The halls of the palace were busier during the day.

  Elder and remaining mid-level demons were back from their mission; They wandered the halls heading to meet with their masters, resting, healing, or moving to a fro their variour assigned menial tasks.

  Most missions of importance were conducted at night, it was easier to remain hidden. In addition most human scouts seemed to think that night would make it safer for them to scout and loot.

  In actuality, they were making the far more dangerous choice. Most demons, especially the more dangerous ones, could see through the dark. Which only made it easier for them to hunt humans who couldn’t.

  The mason followed at Corabelle’s heels, keeping close but careful not to step on her dress and sully it further.

  Not like it would have mattered.

  The elders could have taken him from Corabelle if they wanted to, pulling rank for no other reason than to display their superiority, but humans weren’t interesting, fairly useless really. No one would bother.

  Corabelle led him down the hall to what was once the palace library.

  Books sat untouched but clean, carefully maintained. No one bothered to read the books, but to the Fae they were just another trophy. A good deal of this collection was nearly as old as their eldest Demons, locked behind glass that had long been broken away to better display their prizes uninterrupted.

  The other Faedemons cared about this place nearly as little as their masters. Their meager free time would not be wasted on old fables or histories that they had been alive to witness… or caused.

  The clawed feet of the old wooden chair squeaked lightly against the dark marble floor as Corabelle pulled it out from the desk.

  He started upon realizing she was staring at him expectantly.

  “You want me to sit?” He murmured softly as if afraid to disturb the quiet space further.

  She nodded and he took a tedious seat at the edge of the white velvet chair, clearly fearful of dirtying this too.

  “You wanted me to transcribe these, mistress?” He looked at the lump of papers still in his arms.

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  “No.” She finally whispered. It was the first word she’d spoken to a human in a good deal of time.

  “Then why did you want me?” He asked, fear growing on his face.

  Corabelle glanced at the door. The heavy set was closed, sealed carefully, keeping all the sound of the hallway out and any sound from the library in.

  This was the safest place in the castle, but that didn’t make it safe. She was never really alone.

  The mason didn’t dare to speak again, even as Corabelle stayed silent.

  “Put the papers on the desk,” Her voice was barely audible.

  He set them down quickly, folding his hands in his lap.

  “Leave out the window. Be quick. The cliffside is narrow, but if you make it past the grounds, there is a way down to the shore. Then run. As far as you can,” She finally met his eye. “Use the waves to cover your tracks, because if they catch you…” She crossed to the window, prying it open to the smell of salty air and the soft rumble of waves crashing hundreds of feet below.

  He laughed, a sharp tense laugh, “You have a wonderful sense of humour, Mistress.”

  His false smile vanished entirely, face going pale as he realized she wasn’t joking. Rising to his feet slowly, he kept his eyes locked with hers as though she were about to take his head.

  She let out a long, slow breath, “Give me your chisel.”

  He drew it from his belt, passing it to her slowly without breaking eye contact, “What’s wrong with you?”

  It was a fair question, but she was surprised he’d be bold enough to ask. Perhaps he thought he was already on borrowed time.

  Corabelle held the chisel down by her side, “My memories weren’t taken when I was created. I know what they took, what I lost,” She provided the shortest explanation she could. “You need to leave now. Before they think to check in on me. You escaped while I went to get fresh ink after you were punished for breaking the bottle.” She said firmly, knocking the full vial from the desk. Splattering her front in dark acidic smelling staining the material with asymmetric black splotches, “Please give me your arm.”

  He obeyed.

  His weathered hands shook as she gently took his wrist in her hand.

  Corabelle nicked his forearm with the chisel swiftly, leaving a tiny gash near the crook of his elbow. She muted the pain before he even realized what she’d done.

  He didn’t feel a thing but he still flinched as she slid her hand up his arm and squeezed.

  The sharp metallic smell of human blood permeated the room as she dropped the chisel and the blood dripped into her cupped other hand.

  “This has to look real if I have a chance of living long enough to do this for anyone else,” She explained, letting the liquid run off her hand onto the chisel on the floor. “This will sting a bit when I let go, but it won’t be bad.”

  She released his arm slowly.

  He didn’t react, even as the remaining blood dripped down his hand as he lowered his arm.

  “Move quickly. Hide at night and run during the day. It will go against every instinct but trust me, it’s far safer.” She moved toward the door, her heart vibrating in her chest. “Good luck.”