It started with a plan.
A very bad plan.
A plan so fundantally flawed, so astronomically stupid, so cosmically unhinged that even Mister Fog—whose hobbies include licking forbidden crystals and screaming at the moon—looked at and said, "This seems like a cry for help."
Which it was.
Because I decided... I needed to date soone.
Imdiately.
No processing. No healing. Just full-throttle rebound energy fueled by spite and sparkling juice.
"You’re gonna what now?" Lilith blinked.
"I’m going to date soone hotter, smarter, and even more emotionally unavailable than Yvra Bororo," I said, slamming my mug on the table like a man declaring war on reality.
Sir Galrik sheathed his sword dramatically. "Then you must train in the ancient art of flirtation. I shall assist."
"I don’t need training. I need... revenge affection. I need to weaponize vulnerability."
"You don’t even know how to make eye contact with waiters," Lilith muttered, lighting a cigarette shaped like a red flag.
"Which is why I’ve made this." I unfurled a scroll.
It read:
OPERATION: PETTY LOVE
Step One: Haircut.
Step Two: Mysteriously vanish from the social scene.
Step Three: Re-erge hot, emotionally stable-looking, and possibly fluent in three languages.
Step Four: Start dating soone terrifying.
"This feels like a ntal breakdown wrapped in a romantic cody," Lilith said, but she helped circle Step Four anyway.
Galrik raised a hand. "What kind of terrifying are we talking? Like, emotionally aloof or just physically capable of murder?"
"Yes," I said.
________________________________________
Step One: Haircut.
We went to the local barber. Her na was Madam Shearz and she ran her shop out of an abandoned weaponsmith forge. There was blood on the mirror and a sign that said "No Crying Unless It’s Hot."
"Make look like a man who’s emotionally unavailable but also sohow deeply wounded and hauntingly mysterious," I told her.
She looked up and down and said, "You want the Sad Widow cut."
Ten minutes later, I had cheekbones.
I didn’t even have cheekbones before.
Lilith gasped. Galrik saluted. Mister Fog looked into the middle distance and said, "The prophecy has begun."
I felt powerful. I felt dangerous.
I felt like a divorced theatre kid with a vengeance.
________________________________________
Step Two: Vanish.
I stopped going to the tavern. I stopped answering my pigeon mail. I started writing poetry in the rain on a balcony I didn’t own.
People noticed.
Rumors began.
They said I’d joined a cult of sexy wizards. They said I’d been cursed to fall in love with a mirror. They said I had depth now.
Even Yvra sent a ssage:
"Are you okay? You look like soone who listens to music with rain sounds in it."
I didn’t reply.
I posted a vague quote on my magical status crystal instead:
"Sotis... healing looks like silence."
Then I threw the crystal in a lake.
________________________________________
Step Three: Re-erge.
I walked into the town square like a slow-motion dagger wrapped in trauma and perfu.
I wore a black cloak, a hint of eyeliner, and boots that scread, "This man has regrets but also options."
Lilith whispered, "You actually look hot. I hate this."
Galrik wiped a tear. "I am proud... and a little scared."
Mister Fog was busy offering a flower to a passing squirrel. "Love is chaos," he said. "You are chaos."
I nodded.
Now... it was ti.
Step Four: Find soone terrifying to date.
"Where the hell do you et emotionally devastating people with questionable morals these days?" I asked.
And that’s when Lilith grinned.
"Oh, I know a place."
She handed a card.
It read:
"DA DANGEROUS’ SCHOOL FOR THE VIOLENTLY BEAUTIFUL™" – Now Accepting New Lovers and Lawsuits.
I stared at her.
She just winked.
"Ti to find you soone who makes Yvra Bororo look like a safe life choice."
Oh, gods.
This could only end in fire.
We arrived at Da Dangerous’ School for the Violently Beautiful™ just before dusk, because apparently that’s when all the heartbreakers finish their fencing lessons and co out to brood on parapets.
The place looked less like a school and more like a gothic cathedral soone cursed into looking hotter. The architecture smoldered. Gargoyles flexed. Roses bled poetry. One of the torches whispered seductively, "You’re not ready for this."
I was not ready for this.
"This is where people co to fall in love, die of heartbreak, and get their cheekbones legally sharpened," Lilith said, adjusting my collar with a smirk. "You need to make eye contact with at least one person who has a secret scar and unresolved issues."
"And don’t be yourself," Mister Fog added, draping a shawl over that slled like risk. "Be soone mysterious. Soone with a past."
Sir Galrik handed a rose. "Rember, won love a man with haunted backstory energy."
"What’s my fake backstory?"
"You were raised in a monastery... by wolves," said Lilith.
"And you once fell in love with a ghost," added Mister Fog.
"And you wear gloves because your hands rember too much," Galrik concluded.
I didn’t know what that ant. But I put on the gloves anyway.
________________________________________
The foyer was filled with velvet couches, moonlight, and emotionally expensive perfu. Everyone looked like they could kill you, kiss you, or both in the sa breath. So were fencing in slow motion. Others were arguing in French. One woman was painting a self-portrait... using her ex’s blood.
And then she looked at .
Tall. Ice-white hair. Crimson armor. Eyes like a war cri dressed up as longing.
Lilith hissed. "That’s Seraphine du Mal."
"Sounds fake," I whispered.
"She once fell in love with a vampire warlord, made him cry, and then fed his tears to her roses."
"Oh gods."
"She’s perfect."
Seraphine glided over. Her voice was like a dagger wrapped in silk.
"You," she said, "look like soone who screams into books."
"Only the hardcovers," I managed.
She smiled like she knew my GPA and my browser history. "Walk with ."
I did.
We walked along a balcony while she monologued about moonlight and moral ambiguity. I made vague remarks about pain and betrayal. She nodded sagely. I think I passed the Vibe Check.
Until she stopped.
"You remind of my ex," she said, staring at the moon. "He also had that... disappointed librarian aura."
"Oh. Thank you."
"He died screaming. I miss him sotis."
"Oh."
"But I like your face. And your posture. You slouch like a man who’s emotionally evasive. That’s very hot right now."
I was sweating bullets. Not because I was nervous. Because she was radiating enough sultry intimidation to lt the damn balcony.
Then—out of nowhere—a trumpet blast.
A literal trumpet blast.
"HALT, WENCH!"
Yvra Bororo kicked open the gates on horseback, wearing ceremonial armor and fury.
"I CHANGED MY MIND."
I blinked. "What?!"
She pointed dramatically. "You don’t get to glow up and emotionally rebrand while I’m finding myself in a hayloft with Sir Muscleton the Broad!"
A knight galloped in behind her, shirtless, sweaty, and clearly confused.
"I thought this was a tour?!"
"Shut up, Gregor!" Yvra barked.
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "Is this a... love triangle?"
I turned to Lilith. "What do I do?!"
Lilith was already filming with a crystal orb. "You stand there and let this spicy disaster unfold, dummy."
Mister Fog began chanting, "Conflict is the spice of romance. Conflict is the spice of romance."
Galrik unsheathed his sword. "Shall I duel the shirtless one?!"
"No! No duels!" I shouted. "I—look, everyone calm down!"
Yvra dismounted. "We were married, Cecil!"
"Briefly! And under suspicious circumstances!"
She marched up to . "You said I was your endga!"
"I also said I was a Pisces, which was a lie! I don’t know how astrology works!"
Seraphine smirked. "You’re very dramatic. I like that."
"You don’t get to like that!" Yvra snarled. "That’s my trauma nugget!"
And suddenly, the three most powerful won I’d ever t were staring at like I was a choose-your-own-disaster novel.
I raised my hands.
"I... I need a juice box."
And I ran.
________________________________________
Later, in a bush, I sat with Galrik, Lilith, and Mister Fog.
"Maybe," I panted, "maybe I’m not ready to date yet."
"You think?" Lilith said, handing a can of Emotional Recovery™ Energy Drink.
Mister Fog nodded. "Your aura is leaking."
Galrik patted my back. "You’ll find love again one day, my friend. But perhaps... not today. And not with the lady who drinks vampire tears."
"...Fair."
I sipped the drink. It tasted like citrus and poor choices.
Yvra got back on her horse and rode off with Sir Muscleton. Seraphine went back to brooding. And ?
I deleted the scroll labeled OPERATION: PETTY LOVE and replaced it with a new one.
OPERATION: MAYBE JUST HEAL FOR A WHILE.
I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t healed.
But I was trying.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.
To be continued...
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