Corabelle’s sleep wasn't as peaceful or comforting as she’d dared to hope. She didn’t dream. Sleep was nothing but darkness and boredom.

  It felt more as though she were paralyzed than actually asleep. Time was imperceptible as all she saw and heard was a dark void and silence.

  She would have expected to feel the same paranoid fear of the silence as she had before but she didn’t. The only thing she felt was boredom as though she were simply waiting for the time to pass.

  When she awoke, her body felt rested but her mind only had echoes of that same boredom telling her she would much rather be productive than sleep.

  On her nightstand, the old chore list remained, covered by the layer of dust that had settled on every surface in the room in her absence.

  She shoved long strands of her hair from her face. It had grown long in the night, draping over her shoulder, back down to her hip. Raking her finger through it, she began to rebraid it back to its usual style, keeping the curling strands out of her eyes.

  She could at least try to pretend as though nothing had changed.

  As her eyes skimmed the list for an uncompleted task, a voice slithered through her brain. It was smooth but dangerous like a venomous snake hunting its prey. It etched works deep into the recesses of her brain, blazing an idea into the soft greymatter, ‘I need to go to the lab.’

  She hardly noticed as she discarded the note and made her way through the house. She heard Zaramir’s voice but didn’t process the words as she ascended the stairs.

  The door opened nearly instantly.

  She shook her head, clearing a fog she hadn’t known was there, “Did…” The serpent vanished, her senses returning, “I’m sorry I don’t know why I'm here. Did you call me?”

  A flash of a strange look crossed his face but it was gone before she could interpret it.

  He opened the door wide, allowing her in, “Not intentionally. Unless they receive a Runebind to block it, we, Faedemons, can communicate telepathically with each other. I hadn’t meant to call you. I was just thinking I could use some assistance. I must have projected it. I hadn’t realized I was doing that.”

  “Please don’t do it again. It feels really… uncomfortable. Like you reading my mind.”

  “I assure you I won’t.” he replied firmly. “But since you’re here, I truly could use some assistance.”

  Entering the room, this was the first time she’d paid much attention to his lab. This room didn’t have any illusionary windows like her bedroom had or even any true windows. Lights similar to those of the greenhouse illuminated the space. The walls were covered in ritual tapestries and talismans, a few of the markings on them, she recognized from her studies. There were shelves of meticulously labeled potions and jars of ingredients, but the other surfaces were covered in incomprehensible clutter. A series of caldrons in various sizes lined the back wall. The table her body had been on had been cleared and cleaned, but remained empty.

  There were two similar tables on either side which were both completely covered. One held books and parchments, the other half-prepared alchemical ingredients.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, you may help me prepare ingredients for potion backstocks.” He requested

  “Alright.” She agreed. “Alchemy is a bit harder to study in books than theory. What are you making? I still want to learn.”

  He led her to the table covered in ingredients, “Since most of my potions were tainted by the Needleroot, I've been attempting to get caught up on my backstock. This one is nothing glamorous. I add it to the water in the beastroom to ensure the rabbits and other rodents don't overpopulate. I don’t have enough predatory animals to sustain their natural course. This is very simple alchemy. I’m sure you’re smart enough to deduce what each ingredient is for.” He didn’t open himself up to her questions, seeming highly focused on the potion making task over teaching her, so she didn’t ask. He gave her instructions to remove leaves from stems, crush shells to powder, and peel a basket of strange citrus fruits.

  As she worked on these extremely simple tasks, she had to wonder why it was necessary that she do them. Surely this could all be done swiftly and efficiently with magic. There was no reason for her to be here doing this. But she didn’t question it. She was still learning, even if she didn’t fully know what.

  “You can bring them here.” Zaramir stated as he observed her peeling the rind from the final fruit.

  She brought the basket over the cauldron he was hovering over. He grabbed a peeled fruit in each of his fists, crushing them with ease, the juice flowing into the mixture below. The dull beige potion turned a rich violet as the juice swirled in.

  He discarded the remaining flesh into a basket of similar refuse near the cauldron before repeating the process with the rest of the fruit.

  After finishing juicing the fruit he requested the shells. As he mixed the powder in, the potion turned red. He continued to request ingredients and finally began bottling up the potion but she couldn’t help but notice he seemed much more distant than he did when he was teaching her. Each of his requests were polite, but clinical. Though there was something more to his tone, like he was talking to a stranger when he addressed her. He hadn't been like this the day before.

  As her mind wandered, she looked to the clean, empty table, “What did you do with my body?” She questioned, almost without thinking.

  The vial he was holding slipped from his fingers into the cauldron below with a tiny plop.

  He set the ladle down slowly, balancing it on the edge of the cauldron.

  He didn’t look at her and his voice was barely audible, “I buried you. I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked first…”

  “Where?” She knew she should be feeling something more, but the only thing she was feeling was a morbid curiosity.

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  His breath hitched as his lips parted, but no words came.

  “I’m sorry,” She finally broke the tense silence. “It’s not important.”

  “Do not apologize,” The words were short, but not unkind, just forced. “Come with me. You should know.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze once as he led her to the beast room. He took her to a secluded part of the wooded section, behind a large stone near the outskirts of the vast space. It was a place that would have taken her lifetimes to find exploring on her own. There were no animals nearby, not even the thrum of insects. The light showered down through the leaves in beautiful beams, a light breeze rustled fallen leaves across the freshly disturbed earth.

  There stood a gravesite. The headstone had been hand carved but not with any sort of skill. It displayed the name he called her, Cora, in it in simple chicken scratch letters that, while unrefined, seemed to have been attempted with care.

  Beside the fresh grave was another. This one was much older, the mound grown over with moss and sparse grass. Its headstone was the same unskilled carving, the same stone, but clearly had been there for much longer. It was clean but the stone was discolored and weathered, having been exposed to the artificial elements of the beast room.

  Carved in this one was “Ky”. Beneath it was another carving she could identify and understand, though she didn’t know how. It was in Fae. The words seemed to be a verse to a poem, “K’viin asula Nocd. K’viin asula Vyn. Lory’n vala entra ve lory’na nue. K’viin asule Lory, V’dei.”

  Her mind found the meaning of the words as easily as it would if it were her mother tongue, “Rest with Sky. Rest with Land. Rule the next plane as you ruled this one. Rest among emperors, Mine.”

  “The Fae don't have a word for love.” Had his words not been the only sound, they would have been too quiet to hear. “Kyrian used the word for possession as a replacement.”

  It took her a moment to draw in his words, “You… loved Kyrian?”

  “I truly thought I did.” He answered. “Our relationship extended beyond the professional, beyond friendship, but I’ve come to realize, I don’t think he ever truly desired me. His lust was for power. He thought if we were close, the Fae would grant that same power.”

  “But they wouldn’t turn him into a Faedemon?” She observed, looking at the old gravestone at her feet.

  He shook his head, “When I met him he was a mage so passionate about his craft, he was… intriguing. But that passion became an obsession and that obsession led him to sacrifice himself for it. I tried to warn him but he wouldn’t listen. The power, the incessant need for more. The Fae thought he was too… volatile to be a good, subservient Faedemon. So when he… died, they wouldn’t bring him back.” He hissed the words through gritted teeth

  “I’m so sorry.” She murmured.

  He released a tense breath, “He was not a good person. He enjoyed the trapping and killing of the guests at his parties. It was little more than cheap amusement. Being around him… I became a much worse monster. Nevertheless, I was sure I loved him. Though it is probably for the best that he didn't get what he wanted, the damage he could have and would have done with that sort of power…” His head fell, eyes closed. “This was definitely for the best...” He said more to himself than her.

  She set a hand on his shoulder, “Even if he was as bad as you say, it should never go this way. I can’t express how sorry I am that you had to go through this.”

  He straightened suddenly, shaking her hand off, “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made this about him. We're here for you.” He raised his head, setting his jaw, “Is there something your family would do for the dead?”

  She clasped her hand in front of her to busy them, “When my grandfather died, my grandma knitted him a blanket to keep him warm in his coffin. My mother made cookies to be sure he didn’t go hungry. My dad made him new shoes to make sure the trip was easy. We buried him with things we would need…”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have buried you with your being there. I just couldn’t stand having it in my lab any longer.”

  “It’s alright. These are different circumstances. I’m not really going anywhere that I would need any of those things.” She said softly.

  After a long moment she dared to ask, “Zaramir, when I die, for good I mean, will my soul go to my family?”

  He shook his head, “I don’t know. The only way they’d let you stay dead is if this new body were completely destroyed, there was nothing left to stitch together or heal. If that happens, I can’t say for certain where your soul would go, if anywhere...”

  They stood in silence, staring onward at the two graves in front of them.

  A sad smile passed over her lips, “It's sort of funny, not many people get to see their own grave. I couldn't have picked a more beautiful place to be buried myself. Good job.”

  He let out a sound and she turned her head to see him suressing a smile, hand over his mouth.

  “I was joking with you.” She gave him a placid smile. “You can laugh.”

  He uncovered his mouth with a low chuckle, “Well, thank you for, most certainly, the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

  “You’re welcome. And thank you for bringing me here.” She returned her eyes to the grave. “Seeing this is, strange as it is to say, comforting. I knew I was dead but something about seeing my own grave, it’s not as horrifying as one would think. I guess in a weird sense, it finally convinced me that my death was real and could have been final. If I hadn't been brought back, I would be there. Forever. That’s it. Who knows what else after that?”

  “With my only two options being that,” She nodded at the grave. “Or this. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.” She absentmindedly twisted a stray lock of silver hair around her fingers.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see his gaze was now on her, “I can’t promise you this life will be perfect and I can’t promise it’s as free a life as you had before, but they don’t command every moment. They don’t trifle with the little moments often. We aren’t their only demons nor their only concerns. They won’t watch you at every moment. You can still enjoy freedom.”

  Nearly before she realized she had done it, she wrapped him in a tight embrace. She felt his breath hitch. His heartbeat quickened against her cheek. He stood still as a statue.

  Her grip loosened as sense returned to her. As she began to separate herself from him, an apology ready, arms slid around her shoulders, pulling her into a firm but gentle hug.

  He was only a moment before he released her, his hand sliding down her arms.

  She took a step back, his hand falling away. The glow of a familiar Runebind caught her eye, just barely illuminating through his coat in the shaded woods; The healing rune.

  Hand over her mouth, she gasped, “I’m sorry! What did I do?”

  He chuckled, “Snapped a rib.” Before he quickly interjected seeing the shock in her eye, “But it’s alright. It’s already healed. With your new body, your magic is enough to turn a simple squeeze into a crush that can even hurt me. You’ll learn to control your strength soon enough. Fae knows it took me too long to learn that lesson myself.” He jokingly assured.

  Even with his assurance, she still felt guilty, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have hugged you.”

  “No, it’s really alright. It barely hurt. It startled me more than anything. It's been a good many years since someone's done that. I think he may have been the last person.” he nodded to Kyrian’s grave, a beam of light through the branches overhead illuminating his pinkened cheeks. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “Well, I’m still sorry.” She muttered, returning her attention to the grave, feeling her cheeks grow hot.