“See you around… Painter.” 

The grey Yurble lifts a hand, dumbfounded, to say goodbye. He doesn’t even wave it—he just kind of half-heartedly holds it up, a couple fingers half-curled, like he doesn’t realise he has motor functions of any kind. It’s all too easy, Vira thinks to herself, smirking as she saunters away from the little painting setup, a canvas under her arms. 

She waits until she’s a good distance away before she actually takes a proper look at the painting. She’d made up some art-critic nonsense about how “visceral” it was when she was trying to charm the poor sap, but now that she has it in her hands…

It’s still pretty boring, she decides. Faerieland looks nothing like what he’s painted—or at least she assumes, since she’s never actually been there before. Everyone up there is always so happy, so vapid, so pretty, content to listen to their queen and not think even for a moment about anything she had done to hold onto her power. 

Some people had everything. Vira? She has nothing. Nothing but this.

Snarling, she finds the nearest trash can and tosses the stupid painting right in it. She has more important things to think about than how beautiful Faerieland actually is. If she wants to be beautiful too, she’s got work to do—so she pulls out her dagger and focuses, reaching out to her patron to deliver her report.

The hilt of her dagger warms, and an eerie glow begins to surround the blade. “Yes, my toxic flower?” the voice of her patron croons, settling the turbulence in Vira’s heart—at least for now.

“I bought that hunk of junk, just like you said,” she tells her patron. “Everything is going according to plan.” 

“As I knew it would,” the voice responds. “Now, onto the next step…”

“As you command.” 

The connection between them fades away, and Vira re-sheathes her dagger. It’s time to go home for the day, to ready herself for the next phase in her patron’s plot.

But…

Even as she stomps away, Vira can’t help but cast a glance back at the trash can, and at the corner of the painting still sticking up from it.

“And he was right. She was never your friend.”

It doesn’t take long to earn the Yurble’s trust. Soon enough, he’s inviting her to his house, they’re sharing pots of tea, and he’s showing her all his paintings, even though that stupid Doglefox of his keeps sniffing around and nipping at her heels. Ugh, that Doglefox—the biggest thorn in her side right now, easily. If it wasn’t for him, she’d probably have turned Ozzy over to her—their—side for good by now. 

But it’s fine. Her patron told her to be patient, so Vira will be patient. She knows what to do now, anyway.

So she waits, as always, until there’s a moment for her to act. It comes soon enough, on a day when Ozzy is leading her to his studio, excited about—surprise!—yet another one of his dull and gloomy paintings. They pass by a door she’s never seen past before, but today it’s open, revealing…

There it is. The Paint Brush Plushie she’d seen in the bedroom window all those weeks ago, right there for the taking.

Suddenly, the Doglefox barks. He growls at her, fur bristling and teeth bared, and Vira bares hers right back, snarling in anger. “Augh! What the—?! What’s his problem?!”

Ozzy gets between them, trying to soothe the Doglefox while still placating Vira. It’s annoying, more than anything else—but it’s also an opportunity. If she just pushes him a little further, maybe Ozzy will send the Doglefox away for a while, so they can get some time alone…

She scoffs and crosses her arms, turning away so Ozzy can’t see her smirk. “Whatever. Just make sure he doesn’t try to bite me.”

“From the very start, whenever you had your back turned… She was plotting.”