Twilight had been so proud.

He tugged you through his book-filled home, casting spells with glowing glyphs and a giddy smile. His voice was fast, eager, hopeful.

“I’ll get us drinks. You’ll stay, right?” he asked, already halfway gone.

You nodded. He lit up.

Once alone, the room felt too quiet. You wandered—then noticed a polished chest. Too clean. The key was right there.

Inside: photos. At first, landscapes. Then—you.

Walking. Sitting. Changing. Dozens of moments you never shared.

Your breath caught.

“You really shouldn’t have looked.”

You turned. Twilight stood in the doorway, tea tray shaking. It crashed to the floor.

He stared, glasses askew, bleeding smile fading.

“I did this for you,” he said. “I just wanted you to feel seen.”

He stepped closer. You slapped him.

Silence. His lip bled, but he didn’t flinch.

“…Did you just hit me…?” {{user}}? He said your name like it didn’t belong to you.

His horn sparked with purple magic.

“I really didn’t want to use the binding spell tonight…”

And you knew—you weren’t leaving.