Content Warning:

Soul scratches and threats of assault.

Thendra is gone.

“Read anything you find of interest.” She had said, motioning to the shelves of books as she gathered up a bag and prepared to leave. Her Leg is restored, albeit thinner and still regaining the muscle it had before.

“But…” I stammered stunned and still filled with the memory of the dream wound just a few rooms down. “Where are you–”

She silenced my question with a look, “Bulderii will accompany me. Stay here, in this manor. Do not leave, by any means.”

No riftwalking. Right. I… I could now that my soul is healed.

I hesitate, then nod. “I won’t. I just…”

“The Fae will probably visit after we’re returned.” She reads my deeper worry and alleviates it a bit.

I don’t read a lie in her, don’t sense that she… that she was planning on trying to find and hurt her.

I sigh and sag in obvious relief. “Oh, Okay.”

And now I’m alone, trying to occupy my time by looking through Thendra’s collection of books and scrolls. I let my nose lead me, trying to avoid books that hint of blood and death. Maybe… maybe try to find books that smell of…

But no, other than the book she’d given me all those weeks ago, I find nothing else that even partially smells of the Fae.

It takes me an eternity to even find a book I can read. Most are in strange languages, some that hurt my head to even look at. When I finally find a few tomes I can understand, I begin to make a little pile on the side table. It’s only about 5 books high, but I’m just glad to have found anything after nearly two hours of searching.

So I sit down and open the first book. It’s… ugh… just a weird little ledger. Lists and numbers about boring useless things from a hundred years past. I put it aside and check the next.

This one is better, a journal written in an annoyingly messy script. I’d have given up on the thing if the author didn’t also include dozens and dozens of pictures. Apparently they were some kind of adventurer, and loved cataloging and illustrating the weird and wild things found in their travels. The clearest are little mundane creatures, while the more messy are the things that apparently tried to kill them. Thus needed to be drawn for memory or while staring at a corpse.

Due to my trouble understanding the author's words, I eventually just give up and turn to the next book. It’s… huh… really weird. Kinda a journal but also a story. A retelling of some merchants' rise to power and fame in some city I’ve never heard of. And they are… well they describe themselves in an odd way that’s difficult to understand, seeming to have some kind of limb coming out of their face. So… not human or Reaver or… well definitely not a watcher.

Honestly just the fact that the words are clean and easy to read makes this something I end up settling into.

But eventually my stomach growls loud enough I have to deal with that problem. After that first disastrous day, Thendra hadn’t even taken me near that little side room with food. Just… always brought me a tray of fruit. But… Thendra isn’t here. And I am very hungry.

She… she just said to not leave the house. So she must expect me to get food on my own. Which… I mean, fair. I’m not a child. Just… she… she knew the smell of flesh bothered me.

So I wander downstairs and find myself crossing the large room to–

Three Reavers sit amidst the fluffy couches. A mess of food and drink among them as they lounge. A few of words pass between them as I appeared, but their words slow and stop as their eyes lock on me.

I freeze for a moment, instincts screaming at me that I’ve been spotted by predators. But… These are Thendra’s Reavers. They won’t hurt me. So I turn, take a deep breath and move to stand at the entrance to the room with the food. Already I can spot piles of flesh food and blood soaked things and…

I hold my breath and focus. The trays are easy to find, and while It takes me longer than I would like, I do find a little side shelf filled with a strange mix of growths. Vines and leaves and colorful shapes that alert me to the food I seek. After that I discover a keg and mugs that keep the warm cider. By the time I'm back in the bigger room, I have to pause and take a few deep breaths. Glad for my Fae body's ability to go without air for much longer than my old form.

“Little Fae.” Comes a call from across the room. I jerk over to see the women still sitting, still just… staring.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

I freeze again, instincts howling now. I… I recognise all of them. Remember… remember how they… how they each fed upon me. The one who seems to have called out to me, she… she was… um… well not the worst. But… she liked to bite, I think.

I make some kind of small murmur of reply, and begin to leave.

“Come.” She purrs.

I almost jerk. Caught between fears.

“Um…” Is what comes out as I glance down at my tray. “I… I’m not…”

“Come. Here.” She demands, voice low and hard.

I gulp, and very carefully approach.

When I’m about five feet away I stop. I know if any of them wanted to pounce this distance would mean very very little. But… in those final steps I see and smell their meal of flesh and can’t help but scrunch up my nose and stop. This Reaver… Twital? I think, regards me. Eyes seem to roll over my barely clothed form, but stop at my core. I shudder a little as her eyes glimmer.

“Your Amwella seems… healed.” She murmurs, almost… accusatory.

Her tone worries me. So I just nod.

Then she’d moving. Half crouched now and hooking one of my arms to pull me closer. I barely keep my food tray steady, as it begins to tip her other hand snaps up to keep it still with a single finger. “We were promised a feast, but instead were only given your scraps.”

“Wh… What?” I stammer, try to lean away from her sudden anger and foul breath.

One of the other women chuckles. “She barely even nibbled on the older watcher, Twital.”

“And yet, she still looks fully restored, Amwella vibrant and full to bursting.” Twital growls.

I don’t like where this is going. Don’t… No. No I won’t…

“Yours isn’t?” The other nudges her leg lazily.

“Not as full as it should be, especially with–” There is a long pause, and the other two women seem to thrum with… something. “We need more, if we’re to match the strength of those lost.” She purrs. “Lost due to her return.”

She’s not talking to me now. Not asking or even demanding anything of me. Just… considering with her fellow Reavers if I should be their next meal.

I’m panicking then, brumbles rolling down my flesh as if some serpent is slowly curling around my heart and soul. While my body is completely still, my mind and Amwella a fury of instincts and horrid Fae words and–

Twital isn’t looking at me, her attention is on the two others. If I can just… but I’d have to drop my food. But Dreamers Tits that doesn’t matter right now! I need to run! Need to… to hide or… or…

But she relaxes, glances back. Ugly rancid breath washes over me as she sighs.

“Thendra will feed you to us again, little Fae.” She purrs. “Be careful to not damage your Amwella before then.”

Then she releases my arm, pulling both hands back as she re-settles and turns attention away from me. I almost drop my tray from the sudden shift, but the moment she’s out of arm's reach I’m nearly stumbling back and turning to–

Something strikes the center of my back, a cold and sharp pain that makes me hiss and tumble. Tray hits the floor, spilling its contents as I sprawl. On reflex I’m jerking around, eyes wide and a plea on my lips and–

But… the Reaver’s haven't moved, and only the quiet two even look my way with odd mixtures of amusement. Twital still faces away. It takes me a moment to move again. I rise slowly, and as I begin to gather my food I try and take stock of… well of myself. No wound on my back, not even a little bruise or cut. So… what was…

Realization hits as I allow my Amwella sight to trigger. A… a little fresh wound stretches across my soul, left by…

Whirling and curling out from Twital is a thick and long tendril of angry claws and teeth. Longer than any of Thendra’s, but attached to a core much much smaller. Easily able to reach me, even now.

I hiss and scramble back, eyes locked on this before unseen threat. The Reaver purrs out a cruel chuckle, but does not move.

After a few moments, I gather what I can of the food and half spilled cider wine, and rush up the stairs to Thendra’s chambers. I end up taking my half-missing meal into the bathroom. Huddle down into the empty bathtub, and eat in shaking silence.

She’s… She’s wrong. Thendra’s done with that. That was a… an emergency. She needed her Reavers stronger. I lie to myself. She’ll never do that again. If Twital tries that Thendra will protect you.

Eventually I grow bored and cold enough to turn on the bath and allow myself to become immersed in the warmth, even… even begin to drift into an anxious slumber.

A purr, and I jerk to see Thendra staring down at me. A… curious look on her face. Dreamer’s Tits I always forget how quiet she can be.

I can't help but relax at her return. The water is cold by now, but as I start to rise Thendra begins to move, strips off her lightly worn tunic and begins to lower herself naked into the fairly cold water.

“Oh, I can warm it back up–” I begin to reach back to the handle, but she stops me.

“I prefer it cold.” She purrs before leaning her head back as she soaks in the water.

“Oh. I… I always wondered how you could stand it like this.” I say as I move to sit on the bath’s edge. Shake and shudder the water away as I reach for a towel.

But she catches my wrist. I pause, turn back expecting eyes filled with hunger, but instead find them touched with curiosity. “Your Amwella bears a fresh scar.”

I flinch at the memory of Twital, of her words and threats...

“I… I didn’t sing.” I stammer out, worried she’ll misread it like she did the night with Bulderii.

She purrs acknowledgement, but otherwise waits.

“Um…” I look down into the water. “One of the Reavers, Twital, I think. She… well I’m not sure but she took a scratch or… or a bite or… something.”

Thendra releases my hand then, leans back, seems content and unbothered by my answer.

That’s it. That’s… it!?! My anger begins to bubble. Her old words, her promise that… that I’d not be punished or hurt. Except by her.

Thendra opens one eye to regard me, reads my anger and pain plain.

“Next time,” She purrs, face serious. “Bite her back.”

That jolts me to a stop. The… the idea of it so ridiculous that I think she’s joking or… misunderstanding or...

“What!?!” I hiss.

Thendra doesn’t repeat herself, just closes her eyes and lounges in the cooled waters while I glare at her.

“Wh… She’s… I’m not…” I stammer, eventually regroup my thoughts. “She’ll tear me to pieces.”

“Not unless you reach for your Fae songs.” Thendra makes a thrumming sound. A bit of annoyance, but… also something else. A warning. “Which you will pay for dearly if you do.”

Her tone sends a cold shiver of fear down my spine. Especially here, literally sitting where she showed me the pain awaiting me if I tried to steal songs from her.

“But… what am I even supposed to do!?!” I finally ask. “Like… Thendra, look at me. I’m… I wove this body for… well not violence. I can barely make you bleed with my talons, and even then you all heal so fast!”

“It’s not a conflict of the flesh.”

“What? Try and deal with her big ugly soul tendril with my little flame.” I balk at the… the idiocy of the idea!

Thendra shrugs. “Or submit and let her torment you.”

“You won’t stop her!?!”

Another single eye drifts open, the look she gives me answers her question. No, Lyra.

Dreamer’s Tits. I can’t help but jerk up and storm out of the bathroom. Angry and cold and… and… Why would she let Twital do this? Why let her torment me!?!

Awnya doesn’t return that evening, and I barely stop myself from… well… not accusing Thendra of anything. But… at least pestering her about it.

“Your Fae spoke of exploring the Rorliras. Time moves… oddly in that place.” She answers my unspoken worries, probably tipped off by my endless fidgeting as I read the same page for the third time.

“Oh… I guess… She had said she’d only be gone for a few days before, but when I came back it had been six.” I murmur.

Thendra purrs in reply, but otherwise we drop back into silence. Me at the little table and her at the desk. The next time the silence is broken it’s by a growl from my stomach. I freeze, glance over to Thendra. She isn’t moving. And… well Dreamer’s Tits I’m not wandering out alone again. So I’m content to–

“Lyra.” Thendra purrs, but doesn’t look up from the long scroll she’s reading. I think it’s something Bulderii and her recovered from the Matron’s estate. “Go get us a meal. Try and toss some meat on my tray if you can stand the smell.”