Hullo, everyone! Thank you all for your wonderful comments on my fic! It means a lot to me! This past month has been a bit of a whirlwind, especially with today being the anniversary of the day I left my abuser. While I'm glad that I managed to leave the situation after seven years, there are times when it still doesn't feel real. So, the past few days leading up to today have been a bit stressful.

But, in the interim, in order to think about something more positive, I've been working hard on this fic to get it out for y'all to read, especially since we're fast approaching the beginning of the Autumn Equinox in this fic!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The nightmares that plagued Shion were strangely beautiful.

He walked untethered through the Unseelie Court, dressed in a white shroud. The hem of the cloak brushed in the dirt, scraping a path leading to him. He was being pursued by creatures in the shadows that giggled and snapped their teeth, but they followed him at a leisurely pace. The stones tore his bare feet open, and the Folk stopped to lap at the bloody footprints he left in his wake.

His shallow breaths burst out of his chest, cracking like glass. The light in the tunnels vanished, the baubles of sprites disappearing the deeper he descended, until Shion was wandering into pitch blackness, his hands brushing along the sharp walls.

With the darkness came a strange sense of calm. He wouldn't see his demise coming. In the purple and dark blue shadows that twisted into shapes before him, he wouldn't see the Unseelie King's sharp nails ripping his throat apart. He wouldn't see the ogres swinging their clubs toward his skull, smashing it into fragments of bone and bloody hair. He wouldn't see the look on Nezumi's face as the Unseelie King shredded Shion to pieces and cast the scraps into the crowd to be divided and devoured.

But as he descended into the heart of the mountain, the terror from the Unseelie Court began to recede. Shion's feet no longer ached, the blood he left in his wake no longer guided a horde of hungry Folk to him. He stumbled into the darkness, to a spot where the tunnel widened into a massive dome.

Something dwelled in the shadows. Something deep beneath the mountain that even the Unseelie King feared. Shion had stumbled into its lair, but whatever it was didn't frighten him as much as the prospect of death at the Unseelie King's hands did.

Whatever lived in the heart of the Court would kill him quickly. It would kill him because it was wanted to, not because he was a sacrifice or because it wanted to use his death to torment Nezumi. The creature in the darkness would kill him because it chose to, and his death would be sweet and quick, his essence blending into the creature's own and living forever within the miserable shadows.

He closed his eyes and exhaled as six looming red eyes snapped open before him—

Shion's eyelids fluttered open.

The nightmare slipped out of his mind like a soft wind. He couldn't remember what had gripped him, what he'd seen in his mind's eye, what images had plagued him while he dozed in the warmth and comfort of Nezumi's bed.

Nezumi. Shion's heart thumped at the thought of the silver-eyed boy. He shifted against the mattress, rolling onto his side and staring out into the blue darkness. The dim light from the torches flickered and sputtered, casting off shadows against the stone walls.

Nezumi sat in front of the cracked vanity mirror, a tube of mascara in his hand. He leaned forward, nose nearly pressed to the glass, his eyes open painfully wide as he brushed the bristles of the brush against his eyelashes.

Shion rested his head against the pillow and watched him. He stared dreamily as the delicate flicks of Nezumi's wrist as he applied the makeup with expert precision. Did Nezumi need to apply mascara? His eyelashes were already long and deep black, elegantly beautiful in a way that took Shion's breath away. Shion could still see them dusting his cheekbones as he dozed; Shion had woken only briefly, looking up at Nezumi while he slept. His cheeks were wet, his eyelashes peppered with diamonds that made Shion's heart clench with misery.

Shion shifted on his elbow and eased upright.

Nezumi glanced over and blinked at him. The mascara hadn't quite dried; it left a tiny flicker of black scratches on top of his cheek. Now that he'd turned to face Shion completely, he could see just how much Nezumi had done to heighten the appearance of his eyes.

He'd circled his eyes with a slim line of kohl, then darkened the lids with a smokey shade of dark gray. In the blue light of the torches, his eyes looked blank and washed out, the silver blending into the white of his sclera. He looked haunting and monstrous, and Shion felt a faint twinge of terror shudder through him.

"Good morning," Shion murmured. He reached up and ruffled a hand through his hair, carding his fingers through several knots he found there. He winced as his index fingers untangled them.

"Hey," Nezumi mumbled. He set the tube of mascara down and reached for a silver brush. He handed it out to Shion, and Shion took it with a grateful murmur. "Did... did you sleep OK?"

"Mm, I think so." Shion pulled the brush through his hair. Unlike the brushes he was accustomed to, the bristles slid easily through his hair, untangling the knots that'd come from sleep. He stroked it gently through his hair, amused by how easy it was to tame his wild locks with it. He wished he'd had something like this when he was younger, instead of bringing himself to tears trying to pull a comb through it. "I had a nightmare, but I don't remember it."

Nezumi pressed his lips together but didn't say anything. He waited until Shion was finished with his brush, and then he took it back and set it on the vanity. His own hair was down, spilling over his shoulder like black ink. Shion remembered how it felt to run his fingers through it, how soft it'd felt against his skin. His hand itched to repeat the motion.

Now that Shion's nightmares had drifted away from him, he became aware that Nezumi was dressed in a plain white shirt and a pair of black slacks. When he'd changed, Shion had no clue—except he'd been sleeping for ages, curled in the warmth of Nezumi's blankets, surrounded by his scent and the imprint of his memory.

Shion swung his legs over to the side of the mattress and pressed his bare feet onto the ground. The cool stones sent a jolt through his spine. He winced, and Nezumi flinched sympathetically.

Shion flexed his fingers, stretching each of them until the joints ached, and then flexing them inward. The creases of his fingers tightened, and the pain that cracked through his knuckles sent small ripples through the enchantment. The world around him mixed with a strange gray and blue haze, and nothing quite felt real. He moved as if he were wading through syrup, his feet aching as he slowly approached the vanity to stand in front of Nezumi.

"You're pretty," Shion said, and Nezumi reeled back as if he'd been slapped. "With the makeup. You're pretty without it, too, but it makes your eyes look... different."

Nezumi looked away. His fingers flexed, too, and Shion became aware of the differences between them. Nezumi's hands were slim and pale, his fingers just a bit longer and far more elegant than Shion's. Nezumi's nails were smooth and shiny, and Shion's were bitten to the quick and red around the knuckles. He tucked them behind his back out of a strange sense of shame.

Nezumi reached into his pocket and withdrew something slim and small. His fingers wrapped around it, obscuring it from Shion's sight almost as quickly as it appeared. "Shion," he said carefully. "Listen to me. Whatever happens tonight, I need you to do exactly as I say."

"OK," Shion said with a quick nod.

Nezumi's silver eyes flashed. His lips screwed up into a disgusted frown, and Shion wondered what he'd done wrong. He fiddled with the hem of Nezumi's sleep shirt, falling around the tops of his thighs.

He extended his hand out and handed Shion the item he'd pulled from his pocket. Shion took it gratefully and peered down at it.

A vial. A clear liquid shifted within it as Shion swayed it gently in his hands. It wasn't much longer than his pinkie ringer, and it had a tiny cork in the top that prevented the liquid from spilling out. Shion closed his eyes and cradled the gift in his palm.

"Drink that," Nezumi instructed, his voice as hard and cold as the stones beneath Shion's feet. "You... might want to be sitting down before you do."

Shion stepped back and sat on the edge of the mattress. It creaked beneath his weight, and he felt strangely nervous being in the middle of Nezumi's bedroom. He looked terrible. Nezumi was so beautiful, and Shion was so thin and plain, and there was no reason he deserved to be standing in front of a creature as magnificent as Nezumi. His eyes pricked miserably as he uncorked the vial and held it up to his nose.

He took an experimental sniff of the contents—and smelled nothing. It made his stomach clench. Poisons were often odorless, and if Nezumi were going to dismiss him in such a way, Shion suspected he might want to make it as painless for him as possible.

The terror and misery that should have come as a result of this knowledge disappeared beneath the brush of the King's enchantment, but Shion's heart still ached as he brought the vial down to his lips. Perhaps this way the only way Nezumi could save him from what the King intended.

He poured the vial into his mouth and gulped down the contents. The liquid slid across his tongue, thin as water and over-saturated with something salty and bitter. Shion had hoped to maintain what little shreds of his dignity he had left—but the moment it touched his tongue and entered his throat, he pitched forward and gagged, having not anticipated the sudden taste.

Nezumi took a step forward, reaching out a hand—and all at once, the haze pinning Shion in place lifted like a curtain.

Terror exploded through him. Ice shot through his veins, and Shion's spine snapped upright so fast he thought it might break into a thousand pieces. He choked on the salty liquid that dripped down his throat, its presence erasing the lingering enchantment from his system. It collapsed around him almost as suddenly as it arrived, his chest seizing as he realized where he was and what was happening.

"Oh, god," Shion gasped. "Oh, god, no."

"Shion." Nezumi reached out and took hold of his forearms. He guided them gently down to his sides and held him there. "Breathe. Just breathe, OK?"

Shion sucked in several deep breaths. He couldn't focus. The world spun around him. His chest burned, and he became aware that he was hyperventilating only when a fierce pain shot through his sternum and prickled up his throat. His eyes darted around the darkness of the room, drawn to the lights that danced across the stones.

"Shion." Nezumi's grip on his arms tightened. It stung a bit, but the pain kept him from sinking too far into the black abyss threatened to open around him and swallow him whole. "I need you to calm down."

"Calm down?" Shion writhed against Nezumi's grip, but he wasn't strong enough to break free. "How can you expect me to calm down when the—when the Unseelie King wants to—"

"I know," Nezumi said, clenching his teeth and glancing over his shoulder. "I know, Shion. Just… just take a deep breath and try to relax."

Shion took a deep, shuddering breath. His chest burned. Tremors rocked through his body, and tears blurred his vision. He tried to focus on Nezumi's firm hands against his wrists, grounding himself with the sensation of cool skin against his own. He closed his eyes, tears dripping from his lashes and splattering the backs of his hands.

Panic hammered in his chest, his heart a frightened rabbit that realized it was moments away from ending up in a stew. The muscles in his arms tremored with the understanding that he was living on borrowed time. In a matter of a few hours, Shion would be slaughtered in front of a horde of beasts that wanted to devour him. There was no protection. Nezumi might have owed him a debt, but even he couldn't prevent the Unseelie King from killing him.

And yet…

And yet…

Shion clung to the hope that Nezumi had figured out some way to rescue him. It was an utter impossibility, but Shion clung to the sliver of hope that Nezumi would swoop in and protect him from the Unseelie King's sinister blade.

He inhaled sharply. His lungs expanded as he tried to pull himself away from the abyss of cold terror threatening to pull him into madness. He'd heard stories of the Folk who captured human beings. Those humans would be tormented, drugged beyond their capacity to understand it, and dismembered to appease the whims of the Folk. Faeries were fickle creatures, prone to boredom, and humans were more often than not victims of their desperate search for amusement.

Nezumi's grip on his wrists loosened, and Shion's heart calmed. He exhaled slowly, and Nezumi placed his hands on his shoulders and squeezed. Shion let out a long breath, expelling the terror into the air between him and the faerie looming before him. Rather than terror, Nezumi brought about a sense of security. He kept him suspended above the wave of crippling madness, terror that gripped him and threw him to the wolves. Shion lifted his head and looked into Nezumi's piercing silver eyes, searching for a glimmer that he would survive the night.

There came a rapping on the door, soft but insistent. Nezumi looked over his shoulder. He released his grip on Shion's shoulders as if he'd been burned, and then he hurried to the door and pulled it open.

The way he stood, Shion couldn't see out into the hall. Nezumi spoke softly to someone on the other side of the door, and whoever stood there must have been far shorter than him.

Nezumi turned back, clutching something in his arms. He kicked the door shut behind him and crossed to the bed. He held a stack of white fabric in his hands, and beneath it, he clutched a large stack of solid black that seemed to draw the light from the world around them. Shion squinted at it as Nezumi set the stack on the coverlet.

"Here," he said carefully, lifting the wad of white fabric and handed it to Shion. He reached out with trembling hands and took it; the stack was far heavier than he anticipated, and the fabric was slick and cool again his bare skin. "Put that on."

Shion flinched. Memories of the arachne's workshop flooded to the forefront of his memory. He'd been under the influence of the Unseelie King's wretched enchantment at the time, but he could still remember the sensation of the arachne apprentice's long fingers pinching his skin and pulling the loose purple fabric over his head.

The pile of white fabric seemed so much more complete than the purple tunic. It was pristine and white as freshly fallen snow, with silver accents. Shion brushed his hands over the cloth. Despite the terror trembling through him, he couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship behind it.

Nezumi stepped off to the side of the bed, unfolding his own pile of black clothing. Shion heard something metallic slide through it, but he was arrested by the nausea gripping him at the realization that this was it.

This was the moment he'd been dreading.

His trembling hands pulled the pieces of the outfit apart. It was simply to figure out. A thin pair of opaque white slacks that looked skin-tight sat on top of the pile. Beneath it, a white top with long, slender sleeves that ended in sharp points. There was a silver cloak that didn't seem too long, coming to rest at the waistline of the tunic, and on top was a strange outfit that looked like a corset.

He stripped out of the black leggings and replaced them with the white. The white slacks slid over his skin like water, but there weren't any flats that went with the outfit. Shion looked at the black ones he'd kicked off into the corner of the room. His feet were cool against the stones, and white he thought it might be good to pull the shoes off, he was overcome with a realization that the King might intend for him to come into the throne room without them.

Nezumi shuffled behind him, and Shion swallowed a lump in his throat as he listened to the sound of fabric sliding over Nezumi's skin. He hadn't gotten a good look at the clothing Nezumi had been handed, but his imagination conjured plenty of images as he slid the white shirt over his head and smoothed it down along his sides.

Shion lifted the corset into his hands. He'd never worn one—had no reason to—and he peered down at him with a strange sense of misery. He steeled his nerves, his heart cooling. Now wasn't the time for pessimism.

"You all right?" Nezumi inquired.

Shion exhaled and shut his eyes. "I... can't figure out the corset." He turned. "Would you mind—"

He froze. Nezumi stood before him, dressed from neck to toe in pitch black armor. It was thin, molded close to his skin, and Shion could only barely see the metal scales embedded in the hammered leather. His dark hair hung around his shoulders, a few shades lighter than the armor. He looked otherworldly and terrifying, but also immeasurably beautiful.

Nezumi looked at the corset, refusing to meet Shion's eye. "Here. I'll help you."

Shion looked down as Nezumi stepped forward. He let Nezumi pull the corset over him, the laces resting along the curve of his spine. Nezumi's hands shifted to his hips to position it, and the sensation felt... odd. Shion could feel Nezumi's hand, but there was some resistance to it. It felt strangely thick, padded in a way that seemed far heavier than the Unseelie King might have permitted. Shion couldn't help but think back to Nezumi's armor, but he quickly shoved the thought aside. There was no way he'd be given protection from a sacrifice.

"Put your hands against the wall," Nezumi said softly. Shion couldn't see him in the cracked mirror, but he imagined that Nezumi wasn't looking at him. His heart sputtered as Nezumi explained, "I need to tie the back, or it'll fall off."

Shion rested his palms against the nearby stone wall and leaned forward. The chill of the wall beneath his hands brushes away the heat curling in the pit of his stomach. His face burned as he felt Nezumi shift behind him, and Shion tried to focus on something other than the beautiful boy standing behind him.

Nezumi muttered to himself about the outfit—large eyelets and even larger spacing between them, as well as crisp white ribbons that were as wide as his two index fingers, making for easy lacing and even easier removal. Shion blushed at that, picturing Nezumi pulling those laces loose the way he'd done the night before. He shook his head to clear the memory; now wasn't the time for him to think about what'd occurred when he was enchanted. None of it mattered.

And if things went the way Shion feared they might, then it never would.

Nezumi tugged the ribbons suddenly, and Shion felt the corset of the tunic pinch around his waist. He sucked in a hard breath, filling his lungs with much-needed oxygen before the corset tightened further.

Nezumi focused on the task at hand. His hands fluttered up Shion's back, lacing the ribbons together and weaving them through the eyelets of the corset. Shion suspected that it wasn't as tight as a real corset might have been—he wasn't supposed to wear this outfit for long, after all—but he clenched his jaw all the same as the structure clenched over his ribs and narrowed his hips just a bit. His spine ached as it shifted into unnatural straightness, and Shion swallowed back a miserable groan. As soon as he stood upright, he knew he'd need to keep the position if he wanted to avoid pain.

Once Nezumi completed lacing the corset, he stepped back and said, "It's finished."

Shion straightened up, wincing with the effort. Nezumi hadn't pulled it too tight, but it wasn't what Shion was accustomed to wearing. He turned back to the bed, and Nezumi handed the half-cloak to him. Shion took it wordlessly and hooked it over his shoulders, letting the cool silk flutter over his body and conceal him from the world beyond.

He felt miserable and cold, standing in the middle of Nezumi's bedroom dressed for his execution. His bare toes curled on the stones. He looked over his shoulder at the cracked mirror, catching a glimpse of his reflection. He looked like a wraith, floating through the blue shadows, desperately trying to escape a fate that had already destroyed him.

"Nezumi," Shion gasped, the terror he'd tried so hard to shove aside rising through him. "What are we going to—"

He lifted a black gloved finger up and pressed it to his lips. Shion clamped his mouth shut, his heart pounding. Nezumi looked serious, the dark blue flames casting shadows across the sharp lines of his face. His eyes darted to the door, and then he stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Shion.

"Listen to me," he said under his breath. "I need you to do exactly as I instruct you. Pretend you're still enchanted. Focus on nothing but me, and act as if I have instructed you to do so. I need to buy us some time. So, I need you to act the part of the frightened sacrifice. Can you do that?"

A thousand questions flickered through Shion's mind. What was Nezumi planning? What would happen to him if Nezumi's plan failed? His throat clenched, but he kept the screaming burrowed deep. He looked into Nezumi's eyes, relaying to him without words that he would do as he was instructed. If he didn't, he was going to die. If he did, there was still a chance he might die.

Trusting Nezumi was his only choice.

The blue flames danced on the walls. A shadow flashed across Nezumi's silver eyes, turning them menacing. Shion tried to look beyond the terror, searching Nezumi's expression for the boy he'd kissed the other night. The silver eyed boy who'd offered him a debt. Beneath the cold darkness spread across Nezumi's face, Shion could see the hint of the Nezumi he knew. Nezumi looked miserable, desperate in a way Shion hoped to never see. He tried to smile, but it felt unnatural and wrong. He simply lowered his head and stared at the floor.

"It's time," Nezumi said solemnly.

To Be Continued...