Chapter 95 A Table Set For No One
Bella
Damien presses his forehead to mine, breath still a little unsteady, hands warm and solid at my waist like he’s making sure I’m actually here and not another trick waiting to shatter if he blinks too hard. I let myself have it—just a second of stillness, of grounding, of us—before I pull back with a soft exhale.
“Okay,” I say, glancing around at the too-quiet woods and the red-brick path stretching on ahead of us. “I don’t know what this place is, or what it wants, but I vote we keep moving forward in the hopes that eventually we stumble back into mortal lands and never speak of this again.”
His mouth twitches. “A sound plan.”
My eyes drop and I take him in properly for the first time since the door shattered—bare chest, bare legs, bare everything—and snort.
“Also,” I add, gesturing vaguely at him, “we really need to sort out this pants situation for you.”
He lifts a brow. “You don’t like it?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” I reply quickly. “I just think it’s dangerous...And distracting. Someone could trip. I might start carrying a handbag with emergency pants. You know. For occasions like this.”
That gets a real low, surprised laugh out of him, and it makes my chest ease.
“I don’t mind,” he says, already turning back to the path like nudity in cursed woods is a mild inconvenience at best. “I’ve survived worse.”
I roll my eyes and follow. As we walk, I notice the path changing. The bricks aren’t as perfect anymore. The deep red dulls into something darker and uneven. Chips appear along the edges. Hairline cracks spider between stones, weeds pushing through like the road itself is getting tired of pretending to be flawless.
“Hey,” I murmur, nudging his arm. “So… what did you see through the door?”
He stiffens....Just for a second—but I catch it.
He exhales slowly. “One of my worst nightmares.”
I glance up at him, brows lifting. “That bad?”
“A world where you never came stumbling into my path,” he says quietly. “Where everything was… planned for me.” His jaw tightens. “I hated it.”
I huff a laugh. “Oh, good. Because I saw a version of you that liked tea.”
He stops walking.
“What?”
“Straight hair,” I continue cheerfully. “All neat and proper. Soft smiles. No dragon. No bite. Very polite. Very wrong.”
His lips twitch. “What did you do to him?”
I smirk. “I froze him, of course. He can stay there. In his own little perfect world, drinking tea and thinking thoughts.”
Damien laughs under his breath, shaking his head as we keep moving.
The forest opens up ahead into a clearing, and right in the middle of it is a table. It's long, white-clothed, set like a garden party straight out of a storybook fever dream. There's fine china, silverware and flowers that smell just a little too sweet. And sitting there, legs kicked up on an empty chair, is Ashlyn. She spots us instantly and waves both arms like she’s flagging down a ship.
“HEY!” she calls. “YOU MADE IT!”
Damien and I stop at the same time. We exchange a look. Is this real? Is this another test? Do we burn it now or wait?
I step forward cautiously. “Ashlyn.”
She beams. “Bella! Damien! Wow, you two look… very on theme.”
I squint at her. Something’s off. Not wrong exactly—just tilted. Like she’s Ashlyn, but someone nudged her half a step to the left. I decide to test her.
“If you had to choose,” I say casually, “would you be happy locked away in a perfect castle, with a perfect prince, wearing ballgowns and pretty shoes for the rest of your life?”
She screws up her face immediately. “Gods, no. We’ve been through this already. That's a nightmare I would burn down any day of the week.”
Relief loosens my shoulders. Then my eyes drop to the cup in her hands.
“…Is that tea?”
She looks at it. Sniffs it. Shrugs. “Fuck if I know, these guys just keep pouring it for me.” She waves half-heartedly around the table.
Damien frowns. “Ashlyn. There’s no one else at the table.”
She scoffs. “Yes, there is. Don’t be rude.”
My stomach drops. She leans back, gesturing lazily with her cup. “I was walking through the woods behind you guys, right? Then I fell down a hole. Landed here. Some funky caterpillar offered me tea and a cigarette that was a little bit spicy—don’t recommend, by the way—and then people just kept showing up.”
She motions around the table again. There is no one there—just empty chairs and empty cups and Ashlyn. Damien’s hand tightens in mine.
“Ashlyn,” I say carefully, “who are you talking about?”
She blinks at me. Laughs. “Okay, rude, seriously, guys, these people have been nothing but hospitable to me.” She looks down at her cup again. “…You guys don’t see them?”
I reach out and gently take the cup from her hands. Ashlyn watches me do it, blinking slowly like a cat that’s decided to tolerate something confusing but not yet offensive. The tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim, steam curling up in lazy spirals that smell faintly of herbs I don’t recognise and something like magic. I set the cup carefully on the table and pat her arm.
“Hey,” I say softly, keeping my voice light. “How about we go for a little walk, yeah? Stretch the legs.”
She considers that, eyes drifting past me to something only she can see. Then she grins.
“Oh, sure. I was starting to feel lazy just sitting here anyway.”
Damien’s grip on my hand tightens just enough to let me know he’s watching everything. I give his fingers a brief squeeze back before turning my attention fully to Ashlyn.
“You didn’t happen to see Red, did you?” I ask casually.
Ashlyn shakes her head. “Nope. Just the caterpillar, the two young boys and the lady with the hat who kept insisting I should smile more." She leans in to whisper loudly. "I don't like her.”
That tracks. She pushes herself up from the chair and turns back to the table.
“Thanks for the tea!” she calls brightly, waving. “It was… an experience.”
She laughs suddenly, sharp and delighted, at something no one said. I don’t look back. I don’t want to give whatever is pretending to be there the satisfaction. Damien moves smoothly to Ashlyn’s other side as we step away from the table, his presence solid and unmistakably real, a quiet wall between her and whatever lingering nonsense the clearing wants to offer. The table behind us fades.
Ashlyn hums to herself as we walk, swinging her arms, mood strangely buoyant. “You know,” she says, “I really don’t understand why everyone makes such a big deal out of tea. It’s just hot leaf water.”
“That,” Damien says mildly, “is the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”
She beams at him. “Thank you! See, Bella, he gets me.”
I snort. “Don’t let it go to your head.”