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Shiroe got up sharply and flung the window blinds open, hoping that the fresh air would do him some good.

Marielle and her hugs. That's what started all this. It's hard not to pay at least a little attention when someone's breasts are shoved right under your nose. This sort of thing happened to everyone, and usually he'd forget the momentary arousal soon after, like all normal adults did, but... But this time the arousal had brought a surge of magic with it.

From the very moment Shiroe found himself in Elder Tale, there had been something... Not alien, no, something that was his own, but always just on the edge of his consciousness and never in focus. Something familiar yet new: a cool taste resemblant of steel on his lips, the echo of a note hanging in the air, a shadow just out of sight. From half-Alv lore, Shiroe knew very well that he and his entire race were supposed to have a special knack for ancient magic, receiving more information about it in quests. Within Elder Tale, he quickly realized that this functioned as an extra sense that reacted to flows of magic and helped him cast spells with precision.

It was this sense of magic that had called out to Shiroe when Marielle, ever so grateful for Serara's rescue, pulled him in a little too close for comfort. A moment later, magic stirred under his skin involuntarily, feeling just as if he were about to cast a spell. Somehow he'd managed to quickly suppress the unwanted thoughts, and the strange surge dissipated along with them, but Shiroe decidedly wanted to avoid such surprises in the future.

"I need to figure out what that was," he said aloud, licking dry lips nervously. "And what triggers it."

Shiroe closed the window shutters, wishing fervently that they had some kind of lock. Then he turned to face his bed. This is so stupid, isn't it? Sex magic, really? Way to be superstitious, Shiroe...

But when choosing between superstition and not knowing how his magic would react to being aroused, Shiroe chose superstition. So he sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wall, and undid his pants with shaking fingers. It felt additionally stupid to be nervous while masturbating, but the idea that the new world had affected his physiology so deeply and strangely was very uncomfortable.

Ok. Calm down. What's the worst that could happen?

Some sort of wild magic surge? Thankfully, he's not a DPS, and his chances to actually damage the tavern were minimal. Someone catches him at it? The door is locked, the "do not disturb" sign is up, and it's highly unlikely that someone will just climb into a third floor window. He'll wake half the tavern with his moaning? The room is well isolated.

Shiroe couldn't come up with any more potential difficulties and so slipped a hand into his pants and concentrated on some of his favorite fantasies.

The first bit of weirdness happened immediately. His body didn't react to anything that had involved his old life. A certain physiological minimum, slight signs of arousal—it would seem his body worked just fine mechanically—but nothing beyond that. He simply couldn't focus on his customary fantasies: the moment he stopped concentrating on them, they slipped away, and did not allow him to relax enough for pleasure.

This is incredibly strange. Arousal is supposed to heavily depend on mental imagery. Why doesn't this same pattern hold in Seldesshia? Do our bodies have their own opinion on the matter? What kind of opinion?

There had been one more avenue open to him: return in thought to the particular cause of the magic surge and go from there. Shiroe didn't really like imagining real people for these purposes: it felt like he was intruding on something that was far too personal. But at present it looked like the most realistic option.

The second he thought about the memory, it appeared before his inner eye with alarming clarity.

Marielle's breasts were large and soft—this Shiroe knew very well after how thoroughly he had been pressed to them—pulled together with a dark bodice just enough to be slightly more taut. The horizontal stripes on her dress were located right on her hard nipples, and he could feel them with his cheeks even through the thick material.

Shiroe swallowed and realized that he'd clenched his fingers much tighter than before, and that he was no longer sitting, but lying down, legs curled closer to make himself more comfortable. It was as if his body remembered exactly what had happened—and was quite ready to react with the necessary vigor.

Stranger and stranger.

"All right," Shiroe said quietly, releasing his grasp. "That's a memory. Memories work. But why doesn't imagining things work? This makes no sense."

From what little Shiroe knew of the human mind, there was little difference between memories and imagination. A body only reacting to one of these things seemed out of place... And yet memory seemed to be a material thing here in Seldeshia, with the way they lost a little bit of it at every death. This was certainly worth investigating further.

What would happen if he imagined something from this world? Someone he'd liked the looks of, but never got closer to than that? Or maybe he could try to imagine something more with Marielle, but that was a little difficult—she wasn't exactly his type. Henrietta, on the other hand...

Besides, Shiroe couldn't help but smile to himself. She's probably the one person who'd understand if she ever learned about my.... Experiments.

So he imagined himself sitting on top of some ancient ruins, lost deep in thought, squinting at the evening sun, as he is suddenly entwined by a pair of supple hands. She whispers into his ear playfully: "You've been sitting here for ages. Time to get up...", but she has absolutely no intention of letting him go. On the contrary: she slowly drags the tips of her fingers across his sensitive cheek, and slips under his sweater and shirt with the other hand, gently massaging his stomach right above his belly button. Her glasses briefly touch his ear, a stray strand of orange hair caresses his face...

"If you keep this up, we won't be going anywhere," Shiroe whispered to his fantasy, barely conscious of curling up in bed and pulling down his pants for comfort, of growing flushed from embarrassment and desire.

"Then we should go now," his imaginary Henrietta replies, "back to the Crescent Moon Alliance. I have a room with the necessary permissions set up already. No one will disturb us there."

"You..." he gasps, throwing his head back. "Are immaculately prepared, as always."

"Oh, I trust so are you."

Fantasies care nothing for distances, and within an eyeblink they sit on Henrietta's bed, arms entwined and kissing passionately, both pairs of glasses left next to each other on the bedside table. Neither closes their eyes as they drown in each other's deep and devious hunger, and that look of enjoying a well-executed plan is the most delightful thing about her. He pulls her closer, feels her squirm and gasp in his arms—and then she mounts him, presses him down, and he lets her win this round, lets her press him to the blanket, enjoying the pressure and arching against it...

Shiroe arched his back in reality—and suddenly understood that something was indeed supporting his back, and something else pushed down on his shoulders and stomach. His eyes snapped open in surprise and saw that his body was bound by glowing ropes, looking for all in the world like an enchanter's bread-and-butter root spell, Astral Bind. Summoning the UI with a thought, Shiroe saw that his mana was not full, but spent very slightly—just enough to cast a single root.

PvP's banned in cities. How did my spell even work?! Shiroe pulled at the bindings, but they held him as tightly as they would hold anyone. Damn it, if the guard shows up, this is going to be the stupidest death ever!

A number of seconds passed excruciatingly slowly, but the guard failed to appear, and Shiroe dared to look around. It was easier said than done: the bindings held him tightly, fastening his ankles to the bed and slithering up, under his sweater, which they had displaced. His arms were bound to his naked torso, while his pants and underwear remained pulled down.

"All right. All right. It's only a fifteen-second root," Shiroe stopped squirming. "Just a few more seconds..."

Fifteen seconds went by. Then again. And again. The bindings did not dissipate.

"If this is a bug, this is the stupidest. Bug. That I've. Ever. Seen." Shiroe spoke aloud just to stave off the emerging panic. He pulled on the bindings again, but they were just as durable. "I wonder what's bugged: the no-PvP zone or just my magic?"

He didn't even want to think about the first version. If the zone itself had bugged out, he'd be stuck until he was found. And when they found him, then what? You couldn't just cut through Astral Bind like you could through Thorn Bind Hostage. You'd need a dispel, and from an Enchanter of an equivalent level to boot.

"I have to find another way out. If worst comes to worst, I'm not in combat. I can teleport to the gates, maybe? Looking like this, though..." He shuddered. "Nope. That's a last resort. What else can I do? Just cancel the spell? You couldn't really remove debuffs like that before, but then you couldn't cast them on yourself, either... There's got to be a way."

Shiroe reached for his bindings with a thought, and thanked himself yet again for the half-Alv's magical senses: he was able to find the place where the spell held on to his will very quickly. To his mind's eye, it looked like a bright tangle, flashing brightly before slowly fading out as the duration ran its course. All right, that's the spell duration. Let's wait and see what happens.

The cooldown timer finished slightly before the root would have expired, and the moment it did, the knot before his mind's eye flared again—as if it were Shiroe himself re-casting the spell.

This makes no sense. Damn that permaroot trait! I'm actually sorry right now I ever did that quest for it. Still... If it's using my mana, if I'm somehow the one renewing it, there's got to be some way to stop that renewal from taking place.

And Shiroe touched the knot with a thought.

The picture blossomed into colors before his inner eye as vividly as the first memory with Marielle had. He was lying on a fur blanket in the same pose as in reality, except he was absolutely naked, and his hands were bound behind his back rather than to his sides. The bindings were familiar and comfortable: one could rely on them and use them to support his body in the most interesting of poses, even in the air, which he'd used quite a bit. But right now he was lying on soft brown fur, and it was warm, almost hot—his bare, wet skin glistened in firelight, and the arousing wait made it even hotter.

"Come now," he heard himself whisper, arching his back as far as he could. "Enough teasing. Please. Touch me."

Whoever was behind him decided he'd waited enough. A sandpapery tongue touched the small of his back and snaked up the column of his spine. Shiroe moaned loudly, and...

...And awoke in the same room in the tavern, still bound by the root, but now blushing and with a newly-hard member.

He knew one thing for certain: this was no fantasy. It was memory. The body remembered, as it remembered Marie.

"Shiroe," his throat had become uncomfortably dry, but he still spoke aloud, not so much to himself, but to his avatar. "Shiroe, are you telling me that you basically designed this version of Astral Bind for... For fun. And you know how to cast this version in exactly the same way as you know how to ride a horse or a gryphon? Then... Damn. Of course it wouldn't release me. It needs to renew itself so you don't have to think about it during sex. But then there's got to be something... Something like a passphrase, right? All I have to do is remember. And for that I just have to finish watching the memory."

Shiroe breathed deeply and concentrated on the slowly fading knot again.

...It wasn't just the rough tongue slithering over his back now. There were also claws being pulled down his back, slowly and thoroughly, but leaving no marks. The binds held him so tightly that Shiroe couldn't even move. All he could do was endure: bite his lip and try to hold back the moans, waiting for the other's mercy.

"You're so tense, Shiroe-chi," purred a familiar voice right into his ear. "All is well, the night is long. Nowhere to rush to, nothing to contr-rol. Leave ever-rything to me, nya."

Shiroe moaned aloud at that. He'd been dreaming of this moment for the entire last month of their near-non-stop raid. He loved the campaigns and loved the rush of orchestrating one victory after the other, but... He was so very tired now, and Nyanta... Nyanta was Nyanta. The old felinoid always knew exactly how to relax his knotted muscles and make him forget all of his worries.

"Chief, please..." Shiroe pulled forward as much as he could.

"Too earrrly."

Still, the felinoid sheathed his claws and touched Shiroe's member with only his leathery fingertips as he hugged him tighter, making Shiroe feel like he was being wrapped in that selfsame blanket they were lying on. Nyanta licked his shoulder gently, and the felinoid's vibrissae tickled Shiroe's neck. Shiroe laughed, quietly and happily. He was not home—he had no home, really—but he was with friends, and that was so good...

"My lord?" That worried, familiar voice seemed so out of place in this memory, but he was being shaken, shaken awake by the shoulder, and the picture before his inner eye cracked and disappeared, giving way to the darkness of his closed eyelids. "My lord! Are you all right?"

The very notion of opening his eyes was terrifying.

"Akatsuki," Shiroe muttered. "Please tell me that I'm dreaming."

"That would be a lie, my lord."

"Oh. Oh no." Shiroe thought he couldn't possibly blush more, but right now it felt like his whole skin was burning. "I'm sorry, Akatsuki, but could you please cover me with something?"

"Perhaps it would be better to undo your bindings?" She asked with a tinge of irony.

"That's easier said than done," he gave a nervous chuckle. "Please cover me, and I'll explain everything."

The blanket underneath him rustled and slipped out from beneath him despite the weight, and Akatsuki covered him gingerly.

"My lord, please take into account that the bloodflow to your hands has been considerably restricted. If the ropes aren't removed soon, you will need a healer."

"I know." Shiroe finally risked opening his eyes. A frowning and flushed Akatsuki in violet pajamas stood before the bed, arms folded skeptically. "I was trying to unbind myself when you got here."

Akatsuki arched an eyebrow.

"I know it didn't look like that!" Shiroe wanted to bury his face in the pillow and never look out again. Never ever. "But... All of this isn't what it looks like, really, I swear!" And then it hit him. "Wait. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Now it was Akatsuki's turn to avert her eyes.

"I... I heard some strange noises," she muttered. "And I thought something was wrong with you, so I slipped in through the window to check."

"And here I thought I'd made sure the room was well-isolated," Shiroe felt a chill run down his spine, as the horror of the entire tavern potentially asking him questions come morning dawned on him.

"The sound isolation is fine," Akatsuki blushed even harder. "I am a tracker, though. So I have a lot of active perception boosts. Enough to bypass the isolation, it would seem."

"I hadn't accounted for that," Shiroe admitted.

They were silent for a few moments, and then Akatsuki cocked her head and asked:

"So... What is this actually about, my lord?"

"I... I don't really know how to explain, but I'll try. During the day I had this weird moment when some of my... My avatar's memory surfaced. It was very lifelike and jarring, and so I decided to try and figure out what happened, just so that there wouldn't be any surprises at unfortunate times. When I focused on the memory, this spell surfaced with it, and I got stuck."

"So this is your own root, my lord?"

"Yes. I have a build option to turn Astral Bind to a permaroot, but it looks like this version of the spell is also macroed to constantly renew itself. There has to be some sort of way to turn it off, though. So I decided to look into my memories again and see if I could find the key. And that's when you came in."

Akatsuki gave him a suspicious stare.

"You don't know how to turn it off? Even though it's your own spell?"

"It applied by itself while I was remembering. I think my avatar designed this version. Before the Catastrophe he had his own memory, at least partial free will, and..." Shiroe fell sharply silent. Akatsuki waited patiently, and he finally finished the sentence: "...and his own goals. And that is exactly what it looks like."

And here he'd even hoped the conversation would turn to sex. But Akatsuki stared at him in shock and swallowed audibly.

"Are you saying... Are you saying that our characters had their own lives? Before we woke up in their bodies?"

"I'm not entirely positive yet, but it looks plausible," Shiroe replied quietly. "We can potentially remember much more than fighting or riding a mount. Things like everyday, non-combat, skills, and even particular events."

"Do you know how different they were from us?" Akatsuki tilted her head to the side. "I mean, from what you could remember?"

What he could remember... Shiroe inhaled sharply as the memory of Nyanta's sandpapery tongue touching his shoulders and neck surfaced unbidden yet again. He steadied himself and admitted:

"I don't know. On one hand, I would never have even gotten the idea for some of the things I saw on my own. On the other..." he flushed again, but decided to speak straight through his embarrassment. "I liked it. It was good. I didn't see anything that would repulse me."

"And this... You liked... Like this, too?" Akatsuki asked in a low voice, lightly touching the main knot on his chest under the blanket.

"Yes," Shiroe breathed out, and realized that it was getting far too hot under the blanket now. A traitorous thought in his head whispered: it's a little late for modesty, isn't it? You might as well ask her to pull the blanket down. But that was wrong, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind again. "Akatsuki, I'm so sorry. It looks like Naotsugu was right about me. 'Hidden pervert' seems to be as precise a characteristic as they come."

Akatsuki looked him straight in the eye and smiled a tight-lipped smile.

"My lord," she hesitated. "May I entrust you with something?"

"Of course," he said as encouragingly as he could. "Always."

"Do you remember the PKs? That first attack, and later the mages whom I killed at Susukino?"

"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"I liked that," she admitted in a barely audible voice. Then she licked her lips and spoke louder: "I don't know if it was just me, or if it was him, the killer Akatsuki who was here before me, if you are right... But I liked killing them. Even though I knew that they would revive eventually, I liked hearing them draw their last breath. I liked the slick of hot blood on my hands. I liked wiping my sword after the battle was done. So forgive me, my lord, but you are not the greatest pervert in this room. Not by far."

"I like winning too," Shiroe said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Akatsuki shook her head.

"Victory is one thing, but I enjoy killing. Even if it's just temporary, like here. And I'd enjoy it even if they didn't revive, my lord. Do you understand?"

"Not really, to be honest," he answered. "I think that we can like whatever we like, but what really matters is what we do. And I'm sure that your actions are always and will always be honorable, so I don't think worse of you for it, Akatsuki. And I don't think you're a pervert of any kind."

"My lord," she interrupted. "I didn't tell you this to beg for your sympathy, but because I believe you. I, too, sometimes notice feeling things that I'd think were more true of my character than myself... And yet I also enjoy those things. I will also add that they are much less harmless than your desires. So there's no need to apologize to me, my lord. I'd rather you told me if there's any way that I could help."

"I don't know yet," Shiroe's hands began to go numb, and he tried to move a little, unsuccessfully. "The easiest way to get to the key should be to finish watching the memory I'd been viewing. Let's try that. Can you... Can you stay and watch over me? And not let anyone in if someone else takes an interest?"

Akatsuki gave a brief nod.

"Count on me, my lord," she turned her back to watch both the window and the door.

"Thank you," he said and closed his eyes again.

Focusing on that memory with someone else present in the room was not easy. Shiroe tried to navigate to the knot in his mind's eye, but his senses kept bringing him back to Akatsuki's steady and practiced breathing, her quiet presence reminding him of the wait for touch, which only distracted and aroused him more. At least no other memories surfaced with her as a participant, and Shiroe eventually managed to slip into the necessary trance.

...The bite on the scruff of his neck was sharp and delicious. Shiroe gasped in delighted frustration, trying to press himself closer to Nyanta and struggling against his own bonds, which held tight despite his efforts. Still, the felinoid took the hint, and pulled Shiroe close, gingerly pushing a few claws under his nipple's sensitive skin. A rough and enticing hardness moved between his legs, making Shiroe wish fervently that Nyanta would go just a little higher. The other paw played with the crown of his cock, and the sensation was wonderful: pain and pleasure entwined and following each other in a pulsing rhythm, and Shiroe moaned incessantly to that rhythm.

"Ssso, Shiroe-chi," Nyanta whispered into his ear. "Purrhaps that's enough? Shall I let you go now?"

"No," Shiroe breathed loudly and squirmed. "Please, no. Continue, chief, please, I beg you, don't leave me like this..."

The claws curled in a little more on his nipple, eliciting another sharp gasp.

"This might hurrt, even forr you."

"Th-that's all right, chief, pl... Ah!"

The words stopped in Shiroe's throat when Nyanta moved slightly higher, letting his thorned member slide between Shiroe's buttocks. The clawed hand on Shiroe's nipple moved higher, letting him kiss it with dry lips. Claws slowly unsheathed on the hand playing with Shiroe's cock, moving so precisely as if Nyanta were a musician, gingerly plucking one pulsing string after another.

Shiroe was close already, but the touch of thorns soon pushed him over the edge. When he went limp in Nyanta's arms, the felinoid licked his ear happily.

"Did that feel good, Shiroe-chi?"

"Yes," a satisfied warmth was spreading through Shiroe's body. "Thank you, Nyanta."

"Any time, nya," Nyanta purred and, after a final caress on the small of his back, got up. "Shall I rrelease you now?"

Shiroe nodded, and Nyanta made his way around the bed to touch the central knot on Shiroe's chest. He spoke slowly, struggling to pronounce the strange word correctly:

"Ma-athcad."

The glow of the bindings faded, and Shiroe could finally move. He sat up and stretched, and caught Nyanta's pleased look.

"Sssooo..." Nyanta drawled curiously. "What *is* that word, anyhow? Some wor-rd of power-r?"

"I don't really know, to be honest," Shiroe shrugged. "I just thought of it one day and liked how it sounded."

"Nya," the felinoid acknowledged and pulled him up from their bed. "Come. A warm bath would not go amiss for you now..."

...Shiroe burst out laughing as the absurdity of the situation hit him.

"Mathcad!" he wheezed in-between fits of laughter. "Mathcad, seriously?!"

The bindings stayed tight, which only confirmed his suspicions: that someone else was needed to release him with this particular password. Thankfully, there was a trustworthy person to be found nearby.

"My lord?" Akatsuki touched his shoulder carefully. "Are you all right?"

Shiroe just shook his head, laughing, until he could finally speak again.

"Akatsuki? You were wrong about our respective perversion rating! I think I just took first place again!"

She blinked in surprise.

"Why?"

"One thing at a time. First of all, I found the password, and I couldn't have used a more twisted one if I tried. Second... Akatsuki. I think they knew about us."

"The characters?"

Shiroe nodded.

"At the very least they knew something. The password is the name of an engineering program I'd used to work in day in and day out at home. But he—I mean Shiroe—didn't know the meaning of that word. At least he claimed that it was just a combination of sounds that he'd come up with. I don't think it's a coincidence, though."

"Agreed," Akatsuki instinctively clenched her hand on his shoulder. "But my lord, let's unbind you first?"

"Yeah. Could you help me, please? Touch the big knot on my chest and say," Shiroe made an effort not to start laughing again. "And say 'mathcad.'"

Akatsuki pulled the edge of the blanket down, and Shiroe held his breath: the arousal, which had receded somewhat in face of absurdity, suddenly returned in full force. Especially when Akatsuki's hand slipped down his sweater and pressed on the bindings. Their eyes met, and for a moment time itself vanished.

"Mathcad," she whispered.

The bindings faded. Shiroe sat up slowly, wincing as the blood rushed back to his sore body, and rubbed his especially pained wrists.

"Thank you, Akatsuki. You're a life savior."

"Think nothing of it," she said, taking a step back and turning away as he fixed his clothing. When Shiroe was done, she looked in his general direction again, though still not directly at him. "My lord... May I ask a personal question?"

"Of course. Anything."

"The ropes... Why use the ropes?" She fell quiet for a moment, but then quickly added: "I understand you like it. I just don't know why."

"Oh," Shiroe looked away too, fixing his glasses. "Let me think for a moment. I mean, it wasn't exactly something I'd experienced in my own life. But Shiroe of Seldesshia did. They were after a long campaign, several months, I think, and I... He was very tired. Very tired of thinking about everything and deciding for everyone. And when you're bound, you're not doing that. You give yourself up to someone's kind hands and just stop thinking. You ask and you wait, and that's very pleasant... I'm sorry, I don't think I'm being very coherent about this."

"No," she replied quietly. "You are being very coherent, my lord."

And then she stretched out her hand and gently stroked his hair.

"A... Akatsuki," Shiroe could only gasp.

"You are like that even now," and another stroke. "You think for everyone. You're responsible for everyone."

Shiroe swallowed, trying not to move. All he could do was feel how light her touch was, and how the already familiar heat was rising within him again.

"I would take care of you, my lord. If you would let me."

"Akatsuki..." his voice betrayed him as she gingerly moved down to his brow and cheekbones. "I... I can't ask this from you."

"I understand," she said with a tinge of sadness. "But I wish you could, my lord."

A little more of this and he'd collapse onto the bed and beg. Instead, Shiroe leaned back, relying on his arms as supports. Akatsuki took a step closer and put a second hand on his shoulder.

"If... You don't have to do this, Akatsuki," Shiroe threw his head back as she slowly moved up to his neck. His glasses slipped again, but this time he didn't have the strength to fix them.

"I know that I don't have to. But I'd like to."

Shiroe gave in, arms buckling, and arched his back towards her.

"Aka..."

Soundlessly, she slipped nearer and caught him, pulled him forward as if asking to sit up again, and he found the strength to do so. Akatsuki hugged him tighter, hand entwined in his hair, and kissed his forehead with dry, hot lips. Shiroe was shaking, but even so he heard the beating of her heart, loud in the pre-dawn silence. They stood quietly for a few moments, and then Akatsuki drew back slightly. She caught his gaze, smiled encouragingly, and then touched the handles of his glasses with both hands. He allowed it, and she removed them gingerly, then took a few steps to the table and put them down in a safe place. Then she turned to him and stood still, as if in a silent question.

Shiroe extended a hand towards her, not knowing himself whether he was calling or asking. She closed her eyes for a moment and smiled the slightest of smiles—and then stepped forward, putting her hand, rough and callused from daggers, into his. Then she raised it to her lips, half bowing herself, and kissed his fingers. Two light steps with bare feet, and she slipped behind Shiroe's back, settling behind him on bent knees so that he could lean back into her embrace. He allowed himself to do so, and she kissed his ear gingerly, then whispered:

"You are as a bowstring, ever strung so very tight."

He turned his head to see her at least out of the corner of his eye, and answered in a breathless, low voice:

"And you are as a blade shimmering in the moonlight, so elegant and deadly."

He caught a fleeting smile just before she hid her face on his shoulder, and then closed his eyes with her hand.

***

Shiroe awoke closer to midday, curled up under the blankets as was his habit. He poked his head out from beneath, blinked hazily into the sun's ray, trying to recall that dream, soft and powerful, beautiful and delicate simultaneously. He reached for his glasses—and found a sheet of paper right beneath them. Suddenly feeling anxious, Shiroe sat up and looked around... Only to see an empty room and open window blinds.

He put on his glasses slowly and gave the carefully-folded paper another look, then took it into trembling hands and unfurled it. Read aloud quietly:

The moon before dawn / Has been kind to us / A summer night's dream

Shiroe put the letter back down on the table and ran a hand through his hair, lost in thought. His heart beat wildly somewhere in his throat, and he was quite uncertain of being able to write a response without spilling ink all over the letter... He'd never written classical poetry before anyway, but he knew enough to be sure that it would wound her deeply if he didn't respond at all.

If I haven't done that already... he thought uncomfortably as he dressed himself.

Still, Shiroe pulled out ink and a pen, and drafted a response on a separate sheet of paper. Looked it over again, unhappy with his choice of words, then crossed it out. Sighed and rubbed his temples, then lowered his head on crossed hands, torn between what he wanted to say and what he should say. Tried again and again, covering the scratch paper in kanji before finally finding the words. Then he took his best ink and pulled Akatsuki's letter close, and wrote down under her elegant, sharp pen strokes:

The bowstring and blade shall sing / United in midday sun's light

He waited to for the ink to dry and re-folded it, sealing the note. A maid was cleaning the corridors, and he asked her to deliver the note—if he remembered correctly, that was the proper way to deliver such responses. After her steps faded, Shiroe retreated to his room and returned to the windowsill, looking out. The day ahead did look to be clear and hot.