The paralysis that held Zaramir only solidified, tightening with every effort he made to break it as he tried everything to free himself.

  Her seams were pulled open slowly, keeping her Spark inside, holding the threshold just above unstable, allowing her to heal only to be ripped open again. Blood oozed across the floor toward him, her body doing its best to replenish itself, but only serving to allow an unnaturally large pool of blood to amass across the white stone.

  They forced him still, eyes wide open, forced to lock on the sight before him.

  Please! This was my fault, not hers! She doesn’t deserve this! He screamed in his mind, lips sealed shut.

  In the brief moment they stopped to allow her to heal just enough to stay alive, they retracted to speak in his mind, “The atrocity is not to blame. We agree on this. However, you are. Your lust for these creatures continues to blind you now as it had before. We tolerated your distractions with this one as we tolerated the other. Now, your work suffers, your brashness grows. At best you feel content in mediocrity; at worst you believe yourself to be more than what you are. Whatever your motivation may be with this creature, your actions are traitorous. That is why your creature must suffer to ensure you do not feel the desire to repeat your crimes.”

  The screaming started again, the blood continued to flow. This time they split her further, the scream turning back to the sound of choking, drowning her own blood.

  Though just as they’d done to him, they didn’t allow them to fill far enough to grant her a quick death before her permanent destruction. Instead they allowed just enough to trick her mind into believing there was hope.

  His heart thundered with heartbreak, anguish, rage. He’d grown used to their cruelty and their domination of himself. He had become complacent to the punishment, the curses, the pain. He could live with that reality. But not this one.

  She would not suffer for his mistake.

  Something suddenly snapped within Zaramir’s mind. The beast's attention on him lapsed for a fraction of a moment, just long enough for his body to react.

  He managed to break one arm free of its snare. His collar bone snapped as his shoulder jerked free of their grasp, though he hardly felt it. His hand closed around the blade on the nearby table before his masters even realized he’d broken loose. His focus was on one thing alone.

  Hurting the Fae, as much as he wished he could do so, was impossible. They weren't there, only a visage tied to him created by his own Spark. This blade could do nothing to them physically.

  He had no fix for this, only a way to bide time.

  The brief window of their confusion was all it took for the enchanted blade to swing down and drive straight up between his ribs. The blade’s tip grazed his heart with every beat, scratches not deeper than that of a cat's, but a single flick of the wrist would end him. It wouldn't take a blind. So long as they had control over his Spark, draining it's power to hold their form, he wouldn’t be able to heal.

  Angry whispering of many voices crescendoed through the room, their control slipping away from Corabelle as she lay still, struggling to breath as she could barely find enough energy to try to cough the blood from her lungs.

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  The visage coiled around him, trying to figure out its next move. Its bright eyes glaring into him as it spoke, a single voice poorly masking its rage, “Na o’ix ve eded?”

  What are you doing?

  The beast tore through his brain, trying to regain control of him as his own blood nearly blinded him, pouring from his eyes and nose once again, “Try to. Take. Full control. Or remove. The blade. I bleed to death.” He forced the words through the agony as his tongue loosened.

  In his words, the beast's focus shifted, the last of its control over him slipping as his knees collided with the bloody stone. Turning in its heel, it plunged toward the core of his mind, trying to finish its work on Corabelle.

  His quickly numbing finger wrapped tighter around the hilt, sliding the blade deeper, just barely piercing the chamber.

  It froze, claws hovering over its uncompleted mission.

  “Hurt. Her. Again.” His mind began to blur. “I will end this.”

  The cacophony of voices in the room was deafening, all screaming over each other as they tried to figure out their next move.

  As the deliberation continued, his consciousness was fading quickly, a welcome reprieve.

  A moment before he was given this freedom, however the voices settled, the visage retracted, his wounds beginning to heal. His mind sharpened as his primary master’s voice eased into his mind, their voice simmering with fury, “You have won no battle. Do not mark this a victory nor a mercy. This is the correction of an oversight.”

  His hand betrayed him, the dagger ripped free of his flesh. It clattered behind him as his wound sealed.

  “We have decided your treachery might have a hidden benefit,” Their tone was reluctant, angry, as though they were not fully amicable with the greater decision. “We believe you have created an unexpected efficacy to our work. Your creature may live. It will serve as you serve. Now we know, we have commanded two as easily as one. Perhaps this might extend further given proper research. If you decide to follow through on your shortsighted threat and we must expend resources for your retrieval, know your beast won’t be given a third chance. Following the completion of your primary work, you shall create another for experimentation. We would like to see how far our influence may stretch. You may resume your work, but know our patience is thin.” With the final spiteful word, their influence vanished, the pain vanished.

  Not even giving himself a moment to regain his breath, he rushed to Corabelle’s side. Her body shuddered violently as he pulled her up, holding her up against his chest, more easily allowing her to clear the blood from her lungs.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He murmured, almost afraid to speak too loudly. He wished he had better words, but they were the only words with any validity he could possibly think to speak.

  He didn’t know if she could hear him. The greater part of him hoped she couldn’t. He hoped consciousness left her and she didn’t have to feel the pain of her body's struggling attempts to repair the once snapped connection between her Spark and her form.

  Her Runebind was working, though not at peak efficacy. A good portion of her power had been drained, or more accurately had been evaporated off her.

  Even if he had the power left within himself to attempt to remove her pain, he doubted it would work against this.

  He’d studied the process of Faedemonic Destruction enough to know that, compared to this, her first death would have felt like little more than a bruise.

  If only he’d found a way to break free sooner, he could have spared her at least some of that agony.

  She stirred, pressing her forehead into his collarbone as she shivered, her body curling to a ball against him, her hand reflexively tightening around his coat.

  An instant later her eyes shot open. The entire right side of her right eye had shifted from white to a deep maroon and the same half of the iris had turned as blue as tropical seas. There was a light glow behind that blue that was fading as the bloodshot healed. Though, the unnaturally bright color remained the same, leaving a fragment of sky among the green.

  She didn't move. She stayed curled up, frozen as if scared to move more than her eyes as landed on him.

  Her face was unreadable.

  He realized her worst fear, subjected her to a fate far worse than death, all to avoid another soul crushing failure. She was now truly at the whims of the Fae.