"Sad Padd, at your service," said Padd.

"Well met, Orbiter," responded Ivy.

She bowed her lip in faux helplessness and gave a little shudder. The web and the branches quivered.

"Can you let me down from this thing? I feel all vulnerable..."

Padd picked up his sword and cut her free with two swipes. She fell to her knees and started peeling and brushing the sticky strings of cobweb off herself. Padd stood still, sword at his side, watching her.

"Help me out here, dingus," Ivy said, running her fingers through her hair. "Are you scared of me or something?"

"I think you're more than capable," said Padd.

"I think you shouldn’t worry about what I'm capable of," said Ivy. "Help me get this shit off so we can go talk and get to know each other."

"Use your Tag."

“I want you to do it."

Padd watched her a moment longer before re-sheathing his sword and kneeling.

He brushed his fingers across her arms and sides and belly and legs, picking and poking. She turned around for him to pull strands off her back and buttocks and behind her knees. Then she sat in the snow bare-assed and held her feet up so he could get between her toes.

When they were done Ivy stood up and held out her arm.

"Shall we?"

Padd hooked his arm into hers. She smelled heavenly, hints of Christmas wreaths and cinnamon and woodsmoke and cedar. Her magnificent black locks were streaked with white and green and hanging down past her shoulders.

They strolled through the thin layer of snow to the Altarstone, arm in arm.

As they walked, Padd opened his Tag and selected the Palace app. Ivy's profile popped up as soon as it opened.

Name: Ivy Snow

Coronation: Winter

Binary Shift: Good Girl

Ranking: Golden

Disciples: 998k

Birthday: May 12th

Birthstone: Emerald

Powers: Hallelujah, Conjure, Prism, Hype, electrostatic blast, flight

Companion: Franklin, a hedgehog

Mod: Chuck

Mod Fuse: Falcon

An extensive list of videos was presented-- Ivy singing and Ivy vlogging and Ivy giving interviews and Ivy engaging in various sexual congresses with various Anodynes and Suitors of both genders. All the performances from her Coronation days were available. There was enough material for an entire week of viewing.

"Gettin' to know me?" Ivy asked.

“Just following you," said Padd. He tapped Ivy's Follow button and closed his Tag.

The throne at the base of the Altarstone split open to reveal a doorway. Beyond it was a descending staircase lit with green torches. The two of them walked through and the black stone ground shut behind them.

At the bottom of the staircase was a grand and ornate theater.

"Welcome to my Theatrium," said Ivy. "Be it ever so humble."

On its face, the Theatrium looked like an elite mid-20th-century concert venue. The ceiling was over a hundred feet up, domed and lavish and studded with parachute-sized emeralds. Carvings of ivy leaves and pine boughs and pinecones adorned the border of the stage. The great flowing curtains were green with silver tassels.

The walls were hung with green and silver tapestries between marble pillars the size of hundred-year oaks, and real vines of ivy grew on the ceiling and the floor. More torches cast soft shadows on the walls. Lanterns, also green, burned on the small wooden tables.

A large open area in front of the stage was meant for standing room. The floor was tiered-- shallow steps leading out of the sunken mosh pit up to the bar area. Here small round tables with wooden chairs were set up haphazardly on pine floorboards. Behind the bar were more seats and tables — the nosebleed section.

The only person in the Theatrium was a falcon-faced Mod standing behind the bar.

"Sad Padd, this is Chuck," said Ivy as she and Padd approached. "Chuck, this is Sad Padd. Say hi to Sad Padd, Chuck."

"Hello, Sad Padd," said Chuck in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

Chuck's face was the stuff of nightmares, a partial morph between man and bird of prey. He had silver, green and black feathers where his hair should've been, slicked back in a sleek mane. His eyes were large and fierce and yellow. His nose and lips swooped down into a large beak, hooked and fearsome. He wore a black tuxedo, his broad chest and shoulders blocking the light as he glared down at them. Curved black talons tipped his fingers.

"Mod Chuck, your size is imposing, your eyes are fierce and your talons are intimidating beyond belief," said Padd. "You have my respect."

Chuck gave no response except, ”What can I prepare for you, my princess?"

Padd and Ivy sat down on two of the bar stools, which were fitted with comfortable pine-green cushions.

"You like wine?" Ivy asked Padd.

“Yes," said Padd.

"I always like a glass of wine after a Trial by Combat," said Ivy. "We'll have the Chateau Margaux, Chuck."

"As you wish, my princess."

Chuck produced a bottle and uncorked it. He filled two crystal chalices and set them in front of Ivy and Padd.

"So what brings you to the Palace?" Ivy asked.

"Uh, well, because they just let Repentants become Suitors."

"Oh, right. Duh. Here's to progress."

Ivy raised her chalice. After a second, Padd raised his. They clinked them together.

"I'm surprised you're so, uh, laid back about it, my princess,” said Padd.

"I never had much of a problem with Repentants," said Ivy. "My dad's one, after all."

She gulped a mouthful of wine, buck naked with her legs crossed. Padd was still in his white suit, his sword hanging awkwardly in its white scabbard.

"Oh yeah," said Ivy. "Before I forget."

Before Padd could react, she leaned forward and plucked the knot of his tie off his collar. It detached just like the jewel at her throat. The knot and tie dangled in her hand for a second before shriveling away like wet toilet paper.

Padd's suit and sword disappeared off him just like Ivy's corset. There was an initial urge to cover himself, but the urge passed and Padd found himself oddly comfortable. The lanterns and the torches made the Theatrium nice and toasty. The warm plush of the stool cushion cradled Padd’s bare ass.

"There," Ivy said, leaning back. "Now we're even."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," said Padd. "I didn't look good naked in heavyspace."

"Well, you look amazing now," said Ivy, raking him with her eyes. "The Madames did a wonderful job on you. And I like that you're not completely hairless. I like some hair on my men."

"...thank you, my princess.”

Ivy gulped the last of her wine, wet cherry lips on the crystal rim. She'd downed the glass in three enormous sips. Chuck tipped the wine bottle to Ivy's chalice and refilled it, his golden eyes glaring.

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"...there's something I've been hoping to ask you, though," said Padd.

He pointed at Ivy's mouth.

"Could I possibly have a taste?"

"It's the same wine you have, bonehead."

“No, not the wine," said Padd. "A taste of your Sugar. I know it's early, but I want to get used to it on a small dosage — just a verse and a chorus, maybe? You can pick the song. "

Ivy cocked her head at him and rolled her eyes playfully.

"A taste...hmm, I dunno..." She bit her lip and traced a finger around the rim of her chalice. "I suppose I could help you out... mayyyy-beeee for...about... a couple more memories?"

"Done."

Ivy leaned forward, eyes already kaleidoscoping.

Her lips touched his.

He's young, maybe five or six. He's somewhere very high up. He’s terrified, frozen. He's caught in a net somewhere. He can see straight down to the pavement below. If he falls, he'll die. It's all he can think about.

He wanted to climb up here. It's a play structure with netting stretched above two sections, quite high in the air. He thought he'd be fine. He started crawling across the netting and froze halfway. The other kids started making fun of him but stopped once he started crying. Now they're all just staring at him.

He hears a voice.

It's his father. His father has climbed up here with all the kids and is holding out his hand from the safety of the wooden play structure, which is shaped like a medieval castle.

Padd’s father looks comically oversized in here. His face is concerned, but there's also a look that Padd will never forget-- one of abject disappointment. Even at his young age, Padd sees his father is ashamed that he's afraid.

"Come on, Lawrence," his father says, holding out a hand. "Finish what you started."

The memory ended and a new one began.

It's more recent. He's older, in his mid-twenties.

He’s in a darkened room.

His father lies in the bed, emaciated, hairless, wasted. It doesn't even look like his father.

"Don't stay here," the thing that was once Padd's father whispers. "Go find a Halo. Immerse. Don't stay here."

Ivy disconnected and slurped the last of Padd's memory between her lips like a rope of licorice.

Padd downed the rest of his wine, chasing the memories from his forethought.

"Chuck, fill him up, will you, darling?"

"Yes, my princess," said Chuck, stepping over. Padd heard the clink of crystal, wine gurgling out.

"I'll give you ONE verse," said Ivy. "It'll light you up real nice..."

She stood up next to her chair.

A spotlight clicked on from the corner of the stage and shot a cone of light down across the Theatrium.

Bathed in white, Ivy turned on her toes once.

She opened her mouth and took a breath.

Joy-spark of Divinity

Oh, daughters of Elysium

Drunk with fire, so we enter

Thy heavenly sanctuary

Her voice was as cool as the air above a glass of ice, wafting from one note to the next. She did a basic set of ballerina twirls as she sang.

May your magic bind again

what convention did divide

All people becoming lovers

where your gentle wing abides

The performance was short, the melody ancient, but Padd felt the Sugar almost instantly. It began as a tingling sensation in his chest, a pleasant puff of static that swelled outward to fill his head and limbs.

"Yes," he said, reeling. "Excelsior."

The sensation was somewhere between stoned and celebration. Joy and jubilation. Orgasm and overflow. The plate of his scalp seemed to vibrate, the skin on his arms and shoulders and fingers tightened. Chilling, ecstatic waves washed over him. Every cell in his body seemed to be infused with a white energy.

"So that's Sugar," said Padd, lit up.

Ivy sat back down on her stool.

"Yep."

She downed the rest of her second glass of wine and tapped her chalice for a refill. Chuck obliged.

Padd swayed in his chair, felt the cushion under his naked ass, the torches and lanterns flaring.

Ivy sipped from her third glass of wine.

"So yeah, that should tide you over till we decide what we're doing here..."

"Uh, why did you pick that song?" Padd asked, trying to gain control of the sensation surging through him. Waves of pleasure prickled his skin.

"Just thought it would be appropriate. Ode to Joy. That's what we're here to celebrate — joy. Incantations from The Long Surrender have their place, but I do love a good piece of classical music. Ludwig von Beethoven and Freidrich Schiller, may their voices live on."

"Excelsior," said Padd. "All roads lead to The Long Surrender."

He let go of the bar with one hand. The Hallelujah was already beginning to wear off, the light in his body going dim. He brought the chalice to his lips and took a sip of his wine. It was even more delicious, all his tastebuds celebrating. He breathed deep, his balance stabilizing.

"So, uh, all that does is just activates the pleasure centers in our brain?" he asked, trying to focus in on the moment. "It targets them? Your voice?"

"Yeah, it looks for emotional swells in your brain during certain parts of a song, you know, when you get goosebumps or chills? When that happens, it floods you with Sugar and you get a Hallelujah. And if my Binary Shift was different, it'd give you Spice instead."

"That's amazing. I love technology."

"Technology's just magic that we can explain," said Ivy. "Arthur C. Clarke, may his voice live on, that fuckin' pedo cocksucker."

"Excelsior," Padd said again. "Thank you so much. This is — "

He tried to describe the Hallelujah, but the words all got jammed up in his throat and wouldn't come out.

Ivy finished for him.

"... the best you've ever felt?

"Yeah," said Padd. "No other way to put it. Wow. I mean, I see why... goddamn..."

"You're welcome," said Ivy. "Now I have a question for you."

"Anything."

"What are you going to sing for me?"

Padd stared. His head gave one final swoon, gentle and fleeting, like the swish of a dress on a dance floor.

"We've only been in Audience for fifteen minutes, my princess. I was under the impression Audiences lasted hours to days."

"Yea, but I want to hear you sing. You wanted to hear me sing. Just give me a verse, chorus and bridge. What do you want to do?"

"...I hadn't thought about it, honestly," Padd told her, stalling.

"What did they put in your ten-mixer?"

"R.E.M., Pixies, The National, Jimmy Eat World, The Black Keys, Kings of Leon, U2, Pearl Jam, Muse... typical suburban white kid stuff."

"Okay, well, what do you want out of existence?"

“I’m not sure I even know anymore, my princess.”

Ivy rolled her eyes.

"Then let the Maya pick for you based on what you're feeling and what genres you're representing. It's never wrong. Let the emotion build and let the song happen naturally."

Padd nodded.

"Where should I sing?"

"Onstage, dummy," said Ivy, pointing. "You've shown me your body, now show me your soul."

The spotlight was on center stage now, a silver microphone waiting for him.

Padd remained nude as he made his way down the aisles, but the white tuxedo re-materialized on him-- sans sword and sheath-- as soon as his bare foot hit the stage.

The curtains parted, revealing a band of ghostly figures wielding guitar, bass, drums and keyboards. Humanoid, featureless phantoms manning ethereal instruments.

They didn't wait, playing a choppy ascending guitar riff for two measures before the rest of the band crashed in like a dam breaking-- a roiling swell of spacey rock music for Padd to float his voice on.

He recognized the song instantly. He hadn't heard it in years, but there was a time when he'd listened to it on repeat. He’d first heard it on a Spotify suggested playlist. It was from the mid-2000s, an alt-rock pop song.

Chuck's eyes glowed from behind the bar. Ivy sat and watched, nude on her chair with a leg dangling, chalice in hand.

The song's intro cooled into a driving, arpeggiated cosmic swirl of a verse.

Padd put his lips to the silver mic and sang.

Come on, can't I dream for one day?

There's nothing that can't be done

But how long should it take somebody

Before they can be someone?

His voice was a lovely tenor, bright like the glints of light off a trumpet, smooth like the polish on a violin. Perfect tone, perfect breath support, perfect diction, perfect pitch. Almost sickeningly in tune.

The chorus bloomed, loud and triumphant.

Cause I know there's got to be another level

Somewhere closer to the other side

It was still an odd sensation for Padd, singing. His throat tightened and loosened in tandem with the movements of his mouth and tongue, forcing and forming the air out his throat and lips. His diaphragm was flexed and taut— a solid foundation for Padd to spin his breath out into gorgeous peals of melody. He sucked in quick little gulps of air between lines, used them to shape and sustain the muscles in his neck, mouth, tongue and lips. His body had a built-in wind instrument and he'd never known it.

And I'm feeling that it's now or never

Can I break the spell of the typical?

The powerful sensation as he opened his throat to hit the note on the second half of 'spell' was enough to make Padd a little giddy. His fingers tentatively caressed the silver of the microphone as the song transferred into the warm keyboard bath of the bridge.

Because it's dragging me down

and I'd like to know about when

His voice surfed the bed of music, jumping from note to note like a jet ski on waves. It resonated throughout the Theatrium, ran up the curved walls to splash against the ceiling.

When does it all turn around

He held the final note on "around", letting it die off as his breath ran out.

Then, it was done. The song was over, the phantoms fading out as the curtains fell and the stage went dark.

Ivy applauded graciously on her stool. Chuck didn't move.

"That was nice," Ivy yelled. "Come back up here!"

Padd quickly obeyed, his tux melting off as he left the stage.

"That was solid," said Ivy as Padd retook his seat. "It didn't quite get my vag tingling, but you held my attention. Never heard that song before, either."

"Typical, by MuteMath," said Padd. "I haven't heard it in years."

"May their voices live on," said Ivy. "You're not a great performer, though. You just kind of stood there."

"Thank you for the feedback, my princess."

"Yeah, not Alliance-worthy," said Ivy.

"I understand, my princess."

"It was however," said Ivy. "Fantasy- worthy."

"Fantasy- worthy?"

"We should discuss Fantasy," Ivy said. "And you need to finish this and catch up to me."

Ivy touched the rim of his chalice with a finger again. Padd found the gesture fiercely erotic. His heart pounded.

"You want to discuss Fantasy now?" he said, taking a gratuitous mouthful of wine and trying to appear nonchalant.

"Sure," said Ivy. "Tell me — what do you want to do to me?"

She leered at him.

"Uh..."

"Don't 'uh' me," said Ivy. "It's why you're here. What is the one thing you've always wanted to do with a girl that you never could in heavyspace? What's your Fantasy?"

Padd tilted the chalice back and gulped down the rest of his wine.

Chuck dutifully set the uncorked bottle in front of them. There was no label on it.

Ivy— who was three glasses in and didn't seem to be affected at all— tipped the bottle and refilled Padd's glass.

"There's a lot I want to do," said Padd. "But what I want most is to have an auralgasm."

Ivy grinned.

"I knew you'd say that."

"What? How?"

"That's what everyone fucking requests. I don't blame them. It's like a prostate orgasm but even more intense. Guys almost always cry."

"Is it extra?"

"Normally it would be, but guess what?"

"What?"

"In order to do an auralgasm, I need another Anodyne-- one who's the opposite of my Binary Shift. An auralgasm needs both Sugar and Spice to work. And I just so happen to know someone. And she's a Coronation below me, and she owes me a favor.”

"Sure," said Padd. "How much?"

"Probably a full minute or two of memory. BUT you wouldn't have to pay my friend."

"Sold," said Padd, though right then Ivy could've told him the Fantasy would cost an hour's worth of memories and he would've agreed just as quick. "When will we do this?"

"Right fucking now, when else?"

"Okay," said Padd.

"There's just one catch, though," said Ivy.

"What's that, my princess?” Padd asked, staring at her.

"We gotta finish this bottle of wine first.”