The light wasn't necessary. Lights suddenly came to life all around me, and my unaccustomed eyes were suddenly dazzled. Lights came from the ceiling in the form of a gigantic chandelier, as well as glass globes levitating around the outer walls. Dressers and closet doors filled the sides of the room, and to the side a statue of a male faerie dipping a female faerie were soaked in the water of a fountain. The floor was made of marble, and there were more steps in a circular fashion before a platform came to a canopy bed, decorated with gold, silver, and purple cloths. Amongst the bedding and velvet pillows lay a delicate form, dwarfed inside of the luxury. It was quiet and sultry form at first, with hips, lips, and elbows to die for, but suddenly its—her—mouth split into a grin.
"Frank!"
She bounded from the bed with a distinct lack of grace, making a bee-line for me. I couldn't reposition myself, and as consequence she crashed into me, knocking us both onto the floor. Her arms wrapped around me, seemingly determined to squeeze the life out of me. I tried to pry her off, but it was to no avail physically.
"Please get off me," I begged, wheezing, but she muffled my protests behind her mouth, pressing it against mine and opening it with her own, making our tongues merge forcefully.
That was about where I drew the line. Even if Hoshi was pissed at me, I wasn't going to cheat on her—or be forced into cheating on her. I threw the faerie off with a sudden burst of strength, making her tumble backwards. Quickly, I scuttled to my feet and lunged for the door, hoping to make it out in time.
The faerie was faster. She rolled out of my throw and landed on her feet, holding her hands out, giggling. She seemed to think it was a game. She yelled a series of magic spells after me and my body locked up on me, freezing in mid-step. Slowly, she drew me towards her with a bit of levitation. At first I thought she would settle me directly by her, but it became apparent that she meant to set me on the bed. I struggled as best I could, but no amount of physical flailing could match up to a magic body-lock. She settled me on her bed, and kept me rigid until she had firmly affixed my arms to the bedposts by enchanted bonds, then released me.
I immediately gasped for air—body locks involved the lungs too, and I had been deprived of oxygen for at least two minutes. While I hacked and wheezed, the faerie smiled sensually and began to climb towards me, starting at the foot of the bed. I lurched my head upwards fearfully, trying to see clearly the face of my captor. "Who are you and why are you doing this to me!"
"Oh, Franky, don't tell me you don't like it." By this time she was at my toes, and her fingers were tickling up my inner thigh. My body was betraying my will to leave, causing the general to salute the oncoming sexual predator. I held my breath, trying to will away an erection. She began to introduce herself as she unzipped my fly gently, so I'd at least have the courtesy of knowing who raped me. "I'm Fyora. Princess Fyora, I suppose, and all those other mumbo-jumbo titles, but Fyora to you, ok?"
"I-I-I don't even know you," I squeaked as she eased my pants down to my ankles, her nails trailing down my skin. My boxers did little to reveal the excessive swelling in my nether regions.
"Oh, but I know you," she purred, lifting up the bottom of my shirt. She began kissing it slowly and lustily, and shots of ecstasy were sent to my head. I tried to resist the pleasures of the body, desiring to get a clear picture of the situation.
"H-h-how?"
"Don't ask silly questions, Frank," she said, biting at my skin, chastising. However, she looked up my body and paused her poaching. "I know you through everyone. The Faerie Council, Hoshi, and everyone else who's seen your face."
"Then you know," I panted, swallowing to produce saliva, "that I'm a disgrace to your race?"
"Franky, of course I know that. I've heard them call you a mutant, a misfit … a whole dictionary of words. But that doesn't matter, Franky. That makes it better." She tried to continue her task, but I kept clattering my teeth to get her attention as well as poking her with my toes, giving rise of an annoyed look in her eyes.
"What about through Hoshi?"
"I was always interested in you, Franky." I hated how she called me that name. As far as I was concerned, it was only ok if Jhudora or Hoshi called me that—Fyora made it sound mocking, and not endearing like the other two. "I remember seeing you on tax day, and how you were different from all those other meat heads. Even though the Faerie Council was so rude to you, and despite the fact they had power over your finances, you still gave them sass. That was hot."
She seemed to be dreaming now, looking upwards as she remembered, that faint smile of reveling in memories lost affixed on her face. She seemed disinterested in my body for a moment, which was a welcome change. "Then I put a wire on Hoshi when she started working for me as soon as I found out she lived with you. I heard every minute of your conversations—Hoshi was so boring, but you were so … witty and smart. So I needed to see you in private."
"But! But!" I interrupted her before she could go back to her sexual conquering. "Why are you … doing this to me so close to your coronation? When you barely even know me?"
"We have a policy as rulers. We're not allowed to marry a king—a king is unheard of in history, as you know. We're not even allowed to have lovers, though that rule can be … stretched." She smirked at this. "But … before I'm crowned, I'm allowed to take a lover a day … partially to make me feel better about Mom dying"—she showed no remorse over this comment—"and partially because I won't be gettin' any anymore."
"So I'm Day Four guy," I said distastefully. I doubted Fyora had a concept of STDs—she was a gorgeous girl, with her lavender eyes and hair, and skin as fair as post-autumn snow, but there was no inkling of intelligence behind her wide, earthy eyes. While Hoshi had argued in Fyora's favor for the very fact that she was informed and trained, I could only see magic training coming from her—not book smarts or common sense.
"Oh, Franky, it's not like that," she said, shaking her head. She brushed her hair against my stomach, causing the mountain beneath her head to renew itself in size. "If you must know, you're the first lover I've taken. I hate those meaty men … they're gross. They're all boring, and all the same, and all so … pushy. They're so rough. You're nice and submissive.
"Thanks," I replied sarcastically. She didn't pick up on my tone. Her path of kisses, still wet and cold, was trailing further south, and her fingers were beginning to pull back the elastic of my boxers. I swallowed, too nervous to kick her with my feet. "You do know I'm with Hoshi, right?"
"Of course I know that," she said, looking up with slight insult. "But even if you were married, by law this wouldn't be illegal. This is my last day before they imprison me with a crown, Franky." Her eyes were quivering, as if beginning to cry. A portion of sympathy seemed to stretch from her to myself—or perhaps it was just the insistence of a battle charge from the general below. "Please don't make me sad, Franky. Please?"
I considered. I pictured Hoshi at the foot of the bed, staring up at Fyora and me, already practically underway. I pictured her face tangled in hurt, in a betrayal, and the tears that followed afterwards. Yet there was something wrong about that picture—I had never seen Hoshi in tears, I realized, and my imagination conjured up a vision that seemed false and unconvincing. Additionally, with Hoshi's current hyper-loyalty to the royal family, I could imagine her more clearly supporting this decision, as it was the will of her beloved Princess Fyora.
Perhaps it was truly my libido that made the decision, as others might argue later, but in the moment it seemed that logic was at work. I had used history and personalities to gauge my decision, to weigh out the factors of fidelity; ultimately the scale had fallen in Fyora's favor, and I wiped aside guilt with a sweep of my hand. Suddenly, I was compliant to Fyora's will, a piece of putty in her hand. After she had finished her bondage spiel, she even released my bonds, and we pulled back the sheets to slide in the silk of her bed cloths. Eventually, all clothes were tossed aside, and I luxuriated in the fine quality and softness of Fyora's alabaster skin, such a stark contrast to the normal tan roughness that I experienced with Hoshi. Her wide wings were also not quite as nimble as Hoshi's, so I had to be gentler with her; the delicacy I treated her with made it feel like she was made of pre-shaped porcelain, waiting to be shaped into something precious. So I turned and folded her, and she resisted with giggles and snorts into my skin, tickling me to the core.
She grew tired after a stretch, especially when the general started to dribble like a rabid dog instead of shoot. We lay next to each other, her head cuddled in my arm pit, the rest of her body curled as if it were a fetus. I put my arm around her in a protective gesture, though I felt no impulse to guard her from danger. She circled my nipple with her finger, seeming to contemplate telling me something. "Franky?"
"Just Frank's fine."
"Franky," she repeated, as if to overrule me. She paused from her nipple twirling and looked up at my cheek. "Did you know I was a virgin?"
If water had been in my mouth, there would've been a spittake. As there was none, I just gave a short, sudden cough. Of course, she had felt a little tighter than I was used to, but due to her delicate frame, I thought that she just had a narrower cunt than Hoshi. I swallowed back any further coughs and looked down at her and her innocent eyes, waiting for an answer. I rubbed the side of my nose. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," she said in a small voice, and nuzzled into the side of my body. I put my hand in her hair, stunned, trying to subconsciously comfort her. I remembered my first time only hazily, and from what I gathered it was terrible. It was a mixture of bad opening bands with a feature band that played poorly, hard liquor, serious mistakes, and a faerie that turned out to have a glass eye. "Are you mad at me now?"
"I, uh … well, I'm just, er, surprised, because you were so good at …" I cleared my throat and added under my breath: "… blow jobs …"
"Don't be silly, that's not sex. Of course I've given that before. But all the way?" She suddenly swiveled on top of me, putting her hands on either side of my face. She leaned down her lips to my ears, her hair trapping my face, and whispered. "Just with you, Franky. And you were amazing."
"Ah, it was … um, nice of you to wait." I looked sideways, enjoying the use of my hands while I still had them. The general would not salute at this point—he was far too tired, and wanted to rejuvenate for the rest of the day. My libido could never figure out women.
"It was so worth it." Fyora worked on kissing me for a while, and I didn't wholly object. After our mouths and tongues grew tired of each other, Fyora rolled off from on top of me and onto her feet, still completely naked. I watched her carefully crafted back retreat from the bed, mesmerized by the movement of her shoulder blades behind her wings. For a moment, I almost wished I could remove those purple fans, as they obstructed what I found truly gorgeous.
"Let's run away."
The words came from left field, and hit me with a smack in the unsuspecting face. I sat up suddenly staring at her, the sheets shielding my bits and piece. She had turned back in her journey to her drawer suddenly, facing me with her arms akimbo. Her hair just barely reached down to cover her breasts, making her somewhat decent save for her bush. (Faeries weren't huge fans of shaving their beavers.)
"What … did you say?" I stuttered, hoping I was going deaf.
"You heard me." She took a step forward, a threat in her gait. "Let's run away. Tonight. I know teleportation skills—they can't trace us. I'll be able to conjure or find food easily … and our clothes, I can wash them with my magic. It knows no element." She seemed to be speaking out loud more than speaking to me, beginning to pace about the bed. I watched the machine in her head churn through the possibilities, and how feasible her impulsive plan was. She murmured some things under her breath, used her fingers to chart the statistics, and occasionally supplied me with the details, her eyes eager to share. "… and then we can go the mountains … how pretty would that be? Really, it won't be that hard …"
"You've got some severe cold feet there about coronation, kid," I snorted. The cause of her anxiousness wasn't hard to figure out—in less than twenty-four hours, she would be glued and molded into a role that she would have to act permanently without room for change. It was understandable that she wanted to bolt—to see a life that was filled with alternatives, a life that was selfish and crude. Yet I knew she couldn't survive out there; she had been sheltered all of her life, suckled at the teat of the finest of society. In the outside world, she would attract attention by her demands for lavishness and servitude, a thing the common faerie did without.
"Don't call me kid!" snapped Fyora, turning around to face me. Her pale face was flushed with indignation. "I'm probably older than you!"
"No, you're not," I said quietly, shaking my head with a sort of pity. "I remember your birthday. It was all over the news. Granted, I was just a little kid myself … maybe twenty years ago … but I remember it." A solemnity went through the room as Fyora's perspective seemed to shift towards me. Before she looked at me with superiority yet desperation—in this sudden reverse of roles, she seemed to think of me as the elder, someone she needed to run and cry to. I saw it in her eyes, but she refused to show it in her body language or tone, overacting the pomposity she had before.
"All the better then. You can protect me when we go to the mountains. You can scare them with your face or something." My back grew rigid with this comment—I would have normally brushed it off from anyone else, but from someone I had just fucked and taken their virginity from, it seemed overly flippant. She didn't notice the added tension in the room, continuing to blather mindlessly. Her eyes began to wander towards her dresser drawer. "I should start packing my clothes. It'll be a lot, so we'll have to teleport in trips. I wonder if I can levitate all of my bags. Probably. Oh! And my makeup … and hair styling … I wonder if there'll be an outlet somewhere …"
I had to let it stop. It was hilarious in some ways, but mostly it was downright pathetic with a side of irritating. Fyora had been handed the world to her on a silver platter, and now she was giving me an ultimate display of ungratefulness. To have all of the luster she was regularly surrounded with shoved in my face, and then have her and her naivete presume that a life could be better, even not enslaved by one's blood, was like spitting in my face.
"Fyora!" My shout seemed to grab her attention, as up until now I had been a relatively quiet partner. Her mouth clattered shut, and she pivoted towards me, seemingly stuck in place.
If my various violent encounters with Hoshi had taught me anything, it was that, when angered, the gift of being threatening came naturally to me. Even in the face of royalty, this skill came with little effort. I threw back the sheets as if I were striking them violently, standing up at the side of the bed. My spine seemed to unfold extra vertebrae to increase my height and force Fyora to cower under me. I walked towards her until I was within a distance to reach out and grab her—which I did, by the shoulders and firmly. My fingers sunk in deep enough to leave bruises, and she whimpered. Already her royal resolve was fading beneath the raw tyrant that lay latent within me, the voice that screamed to be released. I could melt her crowns and history down to a puddle of rust with a flash of my eyes and that dictatorial charisma so necessary for mass speeches.
"Listen to me. Very carefully now." My voice was fatally low, intoning among the gutters with an oncoming tide of sewage. "You are a naïve, childish faerie, who has not yet been weaned off the dependent teat of the monarchy. Your mother died just four days ago, and you go fuck around with a man you don't even know. Worse, you don't even show remorse. It's like she's just gone on vacation, and you have the house to yourself, so you do all the dirty things you can imagine. Granted, I've never had a mother—or a father—but if I did, I believe I would treat their memory with a bit more respect."
My fingers had formed a vice grip around her, and every so often I would shake her like a maraca, soulless and full of beans. Her head bobbled like a balloon attached to a spring when I did, seemingly empty. This made it more difficult to maintain my rage, as that voice deep inside of me desired something with a soul to torture—inanimate objects held no interest to it, for they couldn't feel the pain. Still, a part of me wanted to teach her a lesson, and punish her for taking careless advantage of her cushioned life.
So I threw her. I tossed her like she was nothing, either by her light weight or a sudden surge of strength. Her body crashed like glass against the marble steps, making a strange swooshing and slapping sound. I tried not to hear the dull cracks of bone within her landing, but their low bass seemed to penetrate through the other noise. I winced and turned away, slowly came back to myself, my hands tingling.
After I didn't receive any angered response from the other side of the room, I dared to look in Fyora's direction. She was crumpled on the staircase, unconscious. I definitely hadn't killed her (which would have been impossible unless the floor was composed with knives), as a frail breath entered and left her body. Yet there was a new gash across her forehead, spitting blood onto the floor beside her. The dark liquid congealed into a puddle, and then began to drool down to the stair below Fyora's head.
While Fyora had a dozen other visible bruises, my attention was lost on them to the gathering of crimson, morbidly majestic. I began to approach her form just to get closer to that throbbing plasma, tiptoeing as if it were an illegal act. I sat down next to her on the stairs, and wiped at the cut with my hand, drawing back when a bit was on my fingers. I raised it to my nose and inhaled its metallic scent. I had experienced blood endlessly in my career as a scientist, but under these new circumstances it seemed so much more sumptuous and sexual. It had become an object of desire to touch and experience first hand, rather than an unfortunate but necessary evil to handle with gloved hands.
"Welcome … Dr. Sloth."
The voice was familiar—the voice of Pandora—but there was something darker about the way she said my name. It send chills down half of me, while the other half was unaffected, or even praised by the disapproval with which she addressed me. I turned around—there was light coming from the doorway from a flame seated in Pandora's hand, much brighter than the dimmed lights of Fyora's room. I shrunk back to the shadows, shielding my eyes from Pandora's face with the bloodied hand. Some of the blood fell onto my cheek like a scarlet tear drop from my eye.
I stood up suddenly. The whole of my self came back to me, and I pushed back my normally snide nature. I had checked myself, and realized what had transpired—something that was irreversible in the eyes of the Faerie Court, likely, whether Fyora decided to reverse it or not (I wagered she wouldn't). My only hope was to appeal to Pandora and explain my situation, and perhaps get her on my side. She seemed to be of significant influence in the royal family, especially if she was treated as Fyora's guard, and perhaps she could argue my case to the Faerie Council.
"No, Frank." Her voice came in both the physical world and within my head—it was that moment that I realized she could read my mind, and had probably overheard my contemplation to manipulate her to my side. Even now she read my brain, milling over the possibilities of whether she could do so or not. "Silence your head, Dr. Sloth. You are very noisy up there."
Before I knew what she was doing, she was in front of me and placing a warm hand on my head. It felt like crinkled paper towels with a bit of weight beneath, but it calmed the stirring thoughts inside my head that too often fermented to yield to the voice. My arms relaxed at my side, and I gave a boyish sigh of relief, a smile trying to find its way onto my lips.
"Do not smile quite yet, Dr. Sloth. There will be many opportunities for that later. For now, you must face your destiny."
The sarcasm welling in my chest quickly reappeared. "Could we stop it with the archaic speech? I mean, I know I'm supposed to love it, because I'm a faerie and all, but—"
"Shhh. Fyora is asleep." Pandora put her fingers at my lips—her hands were no longer like a comfort formula, but burning hot. I fell silent. Pandora lifted her hands off of me and looked over to Fyora. She bent down and brushed the hair out of Fyora's face, and with a delicate swipe of her finger, erased the gash on Fyora's forehead, barely leaving behind a scar. Pandora smiled gently down at the child, with all the affection of a mother. Perhaps Pandora had been Fyora's nanny, and now, with Fyora's mother dead, had fully replaced the maternal figure. "To sleep, perchance to dream," Pandora murmured, her voice barely audible. Her eyes were half-closed, as if in a trance.
"I should be going now," I said under my breath, and began to inch towards the door. Not only was I anxious to escape the castle walls that seemed to be filled with my crime—a crime that was barely that, yet still punishable by law—but Pandora and Fyora seemed to be having an intimate moment reserved for two, and I was the rusted third wheel fit to fall off.
"Stay for a moment." With just a raise of her hand, Pandora persuaded me to stay in place. It wasn't so much as being paralyzed as it was drained of my will to move; the enchantment of her ego was absolutely overwhelming, and in her presence she could bend you to her liking. I wondered if she did this too with Fyora, to control Faerieland remotely with a crowned puppet on her hand. Deep down, beside that little voice manifesting to a man, I desired that ability—an undeniable charisma that captured the attention of all.
She stood up and walked towards me, stopping mere inches from my face. I was a shade taller than her, so she had to turn her head upwards to look at me, but it made her no less imposing. She seemed to judge every scar, every birth mark, every twitch of my eye with a sweeping glance and laid them out on the table for me to see.
"It is … a shame, Dr. Sloth," she sighed heavily, and turned away from me. Still I was in her grips, desperate for her next word. "In the future, the looks you have now will not be so admonished. Though your beloved science … a science of faeries … will be dead."
"How do you know that?" I demanded, suddenly insulted. Even kicked out of the institute, I felt a need to uphold its honor and prove its worth. "They'll see in time! My director—"
"Your director—Quilla--was trained by me," Pandora said calmly, smoothing her dried, gray locks. They looked like long willow leaves from her head. "She went through a period of rebellion, wherein she separated from magical ways, but now … now she knows her science will fall under. For she was forced to relieve you."
"And what makes me so special, anyway! Science can continue without me. It's probably better that way. I just kept fucking up experiments. I was worthless there too!" Verbalizing what I had dragged myself down with in the private recesses of my mind day in and day out struck me harder than I thought. This time, I was knocked back not so much by Pandora's revelations but by my own, holding a hand to my chest in shock.
But Pandora was refuting me, shaking her head slowly. "No, Dr. Sloth. It was not your fault when you added the catalyst. It was not the catalyst. It was what someone added before testing day. To sabotage you."
"Who?" I demanded, not bothering with how she knew this knowledge. I was even more antsy now than before, but rather to stay—foolishly, I believed if I could get this snippet of information, I could reveal it to the director and regain my place at the institute.
"Do not bother with that right now, Dr. Sloth. Your reputation has no need to be repaired—it is obsolete here, now. Your destiny lies far from here, away in the stars."
"Why must all you mystics be so aggravatingly cryptic?"
"We find it funny when you mortals whine so," smirked Pandora, and then immediately returned to seriousness. Again she gave my face a thorough inspection, and then grilled me a question. "This Hoshi girl—"
My heart skipped a beat.
"—what do you fell towards her?"
"I love her." I said the words without missing a beat, without a shift in expression except the harsh blushing of my ears.
"And yet you sleep with Fyora?"
"My body isn't where I love from." Pandora looked away, confused. She put her finger against her lip, as if pondering in confusion, searching the archives of her mind. She looked back to Fyora, who remained unconscious but no longer bleeding. The blood still dripped beside her, making an eerie leaking sound.
"I did not foresee this …"
"Foresee what?"
"Your love for Hoshi."
"You know, if you know anything and everything, like you seem to, can you tell me what the hell Hoshi is and what she does working for Fyora?"
Pandora seemed to hesitate at this question, as if initially to reject my request. Then, she shook her head as if to chastise herself, than nodded very slowly. "I suppose it is ok. You will be leaving from this place soon enough, if I am not wrong again.
"Hoshi told you she was half light and half dark, and indeed this is true. But she does not come from faerie parents, though indeed she is a faerie. She came to the orphanage in an egg—came crashing from the sky like a meteorite. The egg was split down the center—one half glowing, the other nearly threatening to suck us in with its blackness. We stored it somewhere safe, yet checked upon it constantly, keeping it warm. Finally, one day, there was no egg left—just a child, a child with dark skin and freckled with stars. She had strange wings, and strange eyes, but her features were primarily faerie-like, so we took her in.
"She demanded to be called Hoshiya—nothing else would do. At a young age, she demanded to be released—and what could we do? She was already so independent … so we let her go. Perhaps for the worst." Pandora sighed heavily, undoubtedly thinking about the coke addiction that Hoshi had developed. "But now she has returned to us. She is quickly becoming one of our best warriors—far better than any fire or dark faerie we have ever trained. At the coronation reception, there will be a battle between the two final candidates for the official title of Battle Faerie for Fyora's term, as Jagon is stepping down. Hoshi will be one of them."
My memory wandered back to that one night on the Moltenore, Hoshi laughing and proclaiming her title to be the Space Faerie. She would be the Space Faerie and live on the moon, and I would circle the planet in a spaceship. We would both be lonely in our respective homes, and find no real place to hang our hat—but on those rare moments when the moon was swollen and our hearts in synch, we would meet on a cloud and reunite our bodies, too long separate halves.
"Will I be around to see her?" Already I took Pandora as an authority on the future.
"Yes, but only briefly. You will … no, I cannot tell you that." She shook her head solemnly, putting a finger across her lips as if sealing it. "Some things about destiny must be revealed for themselves."
"What if I don't believe in destiny? What if I believe in free will?" I insisted. I often contemplated over the matter, and the thought of everything being preordained was too much for me to stomach. I was a control freak, and to have the future of the world spin out of my commands seemed completely unreasonable. It was a concept I couldn't get my brain around by virtue of my bigotry.
"Continue in your illusions, then."
"But if there's no free will, how did you not predict me loving Hoshi?"
"There are mistakes at times."
"Then it's not perfect!"
"No, my prophetic powers are not perfect. That does not make fate flawed." I was grinding my teeth at this point. Her utter calm in the midst of my desperateness to prove that I was the master of my own destiny made me look only the more foolish in trying to prove my point. Still, I stayed stagnant on the point, not allowing myself to be convinced. I knew as soon as I stepped out of the room—as soon as my brain calmed down from the matter—a witty and bitingly logical retort would come to me. For now, I declared our stalemate, though she likely supposed she won.
"Fine, difference of opinion. Can I go now?"
She smiled mysteriously at me, probably trying to hide her smirk from her assumed victory. "Just a moment." Without warning, she reached up with those tissue paper palms and pressed them against my cheeks, pulling my forehead down so it touched hers. Again, a voice came in my head and into my ears, stimulating two parts of my mind at once. A chill ran down my body as she spoken, her voice filled with sadness and spite. "Dr. Sloth, you will be successful in what you pursue in the future—perhaps not immediately, but when it occurs, it will echo throughout the universe. But be wary—this love of yours of Hoshi conflicts with your inherent success in anything you accomplish relative to Faerieland. Still …"
She released me, making me rock backwards without support. I stumbled for a moment, and she stood patient, waiting to finish her sentence. She grabbed my hand to steady me, and kissed it lightly, chivalrously. "… take care of her, Frank."
She let me exit peacefully, eventually escorted by a flock of fire faeries. Evidently, the news hadn't gotten around about my outburst at Fyora, and I managed to escape the castle unscathed despite the obvious blood stains on my hands and cheek. From there, I gave one glance backwards before sprinting back to the Moltenore, practically jumping on the back of it to mount it. The key was jammed into the ignition before I even realized I was on the bike, and soon I was far above ground—further up than the faeries below me, who from above appeared like docile butterflies with no bad intentions.
How little we could know of the world from far away.
Meep was nowhere to be seen that night, and his absence from the house would continue on for a while. I checked his food bowl to find his half empty, implying he had skipped his dinner. I rattled the bowl slightly as if to intrigue him, but no pink, buck-toothed face peeked around the corner. I followed his lead and skipped dinner myself, retreating immediately to the bathroom to wash the sin off of me.
The bed seemed obscene that night. I hadn't washed my sheets in ages, and they stunk of Hoshi, and guilt. In a masochistic fashion, I buried my face into them and inhaled all of the scent I could stand. Finally, half suffocating, I pulled my face out of the pillow and breathed heavily, trying to catch my breath. The air was stale, but sufficient, and when I looked down at the pillow, I was surprised to see that there were two dark patches on my pillow. When I touched them, they were wet, and when I reached my fingers to my eyes, I realized they were in a similar state.
Even once I verified the fact that I was crying, I was by no means sobbing. The tears didn't transfer to the rest of my body and morph into shuddering weeping as they often had before. Instead, I just lay there with my eyes leaking, staring at the ceiling. The water from my eyes distorted the ceiling to look like a pool of molten plaster, shifting and bubbling before me. The chaotic lava lamp of gray and shadow lulled me to sleep while I cried without feeling.