Content warning:

-descriptions of a journal of a butcher/torturing/self harm

-abusive hair pulling at the end.

-conversations of selling someone as a slave

-a... well general hinting at a concept very close to suicide ideation. A grand wish for everything to end given a magical form.

“A few days? At least? I can send a messenger to–”

A record of torture and pain. A butcher’s journal. Litany’s of a flesh eater and soul drinker. Pages and pages detail of how they tried to break the will, mind, and bodies of captives.

This little journal is dedicated to their rare work on Fae subjects.

“I’ll not be making a second trip before our venture, we need this found now.” Is Thendra’s muffled retort.

I want to slam it shut, tear it to pieces. Scream and bite and hiss and vomit as it records the Fae’s pain and curses. Fury and bile bubble inside as I can hear the words scratched on the page. The conditions which best pull them from the Fae’s mouths like teeth from a bound dog, sing a cursed tune in my mind.

A far off huff, “One of our family has it. I can’t just… storm about and demand it be returned!”

I feel the fingers that this Fae was allowed to drag down their own face as they watched their fellows succumb to madness and death. I feel their relief as the pages describe their final words as they were granted death and peace from the dream.

Pain, and pieces of fear. Spite is… soaked into the tome.

Eyes shut, deep breaths. That’s not me, I’m not there. I’m safe I’m–

I open my eyes to see a woman of striking beauty sitting across the desk from me. Rich sunkissed skin complimented by a comfy robe of deep maroon silk. Eyes a pair of yellow gemstones that seem to drink me in dart to stare as my eyes fall on her.

Elbow on the desk, chin on her palm, she smiles a mouth of perfect white teeth as the smothering weight slowly drags at my Amwella. Worse than both Voe and Zitras’ combined. Cold terror infests my muscles, holds me still. Old reflexes to sing and hide from danger smothered. I want to cry out for Thendra, but something tells me that would mean she would pounce.

In a slow languid motion she reaches down and pushes something to me with a single finger.

I don’t look down, don’t dare take my eyes off her.

Then I notice her eyestalks. They aren't like Voe’s or Zitra, there are only a few. But each one is about the thickness of my arm, bearing a single golden eye to match hers. One curls around her like a scarf while the other few seem to gaze about the room with lazy observation.

“For you.” She mouths at me, pushes the… whatever it is, closer. I swallow, glance down. A single tiny scroll sits between us, parchment old and torn.

“Matron!?!” Comes a barely controlled shout.

The woman doesn’t turn, just drops her grin into a bit of a pout as we’re interrupted. From the corner of my eye I see Thendra and Voe nearly running this way. Thendra gets here first, almost as fast as I’d seen her move in the forest, but pauses five feet from us. Seems to pause to consider as one of those eyestalks turns to look at her.

“Honored Matron.” Thendra purrs.

“Hello Thendra,” She replies, voice all silken and soft.

Voe catches up then, “Gra– Matron.” She stammers, “What brings you here at such a… surprising hour?”

“Oh… just returning something to its rightful place, checking on investments, and…” She glances down at the scroll, then back up at me. “Considering new… purchases.”

Thendra does growl then, a low warning.

“Voe dear, You didn’t mention how lovely she was.” She murmurs. “Such… confliction, in her soul. Never even knew its like could flourish.”

Voe moves forward, slips past Thendra.

“Grandmama!” She hisses, “This–”

A flash of annoyance, just in her eyes, and a slow turn to fix Voe with a glare is enough to silence her. The smothering weight falls away. Thendra does move then, is suddenly beside the desk with barely a whisper of motion. I flinch, The Matron does not.

“She is not for sale.” Thendra places both hands on the desk, glowers down at The Matron.

She lazily shifts her focus up to Thendra, “Everyone and everything has a price. Reavers know this better than most.”

“I do.” She leans down then, face only a foot from the Matron, “And I know you cannot pay it. None can.”

The Matron grins, “Oh… I think I can manage.”

“Make your offer then.” Thendra purrs.

I… It’s all for show. Thendra won’t sell me off. She… she really really…

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Undreka, returned to you.” She reaches up, very slowly and deliberately to touch the curse upon Thendra’s collarbone. “That removed, and some other great boon of your choice.”

Everything inside me cracks and shifts, I almost cry aloud at her words. No! She’ll take that. And my pain… this… It’ll all be for...

A long pause, no one speaks. One of the Matron's eyestalks turns to lazily regard me.

I’ll have sold myself for NOTHING!!!

Darkness closes in around my vision, my Amwella curls and writhes, but I do not call it. Even then, Thendra’s command is the only thing that will make me do it on reflex. Maybe I can curse them. Push through that horrible pain and–

Thendra’s laugh breaks my spiral of panic, jerks me from my own maddened thoughts like a sudden crack of thunder.

It’s a long rolling thing, just not… I’ve heard her laugh. In both genuine mirth and annoyance. To goad and to relieve stress. This is all disdain and anger. Voe shifts back a step, real fear on her face as she glances between them. The Matron keeps her face locked in that grin, but her annoyance is plain.

“You insult me!” Thendra purrs through it, steps around to my side of the desk.

“What?” The Matron tilts her head.

“I traded mud for a diamond,” She lays a hand on my head. “Now you offer me the mud again?”

Fingers curl through my hair, and at her words and touch I can’t help but melt. Sour fear and words fall away like so much rainwater. I end up leaning into her grasp. She’ll keep you safe. Never let you go. Never sell you or abandon you or–

“Thendra, I–” Voe begins to speak, but a raised eyestalk from her grandmother turns her way and silences the interruption.

A long silence passes between Thendra and the Matron. Then the monster stands, all grace and control, then sighs.

“Many of my kin adore you, Thendra.” The Matron’s voice turns soft, “And I value your skills. But this…” A hand waves over the desk, ends in an open palm gesture at me. “This is barely contained disaster, and you play at giving her the words to enact it.”

“I’m grateful for your sudden... concern, but it's misplaced.” Thendra pulls me closer, then drops fingers to squeeze and rub at my neck. “Maybe you could have saved me from this if you had aided in my search for Undreka, instead of waiting to pick at my corpse.”

The Matron’s mask is broken only by a sudden… intensity to her eyes. But otherwise she keeps her face passive and touched only by a mild concern. “I love your confidence, Reaver.” She turns her gaze to smother me with her golden eyes. “But–.”

“Do you have any guesses yet?” Thendra cuts her off.

A long pause of surprise. Thendra’s gaze flickers to Voe.

“Oh…um…” She stammers, looks at her Matron. “At her original form?”

Thendra nods. The Matron quirks an eyebrow, settles that horrible gaze on me.

Voe huffs, “I’ve not given it much thought! Something driven mad, most likely. But not with enough intelligence to fuddle the–”

I meet The Matron’s gaze, and can't look away for some reason. Her eye’s widen, smile goes… strange.

“Oh!” She exclaims, very softly.

Thendra and Voe both look to her. She steps from the table. “I retract my offer.”

That seems to catch Thendra off guard, causing her fingers to pause in their motions at my neck.

“Matron?” Voe steps up beside her. “What… What was she?”

The Matron sighs, all anger and annoyance. “You're insufferable, Thendra. Really. You really drug this little… jest, out.”

Voe pauses, Thendra quirks her head and shifts her weight.

“To goad me like this! Just before our work together reaches its climax!” The Matron smiles, “If this had been public, or if you’d actually taken my offer… I’d have flayed you living the second our business was concluded!”

“I… I don’t follow?” Voe tries to smile. “Can I be let in on this little joke?”

“I think you’ve guessed wrong,” Thendra is bristling, but I think only I notice this.

“I see the shape of it, now.” She shrugs, “Really, you had me thinking you ensnared some impossible, twisted thing. But no… just some sad little human given a Fae spark.”

I can’t help but flinch at half the truth of my past being laid so bare, talons dig into the desk.

“What!” Voe does yelp at that, “But… Matron, that's not possible!”

“It is just not wise.” The Matron turns to leave, “The Fae don’t find satisfaction in cruelty. Her parent must have been quite the… unique specimen. Would love to meet them someday, if they still live...”

I bristle at that, but Thendra squeezes my neck before my anger can gain footing.

“You doubt my little Fae’s abilities?”

“Hm? No, not at all!” She turns to regard her, “Her curses, her Laments, are strong… but also brittle things… like… hm…? Diamonds? Ha! Good analogy, an apt riddle you slipped in there.”

B– Brittle? I… the hope sparkles in my chest. And different parts of me war at the possibilities of that word. Could I be free from this? From... from... but...

She giggles, and the sound is… the most unnerving thing. “You’ve always been soooo clever.”

Do… Do I want to be? A not so small part of me whispers.

“Her curses don’t wither, Matron. Not at our gaze, are you sure?”

The Matron gives Voe positively disappointed glances with two eyestalks, but doesn’t shift her face eyes from Thendra. “I’ll be so interested to see that. That second curse you had her place was inspired, Thendra. Perfect.”

Thendra purrs a… not happy sound. “It was.”

“That curse, with the right words” She replies, “You could get her to do… almost anything for you. Discover the weak point of her first Lament, crack it, and you’d get both prizes.”

No. She's wrong. There're not...

I jerk my head up, eyes wide at Thendra. I can see a flicker of hunger, of… understanding.

“Ooooh…” The Matron purrs, and I feel the weight of her gaze fall back on me. “Not quite broken yet I see. That’ll need to come first then.”

Thendra slowly, deliberately, doesn’t look down to meet my gaze. But her big hand does shift, moves to grip a handful of my hair.

Please. Please no… No no no no NO!

“I left what I think will be a rather… insightful, little piece of Fae language and lore.” The Matron’s gaze leaves me then. “I myself was brushing up on it in expectation of a purchase. But now…”

Voe steps up to the desk, glances down. But I barely notice her as I silently beg Thendra to meet my eyes. To tell me this isn’t actually her plan. To… To break me then force me to let her–

“What is…” Voe reaches for the little scroll.

“Come! Voe.” The Matron calls as she arrives at the door. “Let’s leave our beloved ally here to tend to her slave.”

Voe hesitates, but obeys, and just before the door closes whispers, “Please don’t get any blood on the books.”

And then we are alone. Thendra stares after them for a very long moment, refusing to meet my gaze. “Are you finished with the second book?”

“Thendra…” I whisper, soft plea to my words.

Then she turns, very slowly and deliberately, to bore her bright Jade eyes down into me.

Please. No! Keep our bargain! I want to scream up at her.

“Please.” Is all I whisper.

Her hand tightens, pain begins to flair at the roots of my hair.

“Thendra!” I hiss, both at the sudden pain and my despair at the possibilities of her plans.

Her eyes narrow. The… silence of her anger shocks me to my core. Bleeds my courage.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I chide myself, rationalize my submission. She won’t talk here. Doesn’t want to be overheard. The Matron was lying, trying to fuck up our… whatever. Just… trust her! Finish reading this last scroll!

“Yes. Second is done.” I whisper.

She releases my hair, but doesn’t step back.

I take a deep steadying breath and turn to the third scroll. The smell of the Fae-Woods exude from the parchment, just like the first scroll, but unlike it this one is small and holds only a single painting. Its ink dried to blackness with little flecks of multiple shades of purple. At first I think it’s the night sky, but then I see the silhouettes impaled and wrent on a spire of faded crimson beneath the weight of all that pitch.

They are still alive, and seem to wail at their torment. But… no. They're pleading to the darkness above.

I shudder, close the scroll as the meaning seeps into me. Something... something that cracks and shifts and settles deep into me like no other word could.

What a cruel and wonderful promise… That one day the Dead Dreamer will awaken, and end the nightmare.