The crude drawings had caught Netta's eye first, while she flipped through the pages of the manuscript. There seemed to be a lot of care taken in them, in spite of their supposed simplicity. She could see where the ink laid in the paper was so old that it had oxidized, could see evidence of the art being added to with newer, black ink.

In the midst of flipping through the pages, Netta found that she had stopped, as though unerringly, on a sketch drawn in an almost kinetic craze.  Black ink looked on it as though it were cutting into the white of the paper, so heavily added to and with such force that it struck her. 

It was a sketch like all of the others, but it looked - different. For some reason, Netta felt her eyes drawn first to the subject's own hollow, black ink eyes, hidden beneath a mass of ink-jet black hair.

It was the ink that had been inlaid into those eyes - purest black, surrounded by the yellowing white of the paper itself for what aspect of his face had not been covered by his hair - that seemed to have been tattooed into the paper many times in a heavy hand.  An almost obsession with gifting the subject a life.  Some impermutable energy?

They seemed to look up at Netta, stopping her errant flipping of the pages. She felt as her own eyes fell open, astonished, as she looked at the figure.

He looked like a scarred man, heavily muscled and nude, bowed at the knees as he looked out from the page at the viewer. He had bared his teeth, massive canines exposed, jaws jutting almost out of his skull. Black ink (signifying blood? Shadows?) seemed to drip down his face, almost looking as though it were the essence from the black in his eyes, draining down his face. Like tears, or blood.

On his head was a crown of twining branches, a simple crown that was dotted with what looked like dessicated flowers and buds, tilted off of his head, kept in place only by the matting of his heavy black hair that tangled with the crown - and the broken, jagged ridges of horns that looked to have been forcibly broken off.

Beneath the shocking illustration, in Morgan's looping handwriting, it read: "The Humbling of the Traitor King."

Netta shivered and had to close the manuscript from where she had laid it open on her lap. The burning holes of those eyes haunted her, were there when she blinked.

When a woman's voice called out from the doorway leading into Netta's bedroom, she almost felt herself throw the papers that she had been holding in the armchair, as though she had been caught doing something taboo.

Leaning in the doorway was Wu. She had never seen the tomboyish woman in much of anything that was not jeans, a ballcap, and a worn t-shirt. The woman was now showcasing her beauty, black hair sweeping over a plain tunic that managed to make her look beyond pretty.  Beautiful.

"I thought you had somewhere you had to be in an hour - oh, is that what I think it is?"

Netta looked down at the opened folder in her lap. "It - it's Morgan's manuscript."

Wu walked into the room, leaning over to look at the papers. A smile teased at her lips - or it could have been a sneer. "I see that Morganna the Learned has passed on her pox to you."

Netta clutched the papers instinctively. "I wouldn't call it a pox," she said, forgetting her earlier disbelief at the subject matter of the manuscript.

Wu laughed and waved her hands in front of her. "You got me all wrong. I call it a "pox" in the nicest way possible. What else would you call this obsession of hers?" Wu leaned down to stare Netta in the face, a stone sober expression for a moment taking over eyes that swam merrily in the special, Witch-made alcohol. "Twenty. Years. She used to pull in an income from all of the stuff she wrote, but she got into this subject, and then it's all she writes." Wu sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. "And she's never finished this thing. I should know - I've tried reading this thing, hoping that I could edit it one day like I did all of the others -"

"Wait - you edited the other books?"

Wu looked as though she was suppressing a laugh at Netta's expense. Instead, she grinned, then said, "You don't seriously think that my best friend in the whole wide world, Miss Scatter Brains, would be able to publish a book all on her lonesome? You did? That's your first mistake with Morgan. She can't manage to publish without someone's help."

Netta looked up at the Witch that hovered in front of her and found that her mental image of the great Nemean Lioness was building before her very eyes. Or crumbling.

Wu scoffed. "What I wanna know is - how is someone other than me allowed to read the precious genius' rough draft?"

"I - I don't know. She took me up to her room and told me who she really was, then she gave me this. She said that she didn't want it anymore." Netta paused, finding her eyes drawn to the thick folder on her lap.  It felt like it itched - burned - her flesh, with morbid, forbidden secrets.

"Ah, what else is new? She doesn't go about giving her writing away, though, so, that's new." She looked down at the folder in Netta's lap, an inscrutable emotion buried beneath the frown that had formed. Finally, she sighed and stood back up.

"Never mind. I take it this was her attempt at a wedding present?"

When Netta felt heat creeping up to her face. There was that word again. Nevertheless, she nodded.

Wu shrugged, clapped her hands. "In that case, you'd better read it, typos, long-winded paragraphs, over exaggerations and all."

"Why do you think that she gave me this?" Netta managed to finally ask as Wu was leaving.

Wu turned to look at her, a vicious smile on her face. "What better present to give a fresh wife than the biggest Bluebeard story in creation?" Before she left the room, Wu added, "Not that I blame any of them myself, really. Not after what the Goddess did to their King. Poor, miserable bastard."

Netta walked, alone, down the path through the snow, the manuscript she had left all but forgotten on her bed as soon as Wu had left the room.

In her dress and shoeless, the walk should have been a cold one that bit into her skin, but the magic that had been used on the path killed the wind utterly and added an unnatural warmth to the snow. The cleared path had been festooned with Faerie Lamps, beautiful lanterns brought into existence and strung up in midair through the use of magic.

As Netta walked away from the house, she felt drawn to turn around to look up at the windows. Up there, she saw a face that she recognized as belonging to Winnie. It was hard to tell from the distance, but Netta could tell that the expression on the Witch's face was not a smile.

Netta felt a twinge of sorrow at not having that Witch's acceptance, even knowing that that was an impossibility. She looked away from her Sister's silent judgement.

Netta did not have a moment to spend thinking about it. He was waiting for her, waiting to take her into the woods once more. It could be seen as simply more of what she had withstood the night prior, but Netta knew that whatever she would be asked to give up would not even come close to touching the chaos that what she would learn could cause.

This was knowledge she did not need, and it could potentially harm the only good thing that she had in her life.

Still, Netta continued to walk, shivering in spite of the unnatural warmth that protected her. She had not seen Ash since that morning, leaving her a day to herself, a last one. She missed him, wished that she had taken any moment of the day to tell him that she could not go through with this after all.

She walked a little slower on the path, looked up ahead. She realized that the beginning of the wood was closer than she had thought. She turned around and looked up at the window to see that Winnie had disappeared. She bit her lip. Even though her Sister's gaze had been disapproving, she had felt the weight of her eyes on her like some form of companionship.

Netta was alone.

Shuddering, she realized that the last time she had felt this alone had been when she had been trapped in the cathedral. Had she ever truly been alone, save for the recent events she had experienced, since she had met Ashwood? In a sense, she realized, they were childhood sweethearts.

Something, she understood not for the first time, even as ignorant as she had allowed herself to become, knew that that was a fact that Ash had not been ignorant of.

Netta wondered, with a black pit appearing in her stomach, if she had been right it pushing him away for all of those years.

What was I to do?

Even now, with horns and a height difference between the two of them, Ash was as striking, unique as a polished gemstone amongst river rocks. While not handsome in the normal sense, Netta felt a desire for him that overlooked his terrifying, harsh visage. He was beautiful in his own, unique way.

Back when they had first known each other, even in the body of a boy child, Ash was striking, red-eyed, prone to periods of solemn thought.

Netta shivered. Unable to stop herself, she felt as though her mind was pulled into the past, as though she was drawn into a deep, black vortex.

How could he ever forgive her?

Netta had turned her back to close the door behind her. When she turned around, the teenager discovered that her entire Coven was staring back at her.

Hand flying to her neck, Netta first found her gaze drawn to the faces of the cold women before her gaze fell to something in her Mother's hands. She recognized, sickly, her pack, which belonged hidden beneath her bed.

What came next she would remember later only in fragments - shards that bit, embedded.

What is this?

Mother -

What is this?

I - I just -

Say the words.

I wanted - I was going to - leave.

You will leave only when I tell you to. Foolish girl - I know what dark force you've been cavorting with.

Mother, please -

Don't call me "Mother". I did not sire a useless, burdensome creature. Certainly not one that planned to run away with her "Prince Charming". I want to hear you say it, though. Apologize to me, Neith, and I will re-consider disowning you.

I - I - I'm sorry, Mo- Hera.

What are you sorry for?

Netta's eyes blindly took in their cold, triumphant faces of her Sisters. The only one out of the group that did not have some sick copy of the smile on Mother's face were Winnie and Calliope, who could not seem to be able to meet her gaze.

Netta swallowed. "I am sorry for letting my Coven down."

Mother smiled, softly tilting her head to the side in what looked, perversely, like a kind look of gentle understanding. "Good child. I will bestow you with a gift - it is only a few hours until your eighteenth birthday, isn't it? You want to be an adult, then I shall give you the most prized possession of adults. Truth."

The room, somehow, felt wrong to Netta, as though she were in a delirium. She rose a hand to her forehead, felt how her pulse beat a murderous tempo in her neck, her chest.

Mother did not wait for Netta to respond. She smiled, eternally eighteen-year-old features revealing nothing, save for her deep blue - cold - eyes. "You will not find immortality with this creature you think you've found. It does not want your affection, your friendship, your... heart."

The others snickered then, and Netta felt as her last vestiges of pride and strength rushed out of her. Shame filled her as she felt a secret joy exposed for the silly, girlish dream that it was. She looked down to her feet, felt her Mother's words as they burned through her.

"It is a malicious thing, a creature that waits for you to willingly leave where my wards protect you. And then it will wear your skin, as it seeks to murder, kill Humans and Witches, indiscriminately. You would invite death to all of us, if not from the creature you would become, then from the Humans who would learn of our existence through Its actions."

The tears had begun to fall down Netta's face, but she seemed to only realize it, staring down at her feet, when she saw the droplets splash on the wood floor. She felt her breath hitch in her chest, her mouth having to fall open to breath as she silently sobbed.

A voice cried out, saying, "Look at her! The fuckwit's crying!"

Netta clenched her eyes shut and felt the sobs wrack her chest as she sobbed loudly, pitiably. It felt as though she wept for a terrible eternity.

The generous laughter of her Sisters burned her ears.

When she finished, her shaking hands were clutching the front of her dress until her knuckles were pure white from strain. Slowly, agonizingly, she rose her gaze back up to her Mother's face. Every other face that looked at her was spread with smiles, laughter wracking them as they gazed at her.

Gazed at the Fuck-up.

Her Mother, however, looked as calm, cool, as though she were dealing with a simple, unimportant matter. She said, "My gift you you, my middle child, is knowledge of the failure of your sense of trust. You must think me a Monster. Perhaps one day you will understand the reason for why you're treated the way that you're are." She rose a hand up and gently shoved an errant lock of her hair away from her face. The cool look on her face broke slightly, revealing a smile that Netta remembered, always in her nightmares. "But, for now, you're weak, with no talent for magic like your Sisters. And you seem to wish to invite catastrophe on us." Her gaze pinioned Netta as the smile on her face faded, leaving an emotionless, disturbing stare. "And you dishonor me by making plans to escape."

Netta spoke, the sense of dull emptiness that she began to feel then - that would so, one day, become her normal emotional state - seeming to fall over her like a filthy, heavy blanket. "I am sorry, Hera."

"If you find my rule to be so inhospitable, perhaps we can come to an understanding. And, perhaps, one day you can be counted as a beloved member of this family."

"Yes." It rasped out of Netta's sore throat.

"Get out."

Netta felt her eyes widen, found it impossible to unlock her gaze from her Mother's emotionless face. "What?"

"I will not tell you a second time." She flung Netta's pack then, the sound of its contents - some that had been kept in glass jars - sounding as though it broke with the impact of the wood floor it struck. "Pick up your belongings, rat, and leave my home."

Netta stared at her Mother, feeling lost, empty. Mother only seemed to stare at her, the only animation in her face the disturbing brightness of her eyes, the slightest upturn of her lips. Slowly, she rose her hand up, then pointed at the bag on the floor.

Netta stared into her Mother's eyes, tried to find some softness, something that she could understand, for once. The coldness there burned Netta, felt as though it were destroying her heart.

Unable to bear the weight of the woman's gaze, Netta dropped to her knees and began to pick her bag up. She had planned this day, beginning, in some ways, the moment she met Ashwood. Still, with the weight of her Coven's gaze on her as she gathered her bag into her arms, she realized that she never could have prepared for them confronting her.

Not without Ash at her side, unable to come to her side with her Mother's presence eating away at the free Monster's strength.

She slowly plucked the bag by its straps, slung it over her shoulder with trembling fingers. She righted herself on her knees, then felt her gaze drawn back up to her Mother.

Hera stood, still and impassable as a statue of her namesake.

Netta, feeling fresh tears rolling down her face, sputtered at her Mother, her voice sounding to her ears like grotesque ribbiting. "I can't be alone out there, I'll die."

Hera's face hardly seemed to move as she said, "You should have thought of that, before you decided to disobey me, stupid girl. Go. Go with your beast, see what comfort he has to offer you."

"But he'll kill me." The words left Netta like a hush.

And, finally, Calliope spoke. Twisting her hands in the heavy mass of her hair, the Witch turned to Hera and said, quickly. "Hera, perhaps we should let her stay. She's - she looks sorry, and she's right - she's weak for one of our kind. She'll become sick and die, exiled to a Human life -"

Hera's voice cut, stopped Calliope's speech as quickly as she had begun to speak. "I did not ask you your opinion on how I should treat my daughter. And what business is it of mine, if she expires amongst the humans?" She turned and looked back down at Netta. "But - if she should ever, in her weakness, submit to the will of a Monster, I will hunt her down myself."

Netta staggered back on her knees, shocked by the strength of her Mother's cruelty. "Mother -"

"Girls, see to it that the Exile is out of our home."

Netta felt as the teenaged Witches' hands closed all around her, lifting her up roughly. She cried out one last time, then heard Hera's voice one last time as she was shoved to the door.

"I hope you will not burn in the desert before you can reach somewhere cooler to hide. If you should ever return, it will be when Hell freezes over, my child."

She was shoved out of the door and all but one of her Sisters disappeared to go back inside. Looking up from where she sat on the ground, Netta met the gaze of her older sister.

Sia's smile was horrible, reminding Netta of a fox's. She leaned down to Netta and pressed a deceptively tender kiss to her forehead, then whispered in a low, low voice. "This will not be the end for either of us. Do not think that I will ever forget that I was the first to rip a petal from you." Her breath blew over Netta's forehead, horrible and warm. "One day you will be my toy."

Before Netta, shocked, could do anything, the Witch shoved Netta, pushing her down the steps that lead to the door. Netta cried out, feeling her world upturn as she fell backwards, hitting the ground so that her breath was stolen from her lungs.

She lay on her back like that and wept bitterly for some time. When she lifted her head - sore from where she had fallen - she saw that she was alone. It was then that He appeared to her, when she laid her head back on the ground.  He stood over her.

Ashwood, in the form of a young, thin man, looked almost human. Almost, if not for his deep, red eyes. "Netta," He rasped, "they blocked me from appearing to you. I came as soon as I could - I saw everything. Oh, you poor girl -" The feel of his slender, long-fingered hand as it ran down her cheek, shook Netta out of her shock.

"Get away from me!" She slapped the hand away and shot to her knees, struggling to her feet. Standing, she found herself a few feet away from him.

He stood, abnormally tall and with long, long legs and arms. Dark, heavy hair fell past his ears, reminding Netta of the tendrils of roots. His gaze, his lips showed astonishment, horror.

Netta spoke, all of the anger and sorrow that she felt burning through her. "You stay away from me! I don't love you - I never did! Liar! Beast!" The words came out of Netta uncensored, angry.

Ashwood staggered, grasped for his chest. At first, he seemed too shocked to respond, then, struggling, he said, "You do not mean that, Nettles. Come, now, we do not even need to flee in the dark, and I will protect you as we escape.  As we've planned."

He extended his hand and seemed as though her were attempting to smile.  Struggling, his eyes darting around as though at a profound loss for words, he said, "Nothing has changed, and we no longer need to escape."

Netta took a step back, then realized that her bag - with everything that she would need to survive - lay between them, forgotten on the ground. She ran, picked up the bag, clutching it to her chest. She gazed at the Monster, feeling her tears as they spilled, freely, down her trembling face.

Ashwood stared at her, seemed to be too astonished to do anything. Finally, he spoke, lowering his hands to his side. Finally, he managed, "I - Nettles, I may have lied to you, but I did not - I would never betray you -"

Netta felt her mouth fall open and her grip tightened around the bag. "What are you? Why did you lie to me?"

The Monster struggled, reaching up to press a hand to his forehead. "It is not the time to answer that. I will tell you, once you have given me a sign of your faith in me, but for now I need you to continue to trust me. I have never harmed you, and I never will, beyond what you can sustain."

Netta felt the words tear out of her, screaming them at him. "Creature! I never want to see you again!"

He flinched, closed his eyes, then softly spoke, his words chilling Netta. "Loyal that I am, I would still not recommend that you humble me with such accusations."

Netta felt anger - sadness - strengthening her resolve. She spat out, "What will you do to me, Monster? You can't harm me, unless I let you."

Ashwood opened his eyes then, his eyes lacking any animation so that they seemed still, shining.  He spoke, his voice a guttural Monster's rasp. "You do not want me as an enemy. I can haunt your waking and sleeping life, until you cannot find solace."

Netta shook, then closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she found that she was alone. Frightened, she pulled her bag on and glanced around her, anxious that at any moment in a shadow she would see red, glittering eyes.