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Summary
But above all, he needed respite. Reprieve from him—that winged menace who pursued him so relentlessly, weaving his presence through every corner of Nightmare’s existence like a stubborn breed of weeds blooming within a carefully curated garden. The Guardian had grown weary of waking to the detritus of the other's so-called affections—feathers gleaming on tangled sheets, gifts of gilded opulence scattered like relics of an unwanted ritual. And the offerings...half-dead prey left at his door, as though the predator fancied himself some grotesque approximation of a devoted lover.
It was a pantomime of courtship, insufferably clumsy and wholly devoid of grace.
He hated it all. Hated the clinging sweetness of it. Hated the resemblance of his brother whom he despised. Hated this creature of obsessive devotion.
And so, he resolved to end it—if only for a moment. A trade, a fleeting concession, performed with all the precision of a blade slicing clean through bone.
Nightmare strikes a deal, using himself as payment. More is taken than agreed upon, naturally.