*KAT IS SUMMONED IN A SWIRL OF DARK MAGIC AND BLACK HEART EMOJIS*
VELCOME....to chapter 15. I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND A LENGTHY CHAPTER????
Don't forget to vote or comment like maniacs on this book... OR ELSE THE CUPCAKE WILL GET IT! *points to cupcake strapped to a spinning wheel where I am throwing axes awfully close to the target*
Moments after Death left, his shadow guards returned with their eerily silent, concealed faces. One of them linked the cuffs on my wrists to a different chain, one that was thinner and sort of reminded me of a fancy leash, before not-so-nicely yanking me toward him.
I was hauled up a flight of stairs, before the shadow guards dumped me before two armed men with black feathered helmet and swords at their belts. Knights. I only got a quick look at their faces because of the shadows draping down from their helmets, but I did notice they both had dark grey horns that curved back away from their faces, and different uniforms than the shadow men.
"What are the chances of there being a flushable toilet up in here?" I asked, while being escorted by these two horned men up yet another flight of stone stairs. "Any of you big guys ever hear of a toilet? That flushes?"
Neither of the guard's said anything.
"All I'm saying is if I have to squat over a bucket to use the bathroom? I'm going to make a real big stink about it. I meanââlike make a problem, not an actual big stink. Not that I don't poop. Of course, I poop. I actually can't remember the last time I went number two, though. You know when you visit someone's home, and you stay over, and you just can't seem to use the bathroom like you can in your own home...? You know what? Just forget about the whole thing, carry on with your slence. Why should I seek any social interaction anyway? My cell wall was a fantastic listenerÂÂâÂ"
"Pipe it down, female," said the guard to my right.
"Don't talk to her like that." The guard on my left surprisingly came to my defense. "She's a lady."
"What kind of lady talks of making a big stink?"
Their voices sounded awfully familiar.
"I'm sorry, am I supposed to act like I don't go to the bathroom ever?" I asked. "Would that make you feel more comfortable with your manliness, sir?"
Now the guard on the left was laughing. "Damn, she just baked you."
"You two have names?" I asked.
"Leonard," said the guard to my left, and my heart skipped a beat.
"Wolf," reluctantly answered the more bitter knight to my right.
Sandwiched between Envy and Greed. I wondered if I'd meet the other Deadly Sins in this memory.
"Petruchio mentioned you when we shared a cell," I told Wolf. "He said you became a knight."
"Indeed, I got a raise for good behavior."
"More like for not getting caught doing wrong," Leo said with a chuckle.
"How is that nutty fellow anyway?" Wolf asked me. "Didn't try any of his love dove moves on you, did he?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle. He was belligerently drunk last time I saw him, so if he had tried anything, I could have just poked him, and he probably would have fallen over."
Wolf snickered. "He must have attended one of the prince's parties. He tends to lean on the ale when he's nervous to entertain."
"So," Leo chimed in, "you're the girl who got Petruchio an extension on his seventh strike?"
"An extension?" I echoed. "I made the prince laugh! He was supposed to spare Petruchio!"
"Yeah, well, His Highness claimed to the court that he cleared his throat," Wolf replied. "I was in the room, and it did appear to be as such, but poor Petruchio, His Highness is really testing him."
There was something in his choice of words that made me look to Wolf. "What do you mean, testing him?"
"The jester's got a nice room now," Leo cut over me, and I was suspicious he was changing the subject. "In case you were worried if he was sent back to the dungeons or beheaded."
"Surprised he didn't kill you at the very least," Wolf said to me. "You should have seen the way this lady spoke to him, Leo. Called his wang a pale and unsatisfactory in front of the entire court."
"Indeed, it is curious he let you live," Leo said to me. "The prince utterly despises mortals. You blipping here accidentally is a mistake he normally would not take lightly."
"Most people would consider a filthy dungeon filled with rats terrifying," Wolf said. "But at least down there you know what to expect. I'd be more wary of a pretty cage myself."
Wolf's vague words settled uneasy in me. I was escorted to a surprisingly pretty and elaborately decorated bedroom, considering the scary, cold themes of the entire castle. A canopy of silken curtains hung from above a large four-post bed with a theme of a dark bluish grey and gold sheets, which matched the rest of the ornate room. Bases with thorned branches sat on a vanity and two dressers.
"Three helpers are coming to help you with your bath and clothes," Leo said, and in the mirror beside my temporary bed, I could see him slip his helmet off as he stepped into the frame. "Should you need anything else, I'll be right outside."
My breath stuck in my throat at the once invisible horns protruding from Leo's skull, how his skin was abnormally grey, and his features were sharp, alien. His normally bright amber eyes were black as coal. I spun around with a small gasp. Leo looked relatively ordinary, like a human.
"Are you alright?" Leo asked.
I realized I was staring at him and swallowed. "Fine, thank you."
"Wolf can be a little soldierly in the way he speaks. If you so need to confide in someone, like a friend...know I am one you can trust."
"You're loyal to the prince," I pointed out.
"Of course, I am, but that doesn't mean I always agree with his ways." As I loosely studied a painting on the wall, I watched Leo had walked further in the room, until I saw his figure in my peripheral. "I don't want to see you get hurt."
"There is no need to try and befriend me on his behalf," I said, wanting too suddenly be alone. I had to remember that this wasn't really Leo. This was a past version of him, and he was being awfully suspicious. "I have nothing significant to confess." Just that none of this is 'real' in the sense that it's a memory from Death's subconscious and he's slowly dying.
"I'm afraid everyone's got something to confess when they stare into the face of death," Leo said, and then he unclasped my cuffs from my wrists. "I'll walk you to the dining hall once you're finished getting ready."
Leo left the room just as a woman in a gray gown with white hair piled into the room. She didn't exactly appear human on the eye, and wore the most unfriendly expressions, a scowl deeply engraved into her older face. Or maybe it was the three scarred claw marks mauling the one side of her face that made her look so angry.
"My name is Brook, dear," said the woman, surprising me with her kind voice. "I can see you've been through it. Come now, time for bath."
She led me into a washroom, and I was relieved to find this era looked very closely to what I was missing in the modern world. The bathroom fit the greyish blue themes and a big claw bathtub at the center of the floor with milky water. Whatever was inside the tub smelled wonderful, like a bouquet of fresh flowers and different fruits.
"I made sure the water was warm and spiced with oils for you," Brook said, sliding the stola off my shoulders. "You look starved, such a shame," said continued. "You'll get nice, warm meal in your belly in the dining hall, I'm sure. The prince only has the best food here. Even makes sure help is fed exceptionally well."
"I don't mean to be rude," I said, as she began to take off my toga and realizing this was a natural accustomed behavior of this time. "But I'd really like to be by myself, if that's alright?"
She looked at me in brief confusion. "Oh," she said. "Of course! No problem at all, dear. I'll prepare your gown and underclothes, just take your time."
Once Brook left the room, I took off the layers of my Roman clothes, feeling lucky that I'd gotten away with wearing them for this long in what felt like the Victorian Era. Wasn't sure how I would go about explaining my bra and underwear situation, but right now the focus was to get clean.
Stepping into the bath, I nearly groaned at how amazing the warm water felt on my aching body. I lowered into the bath and just sat there for a few moments, looking around the spacious washroom and all the details. It was astonishing how detailed the Unknown could be with these memories and how real they felt that I often forgot they weren't real. I tried not to think about that too much or else I'd lose my grip.
Using a wash bucket, I poured clean water over my head a bunch of times, before lathering my long straight tangled black hair with soaps and oils. I didn't even what to think about what grim I was covered in from Death's dungeons, but whatever Brook had put into this water seemed to refresh me from the inside out. And the oils left my wet hair slick enough for me to get out all the knots.
I stood up from the tub and wrapped myself in a towel, drying off well, when I caught my reflection on the mirror on the wall. I noticed the fading bruises of my body that had yet to heal all the way, and my hand lifted to my face at how thin and pale I looked from stress. Cautiously stepping forward, I touched my face, inspecting my skin. Ace had told me two years had passed in the mortal world. I couldn't help but notice how the shape of my face seemed less rounded, my eyes somewhat dimmer, my jaw more refined. Had I aged?
The time lost in this realm did not fly over my head. I felt fear at the thought that I could be aging faster in this realm, and suddenly as I stared into the mirror, all I could see were Charon's Forsaken and their reflective faces. I thought of the Three and how they were different than the other Forsaken, how they'd tried to help me bridge the gap between Death's consciousness and mine.
Feeling overwhelmed I tossed a towel over the mirror and freshened up my mouth with a concoction I found in a cabinet by the sink. It tasted like peppermint and freshened my breath, so I seriously hoped it wasn't some sort of butt wash or cleaner for the tiled floors. After a much-needed time alone cleaning up and using the bathroom, I exited the washroom, to find Brook making small sewing adjustments to a breathtaking gown hanging on a stand.
"Your underclothes are on the bed, dear." Brook pinned her needle between her lips as she adjusted the fabric of the skin. "Toss all your dirty garments in that bin and I'll clean them too."
"Thanks..." I held my dirty bra and underwear in my hands. "I'm used to wearing kind of unusual...undergarments. I'm more than happy to wash them myself."
Brook turned over her shoulder to look at what I was talking about. "What do you mean, unusual?"
I held up my bra and underwear.
Brook pursed her lips. "Oh." She crossed the room to take the two items. "Oh dear, there's hardly any undergarments here. Okay, well let's get you dressed."
Feeling a lot more comfortable with Brook and having no idea what the different garments were on the bed, I let her help me get dressed. I found out the "drawers" or the underwear around here were stiff and frilly. When she got out the thick silk stockings, I had to put my foot down.
"I think I'll pass on the Peter Pans," I said.
Brook frowned. "Pardon? But these are silk stockings, they're quite lavish. It can get cold in the castle."
"That's alright, I get hot easily."
Brook nixed the stockings and went right to a chemise that went beneath the corset. Nothing prepared me for how tight Brook yanked the ribbon closed in the back, making my full breasts pop up with a shocking amount of cleavage and my waist narrow.
Next came the gown over my head, made with blue velvet and black silk, which another female servant entered the room to help Brook with. Feeling like I had more armored protection with all these layers of clothes than I did with Romeo's fighting gear, Brook guided me by the elbow to a mirror. The neck of the dress clasped around my throat like a choker, drawing even more attention to my...
"Oh, hello, boobies." I pushed at the swells of my breasts, trying to get them deeper into the corset. "I think this is a bit too much for myâerâgirls, don't you? I can practically see my aereolas."
Brook laughed. "You do have a proud bust. I think you'll be just fine miss. I'll certainty find you something with a little more coverage for tomorrow."
"Holy cow," I muttered, touching my waist.
Brook looked up at me in the mirror.
"I mean, unholy cow," I corrected myself. "I look like freaking Marie Antoinette. Is it supposed to be hard to breathe?"
"No worries. This gown will only be worn briefly for your dinner with the prince."
"I'm sorry?"
"He's invited you for dinner."
I just stared at her, imagining how my arm had rotted beneath his hand. "Splendid."
"He picked out this gown himself, you know," Brook went on. "He had it made last minute by a whirler of silk."
"Probably had the laced the silk with a slow-working poison," I muttered to myself.
I ran my fingertips ran over the intricate black designs in the blue velvet fabric sides of my skirt, realizing the colors somehow complimented my eyes, my complexion, my hair, while also reminding me of him.
As I stood a little prouder in the mirror, braiding my hair to the side of my neck, I realized maybe Death's choices in my dress weren't about making me look sexy. It was about owning me, and my awareness of that kept me laser focused on the task at hand. I couldn't be another possession of his. I had to keep him on guard, off balanced. That way, I'd be the one captivating him.
That way, I could get closer to him and figure out why I was here in this memory.
*
Leo returned my cuffs and escorted me to a large, empty dining hall with a table that stretched across the entire room. I was told to sit at the furthest end of the table, staring down a feast of different foods.
A door burst open and in came Death, his long black billowing out as he stormed toward the chair opposite of mine.
"Your Highness, wait," Helvius' voice trailed in after Death. "Lucifer insists we discuss your conditionââ"
Death sat down onto his chair, squeezing his temples as if he had a headache. "I will revisit this later, Helvius."
Helvius remained where he stood, fiddling with his hands. "I know you are not taking your medication, my lord."
"Get out," Death snapped.
"The last time you almost broke the chains," Helvius said. "I am only trying to help."
"I said, I will revisit this later." Something guttural layered over Death's voice, his fist slamming against the table. His shadow guards stormed toward Helvius and aggressively hauled him from the room.
Death lifted a knife, he stabbed at a fleshy piece of meat on a wooden board in front of him and brought it to his mouth, polishing it off like a barbarian.
"He was just trying to help you."
Death's head snapped up in my direction across the table. He said nothing for a long moment, and I wondered if a rare moment had passed where Death hadn't known I'd been in the room. "Are you talking to me?" he inquired.
"Um, well, yes."
"Odd." He ripped at a thick turkey leg with his fangs and chewed at the bone, too. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak. Or to even be sitting there."
"You are aware you invited me to dinner, correct?
"Obviously not."
"Well, you did."
"How unfortunate, I hate company." He bit into his turkey leg again like a predator, and I could hear him crunching the bone again. "I would also wait until I have at least one more turkey leg in my stomach to fit in another word."
I watched him absolutely demolish another leg of an animal with a mighty large thigh, the muscles of his jaw working effortlessly. No wonder his jaw is so sharp.
"Where did you learn Latin?" Death inquired, oil and juices covering his entire mouth. Sheesh. For a Prince, he really did give a shit about about making a mess. And why was the disturbingly violent way that he was eating somehow attractive?
"I'm sorry, what did you ask me?" I asked.
"L-A-T-I-N," Death said slowly, as if talking to a moron. "You just eavesdropped on my conversation with my subordinate. We were speaking Latin. So, where did you learn the old language?"
Blood pulsed my ears. Shit. No wonder he'd looked at me like that from across the table. I'd understood his entire private conversation with Helvius because of Romeo's gum.
"I learned it while ago...when I was homeschooled," I muttered, hoping he'd drop the conversation. Luckily, Death couldn't have looked more uninterested, as his mismatched green eyes swept over the feast in front of him.
Death finally his mouth with a napkin. "What really brings you to Hell?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Formulate a sentence, for Devil's sake. You keep countering my questions with questions. You were homeschooled Latin but not to answer a simple question?"
"No, I justââ"
"Hypothetical." Death slid some tender, raw looking meat off his fork with his fangs. "Anyway, I've heard rumors claiming you're here on accident." He chewed, swallowed, and then picked at something between his fangs with the tip of his large knife. "The problem is these rumors contradict what you told me earlier. How I hand selected you for some vague acting performance and I must have forgotten your face..."
"Which you did," I said, maintaining the lie.
"The thing is, Faith..." Death turned the knife in his hand down toward the table and stabbed the blade into the wood. "I would have remembered you."
Something wedged in my throat as we stared at each other across the table.
"Lies...they get so easily tangled," Death drawled out with a heavy sigh, leaning lazily back into his chair to drink whatever was in his large goblet. "One moment, you're getting your way and you're staying afloat. Until you make a mistake, and then the next thing you know, you're being dragged down by the feet and you're drowning."
"I only lied to save someone I care about," I said, feeling my voice tremble ever so slightly. "Petruchio. You would have killed him on his seventh strike."
"Kill him?" Death laughed darkly. "Says who? Maybe I was going go to free him."
I scoffed. "You and your bone crown and big bone chair in your throne room implies otherwise."
Death slowly sat, leaning his elbows on the table as he set his goblet down. "You like big bones, Faith?"
I felt my face heat up. "I have a feeling your definition of freeing Petruchio is very different than mine." And every other sane individual.
Death rolled his eyes. "I don't give a damn if our definitions are different, and you're changing the subject. You didn't come here on accident, and you can't even come up with a strong enough story to defend yourself. I know a liar when I see one."
"Own a lot of mirrors?"
"When you look this damn delicious, a mirror becomes a reassurance you no longer require." He poked his tongue against his cheek. "I know your truth because I see it in your eyes. Even from across this table. You're frightened. You're keeping secrets. And I think I know one of them."
"I think you've got me all wrong."
"Look at your food," he said.
I gazed down into the bowl in front of me of what smelled like a creamy potato soup of some sort. Past my bowl were spreads of cheese, meats, and roasted vegetables. Fruits and pastries. My mouth watered uncontrollably, and I had no idea the last time I'd eaten a full meal.
"You're starving," Death observed. "By the sound of your heart and the growling in your stomach, probably even at the brink of feinting, if you were to get up too fast. Nevertheless, I make you so nervous you haven't touched your plate."
In my peripheral, I noticed shadows were slinking on the ground, swirling all over the place, like a looming threat. I felt a cold chill from across the table, making me turn my attention back toward Death. His mismatched eyes were unblinking, capturing mine instantly like a predator capturing its prey.
"Why do you feel this way, Faith?" Death wondered. "Because I tried to kill you in my courtroom? No..." His mouth turned up on the one side. "You're afraid of me because you're curious about me."
I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. "Or I don't trust your food."
Death stood up from his chair, my heart thrashing against my ribs as he unclasped his cape at his shoulders and let it drape back behind his chair. I felt unarmed by his clothes underneath. He wore a high-collar black Victorian shirt that appeared almost velvet in appearance and those trousers that fit his long legs. It all fit his tall, muscular like a second layer of skin as he slowly slinked toward me around the table, and I could barely keep my hormones under control.
Death sat down in the chair to my left, and I felt so vulnerable with these cuffs around my wrists. He grabbed a clean spoon from the setting in front of him and slowly scooped some of my soup to eat.
"Mm," he said, smacking his lips together a few times. "Tasteless. Seems poison-less to me?"
"What does that prove?" I asked, knocking his spoon away before he took seconds. "You're already dead."
Something briefly resembling hurt surprisingly sweeping over his expression. It made me regret my words. Setting down his spoon, he reached for a pastry with jam on it, inspecting it closely.
"If I wanted to kill you," Death said, taking a big bite out of the pastry, "I wouldn't be so cliché about it. Poisoning your food is predictable."
"I don't think those statements were as reassuring as you think they were."
Death's laugh was a little sinister. "Nothing can truly ever be guaranteed between two strangers, can they, Faith? Relationships are unpredictable. In an instant, two strangers become acquaintances. Acquaintances become friends. Friends become enemies." His tongue swiped across the dollop of jam on the pastry. "Enemies become to lovers..."
"Prisoners become lick-watchers," I mocked.
"You're very cranky for a spoiled pet," he noted.
"Is this how you treat all your spoiled pets? Fit them into fancy clothes and play nice around a big table of mortal food you can't even taste until you get what you want out of them? If you think that will work for me, you're not very good at this."
Death tossed his pastry carelessly to the side like he was never even interested in it in the first place and rested his head in his gloved hand, glaring at me with an authenticity he'd clearly been hiding behind a façade. "Here I was, hoping you would be forthright with me and use some fucking commonsense that you have no other option. And believe me, I am not even trying with you. I could convince you your name is Tipsly Shoofly the Third with very little effort. It's about as real as a name as Faith, too."
I leaned my head on my cuffs, mocking his pose. "Death isn't a name, either. Maybe Alexander would be, but you kind of missed the mark there too. Is that enough common sense for you?"
Death sat back in his chair, his catlike eyes burning into me. "I'm in no hurry to torture a lady, but you're genuinely fucking begging for it."
"Slow to torture, but quick to try and kill me. Remind me never to visit Hell on accident, it's very contradictory and confusing down here."
Something twitched in Death's jaw. He stood up fast, startling me as he cleared the plate in front of him off the table. "You honestly expect me to believe you blipped down here by accident?" he seethed, each word coming out like the cusp of a furious episode. "You were surrounded by demons and monsters in my courtroom, and you barely batted an eyelash. Even now, you stare into the face of death, and you speak so unreserved. It is obvious you are not here by accident!"
"I never said I haven't seen my share of monsters. Just that I'm not a spyââ"
"To touch me is a mighty price." Death grated the words out between his teeth, a coldness settling inside of me. Shadows were spiraling up my chair, latching onto my arms as he strode to stand beside my chair. "In all my existence as this, only one beating heart has withstood what you did."
My breath caught in my throat, confusion mingling with a newfound fear of what he was talking about. As he registered my lack of answer, Death's furious expression fell away to something cold and lethal. He turned his head to the side, wisps of shadow spreading out over his left shoulder, whispering: Kill her... Taste her... Steal her...
"Death?"
Suddenly Death snatched me by the front of my corset, his talons piercing through so that he picked me up with ease. His shadows lurched over my mouth; a strangled cry suppressed as a silken black tie wrapped around my mouth. More shadows lurched across the dining table, clearing off my spot as dishes and plates smashed to the floor.
"She could be lying, or she could just forget," Death hissed with a craze look in his face.. His free gloved hand rolled into a fist, knuckles cracking. "Killing her would be a waste, she could be our stolen treasure. But we are so hungry..." Gazing at me with eyes that were now black with swirling darkness, his scarred eyebrow arched. "And she is so...alive."
I tried to free myself, but it was no use as he suddenly slammed me down onto the table, standing between the legs of my gown. His gloved hand pointed toward my cuffed wrists to pin them over my head with his shadows. His eyes were unfocused, darkness shelling out from his silhouette like a demon of the night. I couldn't scream, or move, or do much of anything, and it was petrifying. I was at his complete mercy.
"Either way, I will find out the truth." Death picked up a knife on the table, the serrated edge almost sharper than his fanged mouth. "I'll tear apart her tasty flesh until I have my answerÂââ"
"Alexandru, stop!"
Death's blade halted at the male voice that commanded him. His face and muscles strained above me, veins protruding in his features. Something gave way in his efforts to fight, and he released a pained groan, his eyes rolling back until the whites finally showed. With a harsh gasp, he released the blade, the knife landing in the wood right beside my head in a clatter. The greens of his eyes reappeared as his eyes flipped back down. A sheen coat of sweat beaded across his dark hairline as he stared ahead at someone I couldn't see.
Shock rendered Death briefly speechless.
"Kalace," he said at last. "My dear old friend."
***
*INSERT LOVE LETTERS TO DEATH*
*INSERT FAN GIRL "CUPCAKE" SCREAMS FOR NEXT CHAPTER *
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