Chapter 3: The Whispered Attack
The stream was in full swing, a rare evening Q&A session that had been announced earlier in the week. The living room had transformed—the projector casting a holographic backdrop of drifting cherry blossoms across the wall behind them, their petals moving in a loop that never quite repeated. June sat in her chair, freshly bathed, her hair in two high pigtails that the witch had apparently coordinated with, swapping the usual pink scrunchies for ones with tiny embroidered moons. She wore a soft lavender sweater that matched the scarf draped over her shoulders, and her smile was radiant.
May sat beside her on a low stool, her posture relaxed, her leg brushing against June's chair as she read from her phone. "Okay, guys, we've got a bunch of questions coming in. Let's start with… yes, here's one from LunaLemon: 'June, what's your favorite animal?'"
"Frog!" June announced immediately, her body jerking with enthusiasm. "Frog, frog, frog! May said frog go ribbit. Ribbit, ribbit!"
[FrogEnjoyer42: SHE KNOWS WHATS UP]
[CrystalClear: frogs are objectively the best]
[GardenNymph: junie has taste]
"I think that's unanimous," May said, grinning. "Next question. This one's from RagingYeti: 'What's the best thing about being married to June?'"
May's face softened, her hand finding June's knee. "Where do I even start? She makes every single day brighter. She laughs at my terrible jokes—"
"Terrible jokes!" June interrupted. "May tell Terrible Joke, Junie laugh, ha ha ha!"
"She sings these little songs I've never heard before, just made up on the spot." May's voice grew quieter, more intimate. "And she has this way of looking at the world like everything is new and wonderful. I learn more from her than I ever have from anyone else."
[BlueSkyDreamer: okay crying again]
[PocketFullOfSun: this is the purest love story]
[SimpleJo: her heart is so full]
The chat continued scrolling, questions and hearts and more questions. Sasha monitored the mod queue, Priya kept a watchful eye on June's comfort, and Isla hovered near the side table with a fresh cup of juice and a supply of tissues. The evening stretched on, content and gentle.
Then the voice message landed.
It came through a text-to-speech submission, the kind that displayed in the chat as a voice-to-text bubble. But this one wasn't text. It was an audio clip sent through the channel, and Sasha, who had been screening recent submissions, clicked it open before she could see the sender's username—a string of numbers and underscores, a throwaway account.
The message played through the monitor's speakers for a split second before Sasha killed it. But that split second was enough—a man's voice, cold and deliberate, saying: "How can you stand to touch something so broken?"
The chat went still.
May's face went white. Her hand, which had been resting on June's knee, froze mid-stroke. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the projector, the cherry blossoms drifting on harmlessly.
June didn't understand what had happened. She tilted her head, her pigtails swaying. "May? Who talk? Sasha talk? Isla talk?"
"No one, sweetheart." May's voice was steady, but the edges were held too tight, like a wire about to snap. She reached up, tapped her phone, and the audio bubble vanished from the chat. "Just a glitch. A computer glitch."
[CoffeeQueen: what was that]
[LeafOnTheWind: I didn't hear anything]
[NightOwl: mods?
[DuckFan99: I think the stream cut out for a sec]
The chat scrambled, trying to make sense of the interruption. Sasha was already typing, muting the offending account, adding filters, escalating to the platform's moderation queue. Priya moved closer to May, her expression questioning. May shook her head, a tiny gesture—not now.
"Okay, who has another question?" May's voice had shifted, a new brightness coating it like varnish. "Let's go to… yes, PrincessPeach says: 'June, what do you want to dream about tonight?'"
"Frogs!" June said, clapping her hands. "Frogs with crowns! Frog princesses! Frog, frog, frog!"
[CrownAndScepter: frog royalty unexpected]
[LilyPadLord: this is the content I woke up for]
[YellowBird16: junie's dream sounds magical]
The stream continued. May answered questions, laughed at jokes, kept her hand on June's knee. The cherry blossoms on the wall kept drifting, and no one mentioned the voice. No one asked about it. The chat moved on, eager for joy, and May gave them joy—a masterful performance that fooled everyone.
Except June.
June's dark eyes kept drifting to May's face. She watched her wife's smile, the way it pulled up at the corners but never quite reached her eyes. She listened to May's voice, noticing the way it went up and down in all the right places but carried a tiny shiver at the end of every sentence. She said nothing—she was a simple girl, her thoughts often tangled—but she felt something. A wrongness. A sadness that didn't belong in their bright room with the cherry blossoms.
She reached for May's hand, her movements jerky and uncontrolled. Her palm met May's fingers, and she squeezed—a clumsy, loose grip that said I'm here.
May looked down at her, and the smile became real for just a moment. "Thank you, love."
The stream ended an hour later. June's wave was sleepy, her voice a mumble of goodbyes that still brought a flood of hearts. The camera light blinked off, and the room fell quiet.
May stood up, her legs unsteady. She walked toward the kitchen, her steps careful and measured, and the caretakers exchanged glances.
"May?" Isla called softly.
"I'm fine. Just tired." The words were a door slamming shut.
The kitchen was dark except for the glow of the stove light. May leaned against the counter, her back to the doorway, one hand pressed to her mouth. The refrigerator hummed. The faucet dripped—a slow, rhythmic sound that filled the silence.
She didn't cry loudly. She never did. The tears just welled up, leaky and unstoppable, tracking down her face and falling into the sink. She thought about those words, the way they'd burrowed into her chest like splinters. Broken. Something so broken. She thought about June's laugh, June's smile, June's effortless ability to find joy in a frog and a crayon and a butterfly. Broken. The word tasted wrong, like spoiled milk.
The door behind her creaked.
May turned, quickly, wiping her face with her sleeve. But it was too late. June stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her wheelchair humming quietly, her eyes wide and worried.
"May?" June's voice was soft, wobbling. "May sad?"
"No, baby. I'm fine." May's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "I'm okay."
But June didn't believe her. She rolled forward, jerky and lurching, her hand seeking May's. Her fingers grasped air twice before May caught them, holding tight.
"May sad," June repeated. It wasn't a question anymore. "May cry. Junie see."
May's shoulders sagged. "I'm just tired, sweetheart. That's all."
"Tired? Tired, tired, tired? Junie tired too. May sleep!"
"It's not that kind of tired, June."
"Then what kind?" June's head tilted, her pigtails falling over her shoulders. "Mad tired? Sad tired? Big bad tired?"
May smiled despite herself—a thin, watery smile. "Sad tired, I guess."
June's brow furrowed. She thought hard, the way she did when facing a puzzle too big for her hands. Then her face cleared, and she looked up at May with that expression of pure, unwavering devotion.
"May sad? Junie kiss better."
She leaned forward, her body tilting dangerously, and May caught her, settling her weight gently. June's lips met May's cheek—a clumsy, wet kiss, landing somewhere near her eyebrow. May's breath hitched.
"Better?" June asked, pulling back.
May pulled her into her arms, crushing her against her chest. She buried her face in June's hair, feeling the silk strands soft against her skin, and she held on like she was drowning. June made a small sound, startled but not scared, and looped her arms around May's neck in that loose, uncertain way she had.
"Better," May said, her voice muffled against June's scalp. "So much better, baby."
A silence stretched between them, filled with the hum of the wheelchair and the drip of the faucet. Then, from the doorway, a gentle cough.
Sasha stood there, her expression flat but her eyes hard. "I found the account."
May lifted her head, her face tightening. "How?"
"VPN, burner email, no prior activity." Sasha's voice was clipped, professional. "But they slipped. They used the same IP for a throwaway email they'd linked to a forum account—an account with a history."
"What kind of history?"
"Bigoted. Racist. Ableist." Sasha's jaw clenched. "They've done this to multiple streamers, but we're the first ones who found their trail."
Isla appeared behind Sasha, holding a laptop. "I've got a contact at the platform's trust and safety team. They can fast-track a report if we send the evidence."
Priya leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "We're not letting this go, May. Not tonight, not ever."
May looked at June, who was still wrapped in her arms, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. The tears on her cheek had dried, leaving faint tracks. She kissed June's forehead, tasting salt.
"You're not broken," May whispered. "Do you hear me? You're the most unbroken person I've ever known."
"Junie not broken," June agreed, her voice drowsy. "Junie kissed May better."
"You did. You really, really did."
May held her through the slow transition from kitchen to bedroom, the caretakers moving around them like a quiet current. Isla dimmed the lights. Sasha closed the windows. Priya folded down the covers.
And as June's head hit the pillow, her pigtails splayed around her like a halo of ink, she reached out one clumsy hand and found May's fingers.
"May sleep here?" she asked.
"Always, baby. Always."
The wind chimes sang their low, silver song from the garden, and the cherry blossoms drifted unseen in the dark as May slipped out of her jeans—still stained with the old juice spill, now faded—and slid into bed beside her wife.
She didn't let go of June's hand, not even when sleep pulled her down into a place where words like broken didn't exist.
The troll's trail would be followed, and the troll would be dealt with. But that was a battle for tomorrow.
Tonight, she just held the person who had kissed her better, and let herself be whole.