Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kirby hesitates, his hand wrapped around the key in Dom's chest—the beast wriggles and writhes, howling in pain. But Kirby studies the rest of its body, suddenly realising. The key must act as a heart if it is located in Dom's chest. What will happen if I rip it out?  Would it still count as Fluff's heart, or is this a penalty? Kirby does not know.

There is no other way out. I have to remove it! But is it the right thing to do? Wouldn't this compromise the deal? Fluff did not say I could not harm anyone, but I don't think he is going to be very happy with me if I seriously hurt Dom.

Right and wrong should not matter in a situation such as this. Still, Kirby finds themself in a moral quandary. The walls are closing in, and time is ticking by at the pace of a hummingbird's heartbeat. And still, Kirby cannot decide. Who are they to play, the judge and executioner? It is not fair. Why must he decide for this wretched creature's fate? Even if Kirby despises this husk of a man, it is not right to kill it.

Dom flings Kirby off its body, and Kirby falls on the floor with a thud, the back of his head flaring with pain. They took too long to decide, and Dom is not stupid enough to let its chance slip between its meaty fingers. Kirby tries to roll away, but the air has been knocked out of him. They can only dazedly glance upwards, trying to blink the dark spots out of their eyes. The room is so dark Kirby is unsure if he has something in his eyes or if the little light has been snuffed out.

Dom leans over Kirby, pinning them against the ground like a wolf pouncing on prey. Kirby tries to crawl away, but they are too slow. Dom wraps its hand around his torso. Its entire palm encompasses Kirby's chest as if they are some doll to toss around—a plaything to throw from to and fro. The beast squeezes tight, and Kirby gurgles wetly. He cannot do anything but bear the pain. It comes in short and grows numb the second they lose their senses. Kirby can only hear himself screaming in pain as his organs and bones are crushed, the darkness hiding the worst of it.

Kirby is tossed in the air. He feels vertigo and is promptly caught in something warm and slimy. Kirby has no idea what it is, but immediately, their subconscious does. It sends alarm bells ringing in his head, drawing the little oxygen he has left from his lungs. But their limbs are too mangled to struggle. Kirby can only scream, and even with his collapsed lung, it comes out with nothing but a waterful of blood and saliva. They cannot do anything.

It is hot and damp, and Kirby loses consciousness just as Dom spits him back out. They only feel a strong hand pulling him to the sidelines and a sharp voice admonishing the beast. Kirby drifts off, unsure if he will ever wake up.

Kirby sleeps peacefully. He feels and thinks of nothing, blissfully unaware of everything. They only know they are safe and warm, swaddled in darkness. He never wants to leave. Still, a tiny niggle in the back of Kirby's head grapples for what is not there. Kirby is sure they felt this way before. When he did not have to worry about anything. Warm or coldness - day and night did not exist to them. Kirby just existed, and at the same, they did not exist at all. He was yet still to become a person. Only when Kirby was thrust into the light and cruel coldness did they gain consciousness and learn what it meant to struggle - to survive- to live.

Kirby should be satisfied. Peace is a boon, the weary treasure, and he has been tired for a long time. But Kirby cannot help but wriggle, searching the edges of their mind for why they are here. Kirby knows he is not supposed to be here. It is too soon for them to join what lies behind the void. It takes everything in him to scramble out of the force that has taken hold of him. It feels like wading through a misty dream, but the sharp smell of wet wood and flowers suggests otherwise. It is sour, a rotting smell that tickles the back of Kirby's throat—clogging his mouth and nose. They feel like they cannot breathe.

It tastes like magic. Kirby can feel the electricity of the mystic arts on his tongue. It spurns them further to reach back to consciousness, ripping their eyes open with a shuddering gasp. Kirby sees nothing, but they are sure their eyes are open. He blinks, once, twice, and by the tenth time, he turns his head - hoping to see proof he has not suddenly gone blind. 

But where there is no light. Kirby does not know if they can see or not. There is nothing to suggest either possibility. Kirby tries to move, but his body does not respond. For a hot moment, they are reminded of a time they nearly broke every bone in their body and had to be bedridden for months to recover after a very nasty tumble. An Arch Duke further up North of Dreamland sent raiders their way to end their father, the duke's reign of Orange County.  But even then, their body shook under the strain. Kirby had been in undeniable agony, but he was aware of it and his living and barely breathing body. Now, they feel nothing.

Kirby senses the ground grumble from underneath them, recognising the feeling of vertigo. But he stays firmly in place, even as his stomach rolls, and he thinks his chest goes up and down in a telltale sign of panic. Except nothing moves. They have no chest to push up and down for much-needed air, much less do they feel where their skin ends and their clothes start. 

There is nothing, only the ghosts of his senses - haunting him.

Still, Kirby tries to see. Even when they closed their eyes, their mind still spun many a tale in the absence of light. It cannot be that there is nothing. It just cannot be. Kirby refuses to accept it. Achingly slow, Kirby sees in the darkness. It is not truly dark, but he supposes his brain would interpret it as such. They do not know better. Kirby perceives faint outlines, swaying like reeds in the wind. Yet there is no cypher to assure his worries—neither the trickling of water nor the reassurance of a fire.

Only dirt and the cold feeling of vines and roots slithering under their consciousness. Kirby might not be able to feel his body, but he is very much aware of the flowers and thorns surrounding him. They are too close even if Kirby cannot see them in detail or recognise the species. They should not be on him or winding around him like snakes.

Dread curdles in their gut. Kirby fights to press his fingers against it - to feel the skin and warmth bleeding through to his fingertips. But there is nothing. No matter how much they struggle, they will not find what they seek. It is hopeless.

Dread takes hold. Kirby strains their ears, trying to find anything to escape this predicament. Or at least a distraction from the horrible situation he landed in. They try to remember what happened. But Kirby can only catch the faint whisps of how he got here. They recall a desolate mansion transformed into something magical and a handsome prince, and that is it. Kirby digs deeper into the memories, ripping through the shreds of what remains. His mind feels like a ravished banquet. Only the scrapes are left behind. But they are too queasy to feast and shy away from the damage. They will drive themself mad if they overfeed.

A soft humming enters his ears - or an extension of ears. Kirby does not let the technicality distract them. He clings to the sound, desperate for a sign. It sounds heavenly. Kirby does not care that one bit, trying to sidle closer to the source. But they cannot move, staying right where the vines and thorns want him to be.

The longer they listen, the less human it resounds. It sounds like the whistling of wind between the trees, of the river steams sliding down forest paths. It sounds like Spring waking up after a harsh Winter, with the flowers blooming from their frostbitten beds and the hibernating animals coming out of their burrows for the first time in months. It is comforting, despite how alien it sounds. It dispels the unease Kirby feels, and he relaxes.

And yet humming stops. Kirby has a bad feeling about this.

"Oh, you're awake." It says. Its voice is monotone, neither curious nor surprised. It is impossible to get a read on it. Yet, it is familiar. The voice is not spoken through a human mouth, but Kirby knows this is a person deep down. Although, Kirby would not be surprised if it were a deity. They would worship such a sacred melody upon its flowered altar until his knees bled from disuse and not dare question it. Kirby would be its most loyal devotee. 

Kirby wonders if someone can be a person without a body as it rises. Kirby can still not truly see, only taking in faint impressions. But there is something else here than the dominating nature embedding deep into the forsaken earth. Kirby is not sure whether to feel comforted or deeply afraid. 

"Where am I?" Kirby asks. But it does not answer. It reaches over them, gently tucking the vines in as if they are a baby to be laid to rest. The greenery fusses but does not attack despite its many thorns and razor-sharp sides.

It is gardening, Kirby realises, disturbed. And I am the soil. 

However, somehow, Kirby does not feel as upset as they should. They know this creature and what it is doing is not something as mundane as gardening. Kirby scrambles to remember. It comes to them in scraps. There is only one thing in Underhill that would still be alive after its collapse—someone who Kirby yearns for and yet fears.

"Fluff?"

It pauses, and finally, it looks at them. Kirby freezes.

"Yes?" Fluff answers, but he still does not speak from a mouth. Kirby does not know what Fluff is, only that they are beyond their comprehension. 

"Oh." Kirby simply says. They dug too deep. Not right now, but he realises that even though he cannot recall his past actions. They have overstepped a boundary they cannot return from. 

Kirby fucked up.

"Oh?" Fluff repeats, cocking his head. His red eyes shine in the darkness, vaguely illuminating an outline of his face. It looks like a ram's mask stapled over something Kirby never wants to see. Wriggling and oozing, and faintly glowing. 

It is not flesh, but that does not calm Kirby. 

"This is…" real. Kirby does not dare finish his sentence, fearing it would make it real if he did. But deep down, they know it is. This is Marquis Fluff, or rather - the Banished Prince of Spring. The fallen high fae hid behind beauty to cover the macabre. Not that Kirby can blame him. They doubt they would have been so open to talking to Fluff if they had seen Fluff as he is now. 

"Why wouldn't it be?" Fluff inquires. He reaches over to pat the earth. The roses shiver at his touch but no longer adoringly reach out. Their tremors flood Kirby's senses. They are afraid, too, but not for the same reasons Kirby is. 

"How?" Kirby asks. He does not bother questioning the specifics. Fluff knows.

Kirby cannot see Fluff's face. Yet, they can sense Fluff smiling. He climbs upwards to lie on top of Kirby. He is careful, not wanting to disturb the mound he has been tending to for who knows how long. The action brings Kirby no joy, only terror.

Fluff's body is nothing more than a suggestion. It has too many limbs, with caressing hands patting down the soil. Or are they hooves? Kirby cannot tell. They are too focused on where Fluff's head should be. Staring down at them without a hint of emotion and twisted from an angle that should not be possible - unless Fluff was part owl. Truly alien, as Kirby had been warned against.

"Silly, silly. I can hear your every thought." He purrs. One of his hands reaches up to hold Kirby's cheek. But he refrains, laying down on the flower patch he created. His torso contorts to encircle Kirby. He is much larger than Kirby expects, pooling around them like a giant boa. Still, he has a torso or two. Kirby cannot tell. They cannot concentrate.

"Why?"

"Why not? Your thoughts are so very loud, dear." He says so softly. He lays his cheek on where Kirby's heart should be. His head is larger than Kirby's chest, yet his large curling horns do not pierce through the earth or crush Kirby under its heavy weight. Fluff's body has no actual weight, only a whisper of what should be there—disobeying the very laws of nature. Although, when you are nature, do you have to follow the rules? Why be confined to the world when you're not even a part of it?

"How did this happen?" Kirby asks, wishing an explanation would save them even as they know it is too late. He longs for this not to be the end, even if he can feel the doom crawling up to them, looming above him, staring with terrifying eyes. 

"Don't you remember?" Fluff questions instead. Frustratingly, there is no inflexion in his voice. Kirby can only discern the saddened click of his tongue when he realises there is no memory of them being together in Kirby's head. 

"No, I suppose not. The house ate you away—you poor thing. I did the best damage control I could. But it seems my interference was not enough." He croons like a gentle waterfall into a small lake. He shuffles closer, laying his head on Kirby's collarbone like a greedy dragon lying on top of its hoard, "Don't worry, though; I still love you. Even as this."

As what? As what?! Kirby wonders, tasting the hitched breath of panic. And still, their body does not respond, sealing the deal of what they already know but refuse to accept. 

I'm still me. I can see. I must still have-

"Eyes? A mouth, nose and ears. Mortals seem to put a lot of importance on those. I cannot blame them. Aesthetically, they are pleasing though very useless." Fluff murmurs nonchalantly as if those precious things are so easily replaceable. Like a spade or a blanket and not literal human parts that, once lost, can never be recovered. 

Fluff tilts his head, pausing to think.

"Though, they are quite tasty. Among some realms, human bits are a delicacy," He licks his jowls, his fangs shining like sharp sea glass in the sea of darkness. Kirby 'blinks' and they are gone, just as suggestable as everything else, "But it has been too long for me. I wouldn't be able to stomach a human after everything." He giggles. 

"Well, your eyes are not exactly yours anymore." He lifts his eyes, and Kirby bears the total weight of his intense gaze. Surprisingly, Fluff sports the usual two eyes, but they are no less terrifying. Fluff's form possesses no eyelids or eyelashes, just two full moons of red with white rims; that must be the sclera. It strikes an arrow of fear right to Kirby's lost heart. They are not sure if they would prefer for Fluff's irises to swallow the eye whites as it does for many prey mammals or not; the wide-eyed look haunts Kirby to the core.

Despite everything, Kirby has an odd feeling that the only actual reality is Fluff's eyes. Everything else is but a mere projection of the echoes of the void. Unable to keep Fluff into one form when he does not wish to be confined to one.

"It is a shame, too. I liked your eyes the most from your human self." He whispers, perhaps saddened. Kirby leans into it, searching for any sign of regret. A rope for him to pull at Fluff's heartstrings and maybe his only ticket out of here. Even if it cost them everything.

Haven't you already lost everything? What is the point of being this stubborn now?  Kirby does not dignify the thought with an answer, afraid Fluff can hear it if they let it invade their mind. He hopes it will be drowned out by the louder thoughts buzzing around his mind like angry bees in a decorating hive.

"I would have liked that you kept them if you had accepted this fate without struggling." He states, staring as if trying to find Kirby's eyes. But the search is futile as he presses his head against Kirby's chest again. There is no face to talk to, not a recognisable one anyway. "But oh well, I prefer you and your beautiful soul." Fluff shrugs, not frankly bothered even as he laments. There is no empathy in his words. 

"Fluff - I'm scared," Kirby admits, hit by horror all at once. The lack of a body, losing themself - the great unknown. It is too much for him. If Kirby could move, they would throw their head back and scream. But he cannot express himself anymore, imprisoned by inaction and flora. 

"Sshhs, mein Liebling, you'll be okay. I will make sure of it. I will take care of you, and you will feel like new when you wake up. Nothing of the old aches will remain." Fluff shushes, his tone warming. He lovingly gazes upon Kirby, truthful with his sweet promises.

Yet Kirby does not feel inclined to care. It is far too late to be naïvely in love.

They are going to die, and there is nothing they can do about it.

"Better, powerful - and oh so terribly beautiful. You will be magnificent," Fluff laughs, "You have so much potential. You might even go toe to toe with Life itself." He sounds so alien, and Kirby feels like he should puke. If only they could, perhaps he would feel bad if this nightmare was something he could expel like a bad houseguest. But alas, they are a fly caught in a web. 

Fluff pauses, shaking anxiously in the same vein a human would shiver and look behind themself. 

"Don't tell him I said that. They would be cross with the Spring Court if she knew I undermined its power." Fluff quickly adds on. But Kirby does not care - for anything Fluff tells him that is not his salvation is not worth listening to. 

"I don't want to be that! I want to go back." Kirby pleads. Why can I not not stay who I am? I am happy as I am. Why do I need to change? Those questions hang above their head like smoke, but Kirby does not dare utter them. Fluff knows them already. There is no point in saying them as the fae prince shakes his head. 

"it's already too late. You do not exist anymore, as you once did." Fluff tuts, "If I let go of my magic. You will surely feel it. The excruciating pain of what your transformation is doing to you." He lets his paws pat down the earth, the tendrils of his fur digging into the soil. Kirby shudders, suppressing the urge to throw up as he feels a sense of wrongness invade his senses. Not that he would be able to. The knowledge of that makes him even sicker. 

"And, before you ask, you brilliant you, even if I could stop the transformation - you would die instantly. I'm not sure what you would consider a human being - but you don't look quite like your old self anymore. I doubt you could live with this," Vagugely, Kirby can feel Fluff's tendrils expand far deep under the dirt mound. Only parts of it brush against Kirby, wading around the bits that are Kirby - like the roots of a flower.

It is so simple Kirby cannot argue against it, "but gasp and moan in agony." Fluff exhales, an ice-cold chill settling over the earth. It smells sickly, like corrupted magic. It thaws as the frost does upon the first spring sunshine. But no doubt it is the curse, transforming the gentle Spring into the Winter it is supposed to defeat. 

"I would adore it from anyone else but you. I prefer to see you painless, sweetling. I love you too much to make you bear such pain." He croons softly, unmistakable in its authenticity. Kirby refuses the angry retort on their tongue, for as much as they empathise with Fluff - the prince has given them much pain already through this night - even if most of it was unintentional. Kirbyy still feels the burning pain as he does now, scorched alive by Fluff's tender words. 

It hurts. Kirby prefers vitriol above this, for Fluff to hate them and cut them deep until nothing but their blood seeps out of their wounds, and nothing but bitterness remains between them. This pain worms deeper than skin deep. If Kirby still had lungs, they would be breathless in love and anger. 

"Then how am I talk-"

"Telepathy."

"Telepathy?" Kirby repeats, flabbergasted. Fluff's eyes blink in what Kirby supposes is a fae equivalent of a nod. 

"Yes, telepathy. You quite don't have a mouth or lungs anymore. Not fleshy ones, at least." Fluff gently drags his claws over Kirby's entombed chest, revealing the tiny sprouts rising under the dirt. 

"Oh." Kirby is sick. He supposes the roots they felt were less of a metaphor. They are real. 

"You're going to be fine, Schatzie. But I understand that this is difficult. Although, I consider it a blessing." Fluff hums. Kirby has no idea what he means. But as Fluff said, he hears their every thought - every question and every emotion. He explains it promptly. 

"As much as I would have preferred us to be together as fiances before we wed - this is far the better option for you. Your transformation will pass in the blink of an eye with nary the pain or discomfort you would have had if you still possessed a human body." Fluff says wistfully. Kirby does not understand it entirely, but he pieces the puzzle together. They might not remember much from their time together, but Kirby can read between the lines. Once the Dawn came, Kirby would have been trapped in Underhill, under the Void's terrible power and influence. It would not be immediate and, as Fluff said - painful. A piece of Kirby feels saddened that he cannot spend it with Fluff. The more rational, angry part of him wants to scream. 

But there is no point anymore in fighting back. Kirby lost, and they must pay the price - even if they cannot fully remember it. 

"What of the deal? if I lost, then…" Kirby trails off. They are at Fluff's complete mercy. He could do anything he wanted to Kirby.

Fluff rakes his clawed and hooved paws over the earth, putting things back to the right as he rises to the full height of his semi-conjured form. It stretches wide and far above - Kirby cannot track of it. Although, they doubt they would be capable of it even if they still had their human body. 

"I won't ask for your name now. If you did, we wouldn't be equals. But nothing can stop you from binding yourself to me after you've sprouted from your cocoon." He sighs.

"I cannot wait until we become one." He smiles, so enamoured by that future. A very possible future, Kirby realises - inevitable even. 

Fluff covers Kirby's face with one massive paw, spreading his palm until the tips touch the far edges of Kirby's ears used to be. Kirby should not be able to see, yet their vision is not obscured - not one bit. They can only feel the suggestible press of where their face is supposed to be. Like Fluff's form, it is an illusion. Nothing more than the trick of Kirby's crumbling mind. 

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart. When you wake, we will be together again - forever and ever."

Kirby struggles to stay awake, knowing it is their last as themself. But he cannot fight against it. Their world goes dark. Fluff sends him off deep down into the cradle of Mother Darkness instead of the ferryman Kirby was supposed to meet at the end of their life. But Kirby's absence goes unnoticed as they unceremoniously fade away in the realm between realms. 

They wait to be reborn. 

Nature is not only perceived through one's eyes. The plants dig their roots deep in the ground, showing only what they must do to survive. Bearing sweet fruits or a poisonous sting - sometimes both. Animals feed on its produce, and others feast on those who eat from the mother's hand - returning to her gentle caresses underground when everything has been said and done.

Nature is the water, rising in the sky and falling like tears on the earth. It is tangible, as it is invisible and everywhere. Even the deepest corner of a grand palace holds pieces of sand or a rock that was once part of a cliff. It erodes, destroys and nourishes but never truly fades away. Nature is something you can never truly escape from. 

Fire is what awakens the primordial sleeping in its earthly cradle. It burns inside of them, cracking the cocoon and keeping them trapped. It tears out of its prison, screaming and kicking like a babe clawing its way to light. It shoots out of the ground with a vengeance, burning the overgrown garden around it. The earth shakes, grumbling under the crescendo of the newly formed fae's screams. 

It is a being of pure light, yet, as heavenly as it appears- it succumbs to the pressure of Underhill, crumpling to the bedrock on its claws. They scramble upright but do not know how to move, much less how to remain stable. A faint imprint of what those words mean lingers in its mind, but the agony of living replaces it. It disregards them. All they care for is the no-ending pain to stop. Its touch scorches the earth. The remaining grass and flowers shy away from it, stifling their horror at the smoke and fire from what was once their brethren. It burns so deep it barely leaves behind a mark. Burning bright blue and gold before settling on a pinkish white. 

Wings rip from its back, and the creature sobs from the torture. They flare open, lightning the whole cavernous garden. Not a corner remains unlit from its powerful light - deep into the abyss. They quickly drop to the ground as it does not possess the might to keep them upright. The deity gasps for air, curling in on itself. Thrust upon a cold world, it aches to return to darkness and comfort. It takes its time, trying to exist and not cry because suddenly, they have to live even if that is not what they want. It is not their choice to make but one they must endure. 

It wants to scream again, but as they do, they realise it is not a shrill, weak thing - but a roar shaking the world and everything in it. It quiets down, horrified at its own power. It clamps its hands over its mouth. However, the hands are not all theirs - multiple covers its face. They cannot find the arms attached to them or count how many of them there are, but they let go as soon as they register their lack of feeling, and they look nowhere near the sort of hands they are familiar with.

They roll over, terrified of themself. Still, their curiosity cannot be quelled. As much as it hurts, they look. They are paws, not hands, attached to its body. But there are only six of them with elbows and wrists. The whole nine yards. Their hindlegs bend back weirdly, but it does not notice that. 

The deity sits upright. Even that simple action leaves them winded. They blink, nauseous, as their sight also seems to have changed. It is so sharp it hurts. It extends further than it should, covering the blindspots they think they once had. It closes its eyes, bemused that they can still see even if they are sure their seeing peepers are closed.

The deity shrugs. The gesture shakes their entire body. It bites back the electrifying jolt. Its body is not made for the unconscious habits it still clings to.

A wise creature knows to abandon what hurts and strives to move forward. But it is too curious to let go, stretching within in its own mind for a shred of recollection of who or what they once were. But there is nothing to remember nor mortal bias to corrupt its thinking. They are empty, wild and all-seeing.

However, they are not free.

With all this overwhelming power at their fingertips, they can feel the invisible chains keeping them down. Something out there has power over it. They do not like it.

It shakes off the shock, biting down all the pain and hurt. With every step, they shudder and stumble. Its limbs are not made to walk, much less saunter. They drag their useless body of light across the dirt, waking the flames of life to eat at the remaining greenery. They ache and give up before reaching the scorched garden gate. It bites its teeth hard. They are surprised at the warmth filling their mouth. 

The deity looks down. They should not be surprised at the waterfall of blood flowing from its maw. It is thick, with a taste of honey and an iridescent glow closer to the colour of a mother's pearl than crimson. But they instinctively know it is blood, even if it does not hurt.

They paw at it, feeling the consistency between the fibre of their paw-like hands. It feels like custard. They spin it around their front hands, humming deeply in their throat. It feels further down their body than it should.

It stares deeply into the opaque liquid as if it holds the answers of the universe. Ichor, golden blood is supposedly the blood of gods. Even a drop of it should grant someone immeasurable power. A chalice of it should present the ability to predict the future and see the past, and a bowl crown one as an emperor of all mortals. What does that make me, with veins bleeding sap thick as syrup and golden nectar? It wonders, breathless. It does not need to breathe, even if its chest aches. Hanging onto a forgotten reminder of what they once used to be. 

A god. It makes you invincible and the most powerful of all. 

Ah. That makes sense.

It presses its pad against the injuries their sharp fangs made, cauterising the wounds. The blood flow stops. All pain and aches disappear, replaced by clarity and alien calmness. It once more looks at itself, and it has too big a body and too many limbs hindering its movement.

This needs to change. Now.

Their light shifts, transforming on command. No longer hindering or hurting them now that it knows they are its master. It obeys, scared of the calm fury buried under the fire the primordial possesses. It becomes much smaller, landing on two bipedal feet that look so strange. They are naked, except for the scales running down their body—the light glints underneath like lava barely contained beneath the bedrock. They cock their head, bemused. The form is familiar, and yet they cannot remember why. Still, they know it is not correct either. The fur on their head is not hair at all but an imitation. It is glass blown into a familiar shape. They can feel the dazzling light shining through into the very last molecule. So is its eyes. Even if its sight has become more comfortable to adapt to - when they truly open all of their eyes rather than the two focal eyes - they split their face.

It hums, testing its more petite throat. It does not sound like the rumbling of a volcano nor like its very voice will shatter the earth. It takes a step forward, pleasantly surprised when they do not stumble. They exit the garden, leaving a wasteland of ash and scorched earth behind.

The darkness inside the mansion is cold and hazy, like mist. It looks decrepit, with the wallpaper peeling down from rot and mildew. The walls shudder, breathing in deeply like a dying animal. The floor is squishy, and vines overrun the place. As the creature looks closer, all the nature does not seem to be greenery at all. They ignore it. They do not care that the house is alive or if they are walking on its insides. If it strikes, they will burn it to the ground.

Walking is easy, but it feels wrong. With each step, their joints crack. Their skin, if that is what it is - fractures, spilling glass on the floor. The sharp shards glitter in the dim light, leaving behind a trail of starlight and embers. Their body is falling apart. The deity pauses, staring down at itself. This cannot be right. If they are powerful, having such a fragile body is ludicrous. 

They think hard about their dilemma. The faint impression of something quadruple, bathed in moonlight with a long tail, a tuft at the end, and a long flowing mane, comes to mind—their form changes, reacting to their thinking. It is a heavier body, with thrice the weight and sulfur keeping it together. They observe it. They do not hate it, but it does not feel like their body. But it does feel nostalgic. They trot down the hall, the flames of their hairs flickering in the dark. The halls light with their white light. They hold up their head high, proud and magnificent. 

The hallways stretch on forever. The deeper they go, the darker it becomes. They halt, surveying the area. It is a maze, they realise, and they have been going in circles. The house does not want it to wander deeper in. Or to arrive somewhere. That makes the creature all the more curious. It shudders, feeling something ache under their skin. They know what it is. 

Their wings stretch from under the fiery pelt of their equine form. They beat the new appendages, watching the light and embers set the tapestries and wallpapers alight. The house screeches. But the fire does its job. At the end of the corridor, a door appears. The oppressive darkness dissipates, leaving nothing but a burned hallway, shuddering from pain.

The creature smiles, all of its tiny needle-like teeth on display. 

It approaches the door but hesitates. The deity changes, its magnificent form transforming into something small and terrifying. They do not know why, but the doors with their engravings and the tiny slit of light beaming in the returning dark scares them. It is a memory or a glimpse of it. It is the first thing they remember, yet it dances out of reach as they reach to grab it. However, they do not chase after it. Whatever it was, it was worthless. Anything that would make them feel small and helpless has no right to be a part of them. 

They are glorious, ever-expanding light. Nothing will hold it down, especially something as obtuse as fear.

The deity shifts again into something much more burlier and stronger, with horns and two snarling mouths. It bursts through the doors, ready to face down anything. But, the room is empty. Where there once was light is nothing but dull grayscale. The details meld into the background, unimportant as the illusion of the grandeur this place once held has been lost for a long time.

The creature shifts into something unintrusive, putting its nose to the floor to sniff out the problem. It transforms into a wolf, although it is a little too big or fluffy to be one. Still, it follows the trail to the barrier of the balcony, looking down with eagle eyes. A lone fae dances in the centre of the ballroom, relaying elegant move after the other in an endless sway. The guests are long gone, and the food and drink tables are empty. Neither is there an orchestra, as the chairs of the band members have rotted and the instruments lay on the floor abandoned and half eaten. The only thing that remains is the spotlight - showing what the colours of this room once were when it was alive as it holds the fae in its light. 

The newborn entity cowers, afraid at the mere sight of the fae. Instinctively, they know what it is, even if consciously, they have no clue who this fairy is. The forgotten memories snake along its pelt, tugging at their fur, begging for it to remember, for salvation from this curse. None of the voices sound familiar, but for one. Bubbly yet headstrong with a penchant for fun and a little bit of mischief. It sounds like someone who had much love to give. It is saddening to hear them so distraught.

But the creature does not care, snarling at the idea of being frightened. The unknown does not scare them! They are above the void and its denizens. Everyone should fear it - they shall prove it. 

So even when dread wells up inside them, they push forward - their eyes catching the staircase leading to the bottom floor of the ballroom. However, the creature pauses before they descend the stairs. A puppet sits against the wall with long limbs and torn clothes. Its massive bat-like ears have fallen off, too large to support where its hinges have rusted. The vines and greenery have grown thick over its joints, entangling their wrists, neck and ankles like heavy chains - nailing the marionette to the wall.

Tar seeps from its faux eyes, staring ahead with an empty look in its lifeless eyes, staining the varnish of its wooden face deep into the gaping hole of a once-carved smile. Its stomach and lips have been ripped open, displaying what lay underneath its wooden shell. Goopy darkness, with organs cut from their bean-like pods as only the fleshy membrane of what held everything in place remains. The doll's wood is aged and withered.

The deity feels sick, yet they do not know why. The doll was never alive, and what was hiding behind the wooden exterior has long since been removed or fled. However, their uneasiness vestiges deeper than appearances, and they leave it there to keep rotting. It is of no concern to them anymore. 

Quietly as a mouse, they creep down the spiral staircase of the balcony to the ground floor. They are as big as one, too, slinking along the bannisters with a grappling tail. Up closer, the fae movements are still mesmerising to watch. It resembles a handsome man with dark hair like the night sky and a crown of wood and leaves. His clothes are made from the ocean with gold in every stitching, making even the wealthiest entity envious of their wealth. Yet his feet and hands are cloven, with an impressive rack of curling horns and an endearing snout.

It is a lousy attempt at appearing human, but the creature supposes it was never the fae's attempt to pass as one. It only wanted a body to be beautiful and dance - like every fae. They are what they feel, and this powerful prince of midnight feels like an enchanting dream dancing upon a forgotten soirée.

The godly mouse skitters across the floor, observing and plotting its moves. They should not approach it if they value their life. For as much as they are filled with potential to rival all the gods - they are weak from birth. Getting entangled with a fae is a death sentence. They are better off sneaking away and running far away from here. Yet, they must see the bewitching fae up closer. So powerful is the fairy's existence. It cannot pull itself away from it even if it wants to. 

He is familiar. The creature's infinite stomach pools with desire for what it does not understand. Laughter rings in its head, a tenor that could quickly dip into a light baritone and crescendo in an aria with amused giggles. They hunger for food they never tasted, a dance they never performed, and to be loved in a loveless existence. It wants it all.

Does it make me fae? Am I kindred spirits with this enchanting entity?  It asks itself.

And the void answers back, and they know what they are. 

They want to laugh. Of course! It feels so obvious now. They are just like this elegant fae, dancing the time away. They feel so silly for not realising it sooner. There is nothing to be afraid of. They are not in danger. 

It looks up, wondering how to announce its presence to the stunning faerie. A grand entrance, perhaps? Although they had already squandered the opportunity. Going in guns blazing feels like more of their style. But they do not have the luxury of either of those options. 

The fae has stopped dancing, gazing at the tiny mouse on the floor - staring right back at them. The creature cannot decide whether to eat the stunned fairy, wondering if it would satisfy the emptiness inside them or tackle it like a frolicking animal. Playing and making merry, perhaps even entangle in a soup of limbs. With their shapeshifting abilities, the latter would not be impossible. They want to feel adored, so biting into it to consume its flesh will not aid them. As they transform into something more medium-sized, the shapeshifter knows now it would not have worked regardless. You do not eat fae, for they are not made out of flesh and blood like mortals. They would need his soul if they genuinely wished to devour this one. No fae is foolish enough to materialise their soul into an object, much less their conjured form. 

They drool, licking their chompers. A soul sounds delicious, regardless of its origin. 

The fae stops pretending, changing its form into something much more fitting of its power. It is not any creature the new god recognises. They are far too preoccupied by his words and the adoring feeling they receive when they gaze upon him.

"Good morning, my Morning Dove. You look as radiant as the day we met." He says. The deity perks up, staring into two deep red eyes. Does he know them? It comes as a surprise to the creature, as they do not know him. But he must speak the truth as fae do not lie. That piece of knowledge is written deep into the fabric of its existence. 

The fae opens his arms, adorned by wool threaded into braided yarn. It does not hesitate to jump in them, and the fae picks up the fire sprite and spins them around the ballroom. The new fea shakes, terrified as it ducks into the other's 'chest'. The prince's breast rumbles with laughter, amused. It composes itself, reminding themself never to feel afraid again. It changes, flaring above the body of moss and wool. The deity is bird-like, hooking its claws over the perceived shoulders of the ram-like fae. 

The other fae smirks, his skin grinding to reveal a mouth with rows of teeth. The fire deity is fascinated. He pulls them into a sway, gentle until the firebird finds its footing and tears the dancefloor apart. They intertwine, alien as only two beings not limited to nature's rules can.

The creature of light wants to bite, even if it knows that is not exactly what it wants to do. But it feels like their own fire, burning deep into their gut up their face - fanning the flames throughout their whole body. They cannot help but fall for the mysterious fae who stole their breath away. 

"Give me your name; we shall forever be as one." He begets, voice full of wonder and anticipation. Hungry and yet so full of devotion.

Love. This is what love is. It decides - touching its beak against the ram's muzzle. Stuck between wanting to tear the fae apart and worship him until the end of time and space. 

How could I refuse such a request?  They do wonder, unknowing of their fate. 

"I'm all yours, Kirby des Étoiles." It soughs, so the one once known as Kirby tells the fairy prince its name - the one thing they never forgot. The Prince of Spring smiles, delighted to be reunited with the love of his life and take back what is his. Too blind and arrogant to see the coming destruction that he unleashed upon all the realms. 

Chapter Text

"Yeah, sure. I could go for a bite." Kirby murmurs, feeling hunger claw at their stomach when they talk. He has not eaten in a while. It may be the cause of their discomfort, but they know that it is more than just hunger that makes their stomach twist into knots.

"Okay. Stay here! I will be back shortly." Marquis Fluff chirps and lets go of them. Kirby feels his strength returning to him and gasps. They muffle it in their hand, acting coy. Being removed from Fluff's touch feels like the air being sucked out of his lungs. They feel so cold. He knows it is an illusion, but the ice in his limbs does not let up, no matter how many times he reminds himself that he cannot possibly be cold.

Fluff does not notice how Kirby sways on their feet and salutes them as he slinks off to the tables filled with food, leaving them alone. Kirby nods after him, holding their stomach. It gurgles.

He has no intention of eating anything here. Their inner foodie baulks at the idea, but they remind themself – anything made by the fey is cursed. That is where Kirby is, he realises with a lump in his throat. They have unwittingly wandered into Underhill, the place of legends and the last place a human like them should ever find themselves. If he eats or drinks from a faerie's table, he will never want to eat anything else again. It is a contract – not one as severe as giving your name but just as deadly. It is a slow-acting poison but a poison, all the same.

Kirby looks over the crowd, searching for an exit from the ballroom. He must be leaving. As lovely as a night it was, they cannot stay at a fey's soiree. He is bound to get caught up in their dramas or, worse, cursed.

But, Kirby thinks back to their dance with Marquis Fluff, of his graceful movements and handsome face. The fiery emotions they felt, blazing inside them with passion, make Kirby swoon. He is a wax candle, and Fluff is the fuel that sets his wick aflame— scorching through this dark, moonless night.

Another dance won't hurt. Plus, I can't leave him as is. Fluff is fetching food, and it would just be rude of me to up and leave after he asked me to stay. Kirby muses, using the excuse to remain a bit longer. Kirby does not care for manners or politeness. If they genuinely wanted to leave, they would have. But they want to talk to Fluff one more time before saying goodbye. More than likely, they will never see each other again. The very thought breaks Kirby's heart.

Can someone blame me for being selfish this one time? Oh, Nova, goddess of light and good food—give me strength! Kirby giggles, swaying on their feet. The music is tranquil, a gentle waltz Kirby finds no reason to join. But they appreciate the music regardless, even if it does not make the blood roar in their veins as it did mere moments ago.

The shades do not approach them, ignoring Kirby completely. Kirby does not know why but counts their blessings. If they are fey like Fluff, it is best to keep his distance. But it makes Kirby curious. Is it because of the party they are not interested in tricking me?

Kirby turns their head, trying to catch a glimpse of Fluff. He did say he was going to get some food for Kirby. Kirby squints their eyes. Despite how recognisable the fae lord should be in his dazzling marine blue suit, they cannot find the Marquis. It is not every day you meet such a dreamy fey noble. The shades pale to Fluff’s excellence. Or do Fluff's guests ignore Kirby because the host wants them to leave Kirby alone? It makes Kirby uneasy, as sweet as the sentiment initially sounds. To have so much power, even subliminally, is awe-inspiring and a little daunting.

Kirby bites the inside of their cheek. Maybe staying is not such a good idea after all. He thinks, eyes glancing nervously over the ballroom again. Perhaps I should leave anyway-

"I have returned. Thank you for waiting, Dove."

"Ahh!" Kirby jumps, startled by Fluff's sudden appearance. Marquis Fluff seems unbothered by their scream, smiling dazzlingly as he shoves a plate of assorted foods in Kirby's face.

"Please enjoy, " he says, his honeyed eyes sparkling. For a moment, Kirby sees himself reflected in Fluff's pupils, shock shrouding their face like a veil. They quickly compose themself, watching Fluff's pupils shrink back to their usual size. Huh, how strange. I could have sworn Fluffu's eyes were darker. Kirby muses yet takes no heed, accepting the assorted food tray.

There are canapes, pate on biscuits, and skewered meats with a wide range of sauces. Even the greener dishes look delectable! But despite his hunger, Kirby's eye is drawn to the centrepiece. A tomato, carved and hallowed out. Its fillings sit next to it in a fragrant sauce that smells spicy. Instead, it is filled with shrimp and a creamy emulsion. It is garnished with parsley, and the carved lid of the tomato sits on top like a cute little hat.

Kirby's mouth waters. They swallow their salvia, overcome with crippling temptation. They are so hungry that they can feel it clawing at their insides, overturning their organs and begging for Kirby to feed them. Kirby's hand moves on their own, taking a canape before he thinks better of it. Even if he takes a tiny nibble from the delectable food, he will be cursed.

So, instead, Kirby places it back on the plate, smiling nervously at the host, covering up their apprehension with a grin that hopefully invokes a sense of demureness and not anxiousness. Kirby was never an actor nor the shyest or most coy. But they are willing to swallow their pride here and right now.

But Marquis Fluff does not look amused. His face is still pleasant, with a dimpled smile and healthy glowing skin. But his features are sharper, and his gaze intense. His golden eyes tinge to the orange side, closer to scarlet than a comforting umber.

"What's the matter? Do you not like it?" He asks, daring Kirby to voice his complaints. Kirby is not sure what the best course of action would be. If he insults the feyish food, Fluff will smite him, and if he lies and says he has allergies or is not hungry, a much worse fate awaits him.

Although the prospect of danger constricts his throat, Kirby's stomach still feels empty. It would be a lie even if it came out as smoothly as the truth.

"N-no! That's not it, I just -!" Kirby scrambles for an excuse, trailing off as the music changes. They glance at the dancefloor, where the partygoers have decided to dance something more adventurous than a simple sway once more.

Kirby gathers the lingering desire to dance, to feel Fluff's arms around them as adrenaline courses through his veins. Their heartbeat in their ears and strength in their feet, and proposes:

"How about another dance? I just cannot keep myself from you. Our dance was just so wonderful." Kirby lays it on thick, blushing as they gently reach out their free hand. Years of inexperience in romance and lack of partners rears its ugly head at the worst time. However, Kirby is sure it is more the nerves of being stared down by a powerful supernatural being that could so easily rend them into pieces and use their remains and mulch than their woeful lack of exes.

Marquis Fluff blinks, the glower disappearing, as does his burning eyes. He looks soft as he flushes, a little fuzzy around the edges like watercolour paint, erasing the saturation. It is gone in a blink, and Fluff, not wasting a second, takes Kirby's offered hand, beaming from cheek to cheek with red dusted upon them.

"I thought you would never ask," he murmurs tenderly. Kirby burns bright red. Looking at Fluff is too much, and they can feel their brain imploding.

Fluff pulls him into another dance, though this is gentler. He has only his hands on Kirby's waist as Kirby keeps holding onto the tray. His hands feel like they are barely there, and he is mindful of not pulling too much so Kirby does not accidentally spill their food.

It is sweet; Kirby's heart flutters at the gesture. What an enchanting marquis. Who is Kirby to refuse him? Kirby feels like he is being put under a spell.

"I feel like I have not made myself clear enough, but I appreciate what you're doing for me, Dove. You could not have come at a better time." Marquis Fluff says, sighing dreamily, helpfully leading the dance as Kirby is incapable with their hands full. Kirby does not mind as much, though they wish they had the time to discard the food. As much as it pains them to let it go uneaten, it is for their own safety that they must refrain. But saying as such will break the spell, and Flfuf will be back on him as to why he has not eaten the food he so graciously gathered for them.

"Oh! Puh, well, okay? I'm unsure what I did, but I'm happy to help! Ha ha." Kirby chuckles nervously, their mind lagging. He knows he must think of a continuation plan. But all their leads come up empty. It does not help that every touch, smile, and twirl from the Marquis hinders Kirby's critical thought. They cannot shake the sluggishness of their mind, only concentrating on Fluff's words, the food and their feet.

"You're a gift sent from the heavens itself. An angel saving me from damnation." He brings Kirby close, taking the plate of food for a second so it does not get in the way as he plasters their bodies together. Fluff kisses Kirby's forehead, murmuring, "You're my promised paradise."

Kirby flushes beet red. He has never been complimented like this before. They have been called strong before and clever sometimes, though only after doing a favour. The closest physical compliment was cute, but only in the 'I want to pinch your cheeks' way. Kirby has never felt so desired by someone as he does now. Fluff stares at him as if they hold the answers of the universe. It feels nice to be wanted. It is an addicting feeling. Kirby smiles dopily, not registering the bad signs. He gives him the food back and lets go to clap his hands and twirl.

They fall back in a sway, lost in their own world.

"Oh, I'm flattered!" Kirby giggles, flushed from more than just their dance. Marquis Fluff seems all the more enamoured by the colour staining Kirby's cheeks, reaching out to trail his satin soft gloves against Kirby's reddened skin.

Kirby shivers.

"And I will bath you in flattery forever. You deserve it. Your cheeks are like pink rose petals, bleeding into the tender blood red of carmine roses."

"Oh! I, uhhhh…. Poyo."

"It's all true. As for your eyes, they are as deep and beautiful as the ocean. I could stare at them and never find the bottom of your depths. I wish I could copy the heu of your deep blues, but alas. You have beaten me in the challenge." Marquis Fluff praises, carding a hand through his intense blue curls as they shimmer in the chandelier light. Kirby could never compare their eyes to Fluff's beautiful hair. What they would not do is gently caress this fey's locks and marvel at how soft the blue stresses must be. Still, it is high praise from such a beautiful creature. Kirby feels lighter than air being under Fluff's adoration.

"I doubt it! You're the most handsome man I've ever met. I could never compare to you, po." Kirby says besottedly. The words pry from his lips, drunk of the moment and attention. Kirby cannot fight against the magic filling their senses, making them breathe in and smell honey and roses every inhale.

"Nonsense." Fluff rebukes, laughing, "There's more than appearance that makes one attractive." He says mysteriously, leaning in to whisper in Kirby's ear.

"You have a powerful soul. I cannot imagine a more beautiful thing than that." He wraps his arms around Kirby, holding them so tightly that breathing is almost impossible.

"Why, if you were anyone else—I would be tempted to eat you." He chuckles, the desire naked in his voice. Kirby's whole body shudders as Fluff draws back. But it is not a pleasant feeling, for the look in Fluff's eyes is hunger. The black of his pupils swallows the irises, leaving nothing but rings of gold behind.

It is not teasing or a cute way to get Kirby's knees weaker than they already are. It is literal, with a smile of white pearly teeth that are too long and unfit for a human mouth. For a moment, Fluff does not look like the handsome Marquis Kirby ox enchanted by—but a beast with giant curling horns and hardened keratin for claws and hooves for feet.

It is gone in the blink of an eye, but the sight is burned into Kirby's mind—for as brief as it was, they could never forget the terror thumping in his chest. Even now, as Fluff smiles innocently at him, his heart races out of control. Like a rabbit running in its pen, terrified as its escape window grows smaller and smaller.

"I cannot stress enough how fortunate it is you accepted. I promise to forever treat you as the godsent you are." Fluff promises a bond that even a non-magical creature like Kirby can feel. He kisses Kirby's cheek, emboldened by Kirby's accidental kiss earlier. He pulls Kirby close again, chest to chest. It alights Kirby's nerves. His arms tremble, and the plates clatter on the tray Kirby is holding.

However Kirby is not distracted by Fluff's kisses, as sweet as they are. Even if the one on the corner of his lips makes his skin erupt in gooseflesh, the fire in his veins roars as Fluff pecks his jaw. Kirby pushes back, away from the dizzying attention and butterfly kisses. Fluff's face is lovesick. He cradles his hand against his heart and gently holds the crook of Kirby's elbow, ensuring no crumb of food is wasted as they still dance, miraculously uninterrupted by the other dances.

Kirby chalks it up to magic because, right now, they cannot be bothered by schematics.

"What? What did I-!"

But Fluff pulls him back to the centre of the dancefloor, swinging about wildly—so enthusiastic he can barely contain himself. Kirby stumbles after him, careful of the food that threatens to fall from their plate. It is miraculous, not a drop of it touching the tiled floor, for Fluff spins them around, arm tightly around their middle right above the sash he lend Kirby.

Kirby feels dizzy.

"This is wonderful, oh so magnificent. We will be great together." Fluff takes Kirby's chin, his eyes black and oh so mesmerised. He almost looks drunk. His incisors peek from his upper lip, the look of a wetted appetite striking fear into Kirby's heart.

Kirby considers offering Fluff the food he gifted them, but Fluff is too fast for him, taking the tray from him so he can dip the bewildered human. He returns the favour for what Kirby previously did during their frenzied dance.

"You are my salvation, mein Schatz der Sterren. My heaven, my dreams."

He brings Kirby back up—unbidden possessiveness in his eyes.

"And all mine."

He again offers the plate of food, and Kirby grabs it without thinking. For Fluff cannot be denied.

"Everyone, One has something to announce. I'm finally getting married."

"Hooray!"

The attendees gather, but Kirby cannot hear them. They stare dumbfounded, unable to believe that this is happening.

"To this adoring man before me, One prays our union shall live on for eternity and for our love to grow a thousandfold. However, this Marquis Fluff does not fear falling out of love. From what I have felt and seen today, I shan't ever worry about our feelings being true."

"Huh?" Kirby mutters, unable to follow. Their grip on the tray tightens, and the food stares back at them.

Kirby cannot look away.

"I propose a toast to our new groom, who shall rule the Spring Court with your prince once our union is final. Rejoice, my servants. Our revenge is nigh,"

The tomato seeds have eyes.

"Hip,-"

The red hide gleams, porous,

"-hip,"

Kirby bites down. They taste something sour.

"-hooray!"

Kirby's hand catches on their mouth when they swing their arm. They glance at it, surprised at the wet feeling from it. An ornate tomato drizzled with olive oil and moist mozzarella stares back at him, half-devoured—reminding him of a terrible truth.

He ate fey food.

Kirby grows pale. He looks at Fluff with horrified eyes. He is waving to his people, his arm tight around Kirby's shoulders. It feels suffocating. It is as if Fluff is afraid they will disappear if he even loosens his one-armed embrace for a little bit. And for once, Kirby understands why, feeling the hunger of the nobles once more. Kirby shakes, feeling the shock down to their core. Fluff's touch is a shield as much as a prison, squeezing him too tight. Fluff looks up at him, his smile too sharp and his expression too alien to understand.

Fluff lowers his flute glass, filled to the brim with what is not champagne, offering Kirby a sip. It bubbles like acid, changing colours like a potion. Kirby feels nauseous just looking at it. Nevertheless, the recent circumstances do not help make him feel less sick.

The tomato still tastes fresh in their mouth but sits like a weighed stone in their stomach.

"A toast to us," Fluff says softly, intimately, "and the wonderful pair we will make." His eyes sharpen, and bloodlust transforms the honey gold into a cancerous red.

Kirby has no choice but to drink, dawning the sweet, feyish nectar, hoping to forget the horrible mistake he made and wash away the dread, tearing a hole in his gut. It only widens it, opening up a yawning chasm in their stomach, making them all the more hungry.

Fluff kisses him. It is nothing more than a peck—a formality. And yet, with a kiss, Kirby's life is sealed away. It is a horrible realisation, and Kirby does everything in their power not to cry.

They break apart, and Fluff looks at them with adoring and hopeful eyes. Kirby smiles, holding the insanity grumbling inside their mind.

They lick their lips. Kirby tastes nothing but desolation.

He may be the fey's salvation, but Fluff is his end.