Chapter Text
It sat there, perfectly still, on a small black plate in the centre of the dining table.
Yor’s reflection staring back at her from its polished skin.
The apple was too red. Too shiny. Too… perfect?
It felt like a trap. Loid hadn’t put it there. Anya couldn’t have put it there. And now Yor was alone at home, staring at the imposter on their table.
Why was it there?
Did they even own a black plate?
She looked at it from every angle, walking around the table, crouching and standing again. She’d even nudged it slightly with a knife.
Yor watched with fascination as the apple began oozing blood. What in the world?