This is the fairy land; O' spite of spites!

Will didn’t wake her at all. The house was pretty secure when the locks were in place. Everything was boarded up, and noise traps were placed around, alongside the bear traps. He’d have to warn her later on not to venture too far into the grass. He’d have to show her all the spots. Assuming she intended to stay. Though he could send her on her way and continue in his isolation, he knew there was a risk in allowing her to go. If she were found, she would lead them back to him in a panic. Whether seer or not, anyone who wanted what he had would pose a threat to him. He’s already carefully thumbing through all the potential consequences of not just putting her out of her misery out there. (He couldn’t and wouldn’t, but he can be wishy-washy.)

He first hears her shuffling, then her voice, Winston’s head perched up from his own dinner, nose covered in the juices of the rabbit he devoured. It lowers again when he registers it’s their guest, returning to his food blissfully. Will, on the other hand, pauses mid-bite. Hmm. He takes a moment to gather his own bowl from the table and turns the corner, as suspected, Mason is found on the ground eating. Will only takes a second before he is shuffling down the hallway, a few steps away, as he sinks down to the floor next to her. Thankfully, his dog is distracted, or he’d have his nose down their food.

The sound of steps shuffling around the corner of the hallway she was currently parked in gave the faery pause in devouring her dinner. Golden head lifted to find Will joining her for dinner on the floor. A shy smile graced her features. She returned to eating in silence for a few moments, with much more restraint than when she was alone. His question saw her spoon pausing in the broth for a few moments before she took her next bite. Mason hesitated. Answering questions like these always felt akin to walking a high tripwire. A balancing act. And if she swayed too far to one side, it was a long way down. However, there remained the fact that Will had not only spared her from dying of exposure outside, but had invited her into his home. Patched up her wounds and was now feeding her.

How fair of her would it truly be to deceive him, as she had so many others, within a deep labyrinth of lies? Spinning so many forth that she could no longer tell what was truth and what was fiction when the final web was tangled around her. A large contributing factor as to why Mason often didn't form lasting relationships on the road. The skin between pale brows pulled together. Where best to begin?

"Originally, I come from Sequim, Washington. About as far Northwest as Northwest gets, right on the coast," she started. "I left home young, never went to college. Things were... tense," her pinched expression made it clear she wasn't willing to elaborate further. "I guess I was what most people would call a drifter or a road warrior. All I did was travel and live out of my car. Worked the occasional odd job when I couldn't make enough money gambling or running credit card scams to afford my next tank of gas or a motel room if it wasn't nice enough to camp outside,"Mason realized it was the most she had spoken aloud to another human being in months. And it had been entirely about herself, which was quite out of character. The tops of her arched ears burned magenta.

The Gilded Age + Costumes

“This attitude of yours. What brings it on?” Ren drawled. “Loss of blood or your habit of returning here when the gates remain open to you?” 

He crossed toward the mantel with the slow gait of a man who had time. Time and appetite. Candlelight lapped the broad architecture of his back and shoulders, caught at the loosened silk at his throat, the dark spill of hair against funereal black. 

Mason’s wages rested beneath the grotesques of the overmantel, carved faces that leered downward through curling vines and lacquer-dark cherubs with chipped grins. Ren then gathered the invitation with some hesitation, fingertips looming a moment above the cream stock.

“Your name is on this invitation.”

He offered her both the freshly folded notes and the envelope bearing Madame Phasma’s seal. 

“Read it as you make your way home.”

The loss of control over her autonomy, the injuries sustained to her pride, all stemming from simply encountering one another. It was infuriating. Anger had always escaped her in unexpected ways. Now it cried out for her to unclench her jaw.

The emotion had long since curled itself into a tight coil beneath her sternum, even before she had been hunted down by Ren's kind. It had been festering since her father's exit, entrenching further as she failed the expectations set for her by the broken family that was left. The fury, at times, threatened to make her as much of a menace as the monsters she feared with the violence it could evoke from her.

It was little comfort to know that things could be worse, that Ren could be much crueler. The half-blood would never be rid of him as long as she lived. And for all she knew, that could be a very long time.

Expression softened at the letter that was offered along with the day's payment. Confusion knitted her brows and caused her lips to pout as she carefully extracted the thick stock from the Lord's grasp, pointedly avoiding his skin as she did so.

"Why would my name be on- never you mind. It can wait until tomorrow," she mumbled, raising her free hand to stifle a yawn as she spoke.

Stuffing the bills into her pocket, she turned and made her way out of the room and through the manor towards the front door without another word, tearing into the envelope as she went and quickly scanning its contents.

'You are to bring along your newly acquired thespian that you keep hidden away in your gardens. No exceptions. - Madame Phasma'

--

The end of the next workday found Mason outside of the greenhouse, dirt encrusted fingers impatiently tapping against her already smeared sweater. The lady slippers were nearly as demanding as Ren. Several golden strands had snaked free from her long braid, gaze bouncing between the back door of the manor and the darkening skyline.

I have a proposition for you. It hadn't been difficult for her to guess what it was, yet the idea felt more painful than being fed on in some ways. The pads of her fingers dug into the fabric as they flexed unconsciously.