In which safe spaces are a lie, and so is emotional stability. It was supposed to be impenetrable.
Constructed from enchanted mythril, lined with anti-divination runes, stocked with emergency snacks, eight manga volumes, one tattered pillow, and—most crucially—ten soundproof layers of anti-yandere barrier enchantments, Rei's Panic Room was his last bastion of hope.
His only sanctuary and yet…
"–REI-SAMA, OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY BEFORE I REPLACE IT WITH YOUR BONES!"
That was Seraphina.
"Reiiii~ My nose says you're in here. My dragon nose doesn't lie."
That was Drakana.
"...My tracking threads lead here. They never fail."
That was Rosette.
"By the holy decree of the Love Cult of Lilia, we demand entrance to the Temple of Husband."
...That was Lilia.
"If you don't open up, I'm going to assume you're cuddling someone else," Alicia said coldly. "And I have salted daggers today."
Rei, curled into a fetal position behind a magically shielded kotatsu, whimpered.
