The void hadn't fully closed yet—crimson light from the fading door still pulsed like a dying heartbeat. The Consort's silhouette shimmered at the edge of it, katana half-drawn, eyes still blazing with the kind of fury that could level cities.
"Why?" she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
"Why what, My Consort?" The red door pulsed once more—dimmer now, retreating like a dying heartbeat pulling back from the shore of reality—before the One Above's voice returned, still warm, still boyish, still carrying that razor-thin edge of delighted, predatory curiosity.
From the shadows beyond the door came the Consort's voice—sharp, edged with confusion and the barely restrained irritation of someone who'd served for centuries and still wasn't used to being left in the dark.
