This time, there was no laughter.

The four women looked down at their recaptured charges, and their expressions had shifted. The gleeful mockery was gone, replaced by a kind of weary, maternal exasperation. It was a look that said, Must we go through this again?

Nyxara let out a long, deep sigh that seemed to drain some of the steam from the room. She placed her hands on her hips, regarding Kuro, who was still coughing up water, with a look of profound disappointment.

"Do you ever learn, my little storm cloud?" she asked, her voice flat. "Is the concept of cause and effect truly so foreign to your strategic mind? You try to escape. You fail. Catastrophically. And yet, here you are, attempting the same futile manoeuvre. It's not even entertaining anymore. It's just… sad."

Lucifera hauled Shiro back into the water by the scruff of his neck as if he were a misbehaving kitten. She didn't release him, instead turning him to face her, her brilliant white eyes holding a glint of genuine irritation. "What was the intended outcome here, Rain Baby? Did you believe the architecture of the room had changed in the last five minutes? That the laws of physics had been suspended specifically for your grand escape? This is a level of stubborn foolishness that borders on the pathological."

Statera took Shiro's chin in her hand, her gaze stern. "We are trying to bathe you. To care for you. And you respond by flailing like a landed fish. Again. It is remarkably ungrateful."

Even Lyra's tone had lost its poetic whimsy, taking on a chiding, school mistress quality. "The song of your rebellion is becoming a repetitive, dissonant chord, my dears. A single, grating note of failure. It lacks creativity. It lacks grace. It is, frankly, boring."

The scolding was worse than the laughter. It stripped them of even the dignity of being a worthy adversary. They weren't formidable rebels; they were tiresome, disobedient children.

"Perhaps they need a firmer reminder of their place," Lucifera mused, her gaze drifting meaningfully towards their ears.

The twins flinched in unison.

"No! No, we…" Shiro began, his voice cracking.

"We understand!" Kuro finished quickly, the memory of the pinching fresh in his mind. "We… we won't try again."

"Won't you?" Nyxara asked, her eyebrow arched sceptically. "Your credibility, my storms, is currently less than zero."

"We promise!" Shiro said, the words tasting like defeat. "We'll… we'll be good."

The four women exchanged a long, silent look, a whole conversation passing between them in the steam filled air. Finally, Statera nodded once.

"See that you are," she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "Now. We are going to finish washing you. You are going to sit still. You are going to be lifted from the water, dried, and dressed. And you are not going to make a single move to resist. Is that perfectly clear?"

The twins nodded, their spirits utterly broken. The second rebellion had been crushed even more swiftly and humiliatingly than the first, and this time, it had earned them not mockery, but a chilling, disappointed irritation that was far, far worse.

"Good infants," Lucifera said, the warmth returning to her voice now that obedience had been established. She released Shiro's neck and picked up the soap. "Now, let's get you rinsed.

After a quick round of rubbing and Rinsing

"There," Statera said finally, her voice echoing in the steamy chamber. "All clean. My sparkling little rain baby. Ready to be dried and powdered."

The word 'powdered' sent a fresh jolt of horror through them both.

They were hauled from the pool, water sluicing from their limp forms. They stood shivering, not from cold, but from sheer, exposed shame on the smooth stone ledge. And then the towels appeared. They were not normal towels. They were vast, suffocatingly soft things, woven from a cloud wool that seemed to absorb not just water, but willpower.

Nyxara and Statera enveloped them. It was not a drying; it was a swaddling. The immense towels were wrapped around them, pinning their arms to their sides, and then they were rubbed with a vigorous, motherly force that rocked them on their feet.

"Gotta get the widdle storm cloud all dry!" Nyxara chirped, buffing Kuro's head until his hair stood on end. "Can't have our precious infant catching a chill!"

"This is… this is fucking insane!" Kuro roared, his voice muffled by the towel. The profanity exploded from him, a last, desperate spark from a dying fire of defiance.

The rubbing stopped.

An eerie, profound silence fell over the bathing chamber, broken only by the drip of water. The four women went still. Slowly, Nyxara pulled the towel back from Kuro's head. Her expression had shifted from mocking delight to a sort of grave, exaggerated disappointment. Her multi hued light dimmed to a stern, steady glow.

"Kuro," she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. "What did you just say?"

Shiro, sensing the shift in atmosphere, tried to rally. "He's right! This is fucking insane! You're treating us like… like fucking babies!"

Another curse, hanging in the steam like a bad smell.

Lucifera sighed, a sound of deep, theatrical sorrow. She looked from one twin to the other, her brilliant white eyes filled with a pity that was more humiliating than any mockery. "We had noticed this… proclivity for vulgarity. This reliance on the crudest syllables. We had hoped it was a passing phase, a scar from the harsh world you came from. But it seems the infection has taken root."

"Infection?" Shiro spat, struggling against his towel shackles. "They're just words!"

"Words are the architecture of the soul, my dear Rain Baby," Lyrathiel said, and for the first time, her melodic voice held no playfulness, only a sharp, corrective edge. "To fill your mouth with such ugly, blunt sounds… it is a dissonance in your beautiful song."

"We have been too lenient," Statera declared, her Polaris light sharpening into a blade of maternal authority. "We focused on healing your bodies, but we neglected your manners. It seems a more direct lesson is required."

Before either twin could process this, the four women moved in a coordinated, fluid motion. Nyxara and Lucifera each seized one of Kuro's ears. Statera and Lyra took Shiro's.

And they pinched.

It was not a gentle tweak. It was a firm, precise, and surprisingly painful pressure on the delicate cartilage, a pain designed not to injure, but to correct.

A simultaneous, undignified yelp of pain and surprise burst from the twins.

"When one is frustrated, one says, 'Oh, bother'," Nyxara instructed, her voice calm as she maintained the pressure on Kuro's ear.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Or perhaps, 'This is most disagreeable'," Lucifera added, her grip unyielding.

"Let us go, you fucking harpies!" Kuro snarled, trying to wrench his head away, which only increased the pain.

"Tsk, tsk," Statera chided, shaking her head as she held Shiro's ear. "Such a limited vocabulary. Try, 'This is rather frustrating, Mother'."

"I'll show you frustrating, you ice hearted..!" Shiro's threat was cut off as Lyra gave his ear a sharp, corrective tug.

"Even you, Aunty Lyra?" Shiro gasped, betrayal lancing through him sharper than the pain. "You're supposed to be the nice one!"

Lyra's luminous eyes held his, devoid of their usual dreamy kindness. "There is no 'nice' when it comes to rooting out weeds in the garden of the soul, my dear nephew. Profanity is a weed. And we are gardening. Now, what is the word?"

Tears of pain, rage, and utter humiliation welled in Shiro's single eye. "This is… disagreeable," he forced out, the words tasting like ash.

The pressure on his ear lessened slightly. "Better," Statera said. "But with more feeling. As if you mean it."

On the other side, Kuro was enduring his own trial. "I will not… I will not debase myself with your… your stupid words!" he ground out, his face a mask of tortured pride.

"You will," Nyxara said, her voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Or we will stand here until this ear is as red and hot as your cheeks. And believe me, Storm Baby, we have all day. We have nothing but days for you."

The reality of their situation crashed down upon Kuro. They were naked, swaddled, held captive by the ear, and being forced to recite nursery room alternatives to swearing. His defences, his anger, his princely bearing, it all crumbled into dust. The fight went out of him in a shuddering sigh.

"This is… most… disagreeable," he whispered, the admission costing him more than any battle ever had.

The hands released their ears. The four women looked down at them, their expressions a unified front of stern satisfaction.

"There," Lucifera said, brushing a strand of hair from Kuro's forehead. "Was that so hard? Now, was that so hard, my dear, well mannered little storm cloud?"

The twins could only stand there, trembling, their ears throbbing, their souls scoured clean of defiance. They had been beaten. Not with blades or magic, but with towels and ear pinches and a love so brutally encompassing it felt like a new kind of cosmic horror.

"Now," Nyxara said, her smile returning, wider and more wicked than ever. "Let's get you two into some fresh, dry swaddling clothes. And then, I believe it's time for your mid morning feeding. And after that, a nice, long nap."

As they were led, docile and broken, from the bathing chamber, the words hung in the steam behind them, a promise of unending, affectionate torment.

"And remember," Statera sang out, "this is still only Day One."

The bath had been a humiliation. The drying had been a swaddling. But what came next was a descent into a new, peculiar circle of hell. They were led, not back to the main sanctum, but into a smaller, adjacent chamber that smelled overwhelmingly of dried herbs, crushed flowers, and something faintly, unnervingly metallic, like powdered starlight.

In the centre of the room stood a low stone slab, upon which sat two large, puffy powder puffs and an ornate ceramic jar filled with a fine, iridescent white powder that seemed to shift colour in the low light.

"Now," Statera announced, her voice bright with a terrible, loving finality. "For the powder. It keeps the skin smooth and prevents chafing under your swaddling clothes. Very important for infant comfort."

The word 'powder' acted like a spark on the tinder of their remaining pride. The twins, who had been docile in their defeat, suddenly went rigid.

"No," Kuro said, his voice a low, dangerous thing. "You are not dusting us like… like pastries."

"Absolutely not," Shiro echoed, backing away a step, his bare heels hitting the cold stone wall. "That is a line. You do not cross it."

The four women merely smiled, a unified front of inevitable victory.

"Oh, but we do," Nyxara said, advancing. "It's for your own good, Storm Baby. You'll thank us when you're not itchy and raw."

What followed was not a battle. It was a ritualized, farcical subduing. The twins fought with the desperate, uncoordinated strength of cornered animals. Kuro tried to bolt for the door, but Lucifera was there, not with a grab, but with an embrace, wrapping her arms around him from behind and lifting him clear off the ground. He kicked and thrashed, a furious, snarling tempest in her unshakeable grip.

"Such energy!" Lyra observed, deftly avoiding a flailing limb as she approached Shiro. "The fledgling eagle, fighting the wind that carries it!"

Shiro, more pragmatic, tried to use his street smarts to slip past them, ducking under Statera's reaching arm. But Nyxara was there, her multi hued light flaring momentarily to block his path. He turned, wild eyed, only for Lyra to gently, almost casually, hook her foot around his ankle. He went down not with a crash, but with a soft, pathetic thud on the thick fur rug.

In moments, it was over. They were captured. Kuro was pinned face down on the stone slab by Lucifera's weight and strength, his protests muffled by the stone. Shiro was held fast on his back by Nyxara and Statera, his limbs immobilized.

The mocking returned, now laced with the sweet, cloying scent of the powder.

"There now," Nyxara crooned, scooping up a great, shimmering puff of the iridescent dust. "Is my little storm cloud ready for his sprinkling? Hold still, or you'll get it in your good eye."

Kuro let out a muffled roar of pure, undiluted rage that vibrated through the slab.

Lucifera began on Shiro, the powder puff descending with relentless gentleness. The fine, cool dust settled over his chest, his arms, his back as Nyxara and Statera turned him. It was everywhere. It filled his nostrils with the scent of ghost flowers and old bones. He sneezed, a violent, undignified explosion that sent a cloud of iridescence into the air.

"Bless you, Rain Baby!" Statera chirped. "See? Your body approves! It's sneezing out the bad, stubborn humours and making room for the nice, obedient ones!"

They were powdered from head to toe. The stuff clung to them, making their skin gleam palely in the dim light, erasing their scars and bruises under a uniform, shimmering blanket. When they were finally released, they stood like two stunned, ghostly mannequins, their defiance momentarily silenced by the sheer, absurd horror of it all.

They were then dressed in soft, simple tunics that felt suspiciously like glorified sleep sacks.

The final humiliation was served back in the main sanctum, steaming in two bowls on the low table. Porridge. Simple, bland, glacial oats.

"Time for your feeding," Lucifera announced, picking up a spoon. "I made it myself. With… love." She said the word as if it were a secret ingredient, a potent and binding spell.

Kuro stared at the bowl as if it contained liquid despair. A memory, sharp and acidic, rose in his throat: a thousand meals in the Black Keep. Oats. Always oats. The taste of confinement, of mediocrity, of his father's dismissive austerity.

"No," he said, his voice trembling with a revulsion that went beyond the current situation. "I am not eating that. I have had… I have had nothing but oats from him that fuc…"

He stopped. His tongue froze around the profanity. The memory of the sharp, correcting pain in his ear was a ghost limb throb. He choked on the word, his face contorting.

The women watched him, their eyes sharp. They saw the flash of deeper trauma, and they pounced.

"But I made it for you," Lucifera said, her voice dropping, becoming soft and wounded. She looked not angry, but genuinely sad. "With such love, Storm Baby. I stirred in starlight and a mother's care. And you reject it? You compare it to the slop of a tyrant?"

The guilt was a physical blow, expertly delivered. It wasn't a mockery of his pain; it was a weaponization of her affection against it. His defences, already battered, crumbled. He looked from her seemingly heartbroken face to the bowl of porridge, and a wave of nauseating confusion washed over him. His anger had no target. It was smothered by a blanket of manufactured guilt.

Meanwhile, Shiro had chosen a different, simpler tactic: passive resistance. He clamped his mouth shut, turning his head away from the spoon Statera offered.

"Now, Shiro," Statera said, her tone gently scolding. "You need to eat. Open up."

He shook his head, his jaw locked.

"Why do you make everything so difficult?" Nyxara sighed, the sound heavy with a theatrical, maternal exhaustion. She moved behind him, her hands firm on his shoulders. Statera, with a look of resolute purpose, placed the spoon down and, with one hand, gently but immovably took hold of his jaw.

Shiro's eyes widened in panic. He struggled, but Nyxara's hold was absolute. Statera's thumb and forefinger applied precise pressure on the hinges of his jaw, and with a soft, popping sensation, his mouth was forced open.

"There," Statera said, picking up the spoon again. "Was that so hard?"

She deposited a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He choked, trying to spit it out, but Nyxara held his head steady.

"Swallow, Rain Baby," Nyxara commanded softly. "It's good for you."

Tears of sheer, frustrated helplessness welled in Shiro's single eye. After the third forced spoonful, the fight went out of him. His body went limp in their hold.

"Please," he whispered, the word garbled around the mush in his mouth. "Please, stop. Let me go."

Lucifera, who had been watching the entire spectacle while holding Kuro paralyzed with guilt, turned her gaze to Shiro.

"We will let you go, little one," she said, her voice dangerously sweet. "The moment you stop being such a baby and throwing a tantrum. The moment you accept your porridge like a good, grateful infant. Now, will you eat, or shall we continue this fascinating, if messy, procedure?"

Shiro looked at Kuro, who was staring into his own bowl, defeated by a more subtle warfare. He looked at the four relentless faces surrounding him. There was no winning. There was only surrender.

With a shuddering, soul deep sigh of resignation, he gave a tiny, pathetic nod.

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