Work Text:
04:59:28
The thing about royal balls is that they’re, well, royal balls. Ranboo is well aware of what such an event entails; the finery, the dresses, the food, the entertainment, the politics. It’s an intricate dance that she’s intimately familiar with, and has been for years.
But it’s an intricate dance that she’s never been on this side of.
The mirror is cracked in the corner, missing a chunk entirely. It’s dirty at the edges too, and it’s frankly impossible to find an even lighting in this dump. Ranboo thought it was bad back in the palace, but void, she was so wrong. This is so much worse.
“Ugh,” she sighs, resisting the urge to push everything off her makeshift vanity to make enough room to lean into the mirror. And to think she used to have standards. The things she’s doing for this stupid plan.
Eyeliner in hand, Ranboo paints a sweeping white wing onto her eyelid, and then promptly struggles to match it on the other side. It’s a lot different being on this side of the eyeliner brush, and her elbows just don’t bend in the right way to get the exact angle she wants. Of everyone attending the ball tonight, Ranboo thinks she might just be the only one who’s having to do her own makeup. The horror.
She grumbles again as she gets the eyeliner as good as she can manage. Time is ticking, and she’d be here all night if she didn’t just give up and call it good enough. Ranboo is not a fan of ‘good enough’. Ranboo is being forced to be a fan of ‘good enough’, and it sucks. Why settle for ‘good enough’ when ‘perfect’ is right there?
Lacking the proper tools, Ranboo uses her finger to smear purple shimmer over her eyes, and silver onto the high points of her cheekbones. After a moment of consideration in the still-dingy mirror, she rubs some experimentally on the ridges of her horns. It’s not the right type of makeup for them, but it seems to stick. Once again, ‘good enough’ will have to suffice, even though it makes her wrinkle her nose so much she’s worried the creases will become permanent.
Deeming herself adequately done-up, Ranboo rises from the small wooden stool she was perched on, feeling entirely out of place in the room. The bed in the corner is only really such on a technicality, its high sides not really high at all, the plush lining torn in multiple places and patched over so the cushioning goo doesn’t leak out. Well, doesn’t leak out more than it already has.
At least the blankets are soft. At least they’re warm. At least there’s two of them.
The makeshift vanity is simply a very tired, very small writing desk with a broken mirror propped on it. The desk drawer is missing, and one leg is at least a notch shorter than the others. There’s nothing on the bare boards of the floor, and whatever used to be on the walls has faded into a mottled greyish colour. There’s one tiny window, and one door. Ranboo would not go as far to call this place home, despite having lived here for the better part of six months.
Void, six months. Six months ago, she was cosy in the palace, with no idea of just how good she had it. Meals, a proper bed, a desk with a drawer. Sure, there was still plenty of room for improvement, but at least it was something. Her own stupid mistake landed her here, penniless, pathetic, and plotting.
Now she’s here, and the only remnants of her old life are her, and the fabric hung on a nail that sticks out of the wall.
The dress is, frankly, the best thing she’s ever owned. Okay, maybe ‘owned’ is a little bit of an… oversimplification, but it’s hers now, and she doesn’t plan on getting rid of it any time soon.
Its bodice is fitted, laced in the back, and encrusted with so many rhinestones in all shades of purple and blue that it rivals the sparkling of the Portals itself. Off the shoulder sleeves made of a fabric so fine and iridescent it looks like the lilac sheen of a bubble billow, lace studded with deep teal pearls at the cuffs.
And the skirts.
They fall away from the waist like petals, unfurling like the most beautiful chorus flower. Their purple fabric shines teal in what little light there is, panels embroidered with delicate floral designs, gradating from royal purple through to something so deep, so rich it’s almost black.
Again, it’s the most stunning thing Ranboo has ever had for herself. A mask hangs by its ribbon from the same hook, a delicate little thing, made from thin petal-like cuts of the same fabrics as the skirts, and studded with the same rhinestones and pearls. Can’t go to a masquerade without a mask, after all.
Also can’t go to a masquerade without an invitation, which is why Lady Chacel’s housestaff are surely spending their evening furiously turning her place upside down. Ranboo giggles at the thought. Serves her right.
It’s always a little hard to get into a dress like this on your own, and Ranboo lets out quite the colourful string of curses trying to lace the damn thing up. She pins her hair up too, with a handful of pearl pins, and secures the mask over her face.
The finishing touch is a velvet cape, black as the void, with an elegant gold clasp. Ranboo pulls the hood up over her head, tucks the few things she needs in the folds of her dress, and heads out.
She has a ball to attend.
03:45:58
The carriage she steps out of is nothing ostentatious. It’s not like Ranboo has the means to get anything fancy anymore, she’s doing the best with what she has. She slinks from it in her black cloak, absorbing all the light from the crystals that float in the air. The ball started an hour ago, and while the crowd cover might have been nice, Ranboo can’t say she isn’t one for an entrance.
Plus, someone was late with the carriage, and their suit doesn’t fit them right, and Ranboo refuses to be seen with him this close to the palace, not when shoddy fashion could ruin her whole plan. But at least she has a getaway driver, she supposes. Even if they are the bane of her existence, sometimes. She supposes that’s just what siblings are like.
Shoving her displeasure with her sibling’s lack of care from her mind, Ranboo climbs the steps to the palace, heels clicking against the polished endstone. Oh how she missed that sound. It’s music to her ears, just as much as the melodies drifting softly from the palace.
Doors are opened for her, and it’s a nice change. People stand at attention as she moves past them, sweeping through familiar halls, all the way to the ballroom.
It’s when a butler whose face she recognises offers to take her cloak that Ranboo- freezes. His name escapes her in the moment, but he’s definitely familiar. She tugs the hood a little further over her face, trying to hide in the shadows.
“My lady?” the butler repeats, his hand still outstretched, palm upturned. “Our coatroom is just down the hall, I assure you, we will take the utmost care of your garment.” She knows they will. She knows exactly where the coatroom is.
Ever the trained professional, his eyes never meet hers. They stay respectfully averted, as his position demands.
“Y-yes, yes of course,” Ranboo says. He doesn’t recognise her. He doesn’t recognise her.
First smoothing her skirts—first wiping the sweat from her palms—Ranboo moves to let her hood down, and unfastens her cloak. The butler takes it from her immediately, whisking it away. And there’s another butler at her other side now, holding his arm out, beckoning her onwards.
“My lady, may I have your name? We must announce your arrival to those gathered already,” he asks, escorting her to the doors of the ballroom.
“Oh, no, that’s fine. I wouldn’t want to make a scene,” Ranboo says, trying to brush him off. There will surely be people here who know she is not Lady Chacel, and she can’t risk that.
“It’s tradition, my lady,” the butler pushes back.
“I insist,” Ranboo replies. She cannot have her cover blown one step into the ballroom, it will only end badly. “Don’t make everyone stop their… revelry simply because of my tardiness.”
“If you say so, my lady,” the butler says, evidently not paid enough to deal with this, and not wanting to make a scene. Good. Ranboo usually adores a good scene, but not here, not now.
Still, the doors swing open dramatically, the music swelling as they do, and she stands at the top of the grand staircase, looking down onto a room of people.
It would be too far to say a hush fell over the room, but many people certainly paused their conversations as she stepped into the room, so many eyes turned to her. She can feel them scanning her, her dress, her posture, her face, her mask.
For what feels like an eternity, she stands still, unable to get her feet to move. But no one calls out. No one comes running at her. No one seems to know exactly who it is under the mask, and chatter begins anew, although half the room cannot take their eyes off her.
Well, that’s the first hurdle passed. She’s in.
She’s in, and it’s time to have some fun.
With a new found confidence in her stride, Ranboo descends the stairs. She can feel her skirts moving along the steps as she does, can see the way she shines in the lights. Hands go to mouths and whispers to ears, and more than one vain noble girl cannot contain her scowl beneath her mask. Sure, everyone here looks better than Ranboo ever had before tonight, but come on. Try harder. It shouldn’t be this easy for Ranboo to upstage every single one of them, and yet here she is. The jewel in the crown of the ballroom, the sun in the centre of this solar system.
Now this is where she’s supposed to be. And finally, finally, everyone else is able to see it. Soon enough, they won’t be able to keep denying it, no matter how hard they try.
02:52:05
The ball is magnificent.
Of course it is, it’s a palace masquerade. They’re celebrating the two thousandth year of the monarchy, or something like that, an all-out celebration of revelry and riches. The palace has been giving tours to other important people all day, they’ve pulled out some of the oldest, most precious symbols of the royal family, and they’re throwing a massive ball to celebrate, with a promise of some big announcement at midnight that she intends to co-opt. It’s Ranboo’s one chance to turn her life back around, her one chance for her redemption. She had to take it.
It’s magnificent, and it’s even more magnificent being on this side of it. There are tables laden with food she’s only ever been able to stare at longingly before, candied chorus peel in a bed of fine-spun sugar, pearlescent jellies with tentacles made of fruit, doughy flowers studded with seeds on crisp void lily leaves, and of course, a tower of thin crystal glasses, each filled with a bubbling liquid similar in hue to her dress.
Ranboo foists off her third empty glass to one of the maids standing around, balancing it on her already full tray, and tries not to hiccup too loudly.
She’s already been asked to dance by three men and two women, and while it was fun for a while, she does have to admit it’s even more fun to turn them down with nothing but a wave of her hand.
Their faces. The memory alone is enough to make her heart yearn for this life that should always have been hers.
But alas, making grown men cry is not the sole reason Ranboo is here. Neither is the food, nor the beverages, although she might have to hunt another one down at some point. They make her thoughts wonderfully soft, the lights wonderfully gentle on her eyes. Everything is just so much nicer now. So much easier.
So much sooner.
She really needs to get going, she’s on a time limit here.
Extracting herself from the throes of people, Ranboo skirts around the edge of the ballroom, trying to return to being inconspicuous. That’s the one downside of looking this stunning, she finds. It’s very difficult to melt into the background like she used to be able to.
But she’s able to slip around a corner, out of the ballroom and into a back hallway, one a guest certainly shouldn’t even know about, let alone be in.
But Ranboo is no usual guest, and she has something to hunt.
She sets off with determination, although is the ground here uneven? She’s pretty sure it’s uneven. It shouldn’t be uneven, have they been doing renovations or something?
Getting her footing in these heels is a little trickier than expected, but she finds it, one hand on the wall to steady her. Damnit, she forgot to grab another glass of that bubbly stuff. She’ll have to get one on her way back.
Why didn’t she bring a map? That would have been a good idea. She’d have to have made the map from memory, but like… she could use a map right now. Where’s she going again?
Footsteps sound further down the corridor. Not the sharp click of heels, but the gentler tapping of a maid scurrying about, doing her job. Ranboo ducks down another hallway branching off, trying to stay out of sight.
Void, she needs to think. She needs to take a moment and get her head on straight, because she is here for a reason, and there is something she needs to find, and this might well be her only shot.
The museum. The palace museum, where they display all the crown jewels and treasures and important, fancy stuff. She remembers hearing about the temporary display they’ve set up for the anniversary, the first time a particular piece will be shown in generations. She remembers how her heart fluttered when she heard that, when her search finally had an end date, a location. And that’s where she’s headed. The museum. It’s… it’s…
She wracks her brains. Why is thinking suddenly so hard? Why does the floor look so comfortable to lie down on?
It’s near the grand library. Up two floors, and across, in the west wing. There’ll be guards stationed outside, and all the internal doors will surely be locked. But that’s fine. That’s fine, she has a plan. A flawless one. And… just under three hours to pull it off.
Right. Better get going.
02:28:58
It’s still hard to think, she finds as she attempts to navigate the catacombs of servant’s corridors. She should be better at this. She knows she’s better at this. She spits herself out into a never-used guest room, closing the hinged shelf behind her, back into the palace proper now. Sure, she could get to the museum entirely through servant’s tunnels, but she’d have to take a roundabout way to avoid the kitchens. At least she can remember that.
With a ball going on, most of the guards should be concentrated in the northern wing. There’ll still be regular patrols, but there are enough rooms here that Ranboo knows she can duck out of sight if need be.
She runs down the opulent hallway, plush carpet beneath her feet, skirts in her hands. Something in her heart alights as she catches sight of herself in the mirrored wall panels, a radiant star shooting through the sky. She looks like a princess.
She looks like a princess.
All that’s missing is the crown.
She keeps running, determined, not quite as sure-footed as she’d like to be, ears perked and listening for the sounds of the guards. For a mercifully long time, they don’t come, and she careens around corners, only toppling one carved bust from a side table as she does so. Oh well, it didn’t break too badly. Just a single horn that fell off.
She laughs when she realises it’s not her problem, and keeps running.
But the guards do eventually appear, the metronomic sound of their boots as they march along their set path. Ranboo realises what that noise is with barely a moment to spare, throwing herself into a room and scrambling to hide behind a lounge. The chances someone will look into the room are slim, but they might’ve heard the door close.
Evidently, it seems one of them did. Light shines into the room from the corridor, a shadow moving in its path. Ranboo claps a hand over her mouth, breathing as shallowly as she can manage. Void, please say she didn’t fuck this all up already.
But then the door closes, the light disappears, and the rhythmic footsteps recede.
“Oh thank fuck,” Ranboo breathes, sprawling out on the carpet. It’s just as soft as she remembered, and she runs her fingers through it for several moments.
And then she remembers why she’s here, and how close she is, and that she doesn’t currently have the time to be lying on the floor and daydreaming, even if it’s even more comfortable than she thought it would be.
She has to keep going.
01:30:25
Ranboo’s back in the servant’s halls. The guard presence is definitely increased in the palace proper in the entire west wing, but evidently mostly around the museum. Thankfully, there are absolutely no servants in these corridors. They’re all far too preoccupied with the ball, and presumably the honoured guests over in the eastern wing. Absolutely no reason for anyone to be over this side of the palace, in these halls, and thus able to discover Ranboo.
Perfect.
It took a little bit of searching, since these halls are very rarely used, and very well concealed, but Ranboo’s back on the floor again, but sitting this time, not lying. It’s not nearly as comfortable in here as it was back on the carpet anyways. The urge to lie down and sleep is a little weaker than it was, thankfully.
The door beside her, however, is definitely locked, which is frankly annoying. Ah well, at least she planned for this.
Ranboo runs her tongue over her teeth, and then slowly back across the roof of her mouth. There, nestled in the back, cradled by her gum, is something smooth and round. She pops it out, and rolls it on her tongue for a moment, judging its size, testing its firmness, tasting it.
Deeming it suitable, she spits the dark coloured pearl into her palm.
She’d been letting this one build up for months, ever since her plan started to take shape. There’s another one hiding behind her molars on the other side of her mouth, just in case. She kind of sorta maybe used up her entire surplus six months ago, and growing them always takes so long.
But this one is perfectly suited for the job, small enough that she can press it through the gap under the door, rolling it into the room.
The wait is only a few seconds, but it feels like hours. She’s teleporting blind, just hoping that her pearl collides with something with enough force to pull her with it, because if she doesn’t, she’s only got one more shot, and if that also doesn’t work, she’s leaving a literal calling card behind. They will call her whether she likes it or not, and that could go really, really wrong.
It’s definitely not something she learned the hard way.
And then everything lurches, spacetime warps, and Ranboo is deposited in a very un-graceful heap at the base of a plinth, eyes screwed shut as she waits for everything to stop spinning. Being sick would be probably the second worst thing to happen here.
Ranboo burps. Loudly. It tastes of whatever fizzy thing she was drinking before, and she can also feel the bubbles in her nose. She really wishes she had remembered to pick up another glass of whatever it was.
As it is, she just hauls herself up, hand on the plinth, and takes in the room around her.
It’s loaded.
The crown jewels sit in the middle, illuminated by carefully suspended end rods, glowing like stars. There are more pieces of jewelry dotted around, necklaces, brooches, tiaras, earrings, horn cuffs, everything she could possibly think of. It’s all silvers and golds, massive gemstones and more diamonds than she knew existed.
The plinth she’s used to pull herself up has a lump of rock on it, completely un-carved, looking like it was just lifted directly from the ground and deposited in the museum. Until Ranboo steps around to the other side, and is met with a swirling protrusion the size of her entire head, shining with opalescence. An ammonite, opalised and displayed pride of place. Void, what she’d give to be able to take that with her too, to turn it into something she could wear. The colours are stunning.
And it’s all right here.
First things first, Ranboo strides confidently over to the middle of the room, to the crown jewels. There’s a few of them, a scepter on a stand, a crown with some giant green eye-like gem in the middle, cuffs with enclosed end crystals, the likes. But she’s not here for any of that. She’s here for one thing, and one thing in particular.
Sitting on a soft purple cushion is the star of the show—literally. The Star Tiara, the most precious, most beautiful thing in the entire palace collection.
Finely wrought gold spirals and swirls, studded with delicate, dripping diamonds, tiny flashes of citrine, and overworld pearls. But in the centre, bracketed by filigree, is a glimmering four-pointed star, rippling with ancient magic. It’s said whoever dons such a piece—whoever is worthy of it—gets to share its imbued magic, becoming faster, stronger, more powerful. Becomes royal.
And Ranboo grasps it in both of her hands, and takes it.
00:53:57
The tiara wasn’t the only thing Ranboo took. Of course it wasn’t, who would she be if she didn’t take every opportunity handed to her? This is her chance to prove she can do this, to pull off something so grand and unprecedented, to finally earn her rightful place in the palace.
Amethyst hands from her ears and her neck now, strung from silver chains. A matching set that really just goes with her dress so nicely, how could she possibly pass it up?
There are cuffs on her horns too, ones with chains on them. They have something blue-ish in them that she doesn’t recognise, a darker shade that also matches her dress, in a subtle way.
The tiara is tucked away safely, she doesn’t dare risk wearing that out in the open. Not yet, not here. That’s for later, for her second grand entrance. For when she comes for her rightful position.
From this side, the door is easy to push open, and it’s simply a matter of retracing her steps back to where she started, avoiding being seen. At least this time she’s walking towards where she’s supposed to be, not away. It looks… slightly better in terms of suspiciousness, all things considered.
It’s when she’s almost back that there’s a definite… shift in the atmosphere. And not in a good way.
Voices are raised, gruff things, shouting orders. What were rhythmic, almost delicate footsteps turn into thunder, the sound of entire contingents of guards moving as one.
“Shit,” Ranboo swears, tucked into a corner. “Shit. Fuck. Fuck.”
It’s happening again.
Fucking hell, why is it happening again? She was so careful this time!
She waits for the pounding of the guards to fade enough that they’re not immediately going to catch her when she emerges, before bolting across the halls. Secrecy comes second to speed, now, she figures. As long as she can get out of here, and get back to the ball, she can salvage this. She can salvage this!
00:11:48
“Ma’am?”
It’s the same fucking butler from before. The one with the face Ranboo knows she knows, looking at her with a puzzled expression.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Ranboo manages to get out, breathing heavily, hands braced on her knees. Fuck, she just ran the length of the entire north wing. In heels. “Yeah just- just give me a moment.” She holds a hand up, waving it in the vague direction of the butler.
“My lady, it’s not safe out here, I recommend you rejoin the festivities inside,” the butler continues, decidedly not giving her a moment. She scowls at him.
“Unsafe?” she asks, straightening up and adjusting her bodice. Damn tiara is digging into her sternum, not that she’d ever admit that.
“We are not at liberty to disclose specificities, my lady. Rest assured, we have the full palace guard mobilised in order to protect those attending the ball. We simply ask that you…
It happens in slow motion.
His eyes flick to her neck. To her ears. Back to her neck.
To her eyes.
The contact raises hackles on Ranboo’s bare shoulders, spines flaring up in defence.
And for the second time this evening, she runs.
“It’s her!” the butler yells, throwing open the doors to the ballroom, and the sound of armoured guards running is soon to follow. So is the sound of an entire ballroom of people being informed of something Ranboo really, really didn’t want them to be informed about.
She high-tails it through the entranceway of the palace, ducking and dodging as guards spring from their posts, trying to grab her. At least all these guards’ weapons are the ostentatious, showy ones, not the ones that are actually a threat.
Trying not to choke on it, Ranboo rolls the second pearl from her gum, spitting it into her palm. This constitutes an emergency, she thinks. She’s got better at her aim since last time, and this pearl feels sturdier than she used to make them, even if it is a little small.
With what feels like half the palace hot on her heels, Ranboo takes to the stairs, hurling the pearl as far as she can. There’s a shabby little carriage already waiting, and she tries to aim as close to it as possible. So much for stealing the announcement to present herself as the new heir, she just wants to get out of here in one piece.
The pearl hits the ground with force, and Ranboo tumbles down the last few stairs in a whirlwind of skirts. No time to sort that out now, she picks herself up, and rather belatedly realises one of her heels fell off when she landed, several stairs up from where she is.
“Fuck!” she curses, gathering her skirts in her arms, and turning back around. She can’t just leave it! The outfit would be incomplete! Plus, how is she supposed to run in just one heel? She didn’t perfect this skill for nothing!
That, of course, of fucking course, is her downfall.
Literally.
She’s knocked to the ground as multiple guards teleport into the space next to her, and more swarm her. She tries to scratch and kick, screaming various obscenities at them, but they pin her down, haul her up, and drag her back to the palace. Distantly, Ranboo thinks she hears a carriage pulling away.
Oh that bastard!
“Check her pearls!” someone calls, dragging Ranboo back to the situation at hand.
Speaking of hands, one of them clamps her jaw, forcing her mouth open. Some nameless guard sticks a finger into her mouth, probing around. She bites down. Hard.
“Bitch!” the guard yelps, pulling his finger back. “She’s out!” he calls back to whoever decided this wasn’t a gross violation of her body, or whatever.
Ranboo is hauled gracelessly back to the ballroom, and thrown to the ornate obsidian floor with enough force to hit her horns rather painfully against it.
She can feel all the eyes on her, can feel the way it makes her spines raise all along her back and her shoulders again. Why are they all looking at her like that? Don’t they know who she is? Don’t they know who she’s supposed to be?
And then there are more footsteps—so many fuckcing footsteps, Ranboo’s so sick of footsteps—and she recognises these ones.
The royal couple. The Queens of the End.
“You think you can steal from us, thief?” one of the queens says, disdain dripping like oil from her voice. “You think we will not catch you?”
Ranboo raises her head from the floor, staring the queen straight in the eyes. She doesn’t care about customs or decorum, she wants to see her cower.
She doesn’t quite get her wish.
“Unmask her,” the second queen says, directed at one of the guards.
“Get off me!” Ranboo tries, squirming away from the hands that reach for her. This is bad. This is really bad. The mask is the only thing protecting her now, and it’s-
It’s ripped from her face, those delicate petals of fabric crushed in the hands of the guard. Ranboo makes a small whimpering sound in the back of her throat in mourning.
Thankfully, it’s drowned out by the gasp from just about everyone surrounding her.
The guests seem confused at least, but there is fury on the faces of every single palace worker and inhabitant.
Ranboo’s hair has escaped its pins, and she lets it fall in front of her face, trying desperately to hide.
“Ranboo,” the queens spit, almost in unison. “You dare show your face here again?”
Ranboo simply looks up at them from between lank strands of hair. It’s not like she was trying to get caught.
“You were banished from the palace once, after abusing your position on our trusted staff, and you have the audacity to return? To continue to take what is not yours?”
A hand bedecked in rings reaches out, pulling the necklace from Ranboo’s neck, plucking the earrings from her ears. From behind, someone grabs her horns, manhandling her, taking the cuffs from them. They throw her to the ground again, which, honestly, is just overkill.
“You were warned, Ranboo,” one of the queens says, voice dark. “We do not take kindly to maids who usurp their positions, and we especially do not take kindly to those who disobey direct banishment, all for what, a repeated failure?”
“You have been caught again, Ranboo,” the second queen says. “And again you were attempting to abscond with the palace’s jewels, only this time, your dress is nicer. What do you expect to happen?”
Ranboo continues to stare, heat high on her cheeks, spines still grazing her chin.
“Banishment from the palace and stripping of your role as a trusted maid clearly wasn’t enough,” the first queen continues. “For the crime of attempted theft from the palace, Ranboo, you are hereby banished from the End.”
A hush falls over the ballroom well and truly this time.
Ranboo blinks something that she refuses to name from her eyes, determined not to let it ruin her makeup.
-35:23:04
It’s bright.
It’s way too fucking bright.
Groggily, Ranboo rolls over, trying to block the light from her face. The floor underneath her is soft and spongey, and stinging her skin just that littlest bit, just enough to be noticeable.
It’s also entirely green.
“The fuck?” she mumbles, and her hands sink into it as she pushes herself up.
The last thing she remembers was being hauled through the palace by guards, an entire masquerade worth of people following to watch, tittering the entire time.
The last thing she remembers was being thrown into the fountain, the one where the void laps at the stone edges.
The last thing she remembers was falling.
The last thing she remembers was that they never gave her her fucking shoe back.
“Seriously?” she mutters, sitting back on her heels, kneeling in whatever ground she’s found herself in. They didn’t even throw it in after her! They could’ve been at least a little nice!
Everything is still so, so bright. Brighter than it ever gets in the End.
Slowly, though, her eyes adjust. The sky above her is the blue of diamonds, puffy white clouds floating lazily through the air. There are trees all around her, tall things, with leaves that are green and look like they’re dripping from the branches. She’s knelt on a patch of grass, well, grass and mud. Void, it’s all on her skirt, isn’t it? Her beautiful skirts, ruined.
Everything seems to be reflected in front of her. The sky, the trees, the grass. It’s not until a small, green creature with large eyes hops out from under some leaf, and plops into the reflection that she realises. It’s not a mirror, it’s not a drop-off.
It’s water.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Ranboo cries out. There’s so much water. It covers the ground, full of plants, interspersed here and there with tiny little grassy lumps like the one she’s found herself on.
She’s Enderian! Water hurts her!
That explains why everything just sort of stings a little bit, though. It’s all so wet out here.
Trying valiantly to make the most of her situation, Ranboo leans over, taking off her one remaining shoe. It’ll surely just sink into the ground here, and it’s not like she has the other half of the pair.
As she moves, though, something sharp digs into her chest.
Something sharp digs into her chest.
Forgetting about the shoe issue completely, Ranboo sticks a hand down her bodice, fingers closing around metal warmed by her skin. She pulls the object out, and laughs.
In all their rush to banish her from the End entirely, she was never properly searched.
The Star Tiara sits, untarnished, in Ranboo’s hands. The treasure of the End, The one she tracked and traced, the thing she was truly there for since the start. Well, since six months ago.
She did it. She really did it.
So much planning, so many hours spent deep in maps or notes or what have you, a desperate attempt to prove that she is worth something, that she can do this. To prove to them all.
To prove to herself.
And she did it.
The Star Tiara is in her hands, and the future lies empty and open in front of her.
Suddenly, nothing seems like it matters quite as much anymore. Her dirtied skirts, her missing shoe, even all the murky water surrounding her.
Ranboo affixes the tiara to her head, securing it with the few pins she has left, and rises to her feet.
This place may not be the End, sure, but that doesn’t matter. After all, who here would possibly be able to tell her that she’s not the princess of such a distant realm?