Climbing out of the pit was especially difficult when every step was taken through the rustle of suspicion, and rats skittered about, ready to snap their jaws the moment you let your guard down. In this godforsaken city, in Krat, no one extended a hand without a reason; and if they did, it was only to pull the ground out from under your feet.

With the Black Rabbit Brotherhood, it all started with a stupidity. Let's put it this way: a fair bit of Ergo ended up in your pockets, and you left behind the bruised pride of four people who weren't used to losing.

And yet, despite the fury you expected, the Eldest made no threats, let alone took revenge. In fact, he turned out to be the calmest of them all, almost good-natured, though he looked more terrifying than the rest.

The Eccentric reacted rather explosively (in a good way) because your arrival gave a good kick to his dull little life of cardboard routine.

The Battle Maniac took the whole thing as a personal insult, endlessly muttering in irritation. He couldn't stomach the idea that someone had been faster, cleverer, sharper than him—especially when the others accepted it with an almost philosophical shrug. Still, he acknowledged it.

The Youngest had none of the Battle Maniac's bluntness or the Eccentric's mockery. You did what she thought was almost impossible: you deceived all four of them, escaped (albeit unsuccessfully), and still remained yourself. In short, she admired you.

Perhaps that was the reason none of them objected when you became part of their family. In you, they recognised something of themselves—who they were before life clenched its fist and hurled them face-first into the gutter. Whatever the reason, things changed when you showed up. The Eldest, the Battle Maniac, and the Eccentric suddenly had more on their plate. Their main task had become to protect you both, sometimes even putting their own necks on the line.

The Youngest—still their light, no matter what; you—because you became another flicker of it.

The smoke from the brazier rose slowly to the ceiling, soaking into the old beams where herbs had once been smoked, and where now only cobwebs hung. The air was crowded with roasted meat, smoke, and a light aroma of dried spices that someone (obviously the Eldest) had hung in cloth bags on the wall beforehand. A vinyl record hissed and spun on an ageing gramophone, skipping slightly from note to note, but still playing a lulling melody.

The Battle Maniac stood by the fireplace, armed with a long metal fork that looked more like a weapon than a kitchen tool. He watched the meat with grim focus, as if the fate of the city depended on its perfect roasting. "It'll be ready when I say it's ready. Not a second earlier," he muttered, without turning.

"We're having a fashion show, I'll have you know," the Eccentric announced, giving a little clap. "We demand dinner with a view!"

You were sitting on a soft old rug, wax-stained, eaten away by time, but still somehow cosy. A cushion gently cradled your tired lower back. In your hands: a plate of steaming meat, its crispy crust dusted with salt. You took a bite and closed your eyes: it melted like butter on your tongue.

The Youngest jumped to her feet, clutching a neatly folded dress to her chest. She turned and slowly draped it over herself—no rush; for her, the process itself was more important than the result. When she turned to you, the fabric rustled with the hush of expensive silk.

"Well?"she asked, a little shy but with a sparkle in her eye. "Will it do for a proper bunny ballroom bash?"

"Too posh," the Eldest replied calmly. "Just try to get it dirty."

You tried to reply, but at that exact moment you'd taken a hefty bite.

The Eccentric was already on his feet, bowing theatrically: "Milady! Belle of the evening! May I have this dance?"

The Youngest stuck her tongue out at him and spun around, letting the hem swirl mesmerisingly.

The Battle Maniac lobbed a spoon at the Eccentric without looking. "Stop jumping around like a mountain goat. The meat'll go cold. Where's the cutlery, anyway?"