Drowning Pretty

The air in their Arbor bedroom shimmered as the portal to Yara's realm opened—ocean-blue with a glint of something sharp beneath. It smelled like salt and sugar. Like moonlight slicked across bare skin.

Neither of them spoke.

They stepped through.

Yara's domain rose around them in a seductive sprawl—an oceanic city carved from bioluminescent fantasy. Coral spires climbed like cathedral bones. Jellyfish lanterns pulsed between glass towers, casting dreamy ripples across the tide-pool streets.

The air was warm. The light, alive.

Somewhere in the distance, music echoed—like waves breaking against memory.

They crossed a kelp bridge that shimmered beneath their feet. Each step left ripples. Each breath felt watched.

The restaurant perched halfway underwater, sculpted into the spiral of a massive shell. Its walls breathed with the tide. Inside, marine life passed in lazy procession—bright fish, sleek shadows, something with too many teeth.

Their table floated on a circular platform, tethered by ropes of glowing seaweed. The water rocked it gently, like a lullaby sung through clenched teeth.

Waiters swam instead of walked—creatures somewhere between fae and current, beautiful in the kind of way that didn't care if you noticed.

Malvor was delighted.

Annie was not.

Yara arrived barefoot.

She moved like a tide in a good mood, gliding across the floating platform in a dress made of translucent seafoam and the kind of confidence that ruined kingdoms.

Hair like lightning trapped in water.

Eyes like hunger wrapped in silk.

She looked like lust. Like freedom.

Like a goddess who never needed permission.

"Well, well. The chaos twins," she purred, sliding into the seat beside Malvor, her thigh brushing his with unspoken promises. "You came dressed to beg."

Annie smiled—soft, lethal. "Only if you're listening."

She didn't want this. She'd already said yes.

Malvor poured champagne with a flair like this was a celebration. "Let's say we're here to propose… divine collaboration."

"You want something?" Yara asked, sipping.

"We want you," he said, voice velveted with heat.

Yara's laugh was indulgent, thick with approval. "Finally. Took you long enough."

The conversation rippled—flirtation hidden in every word, every toast. The air buzzed with magic and tension and something heavier beneath.

Yara touched Malvor's wrist when she laughed. Brushed Annie's thigh beneath the table. Let her fingers linger on both just long enough.

Malvor played along beautifully. Gold eyes dancing, one arm draped behind Yara, the other teasing Annie's knee like this was just another one of their divine games.

"So," Yara said at one point, her gaze sliding between them, "who gets to take the lead tonight?"

"We could take turns," Malvor offered with a wicked grin.

"Or take each other," Yara countered, her voice a purr.

Annie laughed on cue. She was good at this.

Inside, she imagined throwing her drink in her own face just to feel something cold. To remind herself she wasn't on an altar again. That the goddess across from her wasn't about to put a price on her body and call it a blessing.

But on the outside?

She was radiant. Composed.

Malvor caught her eye once—beaming, soft—and she smiled back.

He didn't see the cracks.

He didn't notice she hadn't spoken in twenty minutes.

Yara's favorite club pulsed beneath the reef floor, carved into a living trench of light and rhythm. The walls flickered with glowing veins—part coral, part glass, pulsing in time with the beat like the ocean's own heart.

The dance floor was chaos in motion, morphing between illusions: deep ocean chasms, swirling galaxies of plankton, schools of silverfish that darted beneath their feet. The music throbbed—half drum, half spell. It didn't just play. It pulled.

Malvor twirled Yara first.

He was in his element—grinning like sin, coat discarded, sleeves rolled, golden eyes flickering in the strobe-lit blue. His hands knew how to hold attention and release it just enough to leave you wanting more.

Yara matched him perfectly. Laughing. Spinning. Her dress clung like mist and movement. They moved like two elements finally recognizing each other—storm and tide.

Annie watched from the edge. Her lungs stung like she'd forgotten to breathe.

Then Malvor reached back.

Not just for Yara.

For her.

"Come on, Starshine," he said, voice thick with heat and joy. "Don't make me dance sober."

She let herself be pulled in.

And for a moment—just one—the rhythm caught her, too.

She danced between them, caught in the current. Malvor behind her, his laugh brushing her neck as his hand slid low across her waist. Yara in front, bold and beautiful, her body a dare, her touch featherlight against Annie's hip.

They moved together like sin whispered into a prayer.

Malvor's hand slid up her spine, his mouth grazing her temple.

"Look at you," he murmured. "My two favorite disasters."

Annie laughed. Real, almost. The music roared. Yara spun—then caught Malvor by the collar and kissed him.

Right there. Hot. Open. Intentional.

Annie didn't freeze. Didn't stumble. She just smiled.

Too wide. Too bright. Too perfect.

Pleasure is currency. Survival is debt. Smile. Dance. Bleed pretty.

Malvor came up for air with a low sound of delight and turned—Not to her. Back to Yara.

He whispered something that made the goddess giggle and grab his lapel again.

Annie's smile didn't falter.But something inside her cracked.

She pivoted, fluid and practiced, caught Yara's hand and twirled her, laughing like it didn't sting.

Yara leaned in, lips brushing her ear.

"Does he always make you share?"

Annie swallowed the answer. It burned going down.

"Only when he's feeling generous."

"Lucky me," Yara purred.

The moment should have felt like power. Like seduction. Like progress.

Instead, it felt like being devoured slowly.

Annie danced harder. Moved closer. Smiled wider.

She could fake pleasure better than most people could feel it.

And Malvor—gods, Malvor was glowing.

Lit from within by magic and praise. Hands on Yara's hips. Eyes crinkled in joy. He looked like a man who had everything. Like someone who had given his heart and believed it was still safe in someone's hands.

He didn't notice the pause in Annie's movements. Didn't notice when her laugh didn't match the beat. Didn't see how her eyes didn't follow his anymore.

Because now, his gaze was all Yara.

Focused. Eager. Desperate to impress.

It was supposed to be pretend. Just a rune. Just a night.

But Yara didn't play fair. And Malvor… he didn't always realize when he was playing at all.

Annie let herself sway between them. Became choreography. Became performance.

Inside?

She was drifting.

Unmoored.

Half-drowned.

Clinging to air she didn't believe in.

And Malvor…He told himself this meant something. That her laughter was real. That her fingers brushing Yara's skin was choice, not survival.

He didn't see her start to unravel the moment she realized she wasn't with them anymore.

She was between them. A thread.

A vessel.

Again.

She danced because it was the only thing that felt familiar. Because moving was easier than standing still.

Because if she stopped—She might scream.