Content Warning:

Torture. It's soul torture, but... it's really bad and manipulative.

Contemplation of suicide at said torture.

I twitch.

She studies me for a moment. Sets the book to the side. “Were you wanting to sing?”

Oh. she thought I was…

I take a deep breath, slow my heart and rise enough to speak. “Always. But… not just then. I’m sorry. I wasn’t… I was just… making noises. No magic.”

I should know better. Especially after what happened before. She… she’s still so mad about that.

A nod, then she turns back to her book. “Sing then. Sing until I close this book.”

And I do. A lilting hymn of light tittering notes. I weave my love of this warm bath and watch with joy as the water wiggles at hearing its praise. Then my eyes wander up to her, and I accidentally trickle my wander and confusion and anticipation about her.

The sounds of my song aren't made up of words, although I may slip some in at times, but she does shift and perk up at some subtle understanding. Even if her waking mind can’t process it.

Her eyes jerk to me, and her book slams shut.

I move to end the melody, but feel the needle shutter and prepare to sting. My eyes go wide with terror. That command isn’t enough. I can’t stop without the curse hurting me.

She tilts her head at my expression, then. “Stop.”

I choke and sag, barely able to time the end so that the sting didn’t happen.

“Hm…” She muses.

I shutter, terrified of more of her anger. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t… the Lament wasn’t–”

“I know.” She murmurs. “I was testing its limits.”

I jerk my head up. “What?”

“I need to understand it better.” No anger, all calm observation.

I let out a huff, my annoyance given courage by the terror. “You could just… like… ask me.”

“Can it be explained so easily?”

“Yes, I–” I work to control my tone. “I bound the word of it in my first language.”

She raises an eyebrow. “A human tongue?”

“Yes!” I shout, glad my blush of embarrassment is hidden by the rose-tint the warm waters have given me. “It’s not as good as If I had done it in one of the Fae tongues. There would be… more subtly to it. More flexibility.”

“Then why…” She starts, then stops her question as she must guess the answer to it.

Because I was never taught enough of even one of the Fae languages.

“Okay then.” She demands instead. “Tell me the word of your curse.”

“I’ll still need to sing it.” I mutter.

A bark of laughter, “Fine then. Sing to me the word of this curse, nothing else.”

I obey, and… it hurts. It’s like driving a nail into a fresh wound, or reliving a bad memory.

“I will only sing when commanded by Thendra.

I will always sing when commanded by Thendra.

I will only stop singing when commanded by Thendra.”

The sting begins to pierce me as I try to stop, so I repeat myself. But… when I look to her for a command, she just stares past me. Contemplates my Lament as I repeat the heart of it over and over and over.

I can take breaths between verses, so I know I won’t suffocate. But my throat begins to burn as the Amwella drain, physical burden, and emotional toll begin to grow. I move to the side of the bath and lean against the cold tiles. I consider weaving a plea to her into it, but the curse brushes against me, and I know it would sting just as bad as if I had stopped to ask her.

I reach out to her, touch her knee with wet fingers. Hoping that will be enough to show her I’m–

She looks down, meets my gaze, and I know then that this is my punishment. This is her showing me that my songs are her’s now, and that I will only get to enjoy them so long as she wills it. That if I don’t obey her she will make the few songs I’m allowed to sing turn to ash in my mouth. Become litany’s of agony I come to dread.

This is how she will start breaking me.

I… I have no choice but to keep singing, so I do. I look away, squeeze my eyes shut, and keep repeating the details of the chain that binds me to her.

What must an hour passes. Eventually my voice is barely a whisper, a husky cracking thing that can barely pronounce the words. And then… to my horror… the curse doesn’t seem to care as my song becomes nothing more than basic sounds. My words become a slurring mess of pure pain and agony as I slump against the bath’s edge, not even language anymore. Just the guttural attempts at reflecting its nature.

Still, Thendra doesn’t command me to stop.

I cannot sob, but tears still gush from my eyes at the pain. At some point blood is coating my tongue, making it even harder to force out the song. I begin to shake in the long cooled water.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The last time I’d channeled Amwella this long was during my change, and that was with my Fae mother. There’d been plenty of water and soothing songs to help guide my will. We took long breaks to let me recharge and contemplate. The only rush was from my own eagerness to have my true body. It was more painful at times than this could ever be, but I endured it because it was what I wanted.

But this… this is just pain. A constant limbo of my worst song forced through my soul. A cold calculated warning. Torture to send me a message.

Looking back up to her I try to convey everything through my eyes. Please. Please make me stop. Please! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m yours now, I understand that! Please tell me to stop. Please please please please please–

She doesn’t even shift, her hard Jade eyes just... bore into my soul. And still she doesn’t command me to stop.

It’s not even a song now. Just a single wheeze of pain separated by shuddering breaths as I drool blood at her feet. Darkness gathers at the edge of my vision. Soon I’ll pass out, and the curse will sting me and drain the last of my Amwella.

I twist my eyes to meet her one last time. This is going to kill me. Is… is this what you want?

And still, she doesn’t command me to stop.

In those final moments, as the cold darkness closes around me, I squeeze my eyes shut and bring up a memory of my Fae Mother’s face. Her smile, her laugh, her joy at seeing my new form… and I let go of the song. I hope you know that I’ll love you always, and that the little time we had was–

Nothingness.

The Dead Dreamer holds me in her rotting void, empty of all pain and hopes and desires and–

Pain, that’s what rips me from that split second of sweet oblivion.

The curse's sting holds me from it, paralyzes me as I slump against the bath’s edge. But all the energy to sing is spent, and even in a desperate animal way I cannot push myself beyond that limit.

“Lyra.” Thendra purrs.

My eyes roll open, a blossom of hope.

“I didn’t tell you to stop singing.”

I can’t even sob or cry out, only twitch and spasm and writhe at my master’s feet.

As I begin to slide down into the water she reaches down, grips my silken hair, and drags me up and onto the tiles at her feet. Any other time that would have made me scream and yelp in pain, but compared to this… Well… it does more to show me how little she cares for my comfort, and more how any part of me was as good as another for making sure this lesson continued how she wants it to.

So I just… lay there. Curl in on myself as my shaking gets worse. I feel like I am coming apart. Become aware of the seams sewn into my body, begin to feel myself unravel. Like a doll caught by a particularly angry animal.

In those moments I’m tempted to spite Thendra. To try and spit out a song that will end my life, and steal her prize. I made this body, and I know what threads to pull to unmake it. But… I can’t gather enough… can’t push through this–

“Stop.”

I gasp out a sudden heaving sob as the curse pops free, and the sudden absence of pain is a wonderful euphoria.

She waits. Lets my ragged breath steady, and my body move from spasms into steady shivers. Ensures my mind has recovered.

“Sit up.” She purrs.

It’s hard, but I don’t hesitate. I rise and kneel between her and the silent waters of the bath.

Deep breath, then I meet her gaze.

There is nothing kind or gentle in that stare. Just… cold regard.

“Ask.”

I take a shuddering breath, understanding and dreading her demand.

“May I Sing?”

She gives me a slow nod. I open my mouth. But the curse moves to hurt me. I hesitate.

“Sing.” She commands.

And I obey. It hurts, but this time I weave a song of healing and peace. Wrap it around me like a cloak. Encourage little unnamable parts of my Fae form to calmly and carefully begin repairing any damage found. Warmth begins to fight off the deep cold ache.

“Stop.”

I obey and she purrs approval. My heart glows with relief and tries to cherish the wordless praise. Tries to use it as I would use cool water on burned flesh.

I hate her for that. More than anything, I hate how much I want her to… to want me. How much I feel myself longing for her to look at me with hunger and lust with those gorgeous jade eyes. How much I want to please her.

I’m not very hard to read, and I have to look away to avoid openly glaring up at her.

Silence. Cold fear begins to creep down my spine. Did… Did I make her angry again? Oh Dreamer please NO. Please don’t let her do that again. I can’t take any more of that.

“I’m sorry.” I sputter out.

“Hm… Then Sing your sorrows for me.”

It’s almost a reflex now. Like I’m holding my breath and waiting for permission to breathe. I open my mouth and pour all my fear and anxiety into the tune. It takes so little Amwella, just little sparks off the side. I weave… well I’m not sure how much she can understand. My mother told me that weaving lies into our songs would invite pain, so I try my hardest to–

All my desires for her make it simple to feel horrible about this, to make my understanding that she is the monster who just tortured me seem… wrong. Try to force me to accept that I deserve this. That this pain will help me. I feel myself twist and break around this. Feel my own thoughts warping to adapt to this new reality. Fight to keep my thoughts enraged at her!

I grit my teeth, and my song cracks under the weight of my warring hatred for her actions and my desires for her affections.

“Stop.”

I gasp, choke, then fall into silence. My eyes drift up to hers, and I feel myself wither under a predatory smile.

“You are forgiven, My Lyra.”

I can’t suppress a jerking flinch at her words. At how it causes a peace to roll down me like a fresh summer rain, while also setting my teeth on edge at the fresh memory of the torture she just inflicted.

“Get dressed. Then come with me.”

She takes up her book and leaves me alone.

I rise with only a few wobbles, and do as she tells me.

When I re-enter the main bedroom she is just pulling a tome down from her highest shelf. An old thing, with a thick wooden cover and multiple torn pages peeking out. Then she turns and approaches, holding it out to me.

“Can you read this?”

I pause, a whiplash of fearing torture to… this… to reading?

I take the tome. It’s so big. I can barely crack it open while also holding it.

Inside are… I flip through a few pages, silently sounding out the words.

Legs go weak, vision blurry with tears. I struggle to wipe my eyes before they can fall and stain the pages of this treasure. It's written in my first language, or something kin to it, but it also works to translate another language alongside every entry. Gives someone a reference to begin speaking this other tongue.

Fae-song, or at least a broken record of some human’s time among them, dances across the page before me. Something my mother never got to finish teaching me! The purest of all Fae languages. It’s the best for weaving song magic.

I jerk my head up. “Where did you get this?”

A shrug. “Plunder, or traded, I do not recall. It seems some human artist was welcome to walk with the Fae for a time. Recorded their work and attempts to learn some of their languages. Can you read it?”

I nod furiously. “It’s not true Fae-song. Just… things written to convey their sounds with human letters.”

“Hmm…” She muses “Then it is yours.”

I have to close the huge thing and cradle it to my nearly bare chest to avoid letting tears stain its pages. Can’t even stop a few hiccups from jerking from my throat as I look up to her.

“I…” The war inside me tilts more in her favor. “Why?”

She considers that question for a while.

“I’d like you to be productive between the times where I can test your limits.” She turns her back to me, goes back to her desk of books and work. “You can take up any space within this room to read. If you need parchment or ink for your own notes, simply ask.”

“Oh…” I look around. Suddenly intimidated by the large space, and at getting the distinct impression that Thendra just lied to me. Or… at least avoided telling me the entire reasons why she gave this book to me.

I shuffle uncomfortably, debating pressing the issue.

I end up letting out a huff of annoyance and decide to chew on it while exploring this new treasure. I move over to the small table where I’d eaten earlier, and begin.

I always loved books, but didn’t get to relish that passion until my Fae mother took me in. She didn’t have many I could read, but the few she had I read over and over again in those first few months. That… stopped when she started teaching me to sing. That obsession had killed any desire for books until long after I’d woven my new home in the Dreamer’s Wood.

After that… Well, I did my best to always have a new project to occupy my time.

This tome, however, it absolutely absorbs my attention. I find myself entranced by the soft scent of the forest on the pages and falling into the journal entries and stories of the author and their explorations at the heart of Fae society. I chuckle aloud a few times at the jokes and pranks and drama their presence seems to cause. They boast and enthrall me with the many sexual exploits and troubles they experience as they try and piece together the customs of the culture.

I also begin to pick up new words of the Fae-Song. The author spends entire sections carefully explaining nuanced differences between words and phrases, and when they struggle with something they make sure to come back and note the page with a correction or clarification.

But… after only a few hours… I can’t help but feel a deep jealousy at the welcome they were given. How, at least from their perspective, the Fae were a people of love and vibrancy. Overjoyed to welcome all life, and learn its unique story. Fae abhor cruelty and torture, and the author had to clarify on many occasions to them how humans don’t all share similar core values. That some are just… uniquely horrible. That more than just some are very flawed. Broken at an early age by trauma and tragedy.

I stop reading then, and curl my knees up to my chest and just stare ahead blankly, begin to pick at an old memory scar.

That’s enough for now. I decide, and push off my stool. After gathering up my book I silently head over to the bed and crawl beneath the sheets. I hug the book close, and try to dream of a life where I was accepted and beloved by the Fae.