Opening Act

by CountingWithTurkeys

Redemption and recovery may come at a steep cost, but the Rehearsal is over and it's time for Bonnibel and Marceline to decide if the price is one they're willing to pay.

18. Dream Come True

Real Talk: Wow, that was a long break. Sorry guys, I've had a huge workload lately and I had a really weird time focusing on this chapter. Possibly due to how huge it is. I just didn't want to split another chapter, so you get something massive. Hooray! I hope it was worth the wait.

Content Warnings:

Library puns

A new OC!

Mentions of historic character death

Nightosphere lore

Reveals

Bonnie is Bonnie-ing so hard

---

"Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?"

"Yes, Pep?"

"Have you lost your brilliant mind?!," Peppermint Butler hissed. Somewhere out of the corner of his eye a demon with great curled horns, a sharp hooked beak, and glowing green eyes lifted himself from his book to glare at the servant but the candy man couldn't be bothered. His attention was monopolized by his liege, his creator, his mother. The woman he respected more than any and all in the entirety of Ooo, and she had just proudly declared that it was her intention to use demon magic - forces she did not comprehend - to bind her very soul to the world's most distasteful ne'er-do-well.

Which, he would later muse, was exactly like something a hormonal teenager would do. Later still, he would feel very guilty for that thought. Despite its accuracy.

Bonnibel was unphased by her creation's outburst. She hadn't expected Peppermint Butler to go along with her plan quietly, or maybe even at all, and while she did typically put great stock in his wisdom and insight this was not such a case. He was an esteemed servant and her second most loyal advisor, perhaps even her greatest creation, but she hadn't exactly built him for this specification. "Pep," she began calmly as she strode to a bare area of the floor, away from that glaring demon. "I understand your reluctance, but I assure you that this is hardly a decision of impulse."

That wasn't reassuring in the slightest. "Do you have any idea as to what you're deciding?," he hissed once more. The subtext: 'no, you don't, or you wouldn't be doing this.' "When two souls bind it isn't symbolic-"

"Yes, I've gathered as much, Pep." He didn't like how calm she was being about this. It was a very specific type of calmness, exactly like the one that preceded the creation of the travesty known as Goliad. "This isn't a decision of impulse. As I was saying, this is something I've been curious about since first learning about soul binding within Marceline's mind. I knew that her demonic nature meant there would also be a power disparity between us, but something this unbalanced… it's abhorrent. How can I truthfully call us equals within this relationship so long as it remains?"

That was such a loaded question it was amazing it didn't explode upon impact with the open air. But how to disarm it? "Your Majesty, making an offer to any demon-"

"Not 'any demon', Pep. Marcy." A slight tinge of annoyance slipped through, and he gathered that was on purpose. A warning shot.

The semi-immortal mint took a deep breath before regaining his composure. This would take serious damage control. "Your Majesty," he began carefully, calmly, controlled. Exactly as she had taught him. "I understand your desire to meet Miss Abadeer on her own level, but please consider the long-term ramifications of this decision. Regardless of what she is to you it cannot be overstated that she's a scoundrel with enough power to rival her father, who is himself an arguable cosmic entity. I may not be and don't want to be privy to your relationship but I've known her long enough to be well aware that she has consented to be in a subservient position and Ooo seems quite safer for the decision!"

Bonnibel frowned. "But she hasn't decided that, Pep. That's the point. She can't consent with me being able to hold her own soul against her. She deserves better than that, and…"

When she trailed off Peppermint Butler really didn't like where this was going. Especially the part when she blushed lightly, and it didn't look like it was from the heat of the argument. "Your Highness?"

The candy golem sighed. "Marcy has always accepted me, Pep. Every late night I spent in my lab, every dignitary I had to entertain, every experiment. She accepted that I'm… less than adept at caring for myself unaided and she's the only one I've ever met who has consistently treated me as a person, not a role. For all of her own faults I always came first to her, and this entire time I had no idea how much this was hurting her. Not until I met those pieces of herself that were loyalty and sentiment incarnate, and that piece that despised my very existence for it. She's always loved me exactly as I am, even knowing that her unique physiology will forever make her beholden to me. She's drawn strength from it. And comfort. I don't know what that's like."

Something told the old mint that she wasn't referring to their species difference. "Because that comes at too great a cost." Translation: 'You wisely put your people and kingdom before your own personal intrigues'.

Now she did glare and Peppermint Butler's jaw clenched. Too far, much too far. "Marceline has risked life and limb for me for six hundred years. She's accepted me, loved me, and encouraged my aspirations. This tie that binds her to me… she's learned to draw strength from it, and I wish to do the same."

"Or," he began carefully. "It influences her in ways she does not perceive because-"

"I've considered that. As I just said, Peppermint, this hasn't been an impulsive decision." Her hand clenched around the ancient artifact that once began to Marceline's mother. "I've spent centuries deluding myself about our relationship, and what she means to me. Do you understand what Hunson said in his office? Demons kill one another if their souls choose an identical mate to prevent a soulbond from being formed with a rival. You've seen how many potential suitors I've entertained over the centuries, even if it I did so purely for appearances. You yourself have said that she's just as instinctive as any other demon, but she's controlled herself without inflicting a single fatality." Even if there have been plenty of maimings. His frown did not indicate he was as impressed with this fact as she was and her tone softened, even if her eyes remained hard and her posture ramrod straight. "Regardless of your feelings on the matter, Pep, I've already lost her once. This is something I want to share with her. I need her to understand how much…" For just a brief moment her demeanor wavered in the way only heartguts discussions could. "I need her to understand how much I love her."

His frown seemed to be becoming permanent. It was time to change gears. "Your Majesty, as honest as that sentiment is do you really believe this is something she wants?"

Bonnibel offered a sad smile. It was a fair concern, even if she was absolutely certain it was not for the vampire, but her. "I'm not deciding this on her behalf, Pep. She's already going to be furious that I came here, in secret, and without her. I want to have something tangible to bring back with me. If I broach this topic to her incorrectly she might just shut down, or she might get scared that I know too much." Or run. As the candy golem spoke her voice softened, growing more hushed as she imagined not only how Marceline might react, but knowing exactly why. I was cruel. It wouldn't be an unreasonable reaction for her to run had I discovered exactly how much power I have over her. "I cannot possit this to her as a simple hypothetical. If I'm going to make my intention clear I must have something within my possession to demonstrate my sincerity. I'm here to find a way to make this a reality."

Peppermint Butler's frown became a scowl. In truth, he hated seeing his creator like this. Not just because the topic of choice was that distasteful blackguard, but because he was well-aware of something few others were: Princess Bubblegum's tendency to self-destruct. The same traits that led her to unrivalled brilliance, relentless determination, and unquenchable curiosity also led to her arrogance, her refusal to simply accept things as they were and, worst of all, her utter disregard for her own well-being. It was one of the few things the mint and the half-demon ever agreed about; even before her crown Bonnibel would disregard self-care and her own safety in the name of obsession. Neither he nor the queen appreciated it in the slightest, and he had to begrudgingly admit that Marceline really wouldn't like seeing the young scientist like this, so deep in her schemes that she was missing the nuances. Was a soul-binding meant to be beautiful to demons? He didn't know, but he did know Marceline well enough that it almost certainly would be for her… and that as commendable as Bonnibel's newfound - or perhaps newly-stirred - devotion was the princess may just be missing the point.

Forest for the trees and all.

"Your Highness…"

Her head shook. "No, Pep. I have to do this. If she rejects it I'll accept that rejection. She's forgiven me, but I need to prove that I deserve that forgiveness… and I need to show her that I love her. Not just the parts of herself she likes, or the ones that suit me, but all of her. She doesn't accept this half of her, and that isn't healthy. I'm going to change it and demonstrate my worthiness in one fell swoop." And then she was off, turned on her heel towards some random part of the most bizarre library in the multiverse. Full of demons. Who undoubtedly wanted to kill her. With a rude mutter Peppermint Butler took off after his monarch.

Bonnibel, on the other hand, forgot about her servant the moment she began her journey into the heart of the library. The large room - or was it its own building? - was absolutely nothing like what she had expected of the Nightosphere. When she had first heard that the Citadel possessed a library at all she had to resist scoffing. She could imagine it so clearly: small, dark, dank, filled with musky books that were probably falling apart if not infected with mold, unused for what would on the surface world be hundreds of years. She could picture in her mind's eye the rotting floorboards, the chipped and slimy stone walls, the stale and cold air. Could demons even read? Why have it at all?

Reality could not have been more different. The entire room was immaculate, lovingly tended to without any sign of decay or neglect. The tomes - though strangely chained to their shelves - were thick and plentiful, with every cabinet stocked to the ends and though the books appeared old they were also visibly well-cared for. Contrary to her earlier suspicion that demons could not or would not read Bonnibel was greeted with the sight of at least a dozen or so denizens scattered about the library, most in the company of at least one book or scroll tucked under various appendages or layed out carefully on a table. Despite how many occupants the room held it was quiet, exactly as a library should be; the only sounds were of patrons scuttling about on the floors or soft, polite whispers, none of which seemed aimed at her. That was bizarre, Bonnibel mused. After all, most demons she had ever met actively tried to kill her, but no one seemed to so much as care that she was within striking distance. Interesting. That will be something to solve later.

Even the room itself seemed oddly decorated. Boards written in a tongue not her own boasted sign after sign, all for some unknown purpose. Contrary to Bonnibel's earlier analysis, the walls were not in fact solid: every so often there would be a door that seemed to blend into the background if not for the scarce demon or two that came and went through them. They could only be identified by the lanterns hung before each entrance, crude boxy things that seemed to be made of dark brown wood, iron bars and lined with glass to protect the golden fire within. Oddly enough, each demon seemed to come and go individually, with no more than any one individual occupying any of the smaller rooms at any one time. What bizarre behavior for a demon.

To be fair, BonBon, the only demons you really know are Marce, Hunson, and all the guys tryin' to kill you.

That raised an interesting point, specifically- You're right. But why aren't these demons trying to kill me?

A sarcastic snort. Why not ask Jan? He's basically your slave while you're here, right?

Bonnibel wished she could shoot Rechte a Mental Look, but even if such a thing were possible she would almost certainly prove to be just as incorrigible as the real Marceline. Regardless, she wasn't wrong and the princess turned to where she knew Peppermint Butler was trotting after her. "Pep, can you go find Jan?" It was less of a request and more of a polite command. The small man began some sort of retort but just as he had predicted his matriarch was in her own world now and would hardly allow herself to be inconvenienced by anything that could possibly pull her from it. In fact, she managed only a small comment of gratitude - mentally of course - before she resumed travelling the strange room and investigating its mysteries. She didn't need confirmation that her servant was off to fulfill her wishes, no matter how he may detest them. If there was one trait she appreciated most in the candy man, the trait she demanded the most, it was his devotion.

The more Bonnibel explored the library the more curious it became. How is it so bright? Logically, they had to be underground, beneath the Citadel itself, yet the room was as bright as daylight. Quite strange for a dimension where there was no sun at all, and while the princess was gradually growing more accustomed to shrugging off the nonsense of the pocket space this bothered her. I guess I've grown so used to the dark that the light no longer seems…

...Natural?

That was a good way of putting it, Bonnibel supposed. For the first time in centuries her schedule centered around Marceline's, and between her nocturnal nature, Bonnibel's reluctance to let her even see daylight, and their ample time spent within the Nightosphere the only illumination the young scientist was used to now consisted entirely of electric lights and candles. With a pang she wished her queen was with her then, because as much as she was enjoying exploring the dimension she had never dreamed she would ever do so without Marceline to act as her guide. We're supposed to do this together. There was that guilt about coming behind her back, rearing itself and not for the first time, and not for the first time she pushed it aside. If everything went according to plan it would all be worth it.

"What?"

Bonnibel looked down at the clearly disgruntled demon, and the moment her sharp eyes turned to him he gulped audibly, looking away in what she supposed was meant to be humility. It would have to do. "Jan, this room is filled with demons. Why aren't they trying to kill me?"

Jan opened his mouth in what was surely meant to be a display of wit or sarcasm before he seemed to think better of it. That was good, he was capable of learning. "Look, just because you're the center of Marceline's world doesn't mean you're the center of theirs', okay?" She raised an eyebrow and when he chanced a look at her he realized she was staring directly at his mangled leg. He frowned. "Okay, I said theirs', not mine. Marceline comes back here and periodically kills a bunch of us, you really think everyone's stupid enough to go after you?" Peppermint Butler coughed and, like his mistress, Jan found him also staring rudely at his leg. He glared back. "Just because it doesn't look like she's here doesn't mean she isn't, okay?"

"So they're afraid Marcy is hiding, just waiting to strike?"

"Probably? Or... " He sighed, closing his eye briefly. "Look, if she finds out I told you this I'm a dead guy, so try to build me a nice grave. Not everyone down here hates you, and if you take you out of the system most of us really like Marceline."

Bonnibel tilted her head, mulling both of those sentiments over in her mind. In truth, she had never stopped to consider the Nightosphere's collective opinion about the vampire as an entity separate from herself. It seemed that even now the young scientist's mind seemed to hyphenate their name, as if Bonnibel-And-Marceline were a single person, with demonic opinion of the former echoing in the latter. Once more, I considered you an extension of my will. I'm sorry, Marceline. She would have to shelve that thought for later, though. "She's popular?"

Now Jan did look at her, skeptically, as if there was no way this was the surface worlder his master's daughter so often bragged about as having 'the mondo mega-est brain in ever'. "She's the Scream Queen. She wiped out an entire species. She's a legend down here."

"She's also a brute," Peppermint Butler muttered to no one in particular.

"Exactly! She's almost as strong as Hunson but doesn't do the whole 'law and order' thing. She messes with us but she's insulted if we don't mess back. As long as no one mentions you she's just like us." Jan shrugged. "And when she's here I don't have to touch her rooms, so you know, less work for me. Which is great, since she almost ripped my leg off. Thanks for that, by the way. My health insurance is still pending and might be for the next two hundred years for all I know."

She's just like us. Why did those four words sting? Surely, they hadn't meant to. Jan wasn't an idiot; he knew better than to try to start something with Princess Bubblegum, and it hadn't sounded back-handed. It seemed that the more the princess uncovered about her other half's life the more it seemed to conflict with what she assumed. I suppose that's the problem. I erroneously assumed that she only came back to the Nightosphere on my behalf but even she admitted that she has at least a small circle of well-wishers, even other demons she plays her music with. That sparked an almost uncomfortable thought. "What do the other demons think of her taking over her father's job?" From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Peppermint Butler watching cautiously, and she understood why. But how could she pass up the opportunity for first-hand insight from one of the few demons she could actually have a conversation with, a demon either too smart or too stupid to lie to her?

Jan wrung his black cane nervously. With a small shuffle he looked over his shoulder before pulling his two honored guests to the wall, away from prying ears. "Look, this is another thing she'll kill me about if you tell her so… yeah, nice grave, okay? It wouldn't be the worst thing to happen down here."

"Excuse me?" Mistaking her shock for indignation he raised his free hand defensively, but she only shook her head. "No, my pardon, what do you mean?"

Once he was sure he wasn't about to be decapitated he breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't get me wrong, I have the greatest boss in the world," Jan began overzealously, looking around frantically before resuming what was traditionally known as an 'indoor voice', "but when you're not around and no one mentions you or asks about you or really as long as we pretend you don't exist she's good at getting things done. We had a rebellion in the Citadel once, right? Something about 'time off' and 'worker's rights', and 'daycare'. While Hunson was out playing golf with this guy," a claw was hooked none-too-politely at Peppermint Butler, "Marceline showed up, couldn't find her bandmates in the fray, got bored, and just started… well, I had to hire a whole new staff, totally ruined my first day off in a decade. Hunson wasn't happy, but you know what? No one else mouths off to me anymore."

Peppermint Butler glowered at the demon. "That isn't an effective way to run a castle."

Jan glowered back. "You see how we're in a room full of peeps trying not to kill Marceline's mate? Yeah."

Bonnibel held up her hand, effectively silencing Peppermint's retort. "Did she create this library?"

Jan shrugged, but it seemed less dismissive and more hapless. "Honestly? No idea? I mean, all this wooooo-d-"

"It's pronounced, 'wood', cretin-"

"Look-"

"Jan," Bonnibel prompted, ending the bickering before it began.

"Right, right, yeah. I mean, all this wooooooooo'd had to come from the surface world, same with the balks-"

"Books, you-"

"Same with the balks. But it's older than me, and I don't come down here all that often. Too busy. I usually just come down to pull stuff for some of the upper-demons, like Hunson's buddies. Or really big VIPs, like Death and the Cosmic Owl. Otherwise, I got stuff to do."

That gave her an idea. "If one of your duties is to locate and acquire materials for others you must know the layout of this library quite well, yes?"

To her shock, he knew where this was going and this time he actually looked sincerely apologetic. "Yeah, but… even if I knew where this thing was you're looking for I wouldn't be able to tell you. Hunson's orders were for you to do this yourself." He grimaced, preparing for an onslaught of either verbal or physical assault. What he wasn't prepared for was-

"You're right."

"...I am?"

She nodded, turning to scan the room that suddenly seemed so massive. Yes. This is my offer to her. I have to prove myself. If I'm provided with the answer how can it possibly prove anything? "It's enough to know that the answer exists. Marceline's mother accomplished exactly what I'm trying to, and though Hunson has not hidden his ire I doubt he would send me on a blind chase for an answer that doesn't exist here." Nor would he trust me with this. Her hand tightened softly around the precious item in her palm. With a slight nod of her own humility she began to turn back into the library… only to stop. There was an ugly question to be asked, a grotesque one that turned her stomach. She knew not to ask questions she didn't want to know the answer to, had always suspected that her insatiable curiosity would one day be her downfall, but that overly-inquisitive mind just didn't know how to leave well enough alone. "Jan?"

Jan was skeptical. He didn't like this woman's cautious tone of voice, or how tense she abruptly looked. But what could he do, ignore her? That'd be nice. But. "Yeah?"

The princess allowed herself the luxury of a nervous heartbeat. After all, it wasn't like there was a vampire there to hear it. "You… say that Marcy is actually rather popular with most of the Nightosphere, correct?"

"Uh… is this a trick question? Like, I'm supposed to say no-"

"Jan." Her voice hardened, but it wasn't through anger. He didn't know what it was, but it wasn't anger. He knew what that sounded like.

"I mean… yeah, she's pretty popular. She's a rockstar." As if that was the end of it.

"A soul bond can form without reciprocation. Has any demon formed one to her?" Without my knowledge or conse-

She doesn't need to tell you everything, Bon.

Yes, but-

Don't regress, BonBon.

Fair enough. But.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "She doesn't really talk about her personal life. Not even to Hunson, 'sfar as I know or care."

Was that a satisfactory answer? No, she decided, it wasn't, but Rechte was right: going behind Marceline's back to gather information about the life she didn't know she led without her would be a Princess Bubblegum thing. This was highly personal, not reconnaissance regarding an enemy faction. I need to ask her. After we've- after I've repaired our bond a bit more. I can't scare her off and let her think I'm trying to control her. Bonnibel hated delaying that sort of gratification, but she had too much to prove still. And she was going to be in enough trouble when she returned home. "Thank you." With that she pressed further into the library, returning to the neat and tidy shelves. One held the answer to her problem, and she wouldn't rest - literally and figuratively - until she had it. Behind her Peppermint Butler shot Jan a look, to which the demons only raised his hands defensively and trotted after the strange surface worlder.

He found her, eye through the Bridge that once belonged to Marceline's mother. Through it she gazed none-too-happily at the parchment hung against a bookshelf. This time it was Peppermint Butler to broach her displeasure. There was no way he was going to let Jan of all demons hog the glory. "What's up, Your Highness?"

"Traditionally," she began, hiding the irritability in her voice, "directories actually direct patrons as to a shelf's contents."

"And?"

"This one just says 'red covers!'"

Behind her, Jan trotted to catch up. "...Well, yeah?"

She shot him The Look and his mouth involuntarily slammed shut. "How does that help if you don't know what the book you're looking for looks like?"

He blinked. "...Oh yeah."

Peppermint Butler's frown matched his liege's. "Why not make yourself useful and help us look?"

"Why don't you make yourself-"

"Children!" Both quieted. "You're both fluent in Demonic. You can both help." Translation: 'get moving'.

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

"Yeah yeah, I'm going."

As she watched the servants, one eager and one highly reluctant, she felt the tension leave her body. Just a tad, but still. Alright, Bubblegum. Come back to this shelf. See if every organization system is as asinine as this one. Hefting the small Bridge in her hand as if comforted by the memory of her mate's mother, Bonnibel turned away to the next shelf. Which, fortunately, proved a bit more helpful than the last.

Self-Improvement and Other Menial Chores

Not much more helpful, mind you, but it was a start. If I approach this systematically I stand the best chance for success. She strolled down the aisle, frowning when she remembered the small problem with the library: every book was chained to the shelf itself, and thus the spines were facing inward. Without pulling every book she saw it was impossible to know its contents. So, of course, she pulled the first book she saw. Then the next. Then the next, muttering the titles to herself as she searched. "'Why Fire is Hot and Other Lies,' 'Blowing Smoke,' 'Bombproof Your Children,' 'What Color is Your Flame?...," she mumbled. All hand-scrawled books, all ridiculous, none worth her time. With a sigh she shelved 'Pyromania: The Path to Success?' and left the shelf, proceeding to the next bookcase.

Unreadable Books (Written in Cursive, and Not the Fun Kind)

Nope.

Things That Go Squish

What?

Surface World Kingdoms

That one piqued her interest. With a look over her shoulder to see if she could spot her devoted servant Bonnibel eagerly entered the area. She found that this section of the library was more scarce, with only six or seven books. Without hesitation the candy golem began to pull them from forward, one by one, only to be struck by the information promised within. There was an account of the history of the four elementals, a scroll map of Ooo from the time before the bombs, even an account of plant life and other aspects unique to the world above. But one book caught her eye and before she could even account for her actions she was carefully pulling it down, minding the chain as she sat at the table pitched in front.

A Completely Accurate and Non-Biased Account of Ooo Royalty

How could she resist that? Though, more importantly, where did this book come from? As far as the young scientist was aware only Marceline readily travelled to and from the Nightosphere, always had been, but this tome wasn't written in her handwriting. Try as she might she couldn't find any information about the author, not even a forward or notation. With a frown she flipped through and was disappointed to find it wasn't in any particular order. Not that demons seemed terribly organized to begin with, but it was annoying nonetheless. It didn't take long for one section to catch her eye.

Flame Princess

Born of the name 'Phoebe', Flame Princess spent her childhood trapped within a lamp prison designed to contain her fire. By the age of fourteen she had liberated herself from the thing and deposed her father, the Flame King, who had himself deposed of his brother, also the Flame King. The homeland of the Fire Kingdom is most hospitable, perhaps the only location in Ooo that welcomes or at least tolerates Demon kind. The previous ruler had once betrothed his daughter to Lady Marceline Abadeer, Heir to the Nightosphere, but this betrothal was rejected by all important parties involved and isn't worth thinking about by anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Currently ruling by Council, the wise and benevolent Flame Princess continues to welcome Demon kind who wish to escape Lord Hunson Abadeer's tyranny. Though the previous Flame King held an isolationist attitude Flame Princess has wisely opened her borders to the greater of Ooo. Though she holds few allies her enemies are well established, including the tyra- beloved matriarch of the Candy Kingdom, Princess Bubblegum, alleg- mate of Lady Marceline Abadeer, Heir to the Nightosphere-

Bonnibel frowned, flipping away from the page that extolled Phoebe yet insulted her, at least twice. Though that did beg the obvious question, and she found herself flipping forward frantically until she found what she was looking for.

Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum

At least, she found what she was looking for in theory. In fact, there were pages written about her, half a dozen in fact, but each and every sentence had been carefully blacked out. No matter how she squinted or tilted the text it remained hidden, as if someone had taken great pains to hide anything about her. On the very last page, at the very last sentence, she found only two words, the only two legible words in her entire chapter.

[DATA EXPUNGED]

Those two words sent a shiver down her spine and she closed the book, sent a shiver because she would recognize Marceline's handwriting anywhere. Marcy censored the book? Why? There were many possibilities of course, the most obvious of which was that she hardly wanted any potential assassins to have any information about her. But then why leave the book at all? Why leave such pertinent information in such an easy to find location? Was she the individual who corrected the information in Phoebe's section? That led to another interesting realization. Data expunged? That's definitely her handwriting, but she would never speak like that. It's too…

Scientific?

I was going to say precise. It's not her typical parlance.

Her trip to the library was raising more questions than there were answers and it caused the candy princess to bristle as she returned the book to its place on the shelf. This was getting too strange, strange and distracting. Once she forgives me for coming here I'll need her to accompany me. If anyone knows the answers to these questions it's her. Who wrote that book? Why leave any of this where any demon could find any information about Ooo they wanted? Why redact all information about me while leaving Phoebe's relatively untouched? Assuming she's the one who even touched it… Bonnibel shook her head to clear her thoughts. For now those questions would have to go unanswered. She was on a time limit and had a mission to complete, but no sooner had she stepped back into the aisle did she find Peppermint Butler walk as quickly as he dared.

"Your Majesty! I believe I've found something." Before she could respond he turned on his heel, motioning for her to follow him. With both hope and a raised eyebrow Bonnibel followed quickly behind him, letting him lead her to what she hoped was the solution to her problem. They stopped just before one of the dark rooms she had spotted on the way end and motioned to the parchment hanging in front of the doorway.

Custom, Traditions, and Other Tedium

Yes, that was promising indeed, but before she could enter her butler motioned to the lamp. "I learned from Jan," he almost spat the name and Bonnibel made a mental note to figure out what was up with that later, "that these particular books are kept sequestered due to their value, and that the light causes their condition to deteriorate. You'll need the lamp if we're to look." That was reasonable, and with an appreciative smile the princess took the lamp, mindful of the fact it was a small contained flame, and carefully entered the dark room.

She found that this room's knowledge was contained in an all-too different manner. Rather than have large chains tethering the tomes to their home shelf each bookshelf was instead contained in a cage, as was every individual book. The metal looked to be wrought iron, a curious choice indeed, but even the scientist found it a bit intimidating. What with the spikes lining the bars.

"What do you want?"

Were she of weaker constitution Bonnibel would have startled at the sudden voice, just as Peppermint Butler did. Instead she turned, finding a tall demon all but glaring at her. He was tall, a bit taller than her, even humanoid. Well, mostly anyway. His torso was a light shade of yellow bordering on white, his abdomen engorged almost comically. His two legs hung uselessly, for her was supported by six mechanical legs sprouting from where his arms were meant to be. They almost looked rusted, but in the back of her mind Bonnibel supposed it could be blood. He was a demon after all. Despite the decayed appearance the limbs made no noise as they lowered him so that he could meet her in the eye, which she found were in fact three eyes, all milky white. In place of a mouth there was only a black hole, but it didn't seem to prevent his gravelly voice from squeaking out. Despite his horrible form Bonnibel found herself unafraid. After all, if he wanted her dead he would have already tried something and she would have already slain him for his trouble, courtesy of the ray gun in her bag. Experience had taught her that she could draw it quickly, even too quickly for Marceline to dodge.

It was a weird time in their lives, okay?

"I've come looking for a book."

"That much is obvious, yes. I'm the Keeper of this room. When you find a book that interests you come to me, and I will recover it for you."

How oddly helpful. "Thank you." She almost asked his name then, but decided against it. He was already returning to his original position, and he seemed to even be giving Peppermint Butler the creeps.

"I'll go find Jan."

Once more he seem to spit the name, but he was gone before she could press the subject. It was just as well, she was too eager to search. Unfortunately, as she quickly found, the parchments depicting each shelf's contents were much more faded here, some parts even illegible. It was frustrating to say the least, but at least this room was small, small enough that this handicap wouldn't hinder her for long. In fact, it took only a quick peruse for her hope to flare once more, because though one poster was mostly faded, one word stuck out.

Naxal

She recognized that name immediately. Marceline said this was the demon who convinced Hunson to force her to learn to read Demonic. Maybe these books hold something! The candy golem wasted no time in no time returning to the nameless Keeper. "My pardon, but I've found a section I wish to-"

"Show me."

How rude. But at least he was helping, and she quickly returned to her previous spot. Without a fight or even a word the Keeper reached into his gaping mouth, retrieving a chain of keys of all sizes. There were dozens, but he had no trouble identifying the one that matched the cage's lock. Once it was opened he stood motionless, expectant, but when nothing happened he seemed to sigh in frustration.

"In."

Oh! Bonnibel quickly slid into the cage, but before she could thank the odd demon she found he was closing the cage, locking her inside. A feeling not unlike fear shot through her, but it quickly turned into indignation. "I beg your-"

Another sigh-like sound. "These books are valuable. If you want to read them you'll do it in here so I know you won't make off with them." Before she could protest - even if that did sound arguably reasonable - a second key was pushed through the bars. "This will unlock the books. Lock them back up when you're done."

Was she meant to thank him after that? She did so anyway. After all, he still had to let her out. "Thank you." Now if only she could manage that with slightly less bitterness. Not that he seemed to notice, or at least care. Perhaps this happens a lot to him. There was no point in dwelling, though, and Bonnibel hoisted the lamp to the shelves. At least these had the book covers facing her, allowing her to easily decipher their titles. In fact, she found, each book was authored by this 'Naxal', with oddly neat handwriting. And all with intriguing titles. "Let's see… 'A Semi-Complete History of the Nightosphere,' 'The Cultural Significance of Not Insulting Your Betters,' 'Indigenous Materials,'-

There.

Rituals, Traditions, and Subversion

Bonnibel quickly attached the lantern's rod to the post embedded in the edge of the shelf and eagerly unlatched the cage, clutching the book like it was the most precious object in the world. Disappointingly, the tome did not contain any sort of table of contents, or even chapter titles, which was quite problematic due to its size. It was no match for Bonnibel, however, who had spent her entire life reading books, absorbing massive amounts of information in short periods of time, information much drier than what she found within. It seemed to be an account written from this Naxal's perspective about his research into demonic rituals and traditions, but despite its unscientific nature it seemed almost unbiased, anthropological even. A scholar among demons? Now she very much wished to meet this demon, this stranger who even Marceline thought positively of.

And then she found it, a passage that made her eyes widen and her breath hitch.

I travelled to the surface at Hunson's request. At least, I thought it was his request. Imagine my surprise when I found a surface-worlder there to meet me, an odd creature with smooth, dark skin and a large stomach. She was bipedal, yes, similar to Hunson except the skin and the pleasant demeanor. I don't know how she summoned me, but I figured out why quickly. She's Hunson's mate, or would be mate, pregnant with his offspring. Imagine, an Heir to dethrone him! I wonder what it will be like? She wasn't afraid of me, but that would make sense. She's used to Hunson. She told me that he's been sad lately. Hunson, sad? Can he do that? She assured me he can. She said he's worried about his offspring, the one she's pregnant with. If the offspring is born it will be a hybrid, and he doubts it will live. Fair enough. She wants to save it, and thinks I can help. I can, but I'm not sure I want to, I told her. Not for her kind. She wants to be his mate, bind her soul to his. It's never been done, binding a surface-worlder to a demon, but Hunson has given me much work over my short career as a Maker, and she seemed kind, and unafraid. Rare in her kind. I told her that it would require an offering, something precious, something irreplaceable. She became defensive and clutched her stomach, said it was the only precious thing she had left. Do surface-worlders normally value offspring like this? Also weird, but it gave me an idea. All that's required for an offering is sacrifice. I don't think sacrificing this offspring is the way, but it's a fine offering. I took her to my workshop and did it. If Hunson accepts the offspring as his own its existence will bind his soul to the surface-worlder. Carrying it, though. Yes, it's best he not know, he will be furious, but it's inevitable that carrying a hybrid like the future Heir will kill her. Not my intention, no, she's been good for him, but the only way we can make sure the offspring can survive is if the surface-worlder is willing to put a piece of her own lifeblood into her should the offspring go weak and require it. Given the state of her world that seems her destiny. She knows this will kill her or worse, but wants to save it and bind herself to Hunson. I'm not heartless. Whether I can do this or not remains to be seen.

And then, a messy scrawl at the bottom of the page.

It is done. The surface-worlder lives. May she stay that way.

But of course she wouldn't. Pale, Bonnibel closed the book. As the information contained within sank into her consciousness the princess found tears stinging her eyes. Marcy never talks about her mother, or how she died. She… she has to know. This has to be the reason. Her mother died to make sure she could be born, and to make sure she could bind her soul to Hunson's. Before she could accidentally crush the book in her grip it was returned to its cage and she turned to the Keeper. "I'm ready." Without a word the demon unlocked the cage, allowing her to exit.

"Your Majesty, I've found-" It didn't take long for Peppermint Butler to register that his creator was morose, quiet, a demeanor far removed from when he last left her. "Your Majesty?"

She didn't hear him, too lost in her thoughts. This means Naxal is older than Marcy thought. He's done this before. If I have to die to truly be her's, so be it. It would be worth it.

I don't think Marceline would feel that way, Rechte mused. She's always been real clear that her worst nightmare is eternity without you.

It was a fair point. But. Do you think I'm being selfish?

Eh, I don't think that's the right word. Maybe there's another way?

There wasn't for Marceline's mother, but Rechte was right. Maybe this time would be different. It was worth pursuing at least. Bonnibel doubted she'd get closer to The Answer than a demon who somehow created a soulbind. If he was still alive. As the Keeper rose to return to his post Bonnibel followed. "My pardon, but one more question. Are you familiar with a demon named Naxal?"

The Keeper kept walking. "The Maker. Yes, he lives on the outskirts of the Citadel."

An internal sigh of relief as the princess looked for the reluctant demon temporarily instructed to help her. Jan, on the other hand, did not like that look. "Do you know where he lives?"

Jan shrugged. "Not really. I don't get out much. You know, being a slave and all."

Fair point. She still didn't like it. Or accept it. "And there's no way to find him?" A tone of voice that clearly meant 'think carefully before you answer'. The small demon squirmed. What a beautiful sight. "Jan," she prompted once more.

He broke. "Look, if I leave the Citadel I'm a dead guy, okay? I don't need that."

Peppermint Butler smirked. "We could kidnap you."

Jan glared, but before he could reply Bonnibel replicated her esteemed servant's smirk. "That's not a bad idea, Pep."

The less-than-esteemed servant raised his hands defensively. "Woah woah woah, let's hold that thought. Hunson's not going to care that I was kidnapped, just that I left."

"That is hardly my or Her Highness's concern. If we leave now we can be back before he even notices," Peppermint Butler said, like a liar.

"Uh uh."

"Jan," Bonnibel began sweetly. "Please try to understand this from my perspective. I have what may well be the answer to my dilemma and you are personally preventing me from obtaining it. I'm sure that, with time, I could find someone else to help me but I don't have time." If the demon were smart he would extort this knowledge. It helped that he was dumb as a stone. It made it easier to circumvent that line of reasoning. "However, I'm willing to make a deal. I understand that this is a risky endeavor for you, and I respect that," she began, like a liar. "If you help me find Naxal I will personally guarantee that Marcy will never do this," she gestured to his crippled leg, "or anything like it again."

He narrowed his eye suspiciously. "You don't have that authority."

Actually-

Mind out of the gutter, Rechte.

Aw, come on. He walked us into it!

Rechte.

Lame.

"It's not about authority. I am quite adept at curbing her more violent tendencies. Years of experience have granted me that skill. I'm sure I could find some way for her to express her displeasure for you in the future that does not involve physically maiming you."

You didn't say anything about her doing anything to his soul.

Correct.

Nice. Love it, love everything about it.

Jan squirmed once more, skeptical but obviously tempted. "Is anything Hunson could do worse than what Marceline could accomplish?"

"I dunno. I have to work for the guy until he lets me go."

"And if Marcy becomes Lady Evil you'd have to work for her for even longer."

The small demon snorted. "Yeah, that's never happening. She's been really clear on that, even to us down here."

"Can you take that chance?"

Could he take that chance? It was true that Hunson was sadistic, but at least Jan knew what he was like. It was worth the consideration that the man had never actually maimed him, whereas his daughter had. He'd even given him a cane to help him cope. And, of course, Princess Bubblegum was absolutely terrifying in of herself. "...Fine. We go now, though, and when we're done you two are leaving like… right then. Soon as we get back."

Bonnibel's smile was genuine. "That's perfectly acceptable. We'll meet Naxal, I'm sure I can persuade him to help, and then we'll leave immediately." Before Jan could change his mind the princess turned on her heel and strolled out of the library, ignoring the side-eyed glances she received from the other patrons for her trouble. Only once the trio were out of the library proper did she speak once more. "Lead the way. And Jan?"

"What?," he groaned, taking the lead.

"What lights the library? For a room so deep in the ground it's rather bright."

If she didn't know any better she could have sworn the demon had the nerve to roll his eye at her. "Probably Hunson's flame. Thing's bright."

Probably? More questions, but now was not the time. I'll find out when I convince Marcy to take me back. For now she had a job to do. Clutching the Bridge still nestled safely in her hand and hefting her bag she followed Jan back up the passageway, through the entrance, and out of the Citadel. Only then did she realize- "So you do know where he lives." It wasn't quite an accusation, but it sure was close.

Jan cleared his throat, fully away of the two sets of eyes boring into him from behind. How could a woman made of candy be so intimidating? "I mean… I guess I do. Maybe." That wasn't helping and he groaned in defeat. "Look, he's a Maker, okay? Not a lot of those. He does work for Hunson and sometimes Marceline. Dunno what kind, dun wanna know, dun wanna have any more limbs ripped off."

Bonnibel mulled this over. "And what exactly is a Maker?"

"Someone who makes stuff."

"Jan." Surprisingly, that was not Bonnibel, but rather Peppermint Butler and the demon stopped to glare at him.

"Look, caddy-"

"Children!," the candy golem sighed. "Could you please put this aside until we're finished? And Jan, don't be obstinate." He stared at her blankly. "Do not be difficult for the sake of being difficult," she clarified.

Jan grunted but turned back to the path ahead. "Not a lot of demons like to craft stuff. No reason to. Guy's weird though, he likes that kind of thing and Hunson actually pays him to do it. He also knows how to use stuff no one else does, or no one I've met anyway."

That was exciting and now Bonnibel's smile was a relieved one. "Could he maybe…" Though it was spoken out loud that sentence fragment was only to herself. There was no way Jan would know the answer, and no way she was going to give Peppermint Butler an excuse to vainly attempt to talk her out of her goal. He meant well, she knew, but he could never understand. She hadn't built him to. Instead she fell silent, allowing the demon to guide her away from the Citadel into the unknown. Did she like trusting him? No. But despite her trepidation, and what had befell him in the past, he really had no reason to betray her. Hunson had instructed him to help her, and though Marceline wasn't with her presently he was clearly terrified of her, and by extension Bonnibel herself. Now that I think about it, he has considered me her mate, hasn't he? Strange, but welcomed.

Though Peppermint Butler and Jan occasionally made snide remarks to one another the three travelled in relative peace. After clearing the entrance to the Nightosphere Jan turned left, away from the trail that led outside. He instead hugged the wall, following a new path that was much more faded, an indicator it was not often travelled. This was good, it meant there was less of a chance of running into any demons who were more inclined to make an attempt on the princess's life. The trail followed the outer edge of the mountainous terrain that seemed attached to the Citadel, a rocky-like region that no tiny demon appeared to occupy, perhaps due to its proximity to the palace itself. As they walked Bonnibel traced the stone-like material with her hand, admiring the heat that seemed to be trapped within. Under a circumstance where she wasn't in grave danger it would be a marvelous thing to behold, something definitely worth studying, but though this was the place it was not the time. Next time. With Marcy.

True to Jan's word, he took the pair of surface-dwellers to the outskirts of the Citadel but proceeded no further. It wasn't hard to tell, after all; the large black rock wall terminated rather abruptly, just past Bonnibel's field of vision. What lay beyond that border she didn't know, and without her mate at her side she wasn't particularly inclined to find out. If even the internal of the Nightosphere's borders contained demons willing to kill her who knew what the outside held. One day she would know. Today was not that day. Instead she followed the small demon as he joined her in tracing the wall, feeling every crack and gap and crack under his fingers. He was searching for something in the stone, that much was clearly evident by his flowed pace and almost comical look of concentration, if Jan was even capable of such a thing. Finally he stopped, tapping the spot he seemed to like better than all the others. "Okay, so a little while this way…," he mumbled, only to glare when Peppermint Butler cleared his throat. "What, caddy?"

"Are you looking for a shop?," the servant asked, clearly tired of all this nonsense.

"What's your point?"

Now he took a deep breath, a sign the candy golem recognized that he was running out of patience. "Then why not look up?" It was less of a question and more of an insult and the mint pointed skyward. Above Jan rested a cracked and illegible black sign, and behind that an uncommonly smooth sheet of rock. If that wasn't a tell-tale sign Bonnibel didn't know what was.

"Shut up, that's why."

Before he could suffer another insult Jan turned back to the smooth rock and knocked. Then knocked again. And then a third time. Finally Bonnibel motioned for him to scoot as politely as she could and knocked herself, much louder. When she turned back to him he was squinting at her. "The door to my laboratory is very thick. I can't hear anyone through it unless they knock quite loudly. I assume the principle is the same here."

"Look, who's the demon here?"

Peppermint Butler laughed, and not a good-natured one. "If we find a real demon I'll let you know."

"Okay, that's it. Just 'cause you're jeal-"

Then the sheet rock grated outward and to the side, pushed from within by some unknown entity, and Jan, Bonnibel, and Peppermint Butler were face-to-face with who could only be described as a real demon. He was tall, much taller than any demon Bonnibel had ever seen, even taller than Marceline and Hunson. Unlike any she had seen so far this newcomer was composed of two tan body segments rather than a humanoid torso like so many of the other demons. He walked on two long, thin, serrated legs that stood on anisodactyl feet, though his right most toe had been severed. It looked like a clean wound, an ancient one. Four arms, also long, thin, and serrated flanked his body, two per side, terminating in twin curved zygodactyl talons. His torso was ridged and looked harder than even the rock surrounding him, as if he could even resist being crushed or temperature extremes. Pressed against his back were two eriocraniid wings speckled with dark purple spots, and though his head was vaguely humanoid it was mostly flat, and he possessed two mandibles in place of a mouth, three eyes per side. If anything, he reminded Bonnibel of a large bug.

He watched the princess just as curiously as she watched him, eyes narrowing as if to filter out the strange light endemic to the Nightosphere. It didn't take long for her to notice that he had glanced only once at Peppermint Butler and not at all at Jan, focus monopolized by the young scientist whether she wanted it to be or not. Still, he didn't seem aggressive, only… skeptical, perhaps? Wary? Unsure? Something to that effect. Bonnibel remained still under his scrutiny all the same; if this was indeed who they were looking for there was no sense in accidentally insulting him, and the candy matriarch knew that she didn't know enough about demon culture to understand how not to insult one.

She suddenly wished she had taken a closer look at the 'Rituals and Customs' section back at the library.

When the tall demon finally spoke it was oddly gruff, accented by odd clicks and chirps. "I'm amazed you made it here alive."

Was he addressing her? Jan? No, he's definitely looking at me. Alright, Bubblegum. Be careful, and be diplomatic. Be sure you're addressing whom you're meant to address, you don't have time to waste. Who knows what time it is in Ooo? An excellent point."Are… you Naxal?"

In lieu of an answer the large bug turned, stalking back into what the monarch assumed was his home. "Come on, then. No use leaving you out there for someone to get ideas."

What a persuasive argument. While it wasn't exactly certain that this was who she was looking for it was definitely true that he wasn't trying to kill her. Could the other demons skulking around say that same? Outside where I can make a quick escape, or inside with a strange demon who won't even tell me who he is? Out of habit she looked to her side, where Marceline typically floated, but she found only Peppermint Butler. He shrugged unhelpfully. Help instead came from an unlikely place.

"Well, you found him. Can I go now?"

"Then how will we get home, Jan?"

He groaned. "Fine. We'll go inside, you do the thing you want to do, then I can go back to the things I do." It was almost a statement, but in the end it sounded more like a request. Regardless, he trotted after the bug, leaving Peppermint Butler to close the door behind him as he followed his creator after him.

...Oh! Contrary to her previous thought the large demon was not leading the three into his home. At least, not unless his home looked exactly like a forge. It was one large, circular, spacious room. The black walls, carved from the same stone-like substance as the lower levels of the Citadel, were decorated with tools and gadgets only some of which Bonnibel recognized. There were hammers and pliers and chisels and other common hardware, but there were also pointed rods crackling with electricity, a steel pipe almost half her height that seemed to hum, and what looked like a furnace in great disuse, now used as storage. Almost every wall was absolutely covered with both high and low technology, new and old tools. It was an impressive collection, one that showed considerable wear in some pieces. He knows how to use these. That was a wonder in of itself and further cemented her opinion that this demon was different from the others, exactly as Marceline had said. A tool user who spoke gruffly but politely, with a glint of intelligence in his many eyes and what was almost humor in his voice.

She liked him immediately. She could see why Marceline did, too.

In the center of the room was a massive hunk of metal that was almost impenetrable. It reminded Bonnibel of an anvil she had once seen in a book penned from the time before the bombs, when blacksmithing was accomplished with only brawn and experience. Judging by the dents in the dark grey metal it was something the demon often used as a workbench. The numerous heavy objects hanging off of it to the side only cemented her hypothesis. Even more rested near buckets and troughs, one of which was filled with a strange bronze liquid. It stained the trough, an indicator that it was heavily used if there ever was one. Almost a quarter of the room's edge was monopolized by a large metal crate housing slumbering fire, waiting to be fed its master's scraps, and not far from that there were dozens of chests and trunks, all closed, some featuring thick and large locks and chains.

The demon stopped next to the bench then turned to face Bonnibel, blatantly ignoring the room's tinier inhabitants. "Ah, I forgot. Yes, I am Naxal. I thought it better to get you inside from the open. It's safer in here, no one will come except for a customer and I vet them."

Bonnibel's eyes brightened. "Excellent! It's wonderful to meet you, Naxal. My name is-"

"Bonnibel Bubblegum," he replied. Even if he didn't look amused - perhaps due to the lack of facial muscles - he certainly sounded it. "Yes, I know a great deal about you. As her mate you're the Heir's favorite topic." The princess hadn't expected that answer. Any part of it. So, he continued. "Ruler of the most powerful surface-world kingdom, a genius who can put anyone, including me, to shame," he recited, as if he had heard this spiel thousands of times before. "Creator of life itself, master of the physical sciences," he continued. "Strength beyond force-"

"Yes," Bonnibel interjected quickly, blushing furiously. It was one thing to know that those were all accurate descriptors, it was another to know that not only did Marceline think them but she evidently repeated them to others, to people she never intended or expected the younger woman to meet. "Those… do seem like the sorts of things Marcy might say." She talks about me? I didn't think- Naxal made a noise she supposed was a laugh, and with it Bonnibel realized what he had first said. "You were expecting me to come?"

The noise stopped. Naxal watched her carefully, taking in her demeanor. How stressed she looked, how tired. But how eager. "Yes. And I think I know why you're here, but you must say it."

Is this a mind game?

Maybe it's like when foreign peeps come to you for help, and you won't do anything 'till you know exactly what it is they want? 'Cause… misunderstandings? I dunno, you're the brainlord.

That did make sense, not that it made it any more pleasant. "I'm here because of Marceline. You called me her mate. So… you must know?" He watched her carefully, not rewarding that slight evasion. "I found your books, in the Citadel's library. Including the one…"

When she didn't continue he seemed to understand why and took mercy. "About the Heir's mother."

Bonnibel turned those four words over in her mind, acutely aware that she had not only discovered information she may never have been meant to know she was discussing this information in front of both a stranger and Peppermint Butler. But… this stranger is a friend of her's, and while she and Pep don't exactly get along he would never- "Yes. She came to you over a thousand years ago. You found a way to bind her soul to Hunson's?"

"I did."

And that's why I'm here to see you as well. But why was it so hard to say that? This was what she wanted, there was no doubt in her mind about that. It was what Bonnibel wanted more than anything; to truly be her vampire's mate, not just in title but in role as well. To repay her for everything she had ever done, every sacrifice she had ever made, to understand her on a level impossible in her current position.

Yeah, but who is this guy?

A fair question. "And… who are you? I was unaware until quite recently that Marceline had any positive connections to the Nightosphere. Forgive me, but-"

Naxal shook his head with a sound similar to a grunt. Or a small clicking noise. "I am like you. A Maker."

"There is no one like Her Majesty," came a small mutter from a small man made of mint.

Naxal ignored him. "You and I are alike. We find the secrets of the universe fascinating and wish to study them. I have lived in this dimension for so long that I remember when most of my brethren were human once. I study it, and everything in it." There was a subtle undertone that could only translate to: 'just like you want to.'

But there was a discrepancy that Bonnibel couldn't ignore. "Marcy indicated that you were younger than her, or myself, by a great deal."

Though he shook his head his eyes held a glint, like he wanted to nod. "In a way. Death has a different meaning for demons because many of us have already experienced it once. The ones not born here anyway. I don't know what I was once, and I don't care. I have died at least twice, possibly more."

"But here you are."

Naxal turned from Bonnibel to look down at Peppermint Butler. She almost admonished him for his rudeness, almost, before decided two things simultaneously: this was a foreign kingdom with its own rules and traditions to be adhered to, and that if Pep was going to be insolent when he was just as much a guest in someone else's home she would not protect him from being reminded as much. To his credit, despite their great size different the small servant did nothing, not even flinch. Exactly what she would expect, no less. "Caddy. Tell me, if Death were to come for you now would you go with him? Would you go to Dead World? Or would you stay in your castle with your… whatever the Heir's mate is to you?"

Peppermint Butler narrowed his eyes and bristled at the demon's informal conversation, but it was Bonnibel who responded. She wasn't sure why, or what compelled her to do so, but she had to admit that it was an important question to ask even of herself. "No. I would stay in Ooo."

"You are happy there," he nodded. "With your… whatever it is your kind do when you're not being a Surface-Maker. When I have died I have returned here. I do not know what or who I was before my time in the Nightosphere, and I don't care."

"Then… who are you here?"

His mandle clicked, a sound Bonnibel would later realize was one of pleasure. "I am one of Hunson's oldest… well, not friends, beings like him don't have friends, but close enough that I only call him 'Lord Abadeer' sarcastically."

"And close enough that you convinced him to force Marcy to learn Demonic."

Now he did laugh. "Ah, yes. That was fun. You think she's a handful now? Try the same powers, strength, and age, but fueled by teenage angst from having her heart broken." Bonnibel wasn't sure if that was meant to be a dig at or reference to her, but it seemed both fair enough to assume so and likely. "If she's going to lead us one day she needed to know how to at least speak like a real demon, have some pride."

"Marceline has no intention of ever taking Hunson's place," the candy golem replied automatically.

"Would you have taken that chance if you were in my place?"

"...No."

"It made a good distraction and she's better off for it."

Peppermint Butler cleared his throat as he continued to glare at his host. "That doesn't explain who you are."

"I told you, I am a Maker and the closest thing this dimension has to an academic. I give Hunson insight into things he's forgotten and make tools and trinkets for discerning customers. Which," he returned his attention to the princess, "brings us back to why we're here, doesn't it, Surface-Maker?"

Was that meant to be a compliment? Yes, Bonnibel decided, it was. At the very least it was accurate. "I want to bond my soul to Marceline's," she rushed before she could think too hard on it a second time. "You did it once. Can you do it again?"

Wrong question.

Butterbrittle. "Would you be willing to do it again?"

Better!

Naxal watched her quietly, assessing something she wasn't privy to. When he spoke it was quiet, almost… sad. An emotion the young scientist wasn't sure demons who weren't her lover could experience. "You remind me of her. Different eyes, different species, lots of those. But you're just as determined, aren't you? Won't leave me alone until I agree?"

There was no question who he was referring to. "No," Bonnibel promised. "I won't."

Another click. "She vowed the same. The Heir never told you how she died, did she?"

Was he avoiding the topic? No, he doesn't seem like that kind of… person? He's been very forward so far. "No. Marceline never talks about her mother." And now I know why. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach.

"I liked her," he admitted. "She was a good match for Hunson. The Heir thinks she gets her stubbornness from him. No, she gets her temper from him, she gets her stubbornness from her mother. I can see why his soul chose her."

"And for her trouble she was killed." Even Peppermint Butler seemed stunned by his own sarcasm that time. Not that it stopped Bonnibel from glaring at him. Even Jan shot him a silent Look.

Naxal seemed unphased and continued to ignore him. He wasn't important enough to warrant a response it seemed. "Have you considered that this could kill you, Surface-Maker?"

He sounded genuinely curious. Bonnibel just sounded genuine. "I have. I don't care."

"Have you considered that she might?"

"Yes."

"You don't care?" Of all things, he sounded amused.

Bonnibel bit the inside of her cheek, then quickly let go. Now was not the time to indulge. "Of course I care, and if I had to guess I suppose this is one of the reasons Marcy never told me about it even being possible for me to bind my soul to her's." In a small betrayal of her anxiety a pink hand trailed to her bag and clutched the fabric, tracing the threads to steady its owner's thoughts. "But rather than make an assumption it will kill me I prefer to hear the details from you." There, only half a lie. She was getting better.

Click. "Well, it may kill you. So could walking outside or eating a very hot pepper. In the Heir's mother's case it was bad timing."

"Bad timing?" That was unexpected.

"Aye. Binding your soul is a contractual agreement more than anything. Her offering was alive. If the Heir died it would sever the bond. She would have lost both her soul-bind and her offspring at once. She already loved the Heir, even before her birth, and it seemed common sense to her that she would protect her to her death regardless. If the fabric of reality hadn't been tearing itself apart due to the humans and their weapons I imagine she and the Heir would have enjoyed some sort of life together, but circumstances forced her soul to prioritize the Heir over her own life."

Bonnibel repressed a shiver at the implication. "In order for Marceline to live her mother had to die. Is that what killed her?"

A very dangerous question, and one that objectively there was no time to properly explore, but it tumbled out and that was that. "Do your kind have immune systems, Surface-Maker?"

What? "Yes."

"If you remove the immune system what happens?"

"We become prone to infection. Inevitably, we would…" ...Oh.

"Yes," he nodded when she trailed off. "Essentially she lost her immune system, and the End of the World killed her. She was fortunate, as a mother, that the Heir's unique physiology protected her from the human world's poison after the bombs fell and that another human would find and raise her. I suppose you're both fortunate in that regard."

Simon… "Yes," Bonnibel said with every seldom-used strand of sincerity she possessed in her voice. "I hate the person I become without her. She softens me into someone worth more than my role as a ruler."

"Now tell me… have I just convinced you to go through with this, or to abandon the cause?"

There was no more hesitation. "I want to bind my soul to Marceline's. I want to share this with her. Will you help me?"

"Yes."

Peppermint Butler narrowed his eyes. "You responded quite readily. What is it you are going to ask in return? What exactly is in it for you? I know how demons operate."

Naxal looked down at the fuming candy. "I can see why Hunson likes you so much. You mistrust everyone."

"Are you saying we should trust you?"

Click, and the demon returned to Bonnibel. From the corner Jan snickered at Peppermint Butler's indignation. "A trade."

Bonnibel raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

One of the demon's arm's gestured to the massive workshop. "It isn't often I meet another Maker, let alone one of your… reputation." It was almost a snicker and the candy princess blushed again. "I am going to provide you with some of my work. In return, I want some of your own."

"Why?" Peppermint Butler's squint of mistrust was threatening to become permanent.

Bonnibel, on the other hand, found herself relaxing. Her greatest candy creation may not understand but this was a compliment, and a request she would be glad to honor. Naxal undoubtedly knew that the young scientist was bordering on desperate. Logically, he could ask for almost anything it would be a fair bet that she would accept his terms, but this was more than reasonable. And it's an opportunity to build a positive relationship with a Nightosphere denizen, someone who knows so much history is was so unusual. An unlikely kindred spirit. Yes, this was more than acceptable. "Agreed. Did you have anything specific in mind?"

"Did you?"

Bonnibel blinked, paused… then smiled. Her mind was already grinding into gear, shapes and blueprints taking form in her mind without her bidding, but with her welcome. It was one thing to invent for herself, but it another to invent for a being from an alternate dimension who could share her appreciation for science… even if demons did erroneously call it 'magic'. In fact, that alone gave her an idea. "Yes. I believe I know just the thing I could build for you. It's-"

"Ah, don't tell me. Nothing surprising happens here. It'll be a good thing to look forward to. But," he pointed to her, "I want you to deliver it to me. With the Heir. I haven't seen her since she left and she has something of mine."

The smile widened. "That's more than fair."

"I look forward to seeing what you come up with. Show me you're everything that the Heir claims, Surface-Maker, so that I do not regret this." Though Peppermint Butler flushed indignantly, fuming at the assertion that his creator could ever be below anyone, Bonnibel only laughed softly. She was just so much more experienced than he was at complimentary sarcasm, and she wondered if it was endemic to demons or just a byproduct of his age.

"Agreed," she repeated. "Now… how do we…?" It was an awkward way to get down to work, but Jan was beginning to fidget and she supposed that, despite her poor opinion of the small servant, he was risking quite a bit to be with them. And it wouldn't hurt to complete her quest either.

"Ah, yes. You're going to have to make a sacrifice."

"I beg your-"

He glanced down at Peppermint Butler, silencing him. "A big one." When he looked back up he found that Bonnibel had grown positively ashen and his head tilted in curiosity. "I take it you have something in mind?"

When she didn't respond the butler turned to watch her, watch her sudden tension, the way she was gripping her bag, how she was looking anywhere but at them. Or, more specifically, him. He did not like the sudden demeanor change, and he tensed as well. "Your Majesty?," he asked cautiously.

Bonnibel wasn't listening. In truth she did have something in mind, something she knew she would never be forgiven for relinquishing. Before now she wasn't sure why she had even brought it with her. For security, she had assumed until this moment, as a reminder of who she was, what she was, what she had and could accomplish if she put her brilliant mind to it. She had even forgotten she was carrying it for a time, it just seemed like it was an extension of herself.

Bon?

Even Rechte sounded concerned, and in any other context that would have filled the princess with wry amusement. But Rechte was the vocalization of the younger woman's subconscious, and as such she could already tell not only what was causing Bonnibel's distress but see for herself what it was. A memory. A voice that would haunt her for years.

One day, Bonnie, you're going to be ready. And when that day comes, I want this back.

With her eyes closed the candy princess could almost feel Lady Evil's cool hands wrapped around her's. She could almost sense the weight of her crown's royal gem being pressed into her palm from when the demon had ripped it free from the metal to admire it, only to return it to its owner. Her hand clenched in time with the memory around the Bridge, as if for the second time the embodiment of Despair was closing the pink fingers around the sacred object. Even without meaning to Bonnibel could still see the mischievous glint in those garnet eyes, identical to the ones she had fallen in love with centuries ago. Instinctively she pocketed the Bridge, too afraid she would break it in her state of mind.

Had Lady Evil known? Had she suspected that it would be inevitable, all of this? For Bonnibel to grow to ferociously want her own soul to be bound, to travel to the Nightosphere, to seek out the one demon alive who happened to not only perform this ceremony but to perform it for the demon's mother a thousand years prior? Sure, Lady Evil was a tactical genius, she had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt, but if true she would border on omniscience. No… that's not it. She just knew me. Knows me. Marcy's always known me better than I've known myself. Maybe she didn't know this exact course of events would unfold, but perhaps she had a good enough idea that she didn't need the fine details. Why else would she specifically target the gem?

Maybe she wasn't. I don't think that gem is what the sacrifice is all about, you know? Just, like… I dunno. A byproduct?

But then what? Rechte was silent, leaving Bonnibel to put together those pieces for herself. When I was able to tempt her into reviving Unifier she had already won. She didn't need to enter into a bargain with me, she would have been able to come back to Ooo and assumed control of the Citadel. She only risked everything because I offered my kingdom. She wanted to humiliate me further.

Eh…

What? Even her internal thoughts sounded like a warning.

What if you thought about the crown and gem as two different things?

But what use does-

And then she knew. With a deep breath Bonnibel dove her hand into her bag and withdrew her crown in all of its glory. With something like reverence, something like disgust, she handed it to Naxal, who took it carefully. He never stopped watching her, too engrossed in this obvious mental battle she was engaged in. As Peppermint Butler floundered under the weight of his many objections Bonnibel withdrew her hand. "This crown marks me as the leader of the Candy Kingdom. I built my kingdom from nothing, and I did it with Marcy's help because she believed in me, and my dream. She knew… well, we thought this would make me happy, but all it did was tear us apart because I put it before her, and she let me. I realize now that this crown has been a symbol of my pride and hubris, a testament to both my power and how often I've recklessly used it. It's an object with no intrinsic value, but I still treasured it more than her. In its…," she began, sighing as her eyes closed. Unwilling to push it away this time, Bonnibel let the memory of the night she finally convinced Marceline to try wearing the amulet - the night that began this travesty - wash over her. "Because I wear a crown I wanted her to wear one, too, and that desire almost killed her. My pride has toppled enemy empires and made me the greatest force in all of Ooo, but I see now that my crown is only an object. An object that I valued more than my best friend."

His talon tapped the gem delicately. "And this?"

Her eyes trailed to the light blue orb. "That… is called a royal gem. It has special properties. It protects whoever it's attuned to from negative and undue influence, granting them clarity and mental grounding. I once used it to resist the Lich, and I've used it throughout my life to enhance my own intelligence and to gain both wisdom and insight. Though it is customary in Ooo for royalty to wear royal gems mine is a great deal more powerful, and I'm much more adept at using it. We are bonded. Combined, both components have always acted as my shield, protecting me from all manner of threats, both from without and within."

"How fitting that your permanent humility should be your sacrifice then," Naxal mused, clutching the twisted metal delicately. "Yes, that's acceptable. You… wear this, then? That is how it functions?"

"Yes," she nodded. "The gem is attuned to me, and when I wear it-"

"Then it will no longer be attuned to you."

Peppermint Butler balked as his creator nodded sadly. "That would be best." Marcy needs a shield more than I do.

Naxal turned towards the pile of chests the princess had noted when she had first entered the workshop. "If it works when being worn then it is best we do not try to change it. If what you say is accurate than it is sentient to an extent, and it must be transitioned to its new master."

"I have an idea for that."

It was said so quietly the demon almost missed it. He stopped to pick up a chest large enough to throw both Jan and Peppermint Butler into - and oh how he was tempted - before returning to his honored guest. He found her hunched over his anvil, scribbling on a parchment so large it took up almost the entire surface area. Were it anyone else he would admonish them for touching his workshop. But her? No, this was fascinating, watching this strange woman work. Her melancholy look of determination, her precise movements, the way her sharp green eyes traced her handiwork. Yes, he was beginning to see the glimmers of truth in his old student's claims. "What are you designing?"

"It came to me in a dream," she whispered, though whether it was to him or herself he did not know. What he did know was better than to interrupt a fellow Maker, it was terribly rude after all, and instead he busied himself by settling the chest on the ground and approaching the slumbering fire.

"Come on, old friend, we have work to do." As if it were sapient the fire crackled loudly, and once a black lump was tossed into the flames it roared to life. Pleased, the demon turned to return to his anvil, only to be halted by- "Yes, caddy?"

Peppermint Butler was still frowning. "I'm not sure what you're up to-"

"I don't have time for this," Naxal sighed before returning to his surface colleague. "You have something, Surface-Maker?"

Bonnibel sighed, stepping away from the anvil. "Would this suffice?" It was a quiet question, loaded with tension, but he didn't blame her. The Heir's mother had been the same way just before her binding.

Instead he gingerly plucked the scroll in two of his free hands, scrutinizing every detail. It was an interesting design, one he had certainly never seen before, but it was beautiful in its simplicity. "A dream, you say?" Without waiting for a response he turned to- "Jan, come here and make yourself useful."

The smaller demon groaned but trotted over to the pair. "What-"

"Thank you." The scroll was plopped on his head, his tiny horns used to mount the parchment in place. "Good, stay exactly like that." Ignoring his insignificant objections Naxal glanced to Bonnibel. She was only growing more tense, more uneasy, and he was beginning to suspect it may not have anything to do with the procedure itself at all. No, it had only begun when she mentioned having a dream. Curious. "Here, I have something to show you." That got her attention, and as the princess watched Naxal rested the crown on the anvil and opened the chest, revealing a large, black lump. Well, 'black' was a little inaccurate. Instead it seemed to absorb all of the surrounding light, a material with properties that could no visually be discerned. In fact, were it not nestled in a contained space Bonnibel wouldn't be sure as to its actual size at all; even in the chest there seemed to be some sort of optical illusion, something that made her head hurt the more she thought about it and gazed into its abyss.

Or maybe that was because of how eerily familiar it looked. "What is it?"

The fascination had returned to her voice. He found he liked that better than melancholy. "It doesn't have a name, but it's a material unique to the Nightosphere. It's sapient, capable of great destruction or great benefit depending on its intended purpose." When she reached to touch it he politely closed the lid. "Ah, I wouldn't, Surface-Maker. It doesn't know you yet. It doesn't know how to respond to you. This is what your offering will be made of."

"Why?"

Yes, the fascination was much better indeed. "It's a fantastic anchor, once you can convince it of its purpose. It's almost indestructible in that its master has to damage it purposefully for it to be destroyed. I'll reason with it and introduce your gem to it carefully. As two sentient objects they must accept one another."

Bonnibel frowned. "You say this as if I will not be creating it."

He laughed, but it was something good-natured and almost forgivable. "I assure you, Surface-Maker, you will indeed be performing a part… but the actual creation you will leave to me. If this were to harm you the Heir would come straight for me, and that is not a fight I would survive." When she opened her mouth in a clear attempt to argue he gestured to the crown. "There, tell your gem what is happening while I construct the vessel. Once your turn is at hand I will let you know."

Before she could argue the demon shoved the crown back into her un-awaiting hands and gently pushed her out of his work space. With a sigh she turned away from him, letting him begin his work. Did she like that she wasn't doing the actual constructing? Of course not. But how could she argue with his reasoning and still call herself a logical person? And so, though she felt foolish, Bonnibel looked down at the crown that had protected her and carefully lowered herself to the floor, not at all surprised when her servant joined her moments later. "Pep, don't."

"Your Highness," he ignored. "Are you absolutely sure it's wise to-"

She zoned out. There was nothing her creation could say that would dissuade her, and though she felt a bit silly in doing so if Naxal was going to provide instructions she would follow them. Silently. In her mind. Thank you. You're going to protect her now. She needs a shield to help her recover. She deserves the same peace of mind you've brought me. What else could she say? At some point in her ponderance she began to doze, roused only when she felt a pair of familiar albeit small hands nudge her. "Pep?"

"He's calling you," he replied, not warmly.

Not that she cared. "Thank you." As she pushed herself into a standing position Bonnibel gripped her crown tightly, approaching the tall demon with caution. She found him standing before the great fire, grasping the vessel that would hold her crown's gem, complete. How long was I sleeping?

"Good." He plucked the crown and turned back to the fire. "Now comes your part. Hand me the chisel pick and ladle on the wall, and something to put a liquid in."

Intrigued, and with only slight apprehension, Bonnibel did as she was bid. The chisel pick was easy enough to find, even if it was small and something she'd expect to see in a jeweler's workshop instead of a forge. An unbroken cup took longer and came only with Peppermint Butler's reluctant help, having been hid by the anvil where it made absolutely no sense to stash it. The ladle rested nearby, a long iron thing that wasn't very big but had a long handle. The requested items were quickly returned to the demon. "Will these suffice?" Naxal nodded and began to systematically dismantle the crown. In all honesty, Bonnibel had expected to feel anxious upon seeing her crown destroyed, the gem ripped out, the metal melted down. It reminded her of a carrion bird tearing a carcass apart, and she waited for the sickening sensation to afflict her at any moment. It never did. No, instead it made her all the more eager, all the more ready to be done with it, all of it, to return home and to find some way to convince Marceline to accept her offer, to accept the object nestled in the princess's arms protectively. Already she felt attached to the accessory, overactive mind imagining all of the possible ways she could reveal her gift to her lover, all the ways she could proclaim her intention with eloquence and poise. When Naxal reached for the gift she reflexively held it closer, out of his reach, only to blush and turn it over to him when she saw how blatantly entertained he looked. Even if he was too polite to say anything. Moments later she would forget her embarrassment entirely.

"Come see."

And there it was, the finished creation. It was so familiar in its complete form. Hard, harder than anything she had ever seen on the surface world. So dark it seemed to absorb all of the light surrounding it. A gold latch on the underside, to fit it into place around its new owner's arm. Her royal gem - or at least, what once was her royal gem - embedded in the center of the accessory. It was beautiful. It was exactly as Bonnibel remembered. It was a product from a Cosmic Owl dream.

It was the most beautiful vambracer she had ever seen.

"We have only one step left." Naxal pushed Jan to the side in what she supposed was meant to be a dismissal before unlatching the bracer, laying it on the anvil, next to the ladle containing the molten liquid remains of Bonnibel's gold crown. From the toolbag hanging from the side he produced a device that looked similar to a quill, if quills were short, metallic, lined with sharp spines along the outer ridge and so cold she marvelled at how touching it didn't burn her when it was thrust in her direction. "Take this. You're going to write your vow to her in your crown's ink. Here, dip it in. You must write in our language, not yours."

The moment the tip of the quill touched the gold it absorbed it like ink, and Bonnibel hovered the device over the bracer. "And… how exactly…?"

The thing.

Oh! Feeling foolish, Bonnibel produced the Bridge from her jacket pocket and affixed it to her eye like a jeweler's magnifying glass. "What do I say? Is there any protocol?"

"Nothing in this dimension has protocol, Surface-Maker." It didn't escape her notice that he was almost staring at the Bridge; even if he said nothing it was quite clear that he both recognized it and never expected to see it again. Not with that expression. "Vow to bind her soul to her's. Instruct your gem to protect her now."

Bonnibel nodded along, but didn't write. No, this would require a certain romantic eloquence she did not typically possess and that meant she had to plan what she was going to say carefully. An offering is a contractual agreement. That's what he said. So… She leaned over her canvass, touching the quill to the bracer. In the back of her mind she thought of it as less like writing and more like soldering, less like creating something new and more like repairing what was broken. That made it flow more freely.

I bind my soul to Marceline Abadeer's so long as she chooses for our souls to be bound. As I valued power and pride more than anything I grant both now to her. The attuned gem will protect her from threats that may attempt to corrupt her mind. As she is mine, I am now her's.

She paused, before adding one last line with the last remaining ink.

Apart we are powerful. Together we are devastating.

It was only when she removed the Bridge from her eye that she noticed, with a shiver, that without its aid the text looked exactly like rust-colored streaks, exactly as it has appeared in her dream. It was unsettling.

"It is done." Naxal nodded with pride, though whether it was of her or his handiwork was a mystery. "Protect it until she's ready to wear it. To complete the process a piece of your soul must be absorbed. Only two demons can do such a thing. I can't imagine Hunson will help you. You must convince the Heir put the final piece in place and complete the circle."

Bonnibel smiled, reverently picking up the vambracer. "Thank you, Naxal."

"Aye. Remember, she has to willingly accept your offer. That part is up to you."

Fair point, but before she could dismiss herself she had to ask. "What… will it feel like?"

"The binding?" He shrugged, though it seemed to be out of ignorance rather than a dismissal of a legitimate concern. "I have never formed a soul-bind. I'm afraid I don't know. Why not go find out? Before she comes looking for you."

Another fair point. "Thank you," she repeated. "I'll be back soon with the agreed upon payment."

"And the Heir," he reminded her.

"And Marcy," she agreed.

"Can we go now?!" Jan tapped his foot, ripping the blueprint from his horns. "'Cause I'm already probably dead, and I don't wanna be definitely dead."

"As much as it pains me, Your Grace, I must agree," Peppermint Butler sighed. "It's impossible to know the time in the Nightosphere and it's a miracle Miss Abadeer hasn't noticed your absence as it is."

A third fair point. "Very well. Proceed, Jan." She ignored his sarcastic 'hooray', instead following behind as he led them out of the workshop. By the time she turned for one last look of her new friend the door had closed.

"Your Majesty," Peppermint Butler started quietly as Jan began to lead the pair back to the Citadel and the gateway home. "How exactly-"

"This didn't happen, Pep."

He blinked. "Your Majesty?"

She looked to him, not satisfied until their eyes met. "Marcy doesn't need to know that we're aware of what happened to her mother. She's not ready to discuss it, and while I would prefer never to lie to her again this is an exception. Further, she does not need to know Naxal's involvement. She believes him to be much younger than he is, and it's safe to assume if she did know his involvement in her mother's…" She couldn't finish that thought and continued without it. "He would be perma-dead."

He scowled, but didn't argue. As distasteful as he found the vampire if what the large demon had said was true her life before her time as his creator's consort was even more pitiful than he had imagined, and while he was a shrewd mint he wasn't heartless. Besides, that wasn't his concern anyway. "And if she doesn't agree to any of this?"

"Then she doesn't agree. I'm not going to force this on her, Pep." But she'll agree. In time, maybe, but she will. I know she will.

Wisely, the esteemed servant chose to remain silent. It wasn't his place to argue with his matriarch, and even if he was typically daring enough to try anyway she was too on edge, too tense. Too exhausted. No, he had a mission, and that was to escort her home. Everything else could wait. And so he remained silent as Jan returned the pair to the Citadel, listened politely as his liege thanked Hunson for his hospitality and complimented his library, gratefully returning the Bridge to him. He glared daggers at Jan as the demon made a rude gesture while the Lord of Evil opened the gateway home, and when the pair of surface-dwellers did finally return to Ooo he breathed a sigh of relief at the glimmer of sunlight trying in vain to trickle its way through the windows.

"Have the rest of the day off, Pep. I'm going to get some rest before Marcy comes home." There was no room for argument; Bonnibel only held the vambracer against her shooed him away, and locked the door to her rooms. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief, releasing all of her tension as she dropped her bag to the ground and kicked her shoes far away, out of her sight. After only a brief acknowledgement to the animal residents she collapsed on her bed, marvelling at its softness. It's done. I did it. I have my offering. She'll be home by morning, and I'll find the perfect way to present it to her.

With a soft, satisfied smile Bonnibel cuddled the vambracer to her chest and fell into a sleep that could only be described as triumphant.