The Lonely Ones

Chapter Twenty-Three: Born of Deceit and Raised by Hate

Warning: Mention of sexual assault (not detailed.)

"You've told me many stories of your childhood, so I will give you one of my own. In order to do that, I must introduce my tale with another," Wren claims, although the normally taunting quality of his voice has been supplanted with something almost perverse. "I suppose this will be my start to writing a tale, although I fear it wouldn't do well for children."

Wren approaches the window. He forces the shutters open, letting the pale moonlight filter in.

Keeping his back to Artemis, Wren begins the story. "Once upon a time, there was a woman renowned for more than her ethereal beauty. She was a singer beyond compare. A voice that cleared clouds on a rainy day and warmed winter's chill. She traveled the world to perform to those seated atop thrones or preaching from altars. Even the rich often failed to request her presence for all desired her."

"One who never showed interest in the world of mortals even sought her presence; the High King of Grim. He sent the singer a rare invitation. Come to the Grim Woods free of fear, for none of his vassals would do her harm. In exchange, the High King himself would grant her a wish. None had been given such an honor, nor offered a gift so magnificent. She accepted the request without question. The promise of a gift was too much to deny, especially when she yearned for something only a miracle could provide."

"The singer was greeted with the utmost esteem, brought into a world of wonder she had never seen. The High King and his vassals held a revel like no other the night she performed. When the sun rose and the music stopped, the High King asked what she desired. Can you guess what she wished for?" Wren faces Artemis, the moonlight illuminating his tense silhouette. Hands clench into fists. He doesn't tremble or frown, rather, he smiles until that smile almost rips his cheeks.

Artemis shakes his head.

"Back home, the singer's loving husband waited for her. They wed when they were teenagers. Some may have called them soul mates, for they grew up together and had no other, but they struggled to have a child. The singer, eager and so very naïve, asked for a child. The High King asked once more; is a child all that you seek? She made the grave mistake of saying yes for, you see, the High King in all his cunning already realized what she craved. The trap was set before the invitation reached her hands."

Wren goes eerily quiet, face suddenly devoid of emotion. His eyes grow obscure. Artemis approaches him. His hand hesitantly slides around Wren's fist. The motion awakens the prince from his trance, though his smile hurts to gaze upon.

"What happened next?" Artemis asks.

"How unfortunate for the singer, who didn't read between the lines. She was never promised safe passage out of the Grim Woods, nor was it stated the High King wouldn't do her any harm, so he glamoured her to stay in the Grim Woods with them. His vassals, of course, never hurt a hair on her head. She sang and danced every evening for them, then followed the High King to his chambers when he coveted her. During the day, the singer sat in a dusty, old room alone; a doll in a case brought out to play at night until she finally awoke on the evening she got her wish."

"She was giving birth to a child, one she didn't remember carrying for nine months. She was forced to live through the intense pain of labor, besieged by cackling strangers. When she held her son, his lips were pale blue and eyes gray like death. He was cold as a corpse, and yet, he still breathed. When the High King came to see her, she was hysterical. What happened? Where was her husband? How did she have a child? He hadn't kept his promise, she claimed. Oh, but he had, because she also never specified who the father had to be. Nor did she request the child to live."