Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Between Breath and Death
Lyssena
Lyssena waited for Erevos to cross the hallway.
Was she finally going to see what this strange, new world looked like?
She wondered whether everything beyond those doors was made of shadows, just like the home Erevos had carved.
She wanted to know what kind of flowers grew here, whether their petals would feel cool or warm beneath her fingertips, whether they carried scent at all, or if even fragrance dissolved into something thinner in this place.
She wanted to know what stories the view would tell her, whether the horizon would stretch endlessly and black or shimmer with colors her human eyes had never been meant to witness.
She wanted to know where the gods lived.
Lyssena felt slightly uneasy at the way Erevos did not blink as he walked toward her with a full grin, the head of a songbird cradled in his hands. He stopped half a step before her and stretched his hand forward.
“For you,” he said, offering the mask that would allow her to breathe.
How, she did not know.
Lyssena took it carefully, her fingers brushing against feathers that were not truly feathers at all but beautiful ridges shaped from shadow.
She noticed every stitch along the edges, each thread woven from darkness.
The mask barely weighed anything in her palms, light as a whisper, and yet it was entirely sealed, without a single visible opening through which air might pass.
“What would happen if I tried to breathe without it?” she asked, shifting her gift slowly from side to side between her hands, watching the gray light catch along the curve of the beak.
“You will die.”
At that, Lyssena stilled, the beak caught between her fingers as though it might snap if she held it too tightly. “I understand. Thank you,” she said, and Erevos did not move.
She had noticed that since she had stroked his cock, Erevos lingered when he looked at her, his gaze heavier, as though something had changed between them that neither of them had yet named.
It had not happened long ago, she was certain of that, for she had never bathed for too long in her home, otherwise her brothers would scold her and remind her she was no princess to soak in lavish waters while others worked.
Well.
Now she was a shadow princess, with a crown resting on the drawer beside her velvety bed.
Her brothers could not—and would absolutely not—scold her now. She could do whatever she pleased, linger as long as she wished, breathe strange air through a bird-shaped mask, because her god was kind, merciful, and frighteningly capable of reshaping the world itself for her.
With those thoughts settling in her head, she turned toward the doors and wrapped her fingers around the handle.
It took her several seconds to realize that Erevos’s face was right in front of hers.
So close that she could see the glow of purple in his eyes shift and deepen. So close that the faint scent of cinnamon and shadow surrounded her again. So close that if she leaned forward even the smallest fraction, her lips would brush against sharp teeth that were not made for gentle things.
“You need to put the mask on first.”
Right.
Lyssena had been so eager to see the world beyond those heavy doors that she had nearly stepped forward and into her own death if her god had not stopped her in time.
She noticed then the way Erevos was standing, hunched so that his glowing eyes met hers at the same level, and yet most of his body was not entirely inside the house at all.
It was inside the door.
Not pressed against it.
Not blocked by it.
Inside it.
Shadow seemed to ripple where his torso disappeared into the dark wood, as though the material welcomed him, as though the boundary between object and body did not exist for him the way it did for her.
Could he simply walk through shadowed walls and closed doors as though they were mist?
Lyssena found herself wondering whether this house was not merely something Erevos had created, but something that was, in some incomprehensible way, part of him. An extension of his will. A body larger than the one that stood before her.
The thought sent a small shiver down her spine.
She had to remind herself that the rules she had grown up with—the rules of wood and iron and flesh and consequence—did not apply here. They had no authority in this strange realm where time folded and air was crafted by hand and death waited patiently on the other side of a door.
So Lyssena made a decision.
Later, when they returned from whatever waited for her beyond these doors, she would give herself a small mission.
She would explore and observe.
She would learn how this place worked, how the shadows breathed, how the walls listened, how far her god’s presence truly stretched.
Erevos stood in silence, waiting for Lyssena to put on her mask.
She lifted it slightly, turning it this way and that in her hands as she searched for some visible fastening, some ribbon or clasp that would tell her how a human was meant to wear such a thing—but she found nothing.
“I don’t know how to wear it, Greatest,” she admitted.
“You bent my shadows yesterday.”
She had.
She had shaped animals from shadows, formed weapons with trembling fingers, and finally crafted a crown worthy of resting upon her own head.
So she nodded at the hint her god had given her and steadied her breath, allowing the memory of that strange sensation—the yielding, living quality of shadow—to return to her fingertips.
“Would you help me put it on?” she asked. “I would like to wear you.”
The moment those words left Lyssena’s lips, the back of the mask unfurled.
It did not snap or hinge open like metal or leather, but rather . . . softened.
The shadow along its spine loosened and parted as though it had been waiting for permission, revealing a hollow interior that seemed deeper than it should have been.
Lyssena inhaled sharply and lifted it toward her face.
It was a strange experience, witnessing something inanimate respond to her voice, to her wish, watching an unmoving thing come alive.
As the beak aligned with her nose and mouth, she felt a long chill crawl up her spine and settle at the base of her neck, like cold fingers tracing along her skin.
The mask sealed itself around her head without pressure or force, closing in a seamless line that vanished the moment it met her temples.
Lyssena felt nothing. It was neither cool nor warm, neither heavy nor light.
It was like Erevos.
And before she could turn her head from side to side to test how well it adjusted to her movements, she felt more of that same nothingness spilling downward, flowing over her shoulders and along her arms in a tide.
Her gown responded. The fabric her god had created for her darkened and extended, lengthening to the tips of her fingers, curling around her wrists, sliding down over her hips and thighs, stretching to her heels and toes as though shadow itself were blooming from the seams. Lyssena stood utterly still as it finished.
She was covered in shadows.
And yet it felt as though she was covered in nothing at all. No weight, no friction, no fabric brushing against her skin, only the faintest awareness that she had been claimed by something that fit her too perfectly to be separate from her.
Lyssena bent her knees slowly, testing the balance of her new form, then stretched her arms as high above her head as she could. She shook her head from side to side, the beak of the mask remaining perfectly aligned with her breath, and wiggled her torso.
Her full shadow bodysuit fit flawlessly.
It did not tug or wrinkle. It did not resist her at all.
To anyone else, the display might have looked silly—a grown woman swaying and stretching as though she had just discovered her limbs—but Lyssena noticed that she began testing the edges of her comfort, to push against the boundaries of what she was given and see how her god would respond.
She liked to see whether he would correct her, restrain her, or even punish her.
So far, he had not minded at all.
Not when she spoke too boldly. Not when she questioned him. Not even when she had wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked him without instruction.
And that absence of punishment had begun to unfurl something inside her.
It made her move more freely. It made her speak her thoughts more often, even if not always, even if sometimes she still caught herself before words escaped her tongue. But still more than she ever had before.
For the first time in her life, Lyssena felt special.
Not merely tolerated or useful. Special.
She felt like a splash of color in a world carved from shadow.
She had no village laws pressing against her ribs, no watchful eyes measuring the length of her bath or the sharpness of her tongue, and even if freedom required an oxygen mask shaped like a bird’s face, she would wear it gladly if it meant she could walk where she pleased and lift her chin without fear.
And now, she was going to see what lay beyond those doors.
She was going to see The Void.
The thought sent a bright thrill through her chest, and she could not stop the small, excited breath that escaped her beneath the beak.