Chapter 153: Planning a Party Is Harder Than Demon Slaying?

The morning sun hit Hollowtown’s main square with all the enthusiasm of a wet napkin. Grace stood in the center, watching villagers attempt to hang colorful banners between buildings. The banners kept sliding down, pooling on the ground in sad little piles before they’d pick them back up and try again without a single change on their faces.

“Higher on the left,” Zephyr called out, arms crossed as she supervised. “No, your other left. That’s still right. How do you not know your own left?”

The villager, a middle-aged man who’d introduced himself as “just Tim”, stared at his hands with genuine confusion.

“They look the same,” he said.

Grace sighed.

“We’re doomed.”

“We’re not doomed. They’re trying,” Zephyr replied. “Yes, yes, now, t-there! Good, good!”

“Trying and succeeding are different things.”

Grace watched Tim finally get the banner up. It immediately fell down again.

“Okay… we might be a little doomed.”

—

Persistence proved itself the winner yet again, though, as an hour later, things had marginally improved. Mara had taken over decoration duties with the efficiency of someone who’d organized countless heavenly gatherings. Alia bounced between groups, her energy infectious even to the emotionally stunted townspeople.

Yet again, Grace found herself sitting on a crate next to Zephyr, both of them taking a break from the chaos.

“Did you ever go to any festivals, Grace?” Zephyr asked, watching Alia try to teach a group of children how to dance. The sad-faced children moved with the grace of newborn giraffes.

“Not really.” Grace picked at a splinter in the crate. “Parents were sick a lot when I was young. Then after they died, I had the farm to watch.”

“Hm… that sounds pretty lonely.”

“It was what it was,” Grace shrugged. “Besides, having to take care of a whole farm before you even turned 18 built character.”

[Or, that’s what I told myself.]

Zephyr hummed.

“What kind of sick were they?”

“The wasting kind. Started when I was maybe ten? Dad went first. Mom held on longer, but…” Grace shrugged. “Yeah. And, well, turnips don’t grow themselves.”

“You were alone at ten?”

“Fourteen when Mom finally passed. Old enough to manage.”

“Sorry. That sucks.”

“I’m over it,” Grace waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, now, as an angel… I feel like all I’ve seen are people who have it worse than I did. What happened to me is just life. What happens to everyone else feels nightmarish.”

Grace watched Alia spin one of the children, who actually smiled. A real smile, not the hollow approximation Hollowtown specialized in.

“I used to watch festivals from my window sometimes, though. My window gave me a pretty good view of the village. The village would have harvest celebrations, midwinter parties. I’d see the lanterns and hear the music.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Well, like I said, someone had to stay with Mom. Make sure she took her medicine, ate something.” Grace pulled the splinter free. “After she died, I only ever went to the village to buy things. Couldn’t really see myself just mingling with people.”

Zephyr smirked.

“I’d have dragged you out of that farm to have some fun.”

“You didn’t know me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’d have known you needed inviting.” Zephyr nudged her shoulder. “That’s what Love Sisters do. We’re the ones who find the people standing alone at parties and drag them onto the dance floor.”

“What if they don’t want to dance?”

“Then we drink with them instead. Or talk. Or just sit.” Zephyr watched Alia demonstrate what appeared to be an interpretive dance about corn. “But, whatever the cost may be, we’d make damn sure they felt better than they did before we came along.”

Grace glanced at Zephyr and shook her head with a smile.

“You Love Sisters are something else.”

“INCOMING!”

Grace looked up to see Martha barreling toward them, moving faster than seemed possible for someone who’d been emotionally dead yesterday.

“What’s wrong?”

“Demons!” Martha gasped. “Coming from the cave!”

Grace was on her feet instantly, blade materializing in her hand.

“How many?”

“Dozen? They’re different than usual ones.”

“Different how?”

“They’re see-through!”

Martha wasn’t wrong. The demons pouring from the cave mouth looked like someone had traced their outline in shadow and forgotten to fill in the rest. They moved oddly too, stuttering forward in bursts, leaving afterimages that took too long to fade.

“Everyone back!” Grace shouted, stepping between the demons and the fleeing townspeople. “I’ve got this!”

[Level 70, level 71, level 75… I can do this.]

The first shadow-demon lunged. Grace’s blade passed through it, not dealing quite as much damage as she wanted.

She channeled more power, light blazing. This time when she swung, the demon dissipated with a sound like a low sigh.

Two more took its place.

“Grace!” Mara’s voice. “Behind you!”

Grace spun, blade carving through three demons at once.

Grace charged forward. If they kept coming, she’d meet them at the source. Her blade sang through the air, each strike precise and devastating.

But they kept coming.

By the time she reached the cave mouth, her arms ached and sweat dripped into her eyes. The stream of demons had slowed but not stopped.

[The Void’s defending itself. Or testing me. Or just being annoying.]

“Grace!” Alia appeared at her side, panting. “You good?”

“Peachy. Why aren’t you with the others?”

“They’re fine. Mara’s got them.” Alia pulled something from her pocket—a small silver flask. “Drink.”

“Now’s not really—”

“It’s water, you dummy. Drink.”

Grace drank, still watching the cave. No more demons for the moment.

“Thanks.”

“’Course.” Alia studied the darkness. “So the Void’s throwing a tantrum about our party?”

“Looks like it.”

“Rude. We didn’t even send invitations yet.”

Despite everything, Grace laughed. “Next time we’ll remember proper etiquette.”

A familiar chime rang in her head. New quest notification.

[Quest Received: Retrieve the Circlet of Connection]

[Location: ?]

[Reward: ?]

Grace stared at the notification.

[Very useful, Eternia. Very useful indeed.]

“So, uh, apparently,” Grace started, “there’s some sort of circlet in these caves. I’m going to have to go grab it later.”

“A circlet,” Alia repeated. “Like a tiny crown?”

“I guess?”

“Fancy. I bet it’ll look great on you.”

“Alia.”

“What? You’ve got the bone structure for it.”

Grace rolled her eyes.

Grace looked back toward the town. The festival preparations had resumed, though with significantly more nervous glancing toward the cave.

Despite the demon attack, or maybe because of it, everyone threw themselves back into festival prep with an almost manic fervor. There was something grimly determined about the way Hollowtown worked away at this.

[At least they’re committing to it.]

Grace wiped the last of the demon gunk from her blade with the corner of her tunic and sighed.

“Right,” she muttered. “Back to banners and bad dancing.”

She stalked through the square, nodding at villagers who jumped to look productive the second her shadow touched them. Even “just Tim” had managed to tie off a banner correctly—although it now flapped directly into a lamppost, obscuring half of it like a very festive ghost. Progress.

Near the bakery stall, she found a trio of children attempting to make ribbon garlands. One of them had tied himself to a bench by accident and was now shrieking like he was being murdered.

Alia crouched beside him, holding in her laughter.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” Grace muttered.

“He was trying to braid them,” Alia explained, voice shaking. “But he only has two hands.”

“I’m *dying,*” one of the other kids declared, flopping dramatically to the ground. Grace squinted—was that one of the children she’d saved earlier from the dance lesson?

“Cool it,” she said, reaching down to untangle the shrieking boy. “You’re not dying. You’re just bad at knots.”

“I *tried!*” the boy wailed.

“I can tell.” She finally got him free and gave him a pat on the head. “Try again. Maybe this time don’t tie yourself to solid objects.”

The kid sniffled and nodded. Alia gave Grace a grin as she stood.

“You’re good at that.”

“Yelling at kids?”

“Making them not cry.” She paused. “Well. Less.”

Grace rolled her eyes and headed toward the musicians next. A trio of lutes and one deeply suspicious-looking flute player were gathered near a makeshift stage. One of them played a few notes and flinched, like the sound had physically wounded him.

“You tuning?” Grace asked.

The lute player blinked.

“Trying.”

“Well, try harder. If this festival ends with a musical number, I want it to sound less like a dying cow.”

He blushed and nodded furiously, strumming again with more focus.

Behind the stage, a group of teens were painting wooden signs. Grace raised an eyebrow at one that read “Happy Hellowmas.”

“Wrong festival,” she said.

“It’s a *rebranding,*” one of the teens argued. “We thought if we made it sound cooler, more people would come.”

Grace stared at him. Then at the sign. Then back.

“Fine. But at least spell it right.”

He looked down.

“Oh. Right.”

As she turned to leave, Zephyr appeared beside her like a summoned spirit of sass and judgment.

“You’re terrifying,” she said, sipping something out of a wooden mug.

“Only when I have to be.”

“And how are you always *this* hot when you’re bossing everyone around?”

Grace smirked. “It’s the trauma. Makes everything I say sound more important.”

Zephyr laughed.

“Well, the trauma’s doing wonders. The square’s actually starting to look halfway magical.”

“Yeah?”

Grace took it all in with arms crossed, heart ticking a little faster.

Yeah. Maybe it wasn’t doomed after all.

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