[b]Yuki![/b]

You stand before the small, diminished figure of Aria Thendragon, a dead woman hollowed out and filled with spite, and you can see the glimmers of the woman she once was. Her eyes are full of pain. Her hands shake. The flowers filling up her chest are still and wilting. Even the revelry is something she remembers from when she was a queen. A queen who meant to end the world, true, but a queen nonetheless.

Then the Dark Dragon roars, and the music dies, and the lights go out, and you feel the disorientation in your ear of slipping deeper into the Outside, of coming unmoored, of risking being lost. And you hear Aria's long, deep inhale as that which held her transfixed vanishes. And if you do not do something, right here and right now, then you will hear snapping, and creaking, and tearing, and you will feel the sickly-sweet breath of a dragon wash over your face. She will be as vast as the Dark Dragon, if not vaster, trees clinging to her form, an entire forest becoming her armor.

But you are in what some might call a superior position. You are holding your heartaxe, and there is still music pumping through your veins, and you brought down Walking Elm who might have been able to stop you. You can put her to sleep, here and now, if you strike a blow against her. And even I do not know if the Rot Star would be able to wake her again.

All you must do is be brave, Yuki Edogawa, and step forward with a swing.

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[b]Sayanastia![/b]

The world peels away. The stars are still shining above, but you could almost, if you closed your eyes, if you held this boy to you, if you drowned him in your coils, if you closed your eyes as hard as you could, you might be able to sink into slumber for a little while again. To pretend that you do not exist. To deliberately ignore the light of the stars and their insufferable strings.

You could pull him down, down, down [i]deep[/i]. Down where there is no dreaming. Down where the world is only a weight being held up by the coils of your countless sisters. Down to where you first woke. And you would drag all the rest of the Handmaidens down, and likely even the little Hero facing down Aria Thendragon, and that would be that.

If you could ignore his starlight, you could do this. If you could make him give up his starlight, you could do this. He must surrender or you must let the moment pass.

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[b]Hazel![/b]

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[b]Eclair Espoir![/b]

Timtam catches your sword between her palms, clutching her fingers tight around it. As long as she holds, as long as she can hold you, she has a moment of reprieve, consumed entirely by you. She lies there, on the ground, her curls spilling out around her head like a halo. There is a wildness in her eyes. All around, you have the advantage, your many selves have the momentum, and her eyes dart about, take it in, realize what you have done.

She looks back at you, and she puts on a mask under her face. She smiles wanly and leans in, rests the sword's tip underneath her chin, holding her hands as if in prayer to the goddess. "Eclair, you've won," she says, like she's throwing up her hands and giving up at chess, pretending that her pride's not wounded by the loss. "You got me fair and square. I suppose it's time for you to take me back to the Mansion. Though, I suppose," she breathes, and her eyes don't leave yours, "you could do whatever you wanted to me first."

(A first thought: she's trying to trick you. The classic "oh no don't lock me up in the harem" ploy. Whatever she's doing, going back to the Mansion is playing right into her hands.)

(A second thought, from deep down your spine: [i]she knows you would assume a trick.[/i])

(A third thought: [i]she knows how to fluster you and what you are like when you are trying not to show it.[/i])

(A fourth thought: [i]the element of surprise will not last forever.[/i])