Bedding Sets with Curtains/Drapes You'll Love in 2021

“I have to find out, Marie. Have to end it. Can’t go on like this.
I still love you. Even if you don’t love me back. Look after Lucy.
If you wake up at 3:33am, don’t look outside.”
That’s what my husband’s note said. The note he left before he vanished. Just walked out the house in the middle of the night, and never came back. Front door wide open, his car still parked on the drive, his clothes still hanging in the cupboard. He even left his toothbrush.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. It’s just hard to know exactly when that was. Liam and I had been married for almost eight years, but had been having problems for more than half that. After our daughter was born, our sex life fizzled out, and I suppose things spiraled from there. We could never quite get on the same page, and every small thing would inevitably lead to massive arguments. When old frustrations don’t get chance to evaporate, they just simmer beneath the surface, and I think we were both guilty of spilling over the edges at the slightest increase of heat. Eventually we simply found it easiest to stay out of each other’s way. We each had dominion over different chores (he cooked, I cleaned) and generally the only time we spent together was sleeping.
One particular morning, as I stirred from my dreams, I was surprised to find him sat up in bed, propped against the backrest and staring forward into space. Normally once Liam was awake, he was up and about. Maybe it was because of his work, or his outdoor hobbies, but he had always been a morning person. He noticed I was awake and snapped himself out of whatever thoughts he’d been ensnared in.
“Everything OK?” I asked.
“Just tired,” he said, stretching like a bear out of hibernation, as if to exaggerate the point. He clambered out of bed, and paused, as if hesitating whether to tell me something. As he dressed, his voice took on an air of forced casualness. “Woke up in the middle of the night, and checked the clock. Tossed and turned for what felt like hours, and when I looked back at the clock, it was still the same time.”
“Must have misread the clock the first time,” I yawned, rolling over and closing my eyes.
I could hear him muttering to himself as he put his socks on. Something about never believing him about anything. If my eyes were open, I would have rolled them.
The rest of that day was normal enough. He took Lucy to school and went to work, and I probably would have forgotten all about it. But after we’d gone to bed, I awoke to a thud in the dead of night. Barely visible in the starlight drifting around the curtains, Liam stood at the foot of the bed, and I sat up, rubbing at my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Stupid phone doesn’t work,” he snapped.
“Not so loud, you’ll wake up Lucy!” I hissed.
“First the clock freezes, now my phone won’t turn on,” he moaned, albeit quieter.
My eyes drifted to the floor where a dim rectangle of light was reflecting off the carpet. “Well it’s on now…”
Liam stopped pacing and turned around. As he scooped up the phone, its bright screen illuminated his face, wrinkled up in confusion. “Must have knocked some sense into it…” Using his phone screen as a light source, he walked out of the door, towards the bathroom. “Clock definitely needs new batteries though,” he added in a whisper.
Stretching over to his side of the bed, I reached over his pillow to the bedside table, and lifted his alarm clock to face me. Its black face showed large, crimson numbers on a digital display - 3:34am. As I squinted at it through the darkness, it flickered to 3:35am. Seemed to be working fine to me. I rolled over to my side of the bed and went back to sleep.
It was my turn to take Lucy to school that day, and as I got her dressed, Liam made breakfast. Turned out he actually had woken her up when he’d thrown his phone, and he must have felt guilty since he made pancakes. They’d always been Lucy’s favourite, probably from one movie or another, and despite Liam’s insistence that “we’re not Americans, we don’t have pancakes for bloody breakfast,” he knew they were an easy way to make her happy. That was one thing I can’t fault my husband for; he did love our daughter. It wasn’t often he went out of his way to make her happy, but I suppose he tried when it mattered.
But the next morning, he was in a foul mood.
“Oh, now she’s awake…” he grunted sarcastically, when I walked into the kitchen, fastening up my dressing gown.
I ignored the comment; it wasn’t like I’d slept in overly long. Besides, it was a weekend. I braced myself for a tense breakfast, sat in frosty silence. But as I approached the worktop, my eyes fell on a black screen, covered in splintering hairline cracks. “What happened to your phone?”
“Stopped working again,” he said, ruffling his newspaper. “Tried knocking some sense into it, like I did the other night, but it didn’t work. Then I tried again, a bit harder. Too hard, apparently.”
“Well that was stupid,” I said, matter of factly as I put the kettle on.
Liam didn’t say anything, but he folded up his newspaper, threw the last dregs of coffee down his throat and left the room. Probably more mad at himself than me. If he’d been mad at me, he would have shot some comment back. He always did like to have the last word. His voice took on a sugary lilt as he bumped into Lucy in the hall.
“Morning darling, didn’t wake you up again last night did I?”
“No daddy.”
I suppose I did find it a little strange that my husband had managed to smash his phone without waking either of us, but those thoughts were drowned out by the sheer idiocy of it. With both of us in a mood already, we avoided each other as best as we could. This was always a little bit harder on weekends, and just before we slept, we ended up bickering.
“What’s that?” I asked, as I saw him place something under his pillow.
“...a torch.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What do you need a torch for?”
“To see where I’m bloody going, if I wake up in the night again.”
“Well maybe if you kept your anger in check, you’d still have your phone.”
“Maybe if you stopped criticising me all the time, I wouldn’t be so quick to anger.”
And as simple as that, we descended into an argument that got increasingly personal and ended up with us both rolled over in bed, backs facing each other. When you’re mad at someone, even the slightest thing can annoy you. The way they huff out a breath through their nose, or the way they tug at the sheets. Eventually, Liam started snoring. I wasn’t far behind.
I woke up the next day to an empty bed. I’d assumed my husband would still be in a mood with me, but when I found him that morning, he was completely oblivious. Staring up at the clock above the fireplace, he clutched a collection of watches and alarm clocks in his arms. In the background, the news was on, but he’d got it on mute.
“Hey!” he said, as soon as I walked in the room. He actually seemed pleased to see me. “Can I look at your phone a sec?”
“Wh- what are you doing?”
“Just... what time is it?”
I told him, and when he shook his head in exasperation, I showed him.
“They can’t all be wrong…” he muttered, setting the bundle in his hands on top of the fireplace, one by one. He left the alarm clock until last, and grabbed it with both hands, raising it into the air to examine.
“What are you doing Liam?” I asked sleepily, making a point of taking my pink watch from his collection.
“There was a power cut last night, or something. I think there’s been one every night. Even my torch didn’t work.”
I shrugged. “The clocks have batteries, a power cut wouldn’t stop them.”
“You’re not listening,” he said, shaking his head, “even my torch didn’t work. Nothing worked. That's why my phone wasn’t turning on! I tried yours last night, and it wouldn’t turn on either.”
“You were going through my phone last night?”
“No!” he said, “I was seeing if it worked, and it didn’t. Nothing did. Not the lights, not the fridge, not the watches. The only thing in the whole house that was still on was this clock.” He raised the little alarm clock in his hands. “And it was stuck on that same time. 3:33am!”
“Are you sure this wasn’t a dream?”
“It wasn’t a bloody dream!”
“OK, so there was a power cut last night,” I said, making my way towards the door. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“It wasn’t just…” he started, rubbing at his brow in genuine exasperation. “Look, I was up for a while. At least an hour, it had to be. And all the while, nothing worked. All the while, this clock said 3:33am. Then, suddenly, everything turned back on, back to normal. And this clock said 3:34am.”
“So… what are you saying?”
He gestured wildly to the television. Pointing at the little timer at the bottom of the screen and holding up the alarm clock to compare. They both matched, to the minute. “How can it be the same?? Where has that time gone??” His movements were so frantic, he looked like he was two steps away from frothing at the mouth.
“It must have been a dream Liam. I don’t know, call the electric board or something. See if they’ve had any power cuts. I’m making a cup of tea.”
“Wasn’t a fucking dream,” I head him mutter as he knelt in front of the TV, holding the alarm clock up to the screen and comparing times.
I suppose that was the start of his obsession. But at least he was bearable that day. I could tell it was occupying his mind, but he didn’t mention it again. Until he woke me up, at least.
I think it was the thud that woke me up, more than the whimper. But the whimpering was what made me sit bolt upright.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…” Liam’s voice drifted over the foot of the bed, and I could barely see the shape of him, scrambling backwards on the floor. The curtains wafted open, moonlight shining through. He must have fallen over, but was still kicking himself away from the window, wide eyes glinting as he shook his head in denial.
As I got out of bed and made my way over to him, he flinched and looked up at me. Even in the dim light, I could make out the terror etched on his face. I’d never seen my husband scared like this.
“There’s someone outside,” he spluttered in a frantic whisper. “Someone in a mask or… They saw me. They looked right at me.”
I rose and peeked out of the curtains myself. Our quiet street looked normal to me. Parked cars, streetlights and the houses opposite. I scanned around, looking for people, but came up short.
“There’s nobody out there,” I said, letting the curtain fall back.
Liam clambered to his feet and shoved the curtain aside, getting his whole body in front of the window. He searched the empty street with both hands pressed against the glass.
“I saw someone,” he muttered, “I bloody saw someone.”
As I got back into bed, I glanced at the alarm clock on Liam’s side of the bed. 3:35am.
The next day was my turn to take Lucy for school, and I didn’t see much of Liam all day, despite not going out of my way to avoid him. In the evening, I caught him fitting extra locks on the doors, a deadbolt on front and back. I had to bite my tongue not to say anything, but knew it would just cause a fight. Besides, we lived in an OK neighbourhood, but maybe a bit of extra caution wouldn’t go amiss. What if Liam had seen someone out there? Looking to rob us, or hurt us?
I stirred that night to find the bed empty. A quick glance around the room told me Liam was elsewhere. Since I was already awake, I decided to go to the bathroom, and on the landing I bumped into my husband, walking up the stairs. Even in the dim light, I could see him try to hide something behind his back.
“What’s that?” I asked, before he could open his mouth.
“Nothing…” he muttered.
I walked down the steps to see what he was hiding, but he twisted and grabbed my arm with his free hand.
“Go to bed,” he hissed.
“What have you got? Is that… is that a crowbar?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, but dropped any pretense of hiding it now I’d guessed correctly. The tool fell to his side, glinting in the darkness. “Go to bed.”
“Fucking psycho,” I spat in disbelief, stepping away from him.
“Well it’s a good job I had it - someone was trying to open our door. I must have scared them off.”
“Wh- Someone was trying to get inside?”
“Yeah, I could hear them trying the handle.”
I’d hoped that would be the end of it, but was sorely mistaken. Liam’s nightly obsession only became worse and worse. He was tetchier than ever, snapping at the smallest thing. It was clear he wasn’t getting enough sleep, and if it wasn’t for me urging him on, he would have been much later for work, if he went in at all. Not that I got any thanks for it. I became the object of his anger. What was happening was somehow my fault. I didn’t believe him. Wouldn’t help him.
“Wake me up then, if it’s so bad!” I said one day.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? I’ve shook you, slapped you, but you won’t wake up until it’s over. Until he’s gone.”
“Until who has gone?” I asked, cautiously processing what he was trying to tell me. He’d… slapped me? Subconsciously I rubbed at my cheek. Surely I’d have felt it if my husband had been slapping me in my sleep? Surely I would have a mark or even a bruise. Liam wasn’t exactly a small man. But it also wasn’t like him to hurt me. He could be a prick, sure, but he’d never purposefully hurt me before.
“Forget it,” he muttered.
The alarm woke me up, beeping in the darkness. As soon as I rose to turn it off, Liam’s hand pressed it down to silence it. He was fully dressed, and standing on his side of the bed. He had the crowbar clutched in one hand.
“What are y- what time is it?” I asked blearily, still half asleep.
“You told me to wake you up. I can’t do it once it starts, but maybe it’ll work if you’re awake before.” He stalked towards the window and opened the curtain a crack with his crowbar, peeking through.
“For God’s sake, Liam.” But I got up, all the same. If it would keep him quiet and get him back to some normality, I’d tolerate it. It was hard to believe I found myself wanting the old Liam back. This new version was making me see how good we’d had it before.
3:32am, the clock read. Standing on the other side of the curtain, I pulled it open and peered outside. Nothing except our quiet road, street lights casting an artificial haze across asphalt pavement. A distant rumble of a car, speeding along a connecting road, unseen.
“So what am I looking for, exactly?” I asked.
Liam didn’t reply, so I kept watching the streets outside. And watching. And watching. Shaking my head, I eventually pulled my head away from the curtain and turned to Liam. But he wasn’t there. I looked around the room. He wasn’t here at all. I’d never heard him leave. A quick glance at the clock told me it was 3:38am.
Deciding it would be best to look for Liam before returning to bed, I crept out of the room. I eventually found him, downstairs, on the kitchen floor, hugging his knees and crying. Even despite my current mood for my husband, he looked so weak and fragile, I couldn’t help but hug him. The crowbar lay on the tiled floor next to him.
“I’ve made it so much worse,” he croaked. “He’s never got that close before.”
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly, wiping tears off his cheek, “why did you leave the room?”
“You wouldn’t move. You wouldn’t answer me. I thought for sure you could see it too, but it was like you were sleeping with your eyes open, standing up. I came down here, and saw him, right out there.” He pointed to the kitchen window. I glanced over, but couldn’t see anything through the darkness. Liam swallowed, and spoke again, hands trembling. “I opened the window, to yell at him, to scare him off, but it - he - it was like he was sliding towards me. But fast. Being pulled through the gap I was making, pulled inside. He was almost touching the glass by the time I slammed it shut. He was…” Liam broke off, and began crying again. “Oh God, I’ve made it so much worse.”
As I looked at the kitchen window, I did notice something. It was whisper-faint, and fading still. I stood, and made my way to the window. If it wasn’t for our neighbour’s security light in the background, I’d never have made it out, but sure enough, on the window my husband said he’d opened, was a faint smear of condensation. The kind hot breath makes on a cold surface. I wiped at it with my fingers, but it didn’t come away. It was on the other side of the glass. As I watched it fade away, I tried to reassure myself. It couldn’t have been breath marks from a person, it was too tall. They’d have to be seven foot tall or so to make marks like that. But it did unnerve me. Coupled with my husband’s reaction, it was hard not to tremble a little myself.
I led him back to bed, and we tried to sleep. Or one of us did, at least. Liam just sat up all night. Just sat there, staring at nothing and shaking.
The next day I called the electric board, to see if they’d had any reports of power cuts in our area. Not for a couple of months, they said. Then I called the non-emergency number for police, to see if they’d had any break ins or home invasions around my postcode lately. They were reluctant at first, but eventually told me “no, no increased activity in your postcode ma’am.” That didn’t leave me with many choices. The simplest explanation is often the correct one, and the simplest explanation was that my husband was losing his goddamn mind. That didn’t explain the fog on the window, but maybe that was just damp air, or a trick of the light.
Whatever the explanation, my husband's behavior was starting to get out of hand, and was scaring Lucy. His eyes were constantly wild and nervous, as though expecting something to lurch out of the shadows at any moment. He bought extra locks for the windows, security cameras and even metal grills to fix over the downstairs windows. I drew the line at that. I was already close to taking Lucy and walking, and told him as much. I hoped it might snap him out of it, but all he said was “fine”. He left the grills off, but installed the rest.
That night I made him sleep on the sofa downstairs, and had restless sleep myself, drifting in and out. After a bit of tossing and turning, I wondered what time it was, and reached for my phone. But the screen wouldn’t turn on.
Frowning, I pulled myself across the empty bed and picked up Liam’s alarm clock. I almost dropped it when I saw the time. 3:33am.
Scrambling out of bed and putting on my dressing gown, I tried the bedroom light switch, but nothing happened. Same in the hall. Was this Liam’s idea of a joke? Was he so desperate for me to share his delusions that he’d somehow turned everything off? That would be easy enough, I supposed. Flick the fuse board off, and drain my phone battery without me knowing. What stumped me was the bath taps. When I turned them out of sheer desperation, not even a drop of water dribbled out. I suppose Liam could have isolated the water, but I didn’t understand why he would. He’d never mentioned the water not working.
Making my way to the stairs, I had to feel my way across the walls. With no lights working and no light source to use, the interior hallway was pitch black, and I awkwardly shuffled my feet down each step, taking my time and clutching the bannister. Downstairs was no better. Normally, even at this time, there would be enough light coming from the glow of the street lights outside to see my path, but not even the street lights were working. Liam couldn’t have done that. Power cuts have always unsettled me. It feels like being plunged back a step in our evolution. They shake you out of your daily life, and for a moment you’re an animal again. Afraid, powerless. We forget how much we rely on electricity, but power cuts always remind us.
“Liam…” I whispered. Even though I was afraid, I didn’t want to wake Lucy. Hopefully she could sleep right through it, at least until morning.
I made my way through the kitchen, feeling for cabinets and door handles so I didn’t smash into them.
“Liam?”
Still no reply. But then I was being quiet. Strangely, the fear which most crept into my mind was him attacking me with that stupid crowbar, mistaking me for an intruder. I tried again, raising my voice just beyond a strangled whisper.
“Liam?”
Nothing. Maybe he was sleeping. It would be ironic if he slept through this power cut, the first one I’d been awake for.
In the living room, I could just see his silhouette, sat on the sofa, facing away from me. My eyes were just beginning to adjust to what little light there was, and as I stepped around the sofa, I could see he was awake, eyes open, staring forwards. He gripped something tight in both hands.
A hunting rifle.
“Jesus Christ Liam!” I hissed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He didn’t reply. Just kept staring forwards, his breathing slow.
“You know I hate that thing,” I muttered, twisting to see what he was looking at. A window, facing onto our garden. It was hard to tell, with just a slither of moonlight to see, but it didn’t look like anyone or anything was out there.
Turning back to Liam, I took hold of the gun, and tried to pull it out of his grip. He didn’t budge. Not even the barest hint of emotion passed his face. Him and that stupid gun. He told me he’d sold it, after his last trip. I tried again, really trying now, bracing myself to wrench it as hard as I could. Again, Liam didn’t even wobble. He didn’t even look like he was tensing.
“Well, I believe you now,” I said, letting go of the weapon. “But I wish you’d stop acting like this. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
Liam said nothing. Did nothing. Not even so much as a frown. Even his breathing was the same, steady pace. I tried pulling him up, but it was like he was frozen solid. It began to scare me a little.
“Liam?” I asked, genuinely worried.
Still no reply. As I looked closer, I realised something. Liam wasn’t blinking. I took him by the shoulders and tried to shake him, but he didn’t even wobble. It was like trying to push a wall. That’s when I remembered what he’d said the time he’d woken me up with the alarm.
“It was like you were sleeping with your eyes open…”
His words echoed in my mind, and a thought gripped me. One way to test if he was pretending. I raised a finger to his face, and slowly, carefully brought it to his eye. My finger pressed into the white of his eyeball, wet and squishy. Liam didn’t so much as blink.
I took an involuntary step back and clasped a hand over my mouth. Liam’s body was here, but he wasn’t. Sleeping with his eyes open. Comatose.
Collapsing on the chair in front of him, my mind raced. Was this what he’d been going through? Every night? Trapped in this place where nothing worked, alone? He’d said it felt like hours...
Surprisingly, that gave me some comfort. I could just wait. I could just wait until it was over. So, that’s what I did. I sat in that chair, and tried to go to sleep. But no matter what I tried, I just couldn’t seem to drift off. Try as I might, my mind was awake. Eventually I gave up, just sat there, waiting, shivering in the dark. It did feel like hours had passed, and still nothing worked. Occasionally I’d try again, just in case, whispering to my statue of a husband, with no reply.
As I sat in that chair, willing time to creep forwards, waiting for the light to come back to the world, something else tickled the back of my mind. My husband had seen someone outside.
Maybe I wasn’t alone.
The thought sent a chill down my spine, and my eyes darted amongst the black windows around me. Each one could be hiding someone. Whoever was out there, he had brought my husband to tears. I drew my knees up, clutching them for warmth. It didn’t work. Goosebumps prickled my skin, and I wished my husband would say something. Anything.
The way he stared at the window behind me with such intensity made me keep checking over my shoulder. Faced with an eternal wait and just my husband’s vacant body for company, my glances to each window became increasingly desperate. Part of me wanted to see something. Just see something and have done with it. How long had I sat here? Four hours? Five?
I decided to stand, to stretch my legs and warm up, if anything. Creeping to the garden window my husband was facing, I gave a long, considering search amongst the dark, rustling leaves outside. But I couldn’t see anything. Whether it was paranoia or something else, it felt like someone was watching me through the windows. They made me feel vulnerable. Exposed. I kept to the walls as I stalked around the room, only peeking the barest slither of my face around the window frame. The street outside looked as cold and alone as I felt. My eyes scanned across the cars and houses outside, but without the street lights working, it was hard to tell for certain. Everything was just black shadow against black night. Even the sky and my neighbours houses seemed to blur into one single image. But as I strained my eyes against the dark backdrop, I spotted something that didn’t belong. Two little pinprick lights. Faint, like distant stars, but on the ground.
Squinting, trying to make sense of it, I wondered if it was an animal. The lights were close enough together to be eyes, and the bony, straggly shapes above the lights looked like antlers. I realised the rest of it was blocked out by a parked car, and stood on my tiptoes for a better look. I almost screamed when I saw the rest of the body. A man’s body. Standing perfectly still in the darkness. As the sound left my throat, whatever it was turned its head, antlers swaying in the night. The pinprick lights of its eyes erupted into twin torrents of light, blinding me. I threw myself out of view, hiding behind the wall, as a beam of pure white light flooded the room, illuminating my husband on the sofa, still clutching his gun, still motionless. That light moved with intent, searching, and I ran.
As I made it through the doorway, illumination splashed against the timber frame, my own shadow stretching in front of me. I twisted around the corner, almost slipping on the kitchen tiles. I couldn’t grab the gun, my husband’s grip was too strong, but I knew he kept the crowbar upstairs, in the wardrobe. As I ran up the stairs, the twin beams of light followed. Passing the hall window, white light passed around the curtain, matching my pace, light spilling across its edges as I ran. Even though the curtains were drawn, whatever was watching me knew exactly where I was. Throwing open the bedroom door, I prepared to dive for the wardrobe, for some slim chance of defending myself. In the dark room, my eyes snapped to the only light. Crimson numbers, in the darkness.
3:33am
Behind me, light splashed my shadow across the carpeted floor and I fell to meet it, too scared to scream, turning around expecting to see a figure with headlamp eyes and antlers, towering above me, but it was just the hall light. Distant gushing water came from the bathroom. The power was back. The water was back. I glanced around the bedroom, back at the alarm clock, tauntingly reading 3:34am.
Hard to say how long I lay there, gripping the carpet and sobbing. Gut wrenching wails that hurt my throat. I didn’t dare look at the clock. I just lay there, basking in the light. Knowing that means I was away from that place.
Lucy found me, and maternal instincts swallowed my fears. I forced myself off the floor, and scooped her up, wiping away tears. I took her back to bed, wrapped a blanket around myself, and fell to sleep in a chair.
“I believe you,” I told Liam the next day, still in a wide-eyed state of shock. “I was there. 3:33am. Everything was turned off. Even you.” That last part made me cry again. Liam just held me as I trembled. I didn’t mention the deer-headed man or his headlamp eyes. I didn’t need to. Liam had seen him too.
We both called in sick, and this time I said nothing when Liam fit the window grills. I even let him bring the hunting rifle into the bedroom. He propped it up against the wall, and we both lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. Waiting.
At 3:30am, Liam sat on the edge of the bed and started to dress. When I asked him what he was doing, he sighed and said “if you got trapped there, that means Lucy might one day too.” He snatched up the rifle and lay it across his lap, head bowed. “If that happens, I can’t protect you. Either of you.”
I could barely talk around the lump forming in my throat. “Wh- what are you saying? What are you going to-”
“I’ve sat here, night after night, and he just gets closer. The windows rattle so hard Marie, it sounds like the whole frame is going to come loose. The doors creak and strain. Last time I heard something, climbing down our chimney, trying to get through the walls. I don’t think I can wait. It’s me he wants.”
“Liam, I-”
“I’ve got to do this, Marie. I can’t just sit here. I’ve got to do something.”
“Liam, I saw-”
He wasn’t listening. Talking over me, too bullheaded too stubborn.
“I’ve got to-”
The faint tick of the alarm clock silenced us both. Our heads snapped towards it in unison.
3:33am. As soon as my eyes fell upon those crimson letters, they flickered to 3:34am.
And when I turned back, Liam was gone. In his place, a note.
“I have to find out, Marie. Have to end it. Can’t go on like this.
I still love you. Even if you don’t love me back. Look after Lucy.
If you wake up at 3:33am, don’t look outside.”
I crumbled the note and ran, searching through the house for him. “Liam!” I cried, “Liam, I saw him too!”
But my husband was gone. Front door open, cold night air spilling in. Car on the drive. Clothes in the wardrobe. The only thing he took was his gun.
The next day was a sleep deprived blur, of police calls, family calls, and tears. And all the while I watched the clocks tick closer. Second by second, creeping towards that time I was now more afraid of than anything.
Well, almost anything. Liam was right. I had to protect Lucy. I could not let her experience that place. I just couldn’t. So I tucked her in bed, and waited. Out of sheer exhaustion, I actually fell asleep. But when I woke, it was still pitch black. I didn’t need to look at the clock with its crimson numbers to know what time it was. Outside, the wind howled. A garden gate battered open and shut. I wrapped myself tight in my sheet, and tried not to think what Liam had said, about rattling windows, and something climbing down the chimney.
But there was a faint glow coming from behind the curtains. The street lights were still on, then. I snatched up my phone, but it wouldn’t turn on.
The wind swirled and raged. And with a creeping dread, I remembered our street lights cast an orange haze, not a pure, perfect white one. I knew in my bones what was casting that light. I don’t know why I looked. Curiosity? Helplessness? Whatever it was, something drove me to peek behind the curtain.
A deer’s skull on a rotting body gazed up at me with headlamp eyes. As I stared, open mouthed, it began to drift, glacier slow, towards me. It didn’t walk. It floated. Slid.
But to be honest, I barely saw it. My eyes had fallen on a second figure. A man of familiar height and build, clutching a hunting rifle. Where his eyes should have been were two, black, sunken pits, with distant pin prick stars. His head tilted. Snapped towards me. Those pits swelled into headlamps. High beams on a car. A lighthouse in the night. A spotlight on the stage.
My eyes burnt, but I couldn’t pull away.
Liam raised the rifle. Pointed it right at me.
Tick.
I staggered back. Streetlights flooded the road with an orange haze. The wind died to a murmur. Liam and that… thing were gone. The clock read 3:34am.
That was last night. The police have a guard posted outside. They think I’m worried about my husband coming back. I suppose in a way, I am. But they could post a thousand guards outside, and it wouldn’t make a difference. None of them will be awake at 3:33am.
It won’t stop. Now I’ve seen that thing outside, I know it’s just going to get worse. Each night, a little closer. Each night, a little stronger.
Liam didn’t slow it down. He just gave it a way in.
***
[error code 54] [333]
[agents dispatched]

((Chapter 2 takes place NOW. It has been several weeks since the dreams of Chapter 1.))
((You can find the end of the previous chapter here!))
Seth sensed the sound of applause and hushed voices. Someone was inside of his room.
Klutzy or not, several months of living at a survival camp could ingrain a few self preservation instincts into just about anyone. Rather than shrug and sigh at the spooky sleep paralysis demons without a second thought, his eyes snapped open and he reached out for the sheathed dagger on the nightstand. Miscalculating the distance by a large margin, he tumbled out of the bed hopelessly snared in the blanket. Typical Westley wakeup.
“Swear to Gods-“ he swung his arm in the darkness to find the contour of the nightstand and instead found nothing. The unclaimed camper held himself deathly still and peeled the stifling comforter off of him. He would force his eyes to adjust if he had to, and then find the Hermes clown that snuck into his room to rearrange his furniture. “Friends, look, I love myself some hijinks, but… get out. Right now.”
His face turned beet red when his fingers brushed against.. polyester? His hands traveled down. Buttons. Cummerbund. Trousers. Fastened against his neck an object tickled his chin, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his head.
Please don’t be a bowtie. Bowties were sexy and all, but if a cabinmate had undressed him in the middle of night, paid such attention to detail as to give him a well-fitting concert attire complete with bowtie, all without him waking up, then he was going to have a meltdown, as well as a stern talking to his counselor about grievous violations of anatomical privacy. Even the cummerbund was a perfect measurement. Seth reached up and gently pinched at his collarbone. It was a bowtie. He whimpered. “Cool.”
His ears instinctively perked. Several heavy clacking noises sprouted from opposite corners of the room until an enormous breaker switch was thrown and the ‘room’ became drowned in searing light. Several creative curses later, once the twinkling in the back of his skull subsided, he hazarded a peek to find that he was in no room at all, but a featureless void with nothing but polished wood floor, his messy bed behind him, and a row of stage lights from an invisible ceiling illuminating a path towards a priceless grand piano. Beyond the instrument the murmur of voices died.
Seth’s head swam while his body disobeyed him and sluggishly strode over to the piano. As much of a resourceful guy Kit was, the son of nobody doubted that even he could replace Seth’s room with a concert hall in the time span of one night. The only other explanation was that he’d been kidnapped (not entirely out of the realm of possibility; he did fancy himself cute enough to be abducted by a crazy suitor), or he was dead. Or..
“Crap in a casket.” He pinched his nose. “Seriously? Again?”
Ever since he had defeated spooky evil alternative universe alien girlfriend-eating lava-barfing Brandon Teagan Supreme for the first time, the following nights were uneventful, peaceful snoozes devoid of nightmares and soon he had forgotten about the entire ordeal. A few notes in the book, perhaps, some brilliant imagery for a sci-fi fantasy story he was working on in his spare time, multiple winks of an inside joke to the real Brandon, and nothing else. He was back to being as normal as normal permitted… Until tonight.
The plus side seemed to be that no enormous sulfuric spawn of Satan was currently attempting to eat or melt him into Sethy goo. Just a standard run-of-the-mill nightmare involving stage fright and some repressed feelings of inadequacy, no biggie. Well, the world was a stage, and Mr. Westley refused to back down from a performance. His talent for the piano, while rusty, had won him many (one) a heart in sophomore year. At least until that girl Emma Dempsey dumped him for someone taller and later posted on social media that he was a loser, but life went on. The lights bore down on his forehead and he tugged at his collar. The audience was fake, not to mention invisible, so why be nervous? Faking it ‘til he made it, Seth executed an overly dramatic introductory bow, snagging a glance at the rest of his handsome wardrobe in the process and nodding in approval.
Lucid dreaming, eat your heart out. He sat down and admired the piano – the first clue, of course, that this was another unordinary dream. Details were too sharp and focused. The enticing contour of the flawless polished instrument before him, the soothing cool sensation when he ran his fingers delicately across the keys, soft enough not to elicit any sound, the glare of the lighting overhead. It consistently demanded every ounce of attention not to panic.
Silence, save for his nervous fluttery heartbeat. The void was waiting for him. A set of sheet music was already set out for him: Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Not his favorite one to practice, being a fan of more bombastic pieces, but not difficult. He fiddled with the cuff links, drew in a deep, stale breath that tasted like resin on the roof of his mouth, and began to play.
Most demigods got to go on quests. Fight monsters, prove themselves a hero, earn rewards and glory, and maintain a reasonably healthy social life at the same time. Grow up, learn about their parents and discover their kickass powers. Seth got to experience vivid hallucinations of playing on the grand piano for a crowd of faceless strangers in his sleep and then wake up the next day to have people tell him he was crazy. Fate had a funny way of making him feel special sometimes.
The playing didn’t need to be impressive, since there wasn’t anyone there for him to impress. One of his most common daydreams was exactly this; dazzling a chamber into silence with his music and looks alone. The biggest hurdle that reality presented was his own lack of drive; he became lazy about practicing and learning new progressions until his skills stagnated and it became just another passing hobby, joining the dusty halls of fencing and photography. Right now, Seth embraced the fantasy, and as he did so, the stage built itself around him. Royal purple curtains unfurled, the lights magically swirled around and re-positioned, and sheet music turned on its own. The song had changed in the middle of the piece – Moonlight Sonata, Second Movement – and Seth only grinned.
“Allegretto,” he sighed in happiness, surprised by the sudden switch but too engrossed in the trance to worry. Panic had melted into pleasure. Rose petals fluttered out of the lights and danced in the air around him as they drifted to the floor. For several minutes he swayed and smirked. The change in brightness was so gradual, the disembodied stage lamps moving on their own, that he only noticed one he was shrouded completely in shadow. The sheet music was unreadable. He knew much of the movement by heart, and could improvise a little if the need arose, but the instant he hit an incorrect chord a buzzing noise croaked out of the piano and his body was wracked with pain.
Seth’s well-dressed body flopped onto the polished floor with a crack. The chair had receded into a hidden trapdoor, impossible to see now that the lights were so dim. Abruptly shaken from the fantasy and shivering in shock from the sourceless sensation of agony upon making a single mistake, he pushed himself to his feet and craned his neck around. Gears and pulleys churned within the walls. Curtains folded and unfolded.
Someone else began to play. The cones of light targeted another trapdoor that collapsed inward and ropes uncoiled from the void above. They pulled taut. An identical grand piano was hoisted from the aperture, supported by a mountain of uneven shapes Seth could not discern.
In unison the lamps snapped back to full glaring intensity. A stranger furiously continuing the third movement of the Sonata sat upon an ornate walnut bench, ascending with the spotlight. Sporting a fancy tuxedo jacket with gold trim, metal eppaulettes that shook with each exaggerated flourish across the keys, spotless white pants with matching heels and gloves, the prodigious phantom’s face remained concealed by an odd combination of two objects; a fencing mask, over which an additional theater mask was frozen in a porcelain smile of the classic comedic expression. From this angle, below the mountain of what Seth now realized were crushed and broken instruments – violins, cellos, clarinets, harps, all either bent, their strings plucked clean or strangled with their own bows and discarded – a faint fluorescent glow flickered across the mask.
Seth had to admit two things; A.) Whoever this person was, he was extremely good. B.) Seth was in love.
Face or no face, the mystery maestro’s imperious posture juxtaposed by moments of absolute frenzy across the piano made for an enticing spectacle for the eyes. From the forgotten shadows, he knelt and listened in awe. There were dozens of covers of one of the most influential of Beethoven’s works, all perfect, but the anger and pomp that oozed from each curved finger, as if daring the instrument not to respond appropriately, made the demigod’s heart soar.
When the end of the piece was reached the masked performer threw his head back and stopped, chest silently heaving. The void beyond the lights gave no response. The uncomfortable silence grew. The gloved hands shook and reached up. They clutched at the mask, pressing it tighter to his face. The spasms continued until an awkward bout of clapping caught his attention. The pianist slowly turned his gaze down to stare to his right, where Seth was enthusiastically applauding like an idiot, taking a break to give a shrill whistle of appreciation before chuckling nervously.
“Well, you’re better than me, that’s for sure.” Was he about to flirt with a figment of his own imagination? Yes. Absolutely. “So, come here to the unfathomable labyrinth of my insane brain often? Or are you just living in my head rent free?”
The masked prodigy did not respond. The mask, in its perpetual laughter, did not move a single inch. A hot wave of embarrassment made Seth flush and the concert attire was suddenly too tight for his liking. He fixed the bowtie so it was no longer lopsided, wiped his glasses with his shirt pinched between his fingers and then tried again. “Are you.. someone I know? Could you maybe-”
A gloved hand extended a single index finger, then raised it to the mask’s lips.
”Shhhhhhhhhhh.” .
The commanding hiss, louder than expected and echoing through the room’s pronounced acoustics, made his mouth clamp shut. After silencing him, a single rolled wrist and a shooing gesture conveyed everything they wanted him to hear; he was disturbing the atmosphere. Gotcha. Message received.
Wilting under the glare of contempt, he stuffed is hands into his pockets and bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood.
Lights brightened. The performance resumed. The maestro flicked a rectangular stage lamp protruding unnaturally from the front of the piano like a cancerous growth, tapped it again until it activated to reveal a screen, then swiped to the left four times. After a sharp inhale the fingers slammed down on the keyboard. Seth didn’t even know the name of this arrangement, and he feared interrupting a second time to earn another hateful shushing. Unfortunately the musician’s full attention was on him now; not even bothering to face forward to land every note, the mocking giddy expression of the white façade remained locked firmly on his eyes. Two minutes of an unmistakable message: ’I can play this without looking. You are beneath me. Get off of my stage.’
Because this apparently wasn’t enough of an insult to further grind Seth’s confidence into dust, he began to play with one hand. Sorry, arm. Seamlessly transitioning into a medley of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody, the musician’s left arm took over the entirety of the piece, jabbing an elbow down into the lower octaves and tickling the ivories on the higher chords. Their posture hunched over to make reaching the keys easier and continue doing the impossible. Now the right arm was free to witheringly point at the unclaimed jackass in a tux before brushing an invisible flake of dust off of the jacket in a final gesture of dismissal.
Seth couldn’t meet the stranger’s gaze anymore. His hands clenched and unclenched in his pockets, stretching the seams. Sensing his humiliation, they turned back to their piano and resumed using both hands, with no audible shift in quality. Part of him wanted to climb up the tower of ruined instruments and shake some sense into the obnoxious showoff. The other part of him… also wanted to do that. To Hades with it. No overconfident jerk in a mask was going to upstage him in his own fantasy – and he was ninety percent sure nobody could play the piano with an elbow. Except maybe amputees. That might be an insensitive intrusive thought to have.
After a few moments of stretching, he marched over to the mountain and tested the stability of an abandoned harpsichord stained in a dark murky substance. It wobbled slightly, and he deemed it safe enough to perch on. If encroaching on the misshapen tower of terror beneath the piano bothered the pianist in any way, he gave no indication. Seth accidentally kicked a poor oboe into submission to gain a better foothold, then scrambled up the slope. Resin, dust and a strange multicolored sludge that stung his nostrils with its metallic scent were present on many of the instruments, immortalizing frantic fingerprints and claw marks left by unknown individuals.
The tempo increased. The movements from the pianist became more frantic, the first and only sign that he was exerting any effort. The octaves thundered back and forth, demanding pristine attention to detail that consumed his attention. Seth had his opening. He had scaled halfway up the treacherous makeshift obstacle course, with about fifteen feet remaining. A few more good lunges and he would make it to the top, closing the curtains early on the smug elitist.
More and more the pacing of the music accelerated. The masked musician refused to back down from his own impossible standard, even as he swiveled his head back and forth.
The sound of Seth’s approach was smothered by the assault currently taking place on the piano. He crept until he was facing the square of the performer’s back and reached out to tug at the brilliant blue jacket. “Okay, man,” he smirked, “Concert’s over.” He opted for a single, startling tap.
The performer gave a piercing – and noticeably female – yell of surprise at his touch, catching him equally off-guard. An ugly, mismatched chord was slammed down upon by mistake and the entire dream churned in protest. Lamps fizzled out and in, shifting hues to cast iridescent shadows on the trembling figure in front of him, and he she whirled around. A crack formed in her mask, creeping down and passing by a furious grey iris smoldering with indignation. Her mask’s smile spasmed and curled downwards. The same odorous fluid from before dribbled from the newly formed frown.
The rectangular tablet embedded in the stage lamp no longer displayed sheet music. Greek symbols and robust equations flashed across its surface before a trial of similar cracks spread through the display.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” Seth began, and that was about as far as he got before she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with both hands, then shoved him off. He plummeted away from the hill, waiting for the inevitable crack of his skull on the floor and the abrupt awakening. The mattress of his bed bounced him back up and broke his fall, having been displaced by unknown means of dream logic. Laying back on the blanket, he propped himself on his hands to glance back up and feel an unexpected pang of pity for the person whose night he just ruined.
Hugging herself tightly and shaking her head furiously at the stage lamps that now dangled themselves from ropes and wires, desperately wiping the brackish sludge that dripped out of the mouth of her mask, she uncoiled, slammed her balled fists into the keys to produce a cacophonous noise and choked back several angry sobs. Her hysterical breathing slowed long enough for her to peel a glittery, holographic capsule from the digital display on her piano. She tilted her head back and poured the capsule into the mask’s mouth.
She shuddered and went still. The lights flicked back on and her smile clicked back into place with a sound resembling torn paper. The crack down her face faded and replaced itself with a golden layer of stitches, vertically spelling out ’attempt 649: FAILURE’ down her right cheek.
With a tenuous sigh her shoulders relaxed and she caressed the phrase now marring her mask with gasoline-stained gloves. Then she huffed, stood up, her heels clacking on a dented cello, and stepped onto the bench, surrounded by the stage lamps as they all mimicked the appearance of digital screens. The lights tattooed her outfit with words.
’FLAW’. IMPERFECTION’. ’MISTAKE’. ’INADEQUATE’.
The lamps shone on her shoulders, creeping closer and closer on invisible strings until she growled threateningly and swatted them away.
The tablet behind her played an audio file of tires screeching and metal crunching. She spun around, climbed off of the bench and dug her fingers around the entire stage lamp to pry it off and fling it behind her with a wild grunt. She knelt to retrieve two objects Seth could not see, since he was busy scrambling off of the bed to avoid a lamp to the ribs, then turned back around. She planted a heel onto the bench, stepped back up and sprung off of the mountain in a graceful front flip.
Landing on Seth's bed and compressing the springs underneath, she arced off with another flip and landed in front of him. The heels clacked against the polished surface and stalked sensuously around trapdoors that opened up to swallow falling lamps. The source of her frustration backed away with stammered apologies. She merely tilted her head, brandished twin violin strings that sported serrated metal wires instead of hair, and shrugged as the tablet magically tumbled off of the bed, freed from the lamp, and began to revolve around her head like a satellite, plastering more harsh names into her mask and displaying hypnotic sequences of Greek letters and equations.
Seth stumbled backwards and slipped on a puddle of digital slurry. His duelist flipped the bows into icepick grip, still with that aching, fake smile, and drove them down like daggers.
((Microsoft Word deleted entire portions of this post even though I saved, twice, and had to retype it. Blegh.)) ((Brandon's time in the spotlight is over, and it seems as though someone new has taken the stage! Big thanks to the writer for allowing me to use their character as inspiration for this segment. Of course, just who could it be behind the mask...?))
((Each chapter is going to follow this format - corrupted, villainous, or fallen "nightmare" versions of campers we all know and love essentially trying to beat the stuffing out of Seth. F in the chat for Westley))

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"Wallace, perhaps now that you've got a handle on magic, I could teach you something about drawing," Valentine observed.
That got a laugh out of the table, despite the imminent crisis, and I sighed in exasperation.
I pointed to the map as I'd copied it into our communications books, "Hey, it gets the point across okay," I insisted, "We've got the three major cities here, and all the rest stops we know about, along with the mountain range and its passes. This here is the hotel, on top of the chunk of foundation, on top of the hill. Northwest is the little castle type thing that represents the dungeon theme park, and northeast from the hotel is the village with its palisade and thatched huts."
"What's this one here?" Cassius asked, "It's just a big question mark."
"When we first arrived, Wallace and I spotted a campfire in the distance," Val explained, "It was high enough that it must have been just within the mouth of the pass to Caniforma."
"So there's another rest stop on this side of the mountains?"
"Probably," I agreed, "I don't know how close it is to the village, though. Just remember, the map is more about the links between each rest stop than it is the actual distance between each one. The question mark and the village look close, but they're probably a couple of days away from each other."
"Once we know more I shall update the map to be more comprehensible," Valentine promised.
"Hey, this started as your map," I retorted, "If there's any issues with comprehensibility-"
"Children, please," Phoebe cut in, "The map is sufficient for our needs, let us deal with the matter at hand?"
"Right," I grimaced, "Cassius, how quickly can you put together a ramp down? It doesn't need to be fancy. We just need a way to get Regina down to ground level."
The sphinx raised an eyebrow, "Am I to go with you, then?"
"I wasn't aware we'd decided to go anywhere," Phoebe noted.
"We can't afford to sit around and wait for things to happen to us. The Baroness was a manageable problem as long as she was isolated, and we knew where she was. But not only have we lost track of her, she's also well positioned to take both the village and the Prince's little hangout. If she does that, she'll suddenly be a hell of a lot less manageable."
"Not to mention that Temerity would be required to go through us if she wanted to strike at the Baroness," Val added.
"We need to go after her before she can get comfortable. It's bad enough with the Prince running the village, suddenly adding two dozen soldiers to the mix is not going to make life easier for us."
"A dozen and a half," Phoebe clarified, "And she's short a knight."
Felicity glanced nervously between Phoebe and me, "Who's all going?"
It was something I'd given quite some thought. I'd be going obviously, physically only Regina was anywhere close to a match for me, and my magical talents were coming along nicely. I was also mostly in charge, and someone would need to be present to make the final call on what to do about Constance.
I knew Val would react poorly to being left behind, but that wasn't why she was coming. Aside from respectable magical abilities and her general handiness with a gun, she was politically savvy, and that alone was worth having.
Regina was a fucking tank, and the only reason we weren't leaving immediately was to have her join us.
Even with them short six soldiers, as Phoebe had pointed out, that still meant they outnumbered us by a significant margin. I hoped to avoid a fight, but we needed to be ready for one, and that meant bringing Regina.
Amity was her own sort of dangerous in a brawl, what with all the retractable claws, but she was also our only medic. Valentine had returned from Parabuteo with more healing ointment, but it only did so much. The ointment aided recovery, but one had to be alive to recover, and that's where Amity came in.
I'd not seen it for myself, but from what Val had told me and what I saw of the way Phoebe carried herself, I trusted she could handle herself in a fight. She was likely our most skilled spellcaster as well, and magic was one of the few areas where we were better positioned than the Baroness.
Finally, there was Cassius and Felicity, who would be staying behind.
Even if I didn't have my doubts about Felicity's abilities, she was nervous enough to be a liability regardless. We needed to be ready to go in hard. If we were constantly looking over our shoulders to make sure Felicity was keeping up and hadn't gotten scared, then we'd only get hurt.
Cassius would be staying behind for much the same reason. If we couldn't count on him to be willing to shoot to kill, then he had to stay.
"You and Cassius are staying," I told the tattooed elf, "I'll leave you the battle rifle, the rest of us are going as soon as we can safely get Regina out of the base."
Regina tilted her head side to side, "If you judge it necessary, I would be willing to take the risk," she offered, "It is likely I could endure the drop without too much injury."
I shook my head, "And if you did get hurt, we'd be even worse off than we are now. I won't ask you to do that, Regina. We'll get some version of Cassius' ramp built, then we go. Not before."
"Uh, so I get the ramp thing," Cassius began, "But maybe I should go with you? I bet it'd help a lot to have another gun along."
I frowned and opened my mouth to speak, but Val interrupted before I could get a word in.
"Perhaps the rest of us begin preparations for our journey," she suggested, "And the two of you can hammer down the specifics."
"Yeah," Cassius nodded, "Yeah, that'd be great."
I made an unconcerned gesture, "Sure."
The others rose quickly, ready to attack their tasks. Only Regina appeared at all unsure of herself, but Amity was quick to swoop in, and in short order, the two were striding away with purpose.
Realizing what Val had done, I turned to Cassius and gave voice to my suspicion, "You haven't talked to Rohesia, have you?"
Cassius leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table with his face in his hands, "No."
"Well..."
I mulled it over. On the one hand, I understood his situation was kinda fucked. Not that I knew how to get him out of it, relationships not being my strong suit. But on the other hand...
"Sorry buddy, but you're just gonna have to deal with it. There's a small army of soldiers running around our back yard, and I don't know where the hell they are or what the hell they're doing. I get that untangling your relationship issues will suck, but I've got other shit to focus on right now."
"Can't Felicity keep an eye on them?"
"Yeah, and watching her back will be you. It's bad enough I'm leaving just the two of you here, or four I guess. I can't also expect Felicity to defend the place while she's busy trying to babysit."
"And what am I supposed to do if someone does come along?"
"Tell them to fuck off, and if they don't fuck off, shoot at them until they fuck off. You don't need to kill anyone, but you do need to do a convincing job of almost killing them. Just make sure to save the brass if you do use the rifle, Amity says she might be able to reload some cartridges for us down the line."
He jerked his chin at me, "Is that it? You don't think I'm a hard enough dude to shoot someone?"
"I think you'll find it a lot easier to make that call if you're defending yourself than if we're out hunting down the Baroness," I admitted.
Cassius pounded his fist on the table, "Well yeah. It's not a fucking game, man. It's pretty normal to think that it's fucked up to dome a guy when he's just minding his own business."
"I'm not disagreeing with you. You're right, it's normal," I agreed, "The rest of them are used to this kind of thing. They grew up in a kill-or-be-killed world. Hell, Phoebe and Val went looking for it. I don't expect a university student from Oakland to suddenly become a hardened killer. Stay here, do nerd things, let the rest of us handle this."
"But you're cool with this?" He demanded, "I've been living the rustic life for a couple of years now, you haven't even made it a couple of months, and suddenly you're the fucking iceman?"
I shrugged, "I've known for a while that I'm not exactly normal. You're a good guy, Cassius. You shouldn't be in any rush to go get more blood on your hands."
Spurred on by the sudden urgency, and willing to spend the extra hours needed, if only to keep away from Rohesia, Cassius had a finalized design for us by late that afternoon.
With Regina keeping watch from atop the hotel, the rest of us worked below to fell trees so that Val could drag them back with the truck. We drew only from those trees not within the hotel's safe area, as they were renewed on a nearly daily basis by the mists.
The ramp would be parallel to the wall, though not built against it. The gap between the ramp and the wall would be about as wide as the ramp itself.
With the slope parallel to the wall rather than pointed away, potential enemies wouldn't be able to use the ramp itself as cover as they approached. It also meant a hard right turn as they reached the landing and then went to cross the drawbridge, hopefully complicating the use of rams and the like.
Not that we were going to build the drawbridge any time soon. By that evening we had enough lumber to get started, and got as far as using Move Earth to dig in the foundation before we stopped for the night.
Even Val didn't have the energy for after dinner shenanigans. Instead, the little fey curled up next to me, kissed me good night, and passed out.
The next two days were no easier than those that had come before. We rotated people through jobs as much as we could, hoping that a little variety would make it a little less miserable, but it was still hard labour at the end of the day. Even magic could only assist so much, as every log used for spells instead of construction was one more we had to collect.
We worked through Dark Even' and late into Last Light, stopping long after the sun had gone down. It was far from complete. Made up of a series of logs cut to size and laid lengthwise it wasn't at all smooth. The truck might have been able to make it up despite that, but would never make it across what stood in for the drawbridge. Cassius had some plans for a more permanent solution, but at the moment all we had was a single log that had been cut down the middle and then glued back together with Shape Plant to form a rough bridge about three feet across.
Thirty feet off the ground, just the idea of walking across it scared the hell out of me, but Regina didn't hesitate. Cassius and I had hardly laid it down when Regina tested it with a paw and having decided it was acceptable, bounded across and down the ramp. Though the sun had gone down hours prior, she was joined immediately by Amity, and the two chased each other around until Regina was exhausted and Amity needed a recharge.
We rose late into the false-morning of The Long Night, and Amity took care to ensure that we all ate our fill. Particularly Regina, who she delighted in feeding by hand. Regina, for her part, played it off well. Somehow appearing not like an overgrown pet, fed from the dinner table, but more akin to royalty, lounging back while a servant feeds them grapes.
With the morning meal done and provisions packed, we left Cassius and Felicity to contend with the village girls and clambered into the truck.
The cab at least was three across, so Val, Phoebe, and Amity didn't have too much trouble. Phoebe and Amity were larger than most men, so they were a little short of elbow room, but they at least fit.
Not so much the case for Regina and I, who felt like a couple of salmon packed into a sardine can.
I sat with my back against the cab, and an arm swung over the roof. While the six-foot bed was just long enough for Regina to lay down in, so long as she didn't mind her paws hanging over the tailgate. Pressed in by Regina on one side and the side of the truck on the other, I was glad it was only for a few hours. If the time came to take a longer trip, we'd need to work something out.
We headed straight for the dungeon theme park, reasoning that if Baroness Constance were to stay anywhere, it would be there. The trip need not have been so long, the park only being an hour or so away even over rough ground. But we wanted to approach with stealth, which meant not turning on a pair of giant headlights to announce our presence.
Instead, Amity drove, using her sophisticated visual sensors to guide us by amplified starlight.
She drew to a stop in the dead ground behind a hill, distant enough for the engine noise not to carry, and close enough for us to walk the remaining distance.
We dismounted and gathered on the reverse slope to observe the theme park in the distance. Only a single building was illuminated, the rest of the fabricated town utterly dark. No lights seen through window curtains, and none of the sky-glow I'd expect to see if the street lights were on.
I realized, somewhat wryly, that the Baroness had received the hotel room she'd been hoping for when she'd first arrived on her doorstep. The single illuminated building was an inn. It was three stories, each of which jutted out a foot or two from the one below, and had a peaked roof.
A few months ago I would have leapt at the chance to vacation somewhere like this. Now though, doing it for real, it did not seem quite as exciting.
"Val, Phoebe, Amity, you three are the stealth team," I instructed, "Regina and I aren't sneaking anywhere, so we're going to walk right in the front door. If we can come to a peaceful arrangement, then great. Otherwise, you three will be ready to jump in when shit goes down."
"I mean no disrespect to Regina," Valentine began graciously, "But if the intention is diplomacy, then perhaps I should attend in her place. After all, I don't believe Regina is easy to notice when she is mindful of stealth. The village went months without catching so much as a glimpse of her."
"The giant speaks the truth," Regina intoned, "A town is a different matter than a forest. To say nothing of the difference between a handful of hungry peasants and several trained soldiers."
I nodded my agreement, "The plan is simple. As far as they know, Regina and I walked here, alone. We're here to talk with Constance, and Regina is my bodyguard. You three will only intervene if a fight breaks out. In which case we're going all in. They outnumber us three or four to one, so we've got no room to be gentle."
"Keep close to Amity. Make sure she has room to use the rifle. If you can, try to set up on the roof across the street. But the main thing is, don't get seen. If a peaceful solution is possible, I don't want that to go out the window if they spot you three skulking around."
"I'll keep them out of trouble," Amity promised.
What began as a cool night breeze, gently rustling the leaves overhead, soured as the scent of death and decay crept into the air. It made the air feel hot and cloying despite the chill and ruined what had been, at least for the moment, a pleasant walk in the woods.
Regina was an enormous shadow beside me in the dark, and I kept a hand on her shoulder as she led me towards the source of the smell.
There were six more bodies, all elves, none of them female. As before, they'd been stripped of gear and weapons. Whoever had killed them had the same idea as ourselves, leaving the bodies in the low ground to be carried away by the tide.
"Thirteen remain?" Regina guessed.
"Maybe fewer," I murmured, and scribbled a short note for Val and the others, "Come on, let's circle to the side a bit. I don't want them knowing we came through this way."
Regina and I made no attempt to hide as we reached the beginning of the cobblestones. I spied two men further down the road, but one of them held a torch, blinding them to us. So I lit one of my own, though the light mine gave off was magical, rather than the product of oil-soaked rags.
By the time I'd looked up from the torch and returned my gaze to the road before us, they already had their sights set on us and were fast approaching.
The two of us waited at the end of the street, and while I couldn't match Regina's look of regal condescension, I thought I pulled off 'bored and disinterested', pretty well.
We exchanged a few short words, and the guards led us to the inn. At a look from Regina, one of them rushed to open the door for us, and we ventured within.
Seated near the fire, with Prince Guillerme on her knee, was not the Baroness, but the bodyguard who'd accompanied her to our meeting.
She bounced him on her knee, and the Prince blushed as she stroked his hair.
"Lord Wallace," she beamed, "I don't believe I was properly introduced at our last meeting. I am Dame D'Amore, and I believe you've met the Prince already. You have something to say to Lord Wallace, don't you, your highness?"
She ruffled his hair, and the Prince seemed to shrink down a little.
"Ah, yes. I just wanted to apologize for my behaviour previous. I was disrespectful to you and your vassals. Furthermore, I hope you will convey my sincerest apologies and most heartfelt regrets to Charlotte."
"Her name is Amity."
"Yes, sorry, of course, Amity."
"And who might your companion be?"
I looked to Regina, using the motion to cover a glance around the room. None of the Prince's people were present, and aside from the Dame, there were five soldiers. Which left six soldiers and one Baroness unaccounted for.
"This is Regina. I believe the Prince is familiar with the stories of her by now."
"Well met, Regina."
"That remains to be seen."
"Not easily impressed, I see," Dame D'Amore noted, "No matter. The Prince has more than apologies to offer, doesn't he?"
She lowered her lips to his neck, and he nodded quickly, "Y-yes. Present the Baroness to Lord Wallace."
Two of the soldiers left, only to return a moment later with the Baroness. Stripped down to her shift, and hog-tied, they deposited her in front of me, squirming and grunting through her gag.
"Keep her as a pet or plaything, or give her to Temerity," Dame D'Amore offered, "She is yours to do with as you please. And there's one more thing, isn't there, your highness?"
"Yes, um-" the Prince stood, and the Dame slapped him lightly on his backside.
He strode forwards with what grace he could muster, and dropped to one knee, "Lord Wallace, I, Prince Guillerme, would swear fealty to you. I would swear to take your friends as my friends, your foes as my foes, and your cause as my cause. In gratitude for your protection, I would pay tribute, such that you desire, to provide for the rule of this land."
I saw only indifference in the soldiers standing nearby, and I supposed one liege lord was much like another so far as they were concerned.
Regina, I took to be equal parts wary and pleased, though she'd not taken her eyes off Dame D'Amore.
The Dame, still relaxing in her chair, regarded the kneeling Prince with quivering anticipation, though she fought to hide it.
The Prince, for his part, seemed to be entirely out of his depth. I found neither resentment nor rebelliousness in his features, and I judged his gesture of supplication to be genuine.
And then there was the Baroness. Half naked, bound and gagged, and laying at my feet. She fought against her bonds, but I saw the fear in those eyes.
Wow, Val will be disappointed she missed this.

Please make yourself comfortable as this is going to be a long one. I understand if folks skip through.
This past November my husband and I made the decision to drive from one state to another (a total of 46 hours round trip) to pick up a long time friend (we’ll call her Daisie) who had fallen in a difficult situation. She’s 33 and has Asperger’s. We set her up in one of our spare rooms until she can get on her feet and find her own place. She assured us she was willing and able to take care of herself and that she'd be able to get a place for herself. We did our usual, made it clear what was expected in our home, especially the treatment of our children. My son is 9 and also has Aspergers. My daughter is 7, has ADHD and other hurdles that can accompany it (Objective Defiance Disorder, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) We have worked with our children constantly in order to teach them ways of dealing with issues that may arise with both disorders, so that they are able to live their lives as “normal” as possible, but there are some things that need more patience and understanding, and we adjust to the situation in order to teach them. We do not baby them, they receive fair punishments when they go off the rails, and we make sure they understand why they’re in trouble. My friend is used to living by herself with her dog, and having people do everything for her as she commands it by making them feel badly so that they will. This is obviously a problem in our house since she had the whole talk about wanting independence as she’s lived her entire adult life having someone else take care of her money (which has been proven since she’s been here she has no impulse control and spends all of her money before she has realized it.) Her behaviors in the past 3 months have been what I describe as appalling, at least to myself and others who have experienced being around her at the house and heard about the situation. I’m the kind of person who wakes up with a clear idea of what I need to get done, and I work all day on getting those things done while I’m also in college and homeschooling both my children by myself. On top of this, I’m taking care of the entire household, cooking, cleaning, running errands, etc. While I realize that not everyone is able to do this, and I give more patience than I should to a lot of things, I’m finding myself very upset with this living situation, as is my husband and my children.
“Daisie” tends to spend all day either online playing games with her friends or constantly complaining about our children. If she’s not doing either of those things, she’s constantly knocking at my bedroom door, despite being told numerous times that I’m working on my assignments, to constantly tell me that she’s done one thing or another around the house. These things are usually minor to the point that you’d have never noticed if she hadn’t said anything. For example, picking up something that was on the floor, like a piece of paper, or putting an empty soda box in the garbage can outside. Conversations with her have become a nightmare. When not complaining about something she wants to have her way, she’s talking about what she wants to do, what she wants to buy, or something she thinks we need to put in the house just because she wants it, not because it is actually something helpful or something the house actually needs. She wanted a lock on her bedroom door and we agreed to a locking interior door, but she’s constantly arguing that she wants one with a keyed lock (where she’s the only one with the key, and has no reason to actually want it as no one goes in there but her. No one else can tolerate the smell or the mess laying everywhere.) She asked to paint her bedroom to match her “theme” she wanted, and I agreed as long as it’s not something I’m going to have to paint over when she moves out, and that it would have to be done correctly because I don’t want the carpet ruined or the trim until it’s time to replace it. (we’ve had plans for renovations for the past year or so) She has not discussed the situation with us any further, but she talks about painting it while we’re away, asking the help of another friend we’re renting a room to rather than saying anything to us about it, and discussing paint she knows we are going to have to cover when she moves out. (which I think at this point she doesn’t plan on moving out) She also doesn't really want to pay for the paint itself and has made comments to both us and the other roommate about someone else paying for it and doing it all for her.
Since she’s been here, I’ve heard a long list of things she’s allergic to, and we have done our best to accommodate those things, such as buying laundry detergent she’s not allergic to, but she has constantly complained about that. She says she’s allergic to every main brand detergent on the market with the exception of Dreft or any of the “free and clear” detergents. No questions asked, we bought this for her. Daisie has a very bad habit of not bathing, and to date, has had two showers since the day after we left to visit my family for Christmas (December 23). We only know of it because she makes it a point to tell us literally every choice she makes and plans she has as all of her conversations are about her, but back to the bath. She demands to take long hot baths in my tub, which is in the master bathroom, and quite honestly, I let her do it twice just to be nice when she first moved in, but now she wants to do this all the time and says the bathroom she uses is too small for a tub bath. This also kicks myself and my husband out of our bedroom because a locked bathroom door isn’t enough privacy for her. All the showers in the house have been fitted with shower heads that come off so that everyone can use them to clean everywhere on their bodies. Daisie is over 400 pounds. She’s almost the same size as my younger brother, who has used the same shower with no issues at all. I’m not small myself, I’m just under 200 pounds, which is why I provide everyone with the shower heads as an option so that they can really get clean as I know I feel gross when I sweat and just want everything washed. Daisie doesn’t want to use the shower head. She claims she doesn’t want to take showers because she’s claustrophobic and doesn’t want to close the shower curtain. She gives me every possible excuse as to why she HAS to lay in my bath to get me to agree, and gets upset that I won’t. I don’t enjoy scrubbing the ring out of my tub and she makes excuses as to why she physically can’t or won’t. Generally speaking, I do not let people hang out in my bedroom because to me it is a private space. Besides myself and our children, no one really comes in here and I like it that way because I need personal space to recharge myself after the world has emotionally and mentally drained me.
I’ve gone off tangent, but back on track to the laundry detergent. She made an offhand comment one day about how she liked the way that our laundry detergent smelled (which is Gain) and asked if she could use it, as miraculously, after a week or two of her hands supposedly burning while touching our clothes it stopped and she wanted to do a spot test to see if she had a reaction. I had no problem doing spot tests for both detergent and fabric softener, even put a dryer sheet around her wrist to make sure that wouldn’t give her issues as well. Lo and behold she’s had absolutely no reaction to any of it. So we share our laundry supplies with her with no problem, as we want her to be clean, and would do anything we could to encourage better habits that would get rid of the horrendous smell of body odor that overpowers any air freshener we have bought and tried.
We pay for all of the food in the house along with the bills. Daisie pays a small amount of rent each month, which we don’t HAVE to have, but she asked to “contribute” so we’ve just been either putting it away or using it when something unexpected comes up. She asked for a chore in the house and offered to use the poop scooper to pick up the dog poop in the yard every Sunday. She’s been here since the day after Thanksgiving and has only done this once… the day it was bought. It’s been sitting outside since and hasn’t been touched.
Ever since the second month she’s been here it’s been clear that she has an issue with wanting to control things. My kids have chores, minor things like wiping off the counters, picking up things from the floor in the living room, or organizing shoes on the shoe rack near the front door. We don’t give them too much of a load because we’d rather them focus on their studies and have some time each day to relax and have time for themselves. I’m usually always around to keep them on track as they can sometimes get distracted. If for some reason I have to step out of the room, either because I’m checking on my assignments, looking for something, or need to tend to something in another room, she is there hovering over them, barking orders at them, and insisting they clean to her standards, and if they don’t she will hound them and make them go back and do it again or constantly complain to me hoping that I’ll give in and make them go back to do it the way she wants. I know they’re going to make mistakes. They’re kids. If they don’t make mistakes they aren’t going to learn from them or grow. I simply point it out, and show them how to correct it in the future. They listen and they make sure next time to not miss that detail. It’s been a long going thing with them and it’s worked up until now. She makes them do the entire job over again, and will make them keep doing it until they get it to her idea of right. It's gotten to the point they have no room to even breathe. If they come out of their room, she's there. If she hears them talking, she's there. If they make any sound at all, she's there. She wants to know where everyone's going when they leave, and she's there to see what we are doing when we walk through the front door to come home. She keeps her bedroom window open constantly just to see who is going in and out of the house at any given time and always demands we buy her something while we're out if we're going to a store.
About two weeks ago I went out to the store with my husband and my daughter. My daughter (Mary, we’ll call her) asked if we were going home. I of course told her “Yeah we’ll be home soon” to which she says okay, sighs, and lays her head against the window before asking if we could go someplace else. I jokingly asked her “Why? Would you prefer not to go home?” and she quietly says “I really don’t want to go home”. I asked her why, and she sits quietly for a few moments before telling us both that she doesn’t want to go home because she’s always getting yelled at. I asked her who was always yelling at her, and she says it was Daisie. As a mother who spends a lot of time trying to make sure their children’s needs are always provided for and they have a safe place to be, this hurt my heart to say the least. So, like anyone who wants to help, I simply ask her what she means by yelling. It wasn’t yelling Daisie was doing, but it was her hovering over them and demanding they do everything her way rather than what they were taught to the point they were being made to do it over and over and over until they got it to her standards that was stressing her out. Mary can only describe it as yelling at her because she sometimes has issues associating certain words in sentence formation. Daisie had been pushing them and nagging them to the point that Mary felt she couldn’t do anything right anymore, and had absolutely no drive to attempt doing her chores. She said she didn’t want to do anything anymore because she was always anxious about it never being right. Mary had also told us that Daisie had been using the kids to do things for her that she wanted done because all the adults had gotten tired of her demanding them to do things for her because she didn’t want to do them for herself. She'd on multiple occasions tried to get my husband to make food for her too while he was trying to get food in him before his blood sugar dropped too low. She’d made the kids pick up things or put things away because she personally thought it didn’t need to be there, heat up food for her in the microwave, fetch something she didn’t feel like getting up to get (even if it’s 8 feet away in the same room), among other things. These are things she’d been asking all the adults to do for her that we stopped doing because it was almost like a full time job just to constantly do things she was capable of doing herself but didn’t feel like it. Since this has all been going on, neither child has wanted to do their chores, my son has started to whine about literally everything (he usually only whines a lot when he’s getting stressed or when he’s tired and needs time to himself. He would rather whine than constantly complain or explain his emotion sometimes.), my daughter has refused to even clean her own room because “If I can’t do it right, why should I bother doing it at all?” Mary has been through a lot in her 7 years. She was rejected by the kids’ biological father for being a girl, dealt with abandonment, rejection from other adults because she’s not what people expect, and struggled even early on in her school days with bullying. Our son, we’ll call him Alex, dealt with abuse and abandonment from their biological father as well. When we started working with Mary at home rather than forcing her to go to public schools, she blossomed. She no longer got overwhelmed and melted down, her demeanor was much calmer, and she has overall been a happy well-adjusted child, we didn’t have any issues other than her having issues holding her bladder when her anxiety got the best of her. (these have obviously since stopped as she’s gotten older but if she gets too anxious now she can wet the bed at night.) She only had issues with schedule upsets, when we had to change plans and do something completely different and even then, it wasn’t a major issue for her, she was just slow to adjust to the change. It stressed her out. This has started a lot of tension in the house, as I’ve had to put cameras in the kitchen and living room to make sure the kids are okay, which I don’t like in the least. Our home is supposed to be our safe space, and I’m left feeling like every day we’re not safe in our homes.
Before anything is asked, Daisie has always had a presence of something dark around her. Her presence is heavy, even kind of suffocating at times. We have on numerous occasions corrected her about how she talks to the kids, given plenty of conversation reminding her of expectations, and she still persists. She has on several occasions raised her voice to argue when she thinks my husband should do something her way, even going so far as to try to rope me into it to try to manipulate me into forcing him to do it the way she wants. I simply tell her this is how he does it, it gets the job done, to just let it be, because I’m not going to let her manipulate anyone so long as I’m in this house. She has a habit of manipulating people on the internet into giving her money once she’s spent all hers. She legitimately says things in a way that makes people feel bad for her so that they buy it, like wanting a new bed. She had spent all her money on a shopping spree at a local walmart and bought a bed frame but didn’t think about buying a mattress. So she did her usual “eventually I’ll have this”, which turned into “I really want this” with her comments progressing until one of her people online bought her a 200 dollar mattress against warnings from their parents (They’re in their early 20s and still live at home) Daisie has a very long history of making manipulative comments to try to steer things towards herself, and has on multiple occasions said or done things to make sure she gets the attention, even demanding an apology from someone who didn’t owe her one, but she wanted the satisfaction that someone felt badly for her not getting what she wanted in that moment. She has gone so far as to attack our religious beliefs because she doesn’t believe the same way. We are Catholic and have never once spoken to her about it unless she asks a question. We don’t try to make her go to Mass with us and have only commented about why we like the priest at our parish or when we have to leave to take the kids to Religious Education classes. She is Pagan and has not only made insulting comments towards us, but has made comments because we have a small amount of decor in the living room that reflects that. Nothing outrageous or in your face. She doesn’t like it to say the least. We have never once said anything about her beliefs. We don't care what others believe in. We respect others' differences in faith, and we would like the same respect given to us.
Last month we had just gotten in from out of town, and were cleaning the house because obviously nothing had been done while we were gone. She proceeded in the conversation, and in realizing my husband had a different opinion, started making sure she drove it home that her opinion and wants in the situation mattered more than everyone elses. My husband has been way more patient with her than he is with most people, because I explained to him that she has aspergers, and that we should try to understand how her differences work the same way we did with our son. We have tried that, and we don’t really see any symptoms that are anything of the sort, so we have been trying to take things one issue at a time, but to absolutely no avail. Anyway, since he wasn’t bending to agree with her and tried to explain the reasoning behind his choice, she got louder and started to argue more, before yelling out “you don’t have to yell at me.” I was there in the room, he wasn’t yelling at her in the least. He did, however, yell after that. In order to stop her trying to talk over him to invalidate anything he said and to stop her from constantly treating him like he was dumb, like she had always done to him, he came into the room quite loudly and said “This is yelling. Do you see that now? I will raise my voice in my own house if I need to. Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” By that point she had covered her ears and immediately started crying, and generally, I’d have felt bad about it, but honestly this time I didn’t. Especially after she made a comment about wanting to hit him just because he walked out of the room rather than listening to a long list of what she wanted done for her. It made her angry at him because he wasn't going to do this long list as he is both working and taking his last few classes for his degree. So no, I didn't feel badly when he yelled this time. I calmly told him to mind his voice because the kids were home and didn’t need to hear him yelling. They were in the room with another friend we rent a room to, who was playing video games. My husband used to be a correctional officer and at that point, that training took over. What he saw was a person who was not listening, only demanding, and he is not one to be forced to bend to anyone’s will just because they want it that way. Our other friend, who we will call Dennis came out moments later and pat her on the back and asked what happened, to which I explained, and he stopped rubbing her on the back and said “ohhh” before walking back to his room. He wouldn’t stand by her on it. This was of course recorded on the cameras, to which we have only really shared it with a couple of family members to ask their opinion on the situation because we really honestly didn’t know where to go afterwards. Daisie went to her room and cried it out, before coming out to apologize to him. Her apology was a half apology, and half a blame game because she still tried to push the situation again but quickly realized that putting the blame on him wasn’t going to be had and retracted. The argument they were having was over the dogs. She never did much in the way of training her dog, and he had several times randomly attacked our 11 month old husky. He's a 3 year old Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, and much larger than our dog. Her dog was not socialized, and she made a million excuses for his behavior and refused to try to remedy the situation. Eventually I took the dog and started training him myself as she no longer wanted him because she had been told that either she trains him or has to rehome him with someone who will. Where we live, had we reported her dog’s aggression, he would have been forcibly removed from her care. Since I trained him, the aggression stopped other than a few territorial growls, but when she was around him, he would get aggressive again because she would make it a point to not follow through with the things we’d taught him. Because of this we couldn’t leave both dogs at home when she was around because she'd not pay attention and he'd jump on our dog. With everything we’ve done, she will make comments and statements to acknowledge that she understands and will adhere to the few rules we’ve laid down, but when it comes to doing it she ignores it and just goes on doing what she wants to do.
My daughter has been asking constantly to spend the night with other people, because it hasn’t ended. I cannot leave my kids alone in any one room of the house, even the living room to watch TV without her coming in and hounding them to do something she wants them to do. I let my daughter spend the night with the neighbor as she’s best friends with her daughter, but that one night away has only increased her anxiety about being at home with Daisie here. She has started wetting her bed again as she’s too worried about what’s going on in the house. Both children have started showing multiple signs of anxiety and Mary has resorted to hiding things in her bedroom closet so that she can stay in there sometimes and not have to worry about what Daisie will have to say about it.
I want Daisie gone. I want her to move somewhere else, out of our house. I fear that if she doesn’t I’m likely to hurt her in ways I don’t even know I’m capable of. Since she listens in on our conversations I made it a point to tell my husband that if things don’t change I’m going to make a change that no one likes, and I don’t care who doesn’t like it because these kids don’t deserve to sit at home unhappy and stressed out because they feel they can’t even breathe without being told it’s being done wrong. My husband stayed silent and nodded in agreement as he had nothing to add to it. My son loves people. He loves Daisie too even though he’s lost all respect for her. My son is the kind of person who will do things to make people happy just because he likes to see them smile. If my son asks you for a hug, it’s because he sees something in you that says you need a hug. It’s not for himself. It’s for the person he sees as needing a hug. He always asks, he never forces it, and if you tell him no, he’s okay with that, but he’s doing that less and less lately because any time Daisie is around, she will remark that he doesn’t need a hug and that he needs to stop looking for constant validation. She has a few times now referred to him as creepy because he likes to make people smile. While yes, I do correct her in most of these instances, I'm glad he's not been around to hear it. He has on numerous occasions asked her if she wants a hug and she will reject it and tell him that he needs to stop forcing himself on her and has even tried to tell me I need to “control” him as his offers are inappropriate and she doesn’t like it. I simply pulled my son to the side and told him to leave her alone, that there aren’t enough hugs in the world to make her happy. He said he knew, but he didn’t want her to feel left out. I can’t with this child sometimes.
If she doesn’t leave, I’m probably going to hurt her. I don’t want my kids to see me like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone either, but this situation is stirring up mother bear reactions in me and I’m likely to tear someone’s head off and poop down their neck stump if she doesn’t leave. At the same time though, she has nowhere to go. The majority of people get tired of dealing with her mindset and attitude, or the smell, and they stop hanging out or talking to her. I introduced her to one of the neighbors and he no longer wants her over at his house because of her attitude. She’s met people in town who have been hanging out with her, which I see as a security risk to the house because she hd them come pick her up at our house after only talking to them for two days over the internet. We don’t know these people. They know where we live, and she’s been giving out the gate code to our community. We don’t live in the city, but we are in a larger town and you can’t trust everyone in the world in this day and age. These friends though, have started slowly canceling things they’ve planned to do with her, giving only short excuses that we can see through, but she believes and still gets angry because it’s not what she wanted, and has openly admitted she’s more angry because she can’t control the situation.
So she really doesn’t have anywhere to go. I do not like shelters in the least, but my mind has been thinking of putting her there and forcing her to do all of this on her own, because it’s pretty clear she’s making no progressive use of all the time she has on her hands. I am a busy person. As I’ve said before I wake up with a list of things in my mind that I need to do, and I work on getting those things done. I don’t have time to constantly have to watch her every move because she wants to be rude or controlling and demanding. Our kids don’t need the stress that’s been placed upon them. My husband’s parents have even suggested to her that maybe she’d be better off in a place on her own, but she argues with them and thinks that she’s helping us by being here. She doesn’t help, and isn’t needed.
What stops me from being a complete asshole is understanding that she has Aspergers, but at the same time, she’s used it in so many arguments it’s starting to feel more like she’s using it as a pass for her behavior rather than us trying to understand how she thinks or reacts. At the current, if I’m not doing something that requires me to be outside my bedroom, I stay in here. The kids do too. They get to watch tv in the living room either when she’s gone or in her room busy. If she comes out, they are brought into my room. They do their assignments in here, and we do lessons in here. I like to see it as we’re spending more time together like we wanted, but at the same time, I feel like the four of us are also prisoners in our house because of someone else. I don't honestly know where to go from here, but I know it's going to get worse if we don't get her out of here. It's pretty clear she's not going to stop her behaviors. I suppose I just need a bit of advice on how to proceed. At this point I no longer see her as any kind of friend and I just want her to leave and never hear from her again. There are very few people in this world who have done me wrong that I completely lose the ability to even care for their humanity or what happens to them, and she has joined that list. Our kids are everything to us and we are hurting because they are hurting, and that's what put her on that list.

Previous | First
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Chapter 13 Art: The Flower of Alhamkara
Chapter 14: A Return (art to follow)
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A/N: I will start by saying that HJ 2021 will premier on the 21st, as I'm sure many are wondering. For those of you not on my patreon or discord who are curious about why there’s a chapter for Coronation Day today and not HEL Jumper, I spent the last part of the year gauging the desire within the community for more HJ versus spending a bit of time each month on other works. As a result of community feedback and my own personal desires, you can expect two HJ chapters each month going forward, along with a full length installment of either CD or some other OC of mine. I hope you’ll all give some of my other work a shot if you haven’t already. Happy New Year everyone, it's great to be back.
Special Thanks to Big_Papa_Dakky, Darth_Android, bloblob, AMERICUH, Ironwing, Mr_Polygon, Krystalin, Mamish, Mike, Vikairious, Sam_Berry, KillTech, LilLaussa, Daddy_Talon, Gruecifer, Gaelan_Darkwater, Konrahd_Verdammt, red-shirt, DaPorkchop, Benjamin Durbin, Siddabear, and everyone else supporting me on patreon.
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When Spot left Eina behind in the medical wing he’d expected the nerves, the shaking. He was going to kill other faunum in the name of the King and Queen. He’d proceeded to do so several times, in some cases brutally, like the animals to which they were all so closely related. What he hadn’t expected was the same sensations on the way back. The operation against the Oro had gone off almost without a hitch but the one casualty had been his partner, and he had no idea if Eina would still be waiting for him when he got back, if she would still be alive. Fortunately for his nerves, he, Idris, and his comatose partner were rocketing back towards the palace in a shuttle that, on the outside, appeared as nothing more than an ambulance. It was one of the best armed and armored ambulances in the kingdom, but nobody watching needed to know that. The remainder of the Sekhama were either still at the Oro’s base of operations securing evidence and ensuring a perimeter, or returning to the various military bases from which they deployed, using a randomly generated dispersal pattern to throw off those who might be looking at things they shouldn’t with technology they shouldn’t possess. If katana anti-air launchers were filtering down into the hands of street gangs, who was to say what else they had on hand?
“Spot,” Octavia got his attention in a low, almost fatherly voice. “I’m only going to say this once. You are a member of the Sekhama now. You will always be watched, scrutinized, and appraised for weakness or strength, just like the rest of us. Find yourself somewhere private if you need to mourn or deal with what happened tonight. Maintaining your health as a professional soldier is just as much your job as the actual killing of the Crown’s enemies. Am I clear?”
“Yes sir,” Spot managed to reply, feeling like he was forcing the words through a tightening rubber tube. With every second he was getting closer to an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, and what a third party observer would have described as an unhealthy obsession with a street whore. Idris Octavia was not that sort of observer.
“Good. There are those in the employ of the Matriarch who are skilled in the art of conversation and are as loyal to her as any of us are to the Queen or King. Or go to the heavy ordinance range. Both are fine.”
“But you said rookies aren’t normally allowed into the harem after their first mission. You don’t need to-”
“I have had this conversation with every single rookie since I assumed command of this force, Spot. The harem is not some street corner sex den where your brothers in arms get to fool around either by the grace of or for the enjoyment of the upper crust of society, though I understand well its appeal in that regard. You can get anything there from a perfectly brewed cup of tea to things unmentionable even in the corridors when you think no one is listening. Speaking to somebody about what you’ve seen and done is a far cry from getting your cock wet. You are not special,” the lion insisted gruffly, ensuring silence as the pilot radioed the cabin from the cockpit, informing them that they’d entered the palace’s direct airspace and were about to touch down atop the medical wing’s helipad. Spot had little time to reflect upon the Commander’s words as the side of the shuttle opened and he leapt out onto the tarmac, ready to assist the two medical staff who had accompanied Doc Oz in moving Tark’s gurney from the vehicle to solid ground.
“So you are the partner?” the doctor noted as he walked around to get a head on view of the shattered limb of Spot’s partner. “You removed the arm?”
“I uh, yes sir.”
“Commander Octavia, who was the field medic who saw to the injury?”
“Pteris. And if you could hold your evaluations until the sun comes up at least, Doctor?”
Oz waved him off with a feathered arm as the medical staff began wheeling the injured Sekhama to the elevator that would lead directly to the back end of the medbay, with Spot hot in tow. “I will only submit a complaint if they screwed up and cost our brave Sekhama here some amount of functionality in his new limb, Commander. Otherwise I suppose congratulations are in order?”
“You’re always a riot, Oz. Enjoy it while you can. We have a lot you’re going to have to sift through come morning and none of it is pretty,” Octavia explained, joining them in the elevator as the shuttle pilot threw them a salute and kicked his bird back into the air, bound for the palace’s vehicle storage and maintenance depot. The large, fortified structure was located well within the palace’s security perimeter, but distant enough so as not to ruin the experience of visiting dignitaries or other patrons of the crown. Spot watched it go, soaring gracefully over the palms and other greenery of the palace grounds before becoming naught but a dim light in the black night sky, faintly reminding him of the first time he’d been brought to the palace. That life seemed far away, as though something he could only remember through a looking glass. His was that of a Sekhama now, and all the grief and triumph that came along with it.
After a tense, silent ride in the elevator, broken only by the clicking of Spot’s shotgun bolt as the rookie did his best to remain calm, the doors opened and Oz went to work as bright, white lights guiding their way to an already prepared operating suite. Spot barely had a chance to look around the room before the medical professionals had passed through the sterilization bubble and began transferring Tark to the operating table. By the time he’d checked every bed visually and noted every single one of them was empty, pristine, and awaiting new patients, Oz was already determining his partner’s reactions to electronic stimuli via the protective artificial socket that had been fixed to the arm in the field. “Eina…”
Octavia inhaled a deep breath through his nose and placed a heavy paw on Spot’s shoulder. “Welcome to the other half of being a Sekhama.”
Spot did his best to control his lips and eyes, feeling the natural reactions tugging at him, willing tears to spring from his lids. “They’re dead, at least,” was all he could say, his voice parched and cracked.
“They are, Spot, by your hand. What you’re feeling right now is the bittersweet line between justice and vengeance. If you choose to cleanse your palate with some of the harem’s jasmine tea, I will meet you there.”
“Do you really give this talk to every rookie, sir?” Spot wondered as their heavy boots rang off the sterile, linoleum floor and they moved to observe the beginnings of Tark’s operation from a respectful distance. Octavia allowed himself to smile then, just a bit.
“Not all of my rookies fall in love with street whores, Spot. And before you snap at me as I know you so desperately want to… I find it reassuring that even in this line of work something so unreasonably hopeful can happen. If she is gone, be strong for that boy.”
“You have… I don’t know if I can do that,” Spot replied, clenching his fists so tightly the creaking of his gloves could be heard against the handle of his shotgun. Octavia crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.
“That’s why it wasn’t an order, Spot. You have thirty minutes. Otherwise, wait until after your next op or put in a request directly with one of the Matriarch’s staff to speak with one of her healers. It’s your choice.”
Spot lowered his head, closing his eyes as the lights from over head reflected up at him off the spotless floor. It felt a mockery in a way, light and dead. “I appreciate this, sir. I’ll be there.”
Octavia hummed approvingly. “Good, but ditch the shotgun.”
-----
“So, you’re the one? Hmmm, our Lady did always have an eye for quality and an unhealthy obsession with the underbelly of society. You are her diamond in the rough, I suppose. I assume you know who I am?” the matronly hyena demanded in a silken voice, walking slowly in a full circle around where Eina sat, straight backed on a plush ottoman in the middle of one of the several private chambers that made up the south wing of the glistening jewel of Alhamkara’s palace, the harem.
“You’re the Matriarch,” the cheetah replied in a weak voice. The hyena nodded, taking her chin between her fingers as she considered her from every angle.
“Oh they’ll like you, my dear. Meek and mild mannered with an alluring, voluptuous street body, with modifications to match. I know a few gentlemen and more than one lady who would pay dearly to spend a night with you if that is still to your liking. Ah ah ah now Eina, you cannot ever show fear or they will eat you alive. It is not wise to allow the clientele to believe they hold power here. That rests with you. So tell me little cat, why did you come knocking at my door the moment you were able to walk again?” Matriarch asked, sitting in a chair opposite Eina and crossing her legs one over the other. Her body was clad in a voluminous robe of the finest silks dyed a deep, earthen red and trimmed with gold. The symbol of the palace, the dawning sun, adorned the collar below her left cheek. The sight of her left Eina speechless for a moment. Her elegant dress was modest, covering her entire upper body, arms, and most of her legs when standing, but she understood how to arrange herself just so, ensuring a tantalizing glance of her thighs and calves when seated. The queen of the harem smiled at her, keeping her teeth behind her lips. “I’m flattered, my dear. Now introductions? Let’s start there.”
“I am Eina, my lady,” the cheetah replied quietly.
“And you’re quite honest. Not always a good quality but I demand absolute loyalty from those who serve me, just as is demanded of me by those I serve. Now, apart from my wonderful decor,” the Matriarch said, gesturing with a smooth sweep of her arm to the room around them. Sandstone walls, a rich dark wood bed frame, silks and pillows trimmed in gold, ornate hookah pipes and vases of rare desert flowers all set the scene where the wealthiest and most powerful might indulge themselves, and where Eina never in a million years dreamed she might be. “Why did you come to the harem, Eina?”
She stammered a reply. “I w-wish to repay her majesty, Lady Keiko. I am without s-skills, so I thought-”
“You thought that a dancer from an illicit brothel could just waltz into the harem and begin to serve as the Crown requires,” the Matriarch finished playfully, cowing Eina into silence. After a moment under her gaze, withering before her stern, mahogany eyes she looked away, feeling shame grow within her breast. “Honest and brave. Unpolished stones have no place in my collection, but I called you a diamond for a reason, your eyes not the least of them. I already know what you went through to get them and why, so we will not waste our time on such matters as your past. The kitchens would take you, Eina, as well as the other handmaidens. We could always use someone else to air out the bedding. You do not have to do this.”
Eina looked up at her again curiously, finding that the Matriarch had procured a thin, wooden pipe from somewhere on her person. The material was dark, almost black, polished to a fine sheen and inlaid with ivory. With practiced motions she packed the small bowl and lit it with a strike of her fingers, catalysing a reaction that sent a thin trail of haunting, blue smoke into the air. She puffed lightly, exhaling a vibrant, sparkling cloud of azure fumes. “I’ve only ever seen it so pure once in my life,” Eina remarked.
That comment actually elicited a reaction from the seasoned hyena as she cocked her brow ever so slightly. “Indeed? We do not serve anything else here, and we refine it ourselves.”
“I can only imagine what that would cost,” Eina replied wistfully, feeling her mouth begin to salivate as the smell reached her. “That is… utterly divine.”
“And your relationship with the substance is exceedingly complicated,” the Matriarch pointed out, removing the pipe from between her lips and allowing it to rest comfortably on one knee. “Perhaps that is the answer?”
“N-No! I would never… no,” Eina pleaded. “If I require it I was told to return to the medical wing.”
“And where is the fun in that?” the hyena chuckled, finally relenting. “Eina, this is but a taste of the sort of games that are played in my world. I admire your devotion to our Lady, but I need to know you can survive this place. If a client comes to anticipate your services, I cannot simply inform them that you are no longer available.”
Eina shook her head briefly, partially to clear the sinful smell of azure smoke from her nostrils and partially to contemplate the idea of not just being the piece of meat that was on duty that day of the week, to have clients in the true sense of the word, to be a service in demand. “Do all of your employees engage in my old line of work?” she finally asked.
“The dancing, or the sex in exchange for money?” Matriarch replied without a hint of sympathy.
“Sex in exchange for the ability to feed myself and my children,” Eina shot back after a deep breath. Her interviewer nodded her head curtly.
“I would like to make two things clear to you, Eina. The first is that your children will be cared for regardless of what happens after this conversation. They are innocent, and will be treated as such. The second is that sex is only one of the wide array of services I, my staff, and possibly you might offer to our clientele. And I personally hold both sides of sexual transactions to exacting standards of professionalism and pleasure. This is not the world you came from, Eina.”
“Then I will have no problem surviving it,” she replied, her human-like eyes narrowing in determination. She did not care how devious or brutal the palace’s guests were. There were rules within those mighty sandstone walls. At the Oasis, where money and muscle did the talking, there were none.
“I admire your determination, but that remains to be seen.”
“Then if you have the time, Matriarch, I’d like to tell you about the birth of my first child, Keiko.”
-----
“Elandri, they have you on night shift again?” Octavia demanded, approaching the vaulted double doors of wrought metal that led to the palace harem. The entire surface was lovingly detailed, depicting scenes both carnal and beautiful, and flanked by two of the harem’s ceremonial guards. They sported the same sort of armor worn by Idris for official functions, overwrought with expressive metalwork on large pauldrons and intricate embroidery in gold on deep navy tunics and skirts. Bangles of gold and shining metallic greaves adorned their lower legs, with each wielding a spear and a knife at their belts. They were there both to enforce and to entice, perhaps the only truly forbidden fruit within the harem and a reminder that impropriety would not be tolerated under the gaze of the Crown. The commander of the Sekhama stepped forward and embraced Elandri, the lioness returning the hug briefly before stepping back and running a hand through the close cropped, crimson ‘mane’ that ran down the back of her head and neck. Such female manes were rare but not unheard of in Alhamkara. Among the bloodline of the Octavias, it was practically expected.
“I requested it, uncle. And I’m well past the age you need to be intervening on my behalf around the palace, especially in matters as mundane as guard shifts,” she said in a soft tone, her voice nevertheless carrying a fair distance through the curved, stone hallways that made up the central elements of the palace.
“I would never!” Octavia protested, wilting quickly under Elandri’s keen gaze before smiling genuinely for the first time in more than a day. “How are things in there?”
“Plenty of room for your boys if that’s what you’re asking,” she reported. “The esteemed Lord Torando tends to mope about more often than not, but he keeps his dour thoughts to himself and pays well. I assume the operation was a success?”
“You know I can’t speak about such things openly. You’ll see tomorrow,” he replied calmly, knowing full well he’d answered the question regardless.
“Good, that’s good then. I have a message for you, by the way.”
“From the Matriarch?”
“Yeah, who else?” Elandri wondered, leaning against her spear. “She’s with a new girl tonight, so you’ll have to wait a bit.”
“New girl?” the Commander asked curiously.
“Don’t sound so eager, dear uncle,” his niece teased. The lion tossed his mane lightly and scoffed back at her.
“I don’t need to take that from you, whelp. But very well. I suppose once she accepts a new member she considers them one of her children in a way. I can wait for the rookie out here then,” Idris decided, leaning against the wall next to his niece.
“Rookie? You don’t usually let rookies in here,” she pointed out.
“I don’t, but this is a bit of a unique circumstance,” Octavia replied. “It was a mentally difficult operation, and if he dies on his next op I’d likely go to my grave regretting that I didn’t give a street urchin at least one taste of this place.”
“So that dog’s not so wet behind the ears anymore?” Elandri deduced easily. “Well good for him. Not sure any of the regulars will be that impressed by a rook, but there are always plenty of serving girls and handmaidens who’d jump at him.”
“I’m not sure how to feel about my niece appraising the sexual potential of my own troops,” Octavia chuckled with a shake of his head. Elandri joined him.
“Part of the territory, uncle. And you know well enough I’ve always wanted this job. So try not to treat me like the little girl you’d let ride on your shoulders?”
Her words had Octavia walking to the other side of the corridor, looking out through the archways of stone over the western half of the palace. The harem’s main room faced east, allowing the rising sun to warm its gardens and beds. “You will always be that girl to me, but you are a fine young woman as well. Just don’t run off with any of my boys and we’ll be fine.”
“You have that little faith in them?” Elandri wondered in surprise.
“No, just the opposite. I would hate for my grandnephews or grandnieces to come home one day to a world without their father is all,” he said with open remorse. His niece shook her head.
“How many times do I need to tell you that wasn’t your fault, uncle?” she demanded hotly.
“You’ve always been kind to me on that account Elandri, but there is plenty of blame to be placed on the shoulders of all parties, mine included. Enough about that, though,” he insisted as the firm footfalls of another individual could be heard from down the corridor. “Ready to have a little fun?”
“Best part of my job, minus the azure and baths,” Elandri said with a hint of eagerness in her voice. “Wonder who will catch his eye first. Bet you it’ll be Lycia. She loves herself a fresh cut of meat. Never understood why she doesn’t join up full time. Guess she enjoys the allure of being the outsider.”
“Then I’ll be sure to steer him in the opposite direction,” Octavia insisted as Spot slowed to stop in front of them and saluted.
“Sir,” he said respectfully. The commander looked him over and nodded in approval. The rookie had possessed the common sense to leave his bloodstained armor back in the armory. He addressed Elandri as well. “Good evening.”
“Ah he’ll get along just fine,” the lioness laughed. “Word of advice, kid, don’t stare. Surest sign of a newbie.”
“Oh stop it, Elandri. No one gets to just walk through these doors, and you know everyone who does. They’ll know he’s new. That said she’s right, Spot. Act like you’ve been there before if you want to return, and no matter what you do remember your place,” Octavia commanded without elaborating on exactly what that entailed. Spot nodded humbly, looking at his boots.
“I won’t cause trouble, sir.”
“I’m more worried about our esteemed Commander here if my dear employer finds herself busy,” Elandri ribbed her uncle. “So the name Spot stuck, did it? Well you don’t look a thing like you did when you first showed up. Have fun in there.”
Spot felt his heart catch in his throat as Elandri and her partner took a step towards the center of the doors, each grabbing a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. They rapped twice, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the hallways and surely on the other side as well. As the guards stood aside the doors opened inward, leaving only a moment for Octavia to give his recently graduated rookie one final piece of advice. “Remember, you’re a killer. Most of them aren’t.”
Spot’s brow furrowed as he remembered the kick of his shotgun against his shoulder and the smell of blood. The sight before him had to have been its exact opposite, even before he stepped across the threshold. “So that’s what the inside of the central tower looks like,” he murmured, walking forward with Octavia as the guards on the other side of the doors bowed and closed the entryway behind them. Spot did his best to keep his face stern and rigid, but found it difficult as every one of his senses was assailed at once. Towering columns formed a ring from just behind him at each side of the doors all the way out to the far point of the central area of the harem. Those more cultured than he would have referred to what lay before him as an amphitheater, with a sunken performance stage in the middle surrounded by comfortable seating at every angle. Cushions that had to be worth more than a month of his salary were scattered about in a pattern that appeared haphazard, but each invited him to be seated at a perfect distance from other guests while enjoying azure hookah or simple flavored tobacco instead. He noticed both. Small tables were set up every so often to entertain groups of two to four, or individuals who might wish to take a meal along with their show. In the center of the amphitheater, or arena as far as Spot was concerned, a young gazelle clad in translucent crimson silks and gold jewelry danced to a beautiful melody played by a pair of wild dogs. The gentlemen were around Spot’s age, if he had to guess, and were dressed far better than he was. Their tunics and pants were done in the same crimson and gold motif that seemed to accompany all of the staff. Conservative and regal, they ensured the musicians were pleasing to the eye without taking away from the performer herself. Spot contented himself knowing he had them beat on musculature, at least.
Tearing his eyes away from the body of the gazelle, which he figured he’d be able to see forever in his mind’s eye, he noticed two smaller wooden doors to either side of him. They were both made of wood and designed to blend in with the walls. Spot figured easily enough that they were for the staff as one of them opened and a serving girl no less beautiful than the dancing gazelle stepped through. The hyena lass was carrying an opulent tray with a bottle of amber alcohol, a gilded crystal glass, a small chest of ice, and a mahogany box of cigars along with all of the necessary accoutrements. With practiced grace she moved down the stairs of the ‘arena’ and walked along the row to where her patron awaited her, a rhinoceros who had to be a commodity magnate of some kind or another based on his well tailored suit and carved horns, one of which bore a guild emblem that he couldn’t make out at distance. The rookie watched as the server went about pouring a glass for him over a single cube of ice, not wasting a drop, before cutting a cigar and offering it to him. The businessman leaned forward slightly, taking in the center of her cleavage left exposed by her uniform, as she struck a match and lit the cigar with a tiny, blue flame. What was perhaps most surprising to Spot was the fact that the older man dismissed her casually without so much as a second glance, much less a slap on the ass or some other unbecoming action that nevertheless would surely be permitted in that place. The smoke from the cigar carried up and away from the wealthy gentleman, wafting slowly away from the guests and out through the several open arches across the way.
“Damn,” Spot whispered, realizing just how large the gardens that rested beyond those columns had to be given the size of the room they were in and the fact that it clearly made up a concentric circle within the main tower. He noticed a well lit fountain at the center of well-manicured, branching paths, but the majority of the area was concealed from him, likely intentionally. He figured more than a few secrets had been shared in the ‘privacy’ of the trees and bushes there, to say nothing of the several rooms that made up the rest of the inner circle between the serving entrances, the grand corridors to the north and south, and the gardens to the east. He counted four on each side, each situated under one arch between two columns, and each of which was concealed by drapes and tapestries just as fine as the rest of the place. Some were dark and unused, while others were lit. One in particular caught his attention due to the fact that while obviously occupied, the occupants had only seen fit to close the thinnest of the privacy curtains. He wasn’t sure what miracle of material engineering allowed light and silhouettes through while concealing much of the sound from beyond, but little was left to the imagination regarding just what sort of carnal pleasures the occupants were indulging in. Given how few attendees were paying direct attention, with little more than a laugh or two shared between a couple of well dressed ladies eating delicate pastries one of the tables, Spot came to the somewhat horrifying conclusion that semi-public, if not downright public sex was a key feature of the harem. He tore his eyes away and rubbed the bristly hair on the back of his neck, wondering if such a performance ever took place within the arena proper.
“I’d say that’s a proper reaction,” Octavia chuckled deep in his belly. “Baths are that way, through the south corridor. Maybe make that your first stop? North is the main dining room. Unless you want your ear talked off by visiting dignitaries for hours on end, I’d avoid it.”
Spot nodded, but wouldn’t have been able to repeat Octavia’s words if his life depended on it. He was far too focused on an older hyena dressed in flattering, red robes escorting a young cheetah female through the space. She was dressed in the same clothing as the rest of the staff and had no tail. It was easy for the Commander to spot what had captured the rookie’s attention. He pursed his lips, impressed at the sight. “Well what do you know? Oz pulled it off.”
-----
“Try not to stare so much, my dear. You are not here to look at them; they are here to look at you,” the Matriarch advised as she led Eina from the northern servant’s corridor, which connected to the vast kitchens that kept the various guests of the harem sated, into the main chamber. The cheetah clutched her hands in front of her and bowed slightly.
“My apologies, Mistress,” Eina offered, returning her gaze primarily to her new employer. For whatever else it was worth, the Oasis had made her an expert on ignoring trouble, no matter how alluring. “I have just never seen such wonders before.”
The Matriarch tugged the corner of one of her lips into a smile. “You may just find yourself suited to serving tea yet. As you can see we have a performance hall, if you will. Currently the display is a more refined version of your old profession, but it can range from feats of strength and combat to sex and other displays of the flesh. As a server you will find yourself walking those stairs quite often. When you are finished with your tour today you will spend time walking up and down the stairs of the palace and you will be evaluated each day by other more experienced ladies or gentlemen of the harem. You will learn the preparation, presentation, and art of serving tea in the same manner. If your performance is acceptable, you will be permitted to serve the men and women who pay for and expect nothing but the best.”
“I understand, Mistress. Thank you for this opportunity,” Eina said quietly, doing her best to keep her posture appropriate next to the Matriarch, who comported herself as though she were in fact the reigning queen of Alhamkara. Eina supposed that within the harem at least, that might be true.
“You can thank me with impeccable service to our guests,” the Matriarch replied quietly. “Now then, allow me to show you the gardens. You will learn them as though they are the back of your paw so as to-” The Matriarch paused and looked out over the seating of the harem. After a second of silence she inclined her head politely towards a guest on the other side of the amphitheater. “Follow me, Eina. Speak only when spoken to and do not under any circumstances fail at the curtsey you were taught just now.”
It had felt like an eternity since Eina’s fight or flight response had engaged, sometime in a past life perhaps, but it came roaring back with a vengeance at the Matriarch’s words and tone. She’d been nothing but serious since Eina had met her, but there always seemed to be an underlying satisfaction and love for her job in everything she said and did. That levity was utterly gone, though her polite, welcoming smile remained as she led Eina around the circle to the stairway nearest the individual who had made eye contact with her. The man in question was a jackal with a serious face, dressed in royal purple with silver trim. She understood immediately as the Matriarch bent at the knee before him and lowered her head. “How may I be of service to you this evening, Lord Torando?”
The jackal looked past her and met Eina’s eyes instead, his gaze scrutinous and cold. She just barely managed to dip into a curtsey herself, not trusting herself to speak in his presence. “So, you are her? I expected to have to find you myself. She will accompany me to my private room,” the jackal said in an authoritarian, quiet tone. The Matriarch attempted to intervene.
“My Lord, she has only just joined us here and has not yet been trained to provide service in keeping with your status. Might I perhaps interest you in-”
“Last I checked, Matriarch, I remain betrothed to your princess, the Lady Keiko. She will accompany me, and I will not have you questioning my intentions again,” Tornado responded, his voice not allowing any compromise. “I know your rules. That you would consider me the type of person to break them is… insulting.”
Eina tried to keep herself from fainting, wondering if her heart and other organs would withstand the stress as the Matriarch salvaged the situation, bowing low to Torando with the same, pleasant smile on her face.
“It was never my intention to imply such a thing, Lord Torando. Please accept my humblest apologies as well as a bottle or box from the palaces reserves with my compliments,” she offered. He accepted the olive branch in keeping with diplomacy, though his expression did not mellow.
“Scotch. Second era, azure infused.”
“Would your lordship prefer Sunrise Distillery or Chateau Antares?”
“Antares,” the jackal replied immediately before standing from his seat, turning several eyes as he did so. Those eyes included two of the Sekhama, having recently entered the harem via the front entrance. “I will receive it when I am finished with her.”
“As you wish, Lord Torando,” the Matriarch replied, glancing once at Octavia and his rookie before turning to Eina. “It is a great honor to be requested by such a man. See to his every need.”
It wasn’t particularly difficult to interpret the Matriarch’s words as Eina curtseyed once more in due reverence. “It is my pleasure and honor to serve you this evening, Lord Torando. My name is Eina.”
“Come,” the jackal commanded with a snap of his fingers, leading her up the stairs and away from the central amphitheater. The Matriarch did not linger either, walking her way calmly to the nearest server and whispering something into her ear. That young woman stopped by a guard on her way back to the kitchens and conveyed the message, ensuring that Lord Torando would be ‘trusted but verified’ that evening. Meanwhile, Spot stood rooted to the ground as the woman he thought dead instead glanced his way for a fleeting second, just recognizing his face before being spirited away down the corridor to the wing of the harem that contained the baths and, among other destinations, Lord Torando’s personal quarters for the duration of his stay at the palace.
“Don’t so much as even follow her with your eyes,” Octavia growled threateningly, his hand on Spot’s shoulder as the rookie fought back his desire to move, to sprint. Stupid, youthful passions boiled to the surface as he realized that even without his arms and armor he could easily kill Torando. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe he’d survive the attempt however. The flame burned out just as quick as it had come, and he hung his shoulders instead. Octavia didn’t have the heart to tell him to not wear his emotions on his sleeve inside the harem. Not even he was that callous. “The Wise Ones seem content to both give and take away this evening,” he observed quietly as the Matriarch, no longer instructing her newest serving girl, slowly made her way over to them.
“I guess that’s what you meant by remembering my place?” Spot asked. The lion nodded.
“Our delights are their table scraps,” Idris confirmed as the Matriarch of the harem stood before them.
“Waxing poetic again, Idris?” she asked knowingly, offering him a fond smile before turning to Spot. “And this one was on the ground tonight?”
“He was. He was also the one who received your newest serving girl at the gates before her stint with Doctor Oswald,” Octavia supplied. If the Matriarch was moved by that tidbit of information she chose not to show it.
“I see. I trust you will enjoy what we have to offer here as much as your brothers,” she replied. “You have a name?”
“Spot,” the rookie replied, looking between her and Octavia as he pulled a blank.
“Spot? I’ll remember it. You may refer to me either as Matriarch or Mistress, my dear,” she clarified. “Might I suggest the baths? The Sekhama always seem to enjoy them.” He nodded, swallowed, and gave her her due in as level a voice as he could manage given how much life had thrown at him in the prior day.
“Thank you for welcoming me, Matriarch. If it’s all the same to you I think I’d like some fresh air. It smells a bit strongly in here,” he excused himself. It was true that the air smelled of azure, tobacco, jasmine, and other flowers, but she recognized the statement for what it was, glancing back at Octavia with an approving cock of her brow.
“The gardens are open to you, Spot. Enjoy your time here,” she offered, watching as the rookie turned and saluted Octavia silently, a hand over his heart, before beginning his walk around the central room, scrutinized by almost every pair of eyes in the place.
“Mmm, look at him, even keeping his back straight,” the hyena noted approvingly before turning back to Octavia. “Now, what’s got you so eager to see me, Idris, other than the obvious?”
“By humanity, I missed you,” he replied, a twang of need in his voice. She picked up on it immediately and placed her hand on his upper arm before escorting him towards the same corridor Torando has disappeared through minutes before. On the way she signaled one of her more seasoned staff and conveyed a handful of instructions to her. She crooned seductively at him. “There, now I can give you my full attention this evening.”
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“Excellent,” the Steward replied after only a moment’s silence. “If your business is complete here, please allow me to escort you to the royal palace. Her majesty would be happy to welcome you under her roof while you arrange more permanent lodgings.”
Preston opened his mouth to speak, but the Steward seemed to predict his question. “Your guards, of course, are welcome to join you. We wouldn’t dare separate our esteemed visitor from her retinue.”
The best Eve could manage was a tight-lipped smile and a simple, “Alright. Let’s go, then.”
The man clapped his hands a single time. “Wonderful. Please, follow me.” Stepping back, he swung open the guild hall door, swiveling to the side to allow Eve through first. He released it as Wes stepped through, forcing the fire mage to stop and grab it or else receive a doorknob to the stomach.
“My name is Charles,” the man said as he led them through the busy streets of Pyrindel. “Fourth Steward to the royal palace at Pyrindel. I sincerely apologize that the First Steward was not available to greet you himself. I was simply the only Steward available on such short notice. I fear your advance missive must’ve been lost in transit.”
Eve simply nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”
Relief washed across Charles’ face. “My thanks, your excellency, for your lenience. We mean neither you nor the great nation of New Burendia any slight.”
“Great nation, huh?” Wes asked under his breath. “When do you think he’ll realize ‘New Burendia’ doesn’t exist?”
“Who’s to say he ever does?” Eve whispered back. “He’s clearly too scared of offending me to ask.”
Preston shook his head. “This is a terrible idea.”
Charles, oblivious to their exchange, continued his diplomatic rambling. “Most Emissaries choose to purchase manors in the vicinity of the palace for their own comfort and convenience, though those on shorter missions often elect to remain at the palace for the full duration of their stay. I am, of course, at your service if you desire assistance in the acquiring of a permanent residence.”
Eve kept her mouth shut, allowing the conversation to fall into silence for a grand total of forty seconds before Charles got going again.
“Leshk is proud to consider itself the most prosperous of the human kingdoms, owed mostly to the success of our adventurer’s guild providing an outlet for our best and brightest to learn and grow against challenges suited to their progress. Of course, Xendria’s Teeth to the north and the Strian Sea to the south and west serve as natural barricades to any monster incursion, further sheltering our great kingdom from the dangers…”
Right about there is when Eve began tuning the man out. She knew all about the monster-ridden wilderness surrounding Leshk, just as well as she knew the country’s system for defending itself. She’d lived both.
As Charles continued to drone on about the niceties of Leshkian trade and culture with which Eve was already far too familiar, the Defiant redirected her attention to the city around her.
With every step the buildings grew larger, cleaner, and further apart. Manicured trees lined the avenues as butchers and armor smiths gave way to jewelers, cafes, and boutiques. It all reminded Eve of the inner city of Ilvia, but again, as were all things in Pyrindel, it was bigger.
Even the shops dried up as the party approached the palace. In their place, expansive mansions dominated the roadside. From their pristinely engineered stone walls or wrought iron fences to lush yet sterile gardens to sheer architectural beauty of the structures themselves, each of the houses Eve saw was more extravagant than the last. There could be no doubt that a residence close to the palace was worth more than the ground on which it stood, and the same could be said for the proclamation of wealth each grandiose structure made.
Eve decided then and there that she’d rather like to retire to such a mansion. Fuck a quiet life in a small town with a doting spouse and handful of kids. What was the point of risking one’s life fighting high-level monsters if it didn’t earn enough money to live in style?
Eve’s train of thought came to a quick halt as so too did the road: at an open bronze gate manned by four guards. At the sight of Charles, they waved the party through.
“The guard staff will, of course, be given your description and information regarding your station,” the Steward explained as he led them across a wide courtyard to a set of double doors. “You and your retinue are free to travel the palace grounds as you please, though I’m sure I don’t need to remind your excellency how highly Leshkian society values etiquette. I would, of course, suggest your beastmaster keeps his pets on a tight leash. We can inform the guards, but if the wrong guest were to encounter an unsupervised monster in the palace halls, the outcome could be… less than favorable.”
You don’t look so hot either, Art sent out to all present.
Eve snorted. Preston paled. Charles froze.
Wes gave the hatchling a high-five.
After several seconds of panicked mental calculation, Charles seemed to figure out the source of the telepathic comment, and proceeded to engage in a motion that was somewhere between bowing very quickly and falling to the floor.
“Forgive my rudeness!” he begged. “I never intended to imply your excellency’s companions are in any way below by humble self. Please, accept my earnest apology.”
Eve spent a few seconds staring in disbelief at the arguably pathetic display of diplomatic back-bending before muttering an uncomfortable, “It’s—um—really okay. Wes has been teaching Art to say that for a long time.”
Hesitantly, Charles stood, brushing off a bit of dust from his ornate tunic. “Thank you, your excellency, for your understanding. Please, your suite is this way.” The moment completely forgotten, he turned on a heel to open the door for them.
Eve stared in stunned silence as they walked through the halls of the palace. Carpet of royal purple lined the marble floor, embroidered every few feet with an Elric house crest of the crispest detail. Intricate designs of gold decorated the vaulted ceiling, while the walls played home to gorgeous landscapes and lifelike portraits the likes of which Eve had never seen.
Whether or not this particular hallway that Charles had led them to had been designed to make a lasting impression of elegance and wealth on new visitors, on Eve at least, it most certainly had.
The opulence diminished somewhat, though never faded entirely, as the party traveled through halls and up several flights of stairs into a distant wing of the overbearing structure. Charles, being Charles, spent the walk droning on about this sculpture or that tapestry, not realizing his lecture fell on deaf ears.
Eve was too busy imagining what her room would be like.
It was only when the foppish Steward stopped before a pair of beautifully carved white wooden double doors that Eve actually made an effort to hear the words coming from his overactive mouth.
“Here we are,” he said, reaching forward to grasp the door handle. “I hope you’ll find the accommodations to your liking.” Charles, as per usual, swung the door open and held it for Eve.
Stepping inside, Eve couldn’t help but feel a pang of curious disappointment to find a small, ten-foot wide chamber with empty walls, no carpet, and no furniture save for a simple table with a vaseful of assorted flowers. Not without hope, Eve immediately turned left to one of the doors that stood on each each of the rooms four walls.
“Not that one!” Charles almost tripped over himself trying to stop her. “Pardon, your excellency, but the two side chambers are for your guards and servants. They are not outfitted for a guest of such esteem as yourself.”
Eve was growing increasingly sick to her stomach with the Steward’s eagerness to avoid offense. Were other Emissaries so terrible as to warrant it, or was Charles in particular just so obscenely overachieving to put forth such ridiculous effort?
Eve sighed. “Alright. Which one is mine, then?”
Charles gestured to the door directly opposite the entrance. “The front door, of course.”
Right, Eve thought. Of course it’s the front door, because diplomats would be offended if they had to turn left. She shook her head, allowing the overeager Steward to again hold the door for her.
“Now this is more like it,” Eve caught herself muttering.
Across the room, a vibrant blue canopy embroidered with gold hung above the biggest and softest bed Eve had ever seen. A robust wooden trunk bound in iron sat conveniently at the bed’s foot, accompanied by a mahogany wardrobe for hanging all the dresses she didn’t own.
Two fireplaces and a brazier, all lit, drove away the late autumn chill with vigor matching that of the Steward himself. Eve’s eyes, however, didn’t fixate on the huge bed nor the elegant breakfast table or cozy armchairs or ornate writing desk.
The windows claimed her attention.
Three magically enforced single panes stretched fifteen feet from floor to their arched tops. At four feet wide, they flooded the bedroom with natural light, a feature thankfully optional if the lavish curtains tied up on either side were any indicator.
The view was, naturally, stunning. From Eve’s vantage on the palace’s upper floor, the entire city of Pyrindel stretched out before her. Houses and shops and restaurants and taverns carpeted the landscape reaching out seemingly infinitely in every direction.
Until they didn’t. In one direction, the most important direction of all given the arrangement of the windows, the city came to an abrupt halt to make way for the boundless ocean and the glimmering horizon that had so captivated Eve on their voyage east.
“It’s beautiful.”
Charles breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I’m glad your excellency finds the view acceptable. Once you get settled in, please send for me or another Steward if you’d like to arrange an audience with Queen Elric or one of her advisors regarding whatever New Burendian business you come on or if you desire an introduction.”
“Perhaps another time,” Eve replied a bit quicker than she should have. “I’d like to—uh—explore the city a bit before getting down to business.”
“As you wish.” Charles bowed one last time, keeping his head low as he said, “And welcome, your excellency, to Pyrindel.” With that, the Steward stood, turned on a heel, and left Eve and her companions finally alone.
Wes was the first to speak. “What the ever-loving fuck was that?”
Eve shrugged. “Diplomacy? Either that or he just really likes licking boots.”
“He’s probably used to only seeing relics who’ve been Envoys for fifty years before finally making it to Emissary,” Wes laughed. “I guess all it takes is one grumpy old man to ruin a trade deal or start a war.”
“Which is exactly why this is a terrible idea,” Preston, the one somewhat sensible member of the part, argued. “Whatever Appraise says, you’re no Emissary. We shouldn’t be here.”
“Well I thi…” Eve trailed off as an azure notification popped up in the corner of her vision. “Actually,” she said, pulling it up to read it, “I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Legendary Quest Milestone Reached: Become Ambassador of a Nation that Doesn’t Exist! +64000 exp!
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