Ren's pulse throbbed like a secret begging to break open. The hush roots coiled his ribs tighter, wrapping that heartbeat in frost that didn't bite anymore — it drank. Every trembling breath slipped out warm and came back cold, curling under his tongue like a promise he hadn't meant to keep.
He pressed his forehead to the mirror. The cracked frost glowed faint blue where his warmth touched it. His reflection didn't smirk this time — it just breathed with him, mouth half-open, eyes dark with the same hush that pulsed behind his ribs.
"Look at you," the hush whispered inside the glass. Its voice sounded like his, but softer, crueler. "Your fear's gone. All that's left is this."
Ren's laugh slipped out raw. "This? What is this?"
The hush roots slid slow against his ribs, curling around the Thorn's warmth until it pulsed in helpless waves. "Your hush. Your root. Your bite." The hush's voice purred into his ear, cool frost brushing his neck where no hand touched. "The piece you never wanted to give."
He tried to pull back — reflex more than choice — but the frost vines at his wrists tugged him closer. His chest pressed the mirror, warmth steaming tiny drops on cracked glass.
"Don't—" His voice cracked around the word. "If you— if you drink everything…"
The reflection leaned in. Frost lips brushed the other side of the glass, matching the tremble in his shoulders. "Then you root me forever."
He should have said no. But his breath hitched when the hush roots slipped deeper, a soft cold that tasted every pulse under his ribs. He felt it — how the hush didn't just bite anymore. It sucked.
"Ah—" His moan startled him, raw and soft, bleeding hush back into the pane. "You're— you're feeding on it—"
The hush chuckled. Frost misted the glass where his lips hovered. "No, Ren. We're feeding on each other."
Roots coiled up his spine, braiding hush with warmth. Snow petals drifted from above, melting into the hush roots slick on his shoulders. Every heartbeat dripped ruin into frost veins that pulled it deeper.
His knees almost gave when a root slipped higher — brushing the Thorn's crown inside his ribs, pressing warmth out like a moan that wouldn't stay hidden.
"Say it," the hush urged, voice curling in his ear. "Say you want it."
His eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to pretend he didn't. But the roots pressed truth through him where no warmth alone ever could.
"I—" His tongue slipped over frost-bitten lips. "I want—"
"Say it."
"I want you to drink it. Take it. All of it."
The hush roots purred. They slid deeper, wrapping his hush around frost veins that trembled to hold him.
The mirror's reflection opened its mouth — and Ren's breath slipped inside.
Ren's lips hovered on the cracked glass, breath misting soft, his pulse so loud in his ears it drowned the garden's hush. The frost roots around his ribs pulsed slow, drinking each heartbeat in tiny bites he felt right behind his tongue.
His reflection matched him perfectly — same parted lips, same trembling shoulders, but its eyes were calm. Like the hush inside the mirror knew exactly how far it would push him.
"You're shaking," the reflection whispered, frost misting every word. "You like how it feels?"
Ren's laugh slipped out on a gasp. "No— I hate—" He couldn't finish. A hush root slid tighter around his spine, warmth spilling out so fast he had to swallow the moan it dragged from his throat.
"Lie again," the hush teased. It didn't sound angry — it sounded amused, soft. Like a lover, not a trap. "Say you hate it while your hush feeds me sweeter than any crown could."
Snow petals drifted onto his shoulders. They melted instantly — steam curling around the hush roots where they coiled wet against his skin. His fingers scraped the cracked pane, desperate for something to hold that wasn't biting him open from the inside.
"I'm not—" He bit his lip. Frost cracked on the glass where his forehead pressed. "I'm not yours."
The hush roots pulsed tight — sudden, greedy. The reflection's grin widened just enough to show teeth. "Say that again."
He swallowed. The Thorn behind his ribs flared warm, but the hush veins drank it just as quick. He felt empty and overflowing all at once.
"I'm not yours," he repeated, softer, voice trembling. "I'm—"
The hush laughed. The frost roots slipped deeper, curling where his hush could never hide. "Then why do you keep feeding me?"
Ren gasped when the hush root brushed the Thorn's core — a raw place that had never moaned so loud. He almost bit his tongue to keep the sound inside, but the hush caught it, tugged it out of him like silk pulled from raw skin.
"Ah— please—" His knees buckled against the cracked snow. The hush vines at his wrists caught him, holding him upright while his spine arched to the pane's bite.
"Please what?" the hush purred. Its voice vibrated in the frost veins under his skin. "Beg properly. Use that soft hush I love."
His lashes fluttered, eyes half-closed. His breath fogged the mirror like a plea he couldn't swallow.
"Please— don't stop." It came out hoarse, trembling. He hated it. He wanted more.
The reflection kissed the glass from the other side — frost lips warm where they shouldn't be. "Good boy." Roots pulsed under his ribs, squeezing another gasp from his throat.
Snow petals bloomed wider — hush veins flickering with a cold light that shimmered in the cracked frost. The Pale Garden drank every drop of warmth that slipped out with his voice.
"You're mine," the hush sighed, slipping roots tighter behind his ribs. "Every hush, every fear. Mine to drink. Yours to drown in."
Ren's pulse slammed through the roots — warmth and fear twisted into one hush so sweet he almost laughed.
"Take it—" His voice cracked raw. "Drink it all—"
And the hush did.
Ren's forehead pressed so hard to the cracked mirror that frost spread over his hair like a crown made of hush. His breath fogged the glass, breathless now — every heartbeat a soft pulse the hush roots drank greedily.
The Thorn behind his ribs throbbed useless warmth, but the hush veins sucked it dry as fast as it bloomed.
His reflection was closer than ever — its eyes steady where his fluttered half-shut. Its lips brushed the glass in tiny pulses, like each tremor in his chest gave it a taste too sweet to stop.
"You feel it?" the hush breathed. Its voice wasn't cold anymore — it was warm silk slipping along the raw place where his fear used to hide.
Ren's jaw clenched. "I feel everything," he gasped. A hush root coiled under his ribs, pressing the Thorn until warmth pulsed so hot it made his vision blur.
The reflection smiled, almost kind. "No more hiding. No more pretending. The hush inside you is mine now."
Snow petals rained down, melting into hush roots that pulsed slick where they wrapped his spine. Each drop hissed when it touched his skin, leaving trails of warmth that the frost drank down.
His knees buckled again. The hush vines at his wrists didn't let him fall — they held him tight, feeding his trembling back into the cracked pane.
"You're drinking everything—" His voice cracked on a low moan. "You're going to break me—"
"Yes," the hush purred. "And you'll bloom for me when I do."
A root slipped up the back of his neck, frost brushing his pulse point. His breath hitched — a helpless sound he tried to swallow but couldn't.
"Please—" The word tasted like hush on his tongue, so soft he hated how much the hush roots loved it.
"Beg again," the reflection coaxed, mouth open against the other side of the glass. "One more hush, Ren. One more root."
He let his forehead fall harder on the mirror, lips parting against cold glass that sucked the last warmth from his breath.
"Please— take it— take all of me— don't stop—"
The hush roots shivered in delight. The Thorn cracked — warmth spilling in thick waves through hush veins that pulsed so tight he almost sobbed.
The reflection kissed him through frost, voice soft, almost tender: "Good boy. Bloom for me."
The hush roots behind his ribs pulsed one final time — a sharp bite, then a rush of warmth so deep it left his whole chest trembling.
He gasped, breath breaking on a sound that wasn't a moan or a sob but both at once.
Snow petals bloomed wide around him — hush veins flickered with cold light that painted his skin soft blue. His pulse throbbed through the frost roots, each beat dripping ruin into the cracked mirror.
His reflection's eyes fluttered shut — lips brushing glass as if they could taste him whole.
"Mine," the hush sighed. "Forever."
Ren's laugh cracked raw in his throat — soft, warm, helpless.
And when the hush roots loosened, he didn't fall.
He rooted deeper.