Gene kept his eyes on the ground as he shuffled through the path formed by bookshelves. He didn’t like paying too much attention to the library around him.

Even if he liked books—even if a library hadn’t hurt him yet—Gene couldn’t get over the fact that Rholvny owned this place. And the ever-burning candles covering every surface were an omnipresent reminder of that fact. Nothing would burn unless she or her avatars wanted it to.

And this stifling heat wanted to choke him.

As if it knew he didn’t belong.

But Gene was finally spared from his thoughts as he neared Mislav. Gene couldn’t see him yet, but he was underneath a table supporting a ton of fragrant, medicinal plants.

Almost everything within the church had a practical use. It surprised Gene that Indah didn’t live in it.

As he neared the table, Gene tilted his head to the side and slid partially down his cane to glance underneath it.

Mislav had his legs hugged against his chest and half-glared at Gene. His face was red and eyes were shiny. He’d been crying.

Gene’s heart flipped, but Mislav tore his eyes from Gene’s to glare at the bookshelf beside him. Was something wrong?

Gene spared the bookshelf a glance before realizing Mislav was just avoiding looking at him.

Swallowing, Gene knelt down in front of the table. Powerful floral scents assaulted him as he neared it, but he forced himself to blink through the tears it brought to his eyes and focus on Mislav.

How is he able to tolerate this? Gene couldn’t help wondering.

This cost him the chance to apologize.

“You made me look crazy!” Mislav snapped, still turned away.

Crazy?

Gene swallowed, but awkwardly set Misiu to his side and hugged his cane instead.

“Damaris doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Gene said weakly, his voice breaking slightly.

“How do you know!” Mislav demanded, turning a sharp glare onto him.

This was far from the only time Mislav had asked this question, but Gene never knew how to answer. Hugging his cane tighter, Gene took a deep breath and averted his eyes.

“I just… know,” Gene said awkwardly.

Mislav huffed.

“I’m sorry,” Gene added.

Another moment of silence passed.

Gene anxiously traced the ridges in the wood of his cane as he waited for a response.

What if he never forgives me? he started to wonder.

“But you were, right?” Mislav finally asked.

Surprised, Gene looked back up.

“Bleeding…?” Mislav elaborated, wincing.

Did… he think he was crazy? More guilt swirled around Gene’s heart.

“Ye-yeah,” Gene said with an awkward nod, “it was… like my dream.”

Mislav was silent.

Gene dropped his eyes again, hiding his face behind his hair as tears swelled in his eyes.

“My curse,” he finished, voice breaking.

When Gene had dreams, they had a tendency to show up in the real world. He could rarely even remember what he dreamed of, but the changes to his bed and blankets around him were an indication.

Most of the time, he’d just wake up with bits of the outside surrounding him. He’d be covered in dirt, moss, sticks, leaves, or even snow. As though he’d been roughhousing in a ditch. Or the woods.

No. Not the woods. Gene refused to step foot in them ever again.

The changes his curse brought weren’t always small though. Sometimes he’d end up wrapped up in vines; trapped by branches that’d grown around him in a cage; or buried in a pile of rocks. Or some combination of the above. Those times were terrifying.

Gene was lucky he hadn’t woken up in a solid block of ice yet.

Yet.

The big changes were the worst, but at least they rarely happened.

They overwrote the area around him. As though they’d never existed, his bed and floor underneath it would vanish. In their place would be something from his dream, like a bed of leaves and grass in place of the wooden floorboards.

Gene had once woken up in the middle of a tree just small enough to fit under the orphanage roof, but just barely large enough to encase his body. He’d been in a sitting-up position, legs half-buried amongst the roots the tree had burrowed into the ground.

They’d needed Adilzhan—the local priest of Zhrizn and a man with nature magic—to come in and unearth Gene with the tree. It’d been a whole day unto itself and was what got Gene and Mislav talking to each other.

Adilzhan didn’t even bat an eye at what had happened. Nor did it seem to take any effort for him to remove the tree or fix up the floorboards for them. No.

Instead, all Adilzhan cared about was that the tree wasn’t native to Glavnran.

But that wasn’t the worst thing his curse had done.

“But it’s never hurt you before?” Mislav asked quietly.

It’d been before Mislav joined the orphanage.

Gene woke up half-drowned, choking. Seawater ballooned his lungs and poured out his mouth every time he coughed. By the time Damaris had brought him to the church, Gene had spat out enough saltwater to match his weight. And yet it kept coming.

Although his throat gurgled and lungs felt like they’d pop every time he’d breathed, he’d been able to. He’d been able to breathe. And Indah had to dig through countless of the books from her private collection before—finally—managing to find something to help him.

Even then, he’d never forget.

He could still feel the pain just thinking about it.

“And,” Mislav continued awkwardly, “it’s never gone away on its own before, right?”

‘But it’s never hurt you before?’ echoed in Gene’s mind. A lump in his throat, Gene anxiously ran his nail back and forth over a splinter on his cane.

It broke off. Gene watched it fall.

“Right,” he lied, voice cracking.

Mislav sniffled, drawing Gene’s eyes. He had one hand pushing his curly, blonde hair back while he wiped his face with his other arm.

Finally, Mislav turned back to him with a tired look.

“What… were you dreaming about?” he asked.

Red roses swirled, vines grew out of them, and thorns emerged from the stems—

“Be-before it was bad,” Mislav added awkwardly, bringing Gene back. “You seemed happy.”

He hadn’t even noticed he held his breath.

Releasing it slowly, Gene massaged the wood of his cane and turned away to stare into space. His face twisted as he concentrated on the images in his mind.

Roses and thorns—no.

Abi grinning. Why? What else?

“I… I think it was about Abi,” Gene said hesitantly. “He…”

Gene sighed heavily, lifted a hand from his cane, and looked back to Mislav as he ran it back through his hair. His hair was smooth up until it knotted. Then, Gene just absentmindedly picked the knots apart with his fingers as he anxiously met Mislav’s eyes.

Those hazel-green eyes. Why was that making him feel weird again?

“I don’t know,” Gene finished awkwardly.

Mislav sniffled again, but gave him a weak smile as he shuffled to the side. Making room for Gene.

“Do you want to come here with me?” he asked. Then he hesitantly added: “Or should we go back to the corner?”

Gene glanced up, taking in the crowd of flowers cramping the table Mislav sat under. Plenty of those vines snaked down the table—

Before Gene could make excuses about the overpowering smell of the flowers—which he’d almost gone numb to by now—another voice spoke behind him.

“Zhenya? Misha?” Damaris’s voice said. “Are—”

Eyes wide, Gene quickly leaned against, pushed off of, and flipped around his cane and good leg to face her.

“—you okay?” she finished. There’d already been a worried smile on her face before, but her brow creased in concern as he turned so quickly.