"Mind if I sit here?"

It was slightly chilly, just at the beginning of fall, and a few weeks into Malory's first year of college. She didn't know what degree she was planning on getting, since hunting had become a major part of her life over the past few years, but needing to get a college degree for a successful future had been burned into her head since middle school, so here she was. She was sitting outside on campus, cross legged on a bench, layered in a baggy knit sweater and hat, looking ever bit the stereo typical quirky college chick and not caring, sketching, and she looked up at whoever had asked her that question.

The woman looked a couple years older than her, with short black hair, torn jeans and black jacket. And hot. And absolutely Malory's type. She looked like she could make punching someone in the face look as casual as shaking their hand. Hot Lady gestured to the open half of the bench, and Malory nodded. "Sure, knock yourself out." Malory answers with a shrug. Why she had even asked Malory didn't know, and she looked back to her sketchbook to avoid staring as Hot Lady sat down.

Apparently, Hot Lady had no problem with staring at Malory as she sketched, not subtly at all trying to look at what the freshman was drawing. "The fuck is that supposed to be?" She asked after several minutes of watching, and Malory turned to glare at her.

"Excuse me?"

"What are you drawing? A swamp monster?"

"A swamp troll." Malory had just killed one a few days before and wanted to draw it while the image was still fresh in her mind, but she couldn't do that if some stranger was interrogating her.

Hot Lady laughed, holding her hands up in mock defensiveness. "Fuck, sorry for getting my beast terminology wrong. Didn't know I had to be specific. Why are you drawing a swamp troll?" Malory just glared, before closing her sketchbook and starting to pack away her things. "Woah, hey, c'mon now, where you going?" Hot Lady actually seemed a bit disappointed, but Malory didn't feel the need to care.

"I'm going somewhere quiet," Malory said, standing, "where I can draw in peace." With her sketchbook and pencil case in hand, Malory turned her back and walked away, leaving Hot Lady now alone on the bench.

~

Only a few days had passed since Malory's encounter with the stranger on the bench when Malory ran into her again. And this time, she actually ran into her. "Fuck!" Malory cursed, her hot coffee spilling onto her (thankfully) black jacket and jeans. "Watch where the fuck you're--oh, it's you." Hot Lady was standing in front of Malory once again, though was looking less smug this time, for some reason. Malory had been going back to her dorm after class, and had gotten coffee on the way since she had planned on staying out late to go hunting, and must not have been paying enough attention to where she was going.

Hot Lady looked down--and she really had to look down, being several inches taller than Malory, especially in the chunky boots she was wearing--at Malory and frowned, looking genuinely concerned, which took Malory by surprises. What was even more surprising was what she said next. "Shit, you okay? Are you hurt?"

Malory blinked, frowning. "I--no, I'm fine, wasn't that hot. Just a waste." She tossed her now empty paper cup into a nearby trash bin with a sigh. The coffee that had spilled on her was already cool now, and the autumn breeze that blew by made Malory shiver slightly. Hot Lady--fuck, she really needed to find a better name for her--was still frowning, before nodding her head to the side.

"I was heading to the cafe anyways, lemme get you a new one." She started walking, and Malory, a bit confused but not willing to pass up a free coffee, followed.

They walked in silence most of the way, until they reached the doors of the cafe Malory had exited not very long ago. Hot Lady held the door open for them, and Malory couldn't take it anymore. "What's your name?"

The stranger offered a smile, gesturing her hand with a little flourish and shallow bow. "Cassandra Thomason, but my friends call me Cassy. And you, gorgeous?" The casual pet name, especially a complimenting pet name, made Malory step back.

"Gorgeous?" Malory repeated, as if she had never been called that before.

"Yeah, gorgeous. I mean, I'll happily keep calling you that if you're not gonna give me a name." Cassandra frowned slightly as Malory seemed to flounder for a response.

"Malory, name's Malory, just don't--" Malory took a breath. Compliments made her uneasy, she felt like she could never trust them, or the people who gave them to her. She refused to acknowledge that it was likely low self-esteem, and would much rather just think most people were untrustworthy and only being nice to get something in return. "Don't call me that, please."

"Huh." Cassandra hummed, tilting her head to the side before nodding. "Well, Malory, what kind of coffee do you like?"

~

It became a bit of a ritual for the two of them. They'd meet walking down the path after or before each other's classes, grab coffee together at the closest cafe, and chat. It was weird for Malory, having someone to talk to for the first time in years. Since she had moved into her great uncle's house, away from her friends in New York and into a town of people who all thought her family was crazy, Malory hadn't had any friends. Acquaintances, sure. Classmates she could study with--she would take all the help she could get with studying. But friends? Someone who would just listen to her, someone who memorized her coffee order, someone who would let Malory complain to them about her day? No, not until Cassandra. Malory had been unwilling to make friends on her own when she moved out of town for college, stuck in her ways of keeping to herself. But Cassandra was persistent. Between when they first went for coffee and the time they made it a regular part of their day, Cassandra would walk alongside Malory until she gave in, or already came with Malory's coffee in hand, only willing to give it to Malory if she agreed to sit down and talk. Which wasn't that hard to convince Malory to do. Really, she could talk all damn day about anything. She had forgotten how much she liked to talk, how much she liked to listen to other people talk. It had been so long, and sometimes she would stop herself if she felt like she had been going on for too long. To which Cassandra would tell her to fucking finish the story or else she would confiscate Malory's drink.

Today, nearing winter break and sitting in the back of their favorite cafe, filled with books and chairs that didn't squeak, Malory lifted her paper cup and took a sip, only to make a face. "Fuck, they messed them up, Cassy, this one's yours." She said, putting down the cup to grab the one in front of Cassandra instead, but flinched as Cassandra stood up and whooped like she was watching a sporting event and her team just scored, drawing the attention of other cafe goers. Malory glared, not liking the attention. "What are you doing? Sit down."

"You said it!" Cassy cheered, pointing at Malory and looking at the rest of the cafe. "She said it! She fucking said it!" Malory grabbed the other woman's arm and yanked it to get her to sit back down. Cassandra was grinning ear to ear, totally not caring about the scene she just caused, as she sat down in her chair across from Malory once more. "You said it." She repeated, lowering her voice considerably, but Malory was still confused.

"What? What did I say?" Asked the extremely confused and embarrassed freshman.

"You, Miss Malory, called me Cassy. For the first time. Which, makes us friends." Cassandra wouldn't stop grinning. "You have officially acknowledged that we are friends, and you can't take it back now, there are witnesses." She gestured an arm to the cafe, where everyone had already turned back to whatever they had been doing before, but Cassy didn't seem to care one bit.

Malory felt her cheeks turn pink, looking down at the cup--was she still holding Cassy's?--in her hands. Cassandra had said her friends called her Cassy, which Malory had now down. But, she knew that they were friends, right? What else could they be? And Malory certainly hadn't been purposefully not calling her Cassy...right? Fuck, maybe Malory had. Maybe old habits died harder than she thought and even a couple months of opening up to someone wasn't enough to undo the years of keeping everything bottled up. "Yeah. We're friends. Cassy." It felt...weird, but not in a bad way, to say it out loud for herself. Hearing it instead of just thinking it made it seem more real. And Malory felt herself smiling just a little bit, hiding it behind her coffee as she took another sip--and yep, that was still Cassy's coffee.

They switched their cups, Cassy moving on from proclaiming their friendship to talk about how much of a bitch her chemistry teacher is, and Malory smiled as she listened.

A friend. It felt so, so nice to have a friend.

Even the dull light from the sunset was giving Malory a splitting headache as she walked to the liquor store. It was only a mile and a half from her house, and she knew she was in no state to drive. Over the past three days, Malory had gone on a bender. A really, really bad one. The research trip she had went on to talk to some tree elves hadn’t ended well, at all. She had been careless, and followed by a troll, and...and now there was one less tree elf in the world, the dying species becoming even more rare. And it was all her fault. She hadn’t even managed to kill the troll afterwards, she had just ran. Ran away from the forest like that would make the problem go away. She drove for eighteen hours straight to get home, and once she had arrived, she hadn’t stopped drinking until she was out of alcohol. 

All the windows in her home had been closed tightly, followed by the heavy curtains being drawn to block out the light. Her home became a dark cocoon for her to hide in, whether it be in her bed under a pile of blankets, or on the couch and mindlessly watching television, again under a pile of blankets. No matter where she was, she had a bottle of booze in her hands. It went from beer, to wine, to vodka, to something that tasted painfully sweet but went down way too smooth, to something she couldn’t remember, and then she was out. She was out and she needed more, now. 

The walk to the liquor store had been easy enough, if her head hurt and sometimes the world tilted this way or that. Once there, Malory had grabbed a case of beer, a box of wine, and some brightly colored bottle of something—probably more vodka. With as much as her alcoholic arms could carry, she went to the register. The cashier seemed kind, totally ignoring the fact that a clearly intoxicated woman was buying enough booze to drown an elephant. 

“Are you having a birthday party tonight?” 

“...What?” 

Malory had mindlessly handed over at credit card and her ID, which the cashier had checked and found out...today was Malory’s birthday. She hadn’t even remembered her own birthday. 

“Are you having a birthday party tonight?” The cashier repeated, thinking Malory simply hadn’t heard her. And for some reason, Malory decided to tell the truth. 

“Uh, no...I-I didn’t know it was my birthday. There’s no party...” 

The cashier went quiet, finishing the transaction in silence and handing over the bags to Malory. 

“Have a good day...” Was all she said to Malory as the drunken woman left the store. 

Malory’s walk home was cold, though there were others walking around in just t-shirts and shorts comfortably. Malory’s insides felt like they were frozen, like she could see her breath when it left her mouth. But that just wasn’t possible. 

Once she got home, Malory immediately cracked open a beer, and noticed her phone was blinking away on the kitchen counter. She could have sworn she had left that in her room...Or right, Thimbletack, her friendly house brownie. He probably set it out for her. But why? Going over to the little device, Malory picked it uo, and noticed several missed calls from her mother and her brothers, as well as a series of texts that went from wishing her a happy birthday, to asking if she was okay, to worrying about her safety for not responding. Malory’s hand shook, the phone slipping out of her hand, and she back away from it as if it would attack her. 

 Her feet carried her to the bathroom without her knowing, her fingers letting go of her can of beer. She poured her guts out into the toilet, all the alcohol and very little food from the past several days exiting her body the same way it went in. After her stomach was empty, she fell apart. 

Laying on the bathroom floor and sobbing wasn’t the way Malory had intended to spend her birthday. Honestly, she had just planned on taking herself out for a nice dinner, talking to her mom and brothers over the phone, nothing to exciting but something definitely enjoyable. But this...the pain that consumed her chest was unbearable, like her heart, her very soul had been torn from her. What the hell was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she get her shit together? Sitting at home in the dark and drinking wasn’t going to solve anything, all it did was make things worse. Malory was so sick and so tired of everything. 

People thought she was crazy. 

She couldn’t be in a relationship. 

She couldn’t ever have kids. Have a family. 

She would probably die young while hunting. 

There was the ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away no matter what she did. 

She wasn’t satisfied with her life, but she couldn’t see herself doing anything else. This was all she knew. Hunting and researching and running and killing and loneliness. She couldn’t even have friends! The only people she was close to was her family. She cared about them more than anything. More than herself. 

Malory was an alcoholic. She drank more booze than water some days. And she knew that. But that didn’t stop her. Even after realizing that something was wrong with her, something inside her was broken, she didn’t get rid of the new alcohol in her house. 

Once she composed herself enough to walk again, Malory went back to the kitchen, and just put everything away. She didn’t drump it down the drain or throw it outside, she just put it away where it belonged. It was still there if she needed it. And she knew she would need it again, probably soon, but she was done for the night. 

After sending messages to her family to say that she was fine and that she’d call them later, Malory ordered a pizza, a good pizza, then sat on the couch and put on a movie. Did she feel better? No—she had drank herself stupid for three days and forgot her own birthday. She wasn’t going to feel better for a long time. But if she didn’t focus on the pain, breathing felt a little easier. That’s all she could hope to do now. 

Breathe. 

And remember. 

And stay away from alcohol for at least a few more days. 

Malory miiiight have made a mistake. 

But how could she have left the little creature out there on its own, just the perfect food for any goblin walking by?

It was a sitting duck. Literally. 

It had been a rather slow week for Malory. Little work, not in a mood to research, and her house always spotless thanks to Thimbletack, the brownie who lived with her, so she had been doing nothing but reading, working out, and watching television. Why did she even own a television still? She hardly used the damn thing and everything on it was stupid...Oh, right, action movies. And badass fantasy dramas (i.e. Bufy the Vampire Slayer.) But that’s it. No *cough, cough* anything else. 

So, with nothing better to do, Malory left her house in the evening to go patrol the woods surrounding her Victorian home. Her property was on the very edge of the town and consisted of a few acres of forest, which probably was going to be leveled for farmland when the house was originally built, but that never happened. The woods was also infested with goblins. No matter how many Malory killed, how many nests she destroyed, they always came back. At least the new ones didn’t know to fear her, so they were relatively easy to take care of. If just incredibly annoying. 

Judging by the height of the sun, which was starting to set, Malory had been out for a couple of hours. With a heavy sigh at not even finding a goblin pack to kill, she turned around and started heading back to her home. 

Cheep, cheep-cheep...

What?

Cheep, cheep, cheep...

Blinking, Malory turned around in a circle, looking for the source of the cheeping. She didn’t see anything at first, and the cheeping had stopped, so with a shrug, she went back to walking home. 

Cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep!

Malory stumble back quickly as a tiny ball of yellow fluff tumbled in front of her path. What the hell? The ball of yellow turned to face Malory with two beady, black eyes, and stared at her.

And Malory’s heart instantly melted. 

Kneeling on the ground, gentle hands scooped up the baby water fowl, who had suddenly gone silent again. Upon closer inspection, the “yellow” was smudged with dirt and grime, and one of its little nubby wings was bent out at an odd angle. Probably broken. Malory hadn’t seen any ducks in months, and knew the tiny thing wasn’t an ogre in disguise since there hadn’t been ogres in the area for years. There wasn’t even a lake nearby that the tiny thing could have waddled off from. An egg might have been taken from a nest by a goblin, later abandoned or uneaten for them to hatch cold and alone in the middle of the woods. 

There was no way Malory was going to leave the duckling in the woods in good conscience. With the fuzz ball still oddly silently sitting in her hands, the human stood and went home, cuddling the bird to her chest. 

About an hour later, Malory was sitting on the couch, watching television again, with the duckling wrapped up in the warm towel resting on a pillow next to her, a bag of microwaved popcorn in her lap. When she had gotten home, Malory had carefully washed the duckling in the kitchen sink, being mindful of the injured wing. With the bird being so small and Malory not knowing how to help mend broken wings, she had simply put a tiny popsicle-stick-splint on it followed by gauze wrapped around the duckling’s body. The gauze made it look like the little guy (or gal) was wearing a belt pulled on way too tight because of the fluffy feathers, but it didn’t seem to mind the bandages as it sat and stared around the living room, occasionally cheeping at...whatever it saw. 

Since Malory didn’t really think she could take care of a duckling, nor did she really want a pet, she was planning on finding someone else to take it in the next day. She knew there were farmers and other people with land and chickens in the area, someone would want a duck, right? With a little tap to the duckling’s beak, Malory got up from he couch and went to the kitchen for a minute to grab another beer. When she returned, however, the duckling was not where she had left it. 

“You little thief.” She said with a smile, not even able to pretend to be upset as she saw her half-eaten popcorn bag wiggle back and forth and heard a cheep! come from inside. She pulled the now buttery and salty little thing from the bag, and gave them another bath. Hmm...maybe Popcorn would be a good name for her temporary house guest. 

Popcorn wasn’t as temporary as Malory had hoped they would be. 

After asking around town and the local area, no one seemed to want the duckling. Malory had even brought Popcorn with her into town to show people. Well...maybe not to show people, but because they wouldn’t stop following her around like a lost...duckling. Little guy (or gal) had probably imprinted on her, and she hadn’t even been able to get out the door without them being right on her heels. It had even started pitching a fit when Malory had tried going upstairs to go to bed and Popcorn hadn’t been able to go up the stairs, so Malory had to sleep on the couch with them. She probably could have just taken them up to her bedroom, but the couch was fine and Malory didn’t feel like going back upstairs. 

So there Malory was, walking down the street with a bandaged duckling waddling after her and constantly cheeping their damn head off. 

Cheep-cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep-cheep-cheep, cheep! 

It was driving Malory crazy! The little thing was so annoying...in a cute way. And she couldn’t really be mad at it. At one point when Malory had to cross a street, she picked Popcorn up and held them close. But when she got to the other side, she just kept carrying them. They were finally quiet, and appeared to be dozing off against Malory’s chest, so she let it be. 

Skip forward a few weeks, and Malory still had Popcorn with her almost all the time. No matter where she went, or what she did, the duckling followed. Gone were all the yellow feathers, replaced with more water-resistant brown ones as it grew bigger. Their wing seemed to be in better condition, too, but there was no way to know if they would be able to fly or not when they grew up. Malory still had no idea if they were a boy or a girl, but she didn’t really care. When Malory took a shower, the duckling was sitting on the edge of the bathtub and waiting for a chance to swim in the water when Malory was done. When she went to the grocery store, Popcorn followed behind her or sometimes rested in the pocket of her jacket or on her shoulder. When she went to bed, they slept on her pillow. 

Yeah, Malory definitely made a mistake in bringing the little duckling home with her. Now she had a pet, a tiny life to be responsible for, no privacy, and no time by herself. 

And she wouldn’t ever want to change it.

Popcorn was hers, Malory decided. Once they were big enough to be left home alone—under the watchful eye of Thimbletack—Malory would be able to go hunting again. But for now, she would stay put in her house, watching her little ball of fuzz grow up. 

She should have gotten a pet sooner. 

||Made in collaboration with Virian, all credit is shared with him equally.||

Sleeping soundly in her borrowed bedroom, with the glowing necklace still drapped over her neck, Malory had gone to bed thinking that she'd be able to get a full night of sleep. And for a large portion of the night, she did. But a few hours before the three suns rose to shine light onto Esteria, the brunette's eyes opened wide, a gasp escaping her lips. Her dream had been peaceful, pleasantly enjoyable, and it was a beloved break from her usual nightmares, until she realized what it meant. But that...that couldn't be.

There was no way she could possibly be...have feelings for...care about Virian Kyljoy. Virian! Of all the people she had spent time with, of all the men and woman she had enjoyed the company of, out of all of them--Virian was the only one she had gotten to know. Who had gotten to know her. She hated to admit that to herself, but most of her other partners couldn't even be called 'friends.' They were one night flings, maybe two, someone she bought drinks with and slept in their bed with having never even asked their last name.

Malory knew Virian's last name, and his family, and his favorite and least favorite foods, that he liked to sing and play instruments, that he played tricks on his siblings when he was a kid, that he had been trapped on Earth for hundreds of years, that he loved drowning in pillows and sheets as he slept--which, by the way, was an extremely comfortable way to sleep. She had gotten to know him, learn about him and his people while she was trapped in his world. Virian was the first person since Malory had become an adult that she had actually gotten to know, personally. Virian was...her friend.

But that's all he was! Her friend, nothing else. Hell, he shouldn't even be her friend, not after what he had done to her. Stolen from her, forced her to kill a beast for him, and dragged her with him to his world, ripping her away from her family and home so he could return to his. Every day she spent with Virian in Esteria was a month away from her mourning family on Earth. Over a year had passed on Earth, but it had only been a couple weeks since she had met Virian. Maybe acting as his fiancé was getting to her head--of course she didn't have feelings for him. That was just...wrong. Bad. And painfully, undeniably...true.

Malory's heart ached both when she denied and accepted the truth. She wasn't supposed to care about anyone, ever. Or be cared about. She loved her family and her family loved her, but no one else. Anyone else meant they'd get hurt, they'd find out that Malory hunted, that she interacted with imaginary creatures. But Virian already knew--he was one of the damn creatures. With his pointy ears and sharp features and boyish smile and uncontrollable mess of curly hair...No! She couldn't think like that!

Turning onto her side, Malory's gaze fell upon the door connecting her room to Virian's. If...If for a moment, she entertained the idea that she was actually in...enthralled with Virian, she knew it was pointless. They'd soon have everything they needed to open a portal home for Malory. There was no way she could stay--she was still human in a land full of elves, and her family still needed her on Earth. And there was no way Virian could go back with her, either. He had spent six hundred years trying to get off of Earth, he was the prince of this kingdom, and she knew he didn't feel the same about Malory as she...maybe did for him. There was no point in hoping for anything to happen. Best to move on, and forget. Forget about it all.

But...

Virian wouldn't mind if she...checked in on him, right? The door across the room from Malory was beaconing her to go to it, open it, and just steal a glance at the elf sleeping on the other side. Malory could entertain the idea that...she had until sunrise, couldn't she? There wasn't any harm in that, right? Pushed the covered on the bed back, Malory set her feet on the marble floor, her steps carefully light on the cool stone so she wouldn't risk waking Virian. Too bad he was already awake.

Virian had spent most the night laying in his bed, wide awake and staring up at the ceiling with a fleeting curiosity for the story painted on it. It was a story that he had once admired, full of dragons and magic; laughter and friendship; hatred and adventure. Once he had admired it, even aspired to be like the king in it. Strong, fair, and jolly. The woman the king loved wasn't a princess, though. She was a witch. A strong-headed, sarcastic, irresistibly cute witch that made his life a living hell, and he loved her for it.

With a frustrated groan, Virian turned to his side, punching his pillow in the useless effort of making it comfortable. Nothing could be comfortable when his mind was this frantic and just plain disturbed. It was if the story was mocking him--literally hanging over his head, taunting him with how disturbingly similar some of the details were to his current...situation.

Malory had been stuck in Esteria for just a few weeks now, and they hadn't talked about Earth in days. Instead, they had been busy maintaining the appearance of a lovey-dovey elf couple for the court. If they had any sort of slip up both of their heads would be lopped off, he was sure of it. With every passing day that Malory stayed the danger for their secret to break was growing stronger, and he knew that she was very aware of the simple fact that if she said one wrong thing then she'd be dead. They'd both be.

Oh, this was not how he imaged his life back home to go. In his mind, it had involved a lot more hunting, laughing, and dancing. He was a prince, after all! He had been raised to expect these things. For six-hundred years he tried to get away from Earth, and now that he's finally away from it he's now supposed to slave away at trying to find another portal just to send her back? Unbelievable. Ridiculous.
Necessary.

Over the weeks of Malory being there, Virian had noted a couple of key things. First, she really hated him. That much was certain. Second, she hated the role she was being forced to play. Third, she hated the dresses. Fourth, she hated him. Fifth, she hated him.

And oh how he found it adorable whenever he surprised her with a kiss or forced her to dance with him, and he grinned at the glare she gave him. Or rather, she tried to give him. She had to act like she was in love with him, all while convincing herself that she hated him, when really she felt neither of those things. But what did she feel towards him?

That much was as much of a mystery to him as what he felt towards her. He knew neither of these things, and it was starting to bother him. After all they had gone through together, Virian knew she was tough. She killed a troll for him (he may have forced her to, but that didn't change how impressive it was), listened to all his ramblings without ever telling him to shut up (which was certainly new to him), survived a poisoning, allowed him to cut open her ears, helped him slay a dragon, and she even beat him at fencing. Thrice.

She never let him win an argument, she never laughed at his tricks, and hardly ever cracked a smile at his jokes. She liked getting drunk, spent most of her time reading, and ignored him at every chance she got. She's anything but a lady. She's a human. A cold, sarcastic, distant, arrogant, irresistibly cute human.

Oh how he loved her for it.

He sat up in his bed, pillows and sheets practically swallowing him up, and looked over at the door the joined his bedroom to Malory's. Once upon a time, it had just been an empty space he hardly ever looked at, let alone went into. As the prince, he would need to choose a wife someday, anyway, and this room was built for her. He just never imagined there would be a human sleeping in it possibly having another nightmare. He hated that. Not the human part, though, just the nightmare. He hated thinking of Lo waking up in the nights, screaming.

Ugh, there he goes again. Calling her Lo. She was supposed to be gone weeks ago, out of his life forever with hardly a name for her cute little mousy face. And yet there she was, pretending to be his fiancee and a whole year had passed by on Earth. She must be devastated, but she never lets it show. He can't blame her for either of those things.

Somehow, he finds himself standing up, walking across the marble floor as silently as he can. He stops in front of the door, his hand hovering above the handle as a fleeting thought of clarity enters his mind. He has no idea why he's doing this, and he's an idiot for even allowing his hand to touch the handle. But he does.

Only, when Virian put his hand on the cool metal of the door knob, it turned for him, by Malory on the other side. Her fingers gripped the knob probably too tightly, as if she was jittery with nerves. She wasn't nervous, Malory Grace was never nervous! Taking in a completely unnecessary breath, she finished the task at hand. There was a part of her that knew that she was crazy for doing this, but the other part of her was longing to look at Virian, and willing to completely ignore the other half for now.

With the doorknob still half turned, Malory twisted it the rest of the way and pulled the door open, taking a quick step forward--that would have been silent if it wasn't for the fact that she walked straight into Virian, almost smashing her face directly into his, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.

If Virian hadn't been holding his breath, he surely would've shrieked. It was one of the many things about him that Malory disliked about him, apparently. His tendency to shriek. But now wasn't the time to focus on these things. He was staring straight down into the face of his 'intended', both of them with mouths gaping open in shock and faces so close to touching that Virian could hear her breathing raggedly. Quickly, he stepped backwards, almost tripping over his robe before he tugged it out of the way, using this as the perfect opportunity to look away from her as well.

Looking back at her, Virian found that his mouth was dry and he licked his lips, blinking a few times in disbelief. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, he broke it with a sleepily croaky voice that caused even him to become embarrassed. "Wha--What are you...?" He trailed off, suddenly unable to think. She looked so vulnerable in the moonlight, eyes wide and hair unkempt. So breathtaking.

Malory, under no circumstances, had expected Virian to be on the other side of the door when she opened it. She had expected him to be asleep in his bed, pleasantly dreaming about his life without her in it. When she was gone and he never had to see her face again. Instead, he had been standing at the door, as if he had intended on going into her room. Like she had his. Oh god--had he heard her moving about? Did she wake him? It wouldn't have been the first time--despite his best efforts to help her sleep, her nightmares still came to her. But he kept trying to make it better, to ease them away, it was very thoughtful of him. But of course he would be doing that for his own sake, so she wouldn't keep waking him at night.

"I-I..." Stuttered the woman, trying to come up with a good excuse. And what did Malory do best when she was confused? Hide her confusion with anger. Blue eyes narrowed at Virian, arms crossed in front of her chest, Malory managed an actual sentence. "What are you doing, Virian?"

Of course she turned angry. At least, that's what it looked like to the prince. He frowned thinly, his mind completely blank. What had he been doing? Truthfully, he had no idea. He had just gone with his instinct, as usual. So, deciding to do just that, Virian said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Mouse."

He blinked, only just realizing what he had said. Then Virian pushed a wild curl away from his eyes, puffing his chest out as he continued his bluffing, scarily confident in his words even as he made it up on the spot. "I heard a mouse scuttling about. It woke me up." He narrowed his eyes, "And you...?"

A mouse? A mouse had woken Virian up? Malory didn't believe that for a second, but she didn't know what else he could have been doing. Her own instincts wanted her to believe that he had wanted to check on her, see if she was okay. But there was no way that could be true, he didn't care about her that much. Virian just wanted her gone, out of his life forever.

"I see..." Was all she said, watching Virian's hand push back his curly hair. Oh how her hand itched to do the same, to share an intimate, close moment with him, without it having to be for show as they pretended they were engaged. But, of course, Virian had to ask what she had been doing. Taking a quick glance at Virian bed, she came up with a hopefully-believable answer. "I wanted another pillow." She stated, before going over to Virian's bed and taking one of the noumerous pillows off of it.

Surprise surprise--Virian didn't believe her. And--surprise surprise, he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he just watched her take one of his pillows, keeping silent. This, of course, was unusual. Virian had one of the unusually useless talents of being able to always say something. Again, a thing that Malory didn't particularly enjoy about him. Or so he thought.

Glancing at the pillow she took, Virian raised a brow and walked towards his bed, taking another one. Before he had the chance to stop himself he held it up for her to take, actually sounding like he cared about her comfort. "Uh, take this one. It's better. A lot softer."

Virian's silence surprised Malory, but not in a good way. She was used to his chatter and non-stop arguments. Not his compliance. That was actually something they had in common--they both were bad at complying. And Malory didn't really like the fact that Virian wasn't trying to argue with her. Then again, she didn't really know what she could say if he pressed her for a real answer to why she had wanted to go into his room.

Her hands held the pillow she had grasped uncomfortably tight, her nails digging into the soft fabric. Virian's voice seemed to snap her out of a trance, and her gaze fell back to him and the new pillow in his hand. "Thank you..." She said, with much more earnestness than she had intended, Malory reached her hand out to take the one from Virian. Her fingers lightly brushed against his as she took the pillow from his hand, and she shamefully savored the sensation, letting her digits linger against his for longer than necessary.

His breath hitched, and Virian blinked. Standing completely still, his gaze fixed down on where her fingers had touched his. It was strange. In public, they were always touching--holding hands, kissing, dancing, etc. But in private, they hardly looked at each other because they were so exhausted after the day. Usually, all they did was come back into his apartment, blandly talk about how to get her back to Earth (which soon turns into bickering, of course) before one of them claims to be too tired and they both go to bed. Separate beds, with a wall separating them. A wall that Virian had more than once or twice thought about breaking down. He didn't really understand why he wanted to, but he just did. And it wasn't as though he couldn't just lie and say it was because of termites or something like that, yet he found himself respecting her privacy more and more. So, the prince kept the wall up.

But now she was there, in front of him, shamefully avoiding his eyes as if they'd done something despicable. Well, neither of them were exactly saints, but they had been fairly good that past few days. He had even slowed down on his teasing and pranks, just to stop her from feeling bad about it on his behalf. So what had he done now, he wondered? What did he want to do, he wondered?

Breathing in sharply, Virian's hand clenched close and fell down to his side, swinging a bit as he awkwardly smiled and nodded, silently damning his curls as they bounced back to his face. "Good night, then, I suppose. Don't let the mouse wake you."

Malory shouldn't enjoy this--she shouldn't like simply brushing her fingers against Virian's. They touched all the time publicly as they put on their show for the surrounding elves. But they didn't need to touch right now, she could have just taken the pillow and left. But she had let herself indulge in feeling Virian's skin against her own for a few moments longer then necessary, because after that night, she knew she couldn't let herself do it again. She wouldn't let her secret feelings for Virian become anything more, she wouldn't even let herself acknowledge them. This was the one and only chance that she would give herself, because she was better than this. She wouldn't let herself pine over someone she could never be with, over someone who hated the fact that she simply existed. At least, she thought Virian hated her.

Blinking a few times, Malory quickly pulled her hand away, and the pillow closer to her. She held it to her chest, hugging the very soft pillow in her arms. "Yeah, um, goodnight, Virian. Thanks for the pillow. And the warning about the...mouse." It sure as hell wasnt going to be a mouse keeping her awake for the rest of the night. Malory took a few steps backwards from Virian before turning around and walking straight out of the connecting doorway, probably a little faster than necessary. She had no idea that Virian wanted the wall gone--she also had no idea that he really, really didn't hate her--but maybe she wouldn't be that opposed to it.

Watching Malory turn and leave made Virian's heart sting more than he'd ever admit. He stayed still, hands clutched shut as they hung by his sides, as lifeless as his brain was at that moment. Usually, he allowed his brain to control his actions, but not at that moment. At that moment, he took in a deep breath and took a single step following after Malory. After that, he stopped, and his brain started working again. With that, he nodded his head- curls bouncing around, as usual--and turned away again.

She hates him, and he hates her. That's what both of them kept trying to tell themselves, and they were both very wrong.

||This is just what the title entails, some more information on Malory, since I don't want my page to be super long or cluttered. More will be added to this as needed.||

In middle and high school, Malory spent most of her free time fencing and alone. Sounds fun, right? She didn't really like hanging out with others, but it wasn't because she was in introvert or just hated people--okay, maybe she did hate people, but not that much--it was just because she didn't really feel the need to. Some of her only friends were her fencing teammates, though they never hung out outside of practice. And the people at school were, well...Malory wanted to spend as little time at school as possible, she hated learning on the terms of other people. When she was given a choice project, she thrived, creating something great about something she was clearly passionate about. But the rest of the time, she just half-assed the work enough to get a passing grade. Easy to say that teachers didn't like her much, and she didn't like them, either.

After high school, Malory took two years of college, but didn't get a degree. She took classes in art, history, and research, along with some other classes that she can't remember for the life of her, before dropping out. A couple years later, she regretted not taking two more years to get a degree, realizing that maybe hunting isn't a job she should have forever. Too bad she just can't find the time anymore to go back to school. Or maybe she just doesn't give herself the time to think about a life after hunting, a profession that she enjoys too much for her own good.

Due to her hunting, and usually hunting by herself, Malory's body is riddled with scars. Her forearms, neck, and face are mostly scar-free, aside from the tiny little white lines that might not even be from hunting but just living her day-to-day life. Which is mostly hunting...Okay, bad example, but you get the idea. Though many of the scars have faded over time and aren't so easily seen anymore, there are two that scare people off the most. One is on the right side of her torso, from under her breast to her hip, and down right unnerving. Gagged patches of scared flesh arch towards the center line of her body from top to bottom on her front and back. The closest thing to compare it to was a shark bite--if a shark didn't have a single straight or unbroken tooth. Malory had gotten it from a goblin while hunting. There had been too many for her to take on her own, and she had needed to be in a hospital for weeks of recovery. The amount of blood she lost and the infection she had gotten from the goblin's rotting teeth had nearly killed her. The other massive scar was on her left leg, left shin, and looked very similar to the one on her torso. Also from a goblin, though a small one, and it had been far less life threatening.

Relationships? Who the hell needs relationships in their life? Not Malory. Nope, not her. Not at all... Actually, Malory would be lying if she said she wasn't lonely. She was so, so painfully lonely. But she was also a great liar, and didn't want people to get in her way. So what did she do? She pushed people away from her who might care, aside from her family. She pushed people away who didn't know what kind of life she lived, what kind of life she had chosen. Keeping people safe, even at the cost of her own safety and happiness, was what she had programmed herself to do. She had no friends, had never been in a romantic relationship, and never saw a future for herself with anyone. Of course as a kid she had dreamed of getting married and having kids and that white picket fence bullshit that everyone had told here was what she wanted. But she didn't want that anymore. Maloru wanted to sleep with people without emotion--just fuck for the sake of fucking. She wanted to sit at home under her covers with a bottle of beer in her hand and pretend that everything was okay. That she didn't need friends. That...she wasn't actually human. Humans needed relationships. Not her. She was a hunter. Hunters lived and died alone, didn't grow old, and never had anyone to lean on. Honestly, this mentality has probably done her more harm than good.

Which brings us to medication. Depression, anxiety, sleep, nausea, and pain. A pill for each one, a pill she needed to take every day in order to keep herself functioning. Of course some days are better than others--most days Maloru can go out and hunt and have drinks at a bar and go home with someone or go home alone and still feel okay, still be able to actually smile. But other days...they usually came in a string. She'd be unmoving and unfeeling for days or weeks in between bouts of actually happiness and coping. Those days were the worst, where no medication helped, and sometimes her family had to come and check on her and make sure she was okay. It was a part of Malory that she hated about herself. She hated showing weakness, even to herself. Showing that she was actually human and did have feelings and that the things she had been doing to herself weren't healthy. But that didn't stop her from repeating the same patterns when she was feeling better again. Sometimes she wished she hadn't started hunting. That she knew about the world behind the veil but didn't interact with it unless she had to. But it was a fruitless wish that she didn't like to linger on. She couldn't change the past. She could only change her life how it was now. And she isn't a fan of change.

Smack!

Good god, if Malory had a dime for every time she had heard that, she would be rich. And if she had a dime for every time she had felt that...well, she'd probably have the same amount of money. Going to bars was fun--Malory loved drinking as much as she loved hunting, almost to the point where she might actually have a drinking problem. There was people to watch, food to eat, and possibly someone to take home.

But feeling the hand of a man she didn't know, and didn't care to know, slap her ass as she walked by was why she liked drinking at home more and more. It made her stop in her tracks, her shoulders tense, and her fists clench until her knuckles turned white. But oh-ho-ho-no, they couldn't just stop at that, could they?

"Come on, baby, why are ya leavin' so fast?" They would ask, running their hand down her arm until it reached her wrist, twisting their fingers around it and holding her in place.

Malory would say nothing, not even turn to look at them. Oh, how she hated being called 'baby.' How she hated being treated like a fucking object. Like a precious little toy to be used once and thrown away. God fucking damnit, why hadn't she brought her sword!

"Oh, why don't you turn that pretty face towards me, hm? I'd love to see ya smile." And they started pulling on her wrist, to get her closer to their body. She could smell their body odor, the alcohol on their breath. Sometimes it wasn't a man nearly twice her age--Sometimes it was a man younger, her age, or even less than that, who thought they had a chance by grabbing her. Sometimes, it was even a woman, young or old, who had somehow never figured out that putting their hands on other women also wasn't okay.

"Come on, let's see that smile, baby." And they would raise their other hand, 'accidentally' brushing it over her breast before putting their fingers, still damp from holding onto a cold drink, under her chin, turning her face towards them. And that was the last straw for Malory. No matter how hard she tried to keep her anger in check, feeling their fingers on her face was too much for her.

Malory turned on her heels swiftly, raising one of her legs to knee whoever was holding her sharply in the stomach--hopefully lower if she was in the right position. They would let go on her arm and lean forward with a strangled gasp, grabbing their bellies or crotches. But Malory wasn't done. She would hold her hands together and bring her elbows down into the offender's back, causing them to let out another cry of pain. Then, finally, Malory would grab the back of their head, her fingers latching onto their hair, and pull their head up sharply.

"Learn to keep your hands to yourself before you lose them."

And then she would let go, letting their head drop back down in shame and pain, mumbling something incoherent under their breath that they were still struggling to catch. And Malory would leave, no one else in the bar daring to go after her.

||Pointless little Malory fun||

"Aaaand one two three, two two three, three two three..."

Malory's feet ached and her body was covered in a thin layer of sweat that was definitely soaking through her tank top and dance shorts, but she never the less listened to her ballet instructor.

"Four two three, five two three, six two three. Higher, Miss Grace! You've fallen out of practice recently, we need to get you back into shape. Eight two three, nine two three!"

It was true, Malory hadn't been practicing recently due to her travels. Well, her hunting. She had needed to go to California for a few months to help her brother with the dragon population. She hadn't been in the right state of mind to remember to stand on her toes for thirty minutes before she went to bed, or sit in her splits during every meal she ate. Was that everyone's way to practice ballet? Hell no, but it was Malory's, and it had helped her.Some people might think ballet was dumb, something little girls did and frail gay men who wanted to flaunt their sexuality. And there was nothing wrong with that, buuut...Yeah, ballet kicks you in your balls each time you step on the dance floor and you will not recover for a good week afterwards. It was a great way for Malory to stay in shape, to hunt and run and fight with more ease. Her last class had been over two months ago, and her instructor hadn't been happy when she had come back.

"Where have you been? And what happened to your arm! It is a damn good thing you don't preform!"

Malory hated letting people see her scars, they were odd and misshapen and off putting. But it was far too hot in the dance studio to wear anything with long sleeves, so her scars were on full display for the instructor's disproving eyes. They thought that Malory was some sort of thrill junky, not taking the dance seriously, and they wouldn't be surprised to find Malory dead in a dumpster one day. But as a paying--well paying, goddammit--student, the instructor taught Malory like anyone else--until Malory collapsed from exhaustion in a pool of her own sweat and tears on the floor.

"Alright! That's enough for today."

Malory frowned as she stopped, and despite her panting, she looked at her instructor in confusion. "But...I didn't finish the routine yet."

"No, no you didn't, but you weren't going to make it to the end today, I could tell. Look--your arm is bleeding already and it's hardly been an hour."

Malory looked down at her left arm, the upper part of it wrapped in gauze and pale bandages. And sure enough, the bandages were starting to turn red after Malory's wound had opened while dancing.

"Not like it mattered if you finished your routine or not, Miss Grace, it's not like you're going to ever preform it."

Blinking quickly, she looked back at her instructor. Despite already being slightly taller than the instructor, Malory felt the need to straighten her spine against the cold stare from the person she was paying to teach her, train her.

"So what if I don't preform? I'm still your student and you're still my teacher. You can't just cut the lesson short--"

"What, like you haven't? It's been months since I've seen you, and in almost every other class we have, you run off before it's over. There can't be a 'family emergency' every week, Miss Grace. Now, there's no way for me to stop you from leaving, but there also nothing to stop me from leaving, too. Miss Grace, I didn't get into this business to watch a stocky girl with not a rhythmic bone in her body gallop about my room like she's riding a sick horse. I teach real dancers, real women, not...not you. As of today, I'm done being your teacher. You're going to have to find someone else to babysit you."

Malory stared at the instructor, her mouth agape as she tried to formulate a comeback, a snarky, determined reply about how she was a real dancer, a real woman, not a--! But nothing came out aside from an almost silent, strangled sound, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her instructor simply stared back, holding Malory's gaze for a few moments, before they turned away with a sigh and started to pick up their bag.

"Have a good day, Miss Grace. Don't let the door hit you on your way out."

Malory didn't know how much time had passed as she had stood there, staring at the door her instructor had left from. It felt like hours, but it could have only been a couple of minutes, her sweat still warm on her skin. Her gaze slowly went down to the floor, across the smooth, shiny wood, to the mirrored walls that were on three of the four sides of the room. She met her own gaze, dull blue eyes looking back at her, and she saw...nothing worth looking at. Her skin was red and blotchy from exertion, her hair damp from perspiration as it clung to her face and neck, slowly falling out of the bun she had placed on her head. Her shoulders were broad, her arms toned to an...unbalanced degree with the rest of her upper body. Her legs were two long, her feet too wide, her stomach not flat enough, her scars a hideous reminder of why she was alone, scattered all over her like she had fallen into a cutlery set.

She wasn't meant to be a dancer. She wasn't meant to wear short sleeves or show off her legs. She was meant to be bundled in layers, only revealing as much as necessary to get her rocks off with some meaningless, heartless sex. She was meant to hunt creatures that no one else saw, have nightmares every night that leave her cold and screaming, be alone, never to have a family or a partner or a kid or even a single real date. That was who she was--Malory Grace, the goblin hunter and ogre killer, ready to solve you're weird problems for a price. Not Malory Grace, the pretty woman with an agile body and smooth moving limbs that would let people get close to her and laugh and smile.

After a decade of telling herself that the life Malory had was the life that she wanted, it was hard to believe that she still tried to be someone different.