Name: Pandy
Species: Rabbit (Deceased)
Age: 24
LF: 0/0
Mana: 0/0
Stats
- Strength: 3
- Intelligence: 12
- Agility: 10
Skills
- Hop: Lv. 8
- Bite: Lv. 5
- Scratch: Lv. 7
That was it. It had taken her a while to realize she could even try it, because other than a few times when she’d lost LF after Thaniel accidentally sat or stepped on her, this world seemed completely real. If she’d been playing Gacha Love, there would be a green bar for her current Stamina visible on her screen at all times, along with a hotbar containing a few actions she used regularly. But there was nothing, other than this worthless status screen.
And what did ‘LF’ stand for, anyway? It was obviously being used to indicate her health, but usually games used HP for Health or Hit Points. Was it Lots of Fitness? Low Frequency? Lack of Focus? That last was something many, many people had commented on in her life, but wouldn’t a lower number be better in that case? She’d even tried asking, but there really didn’t seem to be any kind of Help screen at all.
Concentrating as hard as she could, she thought,
Nothing happened. In fact, nothing happened in an almost passive-aggressive way, as if something somewhere was mocking her attempt. So far, Status was the only thing that had worked. She had no Inventory, no Quests, no Relationship Manager, just a very depressing block of text informing her that she was, in fact, dead.
Sighing, Pandy stretched out her neck, taking a desultory bite of the carrot Thaniel had left for her before he put on his nightgown and went to bed. To no one’s surprise, Cassie’s idea of putting him to bed was making sure he was in his room, then blowing out the lamp. The Father usually turned up at least long enough to tuck the little boy in, but now Pandy was left to do it, though her furry little paws weren’t exactly designed for the task.
Two chews told her the carrot was drying out, but Pandy managed to swallow it anyway. Better to finish it than leave half-chewed pieces for Thaniel to clean up. He was always worried when she didn’t eat, though fortunately he hadn’t yet realized that there were other biological necessities she couldn’t fake.
Flopping over on her side and stretching out her legs, Pandy wriggled, trying to scratch a spot on her back that had been itching ever since Thaniel went to bed. How was it possible that she never got hungry or thirsty, didn’t need to sleep, but still got itchy spots between her shoulder blades? It was truly unfair, and Thaniel wouldn’t wake for – she checked the small pendulum clock on the mantle – six more hours.
With a tiny bunny groan, Pandy pulled up her status again, staring at it until she felt her eyeballs growing as dry as the carrot. A Strength of three had to be bad, but was reasonable given that she was, in fact, a rabbit. Of course, she could have been some kind of super zombie bunny, complete with maxed out stats, but no, she was just your run-of-the-mill undead rabbit.
So, assuming that three was low, was the ten for Agility average? She certainly didn’t feel like she was particularly slow or fast, and her hops were as ungainly as any other rabbit, so she was assuming that the scale was zero to twenty, with her Agility perfectly in the middle.
Which left Intelligence. While she was glad that it wasn’t bunny-standard, which would probably be a two or three, it didn’t seem like twelve was much of an improvement over ten. Unless it was all based on normal rabbit stats, not human ones, and she was actually both incredibly weak and only slightly more intelligent than a normal bunny?
Rolling over so she was lying on her back, she thrashed in place, paws waving wildly in the air. One of them went right through the Status screen, making it vanish back into the darkness of the bedroom.
Thaniel’s rooms were as large as Pandy’s whole apartment back in her original world, consisting of the massive bedroom, a closet large enough for a family of four, and a room that was probably supposed to be a receiving or drawing room, however that worked, but in fact functioned as a playroom. The playroom held shelves of children’s books, carved wooden toys, several music boxes, and a desk filled with paper, paints, and pens, complete with different colored inkwells.
Giving up on the itchy spot, Pandy rolled over again and hopped to the floor, landing on the thick rug with a soft thump. The rug might be starting to show signs of wear, and it had the kind of stains that a young, active child produced, but it had clearly once been both beautiful and expensive. In fact, the whole manor reeked of old money, in that everything looked like it had once cost a great deal, but hadn’t been properly taken care of in quite some time.
Hopping over to the bookshelf, Pandy gently grasped a book in her long incisors. She backed up, tugging as she went, until it plopped out of the shelf and onto the floor in front of her. This was her favorite book, and fortunately whatever magic allowed her to understand the language of this world also allowed her to read their words.
She wished she could flip through the pages properly, but the long claws on her front paws weren’t designed for that any more than they were made for tucking blankets in around sleeping little boys. She often turned more than one page at a time, but when she tried to separate them, the thick paper threatened to tear, so it had taken her several read-throughs to be sure she’d actually seen every page.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
The story was one that seemed a little dark for a preschooler, but it was beautifully illustrated, and sometimes she spent the whole night minutely examining every picture. There were only a few words on each page, but they were well-chosen, aimed at teaching very young children a very specific lesson.
Thou shalt not kill. More specifically, ‘Thou shalt not kill, and then bring the dead back to life.’ The story told of a young child, who met a stranger in the woods. In Pandy’s experience, that was never a good sign for the rest of the story, and she was right.
The child’s beloved dog grew old and died, and the stranger – now a trusted friend – taught the child how to sacrifice other small animals to gain enough power to resurrect the hound. Eventually, of course, this was discovered, the stranger was revealed as an evil magician, and the child’s father killed the magician, but not before revealing that the magician had planned to sacrifice the child as well.
The whole thing was rather grim, but for some reason the pictures were full of energy and bright colors. Of course, for half the book the primary colors were various shades of red, but that didn’t detract from their beauty. Whoever painted the original art had truly been a master of their craft.
More than an hour passed as Pandy nosed at the pages, trying not to tear them. The pictures were incredibly complex, and every time she examined them, she found another secret mouse crouching between two leaves, a mischievous bluejay swooping down to steal a nut from a distracted squirrel, or a tiny fawn hidden in a sun-dappled thicket. The people were generic, often little more than blank faces and vibrant clothing, but the forest teemed with lovingly crafted plants and animals.
The cover of the book thumped shut, and Pandy patted it. The title was simply Alex and the Dark Magician, and it had been written by what she guessed was a husband and wife team. The author was Bryan Conroy, while the illustrator was named Grace Conroy. To Pandy’s mind, Grace was the one who made this book truly special, because while Bryan’s words were clear and understandable, Grace’s pictures were, in fact, magical.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Thaniel’s sleepy voice made Pandy jump three feet straight up into the air. The little boy was standing in the doorway to the playroom, rubbing his eyes with a fist. His white nightgown trailed down to his shins, and his bare toes curled in the rug.
Pandy, of course, couldn’t answer, but she tried to push the book back toward the shelf with one of her long back feet. Thaniel saw the motion, however, and came forward, eyes widening as he realized what she was doing. Falling to his knees, he scooped up the book, clutching it to his chest as he stared at Pandy.
“Bad rabbit!” he said, and his fingers ran over the cover before flipping through the pages. To her shock, tears stood in his eyes. “Mommy and Daddy made this for me. They gave it to me on my third birthday, and Mommy read it to me every night.”
Pandy’s eyes widened. They gave that bloody book to a three-year-old, and then Thaniel’s mother read it to him? The same gentle, kind mother who everyone loved, and said things like ‘we’ll always be under the same stars’? That mother?
More importantly, they’d made it for him? Did that mean they’d had it printed and bound specifically for their young son, or had they really made it? Was it possible that The Father was Bryan Conroy, while Mommy was Grace Conroy? Did that make The Father Lord Conroy?
Somehow she didn’t think that sounded right. Didn’t titles stay the same, even if the last name of the current lord or lady changed? In fact, now that she thought about it, something about those names rang a very faint bell somewhere in her memory. Had Thaniel or one of the servants mentioned one or both at some point?
Putting on a severe expression, Thaniel said, “You can’t chew on things, Bunny. You have to take good care of toys and books, you know.” Pandy could hear the echo of the hundred times someone else had said this to him, and she let her head hang and her ears droop, hoping she looked like the very picture of rabbit regret.
The little boy sighed, reaching out to gently pat her head. “It’s okay. The book is all right.”
Pandy guiltily remembered the books that did have torn pages and tooth marks on the spine, but she’d never actually seen Thaniel read a book before, so she didn’t think he would notice. She certainly wasn’t going to fess up.
A soft, distant sound caused both of them to turn, looking toward the closed door that led out into the hall. It almost sounded like a footstep, but the clock said it was just past two in the morning. No one should be awake, much less moving through the house. The gardener, George, had his own little house on the grounds, so the only other person in the manor should be Cassie, who barely woke up in time to get dressed before Marta showed up to start cooking breakfast.
“What was that?” Thaniel asked, fingers tightening on the book until his knuckles shone white. He stood, starting to lay the book on the desk, then seemed to think better of it, instead clutching the small collection of leather and paper to his chest as if it was a lifeline.
Another sound reached their ears, and this time it was clearly the scuffing of a foot over wood. A male voice muttered something, and Pandy’s ears stood straight up. She remembered The Father’s words: Protect this child. There was no compulsion to do so, but still…
Pandy was a rabbit, and Thaniel was a pampered little boy, not even six years old. How was she supposed to protect him? Did he even need protection? It had been three days since The Father left, which was the earliest he had said he might return. Maybe he returned home in the middle of the night and was coming to check on his son?
Her eye caught on the window. It was open a crack, letting in the soft summer breeze. The heavy brocade curtains swayed gently, and for a moment, she wondered if they could hide behind the thick fabric. But if someone other than The Father came in, how long would it take before they checked the only real hiding place other than underneath the bed?
In fact, Thaniel was heading for the bed now, still holding tightly to the book. He leaned over, preparing to crawl beneath, but Pandy softly thumped her back foot. Casting meaningful glances at the boy, she hopped to the window, looking up at the narrow opening.
As she’d hoped, Thaniel joined her. He looked conflicted as he examined the heavy window pane. He could lift it, but it was difficult, and sometimes it squealed loudly.
“We’re on the third floor,” he whispered. “Mommy and Daddy and Lian all said I’d be in big trouble if I climbed out on the roof again. Daddy said he’d nail the window shut. Let’s hide under the bed.”
Pandy eyed the window again. With a push of her powerful back legs, she leaped up to grab at the windowsill, her feet scrabbling at the wall. Thaniel reached out to grab at her, trying to snatch her back, but Pandy had already clambered up and squeezed through, so all he caught was her fluffy white tail. There was a soft pop, and Thaniel squeaked as it came off in his hand.
-5 LF
Right outside the window was a steeply angled section of roof, perhaps three feet wide. Pandy could feel herself starting to slip, claws scratching at the slate tiles, before a little hand grabbed her middle. Thaniel pulled her back, and she turned her head to see that he was half in and half out of the window, having pushed it open more quickly than she’d thought he could.
“Come back,” he whispered urgently, and then they both stilled as they heard the clop of hooves as one or more horses shifted in the courtyard below. Instead of backing into the room, Thaniel scooted forward on his belly, his white nightgown standing out starkly against the dark gray slate.
A dozen horses stood below, along with two men, one of whom gripped the arm of a white-faced Cassie. Her pretty brown curls were bedraggled, and she wore a nightgown not much different from Thaniel’s, though it was a soft green color. She was saying something, though Pandy couldn’t understand what it was, and the man holding her gave her a shake when she stopped speaking.
“That’s not Daddy.” Thaniel whispered the obvious, and Pandy wriggled out of his loosened grasp, hopping off toward a wider section of roof. Lian’s bedroom window was fifteen feet from Thaniel’s, but it wasn’t open, and the room beyond probably wasn’t any safer than the one they’d left behind.
Pandy headed the other direction, toward a flatter area that led to The Father’s tower, which stretched another two stories higher. Thaniel followed, crawling along the still-warm roof, his nightgown snagging on the corners of the tiles.