As I was led away by the soft hands of my tender prince, I glanced back over my slender shoulder. One of the Girla’s was watching me. No, glaring at me. My tummy turned icy cold, just for a moment. But then the door to my lovely new boudoir swung shut. 

“Come.” Callon instructed. He looped my arm in his, walking beside me with long, confident strides. He wore a yellow velvet frock coat, a fine linen tunic beneath. Rich brown britches were tucked into leather riding boots. What had he been riding? I thought back to Sparkle-pie (or whatever that horse was named). There must be stables! My heart leaped. Back at the cursed manor, in the cursed forest, we had kept a modest horse pen. The horses had been my solitude, my escape. My father had left behind a midnight black mare we called Spooky-girl. Despite all that had happened, the cauldrons, the cat, the frog with nipples, I longed only to feel her soft snout on my sugared palm. 

“Do you like your outfit?” Callon asked, and suddenly I was back in the airy halls of the Fae prince’s castle. “I had Girla make it special for you. While you were unconscious, I took a brief dalliance in your memories.” 

I froze. He stopped next to me. 

“No need to worry, m’lady, it was just a quick dance. To learn what might put you at ease. What might gain your trust.”

That sounded a bit manipulative. But I was young, and dumb, and had never had someone so handsome making eye contact with me for so long.  

“Oh- oh, yes. It’s stunning.” I ran my hands through the layers of skirts. “And so comfortable. A girl could really get some good barrel rolls in.” 

Callon chuckled and tucked a strand of hair back into my braid. I bit my lip and shook my head. My perfect curls dancing across my back. Boys didn’t like girls who rolled in the dirt. My thoughts racing to dig myself out of this hole, I remembered a more recent afternoon during little lady hour. Mother had been explaining the birds and the bees. 

Birds and bees aren’t the same thing, Archer. One has feathers and the other is a bug. 

This was entirely unhelpful. 

Archer, when it comes to a suitor, it’s probably best you keep your mouth shut unless you’re complimenting him. 

But Mummsy, I thought I was cursed to never love or be loved.

Oh shit, I forgot. Nevermind. 

“I like your yellow coat.” I blurted out, wondering if I could still save his favor.

“It’s goldenrod, actually.” He adjusted his collar. 

“More like mustard.” I offered. 

“It’s not, but that’s okay. Let’s move on.” He pressed his hand to the small of my back and led me on. 

We soon turned the corner to a small gallery. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the curtains drawn tight over the windows. Globes with flickering firelight hung from the steepled ceiling. Gilded frames crowded the walls, some as tall as me, and some as small as my tiny, petite palm. Each one was covered in a square of black lace. The air in the room was somber. 

Callon positioned himself in the center of the room, hands behind his back, and gestured to the wall. 

“Look for as long as you need, Archer. All the answers to all your questions - and many others - can be found on these walls.” 

I approached the first frame, letting my finger drift over the delicately draped lace. 

“I don’t understand.” I whispered. 

“Look under the drapery, Archer.” 

“Oh.” I revealed the first frame. There was a painting within it. I gasped. It was me! All my horrible features were immortalized by the artist's hand. My berry red lips, my tiny round nostrils, my horrible violet eyes like a dagger to my heart. 

The next painting was me again, but this time I was standing at an altar. Callon was beside me, adorned in inaugural robes. A resplendent crown adorned his brow. I was wearing what could only be a wedding dress, but it seemed to be made entirely of white rose petals. They hugged my curves and flowed from my hips down across the rows of adoring witnesses. The artist had taken special care to paint an expression of pure love between us. 

I moved to another. This one was small and seemed unrelated. It was a guinea pig, a bow atop her little head. I shrugged and decided to ignore that one. 

What was revealed next made no sense. It was me and Callon, sitting in a drawing room, frozen in laughter at an unseen joke. At our feet were two children, twin boys, blonde curls and purple eyes. Handsome like their father, unfortunate like their mother. 

“But I…I can’t…I shouldn’t…” I didn’t have words. 

I turned to the next panel. It was the largest yet, taller than me, wider than my arm span. With trembling hands, I pulled away the lace. 

I staggered back, sinking to my knees. Towering above me was a scene of pure horror.

 A violent thunderhead loomed above a pile of dead bodies. Callon’s bent limbs covering the disemboweled corpses of our children. Girlas were scattered about in puddles of gore. Dilf was there. Or what was left of him. Milf was weeping over his broken body, holding her intestines in her arms. 

Sitting proudly atop that mountain of evil was a black cat, golden eyes chiming out from the thick aggressive swatches of paint. And beside him, his dark bride. Andromeda. Adorned in dark leather, her tits pushed to her throat, smiling with blood between her teeth. My blood. 

A sobbed escaped my perky breast. I buried my face in my hands. At once, Callon was beside me, kneeling like a knight, pulling me close to his chest. I wept against his mustard yellow frock coat, trying, and failing, to get the awful image out of my head.

His arms were so strong. His chest was so ripped. 

“Did you paint all these?” I croaked, a thread of snot following me as I looked up at him. 

“What? Of course not. That would be so weird.” His breath was warm on my fluttering eyelids. “These paintings were created by my ancestors, the ancient fae.” 

“Did they dance through my memories, too?” I sniffed. 

“Archer, they died thousands of years ago. Our scholars have dedicated lifetimes to understanding their meaning. But it wasn’t until you were born, sixteen years ago, that the meaning became clear.” His voice was thick, serious. He cupped my jaw and tilted my head back. “You will either be our savior or our undoing. And for me, perhaps both.”

This was it. This was the moment. He was going to kiss me. Gentle tears, like glittering diamonds, tumbled from my ink black lashes. My lips puckered. My heart fluttered. My asshole tightened. I swooned. 

But for real. I passed the F out. Amid all the excitement, I hadn’t had anything to eat since exorcizing my bowls nearly two days ago. 

~~~ 

Far away, but making good time, a carriage bounced across the dying landscape. It was pulled by three giant toads, each leaping in cascading rhythm so the forward momentum was continuous. It rattled past twisted trees, the leaves crunchy and brown despite the mid spring season. Squirrels ate voles, and streams ran with ash and decay. 

“The world is dying.”  Oblegaimon watched the horizon with worry in his gilded eyes. “We have to get to Archer.” A hot wind ruffled his dark locks, flicking at his pert cat ears. He was bare chested, wearing white bloomers and dark knee socks. On his feet were a pair of fine leather slippers, matching the fashionable collar and cruel leash around his neck. He was yanked back from the carriage window with a sharp snap. 

“I’ll say what the world is doing and who we have to get to.” Andromeda spat. “How much further, Boggy?” 

“Still two weeks time, your wickedness.” The Bogmogog toad croaked from the driver's bench. 

“Go FASTER.” Andromeda screeched, and Bogmogog snapped the whip. 

“Ooooh, I'd like to think what that whip could do for you, my pretty little kitty.” Andromeda licked her lips. 

Oblegaimon made a gagging noise and turned  back to the window. 

“You’ll come around. You’ll be begging for it soon enough.”