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The cabin smells like damp soil and bitter pine, a fragile shelter tucked deep in the whispering edges of the Cotton Candy Forest. Outside, the November air sharpens into a night cold enough to make a mortal shiver, but inside, Bonnibel sits huddled in a threadbare sweater that swallows her small frame. She turns a dried pumpkin seed over in her pink fingers, her eyes heavy with a quiet, exhausted stubborness.
A sharp, familiar draft cuts through the gaps in the floorboards as Marceline floats through the unlatched window. She doesn't land immediately, hovering inches above the wooden planks with her arms crossed tight against her chest, her pale face tight with a mix of fury and raw, aching confusion.
"Two weeks, Bonnie," Marceline says, her voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that betrays how hard her pulse is racing. "Two whole weeks you’ve been living out here in the dirt, and I have to hear about your exile from a couple of drunk banana guards at the Candy Tavern?"
Bonnibel doesn't look up right away. She carefully sets the seed down on the rickety table, her posture rigid. "It wasn't your concern, Marcy. I didn't want you dragged into the politics of my replacement."
"Not my concern?" Marceline drops to her feet with a dull thud, floating close enough that the chill off her skin tempers the room's stale heat. Her dark eyes flash. "You got kicked out of your own castle, and you didn't call me! I felt—I mean, I'm sorry I didn't check in sooner, okay? I was out in the Fire Kingdom doing gig prep, but if I’d known—" She stops, her voice cracking slightly as she reaches out, her hand hovering over Bonnie's slumped shoulder. "You shouldn't be alone here."
Bonnie sighs, a long, weary breath that seems to deflate the stiff composure she’s been clinging to. She leans back, letting her head tilt up to meet Marceline’s gaze. "I wanted a fresh start," she admits softly, her voice losing its royal edge, sounding every bit like an eighteen-year-old carrying the weight of an entire lost realm. "No citizens to manage, no high-stress protocol. Just... simple things. I’m building a new kingdom out of vegetables, Marcy. Real, sustainable agriculture. Or I would be, if my pumpkins would actually grow."
She gestures vaguely toward the dark window facing the patch.
"Pep-But and I have been taking turns standing guard every night. Something's getting into the plot—some kind of varmints are eating the sprouts before they can even take root."
Marceline looks at the tiny, neat rows visible in the moonlit dirt outside, then back at Bonnie’s dark eye circles. The lingering anger melts away, leaving only a deep, protective warmth. She unslings her bass, resting it carefully against the wall, and glides over to the small, makeshift cot in the corner of the room.
"Well, the varmints can wait till tomorrow," Marceline says, kicking off her boots and pulling back the rough wool blanket. She looks up, offering a faint, crooked smile. "I'm sleeping over."
A sudden, genuine warmth lights up Bonnie's face, smoothing away the strain of the past fortnight. "You're staying?"
"Yeah, Bonnibel. I'm staying," Marceline chuckles gently, settling onto the narrow mattress and making room. "Someone's gotta make sure you actually close your eyes instead of staring at squash all night."
Bonnie doesn't argue. She climbs onto the cot, sliding under the blanket and tucking herself close against Marceline’s side. The chill of the vampire's skin is familiar, grounding, and instantly comforting. As Marceline wraps a cool arm around her, resting her chin lightly atop Bonnie’s pink hair, the quiet of the forest settles around them, turning the rustic cabin into the safest place in Ooo.