#cursed cravings

Danny had never felt so helpless before. 

She screamed as Christopher was struck with the part of the ceiling that fell, and it did fuck all. All she could do was fucking watch as her friend crumpled to the ground, too injured to get himself out from underneath it. If she was a normal size, she could have lifted it off herself. But she was tiny and useless and trapped on top of this fucking table, and she had never felt a rage or fear like she did now.

“Get these two out. Get Danny out. Please.” 

She knew what was going to happen—she knew it even as the fake plant next to the table stretched up weakly and wrapped one of its vines around her waist, before picking her up and lowering her to the floor. It grabbed Nathan in another one of its stems before carrying them both through the air and towards the gaping hole in the window.

She hardly even got a chance to see Christopher’s face as she was forced out of the mansion. 

“SAM!” She tried to fight against the vine that held her, and though it was clear Sam was weakened, they weren’t so weak that Danny’s efforts were at all effective. “Let me go! Don’t you fucking—I can’t just leave him!” 

There was no response, not until they had both left the window and grown back to their normal size outside the mansion. Danny turned immediately as if to try and rush back into the house, but Nathan held her back, easily trapping her in an embrace. 

“Let me back in,” she cried, struggling against Nathan to no avail. “Please, I can’t…I can’t just…”

“Danny, there’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry.” Nathan’s voice was raw with emotion, but he held her firmly against him, trying to pull her further away from the house. 

“You can’t die.” Sam’s voice came from somewhere in front of Danny, but it was weak, barely audible amongst the roaring of the flames. “Please, just go. Get somewhere safe.” 

“We have to…we have to do something!” She kicked and writhed as Nathan pulled her back and away, staring frantically at the way the fire was quickly engulfing everything in its wake. “I can…” 

She remembered, suddenly, looking at Christopher’s perfectly healed palm only a few days ago—and got a flash of a realization, like a sudden burst of clarity in all of this chaos. 

He healed himself when he ate me. What if it could work again? Could it heal burns? Could it fix his legs? If he ate me…would he be able to survive this?

“Sam,” she cried out, even as Nathan was doing his best to carry her down the steps. “Let me back in. Please. I can…I can help him. I can heal him. You know I can, don’t you?” 

“Danny, no…” Nathan whispered—but he didn’t know. She hadn’t mentioned that part to him earlier. 

There was silence for long enough that she was worried Sam had disappeared for good, but the voice whispered from the nearby railing. “You don’t know that’ll work.” 

“But there’s a chance. Isn’t there?”

There was silence—silence that felt like it stretched for far too long. 

“There is.” 

Nathan was incredulous. “What?” 

She tried to squirm around in his grip to look at him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t let him die like that. Please. Let me help him. I have to try.” 

“Danny…he can’t leave.” He sounded deeply apologetic, but she felt his hold on her loosen ever so slightly. “What could you even do?” 

She didn’t want to say it—she didn’t think Nathan would let her if she did. “Sam, back me up here. You know I’m right. You know I can help him.” 

There was no response. Nothing but the wind and the flames crackling and sputtering as they ate away at the house. 

They were running out of time. 

She was on the verge of tears. “Nate, trust me.” 

Nathan’s face crumpled with worry—torn between what should have been the obviously right answer, and between the pleading look on Danny’s face, an expression of raw feeling that he had never seen on her before. He couldn’t ignore it—and despite how badly he wanted to keep her here with him, where it was safe, he knew Danny would never forgive him if he held her back now. 

He nodded weakly, his arms releasing Danny and falling to his sides. “I trust you, but…please. Please come back safely.” 

Her expression changed instantly—now one of determination, and a deep, sincere gratitude. She nodded. “I will.” 

And then she was off—charging back into the house through the open window, not even stopping as the world grew a hundred times larger around her. 

This close to the ground, the smoke was less of a problem, even though everything still smelled like burning wood. There were other humans inside the house, some trying to escape through the hole she’d just come through, and others who’d forced their way in as well, looking for their loved ones. She ignored them all, and in the chaos, they ignored her too. 

She tried not to look at the pile of rubble Christopher was under—tried not to think about any of it as she sprinted at full speed towards his face, only focused on putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as she could, her lungs burning from the exertion and the ash in the air.

Christopher didn’t seem to notice her until she was right in front of his face—his eyes were nearly closed, and they squinted as she stepped in front of them, as though he couldn’t quite see her clearly. And then they opened wide as he realized, his inky black irises full of fear and confusion. 

“Danny…” His voice was weak and hoarse, like every syllable had to scratch its way up his throat. “What are you doing? Get-”

She was fighting to catch her breath, her hands on her knees as she glared down at the floor. “I need…you…to eat me. Okay?” 

She’d effectively stunned him into silence. At first, she was worried he hadn’t heard her—he just stared at her, totally uncomprehending. “What…are you talking about?” 

The heat was making her start to sweat, and she knew she didn’t have much time to convince Christopher to participate in her half-baked plan. She didn’t want to wait for the rest of the roof to collapse on them both. “Listen…you told me when you eat a human, it heals you, right?” 

A flicker of understanding passed through his eyes, and she could see it clear as day—a little bit of hope had been kindled in him, though he still seemed wary of her suggestion. 

“So there’s a chance if you eat me right now, you can survive this.” 

Despite the hope in his eyes, there was fear in his voice—but she didn’t know what it was he could have been scared of. “What…are you…what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying eat me. Okay?” 

It felt almost like time slowed down, like it stretched each second to its fullest as Danny saw the change in Christopher’s expression. For a moment it was like he was at war with himself, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips quivering slightly. She could tell he was thinking something through, running through the plan she’d proposed in his head. She’d expected him to refute her, to argue that her safety was more important or that it wouldn’t work. But he didn’t.

“You’re…giving me…permission to eat you, then?” 

She didn’t understand his rephrasing of her offer, because she didn’t think that fretting over semantics was really warranted in the present moment. She huffed with her hands on her hips, hoping to convey more of a sense of urgency. “Yes, and preferably before the rest of the house caves in on us. Can you do that, bastard?” 

She saw his chest hitch, almost like he was about to cry, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as an unsteady sort of smile wavered on his face. “...yes. Yes I can, doll.” 

Though it seemed to take a fair amount of exertion on his part, he brought one of his hands to rest behind her. His giant fingers were shaky and weak as they grazed her shoulder. “I…can’t believe…you came back for me.” 

Her heart was racing—Christopher’s weakness was just another reminder that they were almost out of time. “Shut the fuck up and get me in your mouth already. You can tell me how grateful you are after you survive this. Okay? Don’t you fucking die on me.” Despite how strong she’d meant to sound, her voice broke on the last sentence. She thought she might have cried, if the heat hadn’t all but dried her eyes out.

He managed a weak nod, just the barest movement of his head—and then his lips parted. She realized the awkwardness of the task in front of her now, as Christopher couldn’t move much more than the hand he had behind her, and only barely at that. There was no monster here to consume her in a blind fit of animal hunger and desperation. Before her was simply a man. 

She didn’t have time to rethink her decision now. She took a step forward, and leaned down to duck inside of his mouth, guided along by his fingers behind her. 

It was nothing like what had happened just a couple of nights ago. There was no trace of the feral animal, and there weren’t claws at her back. Christopher was slow and gentle as his tongue moved beneath her, doing his best to help guide her into his mouth. The chaos of the outside world all but disappeared, leaving Danny to a completely new and horrific environment that was Christopher’s insides. But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it could be—inside of his mouth, it wasn’t hot and dry and burning, but merely warm, and wet. At least this time she partly knew what to expect—and she wasn’t going to die. Not by Christopher’s doing. 

There was a bit of awkward fumbling around as he tried to maneuver her into a position that would be easy to swallow, his tongue moving and sliding around under her body. Though it was dark and cramped and she was still partly on her side, she knew it was his throat directly in front of her—a spike of fear, despite everything, pierced through her chest. No matter how much she knew of the giant’s nature, no matter her trust in him, there was still a part of her that was simply an animal fighting for survival, rightfully afraid of something that generally led to a mortal demise. But in this moment, she pushed it aside. 

The sound of Christopher’s swallow rung loud in her ears, and her body lurched forward as the muscles of his throat pulled her deeper into him, constricting her torso until she was restrained all the way down to her waist. 

She gasped aloud, but tried not to squirm and make it harder for what she imagined couldn’t be an easy task for Christopher. Before, everything had been a blur, going too fast for her to process what was happening to her. She had been more focused on the fact that she could die. But now it was an almost entirely different experience. In a way, perhaps it was more horrific for it to go in what felt like slow motion. But on the other hand, she could feel how gentle he was trying to be with her, despite the fact that he was quite literally eating her alive.

Another swallow sent the rest of her into his throat, and she slipped along quickly, dissolving into the blackness inside of him until the whole world became nothing but the slippery muscles all around her. It was odd, for him to be on his side like this—she could sort of vaguely sense it wasn’t so much of a downward movement as before—but she was quickly losing her sense of direction and orientation. She closed her eyes—it made little difference in the dark—and before long she spilled out into a more open space, cradled now by Christopher’s strange stomach. 

She hadn’t realized how much sound there had been before. The shouting and the crackling of flame were muffled so much that the noise almost disappeared completely. All that remained was the slow thump of Christopher’s heartbeat, and the shaky sounds of his shallow breathing, whooshing all around her. The new sounds, while before they had been foreign, were now almost a source of comfort—because they meant that he was alive. 

The scent of burning wood was gone, too—it was like she was in a completely different world, removed entirely from the chaos and wreckage she knew lay just on the other side of the skin in front of her. 

How long will it take to work? 

Now that the hardest part of it was over for her, she was left only with the aftermath of worry. Would it be painful, for Christopher? How quickly would he heal, if the fire got to him? What about his legs? 

She hated to know that her friend would be in pain, and alone through whatever happened next. 

She reached out a hand, not knowing in what direction she faced, and splayed it against the flesh in front of her. 

Like a lantern being lit in the night, something broke through the darkness inside of Christopher, illuminating first her fingers, then the rest of her. At first she panicked, thinking that the only thing that could provide such light was fire, but there was no heat that came with the light. It took a moment for her to realize that the stomach itself was what was glowing beneath her touch. For just a moment, she saw what before she had only felt—the strange, smooth ribbons of flesh that made up Christopher’s stomach. 

And then the light became so blinding that she was forced to close her eyes—and even behind her eyelids, the world was white as a field of snow reflecting the sun. 

She wanted to call out, worried that something had happened, but her voice didn’t come to her. She was weightless, no longer feeling flesh beneath her, no longer hearing a heartbeat or the working of lungs. She could not open her eyes, even if she wanted to—it didn’t feel as though she had control over anything at all, like she was an insect trapped in amber. She was suspended in a blinding white nothingness.

Perhaps this was what death felt like. There was a part of her, some part she couldn’t reach right now, that reminded her that she couldn’t die, that there was something very important she needed to remember, to come back to. But there was hardly space for thought wherever she was now. 

She had little choice but to submit herself to the light, unaware of what would lay on the other side. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Danny woke in the bleary haze that one often does when they hadn’t realized they were sleeping, as reality began to drip back into place like a slowly leaking faucet. She couldn’t remember where she had been, or where she was now. Something itched at the back of her mind still, something important. Hadn’t she been doing something? She had no sense of time or place at the moment.

Her eyes fluttered open as color and shape reformed in the world, no longer a blinding sea of white light. There was something in front of her, she thought, and she squinted as she tried to make out the details. 

“Need a hand, dollface?” 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Hopefully you all can forgive me for the cliffhanger this time - I told you I'd be back to finish it!

All that remains now is the epilogue, but I wanted to leave a potentially sweeter taste in your mouth than the previous chapter. Consider this a valentine's gift to you all - and as always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me all this way. I know this story has been slow going, but it's something that's still quite dear to my heart, even if it is just a silly little AU.

None of them were quite aware of the fact that Christopher didn’t seem intent on pursuing any of them—his focus was solely on the large, burly human still trying to restrain Danny while he moved along with the maddened crowd. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” Danny snarled, hoping to use the chaos as an opportunity to shake herself loose. She yanked her arms violently, but the man held fast.

She saw it before the man holding her did—a giant hand coming toward them, and picking them both up at the same time. She barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before the man was unceremoniously torn away from her, with the same seeming amount of effort as someone picking a speck of dust off of one’s clothes.

While all the other humans were still running and yelling beneath them, Christopher stood still as he looked over Danny with concern, as though she were the only one here. The man who’d been restraining her was held in his other hand like an afterthought. “Danny…are you okay? Did he hurt you?” 

She shook her head. “God, I’m fine, but where’s…where’s Nathan?” She tried to push herself past Christopher’s grip to turn around and look for him, but her stomach nearly flipped itself out of her mouth as she saw how suddenly far above the ground she was. 

“Outside,” came a voice from a mirror on the entryway table. “He’s fine. But we gotta…HEY!” Danny saw that a little further down the hall, a broom fell straight onto the floor, its handle falling just short of a couple of humans who had been trying to run down one of the hallways. “There’s too fucking many of ‘em, I can’t—PUT THAT DOWN!” 

Sam’s voice kept jumping around further and further down the hall, clearly having their attention split in far too many directions at once. Each word of their sentence seemed to come from a different piece of furniture all over the room.

Christopher sighed, and lowered his hand to let Danny down on top of the table in the entryway. “I have to deal with this.”

“Let me down onto the floor, Christopher—I can help!” She wasn’t ecstatic about being stuck up here while everyone wreaked havoc below.

The giant simply shook his head, and glared at the human he held in his other fist—who had become incredibly compliant and frozen with fear since being grabbed. “I can erase everyone’s memory and send them away, but…I have to…do them one at a time. I—Sam!” he called out, turning to leave Danny alone and walking briskly towards another room, picking up the errant and unlucky human on the way. “Gather them all in one place! Don’t let them get out!” 

“HEY,” Danny shouted, but it was no use—Christopher didn’t even turn around before he’d left the room. 

“Fucking bastard.” She stepped cautiously to the edge of the table and glanced down to the floor to see if any humans had lagged behind. She saw some movement in the corner of her vision, and saw that Max—the sneaky son of a bitch—had hidden himself behind one of the large vases next to the door, peeking cautiously around the edge of it to see if Christopher had left. 

She was feeling a little vindictive. 

“HEY, SAM, THERE’S ONE OVER HERE BY THE DOOR,” she yelled, loud enough that Max whipped his head around to face her with a horribly betrayed and terrified look on his face. 

She just gave him an ugly smirk in return. Who’s the bitch now? 

“I’ll get him in a sec,” came a voice from what appeared to be one of the giant peacock statues at the base of the stairs further down the hall. “There’s something I gotta—”

Sam’s voice cut off abruptly. She didn’t have a good vantage point of the house from her position in the entryway, and she couldn’t even tell where Christopher had run off to. 

Max realized that his time was running out. A sense of urgency seemed to overcome him as he took one of the clubs someone had dropped near the front door. 

There was a very tall, stained glass window right next to the door, going almost all the way to the floor and hidden behind a set of curtains. This was Max’s destination—he made a beeline for the glass, and started to smash his club into it. His efforts were laughably lacking, but all the same, tiny shards of multicolored glass started to fall to the stone floor as he whacked a human-size hole into the window.

“Sam, he’s getting out!” she cried, a little more urgently herself. God, if Christopher had just let her onto the floor, she could be beating this weasel’s ass already. 

Sam didn’t respond, but she could hear the echoing of the manservant’s voice shouting indistinctly from further in the house. 

What could have been distracting enough to keep Sam’s attention away for that long?

* * * * * * * * * * 

It might be hard to imagine what it would be like to be a house. Most houses didn’t have to deal with figuring it out, either, which was just as well, because splitting one’s attention into potentially millions of places wasn’t something most anyone would be prepared for. Sam Wilson fit the role a little more naturally than most, if only due to the fact that their mind already felt like it was limited only by the speed of their body. When given a chance to move at the speed of their mind, they became nigh unstoppable, unhampered by things like limbs or energy or physics that so often held them back before. 

Without the ability to feel tired, or exert energy at all, it almost felt like things simply happened as they thought about them. If the sheets needed to be made upon the bed, all it took was a thought, and Sam was the sheets themselves, and the sheets were simply made, and that was that. If a door needed to be opened, or a window closed, all it took was the thought to make it so—no ability to forget, or put it off until later, or complete a different set of tasks first. 

All in all, Sam was usually able to run a tight, highly efficient ship in the mansion. There had never been a reason for their attention to be split in so many different directions at once. 

This whole mess felt like it had when they’d first lost their body—like a million tiny rocks pelting them from all sides, demanding attention, demanding Sam’s presence, pulling them this way and that. It was like the feeling of a swarm of tiny ants running up and down their legs and arms and under their clothes and into their mouth and there were too many to simply just swat them off and be done with it.

They felt every scurrying human that ran across their floors, that tried to hide behind a corner or a vase or a table leg. Nothing could really hide from Sam, but the humans currently held the advantage of sheer numbers, and hid in the chaos that resulted. 

Sam couldn’t help but move faster trying to keep up with everyone, but they needed to slow down and focus. Focus. That was something they hadn’t had to worry about in nearly ten years. Focus. Go slow. One at a time. 

It was like trying to pull the brakes on a train barreling down the tracks to get Sam’s mind to move slower, but they managed to squeal to something of a stop, trying to pick out a single human that seemed to be the furthest from where Christopher was. 

There—running down the hall, towards the guest bedroom where Danny had been. Easy. They cut through the house like a lightning bolt jumping from the sky to the ground, looking down at the human high up on the corridor’s walls before swooping down to the rug. 

“Gotcha!” 

The edge of the rug folded over and trapped the human beneath it, who shouted in surprise. “What the devil-!”

Sam’s focus was waning—there were a million more tiny sparks that demanded their attention. Someone was in the kitchen broom closet. Another was trying to squeeze themselves into a hole in the baseboards. One of them was taking some sort of blunt object and trying to, for whatever reason, smash their way into an absolutely gorgeous and priceless vase in the drawing room. 

“HEY! THAT’S AN ANTIQUE!” Their possession of the vase itself had at least temporarily put the offending human in such a state of shock that it gave Sam enough time to unravel a bit of the rug— just enough to grab the human’s pitchfork (not the most optimal smashing instrument, thankfully), and then turn the huge vase upside down on top of the human. Takes care of them for now. Okay. Next. 

Wait. Hallway guy. They were back in the hallway where the human they’d previously caught was pushing their way out from under the rug—the rug that suddenly came to life again and wrapped itself around the human’s tiny body with a new vengeance. Okay, where can I put—

There was a narrow hall table against the wall just a little further down—Sam shot forward with the rug and dropped the human off on top of the table, next to the oil lamp so that the flame cast an eerie shadow on the human. It’ll be fine. They can’t get down. Okay. Next. 

Danny was shouting—Christopher was yelling something at Sam, too, but they were in such a flurry of action that neither sentence really registered, all the words getting lost in the sea of endless pings for attention.

One human was trying to escape in the foyer—Sam could feel the window being beaten against, like the human was taking a tiny little club to their ankles. Hole—there was a hole now. Cold air on the tile. Glass shards. Goddamn it! Okay! Priority!

“WHO SAID YOU COULD BREAK MY WINDOWS, YOU LITTLE SHIT?”

The human wielding their tiny little club wheeled around as Sam filled the vase behind them, their face stricken white with fear. “W-who said that?” 

The hole they’d made, while it had absolutely ruined the design, wasn’t yet big enough for a human to squeeze through yet, but it was certainly going to be a problem if left unaddressed. Fuck, how do I—

One of the silk flowers in the vase flew up and out, twisting itself in midair in preparation to at least bind the human together to prevent him from leaving. The flowers could also block the hole—

Footsteps. Running. Jumping. Hall. Table. Human jumping off table.

They didn’t even have time to think—it was a miracle that it had cut through the fog of things at all. Suddenly Sam was the table in the hall, silk flower forgotten and fallen to the floor without wrapping itself around anything. Sam was the drawer in the table in the hall, moving with the reflexes of someone who’d had far too much time to get acquainted with all the ways they could move in the invisible space between atoms. The table itself ended up lurching forward as the drawer flew open to catch the stupidly panicked human who’d tried to jump off, and instead fell into the table’s drawer, which promptly snapped shut with them inside. 

It had caught Sam so much by surprise that for a moment, they truly did stop, astounded by what had nearly happened. 

“What. Were. You. THINKING?” 

“I-I don’t want to get killed by that giant-”

“Oh, Jesus, we’re not gonna kill you guys, you don’t have to fuckin-”

Ow. Ow ow ow. 

Pain?

Sam didn’t feel pain. They couldn’t even remember what pain felt like. They’d possessed flame itself, but they couldn’t remember what it felt like to burn. But they got a flash of it now—bare feet on hot tiles, finger held to a candle’s flame, spark licking skin. 

The lamp—the lamp that had been on the table. It wasn’t on the table. It was on the ground. The rug. The glass was shattered. The flame was spreading. Spreading. 

“Shit shit SHIT!”

They stood the lamp upright, but it did very little to stop what had already begun. They folded the rug in on itself to try and smother the flame, but it had caught on curtains and carpet and the wood paneling, eating away at whatever it could touch faster than Sam could take care of it. 

“CHRISTOPHER! There’s a—we have to put out the fire! Forget about the humans!”

The human in the foyer and the hole in the window completely forgotten about now, Sam rushed off to get water, before the fire truly got out of control. Because it couldn’t. They couldn’t let that happen.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Fire—now that was an idea. 

Cyrus had managed, somehow, to keep a low profile while everyone else scattered about like cockroaches. He wasn’t stupid enough to scurry out into the middle of the floor where the giant could just snatch him up. He also wasn’t stupid enough to do anything to anger the house’s spirit, like that idiot Max trying to break a hole in the window. Cyrus crept along the baseboards, just trying to keep quiet and out of sight. The ones who ran the fastest and screamed the loudest were the ones who got snatched first, and he wasn’t about to draw more attention to himself. 

The smell of something burning caught his nose, before he heard the strange spirit yell something about putting out a fire. 

Oh—how had he not thought of that before? 

This giant couldn’t leave. 

And now it was distracted. 

He wasted no time—he bolted towards the hole that Max had been trying to make earlier, sprinting straight across the open floor. He didn’t care—the giant wasn’t very well going to bother with him while the place burned down, was he? 

“Max, you useless oaf, quit standing around and SMASH THE FUCKING WINDOW!” 

This seemed to snap Max out of whatever trance the man had been in—staring at the giant silk flower on the floor like it was going to come to life and smother him. The cowardly man got back to his original task, spurred on by Cyrus’s insistence, as he smashed up the stained glass into a big enough hole to escape through. 

“Hey! Don’t you guys fucking dare!” Danny was yelling at them from up on a table, but Cyrus couldn’t have cared less. 

He grew impatient with Max’s weak swings. “Give me that.” He yanked the club from the man’s hands and sent a hearty swing into the existing hole, breaking another huge shard of glass away. It was big enough to get through now—he shoved Max out of the way and pushed through to the outside himself. 

He had to catch himself as he fell out onto the porch outside—seeming to shift from the size of a bug to the size of a man faster than he could blink, as his foot hit solid ground outside the mansion. Fucking devil’s work, whatever witchcraft is holding this place together. 

The remainder of the crowd of people that had been locked out of the mansion were staring at him incredulously, and compared to the chaos inside, every one of them was dead silent. There was no anger or vitriol anymore—just open-mouthed, silent shock.

He cast a furious, crazed look around at the half of a mob he had left. “Well? What are you all standing around for?” His eyes landed on a man holding a torch—he stomped over to him and took the torch right from his hands. 

“H-hey!” 

“I told you all this giant can’t leave this place. There’s only one way to stop this monster for good.” 

My secrets die with him. 

“What about the others?” someone yelled out behind him. “My husband’s in there!” 

“It’s too late for them,” Cyrus snapped, barely listening as a gasp and sobs broke out behind him. “That monster already got to them.” He didn’t have time for pity. That giant had already basically rounded all the others up—what was he supposed to do to save them, anyways? What did they matter? Was he supposed to let the giant live for the sake of a bunch of peasants who were basically as good as dead?

He held the torch to the wood, letting the flames slowly lick against the wall before they caught and began to spread. 

“Giant or not, everybody burns.” 

He had worried for so long about this Christopher Penn that he was sure it had taken years off of his life now. It wasn’t even relief he felt as he watched the house become consumed in the bright orange of the flame—it was too great a feeling for that. A frenzied flurry of emotion filled him up to the brim, like a pot of water that was simply boiling over now without a lid to stop it. He’d done it—he’d taken care of the mystery that had nearly driven him to madness. He’d eliminated the only thing in the way of him living the life he deserved. It was too much—far too much. He smiled as the flames danced in his eyes, he smiled so much it hurt. Free. At last, he was free. 

It was a blinding euphoria so all-encompassing that he nearly didn’t feel it as someone tackled him to the ground. 

“You bastard!” That stupid farm boy, Danny’s friend—Cyrus hadn’t bothered to learn the boy’s name—had his arms grappled around Cyrus’s shoulders, fury in his face. “Why would you do that? You know everyone is still in there!”

Cyrus hadn’t even the wherewithal to bother fighting back. Someone else was trying to pull the man off of him, but it was taking the efforts of at least three of them now to do so. Cyrus could only lie there, as if he wasn’t even in his own body at the moment, lost to the dizzying sensation of exhilarating freedom.

He simply couldn’t stop smiling. 

I’m free.

* * * * * * * * * *

Next chapter ->

There was a single commenter on A03 that basically said "gee I'm glad they're too stupid to burn the house down" and I had to hold my tongue for a year about that lol. Sorry random commenter. To those who've been waiting a year since the last update - I prostrate myself before you with apologies and my sincere promise that there are only two more chapters and an epilogue, and at least one of those chapters is coming out next week.

Thank you so much for reading - all the comments and asks wondering if I was going to continue this one really helped motivate me to finish it. And I WILL finish it. I'm at the finish line now, baby.

The monster already got to them.

It’s too late for them.

What Cyrus hadn’t accounted for—as it was something he was unfamiliar with himself—was the reluctance of the crowd to simply accept that their loved ones were a lost cause. Whether Cyrus was truthful or not, it was not a truth they were willing to accept so readily. 

The words, the promises—the strength of Cyrus’s united front began to wane in the face of the first tangible threat to them all. A threat created by Cyrus himself. What little doubt had festered in the crevices of their minds all this time now grew into a roaring flame of anger and fear. 

Nathan’s vision had tunneled with this white-hot rage, to the point where he could barely feel it as three of Cyrus’s burliest men tried to wrest him away from Cyrus, who was still grinning like a maniac and hardly even paying attention to Nathan’s aggression. 

He couldn’t even see what happened—but the men who were struggling with him were all of a sudden accosted by a swarm of people pushing against them, screaming, fighting to get past them to the house. It was enough for Nathan to break free in the madness, and he was struck with a sudden clarity of action. He was wasting time trying to beat any sort of sense into Cyrus—especially as the people descended on him now. 

He needed to get to Danny.

* * * * * * * * * *

As a giant, Christopher had a better sense of smell than he’d had as a human. Generally, though, the only thing he ever really noticed was the infuriatingly appetizing scent of whatever human he currently had in his house. And now there were so fucking many of them at once, that it was almost overwhelming him to the point of paralysis. He couldn’t pick any of them out without stopping to focus, and there were an alarming number that he simply couldn’t smell—ones who’d been here before. In the panic of everything, he still had to watch his footsteps to make sure he didn’t accidentally crush one underfoot. 

There were very few things that could overpower the scent of a human to him, but one of those things was his house being set on fire. 

The humans were suddenly the very least of his concerns. 

The acrid smell of the oil tickled the back of his nose as he rushed to the source of the flames—they were beginning to spread down the hall as they devoured anything in their path. A large cauldron of water floated through the air on the other side of the hall and dumped itself over a large chunk of the flames, extinguishing about half of them and soaking the rug. Christopher ran into a nearby room to grab the first blanket he could find, which he used to smother some of the flames that were starting to crawl up the wall. 

“Watch out!” He backed up as yet another pot of water flew in and emptied its contents over the rest of the flaming rug. The burning smell remained, but at least the flames had been taken care of. 

“Is that all of it?” That was close. 

“Yeah, I think so. Doesn’t hurt anymore.” There was a pause. “Shit, don’t tell me they’re-”

It felt like something whipped past his face. Sam hadn’t finished their sentence, but they’d almost certainly left. 

He heard their voice come from further in the house. “No, no, NO you don’t!” 

“Sam?” he called out, anxiety creeping slowly into his voice. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” 

No response. 

Something tickled his nose again, the scent of burning, and not just the scent of things that had already burned. 

Another fire.

He followed the smell and dashed out into the entryway. Danny was shouting something, but he couldn’t hear her over the thundering of his heartbeat as he caught sight of the terrible flames on the other side of the wall-length stained glass windows, climbing up the side of his house with a ravenous pace. 

The whole window exploded with an earsplitting CRASH as fragments of glass and bits of metal burst all over the floor. He only saw the man who’d thrown his shoulder into the window for a second before he disappeared—no, not disappeared, shrank. 

Nathan. He remembered the name, and the face. Danny’s friend. 

What was he doing? 

The open window provided another avenue for the flames to find their way into his house, and they took the opportunity to catch onto his curtains. Smoke billowed into the room and brought tears to the corners of his eyes. 

For a moment, he was just…paralyzed.

“Hey-OW! Chris! WATER! NOW!” 

Sam’s voice rushed past them as a cauldron of water flew through the window—dumping its contents on the flame like earlier, but to much less effect. The cauldron fell to the ground, and another container followed. The curtains detached themselves from the rods above to take the flames down and away from the ceiling, and it seemed that Sam tried to use their own fabric to smother themselves out before simply just tossing them out the window and into the snow, where they slowly smoldered into a melted puddle on the lawn. 

Christopher tried to follow suit, running back to one of the bathrooms where a bucket was already in the process of being filled up—Sam seemed to have every tap running and actively filling some sort of container. As soon as he grabbed the bucket, another swept in from behind him to take its place. He ran it into the foyer—the fire was still doing its best to get inside, rising up and up to the ceiling despite Sam’s best efforts to keep it at bay. 

He tossed the water out the window, and it was swallowed by the flames—like a stone thrown into a pond, only to sink beneath the surface.

They couldn’t get the water fast enough. 

“Christopher!” Danny yelled from the table he’d put her on. “Come on! Keep going! You’ve got to put it out!” 

He knew that it had already spread too far, too fast. The bucket dropped from his hands and clattered against the tile, and he stared out at the open window where flames were pouring in with wide, terrified eyes. 

He was trapped. 

He was going to burn alive in his own home. There was nothing he could do. He wouldn’t even last until the curse’s deadline—he would die a monster, and the hope of being human again would burn along with him. 

Even though the flames were growing, his entire body felt cold all of a sudden, and a horrible chill ran down his spine. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could hardly breathe—a sentiment that became literal as he choked on the smoke that was starting to fill the entryway. 

“Where’s Danny?” a voice shouted from the floor—Nathan’s voice. “I need to get her out of here!” 

It snapped Christopher back to the present. Danny. He couldn’t make it out of here—but she could. She didn’t have to die with him. 

He glanced down to Nathan, who stood terrified in front of him—not terrified of Christopher, he realized, but terrified that his friend was in danger. Christopher’s eyes flicked to the table where Danny stood, with the same horror written in her face.

I have to get her out of here. 

He bent down to pick up Nathan and spun around to get Danny, but he didn’t make it very far. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up before he saw it, before he heard Danny shout again. “LOOK OUT!” 

He hadn’t even moved an inch—but he looked up in time to see a large beam of wood from the ceiling fall directly above him, covered in a wreath of smoldering flames as it made its descent. 

It seemed to move in midair like it was blown off course by the wind—which of course, was actually Sam—but it wasn’t enough. It struck Christopher’s legs as he tried to get away, with Nathan cupped in his hands and held as far away from the impact as he could, but close to his chest so the human didn’t take the brunt of the fall. He tumbled down to the ground as his legs became pinned under the enormous, heavy beam, using all of his effort to make sure that the tiny human enclosed in his hands remained unharmed. 

He cried out in pain, both from the heat of the wood and the sickening sound of what was likely his bones being broken beneath the weight of it. He was breathing shallowly, his eyes squeezed shut as a blinding, searing pain shot through him. It wasn’t even a particularly cumbersome piece of wood, but he couldn’t kick it off—his legs were useless now. His attempt brought nothing but more pain. 

His arms were outstretched above his head, and his hands weakly opened so that Nathan could escape his hold. His head scraped weakly along the tile as he tried to tilt his neck to get a look at the human, making sure he was unharmed. Nathan looked shaken, and even more terrified, but appeared uninjured as he stepped unsteadily off of Christopher’s palms, and then looked to where the giant was pinned beneath the wooden beam. He covered his mouth in horror. 

It felt like someone was trying to lift the beam off of him, but their efforts were unsuccessful—he felt the tiniest amount of relief that vanished as the weight fell down on his legs again. And again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…” Sam’s voice was shaky, like they were holding back tears that didn’t exist. “I can’t…I feel like I’m…slipping. I can’t…control it…I couldn’t stop it…I can’t get it off…I-I-I can’t…” 

“Sam,” Christopher croaked—his voice was weak and hoarse from the smoke and the pain. “Get these two out. Get Danny out. Please.” 

He coughed violently, the taste of smoke and ash and potentially blood in the back of his throat now. He thought he would have been crying, if the heat from the fire hadn’t dried up his eyes. It hurt to keep them open, even on the ground. 

He couldn’t see Danny, or see if Sam was successful in getting her down from the table. Through his bleary vision, the only thing he could make out in front of him was the human Nathan, who seemed on the verge of crying himself. He was looking back at Christopher helplessly. 

“I’m sorry,” the human whispered. 

It felt like he was frozen in time then, like the seconds were dragged out and everything else started to fall away until it was just him and this one human before him. Was he going to have some heroic last words before he died? Could he make up for everything he’d done as a horrible monster in one final sentiment?

“No,” he said, the words scraping themselves out of his throat. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Pitiful. It was pitiful. It wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough? 

Nathan was silent, but his face spoke louder—there was something in his eyes as he looked to Christopher, something that wasn’t fear or hatred or disgust. It wasn’t the face of someone looking at a giant monster who he’d been eaten by, and who’d eaten his friend, too. 

It felt as though Nathan was looking at…him. Straight through Sybil’s magic, and into the eyes of the human Christopher used to be.

“I forgive you.” 

It stunned his heart, which was already forgetting how to beat properly, and for a moment it almost felt like it had stopped completely. 

Forgiveness? I don’t deserve that.

But he was too weak to refute it, to even shake his head—and so he could only lay there, and despite the heat, a single tear left a cool path as it fell down along his cheek. 

* * * * * * * * * *

Next chapter ->

I swear to you all, I will not take another year-long hiatus while on this cliffhanger. I have half the next chapter written. If I don't get it out soon, please hunt me down and storm my ask box, lol.

But thank you all for reading, and I am very, very excited for the next chapter - the last chapter (sans epilogue), and I'm sure most of you know what's happening next, but I'm excited all the same.

Cyrus looked so incredibly pleased with himself as he walked on ahead of the crowd towards Danny, who had her hands tied behind her back as she sat in front of Max on the horse that she'd borrowed from Christopher. Maria whinnied nervously as the man approached, kicking up her hooves—though it seemed that she had submitted to complacency since Danny had gotten astride her. 

“It's such a comfort to know that I have the support of our village in this endeavor,” he sneered. “Who knew years of public relations would pay off like this?” 

Danny glared back at him. “We had a donkey that was just as loud as you, and still, somehow, less of an ass.” 

Cyrus shook his head as if he truly felt pity for Danny. “Such a shame what that monster did to your mind. Making you resent your savior like this.” 

It wasn't even a good act. Cyrus didn't believe a word he said about mind control. 

“What's this really about, Cyrus?” Danny snapped. “I know you. You're not some fucking hero. What exactly do you hope to gain from killing Christopher?” 

He couldn't, right? There's no way. Sam can stop them. Christopher could literally crush Cyrus under his foot. He doesn't stand a chance.

Cyrus's smile twitched, and his beady eyes darkened. “A world with one less man-eating giant in it.” 

Danny wanted to scream. “Even if there was a giant, you wouldn’t stand a fucking chance. How the hell did you convince these people they could take down a giant?” 

Cyrus leaned in close enough for her to smell the putrid scent of cigars on his breath. “I didn’t,” he sneered. “Turns out the threat of a magical, mind-controlling monster is enough to rile everyone up.” 

He only laughed loudly as he turned to walk away. Danny screamed in frustration, which prompted Max to throw one of his elbows into her side. “Shut up, bitch. You'd better cooperate, unless you want your friend to die in the cold.” 

There were times that anger could be useful, or at least, felt useful. When she'd had nothing to do but pace around a gilded cage, alone, anger had felt good. Even if it had been pointless, it made her feel like she was still fighting back, like she was doing something instead of just rolling over and giving up.

Her anger wouldn't do anything here—not when Nathan's life was on the line. Any risk she took would be a risk for Nathan, and any detour or distraction would only prolong the bitter cold he'd have to endure. And she had no doubt at all that Cyrus wouldn't hesitate to hurt him further, if she didn't comply.

It tasted like bile to swallow her anger now, but she did. She took a deep breath, stared straight ahead, and imagined herself strangling Max. She played over and over in her head the many different ways she could hurt him, and Cyrus, and every one of the people he'd brought with him. 

“Lead the way, Danny,” came Cyrus's arrogant voice from behind her. She tried to look to the side to see if she could get a glimpse of Nathan, but Max gave her a subtle, but still painful shove.

“Get moving,” he hissed.

First, I'll put my hands around his neck and squeeze until his face turns blue. She gestured towards the woods with her head, since her hands were still tied. “That way. Down the path.” Then I'll punch him right in the gut, right where it hurts. After that—

* * * * * * * * * *

Danny hoped that they would get as lost as Christopher seemed to think they would without the mirror—which she had managed to keep with her during all the commotion, though she kept it hidden beneath her dress. Maybe there was some sort of illusion Sam could pull off to hide the mansion from view, or turn them all around in the woods.

She had little choice but to lead Cyrus and his now much larger mob of people down the path she'd taken to Christopher's residence. To her dismay, the huge mansion came into view, with its dark spires rising up into the gray sky above.

“This is the place,” she snarled as they approached the iron gate that led to the mansion’s grounds. 

Max pulled the reins on Maria to stop her in her tracks, and the rest of the mob behind followed suit. Cyrus hopped off his own horse and sauntered up to the huge, wrought iron gate—shut and locked tight, with no lock or handle in sight. It was the only way in—the stone walls would have been too high to climb over easily.

She seemed to be the only one to notice one of the iron bars bending just slightly at the bottom, before it swiped under the feet of one of the people standing too close to the gate. 

“W-what the fuck?” The man’s head snapped side to side, trying to find the source of whatever had tripped him up. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Get the gate open!” Cyrus shouted, ignoring the man’s distress. After a few men threw their shoulders into the metal to try and make the gate give way, a group eventually used a large log nearby as a battering ram to try and force it open. A thunderous CLANG echoed with each attempt. 

Max dismounted and yanked Danny off the horse after. She fought against his hold on her, trying to at least find Nathan in all the commotion, and though she couldn’t see him, she heard him coughing further back. Fuck. He needs to get indoors. 

The screeching, horrible sound of metal giving way accompanied the sound of one of the attempts to break down the gate, and Danny saw the gates regretfully swing open, enough for the mob to begin pouring through. She was herded along with them all, pushed unceremoniously by Max, who still held her bound hands behind her. 

“LOOK OUT!” 

Something large whizzed over her head, and as it clattered against the walkway, she realized it was a paving stone that had been lobbed through the air. She tried to crane her neck to see ahead, and just as she did another paving stone came loose from the walkway, seemingly of its own accord, and aimed squarely at Cyrus’s head. 

The bastard dodged, but the brick managed to catch someone else on the side of their head before it dropped to the ground. A shocked clamor rose up from the people, with shouts of an invisible enemy beginning to emerge from the crowd.

“Is the place haunted?” one man cried out. 

A dark, familiar chuckle echoed from all around, as though the voice passed through every stone in the pavement beneath. “You bet your fucking ass it is.” 

More paving stones removed themselves from the ground, one at a time, flying towards the crowd with a vengeance. Some were able to find their mark, sending the odd person falling to their knees in pain. Others were able to be swatted away by the clubs and axes. The whole commotion was enough to send at least a few people running back towards the gates. 

“LeEeAaVE~” Sam wailed, as menacing as they could. Danny’s grin quirked up a bit. 

“Don’t be fooled by these tricks!” Cyrus bellows above the crowd. “Keep moving forward!” 

And so the crowd did, for the most part undeterred by the seemingly haunted grounds of the mansion as they pressed forward in a huge and increasingly furious wave towards the mansion’s front door. 

Before they could storm the door, Cyrus held up his hand. “Stay back!” The mob halted as Cyrus began to march up to the front door alone, though he made another gesture behind him. “Max. Bring her here.” 

Max shoved Danny forward through the crowd. The sea of people gave her mostly distrustful and disgusted glances as she passed, but she didn’t even bother acknowledging them. Max pushed her forward until she stood at the base of the stairs that led up to the elaborate front door.

As Cyrus stepped up to it, ready to knock, the door swung violently open and nearly hit Cyrus square on. 

And there, standing calmly on the threshold, was Christopher—looking by all accounts nothing more than a normal man.

Almost. Danny’s eyes couldn’t help but search for the dark horns atop his head, for any trace of his appearance that could give his true nature away. His horns were dark and short enough now to almost be unnoticeable, hidden by his hair. He looked nothing but refined and distinguished—whatever sadness had lingered about him before, Danny saw no traces of it now. It was effectively covered up—if she had seen it correctly to begin with. 

The giant’s eyes immediately went over Cyrus’s shoulder to Danny, but he looked away just as quickly, smoothing out his expression. 

“I’m afraid I’m not entertaining guests today,” he said curtly, as though he had simply misjudged the nature of the raucous crowd of angry villagers standing on his front lawn. “I’ll have to ask you all to leave.” 

There was a chorus of hushed whispers and gasps traveling through the crowd now. Danny thought she could hear fragments of what several of them were saying.

“That’s him.”

“I’ve…I’ve been here before. He—”

“Oh my god, he ate—”

“It’s the giant. How—”

A cold chill seeped into her bones as she realized that the mere sight of the giant was enough to bring back memory to those he’d taken it away from. How…how many of these people had Christopher…?

“You and I have some unfinished business, Penn,” Cyrus snarled, quiet enough for Danny and Max to be the only ones to hear. 

“I’m sorry…who are you?” Christopher asked blithely, his voice carrying an almost genuine ignorance. There was enough condescension, though, to make Cyrus growl back at him through gritted teeth.

Danny snorted. Max retaliated by driving his foot into the back of her heel, prompting her to wince sharply. 

She noticed that Christopher’s lips tightened slightly, but the giant did not otherwise react.

“You know damn well who I am,” Cyrus hissed in Christopher’s face. “You got your nose into business you shouldn’t have.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Christopher replied. His eyes kept darting back to Danny, his lips still set in a fine line. “Though I would ask that you refrain from hurting my friend there. She doesn’t seem very comfortable.” 

Cyrus chuckled darkly. “Friend?” He turned slightly so that his voice now projected out toward the crowd. “The way I hear it, you kidnapped this innocent young woman. Messed with her mind to the point she’d defend you, even now.” 

Danny strained against Max’s grip on her. “He’s lying!” she cried out, trying desperately to squirm from his hold. “I wasn’t kidnapped!” 

Max growled in frustration as he tried to keep her restrained. 

“Christopher’s not a monster!” Danny yelled. “Can’t you idiots see?” 

Cyrus whipped around and gave Danny a poisonous glare. “Max, shut her up.” 

Max sent a sharp elbow into Danny’s back, causing her to stumble on her feet. A sharp cry was forced out from her lungs. “You forget we have your OTHER friend here, too?” 

Her eyes on the ground, Danny almost didn’t see it—the instinctive step Christopher took forward, with his hand slightly outstretched, before he met with the invisible barrier of the doorframe, and hastily pulled back.

A sense of dread fell over her. Did Cyrus notice? The giant attempted to cover up his mistake and stand straight up again, as if nothing had happened. 

“I’m not sure I appreciate the way you’re treating my friend, Mr. Livingston.” Each word Christopher spoke was as sharp as ice. “You seem to have a problem with me, not her. Let her go.” 

“Oh?” Cyrus took a bold step closer to the doorframe, smirking maliciously. “And just what are you going to do about it, pretty boy? You’re not going to rush to her aid?” 

Christopher’s lip twitched, the beginning of a snarl that he repressed. “Perhaps you’d like to come inside to discuss this business you have with me?” Each word was pointed and clipped, propriety being stretched as thin as possible. 

Cyrus looked unfazed, studying Christopher for just a moment before his smile widened. He scratched his chin idly. “Max. Come here. Have someone else keep a hold on her.” 

Danny thought that she could hear Max’s heartbeat increase tenfold. “O-of course.” The man ushered another of Cyrus’s brutish thugs forward, who grabbed Danny’s arms and held her back with much more force than the weasely man had been able to. 

Max crept forward timidly until he stood by Cyrus’s side. Danny could see the way the man trembled like a leaf before Christopher, who only glared down at the man coldly. 

“Do you remember him?” Cyrus asked scornfully as he grasped Max’s arm, something like amusement dancing in his expression.

“No.” Christopher was, by Danny’s estimations, a remarkable liar. If she didn’t know better, she thought he could almost be telling the truth.

Cyrus sneered unkindly. “Well, he certainly remembers you.” 

Without a warning, Cyrus shoved Max over the doorframe towards Christopher—in such a way that it should have meant that Max would collide squarely with Christopher, and yet, from everyone’s perspective, it appeared that Max had suddenly disappeared into thin air.

Cyrus pulled his own hand back from the doorframe immediately, Max no longer held within it. 

The cries from the crowd became louder all of a sudden as they witnessed a man vanish before their eyes. 

Christopher snarled as he glanced down, like he’d noticed a bug near his feet, and bent down swiftly before returning to his standing height, something tiny held between his fingers. Only those standing close to the door—Cyrus, Danny, and the man who held her back—would be able to see that it was Max Christopher held between his fingers. 

“If you’d like him returned safely,” Christopher hissed, “I suggest you let my friend Danny go, and take your business elsewhere.”

Cyrus eyed Christopher up for a moment, his eyes landing on Max only briefly. “Well, why don’t you come and get her then, giant?” he taunted, his voice just barely above a whisper as he grinned devilishly. 

The fury in Christopher’s eyes was unmistakable—and his silence was damning. 

“Do what you like with him,” Cyrus laughed. “I’ve learned all I need to.” 

It sounded like Max yelled something undistinguishable to Danny’s ears—just the high-pitched squeak of a mouse—before Cyrus turned to address the crowd gathered before him. 

“Don’t be fooled by these illusions!” he shouted. “While he may seem like a normal man, he is little more than a monster in disguise.” 

“Yeah!” shouted a man from the crowd. “He’s a giant! He ate me—I remember!”

“He tricked me into coming here!” another voice cried out. “And then he made me forget!” 

“What’s going to stop him from doing it again!” 

Cyrus had done little more than effectively light the match beneath the coals of the mob’s anger, standing and watching as it quickly caught fire and took off before him. The cries continued on and on—people shouting about how they’d been tricked, put in a cage, eaten. There was hardly any deceit necessary from Cyrus anymore—the people he’d gathered were assured now of the nature of the beast they needed to slay. 

And Christopher—Christopher did nothing but watch. Desperately, Danny tried to meet his eyes—but the giant could only stare out in horror at the sea of people, hearing his own victims shouting out his crimes. Something broke, then, in his countenance. His eyes swam with a desperate, hopeless sort of look to them, like a frightened animal caught in a trap.

Despite everything—despite the fact that her voice ought to have been among the people gathered here, and under different circumstances it very well might have—sympathy pierced her heart painfully. He has to face all these people that he ate. They’re all calling him a monster, but they don’t know—

Eventually, Cyrus seemed satisfied with the level of vitriol that had been stirred up in the crowd. He gestured behind him with an arrogant flick of his wrist. “Luckily, the monster is imprisoned in his own home. He can’t step over the threshold.” 

A rush of whispers, confused and shocked, flew through the crowd. Danny tried not to let anything show on her face to suggest that what Cyrus said was true, but panic clenched her heart. 

“Even if that was true, that means he wouldn’t be able to get out. He’s not a danger to anyone. Why are you all—”

She received a harsher jab in the back, enough to knock the wind out of her.

“How many of you have seen this monster’s true colors?” Cyrus’s voice boomed out, to a chorus of thundering assent. “How many has he already fooled? Bewitched? Consumed?” 

Cyrus turned around slowly to face Christopher again. “And by all means, if I do not speak the truth…” He waved his hand before him, as if to invite Christopher outside with him. “Feel free to prove me wrong, Penn. Join us out here, and prove your innocence. Save your friend.” 

Danny looked to Christopher, hoping for a miracle. Please, she begged silently. Say something. Do something. Please. 

Christopher didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His eyes hardly met with Cyrus at all, or any of the people standing in his front yard. 

The longer he remained still, the louder the cries of anger from the crowd became. It wasn’t hard to tell that they were all now eager for blood. Their shouts and cries became a distant buzz in Danny’s ears—all she could focus on was Christopher.

What could she do? 

What could he do?

Finally, the giant’s lips parted, and Danny had to strain to hear the words he muttered.

“Please, you can do whatever you want with me…” Christopher’s dark eyes finally went back to Danny, flowing over with emotion. “But don’t hurt her. She has nothing to do with this. Let her go.” 

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to bargain, monster,” Cyrus sneered. 

He faced the crowd once more—and the tension in the air felt on the verge of snapping then. “Against all of us, even a giant is powerless!” His voice boomed triumphantly, as though he meant to lead an army into battle. “It’s time to put an end to this madness once and for all!” 

A horrible, stomach-churning cheer erupted from the mob, and before Cyrus could even direct them to, they rushed forward towards the house in a mad dash to cross the threshold. Cyrus’s eyes widened as he realized they would not stop for him, and in the madness of it all he was pushed into the house by the swarm of people screaming bloody murder, wielding all the weapons they’d soon find to be rather inadequate. 

Danny, too, couldn’t resist as she was rather forcefully shoved along in the chaos, until she was faced with the only somewhat familiar feeling of vertigo as her feet stepped over the doorframe and onto the giant tile of the inside of Christopher’s mansion.

The giant himself only took a single step backward, caught in the horror and confusion of the moment as hundreds of people tried to force their way into his home, and became nothing but a small, confused assortment of tiny creatures scurrying at his feet. 

The change in perspective had certainly thrown more than a couple of people for a loop, and Danny could see that many were trying to force their way back, to get to the safety of the outside again, but the crowd just kept pushing forward as the mob streamed into the mansion. 

There was a loud THUD as the doors forced themselves shut, keeping what remained of the mob out—and locking the ones here in. 

“There! Fuck,” Danny heard Sam exclaim from the doors themselves, causing several people to jump and flip around, as though they expected another giant to appear. 

A voice cried out then, one of the many people who’d been unfortunate and delusional enough to force themselves in, who now saw that their enemy was not one that could be taken down by a simple fireplace poker, who was slightly more intimidating in stature than Cyrus’s rallying cries had suggested they were in any way capable of defeating. 

“RUN!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Next chapter ->

What kind of danger could a bunch of humans really pose to a giant?

It's certainly been a while, hasn't it? The good news is that I do believe I've gotten over the writing block snag of what comes next in this story! Will I be able to publish a new chapter every week? Eh, less likely, but I'd like to wrap this story up within the next few months at least!

Thank you for continuing along with this story with me, and I hope you enjoy the ending as much as I have enjoyed thinking about it for the past...oh gosh. Year?

Chapter 1: Dark Night of the Soul

Contains: ~2k words | Chapter Index | Read this story on A03!

It was a night like many others, the night that Christopher Penn's life was changed forever.

A deluge had begun that evening, torrential rain bearing down upon the land with fierce strikes of lightning and thunder rattling the large windows of the mansion—but all this meant for Christopher and his guests was that they wouldn't be able to enjoy the garden out back, and their merriment was restricted to the large indoor space. The music still swelled and filled the air pleasantly, rising above the sounds of the storm outside and making it easy for the partygoers to forget how unpleasant it was outside the walls of Christopher's house.

The host in question flitted from person to person throughout the evening, engaging in the usual small talk and jokes, an easy and charming smile lighting up his face and those of the people he met with. He was a gracious and charismatic host, always making sure that his parties were the grandest, with his guests never wanting for anything. The people in attendance would speak highly of his events, of the balls and the dinner parties, that he was so keen to host. 

On the surface, Christopher seemed rather at ease, full of a charm and grace that would be befitting of someone from a wealthy family. But his actions were all surface level—each word and step he took was carefully choreographed and planned in advance. He was terrified, truly—each person he brought into his home was a potential ally, a potential for advancing his status, but they were also a potential seed to his own destruction.

Christopher had spent every day since his parents had passed rebuilding his family's reputation among the nobility. He could see past their charm—they despised his parents, and in turn, they despised him. His own reputation—the very thing that allowed him to live in such comforts still, to have any amount of power and social standing at all—was fragile and tenuous, and every interaction he had, no matter how seemingly insignificant it was, was an attempt to maintain its strength.

And so, while he seemed completely comfortable in this element, there was a latent anxiety in Christopher, hidden well beneath the surface. 

He almost didn’t hear the knock at the door at first, wrapped up as he was in conversation. But his manservant rushed to his side, rather insistently dragging him away.

“I’m sorry, Chris, she just won’t leave without speaking to you.” Sam’s stride was brisk, and they gave Christopher no choice but to follow. He offered a quick and profuse apology to the noblewoman he’d been entertaining before he caught up to Sam.

“You’re not able to send her away?” Christopher hissed, somewhat tersely. “I can’t be interrupted by every stranger that shows up here. I have guests to attend to.” 

“Hey, I tried!” Sam insisted. “I’m just one guy, and I also have guests of yours to attend to. She keeps coming back. All she wants is a quick word with you. Just humor her, and she’ll be out of your hair.” Sam ran their fingers somewhat anxiously through their own well-groomed locks. “We can just deal with it quietly, before she causes a scene. Some of the guests near the front door are getting a little antsy about it.” 

Christopher sighed wearily as he followed Sam to the main entrance. Perhaps if he had more staff, this wouldn’t be a problem. Most of the house’s staff had left in the fallout of his parents’ demise, with the sole exception being Sam—his personal servant who’d remained as doggedly loyal to him as they had the first day they’d been assigned to care for him. He’d never let on to his guests, but Christopher worked with Sam every day to keep the house in order, even helping cook the meals and clean. He had to keep up appearances as best he could. 

Sam pulled the grand front door open to reveal a woman on the other side—a pauper in beggar’s clothes, tattered and rain-soaked, hunched on his front stoop as she gazed up at Christopher. 

Christopher stood up straight and directed a cold, stern look towards the woman. He could feel several sets of eyes on him, and knew that there was a group of aristocrats watching the scene intently. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves idly as he spoke, as if he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the woman at all.

“I’m afraid you will have to leave. I have no room for beggars here.” 

The woman shivered slightly, tilting her head up further to meet Christopher’s face. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her face lined with creases from age and stress. “P-please, kind sir, I only need to come in from the storm for a short while. I won’t be any trouble. I…I haven’t eaten in days-”

The people nearby began to whisper, a touch of disgust coloring their tone. 

“This is an exclusive event,” Christopher interjected firmly. “There is a certain decorum that must be maintained. Please leave, or I will contact the authorities to escort you away.” 

If he had been at home alone that evening, he might have afforded some manner of small comfort towards the woman. But he couldn’t be seen sullying his hands with the poor here. 

A pleading, desperate look came to the woman’s face, her features falling into despair. “Sir, I will not survive the night!” Her voice was hoarse and rough, as if sandpaper scraped against the inside of her throat. “You would turn me away, to the mercy of the storm?”

Her cries had gotten louder—more of his guests had turned to look and whisper among themselves, casting uncertain and hesitant glances Christopher’s way. He didn’t need to hear them to know what they were all saying. 

What kind of place is this, where the host entertains beggars?

He is no better than his parents, mingling with such filth.

He doesn’t belong here.

He is not one of us.

He set his jaw and made his stance firm, his dark eyes fixed sharply down at the beggar. He couldn’t let this go on further. “Leave. Your welfare is not my concern.”

The woman’s face became suddenly sharper, each crease and wrinkle fading to a more youthful visage, and her muddy, round eyes transformed to piercing, golden ones. She no longer hunched, but stood straight up, rising to a height that forced even Christopher to look up in awestruck terror. 

“THEN YOU WILL HAVE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS, CHRISTOPHER PENN.” 

Her tattered clothes transformed to flowing white robes upon her dark skin, her hair now falling in neat and lovely braids down her back, adorned with gold. 

She cast a scornful, acidic gaze towards Christopher as she looked down on him, each fiber of her being radiating with malice. 

His heart stopped beating—the entire world seemed to have gone silent, save for the strikes of thunder that almost seemed to accentuate every word this woman spoke. Her voice boomed with an unnatural volume throughout the entire hall. He didn’t need to turn around to know that every single person in attendance had heard.

He did his best to hide the quaking in his limbs. He couldn’t lose his composure, even now. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice escaping as nothing but a whisper.

The woman scowled at him, her expression one of pure poison. He could feel himself withering beneath it, despite all his efforts to keep calm. 

“You would not remember me, for the faces you entertain here are simply passing flights of fancy to you. I was your guest, Penn. And I saw past your charm. You use people for your own gain, grasping onto what little power you have like a pathetic child, desperate to rise above your place in the world.” 

She pointed an accusing finger towards him. “You have a vile, black heart, so cruel that you would send a woman away to her death when she asks for but a little kindness.”

“Hey!” Sam spoke up, a little timidly beside Christopher. “You can’t talk about him like-”

“SILENCE.” A loud strike of thunder shook the entire house, rattling the foundation and carrying the woman’s voice to the ears of every patron once again. A blistering wind tore through the open door, making the curtains tremble in its wake. 

Christopher thought that something seemed familiar about the woman—he felt as though he could recall a conversation with her, and she surely must have been at one of his parties. He searched for a name desperately, frantically wracking his brain for this woman’s identity.

“...Sybil?” he croaked, every ounce of confidence having long since left his body. His knees began to tremble, and he worried that they would soon give out completely. “Y-you may come in, I am so very sorry to have offended-”

“You have already failed, Penn. Now you repent, for you see my true form, and the power I wield.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your fate has already been sealed.”

The world was swallowed in darkness within only the span of a moment, and the screams of Christopher’s guests and Sam became drowned out by an all-encompassing blackness that surrounded him, choking the air from his lungs, squeezing his ribcage until he thought he would burst from the pressure. He could not speak, he could not move, he could not see. If not for the excruciating pain shooting through every fiber of his being, he would have thought he was dead.

“You will no longer hide behind your tawdry facade. A monster within, so a monster you shall become.” 

Sybil’s voice came from all around him, like a harsh winter wind that froze the blood in his veins as it passed over him. Her words had weight to them, laden with something powerful, and far beyond this world’s understanding. 

His body was changing, but in what manner, he had no way to tell. All he could feel was pain—pain and a clawing hunger, like an animal inside of his stomach ripping and tearing at the flesh within, desperate to break out. His head throbbed as sounds swirled in his mind, indistinguishable from each other as they rose into a crescendo of noise, and the silence turned to a deafening cacophony. Voices, screams, shouting, but no words he could make out. He thought that he could hear Sam, amidst all the chaos, but he couldn’t be sure.

And then, before the darkness of his vision cleared to reveal the full extent of the horror that awaited him, he was assaulted by the wave of a strong smell he couldn’t place, a scent that filled his lungs and made the desperate animal within his gut writhe and twist in agony. It was like the scent of the finest wine, the most tantalizing food in existence, in such a great amount that it was overwhelming—even though, in those few moments of blissful ignorance, he had no idea what it was that delighted his senses so, that made the pain almost forgotten, that made every bone of his ache with an almost feral hunger.

His eyes opened with frantic urgency, and the scene before him unfolded slowly into a horrifyingly clear depiction of the gruesome fate that had been thrust upon him. He could barely see the faces of the ones he’d invited here, but their frightened screams spoke loudly enough. No words came to his own mouth—he was frozen in horror, like an insect trapped in amber as the weight of what happened sunk in, pressing down upon him like a suffocating, terrible gravity.

Despite his transformation, Sybil’s words rang as clear in his head as they had before. 

“Ten years, Penn. Ten years to prove yourself, or this form will be your prison.”

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next Chapter ->

She supposed she didn’t know what to expect, although none of the possibilities seemed good. What would a giant possibly want with a human, anyways? He’d said Nathan was to “remain in his service” as long as he “required” him. But what did that even mean? What could a human even do in a big-ass mansion like this? Cleaning the floor of even one room would be the endeavor of a lifetime. A month might get one baseboard cleaned, or the dust swept off a single counter. And surely, a rich prick like this had some sort of staff already, giant or otherwise. 

She wondered if the services Christopher “required” were less tasteful in nature, and her stomach recoiled at the thought. He hadn’t said anything that would imply as much—not yet, anyways—and surely, if he’d kept her here for some sort of entertainment, he’d be down here taunting her right now. 

The hours passed uneventfully, allowing the rage bubbling up within her to quiet to a low simmer as she mulled over her predicament with an idle sort of dread, trying to put the pieces together of who—or rather, what—Christopher really was, and what horrors the next month would entail. The only answer she got was silence. 

Whatever the case, her loathing for the giant only increased the longer she waited for something to break the monotony—and so when he did reappear later that night, with the bare remnants of sunlight outside the windows having long since faded into black, she was all too eager to pick a fight. 

“I see his majesty has seen fit to grace me with his presence,” she spat, rising quickly from her seated position on the floor of the cage to stand as tall and straight as she could, exuding as much pure detestation as she possibly could when her whole body was the size of this bastard’s finger. “Touch me again, and I’ll bite your fucking finger off. I dare you.” 

Christopher moved toward her with a frustratingly placid expression, holding what appeared to be a…tiny tray of food in his hand. She hadn’t been expecting even the bare minimum of decency. I suppose he realizes he has to feed the prisoners if he wants his entertainment alive. 

“I thought you would like something to eat,” he said simply. He slid the tray between the functionally redundant bars of the cage. It was much more crude and simple than the rest of the house’s furnishings, and it was laden with food that had been prepared for someone her size to consume. She didn’t know exactly what all of it was, but it appeared far nicer than the traditional prisoner’s meal of gruel and moldy bread. There was some sort of soup in a quaint little bowl, a sliver of bread that was clearly cut from a giant-sized loaf, and even what appeared to be some manner of fruit sliced small enough for her to eat. She could smell spices that she just knew were far too expensive for her or Nathan to ever have afforded, and she felt a quiver of hunger in response. 

She almost caved—but her lip curled into a snarl, and she looked up to meet Christopher’s eyes as rage burned inside of her. “I’m not hungry,” she lied.

He wasn’t fazed—he bent down so that he was eye level with her now. She might have been intimidated by the serious edge to his gaze if she wasn’t so fucking angry at him. “There’s no need to be stubborn, doll. I’m trying to be nice—the least you could do is accept my generosity.” 

His calmness was exceptionally irritating—the way he didn’t seem to even acknowledge the fact that he talked about being nice when she was literally in a cage, when he had literally imprisoned her here, and her friend before her, and just walked about like it was fine and normal and really, she should be grateful. She didn’t care if he was a giant, or if he could easily reach in and crush her in his fist without a second thought if he wanted. If she had no choice but to endure this place for a month to pay off some bullshit debt, then she was going to make this guy’s life hell in the process, giant or not.

She took a few tense, silent steps toward the tray, getting even closer to Christopher’s face in the process. She ignored the way he stared at her, purposefully making eye contact with him the entire time to spite the tiny part of herself that was internally quaking with fear. She slowly bent down to pick up the bowl of soup—a buttery orange color, perhaps made of some sort of squash if she had to take a guess. It smelled delicious, but her hatred had overtaken her hunger for the moment.

With nothing but stubborn silence to punctuate the action, she flung the contents of the bowl at Christopher—she’d aimed for his eyes, but he’d reacted quick enough to take the brunt of it along his hooked nose with a sharp, frustrated intake of breath as the hot soup splashed across his perfect, pristine skin. She tossed the empty bowl at his face, and it bounced off his nose to the floor. 

For a moment, he didn’t move at all—she could tell that he was forcing a frustrated grimace into a neutral expression. His eyes squeezed closed before he opened them again with a steely, dark sharpness to his gaze as they narrowed at her. His lips curved up into a tight smile. “I suppose you’re right. You’re clearly not hungry.” 

With a tense jerk of his wrist, he flicked off the majority of the soup from his face and took the tray back, rising back up to his full height and turning around to leave the way he’d come without another word. Danny didn’t offer any more insults either—she was satisfied for the time being.

She was still riding the wave of what she considered a small victory, reveling in how satisfying it was to make a mess of that giant, to know that the soup had likely stained the crisp white collar of Christopher’s fancy, expensive shirt as he’d flicked it off his face. But as a little more time passed, and she could no longer hear his footsteps near her, the pride ebbed to make way for the twisting coils of hunger and regret in her stomach. She’d left herself with nothing to eat besides the remnants of the soup that dripped along the bars of her cage.

With no giant for her to put up a brave front for, she lowered herself to the cold metal floor of her cage and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest.

It wasn’t the first time she’d gone to bed hungry, but it was no less uncomfortable than it had been all those years ago. And just like in all those unpleasant memories, she was alone. 

Or, well, so she thought.

She had almost forgotten about the strange voice that had led her into the house earlier, the identity of which had become a much less pressing matter once she’d met the mansion’s giant resident. But she’d only been lying down for a minute or two when she heard it again—in front of her, as if there was another human standing in this cage with her somehow. 

“Hey…are you okay?” 

She stood up quickly, turning around in a circle as if she could have possibly missed the fact that her cage had another inhabitant. It was still empty, of course.

“Where are you?” she asked dubiously, walking cautiously up to the bars of the cage to look down towards the floor—which gave her a rush of vertigo, but no clues as to where the voice could be coming from.

“Uh…” the voice trailed off. “I mean, it’s not really important. I just help with things around here.”

Danny raised a questioning eyebrow, increasingly suspicious of the lack of answers she’d gotten in regards to this person’s identity. “I just want to get a look at you, alright? Can I just see you?” 

There was a lengthy pause. “Okay, listen. I know you’ve had to deal with a lot of weirdness today already, so I don’t want to, uh, scare you more.” 

Are they some sort of monster too? Maybe an invisible one? Danny sighed, somewhat tersely. “I can handle it. I have enough questions to deal with already.” 

“O…kay then,” the voice relented. “Well, for starters, my name’s Sam. It’s nice to meet ya, Danny.” 

Danny only nodded, waiting for Sam to appear so that a proper introduction could take place. 

“And, well, you haven’t seen me because I, uh, don’t really have a body.” 

Doesn’t have a body? Are they…some sort of ghost? Is this place haunted? “So…you’re like a ghost or something?” she suggested, with a tone that was much calmer than the sentence should warrant.

“Well, I mean, kinda, but it’s more like, uh…well, the funny thing is, I’m kind of…the house.” 

Danny blinked, wondering if she’d heard right. She was quite certain she had, but the words didn’t make much sense in the order they were in. “What the heck does that mean?”

It seemed as though a breeze flew around the room, though all the windows were closed—the curtains rose and lifted as a wind that had come from seemingly nowhere passed by them in a sweeping motion. Danny could almost feel a slight tingle along her skin, like the strange wind passed by her, too. 

“I can move anywhere in this place, and I can sort of…well, I can control the furniture and stuff. Wanna see?” 

Danny, suddenly feeling even more uncertain, took a few steps back towards the center of her cage, as if that would play any part in keeping her safe. Though it didn’t sound like “Sam” had any malevolence in their suggestion. “Uh…sure…?” 

The pages of a book on a nearby table rustled slightly as an invisible force caressed them. A quiet creaking and groaning came from a source she couldn’t quite place, until she realized that the chair next to the table was moving, seemingly of its own accord. Its plush, elaborately carved arms began to curl outward and inward again, moving impossibly like an awkward, upholstered bird trying to flap its wings slowly. And then, as if the slight amount of movement had been nothing more than a warm up, the short, carved legs of the chair began to hop forward and backwards in a rhythmic little jig, moving almost as gracefully as if the still very chair-shaped chair actually had hips to sway back and forth. It didn’t even make much noise as it tap-danced along the tile floor, moving as lightly and delicately as if guided by the gentlest and most precise of puppet strings.

Danny watched the scene with her mouth agape, not entirely convinced her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, even after all the other strange things she’d seen in the past few hours. 

The chair’s motion stopped as it settled back into the same position it had been in before, no worse for wear and with no indication that it had just taken up a new hobby besides resting there quietly and waiting for someone to sit upon it. 

“Wait, wait! Hold your applause.” 

The voice emanated from the chair this time, or at least from the chair’s direction—sounding a little further away from Danny than it had been before.

The large rug that adorned the tile floor began to flutter its edges delicately, in a manner that suggested it was quite pleased with itself, before the entire thing lifted from the ground and twirled around in a proud spectacle. Danny could do nothing but watch in a state of bewildered shock as the giant, floor-sized rug spun around in midair—she vaguely remembered Nate telling her a story involving a magic rug once, but hadn’t ever imagined seeing one for herself, and certainly not one so impossibly huge. The carpet folded in a few select places in such a way as it moved that it was almost evocative of the way one might turn and pose as they admired their own reflection in a mirror. The fabric bent forward in what seemed to be a gentlemanly bow before it quickly unfurled again and settled slowly back into place, floating as lightly as a leaf in the wind before it took its place on the floor once again.

The mysterious (though now perhaps slightly more explicable) wind seemed to swirl around the whole room once again in a wide circle, rustling book pages and curtains in its wake—and this time, as it swept across the fireplace, a small flame flickered across the logs inside that quickly rose to a crackling blaze. All the lamps that hung on the walls lit up at once, casting the whole place suddenly into a bright, warm glow.

“...ta-daaa,” Sam exclaimed proudly from what seemed to be a painting on the wall to Danny’s left—a portrait of a rather serious man who looked like he would not be very amused at all with his visage being used as a prop for such a carefree, furniture-possessing apparition. 

Perhaps the thing inside of her that should have been scared or baffled beyond reason had finally snapped, because all Danny could manage was an amused grin that spread wider across her face as she looked around the room in awe. “...wow,” she breathed. “Okay, yeah, I didn’t see that coming. That’s…really cool, actually.” 

The portrait that seemed to be currently hosting Sam’s presence didn’t change at all—and indeed, the man it portrayed didn’t seem to be capable of an emotion outside the realm of grim and severe, but she could have sworn that the painting almost blushed. “Aw, thanks. Honestly, you’re too kind.” 

Danny’s head tilted in curiosity, now much more fixated on learning about Sam than she was with feeling discontent about her current living situation. “So…I mean, how did this…did you…how are you-”

“-it’s a long story,” Sam interrupted, “and frankly, I don’t, uh, remember most of it. The details aren’t really important. I’m just…well, I take care of this place. Always have.” 

“Oh,” Danny mumbled, somewhat disappointed. She slowly sat back down on her cage’s floor. “So you work for the giant bastard, huh.”

“...yeah. I’ve taken care of Christopher since he was a kid. It’s been just us here, for a long time.” Sam spoke a little quieter, and much closer to her, as if they were seated in front of her again. 

“Listen, I’m…sorry I didn’t tell you about your friend before. But it was pretty brave of you, to take his place like that.” 

By all rights, Danny should be angry at Sam too—especially since they had apparently been the one to lead them inside this mansion in the first place. They’d tricked her, hadn’t they? 

But she couldn’t find the will to be angry at this invisible anomaly. She was tired—weary from traveling all day, from hunger, and honestly, from the energy it had taken to be so utterly furious at Christopher for so long. And strange as this person was, Danny couldn’t sense any malicious intent from them.

She sighed heavily. “I guess you can’t do much if he’s the ‘master of the house,’ huh.” She spoke the words with a bitter edge to them. “It’s okay. You’re not the one I’m angry at. You didn’t lock me up in here.”

Sam didn’t reply at first, and when they spoke again, they sounded much more hesitant than before. “...Christopher…doesn’t have any ill will towards you, you know. He’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just been…well, it’s been a while since he’s had company.” 

Danny couldn’t help but give a scornful laugh at Sam’s flimsy attempt to justify Christopher’s behavior. “‘Company’? I’m a fucking prisoner. Do you see this?” she lamented, gesturing weakly around her at the cage. “‘Rough around the edges’ is a really funny way to describe a pretentious prick that makes a habit of throwing people in fancy little cages for his own amusement.”

It felt like the whole house sighed around her.

There was another brief moment of silence, and for a moment she thought that Sam had just left completely. But then their voice spoke up, with just a hint of mischief coloring its tone. “Well…you don’t HAVE to stay in there. Um…hold on.”

“Hold onto wh-AT THE HELL,” Danny cried as the entire cage began to move with her inside of it. From her current vantage point frozen in fear against the bottom of the cage, she couldn’t see much of what was happening below her, but it almost seemed as though the golden stand that had been holding the cage up had become a pair of slim metal legs, moving slowly and evenly across the floor to the open door at the other end of the room.

“Shh,” Sam whispered, their voice still coming from just in front of her somehow as the cage continued to move itself out of the room. Danny complied, her breath catching in her throat as she did her very best not to imagine what it would be like to slide through the bars of the cage to the floor very, very far below her.

The cage crossed the grand entryway before heading further down a different hallway, making all sorts of twists and turns before it stopped in front of a huge door. 

As the cage finally stopped, the room's door swung open silently, and the cage proceeded inwards. They had entered a large, ornate bedroom, with a huge four-poster bed in the middle of it hung with silken curtains and draped with plush blankets. The room itself seemed as though it hadn’t seen much use in a while—Danny could almost see the giant-sized dust motes floating around in the air—but it was still so incredibly elaborate, it felt like a privilege to even look at. She’d never seen such fluffy pillows in all her life, even if they were the size of soft, feather-filled houses. 

The cage bent down slightly, its legs creaking and twisting to lower the part with Danny inside to the level of the bed. The door to the cage popped open, the lock and the subsequent need for a key apparently ignored. 

Danny didn’t stay trapped in frozen shock for long—she eagerly took the opportunity that had been presented to her, scampering out of the cage and stumbling onto the huge expanse of the giant-sized mattress, all but falling into the unbelievably soft blankets that waited for her. 

“Oh! And wait there. I’ll be right back.” The cage moved back out of the room and the door shut behind it. Danny only had a few minutes to sit there in shock before the door opened again, and this time, a rolling cart entered silently. As it got closer to the side of the bed, Danny could see that it was transporting a comically tiny tray of food nearly identical to the one that Christopher had offered earlier. There were a few more plates of various, equally tasty looking foods to go along with it—even a tiny, human-sized tin cup of water.

The cart rolled to a stop right next to the bed, close enough that Danny could easily walk onto it if she’d wanted to grab the food. 

“See? You’re a guest. Anything you want, you just have to ask.” 

Oh, anything I want, huh? “I want to leave,” Danny grumbled.

It almost looked like the cart sagged a little bit, its metal handles bending slightly inward as if it was saddened by her request. “Well, anything inside the house, anyways. Really, this place isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”

The lamp on the bedside table lit up suddenly, illuminating the room. “I’m gonna lock the door, uh, at least for tonight. That way you can have a little peace of mind for now. And remember, if you need anything, just shout! I don’t sleep, you know. And I’m sorry we don’t have any, well, smaller rooms, but if you need to get somewhere, I can help.” 

It seemed like it should be a trick—but even if it was, she was too tired and hungry to care. Besides, it wasn’t so bad to accept the generosity of someone who seemed genuinely friendly, even if they did seem to be working for the same guy who’d tossed her in a cage only a few hours ago.

“Okay. Um…thanks, Sam. Really, I appreciate it.” She eyed the food suspiciously. “Though something tells me your boss wouldn’t really like you doing all this for me.” 

There was a slight pause. “You ought to give him another chance. He’s not as bad as he seems.”

Danny gave Sam a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Besides, he can’t get upset about you sleeping on a nice bed or getting a little food—you’re a guest! And besides, what’s he gonna do? FIRE me? HAHAHAhahaha—”

Sam’s laughter floated out of the room as the door shut behind them, disappearing down the hallway and leaving Danny seemingly alone again. 

She began to eat in grateful silence, ravenously stuffing as much food into her mouth as she could. It was all delicious, and not just because she was starving—genuinely, it was the best food she’d ever had in her life. All of this seemed a little too good to be true, but she didn’t care. Even if Sam did work for Christopher, at least they were nice. She still wasn’t sure what exactly was going to happen to her here—Sam suggesting that Christopher didn’t plan on doing anything malicious to her was not only hardly believable, it also didn’t answer any of her questions. 

But if she was going to spend the night alone in a strange place, worrying about Nathan and angry at Christopher, at least she could do it comfortably, on a full stomach. She was going to have to take whatever silver lining she possibly could. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next chapter ->

Danny's not the only one in need of a pep talk. I think Sam probably needs to chat with Christopher, too. Tune in next week for chapter 6: Lessons in Futility!

“Hey,” she said simply, wondering if the giant man could even hear her from all the way across the entryway. Surely her voice would be nothing louder than the squeak of a mouse to him. “I’m looking for my friend Nathan. Someone…said they could help?”

If I just talk to him like a normal guy, it’s less scary, right? He’s just a normal guy. Danny was at least quite adept at taking her own fear and crushing it up into a ball, shoving it under the rug of feigned confidence. She forced her own stiff posture to loosen, her arms crossing over each other in as casual a manner as she could manage. A small part of her wondered if she should address him more formally, because based on his dress and the state of the manor alone he at least seemed important, but she didn’t know how rich people talked to each other anyways. She’d never gotten so much as a glimpse of high society, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have the patience for it. Certainly not now, when she’d been traveling all day in the cold and had nearly reached the end of her rope as it was.

The giant chuckled, taking a few more steps toward her before he stopped in the middle of the room, and though he was still a ways away, Danny still had to crane her neck upwards just to meet his eyes—dark, and dancing with humor along with an upturned smirk on his face. “Slow down there, doll. We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet.” It wasn’t the same voice she’d been hearing before—he spoke with a low, quiet pitch, each word articulated clearly and deliberately.

She repressed a grimace as best she could at the way he addressed her—despite her current stature and every survival instinct in her body, she felt the urge to punch him right in the gut. 

He gestured lightly to himself with a graceful arch of his fingers against his chest. “My name is Christopher Penn, and I am the lord of this estate.”

He did not, however, ask Danny for her own name. Instead, he took a few more steps toward her and, so quickly that she did not have enough time to form an initial protest, he bent down and picked her up, placing her in his palm as he rose to his full height again.

For just a moment, she didn’t think about the fact that she was a hundred feet off the ground. All she could focus on was the absolutely unparalleled, brazen gall that this man had to just pluck her off the ground like she was some child’s toy. Her lips curled in an unfriendly snarl. “I don’t care who the fuck you are, but you’d better ask next time you try and pick me up like that.” 

Being a little closer to his face now, she made note of the fact that this guy’s stupid big nose did look incredibly punchable. If only there wasn’t a hundred-foot drop between her and it.

She forced herself to keep her glare fixed entirely on Christopher, to prevent herself from looking down or showing signs of panic. She did not think about how strange it felt to have the warm surface beneath and behind her consist of a man’s entire hand, or how she could feel every groove and crease in the skin that her own hands pressed against. 

“It’s not very becoming to begin a conversation with such vulgar language.” A sharp grin told her he was only amused by her antics, though, not offended—even so, he tilted his head, almost as if her behavior confused him as well. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she hissed. She was liking this strange giant less and less every time he opened his mouth. “I must have forgotten my manners midway through the air. Is that from the same rich person etiquette book that says it's okay to pick up people without asking?”

Irritation and anger were a great distraction from fear, and so she leaned into both now, regardless of the consequence. She had some small amount of pride to maintain, and quaking before this man in terror would only serve to shatter what remained of it. 

He chuckled—a deep sound that she could almost feel travel through her body, now that she sat in his palms. “Sarcasm, hm? I’m impressed by your bravery. Most people tend to prefer screaming and running.”

“Oh, you’re telling me screaming is the usual response people have to you? Gee, I wonder why,” she said dryly. “Must be your natural charm.” 

His sharp eyes flicked over her, a hint of their humor dulled slightly. “You said you were looking for your friend, correct?”

“Yes,” she groaned, exasperated. How many times had she said as much since finding this place? It was beginning to feel like the question was being deliberately dodged. “My friend, Nathan Hayes. He was traveling this way earlier this morning, and his horse returned without him. Have you seen him? Whoever spoke to me outside seemed to know where he was. Maybe you can just let me talk to them instead,” she grumbled quietly, trying to dampen her distaste for this stuck-up rich bastard as much as possible in the interest of acquiring any sort of help in finding Nathan. She couldn’t very well bite the hand that fed her—or, more accurately, picked her up and carried her at a height that would make even a high-flying bird a little nauseous.

Her instinct was to lash out at people who talked down to her, but even she knew when she needed to swallow her pride.

Something inscrutable passed across Christopher’s face for a moment as he seemed to absorb her words thoughtfully, as if she’d given him some clue in a particularly interesting mystery he was trying to solve. And then he gave her that sharp smile again, a grin that tipped just a little further than cordiality normally permitted. Yet it still didn’t reach his eyes—which regarded her in a strangely calculating, detached manner. 

“There’s no need for that,” he remarked impassively. “Your friend is here.” 

For just a moment, her irritation faded away to the overwhelming euphoria of relief, like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her and washed it away in an instant. Nathan was here. She’d found him. He was—

Why was he here? 

As suddenly as the relief had come, she covered it with a heavy cloak of suspicion, something beginning to claw at the back of her mind distrustfully. “...and you’ll take me to him, right? He’s safe? …we can leave?”

She didn’t like the idea of traveling at night, no, but she was in no rush to accept hospitality from this man, either. She would feel much better once all this magic, giant weirdness was far behind her, a forgotten tale she could think back on as some kind of fever dream brought on by the cold, or the fact that she couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last.

Christopher, to her dismay, lifted Danny a little higher so that she no longer had to tilt her head back to look at him straight on. 

“I’m afraid not.” 

Anger wasn’t even the first emotion to flare up this time—she was completely baffled by such a stark response that she was rendered speechless for a moment, staring at him with her mouth slightly agape. “...why?” 

“Your friend came here uninvited this morning, trespassing into my home. His punishment is to remain here in my service, as long as I require him.” Christopher’s smirk turned to a more matter-of-fact expression, like the humorless countenance of a lawyer. “So no, I’m afraid I can’t let you leave with him at this time.” 

A heavy weight sank to the very pit of Danny’s stomach as she listened in disbelief. Nathan was here as this guy’s…what, prisoner? Slave? She didn’t believe for one second that what the giant said was true—Nathan wasn’t the type to impose on others. He’d apologize for someone else bumping into him on the street, there was no way he’d wander into someone’s home uninvited unless he was desperate. And even then, Danny wasn’t sure he wouldn’t choose freezing to death over being an inconvenience to anyone. Why would he have stopped at this house anyways? Had he gotten hurt? Had he been looking for help? He certainly wouldn’t have broken in.

“...bullshit,” she hissed, a righteous anger rising up in her. If she had been at all confident in her footing, she would have attempted to stand up and take on a more intimidating posture, but she would take the slightly undignified position of sitting in Christopher’s palm over the much more undignified falling onto her face in his palm, or the loss of all dignity entirely by plummeting to the floor in a humiliating splatter of shame and stupidity. “You expect me to believe that? Nathan’s a good guy, he wouldn’t break into your stupid house.”

She set her jaw defiantly. “And even if I did believe you, he was probably desperate, or lost, or needed help. Are you really that fucking selfish, punishing someone instead of helping them? As if he’s in any way actually a threat or a burden to your sorry giant ass?” 

Nothing she said seemed to even make a dent in Christopher’s uncaring expression, her insults and slights at his character seeming to fall on deaf ears. His smile twitched and his eyebrows raised in mild contempt. “You’re quite bold, you know. Speaking like that to someone of my standing. And to a giant, no less.” 

His free hand came up to pluck her off of his palm, effectively pinning her arms to her sides in his grip so that she couldn’t even scratch and claw at him like she suddenly quite desperately wanted to. She could only thrash about uselessly, though her violent movement was quelled slightly as her feet made contact with nothing but air. As she dangled in front of Christopher’s face, she realized that his grip was the only thing keeping her from a horrifyingly long freefall. 

“A less patient man might not tolerate that kind of talk,” he muttered dangerously, his thumb pressing lightly against her collarbone and forcing her to meet his eyes, which remained lightly amused despite the darkened tone he’d taken on. “But, luckily for you, I’m rather generous, and I’m nothing if not fair.” 

She only glared at him in response, an absolutely twisted and poisonous scowl distorting her face. Words seemed almost too good for this bastard, and so she took on a disdainful and stubborn silence instead.

His grip around her loosened slightly, still restricting her movement and keeping her firmly from falling but no longer forcing her neck into an uncomfortable position. This must have been his supposed “generosity” at work. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing her with an even, shrewd gaze. “I’ll make you a deal. You stay in his place, and I’ll let him go free. How’s that, doll?” 

She would have spat in his face if she were closer. Instead, she seethed silently, though a frightened worry began to cloud her thinking. She hadn’t even seen Nathan yet, but the description the other voice had given her had been uncannily accurate. That couldn’t be a coincidence. And while this giant could be lying about a lot of things, Danny was very aware that she had little choice but to believe him. She couldn’t very well overpower him, or even escape on her own now. 

She refused to let her mind linger long on the choice—when her own life and wellbeing were weighed against that of her close friend, the rocksteady, kind, and loyal companion she’d known for years, who’d taken care of her through thick and thin like she were his very own sister, the decision was as easy as breathing. 

“My name is Danny, you smarmy bastard. And if what you say is true, I’ll…”

She swallowed the last bit of her pride, closing her eyes for a second in one last act of defiance so she didn’t have to look at the rich prick’s face when she spoke. 

“...I’ll take his place here. Just let. Him. Go.”

The giant smiled—a wide, cocky smirk that showed too many of his teeth for Danny’s liking. “Deal.”

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next chapter ->

We still haven't seen Nathan. Hopefully he's okay?