This ballroom is gorgeous, the carved walls shrouded in shadows, showing the perfect essence of elegance Black Swan expected. Of course, they had to have a Penacony twist with these beautiful lights reminiscent of the Milky Way, with swirling stars casting a dim, haunting glow. The chatter was extremely loud, with many of the guests taking it upon themselves to grab a drink or start dancing. Black Swan was expecting Acheron, this “infamous Galaxy Ranger,” to do the same, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
Acheron is sitting on a sofa, fingers tapping on the wooden table gently as her gaze drifts around the room. An unsettling weight clings to her presence, and she radiates a sense of mystery, easily getting Black Swan’s attention. She remembers meeting Acheron before, but the encounters she had with her seem quite... hazy. Memokeepers tend to have good memories, Black Swan included, but the abundance of adventures she collected from others might have deteriorated her mind.
Black Swan glides across the floor, her eyes flickering with intrigue. Acheron’s hands curl around a glass of untouched wine. The few lights in the ballroom had no right to make Acheron look so ethereal. Acheron is just sitting there, perhaps already dozing off into a daydream, but with the way the cool lights are hitting her face, she’s practically glowing. Black Swan finds her fascinating.
A Galaxy Ranger... Rangers dedicate themselves to withhold justice, brash and outspoken about their virtues. But Acheron? She seems dull and empty, almost... purposeless, as if the very essence of being a Galaxy Ranger was taken from her. Though Black Swan and the Rangers have never been close, she knows Acheron is concealing something behind that facade. Maybe she's working on an assassination mission. Or…perhaps something more sinister?
Acheron’s eyes finally land on her, and Black Swan’s heart skips a beat. She walked forward with confidence and extended her hand out to Acheron, lips quaking in a charming smile.
“You seem lost in thought, my dear Ranger. Care to join me in this dance?” Black Swan ventured, her voice a gentle invitation.
Acheron hesitates, allowing a moment of silence to linger in the air. “What makes you think I am harmless?” Acheron replies, her voice low and measured. She remembers that voice. And she can’t wait to figure out from where.
Black Swan laughs lightly, “Because you exude nobility, and I cannot resist the allure of the chase.” Acheron stands up slowly, her eyes lingering on the hand extended toward her. With a hesitant smile, she reaches out, fingers brushing against Black Swan’s as she lets herself be pulled up.
Black Swan isn’t supposed to take others’ memories without their permission, but where’s the fun in that? This is how she excels as a Memokeeper; collecting intriguing memories is their specialty, and Black Swan would never pass up such a tempting opportunity. As she took the Memokeeper’s hand, they swayed with an elegant grace, moving to the soft music. Their expressions remain composed, each step precise and deliberate, as they effortlessly glide across the floor, embodying a quiet confidence in their refined movements.
Black Swan gazes at her dance partner. A “galaxy ranger,” huh? She’s as mysterious as the rumors suggest. This is the perfect time to find what she’s hiding. Reaching out, she pulls her closer and swiftly spins her away. Everyone has a past, and the past shapes the present. Some people hold memories while they haunt others, unable to escape.
I wonder what kind of person she is. Black Swan’s gaze locks onto Acheron, as if nothing else in the world existed. I want to see her memories. I want to know what she is.
The pair continues to dance, and the atmosphere shifts, darkening as memories swirl around them like phantoms. The music gradually descends into a haunting melody, but Black Swan barely noticed. Her focus was entirely on Acheron, on the way her crystalline, violet eyes seemed to pierce through the shadows, on the faint curve of her lips that hinted at something unspoken. They stood close—too close—and yet neither of them moved away.
The floor morphs into a swirling tapestry of stars, each twinkling light showing fragments of Acheron’s past. Her walking past crowds of people. Her standing alone in a field of swords. Her walking alone under a sliver of the moon. Her under an umbrella, walking side by side with someone. Black Swan still wasn’t satisfied; she wanted to know more.
They dance as if the universe itself had planned to weave their movements into a tapestry of shadows and light. Black Swan leads with a fluid grace, her arms arching above her head like dark wings, fingers tracing patterns in the air. The world around them fades into a blur, leaving only the two of them stuck in a moment that felt both electric and surreal. Black Swan feels a rush of exhilaration as she twirls Acheron closer, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. She could feel the warmth radiating from Acheron, a stark contrast to the shadows that once clung to her presence.
With a playful flick of her wrist, she pulls Acheron closer, their bodies brushing against each other as they move in perfect synchrony. Their bodies were so close that Black Swan could feel the warmth radiating from Acheron, even through the layers of their clothing. Every brush of Acheron’s hand against hers, every accidental touch of their shoulders, sent a jolt of electricity through her. Acheron looks at her with those damned violet eyes, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to peel away her cold exterior and uncover what secrets she has hiding behind the facade she has created for herself.
It’s time.
The music slowed, and so did they, their movements becoming more deliberate, more intimate. Black Swan’s hand rested on Acheron’s shoulder, her fingers brushing against the cool fabric of her flowing sleeves. The grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Black Swan leans forward, “What have you done,” she urges, her voice barely above a whisper, “beautiful ranger?”
The serene atmosphere begins to change. Acheron’s glistening violet eyes morph into a fierce red, and her deep purple hair shifts to stark white. Flowers bloom across her body, a striking contrast to the violence brewing within. The atmosphere thickens, her vision blurring with a fiery red, mirroring Black Swan’s growing sense of dread as she realizes she is losing control. Acheron turns to face Black Swan, her hair flying in all directions. “...Are you asking me?”
With a sudden, fluid motion, Acheron took the lead, her movements sharp and commanding. Long, sinister shadows replace the soft light of the ballroom, the air heavy with a palpable force that made Black Swan shiver. With every movement Acheron makes, Black Swan’s heart drops a beat. She would have never envisioned something like this. She tries to break out, but she knows she is too far in to back out.
Acheron yanks her forward, and Black Swan finds herself staring at the ground. Acheron’s shadow—a serpent—begins pulling at Black Swan’s back as if she were a real swan, black feathers falling out onto the ground. With each tug, she feels herself unravel, her form shifting and fracturing. Acheron drags her around the dance floor, her heels clacking against the floor in time with her thumping heartbeat.
A translucent light washed across them, forming images—a snake coiling around a bird, choking it, and then the haunting silhouette of a swan’s skeleton.
Black Swan stumbles slightly, her breath quickening; the rhythm of the dance was disrupted by the chaos in her mind. A chill creeps down her spine, and she fights to maintain her composure, the faint smirk previously on her face fading. The surrounding chatter fades into a distant murmur, her attention being entirely focused on Acheron and her memories. Were they even her memories at all? The expression on Acheron’s face remains blank and unbothered.
Each spin feels like a descent into darkness, her feet moving on instinct as panic claws at her throat. Black Swan’s heart races as Acheron’s grip on her tightens; the thrill she had felt earlier now being overshadowed by a creeping sense of dread.
Black Swan stares up at her, a panicked expression on her face, but Acheron doesn’t seem to notice. She searches Acheron’s eyes, hoping to find a glimmer of connection, but there was only a void, her expression eerily blank, as though she were a puppet dancing on instinct. Black Swan’s unease deepens, and the once vibrant atmosphere feels suffocating.
When Acheron spins her, Black Swan’s pulse raced—not from exhilaration, but from the way Acheron’s smile seemed to split her face—too wide, too sharp, like a crack in porcelain. Flowers bloomed in Acheron’s hair—crimson peonies that dripped like open wounds.
Acheron’s gloved fingers brushed hers—a touch as light as a moth’s wing, yet Black Swan felt pinned as if those delicate hands could crush her ribs in an instant. “You’re trembling,” Acheron murmured, her breath cool against Black Swan’s neck. “Why? We’ve done this before... don’t you remember?”
Black Swan gapes at her as her knees buckle. She wrenches herself free with a gasp, almost collapsing against Acheron’s body. Feathers littered the floor around her— her feathers, though she couldn’t recall when they’d torn loose. She feels Acheron cupping her jaw, steadying her with ice-cold gloved hands. Black Swan shuts her eyes fearfully. Acheron’s gloves were pristine, yet her fingertips smelled of peonies and iron.
“Black Swan, are you alright?”
Her eyes snapped open. Acheron hovered above her, the sharp angles of her face softened by the dim light, a seemingly genuine frown plastered on her face. “What’s wrong?”
Silk-covered fingers brushed through Black Swan’s hair, picking out a single white petal caught in the strands. Acheron cradled it in her palm for a heartbeat before tucking Black Swan’s hair behind her ear. Her touch lingers like a question left unasked. As she sees the petal, Black Swan’s heart stops, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her throat.
“What are you?” Black Swan rasped, her voice raw.
“What do you want me to be?” Acheron leans close, her breath smelling of wilting lilies. She gently nudges Black Swan’s right arm, an unoccupied hand curling around her waist.
Her glove brushes Black Swan’s cheek—a touch that lingers like frost.
“A victim? A friend? A…” She paused, her lips curling into a faint, enigmatic smile.
Their bodies were so close together now that Black Swan could feel the faint rise and fall of Acheron’s chest, the warmth of her breath against her skin. The ballroom melody swirled around them, but it felt distant, muffled, as if it was just the two of them in the whole world. Acheron’s violet eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, Black Swan forgot how to breathe.
“Never mind. This will do.” She tugs Black Swan by her hair and lunges forward, locking their lips passionately. Black Swan freezes for a brief moment, registering the feeling of Acheron against her.
The kiss is exhilarating; it’s nothing she's ever experienced.
Acheron’s gloved hand tangles in Black Swan’s hair, gripping tightly as she deepens the kiss, her movements sharp and deliberate. Black Swan gasps against her lips, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. Acheron pulls back just enough to bite lightly at Black Swan’s lower lip, a teasing nip that draws a soft, involuntary sound from her. Then she’s kissing her again, harder this time, her other hand sliding to the small of Black Swan’s back, pressing her closer until there’s no space left between them.
A ultraviolet haze gazes upon her, challenging her to reciprocate. Black Swan’s breath hitches, her resolve wavering as she feels herself swaying on the edge of surrender. Against her better judgment, she melts into the kiss, her body falling to the arms of her dance partner. Black Swan feels like she could lay in her arms forever. It’s as if they’ve done this before, in another life, another memory—one that neither of them can fully grasp. A single petal was pressed into Black Swan’s palm, its edges soft but its presence heavy, like a secret too dangerous to keep.
When she pulls away, Black Swan’s skin blooms with black veins.