Content warning:

Soul torture/curse things

Lenelope pats my hand, “It’s okay. The manor is magic. It can do neat things like this! Won’t need to walk far to get to our Lady. Isn’t that nice?”

No. Dreamer’s Tits NO! I… I don’t–

Thendra words grind against my still warbling thoughts. “I’ve kept this manor mundane, and while my soulfire is attuned to it, know that if I had the patience for it I could turn it into a beast more horrible than any among these rifts. But… only for those walking in its halls. Tretion’s manor is most likely made as a mimic to what it's weaver saw here. Be ready to adapt.”

That helps… helps solidify my fear and panic into a cold and pained annoyance. Then I’m letting the little weird fuzzy person lead me forward.

Tretion sits on a large couch across the room. Has set aside a huge book on a nearby table and looks up to regard me. Sparkles of Amwella sight tint her eyes, but… her expression remains a calm one.

“M’lady.” Lenelope greets, despite literally just stepping out of the room to fetch me.

“Thank you Lenelope.” She nods.

The little woman nods back, and I try to focus on her with my Naranggas as she heads back to the door, closing it. Then locks and unlocks it again. Then opens to reveal a hallway. Then she heads through and closes it. Soul disappears behind… a… the wriggling wall of not real Amwella my sight keeps insisting is there.

Is on everything! Coating the walls and floors and everything but the watcher herself!

Tretion starts to say something. I ignore her, look down at the floor and focus. Try to… to understand what I’m seeing…

The room around me seems to thrum and beat and… and… wait. There… is there a rhythm to this pulsing? Wh… is it just my thoughts trying to… to put nonsense to the horror?

“Lyra?” Tretion calls, pats the spot on the couch beside her. “Will you come sit with me? Please?”

I hesitate, but do begin to move. End up sitting on the couch while staring at the ground. But what if this is all… like… real? What if that drink Thendra gave me isn’t ruining my senses, but… making them more sensitive?

"I... Lyra you're safe here." She reaches out, touches my chin. “I mean to treat you well. Okay?”

Then she's pulling me gently, but insistently, to face her. I keep my eyes carefully focused past her. “When was the last time you performed an Amwella dance? Not… not whatever it is the Reaver’s do. But… Like you probably did with other Fae?”

That jerks my focus to a halt as my flubbering mind suddenly drowns me in haunted golden amber eyes and painful goodbyes.

Awnya rubs the back of her neck, looks away to cover the lie.

I barely notice the tears as they fall, and end up pulling away from this woman’s touch. For a moment I worry that she’ll get angry at that. But… no. Just lets a few long moments pass before…

“Is that why your soul is dying?” She whispers very softly.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

That snaps me from the painful memories. I don’t wipe the tears. Need to use them. I let a long few seconds pass, then give a small shrug. Could almost be perceived as a twitch for someone not paying very very close attention to me.

“The… the shadows.” She murmurs. “They started forming after the Matron died, correct?”

I don’t answer.

Thendra had laughed. “Silence is a better lie than anything you can weave with words. Let your prey form worse truths to blind themselves with!”

She lays a hand on my left talon. Considers her next words for a few moments. “You won’t be the first slave to choose death over bondage. Especially… especially in Theradas. But… I would very much like to keep you alive.”

Slave. I don’t stop the shudder at the word. Let it add to my façade. The Amwella around me bubbles and curls and fucking even starts making little… ugh… popping sounds. I really don’t want to start hearing Amwella.

Why does this keep getting worse!?!

“And... I'd like to help. To... to start by dealing with your soul’s problems before they can get worse.”

Dreamer’s Tits…

Finally!

Then she’s pulling me, gently, but… without any semblance of choice. She’s bigger than me. Not… not like Thendra or a Reaver, but it’s not really hard for her to pull me up to her lap. Hands wrap around me and pull my head to rest on her chest. Just in the spot over her heart.

“Just… listen.” She murmurs, then when it's obvious I’m not going to try and pull away, she reaches up to cover my eyes. “Focus on my Amwella, Lyra.”

A long pause as... as my mind tries to understand what she's...

“Can you feel it?” She whispers, lets a few more heartbeats bump through us. “Don’t you want to taste that again?”

Yes. Weariness dulls a little. As my soul remembers what euphoria that fire brings when I rip and tear and–

“Aren’t you starving?” Her big weird head tendrils curl around me a little. “I think you’d like being mine. And as mine you can have as much of that as you like.”

I can’t stop a shudder as my Naranggas writhe against their bindings as her soul pulses alongside her words.

“See?” She chuckles, misunderstands the things she’s seeing within my soul. “Your Amwella is growling louder than your empty stomach.”

I let out a long sigh.

“C’mon now.” She coos. “You’ll be a much happier slave with me than with Thendra.”

I jerk, almost… almost… let out a hiss.

Not.

A.

Slave!

She loosens her grip a little, surprised at the sudden and very real show of emotion that was.

Dreamer’s Tits!!! Before I mess up again I tilt my head up to nuzzle the big weird ladies neck. It’s… odd. Scaly and cold like Voe’s… Ugh… Don’t think about her.

Or… maybe I should? Might make this easier...

Tretion lets out a little sigh of relief, then moves hands to my back. Begins to rub circles. “You’ve probably wanted this for so long, haven’t you?”

“Can you do it, Little Reaver?” Thendra had purred that night after I’d begged for hours and hours. “Earn this boon you ask for?”

Before Tretion's cold hands can consider more I’m twisting. Drawing myself around to straddle her. Let my lips nibble at the cold scales while the right talon moves up to touch her neck.

Such… desire and hunger and fury in her jade eyes as my dark goddess loomed over me. “Can you walk the old road of Furthonois?”

Twitch Twitch. Warmth and desire begin to build… causing a wonderful rumble of hunger to roll up through me.

“Good girl.” Tretion’s big cold hands move up under the big shirt and along my legs. “But… You can take your time. There’s no need to rush into…”

The curse stings as I use my rumble to form the foundation of the song I weave, and I feel Blood dripping from my eyes as I push through the blighted pain of my curse’s bite. Summon up all my horrid Fae words. Fear, Pain, Spite, and The Melody of The End.

I pull back and let my eyes meet hers then. And I watch a soft brow furrow in confusion as my Naranggas snap free of their bindings, unfurl into a display of soul drinking death around us.

Then they’re wrapping around and around and around…

“Wh–” She starts to stammer. Horny stupidity rotting into fear quicker than she can blink.

Naranggas squeeze her soul tight as teeth erupt, gouge deep furrows. And as the maimed talon digs a bloody brand into her neck I stare flat cold hunger into her eyes.

A near perfect curse. Only… only missing a few rotting things to make it as wondrous as–

The pain in her is too deep for a scream, only a drowning grunting gurgle can escape before my curse is complete. It’s symphony only made better with the final notes of my screeching Lamentation.

Rot maggots writhe from Naranggas and talon and gaze to burrow deep into her Amwella.

You will follow all my (Lyra’s) commands

You will die when I (Lyra) die.

She does scream then.

And I can’t help but let her as I fight the deep urge to just… feed. Her soulfire gushing and dripping and tasting sooooo…

“Be quiet.” I hiss as I yank my Naranggas free of her. Can’t repress a shudder as I squeeze my eyes shut. Caught between pain from the curse and a deep grumbling hunger for this watcher’s soul. “B– Be still.”

She jerks in pain and…

and…

And…

AND I HEAR the blighted rot maggots as they feed on this watcher's soul! The brand carved on it weeps and bubbles with such delicious Amwella.

I almost lose control of my breath then as the sound fades. Leaving me with only the horrible little pops and dripping coming from this manor. Through fast and wheezing breaths I let out a long and angry hiss.

A sound demanding everyone just... BE QUIET!!!

The manor and her both go silent as my maggots settle and nuzzle deep. And I finally open my eyes.

She’s stiff as death. Eyes wide with horror and confusion as they roll about the room in a sort of madness that only those who’ve experienced the feeling or being caught between soul crunching agony can know.

I growl as I reach up to wrap that bloody maimed talon around her jaw, pull myself up to force this watcher to meet my gaze again, and words spill out before I know what I am saying.

“You are mine. Always and Forever. Or at least until this wretched dream ends.”