Archive of Our Own

“One of us should probably go down there with you,” Red said, biting his lip. The afternoon light from the window glared on his blond hair, making it difficult for Malon to look directly at him. 

She hiked the blue backpack strap farther up on her shoulder. This backpack was stuffed and rather heavy, but it was for a good reason. “If I scream, come get me.”

Red frowned, but handed her a key anyway. “Just… be careful. I know you will be, but…”

“I will. Don't worry. It'll be fine.” Malon assured him. She tucked the key in her jeans pocket and started down the carpeted stairs that led to the basement. 

Though she hadn't spent much time at all down there, the basement was probably Malon’s favorite part of the Knights’ house. She liked them and their house, she did, but sometimes it felt too… sterile. The walls were painted beige, sometimes blue, with tasteful art of calm lakes or lush forest hung between the strategic mirrors. The rugs, the throw pillows, and the furniture were all soft and tasteful. A few photos of the Knight boys decorated shelves, though of course Malon never saw any photos of them from more than five years ago, except for a couple of Green. 

It felt very different from the house that Malon and her dad lived in, which was cluttered with knickknacks and a little cramped. The furniture was mismatched, but Malon knew where each and every piece had come from, and could even name a couple of the paint colors. It felt like a home, and at least to her, this sometimes felt more like just a house. 

Well, good thing she didn't live here. She didn't have to approve. 

Malon opened the door into the basement room—the best in the house, because it actually showed some living in, now more than ever. The curtains on every window were drawn against the sun, leaving the room in dim twilight. At one end, a little kitchen with older, white appliances and linoleum was stacked with boxes of cans of soda, mostly Sprite. A couple cheap magnets with inspirational quotes and triathlon logos were stuck to the fridge. Doors nearby led to a storage room and a bathroom. The other end of the basement featured an old entertainment center with a television and stacks of video games, and a well-loved leather sectional, which Malon knew was actually bolted securely into the ground for some reason. The television played a pop song while credits to a movie rolled. 

And, of course, there was the chain locked around a leg of the couch that kept the vampire attached to the other end from moving more than four feet in any direction. 

Said vampire looked up from her place curled up in the corner of the couch. She did a very visible double-take upon seeing Malon standing there, then turned away quickly. 

Had she been crying? 

Malon shut the door behind her and approached the couch, though not going within grabbing distance. According to Red, Zelda was mostly not murderously angry anymore, and according to Shadow, she had “only” graphically threatened him yesterday. Malon figured Zelda could probably use a new face to look at. 

Well, an old face. This visit was both selfish and selfless for many of the same reasons. 

“Is that Imagine Dragons?” Malon asked over the music, keeping her voice casual. 

“No idea, but it's grating on me.” Zelda sounded the tiniest bit stuffy as she grabbed the TV remote and turned it off. 

Malon kept her observations to herself, but she'd noticed that the credits were probably more than half over. “What movie did you watch?” 

“Some dumb romance movie.” Zelda waved her hand, but her voice caught a little. She looked over at Malon. The skin around her eyes was definitely a little red, but she had an impressive blue-eyed glare anyway. “What do you want? Why are you here? No, let me guess—you’re an object lesson.”

“...No.” Malon pursed her lips. Object lesson? Like she couldn't come here on her own? Like someone had to send her to prove what Zelda did was bad?  

She let the backpack on her shoulder fall and lifted it up by the strap. “A little birdie told me you liked my style. So since we can't go get your clothes, I brought some of mine for you to borrow. And for the record, none of the boys wanted me to be here alone, but I insisted. You're welcome.” She tossed the backpack onto the couch. 

Zelda glared suspiciously for a few more seconds, but pulled the bag over to herself to look through it. Malon figured she'd made a good decision, since right now Zelda wore a loose T-shirt with a bear on it and sweatpants that clearly didn't fit. Her hair was tangled, and she was without makeup entirely, which wasn't right. 

She always wore a little makeup. Malon didn't remember a lot of last summer, not clearly, but she remembered that. 

Zelda remained silent as she sorted through what Malon had brought—a few dressy shirts, a pair of jeans, some horse-patterned pajamas, socks and underwear, and some hygiene items, which included some makeup that Malon had purchased for a sophomore dance and never really touched again. 

Uncomfortable in the quiet, Malon added, “And if you promise to not attack me, or destroy any more ottomans in rage, then I've got the key so you can take a shower.”

Zelda’s cold blue eyes settled on Malon again, calculating. 

“Red’s probably waiting at the top of the stairs for me to scream,” Malon said. “And you know the windows aren’t gonna budge down here.”

“Fine,” Zelda bit out. She zipped the backpack back up. “I promise that I'll be a good little captive. I'm waiting to see Shadow again, anyway. I want to take his heart home.”

Malon rolled her eyes, but got close enough to Zelda that either of them could attack the other if they chose to. But Zelda remained still, and Malon just crouched down to unlock the leather cuff under the hem of Zelda’s sweatpants. 

“You know you can't go back,” Malon said, fiddling with the key. The leg of the gray pants kept falling over the lock, and she couldn't see to get the key in it. 

Zelda sniffed. She obligingly grabbed a handful of sweats to hold them out of the way. “I definitely could. They'd accept me back, especially if I brought them Shadow's head.”

The lock clicked, and Malon wrinkled her nose as she pulled the cuff off of Zelda’s ankle. “You're his cousin,” she said. “And that's his family. You'd really be happy if he was dead?” She stood up and offered a hand to help Zelda up. 

“After what he did? Obviously.” Zelda eyed Malon’s hand, but unfolded her legs and took the help. 

Malon pulled Zelda up to standing, noting with some surprise how light she was. Her hand was chilly and small in Malon’s, and she had to look up to meet Malon’s eyes. 

Was that the tiniest bit of softness in Zelda’s eyes? A small measure of guilt, of fear, of sympathy? 

Malon blinked, but let go quickly. “I assume you know how to work a shower.”

Zelda frowned and looked away. “Of course I do.” She clutched the blue backpack to her chest and walked away, toward the bathroom door.

“You don't know anything,” Zelda continued, not looking back. “My Family will elevate me for destroying the traitor. Perhaps they'd be even happier if I brought him home to kill for themselves.”

Malon winced. She'd heard a little of what Shadow's home life had been like. Although Zelda was… unpleasant… Malon was doing her best to remember that Zelda was a product of the same situation. “Even if you do manage to escape, we know where to find you, and there is, apparently, a whole squad of unicorn special officers frothing at the mouth to go destroy all the vampires in town.”

“Doesn't matter,” Zelda said confidently. She opened the door to the bathroom, then shut it behind her. It locked, but the light didn't turn on. 

Although Malon paused for a moment, she didn't exactly get a thank you. She didn't think she would get one of those for a long time, but maybe someday. It would be nice to hear. Shadow could be very polite, bordering on insufferably groveling, but only if he felt like it. It stood to reason that Zelda was much the same. Thank you s and I'm sorry s and please s were choices to them, not automatic responses. Well, if something like that came out of Zelda’s mouth, at least Malon would know she might really mean it. 

Malon sighed and listened to the water in the shower start. At least Zelda hadn't attacked her. That was a step forward. Probably. 

The Knights, through their unicorn-y connections, had offered Malon counseling, which she reluctantly took, and a bottle of medication to counteract the remnants of the vampire toxin in her system and help her regain her memories of the summer, which she'd been eager to start taking every day. 

If she knew then what she knew now, she wouldn't have been so eager, though she was grateful for the knowledge. It was nightmarish. Malon’s memories blurred together, though she was unsure if that was because of the toxin’s effects or not. She remembered Zelda laughing, Zelda yelling, Zelda talking softly. Malon remembered well what it felt like to be bitten. 

It was all too easy to look at Zelda and remember staring up at her in horror—hope—sympathy. But Malon wanted to know what she was trying to let go of before she could even ask herself to start. Forgiveness might never come. Malon just wanted to move on on her own terms. 

While Zelda showered, Malon took the opportunity to straighten up a little, mostly out of spite. Look how well I can treat you, she thought as she straightened the cushions on the sectional. I'm doing it even though you treated me like that all summer. She tossed the blankets that Zelda had been using by the basement door, then picked out a few clean ones from the closet. I hope you feel so guilty when you see the trouble I've gone to for your comfort. The last thing she did was stack the novels on the side table nicely and pick out a few more from the bookshelf that appeared to be similar, mostly period romances and a few YA novels Malon half-recognized from seeing art online. 

The shower stopped, and Malon leaned against the counter to wait, phone in hand and a short fanfiction pulled up. Honestly, after finding out that vampires and unicorns were real, Malon wanted to research them more than she wanted to read about fictional ones. But she did still have her favorite stories, and online friends who'd grown concerned about her disappearing all summer. 

After Malon hit the comment submission button, she heard Zelda’s voice calling through the bathroom door. “Malon,” she yelled, sounding a little bored, “did you happen to bring me a hairbrush?” 

“Front zippered pocket,” Malon yelled back, blinking to herself. She put her phone away and folded her arms. Zelda knew her name. 

Of course Zelda knew her name. She'd had many, many opportunities to learn it over the summer, if Malon’s hazy, disturbing memories were anything to go off of. But it… felt significant, somehow, that Zelda had remembered Malon’s name. And used it. That was a kindness that Malon hadn't expected.

Another thing to tell the counselor tomorrow, Malon supposed. She shook her head, and as the bathroom handle squeaked open, she turned to rummage in the basement fridge. A little biohazard symbol was taped on the side of the fridge door, making it clear that this was the one that held the jars of blood that now kept both Shadow and Zelda fed. 

The jars were wildly mismatched now, three short weeks past prom. As far as Malon knew, most were still drawn by Red and his phlebotomy certification, but they were labeled with names that Malon knew from Blue’s basketball team, Vio’s small newspaper group, and Green’s prom committee. A few were even from Malon herself, with a few herbs and spices added for preservation, as directed by Shadow. 

Thanks to all the donations, the fridge was full and would likely stay that way for the rest of the school year. Shadow said that his need for blood was actually decreasing, as far as he was able to figure out, and Malon could tell that the thought disturbed him a little. But regardless of what he thought about it, Malon heard that after both he and Zelda healed everything off and became stable, they probably wouldn't need more than one or two people per vampire to donate. Malon had been worried about that, so it had been a relief to hear. 

Malon picked out three jars from the oldest set, two labeled R and one B for Red and Blue, and set them on the counter with a clink. The fridge door shut behind her as Zelda approached the counter, holding the backpack in one hand. She looked better—she wore Malon’s flowy pink top over a white shirt, and she'd taken the rather cheap cosmetics and done up her eyes with skill. Her hair, more strawberry than blonde while wet, hung in combed strands down her back. She held herself a little taller. 

Zelda sat at one of the bar stools and dropped the backpack on the floor, raising her eyebrow at Malon as if in challenge. 

Malon, however, had no intentions of forcing Zelda back to the couch so soon. She'd been confined there for the majority of the three weeks she'd been here at the house, recovering from a unicorn horn in the heart. Malon could only imagine how that had felt. The memory of a particularly painful bite flashed through her mind at the thought, and she winced to herself.

“Hungry?” Malon said, pushing the three jars a little closer so Zelda knew for certain that they were for her. 

Zelda's lip curled. “Enough for that? Cold?” 

“There’s a microwave.” Malon nodded to it, then turned to get one of the cans of Sprite from the open box. She busied herself, taking longer than she strictly needed to, and took a little pleasure in Zelda’s huff. 

Behind her, Zelda stood up, the bar stool scraping on the linoleum. The microwave door opened, closed, and a button beeped. 

And a button beeped again. 

Zelda did not ask for help, but when Malon turned around, Sprite in hand, she saw Zelda glaring at the microwave and inspecting the buttons.

“Do you… not know how to use a microwave?” 

“Of course I do.” Zelda pushed the START button, making a beep, but she hadn't put in a cooking time or anything. 

Malon tilted her head. The jar still had a lid on it, too. A metal lid. She sighed. “I'm happy to watch you struggle, but I don't want to burn down the Knight’s kitchen, so I'm going to help you.” She approached the microwave and opened the door. “You have to take the lid off. Metal sparks in microwaves.”

“I wouldn't mind it burning down,” Zelda muttered, but at Malon’s raised eyebrow, she pulled the jar out and twisted off the lid. She put it back in, sans metal, and waited. “What now?” 

“You have to put in a time.” Malon shut the microwave and pointed to the numbers. “This one has some shortcuts, so you just need to press”—Zelda pressed the five, and the microwave lit up with five minutes on the display—“one of the numbers. Pull it out after like, fifteen seconds, and test it. You don't want to overcook it. I can imagine that overnuked blood could be way worse than cold.”

“Hm.” After sixteen seconds precisely, Zelda pulled the jar from the microwave and held it under her nose to smell it. She wrinkled her nose, probably performing for Malon, but leaned back to sip at it anyway. 

Malon cracked open her can of Sprite and joined her, wishing her own drink was cold, but something something biohazard, refrigerator not sterile, whatever. She sighed and enjoyed the lukewarm fizzing as much as she could. 

After she finished jar number one, Zelda twisted open the second and sent it into the microwave, needing Malon’s prompting to press START rather than just adding time to the timer. She looked over the empty jar while the second warmed up. 

“So,” she said, “what do these letters on the side mean? R? I see the date.”

“The letter is who the blood was drawn from,” Malon answered. She finished off her can of Sprite and opened the fridge for a second to gesture. “The letters mean it's one of the Knight boys: Red, Green, Blue, Vio. I think Shadow steals all of Vio’s and some of Green’s. Some of the more recent ones have other names, though, since other people from school donated.” 

“Hm,” Zelda responded, getting her second jar of blood out of the microwave. She didn't say anything else, so Malon just rolled her eyes and grabbed more Sprite out of boredom. 

The two of them drank their beverages in silence that grew just a little more awkward with every passing second. Malon watched Zelda do her best to look casual, and noticed the way her hair was drying into curls around her ears. She looked supremely bored. Perhaps it was an act, but Malon could imagine that being in one room for three weeks did not exactly lend itself well to excitement. 

“So, I guess you watch a lot of movies down here?” Malon said into the silence. It bent with her words, but didn't entirely wear out until Zelda answered, licking the last of the blood off of her lips. 

“Movies, books, yes.” Zelda waved her hand in a circle. “At least when someone comes down here, I get a break to talk, or play a video game.”

“What games do you like?” Malon asked immediately. 

Zelda made a face. “None of them. I never win.”

“Well, it's a matter of practice, most of them. And it's a great time sink, which might be a good thing for you. Hm. Maybe something a little more story-like? You might like a visual novel or dating sim or something.” Malon glanced at the television and the games and controllers scattered around it. 

“No good,” Zelda said with a dramatic sigh. “Shadow still seems convinced that I'd break something out of spite—and, well, I can't argue with that, I might—so there's nothing like that in my reach.” She sounded just a little bitter, though she tried to cover it up with an eye roll and another sigh. 

“You're going to keep being bored of movies if you break a controller or something,” Malon pointed out. She tossed her two empty soda cans in the trash. “Rinse out your empty jars before the blood dries in them, and I'll get a game set up.”

Zelda hesitated, eyeing her. “What game?” 

“I’ll find something,” Malon said with a smirk. “I'll try to make it something you can win. Or at least can't lose.”

“Whatever.” Zelda turned away to set her jars in the sink. She didn't know how to use a microwave, but apparently she did know how to use dish soap and a sponge. “Anything's better than watching another romance with a dubious ending.”

“Is that what was making you cry when I came in?” Malon went to fiddle with the game consoles, finding a lot of games she wouldn't have picked up for herself. She didn't know what half of them were, racing or shooting ones in a variety of genres. She sorted through the cases to try and find something good. 

“I wasn't crying,” Zelda said primly over the sound of running water. “I was frustrated. I got invested, and then the movie ended badly. But it didn't need to.”

“What movie?” Malon set aside the game cases and picked up the Knights’ Switch to scroll through the downloaded games. 

Zelda took a moment to answer. The faucet stopped, and she set the empty jars and lids next to the sink to dry. “Me Before You.”

“Oh,” Malon said with sympathy, looking back at Zelda. “That one's really good. And bittersweet. I don't blame you for crying.”

“I didn't cry,” Zelda insisted, narrowing her eyes. She picked up the backpack and took it to the couch she’d been inhabiting, though she didn't sit down. She crossed her arms and paced in lines parallel to the back of the couch. 

“I mean, it's sad. He died at the end.”

Zelda scowled. “He could have prevented it. He doomed Louisa to a life without him. It was cowardly and selfish.”

Malon set the Switch down for a second. “I mean, maybe a little, but don't you sympathize with him at all?”

“Do I sympathize with a character who went from a life of freedom to being unable to leave a room, or so much as eat without someone giving him food?” Zelda snapped, sweeping one of her arms out to gesture at the couch, and the chain still coiled there. “Gee, I wonder.”

“I don't know how comparable the situation is. He had quadriplegia, you're just temporarily held captive. You'll get out someday, but he didn't have a way out.”

“Will I?” Zelda shook her head. “When will you all deem me recovered enough to let me go? You're always going to find something to hold me for. Anyway, him choosing death was, as I said, cowardly. There was still life for him to live, and a girl who loved him. She proved that he could still be happy. He could still experience moments of joy.”

“With a lot of misery likely in between those moments,” Malon said. 

“So?” 

Malon tilted her head, thinking that over. She didn't know how much she agreed, but it was interesting to hear from someone like Zelda, who'd hurt her so much. “So you're saying that, in your life, any amount of suffering is acceptable, if there's still happiness somewhere? Is there a point where they outweigh each other?” 

Zelda’s pacing slowed as she considered. “I don't think there are many points where misery will ever outweigh happiness, or the potential for it. Maybe a point like that exists, but I don't know if I've ever seen it.” 

“So…” Malon picked the Switch back up and scrolled slowly through games. One in particular stood out to her, and she started up a new profile for Zelda, giving her a pink background with a princess character’s face on the profile. “You haven't chosen to starve yourself yet because you think there's still something happy out there for you?” 

“My life is nowhere near over,” Zelda agreed, her pacing picking up again. “It would be foolish to throw away the great things I will do in the future because of a brief period of discomfort.” She eyed Malon. “I have an immortal’s perspective, you see. There is no cap on how much I can do and experience, as long as I manage to stay alive. But your life is finite. There is an upper limit on your happiness. Perhaps your answer would be different.”

Malon… did not quite agree with that. She didn't think her potential was finite like that, even though she could see why Zelda might think so. Even not considering the fact that death might not be the end (her grandmother had been Catholic, but Malon wasn't sure, herself), she didn't know if concepts like happiness or good could even be measured in a way that mattered. 

She shook her head. “Anyway. I think this game will give you more than a few moments of happiness, come on.” 

Zelda pursed her lips, but gave in. She must have been really bored. She leaned over the back of the couch. “Fine, whatever. What game?” 

Malon plugged the Switch into the TV port, then connected a handheld controller. The screen turned on, and she showed Zelda how to start up the game with the new profile for her. She handed the controller over as the screen went black, then booted up with a song that made Malon put her hand over her heart in nostalgia.

Zelda rounded the couch and sat down on the floor, cross-legged. “Stardew Valley,” she read. “This looks so lame.”

“It looks like it, a little, but trust me, it isn't,” Malon said. She moved to sit next to Zelda, leaning on her hands behind her. “Make your character.”

“A farm? Ugh.” Still, Zelda humored Malon and kept going, making an avatar that looked somewhat like herself and naming the Unicorn Farm—she chose unicorn “because of how lame it is.” 

Zelda sighed through the entire introductory cutscenes, and Malon had to nudge her a little to plant the first few parsnips. 

But, like plenty of people, Zelda became invested before she knew it. Stardew Valley had that effect on people. 

---

“Did all of them seriously turn me down?” Zelda gasped in offense at the screen, hours later. 

Malon snorted. “You need enough hearts with the NPCs for one to agree to dance with you, and you haven't been very nice to any of them.”

Zelda scowled as the Flower Dance music started playing, but her character stood off to the side, alone. “That is because none of them are worth paying attention to. Only my chickens matter.”

“Ah, yes,” Malon said. “Vein, Artery, and Aorta.”

“Aorta is my favorite.”

“Just wait until you find a void egg.”

---

The basement door creaked open. “Uh, guys?” 

Malon glanced back. “Hey, Red. What's up?” 

“Just making sure you're okay. Is that Stardew Valley?” He smiled. “How do you like it?” 

“She likes it!” 

“It is a horrid game,” Zelda said, not taking her eyes off of the TV. “That awful girl has called me stinky for the last time! I'm going to ruin her life.”

“Uh…”

“She likes it,” Malon repeated. 

Red shrugged, bemused. “If you say so. Blue made spaghetti, do either of you want any?” 

“I don't eat human food. Malon, how do I ruin Haley’s life? What sort of gifts does she hate?” 

Malon rolled her eyes. “You can bring her a little to try, and a lot for me, if that's okay? I'm hungry.” 

“Sure, I'll be back.” 

“Malon. Does she hate fish? I have a lot of fish.”

Malon turned back to the TV as Red left again. “Prismatic shards,” she suggested. 

“Oh, ha ha, you think you can fool me? Everyone loves those. I'm giving her a cake, I bet she'll hate me giving her fattening food.” Zelda pressed the right buttons, but onscreen, Haley apparently loved the cake. “You're joking with me! This is infuriating!”

“I’ll be honest,” Malon said, “I thought you might go for Haley. I did tell you that you can marry some of the characters, right?” 

“Yes, you did. I'm aiming for Robin. She's too good for Demetrius, and I want someone who can take care of me.”

“Um, I hate to break it to you, but you can't marry Robin without mods, and we can't put mods on the Switch.”

Zelda froze, her eyes wide. “Who made that decision? I'm going to remove their skin inch by inch. Robin is clearly the best option. Who did you marry when you played?” 

“I think I've married all of them on different farms, but honestly? Haley might be one of my favorites.”

“Well, I abhor her with every fiber of my being.” Zelda’s character walked to the nearest river and threw in a fishing rod. “Fine. At least tell me that Leah is available to woo.”

Malon snorted. “Woo? What is this, an eighteenth century novel? Yeah, Leah's one of the options.”

Zelda flared her nostrils and went about mashing buttons to get another fish. She was weirdly good at fishing, Malon thought. Maybe a co-op farm wouldn't be a bad idea. Zelda could do the fishing and animals and Malon could do the mining and crops.

She'd bring it up later. 

---

Zelda used her fingers to lift a sauce-coated noodle from the paper plate. “Did you want me to try this because the sauce is red like blood? It does not look appealing.”

The two of them leaned up against the counter again, holding paper plates of delicious spaghetti. Malon’s plate was full, but Zelda’s bore fewer than two bites. That was fine, she’d had more blood just a minute earlier. The basement filled slowly with the smell of tomatoes and basil. 

“I guess spaghetti could kind of look like intestines if you squint,” Malon said, squinting down at her paper plate. “But no, it's just good food. Try it. I bet Shadow did.”

“My cousin,” Zelda said, still pinching the noodle, “is virtually half-human at this point. I am not surprised by his apparent willingness to eat human food, nor am I going to be shamed into doing so by using him as an example.”

Malon rolled her eyes and ate more spaghetti. “Is he half-human to you because he got stabbed in the heart and healed by a unicorn? The same thing happened to you.”

Zelda did not look pleased by the reminder. The noodle in her fingers fell, pinched entirely in half. “It is more about his behavior. He willingly fraternized with and became attached to what was once simply a meal. And he has, by his own admittance, not bitten anyone in weeks. Of course, neither have I, but that is hardly my own fault.”

She looked up from her plate of spaghetti to eye Malon, who experienced a moment of uncomfortable deja-vu. Something zinged in her neck, a half-remembered sensation. The air charged.

“Just try one bite of the damn spaghetti,” Malon told her after a second. 

Zelda made a face, but picked up the fork and awkwardly copied Malon’s noodle-twirling technique. The uncomfortable tension dissipated as she shoved a bite into her mouth. 

Malon watched her expression soften slightly as she chewed. “It's good, right?” 

“It has more… depth of flavor than I anticipated,” Zelda admitted, but set the paper plate down away from her. “But it offers me no nutrition, so there's no point in taking more away from you.”

“Because you care so much about my nutrition,” Malon muttered, unable to stop herself.

The evening had gone well so far, and lasted longer than what she’d expected, but this whole summer thing hung over their heads like a guillotine, threatening to destroy the banter about blueberries and goats. Malon was convinced that all this friendliness would vanish the moment Zelda didn't need her for entertainment and a potential path to freedom. 

Zelda’s lips twisted again, though she didn't look as sour as she could have  “I do, as a matter of fact. And I did. Not that you would remember.”

“I have been remembering, actually,” Malon told her, twirling more noodles onto her fork. “I guess the unicorns have a cure for that. One capsule a day with breakfast.”

That, at least, seemed to throw Zelda off. Her lips fell open, and her shoulders relaxed. She eyed Malon again, but less as if she wanted to eat her and more with curiosity. And Malon thought she saw a bit of that guilt again, just the smallest amount, like a single drop of food coloring in a bathtub. 

“Why?” Zelda asked finally. “Why would you want those memories?” 

“I want to know. Sure, the memories are… disturbing… but having a blank spot was worse.” Malon ate more spaghetti and scraped up the last of the noodles on her plate. “You were kind some days. But really not, on other days. Why the change?” 

Zelda stared at her, a line between her eyebrows. She clearly hadn't expected the question and had to take a moment to think of a satisfactory response. “Some days… I… I guess I wanted…” 

Then she recomposed herself, standing up straighter and putting on a more arrogant expression. “I wanted to see how you'd react. It was entertaining to see how you fell for the nice act, every single time. Like now.” 

She gave Malon an insincere smile and pushed away from the counter to sit down on the floor again, back against the couch, the light of the TV turning her face blue. 

Malon sighed and ate the last of her spaghetti. She didn't know what she'd expected. Sincerity? From Zelda? Right. 

Of course, some of those memories she had… Zelda had used her as an outlet, that much was clear. She was never physical, beyond the occasional kiss and, of course, the bites, but she'd been… Malon would call it genuine. She didn't remember anything Zelda actually said, but she remembered soft words, complaining, gossiping, and at least one tear. 

It was insanely messed up, but Malon could imagine that, living in a house like Zelda and Shadow had, Zelda would benefit from some kind of diary. And what was more secure than spilling to someone who literally wouldn't be able to tell your secrets? 

Malon sat down again next to Zelda and watched her little avatar on the screen run around her disorganized farm, petting animals. Little animal noises filled the space between them until Zelda spoke. 

“I hope you aren't about to say anything sappy, like you understand me or forgive me,” she said. Her voice was brittle. 

“No. It's going to take a long time for me to even consider that,” Malon said frankly. “Oh, don't forget the goat.”

“Ah, right, how could I forget Hemoglobin?” 

Malon couldn't help but smirk at the name. “No, I don't forgive you, and I sure as hell don't understand you. I just mean to say: if I happen to remember any of your secrets, I'll keep them to myself.”

Zelda didn't respond for a while. Her farmer avatar, wearing a flower in her hair, finished milking her few cows and started putting it all into her cheese machines. “I don't have secrets.”

“Of course not.” Malon hesitated. “You know, if you want to talk to someone, work it through, I'm not the best option, but I bet I can get them to take you to one of the counselors. I'm seeing one, and I know Shadow goes sometimes, too.”

“I don't need to talk to anyone,” Zelda said. “Now shut up, I have a girl to court. With salad.”

---

At two in the morning, Malon had to call it quits. She warmed up another jar of blood for Zelda—one of her own, actually—and handed it off. Zelda held tight to the controller with one hand as Malon reattached the leather cuff to her ankle, both of them doing their best to pretend it wasn't happening. 

Malon hovered for a second, looking at the controller, but decided to leave it. Stardew Valley was a good way to pass the time. Zelda had to be so very bored down here alone, even with access to streaming services and a few books.

“Good luck with the farm,” Malon said, moving the backpack of clothes and things within Zelda’s grabbing distance. She also grabbed a charger for the controller and put that nearby. 

“Next time you see it, it will be an efficient moneymaker,” Zelda said, the tension loosening from around her eyes as she realized that Malon wasn't going to take the game from her. She sipped at the jar of blood. 

“Don't forget about the community center. If you finish that, you can get to the island.” Malon yawned, stretched, and pulled her phone out to confirm her ride home, courtesy of Blue. Maybe she had overstayed her welcome a little, but… Stardew was better with someone nearby. “Maybe next time we can start a multiplayer farm.”

“That's an option?” Zelda asked, looking up at her. “How does that even work?” 

“I'll have to show you. Or maybe Red can. Or Shadow. Wait, don't play with Shadow, I can't imagine that going well.” Malon laughed to herself. “And hey—I’ll just mention it once more. If you want to talk to a counselor, it'll get you out of this basement sometimes. More, if you keep at it and don't make everyone mad at you.”

Zelda scoffed and turned back to her game. “Whatever. Go ahead. I'd love to see a room that isn't this one.” 

“Cool. I'll ask.” Malon double-checked her pockets for the key and her things. “Goodnight. Get some sleep if you can, I guess, but I know the pull of the farm is strong.”

“Only because you can only save once a day,” Zelda muttered. “See you later.”

“Later,” Malon agreed. She crossed to the door to the stairs, hesitated, then shook her head at herself. Hesitating for what? She shut the door behind her and headed up the stairs, late-night fatigue settling into her bones. 

At the top of the stairs, she paused, looking back as if she could catch one more look. She'd been feeling the truth when she told Zelda that it would take her a long time to even think about forgiveness, but… 

In the meantime, maybe they could sort of be friends.