Archive of Our Own ^omega

Queenie hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

Kinger thinks - or at least hopes - that this little surprise might be just what she needs. She hasn’t quite been herself since that adventure that reminded her of their hometown - or was it her parents’ hometown? - that quaint little seaside village with a fast, critter-infested forest on the outskirts. Their hometown didn’t have a giant singing sea monster though. At least Kinger’s pretty sure it didn’t.

“Honey, really, we should both be resting…” Queenie muses, her hand still gripped tight in Kinger’s own as they approach their fortress. “We’ve had a long past couple of days…”

“It won’t be long, dear, I promise!” Kinger replies, giving her the biggest, brightest smile he can muster. Well, if he had a mouth to smile with in the first place. Instead he just squints and raises his eyebrows up, and hopes that’ll get across the same message. “Besides, I think it would be good to have a stay in the fort for a bit. I think it would be good for both of us to clear our heads a bit.”

With a shrug, Queenie relents. “Well, if you insist. We are already here anyway.”

Kinger’s grateful that Caine is at least nice enough to dim the tent during ‘nighttime’ hours, so his and Queenie’s eyes aren’t being blasted by harsh sunlight and a barrage of bright colors. But nothing will ever beat their fortress. It’s dark but not suffocatingly so, warm in a way that reminds Kinger of winter nights spent under a woolen blanket, and completely free of distractions. Just him and his queen, the best reality he could ask for in a world like this.

Well, just him, Queenie, and one other thing, but just for tonight. Just for her. Sometimes , distractions can be a good thing here.

Kinger ducks down to be at eye level with the fort’s entrance, swinging the pillow-door open with a creak (pillows shouldn’t make that noise, right?). He glances over his shoulder to Queenie, and as per routine, he gestures for her to enter and she does so. 

Kinger can already hear the smallest, sweetest gasp come from his wife before he’s even shut the door behind himself, and it’s a noise that makes his metaphorical heart do somersaults in his chest. He turns, standing up to once again be level with Queenie, and oh how in love he is with her.

Queenie’s eyes are wide, gleaming with a certain wonder and curiosity unique to her, and the wet glimmer in her pupils mixes with the luminescent neon reflecting across her face. There are bugs, an entire parade of them, caterpillars and beetles and butterflies resting upon the cushioned walls and bobbing and weaving through the air. The insects’ glow is beautiful, but doesn’t overwhelm the darkness, almost lending it the feel of a fireworks show - if fireworks shows are anything like Kinger remembers, at least. He does feel like they were a bit louder. 

“Darling…” Queenie breathes, slowly bringing her attention over to Kinger. “How did you…?”

When Queenie doesn’t finish her sentence, Kinger lets out a bashful chuckle. “I asked Caine to whip this up for you since you haven’t been feeling well lately. I know there are plenty of bugs on the carnival grounds, but I know you’ve already seen them plenty and I wanted to give you something a bit more…special.”

Queenie places a hand to her chest in disbelief. “Oh, Kinger…” She leans in to kiss him, which effectively is just bonking their heads together like two plastic dolls, but it makes do. “You really didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” Kinger says. “I wanted you to be happy.”

Queenie sighs, almost dreamily, and reaches forward to caress Kinger’s cheek with a gentle hand. “Thank you, dear. I really am the luckiest woman in the world.”

“But I’m even luckier,” Kinger teases, earning a soft laugh from Queenie and a kiss on his cheek. He really does wonder what he ever did to deserve such a brilliant woman. He can’t imagine what he’d do without her.

He…can’t imagine what he’d do without her…

He isn’t allowed time to ponder the horrid thought, thankfully, as a tickling sensation starts prodding at his cross. He jumps, the shriek he gives bouncing from wall to wall but not seeming to disturb the bugs, at the very least. Queenie sighs with a hint of amusement and reaches up to pluck the perpetrator off Kinger’s head. Bringing her hand back down, she lets Kinger get a good look at the little mischief-maker now perched on her finger as she admires its radiant glow.

“Just a butterfly, darling,” Queenie assures. “It’s far more afraid of you than you are of it.”

“I’m not afraid of it,” Kinger denies, before stuttering. “Well, maybe a little, but…”

Queenie snickers as the butterfly starts crawling down her hand. “You’ve still made a lot of progress, dear. You used to be mortified by bugs, remember? Now you’re in here with me, admiring their delicate yet persistent forms. It’s natural to still be a little off-put by them, most people are. I’m just happy you’ve been willing to give them a chance.”

Kinger hums quietly, gazing at the shining insect that now rests in the palm of his wife’s hand. Maybe she is right - well, she’s right about most things anyway. Nature never was his thing growing up, bugs especially - nature was too unpredictable, too dangerous, too many unknowns that could leave to a grim fate if one just took a wrong step. Computers could be solved, computers could be controlled, and most importantly computers - probably - couldn’t kill you. 

But he does have a lot of respect for nature now, especially bugs, and that’s all thanks to his wife. He still doesn’t feel quite comfortable enough to touch them, not even after…one, two…ten-ish years of marriage? Not counting the time they’ve been in the circus, that would add on, what, two or three years? Jesus, has it really been that long? But that aside, he definitely does respect the little critters. He…can see where Queenie was coming from with her adoration for them. They’re so small, most can be crushed or squished with a mere smack of the hand, yet at the same time they’re so versatile, one of Mother Nature’s most enduring and deadly creations, and even more paradoxically so beautiful. Kinger doesn’t think he’s seen a more alluring shade of blue than the one on the inside of the troublemaking butterfly’s wings. No wonder Queenie became so mesmerized by them…

“Oh! Kinger, wait, I know what this bug is!” Queenie’s exclamation snaps Kinger right out of his train of thought, and he responds with his own yelp in surprise. He scrambles to regain his composure, though thankfully his startlement once again didn’t disrupt the insects.

“S-Sorry, what is it, honey?”

“This butterfly! I know what it is, it’s a real specimen! Caine actually modeled these insects after ones in the real world!” Queenie chatters excitedly, practically bouncing in place as she rapid-fires out her words. Oh, she is precious. “It’s a blue morpho butterfly! Menelaus blue morpho. It's known for its vibrant blue coloring on its dorsal wings which is caused by a unique wing structure that makes them iridescent. Beautiful things, aren't they?"

Queenie had surely introduced this bug to Kinger before, had it been in their previous life or their current, but Kinger unfortunately can't remember anything from that probable encounter. " Mene …what, now?"

Queenie giggles, and it's music to Kinger's ears. "It's a mouthful, don't worry. Most binomial names are. 'Blue morpho' should work perfectly fine."

"I see," Kinger nods in understanding, then leans down to greet the little bug properly. "You're a pretty thing, aren't you?"

Apparently, the butterfly is only fond of Kinger when it gets to perch atop his head; soon after he meets it face-to-face it departs from its nest on Queenie's hand and goes to join the starry swirl of insects again. Kinger fails to hide his disappointment, even if logically he knows it was nothing personal.

Queenie laughs softly, resting her hand upon Kinger's hips with a gentleness as if he's made of glass. "Perhaps they were just shy." There's a press to his shoulder as Queenie places her head there, sturdy and smooth, and lets out a shaky breath. "I…didn't realize how much I needed this…"

Kinger turns to press a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sure Caine wouldn't mind doing this again for you."

"I would hope."

There are no words spoken between them the rest of the night. They don't need them.

—

Queenie hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

The abstraction came for another friend, and the player who took her place a few days - weeks? - after the fact is a…character. The slot machine named him 'Jax' (why does it change how many letters it has each time a new person shows up?) and ever since he arrived he's been alternating between moping around the tent and lashing out at the other circus members with petty insults. Queenie doesn't like him very much. Kinger's a bit more forgiving - the first few weeks are always the hardest and everyone copes in their own ways, he's sure Jax will grow out of it eventually. 

Today's adventure seems right up her alley, fortunately. A lavish palace with dozens of little nooks and crannies to explore, an expansive library and best of all, a garden teeming with all sorts of insectoid specimens. He'll be honest, Kinger tries to participate in the adventures as much as possible, but with something like this when the backdrop is more interesting than whatever story Caine's cooked up he's kind of…forgotten what the goal was in the first place. Something about finding keys. He's sure he and Queenie are helping, they are most definitely searching the library and the garden…and only the library and the garden…

Well, now they’re in the ballroom, trying to locate their friends. It’s a spacious thing, with a minimum amount of obstructions to one’s sight, so one look around the room and both are pretty confident that none of the other players are here.

It’s a luxurious thing, too, as expected of a palace of course. Towering pillars of ivory and marble circle around the dance floor, the velvet tiles speckled with white and gold to make it look like a galaxy. And the curtains that lead out to the balcony…red and purple. The most exquisite combination of colors. Kinger almost feels envious of the palace’s owner, if Caine actually made one. What a nice place for him and Queenie to live, imagine the size of the fortress they could build in here…

“Something wrong, dear?”

Kinger jumps, but is quick to calm his nerves once his brain registers the voice as Queenie’s. He rubs the nape of his ‘neck’ in embarrassment, playing the incident off with a stiff chuckle.

“N-Nothing, it’s just that this place is…very pretty.”

Queenie nods. “Yes. Caine really outdid himself with this one.”

It’s…oddly familiar.

Kinger’s body practically moves on its own. With a suave bow, he offers a hand to his wife and waits patiently for a response. “May I have this dance?”

Queenie juts an eyebrow up, but she seems just as amused as she is puzzled. “Well, where did this come from?”

He, uh… 

“I don’t know,” Kinger admits. “I guess I just felt like it.”

Queenie muffles a mirthful laugh with her hand, and with her other she takes hold of Kinger’s. “Well, this adventure certainly doesn’t seem too urgent.”

Kinger rises, pushing his body flush against Queenie’s and resting his free hand on her hip. With Queenie’s other hand on his shoulder, Kinger takes a step to the right (well, more like a slide), and Queenie mimics. Then to the left, then a twirl around, slow and steady, the fluff of their robes grazing the polished floor beneath. Frankly, Kinger shouldn’t be the one guiding this; both of them love to dance but Kinger most certainly lacks the natural grace Queenie does, though it’s not like she minds his clumsy footing and awkward posture. It’s part of his charm, she said. Her clumsy teddy bear King…er…

…That name was different once…

Kinger’s mind draws a blank, and within a moment the inkling is forgotten. 

The pace picks up quickly, escalating from a cautious and calm waltz to a grand, sweeping dance, filled with dips and turns and twirls as they circle around the ballroom. Kinger lifts Queenie up and spins her around, her laughter booming through the chamber even though Kinger barely has the strength to keep her up for more than a second or two. Their movements are fast and almost wild, the wind whipping around them in the place of music. Music, if only they had music then this would be perfect , that would give them a melody to match, a song to bring to life. Kinger tries to think of a classical tune to march to in his head; he can’t remember any particular track, so he resorts to just making one up on the spot. It doesn’t fit, not even as he tries to match his movements with the makeshift melody running through his head. Like trying to fit a key into a hole it wasn’t made for. Like…almost like they had been dancing to a particular rhythm before, and Kinger just interrupted it. But that couldn’t be, the palace wasn’t playing any mus - 

“Our wedding day!” Kinger and Queenie both exclaim in unison, quickly earning the surprise of the other. They both stare, eyes wide, before Queenie lets out a giggle.

Kinger stammers. “Uh…”

“You were thinking the same thing, weren’t you?” Queenie asks. “Our wedding day. We danced like this on our wedding day. Not our dance, but, you know - the party dance, the one where everyone could let loose. My sister picked the song, God, I wish I could remember it.”

“She did!” Kinger blurts out at the memory, and smiles fondly. “She had been obsessed with that song for months and was so happy when you let her play it, oh, what was its name…?”

Silence washes over them.

What…was her name…? What were her parents’ names? 

They - have to be in there somewhere. He has to remember their names, Kinger had a great relationship with his in-laws, right? Didn’t he…? They were at their wedding. Their…wedding day…

Who did come to their wedding? Where was their wedding? When was their wedding? 

“Kinger?”

Kinger snaps to attention, shaking his head as if to clear the nasty spiral of thoughts out. Queenie’s here. The most important person from that wedding. His most important person. She’s here. With him. That’s all that matters. For now. 

“Sorry, just…got lost up here again,” Kinger laughs nervously, pointing to his head and making a spiral gesture. “Er, where were we…?”

Queenie’s response is cut off by a thunderous crash coming from down the hallway. Both give a start, and out of habit Kinger huddles Queenie against himself protectively. They're given no time to act - the door to the ballroom swings open and Kaufmo appears, out of breath and weakly supporting himself against the frame. 

"K-Kinger! Queenie! There you two are, we were wondering where you ran off to!" Kaufmo heaves between labored breaths. His exhaustion isn't the concerning part, though; the fear in his eyes is. (Oh, and that crash that just happened, too.)

Queenie narrows her eyes. "W-What's going on?"

Kaufmo fumbles to stand up straight, his legs shaking under the pressure. "Listen, there isn't much time, the new kid - " A roar bellows from the hall, accompanied by footsteps that most certainly don't belong to a normal sized creature. And they're…getting louder. "He took all our keys and went to the throne room without telling us and now he's unleashed some…eldritch…monstrosity. I-I think we need to defeat it to complete the adventure o - "

Kaufmo turns to his right, and whatever he sees barreling towards him is enough to have his eyes pop clean out of his sockets. " Oh, f__k - !! "

It almost happens too fast for Kinger to register - first Kaufmo spins around on his heels, then makes a break for it, and as the entire ballroom rumbles he catches a glimpse of the pursuer as it bolts by the open door. Some giant…rosebush monster? Or maybe holly? Some sort of plant. 

The rumbling dies down, and Kaufmo's yelling and the beast's roars grow more muffled, and all Kinger and Queenie can do is look at each other in a shocked stupor.

Then, Jax just…walks into their field of vision, right from the direction the plant monster had come from, as casually as if he was taking a morning stroll. Blankly, he looks at Kinger and Queenie, then down the hallway, and then places his hands on his hips smugly.

"You know. Maybe I could get used to this."

—

Queenie hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

Another abstraction and another funeral today. It feels like clockwork. A new player arrives, they're okay for a bit, and then they're just…not. Most last a while. Maybe a few weeks - no, months, no, longer? - they last long enough to get to know them, at least. The shellshock wears off, they start to settle into their new life, and then it hits them that they really are just…stuck here. Forever. With no way out. Player after player, one by one dropping like flies. No one's lasted as long as Kinger and Queenie have. Maybe no one ever will. Kinger wonders why the two haven't succumbed to such a fate yet, maybe it's because they have each other. Maybe they just got lucky. 

They're here, in Kinger's bed, Queenie resting her head languidly on his lap as he traces circles onto her wooden surface with his fingertips. It's bedtime (and as such, dark, thankfully), but if Kinger's in his room, then Queenie will be, and vice-versa, if they decided to not spend the night in the fort. They have never used their rooms individually, why would they? They slept in the same room and in the same bed when they were humans, why change that? Giving them each their own room was just an obligation on Caine's end, it'd probably be better if he just deleted one of the rooms to make way for another player who'd actually need it. It'd save him the energy of expanding the hallway. 

No, they belong together. They're a package deal. Where one goes the other follows.

"I miss home," Queenie admits in a whisper so light Kinger can hardly hear it. "And I can barely even remember what it was like anymore."

Kinger simply slumps his shoulders. "...I know."

He wants to say he feels the same, but…he can't. Not when he remembers even less than what Queenie does. They're wisps, faint stains of a town, of friends and family, of a job, the life he used to have. There isn't enough in his mind left to miss.

Queenie's…all he has left.

"I've been thinking…too much lately," Queenie continues, gripping Kinger's robe tight. "About home, about an exit, about leaving, about how…we can't. " She sighs, her body shaking, "And I know I shouldn't, I know that's how - how we get what happened today, but it just won't leave me alone."

"Honey," Kinger says, low but firm. "You will get through this. You are so strong. There are still so many things to love and cherish about this life, even if it isn't…ideal." He leans down, wood sliding against wood as he kisses her forehead. "You have so many memories still to be made…with our friends, with the insects, with me…"

Queenie's eyes lull shut, and her chest rises up, then lowers, in tandem with a warbling breath. They don't need to breathe here, but they may as well; anything that reminds them that there's still a human in that digital prison.

"I hope you're right."

—

Queenie hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

But, God, the new girl, Gangle, is just a flat-out mess right now.

Kinger doesn't know if her avatar was modeled specifically after her…quirks…or if it was just a coincidence, but that tragedy mask of hers has been seeing far more use than is probably healthy. Not like Kinger can really know. He can't remember the last time he cried. Has he ever cried here? Maybe in fear, but he can't think of any other occasion. Wait, can his avatar even cry?

When the poor girl isn't having a breakdown in her room or getting utterly terrified on adventures, she's typically in the living room, huddled on the couch with a notebook in hand as she doodles…whatever young people doodle. It seems to be the only thing that brings her any form of comfort. Kinger wonders what type of art she made as a human. She makes really good art with ribbons for hands, at least from the brief glimpses Kinger's seen of her art as he walks past, so he must imagine that her old art was even better. 

He hopes she'll be able to settle in soon, he really does. The adjustment period really is always the roughest.

Caine doesn't have an adventure planned for today since he's working on fixing some glitches in the Circus, so that just leaves everyone to wander around the grounds looking for something to pass the time with. But first, breakfast, at least for Kinger and Queenie. Ragatha and Kaufmo have already gone off to do their own thing - Kinger wonders why they haven't built forts of their own yet, you can do plenty of activities in a fort and it's nice and cozy, but to each their own. Jax is lazing about the living room, thumping about a bouncy ball he had smuggled from a previous adventure and complaining about not being able to separate his teeth, and judging by Queenie's less-than-enthused reaction he's already said this plenty before. He probably has, Kinger just can't recall. Wait, when did Queenie get here? She's brought a cup of tea and a plate of low-polygonal yellow blobs and a brown rectangle with her, the latter of which she sets on the coffee table - right, breakfast. Eggs and toast for Kinger and a cup of tea for Queenie, like always. Like…always. 

Then there's Gangle, sitting on the opposite sofa, once again curled up like a rubber band ball with her notebook practically fused to her. 

"What are you drawing, Gangle?"

Queenie's inquiry makes Gangle almost leap out of her seat, and she almost falls off the couch trying to rearrange herself back to her original position. She stares at Queenie, wide-eyed, like she's expecting this to be some sort of prank. Queenie just looks at her with patient, warm regard.

"...W-Why ask?"

"I'm curious, is all," Queenie assures as she takes a sip of her tea, the liquid disappearing mid-air to compensate for her lack of a mouth. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

Gangle pauses, glimpsing between Queenie and her notebook in rapid succession. She hesitates for a long while, before finally steeling her nerves. She chooses not to look at Queenie as she speaks, though, instead opting to continue drawing as she does.

"It's, um…anime."

Before Queenie can get a word in, Jax practically erupts in laughter, needing to support himself on the sofa's armrest as he starts wheezing from the outburst. Queenie shoots him a dirty glare. Gangle just shrinks even further.

" Anime?! Jesus, you're even more of a dweeb than I thought."

" Jax! " Queenie snaps, almost slamming her fist down on the coffee table. "Let her speak. Making fun of her interests isn't helping anybody."

Heaving out the last traces of his fit, Jax straightens himself up and shrugs. He's already walking away before he even begins to speak. "Whatever you say, bug lady."

Queenie makes sure Jax is far enough away to not eavesdrop on the conversation before she continues. In an instant, her bitter expression grows soft once again, and she turns to face Gangle again with the same welcoming tone. "Sorry about that, Gangle. He's a real piece of work, that one. Anyway, what did you say you were drawing? An-ee-may? I'm afraid I don't know what that is."

Gangle glances to the floor shyly. "It's, um…like cartoons but in Japan. They can be about all sorts of things, but I'm mainly into shojo…usually magical girls and stuff."

"Um…'shojo'? 'Magical girls'?"

Gangle shifts in her spot a bit, sitting up a bit more straight, and she finally looks Queenie in the eye again. "Um…here, let me show you…"

Queenie gets up from her seat and is quick to make her way over to Gangle, and so naturally, begins to listen intently to Gangle's spiel about the various scribbles in her notebook. Gangle starts out nervous, almost apprehensive at first, speaking in slow and broken-up sentences and holding her papers at an angle that makes it so that Queenie can just barely see them. Kinger mostly zones out after a little while, choosing to focus on his food before it gets cold - wait, their food doesn't get cold here - but about halfway through his meal he tunes back in and Gangle's… beaming. She's talking at almost a mile a minute about the stages of her drawing process, the sketch, the lineart, the coloring, what materials she loves working with the most and something to do with moon sailors and fruit baskets and Queenie is watching with such eager interest and oh how it melts Kinger’s heart. Queenie’s always been such a comforting presence - if there would be anyone to bring Gangle out of her shell it would be her. She has such a…motherly…way about her…

…They…did always want to start a family, didn’t they?

They never actually had one, not even Kinger would forget something as important as that. He can’t remember if it was fertility issues or if they were just unlucky but…they never had a kid. Never had their own little royal family. Kinger’s almost grateful for that fact now; if nothing else, at least they didn’t leave their own hypothetical child orphaned. 

The guilt of leaving two whole families without answers is already enough to bear.

If…only Kinger could remember their faces…

If…only Kinger could remember …anything… about them…

“Kinger! Honey, look!”

Kinger yelps at the sound of Queenie’s voice beckoning him, though he’s quick to calm down once his brain once again catches up to his reality. He shuffles over to the two women as fast as he can, hoping it isn’t something urgent. Queenie certainly seems happy at least. That, and there doesn't seem to be anything to be urgent about.

"Look!" Queenie repeats, pointing to the corner of one of Gangle's pages. The girl is sheepish, but seems quite content with her drawing at the same time. "Gangle was gracious enough to draw a Hercules beetle for me."

"O-oh, that's what they're called…?" Gangle utters a timid, wispy laugh. "I just drew the first thing that came to mind when I thought of 'beetle'."

Kinger takes a moment to examine the doodle, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the page loaded with bloated sparkly eyes and princesses wielding magic wands. The beetle is cartoonish in its own way, with Gangle having even added two googly eyes on top of the horns (which Kinger is at least 90% sure that is not where its actual eyes are), but it's charming nonetheless. 

"It's cute!" Kinger proclaims. "Can you draw any other insects?"

"Oh, don't bug her about it just because she did it once, " Queenie says, then, pausing after realizing the accidental pun, gives a snicker. "Pfft…'bug her'..."

Gangle's eyes light up at Kinger's suggestion. "I do commissions! Or…I, um…I used to…anyway…" She feigns a cough, trying to brush off the awkward moment. "We…probably don't…have money here…for anything…do we?"

Jax, out of absolutely nowhere, pops out from behind the couch. "Only currency here is your sanity, crybaby."

Not like Gangle can really hear the words, since the censor beep blares through the tent as Kinger almost jumps out of his wooden skin.

—

Queenie hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

She's been spending more time in the fort, barely participating in the adventures they go on, every so often slipping into conversation the topic of outside or exiting. She's still herself, but Kinger can tell the downward trajectory she's in. 

Not like that makes him care for or love her any less, not even an ounce. He'd be dead before he'd let her succumb to the despair that's been threatening to engulf them like fog the moment they arrived here. She's done so for him, so he will do so for her. That's just what a best friend does. What a husband does. He just…wishes he could do more to help her feel better. 

Thankfully, Caine seems to have his back this time, if unintentionally.

" Egads! Look what time it is!" Caine's voice booms as he manifests right besides Kinger, causing the latter to give a scream. Caine pays it no mind. "My watch which conveniently tells me the time and date is saying it's February 14th! You know what time that is, don't you Kinger?"

Kinger stares at Caine blankly. 

" You're right! It's Valentine's Day!" Caine announces, making a sweeping gesture with his hands which trails a swarm of hearts behind them. "A day of friendship! Love! Overly expensive chocolates! And if you don't have any of that, pondering the unending loneliness of your existence!" Caine moves to get right up in Kinger's face, to the point his front teeth are almost jutting into Kinger's eyeball. "I was going to make an adventure themed around this lovely holiday for all of you to enjoy, but since Jax said some quite unsavory things about that idea - "

"I said I'd shoot his teeth out," Jax calls all the way from the stage.

"I decided I'd just make a mini-adventure for you and Queenie to enjoy together!" Caine finishes, and on cue he pulls Queenie all the way from where she had likely been on the hillside right over to where he and Kinger stand. She's even still carrying a jar with a praying mantis inside it, which she promptly drops in surprise.

"Urgh - Caine?" Queenie blinks, trying to adjust to her sudden surroundings. "What's going on…?"

"It's Valentine's Day, Queenie! A perfect time for you and your beau to have some (PG-Rated) one-on-one time! So I made you two a nice dinner mini-adventure!"

Queenie gawks at him, dumbfounded. "Oh…Caine, you really didn't have to - "

"Nonsense, my marvelous monarch! I have to do everything my intrusive thoughts tell me to!" 

Caine claps twice, and in a moment the three of them are shot from the tent all the way to a candlelit balcony overlooking a hedge garden, which from what Kinger can tell is in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Not even the 'restaurant' the balcony is connected to seems to have anything in it; Caine must have rushed this one after his idea for a full adventure was shut down. Still, it's the thought that counts…even if he did take the time to arrange the hedges in the garden into the shape of his face.

Caine pushes both of them into chairs and scoots them in, delivering them their plates, utensils, napkins and then teleporting in a mannequin jazz band for good measure. And after that Kinger and Queenie are still not given time to process the rapid set of happenings, as Caine disappears and then reappears within an instant, the only thing that changed being that he's now in a waiter outfit. And that Bubble is now with him. Also in a waiter outfit.

"So, to start off the night, how about some drinks? We have water, milk, juice, lemonade, coffee, decaf coffee, extracaf coffee, soda, sodawithoutthebubbles,energydrinkredflavor,energydrinkblueflavor,energydrinkmysteryflavorenergydrinkextramysteryflavoralcoholwithoutthealcoholsoitsjustgrapejuicenowchefschoicebubbleschoicemytears and tea."

It takes a moment for either of them to respond.

"Um…water, will be fine," Kinger answers stiffly.

Queenie nods. "I'll do water as well."

"Water, coming right up!" Caine exclaims, and with the prompt Bubble opens his mouth and proceeds to vomit the requested beverage right into Kinger and Queenie's glasses. Queenie's face crinkles up in disgust.

Caine pulls two menus out of thin air and slams each one onto the table, dutifully watching as Kinger and Queenie pick them up to examine. "I'll be back in a few to get your orders! For now, enjoy the atmosphere, my little lovebirds!"

And with that, Caine's off again, and all Kinger and Queenie are left with is the soft tunes being emitted by the mannequin band a few odd feet away.

Queenie coughs. "Well…wasn't that something."

Kinger responds with a shrug. "Well, it was nice of Caine to do this for us, and we are already here, so…may as well enjoy the view."

Queenie nods in agreement, and turns to face the scenery before them; a vibrant garden (was Caine's face always in there?) and a sky stuck in perpetual twilight, a few odd stars peeking out from behind the clouds. "It is a rather lovely sight."

"It is," Kinger hums contentedly, and lets the ambience wash over them for a few blissful moments. It was quite generous of Caine to make this for them, and despite its rushed nature it seems to hit the nail on the head with what both of them would like on a Valentine's Day date. When was the last time he and Queenie celebrated Valentine's Day? It's been a while. But it's nice. Candles releasing a soft, warm glow across the balcony, the wind swaying the hedges to and fro in a hypnotic rhythm, the sky the color of a pastel painting. It's great. Just him and Queenie. Oh, and the jazz mannequins. But the jazz mannequins are staying out of their hair, at least. And playing nice jazz music.

Right, just…him and Queenie…he should probably…

"Honey?"

Queenie looks up from the menu. "Yes, love?"

Kinger clears his throat. "Can we take this chance to talk about…" He wiggles his fingers, trying to find the correct wording. Eventually, he just gives up and places his hand atop Queenie's. "You…?"

Queenie's expression darkens, but Kinger is sure she knows what he's referring to. "...Me…?"

"It just feels like you've been… sadder, lately," Kinger elaborates. He wishes he could bring up a specific instance from 'lately', but nowadays most things unfortunately seem to blend into one another. Most things. "I…know you had been having problems before, and if they're resurfacing I - want to be able to help you with that."

Queenie's stiffened posture grows lax, and she looks down to the table in what is almost shame. "Sweetheart…" She sighs. "Y-You were right the last time, okay? I got through it the last time, I'll get through it again. These… thoughts, this spiral, it's - just a phase. That's all it is. It'll go away with time."

"...What'd I say last time?"

"That I would get through it," Queenie reminds. "And I did. And I should. Again." She punctuates her words with a shaky breath. "Even if those thoughts never really disappeared… they just quelled a bit. And now they're back, stronger than ever, and I…"

Queenie trails off, her head dipping low. Kinger gives her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping it's enough to keep her tethered to the moment. 

"I'm just tired of being here, " Queenie continues. "Humans are drawn to new experiences, and in a place like this there's not much new you can do after a while. Caine's adventures help a bit, but the distractions can only last so long, and pretty soon…I'm trying to remember what home was like. And I can't. I can't remember what home was like. Every time I try to imagine it I just get smears. I want to return to a life I can't even remember just because anything would be better than…" She stops to gesture to the sky. " This. For all eternity. So I keep thinking about trying to find a way out and what we would do afterwards but then it just keeps circling back to the fact that's impossible. That we're just going to be stuck here, in this same cycle until the end of time. "

Kinger feels a lump form in his throat as he looks at his wife. In times like these he really wishes he was better with words. What Queenie is saying isn't paranoid ramblings, they all ring painfully true; it'd be a disservice to brush all her worries under the rug. Oh, what did he say last time…? 

What did he used to do to comfort her? He can really only make assumptions at this point. Probably make her a warm cup of tea, cozy up beside her on the couch, whisper sweet mumblings into her ear and shower her with kisses. Yeah, probably, that sounds like the kind of thing he'd do. It sounds nice. If only he could remember it. Not like he can use it as a blueprint for what to do now, considering they have no way to make tea, there's no couch in sight, and trying to do anything more intimate than light kissing with these bodies is nothing short of an exercise in futility. And he definitely needs sweet somethings rather than sweet nothings in this situation.

"Well, I may not remember it…exactly, but I did have a point," Kinger says. "You're strong. The strongest woman I've ever met. That's why I married you. Well, I married you for a lot of reasons, but - that's one of them." His hand trails up to Queenie's face, and he cups it gingerly. "No matter how hopeless this situation feels, no matter if we never do find an exit and escape, no matter if we're trapped here until the, well, end of time…we still have each other. We still have that part of our humanity to return to."

Queenie reaches up to touch the back of Kinger's hand, handling it like a porcelain doll. "And what if a day comes when we don't have each other anymore…?"

"We'll have memories. Decades of them to hold onto and look back on," Kinger responds. "Even if this world took our bodies and our freedom, it can't take away our minds, as long as we don't let it." He leans forward, bringing his face closer to his wife's. His wife. The love of his life. His…anchor. His everything. What would he do without her?

…What would he do without her…?

"A-and that day won't come," Kinger stammers, almost like a reassurance to himself, to ensure there won't come a day where he has to face his hypocrisy. Queenie would be strong enough to continue on with memories, but what about him? He's weak, already starting to forget simple things like what he had for breakfast that morning and where their water came from (where did their water come from?) Could he survive without Queenie? He prays that it's a question that will never be answered.

"But if it does?"

"It won't, Queenie."

" But if it does? " Queenie repeats, firmer this time. "You'll hold onto those memories. You'll be strong for me, won't you? You'll live life, cherishing each memory and each moment."

Kinger goes silent.

"...I will," he answers, and he's sure to make good on his word. If the day comes. Which it won't. 

It won't.

It won't.

"I love you," Kinger adds. "And I will for the eternity we'll live."

Queenie leans her face into his hand, her eyes half-lidded and wistful. "I love you, too."

And for a few blissful moments, it's just the two of them.

At least until Caine poofs into existence right beside their table again, his announcement and Kinger's accompanying shriek breaking the silence that had settled over them.

—

Queenie really hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

"I'm going to skip out on today's adventure," she says, her voice scratchy and uneven in her early-morning stupor. She hasn't even made an attempt to get out of bed, practically gluing herself to the mattress even as Kinger gets himself ready for the day. He's stopped that now, of course - Queenie's well-being is far, far more important than anything Caine has planned for the day.

"Honey, I'm - not sure how good of an idea that is. I think some fresh air would help you," Kinger replies, standing beside Queenie attentively.

Queenie takes in a sharp breath. "Just this once. I - need some time to clear my head. I'd only be slowing us down."

"Oh, Queenie, you know that isn't true…"

Queenie shakes her head and rolls over on her side, almost straining herself to do so, and she looks directly at Kinger. He's…never seen so little life in those deep brown eyes. "P-Please, just go. Have fun with the others. I'm sure I'll be feeling better once you get back…"

Kinger's breath hitches. "Queenie…"

He wants so desperately to plead, to get on his knees and beg her to come along, to not stay behind trapped with nothing more than the thoughts spiraling in her head, but he knows Queenie. He knows she's made up her mind.

And she's probably right. Nothing bad will happen. She'll be fine. She'll just clear her head and feel better by the evening. Nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad will happen. He'll see her again. He'll…see her again.

"...Okay," Kinger relents, planting a kiss to the spot where Queenie's lips would be. She accepts, but doesn't reciprocate. "Feel better. We'll be back soon. I love you."

"...Love you too."

His steps feel weighted with concrete as he makes his way outside their room and, slowly, reluctantly, closes the door behind him.

—

He doesn't think Queenie got better.

"Queenie?" Kinger repeats, his knocks against the wooden door growing more and more frantic with each passing second. He has the keys to both their rooms, but for the sake of privacy wants Queenie's permission to enter before he unlocks the door. Except he's been knocking for minutes - or is it hours? - and he still hasn't gotten that permission.

Or more concerningly, any answer.

"Queenie, honey, can I come in?" Kinger asks. He doesn't even have a heart yet he can still feel one pounding wildly in his chest, perhaps his mind playing tricks on him? "Is everything okay?"

No response.

Kinger doesn't know exactly how long he's been at this, but it's long enough for it to now be bedtime hours, so he decides to finally yield. "Queenie, I'm going to unlock the door. Is that okay?"

No response.

Taking that as an answer in its own right, Kinger brings out the key to her room, places it in the lock, turns it slowly and steadily, waits for the click, and opens the door. Just a crack. Then a bit more. Then more. His hands are trembling from the pressure. 

He'll probably just see Queenie asleep on the bed. He's getting worked up over nothing.

He finally pushes the door wide open, and looks inside.

It's dark.

There are eyes.

There are lots of eyes.

The eyes all focus on him, glowing with a bright neon glare that stands out against the pool of darkness they're…coming out from - no, no. Attached to.

No. No no no no.

"...Queenie…?"

The darkness growls.

NononononononononononoNONONONONONONONO

Kinger shakes his head, trying to get rid of any trick his brain must be pulling on him, but instead all he sees when he looks back up is the unstable blob rising from its seat, shambling limbs barely able to support its goliath figure. It utters a low snarl, the audio warped like a broken radio. It's still staring at him.

"Quee…nie…?"

It howls, the horrid sound cutting at Kinger's ears like a knife, and before he can even register it the creature is charging at the door and trying to bust through it. The impact from it hitting the doorframe shakes the immediate area, and Kinger falls back with a shout.

"Queenie!" Kinger pleads, babbling whatever words come to his mind first. "It's me! Kinger! Y - Your husband? You remember that, right?!"

The only response the abstraction gives is another growl as it finally crams its way through the door, Kinger barely managing to dodge it as it slams against the opposite wall.

What does he do what does he do what does he do what does he do WHAT DOES HE DO?!

The creature scrambles to recover, somehow managing to stand back upright in its daze. All of its eyes - its ten, twenty, hundreds of horrid eyes - snap their attention back to Kinger. He's seen the abstracted before, he's dealt with the abstracted before, but he can't remember how. Why can't he remember how?!

The creature charges at him, inky black spikes thrusting in and out of its body in its rampage and Kinger just runs. The only thing he can actually muster out of himself is one never-ending, piercing scream, but inside he's shaken and crying and bargaining and wanting to throw up all at the same time and why did it have to be Queenie why did it have to be Queenie why did it have to be Queenie?!

He isn't even paying attention to where he's heading until he's already in sight of the fortress, barreling towards it with a speed he didn't know he could even reach with the beast still hot on his trail. 

He opens the hatch and leaps inside, and the monster follows. He doesn't know if he forgot to close the door or if he left it open on purpose.

Regardless, it's in here with him now. 

"Queenie - "

The beast roars, circling the inner walls of the fortress like a sentry on duty. Kinger's collapsed on the floor, staring at the creature in mortification yet at the same time mesmerized, every bone in his body is screaming at him to look away and yet he doesn't, he can't.

" Queenie! "

The abstraction lunges forward, and Kinger squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for the end.

But he doesn't feel the red-hot pain of computer static overloading his systems with a violent blow from the creature. Instead he feels nothing. He opens his eyes, weakly, to see the beast having backed away. It's shambling around the chamber, its ever-shifting abyssal body looking like it's about to collapse in on itself at any moment. It's trying to lash out, but it doesn't. It…can't. Not anymore, not in this place.

It…doesn't want to.

It's…in pain.

Kinger stands, giving heaving breaths at a speed he's surprised hasn't glitched his avatar out yet. He hobbles forward, one agonizing step after another, and the creature lags to and fro. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, he knows it might get him killed, but -

That's…that's his…

"Queenie…"

The beast looks at him. It still seems angry, but more than that, just… somber. Is he imagining the rough edges on its body beginning to die down?

"Queenie…"

The abstraction comes to a full stop. It's now just standing there, swaying ever so slightly in place, trying its best to balance itself on its own behemoth weight. It's still staring at him; it's funny. One of the clusters of eyes almost forms up like a…butterfly…

It's the darkness, Kinger realizes. Their darkness. They did always do better in darkness, didn't they?

The creature stares, and for the first time Kinger realizes there's no malice in those eyes. It had been furious, but not - not evil. It's just scared, it's just confused, it lashed out because that's all it knew how to do.

…Lashed out because that's all she knew how to do…

That's…still his wife, after all. Underneath that glitching murky body and those clusters of neon eyes boring into Kinger's soul.

That's still Queenie's body. That's still Queenie's eyes.

That's…still Queenie…

His heartbeat seems to calm down in tandem with Queenie's surface smoothing over, her jagged edges calming like a lake's surface after having a stone dropped in. She's - she's in there. That's still Queenie. That's still his wife, that's - 

Those eyes. They're looking at him exactly how they always used to. Kind and calm and deep.

Kinger doesn't feel like he's entirely planted in reality right now, somewhere on the edge between this plane of existence and the next, but he's still aware enough to know what he's doing as he reaches out to Queenie and touches her. The feeling is indescribable; so cold and yet so warm at the same time. But it's Queenie who he's touching. The same Queenie he met at that college party, the same Queenie who asked him out with an insect pun, the same Queenie who walked down the aisle on their wedding day, the same Queenie who has been by his side ever since, in both that life and this one. It's Queenie who begins to close her eyes and lean into his hand with tranquil acceptance. It's Queenie who's neon glow begins to fizzle out, slowly plunging them both into the darkness of their fortress. Their fortress. His and Queenie's fortress alone.

Someone says 'I love you', though he's not sure if it's himself or Queenie.

Then he blacks out.

—

When he comes to there's a lot of yelling and a lot of bright colors. Very blurry colors, considering his eyes are just barely open.

"Oh my God! Oh my God, Kinger, please wake up! Are you okay?" He can barely make the words out in his haze. Sounds like…Gangle? No, not high-pitched enough. Ragatha. Must be breakfast time. Maybe he'll surprise Queenie with breakfast in bed…

"Hey, dollface, it's not like I'm against shaking corpses around but you're just wasting your energy. There's no way he survived that." Jax…

"If he didn't survive then he'd be abstracted! He's just not waking up!"

"...Maybe he's in a coma…?" That's Gangle. Or maybe Kaufmo. No, definitely Gangle.

"We don't get comas in here, you dunce," Jax hisses.

Kinger finally manages to pry his eyes open, and he realizes he's sprawled out on the floor, his head resting in Ragatha's lap. The other players are too busy arguing to notice his awakening, so he tries looking around to see what caused all the commotion in the first place, and - 

Caine's carrying an abstracted player in the air, the beast oddly calm as their ringmaster gets the cellar open to plunk them inside. When did that happen? Did Kaufmo abstract? He can't see - wait, no, he hears his voice along with the others. He hears everyone's voices except Queenie's. Where is Queenie? Is she still in be - 

The memories from the darkness hit him all at once.

That is Queenie. 

Caine's putting Queenie in the cellar.

His wife abstracted. She's going in the cellar. With the other abstracted players.

Where. Kinger. Will never see her again. 

Ever. 

At least it's dark in there.

For the second time, his consciousness slips away.

—

Queenie is dead.

The funeral happens in the evening. Jax doesn't attend. Come to think of it, has he ever attended a funeral? That's quite rude of him.

It goes by in a blur. Kinger zones out during everyone's speeches, even his own, despite how much comes tumbling out of his mouth. He just keeps looking at Queenie's portrait, the paper insects Gangle made for the altar nestled beside the frame, the flowers they all picked. And he just…stares.

Then it's bedtime again.

And for the first time, ever, Kinger is alone in his room. Alone in his bed. One side neatly made, untouched. And it will remain that way. Forever.

…His wife is dead, he's finally starting to register. His wife is dead. Gone, abstracted, locked in that dungeon with the others who met the same horrific fate forever. He'll never wake up beside her again, they'll never chatter over a cup of morning tea again, they'll never wander the hills looking for pretty bugs, they'll never have late-night discussions about the future, they'll never dance together again they'll never go on walks together again they'll never laugh together they'll never cry together he'll never touch her hold her kiss her see her ever again until the e nD OF TIME 

For the first time the entire day, for the first time he can remember, Kinger weeps. The overdue realization forms a lump in his stomach that threatens to implode him like a black hole. Queenie is dead. His only consolation is that the others can't hear his sobs after he muffles them under at least three pillows.

Queenie is dead.

His wife is dead. His wife is dead. His wife is dead hiswifeisdeadhiswifeisdeadhiswifeisdeadhiswifeisdead hiswifeisdead hiswifeisdeadhiSWIFEISDEADhISwiFeiSdEAdH#iS@w*&iFe$%@i#s*dEa#^D — !

Live life cherishing each memory and each moment. The words manage to rip him out of his fit, returning him to the here and now. 

He - remembers that. Somehow.

He made that promise to Queenie, didn't he? She would want him to live. If their roles were switched, Kinger would certainly want the same for her. 

He decides, tears still staining his wooden surface and his heart still pounding a thousand miles a minute.

He will do so. 

No matter what becomes of him in the process.

A couple days later, a new player arrives. The slot machine names them Zooble. The first player to never know Queenie. 

—

Kinger hasn’t been feeling alright lately.

Well, when does he, frankly, but today's genre of unwellness from him seems to be more from the 'melancholic' angle rather than the 'crazy old man' angle. He didn't show up for breakfast or dinner and outright resisted ( politely, but still ) when Ragatha tried to drag him along for the day's adventure. Kinger never skips out on adventures, much less actively protests going on one.  

Pomni knows it best to not snoop into others' business, but against her better judgment decides to do so anyway. What? She's worried for a friend. And sometimes that friend kind of needs his business being snooped through because he's somewhat insane. 

"Don't bother," Jax tells her as they pass each other in the hallway, apparently having read Pomni's mind. Not like it was that difficult to tell what she was doing, considering it's bedtime yet she's going in the exact opposite direction of where her room is. "I really don't know why you choose to willingly subject yourself to all of that nutball rambling."

Pomni frowns. "Maybe I… like all the nutball rambling…?" Truthfully, Kinger's eccentricities aren't nearly as bad as Jax makes them out to be, but that's also not why Pomni likes stopping by his place every so often. Even if some of his bug facts are actually kinda interesting.

Jax snorts and continues to his room. "To each their own."

Pomni just rolls her eyes. 

The tent's already completely dark by the time Pomni gets to the fort. She knocks, bracing herself for the inevitable yelp from the other side of the doorway, only this time it…doesn't happen. She tries again to a similar lack of response, and hums contemplatively. Kinger definitely isn't in his room, she would've seen him coming down the hallway if that were the case. Maybe he's somewhere else in the tent or on the grounds? No, he almost never stays up past 'curfew'. Maybe he's already fallen asleep?

"Kinger?" Pomni calls, hesitating but ultimately choosing to open the door. "You in - "

There's the screaming, only this time Pomni matches it with a shriek of her own at the sight of a bunch of luminescent bugs crawling around the inside of the fort. They scatter at the noise, swarming to the back half of the fort behind Kinger like he's some kind of shield.

"Oh, Pomni, you scared me," Kinger says, giving a sigh of relief.

" You scared me , what's with - " Pomni pauses before she takes a step inside. "Uh, sorry, can I come in?"

Kinger brightens up instantly. "Oh, of course! You're always welcome, Pomni. Please, make yourself at home."

"Th-Thanks," Pomni stammers, shuffling inside and slamming the door shut behind her. The bugs seem to have realized the lack of danger and have returned to idling about the room, with a couple butterflies having landed on Kinger's head. "Sorry for scaring your bugs, I just, uh…wasn't expecting them."

"No worries! They don't seem too bugged," Kinger says, completely oblivious to the pun he just made that would’ve made Pomni’s eyes roll had it been intentional. “Wanna say hi to them? They’re really friendly.”

Pomni settles down beside Kinger, flip-flopping between sitting with her legs splayed out or having them criss-crossed in an attempt to get comfortable. “I, uh, I’ll pass for the meantime.”

Kinger shrugs. “Whatever works for you.”

Pomni glances up to the ceiling, the dimmed, worn fabric of the pillows now being littered with brightly glowing bugs. There are some reds, a couple of yellows and greens, a few pinks - most of them are blue. Blue butterflies, to be specific, it’s kind of overwhelming. Pomni imagines this is what the inside of a disco ball would be if one were to step inside. 

“So, uh, what is with the bugs?” Pomni inquires. Her immediate assumption would be that Kinger smuggled them from outside, but she certainly hasn’t seen any insects like these crawling around the grounds before. Maybe he brought them back from an adventure and managed to hide them from Caine, but Pomni can’t remember seeing any bugs like these on an adventure either. 

“Yeah, the bugs! They’re…” Kinger trails off. Pomni can sense the darkening in his mood, and instantly regrets the question.

Pomni grimaces. “You…don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Kinger shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You deserve an explanation for…” He stops, and raises an eyebrow. “…Was I acting weird today?”

“I mean, weirder than normal.”

“Okay, that lines up,” Kinger lets out a weighted breath. “So, I’m not good with telling the time, and especially not keeping track of dates, but sometimes I guess I just get this… feeling in my chest. It’s hard to explain the logistics, it’s just this very sorrowful feeling that happens once in a while. And when I get it I know that a year has passed, because it always pops up when it’s nearing the day that my wife…”

He stops. Pomni doesn’t press for him to continue.

Kinger perks up a bit as he looks to the ceiling, a gathering of butterflies circling above them. “So I guess I was just feeling nostalgic this year, and I asked Caine to whip these up for me. They’re gonna disappear by tomorrow morning, he doesn’t like them running around for too long, so I’m just enjoying the time I have with them.”

One of the butterflies, sporting an ethereal blue aura and an even more brilliant shade of blue on its back wings, flies down and lands on Kinger’s outstretched finger. It seems quite cozy there. Kinger laughs quietly, bringing the butterfly close so that Pomni can examine it. 

“She loved these things,” he says. “ Menelaus blue morpho. They have a wing structure that causes the coloring on the dorsal wings to be iridescent.”

Pomni smiles incredulously. “Uh…the what now?”

Kinger chuckles, surprisingly lighthearted. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get it on my first try either. Just call them blue morpho, they seem to be fine with that.”

Pomni tilts her head to the side, bells jingling, as she examines the butterfly more closely. She’s almost jealous of its vivid coloration: if she has to be stuck in this stupid jester body, the blue on her clothes could’ve at least been this shade. “It is really pretty.”

Kinger nods in agreement. “Yeah.” Even with his lack of a mouth, Pomni can see the smile on his face just from the brightness in his eyes. “When I got Caine to make these for her - er, my wife, I mean - she smuggled a couple of them back to our room. We had a mini light show in there for days , and she kept them properly fed and made sure they got enough sun. Caine did eventually find out and ended up snapping them away with the rest of them, but not before Queenie stood her ground. Boy , did she give him a scolding. She’d been frustrated with Caine never allowing us to keep our own belongings outside of what came with our rooms for a while, so it was pretty inevitable. But - uh, what do you kids say nowadays? ‘Ripped him a new one’? Yeah, she did that.”

Pomni barely manages to hold back a burst of laughter; when she regains her composure, she offers Kinger a warm smile. “Your wife sounds pretty cool.”

Kinger hums, amused but nonetheless mournful. “Yeah. You would’ve loved her, Pomni.”

An ambient quiet washes over them, and almost subconsciously Pomni leans to rest her head on Kinger’s shoulder. They both look to the butterfly perched on Kinger’s finger; it idles for another moment, as if pondering its next move, before it flutters away to join its kin in the air.

“I…know she would’ve loved you, too,” he continues. 

They say no more words, simply watching the insects perform their little dance in silent contentment.