The diplurans were playing Katy Perry, and Clare was kinda digging it. She wasn’t usually a pop-genre girl, but ‘Hot N Cold’ is just fun.

We fight we break up, she sang along, We kiss we make up.

Clare was redecorating the core room with Van Gogh. Yes, they had a core room now. Walls made of 6 inches of diamond, softened in appearance by loosely hung silk, and a similarly constructed door now shielded the most vulnerable part of the dungeon from intruders. It was the agreed upon ‘partitioned area’ in their deal with the Scoop, and had become Clare, Kepler, Astrid, and Confucius‘s inner sanctum of sorts.

Van Gogh was an enthusiastic interior designer.

[While pure white creates a mysterious aesthetic, it doesn’t convey the true royal magnitude of your housing.] He said, trying to convince her to let him paint the silk hanging on the walls for the umpteenth time.

That’s all very well and nice, dear, but first I want to make sure the core’s housing is artistic and secure. Can you focus for just a little longer?

Van Gogh looked much put upon, but by the time the diplurans finished their song, they had a casing that satisfied both of their concerns.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

[What’s going on, here?]

[Great consort to the Queen,] Van Gogh implored to Kepler, who had finally stopped gardening, [You must agree that the walls need more than simple white silk!]

Clare snorted, amused at the faerie’s artistic vigor.

[Feel free.] Kepler told him, sliding his avatar around Clare’s in a nebulous embrace.

Van Gogh sighed in exaggerated relief, then went to paint the silk hangings. The fibers themselves changed color, rather than looking painted, but that only lent an eerie beauty to the quickly forming images.

He cares so much, Clare giggled to Kepler, I almost felt bad keeping him from it earlier.

Kepler yawned, nodding happily. His whiskers tickled her neck. [Ensuring the stability of our throne was more important.]

Clare snorted. It’s not a throne.

Raising an eyebrow, Kepler shrugged. He let his avatar form more fully, pressing comfortable weight onto her shoulders.

Her aura shuddered. She stretched the feeling away. Poked his cheek.

[What?]

She smiled. Let herself accept, for a moment, that this was her reality. That she was here, as a dungeon, and that no one in her dungeon would ever leave her. Not truly.

We need to talk. She admitted, still only to him.

He swallowed nervously.

Is now a good time?

[Ah, well, of cours--]

Delvers stepped over their threshold.

[I mean, perhaps later?]

She squinted at him playfully, then turned to their entrance. Alright.