How Did We Get Into This Mess - KOTLC Oneshots

Comfort Disguised

The Archives were so large, Sophie had heard rumors of elves getting lost in them. While her photographic memory voided the dilemma, there was still a mysterious magic to the endless stacks.

It was the library from beauty and the beast on steroids, velvet cushioned window seats and buffed leather armchairs providing a safe haven. The further she went, the more scrolls appeared.

She curled up in an armchair, warming her socks in front of the fireplace. Her towering selection of books comforted her, new options soothing. The human world mixed with a photographic memory and isolation? Not the best combo.

Half an hour later, Sophie set aside her novel, yawning.

She looked up dazedly, eyes widening as she clapped her hands over her mouth to prevent a shriek. Her foot was completely submerged in the flames. And, on second thought, was nothing but toasty warm.

Kneeling down, Sophie recalled Livvy's apartment. This time without a second thought, she recklessly crawled through the fire, satchel in hand. With a thunk, her head bumped against the wall.

"What the hell Foster? Do I need to call Elwin," Keefe exclaimed incredulously.

She sighed tiredly, patiently taking a breath.

"Keefe, it's fake."

He plopped to the ground, squeezing in next to her.

"How was I supposed to know," Keefe retorted, fingers searching for crevices. 

"I don't know, maybe the fact I wasn't melting, or burning to death," Sophie defended, doing the same, pressing various bricks.

"Gotta love that Foster snark," Keefe muttered, a teasing smile in his voice.

In the process of rolling her eyes - goodnaturedly, of course - a cold metal ring pressed into her scalp. It was a sharp contrast to the generated heat. Extremely suspicious.

"I'm gonna need to turn over," Sophie grunted, twisting onto her back. Keefe imitated her maneuver, a tight fit. For a second, he was practically on top of her - and vice versa. Sophie was thankful she could blame her blush on the warmth.

A beat of silence.

"I think we use the same shampoo," Keefe commented randomly, noting the scent of Sophie's hair. "Pomegranate-Swizzlespice Purification."

"Silveny likes it."

Murmuring his agreement, Keefe helped force open the trapdoor, silently wincing as Sophie's satchel whacked his head. He pushed himself up, biceps barely straining.

They both quietly surveyed the room, eyes only just keeping up with their surroundings. Their hands reached for each other simultaneously, needing support. 

"It's . . . a prison."

(What did you think it would be, a storage room? Anyway, vote, comment and request, of course! Comment various settings for oneshots and I'll do the top three!)