Terrene Ver-Til Lumine

In a room bathed in soft pink, its walls covered in fur-like textures that muffled every sound, a gentle warmth filled the space like a held breath. Cozy light spilled across plushies scattered like little sentries, nestled between oversized cushions and warm, pink-bombed blankets. Terrene sat cross-legged among them, her fingers delicately thumbing through the mysterious book she'd stolen from her father's study.

She'd found him with it late one evening while she was—predictably—lurking. Her ability to dissolve her presence had become a habit, almost a vice. What started as a tool to gather useful information had slowly twisted into something else. Lately, she'd used it to watch him—Myles. Though she'd never admit it aloud.

That night, while quietly scanning her father's shelves, something had caught her eye: a book he guarded too well, one he touched with more care than any other. Its placement, its subtle layering in protective enchantments, even within his already shielded chambers—it all screamed of significance.

So, naturally, she took it.

The cover bore a faded title: Black D—The rest had been erased. Time or intention, she wasn't sure. She barely cared. What mattered was the truth inside, and the stubborn layers of defensive spells wrapped around it like a riddle meant for someone else. She'd spent hours trying to break them.

What could he be hiding? she wondered, eyes narrowed.

Outside, the morning sun finally breached the horizon, its golden light creeping through the thick curtains and falling generously onto her fair tan skin. Her head drooped, landing against a tiny pink lizard plushie nestled beside her. It squeaked softly under the weight.

"Damn," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "I wasted my night."

Her eyes fluttered closed at last, the book still clutched in her lap.

Later that day, Myles wandered through the garden. Verdant and vast, it whispered with life. The scent of damp earth, sun-warmed leaves, and distant rain lingered in the air—comforting, grounding. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the breeze press against his skin like a forgotten lullaby. He had always loved the scent of nature. Rain, soil, trees—each one reminded him of something buried in the folds of his memory.

Above him, eyes tracked his every step.

Daena.

Since the fight, she'd been trailing him from the shadows, masking her presence with the skill of a ghost. And yet, something about him unsettled her. His rhythm, his presence, his unpredictability—none of it aligned with her instincts. She couldn't quite pin him down.

"An obsession?"

The voice was sharp, cool, and dangerously close—like a blade resting just above her chest.

She spun around. "Lady Terrene?"

No one. Just air.

Then, like mist condensing into form, Terrene appeared beside her. Expression unreadable, posture effortless. The pale pink light from the distance cast a soft glow across her face, but her eyes—those sharp, violet eyes—held no warmth.

"Your recent hobby intrigues me," Terrene said coolly.

Daena tensed. "What?"

"You know better than to play dumb."

A beat. Then a sigh.

"I won't deny anything, I just…"

"Don't explain." Terrene's voice sliced through the air. "You may carry on. Just know this—"

She took a single step closer, her gaze never wavering.

"—you aren't alone."

Before Daena could respond, Terrene dissolved into nothing. No light, no sound. Just absence.

Daena stood there for a long moment, staring into the empty space, pulse unsettled.

Then, reluctantly, she turned her eyes back to the garden… where Myles was still walking, unaware. 

Terrene flopped backward into one of the plush, oversized cushions in her room. The soft pink hues around her glowed warmly, dimmed only by her deepening thoughts.

"Why is everyone suddenly so interested in him?" she wondered aloud, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Maybe it's because of his potential," came a small, familiar voice.

She turned, unsurprised. A faint sigh escaped her lips. Lifting a hand with lazy precision, she activated the room's barriers. Soft violet light rippled across the walls—three layers thick.

"Don't tell me he's driving you mad too," she murmured, staring at the creature now hovering before her.

Pink and fuzzy, with tiny blue horns and paws that don't quite touch the air. Almost too cute for this world. It blinks at her, then floats over and curls around her neck like a plush scarf.

"I know, I know—three layers," it said gently. "You don't trust anyone because you can't… But what about your sisters? Rai knows."

Terrene's fingers twitched, but she doesn't push it away.

"…Are you lonely?" she asked, and for the first time, her voice cracked—soft, delicate, like glass warping under pressure.

The creature nodded.

A long silence.

"…I guess we are parts of one after all," she admits, her voice small.

The creature gave a comforting hum. "You should talk to him. He seems nice."

Terrene closes her eyes, exhaling quietly. "You know I can't do that."

"I know you want to, though," Tema says gently, voice muffled slightly against her skin.

Terrene's eyes remain half-lidded. "What does that matter?"

"How could your emotions not matter?" he counters, lifting his head to look at her. "Look, the point is—I was created to be—"

"I know what you are," she cuts in, firmer now. "You're my friend. Nothing less." Her fingers curl softly around his little frame. "You're not some thing, Tema. You're my friend."

For a second, neither of them moves. The air between them hums with unspoken warmth.

Tema nuzzles into her neck with a small sigh. "Then listen to your friend… and talk to him."

He cuddles her, small arms barely wrapping around her collarbone, but it's enough.

Terrene doesn't reply. Her eyes drift toward the ceiling, then to the book lying beside her.

The one with the missing title.

Her fingers twitch.

"You know," Terrene says softly, turning her head toward the book beside her. "I figured some of it out…"

Tema lifts his head slightly. "You did?"

She nods and gestures lazily to the worn cover. "It's cryptic, but I think it's some kind of personal account… maybe a scientist's journal."

"Can you make any sense of it?" he asks, floating up just a little to peer at it again.

"Some of it," she admits. "It reads like someone documenting a subject—at first clinically, like a specimen. But then…" Her brow furrows. "It starts to shift. The tone changes."

Tema tilts his head. "Changes how?"

She stares at the book, thoughtful. "It stops being about observation… and starts sounding like friendship. Like the scientist didn't mean to get attached, but did."

"What?" Tema blinks.

"I know. It's weird." She exhales, rubbing her temple. "I wish I could look into it more, but that stupid spell is still crawling all over the deeper layers. I can't break through without tipping someone off."

Tema nestles against her again. "Then wait. When you're ready, it'll open."

Terrene doesn't respond immediately. Her fingers trace along the faded lettering—Black D… whatever came after is lost.

But she knows one thing.

Whatever this book is… it wasn't meant for just anyone.