“I feel like that was also a pretty mean thing to do,” says Alleluia, looking at the bloody pike that Canta has leaned against the wall, adjusting her posture as she sits down on her legs. The two of them had gone through the door.

“It wasn’t,” replies Canta. “They’re demons. I need you to be on-board with me on this,” he says, fiddling around with her crank, which was still bent from back then. They hadn’t really had a chance to fix her up right. Canta sighs, letting the noise wash away the sad-expression he has painted on his face that he doesn’t want her to see. “Hold still.”

“I am,” says Alleluia. “It’s just, they weren’t really a threat?” she asks, looking over her shoulder as he tinkers around with the components near the crank.

“They were to any humans left alive,” says Canta. “Look, the world used to be…” he looks around the dark room that they’ve branched off to, to escape the hallway for a moment. It’s just a simple room with a wooden table and a few chairs. “It used to be nice. And back then? There weren’t any demons,” says Canta. She stares at him, looking over her shoulder. Canta brushes a strand of her silver hair to the side, looking at the side of her neck. “I just want you to be able to see what I saw,” he explains, staring back at her face. “I want to spend the time that we have together in a real world.”

“Can-ta,” says Alleluia tilting her head backwards and holding a hand against the side of his face. The two of them look at each other for a moment. “I don’t think the world is going to go back to what it was when you saw it.” His eyes widen.

“Don’t say that,” he says, finding himself surprisingly hurt at this insinuation.

“I only know this world, Canta,” says Alleluia. “It might not be perfect, but it’s the one we found together. The stars were so bright, remember?”

“And?” he asks, staring down at her upside down face. “If we don’t put an end to this demon-king crap, what else are we supposed to do here?” he asks, holding his hands out at his side. “Run away forever? Be hunted forever? Not ever trust anyone or anything ever?” he asks, raising his arms with each question. “We can’t live like this. Looking at the stars is great and all, but what are we supposed to do when there aren’t any?”

“Look at each other?” she suggests, nudging him with her elbow.

“Cute,” he says. “But that’ll last for what… a day? Two? Before something finds us and tries to eat us,” he says. “Look.” Canta lowers his head, planting a kiss on her lips before lowering himself down into a squat in front of her. “Once this demon-king business is over, we’ll be done. It’s going to be over and we can just… do whatever we want to do,” says Canta, pointing at himself and then her. “Maybe we’ll go back to the dungeon for a few weeks, just the two of us.”

“I’d like that.”

“Same. I would too,” says. “A lot. But we can’t do that until this is done with,” he says. “I won’t be able to sleep, knowing that something so horrible is out there and I didn’t stop it.”

She clasps her hands together. “My husband is so noble.”

“Fuck that!” snaps Canta back at her. “I don’t give a shit about anyone else out there. I don’t want US to have to deal with this problem anymore.”

Alleluia stares at him, tilting her head. “Well if you can’t sleep because of that, I could sing for you again?” she suggests. “I haven’t done that in a long time, but it always used to work.”

“I’d like that too,” he says, getting up and walking around her to finish up her work. “I know you’ve just kind of been trailing me this whole time, but I’ll tell you what,” says Canta. “Once this is done, we’ll really do whatever you want,” he offers. “We’ll go where you want to go, do what you want to do and nothing else,” promises Canta.

“Can we get married?”

“We sure as fuck can,” says Canta.

She sighs, crossing her arms. “I expect an expensive wedding,” she explains as Canta fiddles around with her back. “I want a white dress and a carriage and a giant ceremony with hundreds of people,” she explains, going on to list an extravagant number of things.

“You’ve clearly thought about this in great detail,” says Canta.

“Of course I have!” she snaps back at him, crossing her arms. “A woman of my stature deserves only the finest of luxuries and I’ve been roughing it like some forest-orc for months now.”

Canta snorts. “Sorry about that, your majesty.”

“And you have to wear a princely suit of knight’s armor.”

“Sounds inconvenient,” he replies, twisting a nut to the side.

“I figured you’d say that,” she replies. “In that case, you can wear my dress instead.”

“I’ll take the armor,” he relents. “Wait. Why do I have to wear armor to my own wedding, what about you?”

She shakes her head. “Well obviously, I’m going to be wearing a gown. What else?”

“That seems unfair,” replies Canta, clenching his teeth as he makes an adjustment, near her shoulder.

“It’s a wedding. As your wife, it’s an event for me, not for you,” says Alleluia.

“I’m not sure that that’s how weddings work. I think you’ve read too many romance stories,” sighs Canta.

“Exactly! So I should know best how it works,” states Alleluia. “I’ve read dozens of wedding stories!”

“Uh…” Canta briefly delves into the merits of arguing about this, but he decides to leave it be. It’s not worth it to sour the mood. “You’re right,” he concedes. Sometimes, in a relationship, it’s worth giving a little ground just to keep the peace.

She lifts her nose, turning her head away. “’I’m right’ what?” she asks.

Canta rolls his eyes. “You’re right, Alleluia,” he says. Pinching her in an opportune area. She yelps, swiping his hand away.

“Honey! Not in here!” she says, holding her hands to her face as if embarrassed. “We’re in the demon-king’s castle!”

“How is that worse than in a cathedral?!” asks Canta incredulously. She starts laughing and then so does he. Grabbing her hand, he helps her up.

She gasps. “You’ve gotten so strong!”

“Sure have,” he says, using his violent, brute strength to pinch her a second time. She yelps, swiping his hand away as she makes a quick escape with three hurried steps. But he stops her by grabbing her hand and pulling her back next to him. “Let’s go,” he says, nodding his head to the door. “I want to get this over with.” But as his eyes turn back, he finds hers staring at him from up close.

“Can-ta,” says Alleluia, wanting to say something.

His hand, wrapped around her back, presses down tighter against the side of her stomach. “I love you,” he says, rather spontaneously. It’s now or never, right? “Alleluia.”

The clockwork person squirms in his grasp, feigning an attempt at escape. “I love you too, Canta,” replies Alleluia and the two of them stare at each other for a while.

After that, they stay in that room a while longer. It’s already the demon-king’s castle, so a few stains and spots here and there won’t make a big difference anyways, right? And if he has been reigning in terror for so long, then is another half hour really a big deal? In the grand, cosmic scale of it all?

The two of them assume their answers to both of these questions and act accordingly.