Even the arrival of dawn had brought with it the promise of a better day. This was the day after; the forest had been pioneered, the house discovered. And as the waking sun spanned the bedspread and lit the insides of Zoisite's closed eyelids a glowing orange, a strange familiarization spread through him. He remembered last night, the awkwardness he'd felt with Kunzite, and his odd encounter with Jadeite. Yet now, as his opening eyes were presented with the winking icicles just outside the bedroom window, he felt something entirely different. Something he hadn't felt since his initial awakening here. He felt good.

He remembered the promise he'd made himself that night. He'd sequester Luna, ask her anything she knew about this place. He remembered the fear and resolution with which he's made this decision, his desperation to be gone from this place and back into the familiar.

But now, as the sun warmed the blanket under which he lay, these demons seemed far from him. The muffled sounds of Jadeite's asphyxiation, and the sensation of fingers on his own throat yesterday afternoon; they should be frightening him. He should not want to lay in bed.

But he did.

Jadeite was sick after his breakfast of bread and cheese. While he was bent double over the sink, Nephrite went outside in search of firewood that could be used to fuel the stove. He said he may not be back for a while; there was no axe to be found. All were discontented with their filthy uniforms; wishing that this house that seemed to provide everything would at least provide clothing. Kunzite had suggested with some distaste that if all else failed, the uniforms should be washed in the bath and hung to dry. Dismally, the others had agreed.

Now Jadeite knelt upon the floor, head before the washbasin. He felt better than he had last night; the food he'd managed to keep down for all of ten minutes had at least leant him a sense of strength. His back still ached, and in the little flecked mirror, he could count the line of bruises running up his spine. But the memory of such a fall was gone for good.

The padding of feet caused him to raise his head. In walked Zoisite, again in a sheet (his uniform was drying over the side of the tub). He had recently bathed, his damp hair beginning to dry into wild, flying curls. His cheeks were flushed healthily, so unlike the wraith-eyed apparition who'd spoke to him last night. He was watching Jadeite with a look of sympathy, but there was a knot in his brow and a focus in his eyes that told Jadeite that the fantastic claims that had been made last night may not be over with.

"Where did you leave Luna?" Jadeite asked.

"Kunzite-sama has agreed to watch her for now," Zoisite replied, retrieving his clothes and testing the cuffs for dampness, finding none. He was in good spirits this morning. Kunzite had been particularly doting, following him around the house as though in silent atonement for the night before.

"Has Nephrite returned yet?"

"No." Zoisite slipped about the corner of the room, dropping the sheet and pulling on his uniform. The boots, he decided, could wait; his socks were rather shocking. Dressed, he returned to Jadeite's side. The blond king had turned around, and for the first time, Zoisite saw the line of deep purple blotches paralleling Jadeite's back.

"My.... Does it hurt?"

"Not much," Jadeite lied as he faltered to his feet.

Zoisite didn't like the bruises; the sun from the porthole window fell upon them improperly. They should be kept covered, for their unsightliness did not bend to the gentle congruity of the morning. A fluttery feeling- not worry exactly- caused Zoisite to shift at the sight of them. "You still don't remember falling?" he asked.

"Not at all." Jadeite straightened and drew on his top. Then he turned. "Zoisite.... Last night, you said some things... I'm not certain what you meant."

Zoisite remained still, waiting for Jadeite to continue rather than prompting him.

"You said... someone was trying to kill me?" His words were not mocking, just uncertain.

Zoisite felt suddenly ill. He hadn't hoped to avoid this. But with the brightness of the sun and the seeming rectification it brought with it, there had been a brief thought in Zoisite's mind that perhaps... there was no need to bring it up again. With a doleful frown, he sighed. "Yes, I said that."

"You meant it?"

His face sank even more. "Yes, I meant it."

"Well then, who, may I ask, is trying to kill me?"

"I already told you. I can't see them, I don't know what they are, but I know they're in this house. They've come to me, Jadeite."

"Yesterday afternoon in the hallway."

"Yes."

"Listen...." Jadeite paused to fasten his belt. "I don't remember falling. And I don't know why I choked last night. And I don't know why the pantry is always full. So, any proposition you or I make will sound equally ridiculous, simply because we haven't a clue."

Zoisite nodded darkly. "I suppose that's the easiest way to say it."

Jadeite chuckled. "It's rather funny, you know." He started to smile. "Back in the Kingdom, we fought alongside monsters and knelt before a demon queen, simply because we couldn't think of a better life. But now...." he gestured with his arms, "here is a better life. And it terrifies us."

"Yes." Zoisite nodded slowly, chuckling a bit himself. "I suppose."

Kunzite looked towards the door as Zoisite entered the room. The young king stopped to briefly regard Luna, who stared at him from a pile of cushions. She then dropped her head and returned to her napping.

The parlor was even dustier than the bedrooms, and the windows could not be opened. Yet Luna seemed the least fussy in this room; the burgundy sofa had become her new bed.

"Kunzite-sama," said Zoisite. The title sounded out of place here, but Zoisite wasn't sure what else to call him.

"How are you feeling?" Kunzite asked in reply. He'd been asking that a lot this morning.

"I feel... good," Zoisite decided. The arm that Kunzite passed around his waist was received with a supple wave that traveled through Zoisite's frame, something that felt quite nice. Realizing he had nothing further to say, he simply rested his head at the base of Kunzite's throat. The rough brush of fabric there was unfamiliar, and as he turned his head, he noticed why.

"Kunzite-sama, your uniform."

"Pardon?"

"Your uniform clasp; you never fasten it."

Kunzite bend his head, as though noticing for the first time his fully-buttoned collar. A gloveless had went to the clasp, and hovered there undecidedly. "I... imagine I'd surprise you."

"I think you look better with it undone," Zoisite said, grinning slightly. With a flick of his wrist, the clasp was unfastened. He looked up, watching with curiosity the expression on Kunzite's face. The silver king's head was cocked and his eyebrows knotted, as though he didn't know what to make of this rigmarole. Strange.

Suddenly, Zoisite's attention was drawn away from Kunzite's peculiar expression, past his shoulder, to where Luna sat upon the couch. No longer was she lying sedate and oblivious, but rather she was watching them intently, hackles fluffed, claws tatting at the fabric of the sofa.

"What's gotten into you?" Zoisite asked.

Luna didn't answer, merely summoning from her throat a low, vibrating growl. Her claws worked even more furiously.

Kunzite turned then, casting a brief glance in her direction. There was a minute exchange, through the eyes only, that nonetheless caused the cat to settle down once again, sheathing her claws.

Zoisite looked from Luna to Kunzite, entertained by the thought that perhaps, a long time ago, Kunzite had kept animals. However, Luna was still glaring at Zoisite; whatever had disturbed her just then was still bothering her now. But he wasn't going to let it bother him. Perhaps he should leave.

Zoisite excused himself, intimating that he should best eat breakfast before he got too hungry. In truth, it was a legitimate excuse; his stomach churned nothing but acid. Kunzite withdrew his arm, he and Luna watching as Zoisite left the room.

One hallway lead to the kitchen, and it was bright and spacious now. Zoisite preferred it this way. As he entered the stone-tiled kitchen, he hopped a bit, started by the cold of the floor.

A quick glance revealed the room to be empty. Nephrite, no doubt, would still be out gathering fallen branches and twigs, and upstairs, the sounds of Jadeite drawing water could be heard.

It took both hands to swing the heavy storage door open, and it gave slowly, bringing with it the smell of wood and cheese, all against a base tang of moisture. There were chewy apple slices towards the back, Zoisite remembered, and he skittered barefoot into the even cooler pantry.

Ideally, what he needed was a flame of some sort. However, from the light of the kitchen window he could see the dried fruit, set back on the splintery wooden shelf. He stepped further into the room, mildly disgusted by the amount of dust and collected on his toes. Nevertheless, the apples were at arm's length now.

As he reached for them, a sound, not unlike the wail of a cat, made him pause. Then there was a gust of air; his flighting senses registered the moving panel of light, growing smaller and smaller. Then, with a heavy, pressurized whuffing sound, the wood door slammed shut, and the tiny room was dark.

Zoisite breathed in quickly, stepping back automatically as the blackness took his sight from him. Suddenly, he could not remember the pantry's size, nor where the shelves lay. He stumbled forward blindly, recalling that the door should be right in front of him.

Yet, as he reached, his hands came into contact with cool class. Pickle jars. He turned again, extending his arms. Bread shelf. Again and again he turned, each item he touched at becoming anything but the door.

He withdrew his hands; even the floor beneath his bare feet did not feel as it should. He felt he should call for help, but as he opened his mouth, he felt himself swallowing, the words unable to form. It was with a sinking resignation that he knew what was coming next.

Instantly, the room was alive. He recognized this presence, like a repeating thoroughbass playing quietly at first, then louder and louder as the invisible hands drew near. Though now, in the darkness, they seemed all the more real, as there was no sight to disprove their physical touch.

As they passed over Zoisite's face, he moaned, trying to shrink away. But they were behind him too; cool palms pressed against his back. Then he realized, this was not like the hallway; he was not out in the open where all could see. They had isolated him this time, out of sight, and now there was more than one.

His knees started to give way, and as he fell back, waiting arms caught him.