Page 49 of Pareidolia

“At least you know more now than before, little monster. Maybe your words will hold a truth you’re unwilling to speak.”

I’m just petty enough to hold my hand up and flip him off over my shoulder as I make my way toward the fire tower. I’m lucky it’s tall enough that I can see it through the clearing, above the trees… and with how close it is, I realize that I never really ran that far from him after all.

I was never close to the tree line, to the town.

His promise of escape had been nothing but gossamer lies floating on the dust of moth’s wings.

What’s even worse is that when I finally get back to the fire tower and wash myself down, after I pull on one of the only intact pairs of pants I own and settle in front of my laptop, I realize he’s right.

I know more now than I’ve known my entire life.

When I settle down to start writing, it’s no wonder that for the first time in my life, I can write from the perspective of the person being hunted instead of the monster who chases them…

Because for the first time in my life, I understand what it feels like to be prey.

CHAPTER 19

NOX

A place to stay, with water and food.

A human requires shelter—a mortal has fickle needs that make their life so fleeting when they aren’t met. As much as I’ve poured parts of myself into Aspen, I’d have to give him more than I’m willing to part with if I wanted to bypass such pathetic necessities.

I can’t provide him that… but I can give him what he requests. It’s the first time I’ve willingly sought out the wishes of a human—the first time I’ve actually wanted to give.

The lure of my wings has made a million promises to a mountain of dead men, but Aspen’s ochre eyes somehow make me willing to give.

Giving is easy when humans so easily provide the necessities Aspen named. I don’t even have to venture out of the forest to find it, I just have to walk deeper until a little cabin comes into view.

It’s something most people in the town don’t remember… but I do.

I know the first time a human cut the trees to build their shelter… and I remember what it tasted like when they begged for their life once they were finished.

I’d let them build it then because it was one more trap, one more lure to bring my prey closer to me.

And now…

Well, now it’s the perfect place to make sure Aspen has no more reasons to escape.

I take to the sky in the direction of the cabin, faintly wondering if there are still people living there now, or if I’m going to do a good deed without the reward of something in return.

It doesn’t take me long to find my destination, and to sense that the building isn’t empty. The cabin only has one bedroom, but there’s a well on the property with water that feeds from the deep springs beneath the forest. There’s shelter that will keep Aspen safe from the winter storms.

It’s everything he said he needed, and the only things standing between it and me being able to give him what he desires, keeping him here with no other reason to run, are the man and woman I see coming in from the forest hand in hand.

If anything, they’re lucky they’ve lived here for as long as they have, in the depths of the trees.

It’s time for them to learn why the shadows in Duskfen have a whispered name.

“What the fuck is this?” Aspen’s voice doesn’t sound angry. He’s more curious than anything. It’s strange how there are some emotions that roll from him so clearly. Things like fear, self-preservation, guilt from killing someone, though… those emotions are nowhere to be seen, but curiosity as we step in front of the cabin buried deep in the woods? That’s present.

“A gift,” I answer, smug and certain that I’ve done exactly what I needed to do. I’m not sure about customs, or what a creature does to provide for a mate… but I know I want Aspen to stay here, and if I have to provide him with a place to do so that isn’t the fire tower, it’s easily attained.

It was more difficult to take him from his little tower, from the laptop that he was hunched over. He was far too busy typing, his fingers working furiously across the keyboard, the excitement and satisfaction pouring from him nearly enough to get me drunk.

He wasn’t only one taste, one flavor—he wasn’t just apathy like I’d first thought. Aspen is a plethora of emotions filtered through a completely different stream than anything I’ve tasted before.

I’d finally had to wrap my arms around him and drag him from the computer. He’d protested until I took to the sky, and then he’d been far too fascinated with how far down the ground was, how small the trees, to really complain.