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“Hello, Grey.”
He yelped and whipped back to try to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner. An echoey chuckle enveloped him when he found the space empty instead. Grey’s shaky step backward was met with hands gripping his upper arms and quickly turning him toward a mirror, where he recoiled at the blurred, ever-changing features of that fair folk.
“Look at you,” they purred, lightly swiping Grey’s hair from his face.
His eyes went wide when their hand—claws—fell away, and Grey reached to push it back again. The color was there, that familiar gray-brown in place of the near-white he’d grown used to.
“Always selling yourself short.” Their cool breath curled against Grey’s ear. “You’re such a gentle creature, respectful of things that are so much bigger than you. You just want to create, don’t you?”
Grey paused, his fingers letting hair slip through as he noticed his hoodie and jeans had been traded for flowy, dark, ethereal garments that reminded him of vague depictions of fair folk in some of the books he’d flipped through.
“An artist needs a patron, of which I’d be happy to oblige. I’d love nothing more than to give you all the paint and canvas you could ever ask for in exchange for the beauty that is the end result. Much like you, my finch.”
He tensed and tore free of their grasp, spinning around again to nothing. His heart hammered in his chest at the sight of an easel and palette set up by a balcony overlooking a pink-tinted horizon with rolling hills and waterfalls.
“Come now, Grey,” they cooed, sending goosebumps down his arms. “I’d prefer not to wield your name against you, but the longer you resist, the more impatient I become. I’ll give you whatever you wish for. I’ll even free you from the Wild Hunt.”
Grey sucked in a breath and shook his head. They hummed in dissatisfaction, a low note of disapproval that made him sick to his stomach, like the sharp tone of a bad omen.
“Suit yourself, little finch. When you call for me, I will send whomever I must to claim you if it comes to that. Don’t think I’ll stop hunting you.”
He froze as their voice drifted to an echoey remnant at his back, and he turned one last time to a horrible, tall shadow taking over the doorway. It started toward him.
“W-wait—” he choked out, panic fluttering in his chest as he grabbed for a key that didn’t exist in whatever plane he’d been tossed into. His ankle twisted on something he couldn’t see, and he toppled backward.
If this was a dream, the pain radiating from his leg, his side, his spinning head—it all felt very real. His heart kicked up speed as the creature’s darkened form stooped into a crouch. Grey kicked at it and scrambled away, gasping as his back smacked against a wall. A wall that shouldn’t be there.
“Would you like my name, little finch?”
Grey’s jaw quivered before his magic kicked in, ripping whatever he could from the nearest source to heal, even though he’d been told that the last thing he should pull life from was fair folk. The creature swayed, his ankle throbbed as it reset itself, and Grey shoved off the wall, pushing himself to his feet. “I-I don’t w-want your name,” he called out, flinching at how it echoed.
His head swiveled around to try to find a door that didn’t exist before it landed on the balcony. He tensed as the creature rose again, and Grey sprinted forward, past it to the only exit.
An arm hooked around his waist, and a cry tore from his throat. “Stop!”
“Grey!”
He stiffened, letting the voice cut through the rest of confusing scenery as it began to undulate and warp.
“Grey,” it panted, “calm down. You need to calm down.”
He knew that voice, despite being unable to place it, and his body relaxed as he squeezed his eyes shut, letting it consume him.
“What’s going on? Did you see something? Are you okay?”
Grey shook his head, gritting his teeth as he twisted around. Sure enough, he felt denim graze against his palms before he shoved his face against soft cotton. “Make it stop.”
Something clasped his upper arms, and he flinched. But these weren’t talons this time—these were warm, gentle hands. “Can you walk?”
He nodded into the shirt, not able to pull his face away or open his eyes just yet out of fear of what he might see. But he was carefully pulled away from it all, guided along uneven floors until he was commanded to open his eyes.
When he did, he was in the hallway of the ruins again, that door he and Noel were trying to unlock sat a little further down the passage where they’d come from. Grey spun to face Noel, and his heart plummeted. Blood dripped from his nose, but those green eyes were stuck on Grey, filled with nothing but concern.
“I-I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry—” Grey reached up to try to fix it, but Noel went for his sleeves, jerking his arms down.
“It’s okay. What happened?”
He stared into the room, finding only a desk visible in the doorway once more. “They…” Noel’s grip tightened. “They took me somewhere else. I thought you were fair folk.” Grey shrank down. “I’m so sorry?—”
