A grand, twisting structure loomed in the distance.
It didn't have a shape so much as a suggestion—stretching, bending, folding into itself like a fever dream made of marble and mood swings.
"That," Malvor said with pride, "is my castle."
Annie squinted. "Your castle looks… drunk."
Malvor laughed. "Fair."
"Does it always look like that?"
"No. It shifts with my mood."
Her eyes snapped to him. "So it could look normal?"
"It could," he said, smirking. "But where's the fun in that?"
She pressed her lips together—he could practically hear the remark she swallowed.
"Some say it reflects me."
Now she looked thoroughly unimpressed. "Oh, that checks out."
Malvor nudged her. "You wound me."
She shook her head, but didn't stop smiling. Still glowing, still captivated by the world below.
He couldn't stop watching her.
The Ferris wheel began its slow descent, creaking gently as it carried them downward.
"So," Malvor drawled, stretching out beside her, "do you love my chaos yet?"
She glanced at him, then smirked. "I think I could get used to it."
The castle shivered.
Not violently. Not chaotically.
Warmly.
Malvor felt it. So did she.
She looked back at the castle, brows drawn as if the realm had exhaled with her words.
And before he could stop himself, Malvor said it—softly, honestly: "It's not just my castle."
His golden gaze met hers.
"It's our home."
The realm pulsed, humming through the air like it agreed—like it had waited for him to say it. For her to hear it.
Malvor's grin faltered, just a little.
Oh.
He'd really done it now.
He'd brought her here—to this unpredictable, ever-shifting place—and something inside him felt... lighter.
For a moment, there was no past, no pain, no power struggles.
Just them. Floating high above it all.
As the Ferris wheel glided down, the carnival coming back into view, Malvor smiled—softly. Unusually. Like he hadn't in ages.
Annie's laughter still lingered in the air.
He hadn't meant to care.
And yet—here he was.
Here she was.
And for the first time in forever, Malvor wasn't just the god of mischief.
He was something more.
A guide. A companion. Someone who wanted her to see the wonders of his world—and maybe even stay.
As their feet touched the ground, the carnival's chaos wrapped around them again—flashing lights, laughter, magic in every direction.
Malvor should've been drinking it in.
Instead, he watched her.
Annie, bathed in golden light, eyes reflecting every strange, beautiful thing around her.
She didn't just belong here.
She fit, like the realm had always been waiting for her.
And when she looked around with something he couldn't quite name—not just awe, but something deeper—Malvor felt it too.
Something more dangerous than mischief.
Something he couldn't charm his way out of.
Then she spotted the toy shop.
She darted toward it, and Malvor followed, a grin tugging at his lips.
The place was packed with wonder: floating toys, chattering gadgets, music that hummed from glowing boxes.
"Want to go in, little Annie?" he asked, voice warm.
She didn't answer—just slipped through the door like a kid chasing magic.
He followed at a lazy pace, watching her move through the shop, fingers brushing the edges of toys without taking any.
She looked enchanted… but hesitant.
Like she wasn't sure she was allowed to want.
His grin faded.
"Anything you want," he said gently, the tease gone from his voice.
She didn't answer. Just kept looking.
A dancing elephant. A blinking doll. Stacks of floating blocks.
All beautiful. All wrong.
Then she saw it.
A simple cloth doll, nestled between the extravagant ones. No enchantments. No tricks.
Just… real.
She reached out without thinking, fingers curling around soft fabric. She pressed it to her chest, holding it like it might vanish.
Malvor didn't speak.
He just watched her choose something entirely hers.
Not for someone else. Not to survive.
For her.
She turned to him, quiet but sure. "I'll take this one."
He nodded, no smirk in sight.
"Wise choice." His hand landed gently on her shoulder. "Simple things are often the most important."
He flicked gold into the shopkeeper's hand without a word. Annie didn't look up.
She just held the doll tighter.
Outside, as the lights flickered and the world spun around them, Malvor glanced at her again.
"You know," he said, softer now, "sometimes magic isn't in the spectacle. It's in finding something that feels... right."
Annie traced the stitching with her thumb—imperfect, handmade, hers.
She swallowed, then murmured, "Yeah. I think I get that."
Malvor said nothing.
No teasing. No games.
For once—
He didn't want to.
The carnival's chaos swirled around them—light, sound, magic—but Annie's eyes drifted toward something quieter.
The people.
If they could be called that.
Some looked almost human, others not at all. A pair with silver skin glided past, eerily perfect. A horned woman with molten gold eyes laughed at a whisper from a winged companion. A man with marble-textured skin moved like time had no meaning.
Annie didn't flinch. Didn't stare.
She just observed.
Calm. Curious.
Malvor noticed.
Most mortals shrank in the face of his realm. She didn't. She absorbed it, tried to understand it.
Fairies darted by, leaving glittering dust in their wake. Annie's lips parted slightly—not in awe, not in shock.
In quiet appreciation.
Malvor leaned in, voice amused. "What do you think of them? All my odd little creatures?"
Annie watched two fae twirl through the air like glowing fire. "They're different," she said softly. "But they're not scary."
Malvor smiled. "No, they're not. Just… unique."
They walked on. His hand in his pocket. Hers wrapped around the simple doll.
He saw her glance upward again.
Not at the lights. Not the rides.
The fairies.
His lips curled. "You like them?"
She didn't answer immediately. Just clutched the doll tighter. "They're… dancing."
A pause.
"Like they don't have to worry about anything."
Malvor's steps slowed.
Simple words. Heavy truth.
He'd lived for centuries. He knew exactly what she meant.
Chaos was his element—but freedom?
That was something else entirely.
His voice softened. "You could fly, you know. This is my realm. Anything's possible."
She turned to him, expression unreadable.
"Maybe later."
Not a no.
And gods help him, that did things to his chest.
They passed the carousel, its creatures gleaming under spinning lights. The air smelled of sugar and spice and childhood.
And Malvor watched her.
Really watched her.
She wasn't performing. Wasn't surviving.
She was just being.
And gods—if she could live like this, feel like this…
Maybe she could finally be free.