Content Warnings

Self-loathing
Internalized pluralphobia
Uneven / hostile headmate dynamics
Joking references to animal cruelty and murder
Large bugs
Blood / Blood-drinking

“Is this truly necessary?”

Tegan stands across from me, shoulders squared and feet firmly planted, as she holds her sword in my direction. “Yep.”

We find ourselves in a shaded picnic section of a park in western Nivannen, under a large metal awning. Alabastra and Faylie look on from a nearby table, as the knight’s sword dances in front of her. A baseball pitch behind her hosts a local game—the cheers of its small crowd occasionally reaching us—and the concrete beneath our feet is as even a practice ground as we’re going to find.

My shoulders go slack, and defeated, I pick up the estoc. It feels clumsy and unwieldy in my hand; an elegant wrongness in the surprising lightness of its weight. I’m not sure where to find the balance. There is simply no universe in which I don’t injure myself and everyone around me, carrying on like this.

I look back to the knight, and say, “Can we not at least practice with mock swords first?”

She sputters, “What, you think we’re actually doing any fighting? This is just so you don’t hurt yourself, Moodie.” Her posture goes squat and hunched. “Now draw.”

Like a gangly buffoon, I pull the sword from its scabbard in stilted motions. Gods above, it’s far too sharp. I’m going to take my own arm off.

“Don’t be scared of it! If you’re scared you’re fucked.” I do so rarely see Wartime-Tegan. On the few occasions I have had the pleasure, it’s as if she truly comes alive. With sword and shield in hand, she’s lost nearly every bit of that fluster she’s been carrying all day. If her usual trepidation is the storm, battle is its eye.

“Then I will ensure I am quite confident when I disembowel myself!” My eyes roll, and I lazily point the sword in her vague direction.

The knight chuckles, and shakes her head. “This is about building that confidence. It comes with practice.” Then her stance shifts again, and she holds her sword hand up, showing her forearm to me. Her fingers shift around the… the horizontal part of the hilt. “You’ve got a swept hilt, so you’re gonna put your index over the crossguard, like this.”

I assume the ‘swept hilt’ refers to the decorative part of the rapier. “And why is that?”

“More control for less hand safety—but that’s what that fancy guard is for. Oh, and try not to let the pommel ride up too much into your forearm, either—you’ll get bruises that way.”

Though I follow her instructions, I drone, “Is it truly wise to sacrifice safety at the beginner level?”

“Better than getting disarmed”, she huffs. “Do you always complain this much when getting lessons?”

Before I can retort, Alabastra butts in, “Those are clarifying questions, Dusty.” The rogue smirks my way. “Moodie just makes ’em sound like complaints.”

It was a mistake to not make this a private lesson. “Less from the peanut gallery, if you wouldn’t mind?”, I deadpan. The two natter to themselves, and my attention shifts back to my teacher for the day.

Tegan nods, and repositions back to her low-centered pose. “Alright, follow my lead. Watch my lower half first.” As best as I can, I copy her movements; the positions she puts her legs into, the bend to the knees, the right angle of the feet. Admittedly, I feel no less awkward than a newborn calf, stumbling and swaying like a breeze might knock me over. The knight looks me up and down and says with a wince, “Ok… that’s pretty bad.”

That hardly surprises me; I don’t exactly exercise much. Still… “Do you always admonish your students so heavily?”

Faylie chirps from the bench, “Actually, yeah. She gave me this same lesson once and completely turned into a drill sergeant.”

“It’s how I was taught”, the knight says.

Alabastra says in a sly hush to her smallest girlfriend, “And thus, the cycle continues…”

I give them both a glace that conveys, ‘What did I just say‘. We spend the next while perfecting my pose. It’s slow going and I feel a terrible student, especially when we get to the section where she is trying to direct me on my shoulder and elbow placement. My body is far more accustomed to being hunched over a desk or till than this swordfighting or running. More than ever I regret not picking up magic—if I could stick to the back like Faylie I’d actually be of some value, and in less danger to boot.

After the fourth failed attempt to collapse into an acceptable stance, Tegan throws up her hands and marches toward me. “You’re over-extending your wrist— Oh, lemme just show you, c’mere.” Before I know what’s happening, the knight marches behind me and tugs at my wrists, maneuvering me like a doll. It’s far more effort than it should be for that not to fluster me. It’s just a lesson… She backs up again, and appraises me. “Like that. Think you got it?”

Though I’m starting to work up a sweat, I pull into a neutral pose, then drop into the stance she showed me. At least I hope I do. Her appraising nod lifts my spirits. I always was a teacher’s pet, I suppose. Likely a bad time to think of Lainey, again. With a refocused and reforged resolve, I practice until Tegan says to stop.

“Alright. That’s enough. Good job, Moodie.”

My hands drop to my sides. “And that’s it? No attacking or defensive poses or the like?”

She looks like she just swallowed a bug. “No?! Not for a first lesson!”

“Then is the expectation that enemies will simply run onto my blade?”

The knight rubs her temples, wolf ears folding in. “Moodie. This is just so you don’t get hurt holding the damn thing. Hopefully you won’t actually have to do any fighting in the first place.”

In some ways, that’s a relief, at least. Hopefully this little lesson is enough to not perish immediately, then. I sheathe the sword and intone, “And if it does come to that?”

“Well, then hopefully we’ll at least have the other you to rely on.”

I scoff. That’s absurd. “If the ‘other me‘ is loose, that would far sooner spell disaster!”

She just shrugs, as if we’re not talking about letting a bloodthirsty monster off its leash. “I mean, we fought with Roodie before…”

… What.

Clearly my vacant stare is enough to communicate my question before I have to speak it. “Oh, shit, uh. We didn’t ever really talk about the Carlivain, did we? Since you were all—”

“Woodie…”, Faylie says. I roll my eyes.

But she’s right; we didn’t. At the time I didn’t want to think on that night again, but now? “What exactly happened after I blacked out?”

Alabastra stands, dusting her gloves along her pantleg. “It was a chaotic situation. You already know your inner vamp made a mess of the Cozzos, but it wasn’t so vicious towards us. We actually prol’y wouldn’t have made it out of there without its help. ‘Member Cozzo’s machine?” I nod. She continues, “We called a truce to get it gone—”

“You’re saying you reasoned with it?!”

The mirth leaves her, replaced with genuine severity. She bites the side of her mouth, then gives herself a little nod, coming to some decision. “Okay. I think now’s a good time to have that talk.”

This is the topic of conversation? A brief shot of panic runs like ice in my veins. But, no, she’s right. It’s time. Though I’m rapidly feeling a cold creeping on my neck, I nod. “Alright.”

She motions to the others. “You wanna do this with everyone or just me?”

I meet Faylie and Tegan’s glances. They’re as concerned and consoling as the half-elf, though a touch confused as well. “It’s fine. It’s nothing they wouldn’t learn eventually anyways, right? If we’re an open book, that goes both ways.” I haven’t forgotten her little speech on trust.

Alabastra starts— and stops— and starts again. And stops. She begins to pace, biting her knuckle. Did she actually not plan for this? Scratching the back of her neck as if guilty, she finally finds her words. “Okay… there’s no easy way to ask this, so I guess I’m just gonna ask it.” Her gaze fixes with mine, in a tight grip that she does not let go of. “Moodie… are you… sure you’re the only one in that head?”

“What?! Of course I’m sure.” What a preposterous question.

Half-expecting her to turn around and reveal the joke, she instead doubles down. “Okay, look. We have seen the— seen it three times now, and each time, more than the last, it seemed alive.” She starts pacing again, erratic and chopping hand motions to accentuate. “And… I used my Insight last night, and… Moodie. That was not you!”

This is absurd. She’s actually insinuating I’m, what, literally of two minds? Completely absurd. “Think about what you’re implying. I mean, just because the thing inside of me was aware doesn’t mean it was any more than what we’ve always assumed it to be. A bloodthirsty. Murderous. Monster.” I barely make it through the end of my sentence before I have to double over in stomach pain, hunger sinking through my core. Horrible timing.

When I can stand again she continues, “I know what I saw. It had thoughts—feelings, wants, needs. It was not just some mindless fuckin’ thing. That was a person!”

“And yet you’re still calling it ‘it’?”

“That’s just how it referred to itself—and that’s another thing! We spoke, Moodie. And… and more, er…” She grabs her neck, guiltily, and pulls her eyeline away from me. Now chewing the floor, she shrugs. “It even… had a name. Called itself… Fear.”

I stare.

She stares back. The moment hangs in the air.

“… Are you telling me that the dark specter within my soul named itself after an EMOTION?!”

She surrenders. “Hey, that sounds like a conversation between you and you!”

My hand steeples against my forehead, and I divert to a nearby wall to faceplant into.

Tegan speaks up, “Are you… sure, Allie?”

Alabastra says over her shoulder, “None of you saw it. And if there’s even a chance I’m right, I can’t sit back and say nothin’.” Her glance casts over in steel again, drawing me from my sudden sulk. “Because if it is true, then it’s hurting, Moods. Just like you’re hurting.”

My breath starts to pick up, and that familiar instinct to run starts to run shakes through my leg. “Alabastra, this is ridiculous.”

“Is it? Wouldn’t it make a lotta stuff make a lot more sense?” I almost object ‘no‘ out of instinct, yet— but— no, obviously not. She outstretches her arms, and taps her forehead once. “I mean, it might even be why the urges hit ya so strange—maybe it’s not technically you that’s hearin’ Serrone’s fucked up message, it’s-it’s Fear!”

“How many people do you know act the way it acts, Alabastra? It’s a blood-starved thing—that’s all it is!”

She snarls. “Don’t talk about it that way.” My breath hitches. She… she can’t seriously be defending it? I-I’m not safe here. No one is. I start to glance around. “If I’m right, then none of that is its fault. It’s Lyla’s.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” This is all too familiar.

She looks like she’s about to start ranting.

I flinch.

Then her whole demeanor shifts. She swallows once, and holds up her hands in front of her in a calming gesture. “Moodie. I-I’m not trying to push you. Okay?” She sighs, heavy exasperation that fills her cheeks. “Let’s just… let’s take a breather.”

And just like that, the tension I hadn’t notice was building has laxed again. She’s right—we’re riling each other up. I nod, and she runs a hand through her hair, walking in little circles.

With the momentum broken, I let the autumn air chill my lungs. I take a short lap around the benches, getting my head right again. We agreed to have this talk, after all; it would be untoward to upend it with my own insecurities. Not again.

At one point in my self-calming ritual Faylie trots over, and wraps her hand into mine. I’d have thought I might bolt over such a gesture before, but it is an unexpected anchoring point. A smaller optimism. I nod, and turn back to Alabastra.

When she looks ready again, I offer, as even as my voice will allow, “And what if this is all just some trick, from Lyla, or whoever else might be causing these urges?” And then that voice gets much smaller, when I add, “Or what if that violence is intrinsic to me…”

Alabastra’s shoulders roll. “Look, I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But I’m not tellin’ you how your head works. I’m just asking—don’t you think it might at least be possible?”

“Of course not. I mean, if it were true, wouldn’t I have noticed by now?” Nobody responds. “W-wouldn’t I?”

They all stare a moment. Alabastra sighs, “Gee, Moodie, I don’t have a clue. Alright? All I know is that I looked in those eyes last night, and I saw someone who needed help.”

She truly believes this theory—though it feels entirely preposterous to me. How would it have been possible that I’ve lived twenty-five years without noticing an entire second set of thoughts and feelings and actions inside myself? Or, even more strangely, that it emerged as a result of this chaos? Or some strange combination of the two?

It’s just absurd. It has to be absurd. There must some other explanation for what she saw, or— Gods, I don’t know. We’re working with such incomplete information, can I truly begin to untangle this without knowing the full scope of it all?

“There could be another explanation for all of this, Alabastra”, I say. “I mean, perhaps whatever cloying for aid you witnessed was just a consequence of this curse, or-or something else.” I squeeze my bicep. Dammit, I was hoping to not have to worry them. “They’re… I believe they might be getting worse. The hungers.”

For a moment I expect panic or screams or the like. Nothing of the sort. Tegan speaks up, “Well, when’s the last time you fed?” How are they so constantly calm? Or, perhaps I just have a habit of catastrophizing. I’m not sure how I would tell.

But I consider her question. “Assuming I did so during the events at the Carlivain hotel?” They all nod, with varying degrees of gravitas. “Then that was the last time I fed.”

“Uh, that was like a week ago. How often do you usually feed?”, asks the knight.

“When I’m not in the midst of catastrophe, you mean? Preferably every day, if I can, or at least every other day. But it’s also possible my time with the watch, or maybe my parting with it, further exacerbated the timetable.” It would be a fitting final sting, if The Timekeeper doubled over everything it prevented, instead of leaving it halted. Only a theory.

Alabastra throws her hands wide, an impossibly frustrated eye roll to accompany. “Moodie. Of course they’re getting worse—you might literally just be hungry.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. I suppose that isn’t impossible. Dammit. “Okay. We’ll get this handled then. Either way it’s the best course—either you’re right, and this’ll clear it all up, or I’m right, and this’ll help Fear anyways. It seemed like it was havin’ trouble thinkin’ straight, after all.”

I’m still not sure how to countenance the idea. It’s just so entirely unlikely. But we can return to this after.

Faylie says, “Okay, let’s stop by a butcher shop! Get you something really raw!”

My head shakes. “No. My usual methods won’t work. They haven’t, ever since this started. If we’re truly to test this, then I will need something far more alive. Or at least much more recently deceased.”

With a smirk, the rogue, glances around the parkland. “I mean… could catch ya a squirrel?”

“I sincerely hope you’re joking.”

“Mostly. But I do have an idea. C’mon.” She darts out beyond the shade, motioning us to follow.

* * *

We venture across the park until we come to an eastern edge. A procession of brick archways leads into an enclosure ringed by high green trees and wrought fence. Crowds of parkgoers move through the gates, and a large engraved metal sign reads, ‘Medi Park Zoo‘.

I twist myself around my parasol to stare at Alabastra.

“What?”, she asks.

“You are not proposing we slaughter a zoo animal”, I deadpan. Her eyes dart. “Alabastra.”

She shrugs. “Cool off. We can slip in under the zookeepers and getcha fed on somethin’ living. Won’t be a problem.”

Faylie crosses her arms. “Allie, this is animal cruelty! No way!”

The rogue rolls her eyes. “Ah, c’mon. We can just pick off one of the lame ones. Who’s gonna miss a tapir?”

The faun stomps her hoof. “You are not killing a tapir!”, she yells, utterly affronted.

Alabastra sighs. “Hells. Yeah, okay, Conscience. I get it—I went too far for this one.” Hands in pockets, she turns and makes for the street. “We’ll just think of somethin’ else on the way.”

* * *

As we march down Nivannen streets, Alabastra drums against the side of her leg, head switching back and forth like an owl’s, searching for something in that urban jungle. Then she snaps in recognition, and stops, motioning I stand beside her. “Ehh?”, she offers, and points.

Her gaze casts down the street and meets with a uniformed MCPD officer, standing on a street corner and swinging his night stick around the wrist strap.

I stare cold murder at the rogue. “No.”

“What, you think Fear doesn’t like pork?”

“Allie“, all three of us say at once.

Her hands go up again, and she smiles, walking backwards. “Okay! Plan… C? D? We gotta duck into the sewers anyways—bound to find somethin’ down there that wants to kill us.”

* * *

Tegan swings a wide horizontal strike, cleaving an aricade in half with a splatter of pale straw-colored slime. The others finish off the pack of half-dozen that happened upon us as we entered the sewers, their insides now coating the brick walls and suffusing with the sewer sludge. I’ve never been much of an arachnophobe; if anything, I’ve typically felt a bit of a kinship with spiders and their ilk. But I’ll make an exemption for these oversized little pests.

Alabastra looks over the corpses, wiping her sleeve against a bit of ooze that landed on her cheek. Then she smiles, and throws her arms wide. “Hey-hey! How ’bout—”

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m drinking bug blood“, I shout.

She rolls her eyes. “So picky.” Her hand brushes through the air. “Gods, I guess maybe we’ll find somethin’ when we hit the tunnels?”

* * *

“What even is this thing?!”, shouts Faylie. Her cards blast another series of magic darts into the side of our quarry.

“Honesty, no idea”, says Alabastra. She fires off a series of arrows that pierce into the creature’s black-scaled body.

The strange monster that’s decided to try and make us its meal slinks around the sides of the stone cavern walls, twisting around in the chamber like a spiral. Its long body twirls behind it in loops, resembling a massive onyx snake with dozens of lizard-like legs. Its front limbs are larger than the rest—clawed and meaty arms. And its wide salamander face is wreathed in a mane of necromantic green energy, glowing like its eyes.

One of its front arms slams down as it contorts in a shuttering circle-turn. The claws rake across Tegan’s shield, and she digs her heels into the gravel to brace. Tegan’s sword is a quick needle jabbing into its arm, and it howls in pain. Its shirking and shaking causes loose pebbles to fall from the ceiling.

In retaliation, a green fog of death spills off the edge of its lax longue, hanging dumbly from its mouth. Our knight backs away as the necromancy drips onto the tunnel floor. The green mist continues to flow out of the creature’s maw, before it starts to convulse and hack. In a disgusting display it vomits death onto the floor in a liquid retching. The center of the fog turns black and brackish, and sitting where the snake-monster retracts are the piled bones of a humanoid skeleton, wet with stomach acids. The green fog retracts and pulls into the bones, and they shake and reconstitute, standing as a reanimated skeleton that marches in a ridiculous scramble toward us.

“Oh, fuck off!”, yells Tegan. She turns to rid us of our latest problem, driving a hammer blow swing of her sword down into the undead in a radiant blow. It scatters into a thousand bone shards and a screeching shadow that banishes with the light. I stare horrified; in the weeks since this started I’ve almost completely forgotten how quickly this woman could end me if she truly wished. Not something I was eager to be reminded of.

The rogue pesters the monster with distracting arrows, until Faylie can issue the spell she’s been readying. “VENTULUS“, the mage shouts, and a wind kicks through the tunnel, buffeting the massive creature back. Its elongated form catches on itself, twisting and tangling on its own serpentine spine. But as it knots itself like a rope, its twisting tail wraps around Tegan and pulls her into the coiling mass. The knight lets out a canine yelp as she goes, lifted off her feet.

Alabastra says, “Dusty?! Hold on!” She lets another arrow loose into the mass. The reptilian head looks back at the rogue, and ambles forward as best as it can with its body in kinks. Unfortunately, since the rogue behind me, it making a dash for Alabastra means it’s also coming for me.

With no time to run, I draw the blade. My eyes slam closed. Knees low—arms bent—finger over the guard—don’t overextend your wrist—oh Gods I am so completely dead.

The running over rocks grows clamorous before me, before a massive slamming sound into the side of the rock shakes the tunnel. A colossal weight ahead of me pulls my wrist down, and I open my eyes to see… the monster at the tip of my blade, piercing half a foot through its snaking hide. Atop it, Tegan has her arms wrapped around its neck, looking like she’s all but driving it like a ranch hand on a workhorse. She shifts her weight, and the monster sinks deeper through my blade. I get the hint and apply pressure of my own, until the thing’s insides are to the hilt.

And the sudden violence turns a burning want inside me. Apparently my sick desires aren’t picky about what I savage. Hopefully none of the others notice the burning jolt that shoots down my spine.

The glowing of the monster’s eyes goes cold and dull as the edge of the blade explores its insides, and I let go to dive out of the way of its falling corpse.

It slams into the ground with a thud. Tegan swings herself off its neck. “Hey! Nice job, Moodie!”

“That feels like it was almost entirely your effort.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “It was a team effort.” I don’t meet her eyes. Our knight looks down at the snake. “Weird fuckin’ thing. Never know what you’re gonna find down here.”

Alabastra steps forward, dusting her hands. “That skeleton trick was fuckin’ gross.” Then she lights up, and turns to me. “And, hey! We gotcha a meal! Unless you’re gonna tell me you don’t eat reptile.”

It isn’t my favorite. But I’ve been far too choosy already. I look down at the felled monster. “I suppose it will have to—”

A flash of shadowy magic passes over the beast’s corpse. The body burns in a last gasp of necromancy. With an audible rumble, the flesh rots in sped time before our eyes, decomposing rapidly and decaying into dust. The tunnel is left smelling like burnt rubber, and the magic leaves behind only a snakelike skeleton, with hundreds of ribs sticking out of the rock, bone-dry.

“… Oh COME ON!”

* * *

We walk another twenty minutes or so, with no further sight of anything suitable to dine on, nor any telling signs that our quarries have passed through here. Alabastra holds a map in front of her face, and assuming she isn’t lost, which feels actually entirely likely, then we should be on the way to these ruins. Without the indication that the Lupines use these tunnels in particular, it seems obvious that they must have some other access to this cavern of theirs, through the heights, instead of the Nivannen entrance we took.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching their flanks. The closer we get the antsier I grow. We’re marching right into the lion’s den, and doing so while I’m still famished.

Lying under the waterworks, these tunnels are carved with erosion; courtesy of the endless dropping waters above. Even now, the gentle drip-drip-drip forms cragged edges into the ceiling, with beads of condensation from the faintly moist atmosphere gathering at the tips of the stalactites hanging above our heads.

Hah. ‘Water water everywhere… and not a drop to drink’. I don’t suppose sailors think of vampires with that adage.

My footsteps start to stutter below me. My throat grows scratchier, and I’m getting tired. We shamble into a slightly wider chamber, and Alabastra calls a break. Faylie brings a little light into the space with a dull orange-glowing spell.

This small cavern in which the tunnel widens is no larger than my shopfront. It’s filled with nothing but rocks and rock walls and smaller rocks, but it will do. I sink my back against the stone, lowering down to the floor.

“If we… do not find something soon…”, I begin.

Alabastra walks to me, and breathes sharp through her nose. Her head shakes. “What are we doing?” She doesn’t ask it in confusion or curiosity, but exasperation.

“T-taking a break?” Preparing to leave me behind, I assume…?

The half-elf I have come to look to as my guiding light stares down at me… and smacks herself in the forehead. “This is getting ridiculous. C’mere, girls.” The others gather behind her. “You stubborn ass. We’re lookin’ around for monsters or beasts, when it’s obvious what the solution is.”

“What do you mean?” Please don’t mean what I think you mean.

“Moodie, the answer’s staring you in the face.” No. “You need blood…?” No. No. No. Her arms outstretch. “You’re lookin’ at three donors right here!”

Gods please this can’t be happening again. My head shakes. “You- you don’t know what you’re asking…”

She chews her bottom lip. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

It really is all happening again. And why did I think it wouldn’t? It’s all nothing but an endless spiral, a race to the bottom—this is how it dies. Desperate and wounded, I’m caught in the trap that’s been set from the start. And I’m so tired of fighting what I want. If they push me I already know I’ll fall.

“Please“, I beg. “Anything but this…” One last line of resistance. I hate being pitied… but at least I might wield it. See in me nothing but a craven. And run from me. Please.

Alabastra Camin doesn’t relent. “Why? You know we just wanna help.” She squats into a perch on her knees, meeting me at eye-level. “Moodie, there’s nothing wrong with this.”

Tegan says, “You don’t need to torture yourself…”

And Faylie adds, “Plus, like, it’s not like we haven’t, y’know, thought about it?”

The past pulls the air from my lungs. My eyes shoot to the faun. “That’s exactly what she said!”

Their faces all drop. My heart sinks through the earth. I’m not here. I’m not even here, I’m somewhere else for a moment, staring through eyes that aren’t mine. I’m floating.

Alabastra says, “… She?”

I can only stare at her from the unreal space I’ve fallen into. In that drifting space, the world starts to mean less and less. No. No. I can’t fall away again. Not just because it’s dangerous; I refuse to shut down. Whatever happens next, I have to believe I can handle it, or I’m already doomed. With a hard swallow I bring myself back to ground, staring into her eyes.

But despite my best efforts I still can’t get the words out. My arms curl against my knees, pulled to me in as pathetic a form as I’ve ever been. And we just stare a moment.

“Moodie, we can’t help if you don’t talk to us…” Alabastra sighs, drawing one hand through the dirt in a self-soothing gesture. “Just be vague, if you gotta.”

Vague. I can do vague. The full truth all at once is too unwieldy, but if I break it apart, I may stand a chance. “This has… happened before. Someone in a moment of weakness wanted to help, and I— And regardless of the sincerity of your offer, I can’t—” Tegan and Faylie gather around Alabastra. We’re practically a huddle. I continue, voice haunted, “I can’t control myself. I’ll hurt you. I’ll take too much.”

“You’re not gonna hurt us, Moodie”, Alabastra says, too quickly to mean it.

“You can’t guarantee that.”

Stalwart as ever, though slightly shaking with an undercurrent of fear, Tegan rises to her feet. “Yes we can.” She crosses her arms, stern and lecturing in a way that is unfamiliar to me. “Tell me I’m wrong, but it sounds like you have something now that you didn’t before. Someone else to watch over you.”

I shake my head.

She continues, “It’s not like you’d, y’know, be drinking from all of us at the same time. We won’t let you take more than you need.” Tegan motions to herself and Faylie. “We’ll keep you accountable.”

Someone to watch over me—I almost laugh. That can’t be the solution. It’s so… simple. Yet she’s right. If I can’t control myself, then, what is wrong, really, with relinquishing that control to someone who can? Of course none of them will let harm come to one another. Of course they’ll make sure I don’t relieve them of more than I need.

Three heads are better than one. Gods it seems all too straightforward. Practical. Were the answers to all of my problems always so uncomplicated? Did I truly need to create a catastrophe out of every setback?

Was it always this easy?

I almost can’t let myself believe so. I feel I may go mad if I do. They still have time to run instead, and besides it’s not as if this is a flawlessly safe endeavor. For example… “We are about to embark on a great deal of danger, with whatever we find in this ruin. Can we truly afford to weaken one of you so greatly?” It’s not as if drawing blood is without its side-effects, after all.

Faylie chirps, “Then just take a little bit from each of us! We can afford to be a tiny bit woozy!” Then her arms wrap around her larger girlfriends. “After all, what’s the point in having three people who care about you if you’re only gonna rely on one of them!”

My eyes dart between these three farcical women, who refuse to let me suffer. And I stand. “You’re… surely you’re joking.”

The principal clown amongst them steps forward, towering over me. Alabastra’s self-assured smirk fails to hide the sentimentality in her eyes. “Of course not. Let us give you what you need.” Her hand wraps around my shoulder.

“But I’ve… I’ve already taken so much.”

The thief chuckles. “You wanna know somethin’? I’ve known hunger, too. Not the same way, not for the same kind of diet, not so supernatural, but I know famine. And the only reason I didn’t have enough to eat, was because this world is too cruel to feed its people.” Her eyes shine against the glow of Faylie’s spell. “Moodie, it’s the same thing with you. You’re a person. You could have been treated kinder. Nobody deserves to starve.” She smiles. “And nothing given is taken. So put your pride away.”

For a moment, I circle around the shape of the world she’s made with her words. She wants me to consider my constant struggle with feeding and bloodthirst, stretching back all my life, some systemic problem, no different than poverty. That is so quintessentially an Alabastra-esque proposition it’s almost parody. Ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly consider it true.

But. Since we’re in the realm of the preposterous regardless, then, if she were right, what would that mean? That I was made hungry, by people? That my own thoughts on the matter were the result of someone else’s words, handed down by some conservative moral ideologue, not some cosmic right or wrong? That there was never anything inherently evil, predatory, about a diet of blood? That I swallowed down some sick lie about my own nature—that it was a virtue to keep myself at the edge of want and need, and that sinking into that pit was better?

That my solutions were easy, but I kept myself in the dark, because some twisted, prideful self-loathing was easier?

I can’t lie and say it doesn’t track. I offered up my head for the axe every time, because it didn’t hurt as bad as trying to reckon with it all. I’ve shut myself away because I couldn’t find a way to let myself be seen. It was easier. I took the easiest path, the one of least resistance. The one everyone, everywhere, an entire culture built on enduring suffering instead of fixing it, insisted I take. To blind myself to the way out, and force myself through more pain to make the initial pain feel like it mattered.

But it never mattered, did it? I needed it to make sense, to be justified, but it wasn’t noble or right, it was just… suffering. It was pride.

It’s… it’s always been pride. I’ve put it on her when it’s poisoned me all along. And despite herself, she actually knows how to let it go.

I’ll never get out myself. But I have to be the one to open the door. What did she say before… to ‘let her in’? To help me cheat?

She means it. She always meant it. From the day we met, and she forced herself into my life like a splinter, she meant it. And every time I bit the hand that fed, she kept coming back. And I refused to let myself see it.

I see it now. It’s time for an antidote.

Weak but determined, I give her a small nod. The others get to work. Faylie pulls out a large blanket from her bag in a ridiculous unspooling, before folding it up into a makeshift cot along the floor. Tegan puts out a few candles so we’re not relying on Faylie for light, setting them out in a careful circle in the center of the chamber. The knight looks nervous, but says nothing to indicate she’s having second thoughts. I don’t blame her squeamishness. I trust her enough that she would make it known if she couldn’t go through with this.

Faylie’s practically beaming, of course. Always willing to try something new. Absurd.

And Alabastra is steel. No, too cold. She is the sun. And she sets herself down onto the mat, sitting crisscrossed, and smiling, no doubt ready with some quip. To my chagrin she brushes the hair away from her neck almost suggestively, head stuck to one side in offering.

I walk forward. My knees bend before her. As I’m wondering if I should hold onto her, she instead holds onto me, hands on my arms. Mine lock with hers, and I lean in. Her breath brushes my cheek, and I nearly pull away in shock. This close, I can hear the gentle thumping of her heart, picking up in pace.

She’d known I was a vampire since the day we met. I wonder, then; how long has she thought of this moment?

Because if I’m honest with myself, in my darkest, hungriest days… I think I’ve imagined it a thousand times.

Faylie and Tegan stand ready. I have nothing but confidence in them.

Alabastra’s skin prickles with anticipation and humidity. The tiny hairs of platinum blonde look a shining silver-white at the base of her neck. My fangs graze against the side of her, testing the tension. For one perfect moment, even if it won’t last, Alabastra Camin is vulnerable before me. Open. We are connected by a thread of saliva and trust. The dark of night, swallowing the light of the sky.

And then I sink.

Very much looking forward to the reaction to this one. :>

Some housekeeping: I've gone back and done some major edits to all previous chapters of Witch Hunt. Nothing that changes the actual content, just SPAG, but I've finally fixed my sad, em dashless life.

Also, I live in a place without daylight savings, so if the time Witch Hunt updates changes for you, that is why.

Thanks for reading. Consider the patreon, if you'd like to see how, uh. That. Turns out. And as always, it means the world.

Next update is (1-42) rosemary; on Thursday, November 7th.