NO EYES: A Forgotten Whisper

Pecola swallowed hard, her throat tight as unshed tears shimmered in her glowing white eyes. The crystal walls reflected her trembling expression, casting fractured echoes of a girl haunted by more than just the dead.

"I... I understand him," she whispered, voice thick with grief. Her fingertips grazed the crystal like it might steady her spinning world.

Antic took her hand. Not with his usual flair, not a joke in sight—just quiet heat, skin on skin. His gaze clung to her face. "He wasn't alone," he said low, his voice velvety and unrecognizable—like it had been aged in something smoky and painful.

Grin clenched his jaw, his hand twitching at his side. "So much... wasted potential," he muttered, his voice like rust—quiet but scraping.

A single tear slid down Dolly's cheek, cutting a clean line through centuries of dust. She stared at nothing, porcelain face cracked at the edges like she'd been dropped one too many times.

For a long moment, the only sound was the dripping of cavern water and the sound of hearts trying not to break.

Antic cleared his throat—awkwardly, like the moment had gotten too big for his comfort zone. "We can honor him," he said, voice gentler now. "Not with tears, but action. Memory. Revenge, maybe?" He tried to smile. It didn't land.

"He… he was Arnold's son," Pecola breathed, her words slipping out like a confession she wasn't ready to make. The weight of it crashed down on all of them. The connections, the Breaths, the forest, her family—it was all tangled into something filthy and ancient.

Antic's brow furrowed. "The pain... the Breaths... they're tethered here because they never got peace. That kid? He wasn't just sad. He was left behind. Like all of them."

Grin nodded, eyes locked on the place where Jalen's soul had faded. "They're not ghosts. They're heartbreaks that never healed."

Pecola staggered forward, one hand reaching for the wall like it could answer everything. "Why my family?" she rasped. Her fingers trembled.

The wall hummed beneath her touch.

"The forest…" she whispered. "It's talking to me again. There are more. So many."

A soft wind stirred through the cave. It didn't come from outside—it rose from within the walls, like breath from sleeping mouths.

"Do you hear that, Antic?" she asked, barely above a breath.

Antic stiffened beside her. "Yeah... yeah I do. And it's messing with my soul in all the wrong ways."

The air thickened. The walls began to sing.

"Mama... cold..."

"Forgive me, Elara..."

Grin flinched. "They're inside the damn crystals. Screaming."

Dolly touched a crystal gently. "Echoes," she whispered. "Like they're fading."

More voices flooded in. "Betrayed…" "Alone…" "Never forgotten…" The words slammed into them like fists.

Pecola clutched at a nearby stalactite, her breath coming fast. "These are my family's names," she sobbed. "These are their stories. Their pain."

Her knees buckled. Antic caught her just before she collapsed.

"Whoa whoa whoa—hey! Easy, sweetheart—"

She slumped against his chest, and something wild flickered in his expression. He swallowed hard. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose.

"Oh come on," he hissed. "Not now. Not in front of the dead."

He shifted her weight gently, trying to hide his face, wiping the blood with his forearm. Grin turned, eyes narrowing.

"Nosebleed again?"

"It's... not what it looks like."

Grin arched an eyebrow. "You're flustered. And leaking."

Antic growled under his breath. "It's a biological response! Where I'm from, intense emotion triggers nosebleeds. Doesn't have to be sexy. Could be sadness. Or... intense appreciation of legs."

Dolly floated a few inches higher, unimpressed. "If she wakes up and sees your face bleeding again, I'm drop-kicking your soul."

Grin, still scanning the dark corners of the cave, muttered, "Stay alert. This place doesn't just feed on sorrow. It watches. And it wants."

The forest held its breath.

And Antic—still cradling the girl who broke his brain and his species-specific reflexes—sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

"She's not waking up," Antic breathed, his voice ragged like a frayed wire. He shook her again, barely, like she might shatter. His fingers trembled. Pecola lay limp, her face paler than the cavern walls—like even color had given up on her.

Dolly let out a sharp whimper, more teeth than breath. Grin didn't speak, but his jaw flexed so tight it looked carved. The usual mask he wore, unreadable and soft-eyed, was gone. Worry had cracked it open.

"Pecola? PECOLA!" Antic's voice tore through the cavern. Silence.

He slumped back, shaking. "She's not breathing right."

Grin stepped forward. "Antic." Warning. Steady. Grim. Like a funeral march.

Antic's hands fumbled—too frantic, too hot—as he checked her pulse. "Faint. Dammit."

Then he was up, pacing like a caged beast. His boots scraped the stone in tight, furious circles. "We shouldn't have brought her down here. This place is cursed. This whole f*cking forest is cursed—"

With a strangled snarl, he swung an arm across a crystal shelf. It shattered, shards raining down like vicious glitter. Dolly squeaked and ducked.

"Antic!" Grin barked, stepping in and gripping his shoulder. Dolly floated close, tapping her tiny porcelain hand against Antic's wrist.

Antic sank to his knees again, folding beside Pecola like he was giving up his fight with gravity. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and this time it was gentle—too gentle for someone so chaotic. "It's my fault."

"No," Grin said, quiet but firm. "She's just overwhelmed. Not broken. Not gone."

Antic didn't respond. His lips parted, but nothing came. Then—

"Buzzzz..."

A tremor jolted through his bones. But it wasn't the cavern. It was her.

He grabbed his head, nearly toppling over. Flash—cold steel. Surgical lights. Screaming that wasn't hers but somehow was. Antic felt it all like it was stitched into his spine.

Then warmth. A toddler in fuzzy socks. A woman—Ami?—tucking in blankets with fingers too sad to be clumsy.

A shift. A mansion, decaying from the inside out, wrapped in velvet and grief. Parents smiling too wide. A lullaby soaked in venom.

A voice coiled through his skull like smoke through a cracked window: "A curse… passed down…"

Ambition. Deals. Blood. A line of women losing more than just sight.

Antic jolted back, gasping like he'd surfaced from deep water. The visions broke. The hum stopped. His breath hitched.

Beside him—Pecola stirred.

A whimper. Her fingers moved. Then—

Her eyes blinked open, slow as moonlight.

"Antic…" she rasped.

He choked on a laugh and dropped beside her like he'd just been punched in the chest. His hands cupped her face—glowing eyes, trembling lashes, dirt-smudged cheeks.

She was here. She was real.

He kissed her.

He leaned in slowly, like the world around them had vanished, like time itself was holding its breath. His lips brushed hers—just barely—testing, trembling, not a conquest but a question. Then firmer, warmer. His mouth met hers with a quiet ache, the kind that begged not for lust but for presence.

Her breath hitched, and she didn't move—not away. He kissed her like he was memorizing her, every line, every flicker of breath. His thumb stroked under her eye, his other hand slipping into her curls, and for a single suspended second, they weren't lost kids in a haunted forest—they were just two beings who found each other in the dark.

His lashes fluttered shut, his breath syncing to hers, and when they finally parted, their lips were red, warm, and trembling. The kind of kiss that burned like a secret and tasted like something too precious to say out loud.

Somewhere in the background, Dolly made a noise halfway between a gag and a sigh. Grin politely turned away.

When they parted, Antic's face flushed hot, and like clockwork, a little stream of blood trickled from his nose.

His hands trembling.

Pecola's eyes, still hazy from the echoes of her visions, blinked open—and the first thing she saw was Antic, flushed and breathing like he'd run halfway across the forest. Their kiss still lingered between them, a ghost of warmth on her lips, and while she didn't know what love was, something about him—his presence, his heat—made her chest ache in a way she couldn't name. Her body leaned toward him on instinct.

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. His skin was hot, rough, scarred—a delicious contrast to the cold, ancient stone below. She didn't know why it felt safe, but it did. She could feel his heartbeat in his throat, pounding against her cheek like it was trying to speak to her.

Antic wrapped his arms around her. Not his usual flirty nonsense—this was wordless, careful, charged. His hands weren't roving; they were still. Guarding. But every inch of him buzzed like a live wire, his brain short-circuiting from emotion and arousal and feelings, of all things. He could smell her hair—earthy, soft—and it made his head spin.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "You keep almost dying on me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"Sorry," she said softly. "Habit, I guess."

drop of blood slid from his nose.

Grin, standing at a polite distance, cleared his throat dramatically. "Ritual, remember?"

Dolly clicked her tongue so hard it echoed. "You two gonna kiss again or can we actually get on with the soul-saving?"

Antic sighed, shifting so Pecola could sit up—though she slumped right back against him. "The Breaths mentioned something about a song… a resonance. Like she's the key. Only she can unlock the… harmony or whatever."

"A song," Grin echoed, pacing. "Of course it's a song. Hasn't been one of those since the Soul Flood."

"You were alive during the Soul Flood?" Antic blinked.

Grin looked deeply offended. "Excuse you. I'm timeless. And haunted."

Dolly buzzed sharply. "Less sass, more melody, Crypt Keeper."

Grin planted himself in the center of the cavern, closed his eyes, and hummed.

Low. Deep. Like stone grinding against time.

The sound vibrated through the floor and up Pecola's spine. She gasped, not entirely from fear. Dolly's porcelain eyes fluttered, her sharp edges softening as she joined in—a high chime like glass tapping crystal.

The air shimmered. The crystals glowed. And from somewhere deep in the cave, a voice joined them.

"Remember the river... the willows weeping..."

Pecola blinked, and for a moment she saw it all—a field full of laughing children, a firelit kitchen, a cradle rocking. Then pain. Sorrow. A woman sobbing into her hands.

She clutched her chest. "I see them. I feel them."

"You have to sing back," Grin said, voice thick.

"I don't know how."

"You do," Dolly snapped. "That's the whole point. It's not technique. It's... soul karaoke."

Pecola closed her eyes. Her mouth opened.

It started as a whisper. "Oh, lost ones..."

Then stronger. "Let me carry you. Let me remember you."

Her voice filled the cavern. Dolly's bells wove around her like fireflies. Grin's hum was a river beneath her song.

And then—the Breaths. Dozens. Hundreds. Wisps of light, streaking like comets across the stone. Their voices joined the chorus, some broken, some bright, weaving through the melody.

Antic didn't even realize he was crying until he tasted salt.

The cavern shone with light. Every stone glimmered. Pecola kept singing, her body swaying as if dancing with the ghosts.

Grin dropped to one knee. Dolly floated, arms wide.

And finally, finally—the voices faded.

Silence fell like snow.

Pecola collapsed into Antic's chest.

"It's done," she breathed.

Antic caught her. Held her.

In attempt to kiss her forehead.

He was startled.

"They're free," Grin said, tears glistening like crystals.

Dolly's bells rang once, soft as rain.

The cavern pulsed. Not with death. With peace.

Antic glanced down at Pecola, her lashes fluttering against his chest. "I think I'm in trouble," he whispered to himself.

The aftermath of the ritual left a profound silence, a stark contrast to the vibrant symphony that had just filled the cavern. Pecola, nestled in Antic's arms, felt the lingering warmth of the shared experience, a deep sense of accomplishment intertwined with bone-deep exhaustion. Her body ached, her mind buzzing with the echoes of countless lives, yet a profound sense of peace settled over her. She had done it. She had freed the Breaths.

Antic, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to combust. Her head on his chest? Her hair brushing his collarbone? Her breath warm and ghosting over his collar like it lived there now? Yeah. Game over. His heart was sprinting like it had somewhere better to be, and his arm—his definitely casual, non-desperate arm—tightened slightly around her. He looked away, pretending to study the glimmering cavern walls with the intensity of a tortured poet.

Grin, his usual grim countenance softened by a rare, genuine smile, examined the cavern. The air, once thick with the weight of centuries of sorrow, now shimmered with a golden light, vibrant and alive. The stones, once cold and unyielding, pulsed with a gentle warmth. The transformation was breathtaking, a testament to the power of collective effort and the healing potential of empathy.

Dolly, however, remained unusually quiet. Her usual sharp clicks and restless energy were absent, replaced by an almost ethereal stillness. She sat perched on Grin's shoulder, her porcelain face seemingly softer, less sharp, her usually menacing gaze now strangely serene. Antic squinted at her. "Okay, wait. Is she… asleep? Or plotting something weirdly tender?"

"She's… different," Pecola said, her voice still tinged with the strain of the song. "Calmer. Quieter."

Grin nodded. "The ritual affected her too. More than we anticipated." His tone dropped, somber but thoughtful. "The Breaths' energy resonated with her fractured essence. Their shared pain... it knitted something fragile. Something honest."

Antic frowned. "But she's not one of them. She's... she's like—if a haunted nursery rhyme got jealous."

Grin's smile faded. He touched Dolly's cheek with skeletal care. "She's broken. But not beyond repair. This ritual didn't just free the Breaths. It stirred up the chance for healing—redemption. And Dolly gave more than we realized."

Pecola tilted her head slightly. Observing, not emoting, but clearly absorbing. The porcelain menace looked... almost mournful.

Grin continued, voice reverent. "Her trauma harmonized with theirs. She didn't just chime in—she transformed the melody. She softened. She sacrificed."

Antic sighed. "So she gets a redemption arc. Good for her. Meanwhile, I'm stuck in emotional limbo with two inches of lap space and my soul doing somersaults."

"She gave a piece of herself," Pecola murmured, unreadable as ever. "To help them. She wanted them to rest."

Grin nodded. "The darkness is still there. But it doesn't own her now. The ritual gave her a window. And she climbed through."

The space filled with quiet weight.

Pecola shifted slightly in Antic's lap. Her shoulder brushed lower against his stomach. He inhaled too fast and nearly choked on nothing.

No blood this time.

Progress.

"Stay calm," he whispered to himself. "Just human contact. Basic biology. This is fine."

Grin glanced his way. "You're twitching."

"I'm romantic," Antic corrected. "And emotionally nuanced."

Pecola blinked at him. "You're sweating."

"I'm—what did I say? Romantic. See how my body reacts to tenderness? That's chemistry, baby."

Grin sighed. "Don't make me miss the creepy version of her."

Pecola laid back against Antic again. He stiffened, eyes darting. "Oh gods," he muttered. "She's nesting."

A small stream of blood dribbled from his nose.

Pecola glanced up. "You're leaking again."

"Ah," he said faintly. "There it is."

Grin didn't even look up this time. "Do you want a rag or a shovel to dig the emotional hole deeper?"

Antic wiped his nose on his wrist and smiled like a man broken in the prettiest way. "No need. I live here now."

The cavern, now free of the Breaths' sorrowful murmurs, buzzed with a strange peace. The air was warm, metallic, touched with sweetness. Like the memory of honey. Like forgiveness in scent form.

As Pecola rested in his arms, her expression unreadable but her body relaxed, Antic knew exactly two things:

One: The girl in his lap was carrying centuries of grief like it was featherlight.

And two: He, a chaotic man in nature-woven overall shorts and very little else, had just fallen for someone who didn't even blink when he bled on her.

The golden light emanating from the cavern's heart pulsed, bathing them in a warmth that seeped into their very bones. The air, once thick with the oppressive weight of centuries-old sorrow, now hummed with a vibrant energy, a joyful melody that replaced the mournful whispers that had haunted the space for so long. The Breaths, freed from their spectral prison, sang a song of liberation, their voices weaving together in a breathtaking symphony of joy and release. It was a sound that resonated deep within Pecola, a balm to her soul, a testament to the power of collective effort and the healing potential of empathy.

Antic, his usually mischievous grin temporarily stunned into silence, floated closer to the shimmering light. His eyes were wide and glassy, like he'd just walked into a goddess's bedroom and wasn't sure if he should be kneeling or sprinting. He reached out a tentative hand, his fingers brushing the edge of the golden haze—and WHAM. A psychic tidal wave slammed into him.

"Oh," he breathed, blinking. "That's... illegal in at least twelve realms."

Visions surged through him: lives lived and lost, emotions layered like fog, all coming at him like a chaotic slideshow. He stumbled back, chest heaving.

"It's… overwhelming," he managed. "Like binge-watching centuries of someone else's drama on fast-forward."

Grin, ever the pragmatist, traced his bony fingers along the cavern walls, which lit up like nervous bioluminescent creatures reacting to touch. Even he couldn't help the slight softening in his expression.

"The song… it's more than melody," he murmured. "It's memory—alive and writhing. A record of who they were."

Pecola, guided by the others, stepped deeper into the sound. The song wasn't just music—it was invasive. She felt it through her bones, her skin, her scalp, even her teeth. Her vision—whatever passed for it—was filled with the Breaths' past lives: vibrant and tragic, mundane and miraculous.

She saw farmers in love with the land. Soldiers gripping swords with trembling hands. Painters weeping into paint water. Lovers in moonlight. Children whispering secrets. And she felt it. All of it.

And then, the fear. The silencing. The way they were ripped from time and pinned to this place like butterflies.

But the song changed.

The sorrow broke. And joy soared up like dawn. The cavern responded, as if relieved. Blossoms the color of starlight unfurled from the walls. Moss shimmered with dew. Something ancient exhaled.

Dolly sat on Grin's shoulder like a particularly elegant gargoyle. Her usual twitchiness had softened. She looked… sad? No—tender. Which was far more unsettling.

Then, a ripple. A warning in the music. Pecola stiffened.

The song didn't just celebrate. It warned. Flash-images struck her: shadows stretching across the forest, gods forgotten for a reason, a hunger that didn't care about liberation.

Antic noticed the shift in her face. "Bad vibes incoming?"

Pecola nodded. "The Breaths… they showed me something else."

"Can we trade it in for store credit?"

She didn't answer. The knowledge felt like a blade slid under her skin. They weren't done. Not even close.

The song tapered. The cavern dimmed, exhaling peace, but the tension lingered. Dolly blinked slowly, her hands folded for once.

Antic squinted. "You okay, murder Barbie?"

Dolly didn't blink.

"She's… different," Grin murmured. "The song changed her too."

"I liked her better when she was threatening my kneecaps."

They settled near a wall slick with warm moss. Pecola drifted off, her body curling like a fern. Antic watched.

Grin flopped beside him. "You're staring again."

"I'm observing," Antic muttered. "Like a gentleman. A sweating, nosebleeding gentleman."

Grin handed him a moss leaf. "This is becoming a problem."

Antic shrugged and flicked the leaf, sending it spiraling. "Yeah, well, everyone's got their biological hell. Some folks back home breathe fire when they're nervous. I get this. It's dumb. Don't analyze it."

Grin squinted. "So you're biologically doomed to be horny?"

"Romantically alert."

"She's asleep."

"I know. Even worse."

"You need help."

"I need a cold river and stronger pants."

"They're overalls."

"They're breathable."

"They're one thread away from scandal."

Antic leaned back, dragging the leaf under his nose. "You ever fall for someone so hard your body stages a mutiny?"

"I'm literally dead."

Antic sighed. "Must be nice."

The cavern dimmed, humming in quiet satisfaction. The song lingered like perfume.

Pecola stirred.

Antic whispered, "We're not done, are we?"

Grin answered without opening his eyes. "Nope. Not by a long shot."

And in the quiet, under a sky of glowing moss and ancient breath, the misfit trio and their maybe-redeemed doll found the nearest thing to rest they'd had in a long, long time.