She should curse the hero.

It’s about an hour after they had gone to sleep and Fresh sits awake in her own bed, having just shot upright from her rest with a very, very specific thought in her brain, which is, for some reason or another, unable to find sleep because of it. Her mind is buzzing and she feels like she’s on her fourth cup of coughee, but she hasn’t even had one. For some reason, her senses are simply alight and her eyes wander around the upstairs of their home. Basil had fallen fast asleep again, not having lasted long after dinner to collapse a second time. She’s dead now though, having been burnt alive in her sleep.

Shamrock lays there as a pile of empty, forgotten armor, filled with cobwebs and nothing else and she assumes, at least, that Jubilee is in their room. Somewhere. The problem is that it’s been turned into a giant labyrinth full of their blood. It’s going to be such a pain to clean out from the new curtains.

Fresh sighs.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The hero is here, having arrived without any grand cosmic ceremony. The fountain knows it. He’s somewhere in this world. He has been for a day or two at least. Basil’s dream is proof enough for Fresh. Perhaps, because of her affinity towards holy magic, there is some connection there that makes the priestess privy to such insights on some spiritual level like she herself is. But the fountain has a clearer grasp on its understanding of these things and as such, it tells her as much.

The hero is here. She should really go and curse him.

Fresh rubs her head, trying to get the odd dream-like thought out of her mind. It’s not fear that she’s feeling, it’s not like the night with the vampire back in the north. Rather it’s… anticipation? Excitement? She isn’t sure what she had done to deserve this contingent of energy, but it’s hers now. Groaning, she gets up, throwing her blanket off of herself, deciding to at least get a glass of water while she’s awake. Taking a second to tuck in her dead friends, she shoots a cold glare towards Jubilee’s door that she herself had made, which prevents her from doing the same for them.

Was she always this clingy? Fresh wonders as she grabs a bottle of normal water from the cooling-cabinet, closing it quietly. It needs a light inside. She makes a mental note to do that in the morning. Maybe she could make something like her enchanted lanterns, but mounted to their walls and with little shutters, like the heating mechanisms? To provide light on demand.

First she has to go and curse the hero though.

Sighing again, she heads out onto the balcony, staring out over the starlit ocean while drinking some of her water. The beach is fairly quiet. Off in the distance, she can see the sparks of some crab-battling adventurers. But in their vicinity, nothing seems to be happening.

“What’s tonight’s moon like?” she quietly wonders, peering up towards the very cloudy night-sky. She really wants to do something. But she isn’t sure what. Maybe she wants to make some more items? Curse the hero. Or maybe she wants to get a head-start on making a great breakfast for them all to share? No… that’s not it. Curse the hero. Fresh racks her brain, trying to get a grip on her thoughts. Maybe she wants to go downstairs and fight crabs? No… no… that’s not it either. All she knows is that she can’t sleep because…

Fresh stares out over the ocean, listening to the whispering crash of its waves which come to reach towards the shoreline.

Dazed, taking a long drink of her cold water, she stares at the ocean, not sure if she heard her own thoughts right. The waves continue to crash as they always do. She blinks, looking at the bottle of water in her hands. Moonlight shines in through a pearling drop of dew on the surface of the matte glass. It dribbles down, splashing against the wooden railing of the balcony. Her senses feel so alert right now that she’d swear she heard it strike against the wood.

She really should go curse the hero. Soon. In the best case… how about right now?

“Right now?” wonders Fresh, scratching her cheek. It’s really late and she really should get some sleep before they open tomorrow, otherwise she isn’t going to be of much help. She has to run the store by herself since everyone is dead. Besides, why should she…

Fresh blinks.

Why should she…

She scratches her head, trying to rack her brain around the problem at hand. “- Curse the hero?” she mutters, finally able to form her thoughts coherently. That seems like a really mean thing to do. She doesn’t want to do that. Besides, she doesn’t even know him. What if he’s super nice? She’s never cursed a person before and she doesn’t really want to, honestly. She lifts her gaze, staring out towards the ocean.

The water has turned entirely black, absorbing any and all starlight that might have once shone from above, leaving only an inky void. Fresh looks down at her feet, feeling something wet. Blood dribbles down past her from inside of their house, leaking down onto the sand below as it runs over the edge of the balcony.

Everyone is dead and it’s her fault. It’s because she didn’t curse the hero.

“Is that true?” asks Fresh, feeling rather spontaneously sad about this now. The black-ocean continues to crash against the shoreline, the waves seem to come closer and closer to the house with every repetition. The ocean swallows more and more land every second. Blood trickles out of Jubilee’s window, blood trickles out of Basil’s bed, out of Shamrock’s bed, out of herself and it all falls down and stains the sand below. Because she didn’t work hard, because she didn’t keep her promises to herself and her cherished friends to do whatever it takes to keep this new life of theirs. It’s all her fault.

“- Isn’t that right?” asks the fountain, its voice coming from the ocean.

Fresh shoots upright in her bed, waking from the odd dream.

With damp eyes, she gets up and looks at her friends. Everyone is fine, obviously. Basil is flopping around, fighting her dream-demons like a champion and Shamrock simply rests there as always, somehow managing to spread himself even too wide for his already extra-large bed. He’s not exactly covered, but he’s wrapped the blanket, which Fresh had given him back in the west, around half of himself. She sighs, heading over to their beds before getting ready for work.

Tucking Basil in, she puts an end to her battle and pets her hair for a moment, before doing the same for Shamrock, minus the hair-petting.

She walks towards the balcony, shooting a cold glare at Jubilee’s door. One day, she’ll convince her friend that they don’t need to hide from her or any of them every day and night. Well, that is if they’re still going to be friends with her after tonight. She really hopes so.

Walking past the fridge, she grabs a bottle of cold water, this time for real, taking a long drink and emptying it all at once. Fresh rolls her shoulders, stretching to get ready. She rises to the tips of her toes, reaching for the ceiling and then bends down over forward, touching the tips of them. Her back pops, but in a satisfyingly painful way.

She doesn’t have anything to wear for tonight though? Her inventory opens and she finds herself reaching inside, pulling out the broom, the hat and one very suspicious looking apple. That’s great and all, but, does she really have to wear her night-gown out in public?

Her inventory closes and Fresh inadvertently marches downstairs, down through the shelves and towards the spot on the counter where Jubilee had been standing all day. Reaching over, she digs into the lower shelf and pulls out a black-robe. This is Jubilee’s work, she’s sure of it. But it doesn’t really fit in with any of the products they’re selling.

[Midnight ballare dress](High) A flowing, elegant, black robe, adorned with intricate embroidery displaying all manner of creatures of the night.

While worn: Increases [LOV SUB-VALUE]{CHARM} +25%

Quality Effect: +15% DARK DMG

Weight: 0.4kg

Durability: 50/50 Value: ???

Her hands snatch a leather bag from their section of dungeon-loot on her way back upstairs. She beams. High quality? Jubilee didn’t tell her that they had gotten better at tailoring. She’s really excited about that. But then she realizes that she’s marching upstairs like a zombie, putting on the new robe over her night-gown, her thoughts being half-controlled by the fountain. Jubilee is probably going to be mad at her for taking this. That is if Jubilee even remembered making it to begin with. Also, ‘charm’? She’s never heard of that before.

Heading back upstairs, she takes one last look at her friends, grabbing her grimoire and the apple. She adjusts the sleeves of the new robe and heads out onto the balcony, setting on the large witch’s hat and tipping it a smidge towards the side.

“Bubble bubble…” says Fresh, very glum and sad, grabbing the flying broom, getting ready to learn how to fly on her way there.

A metal scraping suddenly catches her attention and for a moment, she thinks that one of her friends is awake, having caught her in the act of her grand betrayal of their trust. Her head shoots around, staring down at the approaching sound that comes from the darkness of their home.

Fresh’s eyes open wide, staring as a melted metal husk scrapes its way across the floor, having dragged itself out of some kitchen cabinet. Bending down, horrified and heartbroken, she picks up the destroyed enchanted-lantern, which she had gifted Basil. She didn’t even know it was still ‘alive’. She had assumed it was destroyed as much as she herself was, during the explosion accident. Basil must have put what was left of it into the cabinet. The glass is shattered, any contents that were once inside are gone. Only a jagged, warped metal frame remains. The glow is missing and any of the ornate depictions that were once present on it, be they righteous angels or vengeful demons, have melted away, leaving only a warped disfiguration in their departure.

Holding the lantern tightly against her chest with one arm, she wipes her face with the other, as she climbs onto the broom.

“You’re good at flying, right?” she asks the broken lantern, running her thumb over its surface. “Sorry that you always have to save me,” she apologizes to it, hanging it onto the side of the broom.

Looking up towards the night-sky, Fresh watches as the clouds finally depart, revealing the jagged-nosed face of the witches-moon behind their vaporous bodies.

Fresh kicks off, rising into the air. It’s a long way to the central-city, but the night is still young and the witching-hour draws nigh.