Antics Pov:
Gods.
I'd meant it to be a joke. A little village-square fun. Show her something she'd missed. Tug her into the circle, spin her once, make her laugh—if she even knew how.
But the moment her hand slid into mine, all plans were ash.
She wasn't stiff the way she pretended. Not really. Her body moved like it remembered the rhythm better than I did. Which meant she'd lied.
And it killed me—in the best way.
The whole time she let me lead, she tilted that blank face of hers like she was just… humoring me. And I swear, it made my blood burn hotter than the music.
Sweetheart.
That word slipped again. Too easy. I didn't even mean it to bite this time. I just liked the way it sounded pressed against her silence.
And her silence was loud.
When I spun her back in, her shoulder bare under the slipping shawl, I almost lost the beat. My hand caught the fabric, but my mind caught something else: the thought of keeping her wrapped in it, not to hide her, but because I was starting to like the idea of claiming her.
The crowd whirled, the fiddles scraped, the drums beat faster. But I only noticed her.
The way her lips twitched—not a smile, not quite—but enough to tell me she was playing me.
She knew how to dance. She'd known the whole time.
And she let me make a fool of myself anyway.
Gods, I was in trouble.
Pecola's Pov:
The shawl slipped again.
This time Antic didn't just tug it back over my shoulder—he pulled me closer with it. His arm curved around me like the fabric was a leash and I was the creature he meant to tame. The fiddles shrieked higher, the crowd stomped harder, but all I felt was the heat of his hand pressing through the shawl into my skin.
"You're dangerous," he muttered, low enough that only I could hear. His breath touched my ear.
"I told you," I answered flatly, "I don't know how to dance."
That was my lie. My private joke. I'd spent years drifting through shadow and story; of course I remembered dancing. But I liked the way he reacted to the idea that I didn't. The way he bent himself around me, trying to coax, guide, teach.
His arrogance was entertaining.
And yet—
When he spun me out, the world tilted. My balance slipped for real this time. I stumbled—blind steps sliding too far on uneven stone.
His arm locked around my waist before I could fall.
The music blurred, the crowd blurred, even the lights blurred.
Only him. His chest against mine. His breath, ragged for once. His eyes, too close, too sharp, staring like he wanted to burn my name into them.
For a moment I felt his pulse where his hand held me. Felt the heat pouring into me. And I knew—whatever I felt wasn't the dance.
It was him.
"Sweetheart," he said again. But this time it wasn't mocking. It wasn't playful.
It was warning.
I tilted my head, voice quiet as silk. "Why do you keep calling me that?"
He smirked. Crooked. Flustered. Perfect. "Because it makes you ask me why."
The crowd roared with applause, and the music ended. But I didn't step back. Neither did he.
We stayed there. Suspended. Like one wrong breath would shatter everything.
The applause swallowed us, but I didn't hear it.
Antic still held me, arm braced around my waist like he'd forgotten how to let go. His chest rose and fell against mine, his heartbeat too fast, too loud.
I swallowed. My shawl had slipped again, halfway down my arm, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to pull it back up or let him do it. His hand twitched against the fabric as if debating the same thing.
The music stopped. People were already moving on, clapping backs, shouting for another song. But we didn't move.
Not until he cleared his throat. Too sharp. Too obvious.
"Well," he muttered, his grin tugging at the corner of his mouth but not reaching his eyes, "you survived your first dance. Ten out of ten, no tripping, very elegant. Might even promote you from 'menace' to 'mild menace.'"
My lips twitched, almost a smile. "You're flustered."
He scoffed. Loud. Fake. "Me? No. Never. Flustered is a word invented by people who've never seen grace in motion—namely, me."
"Your hand is still on me," I said quietly.
He froze. Then—slowly, too slowly—he let go, stepping back like someone retreating from fire. His scarf was tugged up over his face before I could see his expression.
Silence stretched.
Finally, he coughed into his hand and said, way too quickly, "We should probably, uh—check in with Dolly. See if she found anything. A map. Or set the dorm on fire. Both are likely."
I nodded once. It was the first sensible thing he'd said in minutes.
Still, when he offered his arm this time—like it was casual, like the last song hadn't happened—I took it.
And neither of us mentioned that my hand lingered longer than it should have.
The village dimmed behind us, the laughter and strings of music curling away like smoke. My shawl clung loose around my shoulders now, its fabric warm where Antic's hand had adjusted it earlier. I didn't tighten it.
Antic walked beside me in his usual half-slink, half-strut, as if daring the world to notice him. His scarf was still high on his face, though. Hiding.
For a long while, we didn't speak. Just the crunch of earth underfoot, the drone of night insects, the soft creak of branches above. It was easier here, away from eyes.
He broke first.
"So…" He stretched the word out like taffy. "What's the official review? Pecola's very first village experience. Ten stars? Or a tragic flop?"
"It was… different," I said carefully.
"Different good, or different 'please never drag me into a sweaty crowd again or I'll hex your entire shoe collection'?"
I tilted my head. "You only have one pair of shoes."
His grin cracked through the scarf, sharp and boyish. "See? That's a threat. And you're learning fast."
I didn't tell him the truth: that the noise, the closeness, the press of colors had been too much. That I'd only survived it because his voice had anchored me through the chaos. I let him keep joking. It was easier.
A pause.
"… Grin I wonder why he wondered off to" I asked suddenly.
Antic blinked. "What, our skeletal chaperone? No clue. It's been a while hasn't it.... Probably brooding in an alley, scaring pigeons. It's his brand."
"Should we worry?"
"Nah. He's like mold. Pops up where you least expect him." A beat. "Though, if he does come back wearing a flower crown and talking about his feelings, I'll worry."
That image tugged the corner of my mouth upward before I could stop it.
We were nearly to the dorm when Dolly's shriek cut through the trees.
"There you are, you emotionally constipated circus clowns!"
Antic muttered, "Ah, home sweet hell."
She stood outside the door, tiny arms crossed, the massive grimoire almost bigger than her body propped against the step. Its pages glowed faintly, humming like it had secrets desperate to spill.
"Took you long enough," Dolly snapped. "While you two were busy playing handsy in the marketplace, I was doing the actual work." She kicked the book like it had insulted her. "Found something. And you're gonna want to see it."
The book wasn't a book.
It was a beast.
The grimoire—no, the Legendarium—hummed on the step like a caged animal, its leather cover pulsing faintly with veins of silver. The air smelled sharp around it, like rain about to break.
Antic knelt at once, scarf slipping as his hands hovered over the cover like a worshipper. "You actually found it."
"No thanks to you," Dolly said sweetly, her porcelain smile tilted sharp. "You two were too busy… what, buying scarves and pretending to forget how to dance?"
Heat prickled my neck. I looked down at the shawl. A lie hummed in my chest—how I'd said I didn't know dancing, when I did. I'd wanted to see what he would do. How he would react. I wasn't sure if that was cruel or curious.
Antic, oblivious—or pretending to be—ignored her jab. He cracked the cover open. Pages fluttered on their own, the script rearranging like living vines.
"There," he whispered. His finger pressed to a curling map, ink shimmering with spectral light. Roads, rivers, realms. And a circle. Bright, insistent.
I leaned closer. "Evergreena."
Dolly folded her arms. "Village of cures. Forest of remedies. If anything can unstick that broken mind of yours, sugarplum, it's there."
Her words should've cut. Instead, they settled. A cure. A possibility. My pulse stuttered.
Antic looked at me then, really looked, green eyes sharp under the shadows. He didn't make a joke. Didn't grin. Just said, soft as moss, "Then that's where we're going."
The certainty in his voice rooted me.
Dolly, though, only snorted. "Don't get too dreamy-eyed yet. You're down one skeleton."
I blinked. "Grin."
Antic cursed under his breath. "Right. He's been gone since… yeah. Since before the dance."
A silence stretched. Not panic. But the kind of silence that asked questions neither of us wanted to answer out loud.
Antic snapped the Legendarium shut. "Fine. Step one: find our bone boy. Step two: get to Evergreena before Pecola's brain starts melting worse than my love life. Step three—profit."
Dolly rolled her eyes. "Your love life's already a puddle. Just move."
And so we did.
Into the trees again. Antic beside me, the shawl brushing against my arm. Dolly perched on his shoulder like judgment in doll form. The Legendarium pressed tight under his arm, humming with secrets.
And Grin—wherever he'd gone—was waiting to be found
The forest swallowed us whole.
The air grew damper with each step, moss slicking the stones beneath my feet. The shawl Antic had wrapped around my shoulders still clung faintly with the scent of his skin—smoke, resin, some bright thing I couldn't name.
He hadn't let go of the Legendarium. His knuckles were white where they gripped its spine, as though it might try to escape if he loosened.
"You think he ditched us?" Antic asked, voice low but not serious. "Maybe he found a new gang. Misery Enthusiasts Anonymous. Crying-in-the-Bathhouse Club. That sort of thing."
Dolly snorted. "He's got the personality of a mausoleum. If he found friends, I'll eat my porcelain arm."
I tilted my head. "What's a bathhouse?"
Antic stopped walking. I could feel the grin slide across his face even before he spoke. "You've never—" He cut himself off, probably remembering the dozen other questions I'd asked today that made him want to laugh and swear at the same time. "Okay. Add that to the list. Bathhouse. Big building. Steam. Towels. Nudity. Soap. You'd love it."
"I don't like nudity," I said flatly.
Dolly cackled. "She means yours, Antic."
He choked on his own breath. "Excuse me?!"
I didn't smile. Not fully. But the corner of my mouth tugged. Just enough to make him groan.
We went on.
The deeper the woods pressed, the stranger the sounds became. Whispers. Laughter. A cough that didn't sound human.
I stumbled once—tripping over nothing. My balance betrayed me, sharp and sudden. Antic caught my elbow before I could fall, his hand steadying me.
"You're burning up again," he murmured, voice low, almost like he didn't mean for me to hear it.
I pulled away. "I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
The forest shifted then. Opened. A glow bled between the trees—soft, bioluminescent blue. Like moonlight had sunk into the moss and never climbed out again.
Antic slowed. Dolly leaned forward, porcelain chin resting on his scarf.
"Well, well. What's this?" she hummed.
The glow pulsed. Whispered. My skin prickled with memory I couldn't place.
Antic set the Legendarium down carefully, his eyes narrowing. "If I were a broody skeleton with trust issues and a flair for the dramatic, this is exactly where I'd sneak off to."
Dolly gave a sharp little laugh. "Oh gods. He joined a cult, didn't he?"
I tilted my head, listening closer. Voices drifted from beyond the light. Low. Sad. And—strangely—hopeful.
I looked at Antic. "Maybe he didn't ditch us."
He raised a brow. "Then what the hell did he do?"
And before either of us could answer, the whispers grew louder. Shapes moved in the glow.
And we realized—
We'd found him.
We didn't move closer at first.
The glow bent between the trees like a veil, thin and trembling. Antic crouched low, pressing his shoulder against mine so I could feel the direction of his gaze. Dolly floated just above us, arms crossed, scowling like she'd caught someone cheating at cards.
Through the glowing veil, I saw them.
Not Grin alone.
Others.
A hulking ogre in a sweater the size of a tent, a vampire in an oversized hat sipping something red, a gorgon coiling her snakes into a braid, a sprite who couldn't seem to stop exploding into glitter. And there, off to the side—
Grin.
He sat rigid, hands folded neatly over his knees like a mourner at his own funeral. Except… his bones didn't sag. His voice, when it came, wasn't gravel. It was softer. Low.
"…Not every death is tragic," he said. "Sometimes it's… release."
The group nodded. The ogre dabbed at his eyes with what looked suspiciously like a crocheted handkerchief.
Antic leaned close enough for his whisper to brush my ear. "He's in a therapy circle."
Dolly's porcelain jaw almost unhinged. "Oh my gods. He ditched us… for snacks and feelings?"
I tilted my head, listening harder.
The sprite was chattering about lost souls she'd accidentally glued to bottle caps. The vampire confessed that tomato juice was "his truth now." The gorgon sighed about men not making it past the stone thing.
And Grin… laughed.
Not loud. Not wild. Just a low rumble that barely reached his throat. But it was laughter.
Antic went still. I could feel it in the way his shoulder pressed harder into mine.
"Okay," he whispered. "This is worse than a cult. He's happy."
Dolly hissed like a tea kettle. "Unacceptable."
But I didn't move. Couldn't.
Because I'd never seen him like this.
Not weighed down. Not sharp with sorrow. He wasn't hiding here—he was living.
Something in my chest pulled taut, like thread about to snap.
Antic shifted again, murmuring so low only I could hear. "…Should we interrupt?"
I didn't answer.
Because for the first time, I wasn't sure if Grin even needed us.
_____
I should've moved when Antic shifted. Should've turned away when Dolly hissed about snacks.
Instead, I stayed.
And that's how we got caught.
The sprite zipped higher, scattering glitter like broken glass, then froze mid-spin. Her tiny eyes locked right on me through the glow.
"Ohhh!" she squealed, pointing with both hands. "We've got new friends!"
The circle turned as one.
The ogre's yarn dropped to the floor. The vampire sat up so fast his hat fell off. The gorgon raised a skeptical brow, her snakes hissing in harmony.
And Grin…
Grin's bones went rigid. His empty sockets widened.
"…What," he said, voice flat as slate.
Antic jumped up from his crouch like he'd been planning this all along. "Surprise! We were just, uh, nearby. Foraging for, um… wild snacks. Totally innocent. Definitely not spying."
Dolly drifted forward with a smirk sharp enough to cut. "Please. You were spying. And crying. And probably reading haikus about it."
Grin's skull turned toward her slow. "…Dolly."
"Cult," she hissed. "I knew it."
The ogre—Bartholomew, someone had called him—clapped his enormous hands together, nearly knocking over the vampire. "Well, they're here now! More friends! Pull up a moss cushion, darlings. Everyone's welcome in the Circle."
I froze.
My body didn't want to move closer. Not because of fear—because of… something else. The circle was warm, too warm. Their laughter. Their ease. It pressed on my skin like sunlight I wasn't used to.
Antic noticed. He leaned down, close enough that his whisper curled against my cheek. "We can bail if you want."
I didn't answer. My feet moved anyway.
The moss cushion squished when I sat. Dolly perched smugly on a rock nearby, arms crossed like she was daring anyone to kick her out. Antic plopped down cross-legged, grinning like he'd just been invited to a masquerade he had no intention of leaving.
Grin stayed very still.
"…You shouldn't be here," he muttered.
Antic wiggled his brows. "Neither should you."
That shut him up.
The sprite zipped right into my face, wings buzzing. "Hi! I'm Pip! What's your trauma?"
I blinked. "…What?"
The vampire groaned, pressing his hand to his forehead. "Pip, we don't open with trauma. We ease into trauma. Honestly."
The gorgon smirked, her snakes writhing lazily. "I kind of like it. Cuts to the chase."
Pip giggled. "See? She gets it."
I tilted my head, my voice quiet. "I don't… know what mine is."
The circle went silent for a beat. Too long. Too heavy.
Antic reached over, tapped my wrist once, a flicker of warmth that said: don't worry.
Then he leaned back and said loudly, "Her trauma is being stuck with me, obviously."
The circle erupted into laughter. Even Grin's chest rattled with something suspiciously like a chuckle.
And just like that, I wasn't an intruder anymore.