Okay, so it’s been a month since I woke up in this otome world, and a month since I moved into this woodland castle with Solomon. I know, I know, that’s a big time-skip, but listen. When there’s no internet, no TV, no friends and therefore no drama… nothing happens, LOL.
I swear, a month passed and yet I can list all of my eventful discoveries on my two hands.
1. Solomon doesn’t use a wand. He casts magic using his hands, or perhaps it’s some sort of nonverbal spell? Sometimes he speaks something—lyrics to a song in a language unknown to myself—but sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all, and his magic still happens. He can’t talk to me about his magic either, since it goes against the 'Warlock’s Code', or some such bullshit. If you ask me, he’s just scared I’ll be miraculously super-good at magic, and I’ll surpass him in no time! But, alas, I’ll have to learn what I can through watching him.
2. There seems to be some Anime Laws in this land. Remember my shattered ankle? It was perfectly healed the next day, and Solomon, surprised, assured me he hadn’t done a thing to heal it. Then, the next day, when I burned myself, I stayed up until 12am and watched as my body sort of reset, and the burn was gone. I call this the Anime Principal, because like any anime character, I need to be fully healed by the next episode, correct? This little principal would surely come in handy in the future.
3. I’m not alone in this castle. Solomon has magical elves of some kind that help me with the cleaning. I’ve never seen them since they hide the second I enter the room, but I can hear it when they scurry out of sight. That would explain why the castle wasn’t windows-deep in dust and cobwebs when I’d arrived. I hadn’t seen Solomon clean a damn thing in my month here, so surely if the castle’s upkeep was up to him alone, he’d already be dead. Either from lack of hygienic living conditions, or because he'd be eaten by carnivorous dustbunnies, never before seen because they’d never—prior to Solomon’s shotty cleaning—had the chance to breed and mutate so spectacularly.
4. The elves also leave ingredients in the kitchen, and a recipe book flipped to whatever page they’d designated. I appreciated them incredibly. They did all the gardening and hunting for food, 99% of the cleaning, and even washed my clothing? They were tireless little maids, and didn’t seem the least bit bothered by my presence. I hoped, by cooking (some) meals and cleaning a few rooms here and there (I’m not a huge fan of cleaning either, if I’m honest, but I’m nowhere near Solomon’s level, that pig), that I was lessening their burden slightly, and perhaps they might appreciate my efforts.
5. The castle has 3 courtyards, one of which is off-limits because of a cursed maze. Supposedly, it draws you in through magic and convinces your mind you’re lost, even if the exit is right there, so you can never leave... Spooky.
6. Solomon will eat literally anything you give him with no complaint, and never leaves food left on his plate. But, through careful observation alone, I’ve deduced that he favors savory over sweet foods, and will almost always go for second helpings of red or dark meat.
7. I speak to the castle sometimes at night, because it calms me and eases my loneliness. I think it likes me because of that, since I’ve noticed previously locked doors now opening for me when I try them. Almost all the doors in the east tower are still locked, however, though that doesn’t surprise me. That’s where Solomon lives. No matter how much the castle’s puppy-like magic may adore me, it’s loyal so Solomon... Mostly. I think it likes attention (which Solomon gives little of), so I'm confident I can change its allegiance—and the castle seems to agree, one newly unlocked door at a time.
8. People used to live here. Either that, or Solomon had many wardrobes in many closets. Including women’s attire, which I would not judge him for taking an interest in (I’m open minded), but it simply wasn’t his size. Either other people used to live here, or Solomon had grown out of his interest in women’s clothing—literally. If he put one of these dresses on, I could imagine him flexing and instantly ripping it to shreds, like in those stupid cartoons. This existence is a stupid cartoon. I’d bet my left tit he could do it if he tried.
9. Matthew Solomon is shy. For such a hulking, burly man, he is shy! When he called my name for the first time—“Arin, over here”—and I was startled, because I didn’t remember ever telling him my name, he’d admitted, “I asked the castle, and it told me… I was embarrassed I’d forgotten to ask that first day, and it’s been too long since then to admit I’d never learned your name.”
10. Matthew Solomon fucked, and he was hung.
I’d discovered this last fact very recently. Yesterday, in fact.
Remember how I said that, as a romance game geared towards teenagers, there was no murder? No death? No sex? And so, by extension, the 2D characters written for this game shouldn’t have the drive to kill or fuck either, right? How could they preform and act outside of their written coding? It only made sense to assume they were kiddy characters written for a kiddy audience, right? Right?
Well, I was cleaning out the trash bins in the east tower—yes, he told me not to go in that tower, but I’m just being a diligent house maid, right? And I’m fucking curious, okay! Damn straight I’m going to investigate what few rooms in the east tower that open for me—I stumbled upon something… I probably shouldn’t have.
To be fair, it wasn’t obvious, what it was. It took a couple minutes for my recently-turned-medieval brain to conjure up a name for the hastily strewn together object in the trash bin, and when I did, it took a couple more seconds for the term ‘fleshlight’ to register.
It was obviously homemade. Some sort of… tube, filled with some sort of… soft cushioning, inside. It wasn’t covered in any old semen or anything, and it was torn in half, but I could still tell what it was. Or, what it used to be.
I pretended to be none the wiser and bagged it up for garbage with the rest, but as the day dragged on, my mind couldn’t stop circling around the idea that Solomon was not, in fact, a one-dimensional, PG-13 character. He masturbated, like any other grown man. I was living with a sexually active grown man, and had been for a month, with no idea he even knew what sex was. Which—I mean, maybe it was a dumb idea, but it wasn’t as though Solomon flirted with me at all (Erin has a body like wo-ho-hoah, remember?). It made sense that I didn’t know the masturbatory habits of a man who lived across a castle.
In fact, if I looked on the bright side, this was a good revelation. It meant that my previous fearlessness was stupid. I was convinced murder and death were impossible, but if sex was possible, then they were too. And, again, I was living in a secluded castle with a sexually active man who I barely knew! He seemed like a decent man—hadn’t made even the slightest suggestive comment in my direction, never gave me weird looks—but apparently I’d been in serious danger when demanding I stay here! Luck was on my side, considering I hadn’t accidentally roomed with a psycho-killer…
And then my mind returned to the fleshlight itself. Pocket-pussy. You know what I’m talking about.
Solomon, the horny virgin he was, had made one (maybe using magic, or maybe he was an inventor on the side) and then broken it with his massive cock… right? I couldn’t believe it. It was his own damn penis; shouldn’t he know what size to make a fleshlight to fit his own penis? Second of all, the contraption itself hadn't been small. With these exaggerated anime proportions, maybe his dick really was the size of the sun, but also, maybe he’d just broken the thing by tossing it too carelessly? Maybe he’d broken it while cleaning it? Who knows! I had to convince myself to calm down. I was overreacting!
Just pretend like you never saw a thing!
… Right. So. Anyway. Now, fucking Solomon was on my bucket list.
I couldn’t do it anytime soon, of course—I was still scared of screwing with the heroine's route, as she could eventually pursue Matthew if she didn't deem the other princes worthy. But, maybe after she charmed Solomon and dumped him, I could make a move? But who knew how long that would be. I didn’t feel like waiting 5 years to get boned. Maybe I could fool around with him now, then break things off? That way, the protagonist could still pursue him, because a fling he had with a housemaid 5 years in the past wasn't a big deal! That was, of course, assuming the protagonist would be here in 5 years. If I fucked around with Solomon and the protagonist arrived tomorrow, that would be an issue.
I decided to try and gauge the protagonist’s timeline by asking Solomon about the Crown’s plans to have a princess-choosing event (the princess pageant) anytime soon.
Solomon gave me a look across the table, his spoon pausing right before reaching his mouth. “I don’t know anything about the Crown. Why would I?”
Oh, right. He’s the last person I could ask about it. Dammit.
Solomon was staring at me. “Why would you ask about something like that?”
I was tempted to lie, to say, ‘A friend of mine was talking about it a while back. I was wondering if she’s already gone off to apply, or if I can send her a letter before she goes.’
But I was more tempted to tease a little more information out of Solomon, this man who I, apparently, knew nothing about. “Why?” I queried right back. “Are you going to judge me for wanting to find a wealthy spouse to sponsor my whims for the rest of my days?”
Solomon frowned. “There are plenty of wealthy men who aren’t royals.”
I blinked at him owlishly. “Did you just… Are you propositioning me? Do you have some wealth I don’t know about?” I frowned. “And you still deem to dress like that?”
Solomon, for the first time since I’d arrived, flushed all the way to his ears. “I’m not—” he started. “I wouldn’t—” he assured, fumbling with his words. “If anything, I would be proposing to you, but I’m not—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, scowling a bit, like he couldn’t believe I was making him explain himself. He was the one saying provocative things, wasn’t he? “I just meant that—if you, at all, cared for the advice of someone like me—”
“Someone like you,” I said.
“—Then I would suggest staying as far away from the Crown as you can. If you want to find a wealthy husband, that’s—that’s understandable, but the Crown should be avoided at all costs.”
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to touch on first; all of it was so tempting. “What if I want to find a wealthy wife?” I pondered, biting back a snicker at the way Solomon’s eyes boggled.
“I,” he said, then: “You can do that, too. I’m sure there are wealthy women outside the royal palace.”
“How open minded of you,” I praised him, and then sighed dramatically, pressing my cheek into my palm, my elbow on the table.
I could feel how badly Solomon wanted to chastise me for the poor table manners (and he’d never stopped from doing so before), but I could also notice the way his interest in my next reply outweighed his need to nag me.
“I’m not the best lover,” I admitted wistfully. “I can fuck,” I assured him, because I didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas, “but dating? That’s tough shit. The thought of someone relying on me freaks me out. Ultimately, I’d like to maybe… be a third. The emotionally distant but fuckable third member in a thrupple. Maybe I can worm my way into an already successful, already wealthy, already super hot-and-heavy couple? I can work a threesome.” I let my eyes widen. “Maybe two bisexual men? I love a good Eiffel tower.”
Solomon eyed me for one, two, three seconds, and then he smirked, and I knew I’d pulled it too far. “You’re playing with me,” he decided.
“I’m screwing with you,” I agreed. “You’re getting better at noticing.”
“You’re a good liar,” said Solomon, “but not that good.”
I just left that one alone.
“What’s an Eiffel?” Solomon asked, expression openly curious. I let a slow grin spread on my face, and Solomon nodded. “I see. It’s something dirty, isn’t it?”
“You’re so pure,” I told him. “That's unexpectedly cute.”
Solomon looked disgruntled at that. I could imagine why. Until recently, I wouldn’t have called this brute mountain of muscle ‘cute’ either, but Solomon was endearing in his own way.
“If you really want to know, don’t worry. We’ll work on it once we marry,” I assured him. "Do you have a preference for the third member?"
Solomon, who had finally just re-risen his spoonful of soup, promptly let it clatter into his bowl. “What?” he asked, alarmed. Too bad I didn’t know which part had caught him so off guard.
“What what?” I asked back, thoroughly enjoying myself. Solomon didn’t always share meals with me, and after today, I highly suspected he would be avoiding it at all costs. I couldn’t help it—it was too fun to harass him, knowing that he was a safe guy. If a month had passed without him slaughtering me, then I felt confident that I could push his buttons a little.
“We’re getting married?” he asked, and his face looked so helplessly lost that I felt a twinge of… something.
“You said you were proposing to me,” I recalled.
“I said—” Solomon frowned, brain working. “I said I wasn’t propositioning you,” he clarified.
“I assume,” I said, “that once we marry, the propositioning will happen regardless. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“You’re messing with me,” Solomon asked, searching my face for the telltale smirk he knew I was hiding.
I forced an expression of tranquility on my face. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
Solomon sighed in relief. “You’re screwing with me,” he decided.
I dropped the pompous facade and draped myself over the table, now that the jig was up. “Listen, Sol. It’ll happen or it won’t. No need to be so worried about it.”
Solomon looked irked and, again, I didn’t know if it was the nickname or everything else. I got my answer when he replied, “I think I should be concerned if my own wedding will happen with or without me.”
I nodded seriously. “So we’ve confirmed that your wedding will be happening, regardless of your presence?”
Solomon’s eyes nearly crossed as he tried to retrace what line of conversation had lead to this unfortunate outcome. “What?”
“Why don’t you like the Crown?” I asked instead, and Solomon’s expressed darkened immediately.
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