There were no voices today. No whisperings of mad poetry, no wisdom from some unread book, no slivers of grim observations. It was finally quiet in Iyan's head. As far back as he'd been able to remember, there had been voices, chatterings of this otherworldly figure, he just hadn't recognised it. They'd hardly sounded like words for along time, not until Myra died. Iyan understood now, however. Whatever was in her blood, holding back the understanding, left when she did. How she could keep it at bay was still a mystery, but if Iyan ever found those blue drugs give to him by the Catrodeans at the beginning of this cursed, endless night, perhaps he would see Aunt Myra one last time and ask her.

The world was strange, this quiet. Even when he'd been left alone in the woods, abandoned for the hundredth time by his awful host, there had been at least the chirp of some unfortunate bug, or perhaps the whisper of hot wind through the leaves. It was far too quiet, but that was quick to change.

Reality rushed in and set Iyan's head afire with pain. It would have been blinding, had his eyes remained in his skull. As it was, he could only scream and scream and scream, right until his throat split open and hot blood spilled over his lips. Even then, the cold shiver of the knife did not waver from its course. In due time, it had worked its magic, and Iyan's once-blue eyes were now severed from his head, where they rested in the pale hand of the leader of the Catrodeans gathered in frenzied worship. The crowd gathered around and screamed right along with Iyan, though their cries were that of success, glory, and the excitement of bloodshed. Perhaps it was only his eyes they were interested in, but it was not long before hungry tongues lapped at the blood that poured from his empty sockets.

"Oh, my children," crooned the bedlamite in white, and Iyan could hear the worst sorts of noises from above him, "may the gods bless us indeed!" He shouted something else, which Iyan was all too glad to ignore - it took everything not to cry, to give them the satisfaction of watching him break, as useless as it was. He was tied down, sightless, and starved of more than a few morsels in several days. What was there for him to do? The forest had grown cold rather quickly, and he shivered in his rags. As eager as they were for their gods, and nobody thought to cover him. He began to laugh, a scratched and torn sound, bubbling over the blood on his tongue. He would have thought the villagers would silence him, hit him in the face yet again, but they joined in and added their own shrill cackles to the mix. They were bonding! The thought made Iyan faint as he threw his head back far as the makeshift chair would go, and howled until the laughter turned to weak cries.

A great scurrying had begun to sound around him. Swallowing as much of his own blood and spit as he could, Iyan held still, straining to make use of what little sense he had left. Why were they scraping against the stone? Whose footsteps drew closer to his broken body?

"Hello, Mr. Lutton," a familiar voice said, in a soft and amused breath. "Look how far you've come!"

"What do you want from me?" Iyan felt a hand slip into his hair and hold his head straight. The absence of his eyes made balancing a head held familiarly for so long now an alien task to him. "Why couldn't... why couldn't I just be loved?" Lips kissed away the trickles of salt from the empty holes in Iyan's face. How was he able to cry? It had been an expert hand that guided that cursed knife, he realised, wincing at the mercy of its precision. At least he could cry, and that was more than he deserved for being so in want. Who was he, to desire what he could never hope for? By what right did Iyan Lutton, a miserable orphan, shared by a town that wanted nothing to do with his family shame, have to love? How ridiculous of him!

Iyan felt hands cup his face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks. "We wanted your gifts, Mr. Lutton. Thank you, for allowing us to see as you do." The lips moved to Iyan's, and he tasted the icy breath of Tehn, a tongue touched with snow and nettles mixing with his. "You've no idea how lucky you are, little fawn." Iyan pulled his head away and wept in earnest.

"I don't want your kisses, your lies anymore!"

"Do you wish it were Kairie? Do you want her to touch you where you feel happy, to sing sweet songs to soothe your ego?" Tehn chuckled and gripped Iyan's hair tightly in his thin hands. "There is no more comforting you, is there? After all we've done to ensure you felt ready, and you still crave the same simpering words?" Iyan didn't know why Tehn would be upset, as Tehn could still see with those vile white eyes. He leaned forward and spat, hoping he hit the albino.

"Get away from me, you liar!"

"Very well. Only, we must replace what we took. As much as I would like to leave you to your self-pity and ungrateful wallowing, I cannot deny you this." A brief struggle ensued, but Iyan could fight off Tehn's hands no more than he could defend his own eyes, and he sat panting heavily, helpless to the whims of the Felling.

A sharp pain exploded in his head, a thunderous agony that threatened to burst his skull open. What felt to be rocks, rounded and no more the size of a stone, were slipped into the sockets of Iyan's head, pushed mercilessly in until his teeth were ground together tight enough to snap.

It was over, soon enough, with one last word from Tehn. "Enjoy your gifts, little boy, and perhaps you will grow into something worthy of even your sight." With that, Iyan was left alone to listen to the sounds of the saturnalia around him, naught but stones in return.

Consciousness was unnecessary and unreliable for several hours. Flitting from half-crazed mumblings to helpless screaming, Iyan was well and truly left alone on his throne of skeletons and bones. Would this night last forever? Would the Catrodeans eat their fill of whatever else they'd come to sacrifice, and then leave him here to become another piece of the scenery?

When the third night hangs low, when the stars are unseen to all - we accept the offerings, we accept the body.

Iyan's spine went stiff, forced him into an upright position. His head straightened, lips froze open as words thundered from his unwilling mouth. Why had those words come from him? The panic of blindness and blood loss constricted his lungs, but the words came again, louder than anything he had ever heard.

When the flesh is unsung, when the sight is upheld - we accept these offerings, we accept this body.

The villagers had grown still in awe. As much as they screamed throughout the nights, they had never been this still. It did not bode well. He tried to move his head, but whatever it was that held its grip on him was unrelenting. There was, at least, an opportunity for his lips to move on their own, and he succeeded in achieving a low whine for help. "Please, please just help me." Tears continued to fall from his perfectly upright face. To anybody watching, he would have appeared a statue of perfection, glowing in the green-yellow light. How honourable, the Catrodeans thought in awe, as the voice of their gods poured from the red-stained lips of this stone-eyed beauty! One by one, they lowered themselves at his feet, a hundred hands reaching up to stroke his ankles and pull at his clothes.

"Blue-eyes, love us! Blue-eyes, save us!"

Iyan did not know what was happening. Why did they treat me like this? I am an intruder, a stupid outsider, a fawn for nothing but sacrifice! I am no god, but they touch me so...! He tried to speak again, but the voice inside of him shook and trembled.

We accept this sacrifice - what will you offer?

How loud it was! It seemed to shake the entire forest. Would those living back home on Saint Ivry have felt the weight of those words? Iyan wished he could pray to the Golden One to spare him, smite him like He had the Silent One, but he doubted his words would have reached whatever heavens his god lived in.

"Our eyes!" screamed the villagers, and the worst sound Iyan had ever heard, worse even than the voice of this entity, or the sound of his head being carved open, filled the clearing. His screams were nothing compared to the cacophony of wails that ensued. What are they doing, he wondered frantically, hoping that none of it happened to him. One voice in particular broke through the crowd, a woman's voice that was strained and hoarse as only one woman's had been. Iyan felt ill. Don't let it be true, don't let it be true! I beg you, whoever can hear, don't let it be true!

"O, Master! O, God! Speak through your vessel! Tell us if we are true, are right in our choice! Accept this mortal flesh and speak!"

Iyan became aware that whatever the Catrodeans had done to him was never going to go away. Something horribly permanent had been cast on his body, something malignant and all-consuming. One sacrifice would never been enough to save them. How long would he be forced to sit and speak the words for this crippled god? How many more eyes would need to be offered up to this formless entity that sucked the life from the centre of the woods?

He wanted to tell them, despite everything. Didn't they deserve to know? After all they had put him through, Iyan still wept that he would never be allowed to tell these poor, foolish villagers that they could never satisfy their god of hunger and lust. The god in question wanted more, and as though it consumed the very energy that held Iyan aloft, it cried out in rage for sacrifices and offerings from all.

The night dragged on for hours, and at the end of it all, amidst the wailing and shrieking, Iyan finally felt Kairie's touch. Her peculiar scent was almost washed away by the overwhelming amounts of blood that had been spilled. Almost, but not quite.

"I hate you, my love," he managed to choke out. The thing infesting him had grown still for some time, and allowed him the basics of speech and movement, at least for this last hour.

"And I love you, too," she whispered, holding him as close as the chair would allow. "I truly do, Iyan Lutton."

"Why won't you all stop lying to me?" He knew Kairie spoke the truth, knew her words had always been earnest from the beginning, but he would never again leave or see, and it was completely her design.

"I've brought you something to eat," she said in response, and she adjusted herself on his lap, taking care not to press too hard on anything torn open by his ropes of thorns.

"I don't want it."

"You do. Have you any idea how long you'll be here?" He laughed at that, turned his head where her voice came from.

"One hundred years, was it?"

"Eat."

"I won't last. I'll grow hungry again."

"Eat, you stupid man," came her laughing voice, and she pressed something to his mouth. He didn't want to eat, but the smell that flooded into his nose, working twice as hard now that his eyesight was forever gone, was overpowering. Like in everything else, he obeyed her and took her offering.

Nothing in the world could have compared to the taste of it. Starved for nights, and walked to near exhaustion, it was ridiculous that he hadn't demanded food earlier, especially not of this kind. When he had finished, Kairie held another to his lips, and another until she gently whispered that there was nothing left. Something in her voice gave him pause, and he leaned his head back.

"Kairie... what did you give me?"

"Why? I fed you when all else left you alone, did I not?"

"Tell me!" She froze at the tone in his voice, the powerful edge that had not been there before.

"Very well. It's Wendy's sacrifice." Iyan did not think the day could have gone worse, from being drugged and raped and mutilated, but this surely finished him. There wasn't any way it was true... Wendy's sacrifice? Wendy had told him several times over how silly she thought her friends all were, how stupid their fanaticisms were. Why, then, would she have sacrificed anything at all?

"No... no, you don't mean... you're just trying to - "

"What? Scare you? You wanted the truth, Iyan. I wish you could believe in anything," she sighed, and she slid from him, her warmth dissipating and leaving Iyan with nothing but the soft impression of where her body had lain against his. "That is your very problem! You don't follow anything other than ghosts and memories and your own fears. This will cure you, my love. You cannot escape your present now. You cannot deny your own worth any longer!" Still feeling some measure of pity for him, she kissed him one last time and backed away as he cried, the tears mixing in with the blood that seeped under the stones he'd spat up after each of his baptisms.

"Don't leave me," he sobbed, as the evil stirred once more within him. "Don't let this thing take my life!"

"You already gave yourself up. There is nothing left for you but this life." He wished he could have at least seen her one last time, but there was only darkness. How familiar would he have to become with it.

Kairie looked on as her primeval god awoke again in the body that had once belonged to Iyan Felling. It made him so beautiful and majestic. A shame he'll never know, she thought with a sigh. The light that flooded the forest made art of everything it touched - from the bodies splayed across the mossy bed, to the blood stains that ran rivulets down their skin. Even Iyan's blood was picturesque, the way it trickled like heavenly tears from the space where his eyes once were. As the god within him reared and announced its presence, the food having fuelled it enough to make itself know, all of the doubt in Iyan's face washed away. A gift, truly, to become an emissary!

Kairie would not be back for a hundred years more, so she watched as the creature, horns tearing through the supple human skull and claws wrenching themselves free of their paltry restraints, feasted on the prize left by the remnants of her friends and family. Not many could have boasted the memory of the view, and she took it in with a sombre sort of peace.

While Iyan may have been chosen for greatness before she'd ever left home, Kairie had also been given a gift. To show others their worth and their potential had been her mission for so long now, she forgot how long it was that she had remained. How many festivals like this had she been to? How many sweet, mild children had she seen elevated to the godhood not even her own kind were privy to?

When she'd seen enough, Kairie turned and walked away. There would be more, once this beast had consumed its fill and slept and died. It was a cycle, like everything else in nature. She would be back, she was sure. Pressing a finger to her lips, she recalled the taste of Iyan's kisses and smiled sweetly. There would be no more like him, and she savoured the taste as she disappeared into the woods of Catrodea.