chapter 39- Vexira, the Ice-Tongued Bloom

“Who the hell are you?” Ydoc finally blurts, the sheer force of her venom making his voice crack.

Froosta hasn't moved. His entire body is trembling—not just cold now. His hands are limp at his sides. His tail hangs, utterly still.

The silver-skinned woman places a delicate finger to her cheek and blinks slowly, like a cat annoyed at being asked to introduce itself.

“Oh, darling,” she coos, “I’m Vexira.”
“But I doubt you forgot me.”
“You’re just too broken to remember anything important anymore.”

She steps down the slope of ice with elegance so unnatural, it looks like the waterfall is carrying her. Her runes pulse with slow, predatory confidence.

“I was there the day you tried to drown yourself, you know. Not that he told you.”

Her eyes flick to Froosta.

Froosta flinches.

Ydoc’s lips part. “Wait—”

But she doesn’t stop.

“Oh yes. He found you in the water, didn’t he?”
“Dragged you out, whispering to you, crying over you like some pathetic stray pup who finally got a toy just to find it broken.”
“Do you know what he said?”

She doesn't wait. Her voice drops to a mockery of Froosta's soft tones:

“‘Please, please don’t go… please stay this time… please don’t forget me again.’”

Froosta gasps, his breath catching in a quiet sob.
He tries to speak.
Nothing comes out.

Vexira keeps smiling.

“He’s done this before, you know. Dozens of times.”
“The little whimpering frost-prince. He clings to anyone who’ll hold him.”
“He wants to be hurt. It gives him purpose.”

She steps closer to Ydoc, her presence thickening the air.
The warmth of Froosta’s earlier affection begins to evaporate.

“But you…”
Her voice slinks into a different tone now—lower, sultry.
“You’re different.”

She circles him now, barely brushing past his shoulder.

“You carry something dark, don’t you?”
“A memory that bites. A history that screams.”
“You could melt a dozen of him in a night and still wake up cold.”

She runs a finger across the air near his face—never touching.

“Why waste your warmth on a trembling little thing like him, when someone like me would devour it with meaning?”

The words drip. Every syllable—suggestive. Dark. Beautiful.
Predatory.

Ydoc doesn’t respond.

He looks at Froosta.

The Britter’s eyes are wide, glassy. He’s biting his lip so hard it’s almost bleeding.
His hands are clenched. His tail curled around his legs.
He’s not defending himself. He’s shaking apart.

Vexira grins at that.

“Oh, did I go too far?”
“I keep forgetting how delicate he is. He cried when a moss sprite looked at him wrong.”

Ydoc lifts his hand slowly.

His mouth opens.

Then closes.

He stares at her.

At the runes.
At the curling white leaves.
At the smile.
At the poison.

And all he can say is—

“...whoa.”

Ydoc doesn’t move.
He can’t.
His ears are ringing—not from sound, but from information.

Dragged from the water…?
Please stay this time…
You’ve done this before…

The images flash behind his eyes—
Water.
Breathless cold.
Fingers pulling at his coat.
A voice screaming something soft.

He looks at Froosta—his Froosta, still trembling in place like a child caught in a storm without a coat.

But before he can say a word—

“Don’t talk to her…” Froosta whispers, his voice hoarse.
“Please… please don’t. She’s not—she’s not good. She’s not part of the—”

“Oh hush,” Vexira cuts in, sharp as glass.
“The stuttering little pet has found his bark again.”

Froosta flinches.

She turns, smiling wide now—too wide, teeth just barely a fraction too long.

“You think he’s yours?”
“You think cuddling him and crying on his stomach is love?”
“You’re just a leech with a pout. He’ll forget you next week.”

Her gaze whips back to Ydoc.

“But me?”
“I remember everything.”

She paces again—elegant, fluid, always keeping herself in motion like a performance dancer in a ruined ballroom.

“You did try to drown yourself, by the way.”
“Didn’t quite work. Pity.”
“You were so quiet back then. I liked you quiet. Mysterious. But now?”

She sighs, fanning her fingers out.

“Now you’re parading around with this shivering flirt—making eyes, pretending to be pure—”

She steps in closer.
Her breath smells like frostwine and ash.

“You want answers?”
“I’ll give you everything.”
“All of it. Your past. Your purpose. Even why the Divide hasn’t torn you apart yet.”

Her fingers twirl near her chest—where runes burn hot blue like submerged lightning.

“All I ask… is warmth.”

She leans in.

“Right here.”
“Right now.”
“There’s a patch of moss behind that log. Good slope.”
“I’ll even pretend to love you.”

Ydoc stares.

Froosta is silent.
Not breathing.
His ears flat. His claws dug into the snow, holding himself there.

Vexira winks.

“Come on, raven-boy. Be a good monster and mount your new master.”

Ydoc opens his mouth.

No thoughts.
No poetry.
No protest.

Just:

“…gross.”

     ==--Gross--==

 Vexira blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Her smile falters.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Ydoc doesn’t look phased. At all. In fact, he folds his arms with the same level of disdain one might reserve for a particularly mildewed mushroom.

“I said gross.”
“Like, ew.”
“You're—yuck. What is wrong with you?”

The sound that leaves Vexira’s throat is less a laugh and more a glitch.
A high, sharp gasp mixed with disbelief and boiling ego.

“EXCUSE me!?”
“I am the blooming frost-mouth of the elder roots! I have seduced centaurs! I invented the ritual of Ember-Kissing! I—”

She sputters. Arms flailing now.

“I have symmetrical thighs!!”

Ydoc shrugs.

“Okay. But still gross.”

“I am the bomb!” she screeches.

Ydoc turns to Froosta.

“Froosta, buddy. Do you wanna mount her?”

Froosta, still sniffling, quietly wipes his nose and whispers:

“No thank you.”

“See?”
Ydoc turns back to her.
“Unanimous.”

She gasps. A full-body gasp.
Like someone told her she wasn’t the main character anymore.

“Wha—you—No! You don’t get to just walk away!”

She stamps her foot, causing a puff of snow to launch into the air like a tantrum in slow motion.

“This is flirting! This is human flirting! You’re supposed to, like, fall into my arms and tell me I’m broken but beautiful!”

Ydoc, unbothered, takes Froosta’s hand.

“C’mon, Fluffball. Let’s get to that party.”

“Yay,” Froosta mumbles, still blotchy-eyed, but smiling so very, very gently.

Ydoc starts walking.
Froosta stumbles to keep up.

Behind them—

Vexira just stands there.

Stunned.

Then:

“WAIT! Wait—okay, sorry! I was just—I thought that’s how you people flirt!”

“You’re the first man I’ve seen in like seven winters!”

She starts following them.
The runes on her skin dim now, pulsing less like a fire and more like a flickering ember.

“Do you want me to say I’m cute? Would that help?”
“I can be cute!! Look! I twirl my leaf!”

She flicks one of the white leaves in her hair and makes a sad little spin like a cursed fairy.

“HELLO?!”

Ydoc doesn’t turn around.

“Still gross.”