It is, of course, sub-optimal. All of it.

Fresh floats on her back, downstairs in the bath. The water is hot and drifting steam rises up towards the open vent in the ceiling. Condensation drips down, back into the pool, as it falls from the tips of the crystals above her head.

The red-wizard had been here again.

It is the evening of the next day, the day after they had been at the winter-festival.

The girl drifts around the warm water, staring up towards a red crystal that hangs over her head, as she wonders about all of her possible choices.

She could tell the red-wizard to go away and just leave her to her fate. But that would give the caster motivation to out them to the public.

She could help the red-wizard with her predicament. But that would mean… helping the red-wizard. Fresh doesn’t know if, despite everything, she has it in herself. Heck, it’s possible that even if she decides to do that, that she won’t have anything of use for that person at all anyway.

After all, the fountain had only given her a remedy for the northern barkeeper after she had come with something to bargain with. A trade. A token. An eye for an eye. The fountain has nothing to offer for free.

The red-wizard has come empty-handed, with only a mouthful of words and a frightened look in her eyes that never seems to lessen. Sure, she said that she’s sorry. But… that statement was just kind of laid out there without any further explanation or proof and then a request for help followed immediately after it. That doesn’t really help foster any feelings of genuineness.

So, her choices of possible resolutions in the matter are, of course, all sub-optimal.

Fresh sighs. As the air leaves her full lungs, her body starts to sink down a little deeper beneath the surface of the water. She lets herself sink slowly down towards the bottom of the pool, letting her hand drift up towards the ceiling as she watches her fingers twirl beneath the shimmer of the reflection of the red crystal-body.

It has the same shimmer as the scales of the dragon. The boss of the eastern dungeon.

Fresh tilts her head, feeling a slight pang in her chest, but nothing too bad. She can handle it for a few moments more without air.

It’s oddly comfortable down here.

The dragon. Man… she can barely fight her way through the first twenty floors of any dungeon by herself. But it’s a good thing they have Jubilee and Shamrock to handle that kind of stuff. She’d really be lost without them.

One odd, complicated part of their connected friendships is that they’ve agreed to simply let each other have their secrets about their past, about their preferences and future desires. But at the same time, lies aren’t allowed.

Despite having been the core originator of this rule, Fresh has lied to her friends several times. Many of those are lies of omission.

But aren’t those just secrets, after all? That makes it fine.

…Right?

Fresh closes her eyes, thinking, thinking about the color red.

Red like the red-wizard. Red like the blood of Basil’s slain companion. Red like the fairy, Pentii who had been cast to his death. Red like Jubilee. Red like the fire that had consumed their old house in the north. Red like the explosion outside of the eastern harbor. Red like the strings that bind them all together at the wrist and, in the spirit world, literally together at their cores. Red… like a garnet stone. The hero…

Red like a breaking dungeon.

For better or for worse, the color red has marked them all.

As for those things, for ‘the murderer’, for the ‘sheep killer’, for ‘the arsonist’, perhaps they all already know the truth in their own ways. Perhaps she isn’t the only one holding secrets to herself, for the health and wellbeing of the others.

It’s likely that everyone knows. Jubilee, Basil, Shamrock. How could they not? It’s like when Jubilee had confronted her, after she returned from cursing the hero. They know.

Of course they know.

But everyone is pretending that they don’t, just so that they don’t have to talk about it. It’s happier that way. It’s been working out well, so far. Besides, the matters are all settled anyway. Everyone knows what this is.

Her lungs burn.

Fresh opens her eyes and stares at the quivering reflection above her head, at the strange reflection of hers as it dances through the warped light of the crystal.

There are secrets in their home. Bad secrets. Terrible secrets. They’re all responsible for many horrible, terrible things. But that’s okay.

These terrible things, these secrets, these are the prices that they pay for this new life. This is the trade that they themselves had made with the fountain, this is their price of their admission. This is the price of finding a family.

The token of exchange is red.

Her chest is really starting to hurt, she can feel her throat tightening.

Fresh lifts herself out of the water, leaning over forward and letting her long hair drip down in front of herself, the long tangles floating on the surface of the disturbed pool. She stares at the reflection that is now beneath herself. It seems to want to show her something.

“Oh! Sorry!” says Basil from the door. Fresh blinks, looking away from her reflection. The priestess spins around, turning her back to her. “I thought it was empty here.”

“I was just pretending to drown for a minute, Basil,” remarks Fresh. “I’m getting out now. Just a second.”

Basil sighs. “That’s really bad for your health,” she says, crossing her arms. “Please don’t do that anymore.”

Fresh gracelessly shakes herself off, splashing water everywhere as she grabs a towel to dry herself off. “Sorry, Basil,” says Fresh. “It helps me think.” The priestess shakes her head, defeated. Fresh slips on her robe, soaking its black fabric since she’s still improperly dried. She walks over to the priestess, grabbing her from behind. “How’ve you been sleeping lately?”

“Huh?” asks Basil, looking over her shoulder. “…Sleeping? Fine, why?”

“No reason,” says Fresh. It’s true, Basil hasn’t been flailing like mad in her sleep anymore. Whatever it was that has been haunting her, it seems to have been resolved now in her mind. “I’m gonna go get dinner ready,” says Fresh.

“Can we have a stew?” asks Basil. “It’s always very comforting.” The priestess looks down at her own, now wet, robe as Fresh releases, making her way upstairs.

“Sure thing!” agrees Fresh, humming as she walks and shakes out her head, going through the basement.

Honestly, it’s a wonder that Basil has recovered in her eyes.

Not from the cold. But from the other thing.

Fresh heads upstairs, looking around at the library. Shamrock is here, apparently teaching the two spriggans how to fight. Though, the house-spriggan is at a clear disadvantage against the healer-spriggan.

“Hey, Shamrock,” says Fresh. “We’re having stew tonight.”

The man nods to her. “It’s the best.” Fresh smiles a triumphant smile, clenching her hands together by her beaming face. Jubilee might be the egg-master, but she is the stew-champion. Everyone of them has their own strengths and weaknesses. “Need help?” he asks.

“I’ll let you know!” she says, heading upstairs.

Shamrock too, has made a good recovery, for lack of better words. Though, given his ‘push forward, no matter what’ nature, anything else would have surprised her.

She comes up the stairs to the final floor, seeing Jubilee rummaging around the kitchen. They throw a bag of tubers out of the cabinet, onto the table. Then some carrots. “I heard stew.”

Fresh beams, holding her arms out at her sides as she spins towards Jubilee. “That’s right, Ju~ bi~ lee!” she says, spinning once each time until she bumps into them and laughs.

Jubilee rolls their eyes, making a show of it, but she sees the tiniest crack of a smile that they’re trying to hide. But they can’t hide their secrets from her. She knows all, she sees all and that’s even without a telescope or a crystal-ball.

She grabs a brush and heads to the basin, scrubbing the first vegetables clean. Food tends to be more rustic here, to say it politely, so ‘clean’ is a relative term. But she likes it, honestly. There’s something more real about it than the food she recalls from her oldest life, something more… true.

Fresh stares at Jubilee who is walking around maskless, in just their house clothes, their white hair bobbing around as they get everything ready for her to cook with. Jubilee… Jubilee is the odd one out. They’ve always been processing and recovering in their own way, so the one more thing that was added to the list was hardly mentionable for them.

A confusing knot, for sure. Especially now. But nobody can do anything about that.

Dinner turns out beautifully. Basil comes up from her bath after a while and then helps set the table, lighting some nice candles. Shamrock and the spriggans go out to the market to find a light floral-tea for them all to share along with the bite of the winter’s cold that sticks to the man’s armor until they manage to warm it up again. Jubilee stands in the kitchen, humming as they make a light desert for afterwards. Just a nibble, but something nice and sweet.

And so, the day comes to an end as it had begun, despite all of the twists and turns held inside of it.

Nested from the winter’s cruel chill in their warm, safe haven of a beloved home, four members of a loving family, a murderer, a saboteur, an arsonist and a horrible, monstrous witch sit down at the same table and share their food, their feelings and their hopes for the tomorrow to come so that they might all experience these good things again together.