"Can I see more?" The question slips out before I can censor it.
His hand tightens on his spoon, bending the metal slightly. "Why?"
"Professional curiosity?" I attempt a smile. "I'm a photographer. The unusual, the extraordinary—that's what I'm drawn to."
"I'm not a subject for your camera."
"No, of course not, I didn't mean—" I stop, backtrack. "I just meant that I want to understand. To see."
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze so intense I can almost feel it as a physical touch. "Most humans can't bear to look at my true form for long."
"Try me."
Something shifts in his expression—a challenge accepted. He sets down his spoon and stands, moving to the center of the room where the ceiling is highest.
"Stay where you are," he says, his voice already deepening. "And remember—you asked for this."
The transformation begins slowly, controlled this time. His glamour—the word comes to me unbidden, the only term that fits—thins like ice melting from a pond's surface. The antlers grow first, expanding upward and outward in crystalline branches that catch the light and break it into prismatic fragments across the walls. His face reshapes, cheekbones sharpening beyond human possibility, jaw elongating slightly. The skull mask forms partially, transparent enough that I can still see his actual face beneath it, like looking at a double exposure.
His hands change, fingers lengthening, nails hardening into those crystal claws I'd seen earlier. His posture shifts, becoming more primal, more predatory. And most disturbingly, his eyes transform completely—larger, brighter, with vertical pupils that contract to slits in the cabin's light.
The temperature plummets. My breath forms clouds, the fire dims as if struggling against his nature. Frost creeps acrossthe floor toward me, beautiful spiraling patterns that speak of conscious design rather than random crystallization.
He is magnificent. Terrifying, otherworldly, but magnificent.
"Well?" His voice resonates oddly, as if coming from multiple throats at once.
I realize I'm clutching the edge of the table, knuckles white. Not from fear, though fear is certainly part of what I'm feeling. No, I'm anchoring myself against a different, more surprising response—a surge of attraction so powerful it's almost painful.
"You're..." Words fail me for a moment. "I've never seen anything like you."
He takes a step toward me, movements fluid yet somehow wrong for a human skeleton. "Are you afraid now, Freya?"
The way he says my name in that altered voice sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
"Yes," I admit. "But not enough to look away."
Another step closer. The frost follows him, intricate patterns spreading across the floor, up the table legs. The cold intensifies, but I don't move. Can't move.
"You should be running." He's closer now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"Probably." My voice emerges as little more than a whisper. "But I've never been good at doing the sensible thing."
His hand—no longer attempting to appear human—reaches toward my face. Hesitates. "I could hurt you without intending to. My cold..."
"I'm tougher than I look." I don't know where this bravado is coming from. I should be terrified, should be looking for escape. Instead, I find myself leaning toward him, drawn by a pull I can't explain.
His claw-tipped finger hovers just above my cheek, frost forming in the air between us. "This isn't wise."
"Wisdom is overrated." I reach up and close the final distance, pressing my cheek against his hand.
Cold burns through me at the contact, but it's not painful—it's exhilarating, like diving into a winter lake. Frost patterns bloom on my skin where he touches, delicate swirls that tingle rather than hurt. His eyes widen, the glow intensifying.
"You're not freezing," he says, wonder in his multi-toned voice.
"Apparently not." I'm as surprised as he is. The cold is intense but bearable, even pleasant in its strange way.
His other hand rises to frame my face, and more frost patterns spread across my skin. They should be burning, should be causing frostbite. Instead, they feel like the gentlest of caresses, cool and tingling.
