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The upper levels of their headquarters were largely unused. Despite the blatant lack of purpose for the majority of the rooms, the maze-like hallways were immaculate, silent aside from the heavy footsteps Dark Choco Cookie left behind. His cloak dragged along the perfectly polished tiles of the floors silently in contrast. Usually he was able to drown out the idle noises his armor would make, he wore it with enough regularity that he typically forgot it made any sound at all. In this moment though, it was all that he could hear. The silence aside from the sounds of himself walking, felt deafening. Heavy. As if the very air itself was thick with the tension of it. The sensation was the same every time he wandered those upper levels…he was not really wandering, but rather stalling. Typically he despised tardiness, something he assumed went hand in hand with his disdain for feeling unproductive. He used to be more strong in those convictions when he was younger, when he cared, but now he savored the mild sense of power it gave him, as pathetic and juvenile as it was.
He was unsure how much time had passed since he was summoned, his body’s talent of taking the reins from him at the slightest sense of a threat came in handy at these times. As he wandered, Dark Choco thought back to how he got here, his mind working to tuck his memory of the day away. He had been down on the first floor, making his partner a meal when Pomegranate Cookie had approached him. Choco could recall the exact moment his mind severed itself from his body. With full smugness, Pomegranate had informed him that their beloved Enchantress was requesting his presence ‘At his earliest convenience’, which meant immediately. Meandering his way up with almost excruciating slowness was what he did each time she requested his presence. She never seemed to care about how long he took. Afterall, she always knew he would come when called for, as if she knew he was little more than a dog that growled but never bit. He knew what would happen if he did, so he obeyed, floating down the halls and up the stairwells like a being borrowing his own body. His sword weighed heavy in his hand, the unnerving sound of the blade dragging on the tile echoed and surrounded him, leaving Choco feeling wonderfully hollow. Dark Enchantress always insisted he bring his sword along, perhaps picking up on his habit to leave it in his bedroom when possible. A shiver danced up his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck rise. He didn’t want to think about how she would figure such a thing out, he was paranoid enough as is.
The final hallway leading to Dark Enchantresses’ chambers was lined with large stained glass windows, laden with imagery of death and doom and whatever else felt fitting. The windows alternated, decorated to cold, clear panes, then decorated…repeating on and on. There were eight windows on each side of the hallway making for a total of sixteen. Eight was Dark Choco’s favorite number. Numerology was a silent interest of his, admiring the sequences and meaning he could find in them. While he disliked even numbers, eight was an exception. The steps up to Licorice’s study he could count by batches of eight perfectly, he had eight scars on each of his hands from training or his own recklessness. Choco used to count the steps in the Black Citadel as a teenager. There was no purpose yet when he would miscount a wave of heavy and uncomfortable dread would cling to him. It would be bearable, mostly, but as the years passed the once bearable discomfort grew into an unbearable fear. This stretch of hallway was the worst place for such odd behavior. Choco, in his state of muddled delirium, usually got his count incorrect in this hallway. He was glad to be alone in these sparse moments where his mask of composure would crack so obviously, it disgusted himself. He had never once dared to tell a soul about this ritualistic behavior, about the severity. Despite being talented at hiding his strangeness, this hallway had seen its fair share. Instead of ignoring and simply dealing with the anxiety of miss counting, as of the past few years he has had to stop and repeat the process until he got it right. He would go up and down the same flight of stairs until the count came out correctly, regardless of the time of day or what he was doing.
He paused in the doorway of the hall, a large and heavy door at the other end. The air around him felt charged, aware of the electricity buzzing deep in the veins of his hands, his body’s automatic response when there was an oncoming threat. Choco took the moment to calm himself the best he could, his carmine eye drifting to look out the window closest to him. The moon was full, tinted a pale pink from the reddish clouds of the badlands. Choco watched it for some time. Envying it. To be nothing more than nothing, floating and simply existing. Perhaps it was the freedom he desired or the ability to exist so simply. He often floated outside of himself, but he was unable to be as carefree as the moon was. There was only so much he could do to escape himself when his own body acted as a tether. He could only dream of something so unattainable.
By the time he had come to his senses the sky was a bit darker and the moon had grown brighter. A tired sigh slipped from him as he looked to the floor. Choco did his best to focus before starting to walk towards the door at the other end of the hallway, carefully and quickly counting to himself along the way. His tall body made his measured steps a touch awkward, trying to manage the appropriate amount of steps based off of the dark tiles on the floor. The low candlelight makes it a frustrating task. After several attempts he finally got it right, feeling that dreadful weight ease off of his shoulders marginally. He felt his sword’s power wane, a draining fatigue that made his heart palpitate. He made a mental note to ask Licorice about the sensation, and why it tended to only happen when he approached their Enchantresses inner sanctum. Dark Choco rolled his shoulders before placing his hands on the heavy doors before him. In one forceful push, the hinges creaked as if in pain, doors swinging open slowly. A waft of stale air and dust hit him almost instantly, the perpetual downward curl of his lips worsening into a tired frown. Unlike her other devoted followers who held her in high regard, their relationship was far simpler. Choco despised her and she knew this, but she knew better than to expect anything more from him. Their constituents had a notable lack of physical capabilities, a role that Choco filled. She did not need him to worship her or to admire her, she simply needed him to be obedient. Another card in her deck she could play when the need arose. Dark Enchantress knew his needs too. He did not stay here for wealth, fame, fear. Where she had lured him in through his immature wishes for power and strength, she kept him now through a mutual understanding. Dark Choco was undeserving of most things and Dark Enchantress was diligent to remind him of his place. He stayed as a form of punishment, punishment that their beloved Enchantress was more than happy to dole out.
The Enchantress’ inner sanctum was large, the massive windows shrouded with layers of sheer black and maroon curtains and a high arched ceiling. Dead flowers in dusty vases were scattered about, not that any life could grow in such a place. The walls were a dark red and the floors obsidian black tiles. All of the furniture inside the sanctum was lavish and coated with a fine layer of dust. The air was thick and warm from the amount of candles needed to make the chamber even barely visible. Dark Choco could already feel the dreadful ache behind his eyes, his single eye having to strain and overexert itself to make out where he was meant to be going. A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as he closed the doors behind himself, the creaking of the hinges breaking the suffocating silence that filled the room. In the center of the room was a sizable summoning circle, Choco’s heart aching as it reminded him of his lover. The circle was carved into the ground, it was one of the first times Licorice and he were given a task alone. Licorice would yell at him for not carving a symbol neat enough to which Choco would bite his tongue about how using his sword to hack away at some old stones wouldn't grant him much accuracy. Dark Choco was hardly well versed in magic or runes when they first created the summoning circle but now as he examined it he was able to recognize a handful of the symbols on the outer ring. Late nights reading over Licorice’s shoulder had paid off it seemed. Symbols were not too difficult to understand, at least the easier ones.
The composition of the circle did indeed matter, according to Licorice at least. The complexity of the summoning circle played into its accuracy and the strength of what was being summoned. The fewer rings and runes usually meant a more simple summon, in contrast to the large circle that had been carved for their Enchantress. Being trapped in the moonstone had left her power limited, only really able to puppet around her old form for the children to follow, to free her. Before that time though, each meeting requiring her presence required a lengthy ritual to summon her…well…summon her…how had Licorice explained it? A projection of herself to which they can interact with and share information? Admittedly it was lost on him as he most definitely had not been paying attention when they first made the summoning circle. The ritual and circle was purely bred from Licorice’s knowledge on dark magic. Choco hadn’t understood the differences between the schools of magic. From what he did recall, Dark magic required a lot more planning. Seances to connect with the spirit you wish to summon, building a rapport with them and figuring out what they need as offerings or sacrifices, conjuring up a design for a summoning circle and making sure it works as intended, and on top of that, at least in the case of summoning their Enchantress, a month long ritual with different phases that had to be followed by every one of her core followers. Truthfully he was surprised they even got it to work. He remembered debating on purposely messing up the ritual to bother Licorice but when the Necromancer watched him pass a goblet with the wrong hand during a practice trial he could’ve sworn he was about to be flayed.
A creak made him flinch, turning to look at where the sound came from. A door partially easing open. He felt as though he was being watched, a presence behind him that slowly built until he could feel the warmth of its body, gaze shifting down to see the swirls of dark red smoke curling and floating above the ground.
“I see your insolence persists, Dark Choco Cookie.”
Her voice made his hands shake, eerily kind with a firm undercut of malice. He did not dare to turn around, to shake or tremble enough for her to notice. The smoke slowly pooled and formed the end of her dress, seeing the shadow of her horns cast behind him in their now combined shadow before him. Her presence alone was weighted, like a humidity that clung to Choco and made him feel as though he couldn’t breathe in enough air. He could feel her hand on the pauldron of his armor as if he wasn’t wearing layers of forged and tempered metal, chainmail, and thick padding. It felt searing and agonizing. The silence between them stretched out and served to raise the tension on the morose man’s shoulders. It felt like hours before she spoke again.
“...Immature. Will you refuse to speak to me yet again? Like a spoiled child who is upset they cannot get their way?” Dark Enchantress said slowly, trying to lean forward a touch to at least be in his peripheral vision. She was for only a moment before Dark Choco tilted his face away, not allowing her the grace of being acknowledged. She chuckled, a low and menacing sound that made him feel lightheaded. “ Your hair has grown…Is this why I am being told that you are acting out?” She questioned, walking out from behind him, circling him slowly. “Shirking your duties?...after everything I’ve done for you…to make you stronger…” Her voice grew softer as if she was genuinely hurt by his behavior. It sounded so unlike her that it always felt jarring when she pulled that trick, as if she was borrowing someone else's voice. It was a trick that used to work on him when she first took him in, when he was young and stupid and still had a sliver of kindness and empathy left inside him…but now as he stood before her, an empty husk of a living being, it was far less effective and rather just an unnerving display.
“Have you been seeing him again, lamb?” She questioned, behind him again now, running her long sharp nails through his curls. Her voice still has that disgusting saccharine tone. It made him sick.
Dark Choco did not respond to her question. In all honesty he had not seen his father’s ghost in some time now, or at least had not mistaken his own reflection for it. He still saw him in the dark corners of his room or if he glanced at someone briefly who resembled him. What once used to make him fearful now just reinforced a dull misery in his weak heart. He was unsure if his father survived the attack or not…if someone else had taken up the throne or if the kingdom even still stood. There was no reasonable way for him to have survived that…right?
A well aimed blow, skewed by willpower alone. Had he not adjusted his wrists moments before contact his father’s head would have-
Fingers with long dark pristine nails snapped in front of his face, ripping him from his memories in an instant. The Enchantress in front of him now but he kept his eye focused on her throat, never her face. “ I see your spells of inattention are as present as ever.” She said coolly. A soft sigh slipped from her, a halfhearted attempt of pitying him. “Although, with all that he put you through I suppose it would be only natural to drift off here and there.” Choco hated when she did this, talking down to him as if he were no more than a child, as if he could not understand his own thoughts or feelings about anything around him. Despite her regular attempts he knew better than to let his guard down in front of her.
“ You demanded my presence.” Choco mumbled, blunt as ever.
“ I did no such thing, Lamb. I never demand such things. You have freewill to come and go as you please…you know that.” She said with her usual unnerving grin carved into her face. Disgusting lies. He expected nothing less of her. “You’ve been distant. Our dearest Pomegranate Cookie has been keeping me quite informed about your performance, well, the lack of it rather.” She spoke more firmly as she turned on her heel, waltzing to an adjoining room inside of the sanctum. She did not need to beckon him as he knew he had no choice but to follow. Her heels clicked down the dark and long hall alongside the sound of Dark Choco’s sword dragging behind himself, his armor shifting. He could barely see but he knew his way, it was just about the only room inside the sanctuary he was taken to.
They entered, a curtain being drawn aside and her fingers snapping, the room illuminated in a wash of candlelight. An ensuite bathroom felt somewhat pointless given her lack of a physical form but one had been prepared for her regardless, he recalled Pomegranate being strict about the construction and maintenance of the inner sanctum as she always was when it came to their leader’s needs, even if she had none. A large basin, more akin to a fountain truthfully, with a chair before it, the water already running. It was gaudy and extravagant. The water itself was slightly cloudy with sachets of dried petals. Their Enchantress had an uncanny enjoyment in subtle mockery. The well furnished training room that only Choco would ever use, the pointless addition to her inner sanctum that only Choco would use. In Pomegranate cookies snide words, it was ‘fit for royalty’.
He did not recall feeling himself sit down or lean his head back into the basin, his sword taken from him and placed aside. They seldom spoke during this ritual, not that Dark Choco enjoyed speaking to her in any capacity anyways. Warm water was gently poured over his scalp and hair. When he first arrived, his hair was long enough to fill the basin and then some, but now it felt excessively long given his shorter curls. His eye closed upon instinct as she ran her long talon-like nails through his curls, delicately splaying them out in the basin of rice water. They curled and swayed in the water like ink on damp parchment. Her fingers briefly hesitated when they grazed one of the white streaks in his hair. It was something she only did rarely but it was an unsettling display regardless, a reminder that even she had cracks in her mask of unwavering control. A reminder that she existed. The hesitation only lasted a moment before she was back to working the water through his hair, a prolonged silence between them only broken by the soft splashing of the fountains and the droplets when her wet hands were lifted to reach for the nearby rack that held whatever bath contents Pomegranate thought she would want or need. His body unwillingly flinched when her hands returned, cool with shampoo and working through his roots. He kept his eye firmly shut as her nails gently worked against his scalp thoroughly until she was satisfied, rinsing and repeating the task before moving onto the conditioner. It took an ungodly amount of time given the thickness of his hair and how she insisted on actually treating it properly. The scent of mahogany and eucalyptus flooded his senses and he had to fight back a gag at how disgusting it made him feel. Choco hated being pampered and waited on, even as a prince he seldom relied on those around him and insisted on caring for himself. A brief wonder he always had when seated here for their bi monthly meetings was if she knew this about him. Their Enchantress had a knack for exploiting weaknesses profoundly…as she did with his unique punishments.
Dark Choco hadn’t realized he was digging his nails so hard into the leather of the chair’s arms until the sound of the water ceased and his hair was gently wrung out, nails drumming agitatedly on the counter as he slacked on raising his head for just a moment. With a towel he dried his hair as best he could, leaning over for a moment to carefully lift and squeeze his hair to retain its relaxed ringlets as Dark Enchantress Cookie turned and opened a nearby drawer, retrieving a leather roll to which she opened on the rack beside him. She rarely let any possibly lethal objects be within his reach when he first arrived. If memory serves correctly that treatment lasted until his second year there, when Dark Choco had mostly gotten a grip on his thirst for carnage and wouldn’t senselessly target himself or others within his ranks unprovoked. They both knew he was hardly a threat now and he was disgusted at how correct she was. Any thought of grabbing one of the sharp razors or scissors would no longer be imagined plunged into her throat or eye but rather used on himself. Perhaps she understood this from the way his gaze fixated on nothing or how his nails dug into his own palms now as she slowly unsheathed a pair of scissors.
“ Are you upset about something, Dark Choco Cookie?” She asked calmly, her inflection a touch flat as though she wasn’t quite invested in whatever answer he would provide her, if any.
“ My answer remains the same as when you first asked.”
“ Have you been thinking any dangerous thoughts?...Anything that I as your supportive leader should be aware of? “ She questioned again with a touch more investment in her tone. He felt her hands arranging his hair accordingly before beginning to cut. The rough sound of the scissors shearing through his hair made his mind resurface from its absent drifting.
“ No. Never. “ Choco answered swiftly, his heart aching as he glanced down to see locks of silky curls falling into his lap with each snip. In truth he thought dangerously often. In this sense the danger was not of harm or aggression, those were practically encouraged of him from her, rather the ‘danger’ was escape. Hours spent dreaming of being anywhere else but where he was now, not that he was deserving of such a kind fate anyways which made it hurt more but it was deserved. Countless times he wished to take his lover's hands and sink to his knees, begging him to run away, to promise to protect him and whoever they brought with them. A small house in the middle of nowhere that he and his love would claim or perhaps even make themselves, a home that would be warm and safe from the outside world. Dreams of collapsing at the throne his father spent his life protecting, begging him for forgiveness. He knew better than to take these wishes seriously. Licorice was too interwoven in Dark Enchantresses ideology to see any life but this one as purposeful and his father was deceased by his own son's hand. The sadness that soaked into his heart threatened to bleed out as he had to stop himself from making himself as small as he could manage and crying. Copper lingered on his tongue as he bit down hard on the side of it, the sensation dragging him back to reality instead of wishful thinking. “ Is there a reason you are asking? “ He asked bluntly, the snipping pausing for a second before continuing with a sharp cut to a curl. He didn’t care what she wanted or how disappointing she found him, he just wanted to walk out of this godforsaken chamber to clamber his way back to his own tomb to sit in darkness and silence. A brief flutter of fear in his chest. She…there was no way for her to know. He and Licorice were overly careful about behaving indifferently towards each other, reserving any caresses and soft words for when they were laying in Licorice’s bed in each other's arms. Surely Pomegranate Cookie hadn’t caught on yet…or anyone else for that matter.
“ I have been informed…fervently...about your behavior. “ She clarified. “ Skipping meetings, shirking your duties, disrespecting our dear Priestess.” Dark Enchantress listed tiredly, as the cool metal of the scissors slowly grazed against the skin of his throat. “ It sounds as though you are regressing. You would not dare to disrespect myself and the countless resources I have used to make you stronger…you’re smarter than that.” Choco felt uneasy at the double ended phrasing, a threat and praise both of which he did not wish to receive from her.
“Of course not, your excellency.” Choco murmured in response, the metal of the scissors leaving his neck at once, pleased.
“ Such a polite lamb when you wish to be…if only you were respectful all of the time.” She crooned mockingly. Choco could hear the thinly veiled humor in her voice. She adored his misery…all of her devout followers' misery as well. “ As much as your weakness sickens me, I understand that you have your strengths and unique knowledge…however I did not expect you to share such things with our mage of all people, you who are disgusted by fickleness.” Dark Choco tensed ever so slightly. He could not outrun her…unless he tried to use the maze-like halls to lose her long enough to drag Licorice out of this foul castle with him. That hope was crushed when he felt the scissors against the other side of his neck. They slowly slid forward before cutting the lock of hair and dragging back. The sound felt deafening.
“I am afraid I do not follow.” He forced himself to speak, his body a touch shaky as he waited fearfully for her to respond. He heard her snicker quietly, again in that voice she sounded like she stole from someone else entirely. His eye glanced at the sword leaned against the wall, far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to lunge for it without her having the opportunity to stop him. She had learned her lesson when she first began his ‘punishments’, she only made the mistake of leaving the sword within his reach once, perhaps she assumed he would be coherent enough to not attack her. Rarely was she wrong…but he savored knowing he subverted her expectations of him, even if it was just that one occasion. Her dreadful nails ruffled his hair, a vain attempt of getting it to lose some of its weighted appearance from being washed.
“ I have been informed that you and Licorice Cookie have been rather communicative lately.” Dark Enchantress spoke calmly, Dark Choco unable to read her tone. The wave of fear settled in his lungs and stomach as nausea, eyelid fluttering as he tried to hold his composure. Everything was ruined, and worst of all he knew this would be the outcome and proceeded anyway. He should have been stronger, not so weak willed by his own pathetic needs for comfort and a soft hand. “ Our Priestess has been keeping me informed on both of your progress, she has been rather concerned about your devotion…but we both know I only desire results from you, don’t we lamb?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” The response was almost mechanical, his mind weightless yet tethered. Heels clicked against tile as she circled back in front of him, two pointed nails guiding his chin up and his eye tearing away to stare at a curtain, avoiding her at all costs. He was hardly able to register the sound of the scissors working away again as she spoke once more, piercing through the fog with unnerving precision. She knew how he drifted off.
“Our enemies' next moves are clear and predictable as they expect ours to be. Tomorrow by dawn you are to leave and seek a chamber inside the ruins off near the outskirts of the cursed mangroves. Pomegranate Cookie will provide you information on your task and Licorice Cookie shall be accompanying you for the journey, seeing as he has been able to keep you on task thus far. If you fail me you will pay the price, do you understand?” It was an influx of information the warrior was not expecting in the slightest, fighting to keep himself from physically reeling from it. The only sign he was surprised in the slightest was the barely noticeable widening of his eye, which he corrected swiftly before the Enchantress could notice.
“Yes, your excellency. Thank you for your unyielding forgiveness in sight of my own weakness.” The words felt foreign as though it wasn’t himself speaking them, just as it didn’t feel like his body was truly moving as he was guided to his feet and given his sword, or as he wandered down the winding halls and counted each and every step in a state of mind numbing delirium. He was relieved, at least his mind told him he should be, his conscious quiet and hidden under layers of sludge and rot. He and his lover were safe for now…he counted in intervals of eight.
He and his lover were safe
He counts the steps in intervals of eight.
Weightless he so often was, a ghost haunting the castle grounds and becoming corporeal when it was required of him. An empty cracked husk of a man was what he inhabited. The only thing that brought him back to himself anymore was nimble hands cupping his face and pierced chapped lips against his own. The desire to absolutely drown in his lover was overwhelming, like a corpse seeking the warmth of life he wandered, not hearing his footsteps or the dragging of metal behind him, the weight of his sword in his hand or the way the blade made that distinct thunk sound as he tiredly hauled his heavy body up each shoddy wooden step. A low ringing in his ears had him unfocused and ill.
He counts the knocks in intervals of eight.
The familiar scent caressed his senses like a warm knit blanket in a blizzard, darkness enveloping him as a hand carded through his damp hair and worried words floated about him uselessly. Everything was a blur, the sound of shuffling and the door slamming shut, his body dropping and sinking into softness and the scent of his love flooding his mind entirely. Blobs and shapes were unrecognizable as his mind could not be bothered to untangle itself enough to be cognizant. He simply sank and sank further into nothingness until he felt like he couldn’t breathe, darkness numbing any of his senses. The heaviness of whatever he was holding…he could not recall carrying anything…had he? There was nothing there now…
Those thoughts melted away when he felt lithe arms around him and a firmness against his cheek, flowing into the movement seamlessly as an odd swirling feeling washed over him. Weightless. A spectator of nothing but the backs of his eyelids as he sank more and more.
The howling of the wind easing through the gaps of tree branches felt almost familiar, as did the cold kissing his nose and cheeks and the plumes of warm air he could see when he exhaled. Opening his eyes…both of them, felt exhausting. He was hardly rewarded with the effort as the pure white snow seared his retinas painfully enough to make him cover his face with the back of his hand as he curled away from the offending sight. Luxurious wool brushed against his face, the scent of bitter cacao nibs invading his senses, nothing like the sweetness from before. No matter how many times he had this dream he still never got used to how vivid it always felt.
“ It has been some time since you last visited me here, nae adeul.”
It had been ten years since the day he killed his father, the memory of his voice diluted and unclear. It sounded different every time he found himself here, beneath the secluded shelter in the palace gardens. Surrounded by white chocolate birch trees and towering pines that were far older than himself, shoots of choco bamboo and the few signs of life that managed to thrive in such miserable weather conditions. Dark Choco used to often watch the cacaoian hawks soar above, the almond bark elk breezing through the forest. In a life where he was meant to be a predator, he often feared he was born the prey. Weak. Soft. Not enough.
“Must you think so bleakly?...You are of my own dough and jam, you are more than enough.”
Choco shakily pried himself away from the cloak he had been hiding against, his own hanbok swaying against his legs slightly with a brief gust of wind that brought snowflakes beneath the shelter. They flowed through him. He never truly felt a part of anything anymore. His father’s hand gently rested on his shoulder, just barely squeezing. Warmth…or what was supposed to feel like warmth in this state.
“...He would never say such things. I wish you wouldn’t come to me…it hurts.” His voice was quiet and strained, his own tears burning his eyes as they fell to his lap, dark droplets in the bloodstained armor. Was it..? He didn’t recall his armor being so thin, the light white color feeling almost comical each time he had to see it. He felt his father slump against him heavily, a raspy chuckle making his nails bite into his palms. Warmth.
“Even here you will not allow yourself respite…You are my son.” His father’s voice echoed as he blinked away another bout of tears, blurry blobs of color. The dark purple of his hanbok. Then the white of his armor, the blood fresh on the fabric. Warmth. “Do you not wish to enjoy the mere dream of my kindness?...Do you not dream of your father with warmth and love?”
A sick gurgle sounded in his ears. His eye remained glued to his blood-soaked armor, his fist gripping the handle of his sword as the crimson gem gleamed pridefully. His fathers long silky hair flowed against him as the wind blew again, falling in a pile as his head detached with an unsettling click of his spinal cord giving in to the damage. He avoided acknowledging the blood cascading down, or how it pooled and filled. How his father’s face did not look like his father, how he could still see the glint of his blade as he drowned in the hot thick blood as it filled his lungs.
A tumble and the cold of the floor made Choco gasp and choke, shaking as he felt hands touching his shoulders. He shifted and kicked hard, scrambling until his back hit the shelves behind him hard enough to knock a few books off. It was dark aside from the gentle glow of candlelight, Choco having to blink hard before his eye registered Licorice across from him clutching his stomach on his bed. He was frozen in place as he stared at Licorice. The room was comfortable as it always was yet his mind was still frayed. He resorted to counting, the four books that had fallen twice for a total of eight, the candles and pillows, over and over until he felt a wave of calm. Licorice was staring at him now with a slight grimace on his face.
“By the light, were you dreaming you were a horse or something? I think I broke a damn rib.” The necromancer complained, weakly throwing a pillow across the room at Choco. “You’re such an ass, I even let you have most of the blankets and this is the thanks I-” While Licorice rambled Choco shifted, quickly crawling and dragging himself over to throw his arms around the other. His lover’s words died in his throat as he reciprocated the embrace easily. Seeking comfort always felt so easy with Licorice. He breathed in the sweet scent of his lover as Choco let himself be guided into his lap atop his bony thighs. Slowly he melted and that rigid fear that had woken him up was replaced with safety only Licorice could provide him. Soft caresses and kisses against the temple as soft words were whispered to him. Choco never responded but the sound of Licorice’s voice alone soothed him like nothing else.
“I am so very sorry for kicking you.” Choco winced at the raw sound of his own voice, aching and painful from sleeping. Licorice's chuckle was raspy as he ran his hand through Choco's now mostly dried curls. His nail polish was chipped and cracked and the drag of his fingers against his scalp was delightful.
“ oh hush, I think it's adorable that you practice your combat skills even in your sleep.” Licorice teased, and Choco could hear the way his smile curled higher on one side of his face, eyebrows drawn together in their usual nervous expression. “ But it was pretty rude…especially considering how polite of a host I've been…and you forgot to bring me food…”
“ How rude of me. How could I ever apologize for such a great offence?” Choco's voice was monotone and rough still from lack of use. Despite his lack of animation Licorice snickered, seemingly content with the returned banter. His lover let out a low hum as if to ponder his options, as if he didn't already know exactly what he wanted from his morose warrior.
“ Your armor off would be a good start. You kept jabbing me in the hip with the pointy part of your gauntlets.” He grumbled as his lithe and deft fingers moved to tug at a clasp on his cuirass, he had learned rather quickly how to remove his armor after watching Choco do it himself so many times. It felt like an odd sense of attention, laying on his side while the necromancer lazily removed his defenses piece by piece, tiredly yet with a sense of fragility as to not disrespect the tempered metal that kept Choco safe in every altercation. Choco allowed himself to be sat up, the upper half of his armor removed tenderly and placed aside as Licorice's hands smoothed up to tug off his padding and mail, pressing chaste kisses to the warrior's cheek and jaw just to hear his raspy chuckle. “...ugh…no more wearing this to my room, its too many layers.” Licorice complained after tossing his mail aside with a huff. Before Choco could consider arguing back he was laid down, Licorice briefly making eye contact before shyly flicking his gaze away as he removed the rest of his armor with the same tenderness. A bony hand smoothed up his now free thigh, the warmth of his palm pleasant and loving even over the fabric of his baji.
Such an intimate moment felt out of place for where they were. For who they were. An exiled and cursed warrior prince and a bright magic user who had pledged himself to the arts of necromancy and rot. Typically Dark Choco would dwell on this misery for longer, let himself drown in it like he so often felt he deserved to, but as Licorice reverently ran his hands down his hips and sides up his body to his neck, thumbs on either side of his face as he leaned down to kiss him…
It was not carnal in the sense of desire and hunger for the flesh. It was far simpler and more soft. Choco wrapped his arms around Licorice’s shoulders as they slotted together, melting into one another as they kissed. It was slow and languid, as if they had done this lazy ritual thousands of times before, as if they knew nothing other than each other. They parted briefly to breathe, Licorice only doing so for a moment before shifting to lie his face in the crook of Choco's neck, Choco's own hands cradling him gently.
“...Dark Enchantress Cookie requested that we see to a task together.” Dark Choco blurted out quietly, feeling a touch breathless still.
“Was…was that what your nightmare was about? Because if so, im going to feel very offended-”
“No.” Choco dismissed, chuckling quietly as Licorice let out an exaggerated sight of relief.
“Is that where you ran off to? I figured you got caught up with something but I didn’t think it would have been that.” The necromancer mumbled against the other's neck. Choco felt the cold tingling sensation clamber up his spine and neck, making him shudder slightly. He did not want to talk about it, to recall her hands washing his hair and cutting it like it was some sort of exercise of control over him. The way she looked into his eyes when she mentioned Licorice just to watch him squirm…He could faintly smell the scent of eucalyptus on him still and he bit his tongue hard to not cry out and start tearing it out of his skull by the fistful.
“Yes. Pomegranate Cookie found me in the kitchen and informed me that my presence was needed.” His voice felt pained, having to grind out each syllable to force himself to speak.
“Wh- Light above, she's such a pest! Aren't those supposed to be on a set schedule?!” Licorice snapped, sitting up with his hands braced on Choco's chest, glaring down at him. Choco shrugged halfheartedly, making Licorice groan in annoyance. His lover's theatrical level of agitation was quickly dispelled into wide-eyed fear. “You…you don't think they-?”
“No. I do not think they know anything…at least not enough to do anything at this moment.” Choco stated firmly, putting Licorice at least slightly more at ease with his words. “ Dark Enchantress Cookie mentioned that Pomegranate Cookie has been keeping her informed…They both seem to have noticed our change in behavior, but only Pomegranate seems to consider it odd. “ Our Enchantress is under the impression that we are helping each other, you keep me doing my work, I keep you doing yours…Productive misery I suppose.” He explained, feeling his own body aching to go back to sleep, to shut down and spend hours in darkness and silence.
“Th..Thats good though, right?! I mean if they think we work fine together that works in our favor! We just have to keep Pomegranate in the dark, which we've been doing a great job of so far.” Licorice blurted out abruptly, sensing the warrior's skepticism with their predicament.
“ This assumes we will continue to do a ‘good job’...you cannot account for every possible slip up, divines help us if she begins looking for proof…” Choco's words trailed off with an underlying nervousness in his largely indifferent voice.
“Oh please, Pomegranate Cookie is too busy trying to keep her excellency happy enough to keep us all around, I doubt she will have time to sniff out if her two colleagues are holding hands beneath the table during our meetings.” Licorice stated flatly, easily dismissing the other's concerns to instead soothe both of their nerves. Choco was silent for a moment, head turned to the side to avoid holding Licorice's gaze. “...Hey..” The necromancer whispered, gently cupping Dark Choco's cheek and tilting his head, pale golden eyes looking down into his carmine one with a kindness only Choco tended to get to see. “ It will be fine darling, I promise. “ The words were whispered as he leaned down, lips pressing a kiss to his warrior's cheek and then is forehead.
“...And what of Poison Mushroom Cookie? Bat-Cat? Brute?” Choco questioned, Licorice hushing him with a kiss to his other cheek and then finally his lips. It was chaste and sweet.
“And what of them? One is a child and two are loyal to me.” Licorice said a touch more pointedly. The silence that fell between them felt tense, as though they both had words that were going unsaid for the sake of the other. “It will be okay…I promise, nothing bad will come of this… of us. “ Licorice was the first to break the silence with tentative words of reassurance. They were both stubborn in their respective ways which tended to clash, but now it felt dire. Choco bit his tongue, unable to let his true concern expose itself. It was something that kept him up at night and made him keep other's at arms length at all times.
What if it does go wrong? He wanted to ask. When the time comes will you make the decision I hope you will make, or the one I know you will make?
“I can always tell when your brooding.” Licorice teased quietly, gently pulling him from his fears. His vision focused on the man before him, gaunt face smoothed by candlelight and usually sharp eyes softened by affection. “ You get all serious looking.” He murmured, leaning in and letting their faces nuzzle against each other, breath on his lips before entwining his thin arms around Choco and kissing him tenderly. Choco's scarred hands cupped Licorice's jaw tentatively as though fearful that he would break his neck if he were to do anything more than allow his fingertips to graze his mocha skin. Licorice never hesitated anymore, he used to occasionally but now, now that he understood his advances were adored, it was like a current of unbridled adoration every chance he got. Choco let himself be laid down and kissed, feeling a sense of reassurance with every love bite on his neck that would need to be hidden by his collar and every reverent whisper of admiration Licorice would mumble against his skin. A hand ran through his hair, shaking up the scent and reminder of that dreadful meeting. Licorice paused his affections to move back up, giving Choco a kiss on the neck, breathing him in. It made Choco shiver. “...Why do you smell like eucalyptus?” He asked, voice having a mild dullness to it that Choco couldn't quite understand the cause of. Licorice pulled back to cradle his face as he answered, and Choco internally hoped his lover wouldn't feel the warmth blooming in his cheeks.
“Dark Enchantress cut my hair.” He answered numbly. “ She washes it before doing so.” Choco didn't miss the way Licorice’s expression darkened ever so slightly, gaze narrowing into something close to anger. He hid it well. “...My apologies, I thought you were aware that she cuts it.” Choco apologized, the verbal equivalent of trying to shoot an arrow in the dead of night.
“I like the one you use more…” Licorice murmured quietly, his eyes locked onto Choco's lone one. It was…a touch jarring to be looked at so intensely. Slowly the reason for his reaction bled into Choco's mind as Licorice’s words settled. His love was not upset with him for something as inconsequential as someone else cutting his hair, no doubt unaware of the way it served as a reminder that he was disposable to some degree. “...I can cut your hair for you from now on…I'll even be so kind as to let you use my shampoo and conditioner.” He mused, his smile hanging lopsided on his face as he toyed with one of the curls of Choco's hair. It wasn't about Choco's behavior in the slightest. Licorice was upset in a more possessive fashion. Choco knew it was not behavior he should encourage in the slightest but he couldn't find the power to refuse it either… someone caring for him in such a way felt surreal. It felt more surreal that Licorice had unknowingly soothed a persistent fear of his. He managed to avoid Choco's expectations even now, even when it was Dark Enchantress’s will. It was small and over something that largely did not matter or mean anything in the slightest, but it was something that planted a seed of hope deep inside the warrior's bruised and broken ribcage, held tightly and hidden in his numb heart.
“...I would like that.” Choco’s voice was hushed as he turned his head to reciprocate the affection Licorice had been drowning him with. Kisses along his fragile neck and a slight hesitation before guiding Licorice to lie back down with him, holding the necromancer tightly. “...I love you.” The words escaped him like a confession, as if he had not already spoken those words to his lover before. Still, Licorice snuggled into the embrace and sighed contently.
“Love you too..” He was tired, and Choco soothed him with his arms around his frame and a lazy kiss atop his head.
“...I know.” Choco replied, Licorice's breathing already relaxed and slow. Choco himself felt that he could now allow himself to rest, to feel the rare moment of peace that being loved brought him.