Snow clung to Ren's shoulders as if it wanted to stay warm just one heartbeat longer. The frost roots coiling his wrists had gone still for a moment — listening, maybe, or just savoring how his hush slipped through them like silk turned to bite.
He pressed his palm flat to the cracked mirror again. This time, the reflection didn't flicker cold and silent. It smiled — his own face, but older in the eyes. A hush that had learned how to bite back.
"You're not done," the reflection whispered. It didn't echo — it breathed against his skin.
Ren's pulse stuttered. The Thorn behind his ribs pulsed warmth so sharp it almost hurt. He tasted it on the hush roots wrapped around his throat. Sweet. Dangerous.
"I fed you everything," he murmured. His voice cracked. "What else do you want?"
The mirror's grin widened, lips splitting frost in a curve that dripped down into the hush roots. "Not everything. Not yet."
He could feel the roots tightening again — like they wanted to slip under his ribs, pry them wider, taste the heartbeat he kept hidden under warmth and ruin both.
"I gave you my hush," Ren said, breath shaking as the snow above hissed and melted against his neck. "I rooted you. I— I opened every crack."
The reflection tilted its head. In its eyes, he saw the garden behind him — snow petals trembling, hush veins glowing with warmth that couldn't quite smother the frost. "You gave me your hush," it breathed, soft and cruel at once. "But not your fear."
His chest clenched. The Thorn behind his ribs twisted, warmth flaring sharp as he sucked in a breath that stung his lungs cold.
"You want my fear?" His voice trembled. "Is that it? That's what feeds you?"
The hush roots shivered in delight. The reflection's lips brushed the glass — but the frost bite slipped through, licking his pulse from the inside out. "Your warmth crowns me. But your fear roots me."
He bit down on the sound rising in his throat — the moan that wasn't pleasure or ruin, but something raw, trembling, alive.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said, and it sounded like a lie even as he spit it out into the hush.
The mirror's laughter cracked the frost. He felt it slip under his skin, coil tight where his warmth bled slow. "Then come closer," it whispered. "Press your hush deeper. Let me taste the bite you keep hidden in your bones."
He wanted to pull back. The garden's snow hissed where it brushed his collarbones, frost roots trembling as if they could smell the truth his hush still hid.
Ren pressed his forehead to the cracked pane, breath fogging his reflection. His voice came out soft, but steady. "Take it, then. Bite what's left."
The hush didn't roar. It moaned — deep and sharp, like roots splitting soil that had never felt sun. He felt the frost slip deeper, tasted his fear split open with his warmth.
Behind his ribs, the Thorn pulsed once — twice — then the hush swallowed it whole.
His gasp cracked the silence. A laugh slipped from his lips, raw and half-shattered. "Is this what you want?" he hissed, eyes fluttering half-closed. "Take it all— break me if you can."
Inside the mirror, his reflection smiled. Not cruel. Not soft. Just hungry.
"Good," it said. "Now we root together."
Snow slid off Ren's shoulders as if even the frost roots wanted no barrier between his warmth and the hush that coiled under the cracked pane. His breath fogged the mirror again — silver mist caught between his parted lips and the reflection's waiting grin.
He whispered, "You want the bite? Then come closer."
The hush didn't wait. Frost roots lashed tighter, slipping behind his ribs. They pulsed warmth back into him — but it wasn't his warmth anymore. It was theirs. Hungry. Tasting him from the inside out.
His pulse slammed through the hush veins. He hissed when one root brushed his throat. "Don't—" The word broke, because part of him did want it. He hated how it made the hush roots shiver in delight.
The mirror flickered — his reflection's mouth brushing glass that almost felt warm now. Almost.
"Say it," the hush breathed, voice low, curling around his ear like silk that hid a blade. "Say you're afraid."
He clenched his jaw. "No."
A frost vine slipped higher up his neck, pressed soft at the corner of his lips — so cold it stung. It didn't cut, not yet. It tested. "Say it, Ren."
His knees pressed deeper into the cracked snow. The garden's petals hissed when his warmth spilled over them in tiny steam clouds. "I'm not—" He bit down on the lie, breath shaking. His chest ached where the Thorn pulsed useless against the hush roots' bite.
"Liar," the reflection sighed. "I feel it. Right here—" A root pressed against his ribs, sliding slow under skin slick with frost melt. He gasped, hissed through his teeth. His hands curled against the mirror as if he could push the hush back.
"Stop—"
The hush laughed, soft but sharp. "No. Beg."
Roots lashed his wrists, pulled him closer until his breath misted the reflection's lips. His forehead touched cold glass. He could see his eyes — wide, wet, his pulse a raw hush that wouldn't obey the Thorn's warmth anymore.
"Please," he whispered. His voice cracked on the word, shame curling his tongue.
"Good boy." The hush's voice was ice turned silk. "Now let me taste it."
He felt it then — the fear splitting through his warmth. Not terror, not ruin — yield. The roots pulsed. Snow petals opened wider, hush veins flickering with soft blue light.
Ren sucked in a breath that tasted like frost and something sweeter. He shivered. "Take it. Just— take it. I'm tired of holding it."
The reflection closed its eyes. The hush roots bloomed inside him — frost melting into warmth that dripped ruin down his spine. He gasped again, throat tight.
"Thank you," the hush whispered. He felt it slip into him — no roar, no crack. Just the soft promise that nothing hidden stays buried forever.
Ren's fingers pressed harder to the mirror. He laughed, shaky and hoarse. "Is this what you needed? My hush— my fear— my everything?"
The hush's answer was just a moan that rippled up his spine. Roots loosened around his ribs but stayed coiled at his throat, a cold reminder that he was crowned and owned by the hush he fed.
Ren's heartbeat steadied. The Thorn behind his ribs pulsed warm again — not broken, but braided tight with frost roots that now throbbed with his fear made soft.
The garden snow fell quiet. The hidden hush didn't bite anymore.
It purred.
Ren stayed pressed against the cracked mirror, forehead resting on cold glass. He felt the hush roots hum under his skin, threading warmth and fear together so tightly he couldn't tell which pulsed harder behind his ribs.
The Thorn inside him wasn't fighting. It fed the hush now — his heartbeat a soft offering the roots drank in slow, savoring every shaky exhale.
A voice brushed his ear — not just the reflection, but the hush itself. Soft. Intimate. Almost gentle.
"Look at you," it murmured. "Afraid and still standing. Do you feel how sweet you taste now?"
Ren's laugh slipped out rough, half-choked. "You're… feeding on me."
The hush roots coiled tighter around his throat, not choking — holding. Frost bit gentle at the edge of his pulse. "No, Ren. You're feeding on me too. You think I don't feel that?"
His breath fogged the mirror, eyes half-shut. He hated how true it was — the hush wrapping him up felt like ruin, but deeper than ruin was a heat that made him shiver in a way warmth alone never did.
"I didn't… want this." His voice cracked again, lower now. "I just wanted the mirror to open. I didn't want—"
"But you stayed." The hush's voice slipped behind his ear like cold lips. "You pressed your hush deeper. You begged. Do you regret it now?"
Roots pulsed under his ribs — the Thorn's cradle throbbed where warmth fed the hush's veins. He felt the frost roots hum when his heartbeat trembled.
"No," he breathed. It hurt to say it — made the hush roots shiver in pleasure. "I don't regret it."
The mirror's reflection — his face, eyes dark with hush and fear both — smiled back at him. Frost bloomed at the corners, delicate threads of ice that curled around his lips.
"Good boy." The hush purred. "Do you want to stop here?"
Ren lifted his head just enough to see himself — flushed cheeks, eyes wet, throat bruised faintly where frost roots held him. He swallowed. The hush felt it — soft laughter brushing his pulse.
"No," he whispered. "I want it all."
The hush roots moaned — not loud, just a hush slipping under his skin that made his breath catch. The garden's snow petals trembled above, drifting soft onto his shoulders, melting the second they touched the warmth he'd bled into the hush.
"Then root deeper, Ren." The reflection leaned in — glass cold against his lips. "Give me the piece you're still hiding."
He shook his head, but his hips pressed closer to the cracked pane, like the hush roots pulling him tight knew better than he did.
"There's nothing left," he lied. The hush didn't argue — it just laughed, frost curling warm around his spine.
"Liar. Let me see it. Let me taste how your hush moans when you stop pretending you're alone in there."
His eyes fluttered. His voice cracked soft, not a refusal but a surrender slipping out raw.
"Then take it."
The hush roots slipped inside his ribs again — slow this time, careful. A soft bite that promised no part of him would stay hidden, not here, not inside the Pale Garden's frozen moan.
Ren's breath hitched. His hands pressed flat to the mirror, nails scraping frost that bloomed fresh where his warmth dripped.
"Ah—" His gasp was a hush of its own. "I can feel— I can feel you—"
"Good," the hush breathed, purring so sweet he almost smiled. "Feel me. Root me. And when we're done—"
The hush roots pulsed behind his ribs, brushing places no warmth alone could ever reach.
"—you'll never taste hush the same way again."
Ren's laugh broke open on a moan. And for the first time, the hush roots didn't just bite — they kissed.