“No,” Corabelle responded, coldly.

  She wasn’t going to let this mother make this sacrifice, a sacrifice she was only making because she believed her daughter was lost forever.

  And maybe she was. Corabelle still didn’t know what because of the spirit of a Faedemon. Maybe her daughter really was lost.

  Amietta didn’t have the memories that made her whomever she was before. Her body had been changed and it would be moments until she became someone any human would call a monster, but that didn’t mean she was entirely gone. Not every Faedemon was irredeemable.

  And if Corabelle let Amietta do this, she would hate herself in a way her brain would never fully comprehend. There was nothing that could be done to save this woman while curious eyes watched her every move, but she could at least ensure Amietta didn’t live with at least this one murder.

  “I’m not sure if this one’s stupid or thinks perhaps she has a chance of escaping with us,” Corabelle told the guard. “Either way, we’ll take another.”

  A combination of shock and anger flashed across Amietta’s mother’s face, “I am not trying anything, Mistress,” Her final word dripped with a surprising amount of emboldened venom. “I wish to leave this place and you know there is only one way that I can.”

  “You will not speak again,” The guard snapped at the woman. “My apologies, Ma’am. I have absolutely no idea why it is behaving this way.”

  Corabelle released a measured breath as she ignored his words, “Give us that one.”

  She raised a finger toward a far more elderly woman, being supported by two prisoners far younger than she. One of her legs was bent at an awkward angle, likely broken upon her capture and never properly treated.

  A strange mix of terror and relief flooded the old woman's face as the warden unlocked the door and stepped inside to claim her.

  “But be delicate,” Corabelle ordered as he grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. “It’s such a mess to work around bone shards and internal bleeding.”

  “Of course,” he replied quickly, his grip loosening notably as he pulled her stumbling body into the main room.

  He carefully secured the door behind her as the old woman gripped the rusty speckled bars for support.

  Corabelle eyed the keys as he affixed them to his belt. If she took them, all these people would be free, but he’d be punished, and far more severely than the girl hanging from the tower. While no Faedemon was innocent, he was young. He’d likely once been one of the people trapped behind these bars. He didn’t deserve the fate that would befall him.

  Corabelle crossed her wrists behind her back. No, she’d figure out something else, something that wouldn’t place their escape on him.

  “Nothing for you, ma’am?” The warden asked, as Amietta took the old woman by the hands, ready to lead her outside.

  Corabelle shook her head, “I prefer the hunt,” In reality, She’d never taken one of the Fae’s prisoners. Hells, she hadn’t even eaten a human, instead sticking to large game while patrolling the countryside or, if she became desperate, seabirds from the palace walls.

  The warren gave her a nervous smile, “Of course I didn’t mean that you couldn’t hunt,” He said hurriedly. “Just thought you may wish to save yourself some effort.”

  “I know your intent,” She assured calmly. “But no, even if I wished so, I was not given permissions to select one for myself.”

  That fact she was thankful for. The Fae had failed to specify that they both should eat, so if nothing else this was a precise following of their orders.

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  “Of course,” he said, understandingly. “But if that would ever change I would be more than happy to assist you in the future.” He said humbly.

  He was lucky. Such kindness, even that so obviously disingenuous, would make him an easy target for Demons of higher rank.

  “Don’t lie,” She warned. “It’s unbecoming.”

  His face went white. Hopefully her words would dissuade him from trying such an obvious ploy on someone else.

  “I’m sorry Ma’am.” He said softly, keeping his head lowered as he led them back out into the sunlight.

  The Old woman’s eyes squeezed suit tight upon her first step into the light, tripping over a slightly upturned brick in the road.

  Amietta hauled her upright by her waist, looking as though she wasn’t entirely sure what to do, “Be careful.” She muttered softly enough that she clearly hoped Corabelle wouldn’t hear her

  They left without another word to the guards.

  “The docks will be the easiest place for me to teach you,” Corabelle told Amietta.

  The sea was beautiful, sparkling in the rays of the noon sun. Gentle waves crossed against the algae covered rocks surrounding the docks. Birds prowled for stranded fish in the pocks of trapped water between them.

  Remains of ships ropes laid frayed and abandoned across the unmaintained wood as their steps echoed softly beneath them, interrupted by the occasional heavy thud of the older woman’s limp.

  This place really was beautiful, peaceful even now. This was a good place to die.

  They walked the full length of the docks, stopping just before the drop. The tide was low, tiny silver fish flitted around the surface of the water below, reflecting nearly as much light as the water. Low grade Pearlfish clung to the pilings, sealed shut as the water retracted around them.

  Corabelle turned to Amietta, “You won’t need magic,” She told her gently, not meeting the old woman’s fearful gaze. “You’re stronger than you realize. It won’t be hard to break her neck.”

  This was the gentlest way. Many Faedemons ate their prey alive to ensure the maximum Spark yield, but Corabelle wouldn’t trade her own death for that fate.

  “You’ll need to eat quickly, before the Spark wanes,” She continued.

  “The Spark?” Amietta echoed in confusion.

  “We need magical energy to sustain us, not flesh.”

  “But mistress, if I might, I was a farmer. I have no Spark.” The old woman told Corabelle quietly.

  A lump formed in Corabelle’s throat, tears burning hot behind her eyes, "Every living thing has a Spark,” her voice cracked sharply as she forced the tears away before they could fall. “A human Spark isn’t as powerful as a Faedemon’s, but it is stronger than that of beasts. Even if Mages told you otherwise, you do have a Spark.”

  She stepped forward, gripping the old woman’s frail shoulders, siphoning away her pain. She couldn’t save her, but she could make sure the pain went unfelt. The old woman’s eye widened in surprise as the rare sensation of comfort washed over her.

  “Do it,” She ordered Amietta, choking on her words.

  Amietta hesitated for only a split second, before gripped the old woman’s hair and pulling her head back hard.

  Harder than she knew. The sound of popping bone was accompanied by the horrifying sound of ripping flesh and sinew as the woman's neck tore. Her thin skin gave way easily to the force of a young Faedemon’s unpracticed might.

  Amietta shrieked, releasing the woman’s hair and jumped back as the woman's head dangled from nothing but muscle.

  Blood spilled down her clothes and through the cracks of the dock. Corbelle’s white dress stained with hot blood as it spurted feebly from the arteries in her neck.

  Corabelle didn’t let go, not until she was certain all life had left the woman held upright in her hands. Even in this state, she would suffer, if only for a moment, if Corabelle ended her spell.

  After a moment Corabelle was sure Amietta had been effective, despite her accidental brutality.

  Corabelle lowered the old woman’s remains onto the dock gently, "Remember what I said. Don’t let her death go to waste,” She forced out over the acid rising in her throat. “I’m going to clean up before this blood sets in.”

  Corabelle barely made it to the sand before getting sick.

  Even after all this time, everything she’d seen, everything she’d done. She would never be used to everything.

  At least she didn’t feel it. She had to assure herself as she heaved.

  Corabelle couldn’t bring herself to look back, but she hoped Amietta had heeded her words.

  When her stomach finally settled enough for her to move, She made her way to the water, frantically scrubbing out the stains before they could dry.

  Her throat burned. The image of the woman, the sensation of her limp body in her hands clung to Corabelle’s mind with more strength than the Pearlfish clung to the pier.

  Her tears dripped into the tidepools. Her teeth gritted so tightly they threatened to crack as she rubbed the material of the dress against itself trying to draw out the blood.

  This would never be the same. No matter how much she tried, rings of rust brown remained, a brownish pink hue sullied wherever the bloodied water touched. Cool seawater chilled her stomach as it soaked upward through the material yet the stains of what occured remained.

  She would need to change.