Epilogue

BEL VINE

Burmstone Castle, a ruin nested in an oak tree the size of a record-breaking skyscraper, this one, very much dead.

Minutes after we landed, not only was I greeted with the feeling that I was in trouble, but also by a garrison, arms in hand, ready to spoil a fight.

I am ahead of this odd bunch, mostly being pushed forward.

"Hey, Hopscotch!" One of my armed escorts sneaks into my peripheral vision. "She has a surprise for you, Bell. You'll enjoy it." Ambling at my level, he gives me a long, hard once-over, like he sincerely thinks we could get it on, his black scarf wrapped tightly over his mouth, swelling as he breathes... um, let's say, repulsively. Thought about 'ardently' but couldn't stomach it. What a fuckass. "Oh, yes, you're gonna love it."

His last words are laced with a sadist, insidious tone, and my pulse takes the wrong kick out of it. I stagger, bits of gravel niching into the palm of my hands as I catch myself on a gritty step.

In a bid to remain unfazed, I scoff, "If it doesn't involve stairs, I will."

Pervy guy slowly retreats backward into his formation, his eyes forever smirking as he does. I tsk. Paranoia won't stick with me. They're all weirdos, and will always be, taking one called Fidr to select them.

I push my gaze forth, all of me, in fact, squeezing a moan between clenched teeth, as my wound won't let me be.

Their pace keeps sending my heart racing as I limp, climbing up a ribbon of glass stairs that twirls around the thickest of trunks.

My usual route to the grand doors is on a flying coach pulled by Fidr's two griffins.

Not this time.

Tell Fidr the girl was yours. You were about to embark on the aeriojet when some dumbass vampire came and tipped the game in his favor.

I trip again, my foot nudging the void. Fidr could put in a bloody guardrail. She can afford it!

A rifle's tip pokes at my back. "No time for breaks. Get up."

"It's dark; the moon is shy tonight," I titter.

"The queen doesn't wait!"

I take a peek over my shoulder. All there, ten tall, masked soldiers, wings a glint of silver, a plate of supple high-tech metal for armor layered over them.

I gather myself, muttering, "President, you mean," taking note of one guard in the rear—the carrier. He's carrying the wings wrapped in a bloodied linen, and the tips poking over their heads tells me he's there. I swallow something drier than my throat. The wings will be enough.

They must.

They won't.

My breathing is gradually turning into a case of apoplexy just at the thought of it, plodding up lengthy stairs, aggravating everything. My gaze keeps wandering from left to right, and gets ensnared through the dead branches. There, thousands of lanterns with pixie sentinels inside hang in a glitziness of yellow and red lights. Their firefly wings began to burr behind the glass panels, illuminating our way aggressively. I lock eyes with one pixie, and immediately, I turn away. Their spears might be tiny, but their tips are poisonous. And I'm not here to ruffle anyone's feathers—in this case, wings.

I need time. Find the proper excuse. I scratch my head, itchy from sweat, each step I take thrusting into my core. No. It was a success. Better than alive, she was killed, her wings for proof... Yes!

Even though I do not suffer vertigo, I gasp when I tread on ruby-like crystal ground, the depth across it, endless.

"Stop," booms across my spine.

"It's not like I can go any farther," I grind, lifting my head and still going. Four-story high double golden painted doors are bowing like a mountain, a black diamond ring, glintless as a foam-swept rock, pinned in the middle... paints of it flaking away.

I'm half-expecting a nudge from them any second now.

A guard speaks into his radio emitter. "Cargo's here."

The doors open with a haunting wince, long and strident. Wind bursts from the growing gap, the force of it so great that I cover my eyes.

"Move."

A hit to my shoulder makes me wince. Here goes the friendly nudge...

One foot at a time, I trod. There isn't much to like about this place. In this alley, I've seen countless heads roll with the swift swipe of a dagger-rimmed wing. Still haven't seen her magic, though... and maybe it's better that way.

Counting each torch burning a purple fire, I slow down, my lungs wrangling. My life is fucking over.

"Faster!"

I raise my hands, immediately picking up speed. "Okay, okay. Don't get mad."

My ears begin ringing with a mighty buzz. Could be fear. Could be my arterial pressure or impending apoplexy, not that I ever experienced it. Could be those soldiers over there, swallowed by the penumbra extensively lining each side, wings burring out of frustration or anticipation. "What's the emotion for, fellas?" My fake merry attempt to network doesn't work.

They stay mute like wooden toys, and I grimace. Should've insisted on taking the girl. Should've grown some backbone!

My heels break as I angle my head to the right. "The Round Office is this way."

"Keep walking straight." A mighty hand slams under my nape, fisting my suit and a good handful of hair, shoving me forward.

From now on, I'm going to stay silent. I know these mercenaries are of a different breed, but we're supposed to be on the same side. And this push is reminiscent of a death march.

We cross the hallway to take a left. The throne room is not at the end of this hall. Obviously not. Fae royals nested their supremacy at the top of the tree.

Again, stairs, but this time inside the bark. The wood creaks under our boots as we twirl up the top. Not one piece of this castle isn't falling to pieces.

My frown grows deeper, hands clutching as they brace my chest. A month ago, the throne room was airtight-locked, the doors chained with dust sleeping on the fat links. It's my first time seeing it. Until now, meetings with Fidr were held in an overbearing round office with consultants two levels below, always poorly lit. Wonder where those guys went? Actually, no. Whatever happened to those mouthpieces, I don't care. Anyone working under Fidr has a short shelf life. That's if you're stupid, which I'm not known for being. And only one species of rat is dumb enough to mingle with Fidr: the political one.

Finally, my stair ordeal comes to terms––my eyebrows flatline––with plenty more obstacles to fucking come. The lane leading up to the throne is a nightmare. It's not even that steep; it's thick with massive branches.

With the wound at my thigh barely tolerable, curses rumble in my throat as I try not to fumble over sizable tree limbs worming out of both glass walls and ceiling. These encrust in the ground, seamlessly blending into an ugly, holed, leafy-textured carpet.

I don't give a shit that fae people used to flutter constantly, or that old saggy royalty used to honor their guests by touching the ground with their feet. It's a fucking stumbling-block fest for the wingless.

Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing... Maybe she will be happy about it. Flinging stray hair behind my shoulder, I proceed down this crappy guarded alley, settling my frustration with another thought—my reward or how Fidr will shower gold coins on my pretty head.

"Tsks." It looks like she already did that with her private security. On both sides of the path begins a row of glinting living garlands.

I can't help but snort to find these swanky winged soldiers decked out in golden metallic bracers and plated chest gear. It didn't take Fidr long to trade her beloved knights' modern military uniforms for old regency armor, gleaming helmets topped with owl wings. The weapons, semi-automatic M-guns, of course, stayed. Someone's living in the past, I tell ya.

I cough.

Keep coughing, breathing and wheezing joining the party. No one in their right mind can climb all these stairs without taking several breaks.

We close in on an antechamber, hazy with sulfurous smoke. Burmstone Eyrie used to be known as the center of the fae world, a luminous palace full of magical splendor.

Fidr turned it into a grim cave of decay and death.

Finally, a vast open area with the night as a ceiling comes into view. It's a ring of thrones, ropes of purple winter creeper meshing down stony walls, most probably what killed the tree when I think about it...

My feet swivel as I take a moment to take it all in. Bright as fallen sky fragments, crystal thrones beam brightly. Each glows, pulsing, and I might think they have a heart.

Recalling my past Elemental studies, I know by de facto there is one for the queen mother, one for the king, and one for the queen, as well as four for the princes and princesses. Way not to put pressure on their women...

My eyes follow the only rug leading to the most imposing settee. The king's.

There she is, far off in the dark, elevated marches separating her from her flock. It doesn't matter if her pseudo-bloodsucker king recently made her a vampire; she's always thrived in dark places, as most critters do.

A flutter of arms ebbs in and out of the dimness, and one crooked finger breaches out.

It flickers at me with a whisper, "Come closer..."

I quicken, a thickset of saliva scraping down my windpipe. A thousand words, excuses, counter arguments, puns, whatever float through my anticipating mind as I watch the black canopy wave shyly above the throne, its drab slouched, dipping slightly in front of spikes the size of small stalagmites where a head should be, the glint running sharp at every sway. I can't see. As if born from her, mist keeps breathing Fidr in and out at every breeze.

She's going to be okay with it. Wings are better than nothing!

I grimace as her throne takes shape. Like blood vessels, its red color flows beneath the surface.

Fidr's attention quickens to the left, and I chase it. There, a shadowy figure emerges from the penumbra.

"Hurry!" she barks.

The order might not have been for me, but I still shiver.

Glinting ensnares my eye. Lethal black wings pouring down her royal seat sharpens at every foot closing in. My chest burns. I did warn the vampire... I did!

"What is this? Is that goblin?" Fidr's glassy, shitty, snotty voice streams through the chamber, bouncing off any surface made of crystal. "Mmm... no, let me guess. Naga, from that sweet peachy scent."

Looks like I'm interrupting her breakfast.

On both his knees, a fae flunkey holds a golden tray high enough to rest on his head, one step away from her feet. "Nectar of the day, minotaur blood, fresh from the press, my majesty."

She's already feasting on her people, probably galvanized by the chaos outside.

My footsteps are cut short by the thud of double golden doors closing behind me.

She clutches the chalice on the tray before stiffening with a, "Leave us."

I have one second to kneel. One.

I bend one knee and struggle to contain a wince as I drop.

Hands flat on the long green carpet, my eyes slant to my bleeding thigh, and I cringe to know I'm staining this damn rug. For all I know, Fidr could make me scrub it with my hair.

The scent of incense is strong, wafts of it hitting me in the back of my throat. There's a hint of urine, and I cough from it. Poison Hemlock flower... Something ugly is being bred. She's not hiding her incantations as a faint scent of necromancy hangs in the air. I never know what she's up to, only what ingredients are brewing in her cauldron of schemes.

A cloudy light throbs at my vision, nagging my curiosity. I sweep my head up, immediately choking back a gasp. Wings keep brightening, and I see her whole. Iron floods my mouth, feeling like a shovel bit into my tongue. Fidr's got this presence—ain't going to deny it— it's oxidizing.

She's wearing an oversized tunic of giant burgundy petals, her Titan Arum's House garment and colors, and her head topped with a crystal crown darker than midnight. She was quick to race to her royal closet... I always pondered her wardrobe selection, the same dull gray dresses and skirts—neither fit nor suited her.

Fidr narrows her eyes at me, her head leaning against her palm as she elbows the armrest. "Something reeks in here," she says before bringing the cup to her lips.

Fuck.

My head ducks right away, freezing on the carpet's fibers. I'm there, sweating buckets, wondering what courtesy name to use. "President Fidr," I mumble.

Someone shrieks at my back, "Queen Fidr, scum!"

She's expecting something I haven't. She knows.

"Bell."

I lift my head, meeting the hollowness in her eyes. "You changed, Qu-Queen Fidr."

"Ah, yes..." I watch her bring a finger over a crystal spike of her crown and prick it. "Democracy didn't seem to work, so I went back to my roots," she says, licking her now bloodied tip. "Funny, it sounds like an adage."

I automate a laugh as I twist my head to one side. The carrier walks past me kneeling with a load wrapped in its cloth. And I gulp at the trail of pixie dust it leaves in its wake.

She pauses longingly on his hands as he unwraps the package.

"Bell, entertain me, will you?" She's playing coy, and it's triggering me.

"The wings of the bastard child, President Fidr."

"Queen Fidr!" someone yells, hitting a weak spot between my shoulder blades with his weapon.

I cough from the top of my lungs. "The wings of the bastard child, Queen Fidr."

"Interesting way of introducing Shada... I like it. Where is the rest of the body? I hope it breathes for your sake."

My stomach drops. "One of the Vampire King's sons took her."

"Repeat." Her voice turns flat, her articulation crisp.

"He was wearing a royal chest harness and a so-called crown of theirs. I know he's from the Vampiric aristocracy." I'm dishing out, but she needs to know I did my best! "He took her. Took control! Wouldn't listen to me."

The breaths I take are counted. I'm dead. I know it.

I plop my gaze back to the floor.

"They all think she's beautiful." Her voice vibrates like a sharp chime, rippling against the roof of the night despite not having any. "Look at her. What I see is not beauty..." She hurls her cup at it, blood wisping over my head, some splatting on me as it clanks and bounces into the shadows. "Only stupidity and ignorance," she grates. "I won't be that idiot. Mab's curse will not thwart my plans."

Several seconds pass, and I cautiously look behind to find what her stern gaze is all about.

My gaze flits around the circle-shaped platform, taking in each radiant throne that edges it.

Blood fucking leaves my face.

One is not like the others.

Fuck, it's not.

There's nothing glowy about it, and it's' occupied. There's color, a body in it, wings stemming out high to the stars.

A fae.

A fae is freaking sitting there.

A gasp escapes me as I recall when I saw her last. Yes, that's right. We met before. In the abandoned cathedral!

A snap echoes, and I flash my head back at Fidr.

A rictus of disgust shapes on her lips, keeping her hand high, still clenching her fingers in a snapping position, eating my soul with her eyes.

"She was hidden in a place I thought no one would notice or investigate. I had been assured by Ulrich that my fore-elder had been sufficiently retreated in a location so as to also allow him to keep his own embarrassing secrets from curious eyes." She yanks her arm to one side as if hurling something. "Your failure to accomplish your mission nearly exposed me."

Her head dips to the left, her brows furrowing, over-exaggerating a perplexed expression.

"How can one be so clumsy, Bell?" she asks, tapping her nails against the crystal armrest in a saccadic wave of fingers. "The only person who sufficiently fulfilled his role was my late uncle Barry. So full of resources... and contacts, starting with Melinda or should I say, Herial, my father's bastard who kidnapped my poor infant," she says, faking drama. "Forcing Barry to contact her was a brilliant move, because it killed three birds with one stone and weeded out Duc of Sornygh, my dead mother's ex-knight. He could've come up with anything but that. I mean, who comes up with such a common name?" She cackles absurdly, eyes expressionless. "Jinksovan!"

Her finger lands under her nose, and my face crinkles as she makes it slide against her nostrils. Rubbing back and forth, she hums, "Ulrich... What perfect timing you had, dearest. As always..."

She then deepens her stare on me as she inclines her head. "A perfect timing indeed, because that's when my betrothed decided to tap his daughter's phone. What sane vampire king wouldn't grow tired of having their assets found ashen and smoked?" She sneers at me. "But you know that story already."

She stops tapping, leaving only her lips to move as her cataract-like eyes begin another staring contest with the ether. "Gods know how Mordana found out about Mr. Jinksovan and this Tyke Kar'Ael. But then again, she was a real snoop. And now her brother..." Fidr allows two breaths to pass between us. "Vym. Von. Crimsonian."

A long exhale turns into a honeyed, lusty sigh, the vampire seemingly a little more than just a name. "A delicious little thing... quite hard to swallow now that I see him under a new light."

She shuts her eyes and pauses, then lashes them wide open on me. "No, your stupidity is unmatched by anyone I know. I give you a fresh, 'green' lead on a silver platter. And you manage to blow the whole thing up."

The air around her buzzes, wings quivering at her back as if she were to hatch out of her ugly self. "Fortunately, the team was quick to repatriate my ancestor."

"Is she... alive?"

"Not one breath in her."

"My queen, it––"

"Silence."

Again, I watch her prick one of the sharp tips of her crown with her finger. Taking a swig from her bloody digit, she whispers, "Mab, the Mad Fae... what a clever monster, on the other hand."

In a tight lip seal, she runs her tongue over her teeth as if she were hungry for me. Wishing it ain't true because if this is the case, she has a valid excuse to chew my neck off.

"There's a dagger, crystalizing this queen's insides, forged from every channeling stone specific to each species's aura. A gift, I was told, from no other than Oberon himself. It has the ability to transfer a considerable amount of power."

In a bluff, I ask, "Why don't you pull it out?" There's no harm in trying to have Fidr sizzling on the ground.

She narrows her eyes on me, irritation and distaste rippling around and over her glower. "Only Mab can remove Thootharn from this old queen. And Mab alone, for I have been chosen to die at her hands. And guess who returned in the body of my daughter?" She scoffs before spitting, "The Mad Fae."

Her gaze dims, leaving her fluttering eyelids to pervade the silence.

Another tapping is heard, heavier than just a mere fingertip. She put her foot down.

She's put her effing foot down! She's uncrossed her legs. She's gonna get up. She's coming for me.

I hold my breath.

As her eyes meet mine, she cocks her eyebrow and releases a silent sneer.

"Once it spills blood, its power will be released to the one who enacted the killing."

Self-addressing, she places a hand above her heart, light fingers fluttering over her breast. "And I want this power." She tilts her head, as if proud of the words spewing out of her, mouth slashing into a toothy, murderous rictus. "For this to happen, Shada must withdraw the dagger and hand it over to me. Only when my offspring drops dead on the floor, and only then, will I be given Mab's Dream Weaver abilities, along with those of the descendants gutted before the child."

She heaves herself and, clenching the armrests, leans forth, eyes a stab away from me. A murmur comes, icing my blood. "I must kill my daughter before she kills me, you understand."

After that, her head bobs in every direction she can think of, confused. "Can you see her?"

My eyes take a gander at the courtroom, searching for someone. "Who, my queen?"

She locks heads on me, eyes twinkling in fury. "My daughter, you call the bastard child."

Two miniature blades unlatch, slicing down right over her lips.

My head drops immediately, and my bladder unloads, piss staining my thighs as the stroke of rigid wingtips grates against the stone before being muffled by the rug, daggers stemming from them entering the frame of my bowing, wretched gaze.

I can't hold it any longer, can't hold back my tears, can't stop trembling. When a queen opens up, it's never a good sign.

It's now confirmed. I'm going to die.

The sound of her garment creases as if starch-made, and soon, knees covered in a vegetal tufted drape replace the floor I'm staring at.

"Bell."

I moan at the sound of my name, to then a finger brushing down the length of my cheek. It hooks under my chin, and I rise. "Take a walk with me, will you?"

And as I lift my chin, a riot of tremors and twitches spread over my face.

This is my closest encounter with her. Fuck. Fidr's the tallest twig I've ever seen in my damn life. Spindle-shanked, lanterned-jawed, cheekbones popping out like push pins, she's grinning, and I try smiling back at those meadow muffin-stained shark teeth.

"Deals, Bell... I solely rule on deals. Bargains, exchanges..." We begin walking, me stifling pain from blowing out of me at every step.

"My queen?—"

"I am very sensitive to them. May you remind me of yours regarding me?'

"To serve you without failure in exchange for mine and Deon Stryga's life."

"Very well."

Two griffins, tethered to a chariot, land in the middle of the circular area, and my agonizing body couldn't be more overjoyed to see this. She climbs in and stares at me like I'm a random fly on a discarded plate. "I don't have all night."

Putting my foot on the step, I lift myself up to sit on what feels like petals. Poppy petals. In a color of blood, giant ones cushion the benches.

Our takeoff is jerky, yet Fidr remains static, eyes pensive on her fingers; her heavy rings, adorned with diamonds of all colors, seem to be the only source of light.

I gulp many times, trying to keep a semblance of calm.

The jerk repeats a few minutes later, as if rolling over a protruding bump.

The carriage doors open, and I stare blankly at it. Remain where I am. Thinking. A low moan erupts from my lips when I realize I wet her bench and that she seems unaffected by it...

As Fidr steps off, I watch her hesitantly.

"Hurry," she hisses.

Upon exiting, I'm surprised to find the two golden camphor doors which took me an hour to reach. Bloody bitch. She could've assisted me.

We transit down a series of stairs I struggled to climb in the first place.

"Deals... deals... deals. It always comes down to deals." She turns a brief corner of an eye on me, emphasizing our size difference. "When these are not respected, trust naturally dwindles. You are my little protegee, Bell. I've always taken good care of you," she says huskily, rubbing my back, her hand slithering up my spine. She's going to crack my neck. I can feel it. "Not the smartest of all, but the most determined. Today wasn't a good day, was it?" Her hand forks into my hair, and I wield my jaws as she strokes my scalp, sharp nails tearing at my skin. Now, every nerve in my body seemed like a strained harp string, ready to snap at her touch.

My spine tingles with dread and gives way, and a sob pours out of me. "I failed you," I weep at her feet. Gods, I can't stop crying. "Spare me."

"Now, child. Get up. Aren't we having a stroll under a wonderful starry night? We should go to the ponds. I have something to show you."

My heart shivers, yet I breathe with hope, knowing she is in good spirits.

"Let's get back to my little story, shall we? So, as I was saying, deals... I am very good at them. You want to know why?"

"Yes, my queen." Detecting shadows cast beyond our own, my gaze drifts to my left till I twist my neck. As quiet as snowflakes, an armada of soldiers march behind us. It's not like I'm going to slaughter her.

"When I reached the age of queenship, my father promised me I would be queen of the west continent if I were to wed a chief of Orcana. The looks of this barbarian, just like his genes, were not on the satisfying side. Fortunately, his spirits were mighty and unruly, and just like my father, we admired those qualities. It was evident, however, he lacked judgment all over."

Five minutes unfold as we descend the last stairs leading to a garden.

Her first genuine smile creeps across her face as she grasps a fold of her tunic.

I recoil from within. Smiling isn't part of Fidr's nature. Oh, fuck, no, it isn't.

"Weddings and alliances are meant to be broken—that was what my father always taught me as a ruler. He was probably trying to reassure my young sixteen-year-old self."

I clamp my thigh from a sudden light bolt stemming from my hip bone as my gaze wanders off. It is more of a wild moor than a garden, dead patches of what must have been berries, reminiscent of olden times, and I must lift my legs and tread over rocks and thorny strings as fear and pain collide.

"So my younger self thought the wedding was just a celebration. It was a simple matter of drinking, smiling, dancing, weaving silk around our wrists, and running a dagger over them to grace the stone of the Goddesses of the Three Elements with our merged blood."

"Orcs, my queen, need to be rid of." I don't care how obsequious I sound, my survival is at stake!

She snorts with satisfaction, nodding. "My father was a troubled man, Bell. During public appearances, he showed kindness, phony smiles, and feigned ignorance on multiple occasions, attracting sympathy. Many enemies lowered their guard to find a king lacking self-assurance...

Under this meek guise, however, was a vile man." She grasps my wrist and tugs me to the left. My face creases from the light rippling fiercely over distant water. There, at the end of a cobbled stone lane, is a lake bathing in moonlight.

"He sold my virginity in return for support in a war he was brewing against the many tribes of Orcana. He wanted the mageksium. So he forged an alliance with one of its prominent tribal chiefs. There was never a queen in the deal," she says, emphasizing the word 'deal,' like she's building up momentum.

I briefly look at her. Her lips pinch as her nostrils flare and her tick returns. Fidr pricks her finger on her crown. "I was locked in a room for two days with this chief. Not only lust was unleashed but also anger, breaking my bones and my spirit when this orc realized I was not the virgin he thought I was..." She sucks on her finger as my guts become a hard knot of fucks. "My father was distraught. My imperfect self had botched the deal."

The ground breaks under us from the stark-lit shingles lining a small lake.

I cock my head, a little surprised to find what looks like love boats at first glance. They're all by themselves, floating idly. "The unkind forces of the universe were not over with me. Undesigned to reproduce as is expected of his kind, this otherwise sterile orc had managed to impregnate me. Me, princess of the Seelie. My father, as well as his court, couldn't believe it. Humiliation like that is ten times worse than death. And the nightmare didn't stop there. As a punishment, I was forced to keep his filthy spawn until birth, my father hoping this very precise chief would change his mind upon seeing his offspring. Fortunately, the orc in question died. Those animals fight against each other like it's a tradition of its own."

Her gaze doesn't detach from those odd little rowboats. Mine is jumping around as the wind brings in something foul.

"My father... My very first political test. My very first deal. All of it, drenched in deceit, before shattering my young, innocent, tender heart."

She turns to me, her expressionless face tinged with silver as we stand under the moonbeam. "Imagine the despair, Bell."

I shudder at the small wooden embarkations floating around, a rigid shell atop, and smelling the stink in the air, try to contain what's swimming up my throat. Flies are swarming, and even the sound of critters sprawling resounds across the otherwise tranquil lake.

"So, Bell, deals, and I have an exceptional bond. I like them to be honored. When this doesn't happen, one can only imagine the psychological damage it causes me."

I'm gripped, the air in my lungs and thoughts stunned.

A cloth gags me, my scream sponging into it.

Fuck!

My clothes! They're removing them! Daggers run through them and cut into my thighs. I yell, soundless, as ropes slice into my skin.

Soldiers grunt, and one slaps me as I buck my head back and forth.

"Have you seen my little boats floating around?" Fidr keeps talking as if nothing is happening. A hurricane of fingers kneads into me with something sticky until someone rubs this substance over my face, and I recognize the taste of honey.

"These are my most trusted confidants to date who haven't honored their part of a deal."

I keep screaming as sweetened tears bite my eyes. "Whether you survive these two days is up to you. Nevertheless, people never seem to make it past fifteen hours. I could change my mind about your fate, but I doubt it. Good luck, Bell."

My head hits a cushion of crunch and crepitation before the moon disappears and a lid closes on me.

Slimy insects crawl up my body in a frenzy.

And then, the screeches of rats.

No!

No!