Zaramir had left her asleep in her room hours ago.

Guilt had been eating at him since her apology. Things were exactly as they needed to be, but some part of him wished it wasn’t. She fully believed she belonged to the Fae. As much as it ate at him that she believed herself to be a slave, it was the only way to keep her safe from them.

If they learned he could create his own Faedemons or, even worse, they learned he’d done it without their knowledge or permission; he would be forced to control her. Or worse, destroy her.

He wished he could tell her the truth, he wished he could explain that she would never be under the same control he was, but to tell her would risk that very promise.

He couldn’t stand to look at her body. Even covered, he remembered her brushed limbs and glassy eyes as he brought her here. He had chosen this life for her. And truth be told, he hadn’t even considered if she would even want to live like this. The answer was obvious; she wouldn't, didn’t, but he’d done it anyway. He’d done it because he was egocentric. Monster.

He abhorred himself. What he was, everything he’d done. He’d wished for death countless times. They wouldn’t let him stay dead. No matter how many times he wished… tried.

He looked at the body.

I’m no better than them. The thought ate at him.

Even though he couldn’t see her eyeless face, it felt as though she were staring at him, hating him as much as he hated himself.

He couldn't take it anymore.

He carried her body to the place he’d buried his first love and buried her alongside him, carving a headstone by hand from a nearby rock.

He returned to his lab. As he washed the earth from his hands, he wished she was in front of him, that he could tell her the truth. He yearned for, fantasized about clearing his consciousness. At least of this. If he could just tell her that she wasn’t a slave, that she was free, maybe she wouldn’t hate her own existence like he did himself.

The alert ward suddenly went off, pulling him out of his fantasy.

Corabelle is on the stairs. Why?

“Miss Cora, did you need something?” He questioned out loud, projecting his voice through the ward

She didn’t reply.

“Miss Cora?”

He was opening the door for her even before the echo of the knock vanished.

Corabelle stood in front of him, looking oddly dazed. His heart thundered, he felt his face flush. He knew that look.

“Did…” She murmured, before shaking her head, the life returning to her eyes., “I’m sorry I don’t know why I'm here. Did you call me?”

No! He couldn’t have… But he did. He somehow took control over her. He didn’t even notice. How could he not notice something like this?

I didn’t mean to. What was it? How did I do it? I can’t allow this to happen again.

He opened the door wide, hesitantly allowing her in.

“Not intentionally,” The only piece of truth he could express. “Unless they receive a Runebind to block it, we, Faedemons I mean, can communicate telepathically with each other. I hadn’t meant to call you. I was just thinking I could use some assistance. I must have projected it. I hadn’t realized I was doing that.”

Her nose crinkled in discomfort, “Please don’t do it again. It feels really… uncomfortable. Like you reading my mind.”

“I assure you I won’t,” He replied, hoping against all hope that it wasn't another lie, “But since you’re here, I truly could use some assistance.”

He hadn’t gotten nearly as much work done as he needed to, he could actually use the help. Besides, even if he couldn’t tell her the truth, he could at least give her something she wanted, lessons in magic.

He requested her help with potions, though he truly didn’t need more. When he was cursed, it was the only thing he could work on, so he had more than he needed, but he told her he needed more so he couldn’t work with her.

Giving Corabelle access to his primary work would draw unwanted attention to her. His Fae masters would never allow a Faedemon from another court to assist with his main objective. They didn’t mind Kyrian helping with menial tasks, surely they wouldn't mind Corabelle.

Though he wanted her nearby, having her in front of him stung. He’d brought her here, even if he didn't mean to. He’d taken control of her.

Every word he spoke to her, every request he made, he was so careful to watch her. He had to make sure he didn’t command her mind again by mistake.

“What did you do with my body?” Her sudden words sent ice through to his bones.

His throat constricted, he could barely get out the words, “I buried you. I’m sorry, I should have asked first…” He set the ladle he was holding down with shaking hands.

He shouldn’t have buried her alone. Her family must have had traditions for death and robbed her of yet another thing.

“Where?” She questioned, curiously. She didn’t seem upset, but he couldn’t get out the words to reply.

After a long, painful moment, she finally filled the silence, “I’m sorry. It’s not important.”

This finally broke his voice free of its cage of remorse, “Do not apologize.” He had to get over the pain. He couldn’t deny her this. “Come with me. You should know.”

He took her to the secluded section of the beast room he’d put a ward around to keep the animals from disturbing the graves. He’d never planned on bringing her here.

Her eyes skimmed her own grave before locking on Kyrian’s. Her lips just barely parted, moving slightly, as her eyes traced the words.

She can read it. His heart shuttered. He hadn’t considered the possibility of her ever being able to read Fae, though it shouldn’t have surprised him.

He never planned on telling her the full nature of his and Kyrian’s relationship. He never thought it’d come up and he preferred to think about it as little as possible.

He could see her processing the words. He wouldn’t lie to her about another thing.

Though his voice didn’t want to cooperate, he managed to get out the only explanation he could, “The Fae don't have a word for love. Kyrian used the word for possession as a replacement.”

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“You loved Kyrian?” He didn’t know why her question surprised him.

He answered her truthfully. He had once thought he loved Kyrian. For years, decades, centuries he believed it. It took him far longer than he’d like to admit that it wasn’t real love. He found Kyrians various ‘passions’ entrancing. He confounded his own curiosity with love.

But Kyrian’s ‘passions’ were monstrous. His delight in the capture and use of their human guests of experimentation.

Zaramir’s own past was far from holy, but he never did anything so… grotesque solely for amusement. Though, he was more than complicit in Kyrian’s plights. It didn’t take much to convince him that human subjects would prove more useful than animals. Besides, the work excited Kyrian and he wanted to see him happy.

He should have seen how inhumane, horrific the experiments were to the subject. He did see. He couldn’t deny that he knew what he was doing, but he ignored it.

He spared Corabelle the gorey details, but he told her the truth. When he buried Kyrian, he was so sure he loved Kyrian he was blind to how venomous the relationship was and how corrupt Kyrian had become… or perhaps he was always that way and Zaramir just wanted to believe otherwise.

While his death had taken a piece of him, it was better that Kyrian never got the power he craved.

Her hand on his shoulder jolted him back to the current moment. He took a step away, breaking away from her touch, frustrated with himself and she expressed her words of comfort.

She was experiencing the worst days of her life, and she was comforting him.

He flipped the conversation as quickly as he could, “Is there something your family would do for the dead?”

Her hand folded in front of herself, her cheeks pinkening, “When my grandfather died, my grandma knitted him a blanket to keep him warm in his coffin. My mother made cookies to be sure he didn’t go hungry. My dad made him new shoes to make sure the trip was easy. We buried him with things we would need…”

His heart tightened. He’d even stolen her own burial from her. His apologies were genuine, but the tightness in his voice made them sound disingenuous, “I shouldn’t have buried you with your being there. I just couldn’t stand having it in my lab any longer.” He told her, if the explanation was enough to justify his actions.

“It’s alright. These are different circumstances. I’m not really going anywhere that I would need any of those things.” Her eyes were locked on the headstone, her voice small.

There was nothing to say to fix this as much as he tried to think of some words, any words, that would. If not fix it, then at least help.

After a long moment of tense silence, she asked a question, “Zaramir, when I die, for good I mean, will my soul go to my family?”

He didn’t know, but he doubted it. Her soul, her Spark, they made up her body. If she was thoroughly destroyed, when he was destroyed himself, he doubted their souls would go anywhere. They likely just cease to exist.

He didn’t tell her that though. He told her a partial truth and this one he was comfortable telling.

It wasn’t long before she spoke again, “It's sort of funny, not many people get to see their own grave. I couldn't have picked a more beautiful place to be buried myself. Good job.”

The suddenness in the shift of tone nearly made him burst out laughing before he smothered it as quickly as he could.

The corners of her mouth twitched up, “I was joking with you. You can laugh.”

He allowed himself to humour her, just for a moment, at her attempt at comedy. Though he still felt slightly bad about it, he returned in kind, “Well, thank you for, most certainly, the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

Her focus returned to the disturbed earth, “You’re welcome. And thank you for bringing me here. Seeing this is, strange as it is to say, comforting. I knew I was dead but something about seeing my own grave, it’s not as horrifying as one would think. I guess in a weird sense, it finally convinced me that my death was real and could have been final. If I hadn't been brought back, I would be there. Forever. That’s it. Who knows what else after that? With my only two options being that,” She bobbed her head just slightly in the direction of the grave, “Or this. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.”

Her hair shone in the small beams of light stretching through the leaves as she laced it around her fingers. It nearly glowed, highlighting her face. She was different, but still just as beautiful as the girl in the grove.

He should have let that girl go.

He was speaking before he knew it, having to fight every word not to expose the truth, “I can’t promise you this life will be perfect and I can’t promise it’s as free a life as you had before, but they don’t command every moment. They don’t trifle with the little moments often. We aren’t their only demons nor their only concerns. They won’t watch you at every moment. You can still enjoy freedom.”

A painful snap radiated through his side as her arms coiled around his waist. A floating rib cracked clean in half and for a moment he thought she was trying to kill him. After a painful moment of shock, he realized, embarrassingly, she was embracing him, or at least attempting to, but she clearly perceived his moment of uncertainty as rejection as she began to pull away.

Shifting slightly, to take her pressure off the fractured and healing rib, he quickly wrapped his arms gently around her, careful not to make the same mistake she’d made hugging him.

Her arms shifted back, rebreaking the healing rib. With this, it was hard to push her away, but he had to before she crushed something more essential.

He slid his hand down her arms, gently prying her off him. He didn’t intend on telling her what she’d done. She didn’t need to worry about yet another thing, but he’d have to remind her of her new strength when the time was right, but not now. She seemed to take his hint, at least, and stepped away.

Her eyes flashed to his shoulder and her hand flew over her mouth, her face flashing guilt, “I’m sorry! What did I do?”

His Runebind betrayed him.

He laughed lightly, hoping to comfort her. There was no point in trying to lie, “Snapped a rib.” Shame flashed across her face. “But it’s alright. It’s already healed. With your new body, your magic is enough to turn a simple squeeze into a crush that can even hurt me. You’ll learn to control your strength soon enough. Fae knows it took me too long to learn that lesson myself.” He attempted to joke with her but it didn’t seem to ease her discomfort.

Her face turned bright red, she tightened her arms around herself, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have hugged you.”

This was exactly what he was trying to avoid by not telling her. His cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, “No, it’s really alright. It barely hurt. It startled me more than anything. It's been a good many years since someone's done that. I think he may have been the last person. There’s no need to apologize.”

“Well, I’m still sorry.” She muttered, returning her attention to the grave.

They stood for a long time, not a word spoken, until the sky began to turn pink with the fading light of dusk.

He knew he should be working, but he didn’t know if he should leave her in peace or if she would rather not be alone. So he stood, staring uncomfortably at the two graves he’d dug. The two people he’d buried.

Thankfully she was the one to break the never-ending silence, “We forgot about the potion.” She muttered as if bringing up a fleeting thought.

It was true. He’d forgotten what he was doing the moment she asked about her body. It was upstairs still over flames, likely dried up after this amount of time, or at the very least destabilized and no longer useful.

“It will be fine. The components aren’t rare or expensive and the ingredients from the garden should be safe to use again.”

“Should we go get them? I could get the ingredients from the gardens if you get the shells.”

He sighed humorously, “The shells are from Pearl’s Keep.”

“Oh.” She murmured. “Do… Do we need to go out again?”

Looking at her, he noticed her jaw was clenched tight to hide the fact that it was quivering, but failing.

“Eventually I will need to go back out. Unfortunately, more urgently than the shells, I still need that Elemental to further my main research.”

“Oh right…. That’s why we were out in the first place, wasn’t it?” Her voice was barely audible as she tried to suppress the quiver rattling through it. “I guess you never found one.”

“You don’t have to come with me. I know you--” He hesitated. She was afraid when she was fully alone, he didn’t know why, but she was. Though going back out… She might not be ready for that either. It was only so long he could stall before the Fae forced his hand one way or another. “Whatever you’re more comfortable with. You can stay back or come out with me. You can stay in Pearl’s keep while I track it down if you would like. Their library is the best in the region.”

“When do we need to go?”

“Not right now. But soon; A few days, maybe a week.” He told her. “But before then, I’ll teach you more useful spells, to protect yourself. This--” His eyes flashed to the grave, his fists tightening at his side. “You’ll be stronger this time.”

She let out a slow breath and stood up more straightly, “Teach me to fight.” Her voice strengthened. “Combat spells. Pure magic.”

“You want to learn combat spells?” He could hardly believe her words. Never once had she expressed any interest in combat magic. She didn’t seem that type of mage. She was so kind, so gentle. She didn’t even seem to want to hurt him, despite everything. She didn’t seem the type to want to hurt anything. He couldn't believe she would want to learn combat magic. “Why?”

She broke her eyes away from the grave. Her beautiful green eyes were colder and sharper than a steel blade, “Because I don’t plan on dying again.”