After he almost forcibly removed her from the bedroom, Corabelle didn't see Zaramir again for days.

  She heard him working above her, the same day and night sounds of intense laborious lab work, but he never spoke to her, never visited her, never offered her books or magical training. Even after finishing the chore list, she never so much as got a note outlining new work.

  She didn’t understand. There was no reason things should be this different but they were.

  She had agreed to stay and he seemed happy about it, before he got sick. But now it felt like he was ignoring her. She knew he could easily heal illnesses, but if this happened to be beyond a simple spell, he was certainly capable of making a potion.

  As time went by, she became concerned, and as even longer went by she became properly worried.

  She had been giving him time alone to recover, but whatever was wrong, should have been better by now, even without magic.

  After a full week of hearing nothing but the sounds of work above her head, she decided to check in on him. Perhaps he wasn’t recovering because he was overworking himself. It didn’t seem like an unlikely possibility. Even cursed and wounded he’d still been working. He didn’t seem the type to quit over illness.

  Though it seemed strange to her he would leave her to her own devices for a week without any instruction, without so much as busy work.

  As she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, his voice sounded through the hall. “Not now. I’m busy.” The words were as stark and cold as a frozen lake.

  The strange intensity at which he spoke, gave her pause, foot hovering over the second stair. He didn’t sound sick at all. He sounded as well as he ever had, but his voice was strange. Wrong. Hollow, like that of a golem.

  “I was just checking on you. I was worried. I hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

  “I assumed,” The words were flat. “I’m perfectly fine, but I'm far too busy for lessons at the moment. You may work on that list of chores if you feel like it. If not, you're free to do as you like.” The sentiment should have been kind, but came off as disingenuous, almost snide.

  “I finished my chores,” She told him, finally setting her foot on the next stair. “But are you sure you’re alright, you seem… different.”

  “I’m positive,” he replied. “I’m just quite busy. So if you’ll please leave me alone; that would be greatly appreciated.”

  She didn’t understand. He had been overjoyed that she was staying, at least he seemed so, but now he was acting like her presence was a nuisance.

  “Did I do something to upset you?” She inquired, unsure.

  “Not at all.” His response was quick, but not assuring.

  “You seem upset.”

  “I assure you, I'm not.”

  She took a few steps up the stairs before his voice resonated again, “Corabelle, I told you I don’t have time to entertain you at the moment. If you’re bored, I’m certain there’s ingredients that could be harvested in the garden. Why don’t you take care of that for me?” His words were like those of an annoyed parent.

  She couldn’t fathom where this sudden change was coming from. She knew he enjoyed her company. He insisted he wasn’t feeling ill. There was no reason for this.

  Something more was going on. She knew that for certain, even if she didn’t know what.

  Determined, she continued up the stairs, ignoring his halfhearted protests, until she made it to the door.

  She didn’t bother knocking before throwing the door open, knowing whatever this was about, he would avoid answering.

  Her hand flew over her mouth, muddling a barely contained scream, as she laid eyes on the room before her.

  Rusty cages, lined the walls, lined with dirty straw. Distressed animals cried from within. Deer, rabbits, goats and other livestock. There were even a number of wolves and other predators trying to gnaw or scratch their way out.

  A table had been cleared, contents placed neatly on the floor several feet away. On the once clean table lay the flayed and shredded remains of a half macerated remains of a horse that looks as though it hadn’t been butchered with a blade or even the teeth of another animal, but ripped apart through brute force. Blood dripped from the table only the floor where it ran to a brain. What the drain did with the blood, she couldn’t bring herself to wonder.

  Zaramir had crossed to stand in front of her, and made a futile half-attempt to block her view. Though the sight of him wasn’t much better. Sleeves rolled up to prevent staining, his hands were nearly completely covered in blood, with older, darker blood spatter running up his forearms.

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  His green eyes seemed duller, having sunken slightly into his skull. He seemed thinner, more pale, almost vampiric. The frightening similarities were not dissuaded by the tiny smudge of poorly cleaned blood near the corner of his mouth.

  The only movement she could manage was that of her eyes as they flashed over each horrific aspect, taking in the increasingly horrific details.

  “I told you I am busy.” His icy words were only half heard, as she noticed what was likely a scrap of an organ, slowly sliding down toward the drain.

  She couldn’t respond, a young doe looking at her with listless, frightened eyes from its metal prison, emitting a tiny mournful bleat.

  “You should have knocked.” Were the next words she registered from him.

  She almost choked on her words, as she poorly fought the urge to free the remaining survivors of whatever was happening here, “What are you doing?” She had her suspicions, and evidence but she wanted to believe otherwise.

  “You won’t like the answer.” He replied, starkly.

  The paralysis finally broke, as she shoved her way into the room. The metallic smell of blood hung heavily in the air as she rushed to the doe, ripping the flimsy cage door cleanly off the hinge.

  The little creature bucked away, with what could almost be described as a scream, before nearly toppling Corabelle as she ran off to relative safety somewhere in the house.

  “Please stop that.” Zaramir said as she made a move toward the next cage containing rabbits.

  She knelt and ripped the second cage apart with equal ease, scooping the two quivering rabbits into her arms, holding them close to her chest, uncaring about the bites and scratches, the blood running down her arms in the moments before the wounds could heal.

  “Corabelle,” He said with blank disinterest. “I have animals for a reason. I am aware you care about them, but you can’t protect them all. If you tell me your favorites, I will avoid eating them but I must eat something and I must eat it fresh. You’ve already wasted this stallion's life by preventing me from doing so. “ He extended a hand toward her and the struggling hares.

  She pushed herself back scuttling across the floor with as much grace as was possible while ignoring the white rabbit which managed to sink its sharp murine teeth into her neck, blood pouring from her throat for a brief moment before it healed.

  “Why?” Was all she could demand, as she wrapped her body around the animals.

  He seemed mildly annoyed by her inquiry, “Contrary to human belief, every living thing has a Spark even if it’s far too small or too weak to be harnessed by anything other than humans. It’s what we consume. Many Faedemons consume humans because it's efficient. A human Spark is large by comparison to other life. I’ve told you before, I don't like human meat, so I keep animals. Though, like for this horse here, the Spark of a nonhuman life disperses from its flesh not long after it’s death, so I keep my animals alive until the moment I need them. So please give me the rabbits.”

  She clutched them closer, the smaller of the two having seemed to settle into her arms, recognizing that Corabelle wasn’t a threat, “No!”

  He rubbed his temples with his other hand as if trying to ease a headache, “I assure you I don’t let them suffer. I snap their necks. It’s relatively painless and very quick.”

  “What is wrong with you?!” She cried, startling the mellow rabbit. “Why are you being like this?”

  “Corabelle,” He said, seemingly more annoyed. “This is necessary for me, as it will be necessary for you. You should already be hungry. It’s nearly been two weeks and with Runebinds, you should be slowing down.“

  It was true. While she’d been working, she’d eaten ripe fruit from the branches of the plants in the garden. The flavor was dull and she was left unsatiated and certainly never satisfied. Though she’d been used to that feeling having lived on what she could scrounge from the grove for so many years.

  He took a step toward her as she cowered away, shielding the rabbits with her body.

  “Alright, then.” He conceded. “If you’re so attached to the rabbits, I acquiesce.”

  He turned to a cage containing a skinny grey timberwolf, which snapped furiously as he unlatched the cage. I tried to lunge for him but Zaramir was far quicker than it, grabbing it swiftly by the back of the neck.

  It thrashed relentlessly in his grip, aggressive growls as yelps filling the room and frightening the rabbits further, which nuzzled into her chest, trying to escape the sound of the struggling predators.

  The sounds of violence were immediately halted. The wolf falling limp as she sounds of snapping joints and ligaments echoed the room in its stead.

  The rabbits slipped from her grasp, squeaking as they hit the floor, before scrambling to hide under a parchment covered armchair in the corner.

  Corabelle whipped away, violently dry heaving on her hands and knees as the sound of cracking bones and tearing flesh, filled the room.

  Her stomach tried to push up anything it could but there was nothing to push up. Her stomach's best efforts left her dizzy and sick on the floor.

  All the more nauseating, over the smell of blood and viscera, was a smell her instincts told her was sustenance. It was fragrant, earthy, and distinctly alive amidst the grotesque smells of death. Even over the nausea, it made her hungry.

  When, finally, the sounds of crude butchery had finally ceased, she heard the metallic clang of another cage opening, “Stop!” She managed to shriek at the top of her lungs, tears falling from her face.

  “You can leave.” He offered coldly, as screams of a baby goat stabbed her in the heart.

  “What happened to you? What is wrong with you?!” She screamed. “Why are you doing this? Why don’t you care?!”

  “This is a fact of our lives, Corabelle.” He said, the screaming from the goat continuing. “If it bothers you, you may leave, but eventually you will have to face it too. You can’t tell me you’ve never eaten a butchered animal before.”

  She stumbled to her feet, before falling back to her knees, the room rocking under her. A sickening hunger weakening her. Her knees collided painfully with the stone, splitting before healing leaving her own blood among the rest.

  “I have,” She conceded, “But the animals never saw my father’s arrows coming. They never feared; were never terrified in cages for their last moments of life.” Hauling herself back up with the corner of the wolf’s cage, the room stopped swimming. Though hungry and lightheaded she refuted, “I would rather starve than this.”

  “If you don’t accept it, you will.”

  She couldn’t be in the room with him a second longer. As she sprinted from the room and down the stairs, was the sound of the baby goat’s neck snapping.