After being in the city, a view like this should have been welcome.
But he didn’t recognize any of those stars.
A quick look around didn’t reveal much else. The field went on in all directions as far as Seymour could see, and the flowers were the only source of light other than the flashing bulbs framing the entrance to the tent. The flowers were shaped likebells and grew in thick clusters dangling from long, curved stems.
There was something about their purplish glow that unsettled Seymour, and he resisted the odd urge surging through him to touch them. A soft wind blew by, and he swore he heard a soft, mystical chiming coming from the flowers.
“Seymour!”
Seymour looked back at the tent, sighing in relief when he saw it was Sariel poking his head out from the entrance flap. “Hey!”
“Are you all right?” Sariel asked, reaching for him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Seymour accepted Sariel’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Wait. Shit. What happened to the ticket?”
“It is a one-way visit.” Sariel nodded toward the tent. “We will have to ask the twins to return us.”
“What if they don’t? Can we get back on our own?”
“No, this is part of Faerie. The Ethereal. There is no way for us to leave.”
“This keeps getting better and better.” Seymour gave Sariel’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Let’s get to gettin’.”
Sariel lifted the tent flap, ushering Seymour inside.
Seymour had been expecting a sawdust floor with peanut shells aplenty.
But this was…
Wow.
The inside of the tent was a Cirque du Soleil performance on acid set within a seemingly endless void. There were circular platforms and multiple stages with gyrating dancers, and more hanging from the blackness above writhing on dangling ropes and hoops. Their faces were painted up like harlequin dolls, and their colorful clothing ranged from tiny strips of cloth that left fuck all to the imagination to elaborate sequined costumes with puffy collars and ruffles.
Everything else was black on black, the darkness only broken by purple lighting that illuminated the edges of the platforms and stages.
That is, until Seymour took a hesitant step forward.
A spotlight came on, shining down on a grand dais in what would have been the center ring. There were two thrones that looked as if they had been plucked right from Medieval Times, though the men who sat there were hardly pretending to be royalty in cheap costumes.
Absolis was a young Black man with warm brown skin, while Vilanos was white with the complexion of porcelain. Absolis had braids hanging nearly down to his feet, intertwined with vibrant blooms of orange flowers. The same bright flowers sat atop Vilanos’s golden curls as a crown.
Beautiful barely described them.
From their makeup to their hair to their coordinating outfits—a gown for Vilanos, pantsuit for Absolis—they were absolutely flawless. The tiniest movement prompted a jingle from the golden jewelry they wore, and their very presence seemed to fill the impossibly large space.
Dangerous, yes—but still alluring.
Seymour didn’t know how he knew which of them was which. He had looked at them and the correct name for each had simply popped into his head. As disconcerting as that was, it was the silence that truly unsettled him. They were surrounded by dancers, but there was no music. There wasn’t any sound coming from the dancers at all, no matter how wildly they flailed.
Fuckin’ freaky.
Only Absolis and Vilanos were unaffected by whatever this strange spell was, their jewelry chiming as they beckoned Seymour and Sariel over.
“Ah, Seymour.” Absolis waved. “Please. Come here.”
“We wish to have a better look at you.” Vilanos smiled sweetly. “Mm, handsome one, isn’t he?”
“Very handsome.”
