enemies were everywhere.

Even if he was the only person able to see them. They hid in the walls and in the forest. They burrowed beneath his skin and crawled behind his eyes. They trespassed behind his mirrors and tampered with his clocks. They hid in bunkers beneath his home and whispered treason through his vents.

He fired another round into the woods. Hoping he struck one of his enemies.

It wasn't until recently that he heard the invisible spies whispering in the vents of his mansion, plotting his death and possession of his land. But the invisible spies were too careless and let their guard down when they thought he was asleep. Oh how clever he was to fool them as they spoke of their malicious machinations directly above his head. He was no idiot.

Dezmon heard everything as he pretended to snore when they spoke of killing him.

Dezmon knew how to thwart their plans.

And so, the following day Dezmon did just that. He grabbed his pistol and drove around his property. Inspecting the grounds as he usually does every morning. He stopped in front of his gardener's house, as his property was large and needed daily maintenance.

The gardener wheeled a cart of freshly shipped begonias he was to plant all around the north side of the garden. The gardener smiled and waved as he saw Dezmon roll up on his driveway.

Dezmon shot the gardener five times then drove away.

He called the police immediately after and framed the murder on another one of his workers.

But even after he killed the gardener the voices didn't end! He still heard them whispering in his vents, growing louder and louder every night. The gardener was but one of many assassins who were out to get him. A conspiracy against him that was more vast and ruthless than he originally thought.

Just last night as he pretended to sleep he heard the invisible spies speaking Russian, they kept their voices hushed, but he could clearly make out their tongue. Dezmon studied the language in all but five days, so he considered himself a master. He knew his enemies were extensive ever since his email account was hacked into by russian artificial intelligence programs. Commonly referred to as bots on the world wide web. Luckily, they only stole his credit card information before they could do serious damage.

A shadow slithered through the trees.

Dezmon's adrenaline spiked.

He smiled.

So, they've finally come for him.

He tossed aside his rifle and unveiled his biggest toy for the job. An AEK-9990. This machine gun was outlawed a decade ago for its unpredictability when firing and tendency to randomly explode uncontrollably when in use. But he knew all along that the government just didn't want him to have it. Ha! He held down the trigger as he screamed war cries in Russian, "do svidaniya sukaaaaaaaa!"

Ears ringing and head spinning, he breathed heavily as the final bullet reigned unto the shadowy beast. Death to the monsters.

"Did I get it?" he asked himself, narrowing his eyes in the blackness of the forest. There in the field, sprawled along the wild brush and swaying slender reeds of pale blue stems was a body sticking out. A wicked grin spread across the old man's face. He defeated his monsters. He jumped up from the ground with ecstatic joy and ran to see his kill. To see the thing that tried to kill him. To relish his victory. A king cannot lose on his own battlefield. He'll cut off its head and mount it on his wall! Let it be a lesson to anymore to dares to take him down-

He fell backwards, shaking and staring up at the creature who was quite not dead. "What the hell…"

A great black shadowy beast stood up on its hindlegs. Dezmon had never encountered a creature like it before. Its arms were too long for its body as they dangled by its sides, hovering over the wild grass. Its legs look disjointed, as if it was made to walk on all fours yet stood comfortably on two. The head was a hide of crinkly fur and pointed long ears. Everything about the creature was black, except its eyes. They were white, yet there was no light within them. As if they were hollowed out with a dull blade and kept bare.

The creature looked down.

The man shuddered.

It starred beyond his head, signaling to Dezmon that the creature itself was not the devious master, but an obedient doll.

Another claimed that role for herself. Dezmon turned around and saw a girl. Young and beautiful.

Those were the dangerous type.

Dezmon was stunned as the girl squatted down before him and looked him dead in the eyes. She poked his forehead with his pistol, unafraid. The same pistol he used to murder his gardener. His eyes met that of the weapon, sending shivers down his spine. He has no problem waving a gun from ground to sky, but doesn't like it when a gun is pointed at him. The girl clicked her tongue, how hypocritical.

"You are a paranoid, crazy, old man." She accentuated the words slowly, tapping the weapon on his forehead with every syllable.

His mouth was dry, his lips were cracked, and his eyes were wide as if he was struck blindingly with headlights. He began to mumble something in Russian.

He asked her if she was the invisible spy in his home. Though she didn't wander through his vents or travel through his mirrors, Psyche was able to play along with his paranoia. Toying with the madness already brewing in his mind. She had a wonderful time messing around with his clocks. Even the pistol, she held at his head. That was his. She'd stolen it weeks ago. It drove him mad not knowing where it was. Even though his mind was filled to the brim with fear, a part of him was relieved it came back to him.

Darkness adorned her face, wearing it like a wedding veil. It was a strange and beguiling beauty, but she was a strange girl. She smiled back at him in silence, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Let his paranoia eat away at him until his very last breath.

"Get up." Her voice was all ice and dread. The man didn't hesitate to follow her commands.

"What do you want me to do?" Psyche asked Harlow, a widow. She looked at the woman with sympathy, who held a picture of her deceased husband in one hand and the fatherless child in the other. Teardrops plopped onto the glass frame of a man smiling in a garden, sun shining off his corn silk hair. The little boy, barely old enough to understand what was happening, rested his head on his mother's lap and patted her softly. Trying to take away her pain.

"Jeremy was a horticulturalist and loved working outside. That's all he ever wanted to do. He met Foile when he took on an adjunct position working as a part time professor at one of his museums. He met Foile and they hit it off immediately. Jeremy was wowed by Foile's estate since it is a recognized nature reserve and had plants only native to that area. Foile offered him a job on the estate. He'd carry out his research and maintain the grounds. And it worked for a while...until Foile started acting out. He'd do bizarre things? He'd display his guns in the halls and prop them up at the dining table when he ate dinner. He had all the paintings of his ancestors taken out of the estate and burned because he 'didn't like the faces they were making at him when he left the room.' For god sake, the man drove his car into the lake, TWICE, and the police just brushed it off as 'oh that's just silly old Foile,' and did nothing. Whenever his antics became worse and worse, the police still did nothing. Makes sense because the police were bent over backwards and had their hands in his wallet. Jeremy stayed because Foile supported his research, but he was going to quit when he was offered a full time position at the museum. He handed in his resignation to Foile and he took it well. We only had one week left at the estate before," the woman's voice broke. The little boy looked up, beautiful blue eyes staring into his mother's. She combed her hand through his blonde curls. She looked back up at the assassin. Gathering her strength. "One spring morning, Foile drove up to the house and shot Jeremy five times. Not all at once." The memories stung at her heart as she was forced to remember that tragic day. Jeremy saw the gun and turned to run, but Foile shot him once in the chest. The man fell to the ground, clawing his fingers into the dirt, trying to propel himself forward. Foile just….watched. With an amused look on his face. Like he was watching a worm agonizingly writhe in the mud after the rain. He fired and watched. Fired and watched. Again and again with twisted repetition. The fourth bullet killed him. He fired the fifth just to see if he was dead. "I ran outside and then he pointed it at me and-I was a coward. At the time, I was pregnant and I-everything in my brain stopped working and I ran back inside. Fuck." Tears came. There was no stopping them. At that moment, she betrayed her husband. She never forgave herself since.

"What do you want me to do?" Psyche asked again. She heard about the trial on the news. Foile walked away free and the man he framed was sentenced to death. He had all the money in the world to do as he pleased. But money doesn't buy normalcy nor placate hostile minds.

Harlow held onto the picture of her husband. He was so happy and young and optimistic. They had their whole lives ahead of them. But Foile stole that from them. He was a crook and a murderer hiding behind gilded walls of diamonds and shields made of gold. In the blind eyes of Justice, the scales were balanced-but those with power tipped the scales in their favor. Money fosters corruption. Corruption hordes money. The elite manipulate the scales since Lady Justice only holds it by the base.

She gripped the frame til her knuckles turned ghostly white. Finally, she looked up. Eyes stung red from years of harboring the weight of grief and guilt and loss. The assassin's eyes reflected her own. She was tired of lighting candles and singing empty hymns and sending unheard prayers to a God not knowing if he was listening. She did not need sympathy, pity, or God; She needed an angel of death.

Her chair violently screeched against the floor as she fell forward, clasping Psyche's hands within her own. Trembling.

'Release me of this pain.'

Psyche was feeling generous today. She was going to give Dezmon a head start. She clicked her tongue and her monster obeyed. The shadow monster growled, unhinging its jaws and flexing its claws. Preparing for the hunt. Dezmon Foile needed incentive to run.

The assassin's eyes sparkled as she mouthed one word to him. Run.

There was no room in this world for old, deranged men.

He stumbled at first, knees buckling under the uneven terrain of his land while her shadow monster's claws dug into the ground and sprung up the earth with every leap it took. She can't have him sprain his ankle, now can she? She lifted the pistol and aimed high and center. The first place he shot his victim was in the chest.

Dezmon Foile was sentenced to die, by living through Jeremy's death.

The sound of the pistol pierced the gray sky. As if Psyche was commanding the woods to awaken. Jolting every living being within it to life. The still silence that followed was the woods listening. Anticipating her next strike.

Dezmon clawed his way among the brush, grunting as the pain seared through him. She walked closer towards him. The next place Dezmon shot was the left lung.

Bang.

Then the right.

Bang.

The same spot again.

Bang.

The final blow out of dreaded curiosity.

Bang.

Psyche bent down towards the man, hair falling over her eyes. He was dead.

Smiling to herself. That was a job well done! She tossed the gun aside, ugh, how she hated those barbaric weapons. She spun back on her heel and placed her gloves back in her purse.

She looked down at her hand and saw a glowing red light penetrating beneath her skin. Numbers. Along with a tiny little creature that latched onto her arm, its tail coiled around her wrist, never taking its eyes off the time. As was its greatest priority. It counted down the seconds to itself, never waving from its dutiful task. This little nen creature was named Vesper and it belonged to Grava. It was the reason Psyche was able to travel a great distance instantaneously-teleportation. Her stay here was short lived, she only had a few minutes left to spare then Vesper will teleport her back into her original location-squished between her family back on the highway for god knows how many more countless and agonizing hours.

Psyche could teleport back now...or not. She wasn't going to squander a precious opportunity of freedom, but most importantly, silence. Vesper can drag her back through space when the time comes. Just not right now.

This was Psyche time and she was going to treat herself. Her mother was a fool to think she'd successfully stop her from reading a book. Calypsa may have her book, but Psyche has her phone which includes the e-book version of The Captain and I. Ha, no force on earth can separate her from her fictitious 18th century lover-not even her mother. Theodore and Araminta beckon her just beyond her screen. Her family can wait.

Dezmon was insane, but his land was beautiful. Psyche plopped down on the earth with a heavy sigh and sprawled herself in the luscious bloom of the brush and wild flowers imagining a world unlike her own as she read on her phone where there were only dashing pirates, moonlight balls, and enchanted kingdoms floating on ocean waves.

And love. Love that was heart-stopping, mind-numbing, breathtaking, and dare she say, indulgently passionate.

There were no killings, no nagging mothers or bickering sisters pulling her in opposite directions all at once. There were times when she felt she was going to snap (being stuck in the car was one of them,) but now is not one of those moments. Against the better judgement of her mind, her mom's words echoed in her ears. Enjoy the scenery.

For once in her life, she did two unthinkable things.

She listened to her mom, and put down her phone.

She breathed in the wild, clean air and basked in the glory of the splendorous green. Now was a moment in which she knew her life was coming together. The quiet cacophony of the field offered her pristine clarity, she realized that.

The sky was gray, the clouds were scattered, yet she dared it to rain. Soak her through and through. Let the earth and wind immortalize this moment forever in her bones. Her last moments before she becomes a married woman. She turned on her side, pressing her hands against her red cheeks.

Her. A married woman.

She let out a squeal.

Suddenly, a black silhouette, alike in Psyche's form in every way, looked down at her face. Her rebellious shadow. It cocked its head to the side, slivers of hair fanning around its blackened face, and its white eyes blinked.

"Hello, my dearest friend. You caused a lot of trouble for me today. One catastrophe after another! From what happened in the morning, to the accident on the road mom is no doubt thankful for, I'm late to my own wedding!" Psyche said, admonishingly. Lifting her head and dropping it back down on the overgrown grass. "What is wrong with me? I want him," Psyche softly crooned," but it would be wrong to say I'm not nervous at all." She hoped he wanted her as much-and more-as she did him. "Feel my hands! I'm shaking." She laughed as she reached up to touch its cheek and it reached down to touch hers. There was a look in its eyes that Psyche didn't like. "I know why you're sad, but do not worry. I am never getting rid of you. What mom doesn't know won't kill her. I know what you did this morning was for my sake, and I'm thankful. Truly. But we mustn't cause any more trouble, alright. Eros is in my heart, and that's all that matters." She smiled, covering the crack in her voice.

The shadow's eyes crinkled in response. Psyche could tell it was smiling.

The shadow lifted its hand from Psyche's cheek. Hovering over her body. A glimmer of metal twinkled out of the dark as a gold chain fell from its hand and into Psyche's.

Every fiber in her lit up with joy.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" Psyche pressed Eros's gold chain to her heart. "You mustn't cause any more trouble starting now!" She laughed.

The shadow's shoulders shook, mimicking Psyche's own laughter. But how was she going to hide it from her mom? Calypsa has a six sense for finding things her children keep hidden. As if her shadow read her own thoughts, it plucked the chain from her hand and pried open Psyche's mouth.

Part of her wondered how desperate she was to hide it. The other wondered how she wasn't desperate enough. So Psyche let it. The chain lowered further into her mouth, past her lips, all she had to do next was swallow-

A branch snapped.

Psyche spit out the chain. Coughing.

There was no one else there, except her, her shadow, and Dezmon Foile's corpse. Her body tensed as the corpse twitched and rigidly sat upright. It gave no regard to its surroundings as it was fighting the rigor mortis that was beginning to claim its body. The irises of his eyes were a pale shade of what they were in life, and his skin lost all color of warmth. There was a force beyond him that compelled his body to move. She used gyo and saw a halo of nen surrounding his body. Dark and dreary.

As far as she knew, Dezmon Foile was a regular man. Well, nothing that made him outstanding. He was paranoid as fuck, but incapable of nen. This power was not his own, so what was it? This aura was something else...she knew of nen curses. Perhaps the curse was cast on him and only activated after death? She flipped onto her side and frowned, bitterly. His spontaneous resurrection was cutting into her personal, relaxation time. She would have to kill him. Again.

"Psyche Moiraio," The dead man croaked, jaw jutting open and closed awkwardly.

Oh! The deadman knows her name! "How do you know my name?" She asked with genuine curiosity. Her name is rarely known to the outside world. She felt the deadman's nen, it exerted a force that was pushing her back. She wouldn't let it budge her.

It was definitely the work of a skilled nen user. She hoped it wasn't another bounty hunter proclaiming they were going to catch her and bring her to justice. No, if that were the case then they would already be handcuffing her and shoving her in the back seat of a police car.

No. Someone was stalking her and her clients.

The corpse only groaned. It wasn't capable of responding to questions.

"I come bearing a message for The Black Angel," The deadman rasped. "Do not marry Illumi Zoldyck-"

Psyche's eyes widened. Her shadow thrummed with anger and its hair spiked into slithers of black snakes. As it was about to attack the deadman, Psyche camly spoke. "Wait a moment, that can come later, I want to hear the rest of what it has to say."

The shadow was a hair's length away from slicing off the deadman's head. It looked back at Psyche, eyes pleading.

Instead of donning doom and gloom, Psyche spritely sat up straight, cross legged with a brilliant smile plastered on her face. From head to toe she was fizzing with unbridled excitement. Someone placed a nen curse on one of her hits to tell her not to marry her one and only betrothed? Thoughts were multiplying in her mind as weeds flourished in gardens if left uncontrolled.

Psyche was breathless, "It is a scorned lover?" She fell back into the grass and tragically began to monologue. "Bitterness has blackened their now dull aching heart, forsaken by the love which they sought with feverish obsession. They are overcome with jealousy that their love is never meant to be true." Psyche lowered her voice dramatically. "How does it feel, my dear, losing the best thing that has ever happened to you?" She raised her voice as if she was a heartbroken angel, who was denied the splendor of heaven's eternal paradise. She feigned a quiver as she lay back in the grass, "Like a part of my heart was ripped away and all that's left is a mangled clump of something that once was and never will be the same. I cannot trust a beat that trembles at the remembrance of fractured memories-of him and I, alone together-it's too much to bear!"

The shadow rolled its eyes.

Psyche sat up, face flushed and eyebrows burrowed. "I sensed that, and no! We're not killing it, yet."

The shadow lowered its clawed hand from the deadman's neck. Slowly.

Psyche cleared her voice. "Do I have an enemy I don't know of? Mom said there were other girls besides myself the Zoldycks were looking into, do you think it's one of them? Of course, deterring me from marrying him isn't necessarily going to increase their chances either as they have already been rejected." She said that happier than she intended to say.

The deadman, oblivious to the young assassin's delusional ramblings, continued on. "You are in danger."

Psyche sat forward, yearningly. More! She needs more details! "Danger from what? How many ex's does Illumi have? Was it one ex or did a bunch of them come together and cast this curse? Was he a player-which I doubt because y'know," She modestly gestured towards herself. Duh. "Unless maybe? Or is it a vengeful mother because their daughter wasn't chosen? I can see how that would bring about hostile feelings towards me, but that is no reason to stalk me and my clients." She waved her hand in the air; her gold chain sparkling from fragments of sunlight peeking out the gray clouds.

The deadman's eyes caught the light from the chain. Something in them softened.

Psyche looked between him and her chain, and she lowered it defensively. That was hers, not his.

The deadman rasped, "you still have it?" It's eyes glinted with recognition.

A cold storm swept through Psyche, "what did you say?" She weakly pushed herself off the ground and caught herself from stumbling as the world was shifting beneath her feet. Psyche walked towards the deadman and unconsciously reached out her hand. "Who are you?"

She looked at her hand as the number dropped to zero. Vesper opened its jaw and shrieked, "TIME!"

"No, Wai-"

The assassin and her shadow vanished into thin air under the gray sky that stood still and loomed over the dark woods below, whispering a quiet lullaby. Rain began to fall from a gentle pitter patter to a thunderous downpour. Drenching the fallen deadman and the secrets it will no longer be able to tell.

Chaos unleashed on Kukoroo Mountain.

Lady Kikyo gasped for air as she lay hunched over, pressing her hands against her bloody face. Wailing. Milluki was in no better condition as he leaned against the wall, supporting himself as he pressed his hands against his stab wound to stop the bleeding. Shit, Killua was stronger and faster than Milluki thought he was.

Milluki bitterly cursed at the butlers. "DAMN IT. DON'T JUST STAND THERE. HELP HER."

The butlers rushed towards Kikyo, "madam, we must stop the bleeding, please remove your hands."

Blood seeped between Kiyko's fingers, the wounds stung underneath her palms like hellfire. She ignored the butlers entirely, rasping to herself. "Kil...Kil...my baby boy..."

Tears mixed with blood as she cried.

Milluki ran to his mother, ignoring his own pain. He pushed aside the halfwitted butlers and held her in his arms. "Mom," Milluki grinded his teeth, "How dare Killua do this to you. I swear, I'm going to kill him. I'm going to hang him from his entrails until he begs for your forgiveness. I'm-"

Kikyo placed her red hands on Milluki's shoulders, staining his shirt with her handprints. A mother's mark.

Milluki's heart stopped.

It was not from seeing her face, which was brutally mangled, not by a wild or crazed beast, but by her own son. No. He was shocked to see that it was her quivering lips that curved into a smile.

Her tears were not made of sorrow, but of joy.

"Mom…" Milluki muttered, confused.

Kikyo rejoiced, "Milluki, did you see that terrifying expression on Killua's face? The slashes on mine? They will scar me for life. You must have felt it too when he struck you? His power, oh his cruel power." Tears streamed down her face, clearing away the blood as they fell. She brushed her hands against the border of Milluki's stab wound, overcome with ecstasy. He winced. It was not too deep, not enough to kill, but it served as a warning.

Control my life any longer and you will die.

Killua's words rang again in her head. He threatened her. He threatened his own mother and attempted to take her life because she stood in his way. He was a boy who was going to fight for his desires, whatever they may be.

She was hysterically wailing now. Her little boy was growing up right before her eyes into a cold blooded killer. She couldn't be more proud!

A butler entered the room and bowed, "Madam, Illumi tracked down Killua and his whereabouts. He is ready to apprehend him if you give him the command."

"No." Kikyo said far too quickly. She straightened her back and brushed down the creases in her kimono, making herself look more presentable as if she wasn't just brutally attacked by her own child. Kikyo was on the verge of death, but her greatest wish was being fulfilled-she couldn't be happier. The Zoldyck family was growing more powerful by the day. In strength, and now numbers. "He may go after Killua, but not right now. He is needed here. Tell him to come home immediately. He's late for his own wedding."

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING CHAPTER 5! I hope you all enjoyed it. Tell me what you thought :3 i may have gotten carried away writing Psyche's romance novel hahaha but it was fun and i regret nothing...and Ahhhh I know i said the wedding was going to happen in this chapter, but then stuff happened, so it's going to be delayed until the next chapter. I'm so sorry ;A; I really wanted it to happen but Psyche had to go take out a dude (not to dinner, that would have been worse-) bc work never ends for her, uh! the demanding life an of assassin :/ -lol Carrying on, Psyche gets a really eerie message coming from a dead guy, so that's not going to bode well for her *insert evil lenny face* ψ(｀∇ ´)ψ Also, I included the last scene, not only to only to give a nod to the chapter's title (They're BOTH late to the wedding haha) but also to give the time frame of the fic. It is currently taking place at the beginning of the anime :D

Also, take a look at the fic blog on tumblr, whereshadowstouch. I spiffed up the blog and made it look aesthetically fancy. Over there, not only do i reblog aesthetic shiz, but I also give updates about the fic's progress, as if it hard to do so here. -->  https://whereshadowstouch.tumblr.com/

Thank you for the support and i hope you'll stay tuned for the next one! Bye for now :3

Chapter Text

As the hour drew nearer, Illumi could only think of Killua. He turned Killua’s communicator over in his hands—inhibiting his urge to break it. Milluki tracked the signal to this location, where Killua left his device abandoned above a towering hill overlooking a cityscape. The lights of the city shone like stars. 

‘Killua led us on a wild goose chase.’ Illumi thought as he scrolled through Killua’s communicator and found a pop up note. Oh, a goodbye letter. Now his interest was piqued. He read the letter aloud for Milluki to hear, mimicking the sound and intonation of Killua’s childish voice perfectly, “If you’ve found this, it means I’ve run away from home—” 

“Damn it, Illumi! Take this seriously, and speak in your own voice!” Milluki barked. 

“Must you take the fun out of everything? My impression of our dear baby brother was spot on, I sounded like a whiny brat and everything,” Illumi laughed dryly before speaking in his own voice. “If you’ve found this, it means I’ve run away from home, I’ve not regret the actions I’ve done for it was only brought upon yourselves, which you should have thought better, should have treated me better— skip skip skip —don’t come looking for me, I don’t want to be found. I’ve been demeaned by all of you for so long, I’ve been long owed the respect I deserve— skip skip skip —in conclusion, it’s time I figure out what I want to do with my life. Without you all controlling me,” Ouch, that felt personal. “If you try to find me and drag me back home, I will hunt each one of you down, kill you, then sell your dismembered parts to the highest bidders, love Killua.” Illumi clicked his tongue. Love Killua? Aw, he still cares about them. “You’re right, Milluki, this must be serious. Killua used grammarly.” 

“Illumi, I think Killua would have wanted you to read over all the parts you skipped over. This is his goodbye letter.” 

“Oh please,” Illumi tsked, scrolling through more of the letter he skipped over. Filled with so many demands, so many complaints. “He really thought he ate with this.” 

“ILLUMI!” 

“Millu, I am not going to give into his melodramatics. Besides…he’s going to miss my wedding. I wanted all my brothers to be there.” 

‘Not giving into melodramatics, huh.’ Milluki thought while groaning over the phone. “Have you found Killua yet? Or can I go clean my wounds, I think I’m bleeding out in buckets. I feel lightheaded.”

“You’re fine.” Illumi was quick to quip, earning a well deserved screech from his little brother. ‘How would you know! You weren’t there!’ Illumi held the phone away from his ear. Apparently, Illumi was the only one in his family who could take a joke, yeesh. “You don’t have to worry about anything, baby brother. I know where Killua is.” 

“You do?” 

“Mh!” Illumi hummed. Killua left his search history on his computer, just as he left a spontaneous murder spree—chalk full of incriminating evidence! Kil was on his way to take the hunter exam. As a safety precaution, Illumi registered for the hunter exam before Killua decided to run away from home. 

“I guess me teaching you how to search through computer databases came in handy…Do you search through anyone else’s? DO YOU GO THROUGH MY COMPUTER?”  

Illumi scoffed. “Who do you think I am? This distrust of yours wounds me, honestly. There is nothing on your computer that interests me enough to do that.” 

Phew, Milluki breathed. 

“It’s all dreadfully boring things. You got your video game walkthroughs, downloaded anime and manga off sketchy websites—do you know there are MILFS in our area who desperately want to talk to you?—hentai, look, I’m not judging if you’re into some weird ass cartoons of nuns and tentacles—”Illumi broke off into hysterical laughter, to which Milluki wished Killua would have finished killing him instead of leaving him alive to endure this humiliation.  

“I HATE YOU. YOU’RE A TERRIBLE PERSON.” 

"I am not a person. I’m three possums in a coat.” 

“What the fuck—whatever. Just come home, asshole.” 

“Ok byeeeeeee.” Illumi hung up on his brother.

His mother’s final words tiresomely echoed in his ears. You’re late for your own wedding.

As if he already didn’t know. 

Illumi stifled a laugh, recalling his brother’s daring escape. An escape he wasn’t even there to bear witness. It was clever of Killua, he had to admit, to act when Illumi left for a mission. But it only proved to Illumi even further that Killua wasn’t confident enough to take action in his presence. Blackness brewed in his eyes. And yet the strings were loose enough when he wasn’t near. Fear waned in Killua’s heart with Illumi out of sight. 

This posed a problem. The puppet learned how to cut its strings when the puppeteer wasn’t looking. This would require a bit of mending. 

Illumi’s eyes narrowed, laced with vexing anger as rampaging thoughts bolted one after another through his head. His little brother’s escape was clearly predemediated. Killua wanted to do this for some time considering he waited until Illumi and all the heads of the household left the Mountain only leaving Mother in charge, with Milluki acting as her support. Milluki wasn’t a threat, but Mother certainly was.

“Hm.” Illumi hummed and raised his eyebrows, arguing rebuttals with himself. 

The gashes in his Mother’s face said otherwise. As for Milluki…well, Milluki wasn’t worth considering. Milluki and Killua taking their anger out on eachother wasn’t particularly new or worrisome on Illumi’s part.  

Further training was clearly in order if Killua felt he was independent enough to mount a rebellion of his own. All energy escaped Illumi as he fell onto his back with a thump and gazed up at the night stars, shimmering silver light above him. The stars were so close to each other. He wondered what secrets they were whispering amongst themselves hiding from the earth below. 

Then he remembered that the stars couldn’t talk and he was a rational man that didn’t wonder in the whimsies of what ifs and fantastical fairy tales. Only hypothetically, even if they were whispering, to which he’d tell them to mind their own business, the sky must be a boring place since there was no drama in the midnight black but millions of miles down below. Who was he to deny their only form of entertainment? They were probably laughing at Illumi since he only had one job.

For one night, he allowed himself to indulge the stars.

Illumi’s objective was simple, theoretically. Ready the heir. Which implied more than Illumi knew he would be taking on because everything was easier said than done. One day, Killua is to be the head, the forerunner, the leader, of the Zoldycks. Not only will the family follow him, but everyone in the dark underground as well. 

Educate the heir; teach him the best places to rip out a man’s beating heart without leaving a single trace of blood behind. He must learn to be a pseudo master of anatomy. A doctor of ghoulish delight with bloodlust being his sustenance and poison being his drink of choice. 

Shape Killua into a killer; assassins have no need of forming connections or kinships. This naturally came as the biggest shock to Killua. Let Illumi explain. ‘Friends’ only become double crossers. ‘Allies’ betray you with enough broken bones and sell you and your secrets in return for having at least one more functional finger. There are many people in this world that promise you empty guarantees of protection under the guile of camaraderie. Naturally, more so in this business than others. Trust was unreliable like finding an open seat on the subway. People will fight you for that seat, even that feeble grandmother with a walker will gladly trample you for it. Her weapon of choice being the walker. Any object can become a fearsome weapon if one is desperate enough. When strangers hurt and double cross you, that isn’t deception. It is who they are and all they will ever be, but friends? Friends are tricky, unpredictable, and only get in the way. Friends—supposed equals—when pushed to the brink of death and faced with the dilemma of saving either themselves or you, well, the answer isn't hard to figure out. Illumi just doesn't want Killua getting hurt. 

Mold Killua into a threat. No one will dare to strike you down because even their misguided attempts to cross you means facing your instantaneous wraith. Or how Illumi likes to put it, desolation without hesitation.

Turn Killua into a monster, but with table manners and etiquette and fluency in at least five languages and ballroom dancing skills because it was that or ballet. Mother was adamant on ballet until Kilua relented to, rather lazily, shuffling his feet across the ballroom floor. Illumi could only try so hard, but Killua’s waltz was pathetic. Girls don’t come in gigantic heights like yours , killua screamed at his older brother as he stepped on his foot. Then grow, Illumi barked back. He must be a monstrosity, but also with a degree of refinement as the best monsters are always, unknowingly, welcomed with open arms. Ranging from greetings to foxtrots. 

And of course, make sure the heir doesn’t die. That’s a given, right? Wrong. Killua had a troublesome penchant for picking the best battles that would dig him the deepest graves.

It was amazing how so many endless responsibilities were shoved under one job title. Illumi’s purpose in life was serving Killua’s ultimate purpose. It was as if Illumi was born into indentured servitude since the day he was born. Even before the birth of his little brother, his fate was predestined.

The qualities that his father and grandfather found so enticing in Killua, only bewildered Illumi. His little brother had one foot in the grave, and the other was purposely wobbling above ground just enough for Illumi to develop an early onset of at least eight different types of heart conditions Killua hand picked out of Satan’s bowels himself based on which ones would be the most entertaining for him to watch Illumi’s suffering firsthand. 

Even so, it was a noble pursuit. Illumi would do anything for his family, no matter how tiresome or how far killua pushed him over the edge. No matter how blindsided Killua was, throwing away all his hard work. His purpose. His life. 

Killua’s calling is to be an assassin—the greatest of his generation. Why was Kill the only one who couldn’t see that? 

The heir is gone. Is now the time to pop champagne? 

Killua’s communicator landed on the wild grass with a dull thud as Illumi leaned back on his arms. Long black hair swaying behind him like a river of pitch black. He looked up at the stars and whispered them a secret. “When I find Killua, I am going to kill him.” 

The stars already knew this. They wondered why it took him so long to realize it.

"Gravah, we're doing eye makeup here. Steady on the road." Chaotica said as she held Psyche's face in one hand and mascara in the other, gently applying it to her little sister's lashes, wiggling the wand as she swiped. They decided they were going to do their makeup when they were close to Kukuroo Mountain, rather than sitting through an agonizingly long car ride waiting for mascara to clump and lipstick to smear over their teeth.

Chaotica gawked then closed her mouth. "Don't make those eyeballs at me! Just be normal."

Psyche laughed. "I can't! I'm just so excited and nervous and," Psyche made a high pitched noise that made Anomie cover her ears.

Anomie blinked her eyes and resuming combing Psyche's hair. "Don't do that…oh I found another leaf in your hair. God dammit Psyche—What were you doing? Rolling around in the dirt and muck?"

"Oooooh," Chaotica covered her mouth impishly. "You had her use the Lord's name in vain."

"Like you've never heard me swear before. Look at yourself, you swear like a truck driver."

"Ann, it is essential to know how to speak the language of the road." Chaotica twirled the mascara wand, extravagantly.

Anomie grabbed Psyche's shoulders and smiled, "Take a good look duckie, that is what we call a road rager in denial–" Something scratched her nose. "ANOTHER LEAF. WHY?!" Anomie carefully extracted it from Psyche's hair.

"A leaf is but a memento of nature. Memories of a single moment bound together for one to remember when I am old and gray huddled close to the crackling fire under the stars with tender fondness." Psyche sighed a sweet breath of enchantment.

Anomie raised up an eyebrow, confused. "That was a very specific image. You're either living the posh life in the countryside or you're a destitute homeless woman loitering along the freeway."

Psyche ignored her older sister. "Foile's estate was so beautiful, tragic that a shitty person like him had to keep it locked away from society. People deserve—need—to frolic, it's good for the soul and calves. The forest, the air, the essence of it all. I felt like a governess running through the woods on my way to meet with my true love in a forbidden tryst."

"A governess?" Anomie wrinkled her nose, that sounded so unlike her sister. "Not a princess or duchess or some other grand and opulent title attached to a gorgeous prince?"

Chaotica yelped. "I'm game for whatever title enables me to wear a crown everyday. The bigger the jewels, the better."

"You already do, Chaotica." Psyche countered, to which Chaotica proclaimed a royal and posh hell yeah I do. "I am a girl with a multitude of dreams, but in this one there's tension, BURNING TENSION ANOMIE, between the baron of the estate I work for and the stable boy I yearn for. My greatest flaw is indecisiveness, I cannot simply step away, I cannot simply choose, how can you ask that of me?—or at the very least until act 3 closes off into the finale, then I must make my choice between them, but when I do it's the right one—I choose myself." Psyche blew a chef's kiss at her own made up fantasy. "but, ooooooh, it is not just I that is at risk! Without my meager income how else will I support my twelve younger, orphaned, and blind siblings? Listen well to my tragic backstory. Our parents died in a great and terrible famine that swept the kingdom, it's why I was begging for coins and looking quite alluringly forlorn in the streets, KEEP UP WITH ME PLEASE, THIS IS MY HISTORY, MY LORE."

Chaotica snickered. "She's not like other girls, Anomie, she looks alluringly forlorn in the streets."

Anomie flicked dead leaves at Chaotica. "Quiet. I wanna hear where the rest of Psyche's delusion is going. And regrettably wondering if we should have pulled into the psych ward we just passed."

Psyche divided her gaze between her sisters, a storyteller eager to enthrall her audience. "I was almost run over by his gilded carriage as I was begging for coins in the streets, my near death experience was our meet cute, by the way, this is foreshadowing for later when I almost run him over with his carriage. Ha! Without me as my darling brothers' and sisters' sole provider they will be evicted from the cottage, sold off one by one by our estranged and only living relative, the cruel and wicked Aunt Philipa." Psyche growled the fictitious woman's name, as if she truly lived and breathed.

"Asides from selling orphans, a profitable business venture for wicked aunts, she is an unmarried woman living a life of freedom without men. That's enviable." Anomie combed blades of glass from her little sister's hair.

"As they are forced to work tirelessly in the coal mines! My poor babies…" Psyche stifled a tear, emotions welling. "But then there's him. Him. His name is Sebastian, or something hot. It matters NOT because he will always be my stable boy, one look at him, aaah, my knees buckle, give in, they are not weak, actually I have no knees, my bone cartilage has melted, I am a puddle on the floor at his very victorian and very masculine outdoor-sy boots! He's so gorgeous to be hidden away in a barn! It's not fair! Can't you see how my heart is torn in two with this much at stake!?".

"Duh, Ann." Chaotica chirped as she dipped the mascara wand back into its tube. "Honestly, Ann, what do you have against ratty, impoverished, blind orphans—"

"I don't. I love them. In fact, we need more of them." Anomie's cold smile could crack mirrors and give them bad luck instead.

Chaotica chortled. "This much can be said: While one suitor bewitches you heart and soul, the other gives you the greatest railing of your goddamn life. It's a very subtle, but important distinction. All the booktok girlies get it. Psyche gets it."

"I do. I truly, truly do." Psyche nodded profusely,

"Here's your real happy ending. Marry the baron then slip poison in his tea before bed—the untraceable kind because we are smart ladies—but because we live for drama anyway, bludgeon him with a hammer and frame the murder on the stable boy who we just now noticed has been manifesting toxic misogynistic tendencies this entire time disguised well under rustic old world charm, inherit everything," Anomie paused after the most important detail, "Leave no stone unturned, no bank account empty. Then all you're left to do is walk away as a very happy and financially secure widow. You're so rich, you can buy back all your orphans, and then some. I'm checking your hair for bugs now." Anomie plucked a dried up leaf and pressed it between two fingers as a hole seared through. She blew away the smoke before looking the sizzling hole at her two criminally gifted visionaries.

"Yes, well, that's very creative, but I prefer not to become a widow. Even if it is beneficial for my precious orphans. Oh, if you find a bug, then throw it out the window. With care? It's not their fault I swept them up in my raggedy hair—how bad does it look? Can it be saved?"

"Of course," Anomie found a bug and scorched it between her fingers until it sizzled to ash, then just as Psyche insisted, carefully chucked it out the window. Anomie wasn't taking any chances, ticks stalk tall grass. The girls were immune to poison, not Lyme disease. Next, she should start checking for any bullseye rashes on Psyche's arms and legs. "I don't want the Zoldycks to look at you and instead of their son's bride to be, see a feral girl that dances in the woods and speaks to raccoons."

"Actually I think that would be a great addition to the story, but my main character can speak to all animals, not just raccoons. Right? Yeah. I think it really helps her stand out as a romantasy heroine."

"Oh oh oh! The horses can tell her when the stable boy is out of the barn so she can accidentally surprise him on morning walks aaaaaand tell her all about his sad bad boy feelings that he's too afraid to say out loud but instead confides with the animals." Chaotica added. "He thinks they don't understand him but, oh god, they know everything. And now so do we!"

Psyche covered her mouth, squealing. "Yes yes yes! That's exactly what the story needs!"

"And stick to that story. But say it with a little more conviction." What Psyche saw was a keepsake of a fairytale, Anomie saw a breeding ground for at least ten different species of insects. "What took you so long on The Foile's Estate anyway? Dezmon was an easy kill, for you, that's a compliment. Besides meeting up with your woodland lover. I hope," Anomie swallowed a laugh," I hope Illumi isn't the jealous type."

Psyche's face blushed from cheek to cheek. So she likes to romanticize the little moments of her day. From the mundane to her killings and everything in between. There's nothing wrong with that.

Psyche exhaled. "I had to make sure he was dead for documentation purposes, for Harlow's sake." Harlow was a widow who lost everything, hopefully Dezmon's death brings her a fraction of peace. "Maybe it was just my nerves, but his body was fidgeting a bit, so I waited. It stopped soon after, but I opted to stay for all of Vesper's allotted time, because y'know, frolicing." Psyche feigned inconspicuous laughter. From the moment Vesper warped her back into the car, she said nothing about Dezmon's reanimated corpse and what it eerily warned her in the woods. She was watching Dezmon for weeks and noticed nothing out of the ordinary, she had no clue who placed a nen curse on his body, if it even was a nen curse. But what else could bring a body, even momentarily, back into a disturbing mimicry of life? She had little time to investigate before being warped back. Someone was watching Psyche and knew she was contracted to kill Dezmon. Dezmon told her not to marry Illumi Zoldyck and that she was in danger. However, she didn't want to investigate, she didn't want to know. If anything, it was ridiculous because she trusted Illumi, she trusted the Zoldyck Family, and she was definitely not in any real danger. She's the happiest she's ever been in a very long time. But if she told her family, would the wedding be canceled? Calypsa was very superstitious (she once wore turquoise beads everyday for a whole month because a psychic told her it would ward off bad vibes, not even bad luck, just vibes) and zombies proclaiming doomsday seemed like solid enough grounds to return home. No, Psyche would not let that happen. She was worried that it recognized her gold chain. Eros's gold chain, which she was currently smuggling in a hidden pocket. Maybe it was someone who knows her and only brought up Eros to rattle her nerves. Reminders of her brother always arise in the most unexpected ways. Oh, Eros…

Eros' name could be brought up just as easily as it was to sweep under the carpet. Always lying in wait to be called upon, to be remembered with tender grace or serve as a warning example. Psyche wondered—was envious—how family or strangers (or zombies) could say his name and not be stirred by Eros and the wondrous ways he lived his life. He was a gifted musician, when he and Chaotica weren't bickering, they would perform concerts in the living room as they'd play and sing together and their home would be filled with such lovely music, that even their mother listened with an open heart. What she'd give to hear them play Island in the Sun one last time. Or when Eros and Psyche organized hostile takeovers of the kitchen at midnight, blindly cooking over-baked brownies or merengues that were never whipped enough or pastas drowning in too much sauce but never enough cheese. Or when they were little, Psyche would nudge Eros out from bed, and he'd be grumpy and mutter under every breath as he'd wrap himself tightly with a blanket and still sit dutifully by an open window, forced to listen to bedtime stories as the night time chill blessed their rosy cheeks, of shipwrecked pirates and lost boys stealing and sinking treasure just for pleasure and fairies flying across the isles of Neverland and even further beyond stardust. 'Peter Pan better show up tonight,' Eros would say to her, teeth chattering to the frost-bitten cold. He'd finally get to sleep, and it would make his sister very happy if she got the chance to fly off to Neverland because his sister knew that was how Wendy Darling got Peter Pan's attention. Though Pan never came, Eros never stopped listening to her stories.

In the last year of Eros' life, he refused to kill. His mother would not allow it. Forcing his hand as his eyes became emptier. Glassier. Psyche once thought that refusal was out of a newfound mercy, a tormented disdain of murder, or simply disgust over their targets. He'd never say, as if afraid to let anyone know what was going through his mind when he barely knew himself. So Psyche took it upon herself to double her workload, forge Eros' kills, just to trick their mother into believing Eros changed his ways—that he wasn't weak as she persistently claimed and leave him alone. At the time, she thought she was helping.

Now, Psyche could see that she wasn't.

Psyche sighed, miserably.

"Anomie, darling," Calypsa lulled gently, not looking up from her phone. Psyche was so enraptured with her own thoughts, she forgot her mother was sitting directly beside them. "Be kind to not press our precious duckling for details. She knows what she's doing." Her eyes suddenly passed over to her youngest child as her aura exuded a lethal countenance, a bitterness that snapped shut and dissolved any thoughts of deferring todays' long anticipated plans, years in the making. "You have everything under control, don't you." Not a question, an order.

Psyche gulped. "Yes, mother."

Her mom was the type of woman who could look into any soul and pull apart its secrets, thread by thread, stitch by stitch. Stretched beyond hope under berating inspection across a loom. She hoped Calypsa couldn't see this one. An expression radiating warmth melted away signs of coldness in her mom's eyes. It was frightening to watch this unnerving transition. "I just notified your client that the kill was successful. Another happy customer! I'll never know how I was so blessed to have a daughter with an extraordinary talent of making the world a better place one kill at a time!" Calypsa laughed, Psyche knew her mom didn't actually care who she killed and why—fighting for the downtrodden whom the justice system has failed or distributing overdue karma to those the law willingly turned a blind eye to—it didn't matter to her mom, just as long as she was handsomely paid. "Now! There will be no more talk of business for you, it's time to take splendor in happy things. Girls, help your sister on her wedding day, look at her! She's a bundle of nerves."

A wave of relief passed over Psyche. She wasn't going to think of dead men and ominous warnings. She was going to smile. There was a lot to smile about. More so than in a long time. "Every part of me is literally shaking. See?" She held her jittery hands up in Chaotica's face. Chaotica pushed them back down.

"Well try to remain still," Chaotica held Psyche's face a little firmer, "or else I'll accidentally poke you in the eye." Chaotica was a master with a makeup brush as she was with a knife. She was a girl with many passions, besides murder, but none were greater than the art of cosmetics. There were two absolutes when it came to Chaotica. Always walk like the hot slut you know you are and always carry a stick of Revlon.

When they finally arrived at the Zoldyck's estate, it was raining.

"This," Calypsa peered out the window then looked back at her girls with a beaming smile on her face. "Is good news. Good news indeed."

Chaotica rummaged through her makeup bag frantically. "This is terrible news! I should have applied waterproof mascara! PSYCHE, GIVE ME BACK YOUR FACE."

Anomie's eyes blinked with amusement. "That is the perfect one liner for a horror story."

"THIS," Chaotica held Psyche's finished pristine face, squishing her cheeks, "Is going to be a horror story. MY WORK. RUINED."

Psyche gazed longingly at the Zoldyck testing gates. She was too content with all the blessings of life to be insulted. "What matters is on the inside." And on the inside she felt nothing but love.

"Aaaaw, that is so cute and adorably naive. Now give me your face." Why must the fate of their lives once again fall on Chaotica to single handedly save the day? If the day was going to get any more stressful, then Chaotica was going to kidnap her sisters, stow them away on first class airline seats to Paris, torture them mercilessly with expensive shopping sprees, and stoppering their pleas with fantastically baked macaroons.

"She's fine." Anomie interjected, noticing Chaotica plotting determinedly behind her eyes. "Anymore and you'll make her look like a clown."

"Hmmph! Girls are never clowns, they are princesses." Chaotica huffed, irritated. "And makeup is supposed to make them feel like princesses. When a fairy godmother poofs right in front of you and says she's gonna give you the makeover montage of your life, you don't decline! If I want to glam you up, then I'm going to glam you up."

Anomie snorted. "You were once swept up in a craze of concealer butt lips and extreme contouring, I think I should feel wary of a free makeover."

"NOOOOO, I CAN'T BELIEVE I USED TO WALK OUT OF THE HOUSE LIKE THAT AND THOUGHT I LOOKED GOOD. DON'T REMIND ME!"

"I do love makeover montages." Psyche nodded.

Calypsa coughed, as all voices quieted and all eyes turned to her. "Rain on your wedding day is symbolic of good luck. It is a sign that they will be the last tears a bride will shed for the rest of her life. Be merry, my dear. Your marriage will be long lasting, and with many children, might I add."

Psyche couldn't contain her smile. There was a lot to be merry about—oh! "That reminds me, I have to return Illumi's balisong knife he lent me, I'll give it back to him right when I see him—"

"No," Calypsa lurched forward in her seat as if the car halted to an abrupt stop. "Do not do that."

"Why?" Psyche asked, confused.

"Knives as wedding gifts are considered atrocious bad luck. A knife given to someone on their wedding day signifies a broken relationship to come. A knot, no matter how tight, cannot withstand the cut of a sharp blade. It'll cut the ties of your marriage, like that." She flicked her hand in the air, as if demonstrating the striking power of its cut. "If you must give it to him, I can't stop you from doing so, at least wait until sometime after the wedding. Until a sufficient, and safe, amount of time has passed. It's only a silly knife, I doubt he's missing it."

"I'll wait then." Psyche said with a dejected sigh. It wasn't just a silly old knife, maybe it was, but the memories behind it meant more to her than some silly superstition.

"Girls." Calypsa held her head high. "It's time."

The world stilled as they stopped in front of the gates. Psyche breathed, quelling her nerves. The car door opened and there stood Gotoh, the Zoldyck's head butler, holding an umbrella over the opening. For her. He bowed his head, "Welcome. We have been awaiting you."

He walked her to the gate in revered silence, then stopped.

Rain covered Psyche in a veil of translucent droplets of a maiden's final tears. They welcomed her into their family. She had to prove to them they didn't make a mistake.

She rested her hands on the cold stones, like so many before her have done, but none with her purpose.

The gates opened, and her new family welcomed her on the other side. She walked with her head held high.

Psyche dared not show the bewilderment that was rattling inside as her gaze met Kikyo's. The woman's face was bandaged, all except her lips and visor. Her soft pink lips contrasted with the piercing red dot blinking in her visor, as if those were solely her eyes. Unyielding to all threats, insubstantial or grand, as they scanned her precious guests. Psyche could tell the wounds were fresh given how Kikyo was guarding her injuries, splinting her facial muscles with careful and slow movements to not tear open any fresh wounds, yet refused to yield to her pain as she welcomed them with open arms and exuberant joy as she's always done—that alone attested to her unwavering strength as a Zoldyck. A mother. A wife. But what kind of despicable monster was close enough and capable enough to hurt a Zoldyck assassin—her beloved mother-in-law? (Psyche would not breathe a word of it, because this is a woman's face after all, and if Kikyo was anything like her own mom, merely mentioning a blemish was enough to ruin her day.) Psyche hoped this fiend's punishment was tenfold of the horrors they inflicted on Kikyo.

Kikyo welcomed Psyche, not as a guest, but as a daughter. Psyche rushed into her arms, as she was enveloped in a fragrant aroma of Kikyo's perfume. The nostalgia and memories hit her fast before the scent itself. Of summers drunk on intensely sweet ice tea, breathlessly racing Kikyo's children barefoot through the soft grass, plunging thoughtlessly and freely into the stone carved pool as water washed away messy ice cream fingerprints from the littlest boys off her skin, as the mothers lovingly watched from the patio, gossiping of husbands, kills, and celebrity drama. Psyche fondly remembered the time Kalluto was terrified of jumping off the diving board, not even when Illumi offered to hold him, so Illumi picked up Psyche and plunged into the pool with her just to show Kalluto it was safe. From then on, it was the only way Kalluto wanted to jump off the diving board.

"My darling girl." Kikyo admired Psyche's face. "It's been my pride to watch as you blossomed into a great beauty, matured into a refined lady, and harnessed your dark gifts as a cold blooded killer just like your mother—my most treasured friend." Kikyo extended her arm towards Calypsa, beckoning her old friend. It was because of Kikyo that Calypsa believed in fate. They were best friends in Meteor City, withstanding the slums and violence and chaos together. Surviving off scraps and bones, off promises and beautiful dreams. Until one day Calypsa was kidnapped in broad daylight and they never saw each other again, only to be reunited accidentally years later by their husbands on one fateful mission to kill a Spider.

Calypsa spoke, genuine love warbling her voice. "I never gave up on seeing you again, Kiki. The world tried to beat me down, make me forget who I was and who I first loved. I'm so grateful, it was you that made me strong, you that urged me to never stop fighting. It's not an exaggeration to say I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. Our fates were always meant to cross, always meant to intertwine. For a long time, I've known that our families were meant to join together. One of my girls was destined for one of your boys. And today that destiny has arrived."

"Welcome to our Family." Kikyo's visor blurred as she cried tears of happiness. Suddenly, Kikyo's knees gave way and she suddenly fell to the ground. Psyche could hear a loud 'MOM!' as a panicked Milluki dropped his umbrella, ran to his mother, and aided to comfort her. Milluki wasn't the same as his mother and couldn't hide his audible whimpers of pain as he crouched beside her. Visibly uncomfortable as blood seeped through his shirt. Both their wounds were fresh. Kalluto stood solemnly beside his mother and older brother, neither moving nor offering a helping hand as if this show of a circus level display of emotion wasn't anything new to his family. For a child so young, he possessed an aura of stoic superiority as a sneer, hyper aware and disgustingly cocky, directed towards his older brother escaped his ruthless gaze. It disappeared just as swiftly as it came when Psyche noticed. He was well trained and accustomed to disguise his own emotions, however turbulent or calm, as depraved, uninterested boredom.

It hit Psyche like a cold front. There were faces missing from the crowd. Where was Silva? Zeno? Killua?

Where was Illumi?

Illumi was the first person her eyes searched for in the group. Her heart sank. He was nowhere to be found. It was only the three Zoldycks and a few butlers who greeted them.

Kikyo held out her hands and Psyche instinctively held onto them. Kneeling down in the mud along with her mother in law. Her mother in law was in pain, and Psyche's heart instantly ached for hers.

"Thank you, my dear." Kiyko rasped, barely having the strength to speak.

Even Calypsa hiked up her skirt and barged through the rain without a care of ruining her appearance and held her friend in an embrace. "Kikyo, what has happened to you!? Who has done this to you!?"

Kikyo couldn't hold back her tears and the dot in her visor glitched as if the misery in her heart seeped its way into her gadget. "He's gone."

Psyche's heartbeat instantly spiked, fearing the worst. "Who's gone?"

"My son." Kiyko rasped. "Kill has run away from home."

Psyche refused to admit the relief that washed over her. She instantly felt guilty because of it. Then came the fear for her brother in law. It would be a tragedy to lose another brother. But that still didn't answer her question…where was her fiance?

"I should have told Illu to get him, oh Calyspa, I think I made a huge mistake. He's still a child. How can Kill survive out there on his own?"

Calypsa barked orders to the butlers, "Let's all go inside, and bring us hot tea and towels." The butlers quickly followed her commands without hesitation, she was the only woman outside the Zoldyck Family who could.

Milluki's eyes caught Chaotica's.

Hi again, she quietly mouthed to him and winked.

Milluki shuddered.

Anomie lowered her tone to a quiet whisper. "Would it kill you to refrain from doing anything…you."

"I was only saying hello." Chaotica was all mischief and vice.

Both families and the butlers headed towards the estate, with the youngest lot trailing in the back. Kalluto, with his luminous amethyst eyes, peered at Psyche with nothing but an unreadable expression that veered towards a slight scowl on his face. He didn't budge as the rest of his family moved on.

"Gotoh, leave us." Kalluto commanded, with an unwavering voice that dripped with absolute authority without looking at the butler. He did not need to look to know he would be obeyed as his scowl on Psyche only deepened from the moment she arrived. Kalluto was taught well, ingrained in his bones from perfectionistic training, to never stray his eyes off looming threats. No matter how sweet or docile they pretended to be.

Psyche threw off her jacket and wrapped it around Kalluto's shoulders without him asking or resisting or offering gratitude, as he only gripped the ends closer, shielding more of himself from the rain. He's used to being coddled, he expects it. Psyche knelt down, so he could look equally into her eyes. It must be tiring, literally and demeaningly being looked down upon everyday when he's already the youngest child. Out of all the Zoldyck children, she related to Kalluto the most. "I felt your aura since passing the gate, and oh my, it's quite scary! It felt like my whole body was being stabbed with needles and all I wanted to do was turn around and run. Illumi must be so proud of you," Psyche smiled a soft laugh, noticing how Kalluto perked up at the later compliment, though undeterred by his aura she claimed frightened her. What was real? What was an act? Kalluto wondered as Psyche spoke on. "If you're going to tell me off then I prefer only one of us gets drenched."

"I'm not the one you should be worrying about, think about yourself. That is what you're good at." Rain dripped down Kalluto's hair, ink black and shimmering. "You disgust me." This wasn't a child who was afraid to speak his mind.

The blow was equivalent to an anvil falling over her head, but Psyche wanted—wished—for him to get the rest of his burdening thoughts off his chest. She preferred brutal honesty over rosy lies, especially now in her life. "That's a good start."

"I will make myself very clear. My family may trust you, but I do not. Nor will I ever. According to the laws decreed in the Bureau, it is not a crime for Houses to commit offenses against its own members, even family." hostility between heirs and succession wars were fair game, because it was not blood that decided who leads, but the individual's will. To fight, to claw, to keep and maintain power. Only the fittest rule because glory as Head had to be earned. Birthright be damned. But crimes committed between Houses is, variably, punishable. The Bureau, for all intents and purposes, was really meant to keep separate Houses from killing each other. Even the most ruthless of assassins favored peace when wars did not serve them. "However, the laws become more lax when it comes down to individual Heads since they dictate the laws of their own House they command. Each can therefore have vastly different rules as long as they uphold the founding commandments of the Bureau. Laws mainly to prevent Houses from waging wars with each other. Your House may be different from ours, but it's still disgusting to watch you pretend you didn't do anything wrong and go unpunished while disregarding the rules of mine."

"You've studied the laws," Psyche looked off in the woods, rain shimmering the emerald leaves. "You could become a fine Head to a House someday. It's a shame it won't be this one, but I don't think you want it any other way. Because you know your place is here. You're a very good boy, and your family is very lucky to have you."

Psyche peered back to Kalluto's alluring eyes, unstirred by praise, but beyond the vibrant hue of spring plums she bore witness to raw hatred and love coalescing into a rampant, overpowering storm; her soft demeanor never once shrank to the pulsating waves of Kalluto's spine-chilling nen. He is not afraid of showing his heart to anyone. Most people are scared to do that. He's very honest. There was no innocence, no playful mischief, no ounce of anything other than hostility left in the Zoldyck boy. Still, Psyche wouldn't admonish but cherish this pure vehement honesty as she assessed his character as loyal and committed in attitude and spirit, possessing a devout need to protect his loved ones and a desire to become stronger that will only grow in years to come for that singular purpose alone. Courage and beauty could not be overlooked amongst the violence that raged within Kalluto, but Psyche couldn't help but feel sad for the boy, he was forced to learn nen so young only for it to control him and not the reverse, something his parents must already be training him in how to tame. His nen flowed recklessly and savagely from his petite body in an emotional display of absentmindedness to fury that could make any weaker person pass out in exhaustion from a massive release of chaotic energy, yet the urge to protect his family is what kept him standing. This boy thrived in chaos. He is a good brother and very loved. Psyche cooed in understanding. "I love your big brother, Kalluto. I would never hurt him."

"Before Illumi, before my family, before any obligations to the Bureau," Kalluto tsked. "Eros was yours." Kalluto didn't say this out of fondness nor grief for the Moiraio boy he hardly remembered, nor did he actually care that Eros laid stone cold and rotted in a grave, only that his sister had a hand to play in his demise, even her whole family. Eros may have turned against them, but they gave up on him long before he first striked. "You said the same about Eros. Is this what happens to the people you love? Can you guarantee, promise me, the same won't happen to my big brother?"

The rain began to subside into a faint drizzle as Psyche promised.

A sinister gleam twinkled in his eyes. "If you're going to be a part of my family, then you should know and obey all our rules. Murdering blood," All of Kalluto's nails sharpened to a lethal point. "Is punishable by death." Within a single soundless leap, Kalluto was boundless. Vanishing like a ghostly specter that not even the rain could touch as he aimed for Psyche's heart with ruthless precision. Condemning her for a crime she should have already paid for.

Kalluto only let out a surprised gasp, as his claws did not meet bone and blood, but a wisp of rippling dark shadows forged in Psyche's exact image. For the first time he was impressed by another assassin outside his family, only for any praise to disappear completely as he tripped over his own toes and fell face flat into the mud. How did she do that? I didn't see her move? I didn't sense her using nen? I should have been able to kill her! (How can I learn that?) What is in my mouth? oh god it's crunchy! EW! Kalluto coughed and spat mud out of his mouth only to vexingly see Psyche again in front of him, unharmed, unfazed, and offering him 75% ethyl alcohol hand wipes to clean his face with.

Anomie and Chaotica refused to leave, watching Kalluto's display of anger as he repeatedly failed to murder Illumi's fiance, from a suitable distance with the best in house view as Psyche continued to evade Kalluto's strikes without counter attacking at least once. Anomie, none concerned over the boy's ceaseless attempts to strike through her sister's heart, whispered curiously, I'm not familiar with this technique he's using? Is it a variation of Rhythm Echo? Seven Viper Strike? Buchmeiser Blitz? The Jumping Flea? A Zoldyck Family secret maneuver only passed down through the generations? Hop Scotch? While Chaotica bellowed a ruckus like a spectator in Heaven's Arena, BOOOO, I WANT TO SEE TEETH FLYING! Not indicating who should be knocking whose teeth out, she always preferred surprises. Anomie pursed her lips as she mockingly whispered to Chaotica, "Awwww, isn't Lulu so precious. He really believes he's his big scary brother's protector."

"Yoo-hooooo Luluuuuuuu!" Chaotica waved as she sung Kalluto's nickname, which he must have heard considering he jolted upright and was blushing red. "The last time we saw you, you were crawling to us on all fours pretending to be a puppy, showing off doggy tricks and begging for treats! And now you have mastered rolling over in the mud! Good Lulu!" She excitedly patted her knees, as if she could make him run over to them with his tail wagging and tongue flapping. "Who's a good boy? Who is? Lulu is a good boy!" Chaotica mocked as both girls began laughing in breathless hysterics, even Psyche was caught stoppering her own giggling behind a cautious hand.

"She isn't worthy of marrying my brother!" Kalluto growled. Clenching his fists in the mud.

"But of course she is, Lulupi!" Another insidious nickname. "Psyche opened the testing gates with the power of looooove!" Chaotica burst out a stream of red aura above her in the shape of a heart. While Anomie formed her blue aura in the shape of Cupid's arrow, piercing through the center of the red heart, as if they were putting on a dazzling light show.

Kalluto raised his voice, squeaking higher when he's angry. "No she didn't! Even a bear can open the testing gates!—AAH!" Kalluto lurched back, splashing in the mud, when he was surprised by a shadow of a monstrous sized bear stretched out on the forest floor around them. With claws, fangs, burly fur, and a wriggling cotton ball snuff of a tail. He looked back to see it coming from Psyche, with her hands up and curled like paws as she playfully growled at him. She expected him to smile and jump and laugh like he always used to, but he only stared at her in silence dumbly remembering his first memories of her; she was a magician, a sorceress, a master of shadow puppets. When he was little, he remembered catching and chasing shadow rabbits jumping across walls and furniture, giggling as mighty lions bowed down to him as their new king, evading sparrows as they tried to land and make nests on his head, and watching in breathless awe as baby dinosaurs hatched from their eggs. At one time Kalluto was enamored with her theatrics, but he now realized that was all they were, theatrics.

"You used to love my shadow puppet shows, Kalluto. Let's have another sometime soon. We'll sit by the fire in our pajamas, and this time I perfected my marshmallow cocoa crispies recipe with just the right amount of fluff so that you won't need a sip of hot chocolate in between every bite to still breathe." Psyche's cooking almost unintentionally assassinated the head of the Zoldyck clan, not so fondly remembering Silva choking on her treats and illumi poorly hiding his laughter as his father's face increasingly turned blue. She almost made Illumi prematurely rise as the head of the family. What a night, she was never allowed in the kitchens again!

Kalluto's sinister aura fizzled to a pathetic hiss as the laughing and name calling and coddling came back full force; just now learning what it felt like as a sheltered boy to be embarrassed by girls older than him. Simultaneously caring and despising what they thought of him—it was horrifying. He had a spontaneous urge to fling himself in the lake, with an electric toaster. He angrily barked—shit!—-yelled very disagreeably as a normal boy would at the three stupid, sister stooges, "well, not murdering and tearing at one another's throats must be a new, wild concept for all of you, because here at Kukuroo Mountain family looks out after each other. AND I FORBID YOU FROM CALLING ME THAT RIDICULOUS NAME! I AM NOT A PUPPY! I DON'T LIKE SHADOW PUPPETS! I LOOOATHE MARSHMALLOW KRISPIES, AND YOU," he pointed to Chaotica, "I don't even know why you're allowed back here AND NONE OF YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT HORRORS I'M CAPABLE OF, I AM A COLD BLOODED KILLER—" suddenly, Kalluto was ambushed by all the Moiraio sisters, strangled in a deadly viper like grip, surely a powerful assassin's technique he wasn't yet familiar with. "What are you doing to me!?" He struggled to pry himself free from their arms.

"It's a hug, silly! for the cutest little Lulupi in the whole wide world." Psyche gushed.

"I AM NOT YOUR LULUPI!" Kalluto screeched as he was smothered in his first group hug. It was awful, unbearable, they suffocated him with an abundance of love! each girl began squealing over the other: AAAAH YOU'RE THE CUTEST LIL BABY LULUPI, I WANNA HUG LULUUUUU FOREVER AND EVER, YOU'RE SO PRECIOUS I'D TURN YOU INTO A COAT AND WEAR YOU ALL DAY LONG! (Chaotica chill…)

Kalluto wasn't sure whose hair he pulled, arm he bit, or eyes he jabbed to escape, only that he was lucky to get out of this menacing hug alive. The girls laughed harder when he threw Psyche's jacket in the mud and stomped on it before skulking back into the mansion. While Gotoh scurried behind the young master, shielding him with an umbrella. I don't want it! They heard Kalluto yell at the butler.

Chaotica sighed, Kalluto was her favorite. "It's good to be back. Oh, do you think they still have those banned posters of me at the Butler Academy? I noticed Gotoh gave me the stink eye since we got here, you'd think I live in his head rent free."

Psyche looked up, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Well you did drive a golf cart through the school's hallways and scored yourself a point for every golf ball you shot at teachers' heads who didn't duck, used nen to adhere students desks to the ceilings of their classrooms—illumi told me they held classes upside down for a week because they thought it would be a good lesson in focusing against gravity, after those lessons was mopping up vomit—and then there was the time you filled the principal's office with live bats because the snakes were fast asleep hibernating."

"Aaah, memories like that last a lifetime. Do you think they'll let me do a signing? Host a Q and A panel? Oh, what about orate a moving speech, I always have one on hand prepared, followed by a casual brunch? For the educational advancement of the students, of course, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet a school legend after all."

"Because surviving Kukuroo Mountain isn't enough, they have to survive us too." Anomie howled, causing the girls to erupt in laughter as they walked back to the mansion, arm in arm, reminiscing of past memories of cherished laughter and mayhem with the Zoldycks. Psyche took one last look behind her to the testing gates, which have long since closed; sealing her inside this familiar yet bewildering life. Forevermore, her new home.

"Is the room to your liking, Mistress?" Amane stood rigidly in the corner with her hands folded and her back straight as an arrow upon escorting Psyche to her new room. Upon entering the manor, the butlers escorted each member of the Moiraio family to their rooms. Except for Calypsa and Kikyo, who were both curled up in the living room, warming themselves up by the fire and drinking tea. Psyche could hear Kikyo cry about disobedient sons and wondering where she went wrong in raising Killua and Calypsa nodded her head in understanding at every tear spilled by Kiyko.

Sons! Psyche heard Calypsa scoff, managing to get a laugh out of the miserable mother. Who only resumed crying in the next breath.

"Mistress."

Startled, Psyche turned around. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Is the room not to your liking?" Amane asked, with a placid expression on her face.

Mistress?

She could get used to that.

"It's perfect, thank you."

"All your luggage has arrived. I trust that once you unpack, you will see that everything has been accounted for."

Psyche looked around the spacious room filled with cardboard boxes full of her belongings. The soles of her shoes clacked against the bare wooden floor, the brisk sound echoing off the walls. This room was clean, pristine, and unmarked. It hasn't been lived in yet. There was the standard set of furniture. An armoire, vanity and chair, bookcase with empty shelves waiting to be filled with all her most beloved adventures, and a dressing screen designed with beautiful prints of blue and purple hydrangeas.

There was also one bed. Only one bed.

Psyche cocked her head to the side. This bed was quite small for two people. Unless, that is how it is supposed to be.

Psyche cleared her throat. "I'm not sure how much Illumi will be bringing into the room, but maybe I can move some furniture around that can help accommodate us both."

Amane blinked. "That won't be necessary."

"Did Illumi already move his belongings in here?" All the boxes looked like hers. All marked with labels written in her cursive writing. Perhaps his things will be moved in later.

"My apologies," A pink blush bloomed on Amane's cheeks. "This room is entirely rooms. Mistress."

Psyche internally slapped herself for asking a foolish question. Her and Illumi would be having separate rooms. Of course, they would take it slow. Slower is better. She would have suggested separate rooms if she was asked beforehand, but clearly she wasn't because they already read her mind…but…they wouldn't be sharing rooms? Was there at least a door that connected their rooms together? A secret corridor hidden behind a conspicuously placed elaborate tapestry hung on the wall? Two tin cans attached to each other with string? Anything was better than nothing. Back home, a door connected her bedroom to Eros's. He was only ever a knock away.

Psyche pivoted around and faced Amane. "Where is Illumi?"

Amane looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Is his room down the hall? May you show me? I'd like to see him."

"Master Illumi isn't home. Yet."

"When will he be?"

Amane didn't look like she had the answer to that question. "I will notify you as soon as he arrives." Immediately after she said those words, she saw the disappointment on the young bride's face. She quickly fumbled over her words, "Please, don't worry. This won't be a recurring problem since it will be nice for master Illumi to be home more."

"Illumi is rarely home?"

"Amane," Tsubone called out to her granddaughter as she stood looming beneath the door frame. Psyche bowed her head in politeness. "What troubles are you imbuing Mistress Psyche with at this hour?"

Amane's shoulders quivered as she waved her hands in front of her, nervously. "I didn't mean to offend, grandmother, I–"

Tsubone smiled, "I'm only kidding." She turned to Psyche, smiling sweetly. "As someone who was once a young bride myself, I sense your eagerness, but we humbly apologize and ask for your patience in the meantime. There is nothing to worry about. Master Illumi is dedicated to his work, tirelessly upholding the family business. He is truly an excellent assassin, and I'm sure what Amane meant to say, once you two are married, it will be nice for him to slow down so you may both enjoy your youth. Right, Amane?"

"Yes!"

"Amane will personally tend to you, but if you ever need me, I will always be here for you."

"Thank you, Tsubone."

"Due to Master Killua's unexpected departure, it has shaken the family quite a bit. The wedding ceremony will commence in the morning when everything is in order. You must be very tired from your long journey."

"Actually, I'm quite awake." Psyche tugged on her sleeves and lightly laughed.

"Amane will help you prepare to rest. Clean sheets and blankets have already been laid out for you."

"Of course, but first I would like to see my sisters, which rooms are they–"

"They are being attended to as we speak."

"Yes, but a quick goodnight would be eno–"

"Early to bed, early to rise. Mistress." Suddenly, Tsubone loomed taller over her, scarier. And worse, reminded Psyche of her mom.

Psyche squeaked. "Yes, ma'am."

Psyche was surprised they didn't lock the door when they finally left. She dropped onto her bed and pulled Eros's gold chain out of her pocket. The gold glittered underneath the soft light. She curled up on her bed and held the necklace close to her heart and treasured a moment of silence amongst the endless chaos. She will be married tomorrow. Never today. How much longer will she have to wait? All her life, she has been waiting and she was tired of it.

"I want him." Him.

Her heart knew which one that meant.

Someone ripped her blanket off her.

Not someone. Something.

Psyche rubbed her eyes and gazed at a blurry image of her shadow which contained too much energy to stay still as it paced around the room. Dropping the blanket to the floor into a disheveled clump.

"Go away," Psyche moaned. "I'm too tired. Can't it wait for tomorrow?"

It grabbed a hold of Psyche's ankles and pulled. The answer was no.

Psyche gripped onto the headboard. If her shadow wanted to whisk her away to god knows where, then the headboard was coming with her. In this moment, she loved no one more than her bed. No one would separate them, not even her own shadow. "What could be so important." Psyche hissed.

Her shadow clasped its hands together and mockingly swooned over, falling on the floor with a hand resting over its forehead, dramatically.

Psyche narrowed her eyes, "You woke me up to make fun of me."

The shadow nodded and pointed to the door, forcefully.

"You were snooping around the estate on your own?! Do you know how dangerous that is? What if someone saw you? WHAT IF MOM SAW YOU? WHAT IF—"

It finally clicked.

Psyche jumped out of bed. Heart thrumming her wide awake. She ran to her vanity table—almost toppling over the chair—and combed through her hair in a feverish frenzy. Untangling knots and flattening her bed head.

"Sometimes, I swear, you're the only one who is ever truly helping me."

The shadow crossed its arms and nodded its head, smugly. Of course it was, it meant to say if it could say anything at all.

Psyche believed she was so much more than a girl who waits.

As her Mom always said, if you're staring at the door waiting for adventure to barge in and take you by the arms and whisk you away, then that's how you'll spend your whole life. Forever destined to watch a closed door stay shut.

Psyche stood up and twirled in front of her vanity mirror, watching her nightdress fan around her and fall gracefully over her thighs. She carefully inspected her reflection in the mirror. Cute. Very demure.

The time for waiting has ended. She quietly opened her bedroom door and let her shadow guide her away to her biggest adventure.

Her shadow led her to the kitchen and then receded into Psyche's own and out of sight.

Her heart beated loudly in her chest.

He was here.

She heard the sounds of someone quietly rummaging through the kitchen, careful not to awaken a sleeping home. A bowl clinking against the counter top. The refrigerator door swinging open. Illumi clicking his tongue; searching for whatever could settle a hungry stomach after midnight.

For a moment she dared to step back and leave him. Losing all courage. Thinking it would be better to approach him in the morning when she can be announced and for him, she just so happened to peer through the gap in the door frame, to be fully dressed. Psyche squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her palms. Don't be a coward.

She wanted to talk to him. Be with him. Waiting any longer would be unbearable. Yet at the same time, she was trembling.

She was Psyche Moiraio. An assassin. A bestower of justice and slayer of criminals. An Angel of Death for the beaten and downcast. A weapon forged by no other than herself. But tonight, all that seemed to be forgotten. Tonight, she was only a girl longing to be with her soon to be husband.

She took a deep breath, pulled the sleeve of nightgown low revealing only her bare shoulder, and willed herself into the kitchen. It was time to be brave.

Illumi turned to her and, dear god, she would have fainted on the spot. She gasped in surprise, ever so lightly but not too faint to not be heard and not too loud where it was obviously forced. It was just enough to be as if she had no idea he was here at all and not rehearsing her introduction outside the kitchen door beforehand. Undisputedly and authentically accidental.

"Oh," Psyche blushed and very indiscreetly lifted her sleeve to cover up her bare shoulder, as if she just now realized she wasn't alone. Not too fast, but not slow either. Was he looking? He had to be, but it was too dark to tell. "I didn't know anyone was here." She lied, making it sound real as her lashes fluttered with the allure of a 'girl who doesn't do this often' as her eyes drifted upwards to his. On the outside she looked warm and inviting, but on the inside she had on idea what the hell she was doing.

The lights were dim, barely even enough to make out the entirety of the kitchen. Didn't matter, Psyche always felt more comfortable in the dark. The light bulb from the refrigerator glowed upon his skin like heavenly light. White light illuminating his bare chest and revealing his toned, sculpted body all the way down to his hips that were peeking a bit above the seam line of his black boxers. Disheveled strands of long, ebony hair softly fanned out around his body, but mostly fell behind his back. As if he awakened from slumber out of restlessness and hunger. It was hard for her not to follow each strand as if they were black paved roads each leading her to him. It was an alluring untidiness of his that is rarely seen and barely caught. She'll treasure it. She wondered if it was alright for them to be here together, the next moments were monumentally crucial.

He closed the refrigerator door, and the kitchen was swallowed in a dull light. It was hard to read his expressions. "No worries. I was just leaving."

A part of her was expecting more. That he'd damn etiquette and rush to her, passion taking over, making up for all the lost moments they were apart and throw her on the kitchen table. She would make a better midnight snack for her fiance—But naturally, he is tired, hungry, and frankly if she were in his position that bowl of cereal would be the greatest love of her life too.

What would her sisters do? Anomie frowned upon desperation while Chaotica would encourage Psyche to unleash her inner dominatrix. Psyche doesn't want to throw herself into his lap, but she considers herself to be a very open minded girl. But what else could she do? She shooed those thoughts away!

Psyche leaned back against the cabinet to let him pass through, until he stopped.

Her heart leapt from her chest.

Illumi was on her. His hand thumped against the counter behind her back as he leaned towards her, neck arching down to meet her gaze. He was taller than she remembered. If she wanted to kiss him she'd have to stand on her toes. Should she tempt faith and try? She felt everything inside her tighten as she clenched her hands in front of her chest. Did he want to take her now? Right here? On the counter top?

She remembered what Chaotica said, but her heart was beating louder to listen to anything else. She didn't trust herself, fearing that she'd blindly say yes to whatever he asked of her. Her heart thrummed so hard in her chest, she wondered if he could hear it himself.

Illumi tapped his finger on the counter, a sound that quickly popped her out of her fantasy. His eyes met hers then drifted down then back up to hers again.

Oh, she was in his way.

She moved for him to pull out the drawer she was standing in front of to grab a spoon for his bowl of cereal. To her surprise, Illumi turned back around and leaned against the counter. Facing Psyche.

He ate a spoonful of cereal and after a moment he pointed his spoon at her and she tensed.

"Did you not want to turn up?"

"Yes." The word spilled from her mouth without thinking, and instantly regretted it. That wasn't the question she hoped he'd ask her. He was asking her if she didn't want to be here. Shit. "Ah, no, sorry. I wasn't listening. I really want to be here, heck I even circled the date on my calendar until my marker died out." She might as well tell him she's been practicing writing Psyche Zoldyck in her journal since she was sixteen. "I mean, lemme start from the beginning, first my estranged uncle—you've never met him but he knits the loveliest scarves—showed up out of nowhere, there could have been blood and violence and back and forth bickering but luckily there was only traffic, I was time crunched—literally—for a job, coming here was all I could think about, lately you are all I think about," stop talking stop talking stop talking! She wondered if there was anything she wasn't going to regret saying tonight. "And I can't stop talking."

Illumi titled his head down and smiled, broad shoulders lifted as he laughed lightly under his breath while stirring his cereal. Well, Psyche may be an anxious mess, but at least she can say she makes Illumi Zoldyck laugh. "Relax, I'm not trying to interrogate you. Mother only said your journey here was delayed. Our conversation was so brief, she left me thinking you turned into a runaway bride." He wouldn't blame her. "I only just got home," he looked at the clock to his left and counted the short hours he was at home, "so I wasn't able to catch up with all the details."

"It was really, really bad traffic. I think Gravah violated several laws trying to get me here on time. I love her so much." Psyche crossed her arms to hide the fact that she was pinching herself. "Is Killua alright?" Psyche changed the topic, worry edged into her voice. Why was she even asking the obvious? His mother was in tears, and literal shreds, because Killua ran away from home. He was anything but alright.

Illumi hummed, scraping his spoon against the bowl. "Mmh. The pressure of being the heir is getting to him. He doesn't think he's ready for the responsibility. I assume." He whispered in a low voice, more focused on his cereal. Psyche wasn't sure if she detected a hint of bitterness, or sadness, in his tone—wait.

The world came screeching to a halt.

What Illumi said really couldn't have been right. Either she misheard him or a part of her brain malfunctioned because Illumi is the heir. For years, Psyche has always known him to be the heir; basking in the spotlight as Silva Zoldyck's golden child—the pinnacle of the Zoldyck Family's esteemed pride and glory. Illumi was more than just the first born son, he was a living breathing homage to his ancestors' sacred history as the culmination of their deadly knowledge and craft; guided by his father to join the Bureau at only eight years old (making renowned history as the youngest member!) Undisputedly hailed as a child prodigy, reflecting not only the legendary status of his family, but more importantly, the current Head and his mentor—his father. Psyche heard her own mother gossip that Silva never shied off the attention his son garnered; chest rising higher with every accolade, gorging himself off the endlessly sung praise, meticulously preening Illumi with a steady hand to further excel and push past his limits. Silva desired no less than greatness and his son faithfully delivered, never once failing to uphold his father's inhuman bar of excellence. If perfection had a face and a name then Illumi laid claim as the embodiment of that rare exceptionality; roaring to life Silva's powerful ego that could swell higher than the testing gates, higher the tallest peak of Kukuroo Mountain itself; but Illumi was also a perceptive boy, an obedient son, and always dutiful to return the pride and glory and love back to his father. Back to his family. Already understanding his obligations as heir from an early age. And the pressure that came with it—but diamonds are not forged under coddling and softness and leisure, and neither was Illumi. As the years passed, Illumi increasingly looked more like his father. Not in physical appearances, but in build, in craft, in attitude, in commitment. It was no less expected than with absolute certainty, between father and eldest son, that the Zoldyck Family's future was assured, upholding continual greatness. After all, the Zoldycks were the golden ideal for assassins. Illumi was the ideal son—the ideal assassin.

So why was the title of heir handed down to a scrawny runt? A boy who hasn't yet mastered nen, whose commencement in the Bureau has indefinitely been delayed, who strikes against his own family and runs away (Psyche couldn't judge him too harshly for that considering her own history) but it was clear that this boy didn't want anything to do with being a Zoldyck, let alone be his family's heir! Psyche was supposed to be the wife of the Zoldyck heir, as her own family was promised. Despite their mothers' closeness, there were things that even the Moiraio Family were left in the dark about. Oh, her mother will not be happy about this.

A bitter taste snapped at the back of her throat. In that moment, a wave of shame passed over her as a singular thought floated by and anchored itself into her head, resting snuggling at the bottom of her skull. Throwing her off balance with pestering questions that piled on one after another. Her feelings for Killua far surpassed worry and crossed over into mad and deranged curiosity. Killua took what belonged to Illumi. No, not taken. Stolen. She was curious what Killua did to let his parents stand idly by and let this dishonorable theft happen! She was even more curious why Ilumi stood down only for Killua to rise and take his place. It did not baffle her, it numbed her.

Illumi blinked, a spoonful of cereal paused mid air. "Huh?"

Psyche tensed.

"You're giving me a look. I know that look."

Ever since she walked through the kitchen, she was giving him many looks, and signs. Hoping he'd notice at least one. Maybe to tell her she is pretty and wanted to kiss her and most definitely not a fool. Right now, she believed she was a fool and fools don't get kisses. They get angina inducing revelations!

"Your eyes are honing on me like two lasers and, never mind about spewing my brain matter everywhere, you're going to scorch holes in the pantry cabinets. Tsubone will not be pleased, my mom just had this kitchen renovated."

"That's because you don't respond to small gestures."

"Correct. I don't know why guys are taught anything traditionally when we respond better to lasers."

Psyche giggled. "I've already been banned from the kitchens once before. I technically shouldn't be here."

"Mhhh," Illumi hummed between a mouthful of cereal. "I will gladly amend that. Come here, that's good." Illumi waved his spoon back and forth, up and down, like a cross, "whoops, that's for an exorcism. Psyche, you're officially pardoned, now you are welcome back into the Zoldyck kitchens, free to do whatever you want wherever you want, and to once again try and assassinate my dad with marshmallow crispies, it almost worked the first time and you weren't even paid.

Psyche buried her face in her hands, embarrassed. "I'll never live that down." She lifted her face up.

"Oh. So that's why." Illumi tipped his spoon back into the bowl, stirring the milk. A mischievous smile tugged in the corner of his lips, as if he was enjoying her surprised reaction. She hoped he didn't see how red her face was. "You didn't know Killua's the heir."

All color washed from her face. Was this a test? Her plan was to unintentionally and coincidentally run into him here and have him sweep her off her feet. His idea, of course, of which she had no part of enacting. Her lips are always glossy with a subtle glimmer and her hair is always perfectly wavy in just the right places at 4 am. "Why aren't you your father's heir anymore? I'm so sorry, I don't mean to sound insulting." Dear God, was it something she did? Did his father not forgive her for almost choking him to death? Does his grudge hold no bounds that he gave Illumi an ultimatum, it's either her or the position as heir. No matter how delusional Psyche's thoughts were, she knew that wasn't the case.

"No, not at all. The reason is actually very simple." Illumi bit another spoonful of cereal. Psyche leaned in further the longer he waited and chewed. "It's because I don't have white hair."

Psyche blinked. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah, out of all my siblings, Killua was the only naturally born platinum blonde, but he went all gray by eight. The same thing happened to my dad, except his hair was all black until he was fourteen. He lasted a little longer, but now his hair is a blanket of white snow, every last strand. You guessed right, it's a testament to how much intense psychological stress they can endure without breaking—and without losing hair, that's the deal breaker. Y'see why my great grandpa is bald? You can't be the Head if you don't have hair! White hair is also a strong indicator of nen potential, as the most powerful transmuters have white or peppered or foxy grandpa hair—I'm joking. I made this all up." Illumi laughed. "Please don't take this seriously."

Psyche forced a laugh, trying to hold onto a counter from falling over. She actually took him seriously for a second.

"Regarding the white hair color and transmuters nen type theory." Illumi sighed, thinking back to his readings. "This used to be a minor obsession of mine, but research did indicate that there is a relationship between genetics and nen types; conducted between family studies, twin studies, ideally in a diverse population, however the studies are limited because nen isn't known to the public, so we're only looking at a small population that knows about nen, already the results aren't going to be reliable. But members of biological families are more likely to be genetically similar, have similar nen types, than strangers do. That sounds obvious, right, just like hair color, eye color, skin color and so forth. It's gregor mendel's peas, but the traits we're looking at are nen. The important takeaway is that nen follows Mendelian genetics, so it isn't entirely random, as far as we know. There is a correlation between genotypes and phenotypes, nen types and hair color respectively, but this can be said with a grain of salt because correlation does not justify causation between the two. There is a correlation between transmuters and individuals with white hair in my family, but that is not a causation. Maha Zoldyck, my great grandpa, naturally had white hair but was an emitter. The white hair trait was passed on to my dad, but he is a transmuter. I have black hair and I'm a manipulator, like my mom. There are particular genes of interest that are responsible for manifesting different nen types, AURORA-1 through AURORA-12, they're only visible by scientists who analyze them using gyo, named so, because they shine like the aurora lights." Illumi smiled, dimples showing in his cheeks. "They're beautiful."

"Aurora. That sounds so romantic." Psyche was trying to listen to him, she truly was, but he was beautiful when he talked so passionately about nen and genes and everything that interested him. She sighed, dreamily. He could be a professor teaching at a university, a scientist making breakthroughs in a lab, or simply just a boy playing god with mendel's peas.

She needs to stand up for her husband, who else will!? She rushed at him so quickly that it even caught Illumi off guard, speedily lifting his bowl of cereal above his head, milk sloshing over the rim.

"Oop!" Wow, she is not shy. Illumi thought as Psyche was peering up at him, face pinched with determination. Uh oh, she wants to help me with something. "Oh, hello."

"It's always been your dream to become the Head of your Family." Psyche rested her hands on his chest, and Illumi was compelled with a sudden intake of breath. Already shivering under her touch that was so soft, so warm. He put his bowl of cereal down on the counter; possessed with a hunger for other things. "You trained, you pushed yourself to exhaustion, you worked tirelessly for so long. It's not fair! I know it's what you always wanted. And I know it couldn't have been easy to give up. It was meant to be yours—It can still be yours."

A smile tugged at the corner of Illumi's lips. It was nice to hear someone vouching for him, affirming him of his rightful place, despite knowing his father's will cannot be changed. Still, this unwavering belief Psyche possessed on his behalf….it was undeniable that Illumi missed it. His hands slowly caressed her bare shoulders, watching in delight as she melted from his touch as he wondered just how easily her night shift would slip and fall to the floor. It was already so loose, watching her ceaselessly tug it back up for him to watch. "It's just been such a long time since I've last seen you. You look different, but still the same." Another reassurance. He was glad—relieved— that between the both of them, one was still the same.

Psyche could feel heat rushing to her cheeks, blossoming her face in a bashful hue of pink. She leaned in closer, pressing her breasts against him. She wanted him to feel her love for him. She wanted him to feel whatever he wanted. She was his now. "Is there anything I can say to convince your father? Is there anything I can give?" Anything I can give you to convince him.

Illumi trailed a heavy hand behind and along the center of her back, feeling her delicate arch as her eyes hazed with a brilliant and burning affection—a burdening surrender—to give him anything he wanted, including all that he lost. His breath catched as he gripped a fistfull of her shift, clenching tight and pulling down the white cloth that now fell below her shoulders; Unraveling his pretty bride. Still, the shift ungodly stayed in place from her swollen breasts pressing against his chest. Damn, Illumi didn't want her to move either, he enjoyed this position too much, as he suppressed the urge to rip it off her body himself. He titled his head, playfully, feigning innocent dumbness, "what will you give me? Children?"

"Heirs."

Illumi's cock stiffened. Bulging against the inside of his shorts at her ready acceptance of her fate. To be bred by him, fucked by him, used by him. However, her bearing his children will not make him his father's successor. No matter how many children they had together, but, he didn't dislike the dream—a happy home, a happy life—surrounded by his wife and children.

He pulled her shift back up, fixing the sleeves neatly on her shoulders. "Who told you I was no longer the heir?"

Psyche gulped, "I think someone mentioned it to me."

"Who?"

"Who….evades me. But yeah?" She nervously fixed a strand of hair that was already perfect. Lies. No one told her a thing. But she might as well play it off coolly, so he'll stop asking.

"It was probably Mother. Right?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Psyche nodded. Faking it.

"When?"

WHY DOES HE NEED TO KNOW THE TIME WHEN SHE FOUND OUT HE ISN'T THE HEIR!? NOW. IT WAS NOW. AND IT WAS HE WHO TOLD HER. HIM.

"Do you want to know the temperature too? Whether it was hot, cold—"

"I only accept metric." Illumi deadpanned.

She didn't intend for her jaw to drop when Illumi began to laugh. Something inside of her told her he already knew she was lying, and he was taking his time reveling in it. He exhaled a final laugh, and placed the bowl back on the countertop. He ripped a paper towel from a roll and wiped some milk off of his fingers. "Thank you, I needed that. It's been a long day."

"...Anytime."

"In all seriousness. He'll be home soon, but I'll probably have to fetch him before that happens." Illumi leaned his arms back on the counter, sighing at the hassle Killua will put him through in the future.

Sighing. Half naked. The way his muscles rise and fall when he breathes, casting altering shadows on him alluringly. He knows his abs are chiseled? And the power they have on practically anyone with two eyes and the gift of sight? Psyche averted her eyes and fixed them on the roll of paper towels.

She wondered how guys could be so confident, flaunting their half naked bodies so easily. She's shy just wearing a bikini at the beach. She didn't know if he was flexing for her or if this was him, obliviously, sighing dramatically in the face of impending uncertainty.

Whichever it was….she liked it.

"He's a strong one, I'm sure he'll be fine until then." Psyche reassured him.

"Don't let him hear you or you'll inflate his ego. It's already a monstrosity."

"A little bit of ego fluffing never hurts when dealing with matters of persuasion."

"Really, now? And you know from experience?"

"You're doubting me?"

"Only inquiring." He rested his chin in his hand and tapped his lips once with his index finger. "I have a feeling no one can say no to you."

Psyche raised her shoulders and breathed. Willing herself to be brave. "Can you?"

He smiled. As if accepting her invitation to a challenge. "I'll have to be careful around you."

Psyche looked at the floor as she bit her bottom lip. Smiling. Then, she cleared her throat and looked up at him and met his eyes. For a moment, she expected to see the same warm glimmer that glowed in hers, and yet he was smiling, but his eyes….were so black. His eyes burrowed deep into hers and pierced her heart. Dark and black and empty. No poetry could describe the cold that swept through her. Capturing her breath into utter stillness.

She was no stranger to darkness. It was a stinging emptiness she was all too familiar with.

"I know," Psyche folded her arms over her chest and spoke softly. "I know what it's like to lose a brother. I'm so sorry for what happened to Alluka. He was so young." She paused. "The pain...it hurts, and it hurts more than people think and longer than people say it does. But day by day, it hurts a little less. Some days it hurts like hell and others it becomes bearable. I know it's late and I don't want to keep you too long, but if you ever need to talk to someone about it, even to have someone that just listens. It's easier to ignore everything you're feeling and be quiet, trust me…but quietness is its own kind of suffocating." Before he knew it, she was holding his hand in hers. Her touch was gentle and warm. "And talking helps. Sometimes horrible things happen, but that doesn't mean we can't fight against them alone. I know you're scared about losing another brother. I would be scared too. I'm here for you, if you'll let me."

Illumi held onto her hand longer than he realized.

He slowly pulled back. Slowly letting go of her warmth. "Good night, Psyche. I'll see you tomorrow—a few hours from now." He corrected himself. He grabbed his bowl and when he was just about to leave the kitchen, he stopped under the doorframe. "You look different, but are still the same too."

A soft smile curled on her lips, "Good night, Illumi."

Illumi was used to walking through the long and empty corridors alone. The only sounds being his footsteps and the nightly whispers of the mountain wind sneaking its way through the cracks of chamber doors. He took his time walking to his room thinking about what she said to him. Then he stopped. Raising his hand she held and stared at it curiously. Opening and closing it. Psyche…she was skittish, but had a caring heart.

The house snuffs those out quickly.

"Illu." A woman's voice echoed through the vast corridor.

He lowered his hand and turned to his Mother calling after him. She was wrapped in her nightly robes and held a candle to light her way. "Be my dear and help Mother. There is much we need to discuss." She turned, knowing he'd follow.

He realized that he had no use of his meal any longer, so he placed the bowl on the stone floor, next to the wall. One of the butlers will find it and take care of it.

He followed Kikyo. Quietly and obediently. As was expected of first born sons. And if they weren't born that way by nature, they were taught to be.

It was a lesson he has never been quite able to shake.

The light of the candle faded as his Mother led him away, entombing the corridor in complete darkness.

Milluki stood in front of the kitchen door and breathed. Even though it was dark, he recognized Psyche roaming in the corridors. This is where she was most likely to be.

He ruffled his hair—shaping it to what he thought looked stylish. He cleared his voice and put on a brave face. He decided he was going to pretend he didn't notice her.

He flung open the kitchen door, yelling loudly with the cadence no better than a robot, "I DIDN'T KNOW ANYONE WAS HERE—" he was a terrible actor.

Milluki flinched.

"Hello youuuuuu," Chaotica cooed as she slammed a butcher's knife into an italian sausage. "I was feeling peckish. Care to join me—"

Milluki ran faster than Draco Malfoy running out of the forbidden forest whilst abandoning Harry Potter amidst Voldemort's exclusive unicorn blood buffet. That boy could have won an olympic gold medal. Draco Malfoy acts like the best of the best, but he's the first one to run—just like Milluki.

Chaotica cackled, raising her knife above a charcuterie board. She forgot how much she missed tormenting him.

Psyche made her way back to her room, unnoticed by the all seeing eyes of Tsubone, and fell face down on her bed.

She kicked her legs up and down and pivoted her body to lay flat on her back. Then she turned face down again and squealed into the sheets.

"I need to document this moment on my phone so I don't forget a single detail." Psyche hurriedly pulled out her phone and panicked when she saw it only had 2% of energy left. There has to be an outlet somewhere in this room? She checked near the nightstand and a fraction of a plastic square that was sticking out from behind the bed frame. Her memories were at stake! She got up and pushed the bed as it squeaked against the floor. Suddenly, she stopped as she pressed her ear against the wall. Listening.

It sounded like a freight train was passing through the Mountain. It felt worse, as everything in her room began to violently shake. Psyche instantly dropped down on her bed as furniture rattled off the walls and books she lined on the shelves fell to the floor. She never experienced an earthquake before.

Soon, the vibrations lessoned to that of quiet quiverings, until only stillness remained. Psyche pushed herself up from her bed, combing a hand through her hair. She looked back at the headboard of her bed—and gasped.

From ceiling to floor, there was a massive crack in the wall.

Chapter Text

Illustration of Psyche Moiraio by RebellionMoon 

The unforeseen earthquake did not compare to the highly anticipated aftershock of the rattling storm that inevitably swept Psyche's room, without so much as a breath exhaled her older sisters charged inside, running to her rescue if there was a mysterious foe to be slain, a collapsed room to haul apart stone by stone if one was trapped and in desperate need of immediate escape from, or smeared mascara that required major retouching, while donned in lustrous bombyx mori silk pajamas, bundles of bendy hair rollers that hilariously mimicked bee hives, and fuzzy Juicy Couture slippers embroidered with snobbish West Highland White Terriers kneeling faithfully before jeweled crowns—always swear loyalty to luxury—and aura that condensed protectively around their bodies and flared menacingly from their fists. Anomie and Chaotica Moiraio were swords and armor weaponized all in one as they scoured the room and accessed the fallen furniture, Psyche, and the massive crack in the wall. They grabbed Psyche from either side and hurried out of the room, worried it might collapse over her head as she slept, and prepared themselves for butlers to direct them to someplace safer.

But no one came. The empty hallways, void of what they thought would be filled with uproarious clamor and hasty evacuations, echoed silently back at them as they searched for a butler to order around, a Zoldyck to question, or even a mouse to follow, but there was none to be seen.

"Why is there no one here? HELLOOOOOO!" Chaotica yelled suddenly, her voice reverberating down the echoing hall. "I did not come here to die just when my viewership is skyrocketing!"

Anomie scoffed. "You host a radio show. Though I suppose I shouldn't be too harsh, as the only appeal to me in radio is being able to turn off your voice without outright offending you in person."

Chaotica dramatically gasped as if she was mortally wounded, letting go of Psyche as she screeched a high note, which Anomie would have benefited from turning off if this was on radio. "I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT IT IS IMAGINATION-LESS JOYSUCKING PEOPLE LIKE YOU WHO ARE IGNORANT TO THE REVIVING MEDIUM THAT IS THE ART OF RADIO BROADCASTING. The golden age of radio is not behind us, but ahead! And for your information little miss gloom and doom, there are many devout and loyal listeners who eagerly anticipate tri-weekly installments of Chaotica's Cabaret, three nights a week from midnight to two AM, and sometimes three AM if we are given the greenlight to go overtime!" Chaotica pulled Psyche back by the collar of her nightgown. She refused to let her little sister, a witness of her plight to soaring stardom, escape. "My viewers even enjoy the mystery serials written by our very own resident author, Madame Mystique. Psyche, who is now my favorite sister! Unlike some who refuse to help those clearly destined for stardom and realize their dreams. Because of this unforeseen disaster, I'm afraid I'll have to cancel the next show, which undoubtedly will break the hearts of many, not that you will understand since you don't have a heart." Chaotica hissed at Anomie who rolled her eyes. "Psyche is part of the blossoming future that is Chaotica's Cabaret, our radioshow filled with new and exhilarating entertainment that has long been lost to the poor wandering souls of New Bledel City, hosted by our city's very own big sister, muah! In fact, we were even mentioned on both Good Morning Padokea and Mimbo's View—oh, don't you know? They're just the biggest morning television programs broadcasted all over both countries, even someone like you who lives under a rock may have heard of them."

"Oh, cease your aria," Anomie bemoaned unimpressed as her voice echoed through the empty estate halls, combing freshly polished periwinkle fingernails through her hair whilst untangling her heatless curlers out of stress. Anomie could always leave it to her sisters to ruin her nightly hair care routine. "There's a difference, my dearest halfwit, between being invited on a show as an esteemed guest to regale tales of pitfalls and glory to having the emergency override system interrupt a live broadcast so the city council can issue a public warning about your civil disobedience. Oh yes, all is well when you sing your melodies, recite your serials, spoon feed regurgitated cosmopolitan advice on how to masterfully land the perfect job all without a resume or giving a blow job to the interviewer—"

Psyche interceded. "People are rightfully curious, full of questions that are too often silenced, and it's not our fault that they came seeking answers to which we so graciously provided. Do you know that sex ed books are being pulled from public libraries? And It's not just sex ed books either, but books that are deemed too controversial like The Bluest Eye, Animal Farm, and Fahrenheit 451. There's been a surge in book banning in recent years and I fear that our generation will not be the last to witness this rapid, ever expanding, purge of essential books that deserve to be read!"

"Yeah!' Chaotica chimed in. "The people deserve to know how to give blow jobs!"

"For fucks sake. It's as if everyone given a microphone deems they ought to be heard." Anomie muttered under her breath, resting her hand under her chin, like a tyrant or a dictator or worse, a demon soul-sucking crusher of dreams. "I'm not against access to sex education, and of all things to be banned it shouldn't be books, but inciting riots is another matter entirely, and coercing our impressionable little Psyche to play along for viewership." Anomie tsked. "I can't say I'm surprised, only disappointed. And then some."

"I didn't make her do anything she didn't want to already do." Chaotica noticed Psyche wearing shimmering lipgloss accompanied by rose hue blush applied to her cheeks. "You did take my advice! Like I always say, you never know when you'll meet a cute beau in the middle of the night! Did Illumi like it? How couldn't he be smitten by such a pretty little pet."

Psyche interrupted Anomie's allegations, all of which were true. "No one can coerce me to act against my own will. Not even Chaotica. We were inspiring people to take action, to make a stand against systemic issues plaguing our city for far too long. We have an indicted mayor who refuses to resign while simultaneously failing to acknowledge the police brutality that has been perpetrated against the citizens of New Bledel City, that he reinforces with the very laws and officials that are supposed to protect them. The police turn a blind eye to the violence against young girls, of our most underserved communities, as they're forced to join gangs out of sheer survival. The police only intervene after a trigger is pulled, commanded by their abusers' hands. Our politicians give us their thoughts and prayers when children are gunned down in their own homes by unlawful police raids. For what? Because a racist neighbor heard gunshots across their apartment wall when it was just kids playing video games. 'He looked dangerous. He looked like he was holding a gun,' a grown man says as he testifies his innocence and blames a twelve year old boy when the 'gun' was only just a game controller. It wasn't an accident, call it what it is—murder. Oh sure, our officials acknowledge the rising homeless population, but how do they respond? By spending middle and lower class taxpayer money by installing hostile architecture in the subways and streets so no one will sleep on the benches or air vents to keep warm at night—that's how our leaders choose to clean the city, by forcing the most vulnerable people out. Do you know that there has been a rise in accidental drownings under bridges all along the Haima River due to overcrowding of the homeless population, because that's the only place where they're allowed to be without being forced out from. The government doesn't listen, not when we beg or plead or cry, but only until people start screaming. So let them scream. Let them riot all they want. Let them be heard because the NBPD does shit—"

Chaotica pulled Psyche close and began rubbing her back, trying to calm her little sister's labored breathing and rage. It was Chaotica's duty as a bridesmaid to make sure Psyche wasn't plagued with worry wrinkles on her wedding day. It was tiresome, but nonetheless essential, work. "The passion our darling ducky feels for all of mankind is awe-inspiring, isn't it? Empathetic to a fault! You should have heard her live on the night of the insurrection when rioters stormed city hall. Ha! It was like I was witnessing a totally different Psyche! I mean, restoring social justice is rewarding work in and of itself, buuuuuuuuuuuuuuut we had half a million listeners." Chaotica couldn't help but squeal and jump at their delicious, instafame memory. "One of our viewers recorded her speech and uploaded it on youtube, IT HIT A MILLION VIEWS IN JUST A FEW HOURS OF IT GOING VIRAL!"

"I know, I was there." Anomie groaned.

"Ann, I didn't know you were an advocate for social change."

Anomie sighed, tiresomely. She was outside on the night of the insurrection (that spanned into a full week), but not to participate in the protests, or more precisely, the anarchy. She was coming home from a job and witnessed madness flooding the streets. Protestors covered their faces with masks while storming Wall Street, high end fashion stores along 5th avenue were broken into and looted, and police cars were set ablaze. Anomie mistakenly thought she made the wrong turn to hell on her routine drive back home. Psyche was, to her greatest detriment, an idealist that fought for the greater good of mankind (or whatever) and erroneously holds everyone who shares her beliefs to the same standard; believing that change needed to be messy in order to make a lasting difference, that even unjust laws could be broken by unjust means. Unsurprisingly, not every citizen shared Psyche's vision of fighting for a just and peaceful world. But there was something more than angered Anomie, a festering grudge that lingered after that long night was over. "On that night after I finished an assassintion, I was tired, I was hungry, I WAS BORDERLINE DELIRIOUS, and craving cheesecake. My one pleasure. My one reward. It wasn't just city hall and stores and a few politicians' homes that got ambushed, oh no no no, IT WAS SINGLE HANDEDLY BECAUSE OF YOU TWO THAT THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY WAS VANDALIZED! AND IT IS STILL CLOSED BECAUSE OF ALL THE DAMAGE DONE TO IT. POSSIBLY INDEFINITELY. YOU," Anomie pointed to Psyche, "I wonder if I will ever live to see the day where there will be a line you will not cross for whatever extremist reason that compels you to commit 'good' accompanied with this insufferable delusion to become the next Mother Teresa as if she were high on spiked communion wine and steroid laced wafers, and YOU," Anomie pointed to Chaotica who was smiling impishly, awaiting her sister's wrathful judgment, "with your obsession of becoming an overnight hit sensation using any means necessary to attain that goal, not limited to using our own little sister, who you know won't turn down a chance to change the world even if it is on a AM radio show!" Anomie raised her hands in exasperation. "All those delicious cakes that would never get the chance to be eaten, ruined! Why can't you fight for the right to each cake everyday?"

"I don't fight for things you already do. You eat cookies everyday, and if it's not cookies, then it's ice cream, and if it's not ice cream, then it's brownies. I'm actually concerned for you. Eat a carrot. It's a vegetable, you may have heard of it." Psyche humphed, to which Anomie scoffed. "Anyway, I'm not the only one who craves social action, Anomie. People are suffering and I refuse to stand by and watch—the fall of the Cheesecake Factory was an unfortunate but acceptable loss. Though I do recall you miserably eating a warm cup of vanilla pudding late that night on the porch steps, you have my sincerest condolences."

Anomie was unbothered by Psyche's personal attacks and sarcasm. "Don't forget, baby sister, that you are part of the violence you so defiantly claim to be fighting against. Ha! Scratch that, let's all take care to never forget why mother is marrying you off to the Zoldyck heir at all. All the glorious trouble you and Eros stirred up last year that landed you exactly where you always wanted to be. Was it all worth it? Are all your dreams about to come true?"

Psyche held her breath and refused to reveal the truth—Illumi was no longer his family's heir. Perhaps it was out of selfishness, or stubborn pride against her eldest sister, that Psyche bared a quiet fury instead. "I don't want us to go to war tonight, Anomie. I want both of you here by my side, I've always dreamed you two would be beside me on my wedding day. That has never changed. I know you think otherwise but family is all I've ever cared about, still care about and have always put first, that's we're here at all, isn't it? We're not here only because I want to be." Psyche stomached the reality of her arranged marriage, the Moiraio Family needed this marriage to save itself. "You know that, so don't twist the past, don't push me, or one word from me, the wife of the future Head of the Zoldyck Family, is all it would take to have one less maid of honor tomorrow."

Anomie snickered. "Gentle reminder that your word is meaningless until you say I do. If you're able to, that is."

"Are you seriously threatening me right now? I'm doing everything that has been asked of me. Without resistance, without question, and I can make it to the altar tomorrow without you both constantly hounding me." A darkness brewed behind Psyche's eyes, a mercurial change in her voice quickly escalated and boomed across the empty corridor, reverberating through the chilled air. Anomie watched in vile fascination as a vortex of aura pooled around Psyche, a tortuous black hole of her own making that sucked in all the light that remained around them. Anomie was careful not to tread further, but oh, how she ached to fight.

"Not at all. You and Illumi are an excellent match." Anomie mocked sweetly. "We are all in agreement that it is an advantageous match for both of our families, ours more so. Maybe if you wish hard enough he'll move Heaven and Earth to help you see through the harrowing mess you've dragged all of us through."

Psyche couldn't hide her disgust. "What is your problem?"

"You're not the only one that lost a brother." Anomie paused, refusing to shed a tear. A part of her envied Psyche who didn't have to bottle up all her grief. Anomie had to stay strong for all of them, even when there was hardly any strength left for herself. It was the glorious burden of being the eldest daughter. "In one night, I believed I lost all of you. You, Eros, and Chaotica. Do you have any idea what you put me through? All of us through?!"

"Excuse me, what about what you put me through?" Chaotica examined her reflection in the mirror. All she wanted was to be beautiful; and to be ridiculously famous, breathtakingly glamorous on the cover of Vogue magazine, and interviewed by Jimmy Fallen. She was a simple girl with simple needs. "I was forced into the spotlight premature—and thanks to Mommy dearest, not one interview to show for it! That was the least I was owed. Yknow, I should thank Eros, he was the only one that actualized my dream of being swarmed by paparazzi."

Psyche pinched the bridge between her nose. "Chaotica, in your state of trauma induced delirium, the New Bledel fire department was not the paparazzi."

"And me being hauled from a burning vehicle wasn't the red carpet event I imagined either. It's sad that Eros died, thoughts and prayers." Chaotica tried her best to restrain her mocking tone, dancing further on Eros's grave would have earned her a swift death from her little sister. "He still owes me a new Porsche...she was one of a kind."

Psyche was beginning to feel sick. "I know that I'm the last psycho nut case among us that still doesn't resent Eros, just please stop bringing him up when I'm around. That's all I ask." My heart can't handle it.

"And all I'm asking for is a little divine intervention, and a lifetime extended warranty on a new car." Chaotica rolled her shoulders back, nonchalant. "How hard is that?"

Anomie continued, focused on Psyche. "While our family crumbled apart in a split second, I had to put us back together again. But our family is still fracturing, because now I'm about to lose a sister too." A small crack betrayed her voice.

Psyche relaxed a little. Between the accusations and yelling, Anomie was telling Psyche she was going to be missed. Psyche's heart softened. "Anomie, you're not losing me."

"This is what you wanted, to get away from us, and by marrying him, we are losing you."

"You still have me." Chaotica sheepishly raised her hand.

"I think I'm being punished." Anomie dejected, before turning back to Psyche. Fire burned along her fingertips, from hellish red flickering to burning sapphire then dangerously to ghostly white—a polychromatic prism of wrath. "I love how your heart and endless charity is open for the world but your heartlessness for us is so easily justified."

"Well, if it is for charity." Psyche mocked, as she returned her sister's sarcasm. Shadows pooling around her frame. Threatening to swallow her sister's burning light whole.

Chaotica stood between her sisters, acting as a buffer between flames and darkness while she casually wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders. "If I'm called to be the peace-maker then our situation really is dire, so let's all try not to kill each other—that feels so weird for me to say— just because the earthquake didn't. Annie dear, we're truly sorry you couldn't have your midnight snacks because all the 7-eleven stores were looted, and I think we all knew this happy marriage would come regardless of what led us here, are we all in agreement?" Both Anomie and Psyche mumbled their truce. "Good! But you're neglecting one important fact regarding that infamous night in our beloved city. Hm? We were an icon, we were a legend, and we were the moment." Chaotica boasted as Psyche nodded, agreeably.

Chaotica ducked just in time as a laser beam—a concentrated shot of Anomie's aura—whizzed past her head and zapped a hand drawn portrait of the Zoldyck Family. It wasn't enough to kill, but enough to leave a blemish, which would have been equally and disastrously the same to Chaotica. The smell of burned canvas wafted through the air as Chaotica appreciated the new alterations made to the painting. Illumi's face was charred and barely recognizable. "That's an improvement!"

"My beloved!" Psyche cried out as she lunged forward (pushing Chaotica aside) and touched the burnt out face of Illumi Zoldyck, ashes on her fingertips. She couldn't see his face anymore. How dare his immaculate beauty be irrevocably erased! "Anomie, watch it! Not only is this an affront to the artist who dedicatedly worked many tireless hours on this commission, but it is undoubtedly a cherished and future family heirloom that should be treated with reverence and respect—let's hide it."

"Agreed." Chaotica and Anomie chorused simultaneously, each sister lifting a separate corner of the framed painting and lugging it behind the nearest piece of furniture that concealed their crime the best. Cleaning up a crime scene was always the best cure to absolve any argument (which usually started them.)

"Every time we visit the Zoldycks, both of you can't help but break something. This is my fiance's home, please be respectful."

Chaotica whined. "Hey! We don't always break things. Sometimes we take things too."

Psyche whispered in a low voice. It was always one problem after another! "You seriously had to take Milluki's figurine accessories, Killua's batman legos, and Kalluto's origami stars. I know you can't help yourself, heaven knows I've tried, but why, why, why do you indulge petty theft?"

"I don't know. Why do they have to have them?" Chaotica mocked, then raised her hands in exasperation in response to Psyche's condemning expression. "The Zoldycks have nice things, a lot of nice things. And it's not like I actually need any of those things, I just take a little something there and a little something here, to see if the boys actually notice these nice things are missing. And trust me, they don't. Okay. They're spoiled rich kids who forget most of what they have—like us." Chaotica laughed. "Well everyone forgets except you, unsurprisingly, you're my clever little accountant. Thank you for all your hard work."

"Oh hi, Mr. and Mrs. Zoldyck! Thank you so much for welcoming me into your home, don't mind me if I bring along my sisters, the arsonist and the kleptomaniac. I promise your home will be the same when they leave just as when they arrived."

"Look who's talking." Anomie scoffed under her breath. "You hoard precious mementos from every assassination, every target you've been hired to kill. Your closest is like a demented ferret's nest."

"Hmmph. That's different and you know it."

"The arsonist, the kleptomaniac, and the hypocrite." Anomie pointed to each of them. "Aren't we a merry bunch."

Chaotica chimed. "Can we have their hot tub?"

"CHAOTICA!" Psyche yelped.

"Their hot tub is better than ours. And now we don't have to sneak around, all we have to do is ask you to ask them if we want something."

"I want Kikyo's vintage silk scrolls." Anomie added, quickly caving to the prospect of new gifts.

"They'll look so nice in your room." Chaotica remarked.

"Even better next to our new hot tub."

"Quit it, the both of you! You know that's not happening!"

"Illumi loves you and you love us, so he'll say yes to anything you want, and what we want by extension. See how it all works out so perfectly." Chaotica prodded.

"NOT HAPPENING."

Chaotica was aghast. "When I dream, I don't see nightmares. I SEE YOU."

"Ha!" Anomie tilted her head back and laughed.

"I can't be around either of you right now. Goodbye." Psyche escaped their laughter as a brilliant idea struck, a match in the night, like finding a cute beau to help console her from that harrowing earthquake! And she knew exactly where to go and who to find.

Some time after Psyche left and it was just the two of them, Anomie noticed a shadowy figure down the hall. Quickly taking note of his tailored black suit, pristine white gloves, and the gleam of polished shoes—it was a Zoldyck butler. Once the butler realized he was spotted, he quickly stepped out of sight and away from the girls, retracing his steps back from where he came. Poor baby, he's shy. He's searching for someone, I wonder who? Not us, apparently. "Chaotica," Anomie stoically snapped her fingers then pointed to the man. Anomie had questions and was determined to get answers. Right now. "Fetch."

Chaotica obeyed.

Psyche quietly slipped away from her sisters' bickering, her own shadow receding into the walls as their boisterous yells turned echoes faded down the still empty halls. Her steps hastened into purposeful strides and her cheeks gloriously ached with a sweet, hopeful grin—Oh, she had to amend that quickly. Perhaps she should have been afraid. Horrified, rightfully, justifiably so! She was nearly crushed to death, so she mustn't look so pleased about it. She focused her mind on getting into character; any second now, the walls above her head will collapse and gruesomely suffocate her beneath the rubble. Yes, the mood was perfect. If such an awful fate were to befall her then she would need to be rescued. And it was paramount she'd be rescued by the right person. Therefore, Psyche was mindful to bury all hints of excitement as she furrowed her brows in creases of worry, hastened her breathing into short and swift gasps and hoped to best that her cheeks were flushed with desperate exhaustion evading yet another fatal strike against her life! She opted not to appear too despondent, otherwise her spontaneously jumping into Illumi's arms would appear rather ridiculous, and unbelievable. Not that Psyche actually believed the mountain was going to crumble from an aftershock (Kukuroo volcano was inactive and she never heard news reports otherwise,) but she wouldn't let this golden opportunity slip away!

Revitalized with vigor and motivation, Psyche quickened her pace as she rushed around the corner, careful to keep close to the wall on her sighted side rather than her blind—and suddenly bumped into a silent, shadowy figure.

She jolted into a muscled chest; a brawny frame honed by years of strict diligence and training—it was more like ramming into a brick wall—and gasped aloud. Psyche ricocheted from the sudden impact, witnessed an abundance of white stars flurry across her vision, as she lost her footing and began to fall backwards as genuine surprise painted her face.

"Don't fall!" Illumi shouted. Within a single fluid motion, Illumi effortlessly caught her in one arm while carefully balancing a bowl of strawberries in the other, as if sweeping her off her feet into a midnight dance, and finally spun her around til her back pressed against his chest. She tipped her chin up at him and gazed at him adoringly, and suddenly Illumi was overwhelmed with a strange feeling that warmed and perplexed him and set his core fluttering—like butterfly wings. She's so cute, is it alright if I kiss her right now? Can I kiss her? A voice inside him thought excitedly. He kept his voice calm. "Hi."

All worry vanished within Psyche, succumbing to Illumi's gentle hold around her, taking in his warmth—it made her feel safe. When he looked at her, whole and unfocused, she was his world. He always had that transcendent effect on her. Her voice had a light, airy quality about it, as if a spell of sweet laughter tempted across her lips. "Hi." She returned, enchanted.

Then Psyche eyed the bowl of strawberries hungrily, she could never ignore food. They were vibrant red berries glistening under a gentle dusting of granulated sugar. Along with a knife to cut them. She couldn't help but wonder if Illumi sensed impending doom ahead too and wanted to feed his beloved wife strawberries in their final moments spent alive together. Perhaps they do think alike after all. He's so thoughtful. "You got us strawberries!"

"They're all for my bride." Illumi's voice was so smooth, Psyche almost fainted on 'bride' alone. "Strawberries sprinkled with sugar. Isn't that your favorite?"

"Yeah, I love strawberries! And the ones grown here in your family's greenhouse are the best I've ever eaten, they're so sweet no matter what time of the year it is."

"That, and spicy creamy rigatoni—you love pasta." Illumi thought. "If I had more time I would have made you that."

Psyche giggled. If she were to give love advice, let it be this: Fall in love with a boy who will make your favorite food after midnight when you're hungry. She could already imagine him striding down the hall with a bowl of pasta, armed with freshly grated parmesan cheese and a clear purpose to end world hunger (Psyche's tummy.) Illumi was dedicated like that. "You're trying to bribe me with food."

"Of course not. But it also depends on whether it would work."

"I cooperate better when fed. So yes. Please shove pasta in my face."

"You're a classy lady."

Psyche snorted. "Really?"

"Yeah, even though you have absolutely no table manners to speak of. You still manage to be quite classy." Illumi joked but was also impressed. "I remember when my family went to your home for Thanksgiving, and it was the first time I ever saw a girl—or anyone, really—eviscerate a turkey leg the size of my head." Illumi stared blankly into the distance, as if he had seen war, or more specifically a Moiraio Family Thanksgiving, in which case a war would be waged over the last slice of pumpkin pie, and where threats around the table weren't an uncommon occurrence when the gravy started becoming scarce. Illumi admittedly missed the cranberry, spiced sausage, apple cider, and roasted walnut stuffing they'd serve at dinner.

"I have a very particular set of skills, refined over a very long career of eating. But you should take notes because if I remember correctly—"

"I like how you remember everything for the both of us."

"--Not a half hour after desserts were brought out, someone's face was already smothered in blueberry pie."

"Logical explanation, if you'll allow me." Illumi's honor was at stake. "That's because my arm was in a splint and as a guest I was in no position to rebuff the most gracious hospitality of an spectacular hostess, that you are, who refuses to let starving children go hungry or boys battling to pick up their forks—in your words, I was pitiable." Illumi mockingly rolled his eyes behind a smug smile. "Therefore, you took on the responsibility of doing most, if not all of the smothering."

"You make it sound like you didn't have a choice, despite loving every second of the attention."

"My mother taught me better than to reject hospitality. Honest." Illumi said, she doesn't believe me. But do I want her to? Nah. "You're also the only person I know who could make a murder weapon out of pie. Very impressive."

"You just don't want to admit that you adore being treated like royalty." As soon as pie started being shoved into both of their faces by the fistful, brimming with laughter and screaming and merrymaking—the holidays bring out joy even in assassins—Psyche and Illumi were both exiled to the children's table. They cackled like devils as they picked jam and pie crust out of eachothers' hair, and their kisses tasted like blueberries. (Kikyo made sure to give Illumi a mouthful herself, and quite an earful too, after his ill-mannered behavior at the dinner. Her eldest son walked in as a gentleman, but walked out a heathen!) "You scale buildings, effortlessly, bare handed and without rigging. How do you fall climbing a tree?" Psyche asked, genuinely surprised. Illumi had the reflexes of a cat!

"It's humbling, not being perfect all the time, but in that totally freak one-off occurrence, I concede to jumping without intent." Illumi recalled the memory—he imposed upon himself the responsibility of climbing a fifty foot tree (the height did not daunt him, he was a tree climber all his life) to put a baby bird back in its nest. It was a fledgling and though it could survive out of the nest, it was a death sentence to leave it vulnerable on Kukuroo's forest floor, to predators that eagerly awaited for eggs and defenseless younglings to prey on, it would die before nightfall. He overestimated the jump and sprained his wrist on his fast descent as a branch bent it frightfully back, after he safely tucked the bird back in its nest.

"You like to see fragile things survive, that's just the kind of person you are. You're good like that." Psyche softly praised him, she always fell a touch more in love with him as she learned new details about his life. Though, she already knew he liked animals more than he liked people. "But that's called being clumsy."

"No, that only happens to clumsy people."

"And arrogance. You need to be more careful. What if you broke your neck?"

"It couldn't have been that bad if I had you doting all over me."

Sometimes Psyche believed her kindness and generosity only fueled Illumi's teasing of her. "Mistakes happen to everyone. It's a natural part of life that no one's immune to. No, no, it is!" Psyche crowed as Illumi pretended to gag. "How does it feel? Living like everybody else?"

"I'll let you know when I start tripping on my own feet walking up the stairs like you–oof!" Illumi laughed as Psyche elbowed him in the gut, it didn't even hurt, it tickled maybe, but definitely entertained him. "But I'm right—wow, you've gotten strong. Haha." She's cute when she's angry.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you." Psyche huffed.

"But it sustains me." Illumi's voice was all too sweet, a saccharine mockery of innocence. "All in all, I'm saying you have my respect, and my fear, which is very rare for one person to simultaneously make me feel at once. I'm praising you!" Illumi was suddenly struck with inspiration as he rhymed, "she's beauty, she's grace, she has a turkey leg in her face!"

Psyche's face burned red as her brows pinched in anger, embarrassed. "Illumiiiii, please tell me you didn't come here just to roast me!'

But I love teasing you. "Nope. I came here with the singular purpose in mind of feeding my fiance strawberries." And to hopefully complete a mission of his own that weighed on his mind before the wedding. Illumi hoped that good food would make that endeavor easier for Psyche to bear. Illumi gave himself a deadline and it will be completed tonight.

His voice, his touch, his attention. All of him was so sensual to her as she nestled her back with gentle swaying motions against his chest as he moved with her. Can we stay like this forever? She plucked a sugar dusted berry from the bowl, and raised it to his lips. "I'll feed you too."

Illumi opened his mouth to disagree, voice smooth as river over stone. "Tomorrow, I'm going to be your husband, and you will be my wife. I will honor and serve you and you will never have to lift a finger to do anything again, not unless you want to. Don't forget, you're mine now. You will be treated like royalty because you are, so for my sake, indulge me tonight. Think of this as practice." He took her hand in his, then kissed the wrist that desired him. She's sweet, so sweet, he thought. I don't want to let her go. "Isn't this something good husbands do?"

Psyche's face burned with a heated blush, already trembling from his softest kiss, as only one thought consumed her. I want to be his good little wife. But she quickly stood her ground. Her features pinched in a caring yet quiet stubbornness. "If they're all mine like you said, then I'll decide who gets to eat them. And that means you." She vowed to always put him first. "Say aaaaaaahhh."

It was an unbridled joy to relinquish himself to her obstinate demand. Psyche always reminded him how starved he was for her touch—her love. He opened his mouth obediently. "Thank you for the food," Illumi gave thanks before biting into the berry as its sweetness burst into his mouth. Miraculous. The flavor captured summer despite the thick frost of winter that surrounded them. There was a peculiar warmth that reached his heart, even as he watched her finishing off his bite, wasn't it because of her? Wasn't this moment a glimpse of the future he dreamed of? A future beside a wife who made him believe, without question, without hesitation, he'd give his life for. "I need to speak with you."

"It couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Psyche asked, hardly meaning her own words. Waiting for tomorrow was like waiting for forever, she was thrilled he felt the same. The feel of his arms unyielding around her sent a thrill of excitement throughout her body.

"One encounter wasn't quite enough for me. I wanted to surprise you too. For once. Oh well. You always beat me to it." Illumi said, as a peculiar expression appeared on Psyche's face. "You surprise me all the time, like back in the kitchen? Standing behind the door? I was wondering when you'd come in. For a moment, I thought you were displeased with me—which wouldn't be an uncommon occurrence, I'm weary to be around." I'm honestly weary of myself. "So I've been told."

Psyche humphed. "Whoever has told you that dreadful lie is absolutely wrong because you, Illumi Zoldyck, are always a marvelous idea, and anyone should count themselves lucky to be around you. I know I am."

Illumi blushed, stunned. I'm a marvelous idea? And she said it so confidently too.

"I hope you didn't mind that I was taking my time, just standing there—menacingly." Illumi chuckled at the reference. "Did you sense my aura? Is that how I gave myself away?"

"No, I didn't have to, I heard you mumbling to yourself. I first thought it was a mouse." Illumi's voice gave way to laughter much to Psyche's embarrassment. "It was you."

Psyche tilted her head, leaning back with a delightful pressure into his robust chest, she noticed a slight shiver from him that wasn't from the cold. "Am I a cute mouse?"

"Very." Illumi studied her face at a leisurely pace, admiring the ample curve of her rosy cheeks, the gentle slope of her jaw, and the sensuous sweep of her long dark lashes. She's the prettiest girl. It still feels unreal, that she's soon to be all mine. Is it alright for me to be this happy right now? I want to be happy. I waited my whole life to be. "But I like when you do catch me off guard sometimes. Or when you try to." Illumi smiled at every valiant effort of hers, always getting high off her seeking him out. "It's cute."

Psyche's new favorite thing in the world was to be called cute by Illumi Zoldyck. "I'm not doing much other than creepily staring at you from afar..."

"Whenever I catch you staring at me I just think to myself, oh, she really likes me."

"Does it make you happy?"

"Yeah." Illumi's cheeks dimpled as his breath caught in his throat which uncharacteristically caught him off guard. How long can I stare at her and not make it weird? I think I'm already doing it. He suddenly lost his train of thought. "Right. I wanted to surprise you for once. I think you would say something along the lines of it not being fair."

"I have an inequity aversion."

"Does that grant you sick leave?"

"It's—"

"All for one and one for all." Fairness. "I know. I'm only kidding."

"Well, I haven't been fair with you at all. You have to get me back. It's only right."

"But now you know. You'll be expecting it. I'm at a disadvantage." I think she wants me to be a sadist like her. Haha.

"I'll be waaaaitiiiiing." Psyche lulled in a singsong voice.

"You're always lurking around in the shadows aren't you." Illumi paused. "Sometimes I imagine, when I'm watching horror films, that you're the killer and I'm the victim you're chasing."

Despite the morbid comparison, Psyche was glad Illumi thought of her often. "Down a dark and deserted alleyway?"

"No better elsewhere. That or an abandoned chainsaw factory. Clearly the only place I'd feel safe hiding—in honoring my horror victim predecessors by following exactly in their footsteps, I fear I shouldn't be very bright."

"You're the brightest, though I think you just want to be where all the excitement is happening."

Illumi's face towered over hers. "Perhaps I do. Pretty pretty killer, please notice me."

Psyche was preening. He called me pretty! "I will get you." Her voice was tender, but her eyes promised sweet cruelty.

"Absolutely not. I'm kicking your ass."

"You're my final boy. Of course I can't have you die right before the finale. That's where you confront me, and maybe, hopefully, ask me out on our first date. You did call me pretty." Psyche feigned innocent confusion, tenderly caressing his arm. "I wouldn't forget that." He would be her favorite victim who stood out from all the rest.

"Well, after I survive—because obviously—and if it's any consolation to my homicidal admirer, in my final boy support group you're all I will be talking about. Your kills haunt me in my waking hours, your death haunts me in my sleep. You left a hole in my heart, a scar far deeper your knife could never reach. I live, but only with your memory. Consumed by you. Longing for you. When my time ends, undone by a love that left nothing intact, that even Death scavenges in vain for what little you spared of me for it to collect."

Psyche's mouth was agape from his poetry, speechless. I want him. I want him. I want him now! I can't feel my knees. What if I don't have any, of course I do, they just feel like jelly. Please, please don't turn into jelly. I can't embarrass myself by falling flat on my face now. How was I ever able to stand upright before? How is it possible for me to stand here with him and listen to him saying these romantic things and looking so, so—oh so handsome. Aaaah! Thank God he's holding me. He's the only boy that's ever made me talk this much to myself before.

"My character would say something along those lines, but I digress. Anyway, thank you for motivating me to make it into the sequel." Illumi laughed.

"I don't know about that, but one of us will make it." Psyche countered.

Illumi's mouth popped open in surprise. "You're scary when you're serious, but I refuse to die. Imagine if that's all it took for the killer to stop, to be in possession of a relentless stubbornness—a pesky character trait—refusing to let them kill you, well alright, I guess you got me there."

"Have a good night." Psyche mocked.

"Stay safe. And then the killer just politely packs up their chainsaw and leaves." Illumi laughed, sarcastically. "Anyway, what normal thing were we talking about?"

"Darkness."

"Of course."

"It's my favorite place."

"Aaaw, the darkness is your favorite place."

"It's so cozy."

"You're a menace."

"But I'm cozy."

"My cozy girl." Illumi dipped his head and without a thought kissed Psyche's forehead. He stopped, stunned by his own spontaneous action. I need to think more. This was the first time he kissed her in over a year and yet it felt so natural; a reflex his body would never forget. She stirred an irresistible warmth inside of him, that pooled in his core and flushed his cheeks. He rested his chin on top of her head, breathed in deeply and exhaled aloud as he sighed with the whole of his body. This felt nice. It's okay to think less.

"What's the matter, baby?"

"Breathing."

"Oh. Breathing is a good thing."

"That's the first time you said that."

"Said what?"

Illumi paused then mumbled into her hair, and couldn't help but take in her scent. She smells like strawberries, sugary and vibrant like dessert, she still uses the same kind of shampoo. I still recognize it. I'm glad. "...what you just called me."

A radiant and knowing smile spread across Psyche's cheeks. Baby. Illumi wanted her to call him baby again. A silent communication passed through them as he squeezed her lovingly in approval, it was a quiet yet powerful hold. "You like it when I call you baby."

Illumi closed his eyes, at peace. "Make me yours. Please."

He's so cute and polite! Psyche was determined to come up with more endearing nicknames for him once they're married. She vowed to make him the happiest husband in the world! Oh! She always had an affinity for clementine. From now on, he'll be her clementine! Then she wondered aloud, nervously, her heart beating into her throat. "H-have you ever had any nicknames for me?"

Illumi thought for a moment, his eyes revealed nothing before intuition marvelously struck. "Ah! Chicken." He appeared very pleased with himself.

Psyche blinked, imagining a plump, featherly chicken frantically flapping its wings and clucking in her mind. She echoed back, "chicken? Wait a second, you've never called me chicken before!" I've tolerated being called a duck by my family, but chicken's a first for me. My whole life has been reduced to poultry!

"In my head, I did." Illumi cackled, and even more to her protesting.

"Why?" If she was a chicken then she'd want to peck his eyes out. Did he call her a chicken because he didn't think she was brave or that she gets so worked up sometimes it's like she's a chicken running around without its head? Which is it!?

"Because," Illumi began matter of factly, squeezing her affectionately whilst sighing contentedly. "You're so toasty warm." He explained that in winter, when he'd go outside to their chicken coops (Kukuroo Mountain is self sustainable, almost everything they eat they grow and harvest on their own land with minimal import; from produce to livestock) to check on the ladies hard at work (the hens), he'd like to hold and tuck his hands under their wings to keep his fingers from freezing, it was like wearing heated mittens! Psyche reminded him of that.

It dawned on her. She was his comfort. She was his cozy. For once in her life, Psyche was proud to be poultry! I take back what I said! I'm so happy to be his chicken!

Illumi remained motionless, perfectly content with his arms warped around her waist. Their breaths shared the smallest space. "Now that's settled, where were you off to in a hurry?"

"I'm on a mission!"

Illumi blinked. "A mission?"

"A secret mission." Psyche clarified.

"Oh, good, thank you for clarifying. Otherwise, I thought you were running off to do something unspeakably devious, like hijack my family's hot tub, or incite an insurrection—I like how that's your idea of making the government get its shit together faster." Illumi laughed.

Oh my fucking God. Psyche was mortified, willing herself to calm her voice so it wouldn't come out as a high panicked shrill. "You heard all of that? My sisters and I—we were only joking! Usurping the government is our own, deranged, inside joke. Like, Chaotica wants to legalize every Wednesday as a mandatory self care & spa day and Anomie wants jaywalking to be a federal crime. Haha, I swear, they say the funniest things." I'm going to kill my sisters. "You should have heard us yesterday, plotting identity fraud against our postmaster general and buying every piece of Victoria's Secret lingerie in his name and size." Shut up shut up shut up!

"Your devotion for the greater good is unsettling." Illumi hummed, nonchalant. He has impeccable hearing and couldn't help but overhear a sizable chunk of the sisters' conversation. For a while, Illumi had to tell Kalluto that a goblin was snatching (and snacking on) his origami. "Your Saturday nights sound way more exciting than mine."

"Please don't hate me for actively taking part in civil disobedience—I don't get a thrill out of raising anarchy. It's just…I love my city, and I want everyone who lives in it to love it as much as I do, everyday. Freely and safely, with every opportunity to truly live out their own happiness, not just to blindly pursue it in anguish." Psyche hated, with a deep disgust and revulsion, the delegates who shackled together living and suffering into a single existence; where civilians beg to belong, deteriorate in isolation, plead for bare necessities, and fight for basic human rights threatening to be revoked because the city budget can't afford it—just when New Bledel's mayor was recently indicted for five counts of wire fraud and bribery! "It's a basic right, y'know, the freedom to pursue a life of happiness." It was frustrating when her sisters didn't see what she did–the pristine vision she had for New Bledel and all it could one day be–they already made her feel more like a pariah than she already felt in her own family. She worried Illumi would think the same of her.

"Sometimes," Illumi said, contemplating. "People, no matter how old, still behave like obedient children, and need permission to act out—raise anarchy, if necessary." A slight, almost unnoticeable chuckle betrayed his voice, that eagerly fed his fiance's dauntless spirit. "They know what they want, and build the courage to ask, but are people truly free if they have to ask for their freedom?" Illumi silently mouthed a single word that drummed to life Psyche's savage, rebellious heart–No. If freedom is asked for, it will never be wholly given, existing purely in conditional favors and bargains and rules upheld unequally on a pedestal perpetually dividing the powerful and powerless. It is in freedom's innate nature to be fought for and declared—taken without guilt, cherished without remorse, lived without pretense. "You gave them what they desperately needed—permission. A push to stop living passively and to instead act. That gentle reminder on how we all should be living. Don't think I would ever hate you for that. There's a certain quality about you that I find very admirable—you have grit." A quality Illumi believed they both shared; hers was more raw, while Illumi's was learned, but both were inextinguishable. "When you want something with all your heart, you don't stop until it's yours, even when that want extends beyond yourself solely for the benefit of others. A mission—a desire—that becomes bigger than yourself. Enduring, passionate, unstoppable." Committed, provocative, and uncontrolled. Psyche could throw society on its head while marvelously holding the world in bated breath—oh, it was glorious! "Those are some words that come to mind when I think of you. So I'm not surprised at all that others see a leader within you and wish to follow you. You make people believe they are extraordinary." You make me feel extraordinary.

Psyche choked on her own breath, speechless and transfixed in a wondrous daze of exhilarating recognition, under his high esteem for her. She couldn't believe it. And thought it was best not to mention the more unsavory details from that night and the days that followed (like the unfortunate casualty of the Cheesecake Factory.) She was going to cry, and fought to hold in her tears.

"You're the only one that gets me," Psyche awed, eyes glittering. "You make me feel extraordinary. Like, I can see people following you, you as our president. Yup, I definitely can."

"Politics isn't for me."

Psyche pouted. "Of course you don't want to be president. You want to be king!"

You have no idea. Illumi's laughter was unrestrained, airy, and the dimples in his cheeks gleamed. She knew him too well. King Illumi did have an enticing quality about it. Living on top of a mountain enclosed by an impressive stone gate, towering over Kukuroo Village at its base, always made him feel as if he actually lived in a castle. "All we need now is a drawbridge and moat." Preferably filled with crocodiles. "Can I join you in your secret mission?"

"You can, but it'll be dangerous. You might not make it back alive."

"I thrive in danger. Every summer, dad and I spend our weekends camping at Painted Turtle Lake, right here in Grey Stone national park to catch the King of Kukuroo." Illumi smiled, smugly. It was always a contest between father and son; competitors setting their sights exactly on the same prey and perhaps the only two men to blithely ignore the park's imminent warning about the wild animal. The King of Kukuroo, a colossal alligator snapping turtle, is a living treasure among the great cedar swamps and tea-colored rivers of Dentora. While other turtles sustained themselves on vegetation, small fish, and tadpoles, the King preferred other turtles, deer and small mammals that wandered too close to the lake's edge, and rarely kayakers that were unfortunate enough to be capsized and drowned by the creature. They do not use nets nor traps, as Silva believed that it was only through a hunter's own personal possessions—bare fists, instinct, quick wit, and adrenaline spiking through their blood—that earned any hunter true glory; he instructed Illumi in the same discipline. Illumi was younger, faster and quickly superseded his father, in catching the beast, who proudly revelled in his own defeat. "My patience is timelessly rewarded."

Psyche sighed into him, it was nice knowing that Illumi is getting along with his dad again after their rough patch. He seemed happier now. "I know this is something you do regularly, but I was always scared whenever you'd causally jump into your family's pond knowing there were alligator snapping turtles in there. Their jaws are a one way ticket to the netherworld!"

"Their bite force isn't enough to chomp my head off. A few fingers, at most, so not to worry." Illumi then tilted his head up in thought. "But on the other hand, King's would be enough. Yeah, it definitely would."

"NOOoooOOO, I like you better with your head on."

"I like the way you said that. NOOOoooOOOO." Illumi mimicked her, humorously testing out Psyche's panicked intonation.

Illumi remembered those memories clearly. He was seventeen, gutsy, arrogant, and strongly averse to caution—as teenage boys are prone to be. He'd dangle his body from an overhanging pine branch that dangerously creaked from the added weight of his body, as he waited with silence and stealth until the bait quickly trembled then plunged under the water before jumping into the pond himself and resurfacing with a snapping giant thrashing its neck backwards in his arms. Meanwhile, Illumi would laugh triumphantly at his conquest. "Yeah, I think I did that because I was under the impression that it would impress you. So…did I impress you?"

"Everytime you didn't resurface fast enough, it felt like I was having a heart attack."

"You're here now. Maybe it worked." Illumi remembered she used to clap for him too as his cheerleader, sitting angelically on a blanket he laid out for her. Or perhaps she was cheering him on, solely thankful for the fact he was still in possession of ten fingers and ten toes that didn't need stitching back. Suddenly, Illumi realized his head was filled with every wrong idea about how to flirt with girls.

"I was just there to apply first aid if you needed it."

Illumi was cackling wildly.

"Promise me you won't do something dangerous like that again." Psyche pleaded.

"Of all things to kill me, I doubt a turtle would do me in." Damn. That's something my mom would say. Maybe I am a reckless adrenaline junkie like she says I am. I should fix that, I do have my own family to think about now. "I promise," then Illumi teased. "What about caving?"

It appeared as if Psyche's soul was leaving her body. "My favorite thing about caving is that you don't have to do it."

"Gotcha. I'm officially retired." Illumi was too big to cave nowadays and gave up when he was no longer able to squeeze into the same tunnels he could when he was a lanky preteen. "My turtle snatching days are behind me, the King of Kukuroo no longer has to live in fear of me—I'll just set my sights on Mothman instead."

"Mothman? But I thought The King of Kukuroo was the only cryptid of Dentora?" Every region in Padokea had its own official cryptid monster. Psyche memorized them because of Illumi's fascination with all things strange, unsettling, and bizarre.

Illumi was impressed she knew the cryptids! "Yes, but it's only a matter of time before that's about to change. There have been many sightings of a Mothman-like creature that recently invaded Dentora. Actually most of those sightings are right here in our own village. Ask around. Some villagers even said they've seen it fly over our own Mountain."

"That's unbelievably close."

"Indeed. It's strange that we live in a world full of insane coincidences."

"Illumi."

"Yes?"

"Have you seen Mothman?"

Illumi smiled from ear to ear. "Nope. But I'm not in a rush to."

Psyche narrowed her eyes at him, "not in a rush, huh." Illumi really wants me to believe that the biggest cryptid lover in all of Dentora (maybe even in the world) who vacations at a lake with his dad, competing in a contest between just the two of them, to capture and release a singular, infamous turtle yearly, isn't staking out day and night to glimpse even a fraction of a high tier legendary folk creature. If Illumi captured Mothman, he would never stop bragging about it. For all of Illumi's odd beliefs, he's a loyal son of the scientific method and doesn't rely solely on rumors or word of mouth alone. He needs facts, empirical evidence, at least some tangible proof. This is the same boy whose hobby was to ruthlessly debunk conspiracy theories, like the flat earth theory or that the ancient pyramids were built by aliens utilizing lasers, telekinesis, and 1980s synthwave music. He mercilessly enjoys whacking conspirators over the head with hard evidence—Ironic, considering cryptozoology is a pseudoscience. He's always been a monster kid at heart. And he clearly knows something others don't. "I think you're lying. You haven't tried searching for it. That's what you're into."

"Mothman is a night creature and the nights get very dark around here. This is the country, not the big city, Psyche."

His smile is so cocky, he's definitely hiding something and wants to be found out. "You're a night owl. You told me you get most of your work done at night. Doesn't seem like it would be a problem for you."

"I'm a tired guy now. Ahhhh-hhaaaaa." Illumi yawned. "I must be getting old."

His sleepy voice! IS! SO! CUTE! "I think you know Mothman. Do you?"

"I don't, but if I did, I'd probably think he's a really cool guy."

Psyche squinted at him, skeptically. Okay, I definitely know he's playing a trick on me. What trick exactly…I'll find out what it is eventually—he'll want me to. "I don't know about Mothman, but I always thought lake monsters were just a myth, or really big catfish—y'know they can grow to the length of a school bus in NGL."

"Did you know that everytime someone says 'I don't believe in cryptids,' there is a scaly, winged, strange, hungry, frightened, bizarre, humanoid, eldritch terror, freaky lil guy somewhere that falls down dead. What do you say to that?"

"Thank goodness." Psyche said, a little too bluntly.

"Don't worry, I'll make a believer out of you."

Psyche reached up her hand and caressed Illumi's cheek, "I don't know about all cryptids, but this one's my favorite."

Illumi's eyes lit up. Me? THAT'S ME! "That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

"And, um, Illumi?"

"There is no other."

"Will you let go of me?" Psyche asked. Illumi was still holding her.

Illumi did no such thing. "I'm very partial to a little quid pro quo."

"And evasiveness to direct questions."

Illumi smirked, "tit for tat."

Psyche smiled up at him. "One secret for another. Nothing less than awful, deplorable, or morally reprehensible."

"I think there's nothing you would desire more than to scold me for all my most awful, deplorable, and morally reprehensible secrets. That's your secret, not mine. My apologies." Illumi leaned his head down close to her ear, his voice tickled her skin with every breath as Psyche fought against a fit of giggles. Her laughter was contagious—it warmed him and sent his core rapidly fluttering. It was hard for Illumi to believe in moments like these, that this sweet, bubbly, and enchanting girl took pleasure in violence and bestowing hellish misfortune unto the wretched. Illumi supposed that this was also part of her unconscious deception—a spider lovingly knitting a web, whilst making a fly believing it will be tucked in a nice, snug bed.

"Illumi?" Psyche tilted her head curiously, he's been staring blankly at her for a while. She hoped he was okay. "What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong. I was only thinking how lucky I am to be marrying such a pretty wife so soon. I'll go first. My most dreadful, appalling secret is that I'm possessive to a fault. So no, to your question before. I caught you." Then in a rushed voice, Illumi said in an excited single breath. "I'm keeping you."

Psyche tried to stop herself from laughing outright, but failed miserably. "No, no, Illumi, it's just—That's not a secret."

"So you do pay attention to me, my songbird." Illumi called his fiance a new pet name. He intently watched for her reaction, but she only silently stared at him. "Do you not like that name? If you don't I could always go back to calling you chicken again?" Truthfully, I never actually stopped.

"Songbird." Psyche numbly echoed the divine name back. "Oh no, I love it. Thank you. Um, can you call me by that name again? Please."

"My beautiful songbird."

I'll always be your songbird. She'll live up to the name he's given her, no matter what.

"Oh well. I'm honest to a fault too, I suppose." Illumi sighed.

"You have a very honest face. Very…" Psyche tilted her head and contemplated as she stared at Illumi's upside down face, "trustworthy cheekbones."

"So I've been told. That's two tits for a tat—you'll have to surrender two secrets of your own. In all fairness." Illumi echoed back her own words.

"My weakness is chocolate!"

"Everyone knows that. One last secret?"

Psyche leaned into him, closing her eyes. Serenely. "I don't want you to let me go."

"That's not a secret either." Illumi paused, then whispered, voice vulnerable. "You can keep me too." Before Illumi knew it, it was time to act and lift the grievance that weighed heavily on his mind all night—but not for much longer.

Psyche suspected nothing as Illumi held the knife to her throat.

Chapter Text

Anomie is right. I am a hypocrite. 

I couldn’t hate Illumi Zoldyck, not even when he wanted me dead.

Psyche neither flinched at the cool, steel blade as her betrothed Zoldyck steadied it without hesitation across her bare neck. Her undisturbed calmness somehow compelled Illumi to strengthen his grip and fortify his own certainty. He let the beginning of a cruel smile slowly betray his stoic expression, savoring the release of a bottled and insidious intent. A sickening happiness. Psyche wondered how long it has been since he permitted himself to enjoy a kill and whether she was his perfect excuse to unleash everything he’s never allowed himself to be. This must be a welcome deviation from his orderly and controlled life. Ah, she should have realized this sooner, he was trapped just like she was. With this life, this arranged marriage, this forced union devised by their parents. Psyche admitted to imagining he had more freedom than she ever did, it was easier and a comfort, knowing someone strong and made of steel would come for her when she couldn’t move freely. She couldn’t blame him for resorting to this last and desperate act, she was once very desperate and did desperate things too. It wasn’t so illogical to see how her death would offer him complete and total freedom. All these years together, all the lies. Anomie told her that she didn’t really know Illumi, that she fell in love with the boy she made up in her head. Psyche thought she’d gotten better, but maybe she’ll always fall for beautiful lies from her beautiful liar. It was the one thing of him that only she could claim. If anything, the one thing they truly had in common. 

Psyche wasn’t unfamiliar to that remote and penetrating look that pierced her core from the darkest depths of his eyes. Some said it was a hollow glare that belonged to nothing more than an emotionless, killing machine. But to her, it was more. They were the kind of eyes that belonged to someone who intimately understood what it meant to inflict hurt and have been hurt in return. Goodness wouldn’t come easy to them, they were never blessed with fortunate and comfortable lives that allowed it to thrive. Since they were born they only were surrounded by darkness and miraculously survived by scraping tooth and nail to find solace within it. Psyche only stared back, it was like they were standing on either side of looking glass, staring through and witnessing a perfect reflection of their own hollowness. Some people search all their lives to find their other mirrored halves—that special someone who finally makes them whole. Psyche thought she was one of the lucky few to find it. And she believed Illumi Zoldyck found within her, an exact darkness that matched his own, ambushed in a world glaring with brilliant light that would never welcome either of them. The hollow fed their hunger; it tempered their anger, nourished their vengeance, listened to their screams, and soothed their despair. Psyche always admired Illumi Zoldyck, he understood what it meant to immensely feel and yet not be drowned by his emotions. Psyche had to constantly relearn to keep herself afloat, so naturally it was a quality of his that hypnotically pulled her to him. If he could make a friend, not an enemy, out of his own darkness, then so could she. Illumi and his darkness mesmerized her beyond thought, beyond soul. And so, for people like them who suffered the greatest, they were the most deserving of love among all.

Psyche was unable to turn away from Illumi’s final act of desperation. She could never blame him for choosing himself without first blaming herself—she made the same decision not too long ago. Psyche knew that there was no changing the hands of fate once Illumi Zoldyck made up his mind. And yet here she remained, with her world ripped out underneath her feet as she could only sway unsteadily at her beautiful harbinger of death. 

“Ah, ah.” Illumi corrected her, leaning his head down and whispering into her ear as his sultry voice stilled her. He reminded her of a famished wolf about to savor its first bite. But if he must bite, then he must bite her slowly. It will be the last of her he will ever have. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

Psyche doubted she could after Illumi decided her future. Illumi, you are the breathtaking muse for my pitiful tragedy. Do it. Finish my ending.  

Her shadow was compelled otherwise. Awakened by imminent danger, the dark shadow’s form began to pulsate with life and immediately detached itself away from Psyche. It always felt like being cleaved in half, and though it never hurt any less, she learned to tolerate it without betraying her stoic expression. Psyche made no move to compel her creature to return to her, it was its own being as much as herself. She could not rationalize the mystery that moved a nen creature by its own will that was born from her rawest and most powerful grief when even Psyche could not bear to stare into its hollow depths for too long without withering, withering, withering. Over the years she learned that grief was never constant—it was an unshakable regret in wishing she could have done things differently, fully knowing what she should have done if it wasn’t impossible to amend time’s past mistakes instead of imagining another here and another now where her twin was still alive and they were living the life they always dreamed of in secret. Instead of her numbly standing unwelcome in the cold, buried by the deafening silence of the mountain’s echoing chambers during the bitter frost of winter, confronted by the boy she fell in love with who now looked more like a stranger as time marched on. Grief was hurt she inflicted to the one who never deserved it and begged to be forgiven. It was unbroken love that even death couldn't stand still for that perpetually endured to give, to receive, and to complete itself in that sanctified union sought after since the rise of the first dawn. Eros was the light to her darkness, but he was also doomed to be the light that Psyche’s darkness swallowed whole. 

Psyche felt a chill creep along her spine. She didn’t know exactly where her and Eros would be if their escape plan worked, but it would be someplace warm. 

Her shadow carried everything Psyche could not alone, and transformed her torrent of emotions into something not quite healed, but bearable enough to carry on. For that immeasurable gratitude Psyche would never cage her most loving and monstrous creature. The creature suddenly loomed to a towering height, eclipsing both Illumi and Psyche. The black expanse of the shadow threatened to consume him in darkness. It was going to kill him, but Illumi only watched it back undisturbed. There was no fear within him, as one monster confronted the other. 

Without Psyche commanding it, her shadow lept at him. 

Illumi remained eerily relaxed even on the verge of being attacked, as a sudden realization awakened in his eyes. He took in a quick intake of breath, not of fear, but one of wonder and awe as the shadow’s claws neared his face. “It’s you.” 

It was like time froze as the shadow stopped mid air, its claws hovered above his eyes. It was as if Illumi had power over it by recognizing the girl before the monster. Psyche, though deeply touched, decided to lie. “No, I don’t think it is.” Tell me you know it’s me. Tell me you see my worst and still accept me.

“Liar,” Illumi mused back, more convinced now. “After all the time we spent together, it would put me to shame if I couldn’t.” 

“Maybe I was hoping it would.” 

Illumi breathed a laugh. He recognized the subtle curves and edges that made up her body, and her ferocity. He was more than confident that he could spot her out of a large crowd. He was now examining this shadow made entirely of nen, intensely, as if committing this new piece of Psyche to memory. “If not now, were you going to hide it from me forever? Or was I going to find out on our wedding night that I married two brides instead of my only intended one?” 

It was a genuine question, with more snark than she would have cared for, but Psyche knew that Illumi was driven by caution and a healthy dose of distrust in the world they lived in. He was right, she wanted to leave the past behind her and was already committed to keeping certain secrets from him once they were married. She would have told him eventually, or never, she didn’t think she’d carry guilt about either. Psyche only smiled and spritely quipped, “that depends how you feel about polygamy—I can make more. You can have your own harem.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Illumi said calmly, though a little too quickly, and a little too flustered for his own liking. The thought of him, surrounded by a dozen of her in bed…he chastised himself for imagining a dozen first. “I was just surprised to see it—sorry, do you prefer to use specific pronouns for your creation? It can be rather cold. They? Or She? She. Got it. She must be new because I’ve never seen her before, you would have shown me. And personally, I believe in monogamy.” 

Psyche giggled, she was happy she could make him flustered one last time. And he was surprisingly respectful of her shadow’s pronouns. Most people just outright scream. She neared closer as she let her fingertips wander over his taut abs. He exhaled a trembling breath from her touch, she still had it in her to make him shiver. Good. She looked up at him with a perfected naive innocence, as she fluttered her eyelashes. If Chaotica could seduce a judge to agree to a lower bail price, then Psyche could seduce Illumi away from making the worst mistake of his life. There is little dignity to be lost when you’re already on death row. “You’ve always been so sweet to me. So respectful. So considerate.” Get that damn knife out of my face. Psyche furrowed her brows and pouted her shimmery glossed lips, cutely. “But why not? I’m only thinking of you.” 

“I don’t understand. How so?”

“She’s still me. All my shadows are. There’s so much I want to give you. We’ve been apart for so long that I can’t seem to hold myself back…” Psyche let her voice quiver while shyly looking away. She leaned forward, a wilting flower against the strong embrace of his body while letting her cleavage spill out of her nightgown. Boobs saved lives. She waited before meeting his gaze with pleading doe eyes. “Let me love you. Let me please you. There’s so much I want to give, that I can't all by myself.”  

Psyche didn’t think she’d ever be promising Illumi an orgy, but her mother always taught her to get creative in hostage negotiations, so the same principles should apply here. Psyche channeled her inner seductress, I am but a naive and confused wee lamb in the bedroom desperate to please my husband, y’know just embodying archaic, misogynistic bullshit. Bleh. Maybe it would help more if I cried a little in his pecs? Like I want him so badly, it's unbearable, and pout and shimmer and fan my eyelashes! This may set the feminist movement back but it doesn’t matter as long as I'm alive tomorrow morning!

Illumi said nothing as he took her face in his hands, one holding the knife. He wiped away a tear off her cheek with his thumb (Psyche mastered crying on cue). Illumi finally spoke, his voice was gentle as if he was sharing with her his most intimate confession. “I only have one heart, and I will only ever share it with one person. You’ve shown me yours and I wouldn’t or even allow yourself to treat it so carelessly. You want to be loved, and I see how it hurts you to divide pieces of your heart and act in ways that you believe will make you be loved more. I will have all of you, as you are, or I will have none of you. Those are the conditions you should rule your own heart by.”

“All or none,” Psyche whispered as real tears fell from her eyes. Don’t hurt me like this. Don’t respect my heart if you’re going to just reject it. “ What do you want from me?”    

Illumi didn’t release his hold over her as he felt everything under his palms. The angle of her jawline, the sensitive spot behind her ears, the pulse racing across her neck and throbbing and beating into him. He let his fingers selfishly and shamelessly rest over her skin longer than he planned to. Savoring her. So soft, she’s so soft. His voice was sultry, like velvet caressing her skin. “Bend over.” 

Psyche was stunned speechless as redness flared across her face. 

Illumi released her and snickered, “whose flustered now?” 

Psyche tried to cool herself off, thinking instead of her nen creature. “Yeah, no, so—this shadow in particular is different from my others. While we share the same aura, she exists outside my body independently. I can feel what she feels.” 

“Like a phantom limb?”

“Not really, it isn’t just a sensation. It’s hard to explain,” Psyche breathed. “I am still me, but it isn’t just me anymore.”

“You’re a we .”

“Yeah. It wasn’t like I was replacing my body, but I had to learn how to live in one again. Everything that I’ve already lived through once in training, I felt it all like I was experiencing it again for the first time. I’ve gotten so used to living as I do now, that my experiences numbed me—I’d forgotten what it felt like to learn all the principles and techniques of nen, the pain and relief and struggle of just doing the bare minimum of controlling and sustaining my aura nodes. But we learned it together. It was easier to do it all again a second time, but it was still a struggle. Now I can manage it all subconsciously, of course.” Psyche then groaned. “Ugh, I hated training the first time. I can’t believe I had to live through it TWICE.” 

“It’s amazing to see how far you’ve come though, isn’t it. But yeah, no, training is the worst. I wouldn’t relive it all over again if given the choice. I’d think I’d rather gnaw my own arm off. Sorry, that was a grotesque image.” 

“Well, now I have too many arms then I’d prefer, so let me know if you’re ever interested in a bite of Psyche a la mode. ”

Illumi chuckled. “You’re like the yokai Hashihime. In Japanese folklore, she is The Lady of the Bridge. She’s a beautiful maiden donned in all white, waiting every night for her one true love to come for her.” 

I’m also waiting for true love, and I’m wearing a white nightgown too. Is being compared to a yokai a sign of his affection? “That is so romantic. Did she leave him one of her severed arms as a farewell gift? I personally would opt for a handkerchief.” Or a lock of my hair, a perfume that reminds you of me, or better yet a letter written in my heart's own blood swearing to you my undying love. Y’know, just simple things.   

“Not exactly. Like all yokai there are various stories and interpretations, but the most famous hashihime is written in the Tale of Heike. A woman sought vengeance on her husband who broke her heart by leaving her for another woman. Every night she prayed to the gods, pleading she would give anything to destroy him, even at the cost of her own life. For twenty-one nights she immersed herself in the Uji river hoping her prayers would be answered. On the twenty-first night, the woman submerged herself under the currents of the river and a demon rose up in her place. The gods answered her. After becoming the yokai Hashihime, she was finally given the power to exact her revenge. She does lose an arm in this tale. Though she’s portrayed as a villain, in reality she’s representing women and their anger after being betrayed, robbed of their life and property, and thrown out of their own home by their husbands. Who’s really the villain? A man who does that to his wife isn’t a man at all. Unfortunately, this was ancient Japan. Wronged women who took matters into their own hands were demonized for it, literally—” 

“And where there are demons, or demonized women, there are big men eager to swing their even bigger swords. Typical!” 

Illumi sensed a double entendre. 

“Can’t a lady exact her revenge while conjuring the forces of darkness to carry out her evil bidding in peace? I like her, I hope she was able to get her own happily ever after.” 

“I like her too. She’s also the guardian of love.”  

Psyche was now blushing. Japanese Folklore was so romantic, thrilling, and vengeance stories were her favorite (tied alongside historical erotica). “Maybe you can tell me more.” 

Illumi knew the hallmarks of powerful nen users when he saw them, and outstretched his hand to the shadow. Psyche was an artist in every sense of the word, to be able to make something from nothing was the gift of creation. Within folklore, it was a gift that was reserved only for gods. The shadow reached out hesitantly to Illumi in turn. A shock of surprise swept through him with their palms touched briefly before she retreated. He felt her. Can she feel me like this? Can I tell them both apart if I only have this one sense to rely on? There was a question on the tip of his tongue that was begged to be asked. “Is she real?” 

“Well, this one is determined to have a mind of her own.” It was a nice way of saying she couldn’t control it. 

“But is she you? Or something else?” 

“Could be either. Despite how much we understand about nen today, I think we’ve only harnessed a fraction of its true power.” Psyche admitted aloud. “Maybe once, we’ve always been one, then suddenly split.” She knew for a fact that her shadow appeared right after Eros’s death, so it was definitely trauma induced. “Or perhaps she has always existed separately from myself and I didn’t realize it until I finally discovered her. But I do know that ever since I was little, I never felt like I was truly alone. Like a guardian angel watching over me. She saved me.”

Illumi listened to her, and there was not a hint of judgement in his eyes. He thoughtfully took in everything she said with an unmistakable understanding that deeply stirred something raw and vulnerable within him. Psyche wished he’d tell her more. “You probably saved her from being alone in the world too. She’s always been beside you just living a different kind of existence while she waited until you were ready to make herself known. It’s what she was made for.” 

He saw her soul and she could only love him deeply for it. Psyche wanted to know how he knew exactly how she felt. “Yes. I suppose we exist for each other. It’s kind of like having a built-in best friend.” 

“I imagine it would be. It also must be nice to get along so well.” 

Psyche didn't tell him how her shadow caused a perfect reenactment of the tornado that landed Dorothy Gale in the Land of Oz, just before her family left for the wedding. Her shadow rudely threw a horrendous tantrum on her bookshelf that morning. Her maids were probably still fishing out her books from the garden fountain, if the swans hadn't gotten to them first. She already imagined poor Mimette being honked and chased at. “Oh yes, we get along so well.” 

“Psyche, even after all you’ve been through, you still exist as two.” Illumi wondered aloud. Psyche came into the world as a twin, but even after Eros’s death, she still didn’t walk through the world alone. “As if you were always meant to be this way. Do you think that’s how it’s meant to be for everyone? I’d like to hear your thoughts.” 

“Hmm, I think people aren’t made to be alone, that’s why everyone is always searching for love, even when we’re not looking for it. And by some miraculous chance, love always finds us. We simply cannot live without it. But…”

“But what?”

“I only want true love to find me. I won’t settle for a guy if it’s for anything less.” 

“What if this guy loves you so much that it makes him sick not be yours, what then?”

“If it’s not true love then no way!” Psyche protested.

“What if he adores you? What if he’s famous? What if he’ll give you anything you ask of him?”

“Those are all nice things, but true love cannot be forced or bought. If he isn’t the one, then I’m sticking to my ideals to the bitter end.”

“Ah, I see. What if it’s Captain Theodore Sturn?”

Psyche stalled. Oh wow, he knows. She wondered if he also knew she had a shelf in her room dedicated to displaying all her Theodore fan merchandise. She wasn’t going to tell him. “Illumi, now you’re just toying with me. You’ve asked for my thoughts and I gave them to you earnestly. Please be serious.”

Illumi chuckled, he’d never outgrew teasing her. “Alright, just one last question. Did true love bring you here?” 

Psyche wanted to stay. She wanted Illumi to want her to stay. Don’t reject my heart’s longing. She vowed to him her one honest truth. “Yes. It did.” 

There was only one answer Illumi wanted to hear from her. He didn’t reject her, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. His gaze wandered back to her shadow. Could her other half decipher what he left unsaid? “Hmm, beautiful. It’s extraordinary. She embodies her own uniqueness yet simultaneously exists exactly in your own likeness, I’d expect nothing less from an artist.” 

Psyche basked in his brief flattery. Her family made her feel ashamed by what she couldn’t control, but there was a kind of beauty in this recklessness. It was unapologetically her; raw, vulnerable, and alive. He saw that beauty within her. He wouldn’t outright lie to her. A lie like this wouldn’t serve him now. He had to be returning her feelings, right? He wouldn’t come home if true love hadn’t brought him here either. Maybe he didn’t have more freedom than her, but he wasn’t powerless either. “Thank you. She is beautiful.” 

Illumi looked at her shadow as if he was admiring art in a museum. His voice echoed in astonishment, startling her. “Chi, chakra, aura, nen—so many different names for life energy that all living beings possess. We understand the principles, we’ve spent our lives developing and mastering them, and yet it manifests so differently, either through sheer will or in ways we never expected. It’s strange that we’re these amazing, unpredictable creatures, and yet we still manage to surprise ourselves.” 

Psyche wondered where all this was coming from, but she was glad he was talking to her. She missed this. “Illumi. It’s getting late. Will I see you in the morning?” Psyche coolly offered a half hearted suggestion. 

But Illumi looked at her almost disapprovingly. She sensed that he knew it too. We can love each other, see how easy it is. We can make this marriage work. She possessed a hungry heart starved of love and affection that refused to beg for less than it deserved. It would not raise crumbs and menial scraps to that of banquets and feasts to fill itself on nothing. Like Illumi said, she will have all of him, or none. Psyche then heard a trembling voice in the corner of her mind, muttering small and pitiful requests. Ask me to stay. Want me anyway. I’m not made to be alone.

“I came for you. And in your heart, I know you wanted me to.” 

She wanted to lean into him instead of running away, a symptom of the heart being too far gone. She was entranced; by the spine tingling heat of his body pressing tenderly against hers, the calming effect his smooth voice held over her being, to the absolute attention he focused solely on her. Wasn’t this what she always wanted? His attention and his alone? She could never urge herself to argue otherwise. His voice was a faint whisper, purposely slowed and articulate and delightfully wicked, awakening everything within her. Her heart pleaded with a dire question, if you let yourself, could you love me forever like this ? 

His darkness returned.

“Don’t move, unless I tell you. ” Illumi let the knife wander absentmindedly down her neck, taking his time as he leisurely drew the tip winding along the pretty arc of her throat. He did this not out of curiosity, but a need to become familiar again with a neck he once knew all its subtle curves by heart. Every touch echoed fondly in his mind with remembrance as he stared into the depths of an Angel’s eyes. 

Psyche flushed as one of his arms wrapped firmly around the back of her waist. She couldn’t deny the sparks that ignited within her. She wanted him. It hurt to want him like this. 

Goosebumps shivered throughout Psyche’s body. She couldn’t say anything to change his mind as her worst fear crashed down on her head. It didn’t shatter her like she thought it would, oddly enough only a quiet relief settled over her as she exhaled a breath she’s long been holding in. In truth, she’d been expecting this for a long time. Vengeance was her life’s calling and she executed it flawlessly with pride, but not even the darkest part of her heart allowed her to absolve her own sins. If she could engineer the vengeance behind her own death then she knew, without a doubt, that to be killed by someone she loved was a penance long overdue. 

Death was simply the final step, a trivial detail, in Psyche’s work. First, she would let the truth sink its teeth into the intended wrongdoer, to let the venom marinate and induce a sense of foreboding. It was the perfect catalyst for paranoia which would inevitably lead the target to self isolation, to punish themselves through madness first. It was a natural response to hide away from threats that scare us, not much different than hiding under blankets from the boogeyman when we’re little. Illumi isolated her now, with himself and his truth: he wouldn’t love her, nor would he allow himself to be forever tied in an insufferable arranged marriage. Not even to her. He’s fighting back and reclaiming his own life. ‘ What an excellent use of free will, good for him. ’ Psyche couldn’t help but think as she sarcastically applauded him. 

It was an ugly truth she had no choice but to accept. Psyche knew some part of her was broken, be it her instincts that should have compelled her to scream, fight him off, or demand an amicable annulment without either holding a grudge. Or perhaps it was her soul that still loved him despite it, or maybe the most twisted piece of herself that still believed after all that she had done—after all the people she had hurt despite trying to do and be good—believed she deserved a happy ending more than anyone. However, she’s been trained as an assassin since birth and wasn’t a stranger to brutality or violence, after being responsible for the death of her twin brother Eros, Psyche hasn’t experienced true fear since, not even now with her own death looming imminently before her. She should be afraid, but she only sighed.

Psyche shouldn't have deluded herself. This marriage was all a lie. He never loved her. She was a nuisance, a pest to be disposed of. He'd outgrown her. He never wanted her, as she wanted him. It should have been obvious since he never even contacted her during the two years they’ve spent apart, despite mainly it being dealings, drama, and death happening with her own family. She didn't move from the knife's icy touch and wondered if he thought of her as pathetic for not pushing him away? She honestly couldn’t be bothered to care anymore, it was tiresome. She was tired of carrying around her guilt like a cross. Let him believe what he wanted to. 

This was Eros’s vengeance. Fated to live a life gone unloved and have a beautiful dream snuffed out before she had the chance to say I do. Instead, Psyche will be cleansed from her darkest sin that permanently marked her soul. She would be killed by someone who ought to love and protect her, just as she ought to have loved and protected Eros two years ago. She could almost laugh out loud at the irony. Whatever may happen, she would let it. She accepted her fate long ago, anxiously waiting for this moment. In the end, she would always be a bride to death.

Psyche leaned towards the knife—relinquishing herself to both Illumi and Eros’s wills—and welcomed it.

“Not here.” Illumi nudged her forward, unexpected joy laced the venom around his voice. “I want to see you walk.” He commanded her. 

Psyche’s eyes widened, surprise betraying her placidness. He wasn’t going to kill her here? Illumi escorted her down the corridor, directing her diligently from behind. He’s taking her somewhere more private to finish the job. The more impatient side of her sparked with quick anger, he couldn’t see her cheeks reddening and fuming. Her murder weapon ought to be more symbolic of the time they’ve spent together. An ordinary knife wasn’t going to cut it. It should be the butterfly knife he gave her—it had meaning, memories, and shared history—she always purposely delayed in returning it to him too. Psyche thought Illumi should have known that. 

Illumi observed that Psyche’s shadow never disappeared, it followed diligently behind him without a sound. Within the Zoldyck mansion, there were three figures that followed the other in a straight line, narrow as the groom’s knife. Two’s company, three’s a crowd , he thought to himself. Oh well, it makes no difference. 

Psyche managed to sneak a glance back at him, but he simply smiled back at her. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if she listened to Chaotica’s advice and wore a ball of string instead of her frilly nightgown. As if. I’m delusional until the very end, she thought to herself admonishingly. Psyche wasn’t afraid, but she could no longer ignore the bitterness swirling in her heart. Her voice came out like gravel—annoyed—albeit briefly. “Illumi, would you care to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“Psyche, don’t you know? You said so earlier yourself.” Illumi leaned forward to whisper directly behind her ear, despite speaking with a carefree cadence he sent a shiver through her. “We’re going on a secret mission.” 

Yeah, I imagined somewhere romantic, not to the crypt! Psyche tightened her lips into a straight line, Illumi would have made a good court reporter for remembering everything she has ever said. “ My own words have come back to haunt me . ”

“How so?”

“Because I’ll be eating more than just my own words tonight.” Like how I’ll be biting the dust shortly.

Illumi’s stoic expression gave little away, only a little blush. “I only want to take care of you tonight.”

“I know you do.” Psyche sighed, oblivious. “Go ahead, list your grievances. I think it’s better to get things off your chest now rather than hold it all in—or else it just rushes out when you don’t want it to in the worst possible way then you'll constantly mull over what you could have done differently and regret it for the rest of your life. Anyway,  it’s really cathartic, and good for your solar plexus. But that’s just my opinion.” 

“Don’t worry. It’s all been planned out perfectly.” Illumi didn’t hesitate, smugly. “And there are no grievances to speak of. It’s strange, I didn’t think how impossible it would be to stop thinking about it now that it’s nearing closer towards us. I will say I’m doing this for no other reason than being unable to help myself. Simply, because I can. Actually, when I first thought of the idea, I wondered why I hadn’t acted upon it sooner.” 

So he’s been planning my assassination for years in advance, well, at least he’s been thinking about me. “Aaaah, yes. I see, I see.” Psyche drawled in sarcastic understanding. “Although, it’s not like it’s too hard to tell me why just once. Not even one tiny crumb of a detail. Oh, unless that’s too much to ask for. Maybe it is, then again, what do I know?” 

“So testy.” Illumi remarked, in mischievous amusement. “Aren’t you impatient to see what’s coming? Well then, let’s hope I better outdo myself tonight, so as not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you will.” 

“I won’t.” 

Psyche huffed. Illumi Zoldyck just had to be confident about everything! If she was going to die anyway, then she might as well admit he’s always been a bit of a smartass.  

“You won’t have to wait long. We’re almost there.” Illumi ushered her to turn the corner, impassively. 

It was as if Psyche had eyes on the back of her head because she perfectly envisioned Illumi’s smug expression in her mind. He thinks he’s such a sly weasel leading her to her doom! “Hmph! Well please don’t hold back for my sake. I’m just dying, dying, dying of curiosity!”

“If I tell you, it’ll spoil the surprise.” 

Psyche doubted that. Illumi could kill anyone in more ways than she could possibly imagine, and she was very creative. “I don’t mind. What exactly awaits me?” 

“I’ll give you a hint then. It’s nothing less than what you deserve.” 

Damn, that’s a low blow. 

Without further warning, they arrived. It was too short of a walk for her to offer constructive criticism to him. He had her stand before a closed door. She’s had countless nightmares exactly about this. In her nightmares, she would be running through her mansion’s empty halls at night and always failing to find her brother. Eros would always call her name, be it beckoning, mocking or pleading for her to chase him and cross the threshold that separated them. Now, Psyche will finally know what awaits her on the other side. 

Illumi loosened his grip on the knife. “Close your eyes. Do not open them under any circumstances. No matter what you hear, not until I give you the command. Understand, songbird?” It was unforgivable that his voice felt like a loving caress. 

He’s seriously enjoying this. Damn him . Psyche tilted her head to the side and gave a very questioning look to her executioner, with her eyes stubbornly narrowed open. He didn’t have to pretend to be sweet anymore to make her comply. Frankly, Psyche preferred to be direct with her targets when the end arrived. Otherwise, it was rude. 

Illumi chuckled. And then there was that gorgeous smile of his, with dimples bracketing his cheeks. Dazzling. Hypnotic. Beautiful. In an instant, Psyche was overcome with the boy she fell in love with and regrettably forgave him for what he was about to do to her. He’s always been my weakness. He almost awed at her expression. “Oh, my dear, don’t be grumpy like that. Are you really willing to spoil your surprise after all the trouble I went through to make this night special? Is that what you really want?” 

If I didn’t already love you, nor have immense family trauma and guilt heavily weighing over my head, then you’d already be dead. Psyche wanted him to get the job over with, but instead she sighed and closed her eyes. It was just easier to do as she was told. Maybe through death, she will finally and truly wake up from the fantasy she chose to live in instead of reality. “Alright. I won’t look.”

She felt Illumi pass her, heard the click of a lock unlocking, and a heavy door creaking open against the resistance of a stone floor. 

Illumi looked into the room. Yes, everything is going as planned, he thought to himself . He swallowed his giddiness as he turned back to Psyche, taking her hand in his. “Ready?”

Psyche hummed in agreement. 

“Come inside, and no peeking.” Illumi held her hand with a gentleness she didn’t expect and guided her forward, ushering her to watch her step and to stand a little this way and just a few more steps over there just for a moment longer and it will all be over . Illumi appreciatively watched as she kept her promise by keeping her eyes shut.  

Psyche would not cower in her final moments. She held her head high, unbridled with dignity. Suddenly, she heard a restless stirring in the dark, a panicked and breathless murmuring originating from neither of their voices. Psyche deduced that it was one voice, one person. It sounded like their breathing was being obstructed. They were muffled, or perhaps gagged. Psyche furrowed her brows, confused. Will her death have an audience?     

Eros , Psyche breathed. When we meet again, please forgive me . 

“Psyche. Open your eyes.” Illumi issued his final command.

My dear shadow. You’ve never abandoned me, so promise you’ll stay with me until the very end. And after I’m gone… Psyche’s heart echoed to her shadow as it shivered in lethal understanding. Kill him. 

Heartache or injury could never erase Kikyo’s beauty. 

Calypsa remained in Kikyo’s room that night, entwined as their two lithe bodies draped amongst the other in bed. Silva wasn’t permitted to enter. The Zoldyck couple needed time apart, but not alone. Sometimes the heart just needed a rest. 

The Zoldyck Mistress laid in her best friend’s lap as her hair was being tenderly combed—reminding Calypsa of an ethereal nymph ruling over her sacred mountain. Kikyo’s long black hair, which fanned around them like a rippling pool of black, was in actuality floor length. No one would know otherwise from her usual tightly wound bun or concealed under extravagant hats. But Calypsa preferred her like this, not ornamented and hidden under gaudy fashion, but simply as Kikyo’s truest self. It was a crime to conceal so much ethereal beauty. So she basked in Kikyo and admired everything. Her long, black lashes that fluttered angelically over the most opulent complexion. The sharp and crescent moon curve of her nose. And then there were her eyes. Oh, her beautiful eyes. They were blacker than a night that swallowed the moon, even the sun would be envious of her striking darkness. Kikyo defied the impossible, she was a striking and fierce creature to have risen out of the slums and misery of a city they once together called home. Meteor City. The city of falling stars— their city. They were both orphans without families, as many children there were. Once they found each other, they stuck together like twin flames. In a city of lost dreams, fate found them. If someone gave them trouble, they gave it to them double back. If someone growled at them, they snarled horrifically in return. If someone dared cheat them, they made sure to steal every coin and speck of pride they had left. The two girls were inseparable, always existing in two, never farther than a shadow in the other’s step. Every night in the sweltering heat of summer, they sat on the clay slated rooftops to cool off and dream of the lives they wanted, with each other in them. To escape Meteor City was near impossible, but to dream was to conjure hope and magic and the possibility of an easier tomorrow, even if nothing more would come of it. For children so young, who still possessed fiery wills that haven’t yet given up, sometimes believing was enough. 

But it came to an end when the kidnappings began… 

In the peak of summer when the sun scorched the city in an unbearable heatwave, Calypsa was ripped away from Kikyo—they tore flesh and blood into each other's arms just to never let go. Kikyo bit her assailant when he wrapped his arm around her neck in a chokehold. It gave her pleasure hearing him cry out. It was a piercing miserable cry that gave her strength to sink her teeth deeper into his arm, she wanted so desperately to hurt him. When the man failed to pry her off, he began hitting her on the head repeatedly as if she were a wild dog. Fate slipped from their grasp as the girls let go. Kikyo was thrown back into the streets with fresh blood dripping from her mouth and forehead as Calypsa was thrown into a black van by strange men and never to be seen in Meteor City again. Calypsa could only remember fragments of the first few weeks after her kidnapping, her mind made her forget the worst. Perhaps somewhere deep within her, the rest of her memories remain forever buried, waiting to be resurrected. Calypsa only clearly remembered that pivotal moment when they tried to fight back, but they were only girls—starved, weak, and small from barely surviving the slums. It was the last time she saw Meteor City, and worst of all, her best friend…She chose not to dwell on the past anymore, especially since it was a miracle for them to be reunited at all. As both women, assassins, and mothers. 

No matter how many years pass, Calypsa will always recognize her dear Kikyo. Even with her visor, and new scars. The fresh scars arched across Kikyo’s high cheeks, her visor luckily protected her from losing both eyes, and led to the hairline of her forehead—they were long and deep frenzied slashes of claws committed by little hands belonging to her darling runaway son. Killua Zoldyck, who was regrettably, a spitting image of his father. Calypsa only foresaw trouble with that boy, her intuition never steered her wrong. When Killua comes back, it will only be a matter of time until he turns against them again, and for good. Silva could foolishly believe otherwise, but Calypsa recognized a wild and rebellious heart in little Killua. In that respect, he was exactly like his own father. Not even the world stood in Silva Zoldyck’s way. 

Kikyo does not tell Silva how she cries herself to sleep at night. He’s already unhappy with her that his protege escaped under her watch. She blames herself. He lets her. Does that make him feel better? Guilt free? By casting any responsibilities and consequences off himself when things don’t go as he envisioned. Calypsa thought to herself, but she would never pry and Kikyo would only refute her worries. It still didn’t stop Calypsa from wanting to strangle Silva for not stepping up as a man, father, and husband. It pained Calypsa to watch her Kikyo suffer like this. 

When Calypsa offered to heal Kikyo’s wounds, she politely refused despite the still running tears and gnawing heartache that not even Silva Zoldyck could soothe out of his wife. She wanted to remember her son’s cold display of magnificence. I knew Killua was always special, he’s becoming the assassin we’ve always hoped for, oh my baby boy! Kikyo cried. It was indisputable that Kikyo loved her children more than she loved herself and cared about their well being more than her own. Calypsa didn’t doubt that. Nor did she doubt that Silva loved Kikyo, but a man who loves himself first will always put his family second. It was an irrevocable fact. Men are trouble, and Meteor Girls are cursed to fall in love with the worst of them. Calypsa learned that first hand not too long ago with her first marriage. But Calypsa loved Kikyo more than she loved any man, maybe more than herself. Not even Silva Zoldyck could come between a bond like theirs.

Calypsa bent down and kissed Kikyo’s head. Kikyo giggled, and it was the twinkling laughter of silver bells. 

“Lypsy, look! You have to see this one next! It’s just darling!” Kikyo excitedly held up her iphone so Calypsa could see. “It’s my favorite.” 

“They’re all your favorite. And you’ve shown me them all at least twice tonight.”

Kikyo gasped. “How am I supposed to pick a favorite when I love them all?! I’m so happy Milluki synced all our home videos onto the icloud, so I can watch them whenever I want. He’s such a clever boy!” Re-watching home videos of her babies always soothed Kikyo’s heart when she was anxious. Which happened to be a lot lately. 

In this home video, Calypsa first heard a child’s voice. It was unrecognizable from Illumi now.  

“Ki~llu~a. I~love~you. Ki~llu~a.” Illumi enjoyed singing his baby brother’s name. Illumi was much younger here, no more than twelve. Little Killua cooed, blowing bubbles out of his tiny mouth, as if in understanding when Illumi called his name. As if every blown bubble meant ‘I love you too.’ 

Illumi sat crisscrossed on a futon mattress, cradling his newborn baby brother, Killua. Illumi held him so carefully, as one does with all precious things. Kil was swaddled in a baby blanket that once belonged to Milluki and before him, Illumi. It was tradition. He already had a tuft of fluffy white hair on his head and stared intensely at his big brother with glistening blue eyes. Whoever gazed upon little Killua Zoldyck, could not help but fall in love with him on the spot.  

“Mom,” Illumi called out to Kikyo, his voice was soft yet shaky, as if he was on the verge of breaking into tears. He looked from Killua then to her, completely enamored. “He already knows his name, he looks at me when I say it. He’s so smart.”

“Of course he is! He’s smart just like his big brothers. Millu, come and say something to your new baby brother!” Kikyo exclaimed behind the camera excitedly. Milluki was screeching, bouncing in and out of frame, running circles around Illumi, while playing with a toy rocket he built himself. He was little interested in babies. Kikyo was surrounded by her sons, and didn’t know yet that she was about to become pregnant with her fourth child very soon—her first daughter. 

Milluki leaned over Illumi’s back, resting his chin on his big brother’s shoulder. He stuck his tongue out at Kil before running away, cackling.

Illumi gasped. 

“Mom, mom, mom! Watch what Kil does.” Illumi stared down at Killua—and stuck out his tongue. After a pause, Killua stuck out his tongue too. Perfectly mimicking his big brother. Illumi broke down into joyful tears, combusting from a serious cuteness overload. It was as if he discovered something extraordinary the world has never seen before. “Killua’s amazing! Isn’t he amazing!” 

“Killua loves his big brother! And here comes Papa! Oh, Papaaaa! Papa? PAPA, GET IN THE VIDEO! ” Kikyo was very persuasive and Silva couldn’t refuse. He came behind Illumi on all fours, popping up and down, and side to side, behind Illumi’s head. Killua’s eyes followed Silva as they played peek-a-boo, cooing and blowing bubbles and winning hearts. 

Illumi puffed his cheeks out like a frog and Silva tapped on them from behind like drums—Killua erupted into a fit of giggles. They continued to make faces, from silly to ridiculous, that turned Killua’s face bright pink from laughter. A baby’s laugh was the happiest sound Kikyo has ever heard. 

“Ki~llu~a, bleeeegh,” Illumi stuck his tongue out while Silva pulled on his cheeks. Killua was cackling with high laughter, he couldn’t get enough of his silly brother and papa. 

Kikyo suddenly dropped her iphone onto the bed and broke down into tears. The sound of her husband and children’s laughter filled the room as she wailed, “my boy, my boy, my precious boy!” 

Calypsa didn’t know what caused this sudden change, or which boy she meant. The son who ran away, or the son she was giving away. She paused the video right when Illumi raised Killua high in the air and his sleeves dropped down, revealing an array of bite marks which eerily had the outline of a hound’s jaw. Calypsa never liked Silva’s dogs. He always bragged that they wouldn't bite anyone unless he ordered them to, but she wondered about that. She wondered what Silva got away with.

“I try—I try so hard!” Kikyo cried harder. “I’m the one who keeps this family together, I’m the reason it hasn’t already fallen apart. Just when I thought things got better, when we were able to move beyond the past. Oh, Calypsa! He hates him! He hates his father!” 

“Kikyo, Killua does not hate Silva.” Calypsa gently reassured her. “He’ll come home soon, beg relentlessly for your unforgiving mercy, and one day far in the future when he’s the perfect assassin you always envisioned he would be and has far outgrown his immaturity, he’ll forget why he even acted out at all. Silva will forget it too. This is merely a minor hiccup in his training. I presume you’ve already dispatched butlers to bring Killua home, so he doesn’t miss his big brother’s wedding? The whole family ought to be together for this momentous occasion.”

“Oh, Killua does not hate Papa. Killua adores him.” Kikyo said as a matter of fact, the most composed she’s been since her outburst. “Illumi adored Papa when he was that age too.” The tears came back, but harder now. She spoke hurriedly as the words tumbled out of her in a panic. “When Illumi came home, I knew I had to act fast! I knew this would be the only chance for Papa to talk with him before the wedding. They weren’t going to take the initiative themselves, Mama has to do everything! It's a special moment that a son will always remember for the rest of his life. I tried to get them into a room together, I had to be sneaky about it. Illumi wouldn’t mind the small lie I told to get him in there! I was only thinking of his happiness, for everyone’s happiness—that’s what Mama’s do, we never stop putting our children first! And he would forgive Mama! Because Mama is always right! My boys—they put their differences aside and work well together on jobs, but Illumi refuses to be near him at home! I thought if—if I got them to remember happy memories together, just like this one, then they’d put the past behind them, right? I made it so easy for Silva, I made it so easy for him, why couldn’t he just follow my instructions as I wanted him to!? WHY COULDN’T HE JUST—” Kikyo grinded her teeth as her blistering anger dried her tears.

“Kikyo, slow down. You’re not making sense, I can’t understand you.” Calypsa urged her. 

Kikyo stole a moment for herself and breathed in and out slowly, controlling her emotions. “But it’s not Silva’s fault, he’s only ever done what he believed was right, was best for Illumi—and he was right, he made his son the greatest. The greatest this family has ever seen. He’s only ever been proud of his boy. So proud. Illumi understands that, and I know in his heart he’s thankful for everything Silva has done. He’s always been a good boy, so exemplary, so obedient, because he always knew Papa was right. Y'know, Silva was the happiest when Illumi was born, he never could be apart from his darling chisana kuma —his little bear. Illumi awoke a light behind Silva’s eyes that was never there before. Even Silva’s parents admitted it. I gave them that light. They couldn’t believe that someone like me, some worthless girl from Meteor City, blessed this family with an incredible boy like him. Did you know that the greatest Zoldyck assassins were not transmuters, but manipulators? MY BLOOD BROUGHT IT BACK TO THEM! I gave this family back what they lost. They should be thanking me, they should be—”  

Calypsa didn’t cope well with inlaws, she preferred to have as little as possible. She didn’t know how to start unpacking more than twenty years of family trauma that Kikyo had to endure alone and Silva’s blatant brainwashing on his own wife. She didn’t doubt that there were lines Silva crossed, repeatedly, while training Illumi for the honorable role as future head of the Zoldyck Family. And he succeeded. Illumi was the greatest assassin of this generation, even surpassing his predecessors, Silva ought to have felt victorious. But what was there to be triumphant about, when the cost was his son’s love? 

Kikyo pressed against Calypsa, curling into her like a child. “I just want him to be happy. That’s all I want for him. He deserves to be loved.” 

“My daughter has always loved him and she will continue to love him in every way.” Calypsa made sure of it.  

Kikyo cried on Calypsa’s kimono; she lent it to her for the night. “Illumi has his Papa’s exact temperament, but he has my heart. He has his Mama’s romantic heart. He only wanted to marry for love. Illumi has always dreamed of being a husband, and a father one day. He has so much love to give. I won’t let him give up on his dream.” 

“Psyche will give him everything. She will honor her duty to your family. Together, they will continue the Zoldyck Family legacy. He is everything that my precious daughter has always dreamed of as well.” Calypsa soothed Kikyo’s tears. “Afterall, she’s spent her whole life waiting for this moment. For him.” 

“Lypsy, I see your daughter. I see how she worships him. It’s all a mother could hope for her son.” Kikyo took Calypsa’s face into hands. “But you know who I am. You know there’s no changing that.” Kikyo gripped Calypsa’s face as a menacing aura—a hazy light, the deep color of amethyst stone—radiated around her. Lifting and pulling her black hair around her like coiling snakes snapping their fangs viciously in mid air. Her features twisted and her scars threatened to reopen and drip fresh blood. Kikyo’s eyes were hollowed black pits, holding nothing but the promise of certain death. “You know what lengths I'll go to protect my children. If she hurts him, if she even dares to try, then I won’t hesitate to kill her. I’ll sacrifice myself before I let that happen.” 

Calypsa didn’t look away from Kikyo, even as she felt the sinister aura squeeze against her lungs, threatening to stop her breath, like drowning under the waves of a raging storm. Filling and sinking her with nothing but the deep cold. But this was the power of a mother’s love. There was no force, more stronger or monstrous, than it. Calypsa could only be in awe of it.

Tears streamed down Kikyo’s eyes and fell unto Calypsa’s face. Was this the only way for Calypsa to cry Kikyo’s tears for her, to spare her from so much pain? Kikyo’s voice wobbled, barely audible. “Promise me. Promise me she’ll love him. Promise me she’ll protect him.”

Illumi Zoldyck didn’t need protection, but if he did then from what? Or better yet, from who? Perhaps it was only a mother worrying for her beloved first born son. Calypsa was morbidly curious as she wiped Kikyo’s tears. “My daughter’s love for your son is beyond words could describe. We’ve always dreamed of what we would give our children, more than we’ve ever had ourselves and more than we could have imagined possible. Meteor City taught us to dream, but we taught ourselves to take everything we ever wanted. In my life I’ve always felt a deep gratitude for fate bringing you and I together, but we’re no longer ruled by fate, we've taken control of it. We gave our children great lives, great friends, and great loves. They are our hearts and our dreams made in flesh and blood. They will prosper in all ways. Illumi and Psyche were meant for eachother, even before they knew it themselves. My dear heart, I promise you, she loves him and so much more. I will stake my life on it. There is no safer place for them to be, than with each other.”

Chapter Text

There was a primal rot festering within Illumi Zoldyck. The fire that scorched his heart from the inside out beckoned his one true calling in life. Inflicting death was his only sole desire. Illumi never doubted himself, but slowly like an infection that crept on him without warning, his drive as an assassin started to become…unfocused. He didn’t take it well. 

It was maddening, bordering true insanity, for him to continuously chase death when it no longer seemed to satisfy the same insatiable thirst aching deeply inside his chest while he still expected to honestly feel instead of force its sickening joy from silencing beating hearts and spilling crimson blood. He could still hear the call echo faintly in his veins, that grim and dark yearning reminding him of the assassin he always was destined to be and of the gruesome legacy every Zoldyck heir inherits—so he wasn’t yet gone. Thankfully there was hope for him after all. But those echoes were only whispers of what once was and he knew there was something deeply and unsettlingly wrong with him to begin losing pieces of himself that he and his family have exquisitely crafted all these years. He was unsure of the catalyst that ignited this peculiar change within him, and you can be assured that he has spent many countless nights tossing and torturing himself in bed over this to root out this indignant cause. To amend it—or dispose of it. It was the same to him. If it wasn’t stopped soon he feared that one day he would unknowingly be overtaken by it, and he would be nothing but a devastating loss to his family. He would not be the only victim of this unknown and catastrophic disease plaguing both his mind and heart. He upheld his duty, and would never let his family down. Nor risk disappointing them, let alone himself. And so, he calmly thought. His affliction wasn't from developing a shocking aftertaste for killing or an unwarranted plague of softness, he wouldn’t have the gall to still call himself an assassin anymore, and what a shame that would be considering how talented he was—the pride and future patriarch of his family. To lead his family, to rule over assassins as the greatest while the rest cowered beneath him in his shadow. It was all he ever wanted. The instant relief that came with his steadfast convictions soothed his heart, it was more potent than any balm. It was clear purpose, hope, and undeniable proof that he knew himself and the man he would become.  

Take for instance this very moment. There was not one familiar face Illumi recognized among the strangers in this hotel lobby, where every face blended into a single unintelligible mass—a meaningless herd unaware of their own descent to a slaughterhouse. He knew without hesitation that he didn’t need to know a single soul, even if he did, to feel a shred of guilt or remorse over killing any one of them. It was terrible yet came so naturally, and his father would be exceptionally proud of his cruel and indifferent nature, but it would all be in the absence of joy for Illumi. It would also leave him unsatisfied, bored, and with every second that passed seemed more like a bother. He could test out this hypothetical scenario, but he was pragmatic to a fault, not deranged, and would not dishonor the assassin’s code so carelessly unless in dire situations that demanded exceptions for success, which is all that truly mattered to him. At least, not in front of his grandparents, who were sticklers for obeying rules more than he or his father ever were. Silva was very gracious in turning a blind eye to his children’s unsavory habits. Illumi secretly respected his father less for allowing himself to cave to his own depraved impulses and weaknesses, while trying to tempt Illumi to do the same. Illumi suspected that Silva meant well and strived to foster a bond that only they could share together, but… ‘I have a stronger will than him. No, I simply am stronger than him. How perfect am I as my family’s heir?’ Illumi smugly thought as he envisioned the day he would take over as Family patriarch. How many more years will it be? He’s only eighteen and Silva became patriarch when he was twenty-two. So, not much longer, maybe sooner…Illumi relished the giddiness jolting through his body, dreaming about his future. It always exhilarated him when he needed a little pick-me-up boost. 

However, Illumi Zoldyck did not, under any circumstances, enjoy inviting attention around himself, which is oddly enough what he exactly incited tonight.

His escape from Kukuroo Mountain happened so fast, the last few hours were practically a searing white blur in his mind. His lungs still expectantly waited with bated breath and his muscles tensed so hard they ached, his whole body was ready to sprint into a run if anyone from home pursued him. This wasn’t out of cowardice, Illumi was never afraid. He was just that wired up, his blood coursed with adrenaline, pumping him up with all this restless energy that had nowhere else to go. This was to be expected. He snuck out after curfew, without so much as permission from his parents, and he wasn’t even being chaperoned by butlers. Ha! He never knew he had it in him to be such a rebel! He didn’t remember the details, probably because his own rebelliousness surprised and rattled him—it still did. He was even fidgeting with his arms, arching them forcefully behind his back, almost threatening to pop his own shoulder blades, sending a sharp and stabbing sensation between them while stretching his chest towards the ceiling. The pain brought him searing awareness and grounded him to the present moment. Illumi had an ugly habit of turning relaxing stretches into stressful ones, but he was still able to force his energy to flow elsewhere as he attempted to quell the exhilaration that still thrummed fresh in his blood. By now Silva will know he’s gone and Illumi could only imagine the look of fury on his father’s face for disobeying house rules, with lines of impatience wrinkling between his cerulean eyes and knuckles trembling bare white, he was undoubtedly barking orders and spiraling home into a horrible mess of chaos. They knew he was gone, but they didn’t know where. The thought shamelessly put a smile on Illumi’s face. Silva couldn’t help but make himself sick over what he couldn’t control, and every day was an exceptionally good one if Illumi managed to piss off the great White Wolf that led the Zoldyck Family under his commanding and overhearing iron fist. Perhaps this was the beginning of the end if Illumi suddenly stopped caring about disobeying his father, or the repercussions that followed.

Illumi scoffed under his breath, staring up into the high domed ceiling while analyzing the still paintings of cherubs lounging on clouds being awakened by scattered golden light breaking through the dawn. He was under the watchful gaze of angels and yet he could only think of how much he was undeniably losing himself. Upon further inspection he spied snakes seamlessly blending into the winged beings, camouflaged in their thick curls of hair whispering secrets into their ears or slithering under their ornamented silver robes. The clever artist must have snuck in these naughty details without the commissioner knowing, which were small and unnoticeable to the average human eye except for Illumi. His eyes were like a hawk’s sight and he enjoyed isolating little details like these. The world was filled with endless oddities and he excelled in finding what was always intended to stay hidden. Illumi guessed no one would notice unless they had exceptional eyesight like he did, or bothered to look up. Everyone in this hotel was operating under a blind hurry; practically throwing their luggage at bellhops, crowding like cattle to squeeze as many as they could through the elevator door, and shrieking complaints to the poor receptionist who was trying very hard not to bash her keyboard over their heads. Why the rush? All these people were going nowhere very fast. ‘They’re acting no better than animals.’ He remarked grimly. Illumi has checked himself alone into hotels before on jobs and never has he seen a place so packed. He’d never voluntarily choose to be here, a place so full of noise and rowdy people. He was reserved, and in situations like these he was never prouder than to be reclusive by nature. To him, an eventful night was reading a good book curled up beside his grandfather’s dragons in solitude. But he was also curious, perhaps there was a big event going on he hadn’t heard of. Not that it would interest him, considering he was more intrigued in politics and avidly listened to world news, so he didn’t pay attention to local events happening in his home town anymore, if that’s where they even were. He still didn’t know where he was. There were also a lot of young people here. He never felt so unsettled before by being surrounded by so many people his own age. This feeling was new to him, but also odd. Very odd.  

Illumi reverted his thoughts back to himself. He was the responsible one among his wild litter of brothers. He kept watch over them, made sure they always followed the rules, ensured their safety, corrected their lack of discipline when they fell out of line, and acted in their father’s stead when he’d run off alone galavanting on yet another one of his foolish hunts—Illumi couldn’t fault Silva entirely when he’d leave him back in the Mountain to act as a temporary head. Illumi considered Silva’s absence perfect practice sprints for when his own time would come to take over, and he always sighed a delicious breath at naturally falling into the role laid out for him. Like breathing, ruling was effortless. Illumi knew exactly where he belonged, only Silva’s return would break the illusion of his dream come true and disturb the serenity that Illumi fostered in his father’s absence. It was a pity that Silva’s hunts never lasted long enough, maybe they should never end…Illumi shooed the traitorous thought away. He wasn’t impatient like how other lesser heirs conduct themselves, plotting to usurp the patriarch they’ve sworn their undying loyalty to. There was no other who upheld loyalty like Illumi did, his father was lucky to have a son like him. Illumi could wait for his destiny to claim him. 

But running away? That was unlike him. The logical part of Illumi knew better than to indulge in this newfound insanity and cave into frivolous distractions, and yet…  A distraction was warranted, wasn’t it? Healthy even? This excursion will clear his head and may even help his predicament. He knew he wasn’t going to make a nasty habit out of this either, being as disciplined as he was. Not sneaking away from home…

Or kidnapping girls.

Well, one girl. The only familiar face to Illumi in the hotel lobby. He peered at Psyche Moiraio beyond the other side of the aquarium tank, it was narrow enough for their reflections to meet directly in front of the other as colorful tropical fish swam between them across a pool of shimmering blue water. There was a glimmering light in her amused brown eyes that was absent from his own, as she marveled at this underwater world. He couldn’t explain the magnetic pull catching fire in his core that blocked off all his reasonable senses telling him to back away. Even Illumi knew the danger he inherently posed to people for getting too close no matter who they were or what they meant to him. He was born a killer, a lethal weapon by nature. She smiled his way, paralyzing him. He was caught off guard by an uncontrollable wave of blood rushing to his own cheeks and he knew he was already gone. 

Psyche’s ample cheeks reddened with the softest shade of blood. Blood was better suited to sweetening a girl's cheeks then to be wasted running cold down hollowed chests. Illumi would never be blind again to this delicious discovery, committing every detail of the changes in her face into memory. His hand twitched and he was overtaken by a sudden impulse to put his hand to her cheek, and feel her warmth. Have her share it with him. It was strange, to be so utterly captivated by an emotion he couldn’t even name. It confused him no matter how it grew in strength. His eyes remained transfixed on her even when she tilted her head down shyly, only slightly. Something made her laugh. Was it the fish? He wasn’t paying attention. Was it him? He didn’t know, but why was he hopeful it could have? Why did he want to be included in what brought her joy? Even if it was something as miniscule as a fish? His onslaught of questions sent him spiraling, madly burning his thoughts. He needed to know. And he wanted it to happen again. 

Illumi stared at her blankly, thoughts slowing to a standstill. Why was she here? Why did he bring her here at all? Did he want her? Want her in what way? He wasn’t sure. Did he coerce her? Confusion furrowed between Illumi’s brows. That particular scenario appeared unlikely. He could read her face like an open book, oftentimes she outwardly appeared exactly how she felt on the inside. Unlike him, she was honest. It was refreshing, albeit naive of her to be, in their world. But he didn’t care about the consequences naivety posed to her when it was a relief to him personally, knowing he didn’t have to claw at and decipher her hidden emotions. She never made a show of hiding her distaste for him, or her want. It was safe to say she was here because she wanted to be. So then…why did she want to be? Illumi could humor himself into thinking she liked him personally, bewildering as it was. However, it was more likely she thought she could gain something from him. People never stop using others, even someone as sweet as her had ulterior motives. So what did she want from him? 

His mind was filled with more doubts. More questions. 

Perhaps Psyche was the one who actually kidnapped him, he didn’t know how or why they got here especially since he would never willingly choose a crowded and noisy place like this. That would explain why he couldn’t remember. His disappearance wasn’t his doing. 

Maybe Psyche had a nen ability that interfered with and disturbed his mental processes. Her older sister Chaotica had a telepathic ability that allowed her to read other people’s memories, which is why Illumi stayed away from that annoyingly prying girl. Her unwavering thirst and revolting curiosity for his most private thoughts deeply disgusted him. No matter how often he widened the distance between them, it never stopped her from always trying to ask him questions, always trying to take a peek inside his head. He was her relentless pursuit—his secrets were the grand prize that would trump all her past conquests. One answer alone would condemn his entire mind to her, open to be toyed with and mercilessly dissected for her own psychotic musings. Which was why he silently skulked away from her until she grew bored of him, her mind needed to be constantly stimulated and he would gladly offer her nothing and leave her to starve. That of course left a poor butler to her disposal, or one of his little brothers, but they never amused her for very long. They could never give her what she really wanted, which was for the best as long as Illumi never occupied her interests. Illumi would never let her or allow himself to entertain her sick fantasies about his life. In truth, Illumi never met another nen user whose vile ability suited them better than Chaotica Moiraio. It was the greatest and only compliment he’d spare her. So was this Chaotica’s doing or was there more to Psyche than he thought she was capable of? If it was a nen ability, he doubted he would have fallen prey to her, but if he did, then he would have already noticed by now and stopped her. It was also inconceivable to think of himself as someone’s hostage. Suddenly, it dawned on Illumi like striking a match. Psyche alone started everything. She was the one who planted the seed of doubt and storm of misery into his heart that made him question his one true calling as an assassin, steering him off course from fulfilling his destiny, by slowly distracting his mind with only her natural female allure...He was of age to take notice of these things…There was only one thing she could have wanted. 

To ruin him. 

This was her plan all along. Illumi foolishly let himself be swayed by his stupid fascination with her. But he was smarter than her. He would end it. He was swiftly overtaken by a spur of resentment that spilled like sickly oil over the edges of his heart, painting itself in a chilling and oppressive armor of black. Illumi Zoldyck would not be controlled by anyone. Let alone a girl toying with his heart, and his future. He promised himself he would fix the problem and the solution gloriously manifested in stunning realization in front of him. He imagined the tank between them shattering into an exploding mosaic of glass and shrill screams with her lifeless body frozen on the marble floor alongside fish struggling to gasp in a shallow pool of her heart's own blood. Her heart beating outside her hollowed chest. 

Illumi oozed a silent threat without allowing his aura to give himself away while holding himself eerily still. On the outside he remained expressionless, but on the inside he was in a terrible fight against his better mind and the staggering impulse compelling him to rip her heart out while pressing his fingers along the sheer glass barrier separating them. To him, her body was just as fragile and breakable as the glass. He could easily shatter her and already he felt the ominous swelling pressure before the first crack breaks under his fingertips threatening to sharpen to lethal points. Breaking glass felt all too similar to breaking bones, while he watched as she remained insensibly unguarded. How much more did she plan to ruin him? How much more did he have to lose for her to be satisfied? The destruction of his life must be a sick joke to her. Anger tethered him to his newest target. 

Illumi was a predator marking his prey. A hunter prophesying the glory of his next kill. Did she know how unsafe she was with him near? Did she know he already decided her end? The glass was hardly any means of protection. It would be so easy to break and only require a fraction of his overall strength. It would be over within a matter of seconds, only fear would reach her mind before the physical pain of death ever could. That was his final gift to her—an act of mercy for leading him astray off his destined path. Inflicting death has left him so unsatisfied, starved, and tired. But will her death truly be his cure or was there something irrevocably changed within him that he could not stop? He wondered if he would feel any emotions at all from killing her. And then he begged for it. He wanted her to make him feel something, sway him to be moved by anything, by the joy of the hunt or remorse for the only girl he’s ever gotten to know and maybe like or lust for his old life where his future and his family’s fate were certain. Desperation clawed at his throat to act, to reclaim the normal he’s always known. It felt unnatural to forcefully inhale a breath then slowly exhale a torrent of violent thoughts without one betraying his stoic face, and yet Illumi mastered this perfect release as he’s always done before. It was enough to calm his aura and ease his stiff body into a relaxed state, as well as his mind.

Psyche was not the reason for his doubt. Nor would he confuse these violent and murderous thoughts now as proof of instantly solving his very personal dilemma. Hate did not call an assassin like him to kill, and he was above holding grudges. He was also smart and didn’t want The Bureau of Assassin’s, also known as the Bureau of Deadmen, to launch an investigation on Psyche’s death. A daughter from the House of Moiraio. The Bureau ruthlessly upholds its absolute law: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a death for a death. Without exceptions. It kept Assassin Houses in line and out of war with each other. Illumi did not want his Family to pay the ultimate price for his stupid mistake. With every move he made, he always had them in mind. As the eldest son, he would never shirk his responsibilities or dishonor his Family.

As for Psyche….well, she confused him. Truly. He wondered if she wasn’t entirely alright in her head, if she willingly chose to be around him as often as she did. Her twin brother, Eros, knew Illumi was dangerous without pretense, but she…Illumi didn’t know what she believed. She was, however, a benign and perfect distraction for tonight. His distraction. Maybe it would be fun pretending to play lost for a day, or two…or more. Wellness trips had to last that long to really reap long term results, and Zeno always urged Illumi to take more breaks and chill out…Illumi wondered why that was…The call that beckoned him to death faded day by day, but the fire in his heart still remained. It burned, more intensely than before, but he didn’t know why.    

Psyche trailed her finger along the glass, and the fish curiously followed. Her finger delicately stopped in front of Illumi and his heart thrummed in dutiful attention, breaking him out of his spell of aloofness. Without thought, Illumi automatically leaned forward like a puppet being pulled by its strings, defiantly forbidding his gaze from drifting away from her brown eyes. Something in his unwavering intensity startled her, he knew he made her nervous, and the sweet innocence of her shocked expression made it unbearable for him to resist her time and time again. How much more could he push her to make her avert her gaze? It always tempted him to try just a little further every time. 

Illumi tipped his mouth towards the glass at the reflection of her finger, and snapped his teeth. The fish scattered at once to the far ends of the tank. Even the fish knew better to flee whereas Psyche giggled beyond the other side. A sweet lamb oblivious of her monster. She then trailed her finger along a winding and crooked path away from Illumi. Illumi could not stop his mouth from moving with her. Wherever she led him, he followed. Snapping his teeth at her finger’s reflection like a starved creature. He focused on her as if he was some creature born from a dark abyss who has never before seen light—mesmerized and blinded by this terrifying new radiance.

Illumi leaned back as he placed his finger on the glass, overcome by an obsessive curiosity. He tapped the glass expectantly to get her attention, with mischief on his grin. Will she follow him? He drew in a hopeful breath. The reflection of her full lips touched his finger and he ached to feel her warmth instead of the cold glass. He imagined her soft lips kissing his fingers—a jolt of electricity rushed through his body. This is what it meant to be alive. He was captivated, fully aware of every move she made as he controlled her path, she followed him dutifully as his little puppet. He lifted his arm and watched as she raised herself on her tiptoes to reach his full height—she hardly could, but he straightened himself taller regardless, he would not make it easy for her—when he brought his finger slowly up towards his face, she slowed knowing where he was leading her. He wanted to see how far she would go until finally stopping over his mouth. 

She stalled, still raised. Hesitant. 

Illumi tapped the glass facing his lips. He was a little disappointed, and frustrated, when she refused to budge. Was she suspicious of him? She was right to be. Sometimes Illumi only wanted something if he knew he could have all of it for himself. To play, to bend, to break. There were so many ways to kill time. 

‘Meet me here,’ Illumi silently mouthed the words, he knew she could perfectly read his lips. ‘Like a good little fish.’ He taunted her. 

Psyche's expression remained impassive, as if considering it, before the corner of his mouth broke the expressionless line of his lips into the beginning of a cruel smile. He had the audacity to enjoy teasing her. She gave him a stubborn look, and fell back on her heels as she pushed herself away from the aquarium tank. She turned her blushing face away from him in a stubborn retreat.  

Illumi didn’t hide his amusement, chuckling low. Psyche decided to ignore him and focus on the snails in the tank instead. Illumi tapped the glass, eager to attract his little fish’s attention again. ‘Bite me, please…I said please.’ He was impressed with how mindful he was to be polite. 

Psyche ignored him and hid from his advances behind a tall shrub of seaweed. The snails launching themselves off the highest stalks caught her attention and she studied them dutifully. Snails over boys, she thought to herself.    

Illumi continued to tap the tank, mumbling at her ‘fishy, fishy, fishy.’ The noise of the crowd soon faded into the background as their world slowly shrunk to just the two of them. In a crowded place, Illumi found it unbelievable that he felt solitude. Peace. But he did. It was comforting, forgetting all his worries and problems…Suddenly Illumi began to feel light-headed and a deep throbbing ache spread throughout his forehead. 

A white fog clouded around Illumi's peripheral vision when he was suddenly startled by what ambushed him across the glass. Not what, but who. Illumi’s mouth twisted downward at the sudden reflection of a strange boy. The boy had an unfocused, vacant stare that seemed to look beyond Illumi and into somewhere far off in the distance. The boy’s stare was frozen, and possessed a horrified emotion, which was foreign to Illumi, lurking in its depths that should have never remained permanent. The blackness of his large eyes created a disturbing and stark contrast against his white scleras as well as his snow pale skin. His long, pitch black hair was slick and swept down to his shoulders with its edges curling up slightly at the ends, orderly with the exception of his tousled bangs and loose strands falling across his forehead, resembling cracks in marble. There was only one other color that painted his face. Red. An unsettling bruised red stained the boy’s lips and around the rims of his eyes, making him look sickly rather than well-nourished like he ought to be. The features of the boy’s face were so glaringly angular and could have been carved from stone, that Illumi was afraid one touch alone would cut him deep. The boy was also lifelessly still, bordering catatonic. If it weren’t for the occasional blink to break the monotony, Illumi would have been convinced he was staring at a corpse. The boy tilted his head when Illumi tilted his head. The boy blinked when Illumi blinked. They mimicked each other in perfect unison, unclear of who was the puppeteer that pulled whose strings. The boy in the glass stared back, as if he too was appalled by the strange reflection in front of him. Illumi gulped down his growing panic, reminding himself that logically it could only be him. He knew he had to be the boy, there was no other truth, but all his reasoning could not erase the deep unsettling tremor inside him. He was unable to convince himself that the stranger staring back at him was himself and was equally horrified to see him.  

Illumi Zoldyck could not, for the life of him, recognize his own reflection.

‘This is why I avoid looking at my reflection.’ A disembodied voice wretchedly groaned clearly in Illumi’s head, as if it was spoken directly inside him. ‘I always see him.’ It was followed by another miserable groan. ‘And he never looks any less creepy.’ 

The voice was not Illumi’s and the emotion behind the voice felt off. None of it was his. It felt invasive to be ambushed by this stranger’s emotions and thoughts that Illumi never cared for. 

It wasn’t odd for Illumi to hear whispers of voices in his head, he’s heard them ever since he was a little kid. Sometimes they sounded like his own voice, but other times they sounded like a complete stranger’s. Illumi wasn’t surprised, he was a master of disguise over his face and body, and his voice equally had incredible range. Through diligent practice, honing his own raw talent, and rewatching an ungodly amount of movies, he was able to transform his voice and make himself sound old or young, male or female, and inflect the desired emotions to carry over through speech. On cue he could become morose, passionate, soft spoken, or temperamental. He assumed his brain did it all unconsciously now, like how he sometimes dreams in Japanese. It wasn’t something he consciously had control over, and accepted that it was simply how his brain worked. 

But these voices have been getting louder lately, interrupting him throughout his days. Illumi’s long been used to these intrusive thoughts breaking through his consciousness before and has learned to promptly ignore them. Apparently everyone has an angel and demon sitting on their shoulders telling them to do right or wrong. It was a metaphor for one’s conscience, but Illumi figured since he wasn’t like everyone else, neither would his conscience. Instead, he had one voice–one knuckleheaded idiot constantly telling him to do idiotic things; telling him to binge watch tv shows the night before important jobs, eat a whole bag of takis and cream cheese for dinner…or go platinum blonde. He shivered at the latter. Other times, like now, the voice called him creepy…Illumi never considered himself insecure or thought of himself as less handsome when the voice barraged him. These were simply stray thoughts, and nothing more. However, it didn’t make hearing this voice any less annoying. He took a deep breath through his nose, intent on drowning it out, as he’s always done before.  

The voice spoke again, louder, undeterred and oblivious to Illumi trying to mute and rationalize its existence. It was sympathetic now. ‘He still looks miserable…I wonder why it has to be that way for him. I wish I could do something…” 

The receptionist at the front desk called them over. Their room was ready. 

Illumi couldn’t move his body. He could only watch from the outside as the receptionist handed the boy the keycard after he paid. He dumbfoundedly stared at Psyche and the boy with his exact face and body as they walked past numerous other guests and headed upstairs. Illumi stalked behind them, hovering more like a ghost as he watched the boy twirl the key card on his fingertip and numbly stood by as it simultaneously flew out of his hand and clattered down the staircase. It practically landed at the bottom. ‘Tch. Seriously? Who is that clumsy? Who can be that clumsy and still be alive?’ Illumi bitterly chastised his imposter while the boy fumbled and apologized to the guests behind him as he hurriedly picked up the key card, and scurried back to Psyche. She was thankfully forgiving of his blunder. Illumi couldn’t tell if those guests were laughing with the boy, or at him. He hated them for laughing at all, but he hated that clumsy boy most of all because he was making a fool of himself and everyone was watching him be a fool. It was distasteful to watch this all happen and be unable to stop it. ‘Idiot,’ Illumi, whose anger overshadowed any panic, barked at the boy who immediately jostled from his callous voice. The boy consciously walked smoother now, with his hands in Illumi’s pockets as if mindful he was being monitored and ruthlessly judged. Psyche looped her arm through the boy’s, leaning into his shoulder. The boy relaxed into her.

Illumi scowled, he knew that was his arm, but there was no sensation on his part to reap the benefits from. His own arm felt nothing. It was empty, cold and heavy as lead. He couldn’t move, and yet he could do nothing but watch and follow.

Illumi watched as Psyche and the boy found their room. Illumi tried to finally speak aloud, but he couldn’t find his voice and could no longer make out theirs, both growing fainter as his vision faded with it. The other boy only became more alert as Illumi’s mind drifted away. This time it was only Illumi’s thoughts that echoed in the silence as his dwindling focus grappled to stay on the boy. “He looks happier than me.”  

The last thing Illumi saw was the boy lifting Psyche in his arms before closing the door behind them and stealing his life. 

What wedding gift do you give a bride who has everything? 

Illumi’s profession did not call an assassin like him to keep targets alive…for very long. But for his bride to be he would defy an assassin’s most basic rule and so he watched her motionlessly, eager to ascertain the reaction soon to blossom on her pretty face. 

On his command Psyche obediently opened her eyes, her face was so serene and blissfully unaware. He truly caught her by surprise, but she knew him, and knowing Illumi meant he would never offer her anything less than what she rightfully deserved. He told her exactly that. Illumi never took his eyes off Psyche who did not waver in her stance, she only stared blankly ahead as she parted her lips and was cautiously silent. She looked paler than usual, which he attributed to the cold night, but was also eerily composed. Illumi blinked and waited for her response. Being untalkative was strangely unlike her. No gasp? Not even a scream of delight? No over dramatic gesture like jumping hysterically in the air and rushing into his arms profusely thanking him? His stoic expression gave nothing away as disappointment hit him first, he barred the pitiful emotion down. He wouldn’t let it affect him because real disappointment was not the reality he meticulously planned tonight, but he expected admiration at the very least from what he alone accomplished for her. He could always predict her most predictable reactions he’d get out of her, after gifting her the best presents he could acquire. Regardless, Illumi could not stop  annoying questions seeping their way into his mind. Was she not impressed with her gift? Was it simply not good enough? No, that couldn’t be it, this wasn’t a menial labor of something he happened to throw together at the last minute. Illumi doubledowned and came to his own defense. This gift was a well thought out demonstration of his labor, time and dedication to her, and their marriage. Was his gift so great, so generous, so thoughtful that it warranted such a delayed reaction out of her?  

Illumi didn’t backtrack and instead logically thought of the reasoning behind her silent demeanor. The answer came to him swiftfully, and then his ego immediately swelled with pride. He stunned her. She must be filled with an immense amount of joy that a simple ‘I love it’ could not express all that she felt within. It was frustrating but also satisfyingly endearing to watch how difficult it must be for her to hopelessly scramble for the precise words and actions to thank him. Of course, an excellent gift giver like Illumi would leave her speechless. He always believed to give credit where credit is due, and he marvelously surpassed her expectations.  

He wanted her gift to be unforgettable. And he knew her tastes too well to fully actualize that reality—all of which she desired and more to make their reunion infamous. This is a night she will remember for the rest of her life. 

Any doubt in his mind disappeared as Illumi stood with blazing triumph while his black eyes silently followed the path of her poised gaze to the hostage imprisoned in the center of the room. The man was tied up and bound in a metal chair. There was no escape. This man wronged his bride, and will live the remainder of his fleeting and miserable life to regret it—his death was a fitting gift for a Zoldyck bride. 

It was as if the young betrothed couple inspired the man’s insurgence, at once his muscles pulsed and flexed viciously against the binds restraining his body, insinuating he hasn’t given up the will to fight back since his capture. For a moment Psyche sighed a breath in anticipation, perhaps thinking the binds would snap, but they firmly constricted him in place. Illumi watched in stillness as she took in his face, at the long curls of black hair that tousled against his blindfold, but Psyche recognized the rest of his features quite easily. The man had a pronounced hooked nose and a scar from a gunshot injury he sustained years ago hauntingly arched across his right cheekbone. He was tall and very well built—a titan among men—and exceeded the size of the mock electrical chair that restrained him. He was wearing an aquamarine blue suit over his deep olive toned skin. His jaw was stubbled, unshaven. His suit was wrinkled, sweat drenched, and soiled. Indicating he’s been strapped to this chair for quite some time. There was a tattoo of a dragon that Psyche intimately knew that had a serpent-like body that twirled and danced across his shoulder blades and back, until finally circling around his neck. The dragon’s head with its mane and horns was tattooed just underneath his chin showing the fierce creature biting down on the end of its own scaly tail. Consuming itself in an infinite cycle, vicious even upon itself until the bitter end.

Psyche may be stunned speechless, but Illumi did not hesitate to inwardly gloat on applauding his own masterpiece. He brought her a man—no, this was no longer a man but a monster—the kind of monster that the Angel of New Bledel particularly delivers merciless vengeance upon. Of course some praise on Illumi’s part would be sufficient to receive, but in essence, he didn’t need that when he already knew exactly how she felt. A ‘you’re welcome’ was practically dripping to be spoken from his lips. 

Illumi watched Psyche in idle curiosity as she quietly stepped towards the restrained man. Her stride was fearless as he knew it would be. She looked so soft and fragile dressed in only her fluttering white nightgown, stirred by the stray wind sneaking persistently through the Mountain’s many cracks. It was an enticing, beautiful vision of who she will be for him tomorrow—she was always destined to be his bride. She inspired an unforgettable image in his eyes. He saw her as an angel surrounded in a billowy veil of heavenly purity judging a condemned man on death row, but she was a deception, a devil sent to damn his soul for eternity. In actuality she was an angel of vengeance defying the will of fate and bending it in her own grasp. A low chuckle barely escaped Illumi’s lips at her dichotomy, he sounded more like a phantom than a man, a monster than a groom, as he savored this divine impression of her and seared it into his memory. This memory was his alone, not meant for any other. Her brown eyes assaulted the wretched man and her ferocity convinced Illumi that she could make the world cower at the mercy of her all encompassing gaze. However, she did not look at Illumi. That was his only regrettable lament. At this moment, he didn’t exist in her eyes. 

Illumi vividly remembered two years ago, when he was younger and still foolishly naive about himself, his own heart, and the pain and longing of what first love did to him, that the thought of being unwillingly, and forcefully, kept from her in any manner was equivalent to being cast in the cold. The sun only shined on him when she looked at him. Its warmth only reached him when she was close by. Falling in love was at once a glorious gift and a self-inflicted curse, unknowingly cornering himself with only one way to ever feel at ease while knowingly still choosing her despite enduring all the constant heartache. It was pitiful. He was pitiful. But Illumi overcame his shame of the boy he once was. A boy who thought he was ready for the next stage of his life—to lead as the head of the Zoldyck Family, to marry and start a family of his own—oh, it is now laughable how that boy was so intelligent yet so oblivious to what remained hidden inside himself for years, how he was eager and ready to take on life before it came to a screeching halt.

Two years later brought Illumi to the present. He certainly matured, understood himself better, diligently worked through his issues, and knew exactly what he wanted with deathly precision. Jealousy was unavoidable, but it was also natural and simply a reminder of what belonged to him, so Illumi breathed and let himself remember this one vile emotion as it infiltrated and writhed its way like a horned snaked to his heart, controlling its intensity so it remained a flicker rather than a blaze. Jealousy was the only thing that burned him more than any poison ever could as he briefly envied this repugnant man for occupying all of his bride’s attention, thoughts, and darkest wishes. Illumi’s muscles suddenly tensed at the thought of another man than him being the center of her world, but jealousy does not ambush men alone, it arrives with an uninvited entourage of immature anger dredging up your deepest insecurities forcing you to wonder if you are not good enough to be loved; it was a desperate needy plea to be the only one deserving of being loved by them, begging not to be abandoned and deprived of the only thing in the world that truly mattered to you. These were cyclic thoughts and raw impulses that belonged to every man, thoughts they never wished to speak aloud in fear of losing what they wanted most while weaker men cave to these dark thoughts, act on their raw impulses, and take it out on those they claimed to love, which inevitably pushes all they hold close away. Illumi knew what it was like to be consumed by an onslaught of emotions and remembering he once was under its spell sickened him, but he was no longer that boy he used to have been and he was not dictated by his emotions. He was not like those weaker men and he was not those thoughts either. Illumi admitted he was unreasonably jealous more than he ever ought to have been when he was a teenager, jealous over another boy and what he had that Illumi didn’t…He understood how immature he used to have been, but over the years those thoughts greatly lessened, yet whispers of it still lingered on. Maybe he will always have these thoughts now and then, but he did not have to be them or act on them. Thus, he stopped this emotion from reaching deep into his heart as his envy vanished into a pathetic wisp of nothingness, and Illumi remained unscathed by it. 

Illumi was enough. Enough to be loved and accepted as he was. Illumi alone controlled his peace, and considered himself lucky knowing he was above suffering from this despicable emotion. He also knew that rationally this man will have Psyche for all of a mere moment. While Illumi will have her for a lifetime. Illumi was self assured, knowing he was wrapped—tangled beyond unknotting—around his bride’s heart that not even she could free herself from him.  

Marriage was sacred to Illumi. His love required to give more than a gift, more than an offering, but a symbolic sacrifice that would be powerful enough to transform his voice and his oath, and breathe life into it. Which is why he chose his gift carefully. A gift that would ease her to entrust her will and life to him. Illumi let himself savor this moment, watching his bride’s merciless judgement about to unfold. Still, her face gave nothing away and her heartbeat steadily raced as she circled the man. Illumi would not let worry show between his brow as he waited for the moment an unbridled epiphany would break through her pleasant features, transforming his sweet angel into a ruthless devil, or a beguiling fusion of them both. His angel. His devil. His alone. She was kindness and fury, compassion and vengeance, sympathy and rage. She could be all and anything. But why the hesitation? Why hadn’t she killed her gift yet? When will she stop withholding her desire and release herself upon the damned? He wanted to implore her that it was alright to reveal her true nature to him. Did she think she had to hide her true self from him? He was her fiance. He accepts her—all of her. Didn’t she know that?   

Illumi reasoned Psyche was being too kind when she needn’t be. Oh, his sweet girl! His bride commanded destiny, her generosity spared a moment longer for the fleeting life of the sacrifice—the imprisoned man—who was strapped to a wooden chair with electrodes placed all across his head and body. The odious man should get on his hands and knees and thank her. The man was also tightly gagged, which prohibited him from freely speaking or giving thanks. The closer they neared him, the more he screamed. Even though his indecipherable slew of screams remained muffled, Illumi could guess what the man might have said. Illumi hadn't let the man get a word in since first kidnapping him nights ago, hmm, kidnapping didn’t feel like the right word. Shopping felt more appropriate, if anything. The man’s chair and electrodes were practically his gift box and ribbons. And presents were always best enjoyed after tearing through its wrappings.

Illumi looked at Psyche expectantly. Fully knowing that his bride will savor unwrapping her gift. 

Psyche remained anchored in place, turned to Illumi and his prisoner. Only her lips parted as her face remained expressionless. No words came out of her mouth, but she thought perfectly of three.  

What. The. Fuck. 

Chapter Text

(The first and last scenes in italics are flashbacks. Illumi and Psyche are 19 and 17, respectively.)

The Zoldyck’s House was expected to have more than its fair share of peculiarities, but the most peculiar facet of all, was Psyche Moiraio stealing forbidden glances of Illumi Zoldyck sitting at the far end of the dining table, situated between Zeno and Anomie who deftly trapped Illumi between their conversation of killers of old and their weapons of novel ingenuity. 

Psyche steered her watercress soup in mindless loops of figure eights, marvelously failing to contain her wistful sighs as she watched the eldest son eat dinner. Illumi was so handsome when he cut his bread, and the attention he put into spreading his butter made her heart aflame.

Eros coughed.

Psyche’s gaze didn’t waver.

Eros coughed harder. 

Without averting her gaze, Psyche patted her hand on Eros’ back. Saving his life from choking to death on a measly sip of watercress soup, if not soup, then social embarrassment. Which was an even swifter kind of death. Chaotica looked up from her plate, tearing a slice of bread hanging out of her mouth with her teeth. “Eros. Some of us are trying to eat.” 

“I'll try to be quiet the next time I'm dying to not disturb you.” 

“Much better.” Chaotica took another bite of her bread.

“Damn, I wish I had siblings who listened like yours.” Milluki drolled, ignoring Eros’s sarcasm. “Anytime I try to tell my brothers to do anything, they ignore me or do the opposite.”  

Chaotica nodded her head without sympathy, “I can’t understand your plight, but you have my sympathy.” Which amounted to none unbeknownst to Milluki. 

“Killua! Quit kicking me from under the table!” Milluki barked at his little brother, hands slamming on the tablecloth, rattling the utensils and glasses.

Killua leaned further down in his chair and made sure to give a powerful swipe at Milluki’s knees. Milluki’s whines being his sole fuel. 

“Did you just kick me? AGAIN!? AFTER I TOLD YOU NOT—”

Killau answered yes by throwing a knife at Milluki’s face. All the while laughing. 

Milluki ducked and the knife plummeted towards Gotoh’s back. Luckily, without having the need to look back, the butler skillfully caught the knife in mid air with one hand, and proceeded to polish it before handing it back to Killua. Milluki vowed to cut more than butter with that knife. “I'M GOING TO KILL YOU.” 

“Promise?” Milluki’s anger boiled over at his brother’s blatant disregard for his authority. This seemed to excite Killua as he eagerly jumped out of his chair and prepared to run. No matter the time and no matter the day, he could outrun Milluki and run circles around him too. He looked forward to the endless opportunities to outshine his older brothers. Chaotica smiled as she nibbled on her bread at the prospect of dinner and a show. It wasn’t quite dinner without attempted murder with the Zoldycks. 

The moment the two boys shot out of their chairs to wreak havoc was the exact moment a force stronger than either of them could ever imagine slam them back down to earth. Their mother. Kikyo wasn’t so pleased as she instructed the butlers to take away Killua's place setting and his food. If he wasn’t ready to dine with a fork and knife like a gentleman, then he wasn’t ready to eat with their guests. Instead, Killua folded his arms across the table and moaned miserably into the empty space laid out before him as Milluki chastised him for being a petulant little kid.

“Watch out when you fall asleep.” Killua mumbled under his breath, but all threats of murder, premeditated or spur of the moment slaughter, were all soon forgotten as Alluka broke off bread, piece by piece, and fed them to Killua. He placed one crumb on the table and Killua pecked at it like a chicken, causing the little one to erupt into a fit of giggles. 

Kalluto saw this and started ripping his bread too. A bright smile spread on his little face when Killua pecked at his bread crumbs. 

Eventually, a napkin was tied around Killua’s shoulders. Strapping him to his chair, back straight like an arrow. Because gentlemen do not slouch their shoulders, or peck like wild chickens. 

Chaotica sighed, frustrated. “And seriously Eros, if you have something to say to Psyche then just spit it out already and save us all from your melodrama.”  

Eros’s eyes shot daggers at his older sister to whom laid them neatly on her platter and drizzled them generously with salt and pepper before gobbling them up. Ending theatrics of her own, she blew him a kiss.

He looked repulsed, “right in front of my salad?”

Chaotica and Eros choked on laughter. 

Psyche blinked. “Oh, what did you want to say to me?” 

Eros wanted to tell her he was annoyed. Not with Psyche. Maybe a little. But by the way love transforms the way we look at people. Suddenly, even the most mundane acts of daily living look miraculous through rose tinted spectacles. There was nothing beautiful about Illumi Zoldyck slathering butter on bread. Even a monkey can do that—and better. God, help the blind. Eros tilted his spoon towards the edge of the plate, and then brought it up to his mouth. He wanted to tell Psyche that if she was going to stare at Illumi for so long, she might as well take a picture of him. Then it hit him that the thought of her ogling a picture of him 24/7 made him feel even sicker, so he decided to come up with a lie instead. “You’ve barely touched your food. Are you sick?” 

“I will be if you keep asking.” Psyche didn’t take her eyes off Illumi. Sighing dreamily in his direction. 

“He’s not going to look at you if you keep staring at him like that.” 

Psyche whipped her head at Eros. Her face all crumpled up with a flustered look. She looked at him as if he denounced the sky’s blue and the grass’s green—and Illumi doesn’t like Psyche. Psyche was reading inbetween the lines, well, if she was so keen on interpreting his words then he should write her a book. 

Eros took a sip of his soup, absentmindedly, as if the watercress intrigued him more than this conversation despite a stone settling at the bottom of his stomach. The stone being Illumi. “It’s a little unnerving. And I'm not even the one being stared at.” 

Eros expected her to sulk, return to her soup, or refuse even looking at Illumi Zoldyck all together. ‘Actually, I was staring at the painting above his head! I think it’s Renaissance or baroque.’ He thought she would say, but he didn’t expect what she would do next.

Defiance. 

She reached down into her purse, as if to grab something, but came back empty handed. “I lost my book.” Was all she said. 

There were many impossible things in the world and one of them was Psyche losing a book. Eros raised an eyebrow, confused. “It’s probably where you were last.” 

“I don’t know, we were everywhere today. Maybe it's in the gardens?” 

“The ones at the peak of the volcano?” Those were so far away.  

“Yeah, but I can't remember how to get there...” 

Eros’s heart jumped when Illumi looked their way. He was listening to their conversation! But for how long? 

“I can take you there.” Illumi folded his napkin and got out of his seat before Psyche even had time to reply. Eros thought that Illumi answered too quickly, as if he was lying in wait. Neither of their parents paid any attention to them leaving, but Eros noticed the way Calypsa bit down a smile, blaming the wine for its dizzying spell.  

Psyche looked at Eros one last time, with a look that rebuked everything he confessed to her. And left him dumbfounded at the dining table. Eros knew that something changed between the two of them after they disappeared for two days. What happened during that time? Even Psyche herself refuses to tell him and he is her twin, her best friend. 

Then he saw it. There. He saw that look in his sister’s eyes and where they landed—on that boy with eyes as cold as a mountain stream. It was a bewildering beauty, an affection that is desperately craved, and one that couldn’t be denied no matter how profusely one objected. Just as the allure of a cool glass of water on a blistering August day. It was only a matter of time before Psyche reached for the glass.

That’s what Illumi was to Eros. He had the pull of a sink-hole. Once you’re in his grasp, there is no certainty of escape. That is all he could do for his sister, breathlessly watching as Illumi reached for her and let her sink with him. 

Eros considered himself to be more generous than his nature allowed him to be. If Psyche chose Illumi, and if he returned her feelings, then she doomed her own fate. There was no stopping them. 

But what kind of brother would Eros be if he let his own sister drown? He placed his spoon down and wiped his lips with a napkin. No longer hungry. 

He wouldn’t be a good brother at all to let that happen. Now, would he. 

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed of getting married. Today, her dream stood right beside her. 

The ringing of wedding bells called her name as Psyche knelt down before the altar. With Illumi by her side. He bowed his head down in divine reverence and swore an oath of undying loyalty to Psyche—his wife. Even now, peeking mischievously through her white silk headdress, she couldn't stop stealing forbidden glances from him. When he closed his eyes, there was a look of absolute peace—certainty in his wants and desires. Happiness filling her whole knowing she was a part of them now. 

Rays of soft morning light shined on and blessed the bride and groom in a veil of gold. A union that their families and even the heavens smiled favorably on. Psyche, clothed in a traditional white shiromuku, felt as if she stood at the threshold of the beginning of a new life and braced the closure of her past— a door that was just beginning to close for good. A departure well awaited. There was no past more deserving of a good riddance. 

Her fingers touched Illumi’s, sending a thrill of heat up her arm, as he passed her the cup of sake for her to drink. Their families did the same, forever intertwining them as one family. One faith. One order to forever protect. 

There was something different about Psyche’s mother that the young bride never encountered before. Calypsa’s aura was never more stronger and prouder than todays. Never more pungent in devotion. A force long kept chained and finally unleashed from the rafters and set free to the wind. As if today was the celebration of everything Calypsa worked so hard to obtain ever since the moment she prepared little Psyche from birth to say I do . Psyche caught her mother doing something she’s rarely thought she was capable of accomplishing. 

Crying. 

Calypsa gently patted the end of an embroidered handkerchief at the corners of her eyes. She wore a mauve, silk gown with ruffled edges and lace gloves to match. Anomie and Chaotica wore elegant tea length dresses that flared above the ankles. Both adorned in colors of lavender. 

The Zoldycks sat opposite of the Moiraio’s. Stoic expressions and not a single tear to be shed came from them. Except, there was Kalluto. Skepticism burrowed deep into his doll-like face with round eyes that he believed had the power to see what the rest of his family could not. He saw the Moiraio’s, and Psyche in particular, for what they truly were. 

Zifira Zoldyck, wife of Zeno Zoldyck, bowed before the bride and groom before anointing each of them with water from the Ossenoh Valley where the mountains pierce the sky and disappear into the clouds—legends say that the water there is so pure because it holds the last of God’s tears when he weeped for humanity at their birth. Illumi, tall as he was, lowered his head for his grandmother to bless him. She drew a mark of prosperity on his forehead. Psyche noticed there was a look of fondness in her eyes as her wrinkled hands blessed her eldest grandchild. She sensed that in her eyes, Illumi was her favorite. 

Next was Psyche. Zifira drew a mark on Psyche’s forehead and Psyche felt the refreshing cold revitalize her. The old woman came up close to her face and kissed her on the cheek, then whispered into her ear. “Take care of our Illumi.” 

Always. Psyche felt tears prickle in her eyes. For a moment, Zifira lingered there as if she wanted to say more, but lacked the resolve to say what her heart wished. 

It was a shame that two of Illumi’s brothers were not here for their wedding, but there was an extra guest. One whose visit was eagerly relished by none other than Calypsa Moiraio herself. An anticipation of her own. 

There was a woman in the back of the room, hands folded neatly in her lap and eyes that stung like hot iron on the two families of assassins. This woman, who goes by a name withheld from the public, is serving as a witness of this union and as a representative from the Bureau of Deadmen . An association of assassins. Much like the hunter association, it is an agency that grants protection from governmental authorities for all its members. And the reason Padokea’s military hasn’t charged down the Zoldyck gates and burned the mountain down to a pile of smoldering ash. Thus was the mutual give and take of Deadmen. Protection in the exchange for being called upon whenever to do the Bureau’s bidding. Servitude in exchange for freedom. Ironically. 

Through matrimony with the House of Zoldyck the Moiraio Family has now been elevated to the House of Moiraio and joined the deadly ranks of the Bureau of Deadmen . 

Finally, Zifira rolled out a scroll both ancient and powerful before the young assassin. There, Psyche could see the names of all the women who came before her. All the women who closed the doors of their past lives to live forever onward as Zoldycks.The most recent women… Zifira, Kikyo ….and now Psyche. As Psyche signed away her name to the House of Zoldyck, a man died.

The butler crashed to the floor, clenching his hands over his heart and succumbed to what looked to be a heart attack. But this was the deepest den of killers and nen users and they knew what they saw. A nen curse took hold over the man and revived his corpse, who was barely dead for a few seconds.  

Psyche’s eyes widened in horror, recognizing the nen curse she witnessed first hand at the Foile Estate. Do not marry Illumi Zoldyck . She remembered Dezmon Foile’s reanimated corpse saying to her. The door to her past refused to stay shut, a gust of wind pried it open for all to see. If her past will not let go of her then she’ll cut it off by its hands. 

In a swift motion, the butler raised his arms and conjured a javelin–aiming it just right to screw through both the bride and groom. 

Psyche stopped thinking, and her body took over. The winter winds shrieked a deafening pitch as an onslaught made claim for the bride and groom. 

There was a scream, she wasn’t sure whose it belonged to. She and Illumi both tumbled over the altar as the javelin sliced through the air and pierced a stone statue of a dragon, shattering it into hundreds of shards of fractured stone. 

Breathing heavily, Psyche laid on top of Illumi. His expression neither changed from before or after the attempted assassination on their lives. Only when the features on his face morphed into surprise was when a drop of blood dripped down onto his cheek. 

Psyche put his life above her own to save him. Loyalty. Obedience. Devotion. All the qualities Calypsa promised the Zoldycks of a bride worthy of marrying their son. The failed assassination only cemented Calypsa’s resolve of the union. That her daughter’s marriage to a Zoldyck was a coveted desire that consumed many obsessive hearts—pure and rotten alike. Same for the Zoldycks, Silva and Kikyo knew they made the right choice. 

Psyche looked up at the deadman–the revived corpse. Its hollow white eyes meeting her own. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. To hear it speak or silence its voice forever. It opened its mouth to her. A word forming at the tip of his lips.

A part of Psyche shuddered. Fear intertwined with morbid curiosity. However, the winter winds were faster than her as they carried Zifira Zoldyck as if she was a spirit of the air bound to the sky. Psyche knew Illumi’s grandmother was a transmuter, her nen taking on the qualities that mimicked the wind, but this was the first time she had ever seen her in action. Her kimono was a flurry of a hybrid of colors as she descended upon the butler faster than anyone bound to earth could. Before Psyche could even see Zifira attack, the deadman dropped down to his knees, and a perfect line of red appeared on his throat. Zifira does not stand those who attempt to harm her family. 

Chaotica’s jaw dropped and she whispered to Anomie. “I think I love her.” 

Anomie nodded back. “Oh yeah.” 

The butler was put down quickly, but the rest of the butlers were stunned and scared that another one of them could soon easily drop dead and resurrect themselves to kill their masters. Moments of silence passed, what seemed to be an eternity, and all remained alive. 

The soles of Zifira’s shoes clicked against the tiles. She raised her head to both families, and smiled. “Now that this little nuisance is taken care of, let’s continue the ceremony.”  

Illumi and Psyche descended further into the Mountain. She followed him like she was his shadow, never ten steps out of sight. The Gardens Psyche spoke of were located at the top of the Mountain hovering between the boundaries of sky and a dormant volcano lying in wait. 

Yet deeper and deeper they descended and she did not question where he was taking her. Further away from fresh air and blue skies and deeper into the dark unknown. A chill raced down her spine with a prickling tremor, but it wasn’t from the cold. 

They turned a corridor, passing by a line of portraits hanging on the walls illuminated with the faint glow of silver lights. Members of the House of Zoldyck, those no longer walking the earth and those still making their mark on it. Presence and words and claws and all. 

A thought, more rebellious than she ever allowed herself to think, settled in her mind. She would like her portrait to hang on these walls. 

She looked up and saw his back, still following him. The curves of his muscles peeking through his shirt. 

A blush caressed her cheeks. She would like hers to be next to his. 

Illumi stopped in front of a room, and turned the knob revealing a chamber trapped in darkness. Psyche peeked her head around him to see if there was anything in there. Until Illumi grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. Shutting the door behind them.

Psyche waited for this all day. For him. 

Illumi wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. Pinning her against his chest and the wall. No other place Psyche wished to be. He kissed her. More than once. More than twice. He was greedy for more than she could ever give him. Though she would damn herself if she didn’t try. 

He forced himself to pull his lips away from hers–as if denying himself another morsel of paradise–-Unlike Psyche, who failed at denying herself indulgences. She leaned forward to kiss him, combing her fingers through his hair and pulling him back towards her. Every order in his mind barked at him to withstand her pull came crashing down the moment she made him hers. Her lips casting a spell on his. He kissed her feverishly. Impulsively. Surrendering to his primal nature without any care of restraint. 

“We don’t have–” Illumi said between broken breaths–between kisses. “--much time.” 

 “Then we’ll have to do this again.” 

He was willing to give into her demands. Then a thought too late popped into his mind. “I’m supposed to be helping you find your book. Where did you lose it?”

Psyche placed a hand over his chest and looked him in the eyes. “I never lose my books.” 

An impish smile played on his mouth as he traced his thumb over the curve of a liar's lips. Slowly feeling every soft spot of her sumptuous pink lips, feeling her breath tremble as he slid his thumb slowly between them, “don’t make lying a habit on my behalf to get what you want.” 

Heat flushed her skin to a scolding hue as she sucked on his thumb. Slowly and tentatively and deliberately. Making his knees buckle when she was done, telling him without words that there is more she can do for him. And that she isn’t the only one wanting here. 

Every second of talking was a wasted second of fulfilling either of their wants. They sank into each other. And then to the floor. Illumi's skin was searing hot and Psyche could feel his heat piercing through her clothes. The cold floor was an instant relief, only to smolder when he loomed over her, trapping her beneath him. The hunger in his eyes grew ravenous as his eyes drew silhouettes outlining the curves of her body. Where to caress, where to hold on to, where to sink his teeth into.

Illumi licked his bottom lip with his tongue, plump and red and moist.

Psyche’s breath hitched. 

“Lift up your dress.” 

Chapter Text

(The first and last scenes in italics are flashbacks. Both are continuations of the previous chapter's flashbacks. Illumi and Psyche are 19 and 17, respectively.)

Summer.

It wasn’t the only reason why Psyche wore dresses. Illumi didn’t say the words explicitly. He didn’t issue her a mandate on a new dress code either. It was on a lazy summer day when the Zoldyck’s were visiting the Moiraio’s. The day was unexpectedly sweltering for June, it seemed to suck the life out of everyone and everything below the sun where even the children who were ruthless and cold blooded killers sequestered themselves to rest under a canopy of oak trees and lapped up the shade as if they were starved of it all their lives. Stretching and scrunching up their legs when the shadows began to shift places under the trees—fearing that even a single touch of the sun on the tips of their toes would burn them up. Even the wind was too tired itself to push and pull the plump flower buds on their branches. Barely tugging them into motion. The world was still and that was how it felt when Illumi told Psyche she looks pretty in dresses. 

It was as if the universe was telling her this was the only thing she should be paying any attention to. Yes, he used the word pretty. He thought she was pretty. That conservation kept replaying over again in her mind, as if it got better with each repetition and the magic hidden in his words slowly unveiled themselves to her the more she listened to them. So Psyche immediately found herself emboldened with fiery determination, when the Zoldycks left from their visit, and swapped out her jeans with dresses and skirts out of her armoire. 

Goodbye to shorts and skorts and bellbottoms and buckles. Hello to maxis and skaters and sun dresses galore. 

Perhaps that is why that memory came forth in her mind when he told her to lift up her dress. Illumi effortlessly ordered a command and Psyche was quick to obey. He positioned himself exactly where he would have the most control over her—and the most fun. Pinning her underneath him, both her legs parted, making way for him in the center. His hips rested above hers with a space between the two that was small enough for her to want to close the gap. 

Psyche’s breath hitched.

Illumi’s eyes waited expectantly. He wanted to see her do it. 

Psyche’s fingers made the way to the hem of her dress. Gripping and curling the bottoms in her fist with a flaming ache and seemed to grow hotter the more she lifted it up. Shivering where the cold air and the denim of Illumi’s pants met her bare skin. She was caught between two senses, cool and rough. For a moment, she stopped. And Illumi cocked his head to the side, wondering why she stopped but those words did not leave his lips. He wasn't in the mood for asking politely. Instead he spoke softly, only using his breath, perhaps for the sake of privacy. “Higher.” 

Psyche’s heart was thrumming—clamoring even—to a wild beat. Cowardice suddenly overtook her, as she looked away from Illumi’s eyes when she lifted her dress above her hips. Revealing her slim waist and only a thin pair of undergarments she wore beneath her sundress. Covering what he soon hoped to tear away with feverous pleasure. 

However…

Illumi cupped her chin within his hand and turned her face towards his. Eyes meeting. The shock startled Psyche and she dared to avert her gaze, but he held her to him. “Never look away.” There was a softness in his voice, one that comes out only when no one else is watching. Except with her. She could feel the fire blooming inside of her as he laid his lips on top of hers. As if he was a matchstick that sparked her to life. He pressed softly against her then with a force that melted away all her shyness and made her wrap her arms around his back in search of his shirt.

She wanted it off.

Now.

She only scavenged a taste of his skin before Illumi grabbed her hand and tsked. Bringing the tips of her fingers to his lips and kissing them. “No, just you.” 

He saw a look of disappointment cross her eyes.

Illumi relented. “For now.” 

Psyche’s lips opened to complain, but no words came out. Only a gasp. One that trembled when his lips began to explore her bare waist. His kisses were warm and sweet and reminded her of that sweltering June day—and what would come next will be her relief like the shade under the towering oak trees. This boy had a clever way of trapping summer in his lips—he made her burn. The tips of his fingers hooked underneath the waistband of her undergarments. Impishly tugging with a wicked playfulness whilst on the verge of prying them away. The suspense gnawed at her when he made his way to her thighs. Slowly, drawing out her throbbing impatience with every lick and flick of his tongue. 

Illumi pushed himself back up, putting all his weight and resting back on his legs. Psyche gasped when he grabbed both of her hips and pulled her towards him. Muscles pulsing through his arms as he claimed her. Her hips resting on his thighs. Cruelty was his weapon of choice as he slowly dragged his hand over the fabric covering her center, then quickly flicking his fingers up and down, pushing against her swollen center. Making the fabric that kept him from entirely touching her become more and more wet. He had one want—to see her soaking through the fabric for him. Illumi watched excitedly as her chest rose and fell, quicker than before. Enjoying making her pant for him. Feeling his own heart and groin swell as he played on.

Did he consider himself a maestro? Why yes. He knew where to touch her to make her sing for him. 

He flickered her again, pressing harder and faster and watched as her hips thrusted up following his hand. A whimper then an ache that made her legs twitch. “What’s wrong?” He already knew. 

“Please,” Psyche breathed a plea as her dark hair fanned around her head in lazy swirls. Cheeks reddened, lips parted, eyes glittering only for him. Breaths escaping faster than she would have liked. 

He mocked her words, “please…what? Tell me.” He stroked her with his thumb and drew slow and agonizing circles over the wet fabric that slowly began to spread. He silently mouthed the words back like a prayer that grew more powerful each time he gave them life. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. 

Psyche shivered under his gaze as his words chipped her away. Sending her stomach into a mad array of flutters. Her voice was soft and weak, “touch me.”

Illumi lessened the pressure of his hand and watched with pleasure at the wreckage taking hold of her. 

His heartlessness gripped her voice and pushed towards desperation. “Touch me.” She muttered, louder. 

Illumi pulled his hand away and leaned back on his arms. His cold, black eyes told her that it wasn’t convincing enough. She’ll have to try harder than that.

Her whimpers were his kindle. Gorging himself on her childish intolerance for his perpetual teasing that only made him relish and take pride in his sadistic devices. 

A wicked smile played on Illumi’s lips. He likes the sound of her begging for him. He decided he wanted to hear more of it—

The doorknob turned.

And all fun had to cease. 

A butler opened the door and squinted his eyes to examine the pitch black room. There was nothing and no one to see. The butler scratched his head, as if scraping away his confusion, as he closed the door shut. He thought he heard something. Master Eros instructed him to find the two assassins, as they were taking too long and might need help in their search and rescue mission over Psyche’s lost book. Meanwhile, the two teens escaped without being noticed. All thanks to the assassin who wields shadows that act in her name.

A black fox jumped out of the shadows in an adjacent room and shook its head when it landed on its furry paws. The coast was clear. This little black fox with pointy ears that rivaled the devil’s, a tail that was meaner than any captain’s whip, and eyes that could make any child cry with a sneer went by the name of Willow and it was one of the Black Angel’s dutiful shadows. Psyche and Illumi crawled through the shadowy burrow that Willow dug for them, and both finally let go of their breaths. They collapsed to the ground, thankful that neither of them were caught by the butler. They were seconds away from ear splintering lectures by both of their parents about the perils and pitfals and penitences—and not to mention countless terrifying names of sexually transmitted diseases that could chew off all their good limbs (both of their parents assured them it would be a slow and agonizing death)—about pre-marital sex!  

Illumi noticed one of Psyche’s straps fell off her shoulder. He wordlessly lifted it back in place. Heat scorched Psyche’s shoulder where he touched her—and where he lingered. 

“Thank Heavens for Willow.” Psyche sighed, relieved. The fox blinked at both assassins, neither looking pleased nor annoyed by its master’s congratulatory remarks. It simply did what it was told and followed diligently. 

Curiosity took hold of Illumi as he combed his hand over its fur. Something within the black fox was boiling over, and if Psyche told it to bite Illumi then it would do so immaculately. Going above and beyond Psyche’s expectations by biting off Illumi’s arm. Then flaunting its new chew-toy in front of him. Waiting for the fool to cry at what he lost. Because chew-toys were fun, but nothing beats the sound of boys crying.

“It looks like it’s plotting my demise.” Illumi withdrew his hand. Smart choice. 

“Willow, no! He’s nice.” 

A nice chew-toy, Willow thought. 

Psyche ushered it back into her own shadow and the little black fox turned away from the boy assassin and bowed its head to its master before disappearing into her own. Psyche smoothed out her dress and leaned towards Illumi. She wanted to resume what they left unfinished. 

“The cost must be high.” Illumi leaned back on his arms. 

Psyche’s lips only met cold air. Her expectations? High? Always. Where else should they be?

“You’re a transmuter, correct?” 

She was touched that he remembered her nen type. “And you’re a manipulator and I think we were about to—” All she wanted him to do was to pull her into his lap and make her forget her own name.

Illumi did the unthinkable. He was caught thinking. There was no act more heinous that could sizzle Psyche’s mood. Now was not the time for thinking, but for sweeping her in his arms and doing everything to her that would make his mom have a heart attack. He continued on, thinking aloud and souring her mood further. “You’ve extended your abilities into conjuration as well. Your aura mimics the properties of shadows, yet you created these shadow monsters and have them take on their own physical forms–tangible, animate, spontaneous. I can see and touch them, even the fur on its back feels real. Impressive.” 

Psyche’s mood instantly elevated. By praising her, he was swooning her. Clever. A pink blush formed on her cheeks. “Well, I wouldn’t say the cost is unreasonably high, but it is manageable. There are restrictions, however. Willow can only guide me through pre-existing shadows and create burrows between them, ergo connect various locations over short distances.”

“You call it Willow. Does that name have any significance? 

Psyche curled a strand of loose hair in between her fingers. “Not really, well, kind of. You’ll think it’s silly.” 

“Try me.”

“It’s, um…have you read fairy tales?” 

He was looking at one. “Not usually.” 

“Well, there are these creatures called will-o-wisps. They’re these enchanting, ethereal fairy lights—flickering flames found floating over the misty moors—”

Illumi blinked, “do these lights also turn you into a poet?” 

Embarrassment bundled inside of her. “I can’t help it, and it’s only right to use magical words to describe magical things.” 

Illumi couldn’t help himself from smiling. “That’s a beautiful way to think.” 

Psyche felt her cheeks burning, she tried to continue speaking without her voice wavering. “Anyway, they’re found in the bogs of England and if you’re brave enough to follow one it might spirit you away to the fairy realm.”

“Do we want to go there?” Illumi asked, skeptically. 

Psyche shook her head, excitedly. Only confusing Illumi further. “They appear harmless, but it’s all one dirty trick. They’re malevolent and mischievous creatures who go out of their way to lure travelers off their path and into danger. Then other legends claim that they can lead you to the fairy realm safely. So it’s really a 50/50 chance, right? It’s a flip of a coin between partying with the immortal fae and meeting otherwise certain death.” 

“Psyche…those lights may be pretty but the odds sound terrible.”

“They are pretty.” Psyche mourned having never seen one before. “They’re supposed to be the most beautiful lights in all the world.” 

“And the odds are terrible.” Illumi repeated again, but Psyche wasn’t listening. 

“I’ve never seen one—yet.”

“I hope not.” 

Psyche was baffled. “Don’t you dare crush my dreams.” 

“If your dream is to end up face down in a bog, then you don’t need to see magical lights to make that happen.” 

“I’m certain that is not going to happen.” 

Illumi flicked his fingers in the air, “says the traveler walking straight into the bog.” Psyche grabbed a pillow from a nearby couch and tossed it at him, but Illumi caught it with ease. He dramatically fell back and feigned he was trapped in the mystical bog. With the pillow behind his head. If he was going to die in a bog, he might as well die comfortably.  He lamented, only inciting Psyche further. “The fairy realm is muddier than how the books described it would be and there is not one sparkling—”

“Fae don’t sparkle. Vampires do.” Psyche corrected him.

“Don’t they all.” 

Psyche opened her mouth to object, until she closed it again. Blushing.

“They do.” Illumi laughed. “Oh…It seems I have insulted you.” 

“That’s right.” 

“Ah.” 

“I’m waiting.” 

“For what?” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Nope.” He bit down his smile and forced a monotone expression when he saw just how much his comment made her fume. Illumi had a horrible, unbreakable habit about giving answers no one wanted to hear. Of course, he wasn’t going to stop now. Why should he when he was having so much fun?

“An apology!”

“Is that so?” Illumi blinked his eyes and threw his arms out. “If you haven’t already noticed, I’m the one trapped in the bog—dying.” Then he abruptly pulled his arms back in, remembering that he was being swallowed by the bog. “And you want an apology? Psyche, you’re being uncharacteristically selfish.” 

Because he refused to move his attitude and body, Psyche decided to pry it out of him. She straddled herself comfortably over his hips, but that made the bog all the more comfortable to him. Perhaps dying here was the perfect way to go. 

“Apologize.” 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

Psyche grazed her hands over his chest—making Illumi’s breath hitch. She tugged at the collar of his shirt; peeking glances of his bare skin and warning about the consequences of defying her. “Apologize.” 

Illumi grabbed her hands. Fingers intertwining. “I followed a fairy here, but she doesn’t seem to be that nice.” 

Psyche let go and drew mindless figure eights on his chest—over his heart. “She can be nice when persuaded to be.” 

“And what will persuade her? I don’t have long—my legs are going numb.” 

“Oh, sorry!” Psyche meant to move, but Illumi grabbed her hips, fingers digging into her skin. 

“It’s the good kind.” His hands were firm around her. “So you named your fox after a will-o-wisp. Cute.”

He called her…cute. It felt as if Cupid’s arrow pierced her heart. 

Illumi smirked wickedly and that was when Psyche knew that she made a grave mistake. He grappled one arm around her waist and another to push him off the ground as he quickly turned his body and had her instantaneously beneath him. “Maybe the fairy will return if I show her what nice is.” 

Before he could give her one more kiss, they heard footsteps scurrying down the hallway. It seemed as if everything in the world wanted to interrupt them. 

Psyche huffed as Illumi lifted himself and pulled her up with him. “Psyche, before either one of us forgets or a butler reminds us. We have to find the book you didn’t lose.” Then he bent down to her ear and whispered.

When he was finished, she was quick to say yes. 

Despite her macabre upbringing, Psyche considered herself to have been bestowed with many blessings. To live in a world where even the coldest frost could not deter strawberries from growing in the blistering squalls of winter, and a world where she is a January bride married to the love of her life. Illumi Zoldyck. It was always a good year to marry in January and just as her mother says, marry in January and your life will never be ordinary. When the wedding ceremony ended, on the summit of Kukuroo Mountain, snow began to float down from the gray sky and veils of snow white frost crowned their heads. Psyche already felt like a queen standing beside Illumi.  

Psyche bit into a strawberry and let its sweet juices encapsulate her senses. Making the sides of her jaw tingle like when one gozzles freshly squeezed orange juice, fruits plucked straight from the groves basking beneath the warm sun. She looked onward at the reception and saw nothing but two happy families, and the beginning of an even happier life. 

Psyche, upon changing out of her white shiromuku, opted for a simple white tea length gown for the party. Both the sleeves that came all the way down to her wrists and the hem of her gown were covered with sheer lace and gave the look that she emerged right out of the snow banks. It was a good thing she changed into a new gown, since she didn’t want to enjoy her wedding reception covered in dried blood.

The assassination on their lives was merely a minor setback, and not even that could ruin her day. She barely even noticed the wound on her arm as she sat right next to illumi at the head of the table. Was it possible to be this inexplicably happy all at once? To feel joy fizzle and pop within her like she was a shaken up bottle of soda. Psyche decided that this was the greatest moment of her life, nothing before or after could ever top this. 

She was marveled at the feast laid out in front of her. That was by far the biggest fish she has ever seen in her life! It was a monster! She reasoned that she could fit in its jaw and there still would be enough room for her to stretch her legs. Its seared pink flesh was glazed with blood orange sauce and her mouth watered just thinking about taking the first bite. Milluki offered to cut her the first slice. Carving the beast with careful incisions, making sure to avoid giving her bones. 

The laughter and chatter in the room ceased when Kikyo called upon her youngest boy in the room to perform a piece especially for this moment. All eyes and ears halted to a still for Kalluto, neither protesting or objecting, as he stood stoically up and took a seat next to a koto, which was brought out by the Zoldyck butlers with care. His arms moved with agile grace as he plucked the strings of the instrument, weaving music into poetry. Spinning love into light that glowed in Psyche’s heart.  

Illumi was looking at Kalluto and there was a tender look in his eyes that shined with pride. It will be wonderful to have brothers again! Especially brothers that don’t try to murder the entire family! She shook away her thoughts of Eros and all his heinous mistakes and only listened to sounds of her new world opening its arms towards her.

But as Kalluto’s performance went on, Illumi’s muscles tightened, he became more rigid trying to bottle energy that was slowly leaking through his cracks. Patience wasn’t his virtue as he leaned towards his father, who only slightly moved his head to Illumi while his blue eyes stayed fixated on his littlest child’s music. His eyes would not budge and neither would Illumi's impatience. Curiosity tugged on her hand as it pulled her to her husband's words, which were barely audible. Illumi’s quietness devoured her. Was it out of politeness for Kalluto’s performance or did he not want her to eavesdrop? 

Finally, Silva turned his head towards his eldest son and nodded before looking away. As if whatever Illumi had to say was an inconvenience he'd rather not be tangled in.

Psyche’s heart leapt from her chest when Illumi stood up, careful not to rouse everyone’s attention from Kalluto, and quietly exited the room.There wasn’t a note out of place when

Kalluto looked up and saw his older brother leave before returning his attention back to the koto. He played on. He would not allow himself mishaps or mistakes. Instead, he played on, beautifully as he always does. 

Psyche looked back at the door from which he left and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to chase after him, but didn’t want to interrupt Kalluto’s performance. As the music dragged on she found herself unwilling to concentrate on it and more on the door, wondering—hoping—Illumi would return soon. The time felt ancient as the seconds stretched on. 

Kalluto lifted his hands and the cheers erupted through the crowd. 

Psyche stood up and exited the room. Kalluto’s cold eyes couldn’t help but scowl when she did. She turned to Amane and said, “bring me to my husband.” Urgency laced the crevices of her words.

“Yes, Mistress.” Amane followed her new Mistress’s orders diligently and brought the young bride to his room. 

Psyche breathed and willed herself to be confident. Should she knock first? She was now his wife, she doesn’t need to knock—but manners shouldn’t be forsaken just because they were now married. She was a lady, not a heathen. But, if it’s urgent then she should skip formalities and go right on in—

She took too long to decide, so the universe decided for her. Illumi opened the door and gasped. ‘You startled me.” 

Psyche could say the same. “I was just about to knock—” She looked at him from head to toe and asked, quizzically. “What are you wearing?” 

Illumi looked down at his outfit too, as if there was something wrong with it. He saw nothing while Psyche saw everything. The neon green suit with puffed sleeves should have died and stayed in the 19th century. Along with bright gold needles sporadically placed throughout the suit with….Psyche couldn’t even finish her thoughts, from how appalling his clothing was. He was wearing a corset too—ok, she did like those. “Are those buckled shoes?” Her voice was raw fear. 

“These?” Illumi turned his foot, letting the gold buckle glimmer in the light, as if trying to find the right angle that could make it look like any less of a disaster. Psyche didn’t know if that was something to flex over or if any angle could make madness look sane. “They were just lying around.” If they were laid to rest that’s where they should have stayed. “Do you like them?” His voice sounded so genuine and sincere, making it even harder for Psyche to truthfully answer. 

Psyche forced the most convincing mh-hmm she could muster. Even Chaotica would be impressed with her acting skills. 

“Liar.” He lulled.  

He’s her husband, so she should respect his fashion taste. But she is his wife and he should respect her opinion. And her opinion was that his outfit belonged in no one’s closet and in a black garbage bag. “Well, no, it just looks snug to move around in. It might be hard for our first dance together—”

“I’m leaving.” 

Psyche happily linked her arm with his. Radiant. “As am I.” 

Illumi gently pulled his arm out of hers. “I’m afraid not.” 

She should have complimented his shoes even if they were the most hideous thing she has seen all her life. “I really do like your shoes. They’re so…vintage!” 

Ilumi walked on without her. “Thank you, they’re new.” 

Psyche quickened her steps and jumped right in front of him.

Forced to stop, Illumi placed his hand on his hip. Vexed. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

She wanted to ask him the same thing. “The reception hasn’t ended. We haven’t even cut the cake together.” 

He veered to walk by her. “My absence won’t be noticed.” 

She veered in his way again. “I noticed.” 

Illumi sighed, as if the mere action of explaining everything to his wife was a hassle. “My next job requires me to have a hunter's license and it’s vital I leave now to take the exam, or else I'll miss registration. Father already approved of my departure. In fact, he wondered why I hadn't left sooner.” 

Psyche wanted to say that a husband shouldn’t abandon his wife on their first day as newlyweds. It wasn’t right. “Can’t you reschedule the test date and take it at another time?”

Illumi wanted to laugh, but he didn’t even have time for that. “The committee isn’t so accommodating.” 

“What time does it start?” 

“It might not have started or it may have already ended.”  

Psyche raised her eyebrows. “Where is it?” 

“Don’t know. I’ll have to figure that out along the way.” 

“...Does it even exist?” 

“I’ll find out when I get there.” 

It all sounded so vague, it was as if the hunter committee didn't want anyone to take the exam at all. And Psyche, the most, because it was taking Illumi away from her on their special day. “You’ll make it back tonight, right?” How long could the exam be?

Illumi sighed a heavy breath and that was all the answer she needed to hear. “If I stay any longer, then I’ll miss the ship to Dolle Harbor.” 

Psyche scrunched her brows together, confused. “I’m not familiar with that name. How far away is it?”

“In Kukan’yu Kingdom.” 

Psyche’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s in another continent!”

“Well done. You know your maps.” Illumi said matter of factly. Never stopping a moment to stand still as his wife desperately tried to keep up with him. Curse his long, sculpted legs! 

Psyche quickened her steps, though she was still falling behind him. “Your grandfather is friends with the chairman of the hunter association, I forget his name, what was his name—” A butler handed Illumi a packed bag and Psyche scowled at the man who clearly wasn’t helping her situation. Everyone seemed content with Illumi leaving, all except her! “Ah, yes! His name is Isaac Netero.” 

“I love that you can answer your own questions.” Illumi deadpanned. A butler opened a door to reveal a corridor and Psyche struggled to keep up.

“Can’t your grandfather call and talk to him? Not to delay the exam, per se, but maybe a slight postponement–WILL YOU PLEASE WAIT A MO–”

Illumi was gone. All she saw were strands of black hair that wisped past the corner and disappeared out of sight. Her cheeks fumed red as she whipped her head towards a butler, sending shivers down their spine from her prinkling eyes. If her husband won’t listen to her, then she will make him. 

Illumi made it to the garage where he was met by a fleet of cars. Which one should he choose? They were all the same, and expensive, regardless. He called out to a butler without bothering to turn his head. “Lincoln navigator. Keys.” 

The butler tossed Illumi the keys to the car in a swift motion. Keys in one hand. Door handle in the other. And his wife behind his back. 

Illumi closed his eyes and breathed. “Nothing you do or say will change my mind.” He opened his eyes and saw her pretty reflection in the window. A disgruntled wife who wasn’t getting her way along with her furry little shadow, Willow. There hasn’t been a day Illumi hadn’t thought of that wonderful glare snugly placed between its mean eyes and sharp teeth just for him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say little Willow has a crush on him. 

Willow growled. Its eyes were aiming right for Illumi’s legs. Psyche hushed it. 

The shadow portal Willow burrowed began to close up, but Psyche’s defiance only seemed to explode when she walked towards Illumi. The butler abruptly stood to attention, not knowing whether a conversation or a fight was going to break out. 

Will the wedding also hold a funeral? 

Psyche stood before Illumi. And smiled. “I know. I only wish you would have told me sooner, but I understand. Your work is your priority, which is now mine and I will not stand in the way of it. Good luck with the exam, I know you’ll pass. Come home safely and I will be here waiting for you until you do.” 

Illumi turned on the car and the sound of the engine roared to life, thrumming through the room. He took the break off, but before he put the car in drive he turned to Psyche. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, I’m sorry that the timing isn’t aligning right for either of us, so it will have to wait until the exam is finished.”

There was a lot to discuss. Their future. Their lives together as husband and wife. The possibility of children and how many—and how soon! Psyche’s head was becoming dizzy at that thought alone. 

Psyche regained her calm and put her hands on the window frame, “I would like that very much.” She didn’t take her eyes off him. “I..I love you.” That was the first time she said I love you to him. She noticed how her heart beated differently when she said it. It was as if the words unlocked a new and uncharted piece of her heart that was bound for fervent exploration. 

Illumi only nodded. “See you soon.” 

He did not kiss her goodbye or tell her that he loved her back. Convincing herself he was too anxious to say more because of his upcoming exam, and that he meant it in his heart. She could only smile and wave through the dull pang of a heart slowly breaking as he drove away. From home. From the wedding. And from her.  

When the Mountain was fast asleep, a little fox dug a burrow. 

Psyche crawled out of the shadow burrow and into Illumi’s room, just as he instructed her. Willow was a very good tracker. She stood up and marveled at the room. Excluding her brother, this was the first time she stood inside a boy’s room. Her crush’s room. It was so manly, so—Illumi! 

Everything inside of her was jolting with exhilaration. It was simultaneously somewhere she shouldn’t be, yet everywhere she ever wanted to be. There was one more place she could think of that called out to her…

Without hesitation, Illumi picked her up and threw her down on his bed. A restlessness held Psyche’s gaze—he could not stop thinking of this exact and it drove him mad waiting. She combed her hands over the soft blanket—black like stone.  

Impatience broiled over the day, having been forced to resist a hunger that grew more ravenous with each fasting hour, making both assassins greedy and selfish for relief within the other.

Between one kiss, Illumi pulled off his shirt. Between another, Psyche pulled off hers. Disheveled clumps of clothing were carelessly tossed aside, hanging off the edge of the bed and on the floor. His lips met her neck in a heated frenzy and nipped at her bra strap. It was pesky and in the way. His lips and tongue explored ravenously over the mounds of her breasts—she could not hide her nipples from rising beneath her bra when he accidentally grazed them, more than once. 

Illumi felt a growing fire with every kiss and touch of her skin on his. It kindled and sparked when Psyche threw herself on his lap. Pressing her pelvis down on his. A moan escaped his mouth when she rolled her hips over his, putting pressure on his groin that was growing and hardening beneath his briefs. A raging force that compelled him to lie beneath her and let her have her way. She leaned for a kiss, Illumi waited expectantly—until Psyche pulled back with mischievous laughter. 

Illumi fell for her trick. His head fell back on a pillow. “You are cruel.” 

Psyche could also be kind. 

She moved further down his body, slowly kissing his abdomen lower and lower—sending his body wonderful shivers of senses ignited—until her face was over his briefs and everything in his body trembled when she began fondling his groin. Gentle brushes that gradually firmed up when he did. From cheek to cheek, Illumi was burning red and his eyes glimmered with want and lust. Psyche noticed the way his breathing broke rhythm when she outlined the swollen mass with her fingers over his briefs. Girls were in possession of many talents; one included making boneless meat hard. Her fingers traveled along the engorged mass in a single path until they each met at the end—at the tip of his cock. She looked up at him—it was fun seeing him feeble for once. She pressed her thumb and index fingers together with him in the center–around his tip–and her insides pulsed when he panted. 

She released her grip–then squeezed gently–then crafted a flowing rhythm between the two motions that made his cock push upward against his briefs that dared to tear through the fabric. He couldn't hide his breathing nor lust—growing more wild the longer she toyed with him. 

She stopped and Illumi looked down at her. “Apologize.” She didn’t forget their earlier conversation.

Intoxicated by her, silence was his answer. His eyes, dark and deep, were unwilling to relent. How willing he was to throw himself in the wrath of her defiance. 

Psyche considered herself to be fair. She knew when to stop giving second chances as she grabbed the waistline of his briefs and opened her mouth. She warned him. Now it was time to punish him. 

Chapter Text

(The first scene in italics is a flashback that is a continuation of chapter 3 when a group of hunters attacked the Moiraio mansion.)

Anomie used to be the sweetest girl—until she became an older sister. Not only did she have to look out for herself, but she had to look out for all her little siblings whose numbers didn’t seem to stop rising. There was a bittersweet tang to growing up, responsibility grinded away the edges of her kindness and varnished her soul with duty and fear. There was danger around every corner, there was always someone who wanted to hurt them—both inside and outside the mansion. Even now, as she pulled up a chair and sat facing the vulgar hunter who dared to come upon their property and carry away their heads in blood soaked bags, that danger was never going to end.

Moiraio women are never wanted well. They are always wanted dead, or alive and captured only to die shortly later for laughs and kicks and insane stacks of cash. 

Anomie looked down at the hunter’s bloody and battered arm. Chaotica’s work is exquisitely devious. The assassin clicked her tongue as she grimaced at his arm. It truly was revolting. 

Chaotica wiped blood off her knife, and smiled at herself in its reflection. She didn’t turn her head as she said, “his arm looks terrible.” She knew it was. She made sure of it. Any less and her reputation would be on the line. 

“I don’t think he’ll be able to use it anymore.” Anomie looked up at the hunter, her gaze startled him. “Are you left handed?” A brisk laugh caught in her throat. “Not that the choice matters anymore. If not, well, I suppose you’ll just have to learn. Hm. Do you think it’ll have to—” 

Chaotica’s excitement fizzled with a flourish. “Oh definitely. It’ll have to be cut off straight away—Oh Ann, I think we’re making him cry!” 

The hunter fought back against tears and pain as he gnarled his teeth at the two demons torturing him all night. It only took one girl, the one with sunlight hair, to kill all his men without breaking a sweat. If his employer would have cared to tell him that one Moiraio woman had the strength of a hundred men he would have brought an army with him. The job wasn’t worth the pay. It wasn’t even worth risking his life. “You crazy bitches!” He spat in Anomie’s face and got her right in between her nose and her mouth. 

Chaotica instantly gasped as she covered her hands over her mouth and looked at the hunter horrified, “you shouldn't have done that, dumbass.” 

Anomie wiped her face with her sleeve in complete disgust. And soon a fire burned in her eyes, the last remnants of sanity, if she had any left, snapped.  She gave it right back to him. She got him right in his eyes. Dead center.

The man instantly screamed as his eyes began to scorch and burn and sizzle with a sickening sound like water being poured into a pan of bubbling hot oil. 

Chaotica removed her hands, revealing a wide and wondrous smile. “I love that people don’t know you can do that.” 

“Touch me again.” Anger scorched Anomie’s tongue, “and you burn.” 

The man only screamed in agony. That was all he could do.

“Ann, who's going to do it?” 

Anomie stood up and walked over to the shed’s clock. “It’ll be too late for him even if he is rushed to the hospital at this hour.” She turned her head to the side as she pulled back the hour hand on the clock, setting the clock back in time. “This clock is behind though. Who knows how much time he really has left.” 

“Oh oh oh!” Chaotica gushed.

“Go on.” 

“We should do it for him.” Chaotica’s best ideas were always brought to life in the dead of night. Polished by the screams of men.

If the man had eyes left they would have surely popped out of his head. Now he was a slobbering, sobbing mess. Pleading, no no no no no. The girls of no medical experience didn’t pay him any attention as they continued discussing an impromptu amputation. 

Without real convincing at all, Anomie conceded. She turned around and shrugged, calmly. Bored even. “We are here. Might as well. Where will you make the incision?” 

“Wherever the knife lands.” 

“Reasonable enough.” 

“I could be a nurse y’know, I would look so sexy in uniform.” 

“Please, Chaotica, not in front of the patient. He’s already gone blind.” 

Chaotica whipped her head in front of the hunter’s. It looked like goo was dripping down from his eye sockets. The hunter didn’t even react when she did. Wow, he really has gone blind. “You can’t look. You can’t touch. You can’t do much of anything anymore, can you.” The hunter lunged forward in his chair causing Chaotica to jump back, laughing. “He still has some fight left in him. I love a good player. They make the games more fun to play.” 

Chaotica surveyed her surgical tools of choice and hummed. 

“Nurse, what is the problem?” Anomie asked. 

Chaotica sighed. “I suddenly realize now that I want to be a doctor.” 

“Ma’am this is the ER. Surgery now. Existential crisis later.” 

Chaotica snorted. A nasally, hysteric, and un-ladylike snort. A sound she only dared utter in front of her family. “I don’t know which one to choose, if I'm being honest, Doctor Ann.”

“I know and you rarely ever are.” 

“Yeeeeah. I want it to be interesting. I can’t just pick anything y’know, it has to be something with flair, something that will memorialize the moment. Something that says ‘wow, I chose the wrong day to mess with the wrong people’—I know how!” She pointed her finger at one knife and cleared her voice, “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe–” 

The hunter cursed at them. High shrills and ear splitting curses. 

Anomie looked insulted. “Sir, you're throwing off the nurse’s groove.”  

The hunter cursed louder, promising to do all the things the girls have already done to him and then some. 

Anomie shook her head, once. Dejected. “I don’t think he approves of your method.” 

Chaotica stopped mid rhyme. “And we don’t approve of him and his men barging onto our property without so much as a notice wanting to end every last one of us, to kill, to sell, to mount our heads on the wall—heck I want to be admired but that’s taking it to the extreme—just hours away before our baby sister’s wedding. Ugh, they didn’t even bring a gift with them just to pretend to be nice.”

“That is very inhospitable. Can’t even pretend to be nice.” 

“Even uncle Jax brought a gift and you know what I think of him.” 

Anomie leaned in close to the hunter and whispered into his ear. A not so secretive secret. “She thinks he’s a prick.” 

Chaotica continued. “And to that I say, catch a tiger by the toe!” 

Anomie nodded to the hunter who couldn’t see her. “She has a point.” 

“If he hollers, let him goooooo.” Chaotica sung with a grand crescendo. 

“Lovely.” Anomie clapped.

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing.” 

“My mother told me to pick the very best one and you are it.” Her finger landed on a blunt knife. One that was old and rusted and has seen better days. It was perfect. 

They strapped the hunter’s arm down on the table and held it tightly. What becomes of a hunter who can no longer hunt? They will soon find out. 

Anomie’s voice was dangerous. “We really don’t want to do this to you—scratch that. She really does.” 

“I really do.” Chaotica gripped the knife with a fiery passion.

“You have the power to stop all of this right now. All we need is a name.” 

The hunter’s lips were quivering, “I told you everything I know.” 

“Did you?” Anomie’s voice was cold like ice. “I’m not convinced you did.” 

Chaotica raised the knife higher. Waiting on her older sister’s command. She would have used Viewfinder to look into the hunter’s memories, but her ability locks quadruple the time for however long she previously used it. And they didn’t have time to sit around and wait. 

“Just tell us who put a target over our heads and this will all be over.” Anomie’s voice softened. She trailed her fingers on his skin—it only took one flash of burned skin for the man to confess. 

“H-he’s powerful and wealthy,” the hunter gulped down air.

Anomie feigned surprise, it wasn’t unlike any of their other enemies. How cliche. “So it’s a he. What a detailed profile you’ve painted for us. I can see him so clearly now.” 

Chaotica twirled the knife. “Does he have a name? They usually come with one.” 

“He wishes to remain anonymous.” 

“Why are men always so shy?” Chaotica mumbled to no one in particular.

“They always are when they have something to hide.” Anomie added.

 The hunter swallowed. “He has resources to destroy all of you.” 

“By deadly resources, you mean….” Anomie pointed to the hunter, who she easily tied up in their garden shed, and silently mouthed, ‘him, this guy, this schmuck?’ Chaotica just shrugged back. “ok. That is…a comfort to no one but you.” 

The hunter laughed, as if the assassins knew nothing at all. “It was to assess your family’s strength.” 

“You’re seriously trying to buy yourself time?” Anomie’s voice was rough. “Time is irrelevant here. No amount more or less will change your fate.” 

“It was a test,” he felt a blade slide against his skin. A trickle of blood slid down his neck.

“We’re sick of being tested.” Chaotica scoffed. “Did we pass with flying colors? Did we win the praise of this elusive mystery man? As a prize do we get to shake his hand?”

The hunter slowly turned his head towards the younger sister’s voice and drew out a low, bitter sound. “Hardly.” 

Anomie straightened, the hunter was in no position to act smug. “He isn’t going to tell us anything. Or at least, anything we need.” 

Chaotica raised the knife. It was all the same to her. 

When it was all done Anomie pawed at the hunter’s pockets until she found what she was looking for. She wiped the blood off it and held it up and into the light. So this is what a hunter’s license looked like. “Take this. It might come in handy.” 

Chaotica pressed the license to her lips. With a kiss she bid a final farewell to the hunter. 

Anomie pressed her hand against the corpse and watched as his skin burned like paper. First it flickered into embers then soared into a roaring fire. Ashes to ashes, and the hunter fell down. 

Chaotica held the license and looked at it with genuine awe. “I should become a hunter.” 

“You would make a terrible one.” 

Chaotica’s laughter roared along with the fire. “Does it matter?”

Anomie looked back at the burning body. A hunter. A thief. A killer. A vagabond. A schmuck. 

“No. It doesn’t matter.” 

After the wedding reception ended, the Moiraio sisters gathered together in Psyche’s new room. Chaotica surveyed the bedroom with condescending eyes and easily came to the conclusion that it was boring and drab and that it was no different than stuffing her baby sister in a broom closet. Psyche’s vision was clearly blinded by rose tinted glasses and it was Chaotica’s duty, as her esteemed older sister, to give it a complete makeover. However, miracles only happen one at a time. Right now, her main focus was to make Psyche irresistibly hot for tonight; not even that soulless, emotionless, pin head of her husband could resist! 

Chaotica opened Psyche’s dresser drawer and pulled out one of her night shifts. She held it far away from her, as if bad fashion taste could rub off of her somehow like catching a winter cold. She squeaked out, skeptically. “Is this what you’ll be wearing tonight?” 

Psyche blinked, catching the tone in her older sister’s voice. That night dress was inspired by Victorian era fashion. The ruffled collar and the pink bow in the front brought it a modern touch. “Why? What’s wrong with it?” 

“Oh, nothing. It’s…cute.” Chaotica dropped the white dress back into the dresser, and prayed to God it would get lost, in there, in the laundry, out the window, never to be seen again. “Well, as it so happens, I’m a generous gift giver.” She flung a suitcase on Psyche’s bed and clicked open the locks to reveal an array of scandalous lingerie. 

Psyche leaned over them, hesitantly. Not one of them flowed with the grace of a Victorian maiden exploring her husband’s dark and mysterious manor at night by flickering candlelight intent to find the ghost of his previous wife who died tragically—accidentally or even more tantalizing by foul play—by flinging herself off a cliff and is now haunting Psyche because she flung herself into her husband’s bed. Death does not put a stopper on love. And neither could Chaotica change Psyche’s mind about her choice in nightwear. 

Chaotica lifted one piece out of the suitcase. It was black and lacy and looked like something Psyche wouldn’t have the guts to wear—considering there was barely anything there to wear at all. “It has…” Psyche tried to find something nice to say, “...so many holes.” 

Chaotica wasn’t unaware of that expression of mortification on Psyche’s face. But then again, you only have a wedding night once. “I have something with a little more flair.” She unzipped a compartment and pulled out what looked like a ball of string.

“Is that a ribbon to tie around a robe?” 

“No, this is the lingerie.” 

“But it’s all string!” 

Chaotica laughed. “It’ll look better when I unravel it.” 

Psyche feared if she unraveled it there would be nothing left. Instead, she opened her drawer and pulled out her night shift that Chaotica was determined to shove away into a never ending abyss. Psyche let it sway in front of her body and twirled as if she was dancing with a prince at a ball. 

Chaotica wanted to barf. That shift fell below Psyche’s knees. 

“Shifts are simple and elegant. They are seductive, but don’t give too much away. They are inviting, but not too forward. They are daring, but not too unreasonable.” She twirled again. “They make me feel like a princess—” 

Chaotica turned to Anomie. “Psyche just called me a whore.” 

Anomie looked up from her slice of wedding cake, it was too good to not have a third slice. “Boo, you whore.” 

Chaotica wrinkled her nose and smiled, suppressing a revolting curse. “I’m withholding profanity because it is her special day.” She pointed to Psyche, as if her little sister was to blame for Chaotica not being able to curse freely like a truck driver. “And you’re not supposed to call me a whore back.”

Anomie almost choked on her cake, swallowing down a laugh. “I’m only repeating what you told me.” 

“YEAH,” She couldn't beat that argument, it was very convincing. “But you don’t have to agree with me.” 

“I have a mind of my own and I use it however I please. So, boo.” Anomie waved her fork in the air, and bit down a smile. As if she was going to say more, but decided against it. 

Chaotica wouldn't stand for that, so she didn’t. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes while Anomie enjoyed another forkful of cake.

“I want to personally thank whichever butler who made this cake. They created something beautiful. Wow. The things you can do with butter and sugar.” 

Chaotica swiped the cake out of Anomie’s hands, “mmh you’re right. It is delish.” She stuffed a piece in her mouth and swallowed it. 

Anomie leaned back in her chair and a darkness clouded her eyes. “Bitch, I will cut you.” 

“That’s my line. Get your own.” Chaotica rebelliously devoured the last morsel of buttercream frosting off the spongy cake which sent Anomie into a spiral of rage. Good. Be angry. Throw a fit. It won’t bring back what you treasured the most. 

Psyche sighed as she folded her night shift and placed it neatly back in her dresser. “I won’t be needing any of these tonight.” 

Psyche wasn't as prudish as Chaotica thought she was. “Now that’s what I'm talking about!”

“He’s not coming.”

“Not yet he isn’t.” Chaotica chirped. “That’s your job—” 

Anomie stood up and motioned to Chaotica to stop. Chaotica mimicked her back only for Anomie to return the gesture with a stoic expression that she was done playing games. 

Chaotica lowered her hands, silently. Oh. Anomie was being serious. 

Anomie sensed there was something off. “Psyche, are you okay?”

Psyche didn’t have the strength to turn around and face them, fearing she was going to start crying if she did. “I think I'm going to cry.” 

Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor. Hands burrowed in her face. Sniffling. 

Anomie and Chaotica instantly forgot about cake and squabbling and went to their sister’s aid. They huddled beside her and wrapped their arms around the crying bride.

“You don’t have to choose anything I’ve picked out for you. It doesn't matter anyway.” Chaotica dabbed at Psyche’s tears with lingerie. “Here, blow your nose, it’s really just expensive tissue paper.” She noticed a small piece of paper on Psyche’s back and plucked it off. 

Psyche wiped away her tears with the lingerie. “Illumi…he…”

Anger burned in Anomie’s eyes. “What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?” 

Psyche swallowed and breathed, and told them everything that happened after Illumi left the wedding reception. 

Chaotica stood up in a rage of fury. How dare that Zoldyck freak make her sister cry! With a twist and a click, the bracelet on her wrist transformed into a knife. “That’s it! HIS YAHOO IS COMING OFF.” 

Psyche reached out to stop her, “he’s halfway across the ocean by now.” 

“Yeah. HE BETTER RUN.” 

Just as Chaotica was about to leave the room, Calypsa entered. With an equally alarming expression of her own. She surveyed the room. She had one daughter in tears, one consumed by fire, and another ready to commit first degree murder. Ah, it was as if they never left home.  

Calypsa closed the door behind her and locked it, as if that could prevent any outsiders' ears from eavesdropping. She dramatically fell onto the settee and rasped, fanning herself with her hat. She felt as if she was about to die. “I’m going to die.” 

Miracles do happen.

“Water.” Calypsa rasped. “I need water.” 

Anomie poured her a glass to which Calypsa drank greedily. “More good news, I hope.” 

“That no good bitc—,” Calypsa bit down on her own lips, then muttered softly and gripped the air in front of her. Imagining squeezing someone’s throat. She already had someone in mind. “Kikyo is my friend, don’t get me wrong I love her so, but sometimes I just want to ring her neck and watch her snap. She,” Calypsa cackled under her breath, “she drank a few too many glasses of chardonnay because fuck it, your son is getting married . All is bliss in the House of Zoldyck. All is bliss.” Calypsa looked like she was going to snap herself. “Then goes another glass because today is a day of exceptions. And she goes on about Illumi. How proud she is of him, so good, so obedient, and so all the same crap. Then Milluki. Then Kalluto. Sweet boys. Sweet sons. She couldn’t have been more blessed with better sons. But who are we missing? Yes, Killua. That’s right. Tears. Streaming down face and for a moment I thought her visor was going to short circuit and explode. SHE WOULD HAVE DONE ME A KINDNESS, but there I’m sitting extending my warmth and tenderness to her and I’m thinking to myself, Oh no, what else has he done? What other monstrosities has little Killua committed against his family?” 

Psyche knew where this was going. 

“She,” Calypsa prevented herself from laughing hysterically. Anomie poured Calypsa another glass of water. “Thank you, Ann. As I was saying. She is crying tears of JOY. OF JOY! WHY WOULD SHE BE DOING THAT? Killua slashed everybody, ran away from home conveniently while my daughter was about to get married! It must have slipped out of Kikyo’s mouth because of all the chardonnay,” Calypsa said with a flourish. “Killua is the —”

“Zoldyck heir.” Psyche finished her mother’s sentence for her. Anomie and Chaotica turned towards Psyche, confused. 

“You already know!” Calypsa couldn’t stop laughing. “I never mistook her to joke about something like this.” 

Chaotica’s jaw dropped. Killua cut up his mom and brother and they rewarded him by making him the heir…bravo. He was now her favorite Zoldyck. 

“No, she wasn’t joking.” Psyche squeezed her eyes shut to wipe away her tears. “It’s, uh....the truth.”  

Calypsa dropped the glass of water and it crashed on the wooden floor. She didn't react to it. She just stared at Psyche as if her daughter sprouted another head. 

Anomie turned to Psyche. “Are you certain this is true?” 

“Illumi told me himself.” 

Calypsa was seeing stars and she couldn’t balance herself. 

“When?” Anomie asked.

“Last night. In the kitchen.” 

“In the kitchen?”

“I was hungry, so I went to get a snack. And he happened to be there, so.” 

Calypsa held out her hand for one of her daughter’s to grab it, just so she could feel something real. Anomie did. “No. You must have misheard him. It has to be a mistake.” 

“He was really clear about it.” Psyche bit the inside of her cheek. Illumi seemed surprised that she didn’t know about it. 

“Ah. He must share his mother’s strange sense of humor.” 

Psyche shook her head. “He was very…serious. He did express a lot of concern over Killua running away.”

Calypsa changed the subject, she couldn’t bear to listen to it any longer. “Your sisters and I will be leaving the Mountain. It isn’t customary for us to stay any longer, especially on your wedding night—” Anomie whispered to her and Calypsa’s eyes widened in shock. “HE LEFT!?” She turned to Psyche. “PSYCHE. WHAT DID YOU DO?” 

“Nothing—why are you getting angry at me?” 

“Nothing. So you did nothing. Your husband leaves and you do nothing. Perfect. Why didn’t you convince him to stay?” Calypsa pressed on. Voice rising.

“No, you’re misunderstanding me. I didn’t do ‘nothing.’ When he got up during Kalluto’s performance, I went after him to go talk to him—”

“I saw you go after him much, much later when Kalluto was done performing. You shouldn’t have waited so long. You know what you lost? Time. Enough time in which you could have convinced him to stay.” Calypsa yelled. 

“I didn’t want to be rude!” Psyche yelled back.

Calypsa rolled her eyes.

“Mom. I tried talking to him.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” 

Why didn’t you try harder? You’re already a failure as a wife! Her mom was practically screaming it at her. Psyche’s voice was rising. “It didn't matter what I did or didn’t say to him, Illumi was going to leave regardless. The hunter exam date isn’t negotiable and he needs a license for work. There was nothing I could do to stop him.” He said so himself. 

Calypsa nodded, smugly. “Ok. Did he tell you that last night too? Or did you forget after you let him fuck you?” 

The room went stone cold silent after Calypsa said that. Psyche’s eyes began to burn all over again. She turned her head away from her mom and focused her attention looking for something to pick up the broken pieces of glass on the wooden floor. And for something to soak up the water. 

“Get out.” Psyche’s voice was low and cold. “I’m a Zoldyck and this is my House. Get out.” She thought once she said those words they would make her feel powerful, but still her mother loomed over her like a shadow. Shrouding her in a freezing cold impermeable to fire. 

Calypsa stepped on a piece of glass, shattering it into smaller pieces. “Very well. Though take care to remember, Psyche. That name only gives you power if he wills it.” 

Psyche couldn’t look up at her mom as she walked out of her room. Chaotica and Anomie looked back in silent pity and horror, following behind Calypsa just as she commanded them to.

When they left, Psyche picked up a shard of broken glass and saw her reflection. Did she really look that pathetic? She gripped the shard and watched blood pool in her palm, then threw the glass against the wall and screamed. 

Kalluto tsked as his paper doll of Psyche fell silent. She must have noticed the confetti he placed on her sometime during the reception and discarded it. It was foolish of him to underestimate her. Though, not entirely. If she, of all people, noticed his confetti then he must have been sloppy. Given this abrupt wedding and Killua’s hasty departure combined together, Kalluto’s mind wasn’t focused as it should be. His skills have dulled when a sickly wind of trouble blew in along with the Moiraio Family. He knows this. If he can’t overcome a few obstacles stacked together like these then how is he to progress further in his training? He’s already falling behind Killua. If Kalluto can’t catch up then how is he supposed to bring Killua back home? 

Kalluto took a deep breath in. Calming his thoughts.

His surveillance of Psyche only proved to justify the assumptions he made of the assassin the moment she stepped foot on their mountain. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to make out the entirety of Psyche’s conversation with her sisters. But one thing was for certain. 

Psyche was weak. While the other two were vulgar and foul-mouthed. 

Psyche would only serve as a detriment to Illumi. Kalluto rarely disagreed with his mother, but she made a grave mistake. If no one could see that then it was his duty to amend it before the damage became permanent. 

There was one more thing that pestered him…

What the heck is a yahoo?  

Araminta cried out when Theodore picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bed—their bed. She loved how delicious those two words, now forever stitched together, leapt off her tongue. It was precisely in that moment when the moon was high and the candles lit the room as far as their light could reach that he was always meant to hold her this way. Perhaps she was born to live in this exact moment. To find her one true love and have him carry her home under soft, golden candlelight. She placed her hands tenderly behind his head, curling his auburn locks within her hands. She longingly gazed into his shimmering eyes that glistened with a love purer than Poseidon's primordial waves, and those lips—oh his lips—lips that could cast a spell on her soul and enchant her into a land of dreams made real. Theodore Sturn was a powerful man and his love bewitched her. He was hers and she was his. Everlastingly. 

Theodore laid her gently on their bed and kissed her softly. Restraining himself from consuming her with ravenous gluttony—a night where gluttony was encouraged and sought after. Withstanding the temptation to regress to primal impulses and tear away at her night shift and leave her with nothing only for him to admire her naked form lying on their bed. It was their wedding night, and it was his duty as her husband to have her writhe in the sheets until she could do nothing but scream out his name and hold him tight as he savored every last morsel of her that she would drip for him. Slowly and selfishly. Araminta was light—a glorious star that guided him back home. No. She was his home now. And he would bound himself in the place he truly belonged.

He kissed her once more and smiled when he saw how much she adored it. He breathed, “It’s just you and me.” 

“And me.” Psyche deadpanned as she flipped the page of her book with her bandaged hand. She was sitting alone in her room. Without pleasant company or a husband to share the night with. 

She scoured through a quarter of the book in a day just to make it to the wedding scene (nothing could get Psyche out of a reading slump better than a Captain Theodore Sturn strip tease—how she yearned to be his first mate and steer his ship), but she couldn’t stomach to read any further. Normally, this is what Psyche lives for when reading The Captain and I . Along with character development and world building, of course…She reopened the book to the wedding night chapter and flipped through and counted the pages—and her eyes widened. That was a whole lot of pages. And there was little dialogue and very chunky paragraphs. Her favorite combination. That spelled the perfect recipe for an excellent read uninterrupted. But all she could do was glance at the words and feel far detached from the story. She mindlessly flipped through the pages again, maybe the chapter would appear smaller if she flipped through it quicker, and caught a few tantalizing words. Araminta gripped the bed’s banister—Theodore plunged forward without restraint—they drowned in an ecstasy of— Psyche shut the book before she spoiled herself anymore. She mumbled a disgruntled whine, as she leaned back in her chair, “at least one of us is happy.” Psyche wasn’t one to call another girl a bitch, but tonight was an exception. 

Araminta was one lucky bitch. 

Psyche’s thoughts couldn’t help but drift to Illumi and wondering how his trip to Dolle Harbor was carrying on. What was he doing? What was he thinking of? Was he thinking of her just as much—or more—as she was thinking of him? But given the way he departed from Kukuroo Mountain in a hurry and his callous goodbye, perhaps only the exam was consuming his mind.

The Hunter Exam was one lucky bitch. 

She folded her arms on the vanity and slammed her head down into them. So this is what she has reduced herself down to? Being jealous of an exam? What the hell even is the hunter exam anyway? She pulled out her laptop and began feverishly googling this elusive test, but the results left little relief to settle her mind and only opened more tabs that led to more questions. When it finally seemed like she was getting answers, the webpages denied her access. Only a hunter could access restricted information.

Restricted information? This was the internet, everything was supposed to be damn free. She went to the Hunter Association webpage and found a link to an exam application (the deadline to apply passed in December, so the application page was locked)—to which would be mailed to eager applicants and from there they would be given the location, not of the testing center, but of the transportation service that would take them close—or heck maybe it was nowhere near at all—to the testing center that supposedly changed every year. Because why not only make it entirely inconceivable, but also make grown men cry. And this wasn’t even registration. You register for the exam when you arrive at the testing center. If you manage to get there at all.

Psyche was convinced the Hunter Association didn’t want anyone to take the exam at all considering how impossible it was to actually get there. Logistically, it was a weeding out process. Not everyone who wants to be a hunter has noble intentions in mind–not that she wished to use her husband as an example to prove it, there are definitely worse people who would gladly use and abuse the merits and privileges of a hunter license, like, to commit crime and kill—that is exactly why her husband needs it. Fuck. He proved a statistic. 

Well, he needs it for work and that sounds less….nefarious? 

There was a knock at her door.

She closed her laptop and her heart thrummed alive–renewed. She looked herself over in her mirror and quickly combed through her hair and flattened the creases in her dress. She looks gorgeous and not at like she was beginning to cry. Again. 

Yes. yes. Yes! Illumi has finally realized that his first night with his wife is more important than a stupid gate-keeping exam! He must have felt bad for leaving her alone, and him being shoved in a cramped boat with a bunch of gnarly and repugnant men must have made him see the error of his ways! She said a quick and silent prayer thanking all the men that repulsed her husband to the point of making him abandon ship. Fairy godmothers really do come in all shapes and sizes. 

Psyche practically ran to the door, slipping on the wooden tiles as she grabbed onto the door handle, and prepared how Illumi would see her. She stopped. Closed her eyes. Breathed. And exhaled. She decided that she was going to look unbothered by his absence and have him beg for her to forgive him. Stretch it out a bit, and then naturally give it to him the second, third, fourth time he asks. Depending upon how generous she was feeling. Psyche was a very forgiving girl. Yes, that would be most excellent. 

She couldn’t help but smile as she opened the door. Maybe she didn’t need him to beg for her forgiveness after all. Having him tell her he loves her is enough—

The thought of devouring a bowl of strawberry ice cream drizzled in chocolate syrup, sprinkled with broken up pieces of brownies, and lathered in a heavy dose of self loathing while watching The Princess Diaries crossed her mind. Her stress level was on the level of princess Mia driving the Stang. Downhill. Accelerating toward the trolley with broken brakes. Not even Paolo and his bowl of self-care cucumber slices, that do nothing, could fix this train wreck. 

“I know. I am exactly the person you wanted to see.” Zeno said. Along with his wife, Zifira, who was standing right beside him. 

“Might we come in, dear.” Zifira said as she walked right into the room before Psyche could answer. Zeno followed. 

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Psyche hurriedly pushed aside cardboard boxes and made room for both of them to sit on the settee. “I’m sorry, I haven’t finished unpacking yet, so it’s still cluttered.” 

“Not at all. There are still boxes I haven't unpacked from when I first arrived at the Mountain. I’ll get to them one of these days.” 

Zeno turned to his wife. “You’ve been saying that for years. Would it kill you to at least try, it would be fun. No?” 

“Then you can help me.” 

“We don’t want to have too much fun.” 

Zifira’s laugh was contagious. Even Zeno couldn’t help but laugh when she did. A smile cracked his cold exterior and melted away because of Zifira’s warmth. They were such a cute old couple! Psyche hoped this is what she and Illumi will grow into. Loving each other until the end of their days surrounded by dozens of children and grandchildren. 

Zifira eyed the stacks of books piled on the ground. “You have so many books!” 

“Yes! I love to read.” 

“What do you like to read?” 

Psyche panicked. She didn’t know how to answer that question. And so she smiled and nodded her head and laughed even when there was nothing funny to laugh about. An obvious sign of girls who have something to hide. “A little bit of everything.” Everything was safe. Everything was neutral. Everything didn’t single out 18th century sea captains rescuing you from rampaging ocean storms and ripping off your corset because you ‘couldn’t breathe.’ 

Zifira nodded, “I enjoy reading myself. Perhaps you can recommend a book for me and we could talk about it together.” Zifira narrowed her eyes towards her husband. “I tell him to read a book and he never does.” 

Zeno defended himself. “That’s not true. I always read the books you recommend to me.”  

“You read the titles and then fill in the gaps.” 

“One title speaks a thousand words.”  

“You’ll find those ‘a thousand words ’ and more inside. You just have to open it up.” 

“You describe them so well it feels as if I have already read them. I much prefer listening to you. But you want to know where they are also?” 

“Where?”

Zeno put a hand over his chest. “My heart. Because you put them there.” 

“Bull.”   

 “Louder.” 

Zifira shoulder bumped him and he kissed her cheek when she did and Psyche swore that she was going to die from them being so adorable. IT WAS SO CUTE SEEING AN OLD COUPLE BEING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER. SHE WANTED THAT IN HER FUTURE! 

Zifira turned to her newest granddaughter. “Illu will have to take you on a private tour of our library, we have hundreds, thousands of books that span time and history. And not to mention the archives. We have stairs that resemble the ones in that wizarding story about the orphaned boy, oh yes, Harry Potter. They look exactly like them.” 

A look in Zeno's eyes seemed to say, ‘no, they don’t. Not even close.’ 

Psyche internally squealed. “I think I would like that very much.” Psyche began to pull up a chair until Zifira waved her hand and beckoned Psyche to sit on the settee with them. She went to squeeze in at the end until Zifira moved away from Zeno and created a space in between them. She patted the space, happily. 

Psyche sat in between her grandfather and grandmother. A moment of silence passed and then another. Psyche flicked a piece of non-existing debris off her dress and smoothed out an imaginary crease. 

This was fine.

Zeno was the first to break the silence. He did so with an aggravated huff which startled Psyche. “So Illumi has gone off to take the hunter exam. Foolish decision if you ask me.” 

Psyche blinked. A part of her was ready to agree with him, but she wasn’t sure if criticizing his eldest grandchild right in front of him was the wisest decision to make, so instead she half lied and half told the truth. “Truthfully, I wish the exam didn’t occur on our wedding day, but it couldn’t be helped. Though, I know for a fact he’ll pass the exam and come back home with a hunter license. I have complete faith in his abil—”

Zeno and Zefira looked at each other and their eyes exchanged a silent message, a crafty language practiced over the years they’ve spent together.

And began their siege. 

“What a pleasure it is to be so sure of each other. Dreams are never out of reach when you are so young and optimistic.” Zeno sighed, dramatically.

Zifira wholeheartedly nodded in agreement, “Oh yes, hope is hard to extinguish especially when you are deeply in love.” 

Zeno’s mouth popped open, as if he just remembered something crucially important. “Did you hear that the estimated passing rate is only 0.5% for the hunter exam this year?” 

“That’s lower than last year! I didn’t imagine it could sink that low.” Zifira put a hand over her mouth, concealing her astonishment. “It does make sense, considering only 1 in 10,000 actually make it to the exam site.” 

“And that doesn’t even include rookies.” Zeno accentuated. “It’s much, much lower.” 

“Rookies?” Psyche asked.

Zifira leaned in towards her granddaughter. “First time test takers. Men and women with impeccable drive and ambition fueling their hopes and dreams of becoming hunters—and then there is our Illumi—having no idea of the crushing hurdles they are about to face. Some never recover from the blow of having their dreams, and various organs and limbs, destroyed. Illu should be fine though.”  

Psyche’s brows furrowed and she piped out a soft little, “really?” The first chip of her armor began to crack and both Zeno and Zifira brought pickaxes. 

“Exceedingly low.” Zeno corrected himself. “And don’t get me started on the mortality rate!”

Psyche blinked. “The what now.” 

Zifira waved her wrist, ‘what is the point of calculating it when the majority of those poor, unfortunate applicants won’t even make it past the second phase, let alone first. Ah! It baffles me that they already have—how many phases are in the exam again?”

Zeno shook his head. “Honestly, it is never enough for Netero. It could go on and on and on.” He looked Psyche dead center in the eyes, “AND ON.” 

Psyche leaned back, slightly. “...and on.” 

“Indefinitely.” Zeno added with a gruff voice.

“At least the applicants sign the—” Zefira stopped mid sentence when she saw the stoic and cold look on Zeno’s face. It told her everything. She barely got the words out of her mouth. Her voice was a mere wobble as if what she was about to say was going to fracture the very air around them. “They got rid of the waivers too?” 

“Too expensive.” Zeno, deadpanned. “They’re cutting back. No funds. No waivers. It can’t be helped.” 

“That’s a real shame.” 

“It really is.” Zeno agreed. 

“But not a problem for our Illu.” 

“No problem at all. Zoldycks don’t need to sign waivers.” 

“They still use trackers, I believe. Just in case they need to find the bodies, I mean, applicants.” 

“Yes, but it’s hard to find a body where you can’t even reach it. Last year, one phase took place over the entire circumference of a dessert plagued with pelting sandstorms and filled with wild, starving coyotes and snakes and what are those animals that burrow in the sand dunes— ” 

“The ones with jaws that could crush stone, and easily the bones of men?” 

“Like sticks?” 

“Like toothpicks.” Zifira clarified. 

“No no. Those are not nearly as dangerous as the ones I’m referring to. I’m talking about the ones with long, spindly arms with claws so sharp they only have to lie in wait to snatch their prey, piece by piece, and follow them as they bleed out turning the golden sand dunes red.”  

“They follow the scent of blood, and fear.” 

“Yes! Precisely! But what are they called?” 

Psyche felt as if she was going to faint. Her eyes were vacant, her mouth was dry, and all the life was sucked out of her when she said, “blood hoppers.” Which was barely more than a whisper. She watched a nature documentary about them once. She got a close up view of its hideous face littered with razor sharp teeth when it lunged at a camera-man.

“Yes, yes. Blood Hoppers.” Zeno clapped his hands together in astonishment and Psyche nearly fell unconscious from envisioning Illumi being snatched by a hopper and dragged beneath the sand dunes. “Those are absolutely horrifying creatures. They found the bodies, well, what was left by those insidious creatures at least. Nasty things.” 

“And an even more horrifying way to go.” Zifira paused. “But they never hold the exam in the same place twice, so Illu doesn’t have to worry about Blood Hoppers.” 

“Illumi could easily handle a few blood hoppers, but then there is the matter of the Milsy Wetlands…” Zeno turned silent. 

WHY DID HE TURN SILENT!? THIS WAS NO TIME TO BE GOING SILENT. Psyche turned towards Zeno. “Grandfather…”

“Yes, my sweet child.” 

“What is in the Milsy Wetlands?” 

“She doesn’t want to hear about it.” Zifira patted Psyche’s shoulder sweetly. “It’ll give anyone nightmares.” 

Zeno hummed. “I might have to agree. You don’t want to hear about it, Psyche. I don’t want to be the cause of giving my granddaughter unease on her wedding night.”

“But I do..I really do!” Psyche was on the edge of her seat as she looked between both elderly assassins. Expectantly waiting for them to tell her what was in the Milsy Wetlands that could shred her husband limb from limb. 

Zeno and Zifira both shared a knowing look with each other. Zeno took out what looked to be a phone from his pocket. It was a tracker. Especially used to indicate the whereabouts of all members of the Zoldyck family. It tapped into their phones and pinned their locations on the black screen for all of them to see. Several dots were clustered together on the Mountain, while another was farther away. Somewhere in the ocean. A grandparent could never be too careful when it comes to the safety of his family. Homeland security has nothing on him. “It looks like Illumi is still sailing—”

Zifira leaned over Psyche to get a closer look. “Why is the dot not moving?” 

“It’s old, like me, and has seen better days. Either it’s buffering or Illumi, and along with the ship, have sunk to the bottom of the ocean. We’ll know soon enough.”

Psyche’s complexion turned ghostly pale.

 Zeno took note of her reaction. “Apparently, Kukan’yu is experiencing yet another monsoon.” 

“When do they not have monsoons!” Zifira laughed. 

Psyche’s heart felt like it was sinking to the bottom of the ocean too. Then the dot moved forward and a weight instantly lifted off her heart and rose her towards the surface. Her eyes glimmered at the screen, “it’s moving again!” 

“That is good news indeed! Will you do your grandfather a favor and hold onto it for me? My heart shudders to a break everytime I see his dot still.”

Psyche slowly gripped the tracker in her hands. “It’s no problem at all.” 

“It warms my heart, truly it does, to know that you have so much faith, trust, and unadulterated confidence in Illumi during this intense period of his life while he has ventured away from home to take the hunter exam—whose life could end at any moment because of the extremely disastrous circumstances—but you refuse to get bogged down by the danger, blood hoppers, and lack of waivers. You believe he is strong enough despite the dangerous and impossible odds he is going to face. Alone. All by himself. No allies. No friends. No family. No pleasant company to keep his spirit going strong. When he is shivering at night his only solace is the comfort of his dear wife keeping him in her thoughts and prayers. That will give him warmth, if he doesn’t die of frostbite first.”

Psyche steadied herself on the settee. Was this what it felt like to have an aneurysm? She could feel her heart thrashing around in her throat. 

Their job here was done.

“Up we go. Goodnight, Psyche.” Zeno groaned as he stood up. “Perhaps tomorrow you can inform us of Illumi’s status. Dead. Alive. MIA. Stabbed. Eaten. Drowned.” 

“Blown up. Torched. Incinerated. Remember when they had one phase over a volcano.” 

“How could I not?” Zeno smiled fondly. There were so many casualties. “I wonder how the committee will outdo themselves this year.”  

“In the morning, I’ll have the butlers bring us tea and snacks and we’ll make an event out of it.” Zifira kissed Psyche on her forehead. “Sleep well, my darling.” 

The crushing fear of becoming a widow kept Psyche up all night. It was then, when the moon was high and the stars lined the midnight sky, Psyche booked a flight to Dolle Harbor in Kukan’yu. 

Illumi was right, he will see her soon. 

Chapter Text

The sea was unforgiving and so was the Captain of the ship. The captain held fast onto the ship’s wheel and stirred the course of his vessel, hurdling past monstrous waves that could easily swallow them whole. His ghost white fingers gripped the wood so tight, a sailor thought he was going to break the helm in two. Another year, another round of delivering pools of hunter applicants. Year by year, the applicant pool seemed less promising. Ambition was replaced with gluttonous greed by those thinking they’d get rich quick by becoming hunters. Honor and valor were replaced by corrupt and wicked intentions, desiring power for their own selfish gain. It became a skill of the Captain’s to look at any applicant from head to toe and know who was going to stand beside him by the journey’s end, and possibly make it to the hunter exam in one piece. It became second nature to him, as if sniffing the air to predict the onslaught of a raging storm. Who among the sniveling fleet of boys longing for home distinguished themselves as hunters? 

The Captain roared a battle cry as the ship pounced on a wave and plunged back into the water. Rattling the masts and helm with vicious vigor. The thrill of danger pulsed through the captain’s veins as the storm dared to sink his ship and all of his passengers. “Oliggel.”

The boy tied a rope around his waist and secured it to a pole. He yanked on it a few times, for good measure. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be catapulted through the glass windows and drown. Oh no, he placed a pillow of makeshift duck feathers in between the rope and himself. He was going to live, god dammit. 

The captain sighed. “You look pathetic.” 

“What was that?” 

The captain turned around and roared. “You look pathetic!”
 

“Say what you will.” The boy tightened the rope around his waist and pillow of duck feathers. Duck feathers save lives and pathetic boys live another day. “But I’m surviving this journey without so much as a scratch.” 

“Are you comfortable, boy? Do you want a cup of tea or a blanket? Or perhaps you’d like to take a nap for the rest of the journey?” The captain began to laugh, holding back tears. “We can have the crew sing you a lullaby!” The captain now doubled over in laughter, one arm on the wheel and another slapping against his leg.

The boy narrowed his eyes, not appreciating being made fun of. “If I wanted a squabble of seagulls squawking in my ears then I wouldn't have bothered to board the ship.” 

“The last thing a sailor does on a ship is insult another’s voice. It’s enough to get you thrown overboard.”

“And now you tell me of a kinder fate. Doesn’t matter, I'm not a sailor. And you all sound terrible.” 

“That’s right. You’re not.” The captain’s voice lowered to a cold pitch. “You’re a hunter. Hard to believe.” 

“What is it about me that makes it so hard to believe? When people look at me they see a hunter, on the way to becoming a single star hunter might I add, one who is a pillar in the progression and innovation of the very foundation of the hunter association through unadulterated diligence, hard work, and admirable might. I cannot take all the credit, but we have reached another cornerstone of ground breaking research because of me and my colleagues' contributions—”

“I see a duck.” The Captain quacked. 

The boy huffed. His feathered pillow did look a little ridiculous. 

The captain groaned, aggravated. “You should probably spend less time around that mentor of yours, you’re beginning to sound just like him.” The captain was only met with silence as the boy stared back at him as if he was confused as a gull rifling through the dry sand dunes pecking at halved mollusks and broken crab shells wondering why there wasn’t anything to eat. “Pariston Hill.” The captain uttered, as if probing the boy’s memory. 

“ Paris to close friends. Pariston Hill to those who've yet to be.” 

Pariston had close friends? Little boys knew better than to tell blatant lies. “I am this close to throwing you and your duck off my ship. Now do what you came here for and put that ground breaking research of yours to good use. I can barely stomach slackers just as much as Paris." The Captain accentuated the last word mockingly. 

"Believe me, it's the only reason that I'm here." The boy opened his laptop and on his screen showed a live video feed of all the applicants being held below deck. His groundbreaking research dived into the fascinating realm of facial recognition technology. Red targets quickly zipped from one man to another documenting their facial features and recording all that information away in the Hunter Association's database for future statistical analysis. By doing so, statisticians will be better able to more accurately estimate the probability of applicants who apply and venture to retake the Hunter exam every year. And if there are unsavory characters who misbehave, everything they do will be documented. 

The red target landed on a peculiar man. This applicant's complexion was purple, as if he deprived himself the luxury of breathing. The program was slower to analyze him than the other applicants, due to the absurd amount of gold ornaments embedded in his face that interfered with the facial recognition system. Were those piercings? His hair was the easiest to analyze, but the freakiest by far. It was a deeper shade of purple that withstood the weight of gravity as it unnaturally stuck upward in wild, unkempt spikes. The other applicants couldn't help themselves from noticing the strange man's demeanor either. Not that they were anything un-ordinary either. But they did well to stay away from him, as if they were a bunch of shivering mice, huddling together in the corner watching the black cat licking its paws with wide eyes staring right back at them. Each ready for the other to make the first move. 

Those that haven’t succumbed to ravaging waves that rocked the ship kept themselves busy thinking of happier, and less nauseating, thoughts. Like land, preferably land that is still and motionless and doesn't roll them in every direction, but mostly the girls they’ve left behind to take the exam. One by one, the men regaled the stories of the gals that whisked away their hearts. The more they talked about their loves, the less seasick they felt.

“I got a girl back home.” One man began as the others leaned in expectantly. “She is the most beautiful girl you've ever seen.” He pulled a picture of her out from his breast pocket and showed her off, winning the ohs and aws from the other applicants. Until he met a reaction he hadn’t expected. A frown. It felt like a personal offense. It was a perfectly good reason to clobber the fool right then and there. 

“That can’t be true.” The offender said.

“Excuse me? What do you mean by that?” The man stood up, fighting against the rocking waves, and puffed up his chest defiantly. 

“Allow me to show you exactly what I mean.” The burly man reached for his back, where his sword was, and just when everyone thought he was about to pull out his weapon—he whipped out a photograph of his wife. “Since my girl is the most beautiful there is, was, and ever will be.” 

Everyone gasped. She was very pretty. 

The man looked at the photo of the offender’s wife, but she paled in comparison to his own. “My girl enjoys romantic walks on the beach, and so do I.” 

The offender laughed, he wasn’t about to back down. “I listen to my wife recite poetry because she is an intelligent woman of letters. They’re so beautiful, I cry.” 

The man bumped into the offender with his puffed up chest. “My girl likes to cuddle and I let her be the big spoon.” 

The offender bumped him back. Hard. “When my wife comes home from work I give her foot rubs as a queen deserves.” 

The man ripped open his shirt showing off a tattoo of a heart with the names of the two loves of his life. His mom and his girlfriend. 

The two men were at each other’s throats. 

Until a third intervened. “Gentlemen, have some self restraint. Both of your ladies are wonderful in their own right. BUT THEY ARE NOT GODDESSES LIKE MINE.” The man opened his wallet which revealed an assortment of pictures of his numerous daughters. He bellowed. “These are the faces of perfection. NOW WEEP.” 

The men were ready to brawl. Their weapons were unsheathed. Their teeth were gnashed. This became more than the hunter exam….the loves of their lives were on the line and they will defend them with honor! 

The man with the golden needles rattled as he stood up.

The entire lot of men backed up against the wall. This was the moment where they were all going to die. They eyed the porthole wondering how much of themselves they’d have to suck in to squeeze through it. 

Gittarackur reached into his vest pocket. 

One man got on his knees to pray for the first time in his life for whichever god is out there to be merciful. 

They all screamed when he pulled out his weapon—oh, it was a piece of paper. Guess, it didn’t require much for him to do them all in. Finally, when the screaming died down and the men realized that they were still alive they looked at the paper, really looked at it. It was a photograph. 

Not just any photograph. 

No. 

It was a photograph of a babe! 

Gittarackur pointed to it. “My wife.” 

Fear melted away as the crowd of men whooped, “one of us! One of us! One of us!” Welcoming Gittarackur into this strange brotherhood of men, who barely knew each other yet shared a kindred devotion of the women they adored in their lives.  

Gittarackur rattled, happily. 

Back above the ship, the hunter named Oliggel scanned the face of Gittarackur and saved it into a separate file. One that was not connected to the Hunter Association’s database.  

Once Upon a Time. 

Those were Psyche’s favorite words. Once upon , based on the fundamental principles of fairy tales these words cleverly spun together signified a moment unlike any other. There was none before it, and nothing like it to come after. A time . These words held the most importance of all. It happened. It did. Love happened. It’s real and it's hers. Once Upon a Time. The writers of old knew the power hidden in these words, and so did she. Those words were the prelude to a great love.

Psyche’s life didn’t begin with Once Upon a Time, but she remembered the moment when it did. All because of him . She was six, an age when impulsiveness and selfishness peak in young and restless minds. An age where dimple cheeks and angelic smiles would no longer guarantee her entrance inside the Zoldyck Estate. She was old enough to fight, kill and therefore open the testing gates on her own.

Now, she had to be tested. And the testing gates won. One by one, her siblings pushed through those towering gray stones and made their way to the Zoldycks. One by one, they left her behind. It was the greatest disappointment of her young life when those stones wouldn’t budge for her. She spent the better half of the next hour crying softly to herself in Zebro’s office as they watched tour bus after tour bus come by. Lamentation tours, it was called. No one dared try to open the gates, they only posed and took pictures. Some children even dared each other to touch it. Standing several feet back, arms rigidly held in front of them like wires while the children behind them goded them on. Nudging any daring child forward. One boy grabbed the child who was pushing him from behind and the two began to quarrel until a little girl stomped in front of the rowdy crowd, slammed her hand on the gate, for a whole 5 seconds, then walked away as the children whooped in her honor.

Psyche was tired of waiting. When Zebro was helping to fix a flattened tire on the Lamentation Tour bus she took the key to the intruder door. She rattled the key in the lock and with a click, she walked right in. Already heading towards the manor. 

She didn’t think Mike would attack her having already seen her multiple times before inside the estate’s grounds when her and Illumi would play together on the playground. Regardless, Mike had orders. Kill everyone that enters through the intruder’s door. Little girls weren’t an exception. Mike pounced, paws off the ground, with its jaw opened wide to snatch Psyche. 

Illumi got to Psyche first. That was when her Once Upon a Time began.  

“Stand down, Mike!” Illumi barked at Mike, who was still snapping its razor sharp jaws and chasing Illumi as he carried Psyche from tree to tree. Mike’s jaws snapped at the branches, bringing old trees down to the ground with a thunderous crash. Illumi slammed his hand down on Mike’s snout. Crushing the ground beneath the guard dog as it whimpered beneath its master’s hand. Illumi’s eyes were dark and bleak as he said grimly, “you don’t eat this one.”

The guard dog stayed there even after Illumi slowly lifted his hand off Mike’s snout. 

Psyche leaned her head against Illumi’s shoulder. She was six years old and she was in love. “You’re my hero.” 

Illumi titled his head away from her. He was eight years old, too cynical for his age, and dreadfully annoyed. He put Psyche down and reached into his pockets. The bones he had collected in there were smashed from trying to dodge Mike’s attacks. He could glue them back together later—

“Um, thank you for saving me, I–” 

Illumi snatched the key from her and flipped it in his hand. “This isn’t yours.” He deadpanned. 

Psyche looked down at the ground. “I was only borrowing it.”  

“Thief.” Illumi sang. 

“I’m sorry,” Psyche could feel herself shrinking. “I just wanted to see you.” 

Illumi paused for a brief moment. He didn’t expect that, or believe it. He reached into his pocket and grabbed an object and placed it in her own. When he let go, it was a tiny gray skull of a mouse. 

Psyche blinked. Then she smiled. “Thank you!”

Illumi narrowed his eyes. Vexed. He thought she was going to scream. How boring. He took the skull back and into his pocket. “You’ve seen me. Now you can go back the way you came.” When he turned around something stopped him. Psyche grabbed the back of his jacket. He growled. 

“I’m scared to go back by myself.” Psyche turned around and shivered when Mike was still looking at her. The guard dog licked his tongue against his teeth. 

Illumi sighed. “Mike will kill anyone who doesn’t enter through the testing gate. If you were scared then you shouldn’t have come inside. The tourists have more sense than you—” 

Psyche’s eyes were watering. 

Illumi groaned. He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her back to the intruder’s door. Psyche noticed that he had bandages along his neck, and a bandaid on his cheek. 

“What happened to you?” 

“These?” Illumi pointed to his wounds. “Training. Don’t you train?” 

Psyche nodded. “Mama heals our wounds when she’s done training us, so we don’t wear bandages often.” 

“Shh. No talking.” Illumi regretted answering. It would take him longer to bring her back if they kept talking the entire time. 

“Do you want to play a game?” 

Illumi literally said not to talk. “With who?” 

“Me.” 

“No. Walk faster.” Illumi was already doing something before she showed up and decided to become Mike’s dinner.  

Psyche looked around the woods, “I spy with my little eye…” 

“You can keep talking, but only to yourself.” Illumi made an ultimatum. He didn’t feel like talking, especially not after his training session with his father. He just wanted to be left alone. 

Psyche huffed, dragging her feet. “You used to play with me.” 

Illumi tugged her hand. “Those were baby games. I’m not a baby anymore.” 

“Remember when you gave me a diamond?” 

Illumi turned his head around and raised an eyebrow. There weren’t any mines or diamonds on Kukuroo Mountain. Nor would he go into his mother’s jewelry box and take one. If Illumi did find a diamond hidden somewhere in the Mountain then he was going to keep it for himself. “No.”

“Why do you have bones in your pocket?” 

“Because.” 

“Why?” 

“Why not.” 

“But why?”

“Why not.” Illumi pulled her arm and pushed her to the other side of the gate. He tossed the key back to her. 

Psyche almost fell when he did. 

“Don’t come back until you can open THAT.” He pointed towards the testing gate then slammed the door shut. 

Psyche has loved Illumi ever since she was a little girl. It was fitting that he was the start of her Once Upon a Time. Psyche excitedly hurried out of her room with all of her packed belongings. She didn’t waste one minute of her night tossing and turning restlessly, wondering if that was the last time she was ever going to see Illumi. Instead of planning a funeral or writing a rough draft of a eulogy smeared with teardrops, she bought tickets to Dolle Harbor and held the tracker Zeno gave her from last night in her hands. Illumi was already on land. Thank god the sea didn’t claim him. She was too young to be a widow. She slung her bag over her shoulder and passed Amane who was carrying a silver mirrored tray which held a bowl of sapphire and crimson berries, a plate of honey baked biscuits, and a tea cup with a small teapot. 

Amane hadn’t expected Psyche to be up already. Her orders were to serve Psyche breakfast in bed. “Mistress, forgive me for not awakening you sooner.” 

“Good morning, Amane. Are these for me?” Psyche looked at the delicately arranged tray, happily.  

“Yes, will you have breakfast in your room? Or on the balcony with the family?” 

“Thank you.” Psyche took a biscuit off the tray and bit into it. The sweetness of the honey coated biscuit tingled her mouth. “If it was any other day I’d love to, but it’ll have to be neither.” 

Amane nodded, so her Mistress will be skipping breakfast and would like to proceed onward to today’s activities. “Of course. We do have a busy day ahead of us.” 

“I will be taking a rain check on all of it. You can take the day off, Amane. What do you like to do for fun?”

Amane was perplexed. Fun wasn’t allowed until her shift ended. “From the moment you wake till the moment you fall asleep, my duty is to faithfully serve you.” 

Psyche lightly scrunched her nose. “That doesn’t sound like fun.” 

A small smile cracked on Amane’s lips.

“If you are to follow my orders, then I order you to have a day of absolute leisure. Treat yourself. Have a biscuit.” Psyche handed her a biscuit. 

Amane took it, but wouldn't eat it. “Why is that?” Amane wasn’t sure what to do, she had specific orders from Kikyo to help acclimate Psyche to the household. A butler shouldn’t defy their master’s orders, but defying Kikyo was even more terrifying.   

Psyche smiled, twirling dreamily. Amane straggled behind her. “I’m going to see my husband.” 

“I wasn’t notified that Master Illumi returned home yet.” 

“He hasn’t, and I expect he won't for some time.” 

Amane looked confused as she fretfully followed Psyche into the living room where Zeno and Zifira were taking their morning tea. The grandparents both looked at eachother with knowing smiles. Zifira stirred her tea as she spoke to Psyche and pretended to be surprised by her ready-to-track-down-my-husband attire, “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully.” Psyche woke up enlightened with only one goal in mind. 

“Is that so? We were beginning to worry that we may have stressed you out, only a bit, over all the numerous and painful ways Illumi could die. Please don’t feel as if that was our intention from the start, a grandmother cannot help but worry after her grandchildren. You can simply never be too careful.” 

“It didn’t stress me out at all.” Stress didn’t even begin to cover how she felt. Psyche had a nightmare in which Illumi was dragged beneath the floorboards of her room by a ravenous blood hopper, and when it was done feasting on her beloved the creature coughed up his hideous green suit with puffed sleeves and used Illumi’s gold needles to pick out the bits of her husband stuck between thousands of its teeth. So yes, she had a very pleasant, stress free night. “I didn’t know there were so many ways to die while endeavoring to take the hunter exam.” 

“Murder. It is what we do best. Oh! Are you going out?”  

Psyche’s smile beamed. “For a bit.” 

Zeno’s tea cup clinked against his saucer. “What of Illumi’s status? Don’t tell me the poor boy has managed to fall dead into a ditch already?” 

Psyche showed them the tracker and the little dot that was slowly moving on land. “He’s alive! The coordinates indicate that he is heading towards Zaban City.” 

Zeno feigned relief, placing a withered hand over his heart. “This is good news. I am a stronger man than I was yesterday.” 

Zifira nodded. “That is good, good news, indeed. But what will you do with this news?” 

“I think I'll be able to meet him on the way. He’s not too difficult to track down. Just to wish him good luck before the exam and boost his morale.” And to make sure he gets there safely too. Psyche pulled her printed out ticket from her purse. 

“That’s an excellent idea! It will be the most wonderful surprise for Illumi. Why hadn’t we thought of this sooner, Zeno!” 

“I feel as if I'm under-equipped to aid you in your journey–oh!” Zeno smiled, lightly, and gestured for Psyche to come closer to him. He whipped out a piece of paper that already had Illumi’s phone number written on it. Just in case she needed it. For this exact situation. “His phone number. I can’t guarantee he’ll answer, being that he is so focused on getting to the exam. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.” 

Psyche took her husband’s phone number and held it as if it was the winning lottery ticket, “Thank you.” 

Zifira smiled. “You’re family now. And family helps track down family.” 

Psyche could cry. Having caring grandparents was a beautiful blessing. “Thank you. Grandfather. Grandmother.”

“If only we could help more,” Zifira sighed. 

“Alas. Our hands are tied.” Zeno sighed deeply.

“You’ve helped me plenty.” 

Milluki barged into the room with his hair combed neatly back, his shirt iron-pressed and tucked neatly into his jeans. He looked like the spitting image of a telemarketer. He walked rigidly as if  he was nervous about something. Or someone. 

Psyche smiled at him, “Good morning.”

Milluki tripped on his own feet, and cursed himself internally for it. “G-good morning.” Milluki looked at Psyche from head to toe–and she noticed. “You haven’t been taken to Mike, yet?” He turned to Amane, vexed. Amane shuddered. 

Psyche blinked. “The guard dog? Why?” 

Milluki composed himself. “So Mike will know that you are a part of the family he has to protect. He needs to be able to differentiate you from outside threats and classify you as a Zoldyck. We wouldn’t want him to potentially attack you or neglect to protect you if your life's in danger, regardless of how you enter or leave the estate grounds. Amane should have explained this to you and taken you to his kennel by now.” He sneered at the young butler. He saw the biscuit in her hands. “And you’re eating? ON DUTY?” 

“Forgive me, Master Milluki.” Amane bowed, apologetically. The biscuit she was holding felt heavy like a block of cement. 

Milluki stepped forward.

Amane shuddered.

Psyche interjected. “It’s my fault entirely. I was too caught up in my own plans and wouldn’t let Amane explain.” She didn’t want Amane to get into trouble just because she was impatient to leave and find Illumi. She went beside Amane and smiled, motioning that bowing wasn’t necessary. “I hope I won’t make it too hard for you to keep me on the straight and narrow path, but I can’t promise that I won't be trouble from here on out either. So please take care of me.” 

A weight lifted off Amane’s shoulders. Easing her. “Yes, Mistress.” 

“Milluki,” Zeno and Zifira narrowed their eyes towards him. Icy and cold glares that scolded him for daring to interfere with love. 

“Psyche is busy, she can be taken to Mike when she returns from her trip.” Zifira grumbled. 

“But this is Mama’s orders…” 

“Mil, do you do everything your mother tells you to do?” Zeno asked, dryly. 

“Do you?” Milluki barked back. 

“No, I do everything SHE tells me to do.” Zeno pointed his spoon to his wife.

Zifira smiled smugly. “And that’s how it should be.” Zifira leaned towards her husband for a kiss and it was the cutest thing Psyche has ever seen. They were #couplegoals. She couldn’t help but wonder how Illumi is going to react when she sees him. He will be so surprised! 

“It’s alright. Amane can take me to Mike. I’d rather it be done now than later or else the idea of turning into his dinner will loom over my head until it gets done. Though, I don’t think I’d make a good appetizer.” Psyche turned to Amane and laughed. 

Milluki gestured for Amane to stand aside. “This duty falls on a member of the Zoldyck Family to carry out. You may leave.” He opened the door for Psyche and guided her towards Mike’s kennel. 

Zeno’s shoulders slouched when they all left the room, the weight of immense disappointment bending his back. He groaned miserably. “One dog leading her to another.” 

“Zeno,” Zifira chastised him. “The only dog to worry about is the one sitting directly across from me.” 

Zeno barked once. 

“You’re terrible.” 

“I love you.” 

They clinked their tea cups together, celebrating their scheming going according to plan. 

Water pooled in Psyche’s palms as she held them under the running faucet. She rinsed her mouth out, washing away the lingering taste of boys and midnight kisses from her pink lips. She slowly traced her fingers over her lips, and they still tingled as if Illumi hadn’t stopped kissing her in his bed. Was this what kissing the boy of your dreams felt like? As if every kiss was coated with shooting stars and each was a wish come true. Illumi. Everything about him was intoxicating. Her body shivered as she replayed those memories of him and her entwined laying together in his bed. Like revisiting a delicious dream—only it was real and it was hers. His muscles were raw iron. His arms were strong as he held her legs wide apart. Psyche ashamedly blushed when Illumi saw how wet she was and teased her for it. 

“Did you think of me?” Illumi leaned his head against her thigh. His hair tickled her skin. There was a strikingly beautiful duality about Illumi that Psyche adored. Strands of black hair softly fell just over his face, it was beginning to grow long enough that it started to cover his eyes. There was an aura of innocence as he blew away a strand from his face and looked up at her with warmth, awaiting her response with earnestness. Yet, he was terribly bad in all the best ways. He wouldn’t act until she answered him despite already knowing the answer, all because selfishly enough, he wanted to hear her words drip for him. He wanted her to admit to wanting him. Wanting him so badly she couldn’t think of anything else nor care about anyone else. 

Always. I always think of you. Psyche wanted to admit, but she only had the strength to say, “yes.” Psyche’s voice was soft. Weakened by the weight of her thundering heart. 

He kissed her inner thigh. Slowly moving downward at a languid pace–watching Psyche become twisted in an aching knot of want from denying her when he stopped. “How long?” Illumi did not take his eyes off her. He was the kind of boy that enjoyed seeing the girl he liked fall short of words because he had the power to take them all away—with a look, a kiss, a touch—or lack thereof. 

Illumi stroked her between her legs with his hand—Psyche arched her back in surprise. Stifling a moan as she breathed in deeply. Illumi snickered, watching as her hips lifted up as his hand did. Her body wanted him, that was clear. His fingers came back wet and he brought them to his parted lips. A precious hue of pink fading across his cheeks. His tongue gently licked the tips with light brushes, not taking his eyes off her as he sucked on his middle finger. His lips finished with a little pop when he was done, making her burn between her legs. 

“All day. I thought about you all day.” Psyche could no longer deny the scorching fire that burned for him as agony laced her words. She wanted him to touch her–she’d willingly lay herself down for him to devour her. Now, it has become painfully unbearable. She was addicted to him, that was irrefutably undeniable.   

Illumi smiled. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. 

Illumi gripped her hips and pressed his fingers into her skin. Trapping her beneath him as he lapped at her core. He parted her folds and flicked the tip of his tongue against her just to hear the sound of her first moan before he began to suck at the peak of her cunt. Psyche fanned her arms beside herself, clasping the sheets as he sent waves of pleasure building up inside of her. She learned early on that Illumi wasn’t kind—he would start off slowly. Circling his tongue with languid motions leaving her wanting so badly until she found herself begging him to go faster. He’d grant her wish and push his tongue harder against her, quickening the pace. Self restraint was a myth, he’d surprise himself of how badly he wanted to eat her out. Her sharp and broken breathing fuelled him as he sent her spiraling towards climaxing. He knew he sent her tumbling towards ruin when her legs would quiver and shake, and her moans became so powerful she’d cover her mouth with her hand as if that could restrain her from crying out loud. Illumi liked her this way as silence didn’t suit her. He grabbed a hold onto her tighter, refusing to let her legs snap shut. 

When he was finished, it felt as if Psyche was just coming back into her own body. Slowly regaining her senses remembering where she was; she was in Illumi’s room lying on his bed that felt like a cloud of pure enchantment. Then she looked back at him and shuddered. Wondering whether she was going to be ripped from the clouds and plunge back into savage waves of Illumi’s wicked delights. 

Illumi kneeled between her legs and looked as if he was facing an imminent crisis. His breathing was deeper, cheeks were reddened and his eyes were cloudy with an unmistakably thick haze of lust that wasn’t easily extinguishable. His lips were glossy–traces of her he hadn’t bothered to wipe away and took his time savoring. He took his time, enjoying every morsel just like dessert. Even Illumi fell prey to such weaknesses. But below his waist was what scared and excited Psyche the most—he was hard. And he wanted to do something about it. 

“Talk some sense to me.” IIlumi breathed, bare chest rising and falling, his voice breaking—on the verge of begging. He would submit himself to desperation if it meant he could feel himself inside of her. He forgot about the world and only thought of her. There was nothing more he ever wanted than to have her walls close around him and not let go until he came inside her. She was already so wet, it would be so easy for him to slide himself deep within her. In his mind, he was already fucking her. Pinning her legs down to the bed and shaking the bed frame with powerful thrusts. If someone didn’t reason with him now then he was bound to make a mistake. The longer he waited, the less he gave a damn about reason. “Please.” 

That was Illumi’s mistake. He entrusted her to reason with him. But she desired him too. She wanted to know what he felt like inside of her. Merciless and without restraint. “Do you have…” She gulped. “Condoms?” She said softly. She never had penetrative sex with Illumi before–she’d never done anything like this with a boy before either. He was her first for everything. And she wanted her first time to be with him too.

“Don’t ask me that.” He wondered how it would feel to graze the tip of his cock against her. How it would slip between her folds and then—Even if it were just the tip to go inside her and nothing more. “My mother would kill me. Then your mom would kill me again.”

“That’s overkill.” 

“It still wouldn’t be enough.” The longer he waited, the more his cock swelled with insatiable impatience. Rising unabashedly with an erection. He could fuck her hard. Her opened legs invited him to. All he had to do was withdraw from her before he came. He was already throbbing, and the head of his cock dripped with a clear fluid. But the withdrawal method wasn’t entirely risk free either. 

“That’s not—” Psyche stopped herself. No, it was true. If Illumi got her pregnant then one of them would wound up dead. Still…she grazed her finger over his tip, Illumi breathlessly closed his eyes and moaned. Psyche lowered her hand and squeezed around his shaft—tightening her grip as she began stroking him. Illumi dropped lower, palms resting on the bed, hips slowly rolling forward and back as her hand did over his stiff cock.

“Ah–” A moan escaped his pink lips. “Ah.” 

“Does it feel good?”

“I want you.” 

Again. She wanted to hear him say it again. 

As Psyche was stroking him with slow tenderness, all Illumi could think about was watching her face contort with pleasure and pain, with her mouth open wide and tears brimming at the corners of her eyes as he slammed his cock into her with lightning fast shots. No. He wasn’t going to withdraw from her. He wanted her walls to squeeze tight around him until he orgasmed inside her, rendering himself dumb and useless. Every last drop of him was going to leak inside her. She was his and his alone to mark. Then he grabbed her hand, leaned back away from her, and looked up at the ceiling. Regaining his breath, sighing, “you’re not helping.” 

“I am.” Psyche pressed her thighs around him and she noticed the way his breath hitched and hips easily swayed forward when she did. He was looking for reason in all the wrong places and he would not find any of his conscience within her, let alone himself. “I want to help you in every way that I can. If you’ll let me.” 

He will hate himself in the morning, and probably every morning for the rest of his life for what he was about to do next. He leaned his head down to her stomach, his bangs bruising against her with feather-like kisses, and groaned. He propped up his head, resting his chin on her, and mouthed the words, “Black Angel.” Now, he tested the words out loud on his tongue just to see how they would sound. To see if they would bewitch him just as everything else about her did. “Black Angel.” 

“That’s what they call me.” 

“For an angel, you are very cruel.” 

“That’s about right.” 

Illumi bent his head down, hiding his smile from her. Suppressing a laugh. 

“Why do you do that?” 

He whipped his head back up. “Oh, do what?” 

“You have such a beautiful smile. Don’t hide it.” 

How could she say something like that and expect him not to hide away his blushing face? He flipped onto his back to lay beside her—which took all his strength. Resisting the girl he wanted to have sex with who also wanted to have sex with him was the hardest thing he’s ever hard to do. Damn, he’s an idiot. “I’m a man and I'll hide if I want to.” 

Illumi kissed her on her lips, a spark of embers ignited him and he cursed himself for fueling that fire. But one more kiss couldn’t hurt. Right? One kiss landed after another, becoming an insatiable frenzy, until they were both sweating and burning—and his engorged cock didn’t cease to harden. Between kisses, between the broken breaths, he told her to go. She wouldn’t. 

“I have become a bad influence on you.” 

She kissed him harder, letting her push him back against the bed and caving in the more he felt her bare skin upon his own. He moaned softly. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” She loomed over him, ready to straddle herself on his hips. “I can do it.”

Illumi stared up at her with the dim lights shining down on her head creating a halo. He was going to say yes.

And, for once, that scared him. 

He was quick to act. Grasping her arms and throwing her back down on his bed, pinning her beneath him. Psyche gasped as his lips crashed against her neck and hands roamed her body coated with a heavy tang of lust. He grabbed, he pried, he nipped at her skin. She yelped, she cried, she called out his name. By morning, she’ll find dark crescent marks scattered on her neck. 

He needs a release, or else he won’t make it through the night without sleep. He’ll toss and turn and his blood will boil until the sun rises. Illumi leaned backwards, leaving Psyche to only hold the warm night summer air against her bare chest. He reached his hand out and clasped Psyche’s chin, circling her moist lips with his thumb—prying them open. His voice was heavy, “you help me more than you realize.” He probed his thumb into her mouth and caressed it over her tongue—then pushed himself deeper into the back of her throat. 

Psyche whimpered.

“Look up at me.” 

She did. Mouth opened wide with him in it. 

“Good girl,” he smiled while lowering her head towards his groin. “Now—ah. Yes—like that.” Her lips sucked the head of his cock—and slowly sunk her head further down, forcing Illumi to let out a shameless groan. Engulfing his shaft that pressed firmly against the insides of her cheeks. 

Psyche pushed her tongue around his throbbing mass and pulled her head back. Looking up at him while she did, watching him slowly unravel in front of her and succumb to this forbidden language of a young lover’s lips.   

Illumi’s body was shivering when she pushed her head down on him—then back up. ‘Ah—” A comfortable rhythm was met when Illumi slowly reclined onto his back; head turning to the side with his mouth agape while moaning softless hymns of euphoric rapture. All ration and reason and common sense easily escaped him, forgetting anything and everything as she consumed him. This was where he desired to be. Moments where he was far detached from his own mind—away from his own merciless darkness. Gasping for air and gripping her hair as her movements became faster and messier. He could feel his hips rising, pressure building, back arching, he was standing on the edge of the shore and a tsunami was about to crash against the sand dunes and then—

He whipped his head back and roared as all his muscles tensed into an electrifying explosion. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession as he came inside her. Feeling everything inside of him rapidly jet out until there was nothing left. When his hips fell back down all he could so was lie there stupidly, huffing and immobilized, and watch as his thick, white liquid dripped down her perfect lips. “Thank…you.” Illumi was barely able to breath out. 

Psyche spat into the sink. 

The faucet hummed a low whistle as water swirled in the sink. She pulled back her hair and examined her neck, tracing the marks he left on her. Still fresh. Still raw. 

Once the high wore off, a bitter taste snapped at the back of her throat. Was it always going to be like this? The chagrin residue of embarrassment spiraled down the bathroom sink and plunged into the drain. Sneaking kisses in empty rooms when no one was looking, getting down on her knees when night fell, and fighting the urge to hold his hand in front of their families. Psyche was doomed to a lousy fate of falling in love with a boy who wanted to keep her a secret, and in his bed. 

She wanted him to take her rollerblading and hold her hand on the rink while 80s music blared over their heads and they’d have to yell into each other's ears just to manage fragments of a conversation. She wanted him to take her to the movie theater and share a big bucket of buttery popcorn and he would pretend to yawn and stretch and casually wrap his arm around her shoulder because maybe she was getting a little cold sitting in the back of the theater despite being comfortably warm. She wanted to lie with him in his family’s mountains under the shifting clouds in the pale blue sky and slowly fall deeper in love while listening to Edwin McCain’s ‘I’ll Be’ each sharing the same pair of earbuds. She wanted to turn around and have him surprise her with a bouquet of flowers not because it was valentine’s day or her birthday or any other reason other than that he was her boyfriend and felt like giving his girlfriend flowers. 

Psyche wanted Illumi to call her his girlfriend. She wants to one day be his wife. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, she wished Eros was here. Maybe he’d tell her how stupid she was for falling in love with the worst kinds of boys. 

The next morning when she awoke, wiping away the stains of dried up tears, she found a bouquet of flowers just outside her door. Even before opening the door, she could smell the overpowering allure of lilacs that reached every corner of her room, making her feel guilty she was crying about Illumi at all. Between the white roses, which made it even more divine, there was a little card. The lettering was typed out in a shiny black font, ‘I’m a gift.” And what a wonderful gift it is! She looked on the back of the card, but it did not say who it was from. 

She already knew.

This was Illumi’s declaration of his love for her. He left it outside her door waiting for her to see it. How long has it been there and how many butlers saw it this morning? How many whispers flung full force into delicious gossip that drifted through the servants corridors like a powerful wind? This meant that he wanted to go public. He was done keeping her in the dark. 

Psyche carried the bouquet with her to the patio where she knew he would be. 

In the summer, the Zoldyck children always had breakfast on the patio. Where the warm sunlight filters through the glass panels as they overlook the Mountainscape. Illumi was sitting at the table, eating breakfast with the rest of his siblings. Milluki was eating a hefty platter of eggs and bacon and oven roasted tomatoes, and Killua only ate the marshmallows from his bowl of cereal while picking out the oats and flinging them at Illumi’s head. Eldest siblings never fall short of duties. Illumi swallowed a mouthful of food as he wiped a napkin across Kalluto’s face where his brother seemed to get oatmeal everywhere except in his mouth despite being old enough to feed himself. The messier Kalluto was with his food the more Killua paid attention to him and laughed. And when his face was clean, Killua would turn his attention back to Alluka. Kalluto frowned, face turning a bright shade of red. Illumi didn’t understand why Kalluto was so upset when he started to cry. Illumi thought it was because of him, but then Kalluto cried in sometimes soft, sometimes sharp whimpers that Killua hates him. 

“Killua,” Illumi knocked at the setting in front of Killua when he wasn’t listening. Killua never bothered himself to listen to Illumi. “Give Kalluto a hug.” Killua’s chair screeched when he ran from his side of the table to Kalluto. He wrapped his arms tightly around his little brother and kissed him on the forehead, shushing fat tears out of existence, no one had to tell Killua to give anyone kisses. He could do that himself. 

There were a lot of things Illumi liked about Psyche. He liked that she wasn’t intimidated about who he was. Naturally many would say the Zoldycks have a special place in hell for what they are, not that Illumi cared what outsiders–or the Lamentation Tours rides that periodically drive by his home daily—thought of him and his family. You don’t have to be a killer to have a special spot reserved next to the devil. Many can by leading less than ordinary lives. If one was the type to believe in those things like a little horned man wielding a spiky fork, cackling beneath the earth. He didn’t consider himself religious but he was, however, inclined to believe in angels. Well, just one, really. Illumi liked that Psyche would listen to him, at first he wondered if she was just messing with him. Casually nodding her head, like nice girls are supposed to do, with thoughtless care as he explained things his own mother wished he wouldn’t idle himself with. Like moss, mushrooms, and metatarsals. Three of his favorite things. 

Since he was a little boy, he took playing dirty literally, as he would always come back into the manor covered with dirt with pockets rattling with rocks and shards of broken ceramic from all the digging he would do. Kikyo would say she didn’t give birth to a little boy, but a goblin. 

Moss that grows on rocks, below the hollowed bark of fallen tree branches, or scaling up the sides of the towering Mountain. Mushrooms that spring from the muddy iron rich soil or spotted fungi that blossom and float on the surface of a cool spring stream just like lily pads. Not to mention bones bones bones bones bones. Kukuroo Mountain was practically a nature reserve and never fell short of all the treasures Illumi would find nestled in the dirt littered with the remains of creatures that once roamed the grounds day and night. He found fragments of mandibles and metatarsals of foxes and fawns; it was rare to find entire skeletons intact. Bones would be scattered meters apart, carried away by scavengers to nests and burrows and dens. Empty turtle shells would best be found by the river bed, or outside Mike’s kennel. Mike had a penchant for snacking on turtles, crushing their tough shells as if they were tic tacs. He knew where to look, wearing rubber gloves and rubber boots and carrying plastic bags and little shovels and brushes. Illumi didn’t know what normal boys did for fun; he found dead things, and to him that was fun. 

None of this weirded Psyche out. On the contrary, she brought him the broken remains of a robin's egg she found underneath an oak tree just outside her home. She unwrapped the delicate blue egg with brown speckles from a handkerchief. She thought he would like it. And to this day, he still has it, in one of his drawers in his room. A blue egg snug in a nest made of white and gray bones of Vulpes vulpes. 

He also liked that she could make his heart beat wilder than it ever had before and have him panting and gasping for air while he was lying on the edge of his bed, making him forget that he ever existed; throwing his head back as he came with her on her knees with his cock in her mouth.

He liked that she would listen to him about things he only had courage to say in the dark…sometimes wishing he could run away with her again. And they were in that same hotel room and there was no world outside those walls except the one within them. She never revealed what was spoken between them at that time either, Psyche was loyal like that. 

But most of all, whatever he wanted her to do—she did it. It was an intoxicating feeling having the power to consume another’s thoughts and actions. And willingly obey him.

Given all these reasons, he couldn't fathom why it struck him odd that she stood there in front of him, thanking him for a bouquet of flowers he had never seen before. Then it occurred to him when he noticed that Milluki was wearing a long sleeved shirt despite it being summer, the band aids that covered the wounds on his wrists caused none other by not knowing how to properly shear roses in a hurry, and the look of internal dread in Milluki’s eyes when Psyche mistook the giver of the bouquet for his older older and not him.

It did not help that Psyche’s sisters dropped whatever conservation they were holding and replaced it with the scene unfolding in front of them. Anomie promised she was going to be cannon fire if Illumi broke her little sister’s heart, not to mention when Chaotica began awwing, attracting the attention of both their mothers. Calypsa and Kikyo dropped their own conversation faster than an egg falling from a nest. Kikyo clasped her hands to her cheeks and never felt prouder that she raised such a gentleman! At that moment, Kikyo knew Illumi was serious about a marriage arrangement with Psyche. Calypsa knew it was inevitably going to happen all along. 

Kikyo cooed, angelically. “Illu, you picked flowers for Psyche! How splendid!” Already, she was planning a wedding date in her head. Counting off boxes on the calendar, opting for Fridays and Saturdays, and crossing off Mondays through Thursdays as definitive No’s. She always wanted to plan a summer wedding.

‘I didn’t.’ Illumi wanted to say, but some things are better left unsaid. It was too early in the morning to break a girl’s heart. 

Psyche’s eyes were sparkling for Illumi. “Thank you for the flowers.” 

Milluki looked like he wanted to throw up everything he just ate. 

“I love them.” Psyche’s cheeks were flushed. Everything she was feeling, she was feeling for Illumi.

Milluki was actually preventing himself from gagging at this point. He could feel acid rush up his esophagus and plummet back down into his stomach. He swallowed vomit and humiliation. 

Milluki chose to hold onto resentment. His fork clanged against the plate, scraping against the dried up residues of egg yolks and burnt bread crumbs from his toast. “Those look tacky.” Despite the fact that he picked them out himself. Rummaging through the gardens, something he never does, like a fool in love. He chose purple because that was Psyche’s favorite color and white because his love for her was pure. He wished Eros was here, he would help make fun of that bouquet and shamelessly wreck it, but Eros stopped visiting when his sisters did. Apparently, he didn’t have the motivation to get out of bed and slept until the sun began to set in the evening. Milluki hated Eros too, of all times he chose now to be depressed? Asshole. 

Illumi looked at his younger brother. Milluki noticed a slight smirk.

If his brother was too cowardly to put his name on the card, then he shouldn’t get credit for it. 

Everyone gasped when Illumi grabbed Psyche’s hand and kissed it, causing a victorious ruckus around them. Psyche looked like she was going to faint from pure happiness. 

The world felt like it was ripped from beneath Milluki’s feet as it went by in a blur. Soon Psyche was next to Illumi, closer than he had ever seen them before. A butler came and put the flowers in a vase and next thing Milluki knew there was already a lilac in Psyche’s hair—Illumi placed it there. How had he missed that from happening when he was staring at them the whole time? 

Milluki’s chair screeched against the tiles and no one bothered to look at him as he left the patio. Everyone was too preoccupied with the bride and groom to be. It made him sick. That’s what he gets for trying to do something nice for someone. Nice guys like him finish last for a reason. Illumi takes all the credit like the fucking asshole that he is. Sometimes Milluki wanted to kill Illumi. He’d get him alone, just the two of them, and Illumi would be begging on his knees and apologizing for ever treating Milluki like shit. The best part was Milluki stepping over Illumi, towering over his older brother, and telling him off in a multitude of ways which usually varied depending on how sour Milluki was feeling that day:

Blood dripped from Illumi’s lips as he shuddered like a scared child, “you…you monster!” 

Milluki used the end of his sword to turn Illumi’s face up, towards his own. This was Milluki’s fantasy, he could have a sword if he wanted to. “There’s worse. I could be you.” 

“NO!” Illumi would scream, defeated by the venomous words alone before Milluki struck him down; killing him once and for all. And Milluki would glow like a fucking god, because he’s just awesome like that and now everyone knows it. Psyche would run up to him, not before trampling over Illumi’s dead body, and would drop herself over Milluki’s armor. Swooning. 

“Illumi was a menace, I’m so happy you killed him.”

“Someone had to do it. Why not me.” Milluki would flip his hair to the side, which would make Chaotica seethe with jealousy and cry, “You’re so lucky, Psyche. I was a fool to turn down Milluki.” Then she would take up his sword and point it towards her chest because a life without Milluki was no life worth living. 

Anomie would grab the sword out of Chaotica’s hands. “It’s not fair! I’ve been too shy to proclaim my love for him and now it's too late. Milluki is too sexy for a girl like me! Without him I’m hideous!” The girl in question had blonde hair, blue eyes, and big boobs. Tragic. “Give me the sword!” The two sisters would ensnare in a fight over who would be spared from a life of total agony first. 

Psyche would lean her head on Milluki and sigh dreamily while drawing a heart on his suit of armor. “They’re so pathetic.” 

“Ladies,” Milluki would say, stopping the girls, swords halted towards their hearts. He opened his arms, grandly. “There is enough of me to go around for all of you.” 

And then Chaotica and Anomie would throw themselves at Milluki too, not before trampling over Illumi’s dead body. Again. 

But then…the bubble burst and reality set in. Milluki remembered who was the stronger of the two, and felt even more miserable than before Psyche entered the patio looking like a summer goddess. Killing Illumi was always going to remain a long desired, yet unfulfilled fantasy. The reason Psyche glowed with radiance was because of Milluki, not Illumi. If she believed otherwise than she was just as stupid as his older brother. Ha! Idiots are suited for each other anyway!

Milluki went into the kitchen and didn’t bother looking at what snacks he ripped from the cabinets. He didn’t care what he ate, he just wanted to eat. Then he went back into his room and filled the growing void inside him with greasy potato chips and doughy chocolate chip cookies. He felt sick afterwards. He wanted to feel sick.

A full stomach fills the space left by an empty, aching heart. 

The Captain watched as the last of the hunter applicants left the ship. Some embarked sooner, others decided it was the end of the line for them and decided to return home. It was for the best, better to cut your losses then lose your life, especially those that have families back home counting on them to survive. This year may be promising, but this was as far as he could go. Maybe he will see the same applicants again on his ship next year. If they don’t get themselves killed while taking the exam. He hoped the man in the green suit would pass so he wouldn't have to see him again. What a freak. He laughed heartily. 

“Oliggel.” The Captain called out to the hunter, whom he saw leaning over the railing of the deck probably puking his guts out. “Congrats, my boy, you survived the journey! How does it feel to earn your sea legs?” 

The boy stayed quiet, body perched over the railing. Motionless. 

“Oliggel?” The Captain reached over to the boy and tapped his shoulder. The body slipped down, abdomen sliding uncomfortably against the rails. Adrenaline spiked in the Captain’s veins as he turned the body over, crying out for the ship’s doctor. Oliggel’s mouth was covered with blood and so was the white pillow that was still strapped around his abdomen. The blood seeped into the pillow creating a giant crater of red, the Captain ripped the pillow away as the doctor examined the wound. The Captain screamed, “Oliggel, hold on a little longer, we’ll take you to the hospital!” 

The doctor shook his head, eyes full of dread. “No need. The boy is already dead. The wound was fatal, but what’s even more alarming is the care, if you can even call it that, that was taken to cover up and dress the wound to prevent excessive bleeding. But not enough to deal with all the muscle and nerve damage sustained from the injury. The dressing was sloppy, as if the person who did this was running short of time.” 

“What are you saying?” 

The doctor scowled. “Someone attended to Oliggel’s wound, but not with the intent to help him. No. They wanted to make sure he could last long enough without bleeding all over the deck for him to do whatever he needed to get done.” 

“Nen curse?”

“Without an autopsy it’s tough to say.” 

“What does your gut say?” 

“I’m almost 70%, no, 80% certain it is.” 

“Damn. That means the boy’s been dead since the moment he stepped on my ship.” The Captain’s been spinning tales with a dead man this entire time.  

“Yes. Notify the Hunter Association. The Hunter Oliggel was murdered and after death was used as a spy.” 

Chapter Text

The first scene in italics is a flashback scene in which Illumi and Kalluto are 20 and 6, respectively.

This chapter focuses mainly on some, but not all, of the Zoldyck kiddos. And the questionable things they do haha :D I apologize in advance T_T

The art of assassination is the art of forgetting. To forget your limits. Your doubts, your pain, your past. That is when the killer locked deep inside is unleashed and the hunt truly begins.

Silva's words rang cold yet true in Illumi's head. Before every kill, and every moment before this one, his father's words were the ones that spoke to him instead of his own. As they should be. His father was experienced and crafted these words specifically tailored for Illumi, just as they were tailored for Silva when he first began to kill. As they were for all Zoldyck sons. These words held onto Illumi like iron coated in petrifying frost, guiding his bloodstained hands to beating hearts he was destined to still.

Illumi's heart thundered, beating like a drum. One by one, men fell down from his sharpened claws. He never once lost count of those beating hearts turned still. Never once let one slip through the cracks. Illumi was a Zoldyck and his targets were ordinary men—there was no place to hide. There was a sickening pleasure that overcame him when he held his victims' hearts pumping nothingness in his hands—even outside the body they'd still beat on their own. Independent of the brain. A curious oddity. He never thought he was twisted to wait until the heart stopped beating. Anticipating the moment when it was nothing more than a warm, unmoving mass of flesh. Listening earnestly for the very last ba-dum. He could have convinced himself that he wanted to make sure, with absolute certainty, that his targets were dead. It wouldn't have made a convincing argument. Mad even. And he knew what he wanted. He knew what he liked. Illumi relished these final moments. Isn't this moment of man's final curtain call—genesis of a thousand requiems—the muse for all writers and poets? Illumi stopped caring of great thinkers and poets, gave into the growing silence, and listened. Lest he miss the best part.

Ba-dum.

Ba—-dum.

Ba—-dum.

Ba—-

Dum.

The heart stopped beating. Illumi smiled.

When the high of the brutal aftermath wore off, Illumi heard someone screaming. Illumi sighed, he knew better than to leave Kalluto alone. Before he went to check on his brother, Illumi flipped over the body of the man he assassinated. The man's eyes were wide open, his face was captured in shock, and there was a gaping hole in his chest where blood began to pool. It was a long day and even when he was tired he could still make a clean cut. Just as he was trained to do. He patted down the man's pockets and found his wallet. In truth, he didn't like doing this. It made him feel like a common riff raff, rifling through a dead man's belongings. This was a well off gang, and the man he just murdered looked like the kind who'd carelessly carry around wads of cash considering his hands were adorned with flashy rings, showing he had a flair for extravengace. And his suit was designer cut and snobbishly posh—

Illumi tilted his head. There were only twenty jenny inside.

What a cheap schmuck.

Illumi whipped his head up when the screaming pierced through the corridors. Growing louder and more deranged. He stood up, towering over the corpse, and stuffed the twenty jenny behind his belt. Along with one opulent ring.

He took his time following the cries, and occasional pleads, of agony. Careful stepping over the mangled and bloody trail Kalluto left behind him. Illumi took notice of his little brother's work. Work…he was being too nice addressing it as that. This wasn't 'work.' This was child's play. The bodies were butchered and Illumi could tell from their injuries that Kalluto left some to bleed out and die on their own—perhaps he was bored or someone new caught his attention and he couldn't resist. Messy, careless, undisciplined. Perhaps Illumi was to blame for the last.

Illumi pushed open the door and saw Kalluto smiling and scribbling on the wall with a permanent marker. Then he saw a man skewered to the opposite wall. He didn't know which one was worse.

"Kalluto," Illumi folded his arms towards his chest. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Big brother! You came just in time. We needed another player." Kalluto scribbled out an entire game of tic tac toe on the wall, creating a giant black cloud.

"Care to explain?"

"It's washable." Kalluto chimed and began a new game. Drawing an array of long lines. Perhaps it was a pyre he intended to throw everyone's thoughts in but his own?

"Of course it is." Illumi doubted it. Illumi's eyes traveled to the man who desperately tried, but to no avail, pry himself from the katana that skewered him into the faded tapestry. The man looked at Illumi and begged him to help save him from this demonic child. Illumi ignored him. "I'll ask only once more. What are you doing?"

Kalluto sang sweetly. "Playing a game."

"I can see that. You've been playing quite a few already. Enlighten me."

Kalluto looked back at the man pinned to the wall, infuriated. "He said I was acting like a child."

"Oh no." Illumi feigned surprise.

Kalluto caught his older brother's sarcasm. "He saw a child, so I decided to behave like one. We're playing hangman, but he only keeps guessing words. And he's not very good at it."

"YOU FUCKING BRAT!" The man cried out.

"Ah-ah-ah. That's not very nice. Why can't we just play…" Kalluto twirled a marker in his hand and paused. Before encapsulating it with nen and hurtling it towards the man. "Nice."

The man screamed in agony when the marker pierced his left arm.

"Big brother, where did it hit him?" Kalluto was brimming with twisted curiosity. Acting as if he was playing nothing more than a simple game of pin the tail on the donkey.

"Left arm. Below the shoulder blade. You're off."

Kalluto frowned. Disappointed. "I was aiming for his eyes."

"By eyes, you meant to say heart?"

"No. But I'll try again—"

The man changed his demeanor and began to plead for his life. "What do you want? I'll give you anything you want?! Money? Property? Booze? Women—" The man felt a cold gust of wind coming from the tall man who was the spitting image of Lurch, standing there with his hands in his pockets ready to kill him if he spoke another word.

Illumi tilted his head slowly to the side, eyes grimacing with disgust.

The boy was too young for booze, but young enough for torture and homicide. Honest mistake. "Of course, I'm so sorry…yes he's a little too young for those things…um toys? Sweets? Anything!"

"I want," Kalluto looked up at the ceiling, then back down. His eyes were dark—devoid of any hope to reason and persuade with. He grabbed another marker and drew a podium and a noose. "I want to hang you."

The man lost his voice. And if it weren't for the katana he would have dropped to his knees.

Kalluto snickered. "This wouldn't have happened if you just picked a letter like I told you to. Adults are so stupid, they never listen. Not you, big brother. You're not stupid."

"Thank you for thinking of me." Illumi deadpanned. Kalluto's fluency in aura was astounding, and despite his young age he had control over his nen, but lacked control over just about everything else. "Might I remind you, Kalluto, of the very basics. The art of assassination is the art of—."

"Forgetting. I know. You always keep saying that." Kalluto mumbled under his breath and the marker screeched against the wall. "It's annoying."

"I can tell. You forgot half of your targets in the corridor before finishing them off. Assassins who momentarily cast aside desire and pleasure succeed where others put them first."

"So what?" Kalluto stuck his chin up. "I like who I am. I don't want to forget it."

That was precisely the problem. Illumi thought to himself. In truth, Illumi blamed himself for Kalluto's ill behavior, which if not tamed could turn irreversibly troublesome. There was darkness in Kalluto, which Illumi couldn't help but swell with pride at, but it was wild and if left unkempt could easily grow into the night sky and shroud the moon and swallow his baby brother. Illumi was aware that Kalluto knew he could get away with playing with his targets when their father wasn't chaperoning his assignments. With Illumi, Kalluto didn't need to grind back his teeth and hide his fangs, no, he could bite back hard and tear the world apart. Illumi didn't help—he never chastised Kalluto too severely or tried to correct these dirty habits either. He was spoiling his baby brother and let him do as he pleased. His baby brother was happy, and that couldn't make Illumi anything other than a good big brother.

Growing irritably bored, Kalluto turned to the man behind him. "Letter? Pick one before I decide for you."

The man did what Kalluto expected the least. He began to cry.

"Baby." Kalluto scoffed.

Illumi leaned back against the wall, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Z."

Kalluto drew a circle for the head. "That's way off."

"I can think of quite a few words that have Z in them."

"There aren't any in here."

Illumi guessed a few more letters, each earning the hangman another limb.

"You're not even trying." Kalluto moaned.

"Oh yeah? I'm trying very hard. I think I know the word you're thinking of. Can I guess?"

Kalluto readied the marker over the hangman, prepared to draw the last limb. His little brother's faith in him was so reassuring. "Last chance. Make it count."

"Pizzazz."

"NO. And that's too many Z's!" Kalluto bent over with laughter. The hangman was completed. And it was time for the man to die.

Illumi pushed himself against the wall with his leg. He turned Kalluto back around to his final kill and patted him on the back. "Hurry up. Clean up. Stop dawdling and finish your work."

Kalluto scowled, shooting daggers with his eyes at Illumi. That was the thing with babies of the family, they were always grumpy, dumpy and frumpy when they couldn't get their way.

The man turned instantly pale and with all his might pulled on the Katana with the last of his strength. Still, he remained fixed to the wall.

Illumi's voice was cold. "You will strike only once. Can you restrain yourself?"

Kalluto's fingers twisted and turned and morphed into sharp claws. His eyes darkened, growing ravenous and deranged.

"Kalluto."

"Yes."

"I want it to be swift and clean. Not a spot of blood out of place. Forget everything. All except one thing. Clear your mind and listen closely. Can you hear it?" Illumi's steps eerily creaked over the wooden floor as he silently mouthed the words badum, badum, badum. Man's final curtain call. "Focus only on that." Illumi's voice was lethal. "Now, show me."

The boy and monster were one and the same, and it was over before either him or his target knew it. When it was done and Kalluto's breathing was erratic and deep, Illumi wiped away the blood that dripped down his little brother's hands. "Well done. Let's go home."

On the way home, Illumi instructed Kalluto to wait by himself, only for a little while, while Illumi ran an errand. One of little importance, he told Kalluto, but one that needed to be done. When Illumi returned, he saw Kalluto standing in front of a gashapon machine. Drawing circles over the clear glass that separated him from the colorful capsules that each held a mystery toy. He didn't have money, not even a coin in his pockets to spare.

Illumi silently swatted the air away with his hand, gesturing for Kalluto to stand aside and insert a coin into the machine. He was about to crank the lever until Kalluto excitedly jumped up and proclaimed that he wanted to be the one to do it. Kalluto was fizzing with energy when he cranked the lever. "Catch it, catch it." Illumi laughed when the capsule slipped out of the tray, making Kalluto feel victorious when he caught it with ease.

Inside the purple capsule was a finger trap toy. It was woven with bamboo, with a crisscross pattern of red and white diamonds. Illumi explained that one finger goes in on each side. Kalluto nodded, placing his index finger on one end—and grabbing Illumi's index finger for the other end.

"Trapped!" Kalluto laughed. And so, they walked through town on their way home. Index fingers connected by a little capsule toy. Kalluto hummed, happily swinging his arm forward and back–and Illumi's as well.

"Big brother." Kalluto called.

"Hm?"

Kalluto looked down at the ground as they walked. "Will mother and father lock me away too? Just like Alluka."

Illumi felt his heart stop. "No. Why would you think that?"

Kalluto stayed silent. Choking on the words he was too scared to say out loud. "Because I'm…: Kalluto recalled the mission, and a wave of guilt washed over him as it always does after he goes on a rampage. Finally standing ten feet back and watching in horror of the mess he made. He can't stop it. He can't control it. He tries to fight it, but always bends to it. A different him always comes out during his kills. One that likes to torture his victims and play twisted games. One that isn't ashamed to say it thrives off mayhem. "...different."

Illumi stopped. "It really isn't an imprisonment like you're making it out to be. Alluka is comfortable and monitored at all times for his own protection so he doesnt hurt himself, and those around him. There is something dangerous within Alluka…something dark and violent that wants to hurt as many people as possible. We were lucky that it only claimed a few of the butlers. Until we learn what exactly that thing is and destroy it, then Alluka will be moved back into the mansion with the rest of the family only when everyone's safety is assured. Including yours."

Kalluto's shoulders slouched. It sounded just like himself. Maybe he should be locked up too. He mumbled. "We're the same. The only difference is that I'm still here."

"I assure you that you're not the same."

"Or will you send me away like Killua?"

Illumi sighed. "It's special training."

"Why does he need special training at Heaven's Arena? He can get that here from you and dad." Kalluto's shoulders began to shake as tears streamed down his cheeks. "W-what's going to happen to me when I can't be fixed? Will I be locked away, sent away, or worse?"

Illumi knelt down and wiped away Kalluto's tears with his sleeve. "Nothing will happen to you. I can promise you that. While I'm here I will never let that happen." He titled Kalluto's chin up. "You're perfect, just as you are."

All tears were gone when Kalluto sneered, back to his usual self. "Are they going to make you marry her?"

"You can say her name."

"Don't wanna. Might barf."

"Why don't you like Psyche?"

"Why don't you?"

Illumi snorted.

"This isn't funny. If you marry her then you'll move away together and then I'll never see you again." First it was Alluka, then it was Killua, and soon it will be Illumi. It was an unforgivable sentence disguised as a fairytale and Kalluto knew how fairytales went. The prince and princess live out their happily ever after while leaving everyone else behind. There was no room for little brothers in this happily ever after—they're forgotten. Plain and simple. He was losing all of his siblings, one by one. Soon, all he'll have left is Milluki and by that point Kalluto will legally consider himself an only child.

"When I marry Psyche—"

Kalluto's scowl deepened.

"If I marry Psyche. Better?"

Kalluto nodded smugly. That was much better.

"Then she will live with us. We're Zoldycks, we're wired to stick together."

That sounded even worse than Illumi moving away with her. "She isn't a Zoldyck." Kalluto spat out.

"For now."

Kalluto tensed.

"You don't want her to be?"

Kalluto shook his head, vehemently.

"She would make a perfect wife for me, unless…" Illumi paused, placing his hand on his chin. Thinking. Kalluto leaned in wondering what his brother was going to say. Illumi snapped his fingers, as if he just solved a puzzle. "Unless you want to marry her. Why didn't you say so! I'll tell father and mother right away–"

Kalluto looked as if he was having a heart attack. "NO. I'D RATHER DIE."

"Love makes us do crazy things. It's a tell-tale sign."

Kalluto laid down on the ground, forcing Illumi to kneel down with him. The little boy closed his eyes and decided then it was time for him to die in front of a vegetable stand that held crates of pears and plums; and while Kalluto was laying down he could hear the hum of bumble bees buzzing through the warm evening wind. A lullaby for all the tired, little bumble bees of the world. Death made Kalluto sleepy. "Goodbye."

Illumi blinked. Barely shying away when a bee landed on his jacket, it flew away a second later. "What was your name again?"

Kalluto's eyes shot open, scowling.

"Don't tell me." Ah, yes! Illumi opened his mouth. Then, he closed it. Thinking. "No, that can't be right either."

Kalluto's chin quivered. He said, weakly. "Don't forget me."

"I'm only joking." Illumi lightly tugged his finger back which prompted Kalluto's to follow, still connected by the woven bamboo finger trap toy. "Where I go," he moved his hand again, "you go." He gently swung again, "Where you go—"

"I go." Kalluto smiled. "I like this. It's like our fates are connected."

"Always have been."

Kalluto beamed.

Illumi pulled Kalluto off the ground and shook clouds of dust off Kalluto's back. Making the boy irritable and fussy when Illumi tried to wipe dirt off Kalluto's face.

"Oh, stop it. I don't bite."

"I do." Kalluto chirped.

A farmer turned the mechanical fans on high, shooing away the flies that swarmed the strawberries, cherries, and apricots. She laughed, saying her own child was just like Kalluto, headstrong and, at too many times to count, monstrously naughty. "How old is he?" She asked.

"He just turned six." Illumi looked down at Kalluto, who was eyeing a small carton of freshly picked strawberries that were perfectly in season. The fan propelled a gust of wind towards them and it carried the sweet aroma of strawberries. A dream caught in the wind.

An after mission treat was in order, wasn't it? Just as the woman weighed the carton of strawberries on the scale and calculated the price on the cash register, she looked over at her little daughter who was sitting quietly in the corner shucking peas from their pods, and then to Illumi. "Before you arrived, my baby was screaming in the dirt, summoning the coming of the apocalypse more like, and it took three popsicles and a call from her daddy to calm her down. Divorce…when they're this young they don't understand, but feel all the pain. Still, I'm not letting that man have custody of my baby. A child needs their mother. She needs me more than him." The strain in her eyes and the hurt that chipped the edges of her words were raw and terribly sad. Illumi found it hard to understand why strangers were so honest in telling their tragedies while passing rusty coins and clipped receipts over sanded down counters. Hurt has a way of spilling out when the day grows dark and business slows; when mouths tire of clamping themselves shut through strained and forced smiles all day.

All his life he was taught to keep everything in until the day you die. And even then, the earth over which you lay should be patted down and laid over with asphalt and at least 2 meters of cement because sorrow and pain have a way of rising up like unwanted ghosts with unfinished business.

The woman's eyes began to glisten. Forcing herself not to cry in front of another customer. Illumi didn't know how to deal with two things: women and tears. And now there was a woman crying right in front of him. And despite being around a woman, his mother, who cries all the time, he still has no idea what to do about it. The unpredictability of not knowing which were the wrong words even said with the right intentions could easily earn him an avalanche of furniture thrown at his head. He doubted that this woman was anything like his mother, but there were many crates of pears and plums and he deduced that it wasn't worth the risk. He just wanted his strawberries. Hesitantly, he slowly reached across the counter for them.

The woman grabbed his hand. "Thank you."

Illumi wasn't prepared for this.

She let him go, dabbing her eyes with the back of her hands. Yes, he can finally breathe again.

She sighed, then looked at Kalluto. "I hope you don't give your daddy a hard time." Accusatory, yet playful.

Illumi blinked. "He's my b—"

"GIMME!" Kalluto grabbed the green carton of strawberries out of Illumi's hands and shoved them into his mouth.

"Slow down or you'll choke." Illumi bent down and wiped Kalluto's mouth with a napkin.

They walked home to Kukuroo Mountain, and finally arrived at the testing gates. Illumi placed one hand on the right gate and Kalluto placed one hand on the left. Never once breaking the finger trap toy that connected them. Kalluto was young and still had much to learn, but he knew two absolutes very well: Kalluto was lucky to have Illumi as his big brother.

When Kalluto's steps began to drag behind him and his eyelids felt heavy, Illumi picked him up and let him sleep on his shoulder. Softening his steps as his little brother slept.

And that Illumi loved him so, so much.

Someone wise once said, by none other than Psyche herself, that girl does not live off soup alone.

Far, far away in Zaban City, Psyche sat in a cafe, adjacent from the window overlooking the lively city, and anxiously stirred a steaming bowl of carrot and ginger soup. It was thick and creamy and it left a fizzling aftertaste in her mouth. One spoonful filled her up, but perhaps that was the butterflies that were fluttering nonstop in her stomach. She was so close, yet so far from her husband. She ripped apart a piece of pretzel bread, and dipped it into her soup.

Following Illumi was relatively simple, given Zeno's tracking device. There was a building where his location stalled. That either means two things. One, he made it into the exam site in one piece. Two, he was mugged, mangled and dismembered into multiple pieces, and left for dead. Psyche chose to believe the first. Illumi was more than capable of taking care of himself nor would simple thugs in a little city like Zaban actually pose a serious threat to him. But..what if? Those were two dangerous words that would send her spiraling into hysteria: What if. What if there are criminals with insider information that anticipate the large crowds because of the exam? Thieves, traffickers, drug dealers… Illumi is tall and gorgeous and rich—he sticks out like a sore thumb! And the gold bulbs he was wearing…those thieves could think he's wearing real gold! For fuck's sake Illumi, don't cover yourself from head to toe with gold in a city of thieves! You're rich, look poor!

Psyche placed a hand over her heart and breathed. In and out. Calming herself down. He's fine. He's fine. She's getting herself worked up all for nothing. The noise from the television caught her attention. It was a calming nature documentary about dolphins.

She loves dolphins.

The narrator's voice was calm and eloquent. "Upon seeing its mate hunted and devoured by killer blood hoppers, the aquatic cousins of the voracious land blood hoppers, before its eyes. The lone female dolphin is left with a broken heart. She swims further out into the ocean and out of despair drowns herself."

Psyche looked away from the screen. Television rots the brain anyway.

Enough worrying and imagining her husband dead! Psyche firmly took out her phone and dialed Illumi's number. She wanted her visit to be a fun surprise, but so would be a heart attack if she didn't hear his voice speaking to her now.

It just occurred to her that she never spoke to Illumi over the phone before. Her finger hovered over the dial button. Why was she hesitating? It's so simple, one little press, she will hear his voice, and all will be right in the world. She didn't know how nervous it would make her feel until she pressed the dial button.

Wait, she didn't think this through, what exactly is she going to say to him? Hi, honey—does Illumi like being called honey? Is he the type of man that likes to be addressed as babe, baby, glorious bastard, or none of the above? Hey you—that's too informal. She's not a stranger nor his bro. She's his wife. It's me, Psyche, your wife. I'm worried sick about you and becoming a widow so I took your grandparents advice and despite everyone having faith in you, I crossed continents and followed you all the way to the hunter exam site. Have you eaten yet?—nothing felt more demeaning than reminding him of who she was and that she tailed him from the signal his phone was giving off. Come home, I miss you—those words felt the most right.

"Hello?" Illumi spoke.

HE ANSWERED.

Psyche hung up and slammed the phone on the table, rattling the plates and utensils. If she pushed the phone further away from her then perhaps it wouldn't bite her. Her face burned red. Oh, how foolish could she be! Illumi answered! He sounded alive and in a non critical condition, and that's all a wife could ask for. He's alive and he answered and she didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything at all and hung up on him! Well done, Psyche. 10/10. You verified your husband is alive and ghosted him. Nice!

She banged her head against the table and groaned.

The waiter coughed.

Psyche turned her head—she was too depressed to use upper body strength. "You want to give me the check?"

The waiter slid it on the table. The next words barely came out. "Your hair."

"My hair?" Psyche mouthed. She ghosted her husband and now her hair looks terrible too.

"It's in the soup."

"Oh." She lifted her head up. A strand was coated in carrot and ginger soup. She wiped it away with her napkin. "I was saving that for later."

The waiter laughed, "have a good one." Then left her alone with a bowl of soup going cold and thoughts of Illumi filling her head.

She dialed his number again. Now forced to think of a sound reason why she rudely hung up on him. She could play it off as an accident, a slip of her butter fingers or something. She pressed the green dial. Determined to speak to him, for real. There was no ringing and it skipped straight to a robotic recorded message.

'The number you are trying to reach is unavailable and is not taking messages at this time.'

Did he…no…it couldn't be…

Did he just block her?

Illumi blocked the unknown number from his phone, as he does with every number he doesn't recognize. He didn't think much of it other than a nuisance, not wanting to be bothered anymore than how he was already feeling. His only thoughts were of one person.

Illumi carefully watched through the corners of his eyes as a fluffy head of white hair, that was smothered with entitlement and pampered till spoiled selfish, raced by. Killua wore a smug little smile on his face as he skateboarded past other hunter exam applicants without a care in the world, all the while their mother back home was worried sick. Illumi was correct in expecting that he would suffer the aftermath of Killua's escapade, his mother's cries in one ear and his father's rage in the other. Over the years he successfully learned how to mute both. Perhaps Illumi was wrong to underestimate a puppet's cleverness. Bravo Kil. Even so he, who wasn't even at home when all this shit went down, was blamed for all the shit that went down. Of course, Illumi's the oldest and therefore, by birthright, is the cause of blame for every single one of his siblings' crimes. The night he returned home, after finishing a very long and rigorous job and then tailing his little rogue of a brother, all he wanted to do was drop dead into his bed and not be disturbed for at least a hundred years. He was used to less, and forced to accommodate to less having only slept a solid four hours before his wedding. Tired and famished, he went to the kitchen, otherwise he thought he would collapse from hunger. He prepared himself a bowl of cereal because it required the least amount of time and energy to prepare and if he didn't sense Psyche's aura behind the kitchen door, he would have reduced himself to a caveman and ate right out of the cereal box and drank milk out of the carton. And so, a bowl and a spoon were in order, and because he was a gentleman, a napkin as well. Anything for her. His wife to be.

He noticed what she was doing. Neat, yet delicately wavy hair meant for him to comb his hands through. Cheeks flushed and lips glossed all longing to be tenderly kissed. Innocently playing with her strap that fell loose around her shoulder. Exposing a little something to wet his appetite. And unless there was any truth in all the Wake up With Me morning routine videos flooding the internet, she did not just get out of bed. It was all for him. He was flattered, really. It was all a deliberate calculation that brought back a slew of memories. Which he couldn't help but admit worked. She wasn't even wearing a bra and she wanted him to notice. Maybe he should have been a little more receptive to her efforts. She woke up the part of him that he thought laid dormant—the part that was ravenous and bold and took risks. The urge to throw her up on the counter, rip away at her nightgown she was so willing to discard, and claim her right there—

Killua, why are you taking a drink from a man who looks like he lives, breathes, and snorts cheetos dust in a dumpster he cohabitates with rats? No, put the soda can down. Even better, throw it back at the man's face. Ah, yes, forget all the guidance anyone has ever told you, take a sip and thank the bum too. Did I teach you nothing? Illumi didn't expect men like Tonpa to behave, but he expected his little brother to know better. Illumi cracked his neck which caused the applicants who stood near him to instantly scatter away fearing their turn was next.

A smile cracked his cold exterior, and he began to cackle—a rattly and strange sound that scared the applicants even more. He honestly didn't expect to see Killua in the hunter exam of all places. First, he thought his little brother would run back to Heaven's Arena. Father forced Kil to quit before reaching the 200th floor, otherwise he'd encounter nen users and oh my, Kil wasn't ready to learn nen just yet. But Kil didn't want to be spotted, he didn't want his location to be televised across the world, televised for the whole family to watch. So, Illumi assumed Kil signed up for the hunter exam to test himself and his potential? Treat the exam like it's a game. He couldn't, for the life of him, assume Killua wanted to be a hunter despite not even knowing what a hunter was a month ago. Everything his baby brother did was rooted in avoiding boredom. Perhaps that was why the darkness that fueled Kil's desire to kill was dimming. Illumi made certain to burn the urge to kill deep in Kil's heart, even snipping away all things that tampered with his progress.

However, Illumi was curious. Did Killua learn about the existence of the needle planted inside his head? Would he recognize his dear, big brother and all his needles Kil has seen a million times before?

Killua skated by Illumi–clad in his elaborate disguise of Gittarackur–and sneered in repulsion before skating away.

Yup. Kil has no idea. The needle was still there snug in his head. It would be a serious problem if Kil was aware of the needle, or worse, removed it. Illumi supported progression and bettering oneself, however, Killua taking the hunter exam wasn't going to get him anywhere other than successfully kill time. Illumi decided he wasn't going to intervene; let Killua learn a valuable lesson of wasting his own time and potential.

Now what to do about that man named Tonpa? Illumi heard whispers from the other applicants that Tonpa goes by a truly original and fearsome title called The Rookie Crusher. Looking at the man now really makes Illumi wish he hadn't got up from bed this morning—his laughs came out as pure mechanical rattling, as if he was a stuck gear jamming up a rusty machine. Illumi wasn't one to judge how sad and pathetic men choose to spend their time, but he did feel a little hurt that Tonpa paid all the other rookies a visit, but him. Was Gittarackur not inviting enough?

Should Illumi show him just how inviting Gittarackur could be?

Illumi's limbs moved like clockwork. Rigged and stiff and uncomfortable. Illumi learned that he could change his appearance, for an extended amount of time, with his needles. However, the longer he wished to look different, the weirder his designs would be. Nen fueled needles holding back his bones and tissues in place. If he was going to be weird, which he didn't mind, why not have fun with it? That's why he added the purple mohawk. It was unnecessary, but it made plenty of heads turn.

Including his own.

Now his back was facing Tonpa. And slowly, his bones cracked and ached as he solely rotated his head backwards 20, 45, 90, and then sharply to 180 degrees. Red eyes stared down at the little man while his head clanked and clattered in place. This is a little trick he learned whilst playing with his needles and he still has the knack for it. Clearly, Tonpa noticed Illumi's hidden talent and he ran away, disappearing into the crowd and using the horde of applicants as a shield.

Someone screamed.

Did Illumi cause that? He wondered, a little too eagerly. It wouldn't be the first time.

He turned around and saw a clown—Hisoka— surrounded by a flurry of flower petals emanating from a man's arms that were rapidly disappearing.

"Now you see them and now you don't." Hisoka waved his arms in front of the man who now had none. "You should be more careful and apologize if you bump into someone."

There were moments in life that changed the course of the rest to follow. This was one of those moments when Hisoka walked towards Illumi—he was that confident, walking headfirst into the assassin's life without so much as a lifeline to save him.

"Hisoka. The Magician." The man with the red hair looked at Illumi almost as if he saw past his disguise and saw the real him. The man hidden behind the barrage of needles.

"I know who you are."

This seemed to please the magician. "My reputation precedes me." His eyes narrowed, venom laced with sadistic pleasure. "You were watching me."

"It was hard not to, and yet you don't strike me as the kind taken back by having an audience."

"I like an audience. My best tricks are made for public entertainment. Magic brings people the greatest joy, after all."

Illumi looked at the man with no arms, who was screaming in pain. "He doesn't look very joyful."

Hisoka barely looked behind him. "He's fine. Just being dramatic."

Illumi stifled a laugh when a paramedic team came to take the man away on a stretcher.

Hisoka continued. "What did you think? It really gnaws at me when the audience stays quiet."

Illumi gave the magician what he liked the least.

"Hm?" Hisoka smiled.

Illumi knew right away that Hisoka was one of the only few nen users here. Hisoka could sense the same power from Illumi that singled him out from the rest of the applicants. "If you want my honest opinion, it was a barbaric display of ill-restraint."

"My oh my, a critic as well. I tend to stay away from those."

"Yet you have no desire to leave."

"Eager to get rid of me so soon?"

"There's something you want, isn't there."

"You found me out. Clever. I want to be your friend."

"Of course you do." Illumi turned to leave the clown.

"Hm, you're confident being on your own. I like that. However, it's the very same confidence that may fail you as well. The hunter exam was structured to dismantle that principle in mind. The hunter hunts better in a pack than when alone. Can you see it? All those around us—are beneath us. And instead of wasting time searching for a friend when situations are dire and options become less desirable and limited, I offer myself to you." Hisoka mocked an extravagant bow. "It would be advantageous for us both. Friends looking out for one another. For the exam that is."

Illumi considered this. So many of the other applicants were beneath him, and weren't worth wasting his time forming an allyship with. "The law of reciprocity. I'll have your back if you have mine."

"Not only your back." Hisoka smiled, devilishly. "Perks of being my friend."

"Noted."

"Well, do we have a deal?"

"Given the unpredictability and arduous nature of the exam, it would be best to have allies." Illumi didn't have the option of taking the hunter exam next year. He needed a license now. The clown—Hisoka—could prove very useful.

"Just allies? Tch, how cold."

"Oh, you didn't actually think I agreed already." A smile tugged at the corner of Illumi's lips.

"Just when you were starting to get my hopes up."

"I won't dash them too quickly. I'll see how well you perform in the first phase, and then I'll consider it."

"Bossy."

"So I've been told." Just as Illumi began to walk away, he whispered to Hisoka. Leaning in as their shoulders brushed against each other. Only they could hear each other. "You were watching me too. From the very beginning."

"Yes." Hisoka didn't pretend to hide his intentions. He whispered back, "I don't lose sight of those who catch my attention. And I don't intend to stop either."

A loud ringing sound blared through the air as a stone wall began to lift off the ground—when the cloud of dust faded, it revealed a man wearing a crisp suit, sporting an even crisper mustache, and holding what looked to be a screaming green head that was the source of the ringing.

The hunter exam was about to begin.

Far, far away. There was a princess locked in her tower.

There wasn't much to do, so that is why Alluka greatly enjoyed being visited by her brothers. Even if she could only hear their voices through the speakerphone. As brothers were concerned…well, only one visited her. Less than what she would have liked.

Kalluto was in another room, watching Alluka from a safe distance through a monitor.

"I got you again!" Alluka said, as she plucked one of Kalluto's chess pieces off the black and white board and added it to her growing pile of Kalluto's defeated army.

"So you have." Kalluto rested his chin on his hand and barely looked at the chessboard. Bored. Unamused. Something else clearly weighing on his mind.

Even though Alluka could not see him, she could hear the languid droll of his voice and knew his mind was somewhere else instead of in the game. Instead of with her. Worried that he might have left, Alluka called out to Kalluto. "It's your turn."

Kalluto barely glanced at the board. "Rook to b7."

Alluka moved the piece—and gasped. "Your king is exposed!"

"That's nice." Kalluto deadpanned.

Kalluto wasn't paying attention to the game nor to her. Alluka rarely gets to play with her brothers and when she does, they're not the least bit interested. She bit the inside of her cheek—and flung the chessboard against the wall. Sending all the pieces flying and clattering to the ground.

"Oh," The noise brought Kalluto back to his sister. "Are we not playing anymore?"

Alluka wanted to cry. Kalluto sounded relieved about ending the game. Like she put him out of his misery by flinging it against the wall, instead of asking her to pick up the pieces and finish what they started.

"If the game's finished then goodnight." Kalluto's chair screeched harshly against the floor, enough for Alluka to feel it pierce her heart. She wanted to scream 'wait' but instead twirled her new dress. Keep the night going. Keep her brother here with her.

"Isn't it wonderful! Mother said she would think about letting me be the flower girl for Illumi and Psyche's wedding." Alluka was excited at the chance of finally being able to spend time with the whole family! And for a wedding! She's never been to a wedding before and no doubt it will be straight out of a fairytale! Even if it was for a short while...she's been practicing! She arranged rows of stuffed animals and practiced tossing flower petals down the aisle. She was very good at it too! She wanted to see Psyche's wedding gown knowing she would look like a fairytale princess breathed to life. And Psyche's sisters too, Anomie and Chaotica, they'd always wear the most beautiful clothes whenever they visited. They were all so beautiful. Alluka wanted to be beautiful like them too. "If Killua's going to be the ring bearer then we should practice with each other–"

Kalluto blinked, annoyed. "The wedding already happened."

Alluka stopped twirling her dress and stood frozen in place. Wanting to sink to the floor and let it swallow her whole. The wedding already happened. They won't be needing a flower girl. They won't be needing her, at all.

"The wedding was rushed." Kalluto tched, ignoring her. "Mother and father wanted to get it done as soon as possible, so Illumi wouldn't—" Kalluto stopped himself from talking. He didn't want to divulge issues of the family to her. It gave him a sense of power, that he knew more and was held in higher regard than one of his older siblings. "Nevermind. It's not important."

It sounds like it is, Alluka thought. "I can keep a secret."

"It's not a secret. Everyone in the family already knows."

Alluka wasn't sure whether she wanted to know this secret, or if she just wanted to be included in knowing it like the rest of them and not be left in the dark. She huffed and waved her arms out in front of her and around the room. "Who am I going to tell?"

"Fair point. But no way. Besides, it's not like anything can be done about it now. Mother and father even had a witness from the bureau on the day of the wedding. So it's official."

After being confined to her room all these years by herself, Alluka craved conversations—any conversations. Even if they were boring, dull and didn't interest her. As long as the person on the other end of the microphone talked to her, that was all that mattered. She also liked revisiting old memories because that was all she had to share. She didn't have any opportunities to make new ones. "I guess they were always meant to be. Remember the time when the Moiraio's visited and Illumi surprised Psyche with a beautiful bouquet of flowers he handpicked right out of our gardens? I think he even typed a card that said 'I'm a gift.' I didn't think big brother could be so cute." Alluka giggled sweetly.

"He can't. Milluki made that bouquet for Psyche. Not Illumi."

Alluka's smile fell when Kalluto dashed one of her memories. "Um, but I thought, I remember Psyche thanking Illumi and he even put a flower in her hair."

"That happened, but I don't know why Illumi said it was him. Actually he didn't say anything. He just silently played along and everyone assumed it was him. Personally, I think it was because he wanted to get back at Milluki for destroying the skeleton he spent weeks restoring." The story goes that Illumi ventured into the woods in search of every piece of the Vulpes vulpes skeleton after finding its perfectly intact skull and spinal cord on one blustery, rainy day. In short, it spiraled into an obsession trying to find every missing piece. It became a hunt, sectioning off plots of land, tracking scavengers to their burrows, and digging through the mud. He found every piece, he was determined like that. Milluki, trained under Illumi's guidance, was not a fan of his older brother's teaching methods. And when Milluki went to tell Illumi off, he found the completed skeleton unattended—and fragile. There were more pieces of the skeleton when Milluki was finished with it. He crushed the skull in the palm of his hand, he snapped the long bones like they were toothpicks, he dismembered every part of the vertebral column and skipped them like wishing stones across the lake. When Milluki skipped the last bone fragment, he instantly regretted opening a gateway to hell.

"Why would he do that?"

Kalluto shrugged, a gesture that Alluka couldn't see. "They're just like that with each other." Alluka wouldn't know because she's never around them anymore. "Milluki would always act out and he probably realized that five seconds of momentary gratification wasn't worth a lifetime of Illumi's wrath. Can't say he didn't have any of it coming. He knows better now."

"No," Alluka tightened her fists into the tulle folds of her pink dress. "Why did Illumi lie to her? I don't care what happened between Illumi and Milluki. Psyche had nothing to do with it. The thing that made her happy, a memory meant to cherish, was a lie. Illumi lied to her, right in front of her face, while she thanked him for it." Alluka felt like she was talking about herself instead of Psyche. "That's not romantic, at all. That's mean!"

"Does it matter?"

"It does!"

"Eh, really." Kalluto straightened his back and sat up in his chair. Eyes darkening. "Why should it matter to you? Because it doesn't concern you either. Psyche would be happier to believe the lie than be told the truth. Anyone would. And I don't think anyone cares about it anymore, except you. Besides," Kalluto stared at the basket of flower petals that were sitting in Alluka's room and narrowed his eyes, "they're just flowers. They're not important."

Alluka relaxed her fists. Kalluto was right. The rest of her family didn't care about the things that happened in the past. Alluka was living proof of that. Maybe she wouldn't care if she experienced things for herself. Like mother promising to make her the flower girl for the wedding. That one experience alone would satisfy her for a longtime. Was it selfish of her to demand their time and affection? She mumbled softly, "sorry."

"It's fine. You only know because I told you."

Alluka looked down at the ground. "If big brother loves her, he shouldn't lie to her. She'll be sad when she finds out. She's one of us now—" Alluka shuddered, feeling an icy wind blow through her. What was this feeling? Where did it come from so suddenly? The temperature in her room shouldn't go down this low. Alluka was shivering. Holding onto her arms to keep warm—or to protect herself. "K-kalluto, something's wrong. I-It's really cold."

Kalluto's aura flared out of him like a blistering storm. Alluka couldn't even comprehend it was his aura she was feeling. She's nothing like the rest of the family—she's so weak. "Us? What do you mean like us?" Kalluto spat out the words.

Alluka was still shivering. "S-she's a Zoldyck now. That makes her one of us. Or were you not allowed at the wedding too?" She retorted back.

You confuse yourself. You're not a part of us. Kalluto wanted to say. Then his aura calmed down and Alluka stopped shivering.

Alluka didn't know what happened, but feared it was Kalluto's doing. Instead, she laughed. It came out strained and forced. "I guess the system malfunctioned. Overwise, I'd turn into a popsicle."

Kalluto's demeanor changed. His voice was upbeat, almost as if he was about to laugh. "Do you know what mother told the Moiraio's about you?"

Alluka smiled. They do talk about her! "Will Psyche and her sisters visit me soon?"

"Mother tells them you're dead."

It felt as if the floor was ripped out from underneath her feet. This room was a crypt and Alluka was the corpse laid to rest within it. Words came out of her mouth, before she realized she was saying them. "I'm not dead."

"Yes, you are."

"I'M NOT!" Alluka screamed. Shaken by her own outburst. "I-I want to speak to Mama. Kalluto, get Mama."

Kalluto snickered. "Did you know that Mother erected a grave marker for you in the family cemetery. She leaves flowers by it every Sunday."

Alluka stumbled towards the wall and banged her fists against it. Crying into the speaker in which Kalluto's voice came out. As if trying to get closer to him as much as she possibly could. "Get me Mama, now!"

"She's busy." Kalluto pressed his fingernails into his skin. Preventing himself from bursting out with laughter.

"You're lying!" Alluka cried.

"So what if I am."

Alluka's legs gave out as she fell to the floor.

"So what if I'm lying. What are you going to do about it?"

Alluka wiped her eyes with her sleeves. Staining her pretty dress with tear drops of despair. He's right. She couldn't do anything. Far, far away, there was a princess locked in a tower. A princess who couldn't tell the difference between the knights meant to save and the dragons meant to hurt her. She started to believe they were the same.

Kalluto tapped the microphone. "Hello? Can you hear me? I asked what were you going to do about it." Kalluto covered his mouth when a laugh slipped out.

"You think everyone's forgotten me," Alluka dried the last of her tears. "But you're wrong."

Kalluto tched. "Everyone wants to forget you. Killua already has." Killua ran away from home. He's forgotten all of us. He purposely neglected to tell her that fact.

Even though it's been years since Alluka has seen Killua, she knows he will never forget her. He was forced to because there was no way Killua would willingly stay away from her. He was, and still is, her best friend. "You're wrong, Kalluto. Killua hasn't forgotten me." Then she looked up at the camera overhead. Defiant. And smiled. "He hasn't forgotten you either."

Kalluto opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he turned off his microphone.

"Kalluto," Alluka called out to him. Growing more panicked by the growing silence. Her voice broke as she weakly pawed at the wall. "Kalluto. I'm so lonely. Just stay for a little while longer. You don't have to get Mama. I'm not mad anymore."

Kalluto turned off the monitor and watched as his sister disappeared into darkness. As he left, distancing himself even further from Alluka, his heartbeat hadn't ceased thrashing around inside his chest. Why did everything she said bothered him so much?

He hasn't forgotten you either.

Kalluto tched.

Why can't some people understand that they're just not wanted.

That they're meant to be forgotten.

Chapter Text

Illumi had everything in his room to figure out the world. He was cursed with a voraciously curious mind and luckily with an intellect to guide it in the right direction. He has known this truth about himself ever since he was old enough to strike a bunsen burner with a match and watched with pleasure as he dismantled the world, piece by piece, to see what it was made of—and what more he could make from it.

Illumi threw his jacket on his bed and stretched his arms above his head, yawning. He leaned over his desk, tugged at the collar of his shirt that was pulling on his neck, and flipped through his opened textbooks, eyeing over all the notes he's written on the sides of the pages, highlighting the importance of what he's read. The labeled test tubes he's left in the wrack were ordered neatly, each stopped with a cap. He took one in his hand and flicked the bottom gently. It gave a pathetic fizzle—again, another dead end that added to his splintering headache. He shouldn't have waited until he came back from his mission with Kalluto to finish his experiment, spoiling his results.

He threw himself on his back, arms out wide, ink black hair flaring around his head, and closed his eyes. Why did his bed have to be so soft? It made him want to pull himself beneath the covers and curl up in a cocoon made of cotton and dreams; not caring to do anything other than sleep all day and all night—he pulled his shirt closer towards his nose and did not like what he sniffed.

Illumi lifted his shirt above his head and tossed it in the hamper. Then he noticed dirt stains on his pants and away they went too. He wasn't too tired to take a shower anyway. After stripping off his clothes, he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror—and turned around. He moved his hair away and traced his fingers over his bare skin and let them travel until they met the puckered edges of the scars that lined the middle of his back—where his two bottom ribs used to be. A fire flickered when he saw the incisions–now faded–and digged at his skin until all that was left were red crescent moon shaped marks from his nails. If he wasn't careful, he could open them back up.

Maybe he should.

All scars have memories and he remembered the story that belonged to these. It started off lovely. It was a perfect spring day to have a picnic outside. Kikyo sat beside Silva and fed him a spoonful of Ambrosia salad the children made together in the kitchen the night before. There were far fewer marshmallows that morning, but Killua claimed it was not his doing while licking away sugary coconut flakes from his mouth. Alluka clung to Illumi's left leg and Kalluto clung to Illumi's right. Illumi walked around the playground with two very noisy boots that wouldn't stop giggling! They were bossy too, they told him where to go and sometimes bickered on which direction to take because each knew theirs was the better amongst the two. If they each had their ways then Illumi would be split down the middle. Illumi was good at thinking on his feet, and his baby brothers on his toes. He took one step sideways and swiveled his body to step on the other. Swinging one leg in the air at a time. It sent the little boys into a frenzy of laughter, making them feel as if they were on a carnival ride. Killua jumped on Illumi's back, and Illumi opened his arms for Milluki, 'there's room for one more.' But Milluki skulked under a tree and continued to play his video game. He still could not forgive Illumi for taking credit over the bouquet he made for Psyche.

And then the perfect day came to an abrupt end.

Essentially, Alluka made a request. Nothing good comes out of that thing's mouth. He asked for one of Illumi's ribs. Illumi remembered the moment so distinctly, it was forever burned into his mind. How could it not be? It was a moment of complete powerlessness, where he had to submit to everyone's will but his own. He looked back at his parents, incredulous. A part of him was foolish to believe they'd stop the butcher's knife from touching him to feed that monster inside his little brother, or at least wished to see it happen. Instead, they whispered among themselves which part of him was the least necessary for survival, and sighed in relief—even gratitude—that it was only just a rib!

It was only pain. However, Illumi was used to it. Half the battle was willpower alone. Though he poked and prodded himself with needles, shaped and remolded his bones, he never had an organ or bone dissected out of his body before. Laying on the grass. Without anesthetic. Surrounded by multitudes of people he was hallucinating by the minute. It was an odd, highly unpleasant sensation. He thought this is what it must feel like to be a roast chicken sitting center stage on the dining table—a feeling he never wanted to experience again. It ruined his weekend and his taste for roast chickens. Silva had to restrain him as they tore through his skin, cut through muscle, avoid major blood vessels, and break his bones. Illumi's face gave nothing away as he stifled his agony and though he didn't need to, he dug his claws into Silva's arms as retaliation. It was fair, his father said. This exchange of pain was only fair. The day was consumed by total fear. How soon and fast they should act, ruled by Alluka's strange and monstrous whims. Paralyzed by the terror of the child's unprecedented consequences.

When he was finished being cut open and picked apart, Alluka asked for another. Illumi couldn't help but laugh as Alluka held out his blood red hands expectantly while his freshly sawed out bone laid warm at his feet. Illumi sarcastically asked if Alluka wanted the entire wrack while he was at it too. Get'em while they're hot. His parents scowled at him, ugh, neither had a funny bone in them. Want that instead? He asked. Illumi, obedient without choice, laid on his stomach and waited for the knife to fall and take another piece of himself he knew he would never get back. Instead of focusing on the indescribable and ungodly pain, Illumi had already penned the opening act of a horror movie. Starring him, his adoring family, and his demented little brother who takes loving what's on the inside to a whole new fucking level. It could win something, realistically he's not shooting for the Oscars, but like at an indie film festival. The butler did it, but which one? Aha, the mystique. They have many. Boom. Box office hit.

His parents told him to be thankful that it was only a rib. Two meaningless, and crucially unimportant ribs. As if each piece of him held a different price, some inherently worth less than others. He was the sum of his parts and two of them were now gone. Illumi saw Alluka for what he really was: the death of his family. Illumi's black eyes filled with rage as they bore into Alluka. All the love Illumi had for him vanished just as fast as it took love to bloom when Illumi first held Alluka the day he was born. After that incident, Alluka was confined to his room, permanently. Illumi hated the visits, detesting them more as the days progressed. Where he was forced to view the pieces of himself that were rotting and stowed away beneath its bed—like a monster's lair. Alluka was no better than a dog, taking things he had no right to and burying bones in a tucked away place. Every day Illumi saw less of his little brother and saw more of that thing. That monstrous, horrifying thing. He shut the door before Alluka had the chance to happily run up to him with his little hands held out wide. Was it a request or a hug? Illumi didn't care to find out.

He shut the door to his little brother. He shut the door to that thing. He shut the door to another monster that was more powerful than himself. Alluka was not the one Illumi had to preoccupy himself with protecting anymore.

Illumi pressed his nails into his skin. Pain searing into him. Even when he believed there was nothing more to give—he lessened the pressure and recoiled from the pain—there was always something to lose in this House of his. But for them, he would. In the end, Illumi was an unintentional experiment and because of him they learned something new. That thing—Nanika—does not discriminate between people. The family, no matter how loved by Alluka, is not exempt from heinous or even impossible requests. Illumi was lucky, but you cannot survive on luck alone. Alluka could kill all the Zoldycks within an instant without motivation, pay, or reason. All on a whim. The entire family could have died today, that was an irrefutable fact. Alluka and Nanika are inseparable—coexisting together without the family knowing which one was in total control. As long as they remain that way, they are the same entity, and the family will never be safe.

He guided his hands away from the scars and let them glide down his sides. In the end it didn't matter, he still liked his waist.

Illumi turned away from the mirror and stepped inside the shower. There was no point in ruminatinating about it because he knew it had to be done. If he didn't obey Alluka's requests then the whole family would have perished for it. It was better to lose something small than to lose everything and everyone. Being the eldest son meant making sacrifices, regardless of his own feelings.

He turned on the shower head and let the water pour down on him. Letting it wash away all his thoughts into the drain. He lathered and rinsed his hair. He rubbed shampoo into his skin, slowing over his chest and feeling the groove between them where it caved over his heart. His heart—off limits—was his and his alone. No one has the right to ever take that away from him.

Illumi's body flinched when he brushed his hands over the peaks of his chest. Cheeks reddening from the accidental touch.

The hot air swelled inside the Mountain and it always made him do indecent things.

He wanted to feel that way again.

His fingers slowed, hesitant, as he circled them around his nipples. Waiting for them to grow more sensitive the longer he withheld himself from touching them. He could feel his heart beating in his chest as he watched them become erect, and his heart leapt forward when he agonizingly began rubbing them with leisurely pleasure. He started slowly by brushing them lightly with the tips of his fingers, then when the heat became unbearable he grabbed his chest with his palms and rubbed them harder. Building up pressure then releasing them even when he desperately craved not to. That was the thing with desire. It would ambush him, hold him down until it was all he could breathe in and it would always win. He wouldn't even know he lost until he was caught in its throws, already with his mouth open and pleading with silent moans that the pelting water fought to drown out. The water pelting against his body hurt so good. Illumi let his hands greedily wander downward until he reached his groin, and unabashedly looked down.

He was hard.

He languidly rubbed himself, trailing his finger along his engorged mass all the way to the tip then back to the base, gently squeezing and releasing it. Leaving it throbbing and erect when he let go. Fuck. He wrapped his hand around his shaft firmly and dragged it forward then back, his hips buckling from the first touch and back again. A gasp escaped his lips as he jerked his hand faster, quickening the pace. Not giving a damn if he came too fast or too soon.

He couldn't stop his hips from swaying when he came closer to climaxing. Unable to stop himself from leaning his body further against the cool tiled wall, losing himself as he succumbed deeper into lust and surrendered himself to primal urges.

No. His hand stalled. He didn't want to finish here.

He wanted to finish inside of Psyche.

He never should have told her to stop when he had her in his bed. He wanted to lay down on his back and let her hips sink down on his. If her mouth was exquisite then her pussy would be paradise. And she was all the more willing to spread her thighs wide just for him and let him ravage her. She was saving herself for him, he knew that. He knew she'd never let another man touch her before he had the chance to claim her as his own. He'd have her pinned under him before, prodding her entrance with his tongue when she pleaded for more, nipping at her clit when her legs trembled as she begged him to be gentle, and relenting by doing just as she wished, sending her spiraling and whimpering for him to stop. Every time, he would harden. Every time, he fought the urge to slam his cock into her soaking pussy. Every time, he stopped himself. Every time, he settled for her pretty mouth. No longer. He caved to this fantasy of his one desire. His cock would slowly push itself inside her, inch by inch, preparing to take all of him to the deepest part of herself. Watching as she slowly took him in for the first time and cried out when his cock breached her entrance, and slowly easing her hips down onto him as he stretched her wet walls around him. He'd drag his finger over her clit, teasing her as he circled her sensitive little bud that throbbed when he gave it attention. Her pussy was wet and obedient just for him and with few commands he could entice her to come for him. Watching with wicked delight as she squirmed and unraveled because of what he'd do to her—it turned him on. He wasn't ashamed in admitting that. Letting her hips sway, further ascending closer to heaven, making her spasming walls tighten around him as she'd simultaneously grab and push at his chest, regretting and worshiping this newfound pain mixed with pleasure. Penetrating her and all the same depriving her of everything she longed for when she lifted her supple hips back up and overcome with a feeling of emptiness only he could fill. Psyche would look at him with famished eyes, realizing he was the missing piece to finally making her whole. She'd descend on him again, fear that was now laced with the anticipation of intense rapture. Instead of a cry—she'd moan with pleasure. Swaying her hips up and down on his cock. Unlocking a rhythm her body knew long before her mind did. Slowly, thoughtfully, letting the fear wane into long forgotten obscurity. Rolling her hips with tender thrusts and finally calling out his name as she came. She was his.

The sweltering heat became overwhelming.

The shower head was still running as he retreated to his bed. Heart racing and breathless. Wet footprints following a trail of heated lust. Not bothering to care as he threw himself down on the edge of his bed, bouncing once when he did. His hair and skin dripped wet on the blanket. He laid on his back, stared down at himself, and blushed—his cock was wet from the shower, and yet his tip was glistening from his precum. Fully erect and bending upwards. Waiting expectantly for him to finish what he started. He brought his fingers to his lips and let his saliva drench them generously before lathering his tip and shaft. Obediently swelling and rising to attention. He spread his legs just enough for him to imagine Psyche balancing on top of him, and grabbed ahold of his cock. And resumed pleasuring himself. Fast. Rough. Shameless.

He bit his bottom lip, stifling a moan from escaping while arching his back.

He forced himself to stop, damning himself when he did. His cock tensed and twitched as he leisurely circled his tip. Letting the clear liquid stick to his finger in long translucent tendrils as he pulled back and let it drip down his shaft. Coating him. His breath hitched, his breathing was no longer under his control. Taking his time as he edged himself closer towards climaxing and stopping when his hips began to thrust on their own. They snapped sharply against his will. Not yet, not yet. He didn't want to come just yet. His own hands betrayed him as he tightened his fist around the head and slowly pushed down, unknowingly cursing aloud. His skin was flushed with the sweet color of pink as he quickened the pace. It was hot, pulsing, hard, and he couldn't let go.

His eyes fluttered closed and mouth hung open now. No longer bothering to hold back as wet sounds filled his room, panting with each stroke. The rising heat in his cock began to build until finally his whole body spasmed and he grunted as he threw his head back—tasting heaven. Wild and powerful thrusts overcame him when he orgasmed, spraying his chest with sticky pearls of thick, white liquid. He didn't stop. Not yet. It wasn't enough. One hand gripping the sheets and the other still moving over his cock as his voice whimpered and his legs trembled. Getting the very last of himself dripping down his hand and wrist. His hips rolled forward in circles uncontrollably thrusting air; more, just a little more. Let him stay drunk in this excruciating heat just a little more.

"Psyche." Illumi's voice broke out, unexpectedly calling out her name.

Finally, he let go. He laid in his bed, breathless and basking in the aftermath of sweet and complete submission to euphoria. His chest rose and fell in great breaths, gradually calming itself.

"Fuck." He sighed breathlessly, resting the side of his head into the ruffles of his sheet. Strands of hair stuck to his wet skin. That was fucking great.

Then he blinked. This was bad. He thought of her too much. Now she no longer descended on him in the middle of the night when the mountain air swelled with more than just his lust and thoughts to keep him company. Thoughts that became increasingly about her. Without thinking, he sluggishly circled the milky white pearls over his chest in mindless loops. Pearls that would look so pretty strung about her neck. She would take all of them if he told her to. Her soft hair would cascade in rivulets and tickle his skin as she would lean over his chest and shyly taste him with her tongue—He does have it bad. But was it really so bad? To let her have a hold over his heart when it felt so damn good?

To have her in all his days laying beside him. He was aware of this beautiful prison that they both had their hands in creating and reveled in the calm expanse of forever staying trapped within it.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Then it fell just as fast.

He leaned on his elbows and looked down at the mess he created. His sheets were soaking wet and his cock was covered with his orgasm. His cum dripped down his chest and onto the bedding. God, he needs help, or another set of hands—yup, fuck it, he does have it bad, it wasn't even worth questioning at this point.

He begrudgingly lifted himself out of bed and went back to the bathroom. He stuck his hand in the shower and recoiled, pulling his hand back.

The water turned cold.

Illumi is here. Of course he is! He couldn't be anywhere else. Even so, why did Psyche numbly stand, head muddled with contradictions, in front of a small fast food chain restaurant, named Gohan, that didn't look like it could cater fifty let alone hundreds of hunter applicants. The hunter exam attracts millions of unsavory characters each year, so it would only make sense that they would want to hold the exam in an inconspicuous location to not attract attention. Then again, Psyche anxiously looked down at the green dot blinking on the tracker then back up at the restaurant. What if it was all a lie? What if Illumi was mugged and his assailants were right now feasting themselves on pork cutlets and bragging about their successful pillage over the dead body of her husband?

No. She shouldn't be thinking about that! If Psyche didn't regularly remind herself that Illumi was alive then Illumi would be the one worrying about himself becoming a widower. Psyche mustn't forget her mission! It's the most crucial mission she's ever faced in her whole life, to date! She is here to properly wish Illumi good luck, send him off with soaring confidence and love and kisses, and hopefully, if time permits, a picnic.

Psyche gripped her fists tightly around the handles of her wicker picnic basket. Coming empty handed would have been the mark of a fool. She rushed to the supermarket as soon as she stepped one foot off the blimp and filled up the basket accordingly. Swiss rolled ham and cheese sandwiches, easy to eat without worrying about making a mess. Bottles of water and lemonade, because she couldn't decide which he'd prefer before a big test. A container of mixed salad with chopped cucumbers and sprinkled with feta cheese, perhaps Illumi was a light eater. And a pack of skittles, because from what she remembered of their two night escape from Kukuroo Mountain they were his favorite, or she at least hoped they still were. She discovered many of his favorite things during that time.

Anyway! It was a perfect, healthy and nutritious meal ready to fuel him up with energy needed to ace his test! But, as Psyche let her imagination dangerously wander, if he were to take one look at his adoring wife and the picnic basket she lovingly assembled just for him, he'd see the test as a waste of time, pick her up in his arms, kickdown the door and forsake the association in the name of passion, and finally embrace the answer to all their problems which included him, her, and two heart shaped chocolate bonbons delicately wrapped in pastel foil. Meant for one to feed the other with, preferably as the sun set behind them.

She opened her compact and last minute checked herself for nothing less than absolute perfection. She wants Illumi to be starstruck by her and hear nothing but an orchestra of violins play as she enters the restaurant, and be touched by her love for him that greatly surpasses the 7,632 kilometers that spanned the ocean with an additional 3,201 kilometers of continental land that once separated them. The poets were right, there is no divide that could withstand to separate her from the man of her dreams.

Hushed laughter echoed in the distance.

Psyche's eyes narrowed. She hadn't failed to notice the group of men standing on the other end of the sidewalk staring at her. They've been following her ever since she left the grocery store. Those assholes.

The men started walking towards her.

Psyche entered the restaurant and was instantly met with the aroma of deep fried pork glazed in a succulent sauce of caramelized onions, soy sauce, and runny eggs. Her mouth was watering, but her hungry heart wouldn't be satisfied by food alone. She blinked her eyes, searching among the scattered parties seated at the booths, tables, and counters. None of whom were Illumi. How disappointing.

If Illumi wasn't in the restaurant, then he was most likely underground, where the real exam was taking place. Where else could they hold hundreds of applicants? Having more than eighty persons in a small restaurant like this would be a violation of general health and safety guidelines, not that the exam committee were sticklers about the welfare of their applicants either... Now, she knows there is an underground base somewhere, but how does she get one of the examinee volunteers to tell her that himself? And let her pass through?

"Welcome! Take a seat!" The head chef said, barely taking his eyes off the pork cutlet in his wok. Psyche softly thanked him as she seated herself in front of the chef. She gently placed her picnic basket on the counter and looked around her just in case Illumi would somehow pop out from behind her, under a table, the curtains, or heck even from the chef's wok itself. She longed to see Illumi. The chef took one look at her, her basket and then blinked. There was a pretty lady at the counter, and sometimes that was all it took for everything in men to instantly thrum to life and remember why they were even alive. It was enough of a reason for him to slow down his cooking and make the customer wait on their order. "Honey, I have a policy. If you bring in food, you need to have enough to share with everyone."

The only man she wanted to call her honey was Illumi. Or my girl. She craved to be called my girl by him. "Oh, look at the time, I have to go." Psyche feigned her escape as the man chuckled.

"You come into my restaurant and bring your own food. Why? It's the onions that make me cry, but maybe."

"Oh nooo." She smiled, playfully. "It's for a picnic."

"With who? Me?" He pointed his chopsticks to himself. Hopeful.

The men entered the restaurant and snickered at her, "got something in that basket for me?" The men turned to each other and laughed. They took a seat at a table—directly across from her.

I will fling my basket at you and I will fling it hard. She refused to let men like that make her crack. Her attention was solely on the chef. "Someone special." Psyche sighed, romantically.

"So it is me."

No. "My husband, actually." Psyche clarified. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, blushing. "If only I can find him, that is."

"We're all competing in the same grand search of trying to find that special someone."

Psyche leaned on her hand, sighing dreamily. "To be lucky enough to find the one, not just any one, but the one." Kind of funny, that word. How it suddenly changed the meaning of any word that comes after it in ways she hadn't noticed before. One life, one love, one forever. Genuine, one of a kind, and infinitely special—just like Illumi Zoldyck. She smiled in the way only young girls who are in love smile. "The one who is unapologetic in their passion and voracious desire for you. Who longs for you like no other could. Who dreams of you like no other dreamt before. Who places his heart in your trust and yours in his. The one."

"I'll just settle for being liked." The chef laughed as he flipped the fried pork and slid it over a bowl of white rice.

The assistant cook in the back of the kitchen instantly let his pork char and burn, thinking of all the reasons that were wrong with him as a man because he wasn't on his knees proposing to that girl with the wicker basket whose name he has yet to know.

Psyche instantly waved her hands in front of herself. Embarrassed. "I'm sorry that I have you listening to me prattling on. My husband is all I'm able to think about lately. We're newlyweds. You haven't seen him? He's tall, 6"1. Long black hair, down to here. Eyes that, when he looks at you, feels like the sun is shining on you and it's wonderful."

"He sounds unforgettable, and dreamy, but I can't say that I have seen him." The chef nodded appreciatively, and turned around to face the staff in the back kitchen. "If you can't find him then maybe someone in the back can finish that basket with you—no, not you, put your hand down, you're married to your wok." A fit of laughter erupted in the kitchen. He turned back to Psyche. "He's not here, and the lugs in the back aren't any help either."

"We heard that." A cook from the back yelled.

"Good. You were supposed to!" The chef turned back to Psyche and shrugged.

"I am positive that he entered this restaurant." Psyche sighed. "He's wearing a green suit, puffed sleeves, corset, buckled shoes with–"

"Gold buttons?"

Psyche smiled and clapped her hands together, so Illumi has passed through here! "Yes, that's right!"

The chef saw so many applicants pass through his restaurant today and it was hard to remember everyone. He sort of did remember that the man had piercings…all over his face…and body…it was hard not to notice. "He's your husband?"

Psyche nodded.

"Are you sure?" He deadpanned. He wasn't sure if that man was the one, but he was definitely one of a kind. Hopefully the only one of his kind.

"To have him as my husband, I mean, I still can't believe I ended up this lucky." Psyche blushed.

'Honey, you've been catfished,' the chef thought.

"It's the fairytale all girls dream of."

'What dreams? Does she mean nightmares? What was wrong with the youth of today!?' The chef was so confused. But for a girl like this to love a guy like that, he shivered at the mental image, it must be love. Or an arranged marriage. If the latter was the case then he felt sorry for her.

Psyche breathed. She is honest and her intentions here are crystal clear. She leaned forward and whispered. There is no point in lying. Well, just a little. "I'm sorry, I don't want to say this out loud. The navigator escorted us to this restaurant for my husband to take the hunter exam, but I was stupid enough to drop my credit card back at the grocery store, so when I came back him and the navigator must have already gone inside." She frantically covered her mouth with her hands. "Was that too loud?"

The chef's eyes wandered to both sides of himself, contemplating whether to divulge the exam site's location. One look at her made his tongue instantly loosen. He whispered back. "The exam likely has already started."

"I just want to give him his lunch, or at the very least say goodbye. For possibly the last time." Psyche looked off into the distance and let her voice wobble on the last few words. She hoped he understood her hidden meaning.

The chef understood everything. This exam might be the best thing to happen to her since marrying that gargantuan fellow. There was freedom in widowhood and he was going to guide her there. The chef called for one of the workers in the back to come forward. The assistant cook quickly volunteered himself as he patted down his apron and handed the burnt pork cutlet to another worker. "Yes, sir."

"The young lady will have the steak combo in the back room." The chef said. Psyche's eyes glittered with joy.

"Grilled over a low flame that makes one see the light?" The assistant cook excitedly spoke the code words, making him feel like a secret spy on a mission.

"Get out of here."

"Yes, sir."

The chef pulled the boy close to him. "Go down there with her then come right back up." The boy nodded.

"This way, miss." The assistant cook escorted Psyche to the back. As she followed him, she ignored the group of men who didn't take their eyes off her. One of them just barked at her, but again she ignored it. If it were Anomie, they'd all be burned to a crisp. If it were Chaotica, well, Psyche recalled the blimp incident. But Psyche ignored them again. The assistant cook held the back door open as he led her into a room with a single red, revolving table placed with empty dishes.

Psyche shook her head at the dismal sight. Imagine, all these applicants travel a perilous journey only to arrive at the exam site starved and destined to stay that way. Those one in ten thousand who safely arrived at least deserved a real steak combo.

The boy coughed. "Before we go down, I mean, downstairs. Before we go downstairs." The boy stumbled over his words, wishing he'd die a thousand, painful deaths.

Psyche giggled.

The boy turned around and slapped his hands together in a pleading gesture. "Please forgive me, but I'm going to have to check your basket. To check for any concealed weapons—not that I think you're a killer or anything!"

Little did he know. "I understand. Oh! I already have one on me." The boy gawked as Psyche pulled out Illumi's balisong knife. She flipped it in her hands as the boy stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Woah."

"It's for self defense. A girl can't be too careful in this world."

"Can I?" The boy held out his hands as Psyche handed him the knife—only for it to instantly pull him down to the ground. "IT'S SO HEAVY."

"You're funny."

He wished he was kidding. What the hell!? Was this thing infused with a dozen bricks?! And the way she made it look so easy flipping the knife like it was a feather in her hands made him realize that even the partners of would-be hunters are crazy strong too. He didn't expect her to actually have a weapon on her and had to report back to the chef and ask him what to do.

The chef's eyes gleamed. He expected no less of her mission. "She'll need it to cut her steak combo."

The boy returned to Psyche and blushed when his eyes met hers. "He said it was okay." The elevator descended and eventually led them to an underground facility. Psyche's steps echoed throughout the empty chamber. No one was there except a little green man who was sweeping away a pile of flower petals while humming.

Beans caught sight of Psyche and smiled. "I'm sorry miss, I commend you for the long journey to the exam site, but registration has already ended. We hope to see you participate in next year's exam. On time. The exit is," he pointed with his broom, "from whence you came."

What a snooty little bean.

The assistant cook stepped forward. "Good afternoon, Beans. She isn't interested in taking the exam, but sending off her husband. But it looks like we're too late."

The picnic was irrelevant at this point. Psyche wanted to at least know if Illumi registered. "My husband's name is Illumi. I just want to know if he got down here safely."

Beans frowned. His voice echoed across the basement. "That's classified information, but I wouldn't be able to check his name if I wanted to at this time."

"Why?"

"All applicants are referred to by the number on their badges and names are only attached to them once they've passed the first phase. Or sometimes second."

Psyche felt like fainting. Her husband was a random number to them!

"We do have one applicant in the back. Serious injuries. It's hard to tell if he's going to make it."

"Take me to him." She had to know.

Beans sweeped a pile of flower petals. "These were his too. Poor guy."

This exam was barbaric. Psyche walked to the door where Beans pointed and swung them open. "ILLUMI." A man with no arms looked at her and she looked at him. Thank God, it's not her husband. Oh, what a relief! But at the same time she couldn't forgive the brutality of the exam and or turn a blind eye to a man who was clearly wronged.

"What happened to you, sir?" She asked, gently. Kneeling and meeting him at his eye level.

The man sucked in a breath. "He did THIS to me because I accidentally bumped into him. He thought I didn't have manners, SO HE TOOK MY ARMS. WHO DOES THAT!? AND THEY LET IT HAPPEN." He would use his arms but he had none so he pointed his chin at Beans who was sweeping the flower petals into a dustpan. Beans looked back at them and tapped his watch. Tapping incessantly for her to leave. "THAT OVERGROWN VEGETABLE DID NOTHING TO STOP IT…HE IS EVIL INCARNATE."

If Beans taps his watch one more time, Psyche will fry him and serve him over a bowl of chili.

Psyche shook her head solemnly. The committee gives zero regard for the safety of their applicants. They let the innocent be maimed and the wicked run free. Grandparents Zeno and Zifira were right all along. "Monsters. All of them." She turned to Beans and scowled. Beans smiled with unblinking eyes and cracked his neck, annoyed that she has yet to leave.

"Not a monster. SATAN." His lips quivered. "Don't know his name. Barely made out his face. Red hair aflame like fire. Eyes sharp like a whip. A star on his cheek. A terrifying high pitched laugh. It was a c-cl-clo—"

"A clown?" Psyche guessed.

"A killer clown." The man clarified.

Christ! This exam attracts all the freaks and weirdos! She hoped this killer clown wouldn't cross paths with her husband! The man without arms opened his mouth and Psyche slipped her business card into it. "If you need revenge, give me a call." It was a small black card, embossed with a white pair of angel wings and a number underneath that shimmered under the light.

The man nodded and looked eager at considering her offer.

When she returned upstairs with the assistant cook to the main restaurant, the chef asked, "how did it go?"

Psyche playfully pouted, lifting her basket. "He already ate his steak combo."

The chef nodded, sadly. If she couldn't get him, the exam most likely will. He prayed that it would.

She said her goodbyes and left the restaurant, and the group of men that followed her in also followed her out. Psyche compared herself to Little Red Riding Hood with a pack of wolves following her trail and a wicker basket in hand. However, there was a horrible misconception about that fairytale that many, including those men, failed to realize. Wolves were wicked creatures, but Little Red Riding Hood wouldn't have entered the woods if she didn't believe she was the wickedest creature there. Her cloak couldn't have been more blaringly obvious.

Red was a warning.

All fairytales should end with princesses getting devoured by dragons.

Kalluto loathed visiting his sister. Illumi and Milluki weren't forced to sit through these grueling sessions, so why should he? He narrowed his eyes at Alluka and hasn't forgotten what she said to him during his last visit. It still boiled his blood. Maybe that was his own fault. Submitting himself to monstrous rage that had no right being in a boy so small. Anger clenched his teeth shut and he refused to speak a word to her still. He may have been forced to be here against his will, but he wasn't obligated to speak to her. She was sitting at her table, scribbling nonsense on a pink cardstock board surrounded by glitter and rhinestones and stickers. He wondered if he stared at it long enough it would burst into flames. He mastered nen at ten years old, developing pyrokinesis wasn't a far stretch.

Alluka lifted the pink poster up to the monitor for Kalluto to get a better view. It sparkled so much he had to turn his head away. "This is what I have done so far! Do you like it?"

Kalluto wanted to crumple it up into a ball, douse it with gasoline, light it on fire, throw it off the Mountaintop, and watch it burn from a safe distance with a pair of binoculars. Instead, Kalluto did the only thing he could. He garbled a sound of annoyance. Just as little boys who foam at the mouth, but don't know what to say, do.

"I like it." Alluka ignored her brother as she rolled up her sleeves and got right back to work! It's a welcome gift for Psyche. It's a drawing of Psyche and Illumi. Psyche was drenched in a gown made of glittering white, and Illumi looked handsome and uncharacteristically happy. Forget Kalluto's brooding, she hoped her new big sister would like it very much.

Kalluto's jaw snapped open. His voice sounded harsher than he intended it. "You can't give that to her."

Alluka hummed. "That's not for you to decide. Mama said she was going to wait until Psyche was well adjusted and then tell her about me. Coming back from the dead is a big accomplishment and an even bigger surprise for some people, you know." Her eyes flickered towards the camera and back again. Kikyo said when the time was right, she'll let them meet. It was always sometime tomorrow and never today. Always in the future and never in the present. The family filled her up on false promises, but she didn't give up that one day it will all become true. The promise of a brighter tomorrow is what pulls Alluka through her days and hope was the one thing she would not let them extinguish. There was more she wanted to say to Kalluto, but she decided against it and went back to her art. It hurt. It really did, but she wouldn't let Kalluto see her cry. It'll only motivate him to torment her more. Smiling and ignoring his hurtful remarks seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

"You seriously can't tell that she was lying to you." Kalluto scoffed 'idiot' under his breath.

Alluka sorted through rolls of stickers and decided on the ones with sparkling hearts and stars. "Mama sounded different and if it doesn't sound like you then it's probably the truth."

Kalluto's eyes sharpened. Why the hell was she acting so…"You're never getting out of there. Illumi told me so."

"We'll see." Alluka smiled lightly as she peeled stickers off their sheets and onto the board.

Kalluto slammed his hand on the light switch and Alluka's room was shrouded in darkness. Beat. That.

Suddenly, an array of soft light filled the room by a plush stuffed animal whose tummy lights up when it's hugged. It's battery operated. It can last for hours on end and Alluka has plenty of hugs to give. "Boop." She booped its nose and went back to drawing.

Only silence followed to which Alluka assumed Kalluto was trying to prevent himself from exploding. After spending so much time with her brother and only relying on his voice to communicate with, she learned to decipher the tones hidden behind his words and sometimes knew his emotions better than himself. Her poor, baby brother. He's in so much pain.

Kalluto clenched his fists, everything she said to him came tumbling back into his ears. He hasn't forgotten you either. It was impossible to forget the day Killua ran away from home. Talking turned to yelling then to screaming then to Killua brandishing a knife. Without remorse or hesitation, Killua stabbed Milluki in the gut and he slashed his mother across the face while Kalluto was numbly watching it all happen in front of him. Blood didn't scare him and violence was his favorite game, but at that moment he couldn't move, he couldn't think, and he couldn't breathe. Ever since then he berated himself for being so weak. He could only watch as his beloved family turned on each other in cold blood—his world came crashing down. Kalluto flinched when Killua turned around, he thought this was it, he was next. His arms lifted in front of him. Whether it was to attack or to cower—Kalluto still didn't know. But none of it mattered. Killua ran past Kalluto without even acknowledging him. Kalluto felt the thud of the bloody knife hit the ground near where he stood as Killua ran past him. No goodbye, no nod of farewell…no anything. Kalluto felt worse than a fool. It was the worst pain he has ever felt in his whole life.

Kalluto's shoulders were trembling.

His big brother treated him like he wasn't even there. Their home was nothing. Their family was nothing. And Kalluto was nothing to him too.

Kalluto harshly rubbed his eyes while tears streamed down his cheeks. It's not…It isn't…Kalluto let the tears fall. What was he doing wrong? He has been beside his big brother all this time and he still failed to fill the space Alluka left. Why wasn't his love enough for Killua? He gave everything, every single shred of love he had to offer to Killua and still it wasn't enough. No. What was wrong with Kalluto? There had to be. Kalluto was the one above ground, not Alluka. He was the one following in his brother's footsteps making their parents proud, not Alluka. He was the one who always stood by Killua when he needed him, not Alluka. So why? Why did Killua still love her more when he couldn't even remember her anymore?

A horrible voice slithered into Kalluto's head. Killua hates you. A soft cry betrayed Kalluto's lips and he scorned himself when Alluka turned her head to the monitor. She heard him.

"Kalluto?" Alluka feared she was too harsh with him. Was it her fault he was crying?

Kalluto dried his eyes harder, but it only made the tears pour down faster.

"Are you okay?"

"Never better." Kalluto lied as he stared at his sister through blurry, red rimmed eyes. Stop looking at me like that. Stop looking like you understand me when you don't.

"Is there anything we can do to help you?"

Kalluto forced himself to laugh instead of cry. Alluka flinched. "We? You mean you and that thing? No thanks. No one wants your help. If we did, you wouldn't be down here." Kalluto doubled over laughing, holding in his stomach as he tossed and turned in his chair. Hitting his knee to make the tears go dry.

Alluka clenched her fists. Don't cry. Don't show him what he said hurts. "Kalluto. You're right, I'm down here, but if you stopped and took a second to look around you, I mean really look hard, then you might actually learn something. You'll see that your situation is no more different than mine."

Kalluto sucked in a breath, calming his laughter. "You're entitled to your own thoughts, but just because you think them doesn't make'em right."

"Your circle is just as small as mine. Only difference is you keep pushing people out and one day you'll realize that you'll be the last one standing in it."

Kalluto choked on his own voice.

Alluka got him. "Stop pushing me away. I love you, Kalluto." Her voice softened. "Let me love you."

A tear fell down Kalluto's cheek. He wiped it away just as fast. "I love who I want to." Kalluto's chin quivered and he leaned against his knees to prevent himself from collapsing. Even if they don't love me back. "Even if they're gone."

"Who are you referring to?"

Kalluto kept quiet.

"It's Killua." Alluka's heart stopped. Her voice was barely a whisper. "What happened to Killua?"

Kalluto closed his eyes tight. He wasn't supposed to let Alluka know.

Alluka shot up from her table and marched over to the speaker. This was different from last time. This was a different side of his sister he hasn't seen before. She possessed strength. And rage. "Kalluto, I don't care if you lie to me tomorrow, the day after, or for the rest of my life. Right now, at this moment, I want the truth. That's a fair exchange, for you, isn't it? Tell me right now what happened to Killua. I knew he wouldn't forget me. You all made him."

Alluka was a liar just as much as he was. She doesn't love him as much as she loved Killua. Nor did Killua love anyone as much as Alluka. She hated Kalluto just as much as Killua did. They're both awful. The pain loosened his jaw. "You happened."

"No. Stop lying. Please, just tell me the truth—"

"That is the truth." Kalluto yelled, voice rising. Alluka was the reason they sent Killua to Heaven's Arena. Alluka was the reason Illumi had to put the needle inside Killua's head. Alluka was the reason Killua ran away from home. Alluka was the root of all their family's problems. His head was spiraling with Illumi's warning about Alluka. Until finally Kalluto screamed those words out, "you're our death!"

Alluka's hands dropped to her sides. Something changed within her. Something broke. Killua isn't here anymore. That was all the confirmation she needed.

Kalluto clamped his hands over his mouth. Did he just say that out loud? He crossed the line…No. He wasn't going to take back what he said. Nor was he going to apologize for speaking the truth. The truth hurt Kalluto. It should hurt Alluka too.

The corners of Alluka's mouth curved into a smile as she looked up at the camera. She held her hands out wide. "Kalluto. Give me your heart."

Kalluto's chair clattered against the floor. He turned to run, get his mother, but Alluka's voice began again.

"No? Then give me your brain."

"Stop, let me think!" Kalluto fell to the ground, shaking. He thought Nanika could only make requests if you were in physical proximity to her, that's why they isolated her in this room. To protect everyone. Alluka wasn't going to be the death of his family. He was. He provoked her.

They couldn't kill family members—but Nanika isn't family. Kalluto could kill her now and wouldn't violate the rule. But if Kalluto did then Killua would never forgive him. He doesn't know what to do.

"No again? Then how about…"

"Wait, I—"

"Hop on one foot and pat your head."

Kalluto blinked. Still trembling. "W-what?"

"All the while singing, I'm a little bee who fell from a tree all because I wanted a cup of tea."

Kalluto's cheeks turned bright red and he grinded his teeth. She was bluffing and he actually believed her! "I'm telling mom!" He stomped off and left.

Alluka was now the one laughing. It felt good after Kalluto was tormenting her for so long. She doesn't regret reversing the playing field. She sat back at her table, surrounded by her family. Stuffed animals resembling each member. Killua was a fluffy white cat and the closest to her. Kalluto was a grumpy little gnome wearing a paper crown and it sat on her other side. Mama and papa were a pair of royal frogs, king and queen of the pond. Milluki was a big blue bear with sleepy eyes. And Illumi's was special from the rest. His was a black rabbit with pink eyes—with two of his bones on the inside. He sat next to a pink rabbit with black eyes and their paws were stitched together in holy matrimony.

Alluka looked around the table and smiled. Everyone was here. It was so nice spending time with the whole family.

Chapter Text

Sweet but Psycho by Ava Max

The night knows his secrets. His best and his worst. And tonight was not unlike any other.

He was forced to relive his greatest nightmare. Prisoner of his own dreams.

They always started the same way. Illumi was in every sense alive and awake, but he was frozen in place and unable to move as a faceless figure hovered above him. That thing—with its unwavering and unblinking gaze—haunted his nights. Its features blurred into an indistinguishable mask, but he could make out the edges of its sickening smile and eyes that always burned black. Blacker than the night allowed. Illumi knew what it wanted and it expected no less. It always came for the same thing every night in his dreams—never growing bored of the monotony. It was predictable, but in that predictability there was the inevitable. And that made it all the more terrifying. It had no need for tools except for its claws. That was all it needed. Illumi knows full well how deep claws can cut, including his own. It raised its claws, commencing a night destined to be momentous while Illumi willed himself to fight. To escape. To scream. To do anything other than lay helpless. There was nothing he hated more than to have his own will ripped out of his own hands.

All he could do was stare at the creature—let his gaze burn holes clean through its head. The creature stared back, curious.

Illumi couldn't move and everything inside of him screamed as the thing pressed its claw in the middle of his chest—and cut down. It swiped at his abdomen with madness and care. Paralyzed as the thing slowly tore through the fascia and opened up his chest. Peering closer as it looked inside Illumi with morbid curiosity. Swelling with pride as if it were discovering something unbeknownst to the world. Witnessing the unveiling of a treasure unrivaled. Selfishly butchering a beauty all on a whim. No matter the skin, no matter the creature, everything underneath looks the same. Liver, lungs, heart.

Bone.

It yanked and it pulled and there was a twist and a crack while Illumi could do nothing, but lay frozen in place.

There was no greater pleasure than breaking his bones, keeping them for itself and cradling them in its blood soaked claws as if it were a newborn. But it wasn't enough to simply hold them close. No. They were too precious to leave alone. It must keep them safe.

The creature bent its head back and opened its jaw wide. Swallowing the bone in one gulp and licking its lips when it was done. The taste was immaculate but far too fleeting. It looked back down at Illumi. Not satisfied with just one. It titled its head to the side as if asking, why do you cry?

Illumi's face gave nothing away as tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. Fighting to open his mouth and curse the  monster born from his own mind. It would only make sense that it too would know his thoughts. As if reading Illumi's own mind it screamed, "NO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO!"

Don't want him to what? To scream. To escape. To protest. To curse its putrid name. To die.

Nothing. It wanted him to lie there and take it in like a good, obedient son.

This answer did not satisfy the creature, and it screeched a guttural cry in retaliation. Enraged that Illumi would even suggest such a ridiculous notion. Furious that Illumi would take away its greatest pleasure. Saddened that Illumi couldn't see his own beauty.

"I will show you." The thing's voice was grating, determined with newfound reason.

Wake up.

"I will show you just how beautiful you are."

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP.

Again and again it repeated this macabre ritual until Illumi finally woke up.

Illumi jolted awake. Eyes frantic. Body drenched in sweat. He couldn't move his arms nor his legs nor make a sound other than a pathetic groan. His fingers trembled, fighting to move. He wanted to wildly paw at his chest, to quell his mind that was afraid to find something amiss. There wasn't a single scratch on him and yet he still felt a lingering pain. The memory of the nightmare pulsed through his skin and the scars on his back tingled and throbbed, as if reminding him danger was fast approaching and he had every reason to be afraid.

There was someone above him.

Oh, it was his dear little brother scowling down at him with murderous intent. Illumi wondered what Milluki wanted to talk about, so early in the morning. He'd greet him good morning if he could form any coherent word in any language, so instead he stared and hoped the message came across well.

Milluki wanted to kill him.

"Sleep paralysis." Milluki exhaled, forcing himself not to laugh at the irony. He veered to Illumi's desk and picked up an x-acto precision knife used to cut and shape molding clay. Milluki twirled the knife over Illumi. Illumi breathed a little deeper. His dear big brother who built himself into an impenetrable fortress…is plagued with nightmares. No one could hurt him, well, no one except himself. "Alluka fucked you up that badly, huh."

Milluki slammed the knife down until it hovered over Illumi's left eye. A vein pulsed in Illumi's jaw, that was all he could do. Oh, his big brother was getting angry. Milluki laughed. "No shit, you really can't move. Awesome." He threw the knife down and enjoyed the sound of it clattering on the floor.

Milluki got to work. He opened wardrobes. Hurled clothes out of drawers. Flung open books and shook them wildly waiting to see if anything were to fall out. "Where are you hiding them?" Anger drenched his voice. "You got more when you were on that mission with Kalluto, didn't you?" He was sick and tired of Illumi getting everything he ever wanted. From their parents. From the girl Milluki was in love with. Psyche will never look at Milluki now. She will never see him more than Illumi's little brother. She will never look at him the way she looks at Illumi. And, worst of all, Milluki helped her. He helped her see Illumi in every way he wasn't. Perfect.

Illumi wasn't perfect. He was a fucking mess and Milluki wanted everyone to see it. He kept searching through Illumi's room. He'd tear the whole place apart to find what he needed to incriminate his brother and tear down his perfect little act—

Milluki's face slammed to the ground. A tight hold gripped the back of his neck. Fuck.

"You didn't time it right." Illumi sneered, strands of hair falling over his face like black thread. His hold over Milluki felt like cold, iron shackles. Escape was impossible.

"If you didn't want anyone in your room, you should have locked your door." Milluki snapped his jaw.

"Yes, please don't hesitate to turn it around on me. If you didn't want your neck snapped, why did you enter my room? Hm, I'm waiting." Illumi retorted.

"I can see that this is a very bad time—for both of us."

"You don't say." Illumi shrugged long strands of hair out of his face. "I'm going to tell you a story. You're going to listen. A fire breather's lair does not need to be sealed shut for someone to know not to wander inside. Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, human. For thou art crunchy and taste good with ketchup. What, pretell, is the lesson?"

Illumi has gone insane! "You're going to kill me with fire and then feed me to Mike like you tried to do when I was three months old." Here is Milluki's quick comprehensive guide to survive invoking Illumi's wrath: change your name, get a new face, and develop an appetite for canned goods because that's all you'll be eating while spending the remainder of your life running.

"Open a book for once." Illumi chided, then continued. "No, but thank you for the suggestion. And how could you say a horrible thing? Who could ever do that to someone with such a cute face."

"You." Ew, Milluki wanted to puke from Illumi's compliment.

"This is always like you, bringing up the past." Illumi said as if he had better things to discuss, annoyed.

"This is always like you…DENYING IT." Milluki mocked. IIllumi's logic went like this: If Illumi didn't remember it, then it didn't happen.

That actually made Illumi laugh. "Say if I did, maybe you did something to piss me off."

"I was a baby."

"And now you're all grown up and still manage to find new ways to piss me off. Should I be congratulating you instead?"

"TAKING ME OUT OF MY CRIB, AVOIDING BUTLERS, WALKING THROUGH THE FOREST TO THE KENNEL, AND DROPPING ME IN MIKE'S BOWL DURING FEEDING TIME IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT'S A STRING OF WELL CALCULATED CHOICES." It was Kikyo's favorite bedtime story to tell Milluki when he was little. Becoming more sugar coated, and less sinister, as the years passed.

Illumi lifted up one eyebrow, confused. "That's your experience."

"That is the experience."

"Alright, but I don't remember that happening." Illumi was on Milluki's back, one hand prepared to rip Milluki's head clean off and the other bending his arm back at the most perfectly crooked angle. Illumi was thankful for this, he didn't have to focus on his hands that still trembled from the memory of the nightmare that made his body numb. Milluki was real—so was his neck.

Milluki didn't know Illumi could bend his arm that far back. He made a sort of whining sound, the one an animal might make right before their slaughter. Or better yet, just before a brother might crack.

Illumi narrowed his eyes, vexed. "That doesn't hurt. Don't be so dramatic."

Milluki repeatedly smacked his free hand against the floor. "I give up, I give up!"

"So soon. And just when my attention is all yours."

"I don't want it."

"What was it you really wanted?" Illumi asked, not to Milluki, but to himself. "Yes. If you want something from me, then go on. Ask me." Illumi hissed out the last few words through his teeth.

"It's okay."

"I insist. I'll even help you find it too. We can look for it together."

Milluki suddenly, for a very sensible and limb-conscious reason, decided to give up wanting to blackmail his big brother. The idea of a future in which he still possessed his left arm and a head was much more appealing. Milluki failed to show his gratitude and instead scoffed under his breath. "Over my dead body."

"Okay." Illumi slowly pulled Miluki's arm back—Milluki made a sound Illumi has never heard before. Illumi loves bones. He especially loved studying them, holding them, displaying them—never breaking them. If it was a really bad day like the start of this day, today, he wondered what sound his little brother's arm would make if it were to break. Stomach curdling like the ones in his nightmares, no doubt. Milluki should know what that feels like too. Milluki yelped.

"It was a joke!" Milluki forced out a laugh. Maybe if he laughed, Illumi would laugh too.

There was no laughter from his big brother, only a pause. Illumi looked around his wrecked room, it was an ill played joke. Just when Milluki thought he found peace, Illumi spoke again, "Mind repeating it. I didn't get it the first time. I missed it between you threatening to take out my eye and bulldozing over all my shit while I was conveniently paralyzed, no doubt you thought you could take advantage of, but timed poorly."

"It is RUDE of me not to ask because I care so greatly about your health. Are you feeling better lately? Those gosh darn sleep demons. Amiright."

"No. But you're right handed, right? Good." Illumi answered for Milluki. Little brothers don't need left arms.

"Not good! NOT GOOD! Here's the funny thing, haha." Then Milluki barked loudly, "you're a certifiable psycho!"

Illumi smiled, comfortably. "Oh yeah. You didn't know that?"

"I didn't, actually. I didn't really know that." Milluki couldn't feel his arm anymore.

"Oh yeah. Oh yeah." Illumi verified Milluki's worst fear. "But enough about me. You're supposed to be what?"

"Regain the feeling in my legs." Milluki struggled to free himself. Illumi held on tighter the more he fought against him.

"That has yet to be decided. Hey, you want to know something?" Illumi leaned in closer, as if revealing a secret meant to be shared. "You're pretty fucking strange yourself, you know."

Milluki's arm was going to break! "Killing family is forbidden. You know the rules."

Illumi pulled Milluki's hair by the roots and forced him to look at a human skeleton hanging across his room. Real or otherwise, he left that up to Milluki's imagination. "He knew them well too."

"MOTHEEEEER!" Milluki cried out for help.

Illumi pointed to the walls and mouthed, "There, there, above, below. Sound proof. Every wall. For someone so smart, I'm surprised this is yet another thing that you don't know. So. I have a feeling you might not like this part because you can make all the noise you want and still no one will hear a thing."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Illumi let go of Milluki's arm and neck. Illumi loved his brother even when he was insufferable. It was disappointing that Milluki couldn't even break free from Illumi's hold, and only escaped when Illumi decided it was time to let him go himself. Illumi kept that thought to himself—hush hush. Milluki scrambled to his feet. "I'm joking." He laughed, holding out his arms. "I can joke too."

Milluki doubted it as he rubbed his arm trying to knead away the pain. It was going to be hard trying to hold a game controller with this. His eyes wandered to the only item on the desk he didn't knock over in his blind pursuit of immediate extortion. It was a clay sculpture. Oh, Illumi was making another disguise again. Or as Illumi likes to call them, his new faces. Each uglier than the last. Illumi always liked weird things ever since he was little, proudly choosing to be a goblin as an occupation when his baby teeth began to fall out—thinking his fangs were finally starting to come in. Then disappointed when they weren't since he couldn't be a blunt toothed goblin. Perhaps he was this way because he read too much R.L. Stine as a kid, wearing monster masks with sharp-toothed frightening grins and beetle-black scowling eyes even after Halloween passed. Or climbing up trees and hanging upside down on the branches like night dyed bats to surprise unsuspecting bystanders with high shrill shreeks. Heck, when he watched Pinnochio for the first time, Illumi didn't care much about the terror of pleasure island and instead thought that the idea of turning into a donkey seemed fun, for some odd reason. There has never been a day when Illumi wasn't weird.

Illumi glowed with pride at his new face, like a craftsman pleased by the mastery of his own work. "It's still in the design stage, but it's coming along very nicely."

If looks could kill, this was it. Milluki thought, but he only hummed in agreement, more thankful for the pleasant change in mood than anything else.

"Milluki," Illumi called as his brother limped out the door. "Good morning." It was too late for that.

Milluki groaned as he closed the door behind him and left to lie down in his own room and rethink his life's choices.

Illumi stepped over the rubble, surveying the mess. He picked up modeling clay and his tools. At least Milluki didn't wreck his new face. Before he applies a new disguise to his body using his needles, he always designs it beforehand to perfect all the details. Illumi took a step back to overlook the prototype, and the joy he felt from admiring his own creation made him forget the torment of his sleepless night. If nightmares and sleep paralysis were all he was experiencing after having his bones forcefully ripped out of him then Illumi reasoned that he was fine. It wasn't severe enough to compel him to tell his parents, though he now clearly regretted telling Milluki. The problem will eventually wane and he has suffered far worse than sleepless nights. He just has to endure it until it does. He had a knack for that.

Anyway, his new face was on its way to becoming a very handsome man.

He sat crisscrossed in his chair listening to King, by Florence + The Machine, on his ipod as he spun in his chair thinking of better ways to improve his face. All the while holding onto a pinecone, unusually spiked in all the best places, mouthing the lyrics "I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to sing, I need my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology." Then, inspiration struck just as the chorus did. He stopped spinning and resumed molding the clay, broadening the nose, lifting the cheeks, and elongating the chin. Adding the short faux needles with wooden bulbs when he was certain of the bone structure.

Illumi leaned back in his chair. Smiling at the new face as if they've been lifelong friends.

"Hello, Gittarackur. Welcome to my world."

Psyche's own words came back to taunt her. Those men that followed her into the restaurant, were just as eager to follow her out. From the moment she walked out the door they were on their feet. Mimicking the words she said to the chef about finding the perfect one. Her wish for the one wasn't childish—she already had it—but they took it as an opportunity to make her tick. The streets were empty and without the watchful and prying eyes and ears of those from the restaurant, they told her exactly how she could be their one. Not once failing to illuminate how she had exactly one hole for each of them; and they were fine taking turns sharing. Their laughs were disgusting, it made her want to rip out their tongues. Perhaps that would make them think twice about spewing vulgarity.

Psyche turned the corner and into an abandoned alley. The men walked faster, blood pulsing in their veins, thinking they had the upper hand. They prowled into the alley. One man threw off his jacket without care.

The girl was gone.

There was a wolf in her place. Something made of shadows. Something otherworldly. But undeniably dark and dangerous. Long before they thought to run, the wolf began to do what wolves do best.

Eat.

Psyche jumped down from the fire escape. Her feet landed lightly on the cement, hardly making a sound that not even her picnic basket justled as she neared her nen beast who was chewing contentedly on its very last bite. Not a drop of blood was spilled. Not even a scrap nor a crumb left over. She trained her nen beast well. When it was done, it stretched out its body and yawned.

She sneered at the jacket further away on the cement. Trash should never be left behind. She found an old hanger sticking out of a trashcan and used it to hook the jacket and dump it with the rest of the garbage.

Her nen beast was curious why its master leaned back against the wall and did nothing. As if waiting for something else to happen. Whatever it was, it did not know. Nonetheless, it obediently laid itself down and waited beside her. Waiting for whatever it was she was waiting for. For it had no wants other than fulfilling its master's.

Psyche waited and thought. In the ways of a so called just world, the good are rewarded and the evil are punished. But we don't live in a just world, now do we? If such an idyllic world did exist, then Psyche would be out of her job. In this world the wicked run free and the innocent are maimed, so she knew it was never a matter of if she would receive a call from a client, but when. Which was why she waited in the alley and wasn't surprised at all when her phone began to buzz. It was the man from the hunter exam site, the one whose arms were severed right up to his shoulders, whose fate was forcibly determined for him by a man he didn't know—without even a name, Psyche knew she was to become well acquainted with this malefactor soon enough. Before the man spoke, her mind was already conjuring up punishments, perhaps because she was already vexed by what just happened with her stalkers. She knew it was time. Vengeance was to be delivered—A death was due.

She craved to get back to work.

The man tsked on the other end of the line, calling from a hospital, anger simmering in his voice. Rightfully so. The man had every right to be angry. Now was the time to let it be—Psyche could feel it too, a morsel of anger seethed inside her thinking of a life and all its possibilities taken away in a split second. She felt sorry for the man, and let his anger fuel her call to take action. "What the hell is this about an angel? I don't need an angel." He snapped his jaw, biting down air with each word.

"And yet you called, so there is something you want."

"And you know? What I want is forgiveness, I should forgive him, right? That's what you're going to say to me? It's not enough of a bother for you guys going door to door trying to convince people to convert, otherwise we'd go straight to hell, right?"

Psyche laughed, "Oh no, I'm not here to tell you to forgive anyone. In fact, you're owed more than that."

The man scoffed. "What kind of religious bullshit is this—"

Psyche smiled. "I don't want anything from you. On the contrary, it's what I can do for you. I may have glossed over my specialty when we first met, given the time constraint and prying eyes."

"The Bean?" The man asked, curiously. Recalling that talking vegetable who sweeped away the flower petals that were once his arms.

"The Bean." Psyche agreed.

"THE BEAN!" The man cursed. Then a defeated sigh, "fuck that bean."

Psyche leaned back about against the stone wall, basking in the cool embrace of the dark alleyway. "Let me put it to you in another way. Do you believe in karma?" There was a glint in her eyes, a grin on her lips. She enjoyed her work much too well, pointing cosmic justice back in the right direction whenever it drifted too wayward. "I'm karma."

The man knew it was time to start believing in it. "I need a deadman," the words came spilling out of his mouth, a prayer his heart knew long before his mind did. A prayer that for once wouldn't fall unto death ears and finally be listened to. A prayer that karma—this angel—was keen on answering. Swiftly and mercilessly.

Psyche reached out her arm and gently scratched the tuft of fur on her shadow beast's head. Tilting its head towards her and closing its eyes. It liked that. "Those are my favorite words."

The man described her target, giving as much detail as he could remember. Suddenly, he choked on his words. As if a nightmare crawled down his throat and nestled itself in his belly. It was a cold lump that stifled his words. He remembered the clown's name.

"Hm, is that all?" Psyche asked.

"Hisoka." The man swallowed. "His name is Hisoka."

The deadman has a name now. Though not entirely necessary, as Beans stated, applicants are solely referred to by their badge numbers—which her client couldn't recall for the life of him. Hisoka was merely a number among hundreds. Along with her husband. Still, Psyche tossed around the name in her head, recalling how Hisoka made crippling a man a spectacle—a repulsive performance—for a crowd that was forced to bear witness. No one lifted a finger, no one dared to stop him. So many bystanders, yet so little help offered. Typical.

She wouldn't allow herself to believe Hisoka maimed a man only for lack of manners. Unless he was the type of person to be slighted by every minor inconvenience around him, by things that were no more serious than a shoulder bump, she would have heard about an onslaught of murders before even making her to way to the restaurant while walking through town, full of charletans, thiefs, and some unsavory vulgar men; a nuisance around almost every corner. There had to be more. Sick amusement? No doubt. But in front of hundreds of people before the exam began. Psyche's eyes shot up. Hisoka issued a warning, it wasn't just a performance, but a threat. Everyone there is now afraid of him, that barbaric display effectively worked in his favor. Stay out of his way for the duration of the exam, and you might just live. Hisoka wanted to pass without a hitch.

"Willow." Psyche summoned the little black fox from her own shadow. It slithered out from behind her and began to take form. Flicking its tail like the crack of a whip when it stood up on all fours. Scare tactics didn't work on Psyche. They only made her pissed.

It's been a while since she's seen a clown, but never one starring in his own execution.

Now that's a performance she was dying to see.

Kalluto was never first. Except for being the first in doing everything last. Not one of his brothers has bested Kalluto's record—not that any of them saw him as competition.

Kalluto was the fifth Zoldyck child. He was also the furthest in line to become heir. He never thought of becoming heir himself given the sheer impossibility of it, since the heir was decided before he was ever born. The initial potential bearer of the title belonged to his older brother, Illlumi. It felt natural and Kalluto was proud of his older brother. Then it went to Killua; trained under the tutelage of an experienced assassin, Illumi. Kalluto was saddened at this news, but if that is what their father wished, and Illumi as well, then Kalluto again felt it was the natural way of things. Nothing more was expected of Kalluto than to watch from the sidelines as it all unfolded.

Kalluto had no desire to be heir, at least he thought he had no reason to desire it. Maybe it would have been nice to have been considered a possible choice only for the satisfaction of his parents to see him capable of carrying out the position; to be considered an essential part of the Zoldyck Family's future.

By the time Kalluto began crawling, Illumi was already a honed professional and the youngest assassin registered in the Bureau bearing the Zoldyck name with an outstanding future ahead of him. By the time Kalluto stood up to take his first step, Milluki was already inventing technology that renowned engineers themselves would rescind their diplomas out of shame. By the time Kalluto learned to hold a knife, Killua could kill with his bare hands.

Promising. Intelligent. Gifted.

That's who his brothers were.

Every marvelous feat Kalluto accomplished his parents have seen thrice before by his brothers. Standards were set. Expectations were high. Disappointment wasn't an option.

Kalluto felt particularly sour this morning.

Today, because it's always something different, he told himself it was because he was the last of his siblings to begin his immunization program. Only a few more injections to go and he'll officially have completed the program, and subsequently be that much harder to kill. Despite the fact that his attitude alone could scare off his enemies. The butler preparing the equipment definitely felt it could. Developing immunity to the common poisons, such as arsenic, was one of the essential basics of assassintion. The Zoldycks naturally went beyond that.

The butler was about to roll up his sleeve, until Kalluto did it himself. He was annoyed when the butler felt around his arm, pressing her fingers into his skin to search for an artery to inject the concoction into. All the while tucking strands of her hair back behind her shoulders because it kept falling in front of her face, getting in the way. Kalluto bit the inside of his cheek, to prevent himself from saying something mean. It was obvious where to inject the needle. The spot hadn't changed from yesterday nor the day before that one too. The swelling that surrounded the elevated pinpricks reduced and the splotchy purple pattern around the injected sight of his skin began to fade. His body was showing a mild reaction, already forming memory cells to fight against the poison if it enters his body in the future.

The butler chose a spot away from any swollen areas to avoid further inflammation, rubbed it with alcohol, and then carefully injected the needle into Kalluto's arm. "You're doing great, Master Kalluto." She said, with a kind smile. Worried that even her breathing was an insult to him. "Soon enough you won't need any more."

Her words didn't ease Kalluto's anxiety. He should have already completed the program. He should already be miles ahead of where he is now. Still, he held his tongue and let her speak encouraging words, lest he speak something far less encouraging and more berating. Mother did tell him to be nicer and this was as nice as he was going to get.

When she was finished, she placed a bandaid over the pinprick. Pain shot through Kalluto's arm towards his shoulder. A moment of fleeting pain was all it took for Kalluto to snap his mouth open and bite.

A crisp snap, over before it began, resonated through the room. Kalluto slapped her face with the back of his hand. His hand was still in the air, frozen in the position he struck her with. Waiting.

The butler, enraged, grabbed ahold of his arm and squeezed. Twisting his arm until it was bloody and bruised—that's what he thought she would do. Instead, she just kneeled there. Stunned into silence. Head down in submission. He hates it when they do nothing. Just fight back a little. Cry a little. Scream a little. Do something.

The butler bowed her head, averting her gaze from his eyes. "Forgive me, Master Kalluto." Profusely apologizing. Hands trembling beside her, trying to hide the fact that she hopefully wasn't making a pathetic spectacle of herself. What did she think was going to happen next? Report her to his mother and have her punished, killed—or something far worse?

He could do that.

Kalluto hasn't spoken to Alluka since their last visit. And it was for the better. Even Kikyo herself thought it was best for the two of them to spend time apart, and reflect on both of their actions. No more bickering and no more death threats, a simple enough rule that proved to be more difficult than expected from either child. Though this time apart did seem to do Kalluto some good, he had to admit it made things immensely boring. There was no one else left to torture.

Maybe he should report her.

He was growing bored, and she was careless. A little sugar would cure his sour mood. Kalluto moved closer towards her—and that alone had her trembling. She looked down at the ground and willed herself to accept her fate. Squeezing her eyes shut. Kalluto gave her a quizzical look. Oh she's scared. Kalluto liked that. He ran a hand through her hair, each strand akin to golden thread, right beside her reddened cheek where he hit her. "Your hair is so long."

"Thank you—"

Kalluto's voice was eerily calm. "If it's really long and distracts you from doing your work, in a split second you could miss where to aim with the syringe and I'd bleed out to death. Did you think of that? Unless that is what you're hoping for."

"No!" Her voice was quick, soaked in panic. She breathed in to maintain composure. "I would never desire such a horrendous thing at all. I am a Zoldyck Butler, my loyalties are for the Family. To serve you, to give my life to you, to honor—"

"Is my death something to desire?" Kalluto turned his head to the side, ignoring the credo the butlers parrot at the academy in the estate. He pointed his finger and tapped it on her forehead. "Only an enemy would think that. In here."

The butler was visibly trembling now. She shook her head before the words could come out. No no no no no.

"You're not saying anything. So I'm right?"

The butler forced herself to speak. "Never! I'd never think of—"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to report you for simply having a thought."

She looked up and into his eyes—a shiver went down her spine. She never saw a child's eyes show immense delight in another's misery before.

"This makes me curious now." Kalluto sat on the edge of his chair. "Tell me how you would kill me. You have thought about it, so don't lie. I'll come close to you and you can whisper it in my ear, so no one will hear. I won't tell Mother. Go on."

The butler croaked out a sound. Fear closing up her throat. Every instinct in her body told her not to speak.

Kalluto leaned back, frowning. "Hm. It's smart if you don't say anything at all. One word from you, real or otherwise, would be called into question. You'd be tried for mutiny and mutiny is punishable by death. They taught that well at the Academy, that's good to know. It's better not to say anything at all. Since you already know." Kalluto tapped her head harder. "My brother and his wife were almost assassinated at their wedding. My parents are doing everything in their power to find the ones responsible. Unless they're…" he tapped her head again. "Right here."

She stared at the ground. Eyes vacant and glassy. Lips chapped. "I have a hair tie in my pocket. I'll tie my hair back right now."

Kalluto beamed. "Very good! See how easy that was!"

Her hand went to her back pocket. Kalluto's hmm sent a chill through her, making her freeze stiff. He was reconsidering something—he was beginning to change his mind. A frightening thought indeed.

Kalluto sighed. "It's better that it's me than Mother reprimanding you. Here, I'll help you." Kalluto knew that Illumi condemned torturing the butlers for wicked pleasure all the while rolling his wrist, tightening his fist, and coiling the butler's hair like rope around his fingers until she yelped.

But Illumi wasn't here.

Snip.

Killua wanted the hunter exam to be more exciting. Forget about it, we need to get moving. We can still make it if we start right now. Was the last thing he said to Gon before he disappeared into the fog. By the time Killua reached the front runners, it was too late. Gon was already long gone. He thought he was going to finish the rest of the first phase with Gon, but it looks like Gon got himself killed by going back to rescue his other friends. Whatever their names were. They're dead too. It would've been nice if they all could have finished the first phase together, but it was nice while it lasted.

Killua tried to warn Gon. He guessed he just had better instincts than him. It wasn't surprising since Killua was one of the more exceptional applicants here taking the hunter exam. Originally, he thought more people would be on his level, but from the moment the exam started, man, now he just felt sorry for most of the people here. He wondered if it was too late to go back and grab Gon's fishing rod. Nah, there's no time. That trick Gon showed back in the tunnel was really cool though. But Killua has a bigger problem to worry about.

He briefly turned his head to look behind him and sneered. That freak was still here.

#301. Gittarackur.

Killua knew they were all just following Satotz, the examiner, but it felt like #301 has been deliberately following him ever since they began running in the wetlands! When Killua swerves, #301 swerves. When Killua changes his pace, so does #301. Not to mention the odd way he runs like a machine, those red eyes that don't even blink, and that smile permanently fixed on his stupid ugly face. UGH! IT WAS CREEPY AS HELL! GET LOST! Maybe Killua was just paranoid. OR MAYBE HE WAS RIGHT!

Killua's steps cleanly thumped against the ground. The terrain was no longer muddy—they're leaving the swamp.

The fog began to thin and Killua saw a silhouette of a Noggin Lugging Tortoise and whistled—successfully getting its attention. The ferocious creature roared and lounged its jaw towards Killua. Killua fell back and let his skateboard glide him under the beast's head, evading capture and leaving a welcome surprise for #301 to run into.

"Oops." Killua didn't bother to hide his grin. He didn't have to when the guy behind him was going to die. "Watch out, it looks hungry." He mumbled much softer under his breath that only he could hear.

The tortoise opened its jaw wide as Gittarackur ran towards it. It didn't even have to try. Dinner was coming directly to it.

In one swift move Gittarackur jumped off the ground and somersaulted over the creature's head. Perfectly landing on the other side before the tortoise even had a second to blink. He was on his feet running from the moment he landed.

Gittarackur laughed. Clack clack clack clack clack clack.

Killua screamed.

JUST DO AHEAD AND DIE ALREADY!

THE WORST THING IN THE SWAMP WAS APPLICANT #301!

And so, Killua ran as fast as his legs enabled him to go. To get away from the bizarre man he didn't know was in fact his bizarre older brother. While Illumi, smiling and laughing to himself, was so happy. It was just like playing tag back at home, chasing his baby brothers around the Mountain, snatching them between the swaying branches of towering cedar trees, and letting them go so they could do it all again. All. Day. Long. Ah, those were wonderful memories.

Kalluto flicked gold hair off his sleeves.

That wasn't as much fun as he thought it would be. He grew bored by the time the butler's hair became a raggedy mess. He left the poor girl to clean up the chopped remains of her hair. No doubt in tears too. Now, he was on his way to his room, going there sour and continuing to be sour while in there. Thinking of his injections and training and how far he was behind his brothers.

How many times have his brothers done this and not complain once? Not show pain once? Take it and move onto their next great thing? They made training look effortless while Kalluto tried his best not to drop to the floor and lay there in a miserable, wallowing heap.

Kalluto wanted to kick something. The moments after the injection left his arm feeling nothing, but as the minutes passed, it felt everything. Every move his body made sent a shard a pain through his arm. He knew what to expect and he knew the pain would pass as it always does.

He opened and closed his palm, despite how much he'd rather keep it still. Just do it. Fight through it. Endure it as Illumi does.

Kalluto groaned. At the pain. At himself.

He shouldn't really be comparing himself to his brothers. They were older than him, and had their own share of troubles. Illumi's title as heir was stripped away and replaced with the prospect of a respectable marriage in its place. Milluki doesn't bother inventing more than what Silva demands of him, and instead spends his days wasting away his time on his computer playing mindless games. Killua, title and future handed to him on a silver platter, threw everything away in exchange for the grand sum total of absolutely nothing.

Underwhelming. Shut in. Runaway.

That's who his brothers became.

Who was Kalluto? Was he going to be a disappointment before proving he could do anything great?

Kalluto sighed, willing himself to think of something else. When will Illumi come back from the hunter exam? Illumi left before they could play together too. It wasn't fair that Kalluto spent more time missing his big brother than actually spending time with him. Kalluto growled, he always had a talent for making himself feel worse.

But now that Illumi was married, maybe he would remember that he had a family at all and stop treating Kukuroo Mountain like a pit-stop between jobs and start treating it like his home again.

Kalluto walked past Psyche's room, then walked a few steps back. Staring at her locked door. She wasn't here either. Supposedly having left for the hunter exam after too.

His eyes veered towards the lock. His fingers began to twitch.

Kalluto didn't exactly give her a warm welcome when she arrived. Admittedly, Alluka had a point. Your circle is just as small as mine. Only difference is you keep pushing people out and one day you'll realize that you'll be the last one standing in it. It was wrong of him not to give Psyche a chance. He should amend that. Get to know her. Let her in his circle. And if he doesn't like her….

He can push her right out.

Psyche chose to kill two birds with one stone.

By taking on this mission she'd be doing the hunter exam, ergo society as a whole, a favor by getting rid of Hisoka. The world would be better off with one less killer clown with a penchant for chopping off random stranger's arms. It would be her best good deed in all of the month of January combined. And, it gave her an excuse to see Illumi. She didn't come all this way just to sightsee Zaban city, and she wasn't going to return home to Kukuroo Mountain without him.

Kukuroo Mountain…Home…

A surge of butterflies fluttered inside of her. It was the first time she thought of Kukuroo Mountain as home! And the thought of surprising Illumi during the exam made her want to squeal! Psyche's cheeks flushed pink. If she were to happen across Illumi and happen to see that he failed the exam, which he won't, though Psyche always planned for the unexpected.

Her 'good luck you'll ace the test' picnic basket would transform perfectly into a 'good try maybe next year' picnic basket. It wouldn't be a total loss either since it would just mean they'd go on their honeymoon sooner. Technically they should be on their honeymoon right now. Somewhere especially romantic.

Psyche slapped her palms against her cheeks. It was time to focus! She's following the hunter exam purely for work. Honest.

Psyche peeked her head through Willow's burrow that directly connected back to the hunter exam site. There, she saw Beans, who was still sweeping away. Humming a tune to himself. Smiling by himself surrounded by no one else. That snooty little bean who wouldn't even verify if Illumi, her husband who she is worried sick over, got to the exam site safely. What other wife would go through the lengths she does for her husband? No matter how much she'd prefer Beans over a salad, she wasn't here to exact vengeance on him.

However, he stands in the way between her doing her job and reuniting with the love of her life. Therefore, he has to be taken care of. Salad, it is. She has just the right shadow for the task.

Psyche summoned Poirot.

Poirot was a little black mouse, with an awfully big bite. While he had a mind of his own, he much preferred using his teeth. His greatest gift from his master that he held most dear. He was the youngest of Psyche's shadows, and by far the least trained. When in the presence of the other shadows, chaos was still his closest companion. He snaps at Willow's paws and he scampers up Beast's gangly limbs to nip his ears. He's given Psyche a few nicks on her fingers herself, but he's calmed down now. Mostly.

But his rambunctious behavior is what she needed.

Poirot blinked his wide black eyes up at Psyche. Then she turned him around to face Beans. Poirot squeaked. Prey.

"That's right." Psyche whispered.

There were few things that little Poirot didn't detest, but nothing enraged little Poirot more than a pair of pretty eyes that refused to notice him. The hunter's head was perfectly round and his complexion was a dewy green. The man was tiny and green and shiny and the shadowy mouse could already feel the crack of a crisp nip between its teeth. Its shadowy form vibrated with a dangerous brew of excitement and impatience. Little Poirot was craving the perfect bite. The mouse could not speak; only snapped its teeth.

Psyche lowered her hand to the floor and Poirot ran to the giant bean.

Poirot stopped in front of Beans.

Beans stopped humming.

Poirot scampered forward.

"Get back." Beans swung his broom to scare the creature.

Poirot wanted to bite off his face.

Beans smacked his broom on top of the mouse and sighed in relief.

The mouse ran up the broom and made a jump for his face.

While Poirot was distracting Beans, the poor man barricaded himself in a supply closet, Psyche snached a flower petal and quickly snuck herself inside the tunnel and began her hunt. She ran through the tunnel, accompanied by the sounds of her own breathing and steps. Periodically checking the tracker, Illumi was miles away, by at least 50 miles—still moving. Going on foot was taking too long, she summoned back Poirot and replaced him with Beast. With her picnic basket in its mouth, and her on its back, it was a more comfortable and faster mode to travel. The exam pool was already 50 miles away.

The applicants must have been dropping like flies, considering how many she passed. None of whom were Illumi or her target, Hisoka. None bothered to look her way, too tired and exhausted from having run for miles without a break. Psyche reasoned that the first phase was more than just about testing endurance. The first failed applicants she presumed, to put it nicely, were having seizures. Either from being physically worn out or from the shock of being the first to fail the test. The first in particular seemed to be in the worst condition. #187. His short, black hair stuck to his skin, and the clothes he wore were drenched in sweat from the run. His eyes were glassy and it was more than just the exam that broke his spirit. He didn't notice Psyche as she left him a bottle of water. She did the same for the next applicants until she had no more to give.

With the little information Psyche possessed of her target, she figured Hisoka wasn't the type of person to let himself die too early on in the game. Focused eyes quickly scanned blurred heads and bodies as she passed them. She rubbed the flower petal between her fingers and observed it using gyo—nen. It was malicious and impish by nature. Hisoka was a nen user. She kept her head forward, hardly fazed by this new knowledge.

The last hurdle was a long winding staircase, angled straight towards the sky. A way out of this miserable hole. At the top, she descended off her wolf and placed her hand over the steel wall that separated her from the outside world. Once leaving the tunnel, there was no turning back.

Out of the fire and into the frying pan.

Psyche smiled to herself. Illumi made it out of the tunnel safely.

But how was she going to get out?

"What will I do now?" She said aloud to Beast. Constantly interchanging her shadows will be too taxing. She didn't want to use Willow until an emergency arose and she had no choice left. She could summon Willow for hopefully the last time, but she didn't want to take that bet—

Beast stood up on his hind legs and punched a hole through the steel gate. Tearing apart the metal to create a hole big enough for Psyche to climb through.

He was only met with disapproval.

"BAD BOY. NO. WE DON'T VANDALIZE." Psyche huffed as she rummaged through her purse. Grabbing her checkbook and furiously scribbling an anonymous donation to the hunter association, despite them hardly deserving it. She didn't like her presence being known while working, but unlike the association, when Psyche was responsible for a problem, she did her utmost to fix it. "We're not like my sisters." She placed the check in a visible spot next to all the damage. "We don't destroy public property—on purpose."

Stepping out of the dark tunnel and into the light, Psyche was met with a warm breeze as if the swamp itself was alive and breathing just as she was. The fog began to lift. She took that as a good omen. It slowly receded back into the swamp—Curtains lifting. Performance beginning. Stars descending.

One step and her shoe sunk into the mud. She frowned. Running on this land would be much harder than on sturdy ground like that in the tunnel. The air is thicker, making it harder to breathe too.

She looked down at the tracker, and then back up at the thinning fog revealing the forest ahead. The tunnel led her to the Milsy Wetlands. A quick google search told her it was also called Swindler's Swamp, a popular name that captured the public's attention, and various creepy pasta online horror stories. She expected nothing less to fuel her growing panic. The swamp is the heart of the biome—beating and thrumming with danger inherent to its nature.

As Psyche scrolled and scrolled and scrolled down the never ending list of deadly fauna and flora, it only made her all the more confident that she was going to become a widow by sundown. None of these animals needed to exist! All of God's creatures are lovely, except for the ones in the Milsy Wetlands. Birds with voices that can mimic the living. Butterflies that can cast hypnotic spells. Mushrooms that explode upon touch. Colossal tortoises that fool prey with giant strawberries on their shells. Psyche put a hand over her heart, panic stricken. Oh no. Strawberries were her favorite—she was made to be swindled. This wasn't how she envisioned Strawberry Shortcake's Strawberryland where the only thing to worry over was tending strawberry berry vines and not eating enough pie instead of avoiding man-faced apes who had acquired a taste for human flesh.

If the hunter committee wanted to weed out the applicant pool, then the Milsy Wetlands was ideal—and superseded her worst nightmare. Blood hoppers, miracuously, became the least of her worries, suddenly replaced by explosive appetizers and dinosaur-esque monsters that the only place they should be found in the modern age was in Jurassic Park movies. A newly wed wife shouldn't be imagining 1000 ways how her husband could die just before their honeymoon. If they have a honeymoon at all—

A bone snapped. A terrible sound.

It was enough to free her of her own thoughts, witnessing the horrors of the wetlands. Daydreaming could get her killed. She could not forget where she was and what she was to the wetlands. A pack of vultures voraciously feasted on an unrecognizable carcass. Splintered bones and frayed flesh were mere crumbs that surrounded their bloody banquet. While the pool of blood beneath the body looked like a table cloth dyed red. A macabre feast. Psyche did not avert her gaze, she forced herself to look long and hard. Let it be a reminder for her not to screw up. The mass was human shaped. An applicant? Her target? HER HUSBAND!? The tuft of hair remaining on its head was neither red nor black. She felt guilty by the amount of relief she felt from that.

Nature can be so brutal, it's hard to watch.

Psyche opened the camera app on her phone and recorded the scene. This wouldn't be the last person to perish in the wetlands. Her eyes narrowed. Zooming in on the body, she saw–what was that? Playing cards? Pierced deep through the nasal cavity and another in the frontal lobe. It was a swift death before the vultures descended. Further ahead, she saw more cards. Less blood. Underneath her feet was a miracle.

A stampede of footprints led into the forest.

She was suddenly grateful for all the mud.

The vultures were becoming vexed, reduced to pecking scraps off bones. Hunger barely sated. They turned their gangly necks towards Psyche—fresh and plump and alive.

She threw a rock near them, making them scatter quickly. They preferred their prey to lie still than fight back.

It was time to move on. Psyche mounted her wolf, followed the tracks, and disappeared into the fog.

Thirty six applicants withdrew from the exam.

One assassin trailed close behind.

Chapter Text

No horrors could hide in the absence of the fog. Psyche documented as much as she could following the beaten trail of hunter applicants through the wetlands. There were dismembered limbs floating in murky red, bubbling puddles, beasts she's never seen before lounging in mud and reeds with scraps of their last meals jutting out through their sharp teeth, and partially eaten bodies of deceased applicants covered in thick clouds of yellow spores as butterflies flocked around them laying their eggs.

The first thing she wanted to do since entering the wetlands was leave it. Initially, she thought if Illumi or Hisoka perished she'd find their bodies. But it was evident that the swamp worked faster than she expected. If she couldn't find their bodies now then she never would. You either leave the wetlands alive or become a part of it. Remains scattered over miles or resting whole in the belly of a wild beast.

Psyche wasn't going to die here. She survived worse. She will find her husband. She will kill Hisoka—and by the time she is through with him he will have wished he perished in the swamp. As for the rest of the applicants who weren't lucky….She was going to see this through until the end for them. She zoomed in on an applicant's badge, covered in blood. No name. No face. Only a number.

Her phone flashed. A picture was taken.

The hunter association may turn a blind eye, but Psyche will make the world see what happened here.

To ease her mind, Psyche resumed listening to the audiobook of Natashia Novaek's debut novel: The Beguiling Phantom of Miss GraveRidge's Mortuary.

'I brought my boyfriend back to life. He was already dead when we first met.'

As the daughter of a mortician, Catalina GraveRidge learned from a very early age to take care of the dead just as well as herself. Hence why each young man (of untimely passing), instead of donning boring white shrouds of linen to protect against indecency, were dressed in finely pressed suits, tailored perfectly to their forms. Hair combed back, not shrouding a single detail of their faces. Organs pristinely intact and chests carefully stitched up after postmortems. Jaws yet to be wired shut. Inside the morgue, bright white lights illuminated the girl as she marched along a line of freshly dead corpses. Well, they looked like they were caught in peaceful slumber, ready at any moment to wake up, fling themselves off the examining table, and take Catalina by the hand and dance with her until the soles of their leather shoes wore thin. She diligently inspected each with her hands folded neatly behind her back as if she were a distinguished connoisseur of the recently deceased.

One of these will make for an excellent boyfriend.

All but one will be laid to rest in their coffins. All but one will not be burdened with keeping her secret until the day they die once again. After much deliberation she made her choice and set out to the graveyard with a satchel looped around one shoulder and the body of her soon to be beloved on a rolling gurney in front of her. Humming a sweet tune as the doors of the elevator closed with a shudder and rose her up from beneath the ground and into the world above. A whirring sound of gears turning enraptured her mind. There was no turning back. She made her choice. Catalina was a thief.

Only the night dwellers soaring across the moonlight sky and those below scuttling between headstones engulfed by pernicious undergrowths that dared to crack stone were the sole witnesses to her crime.

Even in the dark, she knew where the graves were by heart—where each stone perfectly lined and bolted upright from the freshly cut grass. At the furthest end of the graveyard, where no flowers were ever left, not for Christmas, not for Easter, not for birthdays nor other holidays. It was the site of where the first of many stones were laid. These stones withered from the cutting rain and paled under the scorching sun until the engravings on the stones were flat and smooth and one soul could no longer be distinguished from its neighbor. The final home of forgotten sons and daughters on the outskirts of GraveRidge Cemetery.

There! She saw him! Illuminated by fractals of moonlight caught between the gaps from the overgrowth above. His head was turned down, his eyelids closed—sleeping in front of his own headstone that only had slight bumps and grooves where letters and numbers used to clearly be engraved. His glow weakened as the days passed. His slumbers grew longer until Catalina feared one day he wouldn't wake at all. Growing fainter than the moonlight that first guided her to her one true love.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her with a radiant smile that not even death could dull. Oh! How her heart soared! With heavy eyelids he floated above and looked down at the body, uncertain. As if he was afraid to step into something beautiful.

Catalina was ready to make their love real. Hands to hold. A heart to feel. A second chance at a life worth living to fix the greatest wrong that was ever dealt in these young lovers' lives—his death.

Catalina was the worst thief.

But she was also the best girlfriend.

In this dreary swamp filled with dead and deadly things, Psyche smiled dreamily. There was never an improper time to read romance novels.

Speaking of corpses, Psyche could use one as well.

Having already caught and killed his pig for the second phase of the hunter exam, Illumi kept his gaze fixed on his little brother. Spying respectfully from a distance, inconspicuously peering through a well concealing thicket of shrubs, with his hand carefully hovering over a pair of needles (honestly, being overly cautious was a harmless reflex of his.)

Illumi wasn't going to blow his disguise (yet) nor kill anyone (in front of Killua) but one never knew when three applicants were to mysteriously disappear in the forest occupied by the world's most carnivorous pigs. The stakes were so high, it would be underwhelming if anyone didn't make it through the forest alive. (though the real danger, Illumi reasoned, was being around Hunters. It was clever using the swamp as the location of the first phase considering swamps have a miraculous tendency to make any and all evidence disappear. It was nature's very own Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser for the criminally inclined. Satotz, that cynical bastard. Well played.)

As perceptive as Illumi thought he was, he was genuinely baffled trying to decipher whether Killua was simply squandering his time or hoped to secure financial backing with a Hunter's license after access to his debit card was locked after running away (without money, Kikyo thought Killua would return home or at least go to the only place he knew he could get a lot of quick cash—Heaven's Arena. From the moment Killua fled home, Kikyo was manipulating where he would run) Illumi looked for any signs of remorse or guilt or paranoia on Killua's face, but all Illumi saw was Killua mucking about through the woods with three strangers of questionable intentions. Why any normal person would voluntarily spend time with a Zoldyck made no sense to Illumi if they weren't already acquainted with murder or at the very least about to be murdered.

There was also a blonde boy and judging from his clothing, it was clear he hailed from the Kurta Clan. Illumi was surprised there were any survivors left. The clan was very secretive and tucked themselves away in the Lukso Province, it was a paradise from what Illumi read. He'd like to visit there someday. The clan isolated themselves away from the world, from those who feared and coveted their scarlet eyes, which was why it took six weeks for the world to take notice. Years ago, he remembered watching coverage of the massacre over the news, and the countless controversial headlines that were put under fire by an outraged public. Ridiculing news stations for overshadowing the victims of the massacre by "glamorizing" the Phantom Troupe. From highlighting the mysterious lives of its members, to analyzing the ominous note left behind like a riddle to be solved, and going as far as calling their heinous killing spree as "The Phantom Troupe's Deadliest Heist." Even Silva had his own opinions to share and chided Illumi for watching the news, lest he began to develop an interest in the Troupe. Illumi couldn't think of anything more unfortunate than inheriting the unwanted title of sole survivor of a clan massacre. He imagined what that could do to a little boy. Losing his family—his whole world. Helplessly watching year after year as his loved ones are sold off in parts while the Troupe lives on in infamy. The tears of sorrow transform into the venom of rage. Illumi rarely felt anything for anyone, but even he felt pity for the boy.

Illumi's thoughts were silenced by #403's shrieks (Illumi couldn't be bothered remembering his name.) The man's shrieks were drowned out by sounds of the rampaging pig (whom Illumi began silently rooting for) chasing him around a tree. He was entirely unremarkable and that was enough of a description. One of Killua's flaws (though he liked to think he had none) is that he gets bored very easily and perhaps he didn't mind that buffoon's company purely for entertainment. #403 was almost eaten by a carnivorous tortoise and killua thought it was funny. When Illumi was almost eaten by a carnivorous tortoise and lived—killua screamed in horror. And Illumi was foolish to think they were having fun together. Well.

Then there was another boy around Killua's age—Gon. Illumi did bother to remember his name and this worried him.

The buffoon's shrieks were replaced with a ruckus of whoops and victory yelps as he lugged the pig over his back that looked as if it might snap him in two (if only.)

Gon, disgustingly full of cheer and optimism, smiled at his friends (Illumi disagreed) and neither bothered nor suggested lending a hand to the unremarkable man (Illumi agreed.) Illumi didn't trust any of them. The boy laughed, holding his pig over his head as if it didn't weigh more than a feather, "I've never had so much fun before!"

"I've never been more scared in my entire life!" the man huffed, sweat creasing his brow. Then he took in a giant breath before proclaiming triumphantly. "Let's get cook'in and ace this test!"

"YEAH!" Gon cheered.

"Last one there has to eat Leorio's cooking." Killua snickered with an impish grin before running off with Gon, out of the forest and to the kitchens.

"Hey, hey, hey! What do you mean by that, you little twerp—Kurapika, you're laughing too? C'mooooon. I'll have you know that I make the best pork chops. They're not even dry."

"Guess I'll never know." Kurapika ran behind Gon and Killua, and left Leorio behind—gawking.

Leorio gripped his fists around the pig, blood rushing to his face. "Oh yeah, well just you wait…." He sprinted out of the forest and past the trio. "YOU'RE ALL GOING TO EAT MY COOKING AND LOVE IT!"

"I bet we will!" Gon smiled.

"Gon." Killua chided.

"What? I really like pork chops."

"Even if they're Leorio's?"

"Even better if they're Leorio's."

Killua snorted. Smiling. Laughing. Remorse free, guilt free, care free…

Oh Kil…Illumi did not like what he was seeing. Watching Killua blindly sabotage his future was like experiencing an aneurysm about to rupture. Illumi wanted the best for Killua. He knew what was best for Killua. And the best was not here. It was far away from this pig infested, miserable swamp hole and back home at Kukuroo Mountain. Where Illumi, Killua, and every Zoldyck was meant to be. In time, Killua will see it too. But for Illumi—

It wasn't quick enough. Time alone wasn't reliable enough for getting the job done. A problem left unchecked only worsens. Illumi was intimately aware of this fact first hand.

Illumi whispered softly under his breath. Cool rage smelted into a perfect, controlled flame. "You're throwing everything away."

"Who is?" A voice popped out from behind Illumi.

"Shhh." Illumi stuck out his hand to the voice, not bothering to look behind him as he shushed Hisoka.

Hisoka blinked, looking at Illumi's outreached hand—and high fived it.

Illumi pulled it back. The noise! THE NOISE! SHHHH! His little brother has heightened hearing so they must be quiet—why didn't Killua hear them? Illumi may be in disguise but that didn't give Killua reason to slack off—in fact it should have given Killua more incentive to stay alert. What if Illumi was a sniper and fired a shot at him? In one second Killua would have been D-E-A-D and what does that spell? It spells LISTEN to your surroundings because the dead can't read. Illumi subtly rattled the branches of the bush, withholding himself from ripping the shrub out of the ground altogether, to make Killua notice him. Still, no reaction. For fucks sake, no innocent person casually hides in listening distance in a bush near a Zoldyck. Illumi wanted to jump out of the bushes and reprimand Killua for his sloppiness. This was unacceptable!

Without being asked or invited, Hisoka squatted down and peered into the bush alongside Illumi. He wasn't necessarily appalled nor pulled himself away when Hisoka got close to him. Illumi looked down into the thick undergrowth of leaves and scraggly branches poking at his legs, he didn't know why he did, but he kept his eyes there until Hisoka stood up and he could no longer feel the magician's warmth against him anymore. Hisoka only caught a quick glimpse of the backs of those applicants he spared back in the wetlands, the ones that he passed. They ran away as they carried pigs over their heads and hurried to cook up winning meals. Which was what they should also be doing too.

"Do you know them?" Hisoka smirked, curiosity piqued. "Or would you like me to introduce you? I see no point in hiding."

"You." Illumi raised an eyebrow, aghast. "You know them."

"You make it sound like an accusation. Gittarackur, please," Hisoka lilted his voice, playfully. Walking along an invisible tightrope only he could see. "Everyone here knows who I am."

Illumi opened his mouth to speak then closed it. Fair point.

Hisoka chuckled, now upside down, and walked along the invisible line with his hands.

"How?"

Hisoka bent backwards, thrilled when he looked at an irked Illumi upside down. "For your displeasure only, we might have run into each other in the wetlands and they may have wanted to fight."

"Might. May." Illumi narrowed his eyes, vexed. Irritation coating his voice. "It's simple. Did they or did they not react to a fight you picked, no doubt."

"Perhaps." Hisoka was all smiles.

Illumi tched.

Hisoka struck a nerve, enjoying the reaction he was getting out of the stoic young man. These people had to be more than just strangers to Gittarackur. The cook off could wait, Hisoka wanted to know who they were to him. Was he scouting prey too?

"You're giving me a look."

"Be more specific. I've given many."

Hisoka wasn't the only person giving Illumi a dozen or so looks. It reminded Illumi of his dear wife. He left Psyche all alone with his undeniably, yet slightly (what an understatement) strange family after his wedding. Maybe he should have warned her instead of silenting wishing for her to have a brave heart. No matter, he made his peace with it even if they were waging war. Psyche could be sulking or fuming or extraordinarily be fairing better than he could have possibly imagined in the Mountain waiting for his return. Psyche, unofficially his mother's shiny new plaything (aka the daughter she wished she always had and tirelessly made it her life's mission to compensate for) was being spoiled and fixated upon by Kikyo's doting attention. Psyche most likely couldn't spare the time to think about him for let alone one second.

(Currently, Psyche is being relentlessly pursued by a very hungry giant caterpillar, putting a stop to her short career as an amateaur journalist.)

Illumi's jaw flexed—it was a quick start and end to a smile.

Hisoka noticed the almost smile on Illumi's face. "Do I amuse you?"

"No," Illumi deadpanned, thinking of other things with his gaze fixed somewhere far away.

Hisoka's smile disappeared. "Well…"

Illumi pointed back to the field through the bush despite no one being there. "Oh, sorry. I was thinking about someone else. One of them is my little brother."

Hisoka's smile came back. "Oh! A brother! How unexpected." So much for prying. Hisoka was glad he reframed from killing those applicants, it was poor manners killing family members of friends he just met. Though life would be far too boring if he didn't start at least one vendetta. A scandal for another time, perhaps. Hisoka paused for a moment, thinking. "For all I know, you can just be a stranger spying on them, let's say, secretly carrying out an assassination."

"I'm not working today. Besides," Illumi ignored Hisoka's laugh—that wasn't a joke. "You can believe me or not at your own discretion. I don't have to present you with proof and force you to believe me. I don't plan on interfering. I'm just here to look out for him. From a secure distance." Though Illumi wished Killua would notice him. It was fun at first but now it is getting ridiculous.

Hisoka smiled, almost dreamily, which Illumi couldn't quite understand why. "It doesn't hurt to ask, but I think I do. Believe you, that is. You seem like an honest enough person." Hisoka didn't dislike honest people.

"Occasionally. You caught me on a good day."

"So which one is your brother?" Not Gon. Not Gon. Not Gon.

Illumi cocked his head to the side, pain pulsed in his head when he did. He fought a wince and kept his lips tight in a thin, narrow line. His needles have been in him for too long. Illumi estimated they ran for at least fifty miles and the run would have been more enjoyable if he didn't have to wear his needles. No one enjoyed a runner's high more than he did, but now he is just uncomfortable. He has to take them out. Now. "You mean you can't tell?"

Illumi looked at him as if the question wasn't hard at all, making Hisoka feel thick headed for not knowing. Hisoka again looked deeper into the man's face. At the elongated chin, high cheekbones, red eyes, and angular jaw behind all those bulbous needles waiting for the face of one of those four applicants to appear to him clear as day.

Hisoka hummed. I haven't the faintest idea. But that clearly wasn't the answer the man wanted to hear. He hoped it wasn't Gon. That would make things awkward.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Illumi clapped his hands together once. As if just remembering he was wearing needles, and an entirely different face. It was hard to think with a pulsing headache.

"Sorry? Whatever for?"

Illumi needed reprieve more than wanting to give Hisoka a hint. Still, he carefully pulled out the gold needles one at a time, and felt a wave of immediate relief wash over him. Letting the pain vanish entirely as if it was never there at all. As if his body was bound into a tight knot and now he was finally able to unwind and breathe.

Hisoka couldn't look away, attentively watching every second—every savory bite—of Gittarackur's transformation. This was a man who possessed immense talent for a grisly craft Hisoka didn't know he craved to devour more of until now. A craft that was enchanting and dreadful at exactly the same time. It was like a fairytale. The exact moment when the princess kisses the frog and then transforms into a prince. Except the prince could change into the frog whenever he pleased by his own power alone, and being a frog wasn't a curse, but a choice. It was freedom. This was a man who knew what he liked and was proud of it. Hisoka immediately forgot about their guessing game and the second phase of the exam. He could fail the exam now and he wouldn't give a damn. He became more entranced than he already was with the man in front of him and wondered if he should risk the embarrassment of telling the man an irrefutable fact which he most likely already possessed—he was a prince among frogs. Peculiarly beautiful and breathtakingly horrifying.

Gittarackur disappeared and left a mysterious man in his place. His silk hair fell from his head, around his shoulders and down his back in sweeping currents of shining black water, darker than night. His face was strong, yet delicate. His skin was ghostly pale as if he spent his days lounging in the shadows. His lips looked cold to touch as if they could cast anything into a veil of frost with the slightest breath of a kiss. His red eyes disappeared until they were devoid of color and left behind a cold, stark black that created a harsh contrast against his softer edges. Hisoka was mistaken. The darkness in his eyes was not a reflection, but an indisputable part of who he was that could neither be challenged nor denied, but embraced. The kind of darkness that inevitably brews when one lives long enough to see more of the world than should have been allowed. This man was different from Gittarackur. He was beautiful and haggard, gentle and dangerous—a bewildering kind of beauty.

Hisoka wanted to know who he was, but the man went on about his little brother whom Hisoka now lost interest in. He could barely pay attention as he was fantasizing about the bearer of this wondrous new face—

"He cries," Illumi said, softly. "When he thinks no one is watching." Breaking Hisoka out of his reverie.

Hisoka blinked, confused from the unexpected remark. "From what I've gathered, he's in good company, Gittarackur." Whoever he was, Hisoka wasn't listening to find out if it wasn't Gon. "Those boys all seem to be very nice and dependable. Headstrong, stubborn, yet good people." He gave glowing remarks about each he encountered.

Illumi internally grimaced. He formed his own opinions after hearing Hisoka's assessments. He saw Leorio as a man who'd turn on his brother for money, and he wouldn't be the first to try and fail. He saw Kurapika, remarkable and resilient, now betraying his brother the moment he became a Blacklist hunter, apprehending a Zoldyck would no doubt bolster his career. He saw Gon as a little boy who didn't know any better—and that put him in the worst position of all three.

"That's a shame." Illumi said before looking back to the empty field where Killua no longer was. "What they are is of no concern to me, but it is to my brother. He is so infuria—" From the moment he left the mountain to squatting down in a bush, Illumi was guilty of constantly criticizing Killua's faults as to why he left home at all. Of course, he was angry that Killua left home without a word–-No. Killua did speak his mind, but Illumi was the one who wasn't listening. Then came a feeling which Illumi denied till now—guilt. It incessantly gnawed in his chest because it was the right feeling all along. In recent years he's tried harder to be more honest with himself, so why was he undoing all his progress? He noticed the signs but was insufferably blind, playing off Killua's crestfallen attitude during their last training session as brash laziness. Illumi was annoyed and brisker than usual, wielding his quick whip of a temper just like their father's at even the slightest of Killua's mistakes—he probably made things worse. Not probably. Did. He assumed Killua developed a sudden distaste for hard work, when it was much more. In the blink of an eye, Illumi became everything he never wanted to be—his own father, becoming a demanding lug of a brute expecting nothing less than perfection. No doubt, Killua must have felt like he hadn't room to wiggle let alone breathe under Illumi's scrutinizing pressure.

Illumi wasn't there to stop Killua from running away while he intentionally chose to spend less and less time at home. Maybe through Killua's eyes, it was Illumi who ran away first. Illumi chose a life away from home and Killua simply followed his lead.

Illumi sighed, tired. Tucking his knees to his chest and laying his forehead on them. He was the one to blame, not Killua. He couldn't tell if he was having a rare moment of self reflection or a mental breakdown. Honestly, it could be either, the line between the two was very blurry.

Hisoka knelt down next to Illumi.

Illumi looked up briefly, and scowled. All doom and gloom. The last thing he wanted to do was to hug out his feelings with a clown in a shrub.

Hisoka held out his hand.

Correction, these were now the darkest of times.

Hisoka made a fist and with a dramatic swoosh—a flower appeared out of thin air. It had beautiful black petals that shimmered like wet stone after rainfall. Hisoka smiled. "When we first met, I told you that magic should bring people joy."

Illumi was hesitant as he reached out his hand. Sadness and gloom disappeared as he took the flower. He blinked, slowly twirling the flower around in his hand. Illumi noted the color. "It matches my eyes."

Hisoka chuckled. "I'm glad. Magician's make best friends, don't they? Because now I can show you what I see." And Hisoka saw raw beauty. Flowers were all he knew how to make out of nen, that and bungee gum balloons. They were crowd favorite tricks he picked up while working in the circus as a kid. He was glad they still came in handy.

Illumi smiled faintly.

"Ah, there's a smile."

"Don't encourage me." Illumi joked. He never really appreciated flowers, but this one was beautiful. "Ever since my brother was little my family's had high hopes for him. We have high hopes because we believe in him—and if you knew my father, that says a lot because once you blow it, he never wastes his time again. But once you get to know Killua, you realize it goes beyond any once in a generation kind of jargon. Though, he clearly is once in a generation," once upon a time, Illumi was too. "But for more reasons that even I overlooked. Killua's smart, he is one of the brightest kids you'd ever meet, he's always curious and asking questions, and he thinks he's a century ahead of all of us—and sometimes he is but don't tell him that. Shh. The drive he possesses is astounding, it's irritating when he can't see it himself. And when he puts his head to something there is no stopping him because he doesn't stop until he succeeds. He's stubborn like that. He doesn't give up. That's not him. That's not his nature. And I'm…. a total ass." Illumi said softly, with a slight grimace. Acknowledging the ultimate truth. Then he popped his lips open. "I mean, of course I am, this isn't anything new, he tells me–often!" Illumi chuckled. "Apart from playing the deranged fellow venting into a shrub, I don't encourage him as much as I should, see the little fucker lives off praise like leeches to blood, so naturally I don't indulge him…fuck." His voice was steady and calm, apart from the occasional hiccup of swears.

He's very talkative all of a sudden, that's good. It must be nice to have a family. Hisoka thought. He wondered what it would be like to be loved by someone like Illumi. Someone who is protective of his family and thinks of them often.

Then Hisoka wondered what it would be like to be loved by Illumi. He shooed the thought away.

Illumi breathed. "But getting back to what you said earlier, hypothetically, let's say Killua believes them to be good people. He gets his hopes up, becomes attached, and then–-" Illumi stopped, and let his fingers run down the smooth surface of the flower petals. "And then there are complications. He already knows this. We're doing our best to work on it."

Hisoka waited for Illumi to explain what he meant by that. Complications. Illumi didn't elaborate.

It was dangerous revealing who he was, but then again, Illumi was dangerous. And he was his own protection. Maybe Illumi was on the verge of a breakdown because he'd never put blind faith into a man he just met hours ago. Let alone a clown–uh, magician. Hisoka was a magician who created flowers out of nen. Illumi squinted curiously at the flower and wondered if there was anything else in it. But there was something about Hisoka that reminded Illumi about himself. He cut straight to the point and without hesitation. Illumi told Hisoka about his family, their trade and how it could be a difficult business for some to navigate and a magnet for the nastiest sort of people. He waited for Hisoka to laugh or run but he did neither. Hisoka listened. Patiently. Thoughtfully. Without judgment. This was new to Illumi. Illumi, as someone who liked to talk and be listened to, could easily get drunk on this.

Illumi continued to explain there was a fundamental truth that never ceased to exist: it was always dangerous to be without Family.

Nothing good comes from running away and now Killua was all alone, unprotected, and worse, didn't care. There were times when Illumi questioned why he had to be so much older than his brothers, but now he couldn't imagine his life any other way. There was no other way. From the moment his little brothers were born, they needed a guardian looking out for them, protecting them, making them strong and resilient, but most of all safe.

If Illumi's brothers traveled to the ends of the earth, if they were starved, destitute, or irreversibly dimwitted—there could be a thousand different if's that will always lead to one definite end. He would follow. He would bring them home. Always. Even if they did not want his help, nagging lectures—or him. That's how far Illumi's love went. Love was not caving and giving into what they thought they wanted, but desperately needed. It was tough love, but Killua needed it like medicine to tame a scorching fever broiling his head, lest his mind be lost to a life of endless wild dreams.

Hisoka pouted, ready to shed a tear-none came. Still, he was touched by this family's gut wrenching tale. There was love even amongst cold blooded killers. "You enrolled in the hunter exam just to look after your baby brother, that warms my heart."

"He doesn't know I'm here. You won't tell." Not a question.

Hisoka crossed his heart.

"Oh, that means nothing." Illumi said dryly as he tucked the flower between his lips (Hisoka thought he was going to eat it) and began picking mushrooms off the ground and stuffing them inside the jacket of his green suit. These mushrooms will make a delicious savory sauce he can garnish with his pig.

"It's not much of a talent compared to yours, but I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Illumi wanted to tell Hisoka words were cheap and only time would tell if Hisoka was true to his word. But there was something about Hisoka that made Illumi think otherwise, maybe for the simplest reason…he was starting to like Hisoka. Oh no. Liking people he just met? Illumi didn't want to turn this into a regular habit. He turned the mushroom in his hands, watching the white spores underneath the cap drift down and dust his hand like fallen snow. Nah, friends were exhausting and he has mushrooms.

Then he had an idea. One of the most daring, stupidest ideas he has ever had in his life. He told Hisoka his real name.

"Illumi." Hisoka said his real name out loud and it sent a thrill of excitement through him.

"For the purpose of the hunter exam and in front of others, please use Gittarackur. You can call me by my real name in private."

In private. Those words sent a delightful shiver through Hisoka, thrilled to be a part of Illumi's secret. "I'm looking forward to it." Hisoka hoisted his pig over his shoulder—and Illumi's on the other. "Allow me."

"Oh. Thank you." In an instant, Illumi expected the facade to come crashing to an abrupt end. For Hisoka to steal his pig, sabotage his chance at taking the exam, and the nen flower to explode in his face. Waiting for Hisoka to reveal it was a trick all along. Instead Hisoka carried his pig with good grace—happy to lug two gigantic beasts over his shoulders if it meant he could spend more time with the guy who recreationally sticks needles in his face and vomits his feelings into shrubs. What alternate universe did Illumi step into if he was this likable and instead of people running away from him they volunteered to carry his stuff? (he kind of liked it) And the weirdest thing is…Illumi didn't stop Hisoka. He held the nen flower in his hands like it was a lifeline in a storm he didn't know how to sail through. With a jacket full of wild mushrooms and the flower in his hands Illumi finally had the shocking realization that Hisoka was deadly serious about wanting to be his friend. If he wasn't careful he was at risk of making another which was the last thing he needed—None of this is happening. Illumi rationally reasoned he was nine agonizing months into a deep coma and Killua running away from home was a recurring nightmare, Psyche was crying over his sleeping still body and none, absolutely none of this was happening, because this is reality and in reality Illumi didn't have men flocking to carry his pigs and people wanted to see his mugshot projecting over the city's largest billboards with 'most wanted' flashing in bright lights. This couldn't be real.

Instead of pinching himself, Illumi pierced his needles into his head and transformed back into Gittarackur. This was real. Hisoka was real. Illumi wasn't in a nine month long coma, which was somehow less scary than being with a man who wanted to be with him. Willingly! There were 405 applicants and Hisoka chose him? Illumi never knew what it felt like to be popular, but it probably felt something like this.

Now that Illumi got a good look at this strange magician, Hisoka wasn't entirely unpleasant to look at. And in this rare moment of generosity, his side profile wasn't terrible either.

Hisoka mused, "on the way, you can tell me more about he-who-shall-not-be-named."

"Ah, so that's your game. And you can say my name without Death Eaters coming after you. No worries."

"I've never met anyone like you before. You have a face that people can't not remember."

There had to be a backhanded compliment in there somewhere. Regardless, Illumi accepted it.

"It seems to me that to know Gittarackur is to know you. I like him."

Illumi kept his lips in a thin line. Confused. "I'll be sure not to tell him that." He stopped then started again. "You're really not put off by him? Most people are terrified of him. Not that I mind." Illumi could tell how much Psyche would have adored Gittarackur on account of how she reacted to his green suit. His other self was in the way of jeopardizing his own marriage. Illumi couldn't get this type of philosophical insight if he wasn't his own therapist, and unbottling his feelings without having to call the police on himself was also a perk.

"Do you like to scare people then?"

"I've never been asked that question before."

"You're very calm."

"I know how to answer this."

"Now I'm curious."

"Well, I know how not to answer."

Hisoka hummed. "So you've gotten better."

"No." Worse.

Hisoka laughed.

"People find it hard to grasp anything to like in Gittarackur as I do. But if you dig deep, really deep down, there's something to like. Maybe." If assassination falls through then there's always Spirit Halloween. He's already dressed up for it. "In all seriousness, not intentionally. I didn't make Gitta because I wanted him to be scary. Then again, I've always gravitated towards weird things and I guess what I find weird, most people find scary." Illumi shrugged. It was best not to mention he went through a phase of marathoning all the Hellraiser movies (it was a wild weekend) when he was 20 and deconstructed a rubik's cube then rebuilt it entirely with scrap metal into a lament configuration, painting it gold and creating stencils to spray paint the details in brown…it was a fun project but Milluki wasn't excited as Illumi was because it was his rubik's cube.

"I see." Hisoka nodded. "I saw you around Tonpa–"

"Oh yeah, no, that was intentional. I think I traumatized him."

"You gave the rookie crusher a taste of his own medicine, and I wouldn't be surprised if you acquired a few fans in the process. I gravitate toward weird things myself. I mean, look at me."

Illumi didn't mean to snort. "Look at you? Look at me."

"And here I am. I can speak for myself when saying that being anyone other than me is so boring." Hisoka smiled. "If Gittarackur is here now that means he's anything but boring. Neither are you."

Illumi followed Hisoka to the exam site, not realizing he was still holding the flower the entire walk there. A faint smile still lingering on his lips.

Perhaps it was alright to pass the time with Hisoka. With a so-called friend. If only until the exam comes to an end.

Illumi doubted their paths would ever cross again after that anyway.

Chapter Text

The solution to any problem was more bees.

Killua and Ponzu clearly applied to different schools of common sense.

The buzzing was driving Killua insane. He couldn't even swat them away without Ponzu angrily glaring at him, with a menacing gaze that was practically an invitation to death's door. She insisted her bees needed to eat, hence why they were flying around in a frenzy around sliced fruit and Killua's own cooking station. Those bees were flying so close to her head, they looked as if they were whispering into her ears.

It was too late when Killua realized Gon didn't follow him after they captured their pigs in the Forest Preserve. Killua didn't notice until he set his own pig down at a station, a joke springing to his mind that he immediately wanted to tell Gon, until he clamped his mouth shut when he turned behind him to see that Gon wasn't there, but Ponzu and her posse of bees his spatula eagerly wanted to become acquainted with.

Killua looked for Gon, wondering if Gon would soon appear behind Ponzu and ask to switch places so he could cook next to Killua. Killua waited expectantly as if at any moment she would be asked to leave and make way for his friend.

Then Killua saw Gon—with Leorio and Kurapika—striking matches and skewering their pigs on spits over growing flames. Together. Suddenly Killua felt weird for staring at the trio while they were focused on cooking, then laughing as Leorio leaned over his pig bragging that maybe he would be generous enough to at least give them a whiff of his winning meal—only to ignite the bottom of his tie on fire and proceeded to yelp all throughout rolling on the floor. Kurapika held a hand over his mouth, trying to suppress his laughter at Leorio's expense.

Leorio barked at the blonde. "You're not even trying to hide it!"

Kurapika saw that the bottom of Leorio's tie was completely gone, and vowed to swallow the last bit of laughter inside him, until Leorio opened his suitcase and rolled out a perfect, new, pristine tie. This made Kurapika burst into cackles. Relentless cackles with tears springing at the corners of his eyes.

Leorio flicked his tie in the air with a magnificent swoosh and adjusted it perfectly under his chin. "I'm a joke to all of you."

"Yeah!" Gon chirped with an innocent smile.

Kurapika was now the one on the floor, laughing into the pantry with one hand held up to Leorio as if telling him to stop making him laugh.

Killua wanted to be a part of that. Whatever that was. Of the joke, laughing at Leorio's expense, undoubtedly more to come too. He didn't want to be here. They didn't seem bothered by Killua's absence as much as Killua did by theirs. Any moment now Gon was going to spot Killua and wave him over—but that never came. And Killua was too embarrassed to abruptly leave his station to join theirs since the second phase officially began and people were already cooking. Even Ponzu beside him was far ahead, poking the burning red coals under her pig and cautiously throwing handfuls of gangly herbs into the fire, hoping the aroma would infuse itself with her roast.

Wait. Did Gon actually consider him a friend? What about the other two? Maybe Killua made a grave mistake in the swamp, maybe he should have joined Gon to save Leorio and Kurapika instead of persuading Gon to abandon them—

There. That was the ugly truth Gon realized faster than Killua did. Killua told Gon to abandon his friends. Normal people don't leave their friends in a swamp to die (Killua guessed.) Gon didn't think like Killua, Gon wasn't like Killua—that's not how real friends think—and the reason Gon didn't follow Killua or bothered to look for him through the crowd and rings of smoke was because he didn't consider Killua a friend. Maybe Gon did in the beginning, but definitely not anymore. Gon probably told Kurapika and Leorio that Killua wanted to leave them, so that's why they weren't looking for him either. They didn't forget about Killua's presence, in fact they were aware of it—

They were ignoring Killua. Choosing cooking stations far away from him and pretending he didn't exist.

Killua pretended the same and focused his attention back on the pig. Skewering it and raising it over the flames just as everyone around him was doing. Killua chastised himself for not listening to the examiner's instructions, but he reasoned it was a safe bet to roast the pig like everyone else was doing—against better judgment he snuck a peek at Gon whose focus was solely on roasting his pig. Stop looking, stop being weird. Killua turned back around.

Killua stared into the fire and it made him think of a story told by someone he ought to forget. He squeezed his eyes, forcing the pages to stay shut, but it was too late. The book opened, the pages turned, and it commenced with the beginning of the end to his life in Kukuroo Mountain.

Killua shouldn't have been surprised it was Illumi who brought him there.

The gray sky hung low and collapsed like a heavy mourning shroud over Kukuroo Mountain. Threads of wispy smoke entwined through bristles and branches of pine and oak and looked as if ghostly specters were spinning lace with skeleton hands into an intricate pattern of sorrow and woe over their forest.

Killua wasn't afraid of ghostly specters or make-believe monsters, yet his heart quickened with each step that grew louder heading in his direction. His body was visibly shaking now. His breath plumed out white clouds from his quivering lips. Run… Run into the fog. Hide and never come back. Killua curled his fingers into the ground—that was all he could do before his older brother emerged from the fog with a grimacing scowl fresh on his face. Illumi was disappointed. "Is that it?" Is that all you're capable of? He meant to say.

Killua was terrified. Struggling to get back on his feet and straining against every fiber in his body that screamed to stay still—Illumi tched. That was enough of a blow to make Killua lose his strength and crumble into the cold earth like a tunnel caving in.

"Get up. We're not finished." Illumi's voice pierced Killua through his core.

"I'm tired, cold, and a little pissed off…I just wanted to throw that last one in there." Killua retorted, muscles straining to lift himself up.

"That makes two of us." Illumi stepped forward.

"Stay away!" From me. Killua caught his own voice and bit down on his lips. Cursing himself for sounding scared and weak…because he was. And then there was Illumi who wasn't afraid of anything and impossibly strong. Every blow felt like a taunt. Every strike felt like a mockery of everything Killua was. Killua was a Zoldyck, but he was so much more—He was the heir. That made him more than anything Illumi will ever amount to, and yet…it couldn't be further from the truth. Killua hated that sickening gap between them. Widening day by day. When Killua tirelessly trained, Illumi soared to excellence. When Killua painstakingly studied his disciplines, Illumi effortlessly mastered them. When Killua failed to follow the code of an assassin, Illumi upheld it with ease and pride. Each brother stood on either side of a chasm, with Killua tottering over the edge impatiently waiting for that distance to shorten.

Killua fumbles—Illumi corrects.

Killua is uncertain—Illumi is decisive.

Killua falls—Illumi gets back up.

Fuck…fuck it all!

"I told you. I'm done. I'm done training for today!" Killua spat out, sweat drenched against his skin, not caring if he had a deranged look in his eyes. He scowled back at Illumi as if he was just a cub that learned to finally bite back and growl. He expected to see a look of sympathy in his big brother's eyes, for once to relent and give in, but Illumi's expression did not change. Stoic. Unnerving. He was raised to be stone and stones do not budge.

Not even for little brothers.

"Who gave you the authority to decide when it was time to quit?" Illumi's eyes narrowed. He was fed up with Killua's complaining, which was becoming increasingly frequent these last few months. Something was wrong. Illumi didn't know where to pinpoint the source. "You never used to complain this much. What has changed—what has sparked this sudden lack of drive? Of commitment?"

Killua stared at the ground. "Why? What I say isn't going to make a difference anyway."

"Killua, I'm listening. I'm here. Please, tell me."

Killua looked up. "You want honesty?"

Illumi hummed. "Of course."

Killua groaned. "I mean. I don't want to be that person to tell you this, but somebody has to."

"You already are that person. So. Get on with it already."

Killua abruptly sat up and criss-crossed his legs, pointing an accusatory finger at Illumi while yelling. "You're being a complete ass!"

"God forbid I'd do anything half assed in life." Illumi sighed as he put his hands on his hips, annoyed.

"You know what I mean!"

"This again?"

"Yeah THIS AGAIN! You always talk over me like you know my thoughts better than I do!"

"It's called being your big brother."

"It's called being an ass! And I can speak, think, and feel for myself!"

"Good for you. Now, I assume you'll be getting around to making your point eventually, so get on with it." Illumi briskly clapped his hands twice at Killua like he was a little dog commanded to perform a trick.

Killua was fuming. "YOU."

"Me."

"SHUT UP AND LISTEN—"

"Shutting up and listening. Say no more. Done and done. This is very easy actually. I should do this more often. There is nothing better than to shut up and listen, hm, shut up and listen. Oh, that was the name of a tv show, or was it a radio show? It could have been a show within a show. What do you think, Kil? Shut up and listen, does it ring a bell?" Illumi prattled on and on.

"SH! SH! SHHHH! I TALK. YOU LISTEN. IT DOESN'T EVEN BEGIN TO SCRATCH THE SURFACE!" Killua was 12 and spoke in two volumes only: mumbling whispers and ear splitting yells.

Illumi sighed. "You've made a list all about me? My joy is unbounded."

"Not to mention you're sarcastic as hell. Just talk to me normally like a human being!"

"Get in line."

"Working excessive hours isn't the major flex you think it is. Mom doesn't say it to your face, but she thinks you're going to drop dead from exhaustion one of these days."

"You don't like that I…work too hard?" Illumi stifled a laugh. In this family one is criticized if they work too little, and now if they work too much. "My bank account disagrees, but okay. Next."

"And you think everyone around you is weak–including me!"

"This argument certainly is." Illumi wasn't born to this life to dispute fact from fiction. "I never said you were weak. You're on track. You're doing well. You're a good assassin now—but imagine how great you'll be in the future. Me going easy on you is a disservice of your time and potential, nor will it help you achieve your greatest self. I shouldn't have to repeat what you already know."

Killua didn't stop there. "You think I'm stupid."

Illumi was silent.

Killua's face turned red. 'I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT WAS TRUE!"

Illumi turned his head down, with a hand covering his face. Cackling. Killua is so adorable when he gets angry.

"STOP LAUGHING AND LISTEN TO ME!" Killua thrashed his arms around. Instead of a mountain cub, he looked like a kitten throwing a temper tantrum. "I DEMAND RESPECT!" Illumi totally lost it. Now he couldn't stand up straight, heaving with his hands on his knees, ready to burst a lung. "And it isn't a disservice to anyone's time but yours."

Illumi stopped laughing. "How so?"

"How so? OBVIOUSLY, you're getting married!" Killua screeched.

"A little louder next time, I don't think the entire Mountain heard you." Illumi said sarcastically then pointed an accusatory finger right back at Killua. Now he knows what it feels like. "And just so. Me getting married doesn't give you a free pass to go on vacation. Oh, don't look so devastated. Whatever happenings going on in my life shouldn't affect yours, nor should your training regimen slack, or worse, suffer because of it. Consider yourself grateful—"

"Hey, Illumi. Ask me what I dreamed about last night."

Illumi started again. "I said, consider yourself–"

"Hey, hey, hey, Illumi. Ask me what I dreamed about–"

Illumi popped a blood vessel. He breathed in heavily and then exhaled. "What did you dream about last night, Killua?"

Killua thought Illumi would never ask! "I dreamt that I led an angry mob and then we stormed this huge white castle and then a volcano erupted inside, but before that I bought blue licorice at their gift shop and it was really good, okay now back to the volcano, it exploded in their basement next to the broom closet, that's very important, because now there's lava EVERYWHERE, and a lot of people in my mob died, but it was okay because it was lots of fun and I was rescued by the universe—there was a truck, parked outside the castle, called The Universe, and they used the brooms to sweep the lava back in the volcano and now I know what not to lick in the wild. The end."

"...It's a shame I almost didn't ask, Kil." Illumi was tasked with training the 12 year old heir who currently had one brain cell that wasn't entirely there all the time. "I convinced Father to delay your debut into the bureau by a year's time—which given your attitude isn't close to enough time as I would have liked—where you'll encounter, not volcanic eruptions, but assassins with power the likes of which you've never seen before. Compared to what you'll soon experience, you're practically play-acting with me." Illumi said, then gasped. "Killua, are you trying to tell me the reason you're so grumpy is because you assume I won't have time for you once I'm married and you'll miss me terribly?"

Killua looked aghast, what world was Illumi living in? "Alot of those words don't belong in the same sentence together…"

Illumi wasn't listening. "Psyche will live here for the time being, nor will much change after I'm married. So have no fear, I'll train you as I normally do, and life will go on as it usually does."

Killua raised an eyebrow. For the time being? Where was Psyche supposed to go for the rest of time then? Whatever, it's not Killua's problem. "No, you're not getting it at all! Why are you spending your time training me when you should be doing other, um, really important wedding things like seating arrangements, coordinating bouquets of flowers, dinner rehearsals, and what else, oh!" Killua snapped his fingers. "Spoons–"

"Spoons?"

"There's so many! Salad. Soup. Coffee. Bouillon. Demitasse. Absinthe. The really fancy ones not to be confused with grapefruit. And! Don't get me started on sporks."

"No one is asking you to."

"Aaaaand let's not forget becoming an entirely different person. Your bride won't mind. In fact, I think it's priority number one. We should start first with your personality, but there's so little time left…oh! Let's get rid of it altogether and make it one blank clean slate."

"Killua, wonderful suggestion, really, but I'm hearing words that have nothing of value in them. It almost sounds like, to me anyway, that you're diverting the conversation away from yourself to get out of training. So, let me steer it back."

Killua slumped his shoulders, whining. Was it that obvious?

"If you have energy to ramble, then you can continue training for just a bit longer. I'll tell you when you can take a break, which will be soon enough." Then Illumi's voice boomed, it was a commanding voice that didn't make anyone question his authority—only to listen and obey. It was a different voice from how he normally speaks—he sounds like Father. Killua stiffened. "Enough time was wasted. Arms back up in a defensive position—a different one this time from the many I've taught you—block me, immobilize me, then strike back. With the intent to kill. You're quick on your feet, but you tend to repeat techniques you're biased towards when you become anxious. What happens when you're in a situation that limits your mobility? Limits your choices? Or when your opponent begins to predict your moves? That's how they catch you off guard. The same even applies for Rhythm Echo, an extension of the Silent Gaits technique. It can be very effective, but the charade is over once you break the cadence of your steps. Now if your attacker is perceptive, watches, and waits… eyes are not as useless as you think they are. They'll notice. You can't just rely on the familiar for every problem that comes your way. You've already mastered the basics, so work on what needs polishing."

"I already know."

"If you know then why must I tell you over, again and again? I'm not the one who needs to be listening here, Killua. You're the heir. Act like it."

Sometimes Killua wondered if his being heir was an elaborate joke made by his family and one day they'll tell him so and laugh in his face. Anger spread through the little boy like wildfire without a desire to be extinguished. Wanting for nothing except to burn everything in sight.

If the chasm between him and Illumi wouldn't shrink then Killua would settle to see Illumi fall instead.

Killua let fury overtake him and let it be his strength. He didn't want to defend. He wanted to attack.

Within the blink of an eye Killua pounced off the ground and disappeared into the fog.

Illumi smiled, so Killua chose to be on offense this time. Interesting. "Good! Use your surroundings to your advantage. Disorient me. Confuse me. Trick me. Use whatever is at your disposal to take advantage over your opponents." The wind howled a piercing cry as Killua charged in every direction, hidden behind the veil of dense fog. Illumi's eyes were rapidly shifting—analyzing. Where was Killua going to attack? Good, Killua was finally acting like the heir again.

Killua was a blur. A phantom flying through the fog as a frenzy of deadly claws swiped at the ground in unpredictable directions. One after another in blazing fury. Relentless. Lethal. Mad. Killua wasn't going to attack him head on? Illumi stepped back and then another, being pushed further back by his little brother's onslaught. Then, it came to Illumi like a storm. Killua was herding Illumi like cattle. Forcing Illumi to move where Killua willed him to go.

Well done.

But where was Killua herding him?

A shadow pounced out of the fog and Illumi was on the defensive this time. He was going to deflect Killua and then—

Illumi sniffed an overwhelming scent of pine.

A tree branch slammed into his face.

Killua reared behind his older brother with dust skidding under his feet. Nails sharpened like knives—he was arm lengths away from ripping Illumi's heart out. There was no going back. He would do exactly as his brother instructed. For only a fraction of a second, time slowed. Illumi was surprised. No, that wasn't the right word at all. Illumi was amazed. And so too was Killua. Killua was going to kill Illumi.

Excellent. The little cub has claws afterall.

It was a nice effort, however…

Illumi bonked Killua over the head. "Pinpon."

Killua wailed, rolling on the ground and holding his hands over his head. "OOW! Why did you do that!? I was about to win!"

"This isn't a game of winners or losers. This is real life where you either live or you die. If it isn't too much trouble, always strive for the former. That's all. Now it's time for your favorite part which I know you so love—your assessment. You started well, and I hoped that was what I was going to see throughout the remainder of your attack to the very end. You used your surroundings to your advantage and maybe would have gotten the best of me if you hadn't grown complacent. Your momentum stayed fairly constant, which was good, however with each strike you grew more frustrated. Each attack became more sloppy, ergo predictable. Just as I previously mentioned before, but I did see effort made. No matter how futile. Also maintain precision even if you have to slow down because speed doesn't always positively correlate to success. In fact, it might just mean you'll fail sooner."

Killua tched, tched, and tched.

Illumi squinted his nose. "What's with all this chirping? You're a boy, not a bird."

"I have a lot of thoughts about birds." Every couple of months Killua starts googling birds and now here he is, pulling out a double sided folded piece of paper out of his turtleneck sweater—which he has been carrying with him since this morning, in case he were to spontaneously think of a bird he hasn't before. To which he's thought of at least fifteen, dinosaurs not included. Killua unscrambled the paper with an aggressive swoosh and looked at Illumi with his most serious expression, as if he was finally able to do the first exciting thing of the day since his training session began. "This is my bird list."

Damn. Not another one. "Put away the list." Illumi feared he just opened a can of worms.

Killua read on. "Parakeet, robin, heron, crow. Eagles, seagulls. Kingfisher, starling, nightingale. Gray shoebills aren't birds, they're muppets. You're telling me you look at a blue jay, a robin, and a crow—those are birds, and then you look at an ostrich—they're both supposed to be birds? But so is a chicken." Killua whipped his head to the direction of a dozen birds tweeting up above his head. "What do you think they're talking about?" He whipped his head back at Illumi. "ME?"

"They stopped when you addressed them, so they were definitely talking about you. I'm going to finish where I left off now. Okay? You can tell me the rest later. Good." It was better for Illumi to hold onto the list for the time being, scanning the double sided paper—that's a lot of birds—then folded it and tucked it away in his back pocket. "I noticed several repetitive time intervals that would have given me the opportunity to counterattack. You weren't thinking. You let emotion dictate your actions until finally," Illumi paused. "You left yourself wide open and defenseless and worse, thought nothing of it. That is a mistake our targets make—not us. If this wasn't practice, if this was real and I wasn't your dear big brother then you'd be dead right now."

Killua growled, gritting his teeth. Upset for the unwarranted criticisms, but mostly for his list being forcefully taken away. He worked all night on it.

"Are you supposed to be a bear now? Do you have a list for that too—actually, I'd like to hear that one." Maybe Illumi was biased, or maybe it will always be a challenge for him to see Killua as anything other than his baby brother. Was it frustration, anger, or both? Maybe Illumi should stop prodding—or maybe he shouldn't. He was entitled to his own fun too.

Killua huffed, cheeks flaming red. "I can kill you right now if I wanted to. Dad would probably congratulate me too." He hoped the words would sting.

They didn't.

"Yes, I'm sure he would." Illumi said, absentmindedly. "Though I thought I made it obvious you haven't the slightest chance."

Killua wasn't listening. He bolted towards Illumi.

"Oh, you're actually going for it. Huh. I wouldn't do that." Illumi grabbed Killua and locked his arm behind his back with one hand. Not enough to harm Killua, just enough to calm him down and wake him up. Killua winced—too hard, Illumi loosened his grip. "Commitment to mastering basic defense strategies will save your life. Do yourself a favor and stop wasting both of our time." With a single push, he flung Killua like a rag doll.

Shit. Sometimes Illumi didn't know his own strength. It was important he'd tone it down with Killua, otherwise it wouldn't be a training session at all.

The force hurtled Killua across the ground, stumbling like a tumbleweed. Killua spat a dried out leaf from his mouth. "I almost had you. In fact, I had you almost-dead. And if I had you almost-dead then that means I can always-dead anyone else."

"Almost doesn't cut it."

"That's not my point. I can kill. Anyone. Better than most assassin's twice my age and more. I'm a professional, practically a veteran. I should be the one giving lessons. But if something unexpected arises and you think I can't handle it, I drop the mission and escape as fast as possible. And if I can't get away then I have you. So, can I go back inside now?"

Illumi squatted down next to and scrutinized his little brother. "Yes, well, you won't always be so lucky to have your big brother fly to your rescue at the drop of a needle. Remember that. So then what. Hmm? What happens when your big brother isn't there to save you? When you're alone, the situation becomes dire and you must choose between the mission or your life. Don't overthink it. Your life is always more important. Remember the 3 D's. Defend, disengage, and dip. But in the event escape is unattainable, get as far away as you can, hide, and wait for me to come get you. I'm not saying you should be a sitting duck either. Review what happened moments ago and what happens when what you're comfortable with doesn't work for you, but works against you. You need to be prepared for a variety of situations that work in your enemy's favor—and you must never let them know they have the upper hand."

Deep down, Killua knew Illumi was right, but was there really that much Killua missed? "I had you fooled for a while."

"As if."

"Pinpon, pinpon, pinpon." Killua muttered, defeated.

Illumi held out his hand and Killua gripped it. Pulling his little brother back onto his feet. Killua soared off the ground, knowing full well the strength to do so didn't fully come from within himself. One moment was all it took to make his stomach turn ice cold.

"You can stand on your own. You're fine." Illumi said, hoping to sound reassuring.

"Don't tell me how I feel." Killua growled. But he was standing on his own now, and though he was not great, he was better than before. But then the stress of the day and all his worries and anxiety came back in full swing. His eyes drooped and he pulled his turtleneck over his nose and eyes and pressed on them firmly, pretending he was going to sneeze or blow his nose instead of trying to prevent tears from forming. No doubt he'll receive another lecture if Illumi sees him crying.

Illumi patted Killua on the shoulder, which only made his little brother jolt and probably one step closer to full blown tears. He…only makes things worse, doesn't he…

The sun was setting and the sky was getting dark. Illumi sighed, turning to go back inside. "I guess now is the perfect time to end today's session. I wouldn't want to be out here when they show up anyway."

Killua spoke muffled words beneath his turtleneck. "They? Whose they?"

Illumi's back was facing Killua now. The corner of his lips quickly curved up into a smile before disappearing into a thin line when he turned around and faced a slightly red-rimmed eyed Killua, careful not to mention a word about it. "The trolls. Who else?"

Killua scoffed, Illumi was just trying to trick him. "I'm too old to believe in fairytale monsters."

Illumi sat down and motioned for Killua to do the same, Killua reluctantly did. "Maybe it's time to start believing again." Illumi told Killua a story, one he was saving for around the bonfire in January. Long ago when the forest was endless without towering stone gates and smoke still rose in great black plumes from the mountaintop, the troll king and his court lived below the mountain. With stone cold hearts and icy bones, the trolls despised the sunlit sky and the warmth of the day–for they knew better. It'd turn them to stone for a year and a day. A year and a day without festivals and music and feasts and dance. The smoke was indication enough of the trolls putting their human servants to work—enchanted to take joy in their grueling tasks as they toiled and slaved over the great ovens that went as far, some said, to the middle of the earth, roasting giant boars and dragons and whales the troll king and his knights killed for his court. There was no greater pleasure for trolls than to hunt and the trolls never stopped, so the humans were always cooking and cleaning with broken nails and singed fingers; they never once stopped smiling. But this is where the story truly begins, a nameless maiden let herself be stolen away from her village, and was swallowed by the earth to tend to the ovens like the humans before her, to turn the coals and tend the fires and spit the slaughtered. Though this maiden was different. Her husband was stolen last winter and she was with child. She devised a plan to set her love free. She brought with her food grown above ground—harvested til plump carrying the light of the fiery sun—upon which humans down below were forbidden to eat as they were allowed to survive only on faerie fruit below the mountain grown in gloom and darkness. Hidden in her apron she broke the food into crumbles, morsels no bigger than pebbles and dropped one each on every servant's tongue. Even the troll king himself knew that the smallest of light could dispel the greatest of darkness. The enchantment was lifted, but all were not free just yet. Altogether, the human servants smothered the flames till the ovens turned cold and the smoke vanished. The trolls grew ravenous, stomping the earth and shaking the mountain, as they bellowed, waiting for their meals never to arrive 'where's our drink, where's our dinner, what has happened to our human sinners?' Knights and gentry and king alike charged into the kitchens, wild and crazed, to witness bounds of servants scared and shivering. One by one the humans cried, 'The giants above sent their hell-hounds to steal the fire! Came in hordes and snuffed out every one! They wish our benevolent masters to wither and starve!' The longer the trolls went without food, the more they grew mad and enraged and fearful. The king sent his army above ground to wage war against the giants and take back their fire, but one by one they turned still and gray under the sun. Petrified to stone for a year and day. While others fled beyond the mountain hiding under fur and feather cloaks. The humans worked fast, taking their kitchen knives and hammers; they shattered the trolls, cut them to bricks, and stacked them around the Mountain into a towering gate. The maiden and her husband lived happily on, protected by the trolls from which they were once enslaved. But every night when the sun sets, the trolls that once escaped climb over the gate and scour the forest to take revenge on the tricksters who drove them away from their home.

"Trolls to this day crave Zoldyck blood." Illumi said, matter of factly.

"Moral of the story, you're not you when you're hungry." Killua leaned back on his arms, refusing to admit he found it entertaining and instead remarked to Illumi that if he hoped to impress Killua he should have added at least one dragon tooting fire out of its butt into the story. Plus, the sun was already down and there were no trolls.

"Non-believers are eaten first."

Killua stuck out his tongue and taunted any nearby trolls to go ahead and try.

The ground shook.

Killua gulped.

Illumi waved his little brother goodbye. "Bye-bye, Killua."

"I know what you're doing, Illumi! HA-HA-HA, JOKES OVER, SO QUIT IT.'

Illumi held his palms open, defensively. He wasn't doing anything at all. "If there are trolls roaming around on our property, then we need troll hunters. Wouldn't we?" He tossed Killua a broken pine branch.

"This is a stick…"

"A sword." Illumi corrected and broke off his own sword from a tree. "Well, yes, technically speaking it's a stick, but that's only if you don't know how to properly use it." Trolls hate anything that grows in sunlight. Freshly chopped wood was as powerful as steel blades to them. "If you're going to be a troll hunter, you'll have to practice first."

Killua rolled the wood around in his hands, pine needles prickling his skin. If Illumi was giving him a free opportunity to whack him with a stick then he'd be crazy not to accept.

En garde.

Branches collided swiftly as arrows and soon the bristling of pine needles transformed into the clashing of metal as both brothers dualed against the other. There were no criticisms or assessments, no rules or training regimens—only laughter, scrapes covering their knuckles, crushed pine cones beneath their feet, and a silent hope that the remainder of the day would last sooner than the arrival of tomorrow.

A giant shadowy figure lingered in the fog, finally cutting through the gray vale with a clawed hand. Grabbing Illumi and pulling him in. Killua yelped in surprise—no, excitement. Troll! Soon a snoot, two coal eyes, and a pair of fluffy ears poked its head through the mist. Panting with its tongue sticking out. Illumi was sitting on its back, scratching Mike's head. Mike jumped up and down, making the earth beneath their feet tremble, sounding like trolls stomping the ground. This earned him a 'good boy, good boy' head scratch from Illumi.

Killua slouched his shoulders. He actually wanted to see a troll…but he was always happy to see Mike. Mike dutifully lowered his head towards Killua. Receiving double the amount of scratches on his snoot and his head. Mike was living his best life.

Killua held Mike's mouth, snugly surrounding sharp teeth and a devil tipped tongue, and flopped the guard dog's jaws up and down while singing, "I don't wanna be a chicken. I don't wanna be a duck. I just wanna be me, quack quack quack quack."

Mike was the Zoldyck Family's ferocious guard dog, but he was also a very peculiar looking duck. (According to Master Killua, at least.)

Illumi chuckled. "Hey, Kil. I'm in the mood for hot chocolate. Want some?"

Killua nuzzled his face in Mike's fur. He was so fluffy and soft. "I WANT! CHOCOLATE! Oh, can you do the thing with your needles and," Killua made a sound mimicking a car engine, or a chain saw, "some candy canes too. It's like peppermint snow."

"Sure."

"Can I read you the rest of my list?"

"Go for it."

Killua memorized the entirety of it. "Finches, falcons, ducks, flamingos, toucans. A blue and yellow macaw. Penguins are cool too, I've seen Happy Feet."

'Turn the coals and tend the fires and spit the slaughtered.'

Killua was living Illumi's damn fairytale and the eeriness of the similarities made Killua's skin crawl. Killua voluntarily fled his village (home), forced to slave over his oven (roast pig) along with the horde of applicants to cook for the trolls (Buhara eats like one and Menchi definitely acts like one.) In order to free himself (pass the exam) and become a hunter thus live happily ever after, but not before breaking a lot of stuff (Killua looked forward to that.) Either it's all a coincidence or Illumi is not just an asshole but a clairvoyant one too.

Killua was initially anxious that Illumi would follow him and drag him home by force but considering that hasn't happened means Illumi being all married and gross now worked in Killua's favor. Killua didn't feel guilty for slashing his mother, stabbing his brother, or ditching lurch's wedding of horrors, because Killua knew in his heart of hearts he'd see them all again. They'll all have a wonderful, happy family reunion when he collects the rewards over their heads to bounty hunters while overlooking his perfectly psychotic family on the law-abiding side of heavily reinforced steel bars. And laughs. And laughs. And laughs. Killua had nothing against Psyche, but he also had nothing against the bounty over her head either. And it surely would have increased upon marrying into his family.

Killua thought he would feel better after running away. He did. Initially. But now he's reeking of roast pig, swatting bees out of his ears, and doesn't not really know what he will be doing after the exam is finished. The answer was simple: anything he damn wants. Freedom was more bigger and daunting than he thought it would be, but was more bolder and brighter than he imagined it ever could. No more training sessions, no more tutors, no more assassinations. No more them.

Good riddance! Killua has no one but himself to think about from now on. No one…

No one to celebrate holidays or birthdays with anymore. No one to sit with him around a bonfire on Padokea's Independence Day at the end of January. No big brother to pour him hot chocolate out of a thermos nor stir in peppermint snow to a little arm quickly jutting out of a bundle of blankets bracing the cold, only to retreat back inside his cozy fortress when his treasure is acquired. Shivering and giggling with frozen fingers and toes next to Kalluto, who was just bundled and warm and cold as he was. Blowing, blowing, and blowing before taking their first sips and sighing contentedly while listening to stories freshly being spun around the crackling fire…Killua thought of the story he wanted to tell this year.

He thought of the ones he wouldn't be hearing.

Why…Why did no one come after Killua? Heck, they practically let him go. Did any of them care that he actually ran away at all? Or were they glad he rid themselves of him? To hell what they think. Killua has no qualms swiping the bounties over all their heads. Screw bonfires. Fuck birthdays. Everyday is cake before breakfast and ice cream before bed. Every night is games and hot chocolate and never ending stories. He'll do nothing but play all day and he'll never feel bad again.

Killua's stomach churned. He squatted down on the ground and pretended to inspect soup ladles in the pantry. He'd be needing exactly none, yet still he scrutinized the applications of each for a recipe that did not require them for this phase of the exam he was undoubtedly going to fail. When he ran away from home he knew exactly why he did, but now…he hurt a lot of people when he left…he wanted them to hurt.

He hadn't seen Illumi since the end of last year. Why did that sound so far away? It's only been a few weeks since December.

Killua never wanted to see Illumi again, yet it was now Illumi's face he was searching for in this unfamiliar crowd. He was relieved and disappointed his big brother was nowhere to be seen.

Killua didn't know what any of that meant nor did he care that he couldn't cook or that his pig was a far cry from passing. All he knew was that he really wanted a cup of hot chocolate with peppermint snow.

It was hard to cook when one was involuntarily subjected to host a cooking show in front of an audience of two despicable guests.

Hisoka and Gittarackur.

Leorio knew they were talking about him. They looked up from their stations at him anticipating another disaster to strike then turned to each other—snickering. Leorio felt his confidence plummet each time they did.

"Gon, pppppsssstttt, Gon, GOOOOON." Leorio yelled in a whisper. Hisoka and Gittarackur broke out into hysterics. "Switch stations with me. Please. I'm begging you."

"I'm tending to my pig and so are you. We can't just move them off their spits." Gon said, as it was stupidly obvious. "It'll ruin the flavor. Menchi says it's really important."

"Flavor, forget flavor! It's pork, it'll taste the same no matter what. Just hear me out." Leorio carefully turned his head to look at the two spectators—they looked away when Leorio caught them staring—Leorio whipped his head back to face Gon. "I can't cook like this, they keep looking at me."

"Then don't look at them." Gon blinked.

"It doesn't work like that, Gon. C'mon please. I'll owe you a favor."

"I'd rather perfect my flavor."

"GON. They're going to make me slip up and fail!"

Kurapika sighed. "If you have to blame your own incompetence and shortcomings on others, then you're not fit to be a hunter."

"Wah, wah, wah, you're not fit to be a hunter Leorio, that's you, that's what you sound like. YOU THINK NO ONE HERE IS FIT TO BE A HUNTER. PERIOD. You have no idea what I'm going through. Try walking in my shoes, hmm? WALK IN THEM!"

Gon stoked the fire as the flames kept licking the underbelly of the pig. Char gives flavor. "You don't really know what they're laughing about. And their stations are in the back behind yours, and Menchi and Buhara are in front of ours. So just from the way everything is arranged, it might look like they're laughing at you, or me or Kurapika or or even at each other."

Leorio calmed a bit. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I shouldn't be so paranoid."

"If they were right next to you like we are, then they would really have something to laugh about." Kurapika said, making steam hiss out of Leorio's ears.

"Kurapik—AAAAHHH! MY PIG!" Loerio yelped as the fire swallowed up his entire pig. Anxiously blowing on the flames out of sheer panic.

Hisoka and Illumi could hardly breathe while watching Leorio burn yet another one of his ties. After they both returned from the forest with their pigs, and with Illumi donning his disguise again, Hisoka wasn't repulsed or horrified with Illumi's appearance, transformation, nor his profession. Truthfully and against Illumi's initial belief…they were hitting it off well. So well, he forgot to pay close attention to Killua, who was thankfully no longer associating himself with that noisy trio. It seemed things were naturally sorting themselves out. Hisoka was so intrigued by Illumi's life as an assassin that Illumi wasn't hesitant to tell one, or two, of his escapades, which Hisoka graciously devoured.

"I'm telling you. Really. He passed. He passed!" Hisoka labored. Trying to control his laughter.

"He passed out." Illumi corrected. Remembering how Hisoka carried the knocked out applicant, Leorio, over his shoulder and sat him upright under a tree like a rag doll. "Alright, let me see if I understand this. If someone needs a beating you're there."

"Tch, a beating? No. You make it sound like I'm just your average ruffian who settles for just any old fight, and truth be told, I have standards nor should I bear all the blame alone. In fact, I've had a couple of incidents where guys were begging for it." Hisoka said, referring to his fight with those applicants in the swamp. Though it was barely a fight at all. A part of him wanted Illumi to one day beg for it too. "I respectfully oblige, though I shouldn't always be so nice."

Illumi snorted. "Okay, so it depends on the situation."

"Enough about me, I want to know about you."

"Oh, pricey."

"I'm serious."

So was Illumi.

Hisoka was all mischief. After Gittarackur revealed his true identity, Hisoka craved to know more about the man behind the needles. Illumi Zoldyck—oh he liked that name, saying it over and over again in his mind, even more so the man who carried it—an assassin with a flair for the dramatics just like Hisoka possessed. Hisoka felt so many emotions rush within him at the same time. He was fascinated, bewildered—excited. It was a surprise to find a kindred spirit at the hunter exam of all places. "You began to regale me with a tale about one of your jobs then cruelly left me hanging right at the best part. Is it true? You ruined a hotel?"

"Oh, that. Well, not the entire hotel. A room." Illumi clarified.

A slow smile spread across Hisoka's face. "A room. Hmm, do I want to know with whom?" Hisoka was a little jealous now.

Hisoka could have sworn there was a slight blush across Illumi's face. Slight. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it wasn't for whatever depraved reason you're thinking of." Though Psyche and his own mother were not too happy about it.

"Really? Oh well. That takes all the fun away. It's none of my business, but I can't help being curious. What had the room done to piss you off?"

Illumi turned his head down, laughing. Then he looked back at Hisoka. "Bad taste in decorations."

Hisoka laughed. "But I mean—"

"Bad day. It was just a bad day." Illumi lightly shook his head before picking off a piece of pork and dipping it in his wild mushroom marinade, hungry.

Hisoka leaned in on his elbows, deciding to guess instead. "Let me see. Hmm. You hadn't been drinking? Were you in the mini bar?"

"No, that was the only thing that was left untouched." God, Illumi could kill for a drink right now. Roast pork reminded him of a winter feast. Craving a sultry mulled wine that's been left simmering for days with cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. Poured in a warm mug and topped with dried orange rinds.

"Now that you're older, do you still do that?"

"No, because I'm incredibly responsible now." Illumi playfully rolled his eyes. Then he thoughtfully paused. "Well, it depends. If I have to."

"But no one really has to destroy a hotel room."

Illumi smiled. "How do you know?"

"You're right, I don't know. But I've never had to destroy one."

"Well, your day may be coming."

Hisoka laughed.

"Oh, the line is gone. Do you want to have our meals judged now?"

Hisoka gasped. Illumi was waiting for him to finish cooking so they could go…together? Illumi was beautiful, considerate (and possibly inviting him to a hotel room to fuck, but Hisoka wasn't certain if Illumi knew what he was asking. Yet. Surviving the misty wetlands and fighting off carnivorous pigs was the start of their meet cute after all, so who knows what will inevitably, definitely, absolutely come after.)

"Hisoka?"

"Let's go." It was nice to have friends.

After successfully escaping the swamp, with all her limbs intact, Psyche lost all the food in her picnic basket she put so much thought into buying. Without the fog to conceal her, any animal that could see, tried with great effort to eat her. She had to fend off a giant frog with swiss rolled ham and cheese sandwiches and not even the chocolate bonbons could be saved. The crows were persistent and made her a very generous offer: the bonbons or her eyes. She couldn't refuse.

She held the tattered wicker basket by the only handle that was still barely attached to it before it completely snapped off.

She threw it in the bushes.

However, there was a silver lining. Her shadow beast carefully set down the only surviving hunter applicant she came across in the swamp. He was unconscious, but he'll live.

Sighing, she opened her compact to see how much damage was done. Sure, she was covered with grime, drenched in sweat, and there was something dead tangled in her hair but it was nothing a comb, hand wipes, and lip gloss couldn't fix-

Psyche yelped before closing her compact with a shudder. As if hiding her reflection would somehow make it untrue. Illumi can't see her like this! She looks like the ex-girlfriend the creature of the black lagoon dumped for being too ugly.

She combed her fingers through her hair in a panic, hurriedly trying to untangle the knots. Her fingers landed on the dead lump. A lump that was moving then squirming then buzzing its wings. NOT DEAD! ALIVE! IT WAS VERY ALIVE!

The applicant groaned. He slowly opened his eyes and saw another beast of the wetlands. Filthy hands clawing at her wild hair, bloodshot eyes accompanying a high shrill scream. He was kidnapped by the hideous witch of the swamp and was going to be eaten alive. The shock was so great he passed out again.

Did she look that bad? Psyche was determined to not let the world see her, let alone Illumi. Usually when a knight saves a damsel in distress, they pledge their undying love for them right on the spot. Instead, this man was unconscious, convulsing, and foaming at the mouth. Sometimes mercy was a swift death and other times it was dragging an unconscious man into a bush and stabbing his outer thigh with her only epipen. The convulsing stopped and the foam dried up. She secured a badge over him after noticing they also functioned as tracking devices. The hunter committee will find him.

Psyche grunted and ripped the bug out of her hair and saw that it was fuzzy all over, looking more like a cute little plushie than a real threat. Trembling in her hands. She shouldn't have been so rough with it when it was clearly more scared of her. She gently tossed it into the air and watched as it flew high up and towards the clouds—only to nose dive back at her. Its stinger pulsed out of its abdomen like a pistol and gleamed menacingly in the light. (The Missile Wasp. An insect with a powerful, concealed stinger that can shatter bone. Once enraged, it can only calm down once it has killed its aggressor.)

Every damsel for themselves.

Psyche summoned Willow and escaped into a shadowy tunnel. Now on the other side she was free from the demonic wasp, but faced another problem. It was entirely pitch black, jagged in all the oddest angles, felt damp, warm, and greasy. Where did Willow take her?

She used her phone as a flashlight and raised it above her. Her voice was stolen and silence reigned as she realized what she was surrounded by.

Psyche was buried in a tomb of bones.

Chapter Text

Killua learned that things never lasted as long as he would have wished them to. All the while pushing down the most obvious question whenever he was having the time of his life: How long is this going to last?

Killua saw Illumi waiting for him in the dark. That was his answer; dutiful and irritatingly reliable as his older brother always was. Like it wouldn't kill Illumi to slack off or turn a blind eye for once. Instead of feeling ashamed of being caught red handed in breaking the rules, Killua couldn't help but smile. In some weird and unexplainable way, he felt like he won.

Illumi stood with his arms crossed as he leaned back against his car. He hadn't told their mother about Killua's midnight escapades, she had enough to worry about. Instead, he waited patiently for Killua to jump off the balcony, descend the sycamore tree, and walk a block down the mansion he started to regularly pay nightly visits to. Illumi twirled a withering brown tree seed by its stem-it looked like wings. Kalluto stood sullen next to Illumi's side.

As Killua came into view, Illumi handed Kalluto the tree seed. 'If you spin them right, you can make them fly.' Kalluto tried to do just that while avoiding Killua's eyes.

"Sneaking out past curfew? Kil, this isn't like you."

Killua scoffed. How would Illumi know? Maybe Killua wanted to be the boy who sneaks out at night without telling a soul and debates whether or not to return before dawn at all. No, not maybe. He wanted to live how he wanted and he didn't see himself stopping in the future. "I could say the same about you. You used to be so cool."

"Cool?" Illumi raised his eyebrows, perplexed. "That doesn't sound right. When did this happen and why wasn't I aware of it?"

Killua gawked. "Um, the old you? The Illumi who would sneak out whenever he wanted to and do whatever he wanted. The Illumi who didn't give a shit about breaking the rules and didn't care what mom and dad said."

Illumi once stood in Killua's shoes, so clearly, it felt as if he was peering into his own past. The high of recklessness and irresponsibility that accompanied freedom lasted long after facing reprimands and punishments for disobeying his parents. The smug feeling of invincibility was intoxicating enough after a lifetime of restrictions and codes, he could get away with what he wanted and his parents wouldn't know the half of it and still think of him as an obedient son. However, these were memories he preferred not to think twice of anymore. He was different now—better. He had obligations to his family and duties to uphold—playtime was over. But what was Killua referring to about Illumi's scandalous past…specifically. Illumi did many things. Oh God. He raised an eyebrow, conspicuously. If Killua knew something he shouldn't have known then he wouldn't have to worry about being grounded. Illumi would kill him right on the spot. There was always room for more skeletons in his closet.

Killua gawked. "Don't you remember? You used to take your dirt bike and go downtown all the time? You used to go almost every night before you packed up your bike. I didn't even get a chance to ride it. Everyone else got to, even mom." One corner of his mouth curved upward, revealing a sharp canine tooth.

"Oh, that!" If there was a God, then she was beautiful and Illumi would praise her. "What about my bike? Do you want it?"

"Yeah, where is it?"

"Compacted."

"I asked where!"

Illumi waved Killua's pestering noises away. "Going downtown was a waste of my time. Besides, you aren't missing out on anything, trust me."

"You're kidding, right? I'm missing out on everything. The old you was so rebellious that mom and dad put you on house arrest for two years to keep you in check. Ring a bell? Then you gave in and turned into this. A boring sticker for the rules. You're making me be the same way. I do my work, I follow the rules—okay, most of the time. I listen to you and dad. I train hard even after the day is done, on my own and without anyone telling me to. I study like a wired machine until my brain is fried. I practice even after I'm beyond sick of it. If I want to have a little fun then I think I'm at least owed that."

Kalluto looked back and forth between his brothers, anxiously.

Illumi's jaw flexed, then faintly scowled. His little brother should learn when to hold his tongue. "If you're going to tell my life story wrong then you at least owe me the royalty checks. Mind you, it was not a forced house arrest, I took a wellness break. Unsurprisingly, being addicted to working excessive hours takes its toll on the body. You said so yourself, it isn't a major flex."

"Liar." Killua rolled his eyes, his older brother actually agreeing with him was never a good sign. Some boys are dangerous if they're not tightly controlled. Their mom and dad saw that in each of their sons and sought to control them in different ways. Killua knew he was the only one out of his brothers who saw everything for what it was. Illumi was powerful and yet he let himself be caged, that alone made Killua sick to his stomach.

"He had burnout!" Kalluto yelped, brows furrowed angrily at Killua. He was always ready to defend his big brother.

"Lucky." Killua would give anything for a psychotic breakdown if it means more time off. "I still think that's a cover up for the obvious truth, but I'm glad you're feeling better or whatever."

Kalluto's face turned bright red with anger. "He may still be going through it!"

Illumi gently hushed Kalluto. "Thank you, thank you. That is all. Twirl your tree seed. Anyway, where were you during that particular time, Kil? Oh yes. You were sent to train at Heaven's Arena. Being on your own for the first time is a scary endeavor, for anyone. You were alone and far from home, so I'm not surprised or mind that you'd made up these out of proportion scenarios to entertain you so time would pass by faster. Especially when it wasn't all fun and games at the arena. Waiting alone between fights, wondering whether or not you're stronger than your opponent, worrying what would happen if you never made it to the 200th floor. When you'll get out, if ever? Anxiously waiting for dad's approval knowing he was watching you somewhere in the stadium. Stuck with your own thoughts as you glossed over every victory and ruminated over every loss. Like it or not, you're a perfectionist like me. We'll make ourselves sick if we stay by ourselves for too long. I get it, you want to clear your head and get out once in a while. That's fine and you can as long as you're responsible about it. Tell mom or me where you're going, how long you'll be gone, and keep in contact with us. That's simple, isn't it? When I finished recuperating, I went right back to work, as if I never skipped a day before in my life. But what about you? You're running off to who knows where to who knows whom because this is what you think you've been owed?"

If all Killua had to do was ask to go out then he wouldn't have snuck out in the first place. As if they'd actually say yes and let him! "Yeah, at the very least."

"Kil, I wake up only to find you gone, what do you think is running through my head?"

"Good riddance, what took him so long." Killua smiled from ear to ear, sheepishly.

Illumi sighed. "I would have been less paranoid if a ransom note and a finger was left behind."

"Next time I'll leave something dismembered behind just for you."

"How thoughtful." Illumi stared down at his little brother and said in a low, husky voice. "You used to be such a good boy."

Killua suddenly didn't have anything to say.

"Good reputations really tarnish too soon. Well, I suppose that's the way of things. Anyway, I'd rather not debate with you this late. You're not allowed to run off whenever you want to, in the middle of night no less. You know this will make mom sick. I can't imagine you would know and still—" Illumi held his tongue. Killua would do things knowing full well how it would affect their mother. Her heart breaks easily for her children, and some more than others didn't mind stepping on it. Killua had the gift of selective tunnel vision whenever it suited him like that. "Before you spare no expense in giving me your best excuse—mind you my expectations are very high—but as far as I'm aware." Illumi snapped his fingers. "You've made a friend."

Killua sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. As much as Killua hated to admit it, Illumi was just playing his role as the dutiful and responsible older brother. Maybe playing that role actually gave him burnout. "Dunno. Did you make a friend?"

"I could make friends or I could look after you, but heaven knows I cannot do both."

Kalluto bopped his head against Illumi's side.

Illumi smiled and patted Kalluto's head.

"Look." Killua growled. "This was the last time I was going to visit him. So relax. I've thought this out."

"I'm sure you have." Illumi tapped his finger, precisely as a metronome that kept track of Killua's pulse. Killua taking accountability caught Illumi off guard. "Well, that's it then. Since you've thought this all out and you clearly don't need my help, then I can safely assume you haven't run into any problems along the way. But reassure me first so we can go back home." As the Zoldycks became more powerful, they made more enemies. It was hard to keep track of who was safe and who wasn't. Friendship and good hearts were as dependable as paper boats voyaging across the ocean and back. You learn to stop being surprised and instead bet how long they take to sink. Illumi could see that his little brother was sinking. He was holding out for a lifeboat, breathing in salt water, and drowning.

"He isn't a problem." Killua dug his nails inside his fists. Neither of his brothers could see.

"Does he have a name?"

"Yeah." Killua said between clenched teeth.

"Alright. Keep your secrets." Illumi said, thinking how Killua erroneously assumed Illumi cared enough to force a name out of him.

"He's going to die. I came to say goodbye."

"That's convenient." Illumi quipped. "While murder solves most problems, you know it doesn't always need to. Just checking."

"Hello Pot, I'm Kettle. You're black."

Illumi snorted. "Point taken."

"I don't care if you believe me or not, but I don't have to do anything. He's terminally ill."

"I'm sorry to hear that. With what?"

Killua was at a loss for words.

"You don't know, do you? Maybe he isn't sick at all but was lying to get you to lower your guard, not on his own volition, of course, but on another's behalf. Or perhaps it was a setup and you would be ambushed on the way to him. It's harder to see your enemies in the dark. Remember that job in Yorknew City?"

Killua couldn't forget it. All of his brothers worked together during this particular mission; Yorknew City was swamped with gangs, drugs, and violence—that meant plenty of work for the Zoldycks. The mayor commissioned their family to take out a drug cartel—the law was slow and he was desperate and needed them gone. That was one way to fulfill a promise he made for a cleaner and safer city. Of course, the public would never know, assassintion wouldn't look good for upcoming re-elections. Milluki cut the power and even the back up generators of their base, while Illumi, Killua and Kalluto carried out the rest of the mission. Killua learned that day that even grown men were still afraid of the dark. When they were finished, they went to a nearby bodega and ordered bacon, egg, and cheese on knish. Everything tastes better on griddled fried bread and spiced potatoes. "Why'd you always have to bring it up? I got it done. So what?"

"You missed one."

"I was leaving that guy for last…"

"What you should be doing is getting on your hands and knees thanking Kalluto for noticing not a second too late otherwise—"

"Otherwise we wouldn't be here having this conversation. I know, I KNOW."

"Uh-uh. Not us. You. You wouldn't be here. One second of carelessness and that's all it takes to wind up dead." Illumi snapped his fingers.

"Give it time."

"I'm not in the mood for games tonight, Kil."

Killua shrugged. Smirking. "I'm not playing any. You brought it up."

"I have the right reasons to. I bring things up, not to purposely make you feel bad, but so you don't forget them. Why do you think I do that? The answer isn't hard."

"You don't want me to fuck up again."

"I want you to learn from your mistakes so you don't get hurt. And that is what I could see happening again, right now even, if you're not vigilant. We don't have the luxury of lowering our guard or the security that we're free from harm once we leave home. I bring these things up for your benefit, not for my own kicks. Let's jump back to the present with your friend you don't want to name. I'm surprised you're not more fazed about their death."

Killua sighed. "No. It's just—he has a bunch of problems. There's something wrong with his lungs, and he can't breathe without his machine. He can't stand without his walker because of a degenerative disease affecting his muscles. His pancreas doesn't work, so there's a dozen different medications he has to take so he can eat, some make him delirious and see things that aren't there. He thought he hallucinated a ghost the first time he saw me on his balcony. Said he saw several of me, I guess he wasn't too far off." Killua chuckled. "Oh, and he's seriously allergic to sugar, even chocolate robots could kill him. He finished writing a draft of his funeral service and wanted me to read it over. It was funny. He wants 'drop it like it's hot' to play as his casket goes down."

Damn. "How old is he?"

"11. His birthday was last week. He could only blow out the candles on his cake, so he had crackers with a glass of milk instead." His friend hid a slice of cake under his bed and saved it just for Killua. He always wanted to eat cake together with a friend, even if it was just one of them who ate it. "He isn't a threat to me, or to anyone. Honest."

"It's alright, I believe you." If what Killua said was true then Illumi would undoubtedly be crowned the king of assholes. Though he found it odd how someone could be allergic to all sugars. "I can only make assumptions when I don't know what's happening." Illumi had a persistent fear that if he looked away for one second, Killua would wind up dead in a ditch. He was just like his mom.

"Yup. I just came to say goodbye. For the last time. That's all."

"Well, I'm glad you ended it on your own." Despite the fear of abduction and extortion this night triggered for Illumi, all he wanted was to see Killua happy, which admittedly Killua hasn't been much of late. He may even consider allowing Killua to send a flower arrangement for the service.

Killua hesitated, weakly. "Are you going to tell mom?"

"Kil, I've texted mom to tell her we went to go see a movie."

"You're actually nice sometimes."

"Never say that to me again. Oh, that reminds me, she wanted me to call her during intermission." Illumi turned to his phone and walked away, then spoke quickly to his brothers as the dial rang. "We're watching Pirates of the Caribbean: Legend of the Sparrow King. Do me a favor and skim over the plot on the wiki page. Special guest appearances include Kiera Knightly and a jar of dirt. We love it—Hi mom, yeah, I just walked out of the theater so I can hear you better. Oh, no, Orlando Bloom isn't in this one." Kikyo said something. Illumi laughed.

Illumi sounded so natural, it didn't even come across as lying. "Oh…thanks." Killua couldn't help but assume the worst. Anyone from his family could break through the balcony, smother his friend with a pillow in his sleep or obstruct his oxygen tank. Illumi could have dragged Killua back into the car by now. He could have told their mom about Killua breaking the rules. But instead, Illumi was on the phone, rehashing the movie as if he just watched it seconds ago and covering for Killua when he hadn't a reason to. Maybe Illumi just felt sorry for his friend.

Maybe he felt sorry for Killua.

There was no reason for Killua to be angry at Illumi. He turned to Kalluto who could barely look him in the eyes. Killua unclenched his fists as he stared down at his little brother. Possessing the same calm rage Illumi does. "You followed me. You snitched on me. You told Illumi where I'd be. That's why he knows. That's why you're here. That's why you can't look at me now."

Kalluto jolted at the truth.

Killua was right. "Ah, now you see me."

Kalluto turned to Illumi for help, but his big brother wasn't going to speak for him, too busy talking with their mom. Currently, Kalluto and Killua were on line at the concession stand. They were going to share a large bucket of popcorn together. He looked back at Killua and saw the anger building in his eyes—all for him. It was hard to look at. "You broke the rules."

"I'm just getting started."

"You're putting all of us at risk."

"C'mon." Killua raised his arms and let them drop to his sides, exasperated. When Illumi was out of earshot, he spoke freely. "You can stop parroting what mom and dad always say. No one is listening. Say what's on your mind, for once. This is the only time we can. Kalluto, I know I'm not the only one tired of being told how to live our lives. We can't do anything on our own. It's like we can't breathe without asking them for permission first."

"Speak for yourself."

Killua was taken aback.

"I like my life." Kalluto said firmly. Killua kept saying 'we,' but Kalluto didn't entirely agree with his brother. Yes, their lives were different, but he liked things as they were. He liked being with his family and he wanted everyone he loved to be at home with him. There was nothing strange about that to Kalluto. He didn't understand why Killua didn't think the same.

"Trust me. There's more to like about life than just what's inside the testing gate. It's like living in the middle of nowhere." It felt more like a cage everyday. Killua didn't want to be stuck inside it any longer. He wanted Kalluto to say it too.

Kalluto didn't want to leave it. Though, it was obvious Killua was trying to coax the answer he wanted out of him.

"Imagine all the fun we could have."

"We already have fun."

"I don't mean…" Assassination. It wasn't the kind of fun Killua wanted to have anymore. Killua shook his head, he wasn't going to finish that sentence. Not with Illumi nearby. Not when he was already covering for Killua and didn't have anything to gain even after admonishing him. Not when Killua knew what Illumi said was rooted in sincerity. He stepped closer to Kalluto and spoke softly. "Don't you want to see the world?" He sounded hopeful. Hopeful that he could tap into something he thought both of them wanted.

Kalluto felt a cold pang whorl in his stomach. Killua wouldn't say these things if he felt home, and everyone in it, was enough for him. Kalluto wished he was enough for his brother. Alluka was enough. He could only think of the latter when he answered. "No. I don't."

Killua didn't relent. He took another step towards Kalluto, and spoke just enough for only the two of them to hear. "Illumi is starting his own life, and soon his own family too. We'll always be his brothers, but he'll have new priorities. New loyalties."

Kalluto didn't like how Killua was already pointing out the growing branches readying to sprout, the imminent divide, in their family. Illumi will want children and those children will become his life.

Killua continued. "His family will take over. He'll want that. You and I both know he wants dad's spot. I don't have to be the heir, I never wanted to be. So why can't we just let him have it? I'm not opposed to it and neither are you. Don't you think he could take over for dad? I think so."

Kalluto nodded. He believed in Illumi.

Killua smiled, eager. "Don't you see what that means for us?"

Kalluto couldn't listen. He didn't want to. He was scared of what would follow after.

"We're not needed anymore."

Those last words broke Kalluto's heart. What Killua saw as freedom, Kalluto saw as heartbreak. Kalluto's shoulders were trembling as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "You're wrong. Mama needs me. Big brother needs me. I am needed. So are you!"

Illumi turned around briefly, then back again. His brothers were far away, so he could only hear the warbles of their conversation. He hoped their mother couldn't. She trusted Illumi and was too busy gushing over Orlando Bloom.

Killua grabbed a hold of Kalluto's shoulders. Holding him. It was gentle and kind. Kalluto wanted to be held like this again. "You're right, I'm sorry. I need you most of all, Kallu."

'He called me Kallu.' Kalluto liked it when Killua did.

Killua continued. "That's why I want us to travel the world together and I have a plan to make it happen. I can only do this with you by my side. We could do anything." Killua said those words like they were magic. He had a dream and he wanted Kalluto to share it with him; unwilling to begrudgingly accept their life while there is a whole other world waiting for them to take. "But we have to do it now. We have to leave now. You have to make a decision now. All you have to do is tell me yes and I'll take care of the rest."

It was everything Kalluto wanted to hear. There was no one else to take his place inside Killua's heart. "You're my best friend."

Killua smiled, radiant. "Let's go."

With Alluka gone, these were the best years of Kalluto's whole life and it could last forever if he says yes right now. Yes to Killua, yes to the world…and goodbye to his family. It broke his heart when he shook his head. He didn't want to leave home. "I love our family. I love our Mountain. What's wrong with staying when everything is already perfect?"

"Please, Alluk—" Killua stopped himself. "Kalluto."

Kalluto finally understood. He wasn't the one Killua truly wanted to share his dream with. Kalluto pushed Killua away. He felt cold and regretted what he'd done without Killua's hands on his shoulders, but this moment couldn't be taken back. Kalluto bent over and held his hands over his stomach—laughing. Painful, wretched laughter. He couldn't stop. Even with Illumi's needle, even after forgetting who Alluka is, she's still there in Killua's head, somewhere. Forgotten, but not forever gone. Kalluto was just the spare, someone who could never fill the space of the person Killua truly wanted by his side.

"What's your problem!" Killua stared at him, like Kalluto was blurry and unfocused and unrecognizable. As if he was someone else entirely. He took a step back. "Weird, I thought I wasn't the only one in our family who wasn't afraid to do what they wanted. Guess I was wrong."

Kalluto stopped laughing. He saw Killua's face, and how far away he seemed. "Let's go home or, um, let's go see a real movie!"

Killua's mind skipped over movies and popcorn and pirates. He thought they both wanted the same thing. He didn't want to be wrong. "I think I understand now. You're afraid that I can live my own life fine without you all in it."

"That's not true!" Kalluto grabbed at Killua's sleeve to pull him closer, but Killua shrugged back.

"That's why you don't want me to go, or why you followed me here, not because I broke the rules. It wasn't Illumi I was afraid of finding out."

It was me. Kalluto blanched.

"You want to hold me back, you're just like the rest of them."

You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong. Kalluto raised his head towards the mansion and up at the balcony. A threat. A danger. A boy who polluted Killua's mind. Jealousy gripped his heart. "I could kill him." He should.

Anger simmered within Killua. "I won't let you."

"Don't get so wired up. You said it yourself, he is going to die anyway. Should we flip a coin like we usually do with our last kills? Heads or Legs." Kalluto opened his fan, the edges were sharp.

"I'm done playing these sick games."

"You are always partial to heads. Me personally, well, you can't run away without legs. But I guess in your friend's case it wouldn't matter much." Kalluto giggled.

"That's why I didn't want to tell you about him. I know you too well to have let that happen." Kalluto was Killua's beloved little brother, but he also became something else whenever Killua veered off by himself or whenever he became interested in outsiders. Sometimes Killua would go back and find those same people as corpses or scattered in pieces. Killua hoped he could change that about Kalluto. He thought he was the only one who could, but perhaps it was time to come to terms with what he couldn't. This was his brother's true nature. Jealous and violent and possessive.

"So you decided to put him at risk instead. Knowing the danger you were putting him in?" Kalluto tched. "Doesn't seem very friendly."

"Neither is dismembering each other's friends, but hey, nobody's perfect."

"Our family isn't perfect, but it is as close to it than the rest of the world could ever be. You are the only one who doesn't see that."

"All I've been asking you is to take that chance with me. You have to try—we can change. We can't keep living in the dark."

Kalluto pouted. "Illumi is right. You are forgetful. Don't you remember who made this coin game in the first place? You did. You think you're so different, but you're the same as the rest of us. If your friend knew what you were, would he be scared?"

Killua stood in Kalluto's way. "Go ahead and try. Risk disobeying Illumi. Risk going up against me."

"I think he would be scared," Kalluto answered instead. Only his eyes were visible while he shrouded the wicked smile on his face with his fan—a weapon that has been used to kill many before. "You scare me."

Killua breathed and thanked Kalluto, catching him by surprise. "Y'know all that pain you have deep inside, pain that makes you act out and do despicable things that even you admit disgust yourself. That's why I thought you were different. I thought you wanted to change, like me. I was wrong." Killua walked closer to Kalluto and reached for his fan. Killua lowered it, and all smiles disappeared. Killua's voice was colder than ice. He could see inside his little brother's heart and all the things he did not like. He ripped Kalluto's fan out of his hand and stabbed it against his chest. "There are so many things beyond your control, things that eat you away. You don't fight it—you give in and let it. You hide in our Mountain and you do horrible things. But no matter what you do, no matter how many people you kill, it won't make that pain inside disappear any faster. That pain sticks like the blood we spill, it doesn't go away, and it makes you sick—me most of all." Killua stabbed the fan at Kalluto, one stab for every point Killua made. "Wait—you're actually crying."

Kalluto dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Killua hummed and dropped the fan into Kalluto's hands. It missed and hit the gravel road instead.

Killua turned away.

Kalluto screamed, pounced off the ground and rammed into Killua's legs. Tackling him to the ground. His nails were replaced by razor edged claws, swiping viciously at Killua. Killua held up his arms to block his face. Thoughts wildly rampaged in Kalluto's head. Desperately wanting his family to stay together. Resenting Illumi and his imminent, new family. Blaming Killua for wanting to leave the family they already have. Despising Alluka's perfection and Killua's undying adoration of her. Hating himself for acknowledging the truth rotting away inside. Realizing that love wasn't enough to heal what has been broken for a long time—love wasn't enough to fix what Kalluto became. Love wasn't enough to make Killua stay. Love wasn't enough to keep Illumi whole.

Love wasn't enough.

Kalluto lost himself in this feverish frenzy, engulfed by his own rage. Every horrible thing he ever thought about himself came rushing in all at once, just as Killua said. He struck and struck and struck just how he was taught. He made it hurt. He wanted Killua to hurt as much as he hurt. Soon, the world shifted beneath his feet and he was still in a disoriented daze long after he was pulled back. He was heaving in labored breaths and didn't recognize who was holding him back until the blood came into focus.

It wasn't Killua's.

It was Illumi's blood. Illumi stepped in between his brothers, already having hung up on his mother. Intermission was over.

He hurt…He hurt…he hurt. Kalluto's voice came out weak and shattered. "T–That wasn't meant for," it shouldn't have been meant for anyone, but he attacked anyway. "I didn't mean it," Kalluto meant it to hurt then, he wasn't sure what he wanted now. "Illumi, I'm sorry, I—" Was he really sorry with his hands soaked with his brother's blood?

Illumi didn't push his brother away, the sting of fresh blood never bothered him. He held Kalluto tight and didn't let go. Kalluto bawled into Illumi's shoulder, the horror of what he had done dawning over him. He was terrible and a monster and cried how he was sorry and didn't mean to hurt anyone.

Killua just watched in shock as Illumi comforted Kalluto, showing more concern for his little brother. Killua gnashed his teeth as he fought against a putrid scream. Illumi pushed him aside to help Kalluto even though Kalluto attacked him first. Even though Kalluto drew blood and wouldn't stop and wanted more. It was a winter night, but Killua was boiling up a storm inside. The cuts on his arms stung as he balled his hands into fists, grinding against the gravel beneath him. He listened as he cracked the rocks beneath his grip.

Killua was too angry to think. He was behind Illumi in a flash with his hand aimed for Kalluto's head. Kalluto was right, Killua was partial for heads.

Kalluto didn't move, he only closed his eyes—he deserved it.

Illumi grabbed Killua by the wrist, preventing the attack, as he spoke with a serious calm. "Think before you'll do something you'll quickly regret."

"I have. He attacked me. It's only right that I hurt him back. That's another family rule of ours, right. Or do you not want me to break that rule too?" Killua laughed, harshly. No cruel act from one family member to another goes unpunished. It was within Killua's right to proceed however he wished after an unprovoked attack.

"Yes, but I accept it on Kalluto's behalf. I won't allow more blood to be spilled. You're upset. You want blood. I get it." Illumi said slowly, careful not to release Killua within range of Kalluto. "Let my blood quell your rage instead."

Killua was sick of Illumi always bending the rules for Kalluto. "This is why he is so messed up because you constantly enable him to be." Killua could hear Kalluto crying louder, but Killua couldn't stop. "I'm right! Both of you know it! Kalluto is terrible and would agree with me. He attacked me first—"

Illumi's voice bellowed, startling Killua. It was rare seeing Illumi this way. It takes a lot to make him angry. "You see he's in pain and you push him until he breaks," Illumi pulled Killua close. "You're his older brother, and look at what you're doing to him. You're supposed to protect him. No one will protect you more in this life than each other. Never forget that. Never turn on eachother. Don't let a lifetime of someone looking out for you, loving you get swallowed by a moment of anger."

'You're supposed to protect me too.' Those words were lost from Killua's voice, silent. Illumi wasn't the dutiful brother he painted himself to be—he took sides. Illumi didn't say he was disappointed, but Killua could see it plainly in his eyes.

"You'll join the Bureau in the upcoming year, most likely on or sometime after my wedding day. Why? A representative will be there, so that'll make it convenient for all of us."

"What?" Killua stuttered. "But, dad said I had another year."

"It's already been decided and just recently you told me yourself that you're a pro." Illumi then turned to Kalluto and asked if he could walk. He picked up Kalluto in his arms to bring him to the car.

Killua rushed to keep pace with Illumi, then ran back to pick up Kalluto's fan, then ran back to Illumi. "This isn't fair!"

"It's been decided. Get the door for me, Kil."

Killua opened the car door as Illumi lowered Kalluto in and helped him buckle his seatbelt in the backseat. Killua's voice was laced with panic. "You even said it yourself that you convinced dad to push it back because you wanted to train me more, that I wasn't ready. I'm not ready!"

"Dad thinks you're ready, and I think it's time for you to grow up."

Illumi got in the driver's seat, with Killua beside him in the front. Killua looked into the rearview mirror—Kalluto was staring at him through it with swollen, red eyes.

Killua pivoted his body around to face his brother eye to eye, his own seat belt cutting into his chest. The car was so dark, that only the lights of the dashboard illuminated the profile of his face. "This is the last time you will ever look into my eyes again. I promise you that."

"Killua." Kalluto's voice was weak. The backseat of the car was pitch black. Kalluto wanted the floor to open up and swallow him like an abyss.

They drove back home, the silence of the ride broken by the fragments of stinted conversations of Illumi instructing them what to do. Both boys listened. They'll clean their wounds before driving through the testing gates. They'll cover them up with jackets and long sleeve sweaters and lies. They'll pick out the gravel in between the creases of their shoes. They'll dry their tears. They'll only talk of movies and pirates and skittle stained tongues to their mom. They'll kiss her goodnight and tell her they love her. They'll go to bed and try to forget. They'll sleep through what's left of the night, though their minds won't let them. They'll wake up in the morning and forgive each other. They'll go on as they always have.

Killua didn't toss and turn as he slept that night. He didn't have nightmares or wake in cold sweats. As soon as the sun rose Killua knew what he wanted. He wanted to grow up. Out and away from here.

Chapter Text

"You're all I could think about."

There was a strange girl standing in front of Hisoka. Hisoka just dumbly stared at her, there was no one else around them nor anyone else she could be talking to, but him.

From head to toe she was dressed in black like a pretty grim reaper without a badge to her name. Fabric frayed at the edges of her clothes and salt water sprayed against her hair, as if she strayed farther from civilization than she would have liked. She isn't an applicant and though he has never seen her before, he has seen those eyes. Eyes that obsessively yearned to devour him and leave him trapped in the dark. Hisoka acquired all his badges to pass the fourth phase of the exam, now it was time for him to play. "You're not an applicant taking the hunter exam, are you? You would be very hard to forget."

She wasn't answering his question, perhaps he needed to ask ones she was interested in answering.

"What have I done to earn your affection, love?"

Psyche meant to shake her head, but something in her neck cracked instead. "This exam is sickening." She spilled everything. Her disgust over the hunter committee. Her exhaustion pursuing the applicant pool. Her weariness whilst avoiding wild animals and 'this close' to harrowingly catching more than she ever needed to know parasitic infections from not properly boiling river water. After leaving the swamp, Willow burrowed her into a pile of pig bones. It was enough to induce a heart attack thinking she was surrounded by Illumi's remains. After watching the committee blimp depart, Psyche diligently trailed them. Sprinting through the Forest Preserve past carnivorous pigs to scaling Split Mountain while fighting against the blistering winds to squatting outside Trick Tower watching men fall to their deaths until finally renting a dinghy and rowing herself to Zevil Island. Perhaps it was because she was devoid of human contact for weeks or because she was surviving off berries plucked from vines and chewing on medicinal roots like a child reared in the wild that made her delirious enough to crave any semblance of a conversation from any living things that didn't try to nip at her fingers or pluck her hair when she trying to sleep at night. Sleeping in a hollowed out tree with a family of owls wasn't the enchanting dream she thought it would be.

"Oh my. What a journey. You've done all of this… for me?"

Psyche's voice was shallow, strained and tired. "Even without a face, I saw you clearly in my mind and couldn't resist the curiosity of wondering who you were. In my days of solitude, you were there to keep me company and we have gotten so close, yet no nearer to becoming anything more than strangers. Still, I couldn't think about anyone else, well, I wouldn't allow myself to. I'll give you all my attention even past the point of making myself sick of it. I'm sorry, my sisters have told me I can be a bit obsessive."

Hisoka tapped his lips, sealing a smile. "Not at all."

"That's good." Psyche slowly breathed as she flipped open her knife. Dragging the metal point across the cold stone of boulders as the ear splitting sound pierced the air between them. "I had so much time to think about you. I want you. No, more than that. More than you could ever give me." The silver catching Hisoka's awed reflection. "I want your life."

"You flatter me, my dear." The ends of Hisoka's smile rose as she took gradual steps towards him. She wasn't the first girl to yearn for Hisoka's attention, but she was the first to track him down all the way to a deserted island and demand that he lay down his life for her. The slow killing poison of unrequited love. It was grimly original and left a sensual tart taste on his tongue. He'll definitely remember her long after this little tryst she hopes to spark with him ends. But could it be that this was the girl Illumi mentioned? Moments after Illumi buried himself in the earth, he reemerged, half awake with the stardust of deep sleep surrounding his eyes. He spoke of a girl, and without elaborating he laid back down among dirt and roots and black beetles to rest. Some girl was coming for him. Could this be her, spoken by the man Hisoka wanted for himself. Hisoka will let her reveal it all while he lies back and lets her control the reigns.

She looked impatient to put him in his place and he never ceased lusting to be entertained.

"Hisoka Morrow. You're going to die." Psyche's heart pumped with anger. Anger for those who weep at injustice. Anger for those who could never fight back. Anger for those who prayed with all their heart for revenge.

A searing hot shiver shot down Hisoka's spine. He wanted her to say it again. One more time. "Then may you permit a dying man one last question? What have I done to warrant your desire for my death?"

Her voice composed all the tenderness of the bane of a swarming plague. "You don't know what you did?"

"Might you help me remember."

"You hurt him." An accusation.

Hisoka furrowed his eyebrows together, waiting for her to finish. She didn't. "It seems that neither of us are shy to have a little fun, and I like to have a lot of it. You say I hurt him—your words, not mine—and you're here to hurt me. Verbatim." He paused, looking her down all the way to her knife. "It is not a crime when they set themselves up against someone to have more fun than they thought they could handle. But so much has happened recently, and if I did something to him and still don't remember him, well," his eyes pierced her like molten gold, "he wasn't worth remembering and a waste of my time. I do that alot, regrettably. I admit, it's something I need to work on." He smiled, with all the gentleness of a viper's kiss.

Psyche's frown deepened into a scowl. Men like Hisoka—drunk on bloodlust—kill for fun, but not for Psyche. Her eyes widened, without a shred of mercy to shine on him. "You cruelly attacked an unarmed man for show. You dismembered both of his arms and laughed. You ruined a man for pleasure. I could sense your aura once I landed on shore. It was pungent, unmistakable, like the smell of cheap perfume of a washed up performer desperate for attention. You weren't hard to find."

"You know how to make a man feel special." Hisoka put his hands on his hips, and smacked his lips once. "Ah, him. Yes, well, some people misconstrue the truth. It's sad. He bumped into me—ask anyone, they'll tell you. He didn't tell you that, now did he. See, this is why they say it's important to get both sides of the story. I'm surprised he isn't here to give me an apology?"

A girl with a bitter heart. A knife with a fate to meet his own. Hisoka felt her nen, hostile and feverish and untamed, prickle like nails hammering down at his skin. Before he was aware of it, Psyche closed the gap between them and commenced her onslaught against him. Sharp eyes, sharp knife, sharp nen. She'll carve him up and serve him to her client. Flashes of silver streaked across Hisoka's vision as she took aim at him.

He evaded every attack. Never taking his eyes off her own while savoring her viciousness. All her rage just for him. He grabbed her hand, the one holding the knife. The knife point drove right through Hisoka's hand, but he did not flinch. Blood dripped down their entwined hands like red wax—sealing them together in this malevolent dance.

For a moment, Psyche was taken back. Startled by his ferocity that was more savage than her own. He went for her knife, not to take it away, but to embrace the brutality as an extension of his own. She felt his other hand caress her waist then with the full force of his arm he wrapped himself around her back and pulled her close. She was forced to look at him up close with those eyes that trapped her in their sinister gold haze. His beauty was luminous. His skin was milk white and his hair shined with the fervor of the burning sun. Strands of red flared away from his head like fire, as if one touch would burn. Scarring the fleeting temptation forever on her skin. That is how devils enchanted angels, all bound in the endlessly delightful pursuit of watching them willingly fall from Heaven.

"You are a cruel creature by punishing me to a single death than to not indulge me in all your grim fantasies of everything you have done to me in your hours of solitude and worse. To die one death by your hands would be far worse of a punishment than to experience all you cursed me to. Please, one more. Tell me something particularly cruel and vile." He spun her around, entangling her in a dance of his own invention. She didn't know any of the steps. He carried her through them all.

She told him her name.

"Psyche." She spoke her name as if it was a forbidden spell to free her from his prison. A sickly pirouette without an end. The world blurred around her, only Hisoka remained focused.

He breathed her name.

And pitied her.

Hisoka moaned, sullenly. "Poor Psyche, wandering day and night, taking no refuge or rest. You never really came solely for me. Now did you? A girl in the possession of a heart this big cannot lie wholly." Hisoka took pride in being a magician, but he despised playing the fool. She felt his hand squeeze tighter around her own, no matter how much more blood he made himself pour from his own wound. "You came for him and he was waiting."

Psyche blanched.

"Riddle me for a while. Will you drown yourself under the waves?" Hisoka didn't stop. He pulled the threat that led to her heart. Girls like her were seldom talented at hiding their emotions from their faces. "Or will you find the tallest tree on the tallest cliff on the tallest edge and defy the sky to fly only to rock bottom?"

Psyche is an assassin. She lays her life down for no one. "Or what? You're going to make me."

"I won't make you do anything. You demanded I lay down my life for you, it's only fair I inquire if you would do the same for him."

Psyche's heart spiked with rising panic. "What did you do to him? What did you do to my Illumi?"

My Illumi. It was jarring to hear those words spoken outside his own head. Hisoka smiled, the canines of his teeth showing. "Your Illumi? Well, well. That is something we both have in common. But you're still asking the wrong questions. It wasn't what I did to him, but what he did to me. I never had a mother teach me how to protect my heart, so instead I let him play with mine."

"I don't understand."

"I would never have a part to play in a beautiful girl's death, no matter how untimely and tragic. It's what I fear you will do." He pulled her close, a wicked smile kissed her ear as he spoke with all the spite and pain of someone who had their heart broken. "I buried him."

Psyche ripped the knife from his hand.

Hisoka's cackling laugh echoed maniacally in her ears as blood poured down his arm. He wore crimson red with maddening pride and passion.

Psyche towered over the magician, kneeling and straddling his chest. The knife, soaked in Hisoka's blood, was raised high above her head. Ready to strike down like the mighty ax of an executioner. She wanted him to look at her as she ruined his life and brought it to an end.

Her shadow extended beyond herself to reveal a creature. A beast that felt primordial and familiar all at once. It ripped from her own and Hisoka shivered from the way it felt like an icy breath blowing up his neck as it slithered over him. A shadow that took the form of a wolf pinned Hisoka's arms down and away from his body. He was breathing harder now, panting.

Hisoka's breath caught in his throat, eyes swallowing all her passion and fury. In that moment, he didn't care that she was going to kill him over a man he didn't give a fuck about dismembering and another man he wished loved him in return but never would. No. He only begged her not to take her eyes off him while she ruined him. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when he was just about to break beneath her.

Psyche was forcing all her nen away from her body and into the knife. She was going to cut Hisoka's arms off with two clean strikes and take in the wretched beauty of him bleeding out for her. She needs all her power infused within it—the very same one Illumi gave to her and vowed to return when they reunite, refusing to believe the magician's lies. That knife held all her love and vengeance and rebel heart.

Hisoka was stunned, as if caught in a hypnotic trance, he couldn't look away from her aura. Swirling terribly upon itself like a growing whirlpool beneath a stormy sea. He felt sparks begin to ignite and pulse throughout his body.

Her aura stilled and silenced reigned. The dreaded moment arrived.

Hisoka saw her for who she truly was as the knife descended. She was a luscious fruit picked off the vines with dazzling skin, but deceptive core underneath. One bite was all it took to reveal the sour and spoiled pulp dripping down his throat in rotten gobs. Smothering him until his last breath.

The wind above them began to beat violently as the sun shone in effervescent rays behind her back—wings. She was an angel. She was death. He was going to die—

And she was smiling.

Hisoka groaned; as a man, an animal, a depraved beast. Mouth wide open in wicked and blessed reverence. He felt the full force of a carnal wave rip through his back and shoot out his hips. Reveling in the intense rapture of delicious pleasure escorting despair.

Her knife was a hair's length away before a cosmic force collided against Psyche and sent her airborne. Crashing into the woods until finally cracking the bark of a tree. Psyche let out a sharp cry. She channeled all her aura into her knife, leaving the rest of her body defenseless. Still, Psyche stood up, brushed off her knees, and cracked her neck. A blow like that would have killed a normal person. Hisoka was still on the ground, motionless. He did not attack her.

The beating of a helicopter's blade roared increasingly louder as it hovered closer to land. There was a man standing on the divide between the aircraft and sky. Psyche could have sworn she saw an immense golden statue in the clouds—god-like and terrifying. It disappeared and left nothing but an afterimage and her imagination to fill in the rest of what she thought she saw. A great ferocious god looming over her in the sky. She felt so small when it struck her, as if she was nothing but an ant.

"That's her, sir!" Beans yelled over the roaring winds. He could recognize that tardy would-be applicant from anywhere. "But you could have killed her with your 100-type Guanyin Bodhisattva!"

"Nonsense." Netero said, "I wouldn't use something as powerful as a palm strike or even a Hand against her. We can't get any answers if we scramble her brain, no! I only gave her a little flick with my middle finger. It was more of a hefty pat, a warning, than a direct attack. Ha! Look there. The girl stands. Right as rain. Tits intact. Alive and well before us!"

Psyche eyed the hunter insignia on the helicopter. She's been found out and the man in there was a powerful nen user. His voice carried through the harsh winds, screaming at her to drop her weapon despite the fact he could probably kill with another attack—she could tell he wasn't acting at his full potential. She dropped the knife and put both of her hands up in the air, reluctantly.

"Good," Netero stood at the door. Tottering over the edge. "She knows when to give up."

Psyche scowled up at the man. Come down, face her head on, and she will have her shadow beast tear his throat out with its bare teeth.

Beans yelled. "Sir! What are you doing!?"

Netero tottered on the ledge of the helicopter. "It would be inhospitable of me to not greet our intruder."

"Sir, not again! Let me land the helicopter first! There's a landing site just up ahead!'

"Absurd. I've already found one."

"Parachute! At least wear a parachute!"

"It will only slow me down."

"SIR!"

Chairman Netero did not tolerate outsiders disrupting his exam. He jumped out of the helicopter, free falling to earth. He landed on his feet without breaking a single bone or rupturing one blood vessel. I still got it, he thought. He looked at the young girl, with her hands in the air. It is not everyday an ordinary human is struck by a Hand and lives unscathed. She was more than an ordinary human. Marvelous! Netero laughed, heartily. "I suppose you're the mouse that's been leaving crumbs littered around my exam, personally leading my secretary on the run trying to find you. A difficult task, but not impossible for him. Hunting comes easily to him, as it does to all those bearing the association's insignia. It's a shame you didn't register this year, you are a fine huntress already. I am Isaac Netero. Chairman of the Hunter Association and head of the exam commission you have been so keen on disrupting. Now, my dear, who are you?"

Chapter Text

Rays of shifting light scattered through the island leaves as they danced by the gentle tug of the wind. While Kukuroo Mountain was plagued with icy gales whistling through skeleton branches, Zevil island was blossoming with warmth and life. From the crimson butterflies that hatched from their gauzy cocoons to the sky brushed birds that sang their melodious ballads down the winding streams. There was even life teeming among the rot of fallen deadwood with black beetles burrowing through the hollowed trunks and woodpeckers rapping at the moss covered bark.

The peace of the island welcomed him. Awakened him.

He stared up towards the canopy of leaves and crimson butterflies encapsulated his sight. Fragments of ruby reflected off his deep, black eyes. And though his muscles were weak from disuse, he smiled. It was strange and discomforting and he struggled at first. If anyone saw him they would think he had something vile to spew but did not know the exact words to speak them and would hesitate to step too close in fear their presence would give him inspiration for the right ones.

He had little practice in the ways of smiling, but when he lifted his hand out to the fluttering crimson wings and a butterfly landed gently on his finger like that of a close friend, he thought smiling could become this effortless.

Blood dripped from his finger and the butterfly sucked what it could get from him. Starved.

It was then that he knew, but didn't mind, the single focus of these blood driven butterflies. Not when their wings were so beautiful and shimmered like wet stones under the sun.

His nails suddenly sharpened and he curled all his fingers into a tight fist. When he opened his palm, blood pooled in its center. A bountiful fountain to quench this little creature's thirst. Pain didn't bother him, not as much as it used to, especially not when it was for the benefit of something so fragile and beautiful.

He watched the butterflies in silent marvel as more fluttered down to him. Tickling his hand. Smiling as they drank his blood.

In his fleeting moment, he let them feed.

Hisoka lived.

There was no greater remorse than failing to kill a man who was supposed to already be dead. And watching him walk away free with a smug smile plastered on his face.

Psyche was here to reunite with the love of her life, but her body wanted nothing more than to scream. She failed to kill her target and the Hunter Association did not help to soften the blow of her pain. They kept her locked in a lavish hotel suite while withholding its location to her, only knowing the final phase of the exam was not far away. They found her anonymous check she left for them during the first phase of the exam. Beans cut it in half, stating that the association does not accept blood money. They confiscated all her possessions and questioned her over tea and guarded smiles until she grew tired than irritated with her own truth by its dozen retellings. She told them she was here for her husband, she was here to kill a man. Separate individuals, she made certain to clarify. She didn't care if they didn't believe her, they could not make her truth anything less of what it was with their doubts and suspicions.

She asked for her husband. She inquired of his safety.

They didn't deny nor confirm that Illumi was here, but she was not permitted to leave her suite until the end of the exam, the chairman did not want to put the rest of his applicants at risk, a comment which Psyche couldn't help but want to gawk at. She wasn't a danger to anyone (other than Hisoka), but she politely agreed and feigned sweetness instead, Isaac Netero was a friend of Zeno Zoldyck, of the Zoldyck Family, and she wanted him to like her. Maybe it was selfish of her to want him to think of her as a dutiful and loving wife, as a good and honest girl.

Psyche was left with nothing to do but count the days and wait. She imagined it as living on a quaint little homestead, circa 1820s, preferably in a prairie with a nearby and suitably walkable distanced village, waiting for her husband to come home to her from war. A world that was just the two of them and their old collie dog that has long outgrown herding sheep and everyday it doesn't move from the spot its master told it to wait on the porch as it looks out into the prairie for sudden change—Psyche was digressing again. It was exhausting, yet exhilarating at the same time! Inbetween, she replayed her fight with Hisoka over again in her mind, as there was little else to do, how she was on top of him with her knife over his heart. She didn't understand why she'd let him distract her for so long or let him twist her around his maniacal whims and take his tall tales for truth. His smile gave away his lies when she ripped her knife from his hand. He laughed at his blood—he laughed at her. She hated herself for believing his lies, but him most of all. Ordering Beans around, and plotting Hisoka's murder, was her only consolation after her failed assassination.

She gazed out her window and sighed until she suddenly saw a young boy scurry through the courtyard with his arm wrapped in a sling. His hair was spiked and green and he stomped and stomped and stomped until all the birds took notice of his sour mood and flew away. Psyche watched him go from door to door and back again. He looked lost. Was he a hunter applicant too? But he was only a little boy. Soon he found a door and didn't come back out and more hourly meals arrived precisely on time like the clockwork of prison chimes.

In the days of her looming insanity, Psyche dolled herself up, rearranged the furniture for the right feng shui, and anxiously prepared for Illumi's return. She looked back into the courtyard and decided that the flowers there would look better in her suite. When Beans comes back, she will ask him to pick some. With the right amount of flowers, candles, and draped linen, this room could become very romantic. What will Illumi think when he sees her?

There was a knock on her door, and the clank of a key unlocking.

Psyche turned around.

She didn't care about flowers anymore. He was just as she remembered him on their wedding day.

Illumi stood at the threshold of the door. After the seminar with all the newly passed hunters, Isaac Netero pulled Illumi aside and told him a visitor was expecting him. Illumi didn't need to ask who. His eyes met hers. "Hello, wife."

Psyche ran into Illumi and threw her arms around him—welcoming him home. It felt like eternity waiting for that door to open. There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to tell him. In the rush of having him by her side at last, she only felt an overwhelming joy that if she were to speak, she would cry. And she did. She cried into his green jacket, clad in gold bulbs now reminiscent of pearls, that she once hated but now adored because it was his and he wore it handsomely well. And he was exceptionally handsome.

A surge of unease spiked in Illumi, though he guarded his face well and revealed none in the thin line of his lips. The urgency in his voice may have given him away, if one knew him well enough to detect a subtle change in his tone. Rare as it was. "I've been in constant contact with Tsubone during my time spent taking the exam to update me on any new information regarding the recent attack that has been made against the Family. As I could only look into the matter so much, given my lack of resources and time here on my end. If anything were to happen to Tsubone, I already established a line of succession on who would take her place, and so on, and for them to contact me directly and continue her work. If you're here…" Illumi feared something terrible. Fearing for his family at the Mountain and his little brother whom he just sent back—possibly to a battlefield. "Has something happened at home? Is everyone safe?"

Psyche held her breath. Her tears gave him the wrong impression. In all her time spent trailing the hunter applicant pool, she didn't think about the attempted assassination, made by a zombified Zoldyck butler, on her wedding day. Or the reanimated corpse of Dezmon Foile that eerily warned her not to marry Illumi. While Illumi spent his time masterfully juggling between taking the hunter exam and investigating the psychos bent on hurting his family, Psyche started a fight with a clown and was attacked by every living thing in nature, all in a roundabout attempt to justify following Illumi just because she wanted to be near him. She didn't even have Hisoka's severed arms on a platter to measure up against Illumi's success. Illumi is smart and amazing and so in control and never stops looking out for his family even when his life is swamped with his own responsibilities while Psyche on the other hand… didn't even do the considerate minimum of keeping in contact with his family after she left Kukuroo Mountain on her wild pursuit. Did this already make her a terrible wife?

Psyche stammered. This was a terrible way to start discussing the possible mortality status of his family. "Of course! Everyone is fine." She nodded convincingly and hoped to God they were.

"Oh, I see." Illumi's shoulders eased with relief. "Then you've found a lead regarding our attacker? That's what you've come all this way to tell me, I can't imagine anything less."

Psyche gulped. "Ah, yes. This assassin of ours. They are still at large, which you already know…and Tsubone is well and looking into it."

"I see. So nothing has changed since I last spoke to her." His eyes trailed off beyond her.

Psyche feared she was wasting his time and worried he would leave if she didn't have more to say. "Actually, there's more. I have something that I need to confess, only to you. I don't want to start off our marriage by keeping secrets."

Illumi waited, and Psyche told him about the reanimated corpse of her target. He did not look pleased. That incident was weeks ago, the day before their wedding. A particular emotion that Illumi knew Psyche wouldn't like him divulging, spiked within him at the realization that she waited until now to tell him this vital information. "This assassin, who is able to come close to us undetected and has already turned one of my butlers into the walking dead, accessed your information and knew where you would be before you arrived at Kukuroo Mountain."

Was he implying that she led the killer to his home? "I know it seems worse than it is—"

"I assure you that this is the worst that it can be. An enemy knows any way into our home and we have no knowledge on how to keep them out. They knew about your job and got to your target before you did. They've been spying on you, possibly far longer than they've let you know, since they felt comfortable relaying a message to you. They could have hurt you, or worse, that goes for my family too." Illumi reeled a hand through his hair. "If I knew this happened, then the wedding should have been postponed until the threat was eliminated."

He wasn't yelling at her, he was just stating facts, but it shocked Psyche all the same. This wasn't how she imagined their Ever After together, but she couldn't blame him because she knew he was right. "I didn't—I couldn't let that happen. At the time, I didn't think it was important."

"Putting our families in jeopardy is not important?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I—our marriage has been planned for so long by our parents. I didn't want to ruin it, for anyone. Killua ran away, Milluki was hurt and your mom was still processing her grief, and everyone was waiting for this. Some joy in the midst of all this chaos. And you have no idea how much you are wanted by so many people. My mom convinced me it was only a jealous suitor trying to scare me into abandoning you. It wouldn't have been the first time. I believed her and didn't give it another thought, because my love for you—for us—is stronger. I didn't think it was something more serious until the attempted assassination, and it finally clicked in me afterwards by the time you left. But you're right. If I knew all of this beforehand, I should have told you. I'm here now, telling you."

Illumi breathed. Psyche was dutiful, loyal and loving just as his mother promised her to be. There were no flaws in this perfect wife. He was wrong to accuse her, when so little of the enemy was known and he knew just as much as she did. Less actually, from what she's told him. "They are masters in hiding themselves, that much is clear, so you couldn't have known. Even my family didn't until the attack. No one is more clueless than I in all of this. I just have a sense of urgency in protecting my family and it's all I think about until I know everyone is safe. Thank you for coming all this way to tell me, and I will never forget this kindness or your strength to endure my presence."

Her voice was gentle. "I understand, and I think you're the very force that keeps Kukuroo Mountain from crumbling to dust. Your family is lucky to have you as a son and brother. But you're wrong about one thing. I never have to force myself to endure anything with you. Never had before."

"I can think of one," he gestured to what he was wearing. "It's alright, I got a feeling you were uncomfortable after the wedding and if I learned anything from the exam, it is how others perceive me. It was a good reminder." Nor one he should ever forget.

"Hm, I like them now. They have a certain charm. You're strangely indefinable, in a good way, and green looks good on you."

"Strangely indefinable? I like that." Illumi paused, then awed quietly. "I've been that way all my life. Oh, you're good."

Psyche giggled.

"I never thanked you, did I? During the wedding, when the assassin aimed to take my life, you pushed me out of the way. You've risked your life to save mine. You didn't have to."

"Anyone would have done the same."

"No, they wouldn't." Illumi paused. "You're very good. More than I deserve. Did you know, my brothers tell me I piss them off. Do I have another to attest to that?"

"Illumi Zoldyck, you do not piss me off."

"Now that you've said it, I'll need it in writing."

Psyche laughed, hopeful again. "There is another reason why I came to see you."

"What would that be?"

"You!" Psyche was dumbstruck. Dumbstrack that he had to ask and that he kept in contact with Tsubone, and not his own wife! Maybe she should have never left Kukuroo Mountain, if it meant she could still hear his voice everyday. What a fool she is!

"Me?"

"Yes, of course you! I thought you were dead! That's all I could think about!"

"Dead? Hm, you seem disappointed. I can leave and try again if you would like."

"No!" Psyche shouted, to which Illumi chuckled in response, teasing her. She said softly into his chest, "I'm sorry, please don't go. I just got you back. I've only meant that I missed you. I missed you so much that I couldn't bear for us to stay apart." Not when they were just brought back together after spending years alone. "It isn't fair. I thought my heart would give out."

Illumi tilted her chin upward, so her tear stricken eyes met his. "I've made you cry."

"No, you could never." Psyche shook her head.

"You can tell me why." He crooned, his voice deep and comforting and curious. Illumi could not deceive himself into believing all his heart was made of stone, but in its deepest part where he let himself be free to feel there lingered an unwillingness to accept another would weep just for him. He waited for her answer to tell him he was right or worse—wrong.

"That's just it. You being here is all my reason. I love you." She turned her cheek into his palm, basking in his touch now that it was by her side. It felt as if the world was held in the palm of his hand and it was everything she needed. No more, no less. Her eyes closed in sweet relief as his thumb caressed her cheek, a rosy hue blooming under his tenderness. His touch caught stray tears which held the last of her fears. "And I love this." She will stay by his side forevermore.

Mild and soft, she offered her heart to him. Her touch stirred thoughts and uprooted memories within him, everything that threatened his undoing. Even so, he liked this too. Admitting this desire was the first strike in allowing his stone walls to crumble. "I didn't think my absence would have this great of an impact on you. I told you I wouldn't be gone for long, though I suppose I'm to blame for not knowing how long the exam would actually be. This," his thumb made slow circles over her cheek and she melted from his touch, "is long overdue. How have you been? I should have asked more about you. I should have been more…attentive." His thumb then stopped, with the desire to caress her lips that ached for lovers' kisses. She turned her lips into his palm and kissed him. It was a quiet spark that stoked his heart. "In truth, I didn't want to trouble you, but it seems that is all I have done. You have every right to tell me how terrible I am."

Psyche's heart was beating so fast, she wondered if he could hear it too. Even though she felt this way, nothing bothered her anymore. Was this love? Knowing she could die today if fate decided it was her last, and still be happy. "Not at all. What minor grievances I've been dealt are little compared to what you've been through! It's not your fault they kept you away for weeks, that was out of your control and I don't blame you in the slightest. All your focus had to stay on taking the exam and surviving and trying not to die as they threw you from one jungle to the next. It's inhumane, really. People sue over this, y'know. But you're safe and that's all that matters. Oh, how was the exam?" Psyche asked, eyes glittering. She wanted to know everything.

Illumi paused, as if weighing not how much he should tell, but mainly who he should be cautious about admitting. He remembered what happened during the exam, and on Zevil island.

Psyche pouted. "Did something happen during the exam? You can tell me, baby." She waited for him to speak what was ailing his mind.

"Actually, yes, there is something I need to speak with you about—" Illumi raised an eyebrow. "Baby?"

"What, you don't like it? I can call you by other names too, whatever you like. What do you prefer? Darling, babe, my beloved—oh, I've always adored Clementine. Do you feel like a Clementine?"

"Like the fruit?" Illumi didn't know what feeling like a Clementine meant, but he felt more like a green bean, if anything. "I don't have a preference, anyway, I passed."

Psyche would prefer if he did have a preference and tell her, but she'll find out what he loves in time. Now, she was too busy beaming with pride. Her husband came back to her, alive and as a fully licensed Hunter! "That's amazing! Now you have a license for that upcoming job of yours like you said. Congratulations! Apart from my recurring fantasies of your death, I just knew you would pass!"

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"We have to celebrate! Oh! We need cake. I don't have that, hmm, what do we have instead?" Psyche hummed. "Candles! I have candles!" She hurriedly made a turn to run for anything she could stick a candle in. Maybe a turkey and swiss sandwich Beans delivered to her for lunch?

It was cute seeing Psyche all excited and Illumi was curious what she was going to set ablaze. But he pulled her back and she melted in his arms. "Perhaps light fires later. Let's talk first."

Psyche spun back into his arms, as if he's done this easily to her before and now beyond her own dreams. She sighed dreamily back in his embrace, wishing time would stop so she could treasure this moment longer. The best way to live life was to be held by Illumi Zoldyck. "Okay." Then she blinked and grasped his hand between her own over her chest with a fiery determination. "Illumi."

"Psyche." Illumi breathed. He tried to ignore the ember her touch made him feel of the temptation she was offering him already within his grasp. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, and the trepidation in her breath.

"Be honest with me. I can handle the truth. Were they cruel to you? Did anyone subject you to terrible and unspeakable torture? Were you stalked and hunted at night by feral animals? Were you made to suffer?"

If Freudian slips told Illumi anything it was that his dear wife secretly preferred if he came back to her in a casket. Lid closed and nailed shut. Then it clicked in his mind as he sighed. "I see that my grandparents got to you before I could warn you of their nonsense. They mean well, like everyone else in my family, but I guess that in and of itself isn't very reassuring. What did they tell you? No, nevermind. I could guess. Blood hoppers coming out of the ground and grabbing unsuspecting victims to their demise?" He already imagined all the nonsensical ideas of his death they spun for her.

Psyche's cheeks turned red, embarrassed about how ridiculous her fears sounded out loud.

"I thought so." Illumi wondered if he should tell her that the blood hopper horror story originated from how he played as a little child. He'd dig burrows and holes, and underground cities if it pleased him. He'd lie still beneath the first layer of earth and wait for someone to come by and until the right moment emerge from the underground and grab them by the ankle for a scare. Of course, he wouldn't actually drag them underground, he'd let go and flee and laugh. His grandparents would act along while pretending mortal doom, and by now Illumi knew the retellings more than his own memories. The most dangerous assassins in the world were defeated by a five year old; with dirt in his hair, worms in his pockets, and paper fangs scribbled in red crayon taped around his mouth. Sometimes they told him they missed those times when he was little. Illumi reasoned this was them reminiscing. It was nice to know he was still, in their eyes, a bloodthirsty monster.

Psyche gasped, as if now having a revelation. "Did the association bribe the remaining applicants with hush money to keep quiet? I've passed through the casualties while trailing you and the man I'm hired to assassinate, and I can't even begin to explain-"

"You're going to need to if you want me to follow along. Just this once, assume I know nothing."

Psyche relayed her entire journey to find him, and then she noticed a subtle change in his eyes when she mentioned her target, Hisoka, and how ferociously he fought for his life and almost maimed her because of it. She didn't miss a detail and may have exaggerated some more than others. Will Illumi barge out of the room in a blind rage and threaten to kill Hisoka for her sake? The thought excited her. "Oh, it's just some insane, homicidal man that is no doubt out to get me because I tried to assassinate him first. It's my undertaking alone to bear for my client and I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, so please don't trouble yourself, for my sake. It's too out of the way and I know how busy you are. You don't need to get vengeance for me, you've been through so much already."

Illumi nodded, cooly. Not even surprised that Hisoka has a hit over his head. "Say no more. It sounds to me like you can finish the job yourself. I have a lead on where he's going to be next. If you want, I can tell you."

Psyche blanched. This wasn't the reaction she was expecting. Of course she can fight for herself, but that wasn't the principle. "Oh…that would really be helpful…thanks. Yeah, um, how do you know?"

Illumi smiled. "Right, I understand the weariness in accepting possible misinformation, but don't worry. He told me himself. You better get a move on before the trail goes cold. He travels a lot. And actually, I had a pleasant experience taking the exam. It was less of a chore than I thought it would be." Illumi told her of running through marshes and hunting pigs, jumping off Split Mountain and boiling spider eagle eggs. Navigating and solving bizarre and deadly puzzles hosted by prisoners of Trick Tower felt like living through the Goosebumps stories of his childhood come to life (he would have finished first if he wasn't so enamored by his own nostalgia. When a prisoner emerged from a smoking, spiked coffin to scare him, Illumi happily applauded.) However, Zevil Island was uneventful and he slept through most of it. "I had fun."

This was a lot for Psyche to process. Illumi was somehow, unbelievably, on good terms with Hisoka and the exam was nothing more than a game to him. While Psyche barely made it through the harsh landscapes, Illumi was having the time of his life. Still, by the end of his tale he was smiling. Psyche wanted to be happy for him, but something in her gut didn't sit right. Everything Hisoka said to her on Zevil Island resurfaced in her head and she knew something happened there that Illumi wasn't telling her. Then she looked down at his right arm, and gasped.

Illumi looked at her then at his right arm, "This? It's nothing. My arm is-"

"Broken!" Psyche shrieked.

"You can tell? I barely noticed." Illumi said, sarcastically, and then told her how it became this way. Psyche was the second person to notice, or at least tell him so. "I wasn't very popular among the other applicants, particularly during the last phase of the exam. Though, I can understand why."

"You mean another applicant did this? Popularity be damned! That's no excuse for them to do this to you! Please tell me who it was and I'll have them beg me to kill them." Psyche scowled. Furious at this unknown heathen who dared to lay a hand on her beloved husband. She bet it was Hisoka. He seemed jealous and heartbroken while he fought her, so he probably took his frustrations out on Illumi.

Illumi was unbothered by his broken arm nor Psyche's desire to kill the person responsible for breaking it. It was a charming sentiment. "The same thought crossed my mind, but I decided against it. Lest my little brother Kil despise me for it. Or until circumstances change. You know how it is."

Psyche didn't. She wasn't sure what he meant by Killua despising him over killing his attacker, or how someone breaking his bone barely qualified as a problem to him. But she nodded in agreement anyway. Wait, Killua is here too? Why didn't he mention that first, and is Killua okay? She'll tackle one problem at a time, but for now, her only focus was on Illumi. "Here, sit down. No, lie down. Let me take care of you." She guided him towards the bed.

"I didn't know you were so impatient to play house already-oof!" Illumi was swiftly pushed back onto the bed with Psyche already unbuttoning his jacket—she works fast. "I'm no doctor—purely a technicality—and you may not like this, but it isn't necessary to take my clothes off. Not that I mind, but I think you do."

"I need to see the extent of the damage. You said you were also thrown, so your shoulder could be dislocated too. Hush while I work." Psyche worried that Illumi might be hiding more injuries since he thought so little of his arm. Her brother used to be the same way, hiding everything that hurt the most from her. She was blind then, but she wouldn't be now. Her fingers unfastened the last button and Illumi felt more of him that he cared to admit flush when she opened his vest to reveal a tight fitting tank top that didn't fail to grasp a moment of her attention. His muscles are bigger than she last remembered. He's stronger now-stronger than her too. Her fingers brushed over him just enough to make his breath shiver.

He wanted her to do more than that. More than feather touches and gentle brushstrokes and cautionary reserve. He wanted hands beneath his shirt pressing down and moving up the curves of his waist while her body weighed over his hips. She's straddled him before and always made him suffer in the unbearable heat of his clothes under dim lights in quiet rooms. Hiding pleasure with silent moans while having to bite down on his own lips. When her hands left his body and the dream was gone—he craved that insufferable heat once again.

When she opened the first aid kit and took out a bone saw (she needed a scissor to gut the gauze but there wasn't one), that was a little too rough even for Illumi's liking. He knew he had no other choice but to intervene. Illumi sat up. "I know you're eager to help me, but I can handle it from here." He extended his arm in front of him and soon it was surrounded with aura. He glanced at her, "you can turn away if you want, or cover your ears. Or both. Now's the time to do it."

The sound of bones breaking and remodeling sent a chill through Psyche's back, but she didn't turn away as Illumi channeled his nen into mending his own arm. Soon the bumps flattened and his arm straightened, and was only left with a few bruises that will heal in their own time. She had no idea he was capable of this. Her own mother has healing abilities, but not for anything that could mend injuries below the skin. Psyche and her sisters had scars and burns removed from their bodies, but a broken bone was serious. How many times were Illumi's bones broken in his life that prompted him to create a nen ability to fix them?

"Ah," Illumi exclaimed, flexing and extending his arm. It moves effortlessly now. "Much better." He noticed her staring. "You're very quiet now. Don't worry, it was a good, clean break. That's the preferable way if one is given the choice, so it was easy for me to mend. Besides," he marveled at his arm while faded crescent marks could be seen in the center of his palm and a small smile played on his lips, "bones become stronger after they're broken."

Before Psyche could speak a question that even she was afraid to ask, there was a knock at the door. Illumi was the one who answered it.

"Oh, it's you." Illumi said, surprised. "I didn't think we'd meet again so soon."

Gon scowled at Killua's big brother, and felt a wave of bitterness from having seen a bit of his best friend in Illumi's face. They may look alike but they're totally different people, he thought. "Yeah." He briefly looked past Illumi and noticed the other person within the room. His eyes met Psyche's, and the scowl in his eyes lessened, but did not disappear.

Illumi leaned against the wall, casually. Blocking Psyche from Gon's sight and forcing Gon to look back at him. "Did you forget which Mountain or do you have more things you need to say to me?"

Gon shoved the plastic bag he was holding towards Illumi. "Beans told me to give this to you."

"What is this?"

"Dunno. I didn't look."

Illumi peered inside the bag. It was filled with Psyche's confiscated possessions. Including her cellphone, his grandfather's tracking device, and the murder weapon she used against Hisoka. Which was his own knife. "I assume you wouldn't budge until Beans relented and let you carry out this task yourself. Right?"

Gon didn't say anything, other than glower as he handed the bag to Illumi.

"Alright then, if that's everything." Illumi looked back at his wife and made way to close the door until Gon jammed his boot between the door and the frame. Illumi was tempted to slam it shut, a few broken toes wouldn't make Killua hate him. Instead, he reluctantly opened the door. "Sorry, I rudely cut you off. What was it you were about to say?"

"I came here to apologize. I'm sorry for breaking your arm." Gon's apology contained all the sincerity of a robber being caught mid heist.

"You know you don't need to make up a reason to do something, you just go ahead and do it."

If Gon said he was going to apologize to Illumi, then Leorio and Kurapika were going to tag along too. Except they wouldn't use words, but their fists. "Yeah, I know. So just accept my apology already."

"Excuse me, but broken? No, I don't believe so."

"I know I did." Gon barked.

"Ok, let's revisit what happened. You grabbed my arm, yes, tossed me up like a rag doll, yup, then you let go, but broken?" Illumi tched. "Oh no, a broken bone would be very hard not to feel. If you did, not that you could, hypothetically break my arm then I would have been on the ground in an instant because from the way you held it, it wouldn't have been a clean break. It would have broken into shards and cut into surrounding tissue, and caused internal bleeding and worst case, I would pass out from shock and then I wouldn't be able to speak a word to let anyone know." Illumi's eyes pierced the boy and Gon instantly wanted to run away. Any sinister gaze Gon thought he saw disappeared and was soon replaced by a light smile. "But as you can see, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern though. Broken bones are very painful." He looked at Gon's arm wrapped in a sling. "You're aware of that."

Gon began to doubt what he knew. "I thought I did." He felt that he did do something wrong and it didn't matter that Illumi was a terrible person, Gon always had a cold pitted feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away until he made the situation right. That's why he was never good at lying, hiding secrets or bottling up his emotions. He was an honest boy, to the point where it made him anxious when he wasn't. Sometimes he wondered if that was true goodness at all just so he wouldn't have to feel bad. "I don't want to owe you anything."

"It was an honest mistake." Illumi leaned his head against his right arm, which was perfectly healed and not broken as far as Gon could see. "Nor do you owe me anything. Gon. You can either choose to let that weigh heavily on your conscience, or, you might like this better, you can go rescue my brother and never let me see him again. Sounds good?"

"Right!" Gon smiled for the first time in Illumi's presence.

"I'm glad we cleared this up. Goodbye." Illumi shut the door behind before Gon could run off. He turned to Psyche and said in astonishment when he heard the boy run down the hall. "That's the kid who broke my arm."

Psyche giggled. So that was the boy she saw while looking out her window earlier. She was curious what their previous conversation was about and wondered if she was ever going to see him again. He's cute.

"He really is a good kid," Illumi lamented. "But damn, he has an impressive grip, stubborn disposition, but very good manners. His mother raised him well. Hopefully the latter of those things rubbed off on Killua. Ah!" Illumi raised the plastic bag. "The Hunter Association brings you gifts."

"My stuff!" Everything they took from her was accounted for in the bag. Then Psyche admitted she tried calling Illumi before the exam began, "you may have accidentally blocked me on your phone."

"Then I have to change that." Illumi took out his phone and un-blocked his wife. He had a habit of blocking any numbers he didn't recognize. For security reasons, he said.

"Illumi," Psyche breathed. "Even though that boy came all this way to apologize, that was very good of him, and of you for forgiving him, but he also seemed angry. And then you mentioned him rescuing your brother, Killua, right? Then never letting him see you again? I don't understand what's happening because that sounds like straight up kidnapping, to me, honestly. What happened during the exam?"

Illumi combed a hand through his hair and sighed. "After Killua ran away, he applied to take the hunter exam. It was part of the reason why I'm here too. I still need a license for an upcoming job, but my main priority was watching over my little brother, ensuring his safety and returning him home." He paused, reluctant to say the rest. "We were paired during the last phase of the exam to fight each other. Only one of us could become hunters."

Psyche covered her mouth with her hands, shaken by this new, tragic knowledge. Illumi was protecting Killua this entire time. It seemed as if Illumi carried the responsibilities of his entire family on his shoulders and yet he never complained. And by a cruel twist of fate, the brothers were forced to fight! "I can't believe the Chairman, who's a good friend of your grandfather, forced you two to fight each other like that. He knows who you are, he shouldn't have done that. Unbelievable!"

Illumi didn't disagree with her. "The reason Gon is angry with me is because he and his friends are under the belief that I forced Killua to fail the exam. They even brought it up to Chairman Netero. What they failed to understand is that my baby brother and I didn't want to fight each other and came to an agreement so we wouldn't have to. I would never lay a hand on my brother over something as trivial as a piece of plastic. Not even a looming deadline could make me consider it. At that moment, acquiring a license was the least of my priorities, but Kil knows I was also there for work, so the rest goes without saying."

Psyche clasped her hands over her heart, feeling sorrow and sympathy for her husband and brother-in-law. "That must have been so hard on you."

Illumi sat down on the bed beside her. "I'll survive. As I watched Kil throughout the exam…anyone could see how tired he was by the end of it. I'm impressed that he was able to progress this far, but he wanted to leave and was glad to put the exam behind him. I told him it was okay for him to go home and that nothing he could do to us would make us want him any less."

"It must have been so beautiful, rekindling a bond that was thought to be lost but not forever gone."

"It was. As soon as I told him, all that stress and anxiety he carried on his back that visibly weighed him down, he instantly dropped it all, and was better because of it."

"You did the right thing. Anyone else would have done no different in your position."

"He was eager to get out of there and left before he could tell those boys why he chose to throw the match, so that's why they're convinced they must rescue Kil because he 'wasn't acting like himself.' They've known him for barely two weeks while I held his hands when he first began to walk. Let them believe what they want, but I know my brother better than anyone else and he was ready to go home."

Psyche nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing. "Is it safe for Killua to go home by himself? He should join us and we'll travel together. I think, after this harrowing experience, it would be best if his older brother was beside him so he knows that everything will be okay. Returning together might make him less nervous considering how he left. With your mother and Milluki, and all."

"That's very thoughtful of you, however this is something Kil needs to handle by himself. He's learning to face the consequences of his own actions, finally after so long, he's taking everything I said to him to heart. Besides, I'm a little selfish. If he were to join us, then we wouldn't be alone."

Psyche kissed Illumi. She wanted to do this for sometime.

He let her. It was slow and unfamiliar at first, but then he remembered, as first loves and first kisses are rarely forgotten. It was a powerful force that felt as if he was awakened with a spell. He remembered where he would hold her against him. He remembered the way her body dipped into his when he tugged her hair back to kiss her neck. He remembered her gasps when he nipped her skin and all the sweet promises he whispered in her ear. He remembered kissing her outside in spring, and only stopped when it began to rain. He remembered how he never wanted to stop.

He didn't have to anymore.

Psyche moved with grace as she took her place on his lap, straddling him. He became a hunter, saved his brother, and survived countless perilous dangers-he deserves to indulge in his victory. She did not spare to leave any part of him ignored. His mouth gaped with a hitched breath in silent reverie when she began kissing him below his jaw, as one hand gripped the bedsheets and the other pinned against her waist.

Her world spinned.

In no time at all, Psyche was thrown down on her back with a force that shook the bed and as she looked up at Illumi pleadingly, he was already on top of her, pressing his body firmly against hers. Kissing her until they were breathless and wild while time and obligations ceased to matter anymore. He forced himself between her legs and buckled his thighs with a grunt and sharp thrust to make her spread wider for him-the impact made her gasp aloud, a fragile sound all too pleasing to him, as heat swelled between her thighs, eager to do what he wanted of her. She wanted more and she would lower herself to begging if that meant he would grind against her and relieve her of that burning ache he guiltlessly indulged in sparking. Their mouths collided, insatiable and far from being sated too soon. His body felt crushing against hers as he cared little of restraint. Years apart corroded any traces of his tenderness, and left only a desire to relinquish control and give in to all his rough urges. There was no sweetness left inside him. Psyche mourned the boy lost and surrendered to the man he became. He was rough and she pleaded between short breaths while his tongue slid into her mouth, fondling and compelling her to relinquish her voice to him. She bit his lip. As retaliation? As playful mischief? He knew the answer when she combed her hands through his hair. Her cheeks were red, her breath was shaky, and her lips were delicately swollen from his devoted attention. She hungrily pulled him back to her. Back to breathless exchanges and speechless conversations. His hair was long, longer than it ever has been before, and there was no helping it from falling on her face. No matter how many times he brushed it away, she adored these magical touches. The soft feather light kisses of his hair tickled her skin, surrounding her in a curtain of black. All she could see was him. And that's always how it felt when she was with him. There was only him and never anyone else.

He smelled like a forest, no matter how far away he was from his home Mountain. Her hands wandered to his back and struggled to grip the ends of his shirt. He leaned back and did it for her, tossing his shirt beyond himself—and she should do the same. He never took his eyes off her while he hastily unbuckled his pants.

Psyche lifted her shirt above her head and wished she was wearing something cuter underneath for him. It was nothing but a sports bra, which was gray and boring and lacked any grace in seductively removing. She wanted their first time to be special, she'd wear a sheer peignoir with a flowing shift underneath and he'd tell her she was beautiful as they made love on their wedding night. But her reality was filled with black long sleeved shirts, poor excuses of lingerie, stolen days, perilous chases, and thwarted assassinations that robbed her of the beginning of their lives together. She was done waiting and reasoned that she wouldn't be wearing her drab clothes for much longer anyway.

Illumi slowly stopped, the waistband of his pants dipped below his hips and withheld himself from palming the bulge beneath his boxers. His breath was ragged and his eyes clouded with the reflection of her wanting him.

Psyche's mouth felt empty without him in it and wondered if he wanted her to suck him off before they did anything else. She could do that for him and she knew how he liked it. She wanted him to feel good.

He reached for her neck.

He did not grab her by the throat. He did not pin her to the bed to fuck. He did not desire to shove and fill her mouth, open and eager, with his cock.

Instead, Illumi lightly traced his fingers over the thin gold chain, without pendants or ornaments, that sat on her chest like a stone and dangled around her neck like a collar. He took the metal between his fingers as Psyche's breath stilled. This necklace was a relic of the past. It belonged to her twin brother, Eros. He knew this.

Psyche didn't know what to say, so she took his hand and opened her lips for his fingertips and kissed them tenderly. Her past did not belong in this moment and she will remind him of what they had together in the present.

Illumi pulled back his hand from her and she felt instantly cold. He got off the bed and found his shirt and hers. He put his on and motioned for her to do the same. "Get dressed. There is something important we have to discuss. It can't be put off any longer."

Psyche held her shirt to her chest and began to question the extent of his injuries, worrying he was in more pain than he led her to believe. She asked questions. Whether he wanted to rest in bed or have her draw him a bath or guzzle down a bottle of pedialyte.

Illumi had no reply. He simply dragged a chair to sit directly across from her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

They stared at each other for what felt like eternity. What initially started as a reunion soon became an interrogation.

Psyche began. "Illumi-"

Illumi cut her off, no apologies given. "I'll be very direct with you. We need to talk about your brother. You have to tell me why he died."

At the Moiraio Mansion, Chaotica arrived home from an all expense paid shopping spree generously bestowed upon her by a man she and her older sister murdered.

The best kiss, in Chaotica's opinion, was the first swipe of a fresh stick of Revlon on her lips. She barged into Anomie's room triumphantly flashing the stolen hunter license and wore her best accessory—her devilish smile. Along with dozens of shopping bags from Dior and Louis Vuitton hanging off her arms. She was already wearing Prada, as she wouldn't be caught dead carrying it out of the store, still in its box. Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor as she excitedly ran to her sister. "Ann! Ann! This license is better than any platinum credit card! You won't believe what this can get a girl! I never have to be waitlisted for a pair of Jimmy Choo heels ever again!" Chaotica was determined to be the envy of every girl in the Mimbo Republic, starting with all the major celebrities.

Anomie looked up from her laptop and eyed Chaotica's haul. Eight bags. That was small. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, but that's all? Wow, you really controlled yourself. I thought you would have brought the entire mall home."

Chaotica hummed. "You should have seen me. My control. My maturity. Ha! I only filled up one car this time. Mimette has the maids helping her carry the rest to my room."

Anomie awed her sister's self restraint, ironically. "I don't know how you do it."

"I know, I was so good today. I think I'll treat myself next time."

Anomie snorted.

"Hey! I'm not shopping just for me, y'know." Chaotica whipped out a sheer, icy blue pair of sunglasses from a bag and onto Anomie's head. Anomie posed in the mirror of her compact, approvingly. They were fabulous and expensive—her favorite look. "You're welcome. I bought a pair for each of us. Psyche will get hers, and more, on our next lunch date. Which I'm declaring a mandatory state of emergency meeting because as her older sisters it is our responsibility, no, dare I say, sacred womanly duty, to guide our baby sister in her new and strange life!"

"It's not a state of emergency luncheon if all you really want to ask her about is Zoldyck Family drama and the size of Illumi's dick."

Chaotica raised her hands in defense. "Fine, fine, fine. Let's just keep it to casual topics of conversation. Like guidance, support, gossip, Illumi's secrets and Psyche's thoughts on blackmail. I mean, hellooooo, she's right there. Don't look at me like that. What am I supposed to think when we haven't heard anything from her? She's left us in the dark and I demand answers." She couldn't help but be concerned, and curious.

"So what you're trying to say is, why not? It isn't everyday you have your own eyes and ears in the Zoldyck stronghold. No one has this kind of golden opportunity." Anomie raised an eyebrow, this was rarer than seeing lightning strike the same place twice. "That's actually…not a bad idea. I miss our baby sister, too. Let's set it up."

"I love it when you agree with me! Like I said, we need to plan, like right now." Chaotica leaned over Anomie's shoulder, her sister did not budge. "Ooooh! Did Psyche send you an email?"

"She did."

Chaotica pouted. "She didn't send me one."

"She was crunched for time, and this one's for the both of us."

"Is there paradise or trouble in her Ever After?" Chaotica squealed as she read the email, but then soon quieted. It wasn't at all what she imagined it to be. "Oh my god." She breathed.

Anomie's voice was cold. "Psyche isn't in a position to move freely."

"Does she need us to rescue her? I want to go there! OH! Can we please go?"

A corner of Anomie's mouth curved upward. "The hunter exam is most likely over by now, or will be soon, so there's nothing of interest there left for you. Read further. Look at what she's asking." Anomie let Chaotica read on and then clicked open a file, opening dozens of attachments of graphic photos and videos taken from the hunter exam. Before Psyche's belongings were confiscated by the Hunter Association, she was clever enough to send everything to Anomie.

"Oh Ann." Excitement brewed inside of Chaotica. She gazed at the photos of failed applicants falling off towers and carried away by flying beasts, chewed to bits and pulled apart in swamps, skewered on spikes and left dead in ditches, and much more that was grim enough to delight her darkest fantasies. She wanted to go there and experience all that fun first hand, but there was one photo that caught her eye among all the others. A wake of hungry vultures feeding on a dead man—with playing cards lodged in his head. One was the joker. It was familiar and unfamiliar all at once, but she still felt close to it. She pointed to it with a manicured nail, painted in a luscious shade named make u mine, "blow this one up so I can stare at it everyday."

Anomie snickered at the concept of strange places men blindly find themselves in because of their delusional pursuit of unattainable glory and riches. It was beyond hilarious to her. Psyche was kind, but Anomie spared no sympathy for idiots. She zoomed in on a giant noggin lugging tortoise, with bones between its sharp teeth. "Cute. I want him."

Chaotica cackled. "So what does our baby sister prefer?"

"The usual."

Psyche's specialty was revenge, and by its wrathful nature can take many forms. Balancing the scales, death—public outrage.

Chaotica did not try to hide her excitement as she was eager to carry out her sister's demands. She has many gifts, but there was nothing Chaotica was more skilled in than creating a scene. "Let's start a scandal!"

Chapter Text

Dear readers, friends and all who dearly hold Illumi as the beloved husband of our hearts, I hope you're all doing well and having a lovely holiday season. I've been putting off this announcement for a while, in part because I thought I would eventually not have to write it and would spring back vigorously with assassin smut aplenty lol My absence hasn't been due to disinterest of the fic or of HunterXHunter, but because of my health. Long story short, I've been in chronic pain since May (2023), but the signs were popping up before then. I was bedridden over the summer, and it was the most terrifying experience of my life. Though that is no longer the case, it is still difficult for me to perform activities of daily living and my days mainly consist of pain management, trying and failing and cycling daily. The constant pain has taken a toll on my mental health, and it's been a struggle. Only recently I've gotten back into things I'd normally do for fun, like reading, because it's very hard for me to focus and do things while in pain and my mind is pretty much one tract focus now. I've begun the process of getting tests done to find out what is wrong with me (I had my first MRI yesterday!) and in doing so to, hopefully, be guided along treatment that will help me.

So what does this mean for Where Shadows Touch? Because it's inextricably linked to my health, chapters will be updated whenever I can and have energy to write them. I'm very sorry, please have patience with me T_T I remember that I started chapter 19 back in April and I would LIKE to see if I can try to have it ready this month (Dec. 2023), or next! I doubt that I can still manage the quality and quantity of my previous chapters, I haven't attempted writing in a long while and it makes me nervous...So I shall apologize in ADVANCE for all my shortcomings haha :D

The journey will be a slow one, but I would very much like to continue writing this story and see it through til the end. Thank you all.

With love,

Rebel

Chapter Text

Illumi was protective of his brothers. He did not need to be the eldest of his siblings to feel this sense of duty. He simply had to care. And he cared a great deal. He looked after them and loved them in place of a father who should have been. Very few people have watched Illumi grow up. Only his family, and less than a handful of household servants. Zoldyck butlers were forbidden from speaking their minds, but their watchful eyes never strayed. A butler, upon such closeness to this family, may assume that Illumi's protectiveness bordered dangerously close to obsession, or even a strange possessiveness that Illumi himself couldn't make sense in unraveling. Illumi sometimes wondered if he inherited this unsavory part of himself from his own father, or if it was something entirely his own that festered at an alarming rate under darkness and violence and neglect that linked the two of them together in ways that made them so terrifyingly alike. A butler, who entertained this thought long enough at the expense of their job, would be right, but in a House where ruthlessness was prized and held in the highest regard, thoughts of love and its entanglings in obsession mattered little. Then again perhaps this is just what happens when you're on the brink of losing the people you care the most about. A threat that is sometimes more potent than the danger itself. This gradual descent away from yourself, willing to do—to risk— anything to keep the ones you love forever by your side. Who wouldn't resort to the unimaginable, if it meant to never lose you?

I will not lose you.

Illumi was convinced. He was the only one who could tap into and unleash Killua's full potential, the innate talent his family coveted for generations. He saw that clearly today; the raw power, unbridled chaos, and exquisite violence in the abandonment of hesitation. Right in his little brother's head was Illumi's magnum opus; the culmination of his labor, tried and tested, and everything he had been striving for Killua's success. The needle insured Illumi's control over Killua, and his future. Both of their futures. Under his guidance alone, Killua will reach astounding greatness, the likes of which Silva could never dream to harness into fruitful actualization. Killua will undoubtedly lead the family as the head, but Illumi will forge and direct the path in whichever way that pleases him as the neck. Ensuring the family's continued revenue of success and protection, and venture among paths they never dared cross before. Killua will, in time, accept the role he was always meant to play, and let Illumi do the rest. Of course, Illumi will do more, managing Killua was the least of his plans. He already has Milluki and Kalluto loyal to him, and a sizable number of butlers dedicated to laying down their lives for him. Then there was Alluka—No, not yet. Illumi mustn't get ahead of himself so fast. He has to focus on Killua, the first hurdle into getting everything he has ever wanted. Illumi's voice abruptly broke into laughter, he tried to hold it in. He grabbed Killua by the scruff of his neck and pressed his lips firmly on his forehead—where the needle was planted—and kissed him instead. Stoppering his own maniacal laugh. It was more like a crash rather than something that was supposed to be tender. "My amazing, baby brother. You and I will be unstoppable."

Killua didn't move. He hardly blinked.

Illumi looked down at Killua's hands. They were still covered in Bodoro's blood, now dark and dried up and flaking. "Oh, Killua. You cannot go to the airport like this." They'd stop him before he'd even make it through the front gate and then he'd never make his way home. Illumi pulled out a pack of hand wipes from his pocket—which he has many—and tore open the sterile pack with his teeth and began cleaning Killua's hands. He met little resistance. "Kil." Illumi began, he didn't want to be hard this time, so he was adamant to be kind and reassuring. "I know this grieves you, but it's only because you are so young and inexperienced. You're unable to look beyond this stage of your life and may think that this is all there is." The naivety and shortsightedness of youth was a peculiar malady that cures itself with time. "But that couldn't be further from the truth. What awaits you in your future will astound you, believe me. Though I was silent during the majority of the exam, don't think I haven't kept my eye over you. I've seen you kill. I've seen you enjoy it. I've watched the fear kindle in all those who were petrified to watch. You have a violent heart inside yourself, that even with all your protests, you cannot deny. That is your gift. Never let anyone make you believe you must negotiate who you are for their comfort. Let your blood lust be testament enough of your rightful place in our Family. Oh, now roll up your sleeves for me, just as I thought, more blood soaked through. Really, sometimes your kills tend to be very messy, we'll have to work on this, but I digress. This is a critical time in your training, I'm sure you've heard that enough times from us, but it's only because you don't seem to understand the gravity of its importance. It will require sacrifice, but so does everything else worth pursuing that requires dedication and focus. It will be hard, I'm not saying it won't be, but Zoldycks are notorious for doing hard things and doing them exceptionally well. So you mustn't think of training as a prison sentence, but as an opportunity, oh! An investment in yourself." Illumi amazed himself with his own cleverness. "Ask yourself: How will I grow into a position of strength, prominence, and responsibility? How may my talents flourish? How may I use those talents to help my family? How may I—damn, not even a Tide pen will get these pesky stains out. Take off your white shirt and wear it beneath your blue sweater so no one notices. That being said, anticipate great things happening very soon. Kil? Killua. Are you listening to me?"

Killua stared into the canopy of leaves above their heads. In the tree, there was a bird's nest with a mother sitting on top of her eggs. For this entire one-sided conversation, Killua didn't take his eyes off the shivering bird. Animals are sensitive to aura, and can feel the ebb of flow of the emotions it carries. Illumi's lust—for power, for blood, for control—was enough to frighten the bird into petrification, yet fought against the urge to scatter in order to protect her eggs.

Illumi interpreted Killua's silence to mean that he would get hit any moment by a spontaneous bird fact. It made him relieved that Killua was acting like his old self, until moments passed and Illumi, for once, admitted to missing Killua's passionate aviary outbursts when none came. Illumi then assumed Killua was deliberately ignoring him.

"Kil, ignoring me won't make me go away. I only spoke the truth to you back in the exam. And I wouldn't have gone so far, by making empty threats against that boy—it makes no difference since you'll forget about him, about all of this—if you didn't run away in the first place." Illumi crumpled the bloody wipes into another pocket and lightly groaned at Killua's petty cold shoulder act. "What else do you want me to say? You know I love you."

When Illumi looked into Killua's eyes, his little brother wasn't there. It was a hopeless and black stare, heavier than night rain, that dulled Killua's once clear blue eyes. His little brother was lost and Illumi was the cause of it. Illumi's mind worked through different solutions on altering the needle to prevent Killua from entering this catatonic like state again, but at the same time not wanting to weaken his influence over him, at least until he returned safely home. Illumi did not want Killua to run off again, somewhere even further away from Kukuroo Mountain. Killua was young and did not yet know how to control his emotions and whims. This led to instability and uncontrollable outbursts and rash decisions. Hurt—all by Killua's own hands. This was why Killua needed a guiding hand to keep himself in check.

"Killua." Illumi said, an ember of fear spiking within him. Terrified that he possibly broke his little brother's mind. He kneeled down before Killua and it took Killua just now to realize that there was someone in front of him, speaking to him. Something was being said, but he could not register what, nor had energy to decipher in reading their lips. It could have been his big brother, but his big brother always looked different. It could have been a stranger, but Killua has met many and all their faces blurred into one in his memory. It could have been that new boy with his bright eyes and noisy cheer whose name Killua struggled to remember or the other boy on top of the balcony who may have already been buried beneath the winter hardened ground. He strained to focus on the face in front of him. Yearning to remember anything if there was anything worth remembering.

Illumi's heart eased. His little brother was looking directly at him now. "Kil." Illumi said again, with more affection and care that was all abandoned moments ago in their fight. "Can you speak? Say something to me."

Killua squinted his eyes at Illumi, as if he was now seeing his big brother for the first time. The blood that was on his hands was gone and he struggled to remember how. Then he saw Illumi's, faded patches of pink smeared across his fingertips. That's when Killua knew that Illumi always took care of him, even when he thought himself undeserving of such love. Killua took Illumi's hand in his own and stared at the faded blood, and the crescent marks in the center of his palm. Killua pressed his own fingertips over them, to ignite a memory and see if it belonged to him, but Illumi pulled his palm away. The faded crescent marks out of sight.

"Every day, you'll have chocolate cake for breakfast. How does that sound?" Illumi lied, hoping to stir a reaction in Killua. "It'll be ghirardelli chocolate mousse with double chocolate fudge sponge cake. If you're going to eat chocolate, then you might as well rot your teeth expensively."

Killua's voice wavered, as if sore from rehearsing a speech he'd long forgotten the words to. His head felt like it was filled with cotton while sound muffled in his ears. Tears welled up in Killua's eyes and suddenly he was crying without knowing why.

Even Illumi knew that chocolate cake and pretty words could not fix this.

Killua pressed his hands tight against his tears, attempting yet failing to push them back because denying hurt was easier than understanding it. Illumi rubbed Killua's shoulder, and Killua instantly let himself cry, as if he was finally given permission to stop holding back. How many times has Killua done this before? How many times has he seen his mother and father and brothers as villains, having enough of their smothering and bickering and fighting, yet sought their comfort in his worst moments and was glad to have it? Illumi pulled him close in an embrace and this is how Killua wished their fight in December ended. Maybe he wouldn't have run away—wouldn't have hurt his family—if Illumi sided with him then, just as he held him now. He wanted to yell at Illumi and defy his smothering love. He wanted to pull his black hair, shout in his ear, and demand independence. He wanted to cry and confess that he didn't know what true independence was. He was afraid he wasn't ready to grow up, but he still wanted Illumi to let him try on his own anyway. He wanted Illumi to be his big brother—to defend and always fight for him. Not forcing his hand nor making decisions without his say. Killua couldn't fathom why he was so afraid of Illumi in their match when he felt at peace now, but their past conversation hovered over him like a phantom, and loomed with the promise of coming back to haunt him. Sometimes it felt like there were two different Illumi's in his life. One with a stoic, iron heart and the other who was unconditionally good and loving and made him hot chocolate on crisp winter nights. No. Illumi was good, he'd always been. He was here now and that was all that mattered.

Illumi's forehead touched Killua's. Black hair contrasting against stark white. Illumi wondered if he gave Killua enough love. Then he gravely wondered if he gave him too much freedom. "Go back home and rest."

"Wake up. I said fucking wake up!"

Killua awoke to the violent crack of a whip. It split his bottom lip open and blood dripped down his chin. His arms were strung up to the ceiling with manacles and he hung in the air like a lifeless marionette waiting for the puppeteer to tug at its strings. Killua looked around with a weary stare and realized that he was in a torture chamber. He let out a heavy sigh. He was back home. After returning home he was placed in solitary confinement. Only, it wasn't entirely solitary. There was Milluki. "That stung," Killua said calmly.

That's right, he failed the exam. But more importantly, he left Gon. Against his will and without even saying goodbye. That realization stung harder than any whip.

After returning home, one would think that resuming an old way of life would be easy. But after nearly blinding his mother, severely stabbing his big brother, and coldly denouncing his little brother, it was far from desirable and something Killua pursued with little effort in amending. Solitary confinement was the obvious choice. Killua spent his days pacing around his cell, alone but not unproductive. He was alone—he could think (a dangerous notion that even Killua knew Illumi tried to suppress within him, which is why Killua was determined to piss Illumi off by thinking more than he has ever had before.) He attempted to piece together memories of his 'fight' with Illumi, murdering Bodoro, and his pilgrimage back home. Which felt like trying to collect white dandelion seeds that have long since scattered in the blustering wind. Killing Bodoro mattered little to Killua nor did guilt hang around his neck when he vaguely remembered striking through the old man's back—shooting straight for the heart. Or did he slice up his chest from the front with a clean snap of his bones? The kill was a blur, but his hand still shivered from the impact, as if it was still fresh and raw on his fingertips. There was blood—there always is. On his hands and face and hair. Why did he do it? Bodoro wasn't a threat or a strong enough opponent to pique Killua's interests in a fight. He wasn't even someone Killua despised nor did the man vex Killua in any way that warranted his death, Killua understood if that was the case but Bodoro was nobody to him. Killua walked back and forth in his cell, thinking, wondering, screaming out in frustration until his voice ran sore and grew tired from asking questions his own mind had grown exhausted in failing to answer.

Then he grew dangerously somber, goosebumps prickled over his skin as he thought he had an irreversible disease that turned his head into swiss-cheese, full of aching gaps and lost fragments of time. There was something wrong with him, with his brain or somewhere dark and further within. What more will he forget? Can he save himself now that he's awakened to it? At least stop the progression of whatever vile thing is flowing through his blood? Soon the not knowing grew from fear and then into rage. These 'blips' have happened to him before, where the world goes by as if in a hurry and he's watching it all and himself from a distance. Killua could always see himself, murderous and powerful and unstoppable, but his eyes were always lost and cold and gloomy. He never liked the truth of what he saw—a sad little boy in need of saving.

Killua knew it was unreasonable to blame Illumi, but the thought would never leave him. Illumi did something to him, but what exactly? Or was this just the inherent, despicable, tyrannical power of big brothers? Making their little brother's heads become fog riddled on command? Killua screamed insults at the walls that no one could hear, perhaps that is why he shouted louder and louder and cursed harder and harder until it didn't matter who he was spewing hate against. Anyone would do. He was angry, and he had a right to be. The insults ended when he began arguing with a brick he envisioned as Illumi's face and reasoned that he should feel humiliated for it having won even in his own delusions.

The one constant in his solitary confinement was Milluki. Not even in solitary confinement would his family leave him alone. Smothering him as they've always done before. He'd rather pick a fight with the brick again.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that. You have no idea how much trouble you caused the Family." Milluki barked. Killua attacked him, unprovoked. According to Family rules, it was within Milluki's right to punish Killua as he saw fit. That's why Milluki chose the heaviest whip he could find. He displayed how ferocious it could be, and let the sound snap in the air, like a dragon in flight, hoping to frighten his little brother. Killua didn't flinch; he never batted an eye.

Killua stared down at his brother, unblinking. If Milluki knew anything about Illumi's dealings with Killua's mind, or horrifying hereditary diseases, he wasn't going to say a thing about it. Out of loyalty, or fear. They were brothers, but there were things each respectively feared in the other. Secrets or doubts or weaknesses were currency to easily blackmail and exploit between them. Keeping secrets was the best way at keeping peace, but Zoldyck boys rarely gathered ammunition just to store away and collect dust.

If a Zoldyck boy started a war, he also intended to win it.

Killua feigned indifference at his hot headed older brother. "Is this about big brother's wedding? Sorry I missed it. I was just going to sleep through most of it with my eyes open anyway." He yawned at the latter.

Milluki growled. "That isn't what you should be begging forgiveness for."

"Wasn't gonna." Killua paused to think, adding fire to Milluki's rage. "What else did I do? C'mon you need to give me a hint because my memory has kind of been fuzzy lately. Weird, because my dart game is still good, I practiced on the wall over there with pebbles, and contraband chalk Gotoh swiped for me. 1440! I mean, I even beat you at darts and numbers are your specialty. So maybe there's nothing wrong with my brain. Unless it's selective. Selective forgetfulness? Is that a real thing? Hm, isn't Illumi forgetful too? I hope this isn't something genetic. Hey Milluki, do you ever forget things?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! YOU CAN'T RUN YOUR MOUTH OFF TO GET OUT OF PUNISHMENT!" Killua was a motormouth and the more he talked, the further away the conversation was going to get.

"Oh darn, you got me. Right when I was just about to reel you in and tell you how the rest of my exciting day went. Nothing. A lot of nothing happened. I was so bored I'd thought of tasting chalk—is chalk edible? I know it isn't. But what if? Nah…unless. Couldn't be. Yet how would you know? No…Hey Milluki could you break off a tiiiiny piece and—"

"Killua, you are unsafe when left to your own devices. It's frightening to watch."

Killua smiled genuinely for the first time since Milluki woke him up. "I try."

Milluki held his whip with authority and walked like a general in the military, from one end of the chamber to the other in a straight line. Killua was his disobedient and profoundly stupid cadet who desperately needed disciplinary action. "You left a wake of chaos after you ran away, it was only thanks to Mama and Illumi who were able to keep face in front of the Moiraio Family and the Bureau. The Moiraio's married into a strong family, not one that is ready to fall apart at the slightest whiff of trouble. You forget that each of us is a pillar to our Family's strength, each of us must uphold our duties to deter any moment of unforeseeable weakness. When you left, Killua, you betrayed us all. You chose to abandon your duties and let everyone else fix the damage you left behind. You lack order and discipline. I will drill this all into you. All that is vital to being an assassin, but more importantly, being a good little brother. When I am here you will only speak when spoken to, you will listen to me and do as you're told, you will fear me and apologize for your disorderly conduct. And only hope in time to be forgiven. You will treat me with respect. I am your big brother, just as Illumi is, and deserve as much respect, more even."

"Cool. Got it. Also your fly's down."

All in one breath Milluki dropped his whip, shrieked and jumped around to check.

"HA!" Killua cackled wildly. His laughter booming in the chamber. "YOU BELIEVED ME. IIIIIIIIDIOT." Just because they're brothers, doesn't mean Killua automatically respected him. In fact, it was because they were brothers Killua could only love Milluki in ways strangers didn't understand, but simultaneously hate him in ways strangers did. It was confusing. It was family.

Heat rose to Milluki's cheeks, vexed. "What are you still five!?"

"You mean you don't know?" Killua emphasized, mockingly. "I'm twelve. Twelve is divisible by three and four, and four is divisible by two. Any number is divisible by two if the number is even, with its unit digit ending in eight, six, four, two, or zero. Zero is divisible by everything. Someone's memory is fuzzy and it's not mine."

"Actually, all numbers are divisible by zero except zero itself because it is undefined."

"You're undefined."

"ENOUGH FOOLING AROUND!" Milluki snapped the whip to the ground, angrily, like a child being told he must put away his favorite toys.

"But I'm not done torturing you yet." Killua pouted. Annoying Milluki was Killua's only true amusement down here.

Milluki took a deep breath in, calming himself and silencing Killua's goading remarks like 'ooooh I made you mad' or 'keep going I want to see your ears turn to red peppers.' "You stabbed me, unprovoked and in cold blood. You're an idiot for turning on Family. That's why you're down here. That's why you're in solitary confinement. Your punishment from here on out is whatever I say goes. Both mama and papa said so. Whether I eventually send you back up on my own good will, or rightfully leave you down here to rot for the rest of your life, depends on me. I am in control, Killua. I know it's not something you're used to doing, but I'd advise you to think before you speak."

Killua deadpanned. "Your existence alone is enough to provoke anyone, so that's really not my problem if you think about it. And you're wrong. I chose to be in solitary confinement and mama agreed. Or did you forget? We always get a say in punishments. And it's not really solitary confinement if you're always down here bugging me, so why don't you go huff and puff somewhere else."

Calmness be damned. "YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME–"

Killua sneered. "Your stupid speech was so long, it's like you didn't even want me to pay attention. Let me spell it out for you slowly. I chose solitary confinement because I wanted to be left alone FROM ALL OF YOU. Apparently for peace and quiet, but I clearly didn't know what I was thinking. So leave me to regret or lament or whatever. ALONE."

"ENOUGH! YOU TURNED YOUR CLAWS ON ME. ON ME!" Milluki yelled, he said this knowledge as if it should have shocked Killua instead of bored him. Claws are for assassinations, not family. Killua crossed that line. "YOU HURT ME, KILLUA."

"Oh?"

Milluki lifted his hand to his wound, defensively. "THREE GASHES. THE HELL. IT HURT ALOT, Y'KNOW!"

"Tch. Three? That's it?"

Milluki sneered. Snapping the whip with an ear splitting crack, once, twice, then three times against Killua. "Count that."

Killua bit his bottom lip. Never minding the marks left burning on his skin. His breath was bouncing erratically around his throat, he had to hold it in or else he was going to laugh. Milluki's concerns were reasonable, but all Killua saw was a boy throwing a tantrum. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. "That sounds like something I would do, yeah, but it isn't really coming back to me," Milluki was right though. When Killua wanted to hurt someone, he liked it to last long. "I've been forgetting things lately. Maybe you could get Illumi to help jog my memory, unless he's only good at turning brains into mushy swiss cheese."

Milluki gritted his teeth. Killua had no idea there was a needle probed in his head, but was smart enough to know something was off about himself. Like hell Milluki would be the one to tell him, or worse, be the one to face Illumi's wrath if he did.

"I know you're keeping something from me." Killua pried. "But yeah, I guess it's better for you not to tell me, because Illumi's wrath would hurt exactly like me stabbing you."

"You attacked me in front of mama, right after you blinded her."

"Pfft. She didn't see anything."

That little shit. "Kalluto witnessed everything. How about I get him so he can help jog your memory?"

This made Killua silent. Zoldyck boys don't apologize. They stubbornly hold grudges out of hurt pride, dangle taunts over each other's heads out of petty cruelty, or start arguments just to win them out of nothing but spite. But Killua has changed. Not much, but he has. He had time to think things over in confinement and any ill will he bore towards Kalluto was long gone, but that didn't mean he was willing to talk to him just yet. He couldn't be everything Kalluto wanted him to be, just how Illumi couldn't be everything Killua wanted. Killua has learned this, and Kalluto better learn this too before he tries to face him again. Killua was done trying. Now, it was Kalluto's turn. "Oh, that…so I did. That's what you're mad about?"

"I needed sixty stitches!" Milluki pulled his whip back over his head and unleashed a frenzy of hits on Killua. Eventually he stopped. Giving Killua a brief moment of time to, hopefully, recollect his thoughts and apologize in earnest.

Killua leered, biting down on his own teeth. "If I knew you were going to throw this much of a fit about it then I wouldn't have stabbed you in the first place. Ugh, why do you always have to be a cry baby! I only grazed you, get over it!"

"Just a—-JUST A GRAZE?!" Milluki shouted as he lifted up his shirt. Revealing three long, ugly gashes stitched up and scarred over his abdomen. Along with others that healed and faded over time.

Killua recoiled, a rotten expression on his face that even made Milluki cringe. "I don't wanna see that!"

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE A PROBLEM WHEN YOU SLICED ME UP THEN, SO FACE THE TRUTH NOW."

"Why are you complaining? They healed well. You should be thanking me that they weren't any deeper. I was really upset with you too and I still held back. Like I'd actually do something cruel to you. C'mon." Killua lied, but as he did, he thought it was best not to mention that he fantasized, in great detail, about hunting down everyone in his family for their reward money. Psyche too, she's officially a Zoldyck, which also meant having a bigger bounty!

"JUST APOLOGIZE ALREADY!"

"BABY BABY BABY BABY!" Killua screeched.

Milluki tucked in his shirt. "Sometimes I swear you're more deranged than Illumi."

Killua gasped. "Take that back."

"No." Milluki snapped. "I hate that smug look on your face. I guess papa's to blame, filling your head with endless praise about how you're better than the rest of us, even him. You think you can do whatever you want, get away with whatever you want, just because everyone tells you you're so special. When you're dead wrong. You're an egotistical brat no better than the rest of us! And you're an idiot for looking down on us, we're the most powerful assassins in the world and sometimes I wonder if that means anything to you. People would kill to do what we do, to have our powers for themselves, but they can't, so they pay for our services instead. There's a demand for people like us in the world. We're needed. Set for life even. So I don't know what the hell you're running away from."

Killua scoffed. "We're not needed. Not really. Not in any way that matters. Assassins get thrown into problems just to create more of them." Killua wondered what it was like running into familiar faces that didn't see him as competition or wanted to kill him. No greetings, well wishes or welcoming hugs, just knives and bullets and explosives chucked down his hoodies. He's lost so many of his favorite hoodies.

"Kil, we're not the problem, we're the solution. The world will always be full of people who want each other dead, it's human nature, whether we're here or not. We provide an outlet of services for those needs that aren't easily fulfilled. We're efficient, exact and always get the job done without a fuss. For the right price, of course."

Killua grumbled. "You talk about us like we're machines, but we're not programmed that way. At least I'm not. I'm tired of making enemies. I want to make friends. Why do we have to choose between family or friends? Why can't we have both?"

"It doesn't work that way, you know that Killua." Milluki was baffled at how delusional his little brother was. No normal child would befriend a criminal. No law abiding officer would let him walk free. No hunter would refuse the allure of apprehending a Zoldyck, nor the prestige and reward that accompanies it. This cell at home was kinder than any prison Killua would be thrown into, if he was stupid enough to not listen to his family.

"C'mon Milluki, don't you want friends?"

"I never wanted a friend nor will I ever need one—only weaklings need friends."

"Not even just one?"

"No." Milluki said, but his voice gave away an emotion Killua was striving to goad out from the beginning. Sadness. A longing for something more than this life of theirs could provide. Milluki hardened his voice, snuffing out all traces of wanting anything in line with Killua's rebelliousness. "Making enemies isn't hard."

"As if you would know what it's like to kill anyone outside your room and have bounty hunters stalk you wherever you go."

"So what? Just kill them. This would never be a problem for me."

"No, it's annoying. I have to carefully weigh my choices more than anyone else. Say if I want to go somewhere, like the skating rink. I really want to go there, but I can't because wherever I go trouble follows. Bounty hunters don't care about destroying public property or shutting down businesses indefinitely to get my reward money. Also you're never out in the field like the rest of us, so don't talk to me like you understand. The last time you left the house was like, what, 2 years ago?" Killua then scoffed under his breath. "My bounty is bigger than yours anyway."

"Skating rink? You shouldn't be going there at all when you can skate here at home."

"You're missing the point." There isn't anyone to play with at home.

"Doesn't matter. You've run out of wasting time, Kil. You're papa's heir. It's about time you start taking it seriously."

"I don't want to be his heir!" Killua screamed. "I'm just so sick of everyone deciding my life for me. When do I get a chance to decide what I want!? I have a voice but I can only use it when you give me permission? What the hell is that?! You're all telling me that I'm special but only when I do everything you tell me to do. When I do what I want, I'm not special anymore. I'm stupid. I'm lost. I'm throwing away my life. I'm supposed to change when I haven't figured out who I am yet. Like I was already supposed to know my life before living it. Maybe I do want to be dad's heir, but at least let me be the one to decide if that's what I want. I know I have power, and you're the idiot for thinking I'll gladly give it up, but it's mine to decide how to use it. You all hope to raise me up to become this great leader, but you believe that I can't make any decisions on my own? You know how degrading that feels? I'm supposed to carry on this great family legacy of world renowned assassins but it feels like I'm going to drive it into the ground instead. Am I special or an idiot? I don't care what you think of me anymore, I already know who I am, it's you who needs to make up your damn mind already!" Killua huffed angrily in ragged breaths.

Milluki didn't know what to say, so he said nothing for a long while as Killua calmed his breathing. Finally, he spoke. "Kil, you're not an idiot. Annoying, yes. Idiot, far from it. You're a Zoldyck and that alone should mean something to you. And I agree. If one of us becomes heir then it's because we wanted it, not because it was expected or forced on us."

A light in Killua's eyes sparkled. Hopeful.

"You're reluctant to admit it now, but I think you do want to be the heir. Illumi was right, you were just overwhelmed, but you're back where you belong now. We all see what you're capable of. You see it too, you said so yourself."

Hearing Milluki say that, disturbed Killua more than he thought it would. No matter how much Killua protested, his family saw a killer within him, though he wished they could see more. He didn't know what, but something better. Something good.

Gon saw something good within him.

"Otherwise you will be throwing away everything you worked for. All the time papa and big brother spent training you—"

"Did you listen to anything I just said?" Killua cut off Milluki. "I ran away, ditched big brother's wedding, maimed you and mama, and you still want me as heir? If you haven't been paying attention to my life then it's that I consistently make terrible decisions and have no intention of stopping any time soon. I'm trying to make it as easy as possible for you all, but you still want me here anyway?"

"Killua, I am listening. It's only that you….you just have no idea how good you have it. Trust me on that. Every opportunity is being offered to you on a silver platter for you to take and yet you don't want it." The latter could not be said without bitterness. Milluki never knew what it was like to be chosen, wanted, or be seen as the Family's future. It was not something Milluki experienced or thought he ever would. Milluki did not understand why Killua didn't want this glorious attention while he desperately clawed for scraps of it. Living day in and day out in his brothers' shadows, outshined and overlooked.

"No one listens." Killua croaked a strangled laugh at the manacles above. "That's what you've been asking for since the moment you woke me up with a bloody lip. Listen to me. Just this once. You never have to bother with anything else I say again, but just this once, listen to me."

Milluki could no longer hide his contempt, as anger burned in his eyes, roared to life in his voice. "You take everything for granted and never once think how hard any one of us has had it. You couldn't make it on your own without us, that's why you came crawling back home instead."

"Milluki, please."

"I'm glad you left home just so you could stop living in your own fantasy land and learn that the rest of the world doesn't bend over backwards for you—"

"Milluki," Killua's voice dripped with cold venom as he slowly dragged his brother's name through the darkness and chains. He tried to make his brother see reason, but nothing good ever comes from pleading. "You're smart, so tell me this. If you saw me hurtling towards you then you should have known you were supposed to move. But you didn't. Why were you so stupid not to get out of my way? It's like you stood there because you wanted me to hurt you."

Milluki balked.

Killua looked down at his older brother, he looked so small—so weak. "Oh, what's this, I've made big brother run out of mean things to say. This isn't like you at all. How about I give you something to say, something you and I both know very well. Can you guess what it is?" Killua cocked his head to the side, white hair falling in front of sterling blue eyes. "You and I both know." Killua's manacles eerily creaked above—achingly waiting to be broken. "These chains aren't meant for my sake." Without meaning to and without knowing, Killua sent out a wave of deadly aura, enveloping all within the chamber, freezing Milluki in his place.

Milluki gulped, struggling to meet Killua's eyes. Once their eyes locked, the truth was undeniable. As if he could hear Killua taunt the words sickeningly back at him, 'we both know you're scared of me.' He lowered his whip before he could make up his mind to.

Killua smirked a wolf's grin—just like Silva's. His brothers didn't see reason, only fear. "Also, let me give you some advice. When you threaten me, actually make me believe you want me dead. Otherwise I won't take you seriously." Killua yawned, he was ready to take a nap. "Thanks for visiting. You can leave now."

Milluki left Killua's chamber, swallowing down cruel words that have long since lost steam to inflict wounds out loud. He slammed the door to his room shut and threw the whip against the wall, the impact sent the nearest shelf of figurines rattling in place. As he spun in his chair, fuming, he thought of watching live streams of his favorite youtubers or initiate the assassination he's been hired for to let off some steam. He decided he would do neither of those things. He needed to forget everything beyond his room. No brothers or assassinations or weddings gone wrong. Instead, he powered on his computer and opened up the files of the indie game he's been developing for years. He was proud at how far he was coming along, he even made his own music in garageband. He's developed games before, but this was more, it had to be, and he was amazed at how far he surpassed himself. He eyed the characters on screen, faceless avatars beckoning players as they awaited the call to adventure and mayhem in a world unlike his own.

The room was enveloped in a cacophony of clicks as Milluki typed on his keyboard without pause. A warmth swelled up inside of himself, a passion kindling in his heart. It was the surging joy that always resurfaced whenever a new idea sparked in his mind as it desperately needed to be woven into the game and the anxious rush of its urgency to see it to completion that motivated him to endlessly keep moving forward. It was a game built from sleepless nights fueled by coffee binges, purposely strict deadlines that only held one boy accountable, and binded by an unforgettable promise held on tight.

'When I'm finished, you'll be the first one to know. And we can play together again. Wouldn't that be fun?'