Aching, trembling, Merris tugged off his white gloves and his hands fell to the side of his pristine lab coat. Usually, Merris' laboratory was shining, reflective silver chrome and bleached walls. Not a speck of filth or grime could be found. It was as sterile and cold as a hospital room.
Not tonight.
Meat hung from heavy hooks. The carcasses once had faces, limbs, breath, and hair. These people were once alive. But now they were stripped to just muscle and bone. Blood was splattered on the walls in patterns of chaos and red mayhem. He had been working since Castalline left. Her mere presence sparked ideas that wouldn't stop until they had been brought to life. He had an urge to create that couldn't be satisfied. Even now, though he was exhausted and physically couldn't work anymore, he felt thirsty. He had so many more things to do.
As he worked through the night, he had conversations in his head. He thought about Lillandyr Shadowglade, for whom he was creating all of this artwork, and Castalline. He was baffled by Castalline's reaction when she fled from his bedroom the day before. He was pulled in two directions. He wanted to go after her, speak to her, but first he was drawn to his laboratory. If only he could sit down and sketch what he wanted to do first, then he could talk to her. He needed the ideas removed from his head so he wouldn't forget. It was a compulsion.
But soon, those sketches turned into burning urges to create. And then hours flew by him. When he emerged from his lab to take a break, he was told that she was long gone from the manor and went to go shopping, just as he suggested she do. He supposed she was all right, then. She was not upset or bothered by their conversation. She just went shopping. He was worried for nothing.
He regretted sleeping with her. He wanted to apologize for his inappropriate behavior with her some more. It shouldn't have happened, he told her over and over again in his head. He didn't know what came over him. He didn't usually drink, not at all. And that night after Lillandyr left he had what... a whole bottle of white wine to himself? Bottle and a half? He wasn't entirely sure. Everything became a hazy blur, and the next thing he knew Castalline was in his lap and... Oh, gods, he thought. He didn't intend for the Muse to be the first woman he ever bedded. How terribly embarrassing. It couldn't happen again.
But he didn't want to lose her either. Just look at all he created in a single night, thanks to her divine inspiration.
He needed a lot of bodies since he wanted them all to match, both in color, shape, and size. They needed to look perfect, natural, like they belonged together. There was definitely an art to this, and he had pride in his work. Merris was a perfectionist. Everything was done delicately, and with precision and care.
He removed their fingers, one by one, and sewed them together with invisible seams. Eight fingers to a creation. They moved organically, not like a jostling, jerky undead creature. He made them all different. Some had thicker, broader limbs and others had long nails that he filed into uniform points. He cleaned rot and decay from them. He was delighted in their elegant dancer movements, each leg working together as if they were meant to be arachnids made of sewn fingers. Hands, he thought, were beautiful. Spiders, too, were beautiful. It was a magnificent, artistic marriage. He was contented with his work.
Maybe, he thought, he could somehow make them excrete muscle sinew or bone so they could make webbing. It would certainly make it easier for them to serve their purpose.
At times, because of who and what he was, the gods spoke to him and sought him out. It was almost always an angel of Nehmain or a messenger of Venorith. Once in a great while, Eryss, the goddess of the arts, would call to him. Rarely, it was anyone else. Yet Merris was not a god himself and they did not need to pay homage or sacrifice to communicate with him. Sometimes it was merely a loud, powerful, all-consuming voice in his head. Sometimes it was one of his servants that had become possessed and turned into a vessel for the heavenly bodies. It could even be amusing at times, or very inconvenient. The gods felt entitled to do as they pleased, and also had a strange sense of humor.
"Merrisss..." croaked a voice from the corner of the room.
Merris sharply glanced up. He was exhausted. Splashes of ruby and brown had splattered down the front of his lab coat and surgical mask. His gloves looked as if they had been dipped in a vat of red paint. He was finishing the last touches to his final spider. He had nearly twenty-five completed. He thought he wanted thirty, but he was running out of specimens to choose from. This one may only have five legs, he thought. The unevenness annoyed him. He liked things to be exact.
He was alone in the room; not even a servant had been called. He made specific orders not to be disturbed as he worked. Yet he was not surprised. Things often popped up unexpectedly in his life.
He rubbed his sweaty brow on his sleeve and unhooked his mask so it dangled from his face. He stepped around his silver slab of an operating table to inspect the source of the voice. The lighting in the room was sharp and unforgiving, yet did not reach the corners where he stashed his discarded parts to later be burned.
The voice was coming from a pile of unusable pieces. At the end of the day, he ordered his servants to deal with the rubbish
"Merrisss..." the sound hissed again. Merris dug through the box of limbs and heads until he found the obnoxious source of the noise.
He lifted the head that once belonged to a young, male elf. He had been stripped of all the things Merris would have any use for in his artwork. The eyes were missing and the lips removed. All that was left was some flesh and dirty, scraggly hair. Dispassionately, he held the severed head outstretched, gripped by the scalp, and waited for it to speak to him again.
"Merriss..." the servant of Venorith tried to speak, but the jaw was loose and broken, hanging on by just threads. There were no tongue or lips, and it struggled to speak. Just teeth, skull, and shattered skin.
Merris blinked as a flash of irritation crossed his weary features. Whatever this was, it better be important.
"We have done what you have requested. The Oracle will call on you for the Feast Day of Saint Baellith."
"Oh?" Merris asked as he scratched the side of his face, painting a streak of blood on his cheek. "Well, isn't that something."
The dangling head paused, the oily hair twisting slowly in his grip. "You don't sound pleased, Meriweather Osterious," the angel of Venorith noted. The face of the corpse was now turned away as it attempted to talk. Merris kept it as far away from his person as possible, his arm outstretched like a long crane as if it disgusted him. It was, after all, scraps.
"Don't I? Apparently, you haven't been observing what that wretched woman has done to me, Venorith."
"We have done what you have asked, Merrisss.. and it is unbecoming to be so ungrateful to usss... But your happiness is paramount. Tell us, Merris. Tell us what would please you. What we can do for you."
Slowly, the face twisted back around to look at him again through blank holes in the skull.
Merris was silent, thinking.
"I want her servant, Venorith. You can do that easily. Her personal servant is a demon, so it is ruled under your domain."
"Speak the name. Speak the name of the demon so that we may control, find, and bind him."
Merris smiled. Oh, Lillandyr, what a fool you were to speak the demon's name in his presence. So arrogant. He remembered it, noted it. Names were power, and she was cavalier and foolish. If he had the name, he had control over the demon. And during tea, she said it out loud to flaunt herself. Now, he thought, he could use her over-exuberant pompousness against her.
"Xaphan'uth'inaril." Merris said without missing a beat.
"It is done, Merris," the head said. And then the presence was gone. The angel had left him. He felt it.
Unceremoniously, he tossed it back into the junk pile to be disposed of later.
He waited anxiously. The room felt heavy. The atmosphere was different, damp. It felt as if a front moved in and a storm was approaching. The light in the room seemed dimmer, as if a black cloud were passing across the sun. The silence was loud. There was a strange and intimidating presence in the room, as if a monster were lying in wait to pounce. And then it became suffocating, overwhelming, before it snapped. There was a flash and a boom of thunder, crackling lightning.
The creature appeared on the floor next to his table. He was hunched over, naked, and in the fetal position. It looked defeated, as if it had struggled through a long and arduous battle. Fetid, sulfur smoke slithered from the demon's body. Perfect!
The demon was exactly as he remembered it. Beautiful, lovely skin made of gold and long, slithering silver hair. Except it was battered, shattered, and abused. It was a creature that was capable of terrible, powerful destructive things. Only now it was being volleyed back and forth as a pawn between two nobles. It was a shame, and a waste. But Merris did not care. The demon didn't have much longer to live, anyway. Maybe it could be seen as a mercy killing, putting an end to this flagrant misuse of magic. Beautiful things like this weren't meant to be abused and gawked at like animals in a zoo. It was perverse. Disrespectful. Lillandyr was such a spoiled child. She had no real appreciation for anything.
Aha, thank you, Venorith, Merris thought as he circled the demon for inspection. Wouldn't it be nice, he thought as he bent closer to the creature, to use his spiders for something like this? Why, it would be performance art.
Before Merris could reflect more on what he intended to do, there was a rapid knock on the laboratory's heavy, steel door. Oh, what now? Merris thought in annoyance. He demanded not to be disturbed.
As he flew up the stairs, the demon remained in place like a beaten, broken thing. It didn't dare resist or stand. It barely twitched as it remained hunched on the floor. Merris stormed up the steps to answer the intrusion.
The finger spiders began to crawl and move, sensing Merris, their master, was away. It was as if they wanted to feel and explore, crawling up the walls and into the ceiling as he went to see to the commotion. One dared to venture onto the demon, roaming the back and spine as if it were a giant desert mound to be scaled. The demon didn't even flinch.
Merris used all of his body weight and strength to spin the wheel that held the massive steel door closed. With a clink and a thunk, he unlocked it and swung it open.
At first, it seemed no one was there. Then his eyes dropped down.
"Master..." Varnil hissed, hunkered down on her long, spindly legs. She looked more feminine today. He could only see her narrow face from under her leather, liver-colored hood. The creature had painted her lips a saturated purple. "I know not to disturb you, but I bring you urgent news. You must listen, Master."
Merris knew that Varnil would not have come to him if it wasn't important, perhaps perilous news. Immediately, his annoyance dropped away as he listened.
Briefly, Varnil lifted her head. He rarely saw the creature's eyes, and today they were a honey, vibrant yellow. "They are coming, Master. Imperial soldiers. They implicate you. You burned down the Lady Shadowglade's Quarter."
"Me?" Merris echoed indignantly. "I've done no such thing!" Sure, he intended to attack Lady Shadowglade, destroy her for her spiteful words and how she spurned his affections. But he also needed her. He still needed to obtain his Idol of Turtih from her. He didn't want to do it by drawing too much attention to himself and what went on in his manor.
"Yes, Master. But they are coming for you. On their way as we speak. I've come to warn you. We must hide. It was Castalline, Master, the Muse... She burned down the Lady's whorehouse."
"Castalline?" he repeated, nonplussed and irked. There was no reason to doubt Varnil. The creature always brought him the truth. He never second guessed it. "Oh, for god sakes," Merris huffed. "Where is Lauris? I'm a mess. This needs to be cleaned up before anyone steps foot in here."
"I do not know, Master. She has not been seen," Varnil said, bowing her head once more and allowing the shadows to consume her features. Her scraggly, limp hair hung loose.
Merris looked down at his splattered lab coat and began stripping off his crusted gloves with a scowl. "And Castalline?" he wondered. "Where is she? Has she returned? She is not to leave the grounds again. I can't have her going around town acting like a pyromaniac. She is never to leave here again. Do I make myself clear? Let the staff know. We simply can't risk it. Once those imperial guards leave –" He paused in his thought to throw his gloves down the stairs. "I want Castalline sent to my room. She will be punished, severely. I need to make it clear that we do not tolerate such reckless, destructive behavior."
"Yes, Master," Varnil bobbed her head in obedience and understanding. "And she has returned, Master. Castalline can be found in her room."
"Excellent. Find Lauris, and prepare the staff for intruders. I want everyone in their hiding place immediately. I'll... deal with them myself. Make sure Castalline stays in her room until everyone has left."
"Yes, Master," she crooned submissively.
"It's so annoying," Merris said as he unbuttoned his filthy lab coat. "I leave for a few hours to work, and the entire city is literally on fire. Do you know what her motives may have been, Varnil? What would draw her to do such a stupid thing?"
"I know not, my Master," Varnil said as Merris tossed his coat down the stairs to be dealt with later.
"Never mind, I'll find out myself. For now just... make sure everyone is ready and locked down." He tugged at his collar and straightened himself, dapper, immaculate, and clean. "And find me Lauris. It isn't like her to be missing. Oh, and Varnil?"
"Yes, Master?" she asked, tipping her head to the side unnaturally.
"That pile of scraps down there," he motioned to the bloody, oozing pile of heads, limbs, and torsos in the corner of the lab, "They're yours and Lauris's if you're hungry. Just be sure to incinerate what you do not consume. Off with you." He motioned her away, dismissive, and his nerves grated thin. He didn't have the patience for this nonsense. What was Castalline thinking?
"Yes, Master, thank you, Master," Varnil hissed before she scampered away on her long, stretching limbs. Within moments, she was in the shadows.
Merris drummed his fingers against his thigh, unsettled. "As for you," He said as he called down the steps to his laboratory. "Spiders, I know that I've not yet taught you how to spin your webs, but I'm certain you can figure it out if you put your heads together. I don't have time for this..." he said as he stepped down the stairs and addressed his creations as children, "Bone. Sinew. Use what is at your disposal. While I'm gone, I want you all to deal with him," he said as he gestured to the demon. "Normally I'd take the pleasure for myself but I've more pressing things to deal with." He narrowed his eyes. "Dismantle him. Cocoon him as you see fit. Make it so it is easy for each of you to carry. I need him ready for transportation tomorrow. In pieces. We will be giving Lady Shadowglade a gift, a gift from the entire family. I want you all to deliver it. I know that this may take you a while." He resumed stepped up towards the door of his laboratory. Then he snapped the lights off. "Good night, my sweet things. You have work to do. Have a good night."
The spiders scuttled as if they understood their task. The demon shivered as darkness devoured them all.
He sighed quietly. Once he closed the door to his laboratory and sealed it, it was invisible to the naked eye. He made a gesture, using a small charm to further hide the laboratory with magic. It couldn't be detected, it couldn't be found. He went through the house and did the same thing for other places that he needed hidden. He made sure to hide his tomes of black magic and necromancy. Every artifact that even seemed remotely questionable was stashed away and concealed. He hid the passage that lead to his underground shrine to Venorith. He was very thorough and deliberate.
The moment the job was completed, he heard an invasive, loud knocking on the dark, oak front doors. The manor was unusually silent. There was almost always a shuffling, a groan, or a soft sound leaking from somewhere. He heard nothing but quiet. Not even the sound of mice could be detected.
Good. Varnil was reliable. The news traveled fast and his family was safely hidden.
He straightened himself for a final time. He glanced at his appearance in a nearby full length mirror that hung beside the wide double doors in the front room. He was flawlessly tidy. His feathered black hair was tied in a loose ponytail behind him. His skin was winter white and his beard perfectly squared. He was ready. Merris waited just a beat until he heard another impatient cracking against his front door before he answered.
He tried to look surprised.
A whole flock of the Emperor's soldiers barged into the room. It was more people than he was expecting. They bled into the side rooms and he was accosted by a burly, gruff-looking captain that barked accusatory questions at him. He felt berated and badgered, but Merris was always polite, quiet, and professional. He even offered them tea, which they loudly declined. He knew that they thought he was guilty. Merris had the reputation of being a strange hermit. They knocked over his belongings and shuffled through his bookshelves.
Merris insisted that he knew nothing. He had been home the entire time while the fire occurred. This was the first he even heard of it. Merris said he felt sorry for the victims, and offered to compensate for the losses and donate to the cause. The captain was forced to admit that no, no one had seen him in or near the area at the time the arson occurred.
After Merris wrote out a promissory note and seemed to show genuine sympathy, the buzz in his home died down. He sealed the promissory note, which offered a massive amount of gold to rebuild the area and donate to the affected families and businesses, with a gray wax seal that held a moth stamp. It was then the captain's mind seemed to have changed, and his accusations seemed less acute. It was as if Merris was merely written off as a harmless eccentric, and certainly too weak and boring to pull off such a catastrophic, violent act. Merris, they probably thought, was merely a stuffy scholarly type who wanted to be left alone with his books in his dark, gated house on the hill. Merris seemed to simply be a quiet, wealthy bachelor who lived alone, and likely had a lot of cats hiding in places.
Shortly after he gave them the "go away" money, they went away.
His home was tattered and torn. He felt violated and angry. This, he thought, could have all come crashing down. This could have ended horribly. He could have been arrested and swiftly brought to trial. He would have been found guilty of illegal necromancy and worshiping Venorith. They would have burned him alive for those crimes. He would have survived, but it was still very unpleasant. This, he thought with a certain black-hearted rage, was all Castalline's fault. She was an ungrateful little twit. He brought her into his home and this was how she repaid him?
Before he decided to deal with anything else, he was going to punish Castalline. Furious, he went into the coat closet near the front door. He threw the doors open and searched.
He found an old black umbrella with a hooked wooden handle. Maybe. He found moth-eaten trench coats, suit coats, lab coats. He found worn shoes he had meant to throw out. Merris continued to search... and then he found it. A leather belt with a metal fastener. Yes, perfect. He was going to beat her for her insolence. Sheer stupidity. Corporal punishment. Discipline her as if she were a child, because clearly, she acted like one. He couldn't tolerate it.
When he turned back around, he was startled. He nearly dropped the belt. He was so consumed by his raging inferno thoughts that he didn't hear Lauris approach. Her heels were soft against the exotic carpeting.
"Lauris!" he exclaimed, his anger almost dissipating at the sad, horrible sight of her. "My darling, what has happened to you?" He simply set his anger aside for the time being, as one would put a book aside for a small break in favor of another. He would come back to it in a moment, not forgotten nor neglected. He would still beat Castalline.
Lauris looked as if her countenance had halfway melted off her skull. She was decomposing. She hadn't been fed or had any maintenance done to her, as Castalline had locked her away in one of the dozen or so random closets in the manor house. Varnil had only now found her and set her free.
Lauris cupped half of her face in her hands, holding the skin up to her chin to prevent the rest from simply sliding off like wax. The expression on the other half of her face was pathetic, worried, and sad. She looked at Merris apologetically. She said nothing, but she did not need to. She clearly wanted him to fix her... please? In several mousey steps, she crept forward, as if she were ashamed of her appearance.
"Oh, my dear..." Merris said, immediately looping his arm around the shoulder of the Unquenched. "My dear, sweet, wonderful Lauris. Where have you been? Who did this to you?" He kissed her skull, where her cheek would be. It did not disgust him in the least, for she was his creation. "Come come, chin up, yes?" he said as he turned to her and tilted her chin up to examine her features.
It didn't look good, he thought. At this point, her facial structure may have been beyond repair. The muscle had disconnected from bone. Pieces were missing. Lauris looked as if she were about to panic as she allowed her master to look at her closely.
Still, she was as silent as she ever was.
"My fragile doll," he said softly as he looked at her through a fan of dark, black lashes. He loved her, his dear Lauris. For an Unquenched, she was an amazingly sweet creature. "I fear that this... may be beyond sheer repair, but –!" he said as he allowed her head to gently lower. She still held half of her face cupped in her delicate, sewn hands. "Don't worry. We will do something for you. It may not be the same, but don't lose hope. All is not lost."
He slid his arm away and looked at her, belt still dangling from his tight grip. "I have business to take care of with our new guest. I want you to go into my laboratory and wait for me. There is food down there, too. Eat, if you can, to your fill. Varnil shouldn't have consumed everything. Afterwards, lay down on your back on the table so more doesn't come loose and you do not need to keep holding it, all right? I will come down to see you the moment I am done."
Lauris nodded meekly.
"Oh, and one more thing. The spiders down there are dismantling a demon. Do not be alarmed. In fact, I wish for you to tell them to take the pieces to Lady Shadowglade the moment they are done. Tell them... Oh, I don't know. Use your imagination. Tell them to bring the pieces of her servant back to her in an arrangement. Something artistic. Maybe have them put him in her bed so it looks like he is whole again. Tell them to piece the demon into a jigsaw of her face! I don't care. Something. Something surprising, hopefully. I don't have time, unfortunately, to give it the thought it deserves. I thought I did, because it is art. I just... can't now. Please, Lauris?"
She nodded again. She understood.
Merris smiled. "Good, good, thank you. Thank you again, Lauris." He stepped forward and kissed her lightly on what was left of her lips. It was a gentle press of lips, a peck of propriety. Merris then stepped away and gripped at the belt in his hand. He ascended the long flight of stairs leading to the east wing of the manor, where Castalline's room was contained.
He knocked politely on her door, and waited for her small voice, as tiny as a bell, to allow him to enter.
When he saw her, she looked diminutive. It was as if she were a porcelain miniature set into a dollhouse. The bed was too big for her; she didn't fit on it or in any space within the chamber. It looked as if she would suddenly become swallowed and lost in the space. Everything around her was ornate and refined, and she was a little angelic creature, devoid of color and decoration. She was plain and simple, but elegant and beautiful. She didn't seem to belong in this plane of existence.
But none of that mattered at the moment. The question of her beauty was not under scrutiny; it was her behavior that needed immediate correction. Castalline said nothing as she perched on the bed, her knees drawn into her chest and her eyes wide with wonder.
"Please," Merris said as he closed the door behind him and addressed her. "Do not speak until I bid you to do so," he said in a curt and cordial tone.
Castalline continued to stare at him. She didn't even move, let alone make a sound. Her eyes were silver and slippery with tears that did not yet fall.
"It has come to my attention, Castalline, that you are responsible for a serious act of arson. The Gilded Lily, Marquis Lillandyr Shadowglade's establishment, has been deliberately set on fire." He paced the room with the belt in hand. His tone was firm, authoritative. "This –" He turned sharply to face her. "– is unacceptable."
Her head slowly lowered. He couldn't see the reaction on her face, but he surmised that she was remorseful. Her pale, lacy hair covered her face and most of her body.
"Now, what I intend to do will be..." He sighed. "Unpleasant. But please know that what I do, I do because I care, Castalline. Not all of my creations are perfect. At times, they need to learn. And I teach them through pain, discipline, and punishment. It's... out of love, Castalline. I love every member of my family and sometimes, they need to learn through burns, or beatings, or brutality, but..."
Merris broke off and approached her. He knelt down in front of her and cupped her chin in his hand. His face was near hers. She shivered against his touch. He could see his reflection in her wide, moonlit eyes. So lovely, he thought, it was a shame that she was flawed. So pretty. So delicate. But she will be perfected, he thought. A piece of art that needed only to be corrected. Soon, she would be as pristine as a winter's night. He could feel her shuddering breath against his face.
"I do this for your benefit, and mine," he whispered as he released her chin to stand up once more. "Please," he said, unfurling the leather belt. "Stand facing the door. Hands at your side."
She obeyed him in every direction. She surprised him. She did not cry or protest. She was learning, he thought. She even pressed her hands against the door for support. He expected her to at least question him. She didn't even make a sound.
"Mistakes like the one you have made can cost you your life. And mine. And everyone in this manor house. I'm not sure why you did it. I'm sure you had your reasons. Perhaps you were feeling unheard. Or were scared. Acting out. I understand that, Castalline. I, too, often feel very, very alone..."
He raised the belt and lashed it across her back. The sound was a harsh, cracking snap. It left behind an angry, pink welt that could be seen through her paper thin dress. She jumped a little, but still did not react. Not a peep came from the Muse.
"But it was wrong, Castalline. Very wrong. And you will learn. What you did compromised me. Everything!" He struck her again with a little more force as a bubble of anger rose in him. She very nearly ruined everything, everything he had left. Perhaps if she understood the consequences of her behavior, then things would settle back into place. Like his other creations, she just needed to be molded. Submissive. Controlled.
Merris didn't understand nor have the ability to relate to mortal behavior at all.
"You will not be leaving the grounds for the time being, not without explicit permission and an escort," he explained in a tight, forceful tone as he struck her a second time. Then a third. The leather strip thundered against her flesh.
Why wasn't she crying out in pain?
Even his undead things squealed when he was forced to discipline them. Sometimes with searing pokers, glowing hot from the fireplace or by other forms of punishment. He whipped her, again and again, each time harder until his arm grew sore. She bled like a mortal; blood licked across her backside and her dress was in tattered, snowflake pieces.
He stopped to catch his breath. He didn't want to hit her again. He saw her, white and crimson meshed together. Her legs trembled to hold her in place—but still she stood.
He felt sorry for his little Muse. Surely, surely now she had learned her lesson... hadn't she? He couldn't bear to beat her again. Anymore and he would break through her muscle and peel her to the bone.
Now that her dress had completely broken open, he saw the horrors, the absolute horrors of what was painted on her canvas.
He wasn't the first to beat her. Her entire back was crisscrossed with old, heavy pink scars from past lacerations. He only added to the pile that raked and ravaged her little form.
"Again," she breathed. "More. Please," her aching, small voice begged.
No.
No, thought Merris. What... was she saying? Was she mad? Was she sick? What had he done?
He felt inspired to hit her again. More, several more times. The thoughts were infiltrating his mind. It was the aura of the Muse. She wanted him to hit her. He knew these urges were not his. They were foreign, radiating from the thing that was Castalline. She wasn't a mortal, he reminded himself. She was like him, a creature. Not elf. She was god-touched. Her desires affected those around her, both intentional and unintentional. It was both conscious and unconscious. She inspired both goodness and evil in others.
She wanted him to strike her, and her thoughts were invading him, coaxing him to do it. He didn't understand why. How could she enjoy this pain? Was she mocking him?
He couldn't, not anymore. He felt stunned. Numb. He needed to remove himself from the situation immediately. But she was pressed against the doorway, barring him from exiting.
Merris dropped the belt. It clattered loudly to the floor as it slipped from his fingers. He could only stare at the ruination of his Muse, flayed, raw, and red before him. How could he have thought this would work? How does one discipline a Muse?
Oh, Merris, he thought in abject humiliation and misery. He needed to leave, now. He couldn't stare at her opened backside anymore.
He vanished.
It wasn't as if he had left, creeping into the shadows like a thief in the night. Nor did he explode in a puff of smoke with magic or an incantation.
He simply did not exist in the room any longer. There was no trace of him, not a smell or a hair. Nothing.
It was something only Meriweather Osterious could do. It was one of the many things that made him special. He could bend time and space at his will on certain occasions, when things were aligned accordingly, just right. It wasn't something he did often; knowing very well the consequences of such large adjustments could lead to unpredictable and often undesirable outcomes.
But he knew he couldn't stand to look at her anymore.