hide (me) in the backroom

There was an odd sort of innocence that caressed the spirit of Zenos yae Galvus.

As Alisaie brushed the mascara over his eyelashes, his blue eyes hidden, she couldn’t help but ponder her reasoning. Perhaps it was his features? While they were far too defined to be confused with a child’s, they were nowhere near the gaunt hollowness she had come to associate with men—her father’s profile burned into the back of her mind. Carefully, she tilted Zenos’ head, steadying her hand.

Maybe it was the way he reminded her of Estinien, the man ever-surprising with the fragility that could be found woven beneath pride in the depth of his heart. She snorted, brushing aside a golden strand that would interfere with her work. His personality certainly did remind her of Estinien, she thought, fondly recalling the man’s bluntness. She’d never admit it aloud, but when Alphinaud listed off Estinien’s top traits—a never-ending list, her brother naming every little thing about the man—she found herself nodding along in agreement. 

Or maybe it was the way he reminded her of Aymeric. Aymeric, whose blue eyes watched over everyone carefully, never hesitating to lend a hand. Sweet, kind Aymeric, who moved about with an elegance that Zenos seemed to share every time he graced the stage. Alisaie’s hand hovered as she recalled Aymeric’s worried look when they named her role for the mission, suddenly finding herself homesick.

Her hand wavered, and she lowered her head. She wondered how Alphinaud was doing. 

When she returned her gaze to Zenos’ face, she was greeted by cold, blue eyes framed by dark lashes. Only half done, she noted with some amusement, the difference in thickness all the more apparent from close range.

A pale brow arched up. “Do you amuse yourself with slothfulness, girl?”

She clenched her fist; mascara wand pressed tightly against her palm as she restrained the urge to snap back. “My sincerest apologies,” she bit out, gagging around her words. “I find myself distracted by such beautiful features.” Of course, it was complete horse shit, but Alisaie knew everyone was counting on her, so with a fantasy of gleefully ramming the instrument through his eyes, she smiled, lips tight and polite. “I simply lost track of time,” A bit of truth to wash the lie off her tongue, something that had become an unfortunate habit here. She readjusted her hand on his shoulder, grimacing as she felt the glitter stick to her warmed palm, the room suffocating with heat. 

Alisaie couldn’t help but wonder if the man even really needed makeup. In her time there, she had yet to see an outfit adorned with glitter and sequins that matched the brilliance that Zenos had. Maybe the man just wanted to waste the club’s resources so that when all the other performers ran out in cheap paints and cried in their ragged outfits and rusted jewelry, Zenos could swoop in and steal the show.

She hummed to herself.

That was probably it.

With a bit more force than necessary, Alisaie nudged his chin down, focused back on the task at hand. “Look up,” she said curtly, combing the wand through the lashes needed. After a moment, she pulled back, returning the brush to its tube, the sticker with the brand faded and peeling. “Blink.”

Zenos turned his head toward the mirror, studying her handiwork as he blinked slowly. It made Alisaie nervous, the mascara tube warm as sweat collected on her palm, awaiting his judgment.

(Somehow, the confinement of Zenos’ dressing room made death cling to her skirts more than any of the numerous times she had been nicked with hot steel on the battlefield.) 

“Hm,” he reclined the chair back without warning, Alisaie wobbling as she slid forward onto his chest, scrambling to grab the armrests before she slipped any further. She glared, irritated as the man closed his eyes, head haloed by golden hair. Maybe one day, she could get away with snipping it off into choppy layers. Knowing the bastard, he’d probably maim her for it, but the satisfaction she would’ve gained from it, however brief, appealed to her with every passing second. Zenos lifted his chin with the slightest movement, unbothered as usual. “Proceed.” 

With some difficulty, Alisaie reached for the vanity, searching for the glitter. Pencil shavings and nail polish stains decorated the surface, something that, as embarrassing as it was to admit, was her fault. Zenos was a surprisingly organized person, which baffled her all the more when he allowed the mess of her work to remain. Alisaie picked up a jar of glitter, sighing with relief at being able to turn back, her body no longer straining to reach. She unscrewed the cap, wondering. Perhaps it was a hidden test, and Zenos wanted her to pick it up without asking. Or maybe he was waiting for the moment when the mess became too much and had her fired. She stared at the sparkling glitter, a heavy breath on her lips.

It would be a shame if she ruined the mission over a bit of mess. 

Maybe she could attempt to clean it up afterward.

“My body is withering away, girl.”

She jammed her fingers into the powder. 

Or maybe she could become a noble sacrifice for the cause and ram the jar down his throat. Maybe then his personality wouldn’t be so hideous. It would be an incredibly selfless act of kindness. Really and truly.

Setting the jar in between her thighs—she refused to pull a muscle leaning over again—Alisaie moved toward Zenos’ cheekbones. But, seconds before she could even begin the application, Zenos’ hand shot up; Alisaie was startled as she found her wrist in a tight lock. She met Zenos’ cold stare, disgust defining his features far better than the glamor he wore. “What are you—?!”

“The brush.”

Alisaie’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What? What brush?” He couldn’t possibly be talking about the one from yesterday. The one he strictly forbade her from using, claiming her fingers worked better than old, worn-out bristles on his skin.

The one that he broke with one clean snap between his fingers.

Zenos narrowed his eyes, not quite a glare, but certainly on par with one. “The brush. Do not take me for a fool, stupid girl.” 

Alisaie snarled, timid role of a makeup artist be damned. “You broke it!” She tried to pry her hand free. For what godly reason he was given such large hands, she had not the slightest clue, only that they were a fucking pain at the present moment. 

Zenos tightened his grip, a brow raised, his expression curious. “I?”

She ignored the pressure around her wrist, irritation overriding any pain. “Yes,” she seethed, holding back from spitting every profanity she knew in his face. “Now. Let. Go.”

Had Alphinaud been here, he might have scolded her for such crassness and recklessness. One quick glance at the scene, and it would have been evident to anyone that Alisaie was at the greatest disadvantage. Hell, maybe even Estinien would have admonished her—or, maybe he would have encouraged her to aim for the eyes.

(Sometimes, Estinien could be the best support when it came to charging forward into death’s embrace.

Much to the dismay of everyone else.)

But they weren’t here right now, and Alisaie would be damned if the mission was compromised over something as insignificant as a broken, easily replaceable brush. If Zenos wanted to act like a little bitch, fine, she’d face him head-on.

She reasoned that she had played coy long enough for everyone else to get into their positions. And if not, she’d swallow her pride and grovel on the floorboards, creating a big enough scene to give everyone else time. Surely one minor incident like this would be alright; any rational person would find it frustrating to be accused and condescended in such a manner!

Zenos squeezed his grip, and Alisaie hissed, tugging her hand back hard, struggling to break free—

—and then she found herself crashing against the ground, her side aching from the impact of the glossy floorboards.

“Hm,” Zenos laid his hand back down. “What a tacky color.”

Alisaie saw red, scrambling to her feet and brushing down her skirts.

“Go on,” he lifted no more than a finger, pointing toward the large cabinet at the end of the room, “Get another one.”

She threw the dirtiest look she could manage at Zenos, but the man had already closed his eyes, calm and refined as if nothing had happened. She grumbled to herself as she made her way across the room. In truth, it was a blessing that Zenos was that way. While impulsive and hard to read, he seemed to offer Alisaie more leeway for error, something she noticed with a degree of irritation. The accounts she had read from Thancred’s reports all described Zenos as an untouchable god, one who could simply will fear into existence if he so demanded it.

Alisaie marched past the neatly folded outfits, the shining little trinkets and jewelry that glimmered in the light, past the heeled shoes adorned with more gold and diamonds than she had ever seen, and the other, sole chair that occupied the space, coming to a halt in front of the cabinet. She placed her hand on the handle, trying to quell the last of her frustration. Really, it was a blessing that he ridiculed her so, playing with her as a cat would a mouse, never registering her as a threat. She pulled the drawer open with more force than needed, the tools and paints rattling inside their decorated bins.

The brush she needed was sectioned toward the back, Alisaie standing on her tiptoes to reach inside. She tried not to dwell on the sensation of her skirt rising, quickly snatching the brush. When she closed the draw, brush tight in hand, she frowned, patting her side, wincing at the spark of pain she felt.

Her underwear weren’t tacky. Lyse had picked them out especially for her, and who knew fashion better than Lyse?

She snorted.

Certainly not Zenos.

“I’ll die at this rate, girl.”

Alisaie rolled her eyes, walking back over. Then die already. As much as she’d love to antagonize the bastard more, it wouldn’t do to test her luck any further. She arrived at the chair, noting with curiosity how the glitter on her palm had changed color. She wiped her brow, feeling a bit clammy. “Hey, lower the chair.” She paused. “Please.” 

“You know how to climb,” Zenos said, voice an irritating drawl. “Pleasantries don’t suit your tongue, child.”

Alisaie made a face. Bitch. 

She stumbled forward, her foot slipping from the chair’s step. Alisaie frowned, firmly planting her heel on the metal, and with considerably great effort, hoisted herself back up, ignoring how pleasant Zenos’ clothes felt against her skin. When she finally fixed herself atop his lap, Alisaie took a deep, shuddering breath, suddenly nauseous. She crawled forward, vision blurry and sweat collecting on the nape of her neck.

Why was it so unbearably hot?

Her side still ached, but Alisaie was thankful that Zenos had kept the jar nearby, dipping the brush in and gathering the powder on its bristles. She brushed her bangs back, doing her best to steady her breathing. She grit her teeth, fighting off the sudden onslaught of fatigue she felt. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could regroup with Thancred and rest a while before the show. Maybe even nap for a moment, or drink water. Lots and lots of water, her throat bone dry, swallowing almost painful.

She noticed Zenos watching her, something akin to amusement in his eyes, and curled her lip in response, too tired to maintain anything other than basic manners at present.

Go ahead and watch. I’m a goddamn artist. 

(Or at least Alphinaud was. But seeing how they shared the womb together, surely some of her brother’s talent had followed her along. Plus, Zenos never had any issues with how she applied his makeup—that in itself had to mean something.)

As the brush moved along his cheekbones, dust trails of glitter left in its wake, the urge to lay down crept back slowly. Alisaie stared at the floor, aware of how her feet dangled from the chair. If only she had her father’s height, a simple “roll-over-and-sleep” wouldn’t bruise her aching body any further. She propped herself up with her elbow, Zenos’ chest hardly rising.

“You could….could at least breathe…” she said, ears filled with cotton. The brush was hardly touching Zenos, off-centered as Alisaie found herself swaying a bit, vision swimming. “Breathe… ’s c… ’s creepy….”

“Tired from climbing?” Zenos’ asked, his voice anything but kind. “I suppose it was too much for—”

Alisaie closed her eyes, her head throbbing, Zenos’ words muffled. Was the bastard talking? She couldn’t tell anymore. Everything was numbing and painful, the pain from her side practically burning her thigh. It made sense, the floors were made of some of the finest wood in Garlemald. But why was she so tired? It would be nice to lay down—

“Don’t send her.” 

Alisaie opened her eyes, unseeing. Alphi?

“Please, send me instead. I’m better suited for such work, just have her in a different area from—”

Oh. That’s right. 

Alisaie lifted her hand, the glitter on her palm shining through the haze and reflecting off the brush’s handle like rich blood. 

Alphinaud was supposed to be the one doing this. 

He had shielded her from the client and tried to convince everyone not to send her. Usually, he’d let her go along with the assignment without complaint, but this time, no, not this time. Alphinaud didn’t want her to suffer because he knew something else about the mission. Something that he refused to tell her because trust me, Alisaie, you don’t want to do this. Just let me handle it, please, just this once.

What was it that he was hiding?

Alisaie snorted.

The answer wouldn’t be found in a dream.

She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, blood breaking past the thin skin and into her mouth. She made a face at the taste, but at least the fog in her mind had subsided some.

“Alright,” she said, lip sore as she wiped the glitter off onto her skirts and redipped the brush into the jar. “Just a few more touches—” She jumped, the chest beneath her rumbling with laughter. It was then that it occurred to her how quiet Zenos had been throughout the entire ordeal. She looked at him wearily, the fatigue still present but nowhere near as intoxicating as earlier. “W-What?”

Zenos ended his laughter and closed his eyes, ignoring her question. “We’re done with that.”

Zenos in a lively mood was usually an ominous indication of things to come, but at the present moment, Alisaie wanted nothing more than to finish and leave the stuffy room. 

She capped the jar and was surprised to see Zenos place it back onto the vanity for her, switching it out with another item. He pressed it into her hand, and Alisaie raised an eyebrow at the tube of lipstick, not recognizing the brand.

“This is…?”

“Lipstick,” Zenos motioned at his mouth. “Applied here.” She saw his eyes lower towards her busted lip, and his face almost glowed.

It made her uncomfortable. Out of habit, she adjusted her weight, another sharp pain running up her side. 

The lipstick was brand new, soft pink in color. As she peeled off the seal, she thought back to Haurchefant’s little teas that he offered when times were trying. She smiled as she removed the cap, wondering if Thancred would have any warm drinks on him after the show tonight. As Alisaie tilted Zenos’ chin up and pressed the tube to his lips, she felt a bead of sweat roll down her temple and frowned.

Maybe Thancred would know what was going on with her today. 

The next few minutes went by smoothly, almost unnervingly so, but finally, finally, Alisaie sat back and nodded, Zenos’ makeup completed. Slowly, he smacked his lips together, and Alisaie rolled her shoulders, dregs of exhaustion still holding on. She glanced towards the clock and grimaced, the time remaining before the show less than what she had hoped for. 

At least now I can get out of here, Alisaie thought as she started to scoot back, preparing to climb off. 

“Had it not been for me, your poor craftsmanship would have landed you in the gutter.”

Alisaie paused. And turned. What?

Zenos sat up, Alisaie thankful that she had learned from earlier, her hands tightly curled around the armrests. He leaned forward, towering over her, his hair a golden curtain. Alisaie did her best not to be intimidated, but nausea kicked back in, and she felt herself waver, a tremor found in her thighs, one that she was sure that he noticed—and he always did.

“Dissatisfied?” She asked curtly, trying to appear braver than she felt. The pain on her side flared up, and Alisaie hissed.

Zenos released his hand from her thigh, satisfied. The bastard, she hadn’t even seen him move, let alone felt his touch. “On the contrary. Are you aware why I keep you, little girl? Surely,” he motioned at his face, “It’s not for your craftsmanship. Or are you that proud of the marks your trembling hands paint?”

If she weren’t already sweating, Alisaie would have blushed.

“No…” (Maybe a little.)

Zenos inclined his head in the smallest of movements, his hair shimmering. “You really are a stupid girl.”

She snarled. “You’re so full of sh—?!” Her hands shot up, the fatigue gone in a flash as she tried to move back.

Zenos held her in place, two fingers in her mouth. “You certainly know how to bark. But,” he pushed his fingers in deeper, Alisaie’s eyes burning, the taste of nail polish heavy on her tongue. If she had known she’d be tasting the same paint she applied three days prior, maybe she would’ve picked a different color. Or attempted to detach the man’s fingers. Zenos pressed his fingers up against her teeth, Alisaie’s hands scratching at his wrist. “Do you also know how to bite?”

Alisaie flared her nostrils and bit down as hard as she could. 

Blood filled her mouth, but Alisaie was too caught up in her anger to care or notice how sweet it tasted and how the last traces of her sickness seemed to flow away. She didn’t flinch when she felt Zenos’ other hand lay on her head, nor when he tugged at her hair. Her only response to his gleeful stare was to bite harder and harder and harder, feeling the flesh split open in her mouth.

“Are you an ignorant, simple child?” Zenos asked, moving his hand, forcing Alisaie to nod. He laughed. “I’ve taken an interest. Care to see what God can create with his hand?” Alisaie tried to resist, but Zenos forced her to nod, his nails a twitch away from embedding themselves into the roof of her mouth. She dug her nails harder into his wrist, but Zenos showed no indications of discomfort. Just when she had begun to feel the saliva in her mouth mix with the blood, rich and viscous, Zenos pinched her nose, and she released his fingers with a gasp, starved for air. “So it shall be done.”

From one motion to the next, Zenos moved them from his position and deposited her in the other chair. Alisaie tried to get up, but Zenos held her in place with a hand on her shoulder, squeezing just shy of bone-crushingly painful, and she gnawed at her sore lip to retain a whimper that threatened to spill.

The taste of his blood lingered in her mouth, but Alisaie had a feeling that if she tried to wipe her mouth, the punishment would be far from pleasant. 

“Ouch!” she yelped, glaring at him through the mirror. He released her hair, humming. 

“Fury suits you,” he curled his lip, “Be thankful for the praise.” With a long stride, he was at the large dresser, opening the drawer and searching inside. Alisaie wasn’t sure what to do. Surely someone would come running for them—or at the very least for Zenos—if they were missing from the show. A sudden fear washed over her.

They’d search for Zenos, but a replaceable dancer would just be written off.

She shook her head. No, no, no. Thancred was still there, and when it came to danger, he would surely come running. Alisaie tried to steady her heart and think clearly. Plus, Papalymo had given her a hidden weapon that would bypass the anti-magic barriers of the club, claiming with a proud smile that it’d be near impossible to detect. She smiled. Everything would be alright.

“Rather joyful, aren’t you?”

She gripped the armrests tightly, Zenos towering behind her. It was at times like these that she hated all the mirrors, the damned things only serving to enhance the presence Zenos carried himself with. 

She swallowed, despising the taste. “Quite.”

He made a face, one that said your lies are horrible and reek. Nonetheless, he set down what he had gone to retrieve, Alisaie examining the earring with wary curiosity.

“Up.”

“Huh?”

Zenos held a tube of lipstick up, the same one that she had just used on him moments before. When she furrowed her brows, still in the midst of processing his request, he sighed, exasperated, and tugged at her ponytail, forcing Alisaie to tilt her head back.

“Ow!”

The position was more uncomfortable than painful; Alisaie only able to stare as Zenos traced her bottom with his thumb and then followed suit with the lipstick. The man was taking his time, and Alisaie wished that she could see the clock around his massive form. Surely enough time had gone by now for someone to get Zenos. Surely. Hopefully.

“Alright,” Zenos moved back, releasing her hair. “Smack.”

I’ll smack you, you fucking—

He narrowed his eyes. She mirrored him, but reluctantly smacked her lips together, making sure to be as loud and as obnoxious as possible.

“Such behavior,” Zenos tsked, as if he gave a shit, setting the lipstick down and lifting the earring with one hand. The red jewel reflected the vanity’s lights, its appearance captivating. The color almost reminded her of the robes she had seen folded in Zenos’ wardrobe. “Rather fitting for a beast.” She flinched when he lightly pinched her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. He hummed, sounding displeased. “It appears this will be rather swift.”

It was almost comical the way he leaned down, nearly folded in half as he brought the earring to her ear, the hook cold against her flushed skin. And maybe she would have laughed if she didn’t feel a sense of impending doom slowly building inside her, the hands of death seeming to draw closer and closer.

“I hunt beasts,” Zenos said idly, as if merely stating the daily weather. Alisaie remained still as he slid the earring into place, feeling the jewel’s weight when his fingers let go. “And to lure beasts, you need bait.” He stood back to his full height, watching her through the mirror as he smoothed out her hair. “Were you aware?”

Alisaie said nothing, body tense, ready to flee. 

Zenos lifted a tube of mascara, drawing out the wand with grace. He did not speak, yet Alisaie knew what he wanted her to do. With shame heavy on her skin, she tilted her head back and waited obediently for him to begin. It was painful to admit, but Alisaie knew that there was a time and place to bare her fangs, even if the situation was dire—

—and that this was most certainly not it. 

With deft fingers, Zenos grabbed hold of her chin and began to brush through her lashes, evenly coating them with the dark liquid. It took him no more than a few seconds, and Alisaie blinked when his hand pulled away. Zenos nudged the back of her head, and she faced forward, staring at her—their—reflections. 

“There are those who think they can overthrow gods,” Zenos said as he leaned over her, his hair gathering in a golden waterfall on her shoulder. She held her breath as he set the mascara back down on the counter but remained in position, too close for comfort. “Rather fortunate that I tower far above them, don’t you think?”

With horror, Alisaie could only watch as Zenos placed his hand on her thigh and dragged his fingers up and up, her skirts offering no resistance as he pulled them back to reveal the dagger from Papalymo.

“T-That…”

Zenos unhooked the weapon, Alisaie whimpering as it sparked and burned her skin, no doubt damaged from her fall earlier. It had been foolish of her to think that Zenos was merely being a pain in the ass. 

Nothing ever escaped the man’s eye.

Alisaie made a move to bolt for the door—she could yell for Thancred, tell him to take whatever they had obtained, and leave. That the mission had failed and she was terribly sorry, and please, please don’t let Alphinaud cry—but Zenos pressed the blade beneath her chin, a hair away from tearing her neck clean in two.

She was afraid to swallow.

Zenos hummed. “I wish to share a secret.” He pressed his head against her cheek, and Alisaie squirmed at the sensation of his makeup on her face. “I’ve begun my hunt.” He smiled, as happy as a child would when given a new toy. “Starting with you.”

Fear and fury coiled within her stomach, red, hot, and blinding. “...you knew?” She moved her head to swallow, the knife following. “How long?”

Zenos added pressure to her neck, and a thin trail of blood rolled down as he met her eyes in the mirror. “Does it matter?” He clicked his tongue as if reprimanding a child. “I simply needed bait,” he moved the knife to the edge of her ear, Alisaie wincing as he nicked the skin, her blood as red as the earring, “And what better way to lure beasts than with a piece of their own?” 

Everything seemed to come to a halt, and Alisaie thought of Alphinaud. 

Alphinaud, who helped tie the ribbons back in her hair the first time someone tore it out in the schoolyards, smiling as he listened to Alisaie go on and on about how she showed them who was boss. Alphinaud, who often got in over his head, sitting as tall as he could so he’d match their father’s height at the council meetings.

Alphinaud, who watched her ride away until she was merely a blur on the horizon, regret no doubt weighing on his tongue as he replayed his final argument with her about taking the mission.

Alphinaud, who probably knew this would happen and was fully content with letting Zenos hew him to pieces, wrapped nice and neat for the others to find, so long as it meant she was kept out of harm’s way.

Five things happened in the seven seconds that followed.

The first appeared in a headbutt and shattering glass. The second and third occurred in a massive form staggering as she raced for the door. The fourth was similar to the first in that glass exploded as it shattered, small bottles of perfume masking the scent of blood filling the air.

And the fifth arrived with a swift kick, her body burning on the floor as Zenos pinned her down with his heel.

“Rather amazing, isn’t it?” Zenos wiped the blood from his mouth, the makeup smeared from their brief scuffle, a lively look in his eyes. Alisaie tried to get up, but he held firm, the slightest sign of struggle digging his heel in deeper. He grinned, oddly pure. “The thrill of a real hunt.”

Alisaie cursed a lot of things at that moment: Zenos, the floor, the aches and pains on her body, even the earring for the mere fact that Zenos had touched it. But most of all, she cursed herself for selecting the shoes with the sharpest heels for Zenos that day because fuck did they hurt. 

“You are not the first to try and send me to hell,” Zenos thought aloud. Alisaie wondered how much time had passed and damned the club’s floor structure. If things hadn’t soured on Thancred’s end, he probably wouldn’t be able to reach her on time. She winced as Zenos shifted his heel and continued, voice ever gleeful. “But you may very well be the last.”

He kicked her over, and she had but a moment to gasp before his foot found itself flat on her chest, her body aching from the weight. In a last effort, she grabbed at his ankle and squeezed as hard as she could, the only reaction from Zenos a slight twitch of the lips. Alisaie tried to think of anything to delay the inevitable, mind racing a mile a minute, wondering if there was anything she could do—

“Get the fuck off me, you limp dick, son of a bitch!”

(Well, anything other than yelling profanities at the man that would have left her father red in the face with shame, no doubt.)

“Desire any more,” Zenos pushed his heel down further, a pleasant expression on his face as Alisaie flailed against the floor. “And I’ll cut out your heart.”

Oddly enough, it sounded like anything but a threat, but Alisaie simply wrote the silly thought off as lack of oxygen in her system, her vision filled with spots, blood roaring in her ears. A spark from above caught her eye, and Alisaie turned to the power box, remembering.

That’s right. Yes, that’s right! Slowly, she reached up to her ear, feeling the material of the earring. The box! The box!

Zenos realized a second too late as Alisaie ripped the earring free and launched it toward the faulty power box. Feeling victorious, she looked toward Zenos to rub it in—See that bastard? Watch how gods fall by my hand—but she paused when she saw the expression painted upon his face.

He was smiling. 

Why was he smiling?

Zenos stepped back as sparks began to fly, the lights in the room flashing. Alisaie jumped to her feet, dashing for the door, but before she could open it, a force held it closed, and behind her, death whispered sweetly into her ear.

“Do not disappoint me, Alisaie Leveilleur.”

She had no memory of rushing out into the hallway, of hearing the other performers frantically run about, preparing for the show, unaware of what had transpired in the room. Alisaie ran down the hallways in a daze, bumping into the other members, not even bothering with hurried apologies, running and racing and fleeing—

No scream left her as she was hauled into a closet, one of the older ones filled with barely used outfits. The dust lifted as she was sat between two heavy coats, coughing. Thancred made sure to lock the door, handing her a handkerchief, weariness on his face.

“You alright?” He quietly asked around a smile meant more for show, leaning against the opposite wall, the closet cramped. Alisaie remained quiet, trying to adjust herself so that the coats weren’t pressed against her so much. Through the dark, Thancred’s lip turned down.

She wanted to wave off his concerns. To say, I’ve never been better! And desperately believe it. But all she could do was tremble as she remembered Zenos standing behind her—around her, next to her, everywhere—smiling and joyful. 

“...Thancred?”

She hadn’t even noticed that he had begun to wipe off the residual glitter from her hands, the cloth changing color. Oh, she thought absent-mindedly, heart beating unevenly, It was poison. She remembered the taste of blood, thick and rich on her tongue.

“Yes?” Thancred asked quietly as he continued to bandage her up. His fingers brushed against her ear, Alisaie wincing, the cut still fresh.

There had been one thing that had bothered her the most about Zenos. More than his confounding personality, than the poison he had given and cured, than the burns and aches on her side and the fingers that had filled her mouth, forcing sweet, sweet blood down her throat.

The thing that bothered her most of all—

“Thancred,” her lip quivered, “How did he know my name?”