Fairy Bride Ch4: What We had Before (Patreon)

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“Monaco!?” Sarah gasps.  “With everything going on?”

Daphne moves the phone away from her ear, wincing at her mother’s disapproval.  She’s standing on the mansion’s balcony, where the gardens and fountains of Hyde Park just peek through their wooded plot.  It’s the only place where Spencer will always leave her alone… excluding the nest.

So there’s only one suitable space to make calls.

“I know, Mum, I know.”  Daphne leans onto the railing.  “That’s why I told him I had to think about it.”

Following the pandemic from her thoroughly isolated position had always felt like a surreal experience; easier to stare out at her husband’s dilapidated yard.  The Harcourt’s little forest is an unkempt mess of crusted soil, tufts of grass, and dangling overgrowth.  The neighbours complain, but Daphne loves it.  It feels so natural.  So separate.  Makes it easier for her to think.

“Daphne, did you see Kimberley’s show last night?”  Her mother’s voice tightens with worry.  “She brought on some American doctor to talk about the new variant.  It sounds so much worse!”

“Sarah, darling, Daphne doesn’t watch Good Evening with Kimberly or any of our shows.”  The voice of her father, Daniel, edges in.  “She hasn’t been a housewife for that long.”

“Well, how would I know?”  Sarah pipes up, defensive.  “With all the staff Spencer’s got around the house, she has to find something to occupy herself.”

Daniel chuckles.  “Did you not spot the massive bug collection he showed us on the last tour?”

“Guys, guys!”  Daphne plays her interruption off as laughter, but in truth her stomach writhes at the mention of his collection.  “Spencer said we’d be careful.  And, I mean, we don’t even know if I can get Covid.  I might be immune!”

“You’ll cough your wings off,” her father quips.

Daphne giggles.  “Well, no worries. He's pulling a few strings to make sure I get my shots early.”

“Good.” Sarah responds immediately.  “I-I mean… I can’t say I approve of you two cheating the system, but… I know there’s been a lot of changes for you these past few years.  Your marriage, your home, your name…”  Sarah speaks with a sharper intensity. “... again.”

“Mum.”  Daphne rolls her eyes, blushing.

“It was a bit of a shock last time, you know.  All the neighbours suddenly unable to say your old name.”

“MUM!”

“I’m just teasing, dear,” Sarah chuckles.  “What’s important is… heh, you remember what I always used to say?”

“‘Safety first.’” Daphne smiles nostalgically.

“I’m glad through all of it, you and Spencer have been able to keep that.”

For all the good that it did.  Daphne swallows.  An awkward silence hangs over the call, an inevitable cost of how monotonous her life has become.  That tremor in her stomach refuses to go away.  She needs to think of something to keep them going, to distract her from - “Oh, Dad!  Thanks for bringing the pots!  I haven’t tried them yet, but they look just like I remember.”

“Ah, it’s nothing!  Better than letting them gather dust in storage.”  She can hear her father’s awkward chuckle.

“Your pa’s actually started using cast-iron.”  Sarah coos.  “With some pretty impressive results.”

“You’re just glad you don’t always have to cook.”  Daniel laughs back.  “Er, and don’t worry, Daphne!  We’d put it away before you ever came to visit.”

“Of course.”  Her stomach clenches tighter.  It made sense, of course, that they’d be living a normal life.  Without her.  She should be happy for them, relieved, but…

“And Spencer’s always welcome, too!”  Daniel butts in, breaking her concentration.  “Would you mind sending him my congratulations for today?  He really nailed that speech.”

Her antennae bob in surprise. “You watched his speech?”

“I try to watch all his speeches,” Daniel explains.  “How else can I show support to my son-in-law?”

His words make Daphne’s ears ring.

Of course she never told them.  Not even a hint.  How could she, even if there wasn’t magic preventing her?  As long as she played the perfect wife, Spencer was open, even excited, to be close with her family.  How could she deny her parents that?

Not that it made pretending any easier.  Spencer joins her on every visit, charming them, joking with them, loving them, while she’s stuck smiling and nodding along.  It was…

She swallows her breath and pulls away the cuff on her wrist, revealing the writhing letters of her mark.  It was a price she’d gladly pay, and not only for them.  Her parents were her only line to the outside world; if Spencer thought that was a threat, how quickly would he cut it?  And without that line, there’s only him, his lies, and his never-ending manipulation.

“It’s going to be the trip of a lifetime. Just like our honeymoon.”

Does he even see the poison in those words?  The honeymoon was her greatest loss, a moment when her guard came down and Spencer drew closer than ever before.  If he somehow repeated it, if she felt…

“Daphne?”  She gasps at her mother’s voice, shocked by how tense her body’s become.  The worry in Sarah’s words breaks her heart.  “Is everything alright, little bird?”

She grips the railing for support, staring at the mark again and the diamond ring on her finger.  It’d be so nice, she thinks, just to tell them.  Tell anyone.  Let all the words inside roar in the summer air.  But she can’t share that horror with them, not when they’d be just as powerless to stop it.  She can’t share a burden that will hang over them for the rest of their lives.

Even a burden she can’t carry alone.

Daphne sucks in her breath, and forces a little smile.  She ignores the tears sliding her cheeks, and the growing sounds of rain.

“Everything’s alright,” she whispers.  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

She doesn’t often let herself cry like this anymore.  In the early months it was constant, and it terrified Spencer to no end.  He would try to distract her with movies and stories and games, only to give up and flee the room when nothing worked, undoubtedly entering one of his own maddening, panicked spirals.

But seeing her tears never stops his commands.  Or let her walk outside, or wear clothes of any colour.  And if crying never moved him, why bother?  Crying for herself never resolved her pain.  Better to store it in her heart, steal back one more way he’ll never know her.

But some days are harder than the last.  And after every call with her parents, Daphne only feels the need to sob.  As she leans into the railing, she feels the bronze mask he gave her, pushing into her skin.  She fishes it out, stares at the reflection inside.

Drooping antennae, a long-set frown, and layers of bags beneath her eyes.  When was the last night she didn’t have nightmares?  When was the last night she felt like she got good sleep?

Her phone buzzes, and she jolts upright, her chains rattling.  Her parents again?  No.   Her lip curls at the smiling face on the screen.  He didn’t even let her pick the contact picture for his number.

‘20:43: Spence <3: Daaaaaaph’

Her grip tightens.

‘20:43: Daph-Daph <3: What’

‘20:43: Spence <3: Hiiiiiiiii :D’

‘20:44: Spence <3: Im at the door.  Can you let me out?’

The phone trembles with her shaking hand.  Daphne types so quickly she nearly drops it.

‘20:44: Daph-Daph <3: We agreed the balcony was mine.’

‘20:44: Spence <3: But I wanna see you!  Pretty please? :3’

She waits a few seconds, hoping to get the message across by ignoring him.  Her phone buzzes again.

‘20:45: Spencer <3: I dont want to make this an order’

Her phone clatters to the floor.  Daphne wipes furiously at her face, preparing a string of curses the Keeping won’t let her say, and yanks the door open with such force that it rattles against the frame.

“What the fuck kind of agreement do you…” Daphne’s voice trails off as she looks at him, confusion clouding her rage. “... Spencer?”

His tracksuit is half open, revealing a firm chest and muscled arms.  Sweat and cologne mingle with her antennae, and his hand’s pressed to his gut, like something’s hurting.  He’s smiling at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Huh-hi, Daph.”  He stutters out, giving a weak wave.  “Suh-suh… sorry.”

For a moment, she blinks, but her expression quickly tightens.  He’s pretending he has a tummy ache, or some other trick for her sympathy to better walk over her boundaries.  “This is my space.”

“I-I-I-I know…” he mumbles.  “I’m sorry I… nuh-need to spuh-spuh-speak with someone.”

“Then find someone else.”  She crosses her arms.  “And if you want to even pretend I’m a person, stop threatening orders before I-”

““Stuh-stop.  Stop.”   He says shakily.  She’s stunned by how much his body recoils.  “Puh-please. Yuh-yuh-you’re… you’re all I have.”

She takes a second longer to study him, focusing on the large glasses perched on his nose.  They magnify his eyes.  Dry and red.

Spencer leans against the doorframe and slowly sinks to the floor.  She takes a step back, her eyebrow raised.  “Spencer, what happened?”

“Muh-muh fff-fffff…”  He breathes, looking back into the house.  “Father.”

Daphne keeps moving a wary distance back.  She’s learned to keep her distance from him and his orders during these panics.  Except this isn’t like the other panic attacks, issit?  She’s never seen him like this before.

“Not a good conversation, then?”

“He called.  W-wouldn’t call it a cuh-cuh-cuh - ” Spencer sniffles and hugs his knees, abandoning the word.  “Sorry.”

Daphne’s face turns neutral.  She’d only glimpsed Cyril Harcourt in person once, a few days before their wedding.  Her parents were there, helping her with drinks and makeup.  He’d barged in with a defensive Spencer at his heels, gave them all a single glance… and turned the other way.

When they gave their vows, his seat was empty.

She ponders her words.  “Is he well?”

“Wouldn’t know.  Heh, we nuh-never exchanged puh-pleh-pleasantries.”  He clears his throat, speaking more slowly.  “He only wanted to talk about the Renewed Press Freedom Bill.”

She frowns.  It sounds vaguely familiar.  “The what?”

“The speech you didn’t watch?  The law I’ve spent half a year on?  I suppose I forgot to clear it with Father and his golfing buddies, first.”

“I thought your father was in the House of Lords,” she notes.  “Is a Commons bill his business?”

“Everything Tory is his business.”  Spencer chuckles mirthlessly.  “Which is why he made me an offer.”

“And I’m guessing he won’t like it when you refuse?”  Daphne nods, starting to understand.

Silence.  Spencer buries his face in his knees.  Daphne furrows her brows.  “Don’t tell me you’re going to say yes.”

“Why would you care?” he asks, his voice pained.

“Because I would like to pretend you care about anything.  Spencer, if Cyril called, they’re running scared, you beat them.  And now you’re just gonna sell yourself out!?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How!?”  Daphne grips the edge of the railing with both hands.  “What could he possibly offer that-”

“You,” Spencer rattles out.  “He offered to speak with you.”

“... Oh.” Daphne stops.  The word hangs between them as Spencer offers a very shaky shrug.

“It’s… it’s fine.  One, heh, less worry before Monaco, right?”

She hardens her face and turns around.  “If that Bill means anything to you, don’t bother.  I don’t care what he thinks.”

“I do.  It’s family, Daph!”

“I’m his family, too.  He hates me?  Fine, that’s his problem-”

“It’s always my fucking problem!  He doesn’t fucking care!”  Spencer snaps.  He flinches back as her wings snap open.  “Sorry, sorry.  I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Daphne looks away, frowning at the forest.  She shouldn’t be helping him.  He doesn’t deserve her pity.  But there’s a pit in her gut, growing every time she sees him, built from so many confusing emotions they’re impossible to place.  He looks ready to fall apart, and it doesn’t sit right that she knows it’s about her.

If that bill does some good… maybe this doesn’t have to be a part of their war.  If it helps others, maybe she’s not saying, ‘I surrender.’

“Spencer.”  Daphne turns around, resting her arms and cuffs against the railing.  “Do you remember that big, posh gala you took me for our first date?  I felt so out of place, thought everyone was staring at me, gossipping, judging.  I ran off to some little balcony, just like this, overwhelmed.  When you followed, I told you whatever I thought could get me out the door.”

She looks over her shoulder.  “Do you remember what you told me?”

Spencer’s watching her with a forlorn expression. Daphne looks away again.

“You said my only difference from anyone in that room was that I let myself be different. You told me that everybody wears a mask.  That the whole event was a sham, a stage for each and every person to perform.  They were only mad at me because I reminded them how fake the rest of their world was. ”

There’s a faint shuffling behind her.  Spencer getting back to his feet.

“You told me about your mask that night.  How hard it was to do the right thing.  And where others saw me with scorn, I… filled you with hope.  Hope that, one day, you could take the mask off, too.”  Daphne smiles sadly.  “You said that’s why you loved me.”

“It’s still true.”  Spencer murmurs, from where he’s standing in the doorway. Daphne turns around, snorting sceptically.

“Then you better shut the hell up about appeasing your dad.  He’s only mad because your mask is slipping.”

Spencer pauses, then nods, looking at the ground.  “...alright, Daph.  I’ll try it your way.  Bill will probably still fail, though.”

“Oh, please.  You’ll just charm them.”  She smirks.  “You talked me into that car despite your creepy fetish for nymphs.”

“I don’t have a fetish for nymphs.”

“Really?”  Daphne flexes her wings, showing him how the chains gleam in moonlight.  “Think the jury’s still out on that one.”

He laughs, half in shock, half in genuine amusement. It’s a surprisingly pleasant sound, compared to his usual anxious giggle.  She hears him shuffle closer to her, but makes no move to resist him.

“You know what I remember from that night?”  He leans on the railing next to her, not touching.  “Waltz No. 2.”

“Oh, dear.”  She rolls her eyes.  “Rimsky-Korsakov?”

“Shostakovich.  Wrong era.”

“Right.  I should have asked while you were dragging me across the floor like a madman to dance to it.  I was in heels.”

“I was feeling energetic,” he smirks.

“You were high on cocaine.”

For a moment, they both laugh.  She notices his hand slowly reaching out, and glares at him heavily.  “Oh.”  Spencer starts pulling it back.  “Sorry, I-”

Daphne loudly sighs, and lifts her shoulder to his hand.  He squeezes it.

“You were scared at that dance,” he smiles.  “Kept screwing up because you were too busy staring at everyone else.”

“Because they were judging us.  We had no style, or form.  Just thrashing around like animals.”

“Yeah, it’s called fun.  They should’ve tried it.”  He giggles.  “At least, that’s what the cocaine told me.”

“Pfft,” Daphne covers her snort.  “At some point, you told me to just follow the music, and everything faded away.  We were spinning and laughing and swerving until the music suddenly stopped.  And then I blink and realise, for the end of the dance, you - heheheh - you lifted me six feet off the ground!”

“Yes!”  Spencer claps, excitedly.  “God, my back still hasn’t forgiven me for that one.”

She sticks her tongue out.  “Boomer.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I can’t name classical musicians like some nerd, four-eyes.”

“Coat-eater,” he playfully bobs his head.  As they laugh again, she watches him.  The brightness in his eyes, full of life and wonder.  Did they always shine like that?

Or had she just forgotten?

“You know, it might sound a little sad,” Spencer continues.  “But I think that dance was one of the happiest moments of my life.”

“Actually…”  Daphne looks down.  “Me too.”

“We were a really good couple.”

“An outstanding one-hit wonder.”  Daphne smiles despite herself, leaning back against the railing, enjoying the sounds of the city filtering past the trees.  After a little while, Spencer shakes his head.

“... I really miss that Daphne.”

She furrows her brows.  “What do you mean?”

“What happened to us?  We didn’t have to spend all those years fighting or in fear.  We could be out there, right now, dancing.”

Daphne feels her antennae lift incredulously.  Just like that, the fragile peace is slipping away.  “Do you really need me to tell you?”

“Daphne, I worry about you.”  Spencer pulls her forward, so they stare into each other’s eyes.  “The life you’re choosing… it’s not a life somebody should live.”

“Choosing?”  Her voice grows cold, rising.  “When have I had the chance to choose anything?”

“You make a choice every day. You choose to hide in your books. You choose to shut out the world. You choose to be miserable-”  Spencer hesitates, seeing the thunderclouds in her eyes, then plunges forward.  “Daphne, I’m being serious.  When was the last time you left this house?”

“You never let me out.”

“You never ask.  Daphne, everyone needs friends-”

“I had friends!”  She snaps, clenching her fists at the unfairness of it.  “You took them away from me.  Remember?”

Spencer spreads his hands.  “I never took away your chance to make new ones.”

“Oh.  You mean yours?”  She laughs mirthlessly.  “Friends who can’t know what I look like, or how I’m actually feeling, or what you did to me!?”

“I’m just trying to help!  I don’t want to see you like this!”

“Bullshit! This is exactly what you’ve always wanted to fucking see!”  Her voice cracks.  “You want to know what happened to the ‘old Daphne’?  I warned you three years ago!  You knew what would happen, and you did it anyway!”

Spencer’s eyes go wide.  “Th-that’s-”

“You got your fairy bride, Spencer  You got your pretty little nymph who can never, ever leave. So what more do you want.”

He stares at her, breathing in again.  “Do you really want to know?”

“I never have a choice.”

He turns, leans on the railing, stares at the grass beneath them.  “Do you remember the Swan Maiden?  When the fisherman took her cloak, he married her.  They raised children.  He promised a happy life, but none of it captured her heart.  It always remained up there.”

He points to the stars.

“Every night, she went to the window, dreaming of the day she could fly gracefully on the lake again, a shadow against the moon.  But as long as he held that cloak, her dream could never be.  She wasted away.  She lost her beauty, her elegance.  In time, even the fishermen had forgotten what parts of her he had ever loved.“

“That’s what’s happening to us, Daphne.  You used to be so full of life.  You used to soar, so much higher than all the rest of us.  But now you never leave the ground.”

Daphne folds her arms, struggling to keep it in.  She can’t cry in front of him, won’t let him see that.  She turns away, towards the night.  “You wouldn’t listen.  I pleaded with you, Spencer, to not force me to be someone I wasn’t.  And… and you…”

“I never did.”  Daphne gasps as he grabs her chin, turning her head back to look at him.  “There’s only one person I’ve ever wanted you to be.”

Her heart bursts with energy, her cheeks glow with colour.

“I don’t need to be the fisherman.  You don’t need to be my Swan.  I haven’t forgotten why I love you…”  His hand runs along her back, slipping through the chains on her dyed wings. “... and I haven’t taken these.”

Daphne trembles, goosebumps along her skin.  Spencer leans closer, his breath soft against her cheek.

“You can still be happy, Daph.  You can still be free.”

“I-I can’t,” she whispers, desperate.  “If I leave-”

He presses his lips against hers.  Daphne’s too startled to pull away, her body stiff, and he pulls her into an embrace, warm and full and loving.  Her eyes grow wide, her spine erupts with tingles.  She waits for a surge of lemon that never comes, straw that never scratches, rain that never falls.  There’s no sensation but his warm skin, no flash of light but his bright blue eyes.  Bright and blue and enveloping in ways she only remembers from years before.

She reaches up with her chain-rung hands, joining in his movements and following his curves.  Something is pulling her, deeper than her fear.  Her mind is awash with a thousand thoughts, all crashing together when -

He pulls them apart.  She watches him distantly as he backs away, as beautiful as the day she met him and as monstrous as every day since.

“We can still soar together, Daphne,” he whispers.  “You just need to open your heart and spread your wings.”

She reaches forward, but he’s already ducking back through the door and returning to her prison.  He’s gone before she can speak.  She pulls herself close and shivers, trying to find a word for the sinking in her gut.

“Spencer, I…”

Only then does she realise.  Daphne stops, the colour in her face drains, and she looks again, horrified, at the hand that touched him.  Feels the lips that kissed him, hears the heart that welcomed him.

Trembling, the world evaporates around her.  The trees vanish from sight, the summer fades away.  Leaving her with only that feeling.  More frightening than fear itself, and louder than any rain.  Something Daphne has only felt on their honeymoon, and L Morgan felt a thousand times before.

Loneliness and longing.

No.  NO!

“I don’t love him!”

Her world is sharp and stinging, just like her screams.  Daphne crushes bits of lavender in her hand, letting the scents overwhelm her antennae.  She lays against the furs, presses her feet on straw on hay.  If her skin remembers the textures, it will no longer think of his touch.  If her mind remembers the flowers, it will cloud his face away.  She heaves a furious breath, closes her eyes, and invites the darkness.

Her body needs to remember.

Here, in the nest, past all the pins and posters and beetles, she can focus on what matters.  Her war, her fight.  Already, it’s working.  Her body jerks in twitches and her thoughts are turning fuzzy.  Soon, she’ll forget how badly she liked that touch, that warmth.  How nice it felt to be held by someone, anyone, after months and months of -

“I don’t love him!” She curls into a ball, trying to make herself small.

She smiles.  Her stomach is twisting in a thousand knots.  She tells herself it was all a ruse.  His father, his tears, his ‘worry,’ all fake!  He just wants to get her open and doing what he wants!  He knows she has nobody to touch, no-one to speak with, so he locks her in this house to make himself the only option!  It’s all a fucking game!

“I DON’T LOVE HIM!”

And yet she walked right into it.  With open bloody arms!  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Aaahh!”  She tries to leap to her feet, but merely falls to her knees.  The pain is constant now.  Tight and suffocating. Rain roars above her head.  She can feel sweat grow on her brow, following the contours of the mask he made her wear.  The mask, the mask, the-

She pulls it out, the one he gave her.  Squeezes it and stares at the metal that would cover her ears.

“I’m not Daphne,” she hisses through a sob.

Taking her body wasn’t enough.  Taking her mind wasn’t enough!  He needs her love, her soul, her feelings, everything until there’s nothing left!

She bites her lip so hard it draws blood.  “I’m not Daphne!”

She winces, painfully.  Her body is moving to the rhythms of years ago.  She lifts the mufflers above her head, and slams down.  It doesn’t break the metal, but it fills her eyes with fire.

“I’LL NEVER BE DAPHNE!”

She keeps slamming, tears in her eyes.  Again and again and again and again until -

“-hic-”

Her body freezes up, and the nest’s memories take hold.

Daphne’s hand hangs in the air, her ears flooded with sounds of rain.  The flashback cuts each breath short, turns the world blurry, but still her eyes follow the bronze until she finally settles on a reflection.

But the woman she sees isn’t her.  She looks so much older now. Her face is sharper, and her eyes are dim.  Her eyes travel down the taut muscles, pale cheeks, sweat-lined neck, and… shoulders.

Her hair curls around her shoulders.  It’s gotten so long.  No matter how many times she burns it, her hair always keeps getting longer.

Daphne can’t remember the last time she left.  She can’t remember the last face she’s seen.  And with each passing day, her nightmares grow more frequent, her memories more hounding, and the world she knew fades like fog on glass.

When control returns to her body, the mask falls to the floor.  Daphne curls inward, too exhausted to scream.  Spencer’s taken so much already, and she has so little left to lose.  Every step, she draws closer.  Every hour, his power grows.  How can this happen, when she’s spent years fighting?

How can he still be winning this war?

She needs some sort of strategy, a plan, but what?  What hasn’t she tried?  If this siege lasts any longer, she’ll be trapped here, forever, and…

“Monaco.”

Daphne pronounces the word carefully, feeling its weight. The whole Riviera. A land filled with new luxuries, new people, and new ways for Spencer’s bride to become all he desires. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But it doesn’t have to be.

Daphne opens her eyes, the sensations suddenly vanished.  She smiles and stares at the marks on her wrist.  He wants her to make a choice, right?  Maybe she’ll choose to go.  Here, she’s controlled, safe.  Hidden away.  But out there… Those runes will show. And Monaco can be her stage.

Her mind erupts into thought, new strategies piling atop each other.  There’s so much out there to command Spencer’s attention, so much to distract him from what she’s doing.  She could find weapons, allies, a whole new front to the war.  It won’t be easy - he’s certainly planned for it - but…

“With faith, I resist,” she whispers to herself.  “Without it, I am lost.”

Daphne climbs to her feet, mask in hand.  She can pretend to agree.  Smile through his lies and play the good little Kept.  Spencer will be so excited.  He’ll think he finally has his claws in her, and he’ll never see the knife.

She’s spent three years preparing for the day she’ll pry her freedom from his fingers.  And she’s the strongest now that she’ll ever be.  This is her first and best chance to flee this prison, this nightmare, this monster.

All she needs to do is remember…

She smiles as she taps the metal and watches it unfold around her.

… and she’s pretty sure she knows exactly how.

Spencer Harcourt flits boredly through the movie catalogue, lounging in his seat, desperate to escape his mind.  The home theatre is cool and moody, lit only by the subtle neon lights on the walls and the glow of the beer-filled fridge.  He’s already taken a third can, sipping it between drags of his cigarette.

Frankly, he’s not sure if he’s going to watch the movie.  The Dvořák he has playing through the speakers better suits his state of mind.  Hadn’t he tried?  From the moment he performed the Rite on this stage, hasn’t he told her a thousand times?  And still, all he gets is-

He gasps.  Small, pale fingers pluck the cigarette from his lips, smashing its contents into the ashtray.  With a surprised cough, he turns around, staring at the vague shape in the semidarkness.

“Daph, you startled me!  Next time, you can ask for one if-”

“I don’t want secondhand smoke,” she replies.  “After all, we’ll…”

Spencer frowns, puzzled.  There’s a hesitation in her voice.  Spencer’s stomach twists at the thought of another game.  But, slowly, she steps into the light, her wings throwing out a vast shadow behind her.

“We’ll be around enough smokers in France, won’t we?”

Spencer’s eyes grow wide.  “We?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.  And…”  Another pause.  Daphne briefly lowers her head.  “I think you’re right.  So let’s go to Monaco, and see something new.”

He doesn’t reply.  His face hangs open as he spies a glint in her hair.  Polished bronze, right over her ears.  She’s wearing her mask.

And it’s as beautiful as he’s always pictured it.

Daphne must have caught his stunned look.  Her expression tenses, and she turns away.  “We’re not going to talk about this.  You’re not allowed to make jokes, or laugh, or… do anything.  I’m just… I’m trying it.”

He nods happily, frantically.  His entire face has lit up.  “No talking, understood.  Do you wanna, um, sit with me, or…?”

“Lift your arm.”  Daphne settles onto the couch as he does, moving with exaggerated care.  Looking straight at the screen, she rests her head in his lap.  Spencer nearly falls out of his chair.

“Daph?”

“No talking,” she whispers.  “You’re allowed one hand on my hair, and the other can rub my arm.  That’s it.  Now start the movie.”

He lifts a brow.  “Nymph needs.”

“No.”  Her face scrunches, and she folds her arms.  “... I’m touch starved.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”  He smiles, settling in as he’s been allowed, trying to ignore the flutter of his heart.  Reaching for the remote, he starts petting her marvellously soft hair.  “So… Oxford Street tomorrow?  We could try on swimsuits!”

A moment of silence.  “There’s a switch on this thing, near the back of my neck.”  Daphne points to it, never looking at him.  “Pull it, please.”

Spencer pouts.  “But-”

“Pull it.”

With a sigh, Spencer flips the switch.  He watches glumly as gears spin and plates unfold around her ears, enclosing them in bronze.

“Thanks, Keeper.”  Only then does Daphne show her knowing smirk.  “These dryads are bloody brilliant.”

But as she nestles back into his arms, Spencer’s smile doesn’t wane.  He takes the remote, turns on the subtitles, and whispers.  “Anything to make you happy.”

Then he sits and listens to the film, while she closes her eyes and listens to the rain.


continue reading -> 

Howdy, everyone!

Whew, what a chapter! We got a pretty intimate view of all the different forces pulling on Daphne’s mind, but what are your thoughts? How would you try to handle her situation? What advice can you offer for her escape? As always, I love seeing your feedback on our Discord or in the comments!

This chapter concludes the first act of Spencer and Daphne’s grand tale, and it’s also the last of the chapters we’ll be featuring freely! If you want to keep reading about their holiday of a lifetime, check out the HeartWorks Patreon for our different pledge amounts and rewards! There’s a lot more to offer, and I really hope you’ll join us!

But for those who have already joined our community, I hope to see you next week on Friday, August 11th, where Spencer’s vacation - and Daphne’s escape - starts in Chapter 5: Walking in Shadows.

Thanks for stopping by, and I hope to see you there!
Lehanna