Yes, I’m pleased. Quite pleased.

With what? Why, my new throne room, of course! It’s spectacular!

…And something about it feels more like home. I’d say I’m not sure why, but I have my suspicions.

Hells, they’re not even suspicions so much as observations. I was born in the void, apparently.

Probably.

And that means it’s time to show my wives.

Or, one of them at least. But I’m still going to try.

Do you want to see our new throne room? I’ve renovated it, I project to Izahne. No pressure if you don’t. Or if you just, don’t want to see me. That’s fine too.

…

…

I’m going to take her lack of response and the sigh equivalent through our link as a ‘no’.

And as I’d told her, that’s fine.

She doesn’t want to see me. I’d assumed as much, but it was still worth a try.

And I’m not going to stop trying.

…

…

Unless she asks me to.

Probably.

I quietly sigh to myself. It’s been some time now since I scattered my signature ash in the process… the mess it leaves seems below my dignity.

More I’ve inherited from my elder self.

But I digress. I do have one more wife to ask, and I doubt she’ll refuse.

Livvie, dear? I intone through my other shared link.

And her immediate attentiveness is my answer, along with anticipation… and yes, a little fear.

She’ll probably always fear me now, at least a little. She’s seen too much of my true face to feel otherwise.

I shouldn’t keep her waiting by ruminating though. She can feel me doing it anyway…

It feels rude, somehow. Keeping others waiting, I mean.

Not that it matters I guess… unless it’s her.

I’ve renovated the audience hall at the castle. Would you like to see it?

Trepidation?

It won’t harm you, and neither will I. I promise.

That… doesn’t seem to reassure her as much as I’d have hoped, although it doesn’t seem to be enough to dissuade her as she promptly appears in her signature plume of blue flames.

The same one I’d always found beautiful, and comforting. They’re a part of her, a part of my place of solace.

My place to return… even if I don’t feel the emotions that I remember having been there for so long.

Maybe the memories will be enough.

I hope they will.

Gently, delicately, I take her hand and lead her toward the entrance. “Please don’t be afraid of it – it’s safe, I’ve already used Eros as a test subject, although not deliberately. You know how she follows me almost everywhere these days.”

And then I stop, for a brief moment.

Yes, this feels right. This is something I should do.

So I turn and pull her into a hug, pressing her face to my chest.

“I’ve missed you,” I half-whisper. Quietly enough that the others in my former audience chamber, now simply an entryway to another realm, wouldn’t be able to hear without the Skills.

Which they have.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Artemis tenses at first, and then relaxes into me, finally returning my embrace and letting out a heavy sigh.

This is good.

Home. My home.

It may be my old home, a home of ages long since past, but that won’t stop me from returning now.

My wife echoes the feelings of nostalgia she’s unquestionably been feeling from me, which I find incredibly reassuring.

Reassuring in a way that I only now realize I’ve desperately needed.

After several moments, or possibly longer – I’d lost track of time – I finally release her to continue leading her by the hand toward the tear in the real, the only one of its kind that doesn’t seek to force everything material across its boundary toward destruction.

As we cross it, Livvie briefly flails her limbs at the sudden weightlessness before catching herself against me – an experience I certainly don’t dislike.

“Yes, depend on me more,” I find myself inadvertently saying in a gentle voice.

A similarly gentle huff is my answer. Sure, she’s annoyed that I didn’t warn her, but also forgiving enough that it doesn’t matter. I can’t help but smile, at least a little.

“This way then, dear. This way.”

I continue to lead her down the long, straight path all the way to the semispherical room at the end.

Our room. Our chamber.

Our seat of power in this place, in absolute dominance of my plane, my home, set outside of the plane itself.

I wish she could see the streamers of divinity strung all around, tying this place to the Shadowed Plane and to all the others.

But I know she can’t…

…

Memories.

I can show her my memories.

…But not now. I’ll show her soon.

Unless I forget.

“Remind me, dear. I want to show you what it looks like to me, the lines, the colors, the real as it truly is. What it looks like to an outsider.”

Arty tilts her head in response before also giving a quick nod. Good.

I don’t want to forget this. I forget far too many things, even if long ago I didn’t. My memory is far worse now than it once was.

Maybe it’s due to being a creature not even intended to think, only consume.

But that’s fine. I can work around it, especially with the help of those like her.

“Behold, Livvie. Our place. I’m not sure if you can teleport directly here… perhaps we should have you try it later, with me of course. That way if anything goes wrong, I can pull you to safety… I’m immune to the outside, after all.”

She takes a few moments to drift around, inspecting the designs I’d put into the walls that encircle the place above and below.

…

In hindsight, maybe I should add some means for mortals to keep their footing. Most probably won’t have the means to control their drifting here, and I want to see the full effect of awe and terror across their faces as they approach the throne of the demon empress herself.

I wonder if jettisoning Dipshit into the outside, the space between space, would kill him permanently… maybe something to try later…

Or not. His stupidity does at least break the monotony, at least between his usual entry point and inevitably being eaten by the same rusalka.

Idiot. His name doesn’t truly describe him; he’s even more foolish than it expresses.

Ah, I feel a pang of concern from the link I share with my wife, disturbing my ongoing rumination.

I should really pay better attention to her when she’s here. I ruminate far more now than I did then.

Back then, long ago.

“What is it, Livvie?”

Turning, I see her… looking at what is obviously the throne meant for her, with its sharpened points a motif of blades, arrow points, and bones all leading to a stylized crescent moon at the top of the backrest. It’s more ornate than even mine, though still smaller.

And as quickly as she’d radiated her concern, she hides it.

…

…

She’s hiding it from me.

What is she hiding? Why is she so concerned?

I look at the aged iron chair thoughtfully. I already know it’s plenty comfortable, I tried it myself before I’d brought it here…

“I don’t understand. What’s wrong, dear? I won’t know unless you tell me. Not if you won’t show me your feelings.”

Artemis sheepishly smiles at me.

Huh.

There’s only one kind of situation where she does this.

I sigh. “What is it then? What have you been hiding, for centuries or millenia or however long? I promise, I’m not going to be mad. I’m dead, after all; it really doesn’t matter.”

“Really?” she says quietly. “True?”

“Yes, I mean it, Livvie. Please just tell me.”

Gingerly, she reaches one finger toward the armrest of her place at my side…

And as soon as it makes contact, she recoils sharply from the blinding flare of green flame it produces.

…

…

Oh.

I see.

“You’re fae.”

And there’s that sheepish smile again.

…

“You’ve always been fae.”

Glancing away, she nods.

I should have seen this coming.

Fae. Of course.

I can’t help but recall a deeply rooted hatred at the thought, although brief, as the memories of my past torment roll through my mind.

The pixies. Always the hells-damned pixies. Whether it was pulling my hair, tripping me, stinging me with nettles, pushing me into pitfalls, startling my prey until I was on the edge of starvation, refusing to let me sleep… my earliest years were awash with them.

They never let me be. Never. And I never understood why.

“Fixation,” my wife says quietly.

“Fixation?” I say back, managing to hold back the conflict from my voice, although I know she can feel it.

“All. Fixation.”

…

“All fae have a fixation, you mean?”

She nods again.

“And what exactly are those? Fixations, I mean?”

“Obsession,” she says quietly. “Com-munity. Race? Thing? Place? Person, rare.”

“Huh. So they were absolute bastards to me because… that’s all? A single person is rare though you said, why all of them and why me? That’s why? Isn’t that stupid? I don’t understand. Why? Why would any god in their right mind make…” I bluster before trailing off.

“Oberon. Titania. Right mind, not. Wrong,” she answers.

I blink. “Wait, aren’t they fae? The mad court made the fae themselves? How does that even work? Isn’t that some kind of… of…”

Livvie shrugs.

And I can feel it from her. She thinks I’m about to banish her.

She thinks I’m going to abandon her because of this. I rub the bridge of my nose.

“Look, I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. We… can work this out, I think. Probably. Right? It’s not like you ever tortured me like they did, all because of a… fixation…”

And then something clicks in my mind… something I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of sooner, even though I’d only found out in the past short while that she’s one of them…

“By the gods. You’re like them.”

And there’s that sheepish grin yet again.

“I’m your fixation.”