The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich aroma of stew simmering over the hearth. Enri hummed to herself as she stirred, her back turned to Ainz, who had been quietly observing her from the doorway.
Then—
Poke.
A skeletal finger jabbed into her side.
Enri yelped, nearly dropping the wooden spoon. "Ainz! What—"
Poke. Poke.
"H-hey! S-stop—hahaha—!" She squirmed, her body jerking as laughter bubbled out of her.
Ainz's eye flames flickered with mischief. He had discovered her weakness long ago—those spots where even the lightest touch sent her into giggles. And now, with the precision of a seasoned tormentor, he began exploiting every single one.
Her ribs. The dip of her waist. The sensitive spot just above her hip—
"Ainz! Hahaha—I swear—!" She twisted, trying to bat his hands away, but he was relentless.
"You're laughing," he pointed out, voice teasing. "That means you like it."
"No! Hahaha—please—!"
She was breathless now, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. And then—
Pfft.
A soft, unmistakable sound escaped her.
Ainz froze.
Enri froze.
The stew bubbled obliviously on the hearth.
For one horrifying second, the only sound in the kitchen was the crackling of the fire.
Then—
"...That is a normal biological function," Ainz said, very carefully.
Enri's face burned so hot she might as well have stuck it directly into the flames.
"Y-you—idiot!" she shrieked, before turning on her heel and bolting out of the kitchen like a spooked deer.
Ainz stood there, hands still slightly raised, as the sound of Enri's fleeing footsteps echoed through the house.
Then, slowly, his eye lights flickered in quiet contemplation.
'...Perhaps I overdid it.'
———
For three days, Enri refused to acknowledge Ainz's existence.
If he entered a room, she left. If he spoke, she pretended not to hear. Even when he tried to help with chores, she would pointedly take the bucket from his hands without a word, her face still burning with residual humiliation.
Ainz, for his part, had taken up temporary residence in the barn.
Not that he was hiding.
(He was absolutely hiding.)
The chickens clucked disapprovingly as Ainz arranged a pile of hay into a makeshift seat. One particularly bold hen—a speckled brown menace named Cluckles—pecked at his robe hem.
"I could turn you into fried chicken with a thought," he informed her.
Cluckles stared him dead in the eye and laid an egg on his foot.
This is my life now, Ainz mused, staring at the ceiling.
On the third afternoon, Nemu found him sulking behind a bale of hay.
"Why are you living with the chickens?" she asked, crunching on an apple.
"I'm not living here," Ainz grumbled. "I'm… conducting poultry research."
Nemu nodded sagely. "Is it because sister farted?"
Ainz's eye flames guttered out for a full second. "Who told you that?!"
"The walls." She took another bite. "Also, Enri's been muttering about 'stupid skeletons' while scrubbing pots. Really hard."
Ainz groaned and slumped further into the hay.
That evening, Nemu marched into the house, dragging Ainz by the robe sleeve. Enri was at the table, aggressively kneading dough.
"Okay, enough," Nemu announced. "You're both being weird."
Enri refused to look up. "I have nothing to say to him."
Ainz cleared his throat (metaphorically). "Enri, I—"
"Nope." She slammed the dough down. "Not listening."
Nemu rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Adults." She grabbed Ainz's bony hand and slapped it onto the table next to Enri's flour-dusted one. "Now apologize. Both of you."
A long silence.
Then—
"...I'm sorry for tickling you," Ainz muttered.
Enri's shoulders slumped. "...And I'm sorry I blamed you for… you know."
Nemu nodded. "Good. Now hug."
"What?!"
"HUG. Or I'll tell the whole village you both cried about it."
Grudgingly, Enri allowed Ainz to pat her shoulder. It was the stiffest 'hug' in history, but it counted.
Peace was restored. Ainz moved back into the house (to the chickens' relief). Enri stopped trying to scrub the memory away with soap.
And Nemu?
She charged Ainz two honey cakes for his "emotional support services."
A fair price, all things considered.
******
Winter arrived in Carne Village like a slow, silver sigh.
The first snow dusted the rooftops overnight, softening the edges of the world. The fields lay dormant beneath their white blanket, and the villagers moved through their days with the steady rhythm of those accustomed to the season's hush.
Ainz, who did not feel the cold, found himself fascinated by it anyway.
He watched as Enri and Nemu bundled themselves in layers of wool, their breath puffing in the crisp air. He observed the way the villagers' routines shifted—mornings spent mending tools by the hearth, evenings gathered around shared meals, their laughter thick with the comfort of closeness.
He even (grudgingly) allowed Nemu to drag him into a snowball fight, though he refused to participate on principle.
("It's beneath my dignity," he declared, right before Enri nailed him in the skull with a perfectly aimed throw.)
———
Winter was not without its challenges.
The well froze over, and Ainz had to melt the ice with a simple first tier fire spell. Also a tree fell across the road during a storm, and he cleared it with a flick of his wrist, pretending the villagers' awed whispers didn't stroke his ego just a little.
And then there were the quiet moments—Enri falling asleep against his shoulder after a long day, her cheeks still pink from the cold. Nemu teaching Mr. Flops to "skate" on a frozen puddle (poorly). The way the firelight caught the silver in the snow outside, turning the world into something fragile and fleeting.
And then, as all things do, winter faded.
The snow retreated to the shadows of the forest. The first green shoots pushed through the earth. The villagers emerged from their homes like bears from hibernation, blinking in the sunlight.
Enri stood beside Ainz at the edge of the field, watching as Nemu raced ahead to chase a butterfly.
"It went by fast," she murmured.
Ainz nodded. Time moved differently for the undead, but this—this year—had felt…
"Yes," he agreed.