The Artist's Muse (closed for Erlind)

Prologue

There is a place that is NOT a place, more of a feeling. It is there~ where everything is a faded shade of bright, like old forgotten tinsel, that one can find just about anything, if they know the right words, the right steps, the right code. It is there, in the Summer lands, that one can find their heart's desire or... if not that...as close an approximation as can be bought, traded, sold.

It is not the mortal sphere. The colors, even the brightest ones, are muted, almost a representation and not the real thing. The trees look like paintings, the moon never goes beyond the sickle phase~always waxing, never waning~and the sun does not come up over the horizon. This is not to say that beauty can not be found or that the rich tapestry of court life gives little joy. That would be an unfair statement, in any way one can think of.

But the Summer lands are not located in the physical realm, nor are they easily obtained. A person has to need them, believe that they are there, be consumed with a desire to see them, obsessed with the idea. Beyond obsession. They have to KNOW without doubt that the next turning~widdershins, at the dark of the moon~will lead them to the right door, the right place. And then? They have to make that turning.

In the higher courts, the better Fae mounds, those places Titania and Oberon grace with their presence from time to time? The fantasy is as realistic as those of unending beauty can make it. The colors are almost as rich, almost as varied, as in the mortal realm. The wind sighs, the trees rustle, move, bend. It is not like that in the poorer places, the ones almost completely removed from mortal imagination but even those have their own ethereal beauty.

This Sidhe is one of those.

This Fae mound is located in the back of the beyond, a small wood on a lonely mountain, located far from the usual haunts of civilization. What that means is there hasn't been human contact in forever and the colors, the imagination, the rich tapestry that makes life worth living has all but fled.

The fields never gain a green hue, the sky never has a sliver of light, the trees look more like sketches done by a heavy hand. Even the small court located here contains only a few of the Sidhe. Most others have traveled on, to other spaces, to richer pickings, to a more congenial environment. Those who stay here? They do so for sheer cussed stupidity or blindness to the fact this mound, these Fae, are fading, dying, leaving, going...and once the last bit of imagination has gone...the belief faded? The mound, their home, shall fade into the mist, never to return.

Misty WinterRose understands it but, as the youngest of the Sidhe, there isn't much she can do. One of the small court of the Fae, a princess of the willow, Sidhe Draoi, she doesn't require the belief of humans as others do. She doesn't feed on their emotions, nor require their knowledge. She is a nature sprite and proud. It is probably THIS very pride that caused her fall.


A Conversation

The door to the throne room was closed, guarded by a large Cu Sith and a rather much smaller (but no less ferocious) Cat Sith~you know the hound and black cat of the Fae realm? Misty moved forward between the two but hesitated at the forbidding entrance. For some odd reason, the door seemed wrong.

"Caitlin, do you know the meaning of this?"

The Cat turned her head~large, leonine, amber eyed, the white mark on her barrel chest gleaming. Standing, she stretched and shifted into a form more conducive to communication.

"The meaning of what? The door is as it always is. Every entrance is either opened or closed. Now go through. The Lady awaits."

Misty shuddered lightly and stepped to the door, pushing against it slightly with one small, claw tipped hand. The door gave way and she entered the main hall of Winter's Morning Mound. The Lady beckoned the smaller fae closer and motioned for her to be seated at the ornate table.

Then the Lady spoke, her dulcet tones causing the lights to brighten.

"There has been an intrusion in the dream time. A knocking on the door, begging for entrance. It is up to you to see if the mortal begging this boon is worth some small token. You are the youngest and I have no one else to send."

Misty looked at her liege, slightly askance. A mortal begging a boon in dreams? What did this have to do with guarding the borders? What did this have to do with tending the wild places that edged the realm? Arguing would do no good. Besides, what harm could a mortal REALLY do?

She should have listened to her intuition. There was quite a bit of harm to be done, she just didn't know it yet.

Andrey Demidov. In truth Andrey Demidov was born as Andrew Demidov in one of the nicer parts of Saint Louis. During college he dug into his Russian heritage hoping to find something to make him unique. It has always rang false though.
Andrey studied art in his college years. He admired the freedom and creativity of artists and it was something he wanted to be a part of. He’d always been smart if not the smartest, good looking if not the most handsome or dashing. Andrey occasionally found a girlfriend, but they never lasted. They either wanted him to settle for less than he knew he could be, or were disappointed with what he was.
Mediocrity was the plague that seemed to follow the man. When he graduated college and began working to earn himself a spot in a gallery, the verse would change, but chorus never did.

“Andrey, you have such a talented hand, but this painting says nothing to be. You’ve created a beautiful picture, but it is a picture of nothing. Skill will only carry you so far. Your art is soulless.”

Now, defeated, he was in Saint Louis again. New York had proven too cutthroat to survive, and while he hated to admit they were there his family could help him in Saint Louis. He now lived in a failed attempt at inner city rejuvenation. What had been a block of warehouses was now a block of apartments that might as well be warehouses. Background checks were a requirement the city had given when they’d provided the money for the renovations to Andrey’s landlord. Since not many honest people wanted to live in such a bad area, many of the units were left unsold.

Even being back in the city the young painter grew more estranged from his family instead of closer. His mother always asked what happened to the happy little boy that loved finger painting. His father always wanted to know when he’d give up this pathetic pipe dream and go to work in a factory or something respectable. In truth, lately Andrey had been picking up a lot of hours at a local convenience store. It wasn’t something he liked, but the only gallery owner still talking to him only bought work from him when he was feeling generous, or really full of pity.

“Your work has gotten too cold, Andy. Sometimes, looking at your work, I feel like there’s hardly any humanity left in there. One of these days I’m going to lose too much money on you and I’ll stop answering your calls. Until then, I’m willing to wait and see if you can find the painter inside yourself.”

Andrey had begun to curse that man. He was the least cultured peddler he’d ever had to work with, but the painter did his best to remain polite and placate the old fool. There was some truth in what he said, Andrey even valued it, but otherwise Davis was just the bottom of the barrel.

***

It was late on a Thursday evening when Andrey got back in from the convenience store. Getting in the door to the complex always made him feel better when he had to be out late. He carried a small Beretta now, but he still hated the streets. Five months ago he’d been robbed by a pair of slime armed only with switchblades, before he’d taken the “gift” from his father.

Even after giving them his money they cut him up anyway. It had been the last time he’d crawled back to his parents. He couldn’t pay the hospital bills, and hadn’t had the choice. His mother begged him to come home and his father had the nerve to tell him it served him right for the life he’d wasted. Having to go back to them had almost been worse than the scars up his arm and across his chest and back he now had to bear. The doctors told him after the surgery that there was a chance he’d lose some use of his right hand. Andrey cried that night, and when he’d recovered he’d sold his first painting in nearly six months.

Tonight though, the edge of fear didn’t leave him completely at the door. The door to the apartment across from his hung open, no traditional light pouring from the thresh hold. Andrey approached cautiously with his reaching behind him touching his father’s gift. Inside he only saw a woman lying sprawled out on the floor. He’d seen her before, if only in passing. Long black hair to refused to behave and strange blue eyes. She wasn’t unattractive, but Andrey had always seen her as strange before beautiful. Now, she was face down half way to her kitchen.

Kneeling beside her the artist shook her shoulder and let out the breath he’d been holding since first seeing her like this, as her eyes slowly opened. “What happened to you?” It was all he could think to ask.

“Nothing,” she murmured back to him, “that’s all I’m allowed to tell you.” Andrey helped her to her feet and moved the woman back to her living room and onto her couch where she could lay more comfortably.

“If you don’t tell me I’ll call the cops and tell them how I found you. You’d have to tell them something.”

The woman whimpered at the threat and shook her head, but seemed to be giving in. “Would you light the candles,” she asked pointing to a bic lighter on the coffee table. “I guess you won’t believe me, so it should be alright.”

The apartment was lit by candles and Andrey made her some herbal tea out of her kitchen. Her name was Susan, though it seemed far too normal a name for her considering everything else about her that he’d learned. He suspected it was actually just an abusive boyfriend, but Susan told him a fantastic story about people she called the Fay. It seemed like he’d heard the term in passing at some point, but he couldn’t be sure. She told him how any door could lead to them, how they never lie, but can be very cunning, and how beautiful they were. Susan had been taken as a lover by one, but it seemed she had a difficult time keeping him happy. Andrey still thought some lowlife she fell in love with had just beaten the snot out of her, but that he’d helped her all he could.

* * *

It was several nights later walking home Andrey had taken a different route than usual. Three teenaged scum had taken up the hobby of drinking and harassing people on the street he took home. He could have dealt with them, but the painter was tired and just couldn’t deal with their kind of crap tonight. It was nearly dawn and it would be another hour or two before they found someplace to pass out and the rest of the world had gotten into full swing again.

He’d almost reached home when a calico cat darted across his path and down an alley. Andrey turned to see wear it went, but it was gone. What he did see however was a strange almost blue light seeping out from behind a door. His first instinct was that it was a door to the Fay that Susan had spoken of to him. It seemed impossible, but the idea of someone or someplace that could finally banish the drudgery of his life pulled at him.

Andrey marched down the alley and grabbed the door knob. By all rights, it should be locked and there was no way it could lead where he wanted it to, but something told him it did. Twisting the knob the door pulled open easily. Inside a single bulb showed him a set of dank stairs that descended down. He continued on and the light disappeared behind him. Andrey nearly stumbled several times especially as he got further down and the stairs seemed to have broken apart into jagged slabs. When the rail disappeared he was tempted to end this foolish dream, but he pressed on. The stairs seemed to go on forever, but then another door came into view. The soft light of dawn or maybe dusk seeped in from behind the wooden door. He placed his hand on the curved brass handle and pulled. This was it. This was real. Everything was about to change.

Two days. That's how long it took for Misty to receive the first inkling that something was coming, someone was searching. Two days of unease, of confusion, of sheer boredom while she waited for the Lady's words to come to pass. Two days. She had hidden in her willow, the cool air abusing her branches, making her feel in disarray. Two days.

Finally, the sound of steps. Far away. Moving through the many myriad dreams of other slumbering mortals. Misty had time then. Time to plan, to connive, to wheedle help and a few spells of human seeming from the Cat Sidhe~Caitlin. She had time to focus herself well enough to hide the slender green form, the leafy hair, the claw like nails. After all of this? The waiting became fraught~with tension, with unease. Misty practiced. Making herself go from human to Fae and back again.

Finally, finally. The steps were closer. A door way shimmered into being~dark, closed. Misty retreated into the Mound, even leaving the protection of her willow, so worried was she. The very first glimpse? A human male. Tired. Scarred. World weary. He had a bit of a Slavic look around the eyes, the cheek bones. Not the usual type to believe in the Sidhe, the Fae, The Shining Ones.

Misty debated letting him through. She debated leaving the safety of the mound. She debated but in the end, it would be up to him. Up to him to finish the journey he had begun. Up to him to make the proper turning and end up where he wanted to be. She couldn't help, though a minuscule part wanted to rush out and drag him through. That wasn't the way the game was played though. A mortal had to complete the journey...and then that mortal could bargain. Those were the rules.

An eternity passed this way but finally, the dark door sprang open and the mortal stepped through, into the Fae realm. Misty didn't bother to use the human seeming, she didn't think she'd need it. He had probably gotten here by mistake. It was all a dream, anyway.

That was her first mistake. As soon as she stepped from the Mound, she saw that he was AWAKE. Not walking in a lucid dream. He was awake, aware and very...empty. His pain was manifested in the lack of aura, in the depthless gaze of his eyes. He had nothing, felt nothing. She wondered if it was possible to help such an empty mortal. She wondered what had brought him to this mountain, this Mound. This place.

He smelled of dirt and ugly places, of despair and anger, of the city and the iron that bound those places. He smelled as far away from her home as was possible for any person to come. She didn't feel fear though, not really. She only felt a deep urge to heal, to help. Unusual for her, but true. So she stepped up and out, allowing her true form to be shown.

"You have come a LONG way, traveler. Do you know where you are bound? Do you have a quest? Something that you are searching for?"

The words were ritual. His answers decided whether he was worth helping or if he would become meat for the Dark Riders. Possibly meat for the Cu Sidhe. His need had to be fierce, a deep thing. But words were power and words gave strength to thoughts, to wishes, to desires. Without those things, he would remain as he was. Trapped, an outsider, unwelcome in the mound. Unworthy of help.

Misty was unsure if she wanted to allow him into the Hall...but she knew that she would help...if he had the right answer.

It felt like he had just stepped into where dreams were made though he was still awake. Everything felt not quite real, like it couldn’t be real, because of what it was. Then she stepped into sight and all the things his heart had believed fervently were now confirmed for his mind. The stories his neighbor had told him were not only real, but he was experiencing one of them. The woman was clearly not human, but still held a strange beauty that called to him. It was as if nature herself had given birth to a daughter, clothed her only in living leaves that formed around her perfectly, and somehow gave her the beauty of the entire natural world.

The woman spoke and Andrey was almost too stunned still to respond, but then he remembered back to the things Susan had told him. It could be dangerous not to respond. Andrey spoke slowly and carefully trying both, not to anger this beauty or become ensnared by some cruel trick.

“My name is Andrey Demidov,” he began. His voice was shaky, but he didn’t want her to think he was afraid, so he took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes. His words became steadier. “I am an artist, a painter. I do not know where I have come, but I know what I seek here. I want to escape. It’s not a place that traps me though. I find myself chained by mediocrity, trapped in a life with no meaning or purpose. I have the skill to escape, but when I bring my work to those that could help me share it I’m told I am uninspired, soulless. I don’t want to be this way, but nothing I can do changes my world. I will do anything; give anything, to not waste away unable to find the inspiration I need. That is why I came here … fair lady.”

He didn’t know how to address her, who she was, or if she even cared. Maybe he’d sounded too desperate, but once he’d started he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t that he wanted simple fame or fortune, just that he wanted to be able to live by his art, and if he was lucky create paintings that spoke to people and moved them.

“My name is Andrey Demidov, I am an artist, a painter. I do not know where I have come, but I know what I seek here. I want to escape. It’s not a place that traps me though. I find myself chained by mediocrity, trapped in a life with no meaning or purpose. I have the skill to escape, but when I bring my work to those that could help me share it I’m told I am uninspired, soulless. I don’t want to be this way, but nothing I can do changes my world. I will do anything; give anything, to not waste away unable to find the inspiration I need. That is why I came here … fair lady.”

The man spoke with resonance belied by the emptiness of his gaze, of his heart. Misty listened, her inner ear chiming sporadically as he answered her queries in such a way that she knew he had to have some sort of belief, some deep seated need. The wording wasn't exact, which meant he hadn't learned the old forms nor had he been taught the old ways. BUT the desire was there.

Misty stepped closer, her clawed hands moving to touch his cheeks, to hold his face steady so that she could gaze into his eyes. Judge his worth. Judge his need. The decision would be hers. The length of time the help was offered, how the help was given. WHERE the help was given.

Misty believed that she could answer his need and maybe~ learn more about mortals at the same time. Her naivete wasn't a good thing, not when it came to the mortal realm. She could not advance at another mound, she could not leave and go elsewhere without a few Fae gifts given. This mortal, this male. His trouble is not so bad and she could help him. probably.

"Hello Andrey. I am Misty. You are searching for a Faery gift, the gift of a Muse. Something to help you with artistic expression, yes?"

Silence then as she gave thought to the gift offered. It would not be necessary to gift him a major magick, only a small thing was needed. If she bound him round with promises to keep him from causing her harm? Thenshe could give him a trial of 60 days.

"Here then is where we bargain. I want to travel to the physical realm. I would need a guide, someone to protect me from harm. If you agree, I will gift you with a spell, a small thing, to help you paint what you believe to be the truth of anything you see. We shall exchange vows. Sixty days from now, if the gift is agreeable, you will owe me a small boon and I will make the gift, permanent. No trickery or lies. Do you accept?"

The warmth of her touch surprised him when she touched his face. Andrey had been expecting something cold and inhuman, but if anything it felt more like what humans were supposed to be than anything he’d ever felt, well, except for the claws. He could feel her looking deep into him and though he wanted to break away from her, get away from the judgment he felt being passed, Andrey stayed for fear that if he didn’t he would only remember these moments as a dream in the morning.

When Misty explained her bargain to him a genuine smile crossed his face. A magical cure to his problems had literally just crossed his path. “Misty, it would be an honor to show such a beautiful creature all I know of humanity and the world we live in.”

His blood was pounding. This was clearly the start of something new. Something he never could have imagined. Suddenly, Andrey realized how little he knew about this arrangement that he’d agreed to. “Misty, will you be staying with me? My home is small and in a dangerous area, but you are welcome to it, and I can keep you safe. I agree to your bargain and if you need anything I’ll do my best to provide it for you.”

He wasn’t sure what came next. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, but he was certain it was better than what he was leaving behind.

She tilted her head, thinking. He had said his home was small and in a dangerous area, but it needn't be that dangerous for him. She could make it so. As it was? The only danger she would have to worry about would come from the touch of cold iron or if he thought of a way to trap her, once the bargain was done.

"Physical dangers will not be a problem for me, Andrey. I am of the Sidhe. As long as you are with me? Physical danger in the mortal realm will not be a problem for you, either. That is a promise as old as the trees."

Misty stepped away, her eyes glinting golden and cat like in the gloom. The door way behind him was opening once more.

"You must return to the mortal realm. I have things to ask of my liege Lady and I must prepare to come to your home. I will be there with in three days, from this time. You may not know me, not at first, as I must assume a mortal seeming outside of your home."

From the Sidhe mist. she fashioned a small, golden acorn and pressed it into his hands.

"Hold on to this as you journey back to your home. This is the small magick I promised. Wear it on a silver chain, never remove it. It will gift you true sight and make your art a true thing. I will join you in three days."

The Fae mound opened and Misty slipped sideways, through the door. She waited to see if he would leave but she felt her liege Lady calling her into the main room, the throne room. She couldn't stay any longer. With a sigh, Misty turned away and allowed the calling to lead her away from the door, away from the mortal.

xXx​

"So you have decided to leave the Mound and go walkabout?"

The Lady's voice throbbed and trilled, sending jolts of pleasure along Misty's flesh. It wasn't as if her Lady meant to do so, it was the use of the VOICE that caused it. The Voice was a thing of magick, of beauty and only the eldest in the Mound could withstand it. Misty was not of the eldest...now where near. It stroked along her spine and made her want to purr.

"Yes, m'Lady. The mortal requires a small service and I decided to gift him with it. If his artwork is worthy, I will commission a piece for your hall before I return."

A regal nod and Misty was dismissed. One hour had passed. Equal to a full day in the mortal realm. Misty retreated to her oak and prepared the glamour that would give her a human seeming.

Andrey stood there for a moment as the door slid shut and where he was standing grew dark. He stayed there in silence not wanting to confirm what he already knew, that the door before him no longer lead where it just had. This was more than he’d ever dreamed of. Three days and he would have an otherworldly beauty in his home. It would be his responsibility to teach her about his world. He placed the silver chain around his neck and tucked the acorn under his shirt. He could feel a comforting warmth coming from it, and he wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined.

* * *

Andrey spent the next two days cooped up in his apartment. The light on his answering machine blinked waiting to tell him he’d been fired from the convenience store, but he didn’t care. A knock at his door went unanswered and the man only stopped his work when his body demanded things like food or sleep from him.

Two days spent almost completely on his canvas. It was a painting of a city street. He’d admit to it being his home, but it looked more alive than his home ever had. The way the light played into the shadows of the alleys, subtle suggestions of life while refusing to show them. The whole scene of the street at dawn felt full of hope to him like the day he’d painted starting would be one that would change the lives of everyone that lived on that street.

It was the early hours of a Sunday when he was finished. Not a moment of the last two days had been wasted and today needed to be the same with a different goal. He shaved and got cleaned up. The apartment was picked up bit by bit to make it accommodating for his guest. He put sheets and a pillow next to his couch so he could sleep there at night and let her use his bed. He went to the grocery store to pick up a list of things that started with fresh fruits and vegetables. He wasn’t certain what she’d like, but he’d do his best to keep his guest happy. The day was whiled away with cleaning and preparation until dusk.

All day he’d not heard or seen a sign of her. He’d be ready to give up hope, but the acorn he wore from her proved to him that she was real. More than that the work he’d done in the last two days proved to him that she was real. Andrey went to the window again and looked out at the darkening sky between the buildings.

“Where are you, Misty?”

Spell work, the stuff of legend. Easily done for the old Fae, not so easy for the young, like Misty. Borrowing a human seeming from the Cat Sidhe had been a very smart move. After all, building a human, from the skin up, takes time, lots of practice and energy. And if one hadn't any practice, it could take an eternity to get right. She didn't have an eternity.

Even so, it took the better part of Misty's two hour lee way to get the seeming right. Eventually, she managed but she KNEW she looked odd, like a mortal version of a punkette or some odd little multicolored goth girl. She glanced at herself, in the flat expanse of water that lay nestled near the roots of her tree, and startled back in surprise.

Her hair was an odd combination of green and black, her eyes the color of spring leaves. Her skin was a light shade of nut brown. The face was hers, yet not. Full lips, high cheek bones, a pug nose and freckles. Her ears were small, missing only the elongated point that marked her as Fae. She hoped that the change wouldn't confuse the mortal whose house she would be sharing for the next little while.

Finally, with the seeming locked firmly into place, she stepped sideways, into her tree and then out, into the real world. Closing her mind to the noise and the stench, she called Andrey's face to mind and allowed her feet to pick the path that would take her to him in the quickest amount of time.

The sun was just dipping beneath the horizon when Misty stumbled up to the mean building that housed the empty soul she was searching for. At one point, she had had to withdraw back to the Fae realm and fashion clothing that fit her looks~ripped black jeans, a holed black tee, big black butt kicking boots. She had a stash of jewels for real world shopping and hopefully, the mortal would know a place where she could sell them.

Stopping a few yards away from the stairs that led to his building, she allowed herself a few deep breaths. This is when things would be up the air. This is when she would have to sink or swim. She would have no magics to call on except for her own small ones, no favor's owed, no one to call on for help. This was a test...of her magical abilities and her resourcefulness. She hoped that Andrey was as good as his word.

With a rueful sigh, Misty faded back into the Fae realm and reappeared standing, just outside of his apartment door. One small hand, nails black and long and very pointed, tapped a cadence on the dead wood of his door. She called out, quietly.

"Andrey? I have come. May I enter?"

Andrey heard her voice and there was a childlike excitement that welled up inside of him. Taking a deep breath first, Andrey walked smoothly back across the room from the window and to the door. He didn’t want her to see him like the rest of the rabble that was humanity. She was something more and she deserved better, so he fought the urge the fling the door open and start babbling. Undoing the locks and then twisting the knob slowly, he swung the door open.

“Misty …” The carefully constructed greeting fell apart just after her name. He’d expected her to look different, but this wasn’t something the artist ever imagined her as. The fae beauty had adopted a dark punk look that did nothing to mask her otherworldly beauty like he would have expected. It took a moment for him to realize he was standing there staring before he could start talking again.

“Misty, please come in.” Andrey guided the woman into his apartment and closed the door behind them. “I didn’t believe inspiration could ever come so suddenly and with such strength as it did from you.” The painting of his street could be seen behind him almost echoing his words somehow.

“I just hope I have enough to pay for such a gift.”

Misty's eyes widened slightly. Andrey looked filled up, no other words could describe the presence before her. His eyes glittered, gleamed. His mouth crooked upward in a small smile. He seemed hopeful. And if his hope was flavored with some sort of darkness? That was just the way things were. He couldn't help being who and what he was~an artist, sure, but one without a lot of luck.

His hand on her upper arm, was light, a guiding pressure that drew her toward the abode proper, not allowing a misstep. His words were soft, joyous. There was darkness there too, darkness that throbbed and sang beneath the words spoken. he didn't hear it, but she did and knew it for what it was. Pleasure, greed, hope.

His words struck a spark, deep within her mind. They brought an answering smile to her lips. As she gave in to the curiosity that plagued her, she found herself speaking words of almost truth. Her eyes glanced from place to place, never resting long, even as she allowed the small lie to fall from her mouth.

"T'wasn't me that gave you inspiration, nor caused your brush to paint so well. That was your own. The gift only helps in seeing true. Nothing else."

The truth was that the small golden acorn provided more than true seeing. It provided a boost of natural artistic ability. Without that boost, even his true seeing would provide only dull, flat pictures. Misty kept that information to herself, though. No point in telling him and if he caused harm to her? She would take it away. Seeing true but being unable to paint it correctly? That would break him.

No one ever said that the Good Folk were kind. Only just.

Eventually, she strode to stand before the picture, her eyes gazing upon it enraptured. This is what the Unseelie and Seelie Fae could never do. Create. They had not the soul for it. Humans, mortals? They burned up so fast but their Maker had gifted them with something that composed music, drew art, gave life. Misty wasn't sure what it was but she envied it. Most of the Good Folk did.

"As for your part in payment? If you could but create one small painting for me to gift to my queen? And protect me from the cold iron of this realm for the next few months? That will pay for your usage. After all, the painting will be the boon I require. And two months of living in the mortal realm will do much to enhance my chances of traveling elsewhen."

Turning slowly, Misty allowed her eyes to focus once more on the male before her. She spoke slowly, thoughtfully.

"I have brought gem stones to pay for my keeping. Do you know where we may trade them for this realm's coinage? After all, i would not have you bankrupt for lack of coin while I am here with you."

“With what you’ve already brought me I hope we won’t need them, but I know someone if we have to pawn them.” Andrey was nearly giddy, but there were still things he noticed about her. As countercultural as her appearance was at the moment she spoke like she had written the first fairy tales herself. She wanted to pay her way in gems. She really did know she little about his world and how to walk in it without notice, but maybe that was her appeal to him. The rest of his world was someplace he’d grown a strong distaste for, and Misty was a taste of something new. And beautiful.

“How should we start?” The young man was eager; he wanted to see every aspect of his new guest. He wanted to provide her with everything he could for what she had already done for him.

“Do you want to see the city? Do you want to see some natural part of my world? I’m getting ahead of myself though. Do you need to rest after your trip? Would you like something to eat?” He didn’t know if she needed either, but he needed to offer. He wanted to know everything about her, her world, but couldn’t bring himself to just ask, not just yet.

“I’d love to paint you if you’d give me the chance too,” Andrey added quietly. He felt unsure how to act not having felt this happy in so long. He wanted more of everything she brought him. The gift. This feeling. Everything.

The words flew from his mouth. He was so excited, so utterly filled with a strange sparkling, that he didn't really give her a chance to interject. And the questions! So many, many questions. Misty smiled, her eyes gleaming.

"For the first part~what is a pawn shop? Will they give you fair value? As for the rest? I require nothing, now. I am not sure which foods I should avoid in your realm and I do not know what this rest is that you speak of. I am Sidhe Draoi. My rest is taken in my tree, the willow by the stream in the Fae Court. I have never tried to sleep like mortals do, but since I can not go home again just yet, one assumes I shall have to learn."

Misty turned away, slightly, her eyes returning once more to the picture Andrey had painted. The colors were amazing. The composition was perfect. She knew that her little gift hadn't boosted his prowess that much, so that meant that he had to have been able to do something like this before. What was different? She would need to see some of his previous work to judge.

Finally, after a momentary silence, Misty strode toward her host and rose up on tip toe to press a kiss to his chin. Her words, when she spoke again, were hesitant, soft, sweet.

"I would like to go out into your city, to see the things you think are beautiful or worth knowing. I have no way to judge and would be apt to look a little dazed, wandering around on my own."

She glanced down at her clothing and then hooked her small hand through his arm. A laugh which dimmed down to a smile.

"I won't look too out of the ordinary, will I? Also, I really should try and find some other clothing...I made these things and I have no idea how long a Fae seeming on inanimate objects will last. So lead on, my friend. Show me the sights, show me your world. Show me...things."

Andrey didn’t quite understand completely, but he knew their first stop. “I guess we wouldn’t want you out in the city without anything to wear,” he joked, but the statement made him wonder just what that might be like. She was beautiful in a way he’d never seen in anyone else. He couldn’t help but wonder.

“Let’s go downstairs then. I usually just walk, but we’ll take my bike since we’re going around the city.” Misty followed behind him down to the little garage the landlord let him keep his bike in. It wasn’t the most practical vehicle, but it didn’t use much gas and it helped him unwind some nights. The midnight blue paint was chipping off in a few places, but he’d kept it running for a long time.

Andrey grabbed the key off a high shelf and rolled the bike out into the alley before locking the shed back up. Then he got on the bike and turned the key so the engine could roar to life. He looked back at the Fae and knew that as much as she had already shown him, he might be showing her more before they parted ways.

“Its alright. Just get on behind me and hold tight. You’ll be alright.” The main streets would still be busy, but it wasn’t far to their first stop, and he could take a few alleys that would make the trip quicker.

Getting on the back of the machine? Scary. Fun but scary. Andrey handled the bike with amazing ease, darting them in and out of traffic without a by your leave. The wind blew the ends of her hair into a tangled mess and Misty didn't notice, at first, the slight burning of her flesh, where her legs straddled the seat.

She should have noticed. She should have remembered. Cold iron. ANY iron. It was poisonous. Hazardous. She should have noticed. She didn't.

Andrey took her to many places~a decent uncut gemstone broker, a very cool consignment shop for clothing, a grocery store. He showed her parks and bridges and historic buildings. He invited her to see the mortal realm through his eyes and made it come alive to her.

And through out ALL of that, the bike...and the iron...burned her skin. Even through her Fae wrought clothing. Especially through her Fae wrought clothing. She should have had silk. She didn't. It wasn't until they had returned to the apartment, not until they were trotting their groceries and finds inside, that Misty started to pay attention to what her body had been screaming at her, for hours.

"Andrey, I need to take these clothes off...do you mind."


Her vision was blurry. Why was her vision blurry? The pants were ripped away. Shirt dropped. Boots kicked off. Inner thighs were scarred. Bleeding. Bubbling. Any where the iron touched? She burned. She kicked the clothes away, gave a low whimper...and fell. She knew nothing more.

He felt a unique warmth every time Misty climbed back on the bike and wrapped her arms around him to hold on until their next destination. With her gift Andrey would never have to worry about money again, but he wanted to put her at ease so they stopped to sell off the gems she’d brought him. The dealer was someone a friend who did jewelry trusted, so he parted with the baubles without hesitation. He had more important things to attend to, namely Misty.

She had such awe for his city. It shocked him at first, but at each new thing his Fae guest marveled at, Andrey found himself able to think of something she would surely love more. They explored well into early morning and had just scratched the surface at Forest Park, a place he thought she might especially like. The park was huge for being in the middle of the city and there were lots of places that most park visitors never saw. He was starting to take her farther into the park when he noticed something in her face.

Misty never stopped smiling and she was beautiful as ever, but despite her excitement she was clearly tired. Maybe being in the mortal world wore at her more than she realized. So Andrey told her that was enough for the night and that they both needed rest and they headed home together. By the time he reached the apartment something was clearly not right. When they first met tonight every motion of hers had defined elegance for him, but now she almost seemed unsteady.

"Andrey, I need to take these clothes off...do you mind."

“I can’t see how anyone could mind that,” Andrey joked, “why?” As soon as the simple question escaped his mouth a sickening sound reached his ears. A fall. She hadn’t stumbled or tripped. She just collapsed. He spun around to see her on the floor with only her shallow breath giving him hope. What had happened? Why?

The young artist rushed over to her and shook his muse’s shoulder, but received no response. Her skin was hot like her body was fighting off some infection and now that he was close Andrey could see the oozing wounds on her inner thighs. How could she not have said anything when something like this had been happening to her? What had he done to her? Andrey picked up Misty’s limp form and laid her out on the couch, pulling a blanket over her before he left her side.

“Susan please open up. I need your help. Please!” He pounded desperately on his neighbor’s door. She had first told him of the world that had led him to Misty. She should be able to fix this somehow, but she wasn’t answering. “You stupid bitch! Open this fucking door and help me!” He screamed at the door, but she clearly wasn’t home. There was no one who could help him and now he would lose not only his link to true art, but a woman that had already begun to entice him like no one else.

Defeated Andrey returned to Misty’s side and knelt there. The tears never quite formed or fell, but they were there. He waited there.

She feels as if she is burning. Burning. The pain shoots through her lower limbs, eating away at her restless doze, bringing her towards wakefulness. She can hear banging, shouting. It's a voice she knows, a very worried voice. But she can not open her eyes.

The burning continues and with it comes memory. Riding the iron horse. Arms wrapped tightly around the mortal's waist as they ride from place to place. And burning. Such deep burning. Poisonous. Painful. At the time? It wasn't a thought, nor an issue. Misty had enjoyed it. Now though, fighting off the poisonous effects was killing her.

Someone gave a low cry, a whimpering moan. Was that her? Misty struggled to awaken, to find out what she was doing. She could feel eyes on her...and it scared her. Someone could be plotting to attack her!! She had to get up. Sit up. Prepare.

Light?

"What happened?"

The words, slurred. Misty swung her legs around and gave an almost inaudible gasp of pain. Her thighs ached like the very devil. Glancing down with wide eyes, she took in the damage, mentally cursing herself as she did so. She had fucked up, badly. he should have explained.

"Cold iron, it's found all though your bike. Fae are severely allergic to it. I need a shower and something to scrub the feel away."

She waits.

And he had brought her into a world of iron. It was a world where it could be too easy to poison her without meaning to do it. There had to be ways to help, but it wasn’t a fact that could go away. Still … he knew it was greedy, but Andrey was still glad to have Misty here with him.

“This way.”

Andrey helped the Fay up and winced with her as she put the smallest weight on her legs. The young artist tried to let her leave all of her weight on him, but it made the trip to the bathroom seem much longer than it should have been. He reached out behind the curtain and turned the knob for the hot water. Andrey lifted her face so he could look at her. She looked so vulnerable right now like she would just fall away into nothing if he let her go.

“Do you help or should I give you some privacy?” Steam was starting to curl around the edges of the curtain. Andrey had felt like he’d already lost her, but now he would do anything he could to keep Misty safe. He didn’t want to lose her.

His eyes watched her with an intensity she had never experienced before. And his hands, when he helped her to stand, were strong and steady. Misty's vision was blurry and she didn't really comprehend where he was leading her until she heard the water come on. He helped her into the shower and retreated, when she didn't immediately answer his question.

The water was hot, hard, stinging. But it worked to ease the pain the iron had left. The running water rinsed the burning away, took the bubbling flesh away from the skin that was still healthy, still whole. She used a soft, old wash cloth, wiping it over the burning places, whimpering when a particularly painful stroke caused flesh to tear.

Soon enough she was finished. She turned off the shower and stepped out, onto an old rug, wrapping a towel around her mortal seeming. She needed some clover, some chamomile, maybe lavender. Definitely some silk for bandages. The thoughts were clearer but her steps were just as hesitant as before. Inner thighs still ached, after all, even if the dead flesh was gone.

"I can get the herbs I need if I step sideways to my home. Do you think you can get me a few lengths of raw silk? I need to make a poultice for the raw spots."

Her eyes focused upon his face and she waited for his answer, through the burning, through the pain.
And when he nodded, she took him at his word and allowed her body to become faint...to fade from the mortal realm and into her own. A few struggling miles led her back to her tree and the herbs she required for healing. She gathered them, by the handful and turned her mind once more toward Andrey.

She reappeared at his side a few moments later.

He doubted it qualified as raw silk, but it would have to do. At least some use could come of the silk dress shirt his mother had sent him for Christmas one year. He had trouble paying the rent and the woman sends him silk dress shirts.

Andrey had just finished ripping the maroon fabric into wide strips with the kitchen knife when Misty returned. He hadn’t seen how she’d come in again, she was just there. Andrey set down the knife and held out the strips of silk.

“I hope these will do,” he told her as she took them. “If I had known my bike would do that to you I would have found another way. You should have said something sooner.” He knew the Fae beauty was still in pain and hated the idea that he’d unknowingly done it to her. They were quiet for a moment as she worked on the poultice.

“I hope I was able to show you what there is good about my world at least.”

Misty listened to his words and wanted, very much, to soothe him. The pain was immense though and she couldn't find the words, not then. Instead she focused on putting her herbs into a pan with some pure spring water and bringing the mass to a roiling boil. A few minutes later, she pulled the mess from the pan and divvied it up between four different pieces of silk.

All the while, her inner thighs ached and pulsed in pain. Once the goop had cooled, she sat in his kitchen chair and plopped each of the silk wrapped pads onto a sore a spot. The relief was immediate. She opened her legs wide, using the chair to hold the poultices in place until she could bind them to her with the rest of the silk strips.

The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted through the room.

Her voice was soft, husky, shy.

"Your realm is beautiful. The way you see it is beautiful. It's an artist's eye, you have. Was my own fault for not saying something when the pain hit, not yours at all. And I loved riding on yon metal beastie. Like the fastest horse in the world, or a Wild Hunt."

She looked down at the weeping flesh, all raw and irritated.

"I will have this trouble no more, especially if we keep the jaunts short. Silk inside my clothing will protect me from small rides."

A hesitant smile.

"Would you help me to go where I need to lay down?"

Andrey scooped her up and carried her into the living room, placing her gently, full length, upon the couch. Misty gave a slight sigh, her fingers rising to brush his face.Her body relaxed into the cushions and her eyes, startling in their appearance, began to drift closed.

"Thank you, Andrey. You are a good man."

She faded into sleep and there were no dreams. Fae don't dream.

“You are a good man.”

Of all the ways Andrey had thought of himself over the years that had never been one of them. Morality had never played into his decision making. For a long time he believed that was because he never had the luxury, but now that Misty brought out his talents it was hard for the artist to maintain that. He knew he’d never need for money or thirst to fill that artistic void again. Still, a good man?

He’d intended to sleep, but sleep held no temptation for him now. At least she could stay comfortable while he worked. With light and careful movements Andrey lifted the Fay and her blanket into his arms. The weight of her body in his arms felt right as though it had always belonged there. Her warmth was made for him. He carried Misty silently into his bedroom and laid her out on his bed before readjusting the soft gray blanket to cover her. She stirred, but remained in her quiet soft slumber.

Andrey kept the click of the door light as he could as he returned to his living room where he moved a blank canvas to the easel. The sun had risen, but dark curtains kept the harsh light out of his apartment allowing Misty her rest and him his work. With every passing hour and every new brushstroke the painting grew. Still by the time night rose no defined picture had formed on the canvas. There was a palpable darkness in it. A darkness that came from the center of his being. It was consuming without being wrong or abhorrent. The image that would go there was certainly be beautiful.

He had not slept or eaten while he had worked on it. The sun had set.

The smell of oils. It brought her from the dark, healing sleep and into the fading remnants of the day. The Fae opened her eyes, glancing around hesitantly. She was in his bedroom, nude. How had that happened? The last thing she recalled was being laid, gently, upon his couch. When had he moved her?

Misty sniffed once, delicately, and caught the scent of oil paint. With a small grin, she slipped from his bed and went looking for sustenance and clothing. She walked quietly from his bedroom and stopped, struck by his shape against the lowering sun. He stood, in front of his window, his back to her. His hand darted quickly, almost negligently, from his palette to the canvas and back again.

Misty cleared her throat with a soft sound and then spoke.

"Hello. I must have passed the day away in your bed. Are you hungry? I would like to fix you a dinner after I dress. I seem to be mostly nude here."

He was so lost in his work that he never responded, so the Fae walked closer. When she stood about a foot away, she touched his shoulder with one bark brown hand.

"Hello, Andrey. Busy?"

As it often did when inspiration found him, Andrey’s work consumed him all night. He was so lost in his mind, trying to perfect what was already there and what he could see in his mind’s eye, that he didn’t even hear his muse when she spoke. His hand just returned to the canvas, altering another detail trying to bring things closer to what belonged there. The artist brought his hand back away again and stared intently, pausing for a moment to determine the next stroke of his brush.

When Misty’s hand touched his shoulder his body went stiff for a moment before he realized who it was.

“Misty. I am sorry. I just get caught up sometimes …,”

Andrey set down his brush and palette and turned to face her. When he did, he stopped speaking, confronted with that beautiful dark skin. She was more than a muse to him already. He barely knew her, but this beautiful creature was already so much more. Where did she belong in the piece he’d just started?

He closed the small gap between them and gently touched her face. As it stood if he changed nothing his world was already becoming near perfect. He was willing to let it all crash down for more though. Suddenly the artist pulled the fay into his arms and their lips met. How long it really was he couldn’t say, but to him the kiss seemed to go on forever. Slowly he drew back from her sweet lips and let her go. He stayed close and looking deep into her otherworldly eyes trying to see if he’d just brought bliss or utter disaster.

His words, they made no sense. Why would he need to apologize for enjoying the gift he bargained for? He wanted the gift and it was just and right that he use it. Misty glanced over at the easel, her breath catching slightly. The painting was luminous, even in it's unfinished state. She couldn't wait for it to be completed.

But even so, his words. Soft, husky. Hesitant. Misty wanted to smile, offer up a jaunty witticism or something but by then he had moved close, closer and pulled her into him. A kiss. Gentle, demanding, insistent. It tore at her heart, brought a low moan from deep inside.

Fae love. They can love. They do love. Usually, it is ephemeral. A dream within a dream. That means the intimacies, when they occur are few and far between. Mortals burn bright, fast. They draw those of the immortal to them like moths to flame.

Misty had never known why.

The kiss explained it, with no words. Nothing but strong hands that held tightly and soft, masculine lips. Heat flared through her, a raging forest fire. Her human seeming drifted on a wind that did not exist. For long moments, the Fae could not think, could not break away, could not resist.

But HE broke the kiss...and he stepped away, releasing her from his sure grip. His eyes gazed into her own, searchingly. She could not think, nor look away. His own eyes, pools of darkness that beckoned like a moonless night, held her there.

Misty cleared her throat, her nut brown hands reaching for him even as she forced them down and to her sides. Her voice, once it began working, was light, breathy...and not like her own voice, at all.

"Um, no apology needed. Ahh, so did you want me to prepare something for us to eat?"

The Fae grinned shyly, and suddenly remembered her lack of human clothing. Another fire blazed in her cheeks. Modesty was not known by most Fae...not really. But Misty was discovering that humans could make one feel rather...strange.

"OH!! I don't have on any clothes!"

So saying, the fae turned, and fled.