The small pink rabbit lunged at her.
Jemina kept her eyes open this time, bracing herself as she reached for it—determined to make it hers.
She understood her ability a little better now.
It began as a faint pressure beneath her skin, like something gathering before a storm. Then it moved—not quite outward, but toward something, pulled in a direction she didn't have to think about.
She couldn't see it, but she felt it leave her—an invisible surge reaching for the creature before her.
For a moment, it met resistance.
Something alive.Something unwilling.
Jemina held on, forcing her will forward.
But this time—
it didn't connect.
The thread snapped.
The recoil slammed back into her, rattling through her bones.
It hurt.
It burned.
Before the rabbit's hundred needle-like teeth could sink into her skin, Ghastly—number one—kicked it away.
The creature flew back with a startled squeal.
Ghastly planted itself firmly in front of her, small body tense, standing its ground against the approaching swarm.
Jemina blinked, startled—
and strangely touched.
"…I'm sorry, Ghastly."
The rabbit didn't respond.
She pressed a hand to her chest, wincing slightly.
"At this rate, I should be the one calling you 'mother.' I'm sorry."
Ghastly turned its head toward her, looking… confused.
"…Right. No time for that."
Jemina straightened, determination settling in.
"Time to practice what I've learned."
She bent her knees and raised her fists—an entirely questionable stance that suggested she was about to fight the rabbits personally.
"Come!!!"
They did.
Rabbits of every color burst from the undergrowth, all bearing the same swirling eyes and rows of needle-like teeth.
They lunged as one.
Jemina reached for them again and again—
and this time, some answered.
One.
Then another.
Then more.
The ones she claimed turned instantly, throwing themselves between her and the others, forming a chaotic, fluffy line of defense.
The rest kept coming.
It became a blur of motion—
running, shouting, grabbing at that invisible thread again and again—
fear and exhilaration tangling together until she could barely tell them apart.
It was a long night.
A very loud night.
A very undignified night.
But in the end—
she stood, swaying slightly, surrounded by a rather alarming collection of rabbits.
Thirty-one of them.
Out of… roughly a hundred.
"…I'll take it," she muttered weakly.
When the sun finally rose—
Jemina collapsed.
The first moment I met Noctellis Ellengarde…
I did not notice when the room fell silent.
Or perhaps it hadn't—perhaps it was only me.
Because the moment I looked up, everything else… drifted away, as though the world itself had quietly stepped aside, just to let me see him properly.
How thoughtful of it.
Noctellis Ellengarde stood beneath the spill of golden light—and somehow, impossibly, he made it seem as though it belonged to him.
I forgot how to breathe.
Which was terribly inconvenient, considering I had just met him and would very much like to survive the experience.
He was… beautiful.
Not in the soft, gentle way of courtly nobles or carefully painted princes—but in something far more striking. Sharper. Colder. The kind of beauty that made one hesitate… and then look again anyway.
(I did. Several times.)
But it was his eyes that truly undid me.
Not that I would ever admit that.
They weren't simply dark—they were heavy. Not in color, but in feeling. A deep, smoldering shade that caught the golden light just enough to reveal something warmer beneath… like embers hiding under ash.
Oh.
That felt a little unfair.
They were half-lidded, almost languid—like he couldn't quite be bothered to look too closely at anything.
But it didn't feel lazy.
It felt… deliberate.
As though the world had been measured, weighed—and found only mildly interesting at best.
How rude.
And when his gaze settled—on anything, on anyone—it didn't feel like attention.
It felt like judgment.
Not sharp. Not cruel.
Just… quiet.
The sort that decided what you were worth… and moved on without so much as a second thought.
I should have been offended.
I was not.
I was… curious.
Because beneath all that distance, there was something else.
A faint glimmer.
Not warmth—not quite.
But awareness.
Like he saw more than he ever let on. Like there were depths there he had no intention of sharing with anyone.
Oh dear.
That was… very interesting.
It made my breath catch, just slightly.
Because, for the briefest moment, a rather dangerous thought crossed my mind—
If those eyes ever truly focused on me…
Not in passing. Not in quiet judgment.
But properly—
…I wasn't entirely certain I would want to look away.
Or that I even could.
His dark hair fell in careless strands across those very eyes, shadowing them just enough to make them even more difficult to read.
Which, frankly, felt unnecessary.
He was already difficult enough.
I should have looked away.
I did not.
(It seemed I had already decided to make poor choices.)
His clothing did little to soften the impression—layered black upon black, touched with faint glimmers that caught the light like scattered gold. The cloak draped over his shoulders fell behind him in long, fluid lines, almost like wings.
A bit dramatic.
I liked it.
Every step he took was soundless. Measured. As though the ground itself had decided it would be terribly unwise to make a sound beneath him.
Show-off.
And the sword—
He held it so casually that it unsettled me more than if he had drawn it.
Not a weapon, then.
Something closer.
Something that belonged to him.
I became aware, quite suddenly, of myself.
Not smaller—no, not that—
but… placed.
Standing just outside the light.
Watching.
Which, admittedly, gave me a very good view.
So this is him…
The thought came softly.
A little awed.
A little amused.
…and just a little bit delighted.
Because beneath it, something warm and entirely unreasonable began to bloom.
Ah.
That could be trouble.
After all—
standing there, watching him exist as though the world were simply something he tolerated—
I found myself impressed.
And, rather embarrassingly—
already wondering how I might make him look at me just a little longer.
She woke with a quiet breath.
For a moment, she did not move—caught somewhere between sleep and memory.
It was… strange.
To dream of their first meeting.
Slowly, she pushed herself up and drew her knees close, wrapping her arms around them as if that alone might hold her together.
She tried not to cry.
She truly did.
But her body, it seemed, had other plans.
Tears slipped free anyway—slow at first, then steady, trailing down her cheeks without so much as asking permission.
She missed him.
Terribly.
I don't love you.
His voice echoed, clear and unkind in its honesty.
Jemina sniffed, her grip tightening slightly.
"I don't care," she murmured.
A pause.
Then, softer—
"…What a lie."
Because she did care.
If she didn't, she wouldn't be here—hungry, exhausted, sitting in the middle of a forest that very much wanted her dead.
She let out a shaky breath—
until a rustling sound interrupted her.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Her brow furrowed.
"Oh, come on! Can't a lady cry in peace?"
She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and finally looked up—
…and blinked.
Before her lay a carefully arranged collection of fruits, berries, and nuts.
And surrounding them—
rabbits.
So many rabbits.
They stood in neat, almost suspiciously organized rows, their small bodies held upright, their glowing eyes fixed on her.
Their mouths were open.
All of them.
Rows upon rows of sharp, gleaming teeth on full display.
Jemina stared.
"…Thank you. Truly. This is very thoughtful," she said, nodding politely.
A beat.
"—but please close your mouths."
They obeyed immediately.
"Much better."
She let out a small breath, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.
"…Ghastly number one? Come here."
The first rabbit hopped forward without hesitation.
Jemina smiled—soft, fond, and just a little proud.
She really was quite grateful.
She picked up the plumpest fruit and offered it carefully.
"For you. You've earned it."
Then she glanced at the others.
"…All right, all right. I suppose I cannot play favorites too obviously."
She straightened slightly, clearing her throat with mock importance.
"Ghastly number two—here you go. Ghastly number three—do not push. There is enough for everyone."
It went on like that for quite some time.
By the end, only a few of the less impressive pieces remained.
Jemina looked down at them, then sighed dramatically.
"Well. A noble sacrifice must be made."
She took a bite anyway.
It wasn't particularly good.
She chewed thoughtfully… then nodded to herself.
"It's not cake," she declared.
A small pause.
"…but we'll survive."