Chapter 7 - Lila
LILA
The fog tastes like metal and pine sap. It clings to my tongue, heavy as breath held too long. My heartbeat won’t calm; it just hammers harder, echoing in my ears like someone else’s footsteps.
They’re around me again, all three of them.
I take one small step back and feel my wings brush the corn. The gossamer fabric snags and tears with a faint hiss. My costume, pale green and silver, thin enough that the night air slides through it, suddenly feels ridiculous.
A fairy in a nightmare. Bare legs, glitter dust, trembling fingers.
White Mask moves to my right, smooth and deliberate, making room for the others, porcelain cracked across a grin that should not look alive but somehow does.
Burlap first, towering, shoulders broad, his mask rough and stitched, turning every breath into a low rasp.
And in front of me, at the center, stands Black Mask. Still. Straight-backed. Terrifying.
They’ve boxed me in.
My throat tightens, but I lift my chin anyway. I refuse to show them I’m shaking.
Black Mask tilts his head slightly. His voice, when it comes, is calm and deep, cutting clean through the fog. “Two choices, Lila.” The way he says my name makes it sound like a verdict.
He steps closer. The light catches on the sleek surface of his mask; there’s nothing behind it but darkness.
His hand gestures once toward the entrance, or what I think might be the way out.
“One. You walk out. Untouched. Unharmed. We let you go.” His pause stretches just long enough that I almost believe him.
Almost.
Then Adrian laughs, a soft, broken around the edges like the crack running through his mask. “Or,” he says, voice curling with warmth that doesn’t belong here, “you run.”
My stomach twists.
Burlap takes a step forward, fog swirling around his boots. The sound of his breath grows rougher, more human. He finishes the thought in a low rumble.
“And when we catch you…” He leans closer. “You’re ours.”
The words hang there, and I swallow hard. My pulse kicks faster. I should scream. I should bolt for the path behind them, push past, tear through the corn. I should want out.
But I don’t move.
Because the way they’re watching me—silent, waiting, hungry for my answer—lights something inside my chest that I don’t recognize. Something sharp. Something bright.
My wings rustle when I breathe.
Black Mask takes a half step forward. “Choose, Lila.” The White Mask’s head tilts, the white grin catching the light. Burlap’s hands flex, like he’s already itching to reach out and grab me.
The fog closes in until I can barely see my feet. My heart feels like it’s trying to break free from my ribs. I look at each of them, one by one, and the air seems to hum.
Leave.
Run.
Freedom on one side.
Desire on the other.
And somewhere in the middle, me, a trembling fairy, glitter fading, pulse burning.
I draw a breath that scrapes my lungs raw. “If I run…” I manage, voice shaking but steady enough, “I don’t plan to make it easy.”
White Mask’s laugh slides through the dark, low and satisfied.
Burlap straightens. Black Mask doesn’t move, but I can feel the shift, the tension winding tighter. He nods once, slow. “Good,” he says. “It wouldn’t be fun if you did.”
The fog swallows their shapes again.
Somewhere, a timer starts to tick… Or maybe it’s just my heartbeat.