Among the Worms and the Rats

The first thing she’s aware of is weight.

Artoria, Caster, she who chants, promptly chokes. Wherever she is, it’s dark, cramped, and something heavy is laying across her entire body. She kicks, more by reflex than any conscious thought. To her surprise, the thing on top of her doesn’t move or shift, but rather crumble under her blow. Mindlessly, she swipes with her hands as well. Indeed, the unknown is no blanket, and even less a body; her fingers and knees dig through it too easily, part it into tiny pieces that yield even to her subpar strength. She digs through the thing with the frantic abandon of a caged animal, punching, clawing, kneeing, until, finally-

light.

She springs in a seated position, taking large gulps of air. The world feels freezing cold. It’s raining. For a moment, all she does is sit here, breathing heavily, trying to make sense of what she’s seeing. She’s in someone’s backyard, it seems. There’s a beehive in a corner, leaning against the wall of an absurdly tall house. She blinks. No, it’s not particularly tall.

She looks down.

Her lower half is buried beneath the earth. No, not tall at all. She’s just been buried alive.

What… what happened?

She sets her hands down flat on their palms, and use the leverage to pull herself fully out. Her clothes are wet and dirty. Has the cloth always been so thin? She squints her eyes. They don’t look like anything she’s ever worn. She palms at her chest. None of her explosives are there.

Her staff isn’t anywhere around, either.

Fuck.

Okay. Okay. That’s fine. That’s fine. She’s Artoria, Caster, she of Tintagel, and if there’s one thing she excels at, it’s getting back on her feet. She’s… unsure as to how walking through the Nameless Forest could lead to her ending up in a very un-forest environment, but she’ll figure it out. She always does.

One thing at the time though. For now, she needs to get somewhere dry, and make a battle plan. Pathetically, she staggers her way to the house. At least her magecraft still responds to her; she sets her hand on the wall, and quickly scan the interior. It’s inhabited at the moment. Perfect to take shelter in. The lock yields nearly immediately, as if it had no protection against magic whatsoever. Perfect. Suckers like these are the easiest to robs.

Alright. Battle plan. First, she needs find out if it’s completely abandoned, or if its occupant is merely gone for the hour. Then, grab some clothes. And then-

Her train of thought is derailed the second she steps into the kitchen.

Her stomach growls. For some reason she cannot fathom, she’s suddenly overcome by the overwhelming desire to absolutely stuff her face.

I don’t need that, she reminds herself, shaking her head. Stick to the plan. With herculean effort, she manages to look away from the fruit bowl in the corner. I don’t need that. What I need is clothes, and a safe place to hide, and food, and to sink my teeth in something juicy, and to fill my belly, and to feel bones against my teeth and flesh in my throat and

It’s like her body moves on her own. She grabs an orange, fat and bright, and shoves it whole inside her mouth, skin and stem alike.

She can’t think after that. All she can do is eat. She devours anything she finds- pomegranate and apples and some unknown yellow thing with a chewy skin. She eats, eats, eats, shoves an entire onion down her throat, followed by a garlic head and three shallots. Then she opens a cupboard, and finds an entire loaf of bread, and it’s like she’s in the Avalon of legends. It’s so rich against her tongue, flavorful and thick and so filling. She tears it apart like a wild beast, crumbs falling down her chin. Her stomach twists. She wants more. She needs more. Why didn’t she do that first thing? It feels so good. Her next find is a jar of honey, and she dips her fingers in them like a bear to lick them clean.

She opens another cupboard, one with a thick door, and with surprise discovers that the other side is much colder than the outside. She almost closes it, that freezing wave a violent reminder that she’s still wet and dirty- but a red package draws her eye. She grabs it, then slams the door shut. A large smile breaks across her face as she recognizes it; a slab of meat, wrapped in some sort of transparent film. She makes short work of it and tears into the raw flesh with gusto, her canines perfect to hack it apart. She can’t help a shiver a pleasure as the juices drip over her skin. She wants more, she wants more, she wants more-

There is a quiet, unmistakable click as the doors opens, and Artoria freezes.

A body barges into the house, swearing loudly about the rain, a heavy white bag swinging from their forearm. When they see Artoria, they pause, face white as a sheet from the cold.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuck. Why did she fucking do this?? She doesn’t need to eat. Fuuuuuck she doesn’t know a single escape route is this house. Can she rush past them? They’re taller than her, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re slower-

“Artoria?”

Their voice is quiet, a tentative question as if they were afraid to startle a small animal.

Artoria startles. “Y- yes?”

They blink once. Twice. Sets the bag down. Rubs one of their eyes. And then, finally: “It’s been a while.”

It rings as true, which is incomprehensible because she’s certain she has never seen this fairy in her life. How do they know her name, anyways? Despite her best efforts, Artoria has yet to leave a lasting impression on anyone. “It has, hasn’t it?” She laughs awkwardly. “Sorry about, uh. The mess.”

They shake their head, leaning down to grab their bag again. “It’s fine. It is your house.”

… Ah, she gets it. They’re mistaking her for someone else. Someone who looks like her, has her name- but a completely different person. This is the only explanation that makes sense. After all, there is no way Artoria Caster would ever belong anywhere.

They walk up to her to set the bag on the table. Briefly, she sees a hint of petals spilling out of it. Flowers? “You, uh. Probably shouldn’t eat that raw, though.” They point at the slab of meat in her hands. What had looked so appetizing just moments prior was now making her stomach churn. Why the fuck did she do that?? Hurriedly, she sets it on the counter and scrubs her mouth with the back of her hand. She only manages to smear more blood over her face.

The stranger openly cringes. “You should get cleaned up.” They take her hand, still sticky with blood and honey, then pull her towards a corridor. She’s so taken aback by the warmth of their fingers that she forgets to stop them.

“Here.” They finally let go of her in a pristine white room with a single window. “You can use the shower.” They say, pointing at a transparent box in a corner.

“Ah, e-ehm, thanks?” Oh come on girl get your acting together. The second this person realizes they’re being fooled is the second her life is in danger. Do better. “I, uhm, I don’t have any spare clothes though…”

“I’ll give you some of mine. I’ll leave them in front of the door.” And on those words, they leave the room.

Admittedly, Artoria isn’t sure what a “shower” is, but she quickly concludes that it fucking sucks. It takes her forever to figure out how it works, and the water is stupidly cold. She scrubs the grime off her skin as quickly as she can, then dries herself up with a towel. As promised, she finds clothes at the door. Not the stranger’s, she figures; these are a tad too small for them. They fit her perfectly, in fact, down to the Boutta blow your mind away printed in large letters on the front.

Now cleansed, she steps out. She has half a mind to bail, but the stranger catches sight of her first. “Come over here,” they call, “I’ll prepare your room as soon as I’m done cleaning the kitchen.”

She cringes at the reminder of her earlier rampage, walking up to them with her head hung in shame. “S-sorry about that…”

The stranger pauses for a couple seconds, midway through wiping the counter, then turn to her: “Did you like the honey?”

… Huh? “Y- yes?”

They nod to themselves, turning back to the task at hands. “That’s good. It comes from your beehive outside, you know. I… I finally got the time to build it. I’m glad it taste good.”

Fucking hell. This person is so mellow. What do they want? Artoria feels like she’s constantly stepping on eggshells. If she knew what they want from her (or, from their Artoria, rather,) she would have a better idea on how to respond, but all they’ve done so far is act weirdly forgiving and kind. What are they hiding? “Isn’t it dangerous to raise bees?”

“Eh, anything will sting you if it feels threatened. They’re harmless so long as you’re gentle with them.” They swipe the counter one last time, then toss the sponge back into the sink. “Alright, you can just sit here, I’ll go make your bed-” They do a double-take, gaze raking her up and down. “… Did you use the shampoo?”

“Of course.” What the fuck is shampoo??

Maybe that lie was a little too obvious, because they squint briefly, then pull out a chair. “Come here. I’ll comb your hair properly. It looks like you did it with your fingers.” Which is a very accurate assessment, because that’s exactly what she did.

She almost refuses- but considering the way the stranger acts, she thinks she can safely assume that they’re pretty close to their Artoria. Would it be suspicious if she backed away? It might safer to indulge them on this.

So she goes to sit as instructed. They’re very gentle through the entire process, undoing years-old knots in her hair with patience and care. She keeps expecting it to hurt, for them to pull a bit too hard, for them to forcefully tilt her head back and slit her throat- but it never come.

“There we go,” a finger goes up to caress her cheek, briefly, and then disappear like a thief in the night. “Doesn’t it feel much more comfortable like this?”

Maybe that’s just what love is like for people who receive it. None of this is meant for her, and she’s well aware, but… she can pretend, right? Just for now. Just for this moment. Let her pretend.

She gets a few minutes like this, until someone knocks at the door, and the moment is broken. The stranger sets the comb aside and gets up. “I’ll handle it.”

She turns around as they leave, eyeing at the entrance. She can’t see past the door from here, but she can hear hushed whispers. A shiver runs down her spine. Secrets mean danger meaning she needs to leave, now. She overstayed her welcome. She gets up, intending to do just that-

-when a man pushes past the stranger, locking eyes with her.

There are a couple seconds of silence where the man stares at her, a stilted smile on his face. Then, he speaks up: “Why hello there, it’s wonderful to meet you!”

Well. That lie’s upfront, at least. “Likewise.” She nods at him.

The man walks up to her. He’s holding food under one arm, and a bouquet of flower in his other hand. Oh. Ooooooh, she gets it now. This must be the stranger’s boyfriend. Yeah, no wonder he’s pissed to see a foreigner in his lover’s home. Unfortunate, but that’s a pretty straightforward motive. She can handle him, she thinks.

The stranger hurriedly walk up to them, placing themself in front of the man. “Oberon,” they call softly.

Whatever that meant, the man- Oberon, she presumes- does not change his behavior. “What may your name be, young lady?”

So he didn’t know whoever the stranger mistook her for. That makes her job a lot easier. “I’m Artoria.” She doesn’t add anything else. The more vague she is, the less changes she has to contradict herself.

The presentations now done, Oberon sets his stuff on the table, then takes a seat. The stranger does the same, picking the chair right between Oberon and her. She can’t help but start noticing a pattern there. Are they trying to prevent her from getting to close to this new man? Cut her escape routes, perhaps? Or maybe they just want to keep an eye on her at all times. Either could be likely.

“Welp,” the stranger takes out something square and thick from their pocket. “I was going to cook tonight, but circumstances have made my fridge empty.” (Artoria pointedly looks away as they speak.) “So let’s order pizza, shall we?”

“… Right.” Now they’re just throwing random sounds around. Is it a trick? Making up words to see if she’ll notice them?

But no, it appears to be a real thing. The stranger hands her the square thing, which turns out to be a ridiculously small menu. Most of the words here are gibberish to her (what the hell is a pineapple?? Pine trees don’t bear fruit??) so she decide to point at the picture with the most meat and cheese stacked on top. “This one.”

Oberon and the stranger both twitch at her choice. Should she take her choice back? But before she can, the stranger takes the menu back and bring it to their ear. “Alright, I’ll order. You two behave, alright? Set the table, or… something.” And they walk off to another room.

So it’s just her and a jealous boyfriend. Glorious.

Oberon gets up, opening a drawer to take out some cutlery. He passes three forks to her. “Lovely day, huh?”

“… Right.” Come on man, don’t make small talk when you very clearly don’t want to talk.

Oberon turns to look at the window. “That’s quite the hole in the garden. What happened?”

What’s she supposed to respond? I was buried alive there? I was taking a nap? “Good question.”

Oberon makes a low noise that doesn’t really mean anything. He turns to look at her again, a sweet smile stretching his lips, hands closed around three knives. “So, what are you, and why shouldn’t I put you back in the grave you crawled out of?”

Artoria freezes, an equally fake smile on her own face. “… Come again?”

“I said,” his intonation does not change at all. It does not need to. Artoria may not know what a grave is, but she recognize a threat when she hears one. Fuck. Fuck. What should she do? What does he want from her? He clearly hates her, but she hasn’t known him for long enough to figure out his ticks. Should she play dumb? Admit everything? Claim to be a noble fairy? What do you want from me? “What are you, and-”

Anything will sting if it feels threatened.

Artoria has never been particularly strong. Her magecraft us average, her physical strength subpar, her intimidation factor nonexistent. She is no bear, no wold, no elk. Perhaps this is why this bit of conversation comes back to her at this moment; wisdom of the bees, from a helpless one to another.

Oberon howls when she stabs the fork into his arm. Before he can move, she darts towards the corridor, rushes into the bathroom, and jumps through the window. Free.

So. Okay. Alright. Okay.

First thing first: wherever the fuck Artoria is, this clearly isn’t Fairy Britain. The architecture is unlike anything she knows, the very ground is covered in some hard substance that is neither rock nor dirt, and carriages blaze through the roads without any horse pulling them.

That being said, it’s still very clearly a fairy settlement, and as such the usual tricks to find a safe shelter still apply. In a dark alley barely large enough for a person to slide in, she finds a crack in a roof, and a half-broken ladder in a corner. That attic is filled with furniture and other knick-knacks, but the sorry state of the mattress and the rat fleeing in her presence are proof that it has long been abandoned. Meaning: her city now, suckers.

Alright. If nothing else, she can get her shit together in here. Maybe she can spend the night here, even.

Man. She wishes she’d learned how to write. Ector had taught her to read, but he never quite got around teaching her more than the first few letters of the alphabet. Jotting things down would be really useful right now.

Whatever. She’ll just have to trust her memory, as per usual. It’s not like she really has a battle plan anyways, just a serie of questions

1) Where is she?

1.5) If this truly isn’t Fairy Britain: what does that imply?? She wasn’t even aware there was anything aside from the British Isle.

2) Where is her staff?

3) What are the fairy clans in this land? She shouldn’t assume it’s the same just because fairies also live here.

Yeah. Okay. Alright. She’ll have to play her cards carefully, but that’s nothing new under the Sun. In the meantime, she explores her new hideout. There’s quite a lot of useful things in here, actually. She finds a ton chemicals and material to craft smoke bombs and small explosives, for a start, which is always a sign of good tastes in her opinion. She also finds a bunch of wires she cannot discern the use of, though she resolves to tinker with them later on- if this place’s previous owner is anything like her, than she’s sure she can find ways to use them for her pipe bombs. Some canned food, expired months ago, a cutter, and inexplicably, a fat fluffy plushy of some rabbit-like creature.

Before she can explore more though, she hears a sound. Footsteps. The creaking of wood.

Artoria clutches the cutter in her hand. She is not gonna get taken off-guard again. Now armed, she risks peering outside-

and meets eyes with Oberon, climbing the ladder to her hideout.

The two of them freeze. For a second, he seems genuinely taken off-guard; no smile, none of that faux-friendly face she’d become used to. He stares up at up, mouth agape, and asks: “How did you know about this place…?”

Artoria kicks the ladder off the wall, and he yelps as he falls down.

“Don’t climb again!” She warns. “I’ll push it again!”

Oberon grumbles something she cannot hear. He glares up at her, then at the ladder- but he doesn’t try to set it up again. He doesn’t seem to go away either though, which is problematic. That ladder is the only way out, after all.

Whatever. If an emergency arise she can go out by that crack and climb her way on top of the attic, or something. She’ll find a way. She always does.

She keeps an ear out in case Oberon tries anything funny, and continues her search. From the depths of a drawer, she unearths a basic toolkit, some dirty clothes riddled with holes, and the most depraved pornography she has ever laid her eyes upon. She quickly shoves that one back at the bottom of the drawer and vows to forget about it forever.

She’s debating how long that forever should be when a different voice rises: “Artoria?”

Oh come on. Won’t these people leave her alone?

She stops moving. If she plays dead, the stranger- Ritsuka, as she recalls- Is bound to leave her alone.

“I’m going up.”

For fuck’s sake. “Stay down!” She yells back. “I’ll push the ladder if you put it up!”

“Alright! Alright. No need to get angry. But you don’t mind if I keep talking, right?”

She does mind, but she’s certainly not saying it out loud. Apparently, Ritsuka interprets her silence as an invitation to speak. Unfortunate.

“Oberon is gone. He left after he called me. I don’t know exactly what he told you, but I gather it wasn’t very nice…? Please don’t hold it against him. He cared about you very much.” A pause. And then: “He… he cared about Artoria very much.”

… So the jig is up, huh. “What gave me away?”

“Artoria is dead. We buried her ourselves.”

The shock is such that Artoria rushes to the crack to peer down at Ritsuka: “You killed her?!”

“What? No!” They look up at her with a panicked look on their face. “Her body. Her- her corpse. We didn’t-” They pause for a second. “Do you… not know?”

Why would she know? Who buries dirt under more dirt? That seems like a waste of time.

In face of her silence, Ritsuka speaks up again: “Hey. What’s your name? Your real one, I mean.”

… She figures she owes them that much. “It’s Artoria.”

There’s a beat. “… I told you, I know you’re not Artoria. You don’t need to pretend any longer-”

“My name is Artoria. I wouldn’t have picked that name either, you know.” To fairies, names, identity and fate are the same. If she has had any choice in the matter, she wouldn’t have chosen to be herself either.

“Ah.” They look a bit taken aback by that. “… Well. Artoria, then. Do you want to come home with me?”

“Didn’t we just establish that I’m not your Artoria?”

“I know. But you seem very alone, and very lost. I’d feel much better knowing you’re freeloading at my place rather than in a hole in a wall.”

… Ah, she sees what’s going on.

Maybe she’s just tired. Maybe she never truly learned to say no. Fact is: silently, Artoria has a thought for her namesake. You’ve been blessed with good friends, girl.

“Alright.” She takes hold of the crack, and starts climbing her way down. “Alright.”

I will not apologize for taking advantage of their love for you.

She gets the guest room.

Well. She guesses it used to be Artoria’s room- the one from this world. It’s been long emptied though, blank walls and empty shelves all around.

“Don’t you live with Oberon?”

Ritsuka blinks up at her, setting up the bed. “… No?”

? “I thought you two were, uh. A thing?”

“What? No. We’re not dating.”

… Well! That relationship is a can of worm she is not opening.

She’s never lived with anyone else before, unless you count horses. It’s easier than she’d have imagined; the next morning, Ritsuka leaves early for work, and she’s left to her own device in this empty house.

On the first day, she explores the bookshelf in the living room. It’s mostly boring stuff about historical people she’s never heard of. Vaguely, she recognizes the names of Merlin and Morgana, but she flinches when she catches sight of King Arthur. No, it’s better if she doesn’t touch those.

On the other hand, she finds some really interesting stuff in a crate in Ritsuka’s room. She doesn’t know what an anarchist is, but that title isn’t lying, they really are cooking.

She sneaks the most interesting titles under her bed. Ritsuka never explicitly told her not to rummage through their stuff, but she figures those were hidden for a reason.

On the second day, she accidentally turns on the blank painting against the wall. She startles when images and sounds suddenly start blasting, rushing behind the couch to hide from the impromptu communication device. After a moment though, it becomes clear that this is no communicator- the people talking on the screen are not aware of her, and don’t behave like they’re observed at all. Artoria has never been to a theater herself, but she imagine that’s what they look like.

She spends all the afternoon watching various plays cross the screen, which is pretty convenient, because she’s feeling weirdly tired and sluggish today. The plays are very informative on how this world works; most obvious instance being that the yellow fruit she could not identify is apparently called a banana, and its skin is supposedly very slippery.

This is where Ritsuka finds her when they get home, sprayed across the couch internally bitching about the current play.

“Oh, you’re doing a Star Wars marathon?” They comment, hanging their coat on a wall. “What do you think of it?”

It’s stupid as fuck and she hates it. Somehow, Palpatine has returned, you absolute hack of a writer how could you jot that down in your script and never bring it up? “I think it’s pretty good so far.”

“… I see.” They move to the kitchen. “What do you want to eat tonight?”

Artoria opens her mouth-

And immediately closes it.

Of course. The food. That’s why she’s feeling weird today. Was it poisoned? Most likely. The real question is: was it on purpose, or is food in this world specifically harmful to her? She recalls her inexplicable urge to eat when she first came here. Could this be linked?

“I’ll pass for tonight. Don’t worry about me.” She smiles at them.

They frown. “If you don’t like the food, you can just-”

“I’m just tired. I’ll sleep early tonight.” Which is disheartening for her too- she does enjoy talking to Ritsuka over dinner, awkward at these conversations may be. She imagines that’s what it’s like to have a friend. But right now, that’s her best move to avoid any question, so she gets up, and promptly flees to her room.

Her illness does not get better on the third day. Her mind feels filled with mist, and her body is weak. Whatever. She’ll tough it up.

On the third day, she goes to the garden. The hole she dug is still there. Ritsuka and Oberon’s flowers lay at the bottom, for some reason. They’ve started to wilt.

Artoria jumps. She’s an actor, too, and while she doesn’t think she’s quite on the same stage, she still has a role to play, meaning she needs to find her staff. It’s not anywhere she can see, though. Maybe it’s been buried deeper than she has? No choice; she has to dig. She can’t find a shovel nearby, so she settles for a flip-flop.

It’s harder than it looks. The ground is tough and unyielding. And Ritsuka and Oberon dug through that for Artoria’s sake? How determined were they?? She’s barely uncovered an inch of dirt and she’s already so tired. Her grip is weak on these shoes. Her fingers keep trembling. This is frustrating. And tiring. So, so deeply tiring. She’s barely started, but she already wants to take a break. Maybe she could close her eyes… just for a second… she’s so tired… so very tired…

…

…

…

… “...Toria…”

“Artoria!”

She blinks rapidly. When did she get upright? It’s awfully bright for the bottom of a hole. The ground is moving beneath her, though she’s not walking. There’s something warm beneath her arm. Slowly, she turns to the right. “… Ritsuka?”

They’re dragging her back to the house, her arm thrown over their shoulder. Don’t they only come home late evening? She can’t have slept for so long, has she?

“Finally!” Ritsuka pushes open the door and drags her to the couch. “What were you doing down there?!”

“Digging.” She’s being sat down. That’s nice. She doesn’t think she could stand upright right now. Everything is spinning, and maybe that’s why for a second, she forgets to lie: “I don’t feel so well.”

“Yeah, I can see that! It’s always the same thing it’s always the same thing with you, you say nothing while you’re suffering until you’re about to break-” They cut their own sentence short. She’s too tired to really compute it regardless. Still, she’s taken aback by the anger in their tone. Until now they’ve only acted friendly and full of grief. She hadn’t expected… “What are you feeling exactly? Headache? Sickness? On a scale from 1 to 10, how much pain are you-”

Her stomach growls.

“… Artoria,” Ritsuka articulates carefully, “did you eat anything today?”

“No?” Why would she? Eating is a social activity, and she hardly has anyone to be social with during the day. “You weren’t there.”

Ritsuka looks at her strangely. “Do you… not eat unless I’m here?”

“Yes…?” Is that so odd? “What’s the issue? It’s not like I need to eat.”

They startle. “ You don’t??”

“You do??” And then, suddenly, it clicks; the lack of wings. Their nightly ritual of making dinner. “Wait, are you human??”

Ritsuka doesn’t respond. Instead, they grab her arm, and pull the sleeve back. The back of her arm is littered in small, dot-like scars. Funny that. She didn’t remember those. “Do you know what a cigarette is?”

“Uh,” she knows she’s heard them referenced in some of those plays, but she can’t for the life of hers remember what that refers to.

They seem to take that as a no. They nod to themself, then pull the sleeve back. "Artoria. I don't know what you are. But I know you're in her body. And she was human. Like me. That means that yes, you do, in fact, need to eat. You're not sick. You're hungry. "

... Oh.

No wonder she couldn't find her staff. She's been made an actor of a whole new play.

On the fourth day, Ritsuka leaves for work, and one hour later, Oberon shows up at the doorstep. Artoria barely restrains herself from biting his nose off. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to make sure my friend doesn't get eaten by the zombie they decided to play house with." The sentence itself is a lie, but Artoria is certain the disgust in his voice is completely genuine.

Fine by her. She can deal with upfront anger.

He goes straight to Ritsuka's room to set his stuff down. Is he planning on sleeping there?

Whatever. He may have a weird relationship with Ritsuka, but fact is that he isn't in a romantic relationship with them, meaning he's as much of an outsider is as she is. She refuses to hide in her room and yield him ground when he doesn't have any more right to exist in this space than she does. As such, she settles on the couch, The Anarchist's Cookbook in her laps, and pointedly refuse to pay attention to him all morning.

She only acknowledge his existence when, come noon, he taps on her shoulder. "Hey. It's lunch. Get your ass over here."

She glances back at the kitchen. Cheese and bread has been laid out on the table. Her stomach growls... but then again, eating with Oberon implies being social with Oberon, and she does not want a single thing to do with this man right now. "It's fine. I'll eat tonight."

"Humans typically eat two times a day." He replies, crossing his arms. "You're in her body. Take care of it."

What is she? Some pet to take care of? Her gaze rakes his body up and down. He's wearing loose clothes, but she's pretty sure he's all skin and bones. "Perhaps you should eat more than twice a day, then."

He shoots a glare at her, which she ignores as she walks to the kitchen. Dinner with Ritsuka has always been a pleasure; because she likes talking to them, and because their cooking is always a treat on the tongue.

This is... well. Not cooking. It's bread and cheese. Food is food though, and unfortunately, her body seems to be actively working against her, so she won't be picky about it. She grabs the first slice she finds, slaps it on a toast, and brings it to her mouth.

"So? How'd you like it?"

It's bad. "It's good."

He nods, a faux-friendly smile on his face. "That cheese was her favorite."

... Ah.

Is that a test? Is that what it is? He wants to see how similar she is to his friend? Would it be better if she was, or if she weren't? Which outcome is the least likely to make him violent? What does he want from her?

She smiles back at him. She makes sure to show all her teeth. At the flash of her fangs, Oberon's face falls, if only for a second. "Is that so?"

Keep playing stupid games, and you'll win stupid prizes.

She's never tried intimidation on anyone before, because- well, because any fairy would be able to pick up how weak she is. It seems to work though, because Oberon goes quiet for the rest of the meal. Hopefully she can keep outbluffing him until she gets more information.

Her food inhaled, she leaves the room to rummage through the house some more. It's an excuse to get away from Oberon more than anything else, frankly. She doesn't really find anything new, though. More books, more clothes, a handful of board games, some human stuff she doesn't know the use of...

... Oh? Oh ho ho?

Is that... a photo albums?

Man, just how loaded are these people? Artoria has heard that having just one of your photos taken in Gloucester cost an arm and a leg. And these people have an entire book of these?

She settles on Ritsuka's bed (well, Ritsuka and Oberon's, she supposes? He's already set his pajamas on the pillow) and flips to a random page- and immediately freezes.

It's a picture of the three of them. Ritsuka. Oberon. Artoria. The other one, she means. This must have been taken a few years ago; Oberon looks a lot healthier for a start, with more fat on his cheeks. Ritsuka is missing the bags under their eyes.

And Artoria is smiling.

A real smile. The Artoria in the picture is smiling from the bottom of her heart, the summer given face, and the Artoria in the real world can't help but wonder if she has ever smiled like that in her life.

She's been so busy these days with the whole, figuring out where she is and how to not die here, that she's somehow completely bypassed the full implications of the fact that Artoria Caster used to exist here. There is an Artoria Caster, in the history of this world, who existed, who was loved, and who was happy. There is an Artoria Caster, in the history of this world, who has gotten everything Artoria has ever wanted.

And she died.

... Some things remain constant across worlds, Artoria thinks as she closes the photo album. Artoria Caster is not meant to find happiness.

She... probably shouldn't rummage through Ritsuka's personal things any more today, though. With nothing more to do, she heads back to the living room. Oberon has turned on the flatscreen (TV, Ritsuka had called it?) and is currently watching one of these plays where the actors are not people, but drawings. She glances at it briefly. There isn't much acting happening so far; the protagonist just seems to be running around randomly, occasionally having nonsensical conversations with passerbys.

She writes the whole thing off as a terrible story (fitting of Oberon to have no sense of pacing or character) until she notices the little device in his hands. Specifically, the fact that the protagonist moves anytime Oberon moves.

"Hey!" She calls out to him. She gives him her sweetest smile, doing her damnedest to imitate the one in the picture. How hard can it be, right?

Oberon glances at her, pauses, and turns pale as a sheet. "Don't fucking do that." He spits out. "You are not her. Stop insulting her memory."

... Fine. She drops the smile and the pretenses. "What's that?" She asks, pointing her chin at the TV.

"A video game." He responds unhelpfully. He turns his gaze back to the screen- then pause. "You... do know what a video game is, right?"

"Of course I know." She blatantly lies. "I meant what kind of video game is it?"

He glances at her, then sighs, patting the seat next to him on the couch. "Sit here. I'll show you."

She does as instructed. He clicks on a few buttons, and the screen vanishes in favor for a mass of text. For some reason, Oberon doesn't move for a few seconds, the screen reading Save 1: Oberon. 76 hours of playtime. Save 2: Artoria. 21 hours of playtime. Then, he makes the screen scroll all the way down, picks an empty square, hastily types in Caster, and then shoves the device in her hands. "Okay. Here's how this works:"

After a few hours of crawling through Animal Crossing, Artoria concludes the following:

- cozy games aren't necessarily her thing, though Oberon insists there are WAY more different kinds of games and she shouldn't write off an entire medium based on one game,

- controllers are tricky to use, but she thinks she's starting to get the hang of it

- the next time Oberon has his back turned, she's filling his island with holes.

Apparently, every five days or so, people get to not work. Meaning: Ritsuka is at home with them both.You'd think it would be easier than being stuck with a man who clearly hates her guts, but you'd be mistaken. Oberon wants Artoria to stop acting like his friend. Ritsuka wants her to keep acting like their friend. Balancing both these wants is not going to be easy.

She manages mostly by making sure she's not in the same room as the both of them at the same time. That strategy works until lunch, when Ritsuka insists that they all eat together, because of course they would. All her life Artoria had wished she had someone to eat with, and now she's given just that in the worst way possible. Fate is mocking her.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, (... tunetely, then?) Ritsuka must pick up the tension in the air, because they're the one to engage conversation: "So, I hear you're learning how to play video games?"

She nods, because her mouth is full of spaghetti, and because the less she says the less chances she has to upset one of them.

They smile, glancing at Oberon. "Wanna play game together, then?"

Consecutively, Artoria learns the following:

- Mariokart is a really popular racing game. A "kart," in fact, is a subset of cars- these horseless carriages she's seen outside. They're very fast, and function not by being pulled, but by producing a lot of smoke, which push them forward.

- Banana peels are the bane of her existence.

"Just git gud," Oberon tells her with the fakest smile on his face. "I don't see what the issue is."

She physically shoves him with her shoulder the next turn, distracting him long enough to watch his kart fall into the lava. "Hey!"

"Just git gud." She bares her teeth back at him. "I don't see what the issue is."

Ritsuka's gaze goes from Oberon, to her, back to Oberon. "You... guys seem to be getting along."

Huh? How did that ring as truth? Is Ritsuka stupid? "Are you kidding me? He's an asshole! He won't stop-" Wait. No. Fuck. Sweet girl persona, sweet girl persona. This game is dangerous. It makes too competitive for her own good. "I- I mean- I, uh, suppose we are."

Ritsuka hesitates for a second. "... That's what I'm talking about, though. You're telling him to fuck off. You don't do that with me."

Yeah? Because he very clearly let it known that acting nice to him would only make things worse. Not because she likes him. "Why, do you want me to insult you?"

They shrug. "I wouldn't mind."

She stares at them for a second, then sends a brief glance to Oberon: "... Are they into that?"

He startles so hard he completely fucks up his green shell throw. Not what she intended, but nice. "Why are you asking me? "

"Cuz you two are... you know." Mh. How to pass an index in a circle without letting go of her controller?

"We are not! Where did you even get this idea?!" then, to Ritsuka: "What did you tell her?!"

"You guys brought flowers to each other." She huffs. "It was a perfectly reasonable assumption."

Suddenly, it's like a wave of cold has fallen onto the group. Ritsuka and Oberon both tense up. On the screen, Ritsuka misses a turn and drives straight into a wall.

"... Right. Those were friendship flowers. Nothing more. Don't read into it."

Ritsuka nods, though they're clearly not all present. Artoria thinks back of the flowers at the bottom of her grave.

Fucking hypocrite. So much for asking her to be more honest. Neither of them can bring themselves to talk about the ghost in the room.

She doesn't want to break the fragile... whatever it is between her and those two though (she doesn't want to call them friends, because if they hold any fondness in their heart for Artoria Caster, it's clearly not her. Still, they host her and feed her, and she's not so ungrateful as to spit on that.) So she throws them a bone and changes the subject. "Man, I think I'm starting to get this game though. I'll have you both beat in no time."

Slowly, Ritsuka relaxes. "... Right? It's fun. You should play as Peach next. She might be more appropriate to your playstyle."

Oberon glares at them at that, for some reason. She elects to ignore it. "Are all cars that easy to drive? If so, that's really convenient. I've only ever journeyed on foot, and it's... rough."

"You'll have to stay on your feet for quite a while, then. Real cars are harder to drive." Oberon comments dryly. "And they're expensive too. You couldn't afford one."

True. And it's not like she has anywhere to go with one. For how strange the situation is, the safest course of action for her is still to stay with those two. "Don't say that like you're any richer than me."

"Excuse me? I'll have you know I have a job. I just work at night."

Oh, huh. Really? Wild. "Then why don't you have a car, genius?"

"I never needed one." He huffs. "If I really need to go somewhere, I just borrowed Ritsuka's..."

He suddenly cuts his sentence short. She waits for a follow-up, a clarification, a correction, but none come.

"... It broke down." Ritsuka hastily completes. "My car, I mean.I never got it replaced. Cars are dangerous and all. It was about time that I did away with mine."

This entire sentence is true. That doesn't mean it's the truth, though. Artoria didn't survive so long through the strength of her eyes alone. She can put two and two together.

... She can only hope it was less painful to this girl than Artoria's death would have been in Fairy Britain.

She doesn't want to call it a routine; a routine implies her knowing these people for more than a week. But she does discern a pattern, after a while.

Ritsuka goes to work in the morning, around the same time she wakes up. She has the morning more or less to herself; she sneaks out to observe the city, sometimes. She never goes long enough for her absence to get noticed, just long enough to get a better grasp on how this world works.

Oberon wakes up pretty late. Guess he truly does... do stuff late at night. Work or something else. Who knows. She isn't asking.

He doesn't cook. Lunch with him is usually made of simple stuff, or stuff he bought outside. He doesn't eat much either. Granted, Artoria is his polar opposite (sue her! Food is one of the few pleasures she could consistently get!) but sometimes she wonders if he's here to remind her to eat, or if he's here so she can remind him to eat.

Point being: she has, tentatively, started rummaging through cupboards for extra stuff at lunch. So far she's discovered a handful of spices (very tasty on ramen!) potato chips (crunchy <3) and soy sauce (which she apparently isn't supposed to drink on its own.) No one has yelled at her so far, so she figures she's allowed.

Today, she finds a an unopened box filled with square things. The grabs one to inspect it. It's too big to be sprinkled or added to anything else. A new sort of snack, then? She takes a bite, out of curiosity-

And immediately jolts.

Oberon raises his face from the macaroni & cheese he's eating. "Not to your taste?"

"There's sugar in here!" He blinks. Once. Twice. Doesn't he get it? "Sugar!" She repeats with emphasis. "It's sweet! But it's not a fruit! There might even be chocolate in there!"

"... Yes?" He chews slowly. "Artoria, have you. Have you never eaten a pastry before?"

... Oh fuck. She was so taken by the taste that she completely misread the situation. Is sugar more common over here? Or maybe Ritsuka and Oberon are just loaded? Either way, she should play it down. "I- of course I have. Don't be ridiculous."

He quirks up an eyebrow at that. Artoria quickly looks away and stuffs the biscuit in her mouth.

For some reason, he decides to take mercy on her, and doesn't press the subject. "By the way, we're going out this afternoon."

She almost doesn't hear him. He speaks clearly and loudly, articulating as he always does. It's almost indistinguishable from the background noise. "... What?"

"We're going out this afternoon. You don't have anything better to do, do you? We need to get you some new clothes."

Oh, that's what he was talking about. She looks down at her shirt, a blue thing with I'm Da Bomb printed in soft yellow. Ritsuka has been supplying her with clothes so far, and while they're obviously kind of old, they're still much comfier than anything Artoria has ever worn until now. "What's wrong with these?"

"Girl, do you not have eyes? That color coordination is hideous. It's painful to see you in these."

Artoria has only ever had the one outfit her entire life- if she ever had a second one, Tintagel long sold it. The idea of getting something of her own... that she could choose herself...

"Sure." She doesn't want to show how much she likes the idea, she doesn't want to show weakness like this- but even she can't stop the dreamy look on her face. "I'll get ready."

It's the first time she goes out and actually participate in the outside world, rather than solely observe it. They talk to shopkeepers. They argue over outfits. They even get pastries afterwards, because Oberon has a craving and he wants to buy extras for Ritsuka, and holy shit the creampuff she snuck out of Oberon's bag is fucking delicious.

This world is weird. She's still trying to find her footing here. There's a ghost in the house she lives in. But maybe... maybe she could get used to this.

The day starts in the most ordinary way possible, if one can call her current situation "ordinary." She gets up. Stretches like a cat. Picks up her outfit for the day ( her outfit! Which is hers! Proprierty of Artoria Caster from Fairy Britain!! Hers! No one can take it away from her! Never!) Then she leaves the room, a bit earlier than she normally would.

She finds Ritsuka in the living room, drinking coffee before work. "Good morning, Artoria!" They have a bright smile on their face. "Looking good today!"

With a frown, Artoria looks right, then left. Is the TV on already? Granted, she's rarely up as early as they are, but she'd only ever seen them drinking coffee and scrolling on their phone in the morning-

"Artoria?" Ritsuka waves a hand in her direction. "Are you still asleep?" And that's when it hits her.

This isn't the TV. This is Ritsuka's voice.

How does describe an absence? How does one give shape to a void? There is nothing in Ritsuka's voice. No truth and no lies are to be found, because they carry no meaning whatsoever. It's all sound, disjointed vowels with nothing linking them. This is not what a person sounds like.

"Hey, can you hear me? You're- you're starting to freak me out."

It's like she's stepped inside a painting. Everything feels flat, two-dimensional. She's the only sentient being on a stage filled with props. Not a single thing feels real. She is not here. She never were.

"Artoria!"

She jolts at the heat on her shoulder. There is a hand touching her. The hand is connected to a human. The actor who plays the role of Ritsuka is looking at her with a worried look on their face. They're saying something. Their lips are moving. They're out of sync.

"I- yes?" Dimly, she's aware that she should be- panicking, or something. But right now, at this moment, she's nothing but an actor with no script. She does not know what to say. She does not know what to do. She doesn't feel at a loss, or confused. She doesn't feel anything. "Ah- I'm fine. Sorry, I was spacing out."

The face frowns. They say something else. She can't listen. All she can do is look at their mouth. She doesn't understand. They're speaking. This- this has to be speech, right? Lips and sound and tongue and teeth. What is wrong, then? Why is there no meaning to their words? If she reaches inside their mouth, if she takes hold of that tongue- would it help? If she pulled it at its root, would she understand the language of blood more than that of a human?

Then, suddenly, the actor looks away, and leaves the stage with a determined gait. She watches them leave. She's stuck in that theater, but she feels more like an audience than an actor. She sees everything, but can't participate in anything. Softly, she brings her a hand to her temple. The world is made of shapes. She cannot make sense of any of them. How peculiar.

The actor comes back, followed by another one. She does her part and nods at him in greeting. That's a script she knows, at least.

Surprisingly though, the actors each take hold of one of her hands. When they pull, Artoria finds no reason not to follow. They clearly know what they're doing more than she does.

She's brought to another stage. Smaller, more cluttered. She blinks. A bedroom. Should she sleep? She's not sure if she feels tired. There's light outside. She feels like she should stay awake.

One of the actor pulls her on the bed, though. Alright. If that's what they want. It's easier to follow stage directions in these situations. No one wants Artoria anyways. They want the roles she can play. At least this one seems easy. She lays down on her back...

... and someone immediately pulls a blanket over her, covering her eyes.

Suddenly thrown in the dark, it feels like the spotlight have been suddenly cut off. That darkness is quickly followed by weight, on her chest, on her limbs, like a pile of hay being dumped on her face. No one can reach her here. Not her fate, not the villagers of Tintagel, not the audience. She's hidden in that little corner of time, safe, with no need to do anything but just... be.

She doesn't know how long she lays here, in the dark, focusing on nothing but her breathing and the tips of her fingers. Eventually, it occurs to her that she can hear someone else's breathing following hers.

Tentatively, she pulls the blanket down to her nose, and peers down.

Ritsuka is laid across her torso, reading something on their phone. A little further down, Oberon is curled into a ball on top of her legs, sleeping. She must have shifted the blanket somehow, because Ritsuka looks to the side, and then shoots a smile in her direction. "Hello, Artoria. Are you feeling any better?"

She doesn't respond. They seem to take that as an invitation to keep talking. They speak very softly, as if they were afraid to wake Oberon up.

"She, uhm. She found it grounding. Pressure on top of her. And being shielded from the light. So we thought- it was worth a shot, right? I hope it's helping, if only a little."

She blinks.

"Em. Can you... can you hear me?"

No. Not in any way that matters. She can't tell if they're lying. That realization settles like ice along her spine. She can't tell if they're lying. She can't tell what they want, what they're planning to do, what they expect from her, she can't, she can't-

Ritsuka's face softens. "It's alright. We're not going anywhere." They reach up, to tenderly graze her cheek with a finger. "Just rest. We'll take care of you."

This has to be a lie. This has to be a lie, because if it's true, then it means that they want something from her, and she doesn't know what that is. These are the only two options. She knows better than to hope for someone to care for her for her own sake.

(But what if-)

Get your shit together, girl. You're old enough to know how the world works. This has to be a lie. This has to be a lie, because the other option is worse. This has to be a lie. This has to be, has to be, has to be.

(But-)

It's not you they're seeing in your face right now.

Artoria pulls the blanket back over her eyes. If nothing else, she has to give that girl props for this; it really is helping her anxiety. She lost the one weapon she had against this confusing world, she's surrounded by enemies, her own body is betraying her, but at least, in the dark, she can still pretend she has her shit together.

It's going to be fine, she repeats over and over, my best quality is to quickly get back on my feet. It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be fine.

On top of her, one of the weights shift. She grits her teeth. It's. Gonna. Be. Fine.

She spends the day alternating between feeling miserable and feeling empty. Ritsuka and Oberon take turn laying on top of her, so that even if one has to leave she's never left alone. It's soothing. It's horrible. She's safe. She's trapped. She hates it. She hates it. She feels nothing. She only peeks out when they coarce her out of the blanket to eat something. She lays back down afterwards, and they let her. This is fine. This is fine. This is fine.

Somehow, she manages to fall asleep. She wakes up in the middle of the night with a person on either side of her, arms hazardly thrown across her body.

Okay. Okay. Okay. She's wasted enough time shutting down. Now it's time to do what she does best: compartimentalize and make up plans. First order of business is whether she should stay here or not. Would she be safer elsewhere? She runs her tongue over her teeth. She-

... her... her teeth...

Oh no. No no no no non ononononoono

She gets up as fast as she can. A body grumbles next to her, but she doesn't care. Her teeth, they can't- she can't- she stumbles out of bed and rushes to the bathroom. Her teeth, a mirror, a mirror, her teeth, no no no nonononono-

She slams the lights on, pulls her lips back, and look at her reflections.

They're gone. They're flat. They're gone. They're gone. Her canines. She thought she'd lost all her defenses and yet still more keep leaving her. Even animals have the defense of fangs, but Artoria Caster now has less than nothing. They're gone. They're flat. They're one. They're gone. They're gone.

She raises a hand and bites into her wrist.

Come on. Come on. Come on. Pierce the skin! Tear it open! Marr that flesh! Do something! Can't you do that much? Can't you do that much??

She pulls back, briefly. The only scars on her arms are those little dots she inherited from that girl, remnants of wounds she's never got. The bite itself is red and bruising, but there is no blood whatsoever.

She shoves two fingers inside her mouth and bites again. Come on. Come on. Come on. If she can't slice, can she crush, at least? If she gets the angle right, can she pulls her fingers off? She needs to prove that she still has some means of defense. She needs to get out of this body. She needs to get out of her body. She needs to get out of her body.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Two hands come to grab her wrist, attempting to wrestle it out of her grip. She holds onto it with all her might, with all her teeth. Oberon's face twists in unspeakable disgust, and he turns to yell: "RITSUKA! RITSUKA! HELP!"

There is a satisfying plop as she feels her index finger dislocates. Just a little more. Just a little more and she can cut the bitch off. Just a little more and she can sever her fingers, sever her arms, tear this prison apart with her own-

"ARTORIA, LET GO !"

Someone steps heavily on her foot, and she roars, equal pain and surprise. Her mouth now open, Oberon yanks her hand away from her, while behind her, Ritsuka wraps both arms around her midsection to restrain her.

"What's your fucking damage?!" Oberon snarls as he looks at her hand. "You almost-"

"Fuck off! Leave me alone! You can barely tolerate me during the day, and now you decide to get all up in my business?!"

"Artoria," Ritsuka speaks up with a much calmer voice. They always sound calm. They always sound so fucking calm even when so obviously grieving even when so obviously haunted even when even when even when everyone can tell all they want to do is yell and cry, "You need to-"

" I am not that girl! She's dead, Ritsuka! She's fucking dead! It's too late! You can't save her. And even less by saving me. So let go! "

She can't quite see their face, but their body tenses up behind her. Good. She has no fangs no eyes no staff, but she still has words. She can hurt them. She can hurt them. She can hurt them. Let go or she will.

Oberon sneers at her, still clenching her wrist tightly. "Yes. You are not that girl. So stop fucking pretending you are her and everything is fine!"

Oh that's fucking rich coming from him. Does he think she's doing it on purpose? Having the same taste in books as her? Picking the same food as her? "Get off my dick. You think I wanted to steal her life? I didn't even want my own life!"

There's a short pause. She pulls on his grip. Pulls against Ritsuka's. Fuck. They're bigger than her. Artoria's body is so small. She doesn't belong in here. Not in that world, not in that house, not in that skin. "So what, did you want to die?"

He's mocking her. She can tell. She can tell. She can tell. He's laughing at her, delighted to know that the impostor in his friend's skin already had her just desserts. He's mocking her, eyes wide with glee, and that's why she responds with the single most hurtful thing she can think of: "Unlike your girl, I can't just drive my car off a cliff and be done with it."

For a second, it sounds like neither of them dares to breathe.

"That- that's not what happened." Ritsuka cuts in. But their voice is trembling. That wound never really closed.

And even with flat teeth, Artoria can tear into it. "What do you know? Were you there? If she is anything like me, I assure you she would never choose to be Artoria Caster. And as the little fucker pointed out so justly- she is very much like me."

There is a loud noise. It takes Artoria a second to realize that she's been slapped. She can't help but giggle histerically at that. "Bet you've been wanting to do that for a while, huh?"

"Do not bring her into this." He has an interesting expression on his face. She's never seen it on him before. It takes her a second to recognize it as wounded.

"I'm not the one who is so desperately clinging onto her." She spits back. "That hideout. The one from that first night. That was hers, wasn't it? What were you doing there, Oberon? Rolling in memories, perhaps?"

"I- I was looking for you. Ritsuka insisted."

Truth or lie? Truth or lie? Truth or lie? "So you just kept all her stuff here instead of cleaning it up, in case someone ever hijacked her body and needed a place to stay? How thoughtful of you."

"Artoria," Ritsuka cuts in. Their voice is much firmer than usual. More heated. "You're-"

"Oh, I didn't forget about you, Ritsuka. The clothes you gave me- these were hers, weren't they? How long have you been clinging on them now? A year? Tell me- did you build that beehive because she wanted one, or because you wanted to do something in her memory that would hurt?"

Oberon takes hold of her hair, and suddenly pulls back. She winces in pain, but refuses to look away. He glares at her with all his might. It looks terribly pityful. "I told you to shut up."

She smiles. That exact sweet smile she saw on the photograph. "So, did either of you ever tell her you loved her? Or did you wait out of respect for the other until you were left with nothing but a corpse and your regrets?"

Oberon's grip on her wrist relaxes just enough.

She punches him before he can. Square in the face; she feels his cheek cave under her fist as he stumbles backward. He wants to hurt her. They want to hurt her. The both of them. She knows it, she knows it, she knows it, they want her to be someone she's not and if she can't provide they'll hurt her so the best she can do is hurt first.

She wriggles with all her might, trying to launch herself at Oberon. Ritsuka struggles to keep her in place. She's a worm, she's a rat, she's a diseased little thing and she refuses to get burned they want to hurt her they want to hurt her they want to hurt then let her set herself ablaze and burn anyone who gets close.

Ritsuka's hold fails. She falls forward and tackles Oberon, sinking her teeth inside his shoulder. He swears out loud and retaliates by throwing his whole weight on her, making them both crash on the floor. They roll for a moment, spitting, biting, until he finally manages to pin her down, and at this moment she is aware of three things:

- She is, definitly, physically weaker than these two. She cannot win against them in a straight fight.

- Even if she loses, she's still very clearly hurting them, so her loss doesn't matter.

- There is something hard pressing against her knee.

She sneers at him. "Oh, did you want her to beat you the fuck up? You have interesting kinks, I must say."

Oberon sneers right back, then glance up. "Shut her up."

Ritsuka's hands suddenly grab her wrists. Her skin stings where she bit earlier. She opens her mouth to spit more fire at them- but suddenly, lips cover her owns.

Artoria has only ever been kissed once, a long time ago, in Tintagel. It'd been a quick, chaste thing, by a curious fairy who knew she wouldn't say no. The fairy had quickly concluded that touching lips with a brick wall wasn't much fun, and they'd left on their merry way.

This is nothing like that. She doesn't know if it even counts as a kiss at all, frankly. There's lips and tongue and so many teeth, and Artoria can't just sit back and let it happen she has to bite back too, sink her teeth into that tongue and taste the blood in her mouth when their bottom lips split.

She jolts, when a thinner hand goes under her skirt to touch her cunt. "Holy shit." That one comes out quiet, as if Oberon hadn't meant to say it out loud. And then: "You get on my dick when you're wet too? Fuck off. I always knew you were a monster. Getting off violence like that..."

Yes, she thinks, with an odd satisfaction, I'm a monster. I'm not human. This body may be human but I'm not, I'm not, I'm me, and that's something you cannot take away from me.

"Artoria," Ritsuka pants above her, "tell us to stop. Just- tell us to stop."

She has nothing to lose in telling them both what she truly thinks. All masks have been blown away by her rage. If she tells them something they don't want to hear- what's the worst that can happen? They hurt her? Again? They bite her? Again? For once in her life Artoria has nothing to lose by being honest, and that's why she replies with: "Coward. Isn't it what you always wanted? When you're fucking him, you wish it were her, don't you?"

It's an invitation as any, and he takes it as such. She doesn't see him; all she knows is that Ritsuka's mouth is on hers again, warm hands are spreading her thighs, and then something hot and hard is spearing her in two.

He is in no way gentle. The snaps of his hips are brutal and frantic, with little way for tenderness or accuracy. Good. She doesn't want a love that doesn't belong to her. In this muddled world where truths and lies are no longer separate, she wants something that feels real. That violence is real; that hatred is real; hurt me, use me, I'll hurt you in kind, giving me all the uglyness in your heart so I have an excuse to give you mine.

Ritsuka swallows all sounds right out of her mouth. If she's moaning, groaning, protesting or enabling- that's for her and her only to know. No one speaks in this pocket of time, no lies or truth are exchanged; just friction, violence, and, at last, a handful of mana spilled right in her belly.

She twists her head away, just enough to free her mouth. "You're lucky she's dead. She'd be appalled by that performance."

"Oh, fuck you." Oberon wheezes back.

She's about to reply yeah, exactly my point, you bitch, when, unexpectedly, Ritsuka lets go of her wrist. Their hands go up to her armpit, and she finds herself lifted up until she's sitting on their lap.

She really quickly understands their intent. "What, desperate enough to go for sloppy seconds?"

Their arms wrap around her midsection again, lift her up, and the next time she's let down it's right on top of a very hard cock. "Not a dealbreaker." They grunt against her back.

They slide in so easily, her cunt slippery with come. They don't hit as deep, but their girth is slightly wider than Oberon's. She grits her teeth to not moan out loud. Against her back, she feels Ritsuka's lips, like the ghost of a kiss. Like this, when they bounce her, it almost feels like an embrace.

She doesn't want that love. She doesn't want more lies. She knows what to do if someone wants to use her or hurt her. She doesn't know what to do with softness. She wants to latch onto their arms, dig her nails into that skin until it bleeds, but Oberon grabs her hands first.

She needs it to hurt. She needs that violence. She needs this to be something she can understand. "So you can fuck her corpse, but you can't kiss her?" She taunts. He hates her. Surely he can give her what she need. Surely he can give her broken glass and burning embers.

He grabs her jaw and forces her to look at him. "She's dead, you fucking idiot. I can't kiss her. The only one I can kiss here is you." And then he does.

Her lips are bruised from Ritsuka's kisses. She's too sensitive, too weak to bite back as she once would have. She feels a hand go up to cup her tit, another go down to press on her clit. She doesn't want that pleasure. It would be so, so much easier if she could write this whole thing off as a fight, as the product of rage and grief, as simply use and being used.

Ritsuka bucks their hips. Oberon circles her clit. She takes hold of his waist and drags her fingernails across his skin, stop being so gentle stop caring so much about me you don't mean it I know I know, but no matter how many thorns she grows these two simply refuse to stop.

She comes, legs trembling, a strangled moan at the back of the throat; and Ritsuka soon follow, bottoming out one last time to fill her with mana. They both hold her as she quivers, and the pleasure is so intense she forgets to push them away.

They stay like this for... a while. The entire room is silent, save for their heavy pants. The moonlight is dim through the window. It's like time has stopped.

The moment is broken when Ritsuka reaches out, gently taking Artoria's hand, and, painfully and suddenly, snaps her dislocated finger back in its axis.

"Fuck!" She jolts, tearing her hand away from them to cradle it against her chest. The gesture makes Ritsuka slips out of her, and she can feel herself dripping, aching to be filled again. They did a number on her, in their fury. She glances at Oberon. His skin is already starting to bruise from... everything. They marked her, but she marked them too.

Ritsuka gets up first, grabbing her by the armpits again to force her up. Fuck. Her legs are trembling. Come is running down her thighs. She can barely keep herself up. "Everyone gets naked, now."

She blinks up at them. "... What?" Round two? Right now? She's had all the fight fucked out of her. She doesn't want... "I don't..."

"... Shower. We're taking a shower." Ritsuka quickly clarifies. "No one's bleeding, so I don't think I need to break out the disinfectant, but the both of you could really use some soapy water right now."

Ah. Right. Yes. That is fair.

She strips, as does Oberon, then follows Ritsuka in the shower. It's a bit small for three people, but she figures it's wise to stay quiet after... everything. They turn on the water, and- "wait, this thing has hot water?!"

She feels them both startle against her. "I- yes?"

"Artoria," Oberon sets both hands against her shoulders, "have you been showering exclusively with cold water since you've been here."

"Hey, don't act like it's obvious that some metal snake drooling water on you would have a heating function." She grumbles without teeth.

Ritsuka snorts, and it's a beacon of light in the storm of all that happened. "We really ought to give you a proper tour of the house. Oberon, catch."

She doesn't see what Ritsuka throws. Soon afterwards though, she feels something cold poured on top of her head, followed by Oberon's hand threading in her hair.

The good mood doesn't last long. Soon, silence fall again, heavy and uncomfortable. Ritsuka rubs her arms with soap, while Oberon takes care of her head.

She's the first one to speak. "... She didn't do it."

"What?"

"Your girl." She clarifies. She won't look at either of them in the eyes. "She didn't kill herself. It was an accident."

"Don't speak of her." Oberon replies, with a harsh tug on one of her locks. "You weren't there either. Don't make up more lies to make us feel better."

Oh for fuck's- for once she's trying to be honest- "Yeah, I wasn't there. But if you have to listen to one thing I ever say, let it be this: if she is anything like me, she wouldn't have done it." And then, a little quieter: "I would have endured anything if I had just one friend by my side."

For a second, Ritsuka stops rubbing soap. "Artoria-"

"I'm not her." She cuts them. She can't handle any more lies right now. She can't handle any more words right now. "You cannot save her by saving me. You have nothing to gain by saving me."

A brief silence. "We're aware." Oberon replies. His hands are going down her long hair, washing her tips.

"I'm not even that good a person." She continues. "I'm lazy. I'm angry. I'm scared. I bite." She adds that last bit like she's some stray dog in the street, like she's some rabid thing one must be warned against. Monster, Oberon had called her earlier. She wouldn't go that far; but certainly, she's not human, and never will be.

Ritsuka's hand slows down over the bite mark on her wrist. "We gathered."

Her fairy eyes are gone. She's blind as a newborn. She cannot see any truth in their words, cannot derive any meaning from speech any more. All she has are actions. Oberon is littered in bruises. Ritsuka's lips is split. She's hurt them as much as she possibly could.

And here they are, treating her wounds, cleansing her of filth.

Artoria closes her eyes, and, under the steady stream of hot water, she allows herself to cry.

The sky of this world is light blue.

She hadn't noticed when she first came here, by virtue of the whole "it's pouring buckets" and "where the fuck am I" and "how did I end up here," but it's truly a peculiar color. It's a shame, that they bury their dead around here. Laying down to see this blue forever doesn't sound that bad.

"Eh, it's fine. You don't think much about this sort of stuff when you're dead. You just lay here, and rest. The sky is just a bonus."

Artoria's head whips to the side.

Laying next to her, at the bottom of that grave, is a face just like hers.

"Hello." She says, propping herself up on an elbow to lay her chin on her palm. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Artoria blinks. Opens her mouth. "You are-"

"Artoria. The one from here, I mean." The other girl nods. "And you're Caster, aren't you? The Avalon le Fae."

Artoria flinches at those words, but the grave is so narrow that she just ends up hitting her head on a wall of dirt. No one in this house believes her human, but no one has specifically spotted her as a fae. "How do you know that?"

She shrugs. "I'm dead. All I can do is listen to the maggots. I'm told they have a king, back in your world. They're quite fond of him."

That doesn't really make sense, but neither is talking to a ghost, so Artoria decides not to point it out.

"So, how are things in my body? Enjoying it so far? I grew it myself, I'll have you know."

"Ah. It works well, thank you. Very, uh. Functional."

She quirks up an eyebrow. "You don't have to lie to me, you know. I'm literally you. Who will I tell? The Fairy King?"

"Ah. Well. Then no, it fucking sucks. You're weak as hell. And you're human. You don't even have fangs. It's horrible."

She chuckles at that. It's an ugly little sound, like a cough or a sneeze. Artoria can't remember the last time she's sounded like that. "Yeah, fair enough. I'd have killed to have your eyes when I was a kid. Would have saved me a whole lot of trouble."

"What even are these, anyways?" Artoria pulls back on her sleeve, showing off the dotted scars on her arms. "Ritsuka mentioned cigarettes, but I don't see how that's related."

"Oooh. Well, there was this guy in Tintagel, he used to..." She mimes crushing a cigarette against her own arm.

Artoria winces in sympathy. "Man. Your life sucked, huh?"

"Of course it did. I'm Artoria Caster, whether I want it or not."

To fairies, names are identities, fates and duties all in one. Perhaps things aren't so different to humans, if less literally so.

"Why are you showing up to me now?" Artoria asks. "Are you haunting me because I stole your life?"

"No, I don't care about that. As you can see, I'm not exactly in a situation where I can do much with it." She makes a dismissive gesture of the hand. "No. I'm haunting you because they won't let go of me."

... Ah. Yeah. She... She can see it. "Don't hold it against them," she finds herself saying. "They care... they cared about you a lot."

"I know. They suck like that." The other girl rolls back on her back. "Ritsuka holds everything in until they're on the verge of collapsing. Oberon makes everything everyone's problem. They suck so atrociously bad, boy." A small smile blossoms on her face. It's genuine, Artoria realizes. A smile the likes of which she's never been able to give. "But they're mine, nonetheless."

She reaches out, then, and softly, touches Artoria's cheek with the back of her fingers. Is she imitating Ritsuka, she wonders? Or has Ritsuka absorbed her touches and her manneurisms in a desperate attempt to keep her with them?

"Take care of them, will you? Since I can't do it myself." She lowers her hand. "You can do whatever you want with my body, I don't care. It's yours now. Just... take care of them. Heavens know they're terrible at doing it themselves."

"I- I will..." what can she says? I will do it? She can't even take care of herself. I'll make sure no harm ever come to them? She's a sizeable source of that harm. "I will... try." Is what she settles on.

Thankfully, that seems to satisfy her. The other girl nods to herself. "That's all I ask of you. That's what it means to be human, right? To try. Or, well. You're not really human. That's what it means to be alive, I suppose."

To be alive, huh…

Artoria sits up. The blue sky above is so inviting. "I... guess I should climb up, then?"

"Well, you'll probably wake up either way, but yes. You're alive. You belong above ground."

Artoria gets up. Sets her hands on the edge of the hole. Pauses. "Thank you." She says, and she wishes the other girl had fairy eyes, so she could see how much she means it. "And, I'm sorry. For everything."

The other girl shrugs again. She closes her eyes, then joins both hands over her chest. "I did not have a good life, Caster. But it was alot kinder with them in it. I can only hope your life is kinder by their side, too."

And so, for the last time, Artoria climbs out of her grave, and lives.