I eyed his outfit, the silver like a second layer of skin wrapped around his slender body. Sheer, tantalizing, so thin that one forceful tug would tear it from his body.
I want to see…
I want to see all of him…
His body fell apart, collapsing to white rose petals, carried off by the wind.
How odd.
But his honeyed scent lingered, his song a small echo in my mind. I needed more of it because the melody opened windows and doors, letting things spill into the empty room of my mind.
At least I thought so. What other explanation was there? How else did this mysterious Lucius worm his way into my memories, as well as the rest of the things I’d seen?
It had to be the song.
I had to hear more of it.
Careful now. This could be the beginning of a road leading toward great sorrow.
Then so be it.
So. Be. It.
At sunset,my entire body responded with its natural awakening. The time for sleep was now over.
I heard the elf’s voice. Was he reading out loud?
The bed’s mechanism whirred, rising out of the floor to rejoin the rest of my chambers, placing me in a surprising scene: Paris and Medusa on his bed, the elf holding a book, my snake spread merrily across the sheets. His legs were tucked under her, her head poised above the tome as if he’d just been reading to her.
A warm sensation pooled in my belly—one I didn’t want to feel when it came to this elf.
Murderer.
Vile filth.
But the warmth began to spread, my lips threatening to stretch into a smile.
“That’s impressive,” Paris said, nodding at me. “What’s it like down there?” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his lovely eyes.
“Dark,” I answered, shaking off the ridiculous happy sensation.
Medusa hissed at me in welcome.
I swung my legs off the bed. “Good evening, both of you.”
Medusa hissed her hello.
“Evening, Majesty,” the elf returned, closing the book.
I’d told Medusa about our new guest, expecting indifference. “What is this?” I pointed between them.
“We’re just chilling, enjoying a story about a werewolf prince and a human princess,” Paris answered. “Nice edition you got here.” He held up the collection of short fantasy stories I’d found in a destroyed library during the war. It’d withstood vicious days, its condition perfect despite the fire and bloodshed.
Medusa used her agreeing hiss.
Interesting. Utterly bizarre to see them together, as if they were old friends.
“I see,” I said.
