Ní bheidh tada fágtha dá guth ach an rud a shlog mé.(There’ll be nothing left of her voice but what I’ve devoured.)
Now I’ve got to hunt the bloody thing down. They say a scream cage doesn’t just sit waiting to be found, it chooses you. If your cry has ever torn through the veil, raw enough to shake the dead, then the cage hears it. When the time is right, it doesn’t matter where you are, it will crawl out of the dark and stand before you.
That feeble humans voice will be the key. A banshee’s wail cracks the world in ways no others ever could, the veil bends to it. All I need is to break her down, peel her open until that scream rips free. Then the cage will come crawling, hungry for her voice, and when it does… it’ll be mine to command.
If you ask me, this plan is pure brilliance. I’ll trap her in the scream cage, and every desperate wail will feed me. I’ll drink her power until there’s nothing and when she’s hollowed out and broken, I’ll be the one standing tall, her strength mine. The thought of her agony curls around me, bending to my will… it makes my blood hum with a wicked kind of hunger.
Bang.
The knock barely echoes before Thorne bursts in, filling the doorway with his presence. The air hangs heavy as I circle him, every step I make is measured. He lunges with raw ferocity, but I slip aside, anticipating his move before they even happen. Mymind is razor-sharp, calculating angles and weaknesses. He’s all fire and instinct. I am ice and precision. Each of his strikes meets air, each hesitation he shows is cataloged, stored for later. I don’t need brute strength, I have patience and the certainty that when I strike, it will count.
His eyes blaze as he snarls, “Where is he? Tell me where the human is!”
In a way that’s almost taunting him, I tilt my head. “You’ll have to do better than threats,” I say, keeping my voice even. “If you want him, you’ll have to earn it or risk losing more than you’re willing to pay.”
His jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think you can play with me?” he hisses, stepping closer, each movement heavy with barely contained fury.
I don’t flinch, I just watch. Letting the tension stretch as if it’s a wire ready to snap. “I’m not playing,” I reply smoothly. “I’m surviving. If you want him, you’ll follow my rules. Not the other way around.”
A low growl rumbles from him, the kind that promises violence. I hold my ground and my eyes lock on his, unyielding. Every second he hesitates is a second, I gain, every twitch of his body is a clue to how far he’s willing to go and how far I can push him.
The anger in his voice vibrates through the walls, low and dangerous. “If you don’t tell me where he is…” He steps closer. “I swear, you’ll regret it. Every second you waste, every lie you try to spin, there’ll be consequences you won’t survive.”
A faint, mocking smile curls my lips. “You think threats scare me?” I hiss back, letting my own edge cut through the tension. “Try me.”
My hair lashes out, black strands wrapping around him as if they’re living chains. They coil tight around his wrists and throat, constricting him with every heartbeat.
“I’m done with your threats,” I hiss, my voice low and venomous. “You forget who I am. I don’t bow, and I sure as hell don’t fear you.”
He claws at the bindings with fire in his eyes. His struggles only makes me tighten my grip.
“Ask again where the human is,” I whisper, yanking tighter. “And this time, beg.”
A sly smirk forms on my lips as I circle him, watching his frustration mount. “Are you still thinking that you’re in charge?” I murmur, letting a strand of my hair flick against his cheek. “Cute, really. I almost feel bad for you.”
He growls, but I laugh softly, “Almost.”
Another strand snakes around his torso, tightening with a mind of its own. “You should’ve stayed home today and saved yourself some trouble.”
My hair surges again, coiling and wrapping. Each movement mocks. “Oh, did I hurt your pride? Sorry, that wasn’t my intention.”
By the time I finish, he’s completely trapped, bound by my hair, every inch of him immobilised. I lean close, letting my voice drip with venomous amusement.
“Who’s in control now?” I whisper.
There’s nothing but suffocating darkness, pressing down on me from every side. The stench of rot hangs heavy in the air, it’s sickly and clings to my throat. My chest tightens as I try to breathe, and the air feels rancid, as if I’m swallowing decay itself. I try to shift, even the smallest movement… I can’t. My limbs are pinned, my body locked tight in place. But, the silence is worse. There’s no sound, no hint of life, just my heartbeat, loud and frantic in my ears. Reminding me I’m still alive, but only barely.
All I can think about is escaping. Then… something shifts.
The pressure around me doesn’t just crush, it cradles. The suffocating dark no longer feels like a prison, but a second skin. One that slides over me as though it’s always been mine. My pulse, which was frantic a moment ago, steadies. Then a surge of something I couldn’t begin to explain hits me. I can feel it wriggling its way under my skin, making a home within me as if it belongs. It doesn’t reject me. It welcomes me. It’s whisperscurl into my ears like smoke:
“Ours. You’re ours.”
I should be terrified. I should be clawing at the walls, screaming until my throat is raw. Instead, I feel… more alive. As if this shadow-soaked world has been waiting for me. Some buried part of me, the part I’ve never wanted to look at too closely, stirs awake. It whispers the truth I can’t ignore.
B'fhéidir nach mbaineann mé leis an eitleán básmhar, b'fhéidir go mbaineann mé anseo.(Maybe I don’t belong on the mortal plane, maybe I belong here.)
Heat burns under my skin, it’s not fire, it’s a crawling sensation. It feels as if thousands of tiny legs race frantically through my veins. My bones ache as though they’re being hollowed out, made into instruments for a song I don’t yet know the tune of. The darkness whispers, not with words, but with need. It doesn’t ask permission. It sinks deep, carving itself into my marrow, until my heart no longer feels like it beats for me. Every thud is slower, echoing with a resonance I’ve never known, as if I’m keeping time with something far older and far hungrier.
