The sky was more day than night by the time I made it back to the sleeping quarters set up beside the ramshackle temple. I slammed the window shut before the single tendril could follow me inside, bewildered anger still sizzling through my veins. A voice spoke my name on the other side of the curtain and I called back that I was getting dressed as I scrambled out of the gifted ensemble and kicked it under my cot with a robe wrapped over it.
The day moved like colorless sludge. Memories of Ichor's words, the little moments when he had looked at me strangely when I commented on his abilities, zapped at my mind like static shocks. The other priestesses chastised me for not working as hard as them, some asked what was wrong, if I was ill. I only had the energy to mumble out an excuse of barely sleeping the night before.
The inability to create a more indepth story, a lie, forced me to bite my lip to hold back the sobbing that threatened to explode from me. But I couldn't accept that. I couldn't even consider it. That I was some creature under a disguise that had fooled even me for my entire life. It was too nightmarish an idea.
When night came, the tendril tapped pathetically at the glass like a beckoning finger. I considered flicking it away like a piece of lint. But it wasn't the fault of the bizarre little glowing thread. I pulled the blanket over my head despite the growing spring heat and tried to sleep through it.
.
Days went by in that way. As if meeting and losing Ichor had somehow introduced new colors into my world, only to drain away the old ones when he was gone. The tendril tapped less frequently. My muscles ached with sadness and a cold daze. I became adept at taking on odd jobs whenever we were about to need more water from the river, afraid to go in case Ichor would be fishing again.
The sore, heavy pit of my stomach barely accepted food, everything tasted bland and burdensome. I felt myself growing thinner and silently begged my body to heal around the embarrassing heartache, to let it become a knobbly, ugly scar, but just heal.
In the bath of cool water, I hugged my arms around my legs. I bathed late, the sound of crickets already starting in the darkness outside the tiny bathhouse. Or bathhut, more accurately. I rubbed the smooth texture of soap against my back with my fingertips, feeling the bumps of my spine just below the back of my neck. Something was stuck to my back. Between two of the bumps. A raised line. No wider than a thread. I scrubbed one fingertip against it harder, the line nudging back and forth as if part of my skin. I pinched two nails together and picked at it.
A hair? I wondered as I worried at the spot. A string? What is this?
Under my fingers, the line split with a sound like the cracking and peeling open of a fresh melon. I gasped and froze in my exploration. A gap was split in my back, the feeling of open space hovering under my touch. With my breath sawing in and out of me, I reached out of the tub for my robes. I moved carefully, avoiding looking in the small, cracked mirror on the wall as I delicately wrapped the robes over my body. The sensation of the fabric on my back stunned me with overstimulation, as if the area was new and never touched.
I was never more grateful to see the faint, turquoise glow in the grass.
"Tendril," I frantically whispered, unsure what else to call it.
The blue light froze in its snakelike movements at the edge of the clearing and zipped toward me. It tried to wiggle into my hands that were holding the robes around my body with a white-knuckle grip.
"I need you to take me Ichor."
The tendril froze for a split second.
"It's very important. Please. Lead me back to the cottage."
As it shot away into the greenery, I ran to follow. Sticks and stones prodded my feet as I ran, but the sensation barely made it through all my fear. As I turned suddenly to match the tendril's hard left, I felt the space on my back spread open more and cried out in dread.
The fire flickering in the windows of the cottage flared color alive in my life again. Relief swaddled me in warmth, until I swung open the door and the empty interior stared back at me. A calm fire danced in the fireplace, but Ichor was gone. Even the other tendrils had left.
"You have to go," I said tremblingly, "Go find Ichor. Tell him I need his help. Go!"
After the tendril bolted back into the forest, I closed the door gently behind it. I took the quilt from the couch and put it over my robes, desperate to hide whatever was on my back under as many layers as possible. Much as I would've tried to deny it, and been unable to, the scent of him soothed me down to my core. For the first time in days, my eyes drifted shut easily. And I slept.
Warmth was pressed gently to my side, over my shoulder on that side, rocking me, as I woke up.
"Tiffy?"
The silver eyes and hair, reflecting near black on one side and the colors of fire on the other, stared into mine. A boxy basket sat overturned between us and the front door. The glass bottles it held flickered in the firelight.
"Something's wrong," I said tiredly, as I came into my body and felt the cold, wet wound on my back anew.
Ichor sat beside me on the hearth as I explained. His hand never left my shoulder, as if he was afraid it was his last chance to touch me, now that I needed him. I pulled the robes tighter when he went to tug the back down.
"I need to see if I'm going to understand what it is," he explained gently.
I whimpered uncomfortably but released them. I shivered as my back was exposed to the open air again, and flinched when I heard Ichor gasp. A fae gasped at whatever was wrong with me.
"Tell me you were lying," I mewled as tears blurred my vision.
"What?" He moved to sit more beside me again so we could look at eachother.
"Tell me that I'm not what you said I am."
"Tiffy," he shook his head, "I can't lie."
I buried my face in fabric and resisted the tears as much as I could.
"I swear, I thought you knew."
"What's on my back?" I croaked out.
"It's your glamour. It's... cracking. And I assume if you didn't know about... your origin, that you've never had it reworked? It's amazing it has even lasted this long without upkeep."
"What does even that mean?"
"This," he squeezed my shoulder slightly, "This human disguise. The fault line, the spot where all of it is anchored together. It's coming apart."
I gasped and choked on the sound through my quiet sobbing.
"I can remove it the rest of the way," he offered, "If that's what you want."
Repulsive curiosity tickled my thoughts. Maybe I was something like Ichor underneath. Something ethereal and beautiful. Something out of a ballad.
Or maybe you're a monster. My mind snipped back.
"Can you," I asked tentatively, "Can you take it off? And then if I don't want to be that. You can just put it back for me?"
"I don't know how to do that," he looked away as he spoke, as if he wished he could lie to me, "Whoever did this glamour, they were talented. This is probably what they do. Their work. Their art."
