Blossom's Note: I'm happy to see you again.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

When you opened your eyes, your mind was clear. Icicles sparkled on the cave ceiling; the campfire crackled. Scaramouche was snoring softly beside you, with a sound like a purring cat.

Wait a second, how did I get back here? And the campfire... why is it burning again? Was that all just a dream?

A snore broke through your thoughts. "Mmmph..."

"Wake up, Mister Hat Guy!" You shook Scaramouche and were relieved to find that no murderous thoughts entered your mind. Hopefully, yesterday night's bizarre events meant that you were cured of the cursed blood once and for all.

Scaramouche groaned and sat up. "Enemies?" His hair stuck out in all directions.

You smiled. "No. It's time to go."

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Leaving the mountain was not as easy as it sounded. Obviously, you had to head down. The question was which way. Everything looked and felt different after the storm—a glittering, snowy wonderland with no clear paths anywhere.

Twice you had to turn back at dead ends. A few times, you and Scaramouche ended up in underground caverns half-blocked by icicles and Cryo slimes. Worst of all, you had lost your ability to melt the snow at a touch, a sign that the cursed blood was finally free of your body.

Well, good riddance.

"Look on the bright side!" you suggested cheerfully. "Now (Y/N) can build a snowman again!" You scooped some snow up experimentally. It didn't melt away.

Right on cue, Scaramouche smacked into a tree branch, dumping snow onto both of you. He cursed and took off his hat. "Right. And if we both freeze to death?"

"We won't freeze."

"Optimism won't get us anywhere," he mumbled, glancing at the darkening sky.

"No, we won't freeze. Look." You pointed up ahead, where a faint warm light shone out between some trees. This light was different from the crimson glow of Durin's heart—it was cooler, more artificial, like something man-made.

"A cabin?" Scaramouche wondered as you approached a tattered wooden bridge spanning a wide gap in the ledge. "Who would live up here?"

"Hopefully not hilichurls. Wait—slow down!" You grabbed Scaramouche's leg just in time to stop him from stepping onto the wooden bridge. A few flecks of snow dropped into the dark valley below.

"What is it?" he snapped, but you could tell he wasn't really angry—just surprised.

"This bridge looks rotten. Can't you see it?" you asked. "There—and there." You pointed at the spots.

"No, not at all."

You concentrated harder, setting your hand gently on one of the planks. "There's water in the wood. Probably from melted snow. It's bad for the bridge. (Y/N) can get it out."

"How?" Suddenly understanding dawned on Scaramouche's face, a faint flicker in his eyes. "The same way you drowned that man."

He probably thinks I'm a bad kid. Does he hate me?

A mix of emotions filled your chest. You hovered your palm above the bridge and made a curling motion with your fist. Slowly, a clear bubble of water rose out of the wood. When it touched your hand, it disappeared.

You stood. "The bridge is dry now. But it's still not safe to cross. The wood is already too weak."

"Great." Scaramouche sighed. "So now what?"

"Eh?"

"I'm asking you. You're obviously smart. So tell me, what's your plan to get us across?" he asked. That look in his eyes—it wasn't disdain, but respect. He didn't hate you for who you were, even if you were a bad kid.

You smiled slowly. It was a different sort of smile than what anyone would expect from such a young child—cold and sweet, like a snake as it approaches its prey. "(Y/N)'s been meaning to ask you, Mister Hat Guy. You're like a doll, right?"

He flinched.

"(Y/N) loves playing with dolls. Can your arms and legs come off?"

To his credit, Scaramouche didn't immediately sprint away. Instead he blinked at you. "Are you crazy?" he asked, in a tone that made it clear he thought you were.

"Not crazy," you said. "Just hungry. And cold. Do you want to hear the plan or not?"

Scaramouche hesitated. "Puppets like me weren't designed to come apart. We're very sturdy. But there is a way."

When Scaramouche said 'we,' you were mentally picturing a whole Barbie dreamhouse full of grumpy Scaramouche dolls. "Meet the new limited-edition Fatui Harbinger Scarbie! He can be your best friend, or your worst enemy. (Hat and mommy issues sold separately.)"

You snapped out of your daydream to see Scaramouche touch a small mark on the inside of his arm joint. It looked like three bolts of lightning, woven together. There was a small zap, and the arm detached from his torso and flopped to the ground.

"What's that mark?" you asked, touching it. A zap of static electricity sent you flying back.

"You could call it a birthmark. It's the mark of Electro. There's one on each of my limbs," he replied. "You'll need to keep one of my hands on this side. Only I can activate the marks."

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The plan worked perfectly. Scaramouche wasn't happy, of course, but he agreed grudgingly, seeing as it was the only way to get him across.

First you practiced with sticks and rocks, wrapping them in sturdy bubbles and floating them back and forth across the bridge until you were sure you wouldn't drop them. Then, with a touch, Scaramouche unscrewed his left arm from his body. It was much heavier than you'd expected, and a weird shape to trap in a bubble. But you did your best to float it across the bridge, while a one-armed Scaramouche looked on anxiously.

Halfway across, you made the mistake of pausing to ask him, "Just checking: you could live without your left arm, right?"

His face turned even paler than usual. You laughed nervously. "Just kidding! Not going to drop it."

When the first arm made it across, Scaramouche and you both sighed with relief. The lone disembodied arm waved at you from the other side of the bridge, which was a bizarre sight. You snapped your fingers. "Gimme the next arm!"

Scaramouche detached his right hand, which crawled up his torso like a spider and touched the small Electro mark on his shoulder. His right arm fell into the snow at your feet.

His legs were a bit trickier. They were too heavy to carry in one piece, so you had to split them into three parts—the hips, the thighs, and the calves, with the feet dangling off of them. The torso was by far the heaviest part of Scaramouche, and it took all your might to lift, but it too made it across safely.

It was all going great until you got to Scaramouche's head. You could probably live with an armless or legless Scaramouche, but it wouldn't be the same without his head. And as for Scaramouche... well, he might need his head for the little things, like talking, eating, breathing, and being accepted by society. So you were both sweating as Scaramouche detached his head from his body.

"If you drop me," Scaramouche's detached head said from the ground, "I will—gurgle!"

You muffled his words by creating a Hydro bubble around his head, like a giant space helmet. "Don't worry so much. If (Y/N) drops your head, (Y/N) will make you a new one out of paper!"

This didn't seem to reassure Scaramouche, whose mouth opened and closed silently in the Hydro bubble. You concentrated, and the bubble floated off the ground, a few inches into the air. As you strained and pushed in your mind, the bubble inched across the bridge. By now, your bubbles were strong enough that you were confident you wouldn't drop his head into the abyss. He would probably scream curses at you the whole way down anyways.

His right hand, the only part of Scaramouche remaining on your side of the bridge, was clenched tightly into a fist, the knuckles white. Every few seconds, the hand would fidget anxiously or drum the side of your leg.

Plop!

With a wet thunk, Scaramouche's head landed in the snow on the other side of the bridge, so far away that you couldn't make out the expression on his face. You laughed in relief and waved. Then you grabbed his detached right hand, curled into a ball, and created a bubble around yourself—for some reason this was much easier than creating a bubble around other things. You floated effortlessly across the bridge to join Scaramouche, whose hands scuttled around, putting his limbs back together.

His expression was unreadable. "Let's not speak of that ever again," he muttered, wiping water off his face with a newly reattached arm.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶