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“Maggie looked like the sunshine main character of every story. Her curls were naturally beautiful and alluring, while mine were frayed and resembled a lion’s mane on a bad day—at least they did at that moment. Her eyes were pools of liquid brown like honey, mine were… seaweed green. Her dresses were pastels and creams, mine were the darker shades. She wore pointed flaps with straps, I lived in my leather boots and embroidered socks. Even in that moment, Maggie wore an orange dress tied in a loose bow across her chest. I wore my mauve one with a brown corset embroidered with flowers. Cute, yes, but two different people. If someone came in searching for a lost princess, I’d believe them if they told Maggie it was her.”

“You know what I think about you? What I see? A man fierce with love, willing to give everything for those he cares about. I see the man who saved my ass more times than I can count. And if someone isn’t lucky enough to see that, that’s on them. You forget I knew you, too, Laken Augustus.” He didn’t say anything but wrapped his fingers around my wrist and kissed my palm. “I’d hope you know me; you’ve healed my wounded ass cheek. That bonded us.” One little chuckle followed the other until I couldn’t smother it anymore. “Bonded by the buttocks.”

“According to my father’s journal and Laken, Phoebe had arrived two weeks before I did, which made sense for her anxiety levels. Unfortunately, her past had left her skin pretty raw and needing help to recover if we ever wanted her quills to grow back completely. She had a few here and there, but the vast majority remained injured. The irony was not lost on me. This little porcupine princess with a pink bed had enough poison in her body to take down an army. Twenty could be killed with just one quill. Attacking the body’s muscles first, then the heart, it’d be a quick death. All the more reason to keep her from the poachers.”

“You can't get under my skin." We'll see about that. "Maybe not under it, but I've been on top of it before." He pursed his lips, but the corner of his eye twitched. "I've thought long and hard about this moment, about you and me." I carefully let the words pour from my lips like honey until he grew red-faced, bothered. "Especially about that time we broke your bed." And he missed. Ouch, outer ring. I scoffed. "Still struggling to hit your mark, I see.”

“One spring day in particular, when flowers were just blooming and the breeze was calm, one of our hellblazers broke into the house and flew around hysterically, scorching the place. Roasted Chicken---named by a nine-year-old with witty humor, as all the chickens were named after chicken entrees--- wreaked havoc. The difference between a regular chicken and a hellblazer is the latter spits flames. And this mother-clucking flock had been rescued from an underground fighting ring--- they were feisty.”

“My body, blood, and soul fumed. I no longer felt the ground under my feet. I couldn’t see anything but him. The very heart in my chest burned and raged and set my skin ablaze. My fingers strained, feeling every spark, ember, and flame even through my bones. Water lined my eyes. “I don’t get what’s between us or what you want. It drives me mad.” “Yeah? And don’t you think I hate it, too?” Laken stumbled back, shaking his head before aiming his glare back at me. Golden locks hung over his face, slightly damp from the rain. His eyes were as stormy as the sky above us and twice as fierce. “It kills me,” he confessed; the muscles in his throat pulsed. Somehow, he’d dwindled the space between us. I could smell the honey and mint. The scent that once lingered on my bedsheets. “It kills me to see you and not touch you. It kills me to hear your voice knowing it won’t say my name like it once did.” Laken looked at me as if I was something more, something to be hurt for. “Being around you kills me.” Each word, a wound. Laken and I both panted, both toeing a dangerous line. Traitorous. Treacherous, even. But still, I pushed further. Straightening my spine, I lifted my chin and scoffed. “Good,” I said, deep and slow. Daring to step closer, only inches remained. “I hope it hurts. I hope you pray for mercy. And I hope it leaves you aching when you go to bed. I will make it my life’s mission to ensure that you are in pain every day for the rest of your life, thinking about me.” Laken devoured the distance parting us, leaving nothing but him and me. My eyes flicked to his lips, as his did to mine. Heart to heart, heat from his chest pummeled into me. I felt him so close, yet not close enough. Never close enough. Never far enough. Our lips were separated by a thin line of love and hate. And that line was beginning to blur. Slowly, torturing ourselves, taunting ourselves, he whispered, “Do your worst.”

“Moving to the enclosure hosting a white wooden home, completed with a pink cushioned bed, I stood over the little gate but saw nothing. Knowing Phoebe and the deadly prickler she was, she’d stay unseen if she wanted. Her anxiety made sure of it. Phoebe: seven, deadly prickler porcupine, poisonous spikes removed by poacher / goes invisible when nervous. Carefully pouring some whack-ass mixture of leaves and berries, I tilted the bucket. It took exactly four seconds for Phoebe to appear— three inches from my face, standing on her hind legs. Endless abyss of shadow-filled eyes poured into my very being. Screaming, I sent a combination of vulgar words into the world as I fell on my ass. Berries rolled, I scurried, and my legs scattered under me. I dove out of the gate, breathing and noting that Phoebe had vanished again. Everything went downhill after that. Swallowing whatever mixture of raw emotions remained in my throat, I fixed the skirt of my dress, wiping my hands on its brown cotton fabric, and held my tongue. Keep going, Reece. Butters, the bear, stood on the opposite side of the pasture. Butters: ten, pimbrough bear, only eats veggies and fruit / starved in cage as cub. Pimbrough bears are known for (1) skin that cannot be pierced, and (2) producing a fluid under their fur that has been known to provide the same shield-like properties if curated correctly. They’re often hunted and caged, which was how Butters was found. His body had grown to fit the cage. With his bad bones, he couldn’t hunt and survive in the wild on his own.”

“Laken read my favorite books to feel at home. All this time, all these crippling days of doubt, and he’d sat by himself in other kingdoms reading my favorite books so he didn’t feel alone. I bit my lips to hold back my grin. “Does this mean you want to talk about your favorite fictional conspiracy theories?” Laken locked eyes with me. A mischievous grin made me hope he thought the same things I did, and we talked for hours. Though his theories didn’t always match up with mine, it almost felt like, dare I say it… we were friends again.”

“I opened my father’s journals and tried to read the scribbling of a middle-aged man with no organization skills. Each creature had its own row with its name, age, species, and notes. First on the list: Indo—easy. Indomitus: seventy, horned ash dragon, cannot fly nor breathe fire / trauma with poachers / scars. Considering he’d been here since before I was born, I knew he was fed in the woods near the water. He didn’t come out to be seen, but I wasn’t surprised. He never was social. I left it at that, leaving his food on a boulder. Next on the list: goats. Finneas and Finnigan: six, dassin goats, Finneas’s eyes pecked out after abandoned / Finnigan is brother don’t separate. Side note: discovered they’re females; keeping the names. Their milk has healing properties, hence the creams we sell.”