Page 40 of The Ruin of Eros

The meat smells of open fires, of red wine on winter nights; of butter pooling in a hot pan; of juniper and the deep woods.

“Just one bite.”

I’m hungrier than I knew a person could be. Every fiber of my being calls out for it and I can already all but taste it, the crisp charred edges of the lamb, the melting center, the juices flowing down my throat.

I don’t think I even decide to open my mouth, it just happens. And then I’m tasting it, and it’s like nothing I can describe. The meat slides onto my tongue, the richness of the herbs, the bright glow of salt, all of it unfolding in my mouth like a gift, touching all the corners of my tongue at once. And then the taste spreads beyond my tongue—to my throat, and up into my skull, and down to my belly, where a hot glow begins tospread.

Yes, I remember this feeling. This euphoria that stokes the very hunger it satisfies.

“Not so bad, see?” I can hear the smile in his voice. The myrrh-and-honey smell wafts my way again.

My hands are still trembling, but it’s a different kind of trembling now.

“More?” he says.

I nod, and when he puts another mouthful in front of me I don’t even need his voice to guide me—I can tell by my quivering nostrils, and I open my mouth again.

It is as though my blood has turned to gold; it is as though all my veins are singing. My head is swimming, my body is aflame. It is almost a trance; I suppose that I could move if I wanted to, but I don’t have to. All I need do is sit here, and open my mouth like a baby bird.

Like a bird.

The images flash into my mind, jarring and sharp: the birds squawking in their aviary, their white palace. Their cage.

Birds that never see the sky.

His fingers brush against my lips. Fingers that smell of every delicious thing—of spices and butter and smoke and berries and warmth—and that beneath it, smell of him.

Suddenly my stomach turns. I push my chair back as hard as I can.

“Get away from me!”

On my feet now, I bump against the chair and feel it topple. I find my bedroom door blindly, and scrabble inside. I lean against the wall, rip the tie from across my eyes, and stare at the ceiling, my breath heaving.

“Psyche…”

When he calls out, his voice is distant; he has not followed me to my door.

“Leave me alone,demon,” I spit back.

There’s a pause. When he speaks, his voice has turned from impatient to something colder.

“I would advise you, mortal, to have more care with how you talk to me.”

I hear the squeal of a chair then, and the slam of a door. I don’t have to peer out to know the room is empty once more.

*

I go to bed in my clothes; I don’t want to see my body or its bare skin. I am ashamed of it tonight, of how it betrayed me in so short a time. I pace the room to the point of exhaustion before collapsing on the bed, and when I sleep, dreams plague me. Inconvenient dreams, dreams I do not wish to acknowledge.

In the morning when I wake, my heart is beating fast. It’s as if the memories of last night have struck fresh. My cheeks burn.

What was I thinking?

Iwasn’tthinking. I am a mortal; mortal temptation, I could resist. But this…it was not the stuff I was made for.

I hate him. I hate him, this dark shadow of a creature.Aprósopos, the Faceless One. I sit on the side of the bed, and feel a dullness in the pit of my stomach. I don’t want to face him tonight. He enjoyed it, I am sure, seeing me suddenly so in thrall. How he must have smirked. I set my jaw. His demon foodstuffs cast some spell I cannot help. What I felt last night, for those few moments…it was some bewitchment, some entrapment. Nothing more.

I will refuse to join his table tonight. He can threaten me however he likes.

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