POV: Seraphine
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The morning sunlight filtered lazily through the blinds like it had no job, no stress, no ex-boyfriends to mentally annihilate. Seraphine, on the other hand, had all three.
She sat on the kitchen counter with her hair in something between a bird's nest and a Renaissance painting, trying not to envy the sheer level of relaxation radiating from the kitsune spread across her couch like a smug throw pillow.
"Do you always wake up looking like an emotionally complex film heroine?" Vixzen asked, her chin tilted and her nine invisible tails swishing with idle amusement.
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "Do you always wake up talking like a Tumblr blog post from 2011?"
Vixzen gasped theatrically, clutching her chest. "Excuse you. I'm more 2009 MySpace with hacker girl delusions."
"Right. So you peaked at emotional damage and cheap eyeliner."
"Exactly!" Vixzen pointed at her like she'd just won a prize. "See? We're bonding."
It was only fifteen minutes into the day, and somehow, this was the most fun Seraphine had had all week. Until—
Buzz.
Her phone lit up like a cursed relic.
JILL WARREN.
Seraphine's soul attempted to eject from her body. Her tail stiffened like it had seen a tax audit.
Vixzen paused mid-biscuit. "Who died?"
"My sense of peace," Seraphine muttered. "Excuse me while I descend into hell."
She retreated into her bedroom, shut the door, and stared at the screen like it might grow legs and bite her.
Then, with the bravery of someone walking barefoot into emotional glass, she answered.
"Hello."
"Hi bestie!!" Jill's voice rang through, obnoxiously chirpy, laced with false sugar and the scent of self-importance. "Why didn't you answer right away like you used to?"
Seraphine kept her tone flat. "Sorry. I was... busy."
"Oh, come on, Sera! I'm your best friend. You should be excited to hear from me!" Jill tittered. "Anyway—guess what—I've been planning the wedding! Isn't that amazing?"
Five years. Seraphine had dated Jack Smallcock—yes, still deserved the name—for five entire years. And Jill had stolen him with all the grace of a raccoon raiding a trash can.
"I'm just soooo lucky I have you to help! I mean, who knows Jack better than you, right? It's perfect!"
Seraphine pressed her thumb to her temple. Her eye twitched.
"And let's be honest," Jill continued, her tone turning syrupy. "I didn't steal him. He came to me first, you know. I resisted! I really did. But... he was so persistent." A fake sigh. "I thought of you the whole time, though. Because I love you. Like a sister."
"Mm. Sister," Seraphine deadpanned.
"I know it must've been hard—five years is a long time—but you're resilient, right? I bet you've found someone already! Someone better for you."
Seraphine stared at the wall so hard it might've cracked. Her silence was deafening.
"Oh look at me rambling," Jill chirped. "Anyway! I just wanted to say I can't wait to see you again. You. Me. Jack. Planning the event together. Just like old times! Won't it be the cutest little reunion?"
"Jill, I'm a little busy. I have to go."
"Oh? Doing wha—"
Click.
Seraphine set her phone down as gently as if it might explode. Then she took one full, deep breath like she'd just been spiritually suplexed by pastel emotional terrorism.
She walked out into the living room with her face a blank mask of 'do not engage.'
Vixzen looked up from her biscuit. "You look like someone licked your soul with sandpaper."
Seraphine dropped into the nearest chair. "Remind me to change my number. Or fake my death."
Vixzen's eyes lit up. "Oh! I have an entire alias kit! You want to be a reclusive heiress with a tragic past and a yacht? Or a disgraced ballet instructor from Prague?"
Seraphine just stared at her. "Remind me not to ever piss you off."
Vixzen smiled—quietly, almost sadly. "You're one of the only people I'm close to. That puts you in the 'protected' category."
Before Seraphine could unpack that emotional landmine—
Ding dong.
She blinked. "Did the universe just queue another visitor?"
---
Seraphine opened the door, fully prepared to fight God or fate—whichever one kept sending people to her apartment like it was a pop-up therapy clinic.
Instead, she found Dr. Liora Castille standing there in towering heels, her brilliant red curls slightly windblown, eyes half-lidded with the weary sharpness of a woman who'd been mentally running from responsibility since dawn.
In one hand: a sleek pharmacy bag.
In the other: a container of macaroons. Because priorities.
"Random home visit," Liora said, voice as dry as the Sahara. "I brought your refill. Also, I need sanctuary. The twin snakes are driving me to homicide."
Seraphine blinked. "You mean metaphorical snakes or actual ones?"
"Both," Liora muttered, brushing past her. "And one of them wears cologne like he's trying to seduce death."
The door clicked shut.
"Help yourself, I guess," Seraphine sighed.
"Oh, I will," Liora said, already toeing off her heels with the slow groan of a woman who regretted every professional life choice.
She didn't get three feet in before her gaze locked on Vixzen lounging on the couch.
"You."
Vixzen blinked innocently. "Doctor."
"You hacked my files, didn't you?"
Mid-bite into a biscuit, Vixzen gave a saccharine smile. "Technically… yes. But hear me out—"
"No," Liora interrupted, crossing her arms. "You committed six felonies for friendship?"
Vixzen shrugged. "I'm neurodivergent and full of crime."
Liora stared at her like she was a prescription-strength migraine. "You can't cyberstalk your way into a social circle."
"You say that, but I'm here, aren't I?"
"You don't count! You're a walking Terms & Conditions warning."
Vixzen gasped. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week."
Seraphine flopped onto the kitchen stool and whispered, "Why are all my acquaintances either government watchlist adjacent or emotionally unlicensed?"
Vixzen popped another biscuit. "Because you're the emotional glue stick that attracts dysfunctional glitter."
Liora wandered to a drawer and opened it. Her expression soured.
"Chamomile oil? Are you trying to seduce a grandmother with PTSD?"
Seraphine lifted her head. "It's calming."
"It's clinical. You need something with seduction or chaos."
"I—why are you in my aromatherapy drawer?"
"To fix you."
"Please don't."
"Too late."
As Liora debated whether or not to throw out Seraphine's eucalyptus blend, Vixzen swiped the last biscuit and began hoarding throw pillows like a dragon with soft-textured loot.
The apartment, as chaotic as it had become, felt... warm. Familiar.
Seraphine leaned back on the counter, watching them snipe at each other like awkward Sims characters.
Maybe she did need a new couch. One with more emotional support. Or a new apartment altogether. One with a bigger pantry. Or fewer unexpected guests. Or fewer hacker fox spirits and exhausted pharmacists—
Ding dong.
Seraphine turned to the heavens. "If it's a tax collector, I'm jumping off the balcony."
Liora cracked open a macaroon with surgical precision.
Vixzen perked up like a cat on espresso. "Ooh, are we expecting more trauma?"
Seraphine moved to the door, muttering, "Only thing I'm expecting is to lose what remains of my sanity."
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