NO EYES: A Forgotten Whisper

Antic bounced like a sugared-up squirrel, the soles of his boots barely kissing the moss-laced cobbles of the Perennial Path. "I heard—listen, LISTEN—rumors, whispers, forbidden tea leaves and ancient fart riddles!" he shrieked, vibrating like a plucked string. "The Realm of Lost Things Café! It's OPEN. And guess what? Love. Potion. Lattes." His eyes glittered with such unspeakable excitement it might have sparked the end of the world.

Grin didn't even look up. Just shifted the scythe resting on his shoulder like a grumpy harbinger of Type II Diabetes. "You mean a cup of regret and magically-induced erections."

"Exactly!" Antic sang, twirling in midair, iridescent wings a blur behind him. "It's caffeinated destiny, Grin! They say it makes you bold! It makes you feel love. Or lust. Or gas. Something definitely stirs."

No Eyes, brushing stray leaves off her sleeves, blinked slowly. "A latte that makes you feel… feelings?" Her voice was soft, curious, borderline suspicious. Pecola's mind was a dense fog of poetic metaphors, blank in the realm of love and physical affection. Romance? Sex? Those were words she'd only ever heard Dolly hiss during breakdowns or whispered from tavern drunkards. She tilted her head. "But... how does a beverage make you... feel?"

Antic choked.

Actually, he exploded.

A geyser of blood erupted from his nose, spraying the moss with crimson arcs. "YOU—! I MEAN—HAHA—LATTE? WHO CARES ABOUT LATTES? I—I JUST THINK THEY'RE TASTY, OKAY?" His entire face lit up like a sunrise dipped in shame. He yanked his scarf up to hide it, but it was too late. His dignity lay bleeding on the grass.

Dolly—perched like a smug little nightmare on Grin's shoulder—howled with laughter. "He wants to date-woo you, dumbass. This is mating behavior. Fluttering. Blushing. Spontaneous blood fountains." She leaned in conspiratorially, her porcelain lips twitching. "Very horny bird ritual. Ancient stuff."

No Eyes blinked again. "He's dying?"

Grin coughed, which for him was basically wheezing laughter. "He wishes."

So they went.

They followed Antic's fever dream of romance right into the chaotic belly of the Realm of Lost Things.

The Realm unfolded like a storybook written by a sleep-deprived magpie. Cobbled streets twisted like spilled intestines, lined with buildings made of forgotten memories: teacup towers, boot-shaped kiosks, a library made entirely of half-finished journals and love letters no one sent. Dolls without eyes whispered secrets to wilted teddy bears.

No Eyes held Antic's sleeve like a lifeline. The chaotic aura of this place was overwhelming: songs without singers, wind with no air. "Everything here... feels like it's weeping."

"Yeah," Antic said softly. "They all want to be remembered. Even socks." He picked up a mismatched mitten and tucked it onto a hook like it mattered. It did. No Eyes didn't know why it mattered, but her throat caught anyway.

The café was nestled between a broken wishing well and a music box that cried when opened.

It was alive.

No, really. The café breathed. It pulsed with candlelight and whispered names as if trying to seduce its guests. The door blinked. Literally blinked. And when they entered, it sighed.

Inside was chaos refined. A grumpy teapot (with teeth) was arguing with a sentient éclair. A sugar plum fairy sobbed in a corner, her wings stuck together with frosting. The entire café was built out of music-box parts, gears spinning along the walls, every tick-tock timed to a slow, sultry jazz beat.

Antic practically vibrated into a new plane of existence.

"Two Love Potion Lattes!" he yelled to no one.

A waitress with no face but killer shoes glided over, presenting the glowing cups with a wink that didn't exist. They shimmered like bottled galaxies, warm and fragrant with cinnamon and something floral... jasmine? Regret? Premature infatuation?

No Eyes sniffed it, nose crinkling. "It smells like spring... and heartache."

Antic, already downing his like an idiot, nodded. "And bad decisions."

She sipped.

The world did not change.

But her body did.

Her fingers tingled. Her ears buzzed. Something coiled under her ribs, warm and flickering. And... something shifted in how she heard Antic. His voice had always sounded like laughter trapped in a wind chime. But now? Now it was deep. Rich. Confused. Real.

She blinked. "You're... not annoying right now."

Antic immediately exploded in another nosebleed. "A-HAH! M-ME? THANKS I THINK??" he squeaked, flailing with his scarf. His arms fluttered so hard, he knocked over their mugs, sending frothy pink latte all over his tunic. It splashed in a heart-shaped pattern across his chest.

Dolly collapsed onto the floor in a giggle fit. "Romance. Is. Dead. Look at him! He's like a dying flamingo trying to fuck a blind seagull."

Grin sipped his tea. "This was always going to end in chaos. I'm just surprised it took this long."

Antic tried to recover. He turned to No Eyes, attempted a smile, then tripped over a sugar golem. His knee landed in whipped cream. His nose bled again. "I just wanted to tell you... I think you're... amazing. Like—like silence in a storm. Or one of those puzzle boxes you can't open. I like the way you exist."

No Eyes stared.

She tilted her head. "Do you want to dissect me?"

Antic made a strangled sound. "No! Not in the murder way!"

Grin set down his cup. "He's saying he's fond of you."

"I'm fond of socks," No Eyes said blankly. "And rabbits. I don't understand the difference."

Antic groaned and dropped his face into his whipped cream.

Later, after chaos. After Dolly started a sugar war using tiny cannons. After Antic was caught in a frosting avalanche and No Eyes nearly got carried off by a cupcake dragon...

They sat in the ruins of their table. Sprites buzzed drunkenly overhead. Grin had somehow tamed the grumpy teapot and was giving it therapy. Dolly was perched on a spoon like a war criminal with no regrets.

Antic wiped his sticky face with a napkin, looked at No Eyes with that same raw look. His cheeks glowed. "You don't have to understand," he said softly. "You just have to let me... be near you. That's enough."

She looked at him.

Really looked.

And for the first time, she reached forward and touched his cheek—just one finger—tracing the dried blood from his nosebleed.

"You're too warm," she whispered. "You feel like... like summer. And I'm always cold."

She leaned against his chest and fell soundly asleep

Antic stared.

And then he bled again.

Profusely.