Anastasia finished the last bite of her breakfast, set her spoon down, and took one final sip of her coffee before speaking.
"What am I supposed to do today?"
Malvor, lounging against the counter with all the smug satisfaction of a cat who had just knocked a priceless vase off a shelf, flashed his second most charming smile. The first was reserved for seduction. This one? This one was purely for annoyance.
"What do you want to do, Annie Doll?"
She hesitated. Just for a second.
And he pounced.
Malvor lived for these moments, tiny cracks in her otherwise unshakable confidence. That brief flicker of uncertainty, that hint of not knowing? Oh, he thrived on it.
He gasped, clapping his hands together in an exaggerated display of realization. "Oh, Annie, I know!"
Her expression immediately shifted into wary skepticism.
"I want you to dress in rags and scrub the floors like Cinderella," he declared, his grin widening. "Cinder Annie!"
He practically beamed at her, as if this was the single greatest idea he had ever come up with.
Anastasia stared at him. Blinked once. Slowly.
Then, without a word, she picked up her now empty coffee mug and turned toward the sink, placing it inside with careful precision.
Malvor leaned in, waiting. Waiting for her to react.
Finally, she turned back to him, her face unreadable.
"Sure," she said, tone neutral. "Get me a bucket and a brush."
Malvor froze, caught mid-smirk. "Wait, what?"
"If that's what you want," she said, watching him carefully, "then I'll do it."
His smirk faltered. That wasn't surrender. That was control. And she'd just turned it on him. This was not how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to groan, roll her eyes, fight back.
Not accept it!
Malvor squinted. "Hold on. Are you... are you messing with me right now?"
Anastasia just shrugged.
He gasped, stepping back dramatically. "You absolute monster, Annie! Twisting my own games against me!" He placed a hand over his heart, shaking his head in mock betrayal. "And here I thought we were bonding."
She exhaled through her nose, the closest thing to a laugh he had ever gotten out of her.
Malvor recovered quickly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the deep emotional wounds of her betrayal. "Fine," he huffed. "Clearly, I can't just throw you into menial labor for my amusement, tragic, really. I'll have to come up with something else for you to do today."
Anastasia crossed her arms. "I thought I was supposed to be yours. Isn't it your job to tell me what I should be doing?"
Malvor's grin returned, slow and infuriatingly pleased.
"Oh, Annie," he purred, stepping closer. "I do not tell you what to do. I simply provide the opportunity for chaos."
Anastasia narrowed her eyes slightly. "And if I don't take it?"
Malvor shrugged. "Then I make it more interesting."
She sighed, rubbing her temple. "That sounds exhausting."
Malvor waggled his brows. "It is deeply rewarding."
Anastasia stared at him for a moment before exhaling sharply. "I'm going back to my room."
""Don't forget the ash stains, darling!" he called after her as she walked away.
She didn't look back.
Malvor, however, leaned against the counter, watching her go, his grin lingering.
She might have won this round.
But the next one? Oh, the next one would be so much fun.
Anastasia returned to her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. She had no idea what to do in this place, this ever-shifting, unpredictable, infuriating place.
Maybe she could read.
It was a habit she had always turned to when she had nothing else to occupy her mind. Books were quiet. They didn't demand anything from her. They didn't talk in circles or try to get under her skin.
But how in the hell was she supposed to find a library in a place that moved whenever it pleased?
She exhaled sharply, stepping out into the hallway. Glancing left, then right. Endless, shifting white stone. No direction.
She felt a little ridiculous as she spoke, but what was the harm in trying?
"Would you take me to the library?"
For a beat, nothing happened.
Then, with the smooth, effortless grace of the impossible, the door directly in front of her clicked and swung open.
Anastasia arched a brow.
Of course.
Stepping through, she found herself inside a grand library.
Towering shelves stretched toward an impossibly high ceiling, each filled with books bound in rich leather, delicate parchment, and materials she didn't even recognize. A chandelier of floating crystal shards hung above, casting soft, shifting light over the space. Massive windows, though she knew they hadn't been part of the building before, lined the walls, revealing views of swirling galaxies and shifting landscapes that didn't exist anywhere but here.
It was beautiful.
She hesitated, taking a slow step forward, running her fingertips along the spines of books that smelled of ink, aged paper, and something ancient.
So, the house listened.
That was useful. And unsettling.
She exhaled, shaking her head, then muttered, "Thank you."
Because it felt like the right thing to say.
The sheer volume of books was overwhelming. Shelves stretched beyond sight, filled with tomes that likely held entire worlds within their pages. Anastasia stood in the center of it all, still as a statue in a sea of stories. She wasn't used to choosing. Not for herself. Where did she even start?
She exhaled softly, then spoke, feeling only slightly ridiculous.
"Um… a romantic fantasy book?"
Almost instantly, several books materialized on the table beside her, appearing with a soft thud as if they had always been there.
She lifted the first one, running a finger over the embossed cover, then nodded to herself.
Anastasia wasn't talking to Malvor. She was talking to the house.
"I've read this one. It was excellent."
She said it as an acknowledgment, a small note for whatever force controlled this place, so it would know for the future. If the house could listen, then maybe it could learn.
She tucked the other two books under her arm and turned, stepping into the hall.
And, of course, because the universe refused to let her have peace, Malvor appeared the moment she did.
He strolled out of a nearby room, all lazy confidence, his sharp golden-brown eyes immediately locking onto the books in her arms.
"What do you have there? Oh, Annie's armed. And with books, no less."
Anastasia didn't slow. She simply lifted the books slightly in response, letting him see.
Malvor's head tilted, his smirk creeping wider. "Oh? You can read?"
She sighed. "I can."
The smirk turned outright smug. "Huh. I assumed you couldn't read."
Anastasia didn't even glance at him. She just kept walking, her expression blank, her grip tightening slightly on her books.
Malvor, of course, took this as an invitation to follow.
"So, what did my little house conjure for you, hmm?" His tone was all mock curiosity, and he leaned in just enough to be irritating. "A deep philosophical read? A thrilling tale of war and conquest?" He narrowed his eyes playfully. "A collection of love letters, perhaps?"
She exhaled through her nose and refused to take the bait.
Malvor hummed, walking backward in front of her now, his hands tucked lazily into his pockets. "Oh, but maybe it's something truly scandalous," he continued, grinning. "Tell me, Annie, do you enjoy books filled with long, longing glances? Forbidden kisses? Pages and pages of—"
"Romantic fantasy," she interrupted, deadpan.
Malvor stopped mid-step, blinking. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yes."
His face lit up, way too pleased. "You? Reading about romance? Love stories and sweeping gestures? My, my, Annie, how very unexpected of you."
She stopped walking then, fixing him with a calm, unreadable look. "You realize romance books contain conflict, strategy, and intricate social maneuvering, right?" She lifted a brow. "Not that I'd expect you to understand depth."
Malvor reeled back as if struck by poetry itself. "You wound me!" He dropped the act a second later, eyes gleaming with mischief. "But tell me, Annie darling, is it the romance you like?" He leaned in, voice low and teasing. "Or the fantasy?"
Anastasia turned, walking away.
Malvor grinned and fell into step beside her again, undeterred. "Oh, don't walk away, Annie Doll. This is far too entertaining."
"You're impossible."
"And yet, here I am, very real," he quipped. "Now, tell me, do you have a favorite romantic fantasy book? Perhaps one filled with a roguish, impossibly handsome male lead?"
Anastasia sighed through her nose. "You want me to say a character like you, don't you?"
Malvor beamed. "It would make my day."
She didn't answer.
Which, in itself, was an answer.
And Malvor lived for the chase.
That infuriating man!
Seriously.
Malvor was like a character ripped straight from her favorite books, the insufferable, cocky, endlessly charming rogue who knew he was trouble and delighted in it. The kind of character that made heroines groan in frustration while secretly enjoying the chaos he caused.
And she refused to give him the satisfaction.
Anastasia kept walking, making her way to a sitting room she had passed earlier. She didn't tell the house where she wanted to go this time, she needed to find something on her own in this ever-shifting place. Malvor, of course, remained at her side, matching her pace effortlessly.
If he were in one of her books, she'd have thrown it across the room by now.
Then, just because he could, he bumped into her.
It wasn't forceful, but it was on purpose. A casual, lazy little nudge that should have been insignificant.
She ignored him.
Malvor huffed dramatically. "Rude. You wound me, Annie Doll."
No response.
So, of course, he took that as encouragement.
With a deep sigh, he turned his head skyward as if recounting a tragic tale. "Once, long ago, a great and powerful god saw a woman of unparalleled beauty and unmatched wit. He was instantly captivated."
Anastasia sank into an armchair, flipping open a book as if she wasn't listening.
Malvor pressed on.
"And so, this god, knowing she was far too worthy for ordinary gestures, moved the heavens for her!" He flung an arm out grandly. "He stole the stars, reshaped the sky, and etched her name into the constellations themselves!"
Anastasia turned a page without reading a single word.
"Ah, but our clever heroine!" Malvor continued, now circling her chair, eyes glittering with amusement. "She was unyielding. She would not be won with mere celestial wonders! No! So, our devoted god had no choice but to craft an entirely new world, just for her! A realm where the oceans whispered her name and the winds carried his love songs!"
Anastasia snorted.
Malvor froze.
She laughed.
It wasn't much, just a short, sharp burst of amusement, but it was real. And for a second, he forgot how to speak.
He stared at her, utterly distracted, watching as the last traces of laughter lingered in her expression before she pressed her lips together, forcing herself back into composure.
And damn it all, that was the best sound he had ever heard.
Anastasia glanced up, catching the way he was staring.
Her brows drew together slightly. "What?"
Malvor blinked.
Then, just like that, his smirk was back.
"Oh, nothing, Annie," he purred, plopping down onto the couch across from her, looking far too smug for his own good. He draped an arm over the back, watching her with renewed interest. "I was just thinking…"
She sighed. "That's never a good sign."
He ignored her. "I quite like that sound."
Anastasia stiffened slightly, but Malvor leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist, grinning.
"I think," he mused, "I'll have to make you laugh more often."
She glared over her book. "I hate you."
Malvor beamed. "Ah, music to my ears."
This is it, he thinks.
The first piece of that impenetrable armor beginning to crack.
For days now, she had been indifferent, unreadable, untouchable. She met his arrogance with cool detachment, his charm with blunt practicality. She refused to play.
But this, this tiny, fleeting laugh, it was a victory.
And Malvor never let victories pass without rubbing them in.
He gasped, eyes widening as if struck by divine revelation. Then, with the most exaggerated grin he could muster, he clasped his hands over his heart.
"Oh, Annie Snookums, you have the best laugh."
Anastasia visibly regretted ever making a sound.
Her expression flattened so fast it was comical. She shut her book, resting it against her knee as she leveled him with an unimpressed stare.
"Snookums?" she repeated, voice dry.
Malvor nodded, utterly delighted with himself. "It suits you, doesn't it?"
"No."
"But it does," he insisted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "It softens you. Makes you seem... approachable." His smirk turned downright devious. "You wouldn't want to seem cold and intimidating, would you?"
Anastasia inhaled slowly through her nose.
Malvor waited.
Then, with terrifying grace, she met his gaze and smiled.
Not a real smile. No, this was a sweet, utterly false smile, perfectly polite, perfectly measured. The kind of smile one might offer to a particularly irritating customer.
"Of course not, Mallykins."
Malvor's smirk vanished.
Oh. Oh.
Anastasia blinked at him, expression still sickeningly pleasant. "Something wrong?"
He sat back, squinting at her. "Did you just—"
"Would you like some tea, Mally Boo?" she asked, voice saccharine. "Or perhaps a cozy blanket? You must be so tired after all your hard work of annoying me."
Malvor stared.
Anastasia picked up her book, flipping it open as if she hadn't just shattered his entire sense of superiority.
Then, she turned a page, exhaling a soft, satisfied sigh.
"That's what I thought," she murmured.
Malvor groaned, flopping dramatically against the couch. "Annie," he whined. "That's awful."
"Good," she said, not looking up.
He glared.
She smirked.
Malvor, god of chaos, realized something deeply, deeply troubling.
He was in so much trouble.