The Neopian Plaza is busy and loud. There are Neopets everywhere going about their business, enjoying the first sunny day after a string of dour, cloudy ones. Outside of Pizzaroo, two Neopets in particular lean against the wall, munching on their slices of meltingly hot, cheesy Mushrolivepepper Pizzas. 

“Pfft. Looks like he’s got something going for him, finally,” the spotted Quiggle says, glancing over at an assortment of paintings and canvases all set up surrounding a dreary Grey Yurble. A few Neopets stop to look at the paintings, and a few coo and smile at a weird little Doglefox chewing on a stick next to him. “But from here, it looks like his paintings are just as washed-out as he is.”

“No kidding,” his pastel Chomby friend says, snout wrinkling. Despite their low opinions of the grey Yurble and his artwork, though, he seems to be getting a fair amount of attention from other passers-by: there’s a blue Lupe who stops to admire one of the landscape paintings, and a rainbow Buzz who tries to ask for the price of one of them, only for the Yurble to look down at his feet and ignore him. Others look from a distance as well, and murmur a couple compliments to their friends that only just carry over to where the bullies are standing. 

That won’t do.

“Hey.” 

Her voice startles the Quiggle and the Chomby, and they look around wildly until they spot her emerging from the bushes. Both of them flinch away, mouths open and melty cheese slipping off their half-eaten slices of pizza. It would be comical if it wasn't the kind of reaction she always got. 

Nobody loves you when you’re ugly and twisted.

But she puts her feelings aside. None of that matters right now—she’s used to looks of disgust, and she has a job to do.

“It’s terrible, right?” she says, looking past the Quiggle and Chomby and smirking. They follow her gaze to the Yurble sitting gloomily amidst his paintings, and both of them scoff. “He really thinks his art’s good enough to sell? Yeah, right. I can paint better than that, and I can barely draw a circle.” 

The Chomby and Quiggle laugh, just as she knew they would. She’s been watching them for a while, after all—and her patron has been watching even longer. 

“I think he needs to be taken down a peg.”

In unison, both the Chomby’s and Quiggle’s heads swivel around back to her. “What do you mean?” The Chomby asks, wide-eyed, while the Quiggle nods.

“I mean that Yurble should be shown exactly where his so-called ‘art’ belongs.” Her grin widens, and she lifts her foot up high—only to bring it down, hard, on the ground, and to grind the toe of her boot in the dirt. “Get it?”

The Quiggle nods even more enthusiastically, and a mean-spirited smile crawls across the Chomby’s face—exactly as she had expected. “Yeah… yeah!” the Quiggle says, while the Chomby turns around and pounds a fist into his hand. “Let’s go show him!”

They set off without so much as glancing back at her. But that’s fine. It just means she can slink away, back into the shadows, and watch the fun unfold.

“You were blind to what was happening in front of you.”

Scritch-scratch scritch-scratch shhhhffff…

Scritch-scratch scritch-scratch shhhhffff…

Oh, how she hates that sound. It grates on her ears like nails on a chalkboard, or like the songs of happy Neopets singing off-key in the flower fields. She grinds her teeth just to distract from the noise, as if that will do anything about the pesky little Doglefox that now follows her mark around like a… like a… well, like a dopey little Doglefox.

She pulls out her dagger, running her finger along its hilt. The chain connected to it jingles, and a chill settles in beneath her fur, just as unnerving as it is familiar.

Patience, my toxic flower, a voice croons to her from the dagger, so softly that the grey Yurble and his infuriating new friend can’t hear it even as Vira follows them from the shadows. All will come in due time. This is only a minor delay…

“I know,” she mutters to herself, slumping against a tree she’s decided to lean on. The sky is a deep, twilight purple now, and she looks up into it, eyes darting between the stars. It’s getting dark earlier and earlier these days, and the Yurble never stays out past sunset. He’ll be home soon, and with that stupid Doglefox, too.

She needs to do something about it. It’s in her way.

In her patron’s way.

So she waits. She waits for hours and hours, staying out until the sun goes down and the moon is high up in the sky—and then even longer after that. She waits until she knows the Yurble will be asleep, and she makes her way to his house, flying up to one of the windows to take a peek inside.

There. The bedroom. The grey Yurble is sound asleep behind the glass, snuggled up under the covers, and at the foot of his bed… That stupid, annoying Doglefox, all curled up in a pile of sticks and cuddling with…

Oh. It’s too perfect.

She smiles to herself as her boots touch down onto the ground, and touches the hilt of the dagger again—glowing, now. Her patron has something to tell her.

She glances over at the nearest shadow, and nods.

“Yes, my patron,” she says, softly. “I think I understand.”