Verena #2
His long, bone-white flute is tucked into a bag slung over his back. He's wearing the same dual-green ensemble as yesterday—but now there's a glowing ring of runes slowly revolving around his neck, like a…collar.
"Crones," Eris swears from the mirror, realizing at the same time what's going on.
What. The. Fuck.
I look at Malivant in utter disbelief. "You are not trying to gift me the Pied Piper right now."
"I'm not trying, I am. I'm sure he is going to make a fine plaything for you."
Plaything?
That's it, I hate this asshole more than anything. I hate him more than lip-smacking Stooges and the spittle of condescending men—I hate him even more than the thirst scorching my throat and making my stomach scrape together.
"Like hell, he is. I don't want him."
The piper glances at the faerie beside him. "Don't feel too badly. It's the thought that counts with these things, and I was a lovely thought."
Pretty voice or not, either that guy is off his rocker, or he just has a fucked-up sense of humor.
Malivant ignores him, miffed at me once again. "But you agreed his music was a beautiful gift."
Oh, my fucking god.
"Yeah, a beautiful gift—as in, he's gifted. Not as in gift him to me, you sociopathic fucking faerie!" I explode, throwing my hands into the air.
The air chills around us as Malivant stares me down, a scent like spiced smoke drifting to my nose.
"You will watch how you speak to me," he warns in a tone that implies another death threat.
He can threaten me all he fucking wants, because this is not happening. Taking a deep breath, I pray to whatever goddess exists in this world for the patience of a saint, since I absolutely do not fucking have it.
"Dear Wrath. This," I gesture at the collared piper. "—is a man. You cannot give someone a man as a present. Signed, The Comb Throwing Mortal Who Is Not Accepting Your Screwed-Up Gift."
"I fail to see what him being a man has to do with anything.
You liked him. I've gifted him to you. Therefore, your ire toward me should be lessened," he says as if it's the simplest thing in the world, and he can't fathom how I haven't grasped it yet.
"If you're done being dense, the spell around his throat shall cause pain to your gift if he ventures too far from you.
It is only visible to magical beings, so—"
"What? Absolutely fucking not. I refuse, end of discussion. Set this poor man free right now," I demand.
"Poor?" the piper repeats. Then he sighs. "It's the clothes, isn't it? They're pauperous, I admit."
Once again, Malivant looks insulted at the suggestion, his amber gaze narrowing on me.
"I will not repeat this ever again: One cannot refuse a gift from a faerie. If you do not want this piper's flute as a plaything, make him your court jester."
"That's no good, I've got no sense of humor—but my flute is no jest," the piper grins at me.
Eris snorts. "I hate that I just laughed at that. He's clearly eccentric."
I pin the Pied Piper with a look. "Do you mind, Butterfly Man? I'm kind of in a fight with a faerie to make him give you your freedom back."
His smile is cute as fuck again. "Ah, that. Apologies, do go on. I'll keep score."
Why is he so entertained by this? I turn my glare back to the tall, foreboding asshole next to him.
"Wrath. I'm not accepting this gift."
"You are horrifyingly ungrateful for someone who has now received three gifts from a faerie," he says darkly, that amber gaze searing me. "Insult my kindness one more time, and I shall curse that pallid child you've taken such a maternal interest in."
Just the idea of him hurting Snow White in any way fills me with rage. But I keep my mouth shut, because I don't doubt this jackass would actually do what he's threatening if I throw another random object at him.
His lips twitch. "Such protective wrath. At last, something to make you mind your sharp tongue."
Drop dead, fucker.
The piper's brows go up, and he glances at me. "It might be best to just accept me as a gift, Dot."
Dot? Is he calling me that because of my beauty mark?
I'll deal with the insane piper later. I address Malivant again, still seething.
"Fine. Leave the piper. I'll figure out a way to undo whatever you've done to him before I leave this world. Any last curveballs you want to throw at me before I head to the masquerade?"
His gaze dips. I immediately fold my arms again to give my tits a little extra coverage, since this chemise is way too silky and thin to stand around chatting in.
"As illogical as you are, even you must realize you cannot wear next to nothing amidst a horde of salacious mortal men. They appeared eager enough to devour you whole in the regalia you wore yesterday."
He thinks I would wear this fairytale world's equivalent of underwear to a party, yet he calls me illogical?
"I'm not taking fashion advice from someone with horns," I smile too sweetly.
The faerie is unimpressed. He glances at the bed again, his lips turning down before he vanishes abruptly.
The moment he's gone, I swear like a sailor and grab the golden letter opener from the guest room's desk. When I reach for the Pied Piper's hands to stabilize him and cut him free, he jumps a little, holding his hands away.
"Do I look like someone who goes around slashing handsome pipers? I'm just cutting you free," I grumble, cranky from the interaction with Malivant.
Not to mention, this thirst is fucking annoying. Every time I swallow, it's like dragging sandpaper up my windpipe.
When I grab the Pied Piper's hands and begin cutting through the bindings, he's far more serious than he was during that entire interaction. He studies me close up.
"You're touching me," he murmurs, his voice as soft as a butterfly's wing.
I pause and peer up into his fascinating eyes, trying to figure out why he's hung up on that. Then I grimace.
"Sorry. I should have asked before touching you at all.
I just really, really hate when people are treated like objects—but here I am, doing shit without your consent.
Just let me free your hands, and I won't touch you again.
" I finish cutting through the bindings and toss the letter opener onto the bed.
"There. See? I'll keep my hands to myself. "
"Must you, master?"
"Gah—what?" I pause on the way to the wardrobe. "Fuck no. Don't call me that."
He flashes a teasing smile. "What else should a gift call you?"
"For the last fucking time, you're not a gift. Now, I just have to ask: Are you always this…" I gesture at him vaguely before settling on, "offbeat, or did that damn faerie drug you?"
When he laughs, it's the most truly happy, melodious laugh I've ever heard. "Alas, no drugs."
Okay. So this guy is just wacky as fuck.
"What's your name?"
"Butterfly Man should do," he winks. "It's lovely to meet you."
"We met yesterday," I remind him.
He tilts his head. "Did we? Lucky me."
Eris speaks from the mirror. "I overheard whispers at the masquerade yesterday. His given name is Friedrich, but anyone who knows him well calls him Fritz. There is something amiss with his memories. They hardly stick."
So Malivant just saddled me with a Dory? Fantastic.
Pulling my white ballgown from the wardrobe along with the jewelry box with the pretty silver earrings and necklace Ida and I picked out for tonight, I dress as swiftly as I can.
"Listen up, Fritz."
He tips his head to one side, tapping his ear to indicate he is literally listening up. "Yes, Dot?"
"Sure, call me that. At least it's better than the other thing. Here's the deal: tonight, I'm looking for a girl named Cinderella. I need to ask her for a huge favor—actually, two huge favors, since I guess I may as well ask if her magic bird or godmother or whatever can get rid of your collar."
He touches his neck, where the glowing spell is still slowly circling.
"Do you not like your men collared, Dot?"
I heave a heavy sigh, stepping into my slippers and putting in my earrings at the same time. "Not really, but let's not get into kinks right now. Just please stick close to my side tonight so that stupid collar doesn't hurt you, okay?"
"Happily. How lovely you look," Fritz adds, following me toward the door. Then he glances at the vanity mirror. "As her lover, you ought to also compliment your lovely love."
I freeze, sharing a glance with Eris.
I think we both forgot the Pied Piper uses magic, which means he can see my iridescent companion. But…
"How did you know about us being lovers?" Eris frowns.
Is that what we are?
Fuck, I guess he and I need to talk, after last night—and I don't just mean all the fucking. I haven't opened up to anyone like that in a long time.
It felt…good. At least, as good as it can ever feel, talking about the monster in my past.
"I've a certain eye for souls and their ties," the strange Pied Piper shrugs before he opens the door for me. He looks me over, curious. "Or…shards, in your case. You're missing quite a lot, aren't you? Looks painful."
I have no fucking idea what to make of this guy's analysis of my broken soul, so I just sigh and step out of the door for the second night of the masquerade.