Sonata skipped up to Aria’s gloomy gateway of a bedroom door, a hefty book tucked under one arm and a wide smile on her face. “Aria!” she called out, rapping on the door. “Are you in there?”

A few seconds passed and then the door slowly creaked open, revealing just a sliver into the inky blackness that was Aria’s room. A single purple eye peered through the crack at her. “No. Go away.”

The door slammed shut.

Sonata knocked again. “When you come back, could you come downstairs?”

“I could.”

“Thanks!” Sonata chirped. “I really need your help with this book I’m writing.”

She heard shuffling from behind the door just before it cracked open again and Aria’s unblinking eye reappeared. “A book?”

“Yep!”

“You are writing a book.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Sonata held up the book in question and beamed. “So I’d like you to read it and tell me what you think.”

The door opened most of the way. Aria stood in the doorway, eying Sonata quizically. She had just gotten up—and was surprisingly well-dressed if she had—if her endorsement of the “oversized t-shirt and no pants” look was anything to go by. She plucked the book out of Sonata’s hands and flipped through it.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she muttered.

“What? Is it like, really good?”

“No, I just didn’t think you could read, much less write.” Aria closed the book, lobbed it back to Sonata, and flashed a sly smirk. “But y’know what? I’m actually curious. Come in.”

Sonata glanced over Aria’s shoulder into the ravenous blackness. “Are you sure? Don’t we need a light or something?”

“I don’t think it’ll matter.” Aria sighed. “But whatever. Pick a room and let’s do this.”