Hey y'all. Sorry for not updating this story as much anymore. Been preoccupied with a lot of stuff, from my responsibilities as a Senior, to my Thesis, lack of interest, and even my part-time job keeps putting a strain in my schedule that it won't allow me to be as active as I once was.
However, I will try to update this story as much as I can, despite its lack of feedback and interest. But now I won't make it too deep and plot heavy as I did with my other sotries. This'll basically be a series of chapters based on Webisodes that'll be pure-lighthearted, but sometimes heavy, type of fun and enjoyment.
H: Let this be a lesson that I will never falter in my conquest! I! WILL! ALWAYS! RISE!
Haze strained against the magical bindings, muscles tensed, every ounce of his remaining strength funneled into breaking free. The chair beneath him groaned as he twisted and yanked, but the shimmering restraints held firm, pulsing with quiet defiance.
It was an odd sight — the Prince of the Underworld, reduced to a struggling captive. The other students couldn't help but steal glances, their expressions varying from smug amusement to wary curiosity.
"Keep that up, and you'll chafe those lovely wrists of yours, dear boy," Professor Thanos remarked, his voice positively dripping with mock concern.
Haze growled under his breath, golden eyes blazing with murder, but Thanos merely beamed in response.
"Oh, and stop scowling so much. That's how one gets wrinkles, you know."
A ripple of quiet laughter swept through the class. Haze's scowl deepened. Perfect. Not only was he trapped, but now he was the class entertainment.
"Now then," Thanos continued, spinning his cane idly as he sauntered around the room. "Before we begin today's delightful little session, does anyone care to share their progress from our last discussion?"
Silence. A few students muttered under their breath, avoiding his expectant gaze.
Thanos let out a deeply exaggerated sigh, dramatically clutching his chest as if he had just been mortally wounded. "Oh, the agony! The tragedy! Must I always be the one carrying the weight of enthusiasm in this room?"
A few chuckles. Still, no volunteers.
"No wrong answers here, my dears! Development is not a straight path, but a delightful little maze filled with unexpected turns." His silver eyes landed on a particular student. "Ah, Miss Hood! A vision of mystery, as always. How about you?"
Cerise Hood, still half-hidden beneath her cloak, shifted uncomfortably. "…I guess?" she mumbled. "I mean, I didn't really get the point of the whole… breathing thing."
Thanos clicked his tongue, unfazed. "Ah, yes! A common conundrum! Why, one might ask, should I concern myself with something I already do every second of the day?" He spun on his heel, hands outstretched as he addressed the class.
"But breath control, dear students, is more than just inhaling and exhaling. It is the art of commanding yourself. It is the fine line between reckless destruction and calculated power."
He began pacing, his words weaving effortlessly through the air, drawing the students in. Even the more skeptical ones found themselves listening.
"You see, my charmingly volatile pupils, anger is not a beast to be banished — oh, no, no, no! It is a beast to be tamed." He tapped his cane against the floor. "To recap, breath control is about harnessing that lovely little fire inside you. It is the leash on a wild wolf, the reins on a thunderous steed. Allow me to demonstrate."
He inhaled deeply, a slow, theatrical breath, and the class followed — some with curiosity, others with hesitation.
"And now," he exhaled, his voice softer, smoother, almost hypnotic, "release."
A quiet ripple passed through the room. One by one, the students mimicked him, their inhales and exhales aligning into a slow, rhythmic pulse. The room seemed lighter somehow, the tension dissolving like mist under the morning sun.
Except for one.
Haze.
The rattling of his bindings cut through the tranquility like the scraping of chains in a tomb. His claws dug into the arms of the chair, golden eyes ablaze, seething against the very concept of control.
"I see someone is struggling to relax," Thanos mused, tilting his head.
Haze snarled, yanking harder.
"The more you fight it," Thanos continued cheerfully, "the harder it will be for you to pass this class."
Haze barely heard him over the roaring heat rising within him. His hair flared, casting flickering blue flames across the chamber walls. The air grew thick with the scent of burning ozone, the warmth in the room steadily climbing. Some students shifted in their seats, casting wary glances his way.
Yet Thanos Grim was utterly unfazed. He met Haze's infernal glare with a smile.
"Why don't you take this precious moment to reflect?" Thanos suggested, his voice dropping just a fraction, like a knife gliding against glass. "Perhaps be more… empathetic. Maybe even a touch remorseful."
A shiver ran through the room, though no one could quite place why.
Thanos took a single step closer, eyes gleaming with something that wasn't just amusement anymore. "After all, the gods know just how many wrongs you've committed. The mistakes you've made. The people you've hurt."
Haze stiffened.
The air shifted.
The warmth he had created moments ago began to feel... suffocating. Like a weight pressing against his chest, creeping into his ribs, filling the spaces between his bones.
Thanos turned his back to him, pacing once more. "Anger is a poison, dear students," he continued, his tone deceptively light. "A delightful little venom, if you will, that will consume you — if you let it."
Haze's fire dimmed slightly. But his glare did not waver.
"Come now, Haze, humor me!" Thanos spun back around, all grand theatrics once more. "Take a deep breath. Take in all your worries, all your regrets, all your oh-so-many grievances."
Haze clenched his jaw. His fingers twitched. He hated being ordered around.
But the faster he played along, the faster this ridiculous class would end.
Fine.
Haze inhaled. Deep, slow, controlled.
…And something shifted.
The feeling was wrong. Unfamiliar. It stirred inside him like a foreign presence, like something was… pulling at him from within. Not rage. Not chaos. But something else.
He didn't like it.
"And release."
Haze exhaled sharply, as if banishing the sensation from his lungs. The unnatural calm that threatened to settle over him dissipated, and he reminded himself — this was not who he was. He was chaotic, wicked, destructive. He had no need for serenity.
He was meant to be feared, not pacified.
Thanos clapped his hands together. "Ah! Progress! Look at you, already taking your first little steps toward enlightenment!"
Haze's lips curled into a snarl.
"Oh, don't look so sour," Thanos chided, twirling his cane. "Growth is a marvelous thing! And I do so enjoy watching it unfold."
That grin never left his face.
And for the first time, Haze wondered — who exactly was teaching who?
The heavy creak of the classroom door echoed through the chamber, signaling the end of the lesson. One by one, the students rose from their seats, stretching, whispering amongst themselves as they shuffled toward the exit.
Some left hastily, as if eager to escape the lingering weight of the session, while others cast lingering glances at the one student still bound to his chair.
Haze.
He remained locked in place, body trembling from the strain of resisting the magic that held him captive. His golden eyes burned with unrelenting fury, seething and smoldering as they followed the lone figure still standing at the front of the room.
Thanos Grim smiled as he bid his students farewell, waving theatrically as the last of them disappeared through the door. "Wonderful work today, everyone! Remember, breathing is key! And if you feel like breaking something, do try to make sure it's not yourselves — or each other!"
The door shut behind them. The room fell silent.
Only two remained.
Haze pulled viciously at the restraints, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The chains rattled, the chair beneath him creaked, but the bindings did not yield. His chest rose and fell with erratic breaths, his hair flaring wildly with his ever-burning rage.
Across from him, Thanos simply chuckled.
"Ah, that fire of yours," he mused, twirling his cane between his fingers. "Such a spectacle! But really now, my dear boy, you must learn to rein it in. One of these days, someone might get truly hurt."
Haze let out a snarl, jerking against the bonds, his flames flaring bright. "That's the idea."
Thanos tsked, shaking his head. "Oh, Haze, Haze, Haze." He stepped forward, casually adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "You think you're the first to walk this path? The only one who has ever burned this hot?"
His silver eyes gleamed as he knelt beside the bound prince, resting a gloved hand atop the armrest of the chair. "You are not unique in your struggle, dear boy. Many before you have let their rage consume them, let it fester, let it rot them from the inside out."
Haze's breath hitched.
Thanos began to undo the bindings, the magical restraints fading with a soft pulse.
"You walk a long, long road, my young prince," he continued, his voice as smooth as smoke. "And while the flames you wield are impressive, they are not invincible." He loosened another strap, glancing up at Haze with something akin to amusement.
"There is always something greater, something colder, something that will—" he tapped a single finger against Haze's chest, right over his heart, "—snuff you out before you even realize it."
Haze's fists clenched, his claws biting into his palms. His chest was tight, something unpleasant twisting beneath his ribs.
Thanos stood, undoing the final strap.
The moment the last restraint vanished, Haze lunged.
His body snapped forward, claws outstretched, golden eyes flashing with murder—
And passed right through his professor.
A burst of gray mist swirled where Thanos had been, Haze's body cutting through empty air. He stumbled, his claws slashing uselessly at nothing as the fog curled around him. A ghostly laughter filled the room, light and carefree, drifting through the dim chamber like a whisper on the wind.
Thanos' form reassembled a few feet away, standing tall, entirely untouched. He smiled, tilting his head. "A bold move. Not a wise one, but bold nonetheless."
Haze whipped around, his breath sharp and heavy, his entire body trembling with unspent fury. "Fight me." His voice was raw, his rage boiling just beneath his skin.
Thanos sighed, almost wistful. "Oh, my dear boy." He stepped backward, his form already beginning to dissolve once more, his silver eyes gleaming even as his body faded. "You have so much to learn."
The mist swallowed him, curling through the air like a dissipating dream.
And then — nothing.
The room darkened, the last traces of warmth vanishing with him. A deep, consuming cold settled in its place, a void where his presence had been.
Haze stood alone, his breath ragged, his fists trembling.
Thanos' words lingered, echoed in his mind.
He hated them.
He hated that they sat there, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, demanding to be acknowledged.
With a sharp exhale, he shook his head, his golden eyes flashing with renewed malice.
No.
He would not let this stand.
No one ridiculed Haze Underworld and got away with it.
His revenge would come.
And it would be served cold.
Haze then resorted to storming through the halls of Ever After High, his every step leaving behind charred scorch marks upon the polished floor. His hair burned a wild, untamed blue, crackling with fury, flames twisting and writhing like a beast barely held at bay. Smoke curled from the corners of his mouth, his sharp teeth clenched in a snarl, molten gold eyes burning with the unspoken promise of violence.
The air around him warped from the sheer heat radiating off his body. Students instinctively pressed themselves against the walls, parting like the Red Sea to avoid his path. The blind mice barely managed to scramble away in time, squeaking in terror as the heat licked at their tails. Tiny the Giant — normally unbothered by most of his classmates — hesitated just a moment too long before turning and bolting in the opposite direction.
Some students merely trembled in place, frozen by the pure malice in his expression. Others weren't foolish enough to hesitate, quickly making themselves scarce before they became the next victims of his burning wrath.
Haze didn't acknowledge them. He didn't care.
His thoughts burned hotter than the flames wreathing his form.
His professor — that insufferable, smirking, know-it-all specter of a man — had humiliated him. Ridiculed him. Turned his own fury against him, twisted it into a lesson, a mockery.
He would pay.
One day.
He muttered dark promises under his breath, his claws flexing, his knuckles cracking as he imagined wrapping his hands around Thanos Grim's damnably smug throat.
A flicker of a smirk. A soft-spoken taunt.
Haze's flames flared as the memory reignited his rage, the walls around him groaning under the sudden spike in temperature.
He needed distraction. Anything to keep him from setting this entire school ablaze in his fury.
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office, the air was far less oppressive — but the tension, in its own way, was just as thick.
Cupid sat in the large, ornate chair across from the Headmaster's desk, her fingers gripping the old book so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
A deep breath.
She had to do this.
"For generations," she began, her voice steady but firm, "True Hearts Day was a celebration of love, unity, and the bonds that tie us all together. It was not just another festival — it was a reminder that our stories are our own, that we have the right to choose our own endings."
She met the Headmaster's gaze, unwavering, determined.
"And yet," she continued, pressing the book against her chest, "it was taken from us."
Her wings twitched, her grip tightening even further.
She thought of Dexter. Of the book he had given her, of the hope in his eyes when he had asked her to help bring True Hearts Day back.
She would not let that hope be in vain.
Cupid leaned forward, her wings fluttering as she clutched the book to her chest. "Headmaster Grimm, I ask you — no, I implore you," she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency, "let us bring True Hearts Day back to Ever After High."
Milton Grimm remained silent, hands folded neatly atop his desk, his expression unreadable.
"The school needs this," Cupid pressed on, undeterred by his lack of response. "Can't you feel it? The gloom, the melancholy that's been hanging over us like a storm cloud? Students are anxious, uncertain about their futures, about who they're meant to be. But True Hearts Day — love, choice — it could remind them of the happiness they've been missing!"
Her voice grew more impassioned. "It's not just a festival, Headmaster. It's a symbol — of unity, of freedom. And if we—"
Milton Grimm raised his hand.
Cupid's words caught in her throat.
The Headmaster closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled as if bracing himself.
Then he spoke.
"No."
Cupid blinked. Her breath hitched. For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.
"I… I'm sorry?" she asked, cautiously.
Milton Grimm opened his eyes, his gaze sharp, cold. "I said no."
The word hung in the air like an executioner's blade.
Cupid stared at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, any hint that he might reconsider. But his expression remained stone-like, unwavering.
She felt her grip on the book tighten. "But why? Why wouldn't you want True Hearts Day to return?"
The Headmaster leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Because it was never a mistake that it was forgotten."
Cupid's breath caught in her chest.
"I allowed it to fade from memory," Milton continued, his voice steady, firm. "I ensured that it became nothing more than a myth, a fable of what once was and will never be again."
Cupid gasped audibly, her wings tensing behind her. Her heart, if it were capable of such a thing, would have plummeted into the depths of despair.
"You—" She shook her head in disbelief. "You wanted it to be forgotten?"
Milton's gaze darkened. "True Hearts Day was a mistake."
Cupid flinched as if struck.
"It led students astray," the Headmaster continued, his voice growing colder. "It encouraged doubt, rebellion. It tempted them to defy their destinies, to question the paths laid out for them."
He leaned forward, his piercing eyes locking onto hers. "I went through great lengths to bury it. To erase it from history. And I will not allow it to return."
Cupid gritted her teeth, shaking her head. "That's not right. You're hiding something that belongs to everyone—"
"Enough." Milton's voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade.
Cupid stiffened.
The Headmaster's next words were slow, deliberate. "I warn you, Cupid. You will never speak of this festivity again. You will forget about that book, and you will return it to where you found it."
Cupid's fingers trembled. She wanted to fight back, to argue, to scream that he was wrong, that the students deserved to know. But the weight of his authority pressed down on her like a suffocating shroud.
"Do you understand?"
A long pause.
Cupid swallowed, her throat tight. Then, tentatively, she gave a small, reluctant nod.
Milton's eyes remained on her for a moment longer, as if ensuring her compliance. Then he nodded in return.
"Good," he said simply.
He gestured toward the door. "Now, leave me. And return the book."
Cupid slowly rose from her seat, her hands trembling as she bowed her head. The book felt heavier in her arms now, as if it carried the weight of a forgotten truth.
She turned toward the door, her vision blurring as tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. A single, quiet sob escaped her lips as she stepped out of the office, the door closing behind her with a resounding click.
But she was not alone.
Just beyond the threshold, shrouded in the dim candlelight of the corridor, a figure stood.
Unseen. Unnoticed. Listening.
A maniacal grin stretched across his lips, his eyes glinting with an unreadable gleam.
"Interesting," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
He turned, retreating slowly into the darkness.
"Sounds like something fun is coming my way."
His foreboding laughter echoed through the halls, a sinister promise lingering in the air.
Cupid wandered the dimly lit halls of Ever After High, her steps slow and heavy, her arms wrapped tightly around the book as though it were the last fragile thing holding her together.
Freshly shed tears stained her cheeks, dark streaks of mascara trailing down her pale skin. Her normally pristine appearance was now marred with defeat, shoulders slumped, wings drooping as if the weight of the Headmaster's words had drained the very light from her soul.
She pressed the book tighter to her chest, wishing.
Wishing for a miracle.
Wishing for something — anything — to reignite the love, the passion, the choice that had been stripped from Ever After High.
But as she drifted in the haze of her despair, a voice slithered into her ears, pulling her roughly back into reality.
"Well, well, would you look at that," the voice drawled, smooth and taunting.
Cupid froze.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Leaning lazily against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest, stood Haze. His golden eyes gleamed with unspoken mischief, his blue flames flickering ever so faintly atop his head.
But it was the grin on his lips that sent a sharp chill down her spine — one she recognized all too well.
A hexing grin. The kind that came with nothing but trouble.
Cupid's fingers twitched against the book's spine, her breath hitching.
"What… are you doing here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do you want?"
Haze tilted his head, still smiling, still watching her like a predator sizing up his prey. Then, in a voice that was hauntingly melodic, he whispered,
"Oh, relax, fledgling. I mean no harm."
Cupid shivered, but not from cold.
His voice was low — deliberately soft, velvety, dangerous. The kind of voice that snared its listener, reeled them in without them even realizing it.
And it was working.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Haze took a slow step toward her, his presence oppressive yet oddly captivating. He was circling her, taking his time, playing with his words. He was toying with her.
"I was merely passing through," he continued, dragging a clawed finger along the cold metal of the lockers, the sound grating, yet oddly mesmerizing. "And imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon something very interesting."
Cupid swallowed. Her fingers curled tighter around the book. "Haze…"
He chuckled.
That sound — low, smooth, utterly infuriating — sent fresh chills crawling up her spine.
"Oh, you sweet gullible little thing," he crooned. "I already know."
Cupid's breath caught.
A rush of horrified realization slammed into her, her world spiraling into chaos.
"You—"
"I heard everything," he purred.
Cupid gasped, her wings tensing in alarm. "I—I can explain—"
Haze raised a finger to his lips, shushing her.
She fell silent.
The moment stretched.
The air between them was thick, charged with something dangerous — volatile.
Haze tilted his head, watching her with something unreadable in his gaze. Then, after letting the tension settle just long enough to unravel her, he grinned wider.
"Relax, you foolish girl." His voice was almost mockingly soothing. "No need to panic. I'm actually on your side."
Cupid blinked. "You—"
"The school does need a little love, don't you think?" he mused, tapping his chin. "A little passion, a little… fire."
His golden eyes burned with something wicked.
Cupid's mind swirled. Confusion, fear, doubt—her thoughts were an unending vortex, an inescapable storm.
None of this made sense.
Haze Underworld — the embodiment of misery, destruction, and chaos — was agreeing with her?
She fought to steady her breath. "Why do you even care?"
Haze laughed.
It was a dark, syrupy sound, one that dripped with something Cupid couldn't quite place.
"Oh, my dear," he murmured, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath between them. His voice lowered, his words curling around her like smoke.
"I simply admire your conviction."
He grinned.
"And I want to help."
Cupid's breath stopped.
Her wings twitched.
She stared at him, at his wicked grin, at his burning gaze, at the sheer diabolical glory of him.
She did not trust this.
Not for a second.
Cupid took a step back, her grip tightening on the book as if it were a lifeline. Her breath was unsteady, her mind racing, trying to grasp why this was happening — why he was here, offering help of all things.
"Why should I even trust you?" she asked, her voice laced with something sharp, something raw.
Haze's smirk didn't falter, but she saw it in his eyes — he had expected that reaction.
Cupid wasn't finished.
"You've tormented us," she hissed, her wings flaring slightly, emotions bubbling to the surface. "You've terrorized my friends, left them with nightmares—"
Haze lazily waved a hand. "Oh, come now, nightmares are just—"
"And me," she snapped, cutting him off.
The air shifted.
Haze tilted his head, a flicker of amusement playing at his lips. "You?"
Cupid hesitated.
She hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't meant to acknowledge it.
But the words were already hanging between them, heavy and undeniable.
She took a sharp breath, steeling herself. "Yes. Me."
She glared at him, forcing herself to hold her ground. "The pain, the fear — the heartaches." Her voice wavered on the last word, but she didn't back down.
Haze grinned, slow and lazy, as if savoring the moment.
Cupid hated that smile.
She pressed on, her tone firm. "Every single part of me is screaming not to listen to you. There is nothing good that can come from this. I know what kind of person you are."
"And yet," Haze murmured, stepping forward, "here you are. Still talking to me."
A shadowy mist curled from his form, thick and dark, spilling onto the floor like ink bleeding through parchment. The air grew colder, heavier, the flickering candlelight in the hallways dimming as his presence became more consuming.
His flames, once erratic and wild, deepened into an ominous, steady blue — colder, yet no less dangerous.
Haze began to circle her, his steps slow, calculated, his golden eyes glinting with something unreadable. "I'm only trying to help," he mused, his voice dipping into something almost melancholic, as if he were lamenting some unseen truth.
Cupid stiffened as the dark mist drifted past her ankles, but she held firm.
"I need something to distract me, and you need someone to help you." He gestured vaguely with one clawed hand. "Seems like a mutually beneficial arrangement, wouldn't you say?"
Cupid scoffed. "Beneficial? For who?"
Haze's smirk widened. "Oh, for both of us, of course."
He leaned in, close enough that she could see the flickering embers in his eyes.
"I get something to take my mind off things," he continued, voice smooth as velvet. "And you… get the assistance of the legendary Prince of the Damned."
His words dripped with mockery, but beneath it was something genuine — something dangerous.
Cupid's mind was a whirlwind of confusion, doubt, and caution.
She didn't trust him. She shouldn't trust him.
And yet…
The weight of her choices pressed down on her like an iron cage.
Either she let True Hearts Day fade into obscurity forever, let it be nothing more than a lost whisper in the annals of time…
Or she risked everything — threw caution to the wind and took the devil's hand.
It wasn't an easy choice. It should have been impossible.
But then she thought about everything.
Every nightmare. Every hardship. Every moment of despair that Haze had put her through.
And how — despite all of it — she was still here.
Alive.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Her breathing steadied.
She looked into Haze's golden eyes, searching for some hint of deception, some trace of a hidden dagger waiting to plunge itself into her back.
There was none.
Only that same wicked grin, patient, expectant, as if he already knew what choice she would make.
Haze tilted his head. "So?" he asked, his voice a purr of amusement. "Do we have a deal?"
He extended his hand, engulfed in blue flame, the eerie glow licking at his fingers like a phantom's caress.
Cupid hesitated, her heart pounding.
She knew the risks. She knew the suffering she was inviting by letting Haze anywhere near her cause.
But she would endure.
Because she had to.
Taking a deep breath, she reached forward, her fingers trembling as they met the fire-wreathed hand of the Underworld Prince.
The moment their palms met, the flames coiled around her arm, slithering like serpents, locking them both into their agreement.
Haze's grin stretched wider, devilish, victorious.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
Briar Beauty pushed open the grand doors of the Charmetorium, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she stepped into the dimly lit chamber.
The room, usually bustling with spellbinding performances and hexquisite spellebrations, was now eerily silent. Shadows stretched long across the vast space, swallowing the edges of the walls into pure darkness.
She hesitated. "Uh… hello?"
Her voice echoed faintly.
Nothing.
Briar frowned, crossing her arms. "Okay, so, like… is anyone here?"
The doors behind her suddenly slammed shut, plunging the room into utter darkness.
She squeaked, her breath hitching, spinning on her heel as she grasped blindly for the door handle. Her pulse spiked, panic settling in fast.
"H-hex no, not funny!" she called out, her voice rising. "If this is some kind of prank, I am not spellebrating it!"
No answer.
Her breath quickened. The darkness was suffocating, thick and unnatural, pressing in from all sides.
Then—
A spark.
A small wisp of blue fire flickered into existence, hovering in the air like a floating ember.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, the tiny wisps of fire flickered to life, illuminating the chamber in eerie, flickering light. They floated gracefully, dancing in midair, leading a path toward the stage at the far end of the Charmetorium.
Briar swallowed hard, her heart thudding in her chest. The flames were beautiful, mesmerizing, but their glow only made the shadows lurking beyond them seem darker, deeper, as if the room itself were stretching into some kind of enchanted void.
"Okay… cool effect," she muttered, forcing a laugh to steady herself. "Not creepy at all."
She hesitated, but the only way forward was the path of fire.
Straight and clear, like a fairy tale road leading to its climax.
With a deep breath, she took a step forward.
The flames flickered, almost like they were responding to her presence.
Her senses were on high alert as she moved down the glowing path, her fingers twitching slightly, ready to throw off her high heels and bolt if things got too hextravagant.
She reached the stage.
There, before her, a throne of fire ignited — majestic, intricate, glowing in an ethereal blaze of blue and gold. Its design was unlike anything she had ever seen, like it had been woven from whispered legends and forgotten dreams.
Briar's breath hitched.
"Whoa…" she murmured, unable to look away.
Her hand drifted to the armrest, the flames cool to the touch — not burning, not harming, but alive. The polished surface beneath her fingers shimmered like molten gold, shifting under her touch like a living thing.
Something about it called to her.
Before she even realized it, she lowered herself into the seat. "Totally wicked…"
The moment she did, a spotlight flared to life, illuminating the center of the stage.
A lectern stood beneath it.
Atop it, a familiar book — worn yet regal, its covers adorned with ancient, intricate patterns. As if sensing its audience, its pages turned on their own, the parchment rustling in the otherwise silent chamber.
Then — the fire moved.
It began to dance.
The flames curled and twisted, shaping themselves into intricate figures — storytellers woven from fire, moving as though alive.
Briar's eyes widened as the fire took form, crafting a glowing tale right before her. The burning figures flickered and shifted, molding into shapes that told a story long forgotten.
A voice filled the chamber — soft, lilting, yet carrying the weight of something ancient, something important.
"Once upon a time, before love was measured and destinies were set in stone, there was a day unlike any other."
The gentle voice echoed softly through the Charmetorium as the flames danced, forming a glowing silhouette of Ever After High from long ago.
The warm golden light painted a vision of a world where love and choice once held true magic — not in spells, nor in enchantments, but in the simple act of deciding one's own happily ever after.
"It was not a grand rebellion, nor a challenge to fate itself," they continued, their voice light yet wistful. "True Hearts Day was simply a time where love was celebrated, where choice mattered — not as defiance, but as a reminder that even the most enchanted tales began with a single decision."
The flames shifted, shaping figures of couples — some royal, some common, some unexpected — exchanging tokens, whispering promises, sharing fleeting moments of happiness. Their forms flickered softly, untouched by the weight of duty, unburdened by the paths already written for them.
"For a time, it was cherished," The voice sighed, watching as the flames grew dimmer, their golden glow flickering like fading candlelight. "A simple festival, a single day where students, royals and rebels alike, could forget their roles and just... be."
But then—
The flames shuddered.
Their warm glow faded into cooler embers, the dancing figures slowing, their joy tempered by something unseen.
"But as the years passed, expectations grew."
The fire shaped looming figures, faceless yet imposing, their presence casting shadows over the carefree images of the past.
"For some, love was a luxury — one that could not outweigh the responsibility of their stories."
The figures stiffened, once-dancing flames now standing rigid, their shapes reshaped by duty, by legacy, by the unrelenting hand of fate. The laughter that once echoed through the halls of Ever After High faded into mere embers of memory.
"And so, little by little, the festival was forgotten. Not stolen away, not erased, just… left behind."
The last flame dimmed, leaving only a few flickering embers floating in the dark.
"It was never taken from us," Cupid then revealed herself from the smoke, she whispered, looking down at the book in her hands. "We simply stopped remembering."
The flames died, and for a long, weighted moment, silence filled the Charmetorium.
Briar sat still, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. She barely noticed as the book snapped shut, its pages resting at the end of a forgotten tale.
Cupid stepped forward, wings shifting uneasily as she met Briar's stunned gaze.
"And that," she said gently, "is the story of True Hearts Day."
Briar exhaled, shaking her head in awe.
"That was…" She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "That was hexcellent. I mean, wow, you really know how to put on a show!"
Cupid flushed slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, well… I, um… I had help."
Briar's brows lifted. "Help?"
Before Cupid could answer—
A voice slithered from the shadows.
"A team effort, really."
The room grew cold.
Briar's breath hitched, a slow, creeping chill climbing up her spine.
That voice.
She knew it.
Her stomach dropped as the throne she had been sitting on began to unravel, its burning edges dissolving into thick, curling smoke.
From the swirling mist, a figure emerged.
Haze.
His golden eyes glowed from the darkness, his smirk slow, deliberate — hungry.
The moment his presence settled in the room, the air grew heavier, the warmth from the flames utterly snuffed out.
Briar stepped back, her pulse hammering against her ribs, but her body refused to move beyond that.
She was frozen.
Not by magic.
Not by some dark spell.
But by pure, unrelenting fear.
Before she… proceeded to faint.
Hope to see you all again, soon!
H: Buzz off, and DROP DEAD!