Falling. Iris was falling, submerged in thin, brittle films. They shattered to pieces that enveloped her descending figure, dragging their infinitely large surfaces groundwards. Tiny stars whirled, flickering in and out of her mind, reflecting contemplation made solid upon the sheets of liquid emotions.

Her closed eyes trembled, but her body remained still. The chill coursing through her forever lifted her hair, which spread like angelic wings whose span covered the firmament.

Her extremities dripped, her slimy droplets perfuming her world. A rain of Iris flooded the underworld where an endless castle awaited her presence.

The impact caved in the ground, but Iris felt nothing. She rose from the sinkhole of wrecked bricks and moist dirt, where exposed charred roots crumbled with the slightest graze of the sulky winds.

Her saturated slime stretched from her body and morphed into a translucent silk dress. She adjusted her attire until her neatness eclipsed the ruinous scape. Once she finished, the surrounding fogs parted, revealing a long passage craved out of the labyrinth of viny structures and bush-filled gardens.

Eternally lit lanterns stood firm on black wooden poles along the winding path. They illuminated damped stone pillars, on which greenery decorated. Wildflowers seduced with their jovial scents, but Iris gave them one look before proceeding onwards.

Her eyes stayed at the end of her path, where her vision failed but her instinct endured.

Unintelligible conversations of differing dispositions reverberated in languages unknown and manners unfamiliar. Although she couldn’t understand their conversations, their expectant and delightful moods infected her.

She reached the end of the labyrinth with an indiscernible smile on her face. The passage branched into three distinct routes. The biggest middle path led to a slightly ajar monumental gate.

Bright light from swaying oil lamps flickered through the door gaps. Casual, imperfect music alternated its melody, along with laughter that praised and jested the performance.

Iris touched the gate, took a deep breath, and stuck the metallic door knocker. Crisp ringing noise interrupted the party. A louder discussion, whose topic centred around the newcomer, replaced the prior ones.

The gate came apart. Iris looked at the lady whose smile hid behind a laced white veil. She gently took Iris’s hands, kissed their delicate backs, and escorted her into the wonderful banquet.

Other ladies, too veiled in bridal dresses of their personalities, greeted the newcomer with the satisfaction and curiosity of long-lost kindred spirits. They crowded around her, asked for her preferences, and promised her a tour around the everlasting theatre and ancient halls.

Iris kept her eyes on the lady holding her hands. She walked through the parting sea until she reached the centre of the ballet hall. Orchestral music faltered as the musicians softened their instruments.

In front of Iris, Nupian embraced her first wife, who guided Iris, and then came to hold Iris’s hands. Iris didn’t resist; she only stared into Nupian’s excitingly bashful eyes.

“Was it futile, all along?” she said.

“Will you believe me if I say yes?”

“I’ll struggle nonetheless.” Iris pulled Nupian’s hands close to her lips. “That’s who I am, and that’s what I do.”

“That’s who you are, and that’s what you do.” Nupian looked at her first wife Aconite, who examined Iris like fine art. “Loveliest, isn’t she?”

“And you torment her dearly.”

“There was no other way.”

“Is there now?”

Nupian returned to Iris. “My offer remains, Dear Iris.”

“My answer too endures.”

“Can I implore you to reconsider?”

“Our goals are irreconcilable.”

Nupian flicked her sleeves. A flower bouquet manifested in her hands. She took a light sniff and, satisfied with its heartwarming scent, presented the gift to her fussy beloved. The dim light reflected from their bright petals fell on Iris’s delicate features.

Iris took a light wisp. Her smile blossomed, but she pushed away the banquet, pushed away Nupian, and descended the central stage. She walked past various ladies, who waved and blew kisses at her. She only stopped in front of the lady who guided her to Nupian.

“May I listen to the tune that is your name?”

“My Dearest calls me Aconite,” Aconite said. “I am her first wife, your greatest obstacle.”

“Do you not feel jealous, furious?”

“Would you?”

Iris chuckled. “She’s blessed to have your affection.”

Aconite closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s the only thing I could give her, my last possession.”

“Yet you give it away without any hesitation.”

“I was selfish, and I still am.” Aconite leaned close, her veil lightly parting. Her cunning smile sneaked out. “I want her to be happy, to be safe, to be free. And I need your help.”

“What can a mere Slime Girl do?”

Aconite was about to speak when Nupian manifested behind her and embraced her. She froze up, her lips sealed by her beloved’s warmth. Helplessly, she glared at her wife.

Iris stared at Nupian’s fluttering eyes. “What can I do?”

“Break the cycle.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Even if I . . . even if we plead?”

Aconite slid out of the embrace. She pushed away her beloved and, holding Iris’s hands, shook her head. “Don’t blame her. She’s always been this . . . type of person. It’s not her fault.”

“Whose fault it is, I no longer care.” Nupian swung her hand to the side. A gush of wind whisked away her first wife. “I’ll do what it takes to free them.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“From you?”

Nupian couldn’t speak. She carefully reached for her confidently smiling target. Her fingertips grazed the silk fabric but didn’t pierce through it, didn’t plunge inward for the flesh, didn’t playfully fiddle around.

Her wives silently watched her, prayed for her. She couldn’t betray them.

“I’m irredeemable,” she said. “Hate only me, only the one who condemns me.”

“My feeling is mine. Mine alone.”

“So is my action.” Nupian inched too close to her target. Her trembling lips blew a wisp of chill breath into Iris’s ear. “Be careful of dreams. Be careful . . . of her.”

Shadow Heart Core flickered. Iris’s eyes lit up. She was about to speak when Nupian retreated, her face contorting into a strained smile.

“I’ve been a bad host,” she said. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Nupian Seranese, Enchantress of the White Night, Scrouge of the Northern Snow. This is my dream castle, my spiritual palace.”

“A lovely place,” a white-veiled lady said. “A paradise for us lost souls.”

“Don’t tease her like that,” another said.

“Quiet now, all of you,” Aconite said. “Remember, we have a guest.”

Everyone eyed Iris with flame dancing in their hearts. It’d been too long since a new person came to this place. Getting to know another of their kind was their favourite hobby, alongside sharing their love and dripping themselves in the unending pleasures.

Iris curtseyed. The rim of her dress twirled like the flowing current, tumbling lovingly from the top of the hill to the still lake below.

“My name is Iris Goodwills, a senior member of Court of Indulgence, Lilith’s successor, and the holder of Shadow Heart Core.”

Commotion sprouted like energetic flowers blooming for the new dawn. Iris could crisply hear excited maidens murmuring their subtle speculations. Their words, devoid of hostility, rang with the backdrop of soft music played by antique gramophones.

“Should you be telling us your treasured secrets?” Aconite said.

“Whatever she knows, you deserve to know too.”

Nupian lowered her head. “I don’t want to worry you all.”

“Your silence worries us more.” Aconite returned to Nupian’s side and pinched her cheek. “Do you remember our promise? The one you gave us?”

“To live for one another.”

“To share happiness and pain, comfort and regret.”

“To right what’s wrong.”

“To stay together.”

Aconite looked at the other ladies. They cheered, their voices quivering. The moment Nupian sealed the promise with her lips, though dissimilar, replayed in their minds, rejuvenating the ember of their lost youth.

Her promise, their salvation.

Yet those lovely cries fell deaf on Iris. She maintained her complementary smile along with an expression of pity. Her unmoved heart pulsated only for her dream, only for her goal.

“I’m selfish,” she said. “Whatever happens to you doesn’t concern me.”

“But what about them?” Nupian said. “Is it possible for them to enter your heart?”

“It’s not my decision.”

Nupian couldn’t argue anything. Her profile faltered under her wives’ glares, which berated her for her insensitive question. She endured the weight pressing her shoulders and aimed her determinedly bright eyes at Iris.

“Was there ever any chance?”

Iris closed her eyes, listening to her heart, before she reopened them. With a playful smile, she shook her head. “I’d never get their love.”

“Does that . . . even matter?” Nupian’s voice fluctuated.

Iris ceased her grin. She turned her head away from Nupian and at a veiled lady, who wryly beamed. That concealed countenance forever bewitched Nupian but stirred no ripple in Iris’s heart.

She returned to Nupian. “I cannot give up myself.”

“You’d still be yourself. You’d lose nothing.”

“Freedom is never nothing.”

The chandelier above Iris swayed crankily. Its shade projected over her, towering over her unmovable resolve. Cold winds blew against the frail candlelight and dimmed the banquet hall. Iris’s shadow expanded beyond her silhouette, consuming Nupian’s, but it never embraced her, only moving around her.

“If only I realized that sooner,” Nupian said. “I’ll come to find you, Iris.”

“Rest assured; I won’t blame them.” Iris touched her chest. “We’re but small pieces in the great game.”

“Our destiny intertwines. But theirs are collateral.”

“Strong enough to struggle, but not enough to succeed.”

The grand hall quaked. Thunder reverberated outside, flashing lightning through moss-covered windows. Pink mist surrounding the castle grew thicker amidst the churning of invisible currents.

Nupian’s expression chilled. She raised her right hand and, with her sharp nail, cut her palm. Candy-scented blood dripped from her small wound. It formed a circular sigil before dispersing like stars during twilight.

“My effort amounts to something after all,” Iris said.

“Forgive me not, Iris. I must have your heart, even if it’d kill me.”

“Nothing to forgive, nothing to resent.”

A bright light enveloped Iris. She looked at her disintegrating hands, which melted back to her slimy appearance, her humanity rapidly leaving her. As drowsiness claimed her, she gave her last look to Aconite.

Holding her beloved, Aconite stared at the departing guest. She politely waved farewell, though her reddened eyes expressed intense shame.

“Don’t pity us!” She stepped forwards. “For us, staying together is all that matters.”

Other veiled ladies carefully nodded. They couldn’t look at their most beloved, but they knew she was hesitating, weighing their moods and her own action.

“We . . . might be similar.” Iris’s last words persisted even after the thunderstorm passed.

…

Falling, Iris was falling. A bed rose from below and cushioned her impact. She struck the feather-filled pillows and blankets, sending them flying in a tempest of fluffiness. The warmth of the well-prepared bedroom permeated her membrane.

She arose from her slumber, from her maid’s soft lap. Her eyes glimpsed, behind her maid’s face, the crumbling dreamcatcher, whose intricate detail momentarily resembled a painful smile.

Her maid helped her get up. She adjusted her wrinkled dress, stretched her stiffened arms, and examined herself. The intrinsic fatigue lessened along with the murmur of her intuition. Although the Mark of Love remained dazzling on her lips, its intensity too decreased.

“A miracle,” Iris said. “You did move Nupian’s curse.”

Sitting on a sofa, Susarin weakly opened her eyes. Her mask fractured, but its fragments stayed fixed on her face. Only her black and grey eyes exhibited any sort of change.

“I’ve gained much from this . . . experience,” she said. “Please thank Morbi for her potions. We’ll visit her after our ritual succeeds.”

Kematos came to his trembling wife and blanketed her in a thick fur coat. He pressed his hands on hers, his power coursing through her. Her shivering gradually stabilised. The terror of that dream lost its dominion over her.

“I shouldn’t have let you,” he said. “The backlash damaged your spirit.”

“We’ve survived worse.”

Susarin covered her mouth and coughed. Blood seeped between her fingers. Despite the pained glint in her eyes, she forbade her husband from tending to her. She raised her right hand in front of her. A translucent droplet flew from her fingertip and spread out as a butterfly-shaped formation. It flapped its crystalised wings, which shattered into fireflies of myriad variations.

Kematos froze. His swirling shadow transformed into swarms of hands. They constricted his movement and dragged him deep into the abyss of his own creation. His mask quivered; dry arcane lines on his mask glowed, releasing penetrating light.

As the shadowy hands disintegrated, Kematos’s eyes regained their clarity.

“What . . . did you just do?”

“Is it not marvellous?”

“It’s not of your style.” Kematos grabbed his mask, on which tiny cracks manifested. “Its effect is too sinister, too ruthless.”

“That line’s already been crossed long ago, when our tribe met its end.”

Susarin smiled. Her fatigued condition distressed her husband, who conceded the argument. She stood up, walked to Iris, and held her hands.

“We couldn’t dispel the curse, but we’ve weakened it for a time being.” Susarin took off her mask. Her saddened expression was reflected in her client’s eyes. “This ritual won’t work the second time. The curse will shift, adapt, and counter any attempt at dispelling it.”

“Your suggestion?”

A yellowish parchment slid inside Iris’s palm. It detailed a list of exotic ingredients frequently found in the Northern Continent.

“I can recommend you a famous alchemist and a Secret Organisation to procure the ingredients,” Susarin said. “If possible, I’d like to meet you again.”

“Our representative will arrange the time and place,” Antina said. “For what you’ve done here, The Court will repay in full.”

“I’ve only fulfilled our contract. The Secret Organisation of rogue alchemists is Therapeutic Forest. And the famous alchemist is—”

“I’ve already chosen my alchemist.” Iris smiled. “Morbi will be glad to learn of your regard.”

The conversation ebbed, branched off as rivers siphoning from the great sea. Susarin’s face gradually paled. She excused her condition, and Iris didn’t want to keep a patient around.

She gestured for her maid, who gracefully assented, and left the private lounge, leaving Susarin panting while her husband comforted her.

Susarin took a long, contemplative breath. Her eyes gained a sliver of pink shade, a hint of transcendental love, a trace of a wintry night. She focused on the door as if Iris’s silhouette had imprinted itself onto her vision.

She blinked, a faint smile overcoming her. The pinkness vanished; she regained herself.