Henry stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, the cold night air hitting his flushed, angry face like a slap. He needed to walk, needed to put some distance between himself and everything.

After walking for a long time, his legs automatically carried him to the village center, where the narrow, winding streets were alive with nightlife. The sounds accompanied by the whisper of the wind and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

It was outside one of these establishments that Henry found Gregory, leaning against the stone wall with a mug in hand and a loose smile on his face. His fellow mission companions were scattered around him, throwing dice and swapping exaggerated tales of their exploits.

"Henry!" Gregory called, waving him closer. "Good to see you, my friend. Come, join us for a drink!"

Henry hesitated, but then he thought of the coldness in Lisai's eyes, the icy distance in her touch. What was the point of going back to that? What was the point of clinging to a woman who could barely stand to look at him?

With a sigh, Henry made his way over to where Gregory was seated, accepting the proffered mug with a grateful nod. The alcohol burned going down, soothing his taut nerves.

"What's wrong with you, man?" Gregory asked. "You look like someone who lost their dog."

Henry shrugged, taking another swig before answering. "Troubles at home. Lisai... she won't let me touch her."

Gregory raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Bedroom troubles, eh?" he said with a low whistle, shaking his head in commiseration. "That's rough, man. A woman has no right denying her man. Especially not after all you've done for her."

Henry frowned. "What do you mean?"

Gregory leaned forward, his breath sour with drink. "You saved her, Henry. Remember? When she was just a Deprived and a runaway slave. You got her out of that hell, gave her a home, a family. Hell, you gave her children."

Henry sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I know, but... it's like I disgust her, like my touch makes her feel unclean."

Gregory nodded, leaning in as if about to impart a great secret. "I'll tell you what it is, Henry. It's that old Deprived guilt rearing its head. She knows she's responsible for ruining your life, for tying you to a family of outcasts. And she can't deal with it."

Henry blinked, the words seeping into his drunken mind like poison. Part of him wanted to protest, wanted to defend Lisai and the choice he'd made to marry her. But a larger part, a part fueled by years of resentment and self-pity, couldn't help but see the truth in what Gregory was saying.

"You remember how it was before you met her?" Gregory continued, his voice a seductive whisper. "You were respected, admired. People stepped aside when you walked by, because they knew you were someone important. Ever since you joined the guard, you stood out. Now look at you... a henpecked husband, stuck in some backwater hovel, with a wife who doesn't want you and two brats to look after."

Henry flinched, each word cutting deeper than the last. He remembered that terrible day, so many years ago, when Lisai had gone into labor for the fifth time, before Kvolt. He'd waited outside the midwife's house, his heart in his throat, praying to all the Eternals that this time, just this once, the baby would survive and be completely healthy.

But it was not to be. The baby was born dead, like almost all the others before it, its tiny body already gray and withered. And Lisai... his beautiful, brave Lisai... had broken that day. Something inside her shattered, something Henry didn't know how to fix.

"After she found out she was pregnant with my sixth child, we found her on the cliff, remember?" Henry whispered, the words coming out of him like pus from a wound. "She was different, everything changed after that."

Gregory nodded, his face a facade of sympathy. "And what did you gain from all that sacrifice? A cold wife who doesn't love you, who doesn't desire you." Gregory sighed. "And who knows what she did to make sure your little Kvolt was born... That day was rough. This is no way for a man to live, Henry. You deserve more. Deserve to be respected in your own home, catered to in your own wants."

"She owes me everything," he muttered, more to himself than to Gregory. "Everything she is, everything she has... it's because of me."

Gregory affirmed it, a twisted smile curling his lips. "And yet she dares turn her back on you? Refuse your advances as if you were some gutter beggar? No, my friend. This cannot stand."

He leaned in closer, his tone lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's just a Deprived, Henry. An inferior creature, meant to serve her betters. It's time you reminded her of that."

Henry felt something twist in his stomach, a mixture of excitement and revulsion.

"I don't know, Gregory," he said, even as his body already responded to the suggestion. "I love her. I don't want to hurt her."

Stolen story; please report.

Gregory laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. "Hurt her? Henry, you'd be doing her a favor. Showing her her place, her purpose. Deprived like her, they crave a strong master to guide them, to possess them. You'd just be attending to her needs."

Henry felt something stir within him at those words, a hunger long dormant. He thought of all the lonely nights, all the advances rebuffed and cold shoulders turned.

"What do I do, Gregory?" he asked, hating the desperation in his voice.

Gregory smiled. "It's not easy, my friend. You go there and take. Or, you're a man, not some beggar. If she doesn't want you, you can always find someone who does."

He gestured to the bustling streets, to the hungry-eyed women skulking in the shadows. "Look around you, Henry. With the gold in your pockets, you could have any one of these whores screaming your name all night long. They don't care about your history, or your family. All they want is a stiff cock and a heavy purse of coin."

Henry followed Gregory's gaze, lust and despair warring within him. It would be so easy, so good, to lose himself in the slick warmth of a willing body. To forget, for a few blessed hours, the mess his life had become.

But then he thought of Lisai, of her soft waved red hair and the way she hummed while cooking. He thought of Nessa, his precious girl, and the way her cherub face lit up whenever he walked through the door. And he thought of Kvolt, his strange, enigmatic son who both scared and amazed him in equal measure.

"I can't," he said, pushing the mug away. "They need me. She needs me, even if she doesn't know it."

Gregory sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "You always were as stubborn as a mule, Henry. Can't see what's right in front of you."

"But... changing the subject. I have news from our bosses," Gregory continued. "The Gifted ones will be coming at the next Divine Festival. I want you ready, for if they will be here, the cargo will be big."

Henry nodded in affirmation, feeling the weight of more dangerous work ahead.

Gregory noticed his friend's expression and leaned back, reaching into his pocket and producing a small glass vial. Inside was a fine blue powder, glittering in the light of the street lanterns.

"This will help," he said, shaking the vial enticingly. "Just a pinch of Elun and all your troubles will seem very, very far away."

Henry stared at the powder, hunger rising inside him like a wave. He remembered the times he had tried it, on the journey home from the last mission. The euphoria, the feeling of being invincible, unstoppable. Like he could conquer the entire world and still come back for a second round.

But he also remembered what came after. The crash, the feeling of his own brain turning against him with fangs and claws. The creeping paranoia, the certainty that everyone was against him, even his friends and family.

"I don't know, Gregory," he said, even as his body trembled with want. "That stuff... it makes me crazy. Makes me think things, see things..."

"It's like that at first," Gregory assured him, already preparing two lines of the powder on a smooth board. "But the more you use, the more you can control it. See... I'm perfectly fine, am I not?"

And indeed, he did seem to be. His eyes were steady and focused, his voice clear. There was no hint of the cornered beast Henry became under the drug's influence.

"Just one hit," Gregory coaxed, pushing one of the lines toward Henry. "For old time's sake. To take the edge off the night."

Henry looked at the powder, feeling his resolve waver. It would be so easy, so painless, just to lean down and inhale that fine white line. To let it carry him away from his wretched life, to a place where he was king, where he was god.

With trembling hands, he took the proffered bamboo tooter. In one smooth motion, he leaned down, inhaling the powder deeply. The familiar burn hit his nostrils, followed by the bitter, oily taste at the back of his throat.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like a rocket falling from the sky, it hit him - the euphoria, the invincibility, the pure, unmistakable joy of being alive. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the streets like the roar of a wild beast.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Gregory cheered, already preparing another line for himself. "That's the Henry I know, the Henry who doesn't fear a goddamn thing!"

Henry grinned, a wide, manic smile that seemed to split his face in two. He felt free, truly free, for the first time in years. Free of the weight of expectation, free of the pity and contempt in his wife's eyes.

Here, in this moment, he was not a failed husband or an inadequate father. He was a king, a conqueror, a fucking God among men.

"More," he growled, already reaching for the vial. "Give me more, Gregory. I want to feel that again."

And Gregory obliged, pouring out more of that powdered magic in front of Henry. They inhaled together, like brothers in arms.

"That's the spirit!" Gregory shouted, clapping Henry on the back before turning to his buddies gambling at the table. "Now go out there and show your wife who's master! And if she's still unwilling, well..."

He pointed across the square, where a solitary figure was slouched against the wall, her skeletal, angular body illuminated by the moonlight.

Speaking loudly, Gregory jeered, "There's always Jezebel. She'll take good care of you, for a few coins. And she won't give you any crippled brats after, eh?"

The group erupted into raucous, brutal laughter, the sound echoing through the streets like the howl of a wolf pack. Henry joined them, his own laugh sounding warped and strange to his own ears.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of ecstasy and debauchery. There was more drink, more Elun, more laughter. At one point, Henry found himself in an alley with Jezebel, his braces undone and her mouth open in a silent moan as she worked between his legs.

But even as his body responded, his mind was elsewhere. It was with Lisai, on their first night together after they wed. The way she had been shy and fearful, the way he had been gentle and patient. The way they fit together perfectly, like two halves of a whole.

"Where did we go wrong, my love?" he whispered, tears leaking from his closed eyes. The whore did not answer, merely continued her work with mechanical efficiency.

Later, as the first light of dawn began to brighten the sky, Henry dragged himself home, spent and sore. He stumbled inside, taking care not to wake his family.

But as he passed the children's room, he couldn't resist peeking in. Kvolt was asleep, his tiny face solemn even in repose. Henry looked at him, this boy who was half him and half mystery, and felt a twinge of something that might have been love, or fear, or both.

"I'm going to fix this," he whispered, a vow and a prayer. "Somehow, I'm going to fix all of this."

Then he gently closed the door and staggered to his own bedroom, where his cold bed awaited. He fell into it fully clothed, curling into a tight ball beside Lisai.

And when sleep finally came, it was with dreams of a simpler time, when his love was strong and his future bright with promise. Dreams of the man he used to be, before the world - and he himself - stripped all of that away.