Chapter 9: So, The prank begins
"Why are you still here?" Roya asked in a flat, bored voice as she reached for the glass of water beside her bed. Before she could touch it, the glass slid off the nightstand and shattered on the floor, the water splashing against her feet.
"Really?" she scowled, glaring at Emris, who stood there, grinning innocently like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Now that I am free from blood and battles, I can live peacefully in your humble abode," he said, his voice dripping with smugness. "I'll make myself at home, spend all your money, make your pathetic life even more pathetic, and, of course, date cute girls. Oh, and just to be clear, you're not included in that list—you're ugly as shit." With that, he launched himself onto her bed, bouncing up and down like an overgrown child.
She groaned, rolling her eyes as he settled into the mess of pillows. "You can't get rid of me," he added, flashing a wide, mischievous grin. "I'm part of the furniture now, sweetheart."
"Ugh!" Roya swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, running her hands through her tangled hair. Without even thinking, Emris followed her like an annoying puppy, his footsteps falling into sync with hers.
"Why are you following me?" she asked, already tired of his presence.
"Aren't we showering together, my love?" he replied, a playful gleam in his eye.
"No," she deadpanned, "I'm going to take a shit. Still wanna join me?"
His face twisted into a mock grimace. "No, I think I'll pass."
"That's what I thought," she muttered, disappearing into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her, and Emris leaned back, his mind already buzzing with the perfect prank.
With a sly grin, he snapped his fingers, and the room began to shift. The dull, neutral tones that Roya clearly adored were replaced with a chaotic mix of neon pinks, purples, and blues. The ceiling transformed into a galaxy of glowing stars, and the walls shimmered like an obnoxious rainbow. It was the complete opposite of her minimalist, beige aesthetic, and it was glorious.
By the time Roya stepped out of the bathroom, her hair still wet and a towel draped over her shoulders, the room looked like a completely different universe. She blinked several times, stunned by the vibrant explosion of color. It was so bright, it felt like her skull might crack from the migraine already forming.
"You're most welcome, Dream," Emris said smugly, lounging on the now hot-pink bedspread. "I've added a little color to your dull life."
"How generous of you, Emris," Roya drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You're welcome, as always," he replied, winking.
She ignored him, shaking her head as she started pulling open drawers, looking for something to wear. But even that didn't go unnoticed. Emris raised an eyebrow, watching her with an intensity that was unsettling. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the way her skin glistened from the steam of her shower. He hated her. She was insufferable, irritating, and a complete control freak, but damn if she wasn't… enticing.
He caught himself staring too long and shook his head, smirking to mask the tension that had seeped into the room. She hadn't noticed, or maybe she had and just didn't care. Either way, it didn't matter. He had more tricks up his sleeve.
---
Later that evening, when Roya had finally escaped to her library—a dark, musty space that reeked of books and old paper—she felt a slight reprieve from Emris's constant presence. She could finally breathe.
Or so she thought.
Without warning, the shelves creaked and groaned as if under immense pressure. Roya shot up from her chair, looking around suspiciously. The next moment, books began flying off the shelves. First one, then another, then an entire row as if someone had cast a spell of chaos.
"What the hell?" she muttered, stepping backward just as a heavy, leather-bound volume came flying toward her face. Her reflexes kicked in, and she ducked just in time, the book missing her by inches and crashing into the wall behind her.
Emris's laughter echoed from the doorway. "Oops! Looks like your precious books have a mind of their own, Dream."
"You idiot!" she spat, her heart racing. "That could've knocked me out!"
"Well, I could've killed you," he said with a shrug, still grinning. "But I didn't. See? I'm generous."
"Oh, you're so generous, Emris," she snapped, brushing off the dust and glaring at him. Her mind started whirring with retaliation. She'd never been one to back down, and now that he had crossed the line into life-threatening territory, she wasn't going to let him get away with it.
---
That night, while Emris slept on the couch—because she had very clearly banned him from her room—Roya crept silently through the halls, a wicked plan forming in her mind. She had always been one for psychological warfare, and now it was her turn.
With careful precision, she set up a tripwire near the stairs, rigged to release a bucket of water mixed with ice cubes directly above. A little cold bath wouldn't kill him—but it would make him suffer.
Sure enough, the next morning, Emris, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, stumbled toward the stairs. The moment he stepped over the wire, the trap triggered perfectly. The icy water cascaded over him, drenching his hair, his clothes, and his dignity.
His gasp of shock was music to her ears.
"Oh my god! What the hell, Roya Amani?!" Emris shouted, his body shaking from the freezing cold.
Roya peeked around the corner, her smirk as sharp as a blade. "Oops," she said, mimicking his earlier tone. "Looks like you have a mind of your own, too."
His eyes narrowed. "You're going to regret that, Dream."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," she replied, her voice low and dangerous.
---
As the days passed, the pranks escalated. Emris, ever the master of mischief, decided to turn her bath into a death trap by heating the water to boiling temperatures just before she stepped in. The steam alone should have scalded her, but at the last second, his hand twitched, and the water returned to its normal warmth, sparing her.
Roya, however, wasn't one to be outdone. One evening, she switched out his wine with poison. Not enough to kill him—just enough to make his vision blur and his mind spin. When he realized what had happened, his body nearly collapsing under the effects, she simply watched from the doorway, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.
"You trying to kill me, Dream?" he asked, his voice slurred but amused.
"If I wanted you dead, Emris, you'd be six feet under by now."
He looked at her through half-lidded eyes, the tension between them now a palpable force. "You're dangerous, Roya."
"And you love it," she countered, leaning in close, her breath mingling with his as she whispered, "Don't you?"
The sexual tension thickened the air, their hatred intertwined with something more primal, something neither of them wanted to admit. It wasn't just mind games anymore. It was something far more dangerous. Something neither of them could control.