#paradigmclosed

Bored out of his mind and needing something - anything - with which to entertain himself, Teàrlach practically skipped along the road verge, determinedly keeping to the narrow strip of grass instead of using the sidewalk, garnering expressions of bemusement and as he went. But he was quite accustomed to people gawking at him; when one had a tendency to frequent bars and clubs in search of fun, usually in the form of vandalism or the misuse of water, one must first accustom himself to the prospect of being forced into the spotlight, where one’s every move was intensely observed and frowned upon. But rather than allow it to affect his morale - only a fool would pay heed to the opinions of other fools -  he thrived on it, reveling in the fact that so many thought very lowly of him; relishing the idea that not only did they find his antics shameful and scandalous, but they saw him as this lowly pest, not fit to breathe the same air as them. Little did they know of the dangers that would arise should this particular vough set his sights on them. 

            Until it was too late.

     Far too late to escape his notice and the mischievous, evil designs always lurking within, more than prepared to burst free at the smallest provocation.

Because when he finally - finally - settled on a target for the day, very, very little could stop him from doing as he pleased. 

                    And today? 

      He’d found the perfect one.

But it couldn't wait. It couldn't wait any longer at all, not after she had dreamed such wonderful things, of a real life with Nigel, of a home in the forest and the fae letting her in as one of them, a warm cottage and cinnamon buns and the rain slowly turning into snow as the animals burrowed away for the winter. It couldn't wait after she had woken to Cherise screaming at her to wake up, her tiny daughter hollering over the ruckus of something beating the house.

No, she realized as she bolted from her bed, scooping the seven-year old into her arms as if her muscular, curvaceous frame and silk nightgown could protect the girl from all harm and danger, it wasn't beating the house. As if Cherise were still an infant, Chantelle held tight to her daughter, hand tangled in her tiny curls to hold her close. The heavy thumping, roaring, thudding was coming from the tiny wooden box she had brought home, where it sat on her desk, as if something inside the box was rattling to let itself free.

“Mommy,” Cherise cried, tears rolling down her little round face. “Make it stop, make it quiet!”

Sleep batted fast from her eyes, and Chantelle stared down the delicate black mulberry box with its lovely little carvings, and she could hear the soft, rasping voice of a man, singing archaically.

“Cherry,” Chantelle whispered, setting her daughter down. “Get ready to run if something happens, okay? You know how to contact daddy if you need to.” As her daughter nodded, Chantelle sucked in a sharp breath of air, moving around her bed to where the box was seated. The voices only grew louder, and she lowered herself, feeling the cold grain of the old wooden floors under her knees. Heart throbbing in her throat, she stopped herself. Maybe she could burn the box instead. Maybe she could just toss it out. Maybe it would be safe to just leave it, to pray over it a few more times, but oh, no, she could already feel the tips of her own fingers sliding over the surface, finding the oddly hot metal of the locks.

And it flicked open, nervous fingers opening up the box.