This is an ongoing series. I’m posting chapter one here as a little teaser, but if you like it, go read the whole thing (so far) Here! I update every Monday, and so far there’s 13 chapters, and I’m not even halfway through, I think. It’s got almost all of Thomas’s characters eventually, and I’m really excited and proud of it.
He doesn’t care. He’s said that in the past, of course, many times. When his one and only friend said he was cursed, bad luck, that he never wanted to see him again. When people in the market pointed and whispered because of his face. When the rumors started that he was a witch, that he could talk to serpents and send them to do his bidding. That he was a blight against everything and everyone. When even his friend did nothing to help him as the whole village turned against him, and for what?
He could always tell when someone was lying. Even if it was a half truth, he could still tell.
He could speak to snakes, but there were hardly any venomous varieties around, and he’d never asked one to do anything harder than keep mice out of his pantry. They were shy and quiet creatures. Mostly they just wanted to curl up on him, around his neck, or his arm, and observe the world.
Like him. He’d never hurt anyone, never gotten in anyone’s way, kept to himself and kept his head down and stayed away as much as he could and still, still, it wasn’t enough.
He would laugh, if he felt anything other than numb right now. He would raise his head to the sky and laugh and cackle madly like the witch they accused him of being, he would scream about the unfairness of it all, as if he hadn’t known that truth all his life. He would claw and pound and tear at anyone who came after him, he’d go so feral that not even his supposed friend would recognize him.
But he didn’t. For once, he felt absolutely, empty, nothing. It was almost peaceful, almost painful. If he was aware, he’d recognize this as bad, he’d watch where he was going, he’d notice that he was blindly stumbling deeper and deeper into the woods, not bothering to cover the trail he left behind, if they found him, so what?
He stumbled, tripping over a root, landing on his knees, not bothering to catch himself. Maybe he’d just lay here, forever, never moving, let himself decompose, let the moss grow over him, then the grass, let wildflowers bloom from his corpse, let trees grow tall and strong and beautiful. Maybe someone would appreciate his beauty, when they found him, trees and flowers, and moss.
Dimly, his brain was screaming at him, alarm bells ringing in some distant part that he’d locked away. Something about the flowers, forming a perfect ring on the ground in a wide radius around him. Something about how Lady’s Slipper and Daylily shouldn’t be blooming in this fall chill. Something about how orchids were so pretty but not at all native to this neck of the woods.
But that part of his mind was far, far away from where he was now. He’d given up, after all. Just his luck it happened to be in a faerie circle. Just his luck he wouldn’t be allowed to just fade away here on the forest floor.
“Well, lookie here! What little mortal made the decision to come play with me?” A raccous, loud sound. He didn’t respond. He didn’t care, didn’t even bother to close his eyes as the fae’s unnaturally beautiful face came into view.
He was pale, an unearthly aura surrounding his body, which seemed to cast an almost sickly green glow across his skin. His eyes were a hypnotic, swirling green, which seemed to fade from deep, near black, to brilliant, neon green as he watched. They were manically wide, accentuated by the dark circles under them. His hair was long, a mess of feathers and beads and bones (?) tied in, making soft clinking sounds as the fae moved, cocking his head one way then the other. His smile was far too wide to be natural, and his teeth were slightly pointed, and he could almost glimpse a second row behind the first.
That was the most fixating thing about him, those eyes, that glow. He knew he’d tell the fae almost anything if he asked. There wasn’t a point to keeping secrets anymore, there wasn’t a point to hiding anything. The fae could do whatever he wanted, as long as he got him away. As long he didn’t have to feel anything, ever again.
“Um… shouldn’t you be doing something? Like… screaming?” Oh. Oh that was a good one. As if this was anything more terrifying that he’d already seen, as if this fae could be a bigger monster than humans, as if he had anything left to fear in this world or any other.
He was numb. Not just on the inside, his body was numb. He wasn’t sure he could move any more if he tried. He did, and found with morbid fascination that he couldn’t even twitch his fingers anymore. He was warm. When had that happened? It was cold, and he’d ran, his clothes in tatters, too afraid to go home and try and snatch his clothing. Even in a light chill, he always wore his cloak, his scarf, his hat, his gloves. He had always been sensitive to the cold.
Instead of responding to the fae, he curled up, trying to find any hint of warmth from the cold, hard, ground. He heard an intake of breath, as he felt cold breeze against his cheek. If he cared anymore, it would probably be painful.
But he was empty. He had nothing. He didn’t care. For once, that was the truth.
“Damien Alexander Lyre.” His voice was a void, it vibrated hollowly in his chest, it didn’t even sound like his own. It wasn’t anymore, he supposed. But being a puppet would be better than ever going back to thinking.
“w-wha?” The fae stuttered. He opened his eyes, something in them causing the fae to recoil.
“That is my name. Damien Alexander Lyre. Do with me what you will.” He closed his eyes, feeling the numbness overtake him. He let out a soft, low, sigh, hoping against hope, he never woke up.
