So, if anyone remembers my Christmas story "(Don't) Let It Snow," then they'll have heard of Keys to the Kingdom, one of the best book series ever (seriously- go and read it now, it's that good). If they don't remember that story or didn't read it, than KttK is probably as foreign as Fauts Frumos is to Prince Charming (just to throw a random fun fact in, Fauts Frumos is the Romanian version of said prince with several giant differences between them, but the gist is the same).

But I love this series, so I've been writing this fic about the villains, who actually aren't the villains due to a major spoiler I'd rather not type out. They don't get the best ending, so I've taken the liberty of writing this tale about them.

For the story to make sense, all one really needs to know are these basic facts:
-The Morrow Days are the Days of the Week, and that is their title- for example, Sunday is not his actual name, but his title (his name is Phineas), and their rank is Monday lowest, Sunday highest. They were given a Will by the Architect, and they betrayed it, not wanting to fulfill it because it would have destroyed all of reality.
-Saturday is the oldest Denizen, but Sunday is the oldest son of the Architect, the creator of Denizens. They don't get along because Sunday was rated more highly in the Will, much to Saturday's chagrin.
- Arthur is the New Architect, the Rightful Heir to the Universe.
- Arthur's mother Emily has been killed by Lord Sunday and it is impossible to resurrect her.
- Each of the Days has a sin: Monday- sloth, Tuesday- greed, Wednesday- gluttony (this is important later on), Thursday- wrath, Friday- lust (but not the meaning of today's culture; it's closer to Wednesday's gluttony), Saturday- envy (also important), Sunday- pride (doubly so). 
- Saturday and Wednesday used to be best friends, but Wednesday wanted to fulfill the Will, so Saturday betrayed her and turned her into a whale.
- Saturday waited 10000 years to attack Lord Sunday's gardens, which were above her demesne, in the sky. This attack failed.
- Friday used to suck the souls of mortals and absorb their memories. She called this "experiencing."


If you read all that and STILL go on to read the fic, you're amazing. 'Nuff said.

If you like it, please say something. If you want more (which I think would be unlikely, considering KttK's pitifully small fan base), please say something, because I doubt I'll update more unless you do.



… A Better Place? (A Prologue of Sorts)
When Saturday opened her eyes, all she could see was darkness, all around her.
She couldn't move, limbs frozen and heavy, so cold that it was painful. She'd never experienced frostbite in the House- after all, temperature was regulated, and she was a Denizen, an immortal being not susceptible to such ailments in the first place- but she thought that if she did, it would feel like this.
Then, slowly, the darkness gave way to a pale grey, and warmth began to flow into her body. Saturday tried to plead for help, hoping Sunday wasn't anywhere close, but no noise came out. She thought for sure she was going to die when the grey abruptly changed to a plastered ceiling.
What the heck?
"Oh, you're awake!"
Saturday turned her head to see who had spoken. It was a taxing effort just to do that little.
Wednesday.
"What… happened?" Saturday asked. Wednesday was no longer in her whale form, or even the ugly Denizen form she temporarily occupied using the Key- she was downright beautiful, back to the way she was before any of the trouble with the Will started, and, for once, she wasn't eating anything. Not even chewing. She didn't even look hungry. "You're… and I thought I…"
Memory came with pain, and Saturday bolted upright, clutching her stomach. Visions of a cruel, smiling masked face with eyes scowling as it plunged a knife into her belly brought a fiery ache into her, and she coughed, spitting out blue blood into her hands. "I thought…" she repeated weakly.
"We're alive, Saturday," Wednesday said. "I don't understand it myself… but one moment I was dying in the Border Sea… and the next I'm here. According to the New Architect, it's been several days since I… but he said that somehow, our souls were saved, and he was able to fashion bodies for them."
"The… New Architect? Arthur?"
"The very same."
"But why would he do that for us?" Saturday asked.
"Something about how if he didn't, our souls would neither be dead nor alive… a fate worse than either, he said."
"But where are we?"
"MY HOSPITAL!"
"Oh, crap," Saturday said as Friday burst in.
"Isn't it wonderful, m'dear? We're going to have mortal lives! We still have Denizen bodies, but still… we'll have soooo many experiences!"
"I couldn't care less," Saturday snapped. "So when is he going to come here and tell us we can have our positions in the House back?"
Wednesday and Friday exchanged glances. "Actually, he made it quite clear he never will," Wednesday said, almost apologetically. "Sorry."
"What're YOU apologizing for?" Saturday asked, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Great. Now what?"
"Well, Sunday has an apartment," Friday answered, "and we all live in it."
"Who pays rent?"
"You do."
"I just woke up!"
"Yes, well, so did we. Mere moments ago, actually. Sunday got a day's head start, so he rented it out and put your name on the lease."
"But I don't have a name!"
"Actually…" Wednesday grinned sheepishly. "We all do. Friday's name is Freya, I'm Wendy, Thursday's Thomas, Tuesday's Timothy, Monday's Marcus, Sunday's Sonny, and you're… Susan."
"I AM NOT A SUSAN!" Saturday shouted, and winced at a fresh onslaught of pain. "Oi, how come you guys aren't writhing in pain?"
"We weren't killed the way you were," Friday shrugged.
"Nonsense," Saturday growled. "You were devoured by Nothing. Don't give me that crap."
Friday smiled. "Tylenol does wonders."
"Oh, go die in a hole," Saturday scowled.
"We'd love to," Wednesday said, "but seeing as the New Architect forbade suicide…"
"And you're just going to listen to him?"
"He scares me."
"Sure, as a boy he's just your savior, but as the New Architect, he's big and scary," Saturday scoffed.
"No need to be such a jerk," Friday said.
"All right, I'm sorry. Happy?" Saturday stood, legs trembling slightly. She drew near to the mirror on the opposite wall. How close to her previous body was this new one? Pretty close, apparently. Her hair was still azure blue, her eyes an even lighter shade, though they seemed to have lost their iciness. Her skin was no longer as orange-tinted as when she'd been a Denizen, taking on a paler and more common mortal tone, and she wasn't anywhere near the resplendent eight feet she'd been in the House. In fact…
"Am I only pushing six feet?"
"We're all pushing six feet," Friday replied. "That's pretty tall for around here. For some reason, we're all the same height. Sunday too."
So I'm Sunday's height and have to live in a mortal world, huh? I can manage.
"I…" Saturday grinned, "will do just fine." Already, thoughts of reconquering the House filled her mind. "Just fine."
Friday and Wednesday exchanged glances yet again, and then gazed back at her again, worried. "Are you thinking of anything stupid?"
"No," she relented, visions of herself in the Gardens fading. It WAS stupid, she knew. She should be content with what she had. At the least, she could try to be better than Sunday in all he did.
It briefly crossed her mind that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to invest all of her emotions, energy, and thoughts into that goal, and that she should just be happy to be herself.
Then again, that never was one of her virtues.

Chapter 2: Finances
Erm… We Need Money

A/N: This one is short. I promise the next one will be longer.
"So, to make a short story even shorter, we need money. Soon."
Sunday eyed them all- Monday, snoring away; Tuesday, obviously itching to doodle something; Wednesday, who was trying to decide whether to give into the temptation of eating the Doritos or not; Thursday, clearly reminiscing about some previous battle that won him glory and possibly Dawn's affections; Friday, either daydreaming or just being airheaded as usual; and Saturday, ever the habitual Denizen, who was scratching out a transcript of the meeting, despite her loathing of him. He knew that she was doing it more out of habit and mere boredom than remnant loyalty- after all, she had none. He was pretty sure she'd rather plunge herself back into Nothing than remain alive, still his underling.
"I said," he repeated, glaring, "that we need some money soon."
Tuesday shrugged. "We'll invest some money in stocks and I'll use my economy manipulator machine to turn us into instant millionaires. No big deal."
"No… big… deal," Saturday repeated, writing the words down.
"That'd be a good idea," Sunday growled, "if we had any money to invest!"
"What, are we bone-dry broke?" Wednesday asked.
"Broke?" Thursday repeated, stepping off of memory lane.
"Saturday," Sunday sighed.
"Expenses coming up," she said, pulling a sheet of paper out of midair, pen still writing without her hand directing it as she read aloud. "Current expenses, including insurance-"
"A waste of money," Thursday shrugged. "We don't get sick, and we don't die."
Saturday scowled. "Current expenses, including mandatory by law insurance- which it'd be a good idea to get, to, y'know, BLEND IN- add up to about $4000 a month. If we do not get a steady income of at least that amount, we will not be financially secure and will end up, as these mortals say, toast." She waved her hand, and the extra sheet disappeared as she grabbed the pen again.
"So why don't we just print money?" Tuesday asked. "We're Denizens, we have sorcery on our side. We won't get caught."
"Magic is restricted outside the apartment," Wednesday pointed out. "The New Architect gave Sunday plenty of rules, and that was one of them. Since mortals would receive the money…"
"It'd count as going outside the acceptable parameters," Saturday finished.
"Sorcery's nice," Friday sighed.
Ignoring her, Sunday said, "One of us needs to get a job. I am immediately ineligible. The previous lord of the Universe will not degrade himself to joining the inferior workforce. I am not a proletarian."
"Tuesday could easily enter manufacturing," Thursday suggested, "and I am considering enrolling in the pathetic militia these mortals count as a military."
"I might as well apply for a job as a secretary," Saturday added, still writing, "even though I am vastly superior to the majority. How does 'experience since the dawn of time' sound?"
"Too conspicuous," Sunday shrugged. "Make something up."
"Being the lord of the universe's secretary still makes you a secretary," Tuesday said. "Superior my foot."
"I am a SUPERIOR secretary, my friend," Saturday corrected.
"Is that your favorite adjective?" Thursday asked.
"I like 'inferior' too, so long as it's not referring to me."
"Since Tuesday's so greedy, I wonder if he'll get arrested for tax evasion?" Friday muttered.
"Okay, what is up with her?" Monday asked. "She's a bit stranger than usual."
"I think she's on experiencing withdrawal," Wednesday sighed, hands shaking as she held the Doritos bag. She was clearly trying to resist the urge to rip it open and devour the contents whole. "She hasn't had any experiences in a while, and it's probably affecting her. I mean, I haven't eaten anything in days, and I'm… so… close… to… cracking."
Saturday reached over, yanked the Doritos out of her hands, and wrote, 'Destroy' with her pen. Nothing happened, so she repeated the motion, then scowled in disgust and stood. "Stupid mortal writing instrument. The Sixth Key was SOOOO much better." She walked to the umbrella stand, picked one up, and pointed at the Dorito bag, barking some of the Architect's sorcerous words.
The Doritos bag turned to dust.
Saturday sat back down and eyed Wednesday. "When there's temptation, get rid of it," she hissed.
"So why didn't you?" Wednesday shot back.
"Oh yes, it's SO EASY to just NOT LOOK UP for ten thousand years," Saturday retorted.
Sunday frowned. "Was that a reference to my gardens?"

Next chapter: Saturday applies for a job, Wednesday considers culinary school, and Friday falls in love with talk shows like Dr. Phil, Oprah, and Tyra Banks.
Oh, and there are some girl scouts who were dumb enough to ask the previous lord of the universe to buy their cookies.