One week later, she had survived:
Three glitter storms.
Two spontaneous musical numbers.
And a magical ferret that wouldn't stop reciting love poems in Malvor's voice.
Asha stepped through the portal into Le Palais de Larmes and was immediately hit with the familiar scent of sugared roses, melted vanilla, and barely restrained emotional chaos. Candlelight flickered in crystal chandeliers shaped like teardrops, and somewhere in the distance, a violin was playing something heartbreakingly French.
She sighed. Deep. Tired. Soul-weary.
Brigette didn't even look up from her velvet chaise lounge. She just extended a perfectly manicured hand toward a teacup already steaming.
Asha took it. Sat down. And for once? She didn't flinch at the softness.
"I don't even know where to start," she said into the tea. "There was glitter in the plumbing. A cupcake ambush in the third realm. And the ferret, Brigette, the ferret, won't stop quoting Malvor like he's some tragic poet-god with unresolved mommy issues."
She sipped.
"And somehow, despite all of that... I set a boundary."
That made her smile.
"I told him no chaos in the bedroom. None. Except the fun kind. That's sacred."
She let that sit. Let herself feel proud of it.
"And he actually listened. No arguing. No dramatic protest involving enchanted doves or choreographed sad music. Just… a quiet snap of his fingers. And peace."
Her fingers curled around the teacup a little tighter.
"It's stupid how much that meant to me."
She didn't need Brigette to say anything. Not really.
The palace seemed to exhale with her, soft music, candlelight, the faintest scent of lavender.
It didn't feel like being managed.
It felt like being seen.
And for today?
That was enough.
At the end of their session.
Brigette didn't speak.
Didn't say good job or I'm proud of you, not with words. She just rose from her chaise, set down her tea, and walked over in a soft sweep of velvet and perfume.
Asha blinked up at her. "What?"
Brigette took her hands. Turned them palms-up. Studied the skin like it held ancient secrets.
"I think," she said, voice quieter now, "you're ready."
Asha's heart skipped.
She didn't have to ask what for.
Brigette traced her thumbs along the center of each palm. The skin there had always been strangely blank, like it had been waiting.
"These were meant to be healing runes," she murmured. "But they could only be carved when you were strong enough to use them. And strength, darling, is not the absence of pain."
Asha swallowed. "What if I'm not ready?"
Brigette smiled, soft, knowing.
"You are. Because you asked for peace. And meant it."
The air shimmered. The palace stilled.
Asha's breath hitched as warmth began to bloom beneath her skin, slow at first, then pulsing. Not fire. Not pain.
Something alive.
Light spilled across her palms in delicate lines, curling upward like vines, each one etched with symbols too ancient to name but instinctively familiar.
Not rage.
Not power.
Not revenge.
Restoration.
And it didn't hurt.
Not like the others.
There was pressure, yes. Heat. But it came with release. Like sobbing in safety. Like bleeding without fear of being punished for it.
She gasped softly as the light crested her wrists, wrapping her hands in glowing, sacred truth.
Then stillness.
Brigette let go.
The runes remained.
Faint. Elegant. Shimmering with pale rose-gold light. They pulsed once, then settled into her skin like they'd always belonged.
Asha stared.
She could feel it—deep down. The ability to give healing now. To extend the thing she'd barely been allowed to want for herself.
"It's not just magic," Brigette said softly. "It's a reflection. Of who you are when you're not surviving."
Asha flexed her fingers. The glow dimmed slightly. She smiled.
"I didn't scream," she whispered.
Brigette raised her chin, eyes shining.
"No, darling. This time… you bloomed."
The moment Asha stepped through the threshold, she knew.
Chaos had evolved.
There were now hovering teacups circling the chandelier, arguing with one another in accents from three different realms.
The hallway was upside down. Literally.
And the air smelled faintly of toasted marshmallow and divine arrogance.
She didn't flinch.
Not this time.
She just stepped forward, calm, steady, newly marked hands glowing faintly at her sides.
Malvor appeared before she even called his name.
One second there was nothing—
And the next, he was there, grinning like someone had just whispered the best secret in the cosmos straight into his soul.
"There she is!" he beamed.
Then scooped her up in a spin-hug so fast the floating teacups crashed into each other in shock.
"I missed you!"
Asha clung to him, laughing. "I was gone for an hour."
"That was a whole hour I was without you, My Forever!" He twirled her again. "Do you understand how eternally long that is when your soul is singing and no one is around to duet?"
She kissed him. Just a soft brush of lips, quiet and real, like a tether.
His arms stilled around her. Tightened. He didn't even try to speak.
She smiled. "I'm back."
He pulled away just enough to look at her, eyes warm and impossibly bright. "I have so much to tell you."
"I assumed."
"There was a storm made of confetti and emotional feedback! And Arbor now glows in the dark, but only if you whisper compliments to it first. And I'm not saying I built a sentient muffin, but he may have declared himself a duke."
Asha let her head fall gently to his shoulder. "Of course he did."
Malvor held her a little tighter.
"I didn't do any of it to impress you," he said, voice softer now. "I just… wanted to make the world fun enough so that it's worthy of you being in it."
As he rambled, spinning through tales of muffin nobility and emotionally unstable chandeliers, two of the enchanted teacups hovering above them crashed into one another mid-squabble.
They shrieked in high-pitched porcelain horror and shattered midair, glass and gold fragments raining down in a glittering mess of magical carnage.
Asha didn't flinch.
She simply raised her hands.
The runes on her palms shimmered, soft, rose-gold light unfurling like breath.
She knelt, touched the shards.
A pulse of warmth.
And the pieces lifted, gently, reverently, as if the air itself held its breath to watch.
The cups mended, their little handles reattaching with a delighted ping, and floated once again, wobbling slightly, but whole.
Malvor gasped.
Audibly. Dramatically.
"Oh my STARS—"
Before she could so much as roll her eyes, he'd scooped her into another violent spin-hug, this time with foot lift and a squeak of pure chaos-joy.
"YOU HEALED MY DRAMATIC TEACUPS."
Asha wheezed, "You're going to snap my spine—"
"This is the best day of my eternal existence!"
"You glow," he whispered. "You actually glow. You've never been more dangerous and I have never been more into it."
She flushed, just a little.
"I will write poems about these hands. Sonatas. Maybe a cursed opera."
"Please don't."
"Too late. I already commissioned one. The ferret's composing."
She laughed, and he looked at her like the world had just stopped being terrible for five seconds.
And maybe it had.
The rest of the day was unapologetically unhinged.
Malvor introduced her to the Muffin Duke, who wore a cravat, spoke exclusively in haikus, and seemed to be engaged in a deeply political feud with the butter dish.
She played along.
Not out of obligation.
But because, for once, it was fun.