The evening was quiet. Anaxa sat in his favorite high-backed chair, his fingers tracing the stitching of the small dromas plush in his lap. If only I could bring a real dromas in the Grove, he mused. At least they listen. Unlike certain people.

There was something therapeutic about speaking his thoughts aloud, even if his sole audience was a stuffed animal. It helped untangle the knots in his mind—most days, anyway. Not today though, his usual clarity had abandoned him.

"And then she had the audacity to suggest the Nousporist curriculum should include—" His voice cut off as he hugged the toy, just as the door burst open. Anaxa froze when he saw the nymph standing in the doorway, eyes wide. Silence. Awkward, awkward silence.

The dromas plush slipped from his grip and hit the floor with a soft squeak. Neither moved as if time decided to stop right there. Then, the nymph reached for the door handle and backed away. The door clicked shut.

Anaxa sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Perfect. Just perfect.

Fast forwarding to a few days later, the nymph had returned and actually remembered to knock this time. He didn't look up from his book, though the corner of his mouth twitched—whether in irritation or amusement, even he wasn't sure.

One of her butterflies fluttered down and perched on the page he was reading. He stared at it. It stared back.

At least it's not a spider this time.

"Must you?" he muttered, flicking the insect away before snapping the book shut. "I have no desire to talk about that evening..."

His words died as she thrust a bundle of fabric into his hands. He unfolded it to see a dromas onesie. Complete with tiny horns on the hood.

Oh, for— His face burned. Now she's just mocking me.

"You!—"

Before he could finish, he saw her clasping her hands together in plea. Her butterflies swirled above her head and made a glowing halo. The professor narrowed his eye, appearing unimpressed by her theatrics.

Dramatic little nymph.

The words that came from her, however, made him freeze. For one week, she would call him by his full name 'Anaxagoras' just how he likes it. If he wore the onesie. That was the deal, and it made his eye twitch.

"...This is blackmail." He rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache coming up. Anaxa should refuse. He knows he should. But the onesie was soft. And the horns were... well-made.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But if anyone hears of this..."

Anaxa left the last bit unsaid. But he wasn't sure the nymph even heard the threat. He was thinking how soon he could wear it without seeming too eager. Dromas were his favorite, after all.