Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re very pretty.”

Stanley’s head snaps up at the low voice, his mind suddenly on high alert. There shouldn’t be anybody at the park right now, it was one of the many reasons he always came here at the same time every day. Most people who would be here are either at work or at school, and it makes for a great spot to draw because it’s not crowded and it’s nice and quiet.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you.” The voice purrs as Stanley desperately scans the surrounding area for the source. He zeroes in on a man leaning against a tree about a foot to his left, a small smile on the other’s face.

A face that Stanley notes is very pretty.

The man’s dark skin was accentuated by even darker curls that framed his face, a small braid falling just below his shoulders, and he had some apparent stubble. From where Stanley was sitting, he noticed that behind the glasses, the man’s eyes were a striking yellow. Like honey or maybe a sunflower. He also had a strange yellow marking on his left cheek just below his eye, like someone had drawn bricks into his skin. He donned a lot of gold jewelry – rings and earrings and… were those elf ears?

Stanley suddenly realizes he had been staring, and he blushes in embarrassment as he pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. He quickly types something, and with a press of a button the text-to-speech app speaks out his question.

‘Uhm, hello? Who are you?’

“I will tell you my name if you tell me yours.” The stranger chuckles. “A fair trade, don’t you think?” Stanley furrows his brows, a bit skeptical, but he typed his name down on the app anyway.

‘Stanley.’

“Stanley.” The stranger smiles softly. “A lovely name. You may call me The Narrator.” This makes Stanley pause, blinking as his brain processes the information.

The Narrator? As in the God of Muses? As in the son of The Parable?

Everyone knew about the Pantheon of Deities that ruled over the Earth: The Parable and its children The Curator, The Narrator, and The Timekeeper. The only things known about them being passed down through stories told through generations. It was rare to ever meet one of them, most of the time you wouldn’t realize it was even one of them at all. It was unheard of to have one speak to you directly. They stayed away from humans, preferring to watch from afar as their champions, chosen by their prophets, complete quests for them.

Stanley could hardly believe the man standing in front of him was one of those deities.

He snaps out of his thoughts as The Narrator chuckles again.

“Yes, I am The Narrator you’re thinking of. God of Muses.” Stanley hopes he doesn’t look dumbstruck, averting his gaze to write something down on the app again.

‘Okay. Why are you here? What do you want from me?’

“Didn’t you hear me before? I said you’re very pretty.” The Narrator steps forward, closing the small distance between the two so he was standing right in front of Stanley. “It’s not often that one gets a compliment from a god.”

Stanley is quick to type a thanks on his app and lets it play out.

“There we go. There’s your manners.” The Narrator replies smoothly, lowering himself down so he was seated right next to Stanley. It was a fluid motion; every movement the deity made was as graceful as a dancer. “I think you’re one of the prettiest humans I've seen yet.” Stanley feels himself flush at the compliment, bringing his sketchbook up to cover the lower half of his face.

‘Thank you again.’ He types quickly.

“Tell me, Stanley…” The Narrator purrs, and Stanley feels his blush deepen. Why did his voice have to sound like it was dripping with honey? Just stop being gay for two seconds! “Why do you deny me the pleasure of hearing your voice?” Stanley shivers, seemingly focusing very hard on typing his reply.

‘I’m mute. I can’t talk. At all.’

“Mute?” The Narrator repeats the word like the concept was foreign to him. “That’s a shame, I believe your voice would be very lovely to listen to. Though, personally, I cannot imagine losing my ability to speak. I think I would lose my sanity rather quickly if that occurred.”

‘It’s annoying, but you get used to it. It’s not a big deal, now. Question. Do you know sign language?’

“That’s the one where you use your hands to communicate, correct?” A nod from Stanley. “I’m afraid I do not. However, if it’s your preferred method of communication, I would be more than willing to learn. Perhaps you’ll teach me?” Stanley scrunches his nose, and it takes a long moment before he finishes typing the response.

‘I guess I can, if you want, but I don’t think we’d have any way to communicate to actually plan when and where to meet for those lessons. I mean, unless you have, like, a phone or something? Do gods have phones?’

“I can figure something out, never you fear, Stanley. May I acquire your number?”

Stanley’s mind goes blank, and he blinks as he processes the question.

Did… did a god just ask him out?

Holy shit. A god just asked him out.

(The Narrator called him pretty.

Stanley had to wonder how low his standards were – he was the most average looking man on the planet, and The Narrator was a literal deity. The being was the prettiest person – person? being. – Stanley had ever seen.

Yet he thought Stanley was pretty.)

“Stanley? It’s rude to keep someone waiting.” Stanley nearly jumps out of his skin. He signs a quick sorry, forgetting the other didn’t know the language, and writes his number down on a blank page of his sketchbook along with a little note.

“Thank you, love.” Love??? “Until we meet again.” In one fluid motion, The Narrator was up and walking away, leaving Stanley dumbstruck.

-

Stanley stares down at the sketches he had done.

After the Narrator left, Stanley stayed to draw some more, but it was apparent by all the doodles that the deity never left his mind. There was a whole page full of small drawings of him; smiling, frowning, a full body drawing of him leaning against the tree.

Stanley considered himself a relatively good artist. Definitely better than most people. Though, despite his skill, none of his sketches seemed to capture the essence of the real thing. There was always something… off with the drawings, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Yet, he still found himself staring at the images just as he had stared at the being when it was sat in front of him. He even doodled a heart in the corner of the page.

Goodness, he was acting like a schoolgirl!

He packs up his things and catches the bus home, trying to keep his mind off of the Narrator.

(Though that’s easier said than done.

The deity has seemed to worm his way into Stanley’s brain like a catchy song. He heard that stupidly sweet voice ring clear as day in his head as he waited for his stop. Ugh. Why was that man so… perfect? Stanley was much too gay for this.

The Narrator was going to be the death of him. He was sure of it.)

He gets off at his stop – after zoning out and almost missing it, mind you – and immediately pulls out his phone after he gets into his house and texts his mom.

Mom help I think I just got flirted with and asked out??

Oh, really? Who’s the lucky guy?

I don’t know if you can even call him a guy because he was literally the God of Muses???

…

Stanley stares at the three dots as his mom types her response.

…Alright. Was he cute?

She didn’t believe him. Not that Stanley could blame her, of course. He knew as well as anybody that the gods didn’t speak to humans.

Very. He left and I made a bunch of sketches of him. It’s kinda stupid. I’m acting like a schoolgirl and I barely know this guy. He asked me to teach him ASL and also for my number.

That’s nice, dear. Don’t forget to eat, okay? I love you!

Yeah, I’ll make something right now. Thanks mom. I love you too.

He sets his phone down on the counter and, true to his word, makes himself some lunch.

(Stanley checks his phone often.

He wouldn’t exactly say he was hoping for a text from the Narrator – he was still unsure if gods even had phones – more like… he was checking if the other had “figured something out” as he said he would.

Curiosity. That’s all it was!

And if he falls asleep with his phone in his hand that night, that’s his business)

-

The Narrator has a bit more spring in his step as he walks away from Stanley.

He was rather intrigued by the mortal man. His brown curls that framed his freckled face, his light blue eyes, that interesting scar on the side of his face. The awkward smile he wore, and the beautiful pink that tinted his cheeks when complimented

He hadn’t lied by any means when he said the other man was pretty.

He unfolds the scrap of paper that Stanley had written his number on, surprised to see five little words underneath the numbers.

I think you’re pretty too.

Cute.

When he appears back in his garden, he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of the Timekeeper lounging on one of the benches.

[“About time you showed up. You’ve been gone for ages.”]

“It was an hour at most. Not that long.” The Timekeeper rolls its eyes, knocking a couple of fruits off of one of the trees with its tail.

[“Where have you been?”]

“That, my dear sibling, is none of your concern.” The Narrator huffs, rolling his eyes as Timekeeper pouts at him.

[“What’s that you’ve got in your hand, then?”] The Narrator is quick to stuff the note in his pocket.

“Once again it’s none of your concern, Timekeeper. Now, I would prefer it if you would remove yourself from my garden.”

[“Nah. That’s boring.”] Timekeeper’s tail moves to dig around in the Narrator’s pocket, pulling out the note and bringing it over to them.

“Hey! Keep that bloody tail to yourself!” Narrator hisses, moving to try and grab the paper back. It was already too late for that, though. Timekeeper had unfolded the paper and was reading it.

[“Hey. This is a phone number… Were you talking to a human?”] They gasp dramatically. [“The Parable is gonna be so mad at you!”]

“No I wasn’t and no it won’t, I’m its favorite.”

[“Ignoring the favorite comment, this is a human phone number! You were talking to a human!”]

“I was not.”

[“Oh, of course. Silly me. You weren’t talking with a human, you were flirting with a human! What’s his name? Is he cute?”]

“The cutest- wait. No! Timekeeper, you really should learn to keep your nose out of other people’s–”

“Narrator.”

The Narrator is cut off by the Parable’s voice ringing clearly through the garden.

Shit.

[“Ohhh, you’re in trouble~!”]

“Silence. We’re having a family meeting.” The Parable speaks again, making Timekeeper sigh.

[“Alright. Come along, Narry.”]

“You’re insufferable.” Narrator rolls his eyes, but follows Timekeeper out of the room anyway. What could the Parable want? Family meetings never got called unless something serious was happening.

The Narrator and the Timekeeper arrived before the Curator did, but the Parable was, of course, the first one seated at the round table.

“So. It’s come to my attention that one of you spoke to a human.” The Parable’s pure white eyes seemed to pierce right through the Narrator’s very soul. “Narrator? Care to explain?”

He really didn’t want to, but it’s not like he could just refuse, either, so…

“He… was cute.”

“Cute? Narrator, you cannot be serious about that.” The Curator sighs heavily. “Please, you cannot go after every mortal that you think is cute.”

“It is not every mortal I think is cute. Stanley is the first one I’ve ever spoken to. There was something… different about him. Something that made me feel like I had to speak to him.” The Narrator stretches his golden wings nervously. “I-I cannot explain it.”

“That is no excuse, Narrator.” The Parable’s voice was firm, it left no room for argument. “You know as well as your siblings that talking to humans is strictly forbidden.” It frowns at him, the fairy wings on its back twitching agitatedly.

“Listen, I can’t help that I thought he was pretty and wanted to get to know him better.” The Narrator starts in an attempt to defend himself.

“Silence.” The Parable holds up a hand. “I expressly forbid you from seeing or communicating with that human again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Just listen–”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” The Narrator sighs.

“Good. Then it seems we’ve reached an agreement. Dismissed.”

The Narrator attempts to maintain his composure as he makes his way back to his garden. Forbid him from seeing Stanley? He’d like to see it try.

(Actually, he really wouldn’t, but it’s nice to have a defiant thought every now and then.)

The Narrator pulls up menus and codes on his glasses, and it takes him a moment to figure out how to send a message to Stanley. When he does figure it out, he takes another moment to figure out what to say.

Hello, Stanley. This is the Narrator. I told you I would figure something out! I was hoping we could discuss my lessons in sign language. Thank you!

Yes. That’s perfect. He hits send.

He spends the rest of the day waiting for a reply. Patiently, mind you! He knew Stanley was probably asleep – it was nighttime in the human world after all. Though, perhaps the Narrator could bring Stanley here?

That wasn’t a bad idea…

-

The Narrator was eternally grateful for his abilities.

He was able to easily locate Stanley’s place of residence, and was pleased to discover the mortal man was, in fact, sleeping. He wouldn’t resist, or he wouldn’t resist much, at least.

The Narrator slips easily through Stanley’s window. He silently inspects the room, frowning a bit at the small space – there wasn’t enough room for his wings. Oh well.

He scoops Stanley up in his arms – blankets and all – and slips back out the window and into the night.

Admittedly, this probably wasn’t the best idea, but the Narrator wasn’t the God of Knowledge. That was the Curator’s job.

He spreads his wings and carries Stanley back to his garden.

Chapter Text

Stanley yawns as he begins waking up, stretching out his muscles and rolling over.

…Only to roll right off of a bench and onto the ground.

He groans from his spot on the ground, finally opening his eyes and sitting up. This… was not his bedroom. This wasn’t even a house. From what he was registering in his half-asleep brain, he appeared to be in the middle of a huge garden. For some reason. What the heck, man? It’s not like he could call out either. He had no way of asking where he was or how he got here. Wonderful. Just great. He rubs his back – which he could feel starting to bruise from landing on the ground – and stands up.

One thing he had to admit: the garden was beautiful. Beautiful green plants and giant trees with ripe fruit hanging down from their branches, moss and vines crawling up their stumps. Vibrantly colored flowers were freckled and clumped across the lush fields of green grass and shrubs. He notes the beautiful fountain covered with ivy towards the center of the garden, filling the space with the sound of running water – it seemed to let out into a winding stream that wove through the whole space. Stanley assumes he’s outside due to the twittering of birds and the sunlight filtering through the branches above his head, dappling the ground with patches of it. He can’t be sure though.

Stretching again, Stanley decides to make his way towards the fountain. He figures that the water would be calming and would help keep him from totally panicking. The gravel path underneath his feet crunches as he walks, but it soon gives way to a simple dirt walkway as he steps over a bridge where the stream gets particularly wide.

Where is he?

That was the first item on his ‘List of Things to Figure Out,’ right before “How the hell did he get here?” The last thing he remembers is sitting in his bed, waiting for a text from…

Oh! The Narrator was supposed to text him!

He quickly pats down all of his pockets, before locating his phone in the inner pocket of his jacket. He unlocks it and sees a message from an unknown number:

Hello, Stanley. This is the Narrator. I told you I would figure something out! I was hoping we could discuss my lessons in sign language. Thank you!

He snorts at how formal the message is. What a dork. Wait, no, focus! Right. Weird garden. Maybe the Narrator knew something about this? He sends a text to the deity, hoping that he could help figure it out.

hey, narrator? sorry i just saw this, i was asleep when you sent me that first text. anyway that’s not the point. i woke up in this weird garden?? i’m afraid i got kidnapped or something?? help??

He sends the message, and he doesn’t expect the reply to be as fast as it is.

Stay where you are Stanley. Give me a moment.

Weird. Stanley does as he’s told, though, and he takes a seat on the edge of the fountain, watching a ladybug land on the ivy growing on it. He notes that ivy doesn’t look overgrown or like the fountain has been neglected, no, it looks like it’s meant to be there. Like a design choice. It looked nice.

He hears footsteps crunching on the gravel and looks up to see… the Narrator?

He looked different from the day they met. Instead of dark, freckled skin he had golden skin with darker gold markings – almost like scars – across his body. His eyes were pure gold, but Stanley swore he could see flecks of white in them, like glitter. There was a pair of giant, golden wings sprouting out of his back, as well as a pair of golden horns – similar to a ram’s horns, only thinner – marred in his dark brown hair, and they were covered in silver jewelry.

[Narrator?] He finally signs, face red as he realizes how long he was staring. His face only reddends more at the Narrator’s confused look as he remembers the other doesn’t know sign. He’s quick to pull up his text-to-speech app.

‘Narrator?’

“The one and only. I figured that, since we are in my domain and I don’t have the energy to be in my humanoid form at the moment, I could roam around in my true form. I hope you don’t mind?”

‘Why would I mind? It’s your domain. You can do whatever you want.’ Stanley shrugs like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” The Narrator nods thoughtfully, taking a step closer to Stanley. He was close enough to touch now, and before Stanley can even think of stopping himself he’s reaching out to touch the Narrator’s golden skin.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe a feeling like metal? Or perhaps he thought he wouldn’t be able to touch him at all? The sensation of the Narrator’s skin was… oddly human. It felt just like normal flesh, well, aside from the way it was cold to the touch.

(The Narrator tenses as Stanley’s hands rest on his shoulders.

Memories of eons ago come flooding to his mind. A past better left forgotten. Memories better left locked up.

A part of him wanted to pull away, but another, smaller part of him urged him to stay. It would be different this time. Things would be alright.

He wasn’t sure which part of himself to listen to.)

Stanley lets out a breath as his hands start mindlessly drifting towards the feathery wings folded against the Narrator’s back. Almost instantly, they flare out and away from Stanley’s slim fingers. The mortal retracts his hands almost instantly, afraid he crossed a boundary. He’s quick to yank out his phone and type an apology.

‘I’m so sorry, Narrator, I have no idea what came over me!’

“I-It’s not a problem, Stanley, just… not the wings. They are sensitive.” He clears his throat, pulling on the edge of his cloak. “I-In any case, welcome to my garden, Stanley. I was hoping I would be back before you woke up, but it appears that I horribly misjudged your sleep schedule. I apologize if you were scared to wake up here.”

‘A little.’ He admits, glancing away. Wouldn’t anybody? Waking up in a strange place and knowing full well that’s not where you should be? There was the answer to question number one; now on to question two. ‘How did I get here?’

“Yes, about that…” The Narrator soon looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… kind of took you here while you were sleeping?” Stanley’s eyes widen, and it takes all of his energy to not start freaking out. Did the Narrator just admit to kidnapping him?

‘You kidnapped me?!’

“Kidnap is… such a strong word.” He chuckles nervously at the look Stanley was giving him. “Okay, okay. Yes, it is also the correct word. My point still stands!”

‘No, it doesn’t.’

“You’re so mean to me.” The Narrator rolls his eyes.

‘You literally kidnapped me, I’d say you’re the mean one.’

“I hate that you have a good point.”

-

Laura Parker knocks on her son’s door, waiting patiently for him to answer.

“Stanley? Honey, you left some of your colored pencils at my house last time you came over. I wanted to bring them back!” She calls through the door.

No response.

That was odd. Her son was always quick to answer the door. Was he still asleep? He wouldn’t be at the park right now, it was too early.

“Stanley?” She tries again, ringing the doorbell this time. Still no answer. This was weird. Stanley never took this long to answer the door, even when he was asleep. She glances around before moving over to the first floor window.

Stanley had left it open.

Laura grips the window sill and hoists herself over the edge, clambering in a bit awkwardly as she lands on the floor on the other side. The house was dead silent. Suspiciously so. Stanley hated silence. There was always a TV show going in the background or music playing from a speaker, but none of that was happening. The silence was loud. Uncomfortable.

“Stanley.” She was really worried now. This was really unlike him. Okay. She should calm down and text him.

Stanley. Are you okay? I came to drop off some colored pencils that you left at my house and you weren’t here.

Laura hits send, tapping anxiously on the counter while waiting for a response only for a red warning icon to appear next to the message.

This message failed to send. Please try again.

That’s weird. She hits the resend button, waiting for her message to go through.

This message failed to send. Please try again.

She tries a few more times, only to be left with the exact same error message each time.

Something happened.

Something had to have happened. There were too many variables for this to just be a misunderstanding. She walks back out the door and gets into her car, tapping on the steering wheel anxiously.

(She should report this, right?

Go to the police. File a missing persons report. Do something.

Though, she knew that the police could only do so much. Not to mention that, without any concrete evidence that something bad happened, Laura doubted that anyone would believe her, anyway. She could hear it now, ‘Oh, mothers are prone to worrying. I’m sure he’s just fine!’

If someone says that to her she just might end up in jail. She just wants her son to be okay.

She just wants him to be okay.)

-

“So, Stanley, may I ask you some questions? I feel as if I don’t know anything about you at all!”

The two were walking through the garden, and Stanley was glancing around in awe. Every so often, the Narrator would see a particular flower and dive into a ramble about what flower it was and where it came from. For the most part, though, they walked in silence. The request had come out of nowhere, but Stanley thought it was a fair one nonetheless.

He rolls his eyes, typing out his response.

‘That’s because you don’t. I’ll let you do it if I get to ask you questions in return. Seem like a fair trade?’

“Yes, that seems fair. So, Stanley, what do you do for work?”

‘I’m an artist. Well, a freelance artist. I have a few regular clients, but for the most part my customers come and go.’

“That hardly sounds like a stable job.” Narrator furrows his brow in confusion. Stanley chuckles silently, shrugging.

‘It’s not. But it’s what I enjoy. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. I tried an office job once, and I hated that. Too restrictive for my tastes.’

“Interesting… so, you value your freedom quite a bit, then?”

‘I do. I hate being restricted, hate being told I have to do something a certain way or that I have to get something done at a certain time. With being a freelance artist, not only do I get to be my own boss and work on my own time, but I get to do something that I enjoy.’

“Fascinating. So-” Stanley holds up a hand, effectively cutting the deity off.

‘You asked a question. Now it’s my turn.’ Stanley pauses, waiting for a response. Narrator simply nods, gesturing for him to continue. Stanley grins, typing his question into his app excitedly and letting it play out.

‘Why do you not talk to humans?’ Narrator blinks. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. How does he even go about answering it? He wasn’t even sure of the answer himself. It’s been a rule since before he started existing.

“I… don’t have a very good answer for that, I’m afraid. All I can tell you is that the Parable put it in place as a rule eons ago, before I even existed. It refuses to speak on the reason, and none of us ever ask. We just assume it’s a… touchy subject.” Stanley frowns. Not really the answer he was hoping for, but if it’s the only one he’ll get he’ll take it.

‘Oh. Okay. Good to know. So, if you’re not allowed to talk to humans, why are you talking to me?’

“I… cannot actually be sure about the reason.” Narrator hums in response, stopping at a particularly large flower and gently brushing his fingers over the soft petals. “It was like there was a force pulling me to you. Telling me to speak. It’s all rather odd.”

And you’re cute.

The Narrator doesn’t say that part, the words dying on his tongue.

‘Weird.’ Stanley shrugs, a million other questions running through his mind. He doesn’t let any of them escape through his fingers, though. It’s the Narrator’s turn to ask questions.

“So, Stanley.” The Narrator pauses, turning to look at the mortal man. “Are you familiar with flower language?” Stanley shakes his head. He knew that flowers had meanings, but he didn’t know them. The only one he knew was that roses represent love, but everyone knew that.

The Narrator chuckles and with a wave of his golden hand, he summons a bouquet of vibrant flowers. The blooms seem to slither up out of the ground and wrap around each other, their stems braiding together gently. They curl around the Narrator's hand, blooming right before Stanley’s eyes. Their bright petals unfurl and they reach up towards the sunlight.

“Pick one of these flowers and I’ll tell you the meaning.” Stanley studies all of the flowers, before reaching out and plucking a small purple one from the bouquet. The stem wraps around his hand, and he smiles a bit at the sensation.

“Of course you’d pick that one.” The Narrator chuckles at Stanley’s confused expression. “That one is a water willow. They symbolize freedom.”

The Narrator gently plucks the flower out of Stanley’s hand, reaching up to tuck it behind his ear. Stanley flushes, his hand moving up to gently touch the flower that now rested behind his ear.

‘Thank you.’

“Of course, that flower really compliments the shade of your eyes. They’re a beautiful blue…” It just sort of came out, the Narrator didn’t even mean to say it. Oh well. Stanley hates how his face heats up even more. He was not trying to fall for his kidnapper. Isn’t that what Stockholm Syndrome is? Instead of freaking out about it, Stanley types another question into his app.

‘Are you trying to flirt with me?’ The Narrator pauses, clearly stunned by the question. He stretches his wings nervously before responding.

“That is certainly a possibility.” Stanley grins crookedly as he lets out a silent chuckle. He was about to respond, but before he could the two got interrupted.

“Narrator, you cannot be serious right now.” The Curator lands next to the both of them, her dark blue wings folding against her back. The Timekeeper followed close after.

Stanley stares at the newcomers, shrinking back slightly. The woman – the Curator, if Stanley had to guess – looked identical to the Narrator. If the Narrator were blue, that is. She had even darker blue constellations scattered across her body and face, almost like freckles, and her white hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head.

The Timekeeper, in contrast, had pitch black skin with purple freckles scattered across their face and body. Accentuating the freckles were purple markings that looked akin to stitches across his body as well. They had much longer white hair pulled into a braid that nearly reached the floor. Their wings were more like a bat’s instead of feathery like the others, and instead of their eyes being a solid one color they had purple irises that seemed to glow within the pitch black of the rest of their eye. Their horns were smaller, too. Like a baby goat’s. They had a tail that was swishing behind them.

“You brought him here?!” The Curator sighs heavily, staring at her brother in disbelief. “The Parable is going to murder you when it finds out!”

[“You mean if it finds out!”] The Timekeeper pipes up – well, spells out is more like it. Stanley notes that they speak through text boxes. Like a video game NPC. [“It doesn’t have to know!”]

“Timekeeper, the Parable knows everything that happens in Deodia.”

“Not everything.” The Narrator disagrees, crossing his arms. “I’ve hidden things from it before.”

“What? You have?”

“I have.”

[“Well, don’t just leave it at that! What did you hide from it??”] The Timekeeper’s eyes sparkle with something that Stanley can’t quite place. Mischief, maybe?

“That’s none of your concern.”

“For once, I agree with our dear brother. What we should focus on is,” She points at Stanley. “The mortal.”

(Stanley wanted to sink into the dirt.

The eyes on him made him uncomfortable. He never enjoyed being the center of attention, but now he had the attention of three ancient deities. It was overwhelming. He felt impossibly small. Impossibly fragile.

He wanted the dirt to reclaim him.)

“Honestly, Narrator, I’m not sure what you see in him. You said he’s cute? I don’t see it.”

[“Curie’s right. He’s not much to look at.”] The Narrator splutters, crossing his arms with a huff.

“Curator, you’re a lesbian, and Timekeeper you’re aroace. Neither of you are qualified to justify my taste in men.”

“Whatever you say, brother.” The Curator chuckles. Stanley scuffs at the dirt with his shoe, typing something into his app and letting it play out.

‘How are you going to hide me from the Parable?’

“That, dear boy, is a good question.” The Curator hums thoughtfully. “It seems Narry has it all figured out, but knowing him he’ll need my help.”

“Rude.” The Narrator huffs as the Curator does something akin to rolling her eyes. “Anyway, Stanley is going to need a new outfit if my idea is to work. Something more like what the muses wear.”

[“A new outfit, hm? That can be arranged.”]

“I don’t trust you for a moment. I’ll help you select the outfit. Come along, Stanley.” In a blur of colors, Stanley was suddenly in a completely different area.

“Alright, let’s see what we have here.” The Curator hums as she and the Timekeeper rummage through a large wardrobe. Stanley shuffles awkwardly as he waits, but when they pull out the outfit his eyes light up excitedly.

‘That’s… beautiful, but are you sure it’ll fit?’

[“Don’t you worry about that. Just go put it on!”] The Timekeeper shoves the clothing into Stanley’s arms and ushers him into a secluded area to change.

-

The Narrator is sitting on the edge of the fountain when his siblings return with Stanley.

“Narry. Come get your human.” He can hear the smirk on his sister’s voice as he looks up.

…And the world stills for a moment.

Stanley was wearing a simple pale blue button up paired with a dark blue vest with golden buttons and a pair of black slacks. With it came a rope necklace with a golden gem on it, and a pair of star and moon earrings. Simple black dress shoes completed the look.

Stanley looked gorgeous. Blue really was his color, it suited his complexion wonderfully. The Narrator can hardly speak as he stares at Stanley.

The Parable be damned. This was the most beautiful man the Narrator had ever laid eyes on.

[“Wow. If I knew a cute guy was all I needed to make you shut up I would have done this a long time ago.”] The Timekeeper teases lightly as the Narrator’s face heats up.

“You… look nice, Stanley.”

‘Thanks.’ Stanley grins. ‘So, what does this plan of yours entail?’

“Well, Stanley, you’re going to become a Muse.”