1 Bookmark by AtomicBomber
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“Hans.”
Silence falls at last, sudden and complete. They stand facing one another, close enough now that Henry can see the pulse fluttering at Hans’ throat. Close enough to see the way his hands tremble, just slightly, at his sides. Henry steps forward and sets the book firmly on the bed between them. He straightens, meeting Hans’ eyes at last.
“I know you wrote this,” he says.
Hans’ carefully assembled mask falters, its edges cracking to reveal a sharp pain behind his eyes. Then he laughs, once, short and broken, and drags a hand through his hair. Behind it all, a small and delicate flicker of something remains, a trembling ounce of hope.
“How,” Hans stops himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, “how much of it did you read?”...
“All of it.”
OR: What if that book and potion we find under Hans’ bed in the Devil’s Den were ACTUALLY his (and written about a certain someone), and Henry finds it…?
Bookmarked by AtomicBomber
21 Sep 2026