Themis lives in the crawlspaces between worlds. When you've spent your whole life living in one house, it becomes your universe, and each room becomes a world of its own. Themis, who's only room was a dusty, neglected nursery, had taken the gaps between galaxies as her own. Nobody seemed to love them, or pay much mind to them, so Themis did. 

She remembers clearly how she found it. Adonis, tall as ever, had bumped his head into the wall, stumbling around, unused to this new body where his limbs were long and his hands were heavy. 

"Fuck!" he swore, covering his head and stumbling away.

Themis, who had been crouched behind the couches, playing with dust bunnies and a worn rag doll, peered around the corner. Adonis suffered from no blood, barely a bruise, and the only damage done to the house was a crumbling corner of the age-old tiles.

After ensuring that Adonis was fine, Themis had crept to the corner of the wall that had fallen. The tiles were patterned with blue print, various domestic scenes of girls in rounded skirts and bonnets chasing after dogs or scooping water from a well. The chip on the floor, scattered among bits of plaster, held a single flower that matched into the patterned border of the tile. 

Themis curled her fingers around it, holding it up for inspection. Once Adonis had left the room, still swearing and complaining, she tiptoed out from behind her couch. The corner was high up, but when she balanced on the arm of the sofa, she could reach just barely. 

She slid the chipped corner into the missing space, filling the gap. She pressed a little harder, making sure it fit, when she heard a click. 

A soft hiss, and something slid open. Beneath the couch, a black, empty square opened up, a mouth begging to be fed. 

Themis could remember the feeling of being swallowed by the darkness, sliding into those soft jaws, and slipping into the black. It felt like going home. 

Now, she crouches in the labyrinth she has grown, eyes peering between wooden slots. She can see Rhea, bent over a poster, working meticulously with a ruler to keep her lines straight. Funny, because she is anything but. Themis pokes her fingers through the gaps in the radiator, nudging a black Sharpie to roll forward, just as Rhea looks up. 

"Where's my-- oh," Rhea grabs the Sharpie and uncaps it with her teeth, tracing her pencilled lines. 

Themis slips away, satisfied. 

The next room is the other two triplets'. Theo is curled up in his desk chair, typing with a soft clacking on his phone, his soft smile illuminated by the blue. Crius is rearranging his records, stacking them in order of favourite to least. For a few moments, Crius is actually peaceful, not battling some demon who haunts him. Themis isn't needed here, not like usual, when she slithers from the gap under the desk to put his iPod just within reach as he twitches in the throes of some furious war. Theo is put at peace by Crius, and a happy Theo is a happy Crius. 

Themis moves on, creeping through the passageways behind her siblings' rooms. 

Kronos is the one Themis must try hardest to be kind to. She loves him, that is always the truth, but she can't help but tremble when it's just her and Kronos and the dark. Too many memories from not so long ago threaten to creep up. 

But just as Crius blasts his monsters away with rock and deadly pop songs, Themis must fight her ghosts with small gifts and little steps towards forgiveness. She knows that Kronos fights a battle, too. She just happened to be a casualty. 

For a seven year old, Themis has found just how wise she can be. 

Kronos sits, blue lighting his features, as he clicks and stares into a computer. She does not know what he does. Sometimes it's a game, and she can hear the firing rattle of a machine gun. Sometimes it's another kind of thrill, with blurs of flesh on a screen she closes her eyes to. Today, though, he simply stares at a photo.

Gaia Song, young and sweet, in her mid-twenties. Next to her, Hyperion. Holding her waist, beaming at her adoringly, her hand twisted in his. 

A blue tear sinks down Kronos' cheek, his fingers shaking, clenched around a broken medal. Kronos' second-place chess award, that Hyperion had stepped on and cracked. He had not seen the glimmer of silver underneath him. 

Themis outgrew her hope for her parents by the time she was four. She supposed it was harder to let go of something you used to have. Themis has no problem releasing any expectation for her parents' attention because she never had it before. Kronos, though, gazed back on his childhood through rose-tinted glasses, and mistook care and duty for love. 

There was little Themis could do without being seen, or heard. There was no little trinket that could calm him, no soft reminder that could soothe him. Kronos hurt deeper. It would be like putting a band-aid over a heart wound. 

Themis knows she has to try. She wouldn't be able to sleep that night if she didn't. She glanced this way and that, looking at the squares of light that slip into her tunnels from the other rooms, reading the lights and hue and intensity of each escaped bit of glitter. She scurries off. 

By the time she comes back, Kronos' hurt has cooled to rage. He is violent, pushing his shelf of bronze and silver trophies to the floor, letting them shatter on the ground in a cacophony of fury and rejection. 

Themis pushes on a panel before her, and a filing cabinet in Kronos' rooms open. Themis pokes her head out as Kronos sinks to the floor, sobbing, bloody knuckles rubbing his eyelids. She reaches down, resurfaces with a bowl of tangerines, Doritos, and a bottle of cool water. A few sour gummies sit in a little plastic container in the centre. 

She lays the bowl down, next to Kronos' phone, which had been thrown across the room. When it buzzes, a timer for his meds, Kronos will look over and see the food. Hopefully he smiles at the gummies, which Themis remembers to be his favourite. 

Themis shuts the filing cabinet softly from the inside, the light cut off. She moves on.

The next room is empty. Adonis sleeps at the school more often than not these days, but sometimes Themis goes into his room to dust off his guitars and records, or play with his stuffed bunny. 

The last room is just as dark as the secret passageways. The only lights are two flickering candles, the wax bloody red and starry purple. Phoebe lays in her bed, wrapped in her blankets, shuffling through her tarot cards in the dark. 

Themis slides herself out from between the gaps in Phoebe's artificial waterfall, avoiding it with the practice of having done it many times. 

"That's bad for your eyes," she says, reaching into Phoebe's bottom drawer, which is bursting with candy and sweets. Themis digs around until she finds the saltine crackers, and takes a nibble. Lilith, one of Pheobe's mice, scurries over and asks for a bite. Themis complies. 

"You're spoiling their dinner," Phoebe murmurs, tilting a card this way and that, the gold paint reflecting in the dim light. 

"I'll stop if you do," Themis said contritely, feeding the other two mice, Jezebel and Azimuth. 

Phoebe sighs, giving Themis a bare smile in the dark. "You little blackmailer." 

"I'm a businesswoman," she corrects, smiling. Lilith scampers up her arm, nestling in the warmth of her neck. Her black fur blends in with Themis' long, heavy hair. 

Phoebe puts the cards down, reaching a hand out. Jezebel and Azimuth skitter along to her, hopping into her palms, squeaking pleasantly. Themis tickles Lilith's chin.

"Did you help them again?" Phoebe asks, kissing Azimuth's grey nose. 

Them, being the siblings. "I did." 

"Why do you do it, Themis?" she asks, shaking her head. "They don't notice." 

"Yes they do," she says stubbornly. "They just don't notice me." 

"Then what's the point?" Phoebe asks, her gravelly voice pitying. "You're going to get tired of being nice to them and getting nothing back." 

Themis lays flat in the dark, stretching on the ground. Lilith readjusts on her collarbone. "I'm always tired." 

"You're too young to be tired." 

"I'm not that young, unni." 

"You're too young," she repeats, sinking deeper into the covers. Jezebel and Azimuth scamper over the hills and valleys her body makes. 

Themis sits up. She creeps back towards the waterfall, slipping between the curtains of water, Lilith leaping off to scamper up and down the fake grass hill. She leaves behind a sorrowful Phoebe.

Instead, she goes back to Adonis' room. There, she picks up his bunny, who's name has been lost to childhood memories. Themis calls him Gerald in her head. It's worn, tired and old, but soft and heavy in her arms. He is a good travelling companion, and she sometimes brings him on her trips. 

Themis wraps one of Adonis' scarves around her neck. It smells like ash and Adonis. She takes one of his sweaters too, which hangs baggy on her, like elephant skin, but is warm and comforting. 

Themis takes the stairs, which she rarely does, but she doesn't want to dirty up Adonis' clothes.  Hyperion passes her, grunting into his phone, and doesn't see her. She pretends not to see him, too. 

She is out the door in no time, hitching up the hem of her borrowed sweater to avoid rain puddles, showing off her worn Mary Janes that are two sizes too small. Adonis hasn't had time to buy her new ones yet, but she doesn't complain. 

The path to the antique shop is well-travelled in Themis' mind. She's come here often enough. They have biscuits and tea and cream custard in the back, and the window is crowded with stacks of saucers and old glassware that catches the light so prettily. Themis likes to come here. The old ajumma who runs the shop lets Themis sit at the counter and count change for her. 

Themis pushes the door open, and a jingly bell announces her presence. She wanders about the towering shelves, peering into gaps and picking up jars. She finds one she likes, a rosebud pink teacup with a slumbering baby elephant on it. She tucks it between her sweater-covered hands, one arm still holding firmly onto Gerald. 

Themis wanders to the counter, where she looks up to find Inez Kwan, head buried in her hands, short hair falling in strands around her shoulders and face. She's muttering to herself. 

"Inez?" Themis asks, reaching up and poking the girl with her finger. 

Inez jumps, startled. She stares, bewildered, at Themis. "I--" 

"I'm here to count the change," Themis says, standing on tip toe to put Gerald and the cup on the counter. She pulls a large stool up, clambers on top of it, and sits there in her overlarge sweater and scarf. She reaches for the jar of tip coins, pulls it close, and reaches her small fingers inside to begin plucking out change. 

Inez can't stop staring. "That's Adonis' sweater." 

Themis puts pennies in a neat stack. "Yes." 

"And his scarf." 

"Yes." 

Inez rubs her swollen eyelids with her palms. "And you're Themis?"

Themis nods, still fishing for change in the glass Mason jar. 

Inez slides the teacup and Gerald over to Themis, sitting them next to her, then leans on the counter and sighs. She watches Themis sort for a while, the soothing clink-plink of change clicking together against the wooden countertop. 

"You... come here often?" Inez asks, then cringes. 

Themis nods. "I count the change. And eat scones. I like berry scones." 

Inez gnaws her lip distractedly. "Yeah, me too." 

"Are you fighting my brother?" Themis asks lightly, creating a new stack of pennies. They glow with copper light in the dim antique store. 

Inez startles. "Uh, no?" 

Themis looks at her, reproachful. Her dark eyes narrow. 

Inez sweats. "Okay, maybe a little." 

Themis stacks coins with precision, her eyes never leaving Inez. 

"Okay, a lot, yes," Inez groans. 

Themis nods once, pennies clicking. "He's annoying sometimes." 

"God, yes," she sighs, frustrated. 

"So are you," Themis points out. 

Inez huffs. "Gee, thanks." 

She shrugs, moving on to the nickels. "You should take Gerald." 

"Gerald?" Inez blinks, staring at the weird little girl in front of her. "Who, dare I ask, is Gerald?" 

"The bunny," Themis looks at her. "Obviously." 

"Oh, obviously." 

"He needs it. Just as much as he needs you," Themis resumes stacking the coins, building a city full of nickel-skyscrapers. 

Inez is silent, lost in thought, eyes unfocusedly staring at Themis. She doesn't mind. She is not looked at often, but when she is, Themis finds she learns more about the person than they do about her. In full light, Themis can see clearly. She can see Inez's raccoon-ringed eyes, dark from sleep. She can see her dry, cracked fingers, overworked and tired. She can see the starched uniform, the desperation to prove to the world that Inez Kwan is still on top of things.

Themis can see them better than they can see her. 

She's finished stacking the coins. She counts them soundlessly, mouth moving as she counts, ticking her fingers up to keep track. 

"Three dollars and seventy-two cents," Themis announces, startling Inez out of her reverie. She slides off the stool, landing on the floor, Mary Janes clicking. 

She stands on tiptoes to pat Gerald, who lays slumped on the counter with his teacup. 

"Bye, 'Nez," Themis waves, turning to leave. 

"Wait--" Inez blurts, reaching out. She scrambles, looking around. Her eyes land on the teacup. 

"Take this," she says, handing Themis the little china cup. "In exchange for Gerald." 

Themis takes the cup. Sometimes people need to give in order to accept. "Thanks, 'Nez." 

Inez nods, still distracted, lost in thought. 

"Tell Oppa I said hi," Themis says, clasping the teacup to her chest, and wandering away. 

Inez watches the little girl in a too-large sweater, red scarf trailing behind her like a bookmark. She makes sure Themis leaves the block safely, crosses the street without harm. 

Then she turns to look at the stuffed bunny on her countertop. Picks it up gingerly, examining it. 

She pulls out her phone, opens a contact, sends a text. The first one in days, after nights of screaming. 

Can we talk? I miss you. 

Across the street, watching through the window, Themis nods contently. 

original story: vigilante shit by lvejackson

             you might also remember themis as the cousin of naoki mae, from sweet dreams. 
she's a sweetheart, and if you haven't read either sweet dreams or vigilante shit, you def should. they're very different books LMAO but very dear to my heart. 

             hope you enjoyed!