The vortex smelled like burning stories.
Pages fluttered around Nihil in a whirlwind, some yellowed with age, others fresh and damp with ink. Words peeled off them like ash, curling into the swirling dark.
"Ohhh. Smells like an overdue library fine," Nihil mused, floating calmly through the literary storm. Their legs kicked in slow motion like they were swimming through jelly.
A page slapped against their face.
They peeled it off, blinking.
"Oh? My cheat sheet?"
The paper trembled in their hand — a single paragraph glowing faintly:
『Title: Roses of Acceptance』
『Genre: Romance / Fantasy』
「Plot: Amalia Rosé, a spirited necromancer who denies her dark heritage, finds strength through the healing touch of her childhood sweetheart, Jeremy Svetloba. Through trust and love, they mend a world cracked by prejudice and fear.」
[Supporting Role: Peri Shwall — lifelong best friend. Present, reliable, unimportant.]
"Unimportant, huh?" Nihil smiled, voice light as a breeze. "Kinda rude. But okay. I can do background."
I'll just be a nice little ghost in the margins. How adorable. Maybe if I sit still enough, I won't become a plot twist.
The vortex pulsed.
Something tugged at their leg — gravity reasserting itself like a jealous god.
Nihil looked down just in time to see the paper in their hand burn to nothing.
"Welp. That's ominous."
And then they fell — or maybe unraveled.
With a thunk, Nihil's body jolted upright.
Wood beneath. Wheels rattling. Sunlight flickering through canvas curtains.
A carriage.
They sat at the very back, nestled in a seat that creaked with every bump in the road. The air smelled of flowers and old leather.
And right beside them —
"Amalia Rosé," they breathed with a grin.
The girl was unmistakable. Long, pink hair like overripe cotton candy spilled over her shoulders in waves, and her black onyx eyes shimmered like polished funeral stones — a blatant marker of necromancy.
She wore a poofy white dress with embroidered hearts and skulls, like a child's drawing of love and death had been sewn into couture.
She looked over at them.
"...Peri?" she asked, blinking.
Nihil's smile widened. "Heyyy, Lia. Long time no see."
Oh, sweetheart. You look like a mid-boss trying to be a Sanrio character. I love you already.
Amalia lit up like a sparkler. "You're finally awake! I thought you were gonna sleep through the whole ride!"
"Me? Never," they said sweetly. "I live for awkward carriage rides with emotionally repressed future necromancer queens."
She laughed, not hearing the poison tucked under the sugar. "You're so weird."
"I try," Nihil said, leaning back. Their gaze flicked to the far side of the carriage.
Empty.
No sign of Jeremy yet.
That's fine. Goths like to be fashionably late. Or mysteriously early. Or bleeding.
They let their head rest against the wooden wall.
Outside, the forest passed by slowly. Too slowly. Like it was watching them.
Alright, plot. Let's see just how broken you really are.
And with that, Peri Shwall — friendly, forgotten, softly smiling — slipped into place. Ready to let the fable play out.
Ready to twist it when no one was looking.