Page 38 of Dark Fate

I force air deeply into my struggling lungs. But then his earnest tone turns grim again. "Yet such an alignment cannot withstand neglect indefinitely either. Starved alone in the dark too long, the most stalwart of mates risks their sanity crumbling away."

The tension knots up in my stomach, a fierce swirl of anxiety for Rhyland that flares up, incinerating any faux sense of java-induced composure. My hands ball into fists, knuckles pressing against my eyes, which betray me again with their sting. This fierce urge to know—to grasp any and all means to claw him back from the brink before his light dies out completely—consumes me.

My voice is ragged, edged with desperation as I confront Erik. "What amped-up cosmic glue is gonna hold this thing together—huh?" I bark out. "How do I patch up a bond hanging by a thread when he's out of my reach? There's got to be some magical fix, right? Relationship wizardry? Anything?"

Erik sighs, clearly chewing over helpful knowledge gained the hard way throughout his isolated immortal existence. He is no stranger to solitude or the dangers bred within. "You need to be together physically and soon. Your bond strengthens over time and when with each other. But for you, right now, continuing to battle darkness in any form fortifies the purpose that united you as one spirit. The mate bond knows itself by deeds and heart loyalty, too."

"Why aren't you the one who's adrift?" I inquire, locking eyes with Erik. His brow crinkles, a silent testament to his puzzlement. "I mean, Rhyland has our bond that tethers him, and yet he's closer to the edge, teetering toward oblivion, more so than any of you who wander solo, unanchored by such ties."

With a measured gaze, Erik considers the question carefully before answering, "We possess a certain... resilience. A vampire unbound remains steadfast and disciplined in solitude until a mate is discovered. It acts as a stabilizing force. However, if the mate isn't found over time, the constant battle against the beckoning shadows may wear on a vampire. They are drawn deeper into darkness; eventually, without that anchor, they lose themselves completely."

He turns a sharper eye toward me: "Rhyland's struggle is different; your bond pulls at him, a constant tug-of-war that, if left unresolved, risks devouring him from the inside out. It's a perilous edge to walk, caught between two forces. On the other hand, those of us 'flying solo,' as you say, aren't faced with such immediate and profound conflicts. We endure, we fight on, embracing solitude until either bond or darkness takes its hold."

Before I can further interrogate Erik, Faderyn ducks through the tent flap, carrying a bundle of cloth, clothes, and toiletries; despite gloom still clinging like cobwebs, I perk up at the prospect of hot food and bathing to scrub off the latest layer of funk and night sweats.

"I thought you would care for a bath and some hot food. After you finish that….Lady Axilya will grant you a private audience later today if it pleases you."

I rocket to my feet, fresh hope blazing through my veins to scorch away oppressive dread. It's about damn time. I've asked to speak with her days ago. "Axilya's got solid progress getting Rhyland??"

Faderyn smiles gently, hefting the bundle of scented toiletries and clean garb he brought. "The Lady sends merely her assurance she will discuss matters concerning your quest's progress so far. But optimism never goes amiss."

Danica

16

The anticipation is like electricity under my skin, a current of exhilaration that has me practically vibrating on the spot. Here we are, trailblazing through the enigmatic woods led by Faderyn toward some clandestine spring, and I can't hold still. The canopy above is alive with a chorus of birds, their melodies weaving a tapestry of cheerfulness that feels strangely discordant against the backdrop of my disheveled mix of anxiety and hope.

The secluded oasis appears almost otherworldly, a pocket of steamy calm bordered by lush ferns and venerable stones veiled in thick green moss. The air carries the herbal scent of the warm springs to me, an intangible lure promising to melt away the day's strain. Why Faderyn chose to reveal this hidden paradise only now is a mystery. Perhaps those of his kind aren't bound to the daily cleansing rituals we mortals adhere to.

FaderynandErik, with the discretion of seasoned gentlemen, avert their gazes, granting me a sliver of solitude. Stripping, I waste no time slipping into the welcoming waters with a contented groan, feeling the tension melt from my muscles, dissolving in the heat like sugar in tea.

The air is laced with the comforting aroma of lavender, a touch of cedar, and something richly organic—a bouquet of serenity.

Curiosity piqued, I wander to the edge and uncover jars ensconced in the mossy embankment, their contents a mystery begging to be unveiled. Tentative sniffs uncover a symphony of fragrances—floral entwined with understated hints of fruit and herbs—a veritable cornucopia of faerie cosmetics at my disposal.

Delving deeper into this treasure trove of fae-kind hygiene, I finally fish out what looks to be a tiny, unassuming blade. A pinch of skepticism tags along as I test it against my leg, only to find myself gasping in sheer amazement; it whisks away the stubble in a flawless crescendo of smoothness.

Holy smokes— a magical razor? Victory! Oh, blessed be the inventors of this magical defoliator— it's time to say goodbye to Wookie legs, for I have been anointed with the sorcery of hassle-free hair removal!

After tackling the wilderness that was colonizing my legs and other parts, I worked some pearly liquid through knotted strands of my mess of hair, cursing when combing fingers met intractable snags. Frustrated, I can't properly wash my grimy, tangled hair with the mysteriously adhered diadem.

Honestly, at this point, I'd trade my left butt cheek just for the damn thing to come off!

Muttering to the void as I wrestle with the stubborn diadem, I grumble, "If this ornery tiara doesn't start working hair miracles stat, I'm doomed to look like I've wrestled with a pack of gremlins..."

My griping has barely bounced off the surrounding flora when a strange buzzing sensation tingles against my head. I let out a yelp, fingers fumbling through my tresses as the obstinate crown pulls a vanishing act!

"What in the actual fairy-tale hell?" I hiss, my heartbeat doing a drum solo in my chest. My pulse races. Faerie Hijinks better not be making off with my one shot at Unity Magic. "Get back here! Did you just...?"

As if on cue, the crown decides to play peek-a-boo. A faint hum teases at my hairline, and then—voilà! That cool metal band reappears, settling around my head like it's gravitating toward some unseen leash.

"Right, vanishing act accessories," I say, a little unsteady as I address the silent trees around me. "That's one for the books on creeping me out."

But when you've been knee-deep in otherworldly shenanigans, today's brand of weirdness is just another drop in the bucket. I shrug it off, as there's no use getting hung up on every quirk in this fae-filled funhouse.

Steeling myself, I channel my willpower, treating it like a hidden appendage I'm learning to wiggle for the first time. With a deep breath, I envision the command like a mental nudge, urging the unseen to respond. "Okay, you've got my attention, mystical crown. How about an encore?" I say, my voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Bibbity Bobbity—be gone."

As if eager to oblige, that odd hum buzzes again, the sensation dancing right down to the roots of my hair—and poof, the crown is gone, its weight lifting in an instant. It seems my headpiece is keen to follow orders, vanishing on command!

---