#monsterkink

You giggle quietly as you read the sign hanging on the front door:

Don’t: - fight - spill drinks - ask Q’rill to make a mojito

A bell chimes when you push the door open. Low, yellow lights make the interior look cosy. Conversations held by the patrons sitting in booths and around small tables are drowned out by a trio playing a familiar swing tune. The smell of cigarette smoke fills your lungs and sticks to your clothes. Two waiters weave between tables and clients, faux joy plastered to their faces. One of them notices you - she gives you a quick wave and nods towards the long bar counter.

Although he is surrounded by bottles filled with colourful drinks, it’s impossible to overlook Yanu. Maybe it’s a general rule or perhaps it’s just your fatal affliction. He’s wearing a shirt, a vest and a pair of tailored pants - exactly what one would expect a bartender to wear. Seemingly lost in thought, he’s just wiping some glasses but still, there is something unspeakably captivating about him. An aura that paints him as extraordinary and not just the way he is.

Yanu must notice you approaching out of the corner of his eye. When his gaze meets yours, his expression immediately changes. The deep, pink scar across his blind right eye gives the rakshasa a certain edge but even that isn’t enough to hide the pure adoration painted all over his face. His blue iris stares at you lovingly until a shadow of mischief dances across Yanu’s features.

“My, my, I don’t recall having an appointment with a princess,” he speaks with pretend surprise.

“Princesses don’t make appointments,” you answer casually. Sitting on the high bar stool, you’re still significantly shorter than the rakshasa behind the counter. “They just show up when they want to.”

He chuckles in a low voice. “Gods bless them for that.”

Yanu leans on his forearms on the counter and hangs his head to let you kiss his cheek. Round, furry ears adorned with silver jewellery flutter as they brush against your hair. It tickles when his whiskers touch your face. 

Feeling his breath against your skin, you don’t have to speak loudly. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“You,” he points an accusatory finger at you, “interrupt my every coherent thought but I’ve learnt to enjoy that.”

Suddenly, your face gets hot. “I’m being serious, Yanu,” you say through flustered giggles. Even after all this time, it’s beyond easy for him to make you giddy.

“Likewise.” He winks at you before standing up straight. “So how can I spoil a princess’s palate?”

“Hm… I feel like elderberry.”

“Drunk all the time, feeling fine on elderberry wine*,” he sings while looking around for ingredients. The idea for a cocktail comes to him in an instant as befits a true connoisseur.

Yanu appears to be in a trance as he pours and mixes lemonade, vodka, St-Germain and some thyme. Every action is quick and decisive but never careless. Similarly, you are in a sort of trance, too - watching his white shirt and elegant black vest strain around the muscles of his arms. One day the seams of the garments might just let go but say, would it really be so bad?

The rakshasa pours elderflower syrup into the shaker. With a swift flick of his wrist, the shaker with your cocktail-to-be flips in the air. The metal cup makes a full circle only to be caught again by his hand, its content poured into a square drinking glass.

He looks at you in anticipation. Satisfaction is written all over his face. “Pretty nice, right?”

But you’re in a bantering mood tonight. Not letting him see how in awe you truly are, you only raise your eyebrows. “You have huge arms. It would be more impressive if you dropped that.”

Yanu sighs dramatically. He shakes his head and crosses his arms across his chest. If it wasn’t for the glimmer of amusement in his good eye, you’d think he’s genuinely upset. “And here I thought that a lowlife like me could impress a princess.”

“Well…” you ponder for a moment, “there are a few things you could do with your hands that would be impressive.”

Something changes about his demeanour. The amusement stayed but now it is joined by some darkness that leaves an aftertaste of chocolates with brandy - warming and rejuvenatingly bittersweet.

“Really?” he asks in a low voice. His blue eye is watching you intensely, almost looking through you. “Pray tell, what do you have in mind?”

Perhaps there’s some perversion to it but you enjoy leaving his question unanswered for a while. Slowly, you sip on the drink, silently enjoying the perfectly balanced flavours. Not too sweet, not too sour. A true testimony of how well Yanu knows you. That passionate gaze of his never once leaves you, catching even the smallest of movements. A predator or a lover? - how similar these two can be.

“A princess shouldn’t be saying such things out loud,” you finally say.

Yanu leans on his arms against the bar counter. With each exhale, his warm breath gently brushes against your face. There’s some intensity hidden under his casual demeanour as though if you were to play your cards right, he might just cause scandalous immodesty in full view of the clients.

“Will she share them away from prying ears?” More than a question, it’s a suggestion. One that you have neither the will nor the want to reject.

Feigning innocence, you shrug your shoulders. “Perhaps.”

The rakshasa only chuckles. He stands up straight and calls out to someone:

“Hey, Q’rill! Watch the bar for me for a bit, eh?”

The drow, equally well-dressed as Yanu, doesn’t even look your way. Still cutting a lemon into pieces, he answers in a heavy accent, “Got you, boss.”

Not waiting for a sign or a word of encouragement, you get off the stool and walk towards the closer end of the counter. Ever the gentleman, Yanu lifts the wooden part, letting you go behind the bar. But that’s not where the two of you are headed - you follow him through the back of the brewery, only to leave through the staff door.

The alley is dark and narrow. Something rattles in the skip filled with trash, probably a rat or two. In the distance, far away from where you’re standing, cars drive by every now and again. Muffled swing music played by the trio inside the bar sounds like an ambience of a faraway world.

Yanu pushes you against the wall. He’s towering over you - if he so wished, he could effortlessly throw you over his shoulder and carry off.  The bricks are cold against your back but soon you find them refreshing when compared to the warmth beaming from the rakshasa. His rough tongue slowly licks the side of your neck. It’s strange, tickling and absolutely delightful. 

One of his hands lifts your leg, resting your knee against his hips. Lustful greediness has him grabbing and groping whatever part of your thigh and ass.

Just when a pleased sigh leaves your lips, Yanu stops licking your neck and nuzzles it instead.

“So how can I impress my princess?” he purrs into your ear. 

He’s not waiting for an answer - not really. Not when you feel his clothed erection grinding against your groin. You can almost feel your arousal dripping down your legs.

Yanu’s other hand slides into your underwear. His fingers, thick and furry, sensually rub your clit in circles. Breath hitches in your throat. “Would this impress her?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you manage to say between whimpers.

The rakshasa only hums in response. It’s hard to say whether your answer satisfies him.

A loud moan escapes your lips as Yanu easily slips his fingers inside your pussy. The stretch is already more than enough for you. Slow strokes have him reaching deliciously deep inside you.

“You look so pretty like this, princess.”

Looking for support, your hands grab his shoulders. It feels as though your abdomen is suddenly set on fire, your coherent thoughts swimming away and turning into static, if not disappearing completely. There is only Yanu, his quiet groans against your neck and his thick fingers hitting that perfect spot.

“Faster, please,” you squeal.

With utmost pleasure, he obliges immediately. It feels so good you could scream but not a sound leaves your agape mouth. If you weren’t so lost in your pleasure, maybe you’d notice your legs quivering. Your grip on his shoulders only tightens, earning a chuckle from him.

“My princess is going to come?” Yanu coos.

No answer comes from you, only another pathetic moan. Desperate to orgasm, you begin rubbing your clit. It’s “allowed” in these extraordinary circumstances. No doubt Yanu’s “I live to please you” attitude will come back behind closed doors and between the white sheets of your bed.

Your vagina is clenching around his relentlessly thrusting fingers, your whole body begins shaking. A cry gets stuck in your throat. The wave of pleasure, the climax he so eagerly gives you, washes over you more like a tsunami than a wave. It drowns out your thoughts, your breathing, your strength. Fortunately, Yanu has a tight grip around your leg, keeping you standing straight. He’s still sliding in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

Finally, he slips his fingers out of you. You’re about to say something, thank him or praise him, when a loud crash resounds from inside the bar. Someone’s yelling but the voice is too muffled for either of you to understand what’s the matter.

Yanu and you exchange a look of both confusion and worry. Then, as though lovers know something akin to telepathy, the two of you chuckle.

“Mojito,” you say simultaneously.

When your laughter, contrary to the row next door, dies down, you let out a sigh. “Guess we’ll have to postpone our little escapade.” 

Yanu brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. He’s a cheeky man, staring right into your eyes while doing something so indecent. “I’m fine with that,” comes the answer.

But you can play that game, too.

Low groan rumbles inside his chest when your hand teasingly rubs his prominent bulge. He clenches his fists, doing his utmost best to keep himself collected. You could so easily make him fail at that…

“Are you, though?” you ask with faux innocence.

Although you’ve just had a great orgasm, you can feel your pussy throbbing again. As your mind wanders for a second or two, pondering possibilities, your mouth starts watering.

Yanu firmly grabs the wrist of your hand caressing his crotch. Keeping you in place, he grinds against your palm. Through clenched teeth, he growls into your ear.

“I’m a big boy,” the rakshasa purrs. “I can wait a few hours.”

“I know you’re big, boy,” you retort in an equally sultry voice. “I’ll see you home.”

In a loving gesture, he nuzzles against your neck one last time. “Don’t stray.”

After that, he watches you walk away. Only when you disappear behind the corner does he go back inside the bar. As much as he likes Q’rill, he’d much rather go back home with you.

_____

*Lyrics from "Elderberry wine" by Elton John. A bit of an anachronism, yes, but a damn good song.

If you see any books, plays, movies, paintings or songs mentioned, it's most probably something very close to my heart :)

Aurelius, it turns out, is a very hands on teacher. In the weeks following his first lesson, he has me reciting my page of runes in the morning when we wake, and every evening after dinner. He watches over me as I practice the plant growing spell over and over in the greenhouse every morning, telling me I need to increase my stamina if I'm ever to cast more than a handful of spells without falling unconscious.

I'm getting better though, little by little. I know how to position my hands and feet the exact right way, I concentrate by squinting my eyes, something Aurelius tells me will be problem later, but it's the only way I can even begin to feel any magic. Writing the runes is the easiest part, they can be written on paper and set in arrangements; it's channeling the magic through my body where I find trouble, and then there's the manner of passing out if I try too hard. Aurelius keeps an eye on me, though, to make sure I'm safe.

"Don't force it, you're pushing too hard," Aurelius tells me after another plant, halfway through budding a new leaf, shrivels and blackens under my hands.

I'd grown so frustrated I'd started to tear up. "Why can't I do it? You do it perfectly every time."

He chuckles, folding his arms over his chest. "I have had eons of practice, whereas you started," he pauses briefly and counts to himself, "two weeks ago."

I huff in mock impatience and fold my arms across my chest. "You can make the plants listen."

"You must convince them, not me," he says, and I look down at my hands. It's a fickle thing, this magic. It flickers over my skin, cold water that crackles like electricity; it makes my hair stand on end whenever I cast. I feel it in my bones, moving under my skin, a snake of sensation from my spine to my fingertips, asking for guidance. When I do it right, I feel the power, this otherworldly strength I'm learning to wield.

After another failure of a session, when I'm on the brink of a meltdown, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in. "Even when you fail, you make progress."

Through gritted teeth I manage to say, "I'm sick of being weak."

"You're not weak, my doe." He rests the side of his head against my temple. "You're just learning." At my frustrated blow of air through my nose, he chuckles. "You're much faster than the human before you."

At that, he has my attention. "Oh?"

"Mhm. They couldn't get anything to grow."

I don't mean to, but I swell with pride. For once, I'm better than someone else at something, namely, an important something. "Okay, let's try again."

There's still more festival preparations to be made. I'd finished the paperwork needed to organize things, but tit requires some tweaking. I hadn't done anything incorrectly, but Aurelius told me some spots needed to be changed.

"The satyrs will not tolerate being next to Eodine."

"Why?" I ask. I'd thought my placement of them was rather clever, putting two soft creatures next to each other. They both sell baked goods, I'd thought the combined smells would draw more patrons.

Aurelius shrugs. "A centuries-long spat between families. I'm not sure even Eodine remembers why."

That makes me chuckle. "Humans do that, too."

"Do they?"

I nod. "There were two families in town, one made shoes, the other, buckles, and it was all-out war when they so much as shared a room." I pause to recollect their names, but I can't recall either family, I only remember that they hated each other. Strange, usually my memory is very clear; I remember how to navigate the town I lived in, I remember my family, but the details of my life in the human realm have become fuzzy. When did that happen?

It brings another question to mind that I hadn't thought of. Aurelius once told me that time moves differently here, so how much time has passed since I left? How long has it been since I buried my brother? My parents? Those thoughts are followed by a wave of grief, a burning behind my eyes as my mind dredges up images of the four of us working on the farm, or sitting at the table eating dinner. Arthur whittling. I can picture him now, in front of the fire, bent over some new project. Arthur was my everything, my rock, our bond was nigh unbreakable. When he passed, I was stuck in a sort of limbo for days, looking for him around corners, asking questions to someone who was no longer there.

I shake my head to clear the memories, letting them fall away like loose dirt on cloth. There's no use dwelling on the past. My life in the human realm was over the moment I asked an ancient forest god for help, and there's no turning back. I'm not sure I'd want to even if I was asked.

Aurelius brought supplies from Dachaigh to set up the stalls, and no matter how many times I circle the outside of her, I don't see any removed wood. He carried pile after pile of wooden slats to the north side of the house, refusing my offer of help and insisting he enjoyed the physical activity. I suppose I would too, if everything could be done for me at the snap of my fingers.

I tried to help Aurelius set up the stalls, prepared myself to do a fair bit of manual labor, but with a muttered word, a rune in the air and-- there it is, a snap of his fingers, the slats of wood spring into action and hop into place, making booths and stalls, stretching from the edge of the farm to the tree line. At my look of confusion, he shrugs. "It would've taken too long to set up manually."

We inspect the layout hand in hand, easily dozens of stalls, testing the walking path, checking the magic to make sure things are steady. I watch as rolls of fabric in every color imaginable fly over us and settle over the planks to canopy over the stalls. Some are bold, solid colors while others are patterned, or dyed very artistically.

At the far east side, there's a large section of bare earth, a place meant for dancing if I remember correctly. The grass is soft when I press my hand to it, bright green and healthy. "How do you keep everything here so nice?"

"It is mostly Dachaigh," Aurelius says, examining a large, lone chair at the head of the floor. It must be for him, to oversee the festivities. In the weeks I've been here, he hasn't seemed particularly enthused about the festival, despite going through such pains to make it happen. I'd been meaning to ask him about it, but it never felt like the correct time.

"She's quite powerful, then," I say instead. There's no mention of a giant magical tree in any of the books I've read, but that may have been intentional on her part.

Aurelius hums in agreement. "She is older than both Eodine and myself, but will not tell me her age."

I sniff, undignified. "It's rude to ask a lady her age," and Aurelius chuckles.

Eventually, I move on from growing little plants with purple and white leaves to a plant a little less hardy: a rose. The delicate nature of the plant makes the manipulation of magic more difficult, so this is a step of improvement for me. Aurelius is pushy when I take too long, but I think he's trying to be encouraging. There's a timing element, he tells me; that I need to be aware of if I want to master higher level spells. There's a limited window where the magic can't move through the body anymore and the offering, the button, will be useless.

Practicing on my own is less stressful. I can take things at my own pace. If I sit still for long enough, Aurelius calls it meditation, I can feel the flow of magic over my skin, like ice over a river. If I stand, it changes course, moving around me, through me, like it has a mind of its own. I want to learn it's moods, greet it like Aurelius does, like a friend. Dachaigh offers me books on magic and the occult, where across the tomes I recognize where some humans have deciphered some of the runes I've memorized. But they're incomplete, missing a mark here or an accent there. To think that humans have uncovered this much about magic and are still looking for ways to control it is astounding.

When I'm not practicing magic, I'm either sewing more clothes, or reading. I learn from the books Dachaigh pushes to me that magic is everywhere, in everything. It's temperamental and prone to mood swings like a child, but isn't actually alive. It likes to stay in these strange fae lands as the earth here is more primed to contain it. I learn that humans generally can't perform magic, that they don't have the capacity, and the idea that I'm some kind of special breed makes me kick my feet with glee. I've never been anything extraordinary before.

There's other books Dachaigh gives me are less academic. Small little books with paper covers of people in some form of undress. Falling into these stories is easy, and helps me become more comfortable with reading for the spellwork. I enjoy the stories, too, the sex scenes are arousing, and the men are courteous and kind, usually. There's a few books I read that remind me of Aurelius and I a few weeks ago: chaotic, harmful. Still, the woman ends up happy and is fucked very thoroughly.

After a week of growing roses over and over, Aurelius gives me a rather old looking, leather-bound book that, when I open it, is a collection of spells and enchantments. It's hand-written, in tilted cursive, and I realize I recognize it. This is Aurelius' handwriting. I flip through the book and see all manner of things I can do, from a dish that washes itself to small portals that can be opened like a purse and used for storage.

"I've ear-marked some simple spells for you to work on," Aurelius explains, not touching on the fact that he's given me something he wrote. "Once you can do them perfectly, we'll move to more advanced pieces."

The first spell is an example of transformation, made by a single rune written on bark taken from an elm tree. The magic is supposed to warp the wood into a small sculpture that can fit in my palm, and I feel a distant flash of grief again that I quickly push down. I'd had a collection of carved trinkets along the windowsill of the bedroom. Unlike the plant-growing spell, the bark acts as the exchange, so I don't need to bring my bag of buttons that Dachaigh helpfully offered me yesterday. I'm excited to be moving on from the plant spells, I feel like I'm actually improving with each horribly-carved figurine I make.

Progress feels slower than cold molasses, but Aurelius insists I'm improving with each session. He pats me on the head as if I'm a child, but I find I don't mind it. He has a certain way that he shows affection, and I realize that I enjoy figuring him out. Head pats, for example.

"I need to go to the market." I announce to Aurelius in the library, after my latest iteration of the rose spell used up the last button that I'd dug up from my scraps bin. He's reading in the study, a small room off the library containing floor-to-ceiling shelves of massive tomes.

"The market," he repeats easily, marking a page in the massive book he'd pulled from above the rafters of his room. "I suppose I could take you there--"

"Actually," I interrupt, "I've been invited by the other humans to go today."

Just as I'd about run dry of buttons, I'd received their letter, inviting me for a whole day out at the market. I'd meet them at the cottage at high noon, and we'll travel together to watch the change of seasons inside. I've even got a dress set out just for the outing: a pale blue fabric with pre-beaded embellishments on the bottom. It contrasts (thank you Dachaigh for that word) wonderfully with my brown boots, especially when they're cleaned of mud. I'm quite looking forward to it. All I need now is Aurelius' permission.

"You'll be careful?" Aurelius asks.

I smile. That's not a no! "Of course!"

Aurelius folds his arms and huffs through his nose. "I don't trust those humans."

"They're not bad people."

Aurelius studies me for a moment, then sighs again. "They're not, but I am worried about losing you." He looks down at the ground, then off to the side. I reach out a hand and rest it on his arm.

I'm struck with an idea, a horrible one, but a small part of me wants it to work. "Would you feel better if you met them?"

He perks up. "You'd allow me to?"

I frown. I didn't think I allowed him to do anything. "I don't think I could stop you if I tried."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You can sort of do whatever you want. You know, all-powerful god of the forest?"

If Aurelius blinked, he'd probably do that while staring at me for so long. "Should I remain here, instead?"

"No way! You're definitely meeting them."

Aurelius closes his book, stands and brushes himself off, then gestures with one hand. "Come with me, then."

We walk through the hall and into our room-- and I pause. That's a new thought, our room. Back home I shared a bedroom with Arthur, which made for very close quarters. The only time I had the house to myself was after everyone had died, and I hadn't wanted anything to do with it by then.

There's a large blanket on the floor that Aurelius pulls aside without comment. Underneath, in a circle, are complex symbols that look like runes cut and pasted together, surrounded by columns of the tiniest text I've ever seen capturing the circle of runes into a square. It smells like iron and fresh grass, and when I bend down to inspect it, I realize that everything has been written in blood. It reminds me of the dias where I sacrificed Mortimer, all that time ago. "Aurelius, what is this?"

Aurelius had walked further into the room, and the shadows around him stretch into the loft. They bring down a book I've seen him reading, one as big as I am tall, that falls open on the floor with a loud thud. He sits down and begins flipping through pages. "I've been researching how to remove your tracking sigil," Aurelius says simply as he gently turns a page.

My eyes widen in surprise. "Truly?" This is wonderful news! I'd thought he'd forgotten about it and I'd be branded forever. "What changed your mind?"

A long moment where Aurelius stares at me with those black sockets, then he flips another page, and then he sighs again. "You did. You're unhappy being tethered to me-- no no, it's okay, I'm not upset. So I'm removing it."

I frown down at the book, but then I notice his hand. It's bandaged, very poorly bandaged at that, and I see the dark stain of dried blood in the crevices of his skin. I walk over and crouch down next to him, picking up his bandaged hand. "Don't you…need to know where I am?" Not that I'm particularly attached to the sigil, but the thought of being on my own, in a situation where Aurelius needs to reach me, and he can't…

"It's not fair to you," he says simply, flipping a final page in the book before murmuring, "Ah, there you are."

I remember what happened to him when he put the sigil on me, it nearly took off his whole head. He said that he healed, but I can deal with the sigil if it saves him from undue pain. "Aurelius…"

"You'll need to remove your dress to expose your back," he says quietly, almost meek.

I unlace the side of my kirtle as Aurelius adds a few more symbols to the outside. This dress I'd sewn myself, so I remove it completely to keep it from getting dirty. It leaves me standing bare, save for my stockings, in the middle of the room.

"Turn, please," Aurelius says, motioning to me with his index finger. "In the center of the circle, and don't move a muscle."

My protests of saving him from pain die on my lips, and I do as he asks. Nothing I say will convince him to change his mind, he's more stubborn than I am. I don't want to stop him, though, I want this itchy tracking sigil off of me. He's trying to make up his behavior to me, I think, and if this will help him feel better, then I won't stop him.

Aurelius murmurs behind me, and a breeze goes through the room. It's cool as it brushes my skin, and makes me shiver. Then, on the end of it, comes a feeling that raises the hair on my arms, and I realize I'm feeling the magic of the incantation. It's powerful, almost threatening. I hadn't felt it before. Or maybe I did, and didn't recognize it at the time.

The configuration on the floor begins to hum a low, harmonized note, and then it begins to glow orange. The air around me crackles as Aurelius continues to run through the incantation in a low, even voice. Then, like someone dragging their nails down my back, a flash of pain moves from my neck to my spine, there and gone again, and I nearly run from the room in terror. But Aurelius told me to stay still, so I lock my knees, and trust him to know what he's doing.

Twice more that feeling of nails on my back appears, but on the last instance, the orange glow around me begins to fade. The hum dies down with it, and eventually the room returns to the padded quiet of our bedroom.

"You may move," Aurelius growls, and I pick up my dress from where I'd tossed it. I throw it on as quickly as possible, and turn around. What I see next makes me gasp. It's as if Aurelius has been cut right down the middle. He's sat against the wall for support, shiny red organs spilled across the dark, blood-drenched floor, and he's not moving. I feel panic start to set in.

"Aurelius? What can I do?"

He shakes his half-head, no branch-antlers to keep his head from hitting the wall. He points with a shaking hand to the book on the floor, nearly covered in his blood. In his looping script, it says: Kyla-- This will take a considerable offering of my body to complete. Do not worry, I will heal if I remain with Dachaigh. You cannot do anything to help the healing process, it will just take time.

Over the next several days, I appoint myself as Aurelius' personal doctor. I collect his organs in a bucket and set them close to his body. I clean the blood from the floor and his clothes, and do my best to salvage the book he'd ruined, but I can't make out any of the sigil he'd been referencing.

Slowly, I get to experience of seeing Aurelius literally coming together. He can't move from our bedroom, so I bring everything to him. Each time I enter the room I'm hit in the face with a wall of magic energy, Aurelius' magic energy, that smells like grass and freshly turned dirt. Sinew and muscle are knitting themselves together before my eyes, shadowy and almost transparent, and I wash off the parts of him that have come back. I think I'm doing a good job, practicing my spellwork on the side and taking care of his the rest.

On the day of the trip, Aurelius walks with me to the changeling cottage in his smaller form. It's the only form left where he's whole, and even then, he's still missing several fingers. He offers me his elbow which I take, and we fall into step together as we start down the path. My other arm is holding a basket full of roses that I grew with magic, and it's what I intend to trade with at the market. "Are you sure you're well enough to walk?"

"I'm feeling much better, thanks to you."

The sky is blue, with some light storm clouds hovering threateningly at the tree line. There's a lovely breeze coming through the trees, and the path is dry this time, thankfully. Aurelius keeps his eyes low, though, examining the plants we pass. It gives me an idea. "Could we start a garden?"

"A garden?"

"Yes. I like the food from Dachaigh, but I feel bad taking from her all the time." She's been feeding me for weeks, now, offering me fully cooked meals every time I feel hungry

"She offers it freely."

I groan dramatically, letting my head tip back to look at the canopy. "I know, but I'm sick of taking handouts from her. I'm already in debt to both of you."

Aurelius stops walking, and for a moment I think he's found a plant to start a garden, but when I turn, I see that he's staring at me. "You think you are indebted to me?"

Similarly, I stop walking, and I feel like I've said something wrong. "Y…yes? You saved me from death, kept me in your home despite my actions, and have provided for me all throughout."

Aurelius steps up to me, and gathers my hands in his. "You don't owe me anything."

He squeezes my hands, and I'm filled with a rush of warm emotion. I smile at him softly. "You don't owe me anything either, then."

"Deal."

The remainder of the walk is peaceful. Aurelius and I exchange a few more words, mostly me pointing out the different fruit I would grow, and I can feel Aurelius coming around to the idea of a garden by the time we reach the cottage. It's as lovely as ever, lazily nestled within the trees that're slowly turning their color over to a deep orange. They've added a few embellishments like pumpkins along the ground, crawling orange and red vines around the windows with big, flat red leaves, and bouquets of red, orange, and yellow flowers by the door.

Before I knock on the door, I shoot Aurelius a look over my shoulder. "Be nice, okay?"

He rests a hand over his chest, offended. "I'm always polite."

"You scare them."

He chuffs so hard through his nose that I feel it on my face. "I cannot help that. I have a powerful magical aura and they cannot make eye-contact." At my flat look, he starts, and brings up that same hand again. "I have a reputation to uphold."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Well, put it away for the next few minutes and greet my friends."

He chuffs again, but doesn't respond, and if he shifts his energy or suppresses his aura, I don't feel anything different as I knock on the door. It's only a moment before Gregory is opening the door, a big smile on his face. "We were wondering where you--" he glances to Aurelius behind me and his smile flickers on his face. "Oh! You brought his lordship!"

That earns a chorus of disbelief from the rest of the house. Past Gregory, I can see Josefina and Sveta on the couch in the living area, painting their nails with small bottles of varnish. They've both stopped mid-action to watch us in the doorway.

"Come in, come in!" Gregory waves us inside, where I can take a better look at the decorations adorning the walls. Everything is meant to invoke the feeling of Fall, a strange sensation since I was celebrating Christmas with my brother not two months ago. There's the same crawling ivy from outside are all over the wall, woven together to hold a small candelabra or prop up a shelf. There's small fairy lights interwoven with the ivy and bobbing along the ceiling, and it casts the whole room in a warm yellow glow. There's decorative pumpkins everywhere, on the table, lined up on the windowsill, and even in Gregory's earrings.

The decorations are lovely, but alongside it I also feel a brief sadness. I adore Fall, the leaves changing, the festivities, ushering in the winter. Seeing all the decorations in the cottage almost makes me homesick, until I remember that mother hated festivities and never let us celebrate. Arthur and I had to celebrate quietly with Father during times Mother was busy with the farm, which is a memory I used to enjoy, but looking back on it with a clearer mind makes it seem sad.

Josefina and Sveta pull me out of my past and my memories, both of them standing quickly to bow at the waist and greet in unison, "Welcome, my lord!"

I tug on Sveta's arms to bring her upright. "Please don't do that!" I'm unsure if Josefina will allow me to touch her, but thankfully she straightens as Sveta does. "He's got far too big a head for you to be bowing."

"His head is small, though?" Sveta asks, sounding honest. "He fit in the door, so it must be small."

I snort. "Not what I meant, but it doesn't matter."

"Your home is lovely," Aurelius says, looking around. He runs the tips of his fingers over the wall as he walks, the same way he does with Dachaigh. Does he speak to this house as well?

"Thank you, my lord!" Gregory says, chasing after Aurelius as he continues through the living area and into the kitchen.

Gregory gives Aurelius the tour of the small cottage, showing him the kitchen, the game room, and then the gardens. We follow them out the back door to the small backyard enclosed by a fence. At each corner of the yard a tall pole sits on top, and between each pole are strings of small electric lights. At the far end of the yard is a garden, recently turned over so the dark, fresh dirt can be ready for new seeds. "What're you growing?"

Josefina appears beside me, quiet as a shadow. "We're planning on pumpkins for All Hallows' Eve and Dia de los Muertos."

My brow furrows. "Dia des los…?"

"De Los Muertos. The Day of the Dead, a time of remembrance for those we've lost." Her expression turns sad, making me want to comfort her, but I remain standing where I'm at.

Aurelius politely continues the tour of the house, even complimenting a few decorations, until he wanders back to the front door, his hands clasped behind his back. "I only wanted to meet the friends of…" he looks to me for confirmation.

"Kate."

"Kate," he says with a nod. "You've all kept a lovely home, I thank you for allowing me entry. You are welcome to visit us anytime."

"Wait, really? The Unknowable House?" Gregory asks, astounded and eager. He shares a look with the others who seem just as excited.

Aurelius nods. Gregory whoops in excitement, and I decide to ask about that later as Aurelius asks, "What method are you using to get there?"

Gregory pulls up a map of the woods surrounding their home to show me the path we'll take. "This lake here is where we'll make the jump."

I frown. "Jump?"

"We can't teleport to the market on our own. Luckily, some magically-inclined fair folk had the same issue around three-thousand years ago, and made a convenient door for us!"

Gregory folds the map into a very tiny square and tucks it into his back pocket. I want to ask about his clothing-- I think they're called blue jeans, with a thin button-down shirt with short sleeves that's tucked into the jeans. The six of us (Emile and Francois had no interest in the market) and I wave to Aurelius as he writes a few runes in the air. As he waves back, the air seems to ripple around him, and then he disappears from sight. Sveta, Josefina, and Kimiko all exit the cottage behind us, and I'm glad I chose a simple frock for this outing, otherwise I'd feel over-dressed. Everyone else is in simple clothes, pants and mid-length skirts, shirts with short sleeves, all to take advantage of the last of summer's weather.

As we start into the woods, Gregory appears to my right. "You've changed him, you know."

I feel my face warming despite the cool temperature. "Oh, I'm not sure about that."

"The festival has been the only time any of us see him. He never left that tree he lives in, the Unknowable House. It's said there's hundreds of rooms to get lost in."

I hum in thought. "I haven't been beyond the rooms at the lower floor."

Kimiko catches up to us to say, "I heard that the higher you go, the more it drives you completely mad."

That's a concerning thought. My eyebrows knit together and I frown. Not once has Dachaigh been malicious to me, at least, not that I've been aware of. Although, I don't know much about her, and I couldn't find anything in the library talking about an ancient fae tree. I don't know how to speak with her as Aurelius does. Perhaps I can learn?

We walk for two hours, caught up in casual conversation with one another. They're all fascinated by my roses, even though they're nothing special. I'm proud that I grew them myself, but compared to the other spells I've seen? I'm unsure how they'll be received at the market. Kimiko tells us they want a hand mirror to apply something called makeup, Josefina and Sveta are on the hunt for the best snacks, and Gregory just wants to do something called window-shopping. Everyone is excited to go, and their mood is infectious; I'm practically skipping down the path by the time the lake comes into view.

The lake is massive, surrounded by the forest on all sides, with a small shore made up of bleached animal bones. "Watch out for the waterhorse that lives here," Josefina tells me with a serious expression. "Don't pet anything."

A short distance away, I see a metal dock sticking into the surf. It glints gold in the sunlight, and as we draw nearer I realize that it's not a dock, it's some kind of portal, framed with a gold border that's been etched with runes and other symbols. The hair on my arms raises as we approach, the magic pouring out of it is intense and foreboding. Not hostile, though, something in me knows this.

Josefina and Kimiko both push ahead as they shout variations of, "Me first!" Josefina wins the battle, and without fanfare or even a glance backwards, she tips herself forward and disappears.

I look into the door. The water around it ripples slightly, like the magic itself is barely contained beneath the metal frame. Through the door is more forest like the one we just walked through, I can even see a dirt path on the ground. Beyond, nearly hidden by the trees, I see the mouth of a grand cave, peppered with lights where the sunlight doesn't reach.

I turn back to Gregory. "I just…?" I make the hand motion he demonstrated earlier, and Gregory gives me an encouraging nod. I swallow, nervous, my mind still bracing against the idea of falling flat on my face. But the other three made it to the other side without any issue, they wouldn't all go in on some prank to make me look foolish. So I close my eyes and fall forward.

A rush of wind, the smell of burnt roses, and my weight shifts the same way it does when I go from sitting to standing and then suddenly: I'm walking in the woods.

"You did it!" Kimiko says, stepping up to me with a smile. "It's terrifying, isn't it?" They check over me, turning me around before nodding confirmation that I am, in fact, alright. Gregory is quick to follow, and he wraps an easy arm over my shoulders.

"See? Easy."

The mouth of the cave is exactly how I remember: tall, imposing, and containing many glowing rocks in the ceiling. We all walk down the winding set of stairs, and when the market comes into view, I understand why the others wanted to come.

The market is packed to bursting with stalls and vendors, all in some shade of red, yellow, and orange to celebrate the changing season. The same crawling orange vine on the cottage makes an appearance here, crawling up the walls, winding around stands, coating the whole space the fresh, green smell of new growth. Dotted throughout are lights of every color imaginable, fairy lights that I recognize from my reading. Every inch of the space has been themed into Fall, I even spot a large section in the back where evergreen trees are being sold, some with tiny lights on them.

"This is gorgeous," I exclaim for about the hundredth time since we stepped foot in the market. Everything draws my attention, the colors, the food, the attendees. I keep the group at the edge of my field of vision so we don't get separated, but they're as distracted as I am, checking almost every single stall. On my last visit here, I hadn't gotten to see much of anything. Aurelius was quick and efficient with his trades, and didn't explain much to me outside of what his favors were for, those little roses made of glass. The irony is not lost on me that I now carry roses in my basket as well.

I stop in front of a short fence that takes up a large section of the aisle of stalls. Inside, sectioned off, are animals I've never seen before-- Candy striped horses with curling horns and plush manes, shimmering blue cats with tails like the end of a fish, and a tank of brown, half-pixie, half-snake hybrids that're being sold in large plastic bags. The stand is set up like a petting zoo, allowing children inside, but the animals are restless-- pacing their enclosures, growling at the gnomes running the stand, anxiously chewing on the handful of worn-down toys. They shouldn't be in such small pens, kept for the entertainment of the fair folk.

In the back is what looks like a red boar, at least twice as tall as I am, with massive, star-studded tusks dipped in gold. It scrapes the ground with it's powerful front hooves, snorts dangerously out of it's massive snout as the group of gnomes trying to keep it contained with ropes. No visitors are approaching it, and I don't blame them. My time on the farm taught me that when an animal is angry, you get out of it's way. Calming it down is secondary to your own safety, my father taught me.

So I step back from the fence, pick my way through the small crowd, and catch up to where I see Gregory examining a sculpture. "Those animals are miserable."

Gregory pops back up and glances over his shoulder. "Hm? Oh, yeah, those. They're here all the time, poor things." He throws a sympathetic look over his shoulder. "Those gnomes have no idea what they're doing."

I nod in agreement, and that puts the issue to rest as we approach a stall that's different from the rest-- it's shrouded in black canvas with white stars on the inside that remind me of Aurelius' eyes. Inside are all manner of trinkets-- glass baubles with tiny moving scenes of nature, a large bowl of loose rings, paper books bound in the rough bark of a tree, and dozens of small jewelry boxes lined with velvet. I pick up on of the baubles, roughly the size of a grapefruit, and examine it. The inside looks like the forest surrounding Aurelius' home, with a small farm containing tiny animals smaller than my pinky nail. I spot a tiny black goat, and that's when I decide I need to give this to Aurelius.

The stall is empty save for Gregory and I, but I remember my manners as I walk up to one of the women manning the stand. An older woman wearing a cloak, with wiry silver hair down to her shoulders and a serpent's face. "Excuse me, what trade is sufficient for this?" I hold up the glass sphere.

The woman's eyes go wide in excitement as she taps the other woman on the shoulder. "The pretty human wants an ornament! What do you think it worth, human?"

I fish out one of the roses, looking for a nice one with all the petals intact, and present it. It's a pale yellow, not a red, I'm saving those for a bigger trade. Her eyes quickly shift and her nostrils flare, an expression there and gone in an instant, and then she eyes the flower with skepticism. She reaches out one knobby hand, her serpent tongue flicking to scent the air. "May I?"

I hand it over and watch as she turns it over in her hands, handling it with a delicateness I hadn't expected. After a moment, she hisses. "Yes, yes, this will be lovely."

The trade goes over with ease, and I walk out feeling moderately accomplished. It's only when Gregory finds me and loops his arm through mine that he says, "They completely swindled you."

I gasp, and check my basket; the bauble is still there, as are the remainder of my roses. I look back to Gregory skeptically. "Swindled."

He nods, very confident. "You're human."

"And that makes me more likely to be ripped off?"

"You can do magic," he whispers loudly. "If you grew those traditionally, they'd be worth much less, but grown with magic? They're worth much more than you think they are." His expression is earnest, he's not trying to trick me. I purse my lips and think. I feel foolish for letting those witches take advantage of me, but it's not like they stole my whole basket. I can part with one out of two-dozen roses. "Here's a tip: Whatever you think it's worth, offer half. You probably could've gotten three or four of those little things for the one flower."

Doubtful. "It can't be that valuable."

"You've left residual magic in something with a limited lifespan. Trust me, it's valuable."

"You've studied a lot of magic, haven't you?"

At that, Gregory's cheeks and ears darken. His semi-serious expression resolves into a shy smile, and he rubs the back of his head. "I tried to do it myself, once upon a time. Read all the books I could find, but nothing took. I just don't have the magic touch like you do." He shrugs at my sympathetic expression. "It just wasn't meant to be, and that's that."

He turns his head toward the line of stalls, cutting off that line of conversation. We visit the other vendors where I make much more sensible trades and walk away with three bolts of gorgeous brocade fabric, a tin of sewing supplies, several jars of buttons, and two golden necklaces, which came in a set. The fabric is a gorgeous deep orange color, and I picked it specifically to make a dress for the festival. The necklaces I picked them up immediately made me think of Gregory. It's a heart pendant, cut in half, each necklace containing a piece, and the two halves fit together perfectly. There's faded indentations on one side, but the metal is so worn down that I can't make out what it's meant to say.

I offer one necklace to Gregory, and he smiles at me. "The others are going to be jealous."

I shrug, much like he did earlier. "They only had the one set." And that makes him laugh.

We meet with the others a short while later, spotting them all at an art installation, a large sculpture made of metal meant to look like one of the large cats I saw. A large centaur in blacksmithing garb applies a flame to the piece, and I realize the structure isn't metal, it's glass. He's applying it directly to the piece as part of the installation. Fascinated, I watch and let the others continue on, keeping them in my line of vision so I can catch up later.

Suddenly, I hear a commotion from the crowd where we approached from. A scream, a breaking of glass, and then people are running. "Move!" "Get out of the way!"

Then I see it-- the boar, the one as tall as a house, is barreling through the stalls, destroying everything. Flames erupt from it's massive snout, smoke billowing out of it's mouth as it's chest heaves. It squeals, or rather, it screams, and then closer it gets, the more injuries I see, as well as a poor gnome that's hanging on for dear life to one ear.

I'm frozen to my spot. Where everyone else has cleared the area, I'm standing here like an idiot. "Move come on!" shouts the chorus of the crowd behind me, half watching in fear, the other looking for a show.

My instincts kick in at the last second and I jump out of the path of the boar-- gods, where's Aurelius when I need him?-- and stumble to my feet on the edge of the crowd. The boar crashes into the glass sculpture with an ear-shattering screech. The creature practically turns on a dime, back towards me, and it snorts, flames igniting and roaring out of it's snout. It charges for us again. The crowd behind me disperses, and I try to jump out of the way but my timing is off by half a second, and my legs catch on the boar's tusks and I'm swept to the side. I slam into the booth, what's left of it at least, my head cracking against the wooden skeleton of the stall.

Individuals from the crowd look in to see how broken I am, and then there are my friends, all surrounding me at once, helping me stand and checking for any serious injury. My head feels fuzzy, I feel like I'm under cold water, floating through space. Our attention is drawn back to the boar, though, when someone in the crowd screams. Through the wreckage and the dust, I can see it.

It's sprinting towards us.

I scream. "NO!!" and fling my arms out in front of me. My eyes screw shut as static crackles over my skin, through my whole body as if pulled from the ground, compressed through me, and shot through my hands. I try with all my might to Stop the hulking beast before me, it's footsteps growing louder and louder in my ears. I notice the faint smell of fire and burnt metal, when suddenly the air in front of my hands erupts in a flash of lights, a symphony of sounds and swirling colors that envelop the boar before disappearing with a dramatic flash. It takes less than a second of time, before it's gone. And then, all at once, the boar freezes, stopping on a dime, half a scream marring it's face as the fire and smoke are suspended in the air. I've frozen it.

My ears are ringing, but I hear, distantly, the cheers of the crowd. They pop up out of the wreckage of stalls, staring in wonder at the boar floating a few feet off the ground.

I feel like I've been put through a shredder. Raw and hurt, out of will as all thoughts empty from my head like a water basin being overturned. I bend down, vomit up a combination of bile and rose petals, and then the world goes black.