"She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick" - Flannery O'Conner, A Temple of the Holy Ghost

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I woke up with the acute awareness that I could not breathe.

I jolted upright, dazed and disoriented as my eyes strained to make something out in the dark around me. That was the first thing I noticed: I couldn't see anything. There was no light. I had gone blind. Everything was so black, so inky, that there was an undeniable divine interference in it. The world had finally gone dark, and I was trapped in it.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I could always see in the dark. But this was not the usual dark, as if the consistency of night had changed, thickening and swelling to the state of tar. I was drowning in it; black, oily tar. Everything around me was tar. I trashed at the thought, clawing at whatever was holding me down. That's when I had my next realization.

I became painfully aware that somebody was on top of me, painfully squeezing my throat. Coarse fingers dug into my tender skin, nails tearing at the flesh of my neck. I couldn't help but scream as I realized I was being choked, smothered, strangled in the cover of the night. Somebody was strangling me, their entire weight pressed against my throat, their heavy body atop of mine. That's when the screaming really, the feral sounds belonging more to a savage animal than a mortal girl.

Instant regret hurtled into my body, as I realized that I couldn't inhale afterwards. My eyes bulged from my head, as everyone of my facial features strained to rip themselves from my purple face. I couldn't breathe. My throat burned. Tears were streaming down my face as my nostrils flared for air. I was mouthing mute pleas, none which had any air to be any decipherable words.

The third thing I noticed, which I could have gone my entire life without seeing, was the body on top of mine, pinning me down and restraining me as they strangled the life out of me, as if I were some rag doll whose back was to be broken. Paris Arobynn was strangling me. His hands were bruising my neck, shoving my throat inwards in an unnatural angle. My esophagus was not meant to sink so far into my muscle. Paris Arobynn was trying to kill me.

I simply stared at him, frozen in place. I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything, but stare into the sight of Paris Arobynn's black, lifeless eyes staring down at me, murder depicted within them, as he tried to break my neck— as he tried to break me. And that's when I began screaming again, despite my lack of air, hoping the action would smother out the air from me before he could kill me. I didn't want him to be the one to kill me. He hadn't earned the right.

I couldn't help it. Strangled cries clawed out my throat, each pathetic and more measly than the last, as if I were a whimpering animal. I clawed his hands, trying to get him off me. I was wheezing, gasping for air, pain beating into my skin and my bones and face, ready to burst with the unbearable pressure. I tried to call out to Paris. No sound came out, just my wheezing pleas. The wetness on my face informed me that I was sobbing.

I couldn't understand what was going on. Was he having another nightmare? Why was he attacking me? Was he possessed? Did I do something to set him off? To trigger him? What did I do? He shouldn't be hurting me like this. Even at the peak of his rage, he didn't squeeze like this, digging his nails into my already wounded flesh. He didn't strangle me in such a harsh, animalistic way.

He held me and he burned me, but he did not try to collapse my windpipe by crushing it together. He was trying to collapse my throat, to squeeze my muscles and tendons and arteries into one impossible form. I felt as though my neck would erupt with the intensity and pressure that was crushing it down.

My chest spammed as it flailed for air, but I couldn't do anything to help it. My chest hurt. It hurt so much, an ache resonating through it as if someone had cracked a stake into it. I was full on sobbing now, my body seizing as I tried to stop. Stop everything. I had trusted him in my room. I trusted him to sleep in my room. To turn my back to him. I trusted him.

Because of this pain, because of this overwhelming panic, and hurt, both physical and emotional from Paris' betrayal, it took a while for me to notice it. It took me a while to notice the figure watching us. A woman, in the shadows. A woman shrouded in darkness, watching me in a manner that was cruelly nostalgic, tearing into my memories and reminding me of another life that I did everything to forget. A tall woman stood in the shadows, watching me be strangled to death. Watching me like the shadow figures did when I was a child, at all hours of the night, refusing to let me rest.

I tried to focus on the woman. I tried to understand who she was, straining my ever-blurring eyes, that were soaked with tears. My face was slick and wet, as tears ran down my jaw and hair clung to my sweat-beaded forehead. I was sobbing my body shaking. My shadows were gone. They were gone. Paris was killing me and they were gone.

The image of the woman shuddered—shifted. As she came into the light, I nearly recoiled in shock. At first I had thought she was Rowena, in her pale, statuesque glory. Her milk white skin glowed garishly in the inky darkness. But then, the eyes shifted, the features sharpening, and I was staring at my mother. The haze of sleep cleared, and her presence became all the more real.

Realization dawned on me, and seeing the shock on my face, she sent me a smile. A cruel, cold smile, as she watch me flail under the body above me. As she watched me claw and sob and heave, trying to claw out. She was enjoying it. She was enjoying my hysteria, my helplessness, my panic. She was enjoying watching me be at her mercy. She was waiting for me to beg her for help. She was waiting for me to beg.

I recoiled at the thought, and that's when I realized. The hands on my neck—they weren't hot. They were cold as a corpses. They weren't hot. Paris was always hot. My body chilled as I stilled completely, black fading out my vision. I held on. I refused to let go. But I also refused to look up. I couldn't bring myself to look up. The hands were cold. Cold against my skin. I refused to look up, because if I did, I would not recognize Paris above me. It was not Paris that was strangling me to death.

A squeeze that shoved my windpipe in farther into my muscle, forced me to snap my eyes upwards. I didn't want to. I was begging my body not to. I tried screwing my eyes shut, but he just pressed down harsher on my neck, laying his entire weight onto the soft spot of my throat. I was supposed to look. He wanted me to look.

My esophagus was being bent inwards, as a hose would when stepped on. I gagged, jerking upwards against the pressure, and my eyes snapped open. My gaze shot upwards, and was met by black eyes. My mouth gaped open in horror, as I sobbed and mouthed silent pleas. They didn't voice.

The figure on top of me; black eyes, so lifeless that I couldn't understand how a living human being having such demonic looking features, and that smile. That fucking smile. That perfect, faultless smile, grinning at me ferally. Smugly. Knowing that they had me right where they wanted. Knowing that I didn't stand a chance. That smile, which I sacrificed so much to make sure I would never have to see again.

Out of pure shock, I couldn't stop myself from choking out, "No. No. I killed you"

The words were raspy. Uneven. Strained. Pathetic and tear stained and desperate. But he understood them. He heard them, and he simply smiled. Cypress Andal of House Fontaine, long deceased healer of Wilhemine Fontaine, heard them. And he smiled.

My body released, as if a tether was snapped. I jerked up screaming. Cypress dissipated and Paris reappearing. He had switched his hold from my throat to my wrists, pinning them down against the floor. The adrenaline from seeing that smile, that horrific, disgusting smile made me shoot up, slamming my forehead into his nose from the position change. The resistance suddenly disappeared, as though my body was projected forward, all of the pressure I had been held back with slinging me forward.

"Get off me!" I screamed at him, my voice so haggard that I sounded feral. Like a wild animal, with my bloodshot eyes as I crawled away from him, on all fours. My entire body convulsed as I gasped for air. My hands stung from the bite of the stone against the skin, but when I looked down, I was shocked to see glittering shards all over the floor. A glass had dropped from my desk during the panic, and I had been crawling in it.

"Eulalia, stop!" Paris shouted, extending his hands to make me still. I only scrambled back harder, sobbing and heaving as I dragged myself away from his hands. His cursed hands. The hands he's hurt me over and over again with. Not his hands. Cypresses hands. I shook my head, trying to clear my head of the haze and confusion and simply the sight of that smile. The smile that had seared itself into my mind.

He continued towards me, hands outstretched. I couldn't breathe. My hand closed around a particularly big chunk of glass that had been digging into my palm, sinking past flesh and into muscle. When Paris came close enough, close enough to touch me, I slashed. He yelped back in shock, but unharmed.

"Do not touch me" I snarled at him, my voice enraged. Droplets of blood splattered onto the floor, small trickles running down my forearms. My neck was wet, and I touched a shaking hand to it. Indents. Dozens of small indents and crevices littered along the already uneven skin of my throat. When I brought my hand back down, I was startled to find it completely painted in crude blood.

"What have you done?" I called out to him, my voice breaking and cracking, extorted from all the screaming. Paris stared at me with wide eyed shock and terror, as he observed the blood on my hands and arms and neck. Wet hair cling to my slick forehead.

"What are you??" I snarled out, with a newfound anger. I wanted to mount him and slit his throat. Slit the throat of whatever imposter was in my room, in his body. I knew I hadn't imagined the black eyes. I knew I had not imagined them.

"Lia, please-" Paris whispered out, his hands outstretched again. I flinched back, desperate to escape his touch.

"Do not call me that" I hissed, turning my face away from him, my eyes screwed shut. I couldn't stand the sound of my name coming from his lips. I grabbed my head harshly with my hands, weaving my fingers into my roots. I was rocking as I tried to calm my hysterical breathing. The glass was dropped on the floor as I tugged at my hair with clenched fists.

"Eulalia" he began again slowly, "Eulalia, please. Get away from there. You're sitting near glass"

I continued rocking, my body tucked into a ball, as I tried to make myself as small as possible with the hopes of simply disappearing. I was cornered—something I had done to myself by retreating towards the walls. My magic was not back yet. It was not back from my earlier—from what I did earlier. I was still drained and I was cornered with somebody who would kill me. I was cornered. The thought made a new wave of tears hit me as my body racked with sobs.

"What have you done? Why?" I sobbed out still rocking, shaking my head. What had I done? Oh Gods— I did this. I let him into my room, when I had no magic, no wards. I had chose to sleep on the floor with him, besides going back to my warded bed. I had trusted him while my guards were down, while my back was turned and while I was vulnerable. I had trusted him, and he did this.

"I let you in" I suddenly looked up at him, choked with tears, "I let you in. And you do this. I let you in" I sobbed out, my voice laced with betrayal and hurt. My entire body shook. Paris reciprocated my agony, his eyebrows tilted up. His eyes glistened in the dim light of the moon.

"Eules— Lia— please" he began, trying to reason with me. I shook my head frantically.

"No no no no" I whispered out, my voice raising. Paris attempted to start again, making me jerk away, "I said NO!" I screamed, my voice breaking hysterically. Paris had stopped nearing me, and his hands were lowered when he realized it was doing more harm than good. I went back to rocking, attempting to think—to focus. To focus on what happened.

Why they were in my room? Why they were here? Who let them in? My mind remained blank. Nothing. I wailed in frustration and terror, my brain splitting with the effort to put pieces together that didn't fit. I was jamming them in, forcing them to work when they didn't. They didn't work. I didn't know.

I didn't know. The thought made me still in shock and horror. I didn't know. I spent my entire life, working, learning, obsessing over information, making sure that I would never be caught unknowing. Making sure I would never be at the will of others because of my own ignorance. I had spent a decade learning— a decade protecting myself with knowledge, so I could never be blindsided again. So I could be prepared. And then at his appearance— at the appearance of my mother—they ruined it. They ruined everything. They ruined my mind. They ruined me.

They ruined my mind with so little effort, like they did to me as a child. It took me one moment with them to regress back into that role. One singular moment. I had not improved. They broke me again. And what was worse, was that they did it in the past with sedatives, and now they did it with nothing. That little effort. I was nothing, spiraling into panic simply at the sight of them.

"Eulalia, darling, please" Paris' voice broke through the waves and waves of panicked thoughts. His words smashed through the stone walls that I had grown around me, as I cornered myself in the center of a mental labyrinth.

I paused, glancing up at him curiously, with a tear-soaked face, "What?"

"Darling" Paris repeated slowly, "Love, sweetheart, pumpkin, bumblebee"

My face contorted into confusion and mild disgust, as my eyebrows furrowed and I leaned away from him. He had lost his mind.

"You're a fucking pumpkin." I seethed at him, my lip curling downwards as I cried. I saw Paris' chest expand in a shaky inhale. He closed his eyes momentarily, as if relieved.

"Yes" Paris repeated, swallowing, "Yes, I am pumpkin. I am whatever you want me to be, Eulalia. Just— just come here. Get away from the glass, please"

My mind instantly snapped back, my face contorting back to hatred as I hissed, "No. I don't trust you. Get away from me, daema"

I used the slur for demon in ancient tongues, knowing he would understand the offensive word better. If I had startled him, he didn't show it, remaining concerningly calm. My hackles raised again. I couldn't read his face. It sent me into another spiral of panic.

"I am not a demon, Eulalia—"Paris began, but I cut him off before he could continue.

"Stop. I saw you" I shuddered at the sight of Cypresses face atop me. My entire body trembled, soaked in sweat and blood.

"I am Paris, Eulalia. Paris Arobynn" Paris said steadily, watching me intently. I wanted to claw his eyes out for looking at me. Those eyes that had been watching me, even in the library. Those eyes. I wanted to blind him. To hurt him for making me doubt myself.

"Prove it" I seethed, holding the glass shard out towards him again. Paris glanced at me, mentally debating something for a long moment, before his facial features twisted into a cringe.

He looked pained, grimacing even, as he came to a resolution. Paris looked me dead in the eyes, before saying  bluntly, "The day that you used your smile to calm me down from a panic attack, when we nearly killed the robber in the woods, I knew in certainty that I was in love with you"

The makeshift knife dropped from my hand to the floor in shock. It was covered in sticky, vermillion blood, clattering against the tile in the silent room. The noise was nearly as deafening as the beat of my racing heart.  I stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, my mouth partially ajar. What the Hell was he talking about?

Paris continued, as if nothing was amiss, "It wasn't your clever little word play and anxiety tricks that helped me. It was your smile. It was the first time I saw it, and it shocked me straight out of my panic...After we nearly murdered that man in the woods, I couldn't breathe. It was the first time I had ever killed someone. I was panicking. And then you stopped it. That's what I tried to do for you in the tunnel. That's what I tried to do now. I tried to shock you out of your panic with my affection. And all I could think about was your smile and how it affected me— how I wanted to do the same for you. How I wanted you to feel what I felt at that moment, seeing you smile. And when it did calm you down in the tunnel, it gave me the slightest bit of hope— the slightest bit of reassurance that you felt something for me. That I had a chance of affecting you the same way you affected me—"

"I don't want to hear this, Paris" I said, my voice rising in volume. I pressed my hands to my ears, shaking my head. This wasn't what I meant. This wasn't what I meant.

"Well you're going to listen" Paris replied bluntly, silencing my protests, "You asked me to prove it? I'm proving it"

I simply stared at him, my eyes watering anew. What did he want from me? Why was he using this against me? Why was he using the feelings I had for him as a way to get me to listen? As a way to control me and get me to comply?

"Don't" I choked out, closing my watery eyes and refusing to look at him, "Don't. You don't get to use my feelings against me. You have no right to use them against me"

"This isn't about your feelings. It's about mine. You asked me to prove it? I'm proving it. Now you have to listen" He stated firmly, but not harshly, forcing me to hear him out, "I was satisfied with that sliver of affection, even if It was just lust on your end. I am satisfied with it. As long as I got to be around you, I didn't mind if you weren't as open with it as me.

In the grand scheme of things, you don't have to be obvious or loud with it. After all, I'm technically the sun in our relationship, and you're...you're not the moon or the stars or something equally as insignificant. You're like the infinite, inky darkness around me that holds me up and lets me shine. Without that darkness, there would not be much special about me, would there?" He asked me.

When I didn't reply, he continued, "That's how we work. And I adore this dynamic and I adore you. So don't tell me I don't love you, because I do. You're not the moon, or the stars, or something inadequate enough to be compared to the sun. You are the sky, the space, the darkness, the universe that holds everything important to me. You are everything. I am simply a big, flashy star thats thankful to be allowed within your orbit, within your world. You got that?"

I shook my head refusing to listen to him, clamping down on my quivering lip harshly. My nails dug into my temple as I covered my ears. My entire body balled up as I shook in denial. What was going on? If he wasn't Cypress then who was? What was?

"What do you want from me? Why are you telling me this?" I choked out, tugging at my roots with a painful force. My head was resting on my knees as I tried to compress myself into nothingness.

"I'm telling this to you so you'll believe it's me" Paris said gently, "I'm telling this because I'm not going to drag you out. I need you to come to me willingly" Paris said gently, a few feet away from me. I hadn't noticed him near.

"Come on, Eulalia, please. You're sitting in glass. You're bleeding. We need to heal you" he said.

"You're bleeding" I said to him, my voice breaking. I had hurt him. I was going crazy. I was loosing it.

"That is your blood, Lia. I'm not hurt" he reassured. I pried one of my eyes open, looking over at him hesitantly. True to his word, there was no fresh blood on him. But the wound on my neck was still present.

"My neck—" I choked out, voicing my words as I come to a horrifying realization,  "My neck— if you're you— why would you— you hurt my neck— you hurt me"

Paris' face paled, as he stared at me in silence. His lack of reply made me uncertain, as I paused my approach. I stilled, inching away from him slightly. Paris continued to stare at me, his face depicting utter horror.

"That's what you were dreaming about?" Paris quietly said after a long silence, his voice strained, as if it took immense effort to simply say the words out loud.

My heart fell to my stomach as I stared at him. He didn't know. It was a dream.I had been having a nightmare, and he didn't know what it was about. And I had just unwittingly told him. I had revealed to him that he was in my dreams. I had revealed to him that I was scared of him. That I still thought of that night— that it still haunted me.

"No—no" I tried to quickly take back my words, "Not you, Paris"  I wanted to tell him what the dream was about, so he would feel better, so he wouldn't feel so guilty, but I couldn't. I couldn't force myself to say the words. I couldn't bring myself to voice them, as if they were some how less real if Paris didn't know. I was already fucked up. He didn't need to know about this too.

Paris wasn't listening to my pleas, already turning away from me. I scrambled to my feet, my knobby knees nearly collapsing under my body weight, as though I was a newborn faun. I swallowed my cries of pain from the glass being shoved into the soles of my feet, desperate to get near him. We had fallen asleep in our gala clothing, lacking the energy to even change. I stumbled to Paris' side with immense effort, before quickly grabbing his bicep with both my hands. My hands didn't even wrap around it all the way as I used it for support.

"Paris, stop" I told him, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Just wait" 

At my insistence, he swiveled around, staring down at me with a despaired expression on his face. He somehow looked even more tormented, "What in Araw's name are you apologizing for?" He demanded from me.

My legs gave out in that moment, still weak from the tunnel and the multiple shards of glass lodged in my muscle. I didn't bother crying out as my head barreled towards the floor. My eyes rolled back into my head at the sudden movement. Before I could collide with the stone, I could feel Paris' stable grip on my body. Holding me by my arms, Paris gently lowered us down to the floor.

"Why are you walking, Eulalia? You have glass in your feet" He hissed at me, quickly getting to work to fix the wounds. Small bits of glass floated out from my skin and pieced together into the vase that had shattered. The floating glass drew my gaze to the rest of  my room.

My dorm was an utter mess, with shattered glass on the floor and items thrown off shelves. Furniture was upturned and clothes were strewn in every corner. My shadows must have riled up an entire tornado in response to my panic, attacking every corner in the room trying to help me. Trying to protect me from my own mind, even though they lacked the energy to form. The thought made my eyes water. I had been drained for days, and yet this dream scared me so horrifically that it riled my shadows up to help me.

It was a dream. Maybe it was sleep paralysis. It hadn't happened to me since I was five, but the memory was clear enough in my mind for me to recognize it, and the fear was real enough to rile my dormant shadows too. Even if it hadn't been so long since my last episode, I could never have prepared myself for it. There was a thing about sleep paralysis, especially for magic fueled witches, that you could never anticipate. It was horrifying.

It was always the same figures in my room, watching me sleep or standing eerily in corners. Or hurting me. And me being in frozen in place, unable to move or fight back, until I woke up screaming. I felt nauseous as I remembered the experience. I hadn't had sleep paralysis since I was five. The night terrors were particularly horrible that year. Cypress would constantly be having to sedate me, because I could never remain asleep through the night. I would always wake up, and for good reason.

The nightmares that year— they were predictions. Warnings, of what was to come. Of my manifestation of power. Of who my patron God would be. Of the horror of my soon to be magic. It was all a warning. My body was stressed. Terrified of the magic that was to come, rightfully recognizing itself as the prey, simply waiting dormant for my magic to ravish me. To tear me apart and kill me, or inhabit me and give me a power that no fragile, mortal body was meant to hold. Yes, the nightmares were quite terrible. Which is why I couldn't understand why they suddenly came back. There was no reason for me to be having such nightmares anymore. I killed the previous reason.

I could understand why I was having them as a child. That proximity to Nyx, to her divine power, it was too much for my mortal body to hold. I was dangerously close to divinity that year. It would drive me mad, if it had lasted any longer, which is why all powerful people were some degree of mad. That immortality that came with magic always made you toe the line of insanity.

That same, maddening magic had been stalking me that year, awaiting to snatch my body up in its divine claws. They suddenly stopped the day I ascended. They stopped the day I opened my arms to the darkness. The day I made a sacrifice. They stopped then, so I couldn't understand why they began anew now.

I sighed, before running a hand through my roots, tugging harshly. I looked down at Paris, who was silently working through my wounds. I was shocked to see the anger on his face, with his defined jaw clenched, because he was working so tenderly on my wounds. I pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder, before lifting it to his forehead, brushing the hair out of his face. True to his word, the gash on his face had disappeared. There was no gash. I was going crazy.

"Paris" I said gently. He didn't reply, continuing to stare at my leg. He had healed my hands earlier, cleaning off all the blood from them and leaving them spotless.

When he didn't look up at me, I gently cupped his face with my hand, forcing him to catch my eyes, "It wasn't you, Paris. Please don't be mad. I didn't mean it to come out like that"

Paris' red-rimmed eyes widened in shock, as he quickly recoiled from me, "I'm not mad at you" He choked out, his eyes watering and mouth contorted in horror, "Gods, why would I be mad at you? I'm mad at myself-"

I cringed at his words, quickly cutting him off, "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear that, Paris. It wasn't about you. The nightmare wasn't about you"

Paris stilled, watching me silently, "Then who?"

I looked away from him sharply, wrapping my arms around my freshly healed knees, "Someone else"

"Oh" he said quietly. I could tell from the dejected tone that he believed I was lying. I dragged my hands down my face in frustration. Why could he not trust me? Why did he always need this?All of this openness? Could he not just trust my word for what it was.

"It wasn't about you, Paris" I seethed at him, contemptful that he was forcing this from me, "It was about my mother"

"You were screaming for her to get off you?" Paris said suspiciously, "You were clawing your throat. You scratched it so bad that you started bleeding. When has your mother ever burned your neck, Eulalia?"

I screwed my eyes shut, pushing my palms into my eyes sockets harshly, partly in consolation and partly to force him to stop looking at me. I didn't like it that he had direct view to my face. I gripped my roots and tugged harshly, before swiveling around to look at him. I couldn't handle him. I couldn't deal with him.

"That's not—It was about my mother and Cypress, Paris" I said quietly, dejected and hurt that he forced it out from me. My words were quiet. The damage was already done.

"They used to sedate me" I sighed out, attempting to take on an indifferent tone, "You know this. They would pin me down and force me to inject it. Force me to allow my senses to be dulled to the point where I could only lay there and watch, practically braindead. I could only lay there and take it"

Paris looked horrified, his mouth twisted. I shook my head.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? That I had a nightmare about being held down again"

I ran a tired hand through my hair, before cringing in realization that It was covered in blood. Paris opened his mouth, and I snarled, already anticipating his words, "Don't you dare apologize. Do not. I will topple that bookshelf on top of you if you do. Don't"

Paris promptly shut his mouth, staring at me. He then wordlessly sunk down to the floor, sitting with his back against the wall, and patting the spot next to him. A wave of deja-vu hit me as I realized that he was sitting where we sat that first night he spent in my room, when he had magical fever and woke up screaming. I guess it was my turn to confide in my nightmares. I did not want to be near him, and stayed put, a few feet away. I wrapped my arms around me.

"Do you usually have nightmares?" Paris asked me softly.

Before I could stop myself, I had harshly snapped, "No" at him, refusing to divulge in the conversation. Paris seemed unbothered by my outburst, and only continued staring at me intently.

"What caused for you to have a nightmare this time? If you don't usually have them?" Paris asked gently, moving towards me. His arm was warm against mine, and the feeling made me unreasonably angry. My mother caused this nightmare. The feel of her repulsive magic had triggered a flood of unpleasant memories and panic in me, reminding me of things that I had spent so much time trying to repress.

"Do not touch me right now. Don't. Please" I snapped at him. I could not do this right now. I could not bear the weight of his touch.

The realization deflated me, replacing my anger with an overwhelming sadness. I was so tired of being angry. I was so tired of being so hateful. That's all I was— hateful. I no longer had the energy to fight him at this particular moment. I no longer had the energy to do anything but stare up at the ceiling and try not to think about how miserable I was in my prison of flesh.

I tried not to think about how much better it was in my shadow form, where I felt nothing—where I was connected to nothing in this wretched realm. I couldn't even remember who I was in there, and with that came a peculiar sense of freedom— a relief in simply not being me. It was the happiest I could ever remember myself being in my life. If not happy, then atleast content. I had been content for the first time in my life, in my shadow form, and thought overwhelmed me with the urge to cry.

"No— I" I began, sighing and tracing my thumb over Paris' palm, relishing in the spot where our hands were touching, "No. I don't have nightmares. Well. I have bad dreams. Always. But never full blown nightmares"

"Bad dreams are nightmares" Paris pointed out, the partial confusion evident in his voice. It was as though he was trying to make me see reason. I wanted to smack him.

"No, Paris" I repeated, "I never have good dreams. Ever. They're always grotesque and unpleasant and I never enjoy them. But there is a clear difference between them and nightmares. I haven't had a nightmare in years"

"What's the difference?" Paris asked. My head was knocked back, refusing to look at Paris. This was humiliating as it was. I didn't need to stare at him while I was at it.

"Bad dreams are simply bad dreams, Paris. Where I'm being hunted by men, or where I have to watch the twins be eaten by flesh eating maggots, or where I have to fight off enraged Jinns. It's all the same. They're limited to the dream realm. Nightmares—nightmares are different. They're all consuming. They don't end when you wake up"

I glanced over at him nervously. By the furrow in his eyebrows, I could tell he didn't understand what I meant. I sighed, before scooting closer. I touched my finger to his forehead, smoothing out the furrow between his brows.

"When I was a child, I used to regularly get sleep paralysis. I would wake up at night, and see beings standing at the foot of my bed, or watching me sleep from the corner of my room. I would have horrendous nightmares, and they wouldn't stop when I woke up, either. That's partially why Cypress would sedate me. He would come into my room in the middle of the night, sedatives ready, because I couldn't sleep through the night without having these nightmares, and then sleep paralysis. Eventually, they stopped when I...ascended into my magic, and when I grew older, I learned of what sleep paralysis was. There wasn't some nightmare goddess or demonic entities trying to eat me. It was sleep paralysis. But when you have nightmares, there is no logic. At least when you have bad dreams, you're aware that you can survive them. Nightmares don't offer you that same mercy"

Paris gave me a serious nod, "You know, sedatives didn't originally work very well for me either"

I glanced at him curiously, "And they do now? I don't remember you taking them tonight"

He gave me a wide smile, before shrugging, "I think it's something about your room. Or your wards. I don't have nightmares when I'm in here. I couldn't figure it out before, but after hearing about your sleep paralysis, I realized you must have put an enchantment in here. Against restless sleep, right?"

I froze, staring at him with wide eyes. I swallowed heavily, thinking of the best way to escape this conversation. My eyes skimmed around the room frantically, before finally locking eyes with him again. In a small voice, I muttered out, "Paris, I—" I cleared my throat awkwardly, "Uhm. There are no sleep enchantments in here"

Paris' eyebrows furrowed, before understanding illuminated his Adonic face. And then he broke out into a wide smile.

"So it's just you then, huh" he said cheekily, "I knew that. I was just testing to see if you would admit it"

I was frozen in place. Horror etched itself into my features, encasing my entire body into solid stone. Paris laughed at my expression, before swooping down and pressing his lips to mine. It was only a second long, and I didn't even reciprocate. His lips were soft and warm and comforting, while mine were frozen solid. It was probably like kissing a rubbery corpse. Paris pulled back instantly after the peck, but continued staring at me with a wide smile, amusement twinkling in his green eyes.

I pursed my dry lips. Wonderful. They were also chapped. A startling residue of something sweet— vanilla and something else, like cinnamon—greeted me. I looked over at Paris suspiciously.

"Paris Arobynn, why are your lips sweet? Did you poison me?" I asked him, my eyes narrowing as I pressed my fingers to my mouth. It would make sense. Poison often came with sweet tangs to encourage the victim to keep ingesting it. It was one of the first lessons we learned in Toxicology class. It was a technique that Cesarie herself used.

Paris' cheeks tainted pink, as he hastily blurted, "Yes"

My eyes narrowed even further. He was lying. I grabbed his chin and yanked him towards me again, giving him another peck. The action allowed me to confirm that he tasted like a cake.

"Are you wearing lipstick?" I demanded. Paris laughed at me, pulling me close.

"Its chapstick. I wear vanilla chapstick. It's enchanted, and lasts for up a to a week without reapplication" Paris gave me a grin as if trying to sell the product to me. I laughed at him, the sound quiet and tired, but still a laugh. My lips tugged up against my will. Paris and his bloody vanilla,

My eyes spotted a pink bow that had fallen out of my bureau, suddenly reminding me of my pet. I ran a hand through my shadows, sending ripples to the shadow pockets arranged around my room. When I felt Beastly's dormant presence on the other side, I sighed in relief. At least I did not wake him up and scare him too.

'Thanks' I thought out to the darkness. I did not see them yet, my energy still too weak for them to materialize into a corporal form, but I still felt them. The darkness was charged in their comforting energy, and I felt safe, for once, with them all around me. They were everywhere. All that the darkness touched— that was mine. They were mine.

"Beastly's okay?" Paris asked me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. He felt like a soft heater behind my back. warmth seeping onto my. My hair fanned down behind my back, and Paris gently moved it over my shoulder so I wouldn't be uncomfortable. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply.

"How did you know I was checking on Beastly" I asked him, murmuring out of the corner of my mouth, sleep tugging me. I felt Paris shift behind me, and I realized he was shrugging.

"You were staring at his bow" Paris yawned, nuzzling his face into my shoulder, "Its a miracle he didn't wake up after the chaos your shadows caused. They were inconsolable"

My eyes snapped open, my back going rigid as I shot up from where I was laying on Paris. Paris riled with me, sensing my unease.

"What?" He asked me.

"Why is Beastly so calm?" I demanded, my voice deadly quiet, "He is never calm, especially not after having sensed my panic"

On a usual occasion, this storm would have been enough for him to jump through realms and end up in the mortal world. He would have utilized such an opportunity to get out, knowing my wards were not all in place during such moments of panic. Instead, he did not move. He remained on the floor of one of the shadow chambers. I sensed it as one of his feeding rooms, due to the large amounts of objects on the floor. Piles of bones and demon skulls lay as prominent land markers in the abyss of black.

My stomach dropped even further, "He's asleep in his dining area"

"Your dog has a dining room?" Paris asked, attempting to crack a joke. Irritation contaminated my growing panic. My chest hurt, constricting with each rapid breath.

"No, Paris, he does not have a dining room" I hissed, "It's one of the chambers he uses to eat his meals. He does not sleep in those chambers. He does not nest among his rotting food. Something is wrong"

Having noticed my newfound panic, Paris' eyebrows furrowed. He quickly came to where I had been standing, lost in my murky thoughts.

"Hey. It's okay. Let's just check on him" Paris offered me consolation, rubbing my back. I could feel his hand hitting the bones jutting out of my skin, ruining any possibility of his action being soothing. I didn't know how to tell him I had no magic to check on Beastly.

Instead, I took a deep breath and sucked it up. I could use bits of my panic to fuel the action, but found myself unable to do it wordlessly, as I always had. The hair stood up on my arms at the realization— the realization that I could very soon be locked out of the shadow realm due to my lack of magic. My stomach turned inside out on itself.

I grit out the enchantment, my jaw wooden as I choked through the words. The space in front of me rippled, till the air finally stretched and ripped apart. My eyes strained in the absolute darkness as I tried to make out the contents of the chamber, attempting to differentiate the piles of bones from Beastly.

"Beastly baby" I called out uncertainly. My voice echoed slightly in the chamber, before the noise was completely swallowed up by the mass of darkness on all sides of me. I nervously stepped one foot in, and all of the hair instantly stood up on my body. Goosebumps painted my near-translucent skin, making a greasy hollowness enter my stomach. A sickening cool sensation ran down my spine, as if a boney finger was dragging itself down my back. I was not alone in here.

"Eulalia?" Paris asked as I stared into the darkness, frozen into place with wide eyes. My breath was haggard, an unwelcoming cold settling into my bones. I finally located Beastly, a silent, unmoving lump on the floor in one of the far corners of the room. The acidic smell of demon blood mingled into the scent of winter wind in the night realm.

"Beastly?" I whispered out, and instantly regretted it, when I heard a hollow screech come from the other end of the hall. One that was too high pitched and monstrous to belong to Beastly.

"Eulalia, get out of there" Paris hissed, grabbing my shoulder. Another screech bellowed from the end of the hall, this time closer than the last. My stomach sunk even further, an intense wave of nausea overtaking me completely. I slammed a hand out to the wall, attempting to keep myself from collapsing.

"Get Beastly. I won't be able to drag him out. He's too big. He's in the corner on the left. Next to the large, white Cockatrice skull. You can see it amongst the darkness. Use the bones to guide you" I hissed out, my voice deadly quiet and surprisingly steady. Paris stiffened beside me, his fingers digging further into my shoulder, reinforcing his hold on me, as it expecting me to bolt. He knew me well.

"Get out. Now" Paris hissed to me attempting to drag me back. I twisted out of his grip, instead entering farther into the chamber, limping slightly from the gashes on my feet. As soon as I was away from the exit, I slammed my jagged nails into the open wounds on my forearms— the ones that Paris' healing magic had scabbed over only hours before. I grit my teeth as I used my nails to mutilate the scars, ripping them open and beginning the blood flow anew. My entire arm burned from the effort.

I lifted my forearm up above me, allowing the scent of my witch blood to hit the air, while also simultaneously making sure no drops hit the floor next to the exit.

"Eulalia, get out. NOW!" Paris hissed at me, observing my gruesome actions, before rushing into the shadow realm after me. Instantly, all color leeched from his face, and he stumbled from the sudden pressure change.

"Drag Beastly out. He's by the bones. Just drag him through the portal and it'll close by itself. I'll hold it off and try to buy you some time. It's coming. I can feel it" I whispered to him, inhaling deeply. When I opened my eyes anew, I noticed a pale glow had settled over Paris' face, illuminating his beautiful features. I suddenly realized that my silver eyes had glazed over and begun glowing, and it was casting light on him. He looked holy. Another screech echoed in the chamber, indicating the Chudovisches close proximity, ripping me from the trance of Paris' beauty. The hair on my arms remained upright and rigid.

"Just get Beastly out. I'll buy you some time. I'll try to" I whispered to Paris, shaking my head, before slamming up a shadow wall between Paris and I. He recoiled at the storm of black that suddenly shot up between us. The last thing I saw was his horrified face, his eyes wide. The screaming began only after the wall was established between us, his haggard voice screaming my name, banging on the wall of black. The force of his blows sent ripples through my realm. I shook my head at the fool, my eyes screwing shut at my own actions.

Before I could come to regret my decisions, I began a run in the other direction, tears welling up behind my closed lids. I also began screaming, my vocal cords shredding from the effort, "I'm here! I'm here! Come and get me. I'm here!"

My words echoed deafeningly loud in the chamber, and Paris' bangs at the other side of the wall became more urgent and intense with each hit. He was still screaming my name as I ran further and further away from him. I only hoped he would regain his sense long enough to get himself and Beastly out. I didn't know how long my wall would hold up. I didn't know how long I would hold up.

As I sprinted, half-limping from my already existing injuries, I dug my nails further into my arm. I bit down on my lip from the pain, till I felt the metallic tang of blood in my own mouth. I shoved my fingers deep within the disfigured flesh of my arm, widening the open wound and increasing blood flow. When the hot liquid was streaming stably down my arm, leaving a vermillion trail of witch blood behind me, I sprinted deeper into the darkness, all light fading behind me. Rage grew in my chest with each bite of the pain that I felt.

I never made it habit to pray to the Gods, but now I prayed for him. Ravage my soul, but leave him be. 

I prayed that I could hold it off long enough till Paris could get out. I prayed and prayed up until the very moment I came face to face with the horrific demon, that had multilated Beastly. Until I looked into its very face. And then I prayed for the demon, after what it had done to Beastly, and for what I was about to do to it. It would need the mercy of all the Saints and the prayers of all the nonbelievers to survive what was about to befall it. In the reflection of the demons black eyes, the last thing I observed was the glow of my silver eyes consuming my entire figure, till I was nothing but a being of light.

I prayed to the Gods for mercy.

∞

A/N- guess who got dumped for the third time in two weeks. I hope it's not permanent but Jesus this man gives me stress. I hope I get a curable disease or something so he feels bad. Or maybe get hit by a car at the very least, so I can get hospitalized. Yeah. Thanks for reading my loves!!!