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He was five when the vampires stole him from the cabin and brought him to their garrison.
His memories of that time are...fuzzy. He remembers the terror, the darkness, and the pain most. The vampires loomed above him and bound his wrists and ankles and dragged him across scratching pine needles, laughing when they drew blood, beading up on his skin. He remembers, in vivid detail, the starry sky, distant and impossible freedom glimpsed in stolen pieces between the towering treetops. He remembers the sky most, perhaps, because that was the last day he would ever see it again for an entire decade.
He was fifteen when the other vampires, the ones who called themselves not Galra, but the Blade of Marmora, saved him and all the other thralls, well; not all of them. He thinks of the boy with the golden hair and sallow skin who was called Seven, bleeding out on the tile at the vampire’s feet. He thinks of another vampire grabbing his thin wrists, dragging him away from the still and staring corpse. Her lips brushed his ear as she said, Run. It was an order, and he had no choice but to obey.
She saved him that day, and he will never be sure as to why. She had fed from him many times before, though always gently, and she had snuck in forbidden things – soft blankets, sweet candies, pretty flowers, and his favorite, books. He thinks he liked reading when he was a child, before the vampires stole him from the normal life that is now only a faint blur. In any case, he liked reading with her, even though it scared him, because it was not allowed.
Her name was Acxa, and he knew she had been an ally to Prince Lotor, who frightened him a great deal. But Acxa was never frightening; he knows now it was her thrall that made her seem so sweet and calming, but maybe it was not all her thrall.
She was not among the dead Galra on the day he saw the sky again. He wonders, sometimes, if she will ever come back for him.
But he does not think his fathers would ever allow her to lay a finger on him, and for this, he is more grateful than he can say.
His fathers are vampires, but they are Blades, and they are kind, and just like the human boy named Lance promised, Thace and Ulaz have never hurt him, thralled him, bitten him, or threatened him. They treat him like their son, and refer to him as such. They have even helped him find a name – it was important, Ulaz expressed to him, that he be the one to choose his new name.
The mistress called him Five, for the age he was when he was bound by her.
He found the naming process very overwhelming and stressful, but in the end, with his fathers’ help, they settled on Oliver. He liked the sound of it, sort of musical, lilting, Ah-liv-her, a pretty series of sounds.
He has been with Thace and Ulaz for a year now and he likes his new life very much, but it was difficult, at first. They gave him his own room, with cool blue walls and a big soft bed and a closet for all his new clothes and a desk with a computer for him to use as he wished.
On the first night there, he crawled into the closet and stayed in the corner, curled into a ball with his shaking knees tucked to his chest, waiting numbly for the mistress to come and take her fill.
It felt like an eternity before the door creaked open, spilling pale light across the floor, followed by measured footsteps, barely audible, inhuman in their quietness. The closet door opened next, and he hid his face against his chest, heart pounding, knowing his nervousness would only excite the mistress further.
“Oh, little one,” a voice whispered, and it was not the mistress, but a vaguely familiar man, and it was soft and sad. He slowly looked up at the careful hand on his shoulder, flinching back when glowing eyes and the faint gleam of white fangs greeted him. He did not recognize this one, a handsome man with ruffled dark hair, a neat beard, and dark eyes like solar eclipses, ringed in telltale gold. “I will not hurt you,” the vampire promised, and he trembled, anticipating the bite, the spreading pain, the blood dripping down his throat.
But instead the vampire sat next to him, head tilted and knees folded, and said, “I am Thace, little one. Do you remember? I am Lance’s friend. He sent you to me, to help you. To keep you safe.”
“Please, sir,” he whispered, “if...if you are going to feed from me, do it now, not in the morning, or I will be tired for the rest of the day and –”
He stuttered off into fearful silence when the vampire clasped his arm, sure that it would wrench the offending limb to its mouth and slice open the precious veins there. But instead, Thace rolled up his sleeve, turning his arm underside-up, and studied the silvery scars there, left by knives and teeth alike.
“They hurt you badly, yes?” Thace asked, his expression not angry but thoughtful and somber.
“Yes,” he whispered, mouth dry. “Often.”
“Look at me, please,” Thace said, and did not cup his face or force him to look with his thrall, just waited until he tentatively lifted his gaze to meet the vampire’s. “No harm will come to you here,” he promised, quiet but firm. “This, I swear to you, little one. My mate Ulaz and I will protect you with our own lives. You are never to be our thrall; you are our son, if that is what you wish.”
He stared up at the vampire, breathless. “Then you will be my...fathers?”
“Yes, little one,” Thace said. “And this place, our home, will also be yours.”
“Home,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I would like that. Home.”
And he slumped into the kind vampire’s chest and wept, and the vampire held him close and did not bite him nor punish him for crying, and when his eyes were dry and stinging, Thace said gently, “Would you like to sleep with Ulaz and I tonight, little one?” and he could say nothing but yes, yes, bubbling up from a broken place in his chest that he had not thought could ever be made whole again.
Thace brought him to their bedroom that night and Ulaz said nothing, only pulled back the covers and smiled, and he curled up between the two vampires, who purred softly and stayed there through the night although he knew full well that vampires were nocturnal. But there they remained, and eventually he fell asleep, and awoke to the two vampires slumbering peacefully on either side of him, sunshine creeping into the room through the crack in the curtains.
Oliver would have liked to say that was the last night he had to spend in his fathers’ bed, but it was not. There were many more, too many to count, and on the worst nights, he stayed in the closet, and he would cry when Thace or Ulaz came near him, so they would leave him with blankets and pillows and tissues even though he knew it pained them to do so. Sometimes, he just needed space, and they accepted it, and let him have it until he had healed enough to express his hurt and fear to them in words.
Other times, their vampire forms were too much, but he found solace with their animal forms, a great gray wolf and a quiet barn owl. Thace would lay on his side and let Oliver burrow into the soft fur of his chest and belly, while Ulaz spread a wide white wing over Oliver’s body like a blanket and gently plucked at Oliver’s hair with his beak until Oliver’s tears turned to laughter, and sleep found him at last.
He had once found the power of vampires frightening, but now that their power was his own, he found it comforting, and with Thace and Ulaz he learned how to not see the world through fearful eyes, but hopeful ones.
2.
The dreams, however, continue to plague him with relentless cruelty.
He awakes at least three times a week, sometimes every night, with a choked scream on his lips and the phantom touch of teeth on his neck and wrists, forcing him down and into thralldom. He does not tell Thace and Ulaz at first – they have been so good to him, so kind, and he does not want to strain their hospitality in any way. He may be a traumatized boy, but he is polite.
So instead, he does not sleep. He stays awake, curled on his side with the stuffed wolf Ulaz bought him for his first birthday with them, his sixteenth. It is a toy meant for children, and Oliver hates it as much as he needs it. His age says he is nearly a man but he feels like a frightened infant, especially in times like this when the shadows of his subconscious refuse to leave him in peace.
After three nights of no sleep, that’s when the sleep paralysis sets in.
Later, Oliver learns from the doctor that sleep paralysis can occur after extreme interruptions in a person’s natural sleep cycle. But when it’s actually happening, all he knows is that Prince Lotor and the mistress are standing over his bed, leering down at him with hungry smiles, and he cannot see Acxa but he can feel her, hear her, smell her, cloying with the metallic miasma of blood and perfume, crushing him down onto the bed, whispering in his ear, Come back to us, Five, or we’ll find you ourselves.
He cannot move a single muscle nor close his eyes until the episode is over, after which he does scream, bloodcurdlingly so, until Thace and Ulaz rush into his bedroom in a panic.
“Shh, shh, you’re safe,” Ulaz promises, letting Oliver cling to his chest and weep inconsolably into his shoulder. “It will be alright, Oliver, we are here for you.” But Oliver did not miss the helpless look Ulaz gave Thace then, a look of raw desperation. It had been three months since they adopted him, and Oliver resigned himself to being sent away for his behavior. How could anyone be expected to put up with such disruption and disobedience? How could anyone be expected to put up with him?
The next day, they took him to the doctor. The day after that, they bought Oliver a cat.
The cat’s name is Snowflake. She has wide blue eyes which track Oliver’s movements with unceasing precision, and thick white fur with dark gray paws and muzzle. Her pink nose is splotched with gray and twitches when she sniffs Oliver’s hand, gazes upon him imperiously, and licks his fingers in apparent approval. It is love at first sight.
Thace and Ulaz got the cat from an unlikely source – their Blade friend Antok, who apparently breeds and trains cats, some of which are very special. Snowflake is one of the special ones, trained to wake Oliver as soon as one of his nightmares begins, or even before it. He doesn’t believe it until a wet nose and firm paws patting his face jerk him out of the garrison and back into his bedroom. Oliver cries, but for the first time it is in relief, and Snowflake licks his face and purrs when he gently pulls her to his chest and falls asleep with his face buried in her soft fur.
Things are better, after that.
Nowadays, his life has settled into a familiar rhythm, and he likes it far more than the previous one. There are no dark bathing chambers or leering fanged teeth. There are only warm hugs and kind smiles and though there are times when they clash, as a sixteen year old boy is prone to doing with his parents, Oliver would not trade what he has now for the world.
High school is difficult, though, to say the least. Oliver’s education at the garrison was mainly to be afraid, not to learn Shakespeare and the quadratic formula. Thace and Ulaz have done their best to catch him up, but he still struggles as a sophomore in high school. No matter what he does, he swears he’s always a step behind everyone else.
His high school and new home are far from the garrison, in Southern California where there is so much sunshine Oliver is sure no other vampires would ever dare to live here. So that’s why it’s such a shock when his English teacher goes on maternity leave, and the long term substitute teacher is a horribly familiar figure standing at the front of the room with her arms crossed and dark lips pursed in silent judgment.
It’s Acxa.
Oliver keeps his head down and hurries to his seat at the back of the class, praying she won’t recognize him. She turns away for a moment to gather up the roll call sheet and Oliver fumbles with his phone, tapping on the group chat simply called “Dads.”
Help Galra here, he starts, and freezes when Acxa’s cold, clear voice rings out across the classroom.
“Excuse me, but there will be no texting in this classroom, I believe Mrs. Moore made that clear…” She trails off, eyes widening as she recognizes Oliver.
Oliver punches send and shoves his phone into his pocket, hands shaking. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
He doesn’t know how he’s speaking to her. A year ago, he would have sunk into worshipful silence at her feet, conditioned into servitude. But now? Now, his fear bubbles up into shock, and most of all anger. Why is she here? Why did she have to come back into his life, just when everything was finally starting to go right?
She pauses, and turns away. Her hands are shaking. Oliver’s eyes narrow.
“Right, then. I am Miss Ashling, and I will be your teacher until Mrs. Moore returns. We will begin where you all left off, on Act 2 of Macbeth…”
Oliver leaves to use the restroom in the middle of class, snatching up the hall pass and darting out the door before Acxa can say a word. It’s possible that she’s unsure whether or not it’s really him – his appearance has changed drastically since he was freed from the garrison; he has gained a healthy amount of weight, his once-sallow skin is freckled and tanned, his dark brown hair is longer and curlier, and of course he is wearing clothes that actually cover his body an appropriate amount. But none of that matters if she catches wind of his scent; his scent is the same as it has always been.
He hurries down the hall, and as he does, a girl from his second period class passes by and pauses, stopping him with a, “Hi!”
Oliver pauses. Under the cheap fluorescents, her eyes gleam with an unnatural metallic hue, one he never would have noticed if he hadn’t had vampires on the mind. He swallows, taking a step back, and surprise flickers across her face.
“Oliver, right?” she asks, frowning and tilting her head, long red ponytail bobbing with the movement. “I’m Ezor –”
“Stay back,” Oliver whispers, fingers clenching around his phone in his pocket as if it will somehow save him. “Get away from me!”
Her pouting lips curl into a thin sneer, and fangs slide from her gums, bright white over her pink lower lip. “Keep your voice down,” she warns, and to his horror her thrall falls over him like a thick, smothering blanket, soft as fleece and heavy as steel.
Oliver stumbles, tears pricking at his eyes – even after everything, after he has healed so much, it doesn’t matter. They still have as much power over him as they always have. It isn’t fair. All he wanted was to be free, safe; for his life to be his own. Apparently even that was too much to ask.
“Now, how do you know about us, Oliver?” She clicks her tongue, and her hand is on his throat, and he wants to vomit, to scream, but can do nothing except stare blankly up at her the way she wishes him to. “You’re human...a hunter, then? No. Not enough fight in you, and you’d be armed. So then maybe you have friends...won’t you be a dear and tell me who?”
Oliver grits his jaw, grinding his teeth in desperation to stop the words from spilling out. He will not, cannot, betray his fathers to her. He would die, first.
Ezor’s lips curl. “Is that so? Well, Oliver, death is easily arranged – hey!”
Oliver is ripped away from her by an incredible force, and slams against the wall, wheezing and clutching at his ribs, staring at the figure who threw him – Acxa. She bares her teeth at the other vampire, her expression one of cold fury bordering on panic. “What are you doing?” she demands. “He is a student!”
Ezor puffs out her chest and puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah, and he knows what we are, Acxa! Which means he knows people who should probably be dead.”
Acxa turns towards him. He needs to run. He has to – but his legs refuse to obey.
“So it is you,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “The Blade – they must be nearby.”
Oliver shakes his head, trembling. His vision spots, threatening to black out altogether. “They’re not,” he gasps, “I haven’t seen them since they freed us from the garrison –”
“Mrs. Ashling?”
There’s another teacher in the hall, gawking at them. His name is Mr. Slav. He never stood a chance.
Acxa stares back at him steadily and says, “Go back to your classroom and forget all of this, Mr. Slav.”
“Okay,” he says, and ambles back down the hall, uncaring. It’s eerie. Acxa didn’t even have to lift a finger.
“You’re lying,” Ezor says with a crooked grin. “They didn’t leave. You humans, your silly pounding hearts always betray you. So where are they, huh? Spill.”
Oliver’s face contorts as her magic presses into him, pinning him down, coaxing the thoughts from his head, the words from his mouth. But he resists, refuses, until he bites his tongue so hard that he draws blood, and both vampires’ pupils dilate at the scent.
“You’ve changed,” Acxa marvels, stepping closer. “And here I was, worried the thralls would never be able to integrate into human society again. I forgot how adaptable your kind is. It’s impressive.”
Oliver whimpers behind his clenched teeth, knowing that if he opens his mouth, he’ll betray the very people who saved him.
Acxa’s thin brows draw together. “Listen,” she says, “all we want is the location of the Blades, or some way to contact them. We have information for them; they’ll want to hear it.”
“Then why don’t you tell us yourselves?”
Oliver slumps as Ezor’s thrall breaks when she whirls around with Acxa to face the two vampires advancing down the stairs, both bristling with palpable anger. Thace glares at them and continues prowling towards them while Ulaz shifts into his owl, lightning-quick, soaring over the startled vampires’ heads and landing smoothly beside Oliver, where Ulaz shifts back into a man and takes Oliver’s hand, shielding him with his body.
His nostrils flare. “Did they bite you? Hurt you?”
Oliver shakes his head, numb. “Thralled,” he whispers. “I’m okay, but – that one, she was one of Lotor’s. She helped me get out...”
Ulaz growls low in his throat, though his grip on Oliver remains perfectly gentle and careful. “What business have you here?” he hisses. “You should have died when we stormed the garrison.”
Acxa’s gaze flits from one enraged vampire to the next, her stance tense and wary. Ezor glares back fiercely at Thace, but thankfully seems to defer to Acxa, because she makes no move towards him.
“We wanted to give intel to the Blades,” Acxa finally says.
Thace huffs, lifting his chin. “Likely story. That doesn’t explain why you attacked our son.”
Ezor’s jaw drops. Acxa’s eyes widen hugely. “Your...your son?” she exclaims, and blanches.
“But he’s human!” Ezor yelps indignantly. “He’s no son, more like a thrall, don’t fool yourselves –”
Oliver flinches and Thace snarls at Ezor, angrier than Oliver has ever seen him. “He will never be anyone’s thrall again, least of all ours,” Thace retorts. “You are lucky he is uninjured, or your head would be halfway down the hallway by now.”
“Ezor,” Acxa whispers, “remember our talk about diplomacy? Some fights you really shouldn’t start...”
Ezor scowls, then folds her arms. “Yeah. Fine. I get it, vampy protective familial instincts are no joke. Sorry we were gonna take a bite out of your human son.”
Thace looks to be seconds from going full wolf. Ulaz steps forward, slightly calmer, but not by much. “You will come with us,” Ulaz says, “and you will give us your intel, and it had better be good and legitimate, or my husband and I will make good on our promise to decapitate you both.”
“Not in front of the child!” Ezor exclaims in mock-horror.
Acxa shoots her a glare. “We’ll come with you,” she says, “as long as we have your word you’ll hear us out before resorting to violence.”
“Our word, we will give you,” Thace says. “Any more than that, remains to be seen.”
4.
Their intel is both good and legitimate. It is also very unexpected.
“Explain for us again exactly why you know the location, layout, and security codes to Commander Ranveig’s garrison?”
They are sitting in the most secluded corner of a coffee shop. Oliver sips his mocha nervously and edges closer to Thace, who wraps an arm around him in instant assurance and waits for the two other vampires to answer. His fathers wanted him to stay at school, but he was too shaken to focus on anything academic, and he knows they all have more peace of mind when he’s with them anyway.
Ezor noisily sucks the straw of her strawberry-banana smoothie which she definitely cannot taste and should not be eating. “Well,” she says, “we work there. I mean, it’s our garrison. But it’s the worst. Like, I’m all for evil –” Acxa shoots her a sharp look, “I mean, who, me, evil? Whaaat?”
Acxa sighs, rubbing her temples. “What Ezor is trying to say is that, yes, it is her home and it was the garrison I fled to after Lotor’s garrison was defeated. But it is a bad place. There was no way for us to stage a coup on our own, there are only two other defectors we know of, and the Warlord punishes any dissent among his ranks cruelly.”
“So you came to the Blade of Marmora,” Ulaz says slowly, “sworn enemies of the Galra...for help?”
“Yep!” Ezor says, and pushes the smoothie across the table to Oliver. “You want this? Tastes like ashy slush to me, kiddo. Too much banana, probably.”
“Thanks,” Oliver croaks, and doesn’t touch the smoothie.
“We know it’s suspicious and crazy but we had no other choice,” Acxa insists. “If you need proof, we have that. You thought Lotor’s garrison was bad? This one is…” She shivers and even Ezor looks perturbed. “Please, just give us enough people to get the thralls out, at least.”
“Or what’s left of ‘em,” Ezor says under her breath.
Oliver leans forward. “What do you mean?”
“Oliver, don’t,” Ulaz mutters, but Oliver ignores him.
“What did Ranveig do to them?” Oliver presses.
Acxa looks away, obviously uncomfortable and even...guilty? “I want you to know I have never condoned cruelty towards humans; that was why I tried to free as many thralls as possible before others in Lotor’s garrison could kill them.”
“Answer the question,” Oliver says, and all of the vampires blink at him, startled by his commanding tone.
Acxa sighs, resigned. “He tortures them,” she murmurs. “Makes them do...unspeakable things. For sport. And pleasure. I –”
“That’s enough,” Thace warns, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
“No,” Oliver whispers. “I want to know. I want to help them. To go with you – and don’t say I can’t because I’m human; Pidge and Hunk go all the time.”
“Pidge and Hunk are adults with impressive technical skills and even they stay out of the fray,” Ulaz corrects. “It isn’t safe for you there, Oliver.”
“School wasn’t safe for me, either,” Oliver retorts, and the table falls silent.
Ezor whistles low. “Daaamn, he got you there.”
“You, shut up,” Ulaz hisses to her, and turns back to Oliver with a set jaw. “This conversation is over. You are not going anywhere near Ranveig’s garrison, or any garrison, ever again! That is final.”
“He didn’t mean to yell,” Thace sighs, arm falling away from around Oliver’s shaking shoulders. “But he’s right, we could never bear to put you in danger –”
“And what about all of the people in danger?” Oliver whispers, staring at the tabletop. “What about all the lives just like mine that I could save?”
“The answer is no,” Ulaz says.
Oliver looks to Thace, who shakes his head apologetically. “Sorry, but he’s right.”
“He could be of some help, surely,” Acxa starts, and both of his fathers turn on her at once.
“You thralled and hurt our son for years, so don’t act like you have any moral authority, here,” Thace snaps. “We will investigate your claims further and you will come with us to meet with the other Blades to discuss viable plans of attack. Oliver, you will stay with Aunt Shay.”
“No!” Oliver exclaims. “That isn’t fair –”
“But it is what will happen,” Thace says, tone sparing no room for disagreement.
And that is what happens.
Aunt Shay is fun, but her house is in an alternate dimension from which there is no escape, which is less fun.
“It isn’t fair,” Oliver tells her while she teaches him how to weave good luck charms out of dry grass and colored silk and Snowflake attempts to unweave it with her claws. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be a hero, like my fathers. But they won’t even give me a chance.”
Shay sighs. “They love you and are afraid of losing you, Oli. I know you want to save the other thralls, but you’re not ready. Maybe you’ll never be ready.”
“They could turn me,” Oliver says after a beat, brow furrowing. “Maybe then I’d be able to do it.”
Shay frowns deeply, her eyes troubled. “You don’t really mean that.”
Oliver looks down, and sets his weaving aside, leaning back in his chair. “No,” he mumbles. “I don’t. I don’t ever want to be like them But...if it made me useful…”
“Oh, honey.” Shay reaches out and squeezes his hand. “You don’t need to be useful for Thace and Ulaz to love you and be proud to call you their son. And...hmm.” She taps a finger to her chin the way she does when she’s thought of something brilliant. “I don’t think you need to be ‘useful’ to save thralls either, Oli. I think you just need to be you.”
“Huh?”
“You can’t get them out of the garrison itself, but you know better than anyone that’s only half the battle, right?” Shay says, smiling sadly. “You could help them with, you know...after. If you wanted. No one would fault you if you didn’t want to relive that mess again.”
“I’m still reliving it,” Oliver admits, but bites his lip and gives Snowflake a grateful pet. “But I have gotten better. A lot better. Do you really think I could help them heal?”
“I know you could,” Shay says. “I’ll suggest it to your Dads, okay? Something tells me they’ll be onboard with it.”
5.
She can’t be older than ten...poor thing saw her parents murdered right in front of her...missing a finger...could be blind in one eye...won’t let any of us go near her...screams whenever she sees us...won’t eat or drink...and she hasn’t slept since we found her.
Oliver filters out the Blades’ frantic chatter as the door thuds shut behind him, and he steps into the temporary bedroom of the newest and most difficult rescued thrall, a girl who refuses to do much of anything except stay curled in a shaking ball on her cot.
Snowflake squirms in Oliver’s arms, sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose. The girl is in need of a shower, and the Blades didn’t want to upset her further by forcing one upon her.
“Hi,” Oliver says, stepping a bit closer. “My name is Oliver, what’s yours?”
Slowly, wide brown eyes peek over pale, knobby knees. She doesn’t say anything, but her brow creases.
“I’m not one of them,” he assures, though it must be obvious to her. “I’m human, like you...and like you, I used to be a prisoner in one of these awful places, in a garrison, as a thrall.”
She whimpers softly. “I want my mom,” she whispers.
Oliver’s heart hurts. “I’m sorry,” he whispers back. “Your mom is...she’s gone. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Did they take your mom, too?”
Oliver hesitates, and comes a little closer. She doesn’t move away, but watches him like a cornered animal. “They took me away from my parents when I was really little,” he explains, “if I even had a family, I don’t really remember that. But I have a family now. Two dads, who love me more than anything. They even got me this cat. Here, want to pet her?”
Snowflakes mews invitingly and pads across the girl’s cot. The girl eyes the cat, then tentatively reaches out, letting out a soft gasp when her hands touch soft fur. “Wow,” she whispers. “How did you get a new family?”
“They’re vampires,” Oliver says, and she snatches her hand away. “Wait! Don’t freak out. I know you don’t like them. They terrified...still terrify me. But these ones, they’re good. They’re not Galra. They can be kind and even sort of...human.”
She shakes her head. “Can’t be,” she mumbles. “They’re monsters…”
“The Galra were,” Oliver agrees. “But, look.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and she flinches back, only to crane her neck curiously when he pulls up a picture of Thace, Ulaz, Snowflake, and himself.
Her head tilts. “They...they don’t look like vampires…”
“And they don’t act like it, either,” Oliver promises. “They don’t feed off of, well, us...only animals. They don’t use their thralls on humans. Ever.”
She bites her lip, staring at the picture. “You look happy,” she offers, and pets Snowflake again.
“I am,” Oliver says, “but I wasn’t when they first adopted me. I was so scared, just like you.” He offers her his hand, and she takes it cautiously, her skinny fingers little more than bone. “Being a thrall is...it’s a nightmare. And it takes a while to break free of it, but when you do? There’s nothing like it, like being free, being happy, being the you that you were never allowed to be here.”
She swallows, her dull gaze brightening. “How?” she pleads. “How do I do that? I want to do that, I want to get out, I want to – to be okay…”
“Do you have bad dreams?”
She nods jerkily.
“Snowflake here is an expert at catching bad dreams,” Oliver tells her with a smile. “She’ll wake you up before any of the monsters get you. I promise.”
The girl touches the cat again, and this time, tentatively draws Snowflake closer. “Thank you,” she whispers, and hesitates. “Will...will you stay with me? I don’t...please don’t leave me alone with them. Please.”
“I won’t,” Oliver says, and sits down on the floor. “For as long as you need me, I’ll be here. We’re in this together, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, and smiles, and Oliver wants nothing more than for her to see the hope he sees in her then; beautiful, shining, fighting to be free and loved at last.