"In what way?"
"Installations," he explained, excitement coloring his voice. "Environmental pieces where the transformed materials create immersive experiences. Imagine a room where light passes through properly preserved tissue, creating patterns that shift as viewers move through the space. Transformation of not just material but perception."
"That's an ambitious evolution," I observed.
"Too ambitious?" Micah’s maimed hand moved unconsciously toward his mouth, sleeve catching between his teeth before he caught himself and lowered it.
"Not at all," I assured him. "But we must be mindful of our audience. Not everyone will appreciate the new medium. Perhaps such works would have more power if left…unsigned."
“Art for art’s sake,” he murmured. “Of course.” He paused briefly before turning back to me. “How is he coming?”
“Almost done,” I said.
I watched as he gently wiped blood from his instruments, movements precise and elegant. He hummed softly, that same unfamiliar melody from earlier, something I hadn't taught or exposed him to. An unexpected warmth had spread through my chest, watching him. There was pride in his progress, yes, but also something more.
When he looked up, catching me watching him, his smile carried warmth but also something new. Something knowing. "What are you thinking about, Daddy?"
The term no longer seemed childish, but rather intimate in a way I hadn't anticipated when first conditioning him to use it.
"You're becoming your own artist," I acknowledged. "Finding your own vision, distinct from mine."
"Does that disappoint you?" he asked, his voice softening as his shoulders tensed slightly.
"No," I said truthfully. "It surprises me. In a most fascinating way."
His shoulders relaxed. He removed and discarded his bloodstained gloves. "I'm still yours, Daddy. For as long as you’ll have me."
"I know," I replied, not sure I was entirely convinced.
He paused and looked up. "You're afraid. Not of losing control of your student. Of losing something more."
I couldn't lie. Not well. Not to him. Not anymore. The observation struck uncomfortably close to the truth. I stepped back from Daniel, who’d gone still. Not dead. Not yet, but drifting quietly in that direction.
“I’ve been alone for most of my life, Micah,” I found myself saying. “Working alongside you… It’s what I’ve dreamed of. Everything I wanted.”
“And yet?”
I closed my eyes, searching, reaching for the words. “‘And I do not know whether he is a sinner,’ the man replied. ‘But I know this: I was blind, and now I can see.’” I looked over my shoulder at him. “Have you ever walked out of a dark room into direct sunlight? That first moment, when the brightness stings, when you must resist the urge to shut your eyes against it? Today is that moment. You are the sun.”
He smiled and took my hand, saying nothing. The kiss he placed on my cheek was sunlight itself—soft, searing, impossible to look away from.
Micah
Blood still caked myfingernails despite scrubbing until my skin turned raw. I picked at the dried remnants with the stump of my little finger, tracing dark crescents—trophies of last night's work. Reverend Morris, reduced to artistic components. Daniel, a perfect contrast. My first independent kill. My transformation from student to creator.
So why did my chest feel hollow?
My moth lay pressed against my side, its soft velvet wings pulsing with faint blue light as if sensing my disquiet. I clutched it closer, seeking comfort from the familiar texture, the gift Daddy had given me when he first welcomed me into his world.
Ezra's breathing stayed deep and even beside me, silver hair catching pale morning light through curtains I couldn't afford in a lifetime. My gaze traced the contours of his chest, lingering on his nipples. They looked red, swollen, chafed from my desperateattention the night before. Afterward, I'd nursed for nearly an hour, clinging to him while he stroked my hair and called me his good boy. The memory made my mouth water, lips tingling. I swallowed hard and looked away. Better to let him rest than wake him for my comfort.
Beautiful. Untouchable. Distant even in sleep.
Something was wrong. Had been wrong since we'd finished disposing of the bodies, since he'd taken me afterward against the blood-spattered workbench. His cock had been hard, his grip bruising, but even when he'd whispered "good boy" against my throat as he came, something in his eyes had shifted. A distance I couldn't name that made my stomach twist. Not being allowed to come had left me aching. Just thinking about it had made me hard again, so hard it hurt. He’d promised me relief today, but…
Had I disappointed him? Pushed too hard, too fast? The thought sent panic spiking through my veins, hot and acidic. Not the old hunger for scraps of approval, but something deeper. Something mine. The fear of losing the one person who'd ever seen my darkness and called it beautiful. I belonged to Daddy completely, and it was my choice, my gift, my sanctuary.
I wouldn't spiral. But I could show him. Prove that my growth hadn't changed what lived at the core of us.
