This choice: That night, Bernadetta falls for the cake on the nightstand trap. • Go Back... (One or two brief thoughts of slight gore by characters, but nothing is depicted.)
*
Dorothea dutifully carried the small chocolate cake with her as she headed back to her room. Had anyone else been roaming around at this late hour, they would have thought it strange that Dorothea seemed to be staring down at her own shoes the whole time she was walking. The songstress couldn't take her mind off of each and every step she took, fearful that she'd hear a sickly squishing noise at any moment.
Once Dorothea had returned to her room, she locked the door behind her, and then placed the cake down on her nightstand before going about her nightly ritual of undressing and readying for bed.
An errant thought entered her mind: What if Bernie is already in here? Could she be watching me right now...?
Dorothea hesitated for a moment as she was about to slip into her nightwear, before shrugging and continuing as normal - she didn't take Bernie for a peeper (and it's not like she was all that embarrassed - the thought of a tiny flustered Bernie was undeniably adorable.) Now, if that Sylvain character had taken the potion, then Dorothea would have swept the room from top to bottom, preferably with some pest removal tool in hand.
Blissfully imagining the chauvinistic Blue Lion noble struggling to free himself from the underside of a flyswatter, Dorothea went straight to bed, turning her head away from the nightstand so as to feign her rest. Now it was simply a matter of waiting, listening for the pitter-patter of tiny feet on cloth or the slightest sound of nibbling from the cake behind her...
Dorothea frowned. The scent of chocolate cake wafted so close to her, yet she could not take a bite for herself. Ugh, great. Now I'm starving.
*
Bernadetta jumped on the spot as she heard a growling noise, afraid that some manner of beast was about to descend on her. She flushed red as she swiftly realized that it was merely her own stomach.
The borrower was hiding from the prying eyes of her investigative teacher in a crawlspace that ran beneath the floorboards of the rooms. She could barely see in front of her face with how little light there was shining through the thin gaps in the 'ceiling' above her, and she could practically feel the motes of dust coating her lungs with each inhale, but it was safe from prying eyes, and that was all that mattered to her. Well, except for the unfortunate reality of starvation.
Bernadetta cursed in an unladylike manner under her breath (now that she was convinced that nobody could ever possibly hear her.) She had stockpiled a great deal of snacks in her room for just such an occasion, but there was no way she could go back now. This was her new life as the world's tiniest fugitive, and she couldn't take any chances going back to her 'old hideout.' She couldn't even begin to fathom just how much trouble she'd be in if she was caught now. Maybe the professor would place her on detention in a jar for the rest of the school year, with all the other students pointing and laughing at her every single day. Or maybe they'd just skip straight to the death penalty and they'd display her tiny body in a case like one might do with a dead butterfly.
The girl squeaked as her mind wandered to increasingly-severe punishments. Failure wasn't an option anymore. Nonetheless, she didn't intend to just sit down and starve, so finding food was her priority for now. M-Maybe someone else has snacks in their room...? With a heavy heart, she skulked her way beneath the floors and between the walls.
It didn't take long for the archer's keen senses to pick up on the aroma of cake drifting from one of the nearby rooms. Oh, cake! My long lost love, how I've missed you! She was always partial to more than a few slices when she was normal-sized, but the thought of a cake so big that she could dive right into it drove her hungry mind to a craze. Where are you hiding...? Bernadetta followed her nose to a small gap in the corner of what appeared to be Dorothea's room. The borrower cautiously peeked her head around the side to check for any occupants. There was a distinct human-sized lump on the bed, but there was no candlelight in the room. Oh, thank the Goddess, Dorothea must be asleep. Then maybe...?
Bernadetta fidgeted with her fingers, calculating her scenario. Could she be quiet enough that Dorothea would never know? What if someone else came into the room, like the professor doing the rounds to try and find her? If Dorothea woke up all of a sudden, could she still make it back to this gap in time?
The borrower's stomach growled once more, as if it had sensed her indecision and decided to make her mind up for her.
With her legs shaking as if they'd fall out from under her at any moment, Bernadetta sneaked as slowly and quietly as she could across the rug and over to the bedsheets hanging over the side of the mountainous furniture. Being extra careful not to make the slightest peep, Bernie grabbed onto the material with sweating palms and gradually ascended the wall towards her sweet-smelling objective. Her aptitude for getting around the battlefield 'like a frightful bunny rabbit' (as Petra had once described it) let her make the climb at a quick pace in almost utter silence, much to her delight.
Of course, if Dorothea was still awake, then they would have felt the tiny tugs brushing on the sheets, but they were asleep, so there was nothing to fear. At least, that's what Bernadetta kept telling herself over and over in her head.
In what would have been an impressive display of skill for any of their physical exams, Bernadetta reached the 'peak' with stamina to spare, and she was thusly rewarded with her prize sitting atop the nightstand. It was a giant chocolate cake the likes of which she had only seen in her dreams. It seemed as big as her room, if not even larger. Its puffy texture and its creamy frosting tantalized her like a siren to a sailor.
Bernadetta cast a quick glance to the 'hill' beside her. Aside from the ever-so-slight sound of Dorothea inhaling and exhaling, there wasn't any response from her classmate. That was all the permission she needed to delicately tiptoe over to the cake.
Okay, Bernie, dig in, stuff your pockets, then run away. Piece of cake.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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