It serves no purpose beyond soothing an inner part of myself, knowing full well that it’s a waste of time when we have so many other things far more pressing to accomplish. But as much as all fae’s abilities are tied to the energy Faerie provides, we are each naturally drawn to the strongest source of our branch of magic. And for me, even if I now understand that my fate is intrinsically tied to the changelings’, that my abilities stem from manipulating energy, that doesn’t diminish the pull I feel towards everything in this room.
It’s the one thing that no one was able to take away from me, no matter how much they tried.
They can call me a warden, a burden, or an attention whore. A disgrace that should have died alongside my brother, that my abilities are meant solely for providing energy or keeping the changelings in line. They can take away my freedom; beat, burn, and brand my skin until I pass out. But what I said to that little girl with the violin was completely true.
Once you learn, it becomes such an intrinsic part of you that you can’t ever imagine letting it go. No matter where you end up in life, you’ll always have that. That music is a part of your soul striving to get out into the world; you just need to learn how to open the door. It’s a friend that will always be with you, no matter how lonely or sad you get. Take care of that part of yourself and it will take care of you.
Nearly finished cleaning up the room, I sit back down, that flute still sitting beside my chair. Gently, I fasten all of the pieces back together, strumming my fingers over the buttons to make sure none of them stick. It’s been years since I’ve picked up a flute, but that’s one of the perks of my branch of magic; there’s a muscle memory like instinct. Generations of abilities passed down, a culmination of experience like the energy that thrums through my veins retained the essence of the people it once belonged to.
Raising it to my lips, I blow softly at first, getting a feel for it. Stronger, a bit more confidently, I blow again, short bursts of air and a wave of my fingers over the keys as I find a rhythm. A sharp, staccato series of notes to find my groove, bleeding into a vibrato trill as I explore the range.
Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the sound. The sound is dampened around me, the sound absorbed by the walls rather than echoing. Tapping my foot to the imaginary beat of the drum, I block out everything and everyone else. Even as I feel the power rising in my gut, flowing through my veins like adrenaline and I know the silver will be fading into a transparent version of its former self, I keep going.
I don’t have to hide here. I don’t need to lessen my presence for fear of mortals finding out what I can do, worry about making them uncomfortable or coming after my head for being something other. Something about that awareness has me losing that little block that I’ve always kept in place, even when performing for Elorie. Those experiences were tainted, full of fear, and they kept me from giving it my all.
But for once in my life, I simply play for myself. No proving a point, no praying it’s good enough to appease the woman holding my life in her hands. No blasting the bass until it’s so loud that I can’t think, merely giving myself over to the beat and dancing until I’m on the verge of collapse. I just sit in the uncomfortable metal chair, a line digging into my back, strangely more comfortable than I’ve ever been before.
One song blends seamlessly into another, the tempo increasing. I don’t push harder, faster, giving everything I have to the music. I just exist within it, and it within me. I’m nothing more than a vessel to bring it to life, releasing what’s already there rather than forcing it into creation for the sake of someone else.
And it’s more freeing than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Lowering the flute from my lips, chest heaving, I open my eyes. I’m still alone, not so much as a changeling in sight, but...I no longer feel like I am, that it’s the bad thing I was starting to consider it. It’s okay to be alone, because there’s always something or someone waiting for me when I choose not to be.
I take my time cleaning it before putting it away, zipping up the case and setting it back on the shelf. As much as we completely could cram all of this stuff into other storage rooms and use it as a bedroom big enough to fit all of us...I can’t bring myself to. I’d rather keep it just as it is, to let this memory soak into the space so that every time I step through the doorway, I have this feeling lingering in the atmosphere waiting for me.
I’m selfishly going to keep it all to myself, and refuse to feel bad about it.
Letting the door click shut behind me, I start making my way through the smaller pathway back to the main tunnel. A piercing scream rattles off the walls, assaulting my ears. I take off running, following the bends to the main hallway and back out to the skywalk. The pained scream reverberates through the center chamber, giving no sense of where it’s originating from.
As much as it makes my instincts protest, I shut my eyes, trying to zero in on where it’s coming from. I’ve heard the guys’ voices often enough to know it isn’t them, but the changelings. The next shout mixes with a feral snarl that ends on a whimper, my eyes snapping open as my head jerks to the right and I take off sprinting.
My shoes slap against the metal walkway, thundering and leaving absolutely no shot at discretion. Finally, I make it to the shadowed entrance into the wall labyrinth, not even hesitating before heading into the tunnel.
The lights are still on, but several are busted, leaving enough shadows to make it creepy as all get out. Bringing a small glow to my hand, I race up the steep incline, a pained grunt having me veer to the right before I missed the small, off shooting hallway.
The door is still open, an empty room a little bigger than the bedrooms. Azazel and Raziel, masquerading as Dorian and Lucien, are pressed face first into the wall, their fingers clawing deep grooves into the packed dirt. Standing a few steps away from them, a familiar shock of white hair makes my stomach lurch. He stands there, hand outstretched to keep them pinned in place with an invisible, suffocating force.
Valdis, as inseparable from Apollo as always.
Not really my fathers. They can’t lock me up again, not anymore.
Though the words pass through my mind, they carry little substance when faced with the two of them again. Of all of Elorie’s consorts, the two of them worked in tandem to make me beg for death more often than not, trying to exploit a loophole since their mate forbade them from killing me.
Valdis’ other hand is extended towards the floor, keeping Loki pinned on the ground as Apollo drives one knee into her back, palm heated and pressed between her shoulder blades. Seeing my form in that same position, weighted down by an intangible force that can’t be fought, Apollo burning away at my back; it’s like I’m not even on the outside watching it. I can feel the heat blistering my skin, the crushing pressure on my lungs as I fight for every breath. My gut churns as I suppress the urge to vomit, but Loki’s next whimper snaps me out of it before the memories can completely cripple me.
My first step inside of the room scuffs the compacted dirt and Apollo’s eyes snap to me, his brow instantly furrowing in confusion before his eyes flit down to the body pinned beneath him. Realization hits him the same moment I tackle into him, internally bracing myself for the ensuing pain.
I briefly considered going for Valdis first, to siphon his energy and attempt to use his abilities to subdue Apollo without having to touch him, but that would take too much time. Precious moments to try and figure out how to wield the ability that would give him too much of an opening to attack not only me, but the others in the room. And every second that passes is another that Loki suffers, that I’m not sure if she’ll be able to heal from.
Each nerve ending feels like it was thrown into the pits of Hell, incinerating my flesh at every point of contact. His back hits the ground as I knock him off, and he wastes absolutely no time in rolling to pin me. The temperature increases, and as he grips my throat, I can feel his handprint being seared into my skin.
He snarls into my face, his other hand pinning both of my wrists above my head as he tightens his grip on my neck. “I’m not losing my son because of you again. Call your abominations back, and I’ll remove the bounty from your head.”
My breathing is rapid and shallow, but I force my brain into a state of perceived calm, trying to keep myself from panicking. When the added layer of Valdis’ power covers me like a blanket, I nearly sob, but bite the impulse back. If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s deluding myself. So I shove my mind into its own little world, a fantasy to cloak all of the nightmares happening around me in a bid to keep myself sane.
Like a switch was flipped, the pain lessens imperceptibly as I disassociate, and I’m able to wrangle my scattered thoughts enough to think.He can’t actually kill me; so Elorie bound them by a deal all those years ago to keep them from going behind her back, saw exactly how much they despised me and knew they’d slip up one day otherwise. But they can make it hurt, make me beg for the mercy of death.
He needs me. And desperate people are willing to do despicable things, including making deals with the devil.
