[November 30, 2042]

Up until that point, Roxy had been having a good night. She had chilled under the moonlight by the skate park, beat up some punks causing trouble for a woman walking home, and drank three cans of her favorite flavor of energy drink (“Super Lime and Lemon Spear!” sold in a thin neon-green can).

Needless to say, she was feeling pretty good — at the top of her game. It was the kind of night that filled one with energy and passion, where there was a certain undeniably electricity in the way orange and white street lights hit the dark asphalt of the roads, the fiberglass columns bowing like chanting monks over the bisecting streets of the city. It was a night made for staying up to play a video-game, to go to a bar, to kiss a stranger, to fall in love. Nothing could darken Roxy’s mood on a night like this, not even her own condition.

She stopped in front of the convenience store, drinking in the atmosphere, enjoying the way the cool air touched her skin through her thin clothes, though today she was also wearing a dark green raincoat that was at least a size too big for her, its hem almost touching the street. It had many straps and buttons, and because of its hefty material, looked rather comical over the revealing and goth-style clothes she was wearing and could be seen underneath.

Yes, take a deep breath, she thought. It makes you feel alive, darkness like this. I want to hunt, have sex, and write poetry.

Roxy smiled. And then that smile immediately fell.

Some dumbass was walking down the dark street, right in front of her, without a goddamn care in the world.

“Motherfucker,” she said, more amazed by his audacity than sincerely angry.

She set out across the street, heavy boots clicking against the pavement and the hem of her coat swinging around her fishnet covered knees. “Hey,” she called loudly, crossing the intersection with irritated strides. “Hey! You. Dumbass. Skandha, motherfucker, Mr. Too-Cool-To-Listen-To-Beautiful-Women, motherfucker.”

Cal, because of course it was Cal, looked up, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim shadows that fell over the cement. “Hello Roxy. You certainly have a way with words.”

Not saying another word, Roxy grabbed the collar of his coat roughly and yanked with inordinate strength for her thin body. Cal was sent stumbling down a small alley between two brick buildings, emerging into a deserted square of cracked concrete. The faded geometry of paint on the ground and the tilted poles of aluminum designated the square as some sort of abandoned basketball court. Weeds grew everywhere, and graffiti decorated the brick walls.

Cal had regained his footing, and looked at Roxy with a glare, but before he had time to make some remark she pushed him against the wall with the palm of her hand. She brandished her finger in his face, her chest jutted out, some metal bits of her belt jangling. Roxy only came up to Cal’s chest, but the anger on her made it seem like she towered over him. “What’s in your head? Wilted lettuce, cold air, smooth stone edifices with blank expressions written on them? Is that it? Where’s your brain? Don’t you go to university for environmental engineering? Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent?”

“I don’t follow,” said Cal. He was adjusting a plastic bag filled with some contents in his hand so as not to drop it. “It’s nice to see you again though, Roxy.”

“Yeah, lovely to see you again, cutie,” she grimaced, shaking her hand, still pointing in his face with anger. “You look emaciated, as usual. Do you ever eat three meals a day or do you just slurp colorless gruel from a tube you keep in your pocket occasionally?”

Cal’s eyes glittered with annoyance. “I get enough of that from Bridget, I don’t need somebody like you on my case about it, as well.” He paused. “I don’t recall ever telling you my major.”

“Remember last time, when I said I wasn’t a stalker?” Roxy said, baring her sharp teeth. Her pointed finger with its red-painted nail had begun to dig into Cal’s chest. “That was a lie. Ever since I first smelled you on the wind, I learned about you — Pascal Clermont — for your own safety, and for mine.”

She stepped back, not elaborating on what she meant by this, tucking her coat around her to cover her thinly-covered body — not out of modesty, but because the gestures of her body had become quick and erratic to match her mind that was going at a thousand miles per hour.

Finally, Roxy took a breath, steadied herself, and turned her red eyes on Cal with a more concentrated look. “Did everything I told you on Halloween go in one ear and out the other?” she said, her deep voice softer than usual. “I wasn’t being facetious. This is dangerous, what you’re doing.”

“It’s hard to take that advice into account when you don't elaborate on who or what you are, and what I’m supposed to be afraid of,” Cal said measuredly. “Until you do, I’ll take advantage of the 24hr Mart when I need to get some ingredients. I forgot I wanted to make some soup tomorrow, so I got some carrots and onions. It’ll be good for everyone in the cold weather, and my acquaintances who go to school can take the leftovers for lunch in tupperware.”

He held up the plastic bag, as if this justified everything.

Roxy swatted it out of his hand. “Are you fucking serious? Is that your grand excuse? I’m amazed you have survived this long if you’re willing to risk your skin for such superfluous reasoning.”

Cal didn’t say anything in response. He calmly retrieved the bag from the ground, wiping off a moist leaf that had stuck to it.

“Help me understand here, man,” said Roxy, trying to regain her cool. She was fumbling in the deep pocket of her coat for the fourth can of “Super Lime and Lemon Spear!” that she had bought that night. “You know that I’m something supernatural, don’t you? You know that. We discussed that. I’m trying to help you, do you…”

She trailed off, her voice taking on a tinge of helplessness. “I know you don’t know me very well but… do you not believe me? Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Cal thought about it. “No, I believe you. Despite your antics when we met on Halloween, and all those weird insinuations-”

Roxy blushed angrily. “I was just shooting my shot! A girl’s got a right to do that, doesn’t she?”

“-I gathered pretty quickly you were probably a good person.” Cal took a breath of the brisk hair, running a hand through his dark hair. “You reminded me of my roommate. She has a lot of bluster too, but it’s just her way of trying to communicate.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He fixed Roxy with his dark, cold eyes, which made her blush again. “Besides, if you really wanted to, you could have killed me where I stood, if you wanted to. Isn’t that right? I got that impression. A lot of the girls in the house I live in are similar. They’re like that too, and yet I don’t have a scratch on me. So far my intuition has held.”

“You bet your livelihood on such vague feelings?” Roxy grimaced. The lip of the energy popped and she downed it in only a few seconds, wiping her mouth. Then she tucked the empty can back into her coat. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to litter this time. Though I can’t say I appreciate being compared to that ghost girl of yours. I’m much more powerful and assertive.”

Her red eyes narrowed. “I take what I want, and who I want. I don’t drift around aimlessly waiting for something to happen to me.”

“Don’t insult her.”

“Geez, whatever, noted.” Roxy smiled. The tension and hostility seemed to have disappeared from her body and face — indicative of her fickle emotions. “Even you get a little angry sometimes, huh? I wasn’t sure if your emotional range ever exceeded mild annoyance.”

Cal ignored this comment. “You know about her — Mel? That she’s a ghost?”

“Told you, I’m a stalker.” Roxy produced a fifth neon-green can from her coat’s inner-pocket, opened it, and sipped it more casually. “I know everything. A ghost, a robot, and a pair from a different plane. Your hands are pretty full there, cutie. At least that other girl — what’s her name? — Ellie, she seems normal… well, actually, now that I think about it…”

She trailed off, and then looked up at the starry sky above them, as if considering something for the first time. “...Anyway, yeah, I got the roster memorized. You know, more guys your age would try to hook up with one of those girls, but you know what they say-” (Here Roxy brushed her hair back in pantomime elegance, as if she were strolling down a runway.) “-the best girl always arrives last.”

“Thank you for your input.”

“What else do I know?” Roxy put a thoughtful finger on her lip, letting her coat fall open to reveal her provocative clothes once again. “Your school. Your friend, that guy with the long hair. Oddly enough, I was able to figure out next to nothing about your life before arriving in this city, and believe me, the information network I’m clued in on is very detailed. It’s just a blank slate — an empty void. Like you didn’t even exist before you arrived on the doorstep of that house one day in September.”

She grinned, her sharp-looking teeth glinting in the moonlight. “It’s very interesting. You’re very interesting.”

Cal pulled his dark coat around himself, the plastic bag rustling at his side. “What do you want?”

“I told you. Keeping your dumb ass alive. Making you aware of how your existence is pretty damn precarious at the moment, and will attract all sorts of pretty things like myself.” Roxy shifted her body slightly, leaning a little closer to him. “I haven’t heard a ‘thank you’ for that yet, by the way.”

“Why?”

The girl perked her ears. “What’s that?”

“Why?” Cal repeated the question. His eyes had acquired an intense sheen to them, of a sort that Roxy liked particularly. “It doesn't make a difference either way to you, right? What happens to a random guy? Really just boredom?”

Roxy sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “You’re really going to make me say it aloud? Fine, then. I admit at first you were a passing curiosity. Your scent was like nothing I’d experienced before — so intense and complex, like you were carrying scents from a thousand different types of esoterica. But then… well, I saw your face. And heard your voice. Got to chattin’ a little. I followed you. Learned about you. And I became certain…”

Roxy leaned forward more, her face close to Cal’s, her thin arms resting against the wall of brick that he had begun to lean against. “You’re exactly my type. Someone just like me.”

Cal met her face, which was so close he could count her eyelashes. “Like you?”

Roxy’s eyes seemed to glow. Something appeared in her face, an aspect that had been present the first time Cal had seen her watching him from the shadows. A thing not human, with no warmth or love, that only longed to devour everything before it.

“Yes, my type.” She whispered. Her lips were by his ear, her breath tickling his cheek. “A person who can accept all I am, without judgement or emotion. A man without a heart.”

Something churned in Cal’s stomach. It felt like something dark and confining was closing in around him, making it hard to breath. The wind blew and stirred his dark hair, which had grown rather longer in the months since he had arrived at Otter Manor, yet provided no relief to the asphyxiating feeling.

“At first, I found you rather peculiar,” said Roxy. At some point her finger had begun to massage Cal’s chin, playing with the stubble that was growing there. “An oddball, neurodivergent maybe, a person not moved to action or emotion very easily, or at least not able to understand such things in a brief instant. But as we talked that night, and your actions grew increasingly strange, I realized it was something else. Rather, it was as if you had absolutely no concept of self-preservation, and certainly nothing that has happened tonight has persuaded me otherwise.”

Even now…” Roxy dug her fingernail into the cleft of Cal’s jaw, in a way that felt both painful and intimate. “You’re truly not scared of me. And neither are you aroused, which frankly, makes me a little self-conscious about my looks… I look into your face and have no idea what you’re thinking. No. You’re not strange, or composed, or socially awkward. You’re like me. You’re completely off your rocker.”

The wind scattered dead leaves over the cement. There was the sound of somebody walking in the distance, their steps clattering through the still night.

Cal shifted his head slightly away from Roxy, though he couldn’t escape the pale finger pressing against his jaw. “Perhaps you’re mistaken. Perhaps you’ve read me wrong.”

Her red eyes were glowing again, her white hair excited and dancing in the breeze. “Perhaps I haven’t. I don’t think I have. I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Cal took her hand forcibly away from his face with his free hand, roughly enough that Roxy smiled at the insinuation that he could exercise any strength over her that she didn’t already desire. Their hands clasped together fiercely, halfway between an expression of force and an expression of sensuality.

“That’s it?” Cal said, his voice low and sharp. “Your intentions are that pure-hearted? So what, you want to go on a date with me?”

“Mmm,” Roxy nodded to herself with satisfaction, as if he had finally arrived at the point. “That sounds nice, if you’re offering. You have a good face and no heart, that ticks pretty much all my boxes. Though to be clear, my intentions are anything but pure.”

She put her face closer — too close. He could hear her breathing.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Don’t be shy, cutie,” Roxy murmured, her lips parting slightly. “Just a taste is all I need. We can do the rest later.”

The kiss was warm and deep and somehow cold all at once. Her tongue tasted sugary and artificial, like canned soda. Every bone in Cal’s body tensed at once, screaming at him to move — yet there was something else at the back of his mind that resisted the notion. Another moment, it said. Another moment, you must know for sure.

The kiss went on. For a dozen seconds, perhaps. Then the noise came, and they broke apart.

Cal couldn’t quite describe the noise — between a gasp of shock and a guttural scream. It pierced the air cleanly like a sword, coming from the right end of the square, and when Cal turned to see where it had come from, he saw Bridget standing there, dressed as always in her golden-button uniform. The paleness of her face and the expression of disgust twisting it made her almost unrecognizable for a few moments.

For that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Bridget looked nothing like the patient and kind-hearted young woman Cal had known; she had been transformed into a ghostly and intimidating alternate of herself.

Bridget’s wide brown eyes looked at Cal for a moment with an unreadable expression, and then her gaze shifted to Roxy, and in that moment, the entire posture of her figure changed — shifting into something sturdy and automatic — like a familiar switch had been flipped.

“Mr. Clermont,” Bridget said. Even her voice was different, that coldness belonged to a stranger. “Get away from that thing.”

“Bridget-” Cal began, though he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say next. Either way, he didn’t have a chance.

“Get away!” she shouted.

Bridget has never once raised her voice before, and the effect was so alarming and profound that Cal instantly obeyed her, scampering a step or two away from Roxy, leaving the white-haired girl alone facing Bridget, who stood on the end of the court.

“Ah,” said Roxy as she looked at Bridget, her voice playful as before, though now carrying an undeniable note of worry. “The Maiden of Dornlathe.”

She grinned with a mouth of sharp teeth, cast off her coat to reveal the entirety of her pale body in the light of the moon, and clicked her tongue. “Ah,” she repeated. “...I may have messed up here.”