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Their first mistake, in retrospect, is going into the forest in the first place.
It was never Jonas’s idea. He has some sense, even if the other lads on his crew don’t. Evan suggested it first, as a joke; Lyle seized upon it, slamming his beer mug down and slurring out a roar of approval. By then, they were all drunk enough to think it sounded like a good idea. Even Jonas — and he bloody well knows better.
“Never go into the woods at night. Beware of whispers leading you off the path, or strange lights in the darkness. If ever you cannot find your way — even in a place you should recognize — take off your shoes and try again.”
Jonas was raised on tales of the fae. Those eternal tricksters who dwell in the waking woods… ever watching, ever listening. Phookas keening words of deception from the shadows, tree spirits guarding their boughs zealously, will-o'-the-wisps leading unwary travelers astray.
His childhood spun from a tangled web of these stories, passed down through generations. His mother was too practical to put stock in faerie tales. Granmum knew too much to speak of them. It fell to Jonas’s ancient great-grandmerre — half-blind, mostly deaf, mouth a toothless hole which oozed and stank like an abscessed boil — to spin the tales. Each night, the grandchildren clustered around her rocking chair… and she murmured the old stories.
People who wandered into the woods and were never seen again. Drawn to the hypnotizing swamps, lured in by a mirage so vivid, they never realized they were drowning. Trees that opened wide their great creaking maws, and swallowed people whole. Moss so soft beneath one’s feet, they only realized too late that they were sinking… being consumed by the earth.
“The forest is hungry. A ravenous thing,” Grandmerre always said. “It’ll swallow you up without batting an eye. Stay away.”
Jonas was the only child who dared to ask: “But… what is it?” What were the merciless, revenlus things — the trees, the wisps, the monsters?
Grandmerre stared at him for a long, unnerving moment… then shook her ancient head. “You’ll learn, boy.”
Jonas never knew if it was a prophecy or a promise.
Of course, he grew up. Became a lumberjack. Job options are limited in their rural village. He was never going to be a hunter, or a tradesman, or a physician. All he has are muscles and a hard head. Chopping trees is the easiest route to a steady living… and the forest has never scared him. Jonas works there every day, toiling for hours amidst the dense pines and foliage. He’s never seen anything truly strange. Never felt uneasy. The old stories are just that — tall tales.
So, why not go into the woods at night? It’s just a lark, his drunken mind reasoned. A bit of fun, which their hangovers would make them all regret in the morning.
Come, old boy. It’ll be fun, they said.
Without hesitation, Jonas follows his friends into the woods.
Jonas’s not a poor judge of character, but he doesn’t agree with the meathead stunts his crewmates get up to. Stealing horses, starting bar brawls… now, this. Stumbling and shouting around the forest at night. All because some giggling tavern wench told them about spirits who live in the woods, who’ll grant a wish if you catch one. Not the stories Jonas knows at all.
Lyle leads the group in a swaggering, drunken stride. The others follow after him — James, Evan, and Rufus all keeping in close formation. Their rowdy voices disguise the adrenaline pumping through their veins… the fear nibbling at their heels. Around them, the woods are dense, dark as a midnight sky… the sort of darkness that swallows sound and warmth.
The forest is hungry.
Jonas lags behind the group, dragging his heels. His steps are slow and heavy; his head is beginning to pound. Already, he regrets being dragged on this drunken field trip. He hiccups once, frowning at a nearby tree. Why is everything so silent?
Around him, the forest shivers. It stirs like a living thing… but where there should have been sound, there is only an empty void. The men crunch over fallen sticks and dried leaves. Their footsteps boom in the hollow woods; their voices travel far, echoing farther. It’s all wrong… but the others don’t seem to notice. Jonas keeps quiet, and tries to keep his footsteps light.
When his stomach grumbles, it feels louder than thunder. Jonas flinches, pressing a hand to his gut. All that beer isn’t sitting well. After a night of drinking, he likes to find a quiet, comfortable place to sleep — not go walking in the woods. His stomach is all stirred up, and makes its displeasure known. The more they walk, the more it groans — angry snarls, gurgles which travel all the way up his chest and make him shudder. It feels like his stomach is a clothes-washer, churning in a constant, liquid cycle.
Jonas belches. He can’t help it — the sound just rolls up. He feels minutely better afterwards… but Cronos, the noise was so loud.
“You alright?” asks Evan. He’s the only one of his crew hanging back; the rest walk on ahead. Going too far, too quickly. Jonas nods… though, in truth, he doesn’t feel alright at all.
“Shouldn’t have had that last pint,” he mutters — and hiccups to prove it.
His crewmate bites back a grin. “You never had a head for liquor, lad.”
“This is just beer,” Jonas retorts, a tiny slur in his voice. “Worse.”
Not harder on his stomach, just… more pathetic, not being able to handle it. Weak. Evan laughs, apparently in agreement, and walks on.
Perhaps the beer is to blame after all. That sloshing in his stomach, the gurgles steadily turning from digestion to distress… as his nausea increases, Jonas falls further and further behind. His head swims. His mouth grows wetter, saliva flooding him against his will. He hiccups several times, then spits on the ground… but that only makes his stomach roil. It flips over like a giant fish, and he stops dead on the trail, hunching with both hands on his knees. His breathing comes in stilted, pained gasps.
“Oh… fuck…”
His stomach gurgles furiously. Jonas clutches it… and gives a sour burp. He groans, then belches again — a wet, frightful “oouUurrUUCGH!”
The first gag comes sharp and fierce. Jonas’s instinct is to clamp a hand over his mouth. No, his hazy brain warns, don’t do that. You’ll make a mess.
Below him, the forest floor is spinning, a carousel of shimmering pine needles and dead leaves. He no longer knows if he’s hunched over or slumped on the ground… but he can feel the ground under him, blissfully solid. It’s the only steady thing in the world.
Again, Jonas’s stomach rebels. He burps, and a sour splash of beer comes up with it. Fuck. A half-sob breaks out of him. His stomach flips again. Oh, fuck me.
From there, it’s over before it even begins. Jonas’s nausea surges like a tidal wave. He shudders hard, then retches, a frightful mess of beer and bile splashing to the ground. It stains his jeans, his bare hands… but even as the sour smell hits him, he keeps gagging. His body is no longer his own; in full rebellion, it needs to release.
And suddenly… there’s a hand on his back, stroking circles over his broad shoulder blades. A second hand, brushing his shaggy blond hair back from his face.
“Hush,” crackles a voice. “That’s it. Just let it out.”
Oh gods, the hand is so cool. Jonas can’t help a tiny moan, leaning into the touch. He doesn’t want his crewmates to see him in this state, but… he craves comfort even more. Being alone in a sea of sickness is the worst feeling in the world.
“‘M so…” he mumbles, and belches like a hog. He doesn’t even have the strength to excuse himself. “My— my stomach. Can’t… ‘s all in my gut…”
“Aye, I see that,” his companion agrees. “Gut-rot beer. No wonder you’re vacating so forcefully. It’s downright sour.”
Jonas smiles woozily. “We don’t drink it for the flavor,” he replies… then shudders, and goes back to retching.
It takes a long time for him to finish, for his stomach to empty itself completely and decide to stop tormenting him. Once it’s done, Jonas is left shaky — hiccuping, wiping tears from his face and snot from his nose. There’s nothing dignified about puking. Bleeding balls, he hopes the lads won’t judge him for this one…
Yet when Jonas looks up to see his comforter — Evan, he’s sure, or one of the other men — he blinks. The forest around him is empty, a still-life of utter desolation. No one’s here. Not a soul.
But… he felt someone. He’d talked to them.
“H-hello?”
The forest doesn’t swallow the sound this time. Instead, it echoes back — mocking him. Hello? Hello? Hello.
Off to his left, he glimpses a flicker. A light, darting and weaving through the dense trees. Jonas reels around, expecting it to vanish, but the damned thing lingers.
A trick of moonlight, he tries to tell himself. He blinks hard to clear the mirage from his vision… but the light only grows stronger. It’s an eerie blue-green, like a candle flame flickering along the branches… and the way it dances practically beckons Jonas to follow.
He doesn’t think. Doesn’t wonder. Deep inside his drunken mind, the harp strings of his better judgement reverberate a resounding what the hell? but something stronger than common sense overpowers it. A magnetic pull compels him forward, and Jonas only follows. He stumbles over the uneven ground, bracing himself against the trees for balance. He’s not drunk enough to make the world spin, but it feels like walking the decks of a ship on choppy waters. His stomach doesn’t appreciate the effort. It gives another nauseous flip; he grunts, clutching it, but pushes forward.
Yet the light remains ever out of reach. As soon as Jonas gets close enough to grab it, it vanish… and reappears a few feet away, compelling him further off the beaten path. Deeper and deeper into the forest…
Cronos, he really is a fool.
When the light snuffs out, Jonas is left in darkness. He doesn’t know what he expected — doesn’t know what got into his head, except that strange, magnetic compulsion to follow. All at once, the spell’s broken. He finds himself standing in the middle of the depthless woods, without a source of light or comfort.
Not alone, though. Alone would be better.
Something twinkles in his ear again — that same tinny feedback from the now-vanished light. It sounds like laughter. He doesn’t know what the hell it is, what the hell’s led him out here in the first place, but it’s got him in its clutches now.
Jonas takes a step back. His foot crunches over a fallen branch… and the forest swallows the sound up.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath… and then, holding up his hands, he glowers into the darkness. “Alright! Fine. You’ve got me where you want me. Who are you?” No reply. Not even that twinkle of laughter on the wind. This thing isn’t merely toying with him; it’s wasting his time, and that makes him even angrier. “Show yourself!”
For a long moment, his challenge goes unanswered. Nothing… not even a whisper in the trees. Out of the corners of his eyes, he keeps seeing things — flashes of the moonlit flame, gone as soon as he turns his head.
Jonas stands very, very still. His breath begins to level out; his heart thrums solidly in his chest. He’s focused. He’s ready.
It’s coming.
He has just enough time to register a figure dropping from the high treetops, landing on the ground beside him. Only a shadowed form, nothing more — the details escape him in a rush of adrenaline. He lunges forward; the stranger dances back on impossibly-deft feet. Jonas swings a powerful roundhouse, intent on laying them out flat…
Yet his own world goes dark.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
When he wakes, the world floods back in slowly. His body knows it’s still alive, yet his mind is reluctant to take the hint. He recognizes warmth, first — as though he’s floating in a sunlit pond, letting the natural heat and comfort soak into him. Then, the smells… rich and heady, strong wine and tantalizing spices. A thousand holiday feasts rolled into one. When he finally pries his eyes open to see what’s so alluring—
Jonas is met with a spread beyond his wildest dreams.
It defies all mortal senses, all rules of logic. No sane man would lay a feast in the middle of the woods. Yet here it is before him — a table rich with indulgent food, enough to feed a small army. The air is thick with the scent of spices and barbecue. Roasted meats drip in a honey-glaze; candied fruits shimmer like rare jewels; chocolate-drizzled pastries steam with warmth. Plate upon plate is laid before him, loaded obscenely with food.
And Jonas… is hungry. Gods-be-damned, he’s so hungry.
“So?” croons a sleek voice, as though reading his thoughts. “Indulge. What are you waiting for?”
Jonas’s hands twitch. He’s sitting at the head of the table, in a chair made of solid gold; thick vines weave around the arms, a spiral of flowers growing up the back. The forest surrounds him, but doesn’t restrain him. He can still move…
No. No, he cannot. He can’t.
“I’m not eating,” he manages to say — firm as stone.
Around him, the forest shivers in displeasure. Whatever this creature is, he’s not amused.
“Now, why is that?” it croons… and Jonas can feel it behind him, spindly hands resting on the back of his chair. If he turned, he could face the thing… yet the food holds him enraptured. He physically cannot look away.
Taking a deep breath, the lumberjack speaks what he knows.
“Those who eat the fae food are cursed to stay forever.”
The creature behind him considers this. Invisible fingertips ghost along Jonas’s shoulders; he shudders, and the touch dissolves. Misty laughter echoes around him, fizzling faintly in his ears.
“You speak true, mortal,” it agrees. “But would that really be the worst thing?”
Jonas swallows. “This is not my home.”
“No,” agrees the creature.
“I can’t be trapped here. My old life… I have to go back.”
“Yes, you really should.”
“I need to get up.” The words quaver with desperation. Jonas grips the side of the table, gazing at the feast. “I’ve got to get up.”
Nothing is restraining him. He could simply stand and walk away now — out of this faerie circle, back into the woods. Follow the path to return to sanity. He can sleep off his hangover, report to work tomorrow… everything will be as it ought to be.
He needs to go.
Jonas reaches for an apple.
“No,” he chokes, realizing a beat too late. His hand no longer seems like a part of him — under someone else’s control. He yanks it back an instant before he can touch the food… but it’s too late.
A chalice of dark wine slides toward him on its own accord. The roast pheasant turns itself on the platter as if begging for his knife. Worst of all... that slow-burning warmth in his gut isn't just hunger anymore. It's something else entirely: an ache that curls tight beneath his navel, clawing, demanding. His stomach is a beast, and it needs to be fed.
Jonas takes a deep breath, and regrets it. He inhales the fumes of spiced wine-scented… finds himself hypnotized as an invisible hand drizzles honey over ripe figs, falling in golden ribbons...
“Down the rabbit hole,” the creature trills. “And you find a feast at the bottom. Aren’t you lucky, little mortal?”
“Screw you,” Jonas grits out. “I’m not little.”
This startles a laugh from the fae — a genuine laugh, sharp and jagged. Even he seems surprised. In the silence that follows, Jonas feels hands trail along his biceps. When he looks down… he sees elegant, elongated fingers. The razor-sharp nails are painted green, adorned with shards of broken glass. Faint vines twine through the translucent skin, up delicate wrists… he only has four fingers on each hand, and they’re utterly inhuman.
Jonas reaches up again — not to touch the food, but him. Quick as blinking, the fae jerks his hands away.
“You want to indulge,” he says simply. “You need to.”
Jonas doesn’t reply.
“It’s awfully rude. I’ve laid out this entire spread… just for you. All your favorites.” As he speaks, the plates move of their own accord, cycling towards Jonas. A heavy roast pheasant, just like his mother makes at Yuletide; thick mashed potatoes, yams and figs and candied greens, a whole ham. He could spend a year eating, and still end up with leftovers.
It really is rude to ignore the food. Not to try it, at least… a single bite, just one taste. It’s all been prepared for him… and he’s reminded so strongly of home, sitting around the dinner table with his family on Yuletide eve. Jonas’s eyes sting. He’s forced to blink back an unexpected rush of feeling.
Again, those spindly hands caress him. This time, Jonas doesn’t resist the touch.
“I want to go home,” he says softly. And then… because, perhaps, no one has thought to ask it before… he whispers, “what do you want?”
The fae’s hands go still.
“Pardon me?”
“You,” Jonas forces out, grimacing against a fresh wave of hunger. It’s so intense, it’s painful. “What do you want? Why have you brought me here?”
For a long moment, the fae is silent. Jonas feels it moving, slinking like a shadow behind him… those jagged-sharp nails trailing over his shoulders, sharp enough to cut. To impale. Yet he doesn’t, even though it would be so easy. If this creature wanted to hurt him, it would have done so already. The thought is a cold comfort.
“I just want,” Jonas grits out, “to understand."
“Oh, really?” Finally, it speaks… and the fae’s voice is silky-smooth, syllables clipped. He sounds perfectly at ease, despite currently being the center of an interrogation, this little game flipped on its ear. Movement flickers on Jonas’s left-hand side — a sleek figure leaning against the table.
“Here I thought you knew me. Knew what you were searching for, at least. Isn’t that what you and your oafish friends were bellowing when you wandered into the woods?” The fae tilts his head, leaning into Jonas’s line of sight. Paralyzed, the lumberjack can’t even turn to look. “Going to… catch a spirit? Make it grant you wishes?” He chuckles like the rasp of wind through dying tree branches. “Now, you didn’t really expect it would be easy.”
“Not easy,” Jonas murmurs… and, with extreme force of will, he tears his gaze from the sparkling feast. Onto the thing taunting him.
Except… it’s not a thing at all, really. Not a creeping shadow or shapeless monster — just a person. A young man, with sharp features and heavy brows, his pale skin illuminated by a translucent, blue-tinged glow. His figure is lithe and delicate, but Jonas recognizes the lean muscle hidden beneath his satin tunic. He doesn’t shy away, but meets Jonas’s gaze, cerulean eyes sharp and piercing.
He’s… real. Fuck, he’s beautiful.
And gazing at Jonas like he’s a bug under his heel.
“Stop that,” Jonas snaps — because he can tolerate a lot, but not being looked down on. “Quit staring at me like that. I’m not your toy. Not your pet.”
“Oh,” drawls the fae, “but you could be.”
One of those perilous fingernails traces the outline of Jonas’s jaw. Something like admiration shines in the fae’s eyes — or perhaps Jonas’s just mad.
“Would you like that?” it murmurs, words brushing like silk over Jonas’s nerve-endings. “One night in the palm of my hand?”
The lumberjack swallows thickly. His pulse races.
“One night?”
“As many nights as you l—“
“No,” Jonas cuts him off… because he’s got it figured out now. He understands this game, even if the creature won’t say it outright. What does he know about the fae? They’re spirits of the forest, bound to this arborous domain. In some ways, they are the forest. And the forest… is hungry.
All this food. The monster howling in his stomach, the unnatural compulsion to eat… it’s all coming from the fae. What does he want? To feed Jonas, it seems. To see him stuffed beyond belief.
The lumberjack meets the fae’s eyes. The fae stares back, unashamed.
“One night,” Jonas says deliberately. He has to choose his words with care; now that he’s in his clutches, the creature will never let him go. Unless… they make a deal. “In mortal time, not fae. I don’t want to return to my world realizing twenty years has gone by in a single evening.”
The fae smiles thinly. “You’re wise to our tricks.”
“Every one,” Jonas bluffs.
“Oh…” He drags the word out, running a tantalizing, wicked finger up Jonas’s arm. “I highly doubt that.”
Fine. He doesn’t know everything about the fae. At some point, he stopped listening to old grandmerre’s stories… but they’re still there, deep inside his head. Perhaps they can save him.
“I want to make a deal,” Jonas declares.
The fae’s eyes light up; their sky blue shade shifts to an avaricious green.
“Name your terms.”
“One night, in mortal time. I am yours for one night. I will eat your food, play your games… but I will not be bound here.” Jonas says every word slow and deliberately; he cannot make a mistake now. The fae can twist anything, if he gives him the chance. “When the night ends, I will walk out of this forest and return to my world.”
The fae considers this; his smirk doesn’t fade, just turns pensive.
“What if,” he muses, “you’re too heavy to walk?”
Jonas swallows.
“I’ll roll myself out, then. But I won’t be trapped here.”
“You’re already trapped,” the fae hisses. He leans in, close enough for Jonas to see the whites of his eyes, the filmy threads of his lashes, the sharp points of his teeth. “My creature. You wandered into my woods, into my territory… vomited on my soul tree…” Yeah, that wasn’t Jonas’s proudest moment. “And now,” drawls the fae, “you are mine. Why would I ever let you go?”
Oh, hell. Here’s the tricky part.
“Because,” Jonas blurts out, “I- I can help you. I work in these forests… I know which areas they’re planning to trim, what trees they’ll cut down. You let me go, I’ll make sure yours are never touched.”
The fae considers the offer. It’s tempting, to be sure — a guarantee of safety. But it’s not enough.
“And,” Jonas adds desperately, because he can see that fine-boned face twisting in disagreement, “I’ll come back! We can make this, like… a standing appointment. A regular thing.”
Sure, like going out for drinks with his buddies. Except he’s venturing into the woods, to… indulge for a fae’s pleasure. What a joke.
Yet it seems to be enough to tempt the creature. His tongue flickers out, licking his lips; an electric shiver runs through Jonas at the sheer proximity. That spindly hand is on his throat now, tracing delicate circles over his Adam’s apple. It takes the fae a long moment to decide.
Finally… his eyes spark again. That clever expression never leaves his face… but he nods, lips curling in a grin.
“You drive quite the bargain, mortal. Very well. You may return to your old life, after tonight… but you shall come back. Regularly.” He pauses, thoughtful. “With offerings!”
“I’ll bring a tribute to you each time.”
“I like fine fabrics. Bottles of wine,” declares the creature. “Maybe some jewels. If you have them.”
Oh, Cronos’s balls.
“I’ll… bring you the best we have,” Jonas promises. He’ll end up bringing the creature lots of cheap liquor — maybe some fresh bread, on a good day.
This promise seems to be enough for the fae, though. The hand on Jonas’s neck pauses; it gives a brief, reverent caress, as though it longed to squeeze a little. And then, it’s gone.
“We have a deal,” the fae intones. “Now… the food.”
“Wait,” Jonas says hastily — because he knows nothing is set in stone unless they make an exchange. “You have to give me your name.”
The fae goes very still.
“I’m Jonas.” Giving your name to a fae is a dangerous game… but he has nothing else on him, not even his wallet. Nothing but himself to trade. “Jonas Horwick.”
After a long moment’s hesitation, the fae rolls his thin shoulders. “Blight,” it declares — and it takes Jonas a moment to understand.
“Wait. You’re named after—“
“Yes.”
“Literally, death and ruin—“
“I know, alright, quit saying it!”
Jonas is still snickering as he reaches for an apple. At last, he gives in to the fae’s whims — and the demands of his own stomach. The lumberjack takes a bite.
Bloody hell, it’s amazing.
Electric, delicious — like no food he’s ever tasted before. The flavors burst on his tongue, vivid and overwhelming. Jonas moans aloud, clutching the apple like a prayer.
Agony and ecstasy bloom together within him. A swelling heat spirals outward, through his stomach, through his whole body. Is the food cursed? Enchanted? Jonas doesn’t know. All he consciously understands is… he wants more.
The fae leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and crossing his lean legs. For now, his job is done. All he has to do is watch the show.
As Jonas lunges for the sweetmeats, all hesitation slips out of his head. The thought of being trapped here, the idea that eating the food will condemn him forever… he forgets it all in a haze of hunger. He doesn’t even taste the food, he’s shoveling it in his mouth so fast. The honeyed yams quickly disappear; the sweetmeats go with it. Jonas moans, giving a little sob as he breaks into the pheasant with his bare hands. This is just like how his mother makes it…
“Yes,” muses the fae. “It would taste familiar. I’ve made this all for you, my pet.”
Jonas shoots him a fiery glare… then winces as a belch rolls up. “Not your pet,” he manages to say around a mouthful of sweet danish.
“My darling, then,” the fae croons. Jonas doesn’t like how he says it — like he’s imitating human affection, almost mocking it. He rounds on the sly creature, meeting it face-to-face. Sure, he’s stuffing himself stupid, but he’s not an idiot — not a plaything, whatever Blight believes.
“Call me by my name,” Jonas says steadily. “Come on. You know it.”
Names are tricky things, for the fae. Like secrets, kept close to the chest. It seems their tactic is to avoid saying them entirely… but Jonas won’t play this creature’s games.
“My name,” he coaxes again. Blight licks his lips.
And then, the name. He could not have prepared for how his name sounds on the creature’s lips.
“Jonas,” he croons… and Jonas’s chest clenches tight. Unwillingly, he leans forward, into Blight’s sway.
Something presses against his lips… a biscuit, he realizes, buttery and rich. Jonas’s mouth unconsciously opens, the fae’s voice ringing in his ears.
“Eat for me, pet. Look at you, you’re so hungry. Staved, even.”
Jonas has a sturdy, muscular frame, towering over most of his friends. He’s definitely not starving. Yet as the far plants the notion in his head, he feels like he hasn’t eaten in years.
“Good,” Blight croons as Jonas gobbles up the biscuit. A tiny whine escapes him; it’s not enough. He’s so damn hungry…
“Eat for me,” Blight whispers again, pressing a glistening red cherry to his lips. Without a thought, Jonas’s mouth opens.
He loses track of time in the rich haze of food and faerie wine. Every time he finishes a plate, there’s a new one in front of him, loaded with food. He craves the crusty bread with butter, the glistening fruits and honey-drenched pastries. When the roast beef appears, Jonas lunges for it… but his stomach is so heavy, it gets in the way.
“Ugh,” he huffs, slumping back in his chair. His stomach is packed full, swelling against the confines of his t-shirt. His red flannel is stained with grease and cherry filling. A quick succession of hiccups escape the lumberjack — he doesn’t bother to cover his mouth — and then a loud, meaty “rrruUUrp!"
“Mmm,” Blight preens, hovering by his side. His feet don’t touch the ground; he dances through air whenever he moves, like an acrobat on invisible strings. Odd creature, Jonas things hazily.
“My, my. Someone’s overdone it.”
In response, Jonas belches again.
“Yes,” replies the fae, “I thought so.”
He shoots Blight a glare so fierce, it could curdle milk. But not intimidate faeries, apparently. It’s hard to look intimidating when your stomach’s so full, you’re pinned to your chair.
“Never been this full in my life,” Jonas rumbles.
“Indeed. Isn’t it lovely?”
The fae actually looks… delighted by this turn of events. There’s a new lightness to his steps, and a satisfied, almost manic grin.
“I believe you will actually need to be rolled out of the forest!”
So, he’s still planning to let his prize pet go. That’s reassuring.
Jonas nurses his belly with one hand, rubbing small circles into the overstuffed dome. Slowly, he leans forward, raising a fist to his lips. He’s so full, he’s dizzy. Cronos, he could fall asleep right here… doze off and sleep for a year. No, best not to give into that impulse.
“Tell me.” He hiccups. “What’s the plan? Fatten me up beyond belief?”
The fae bags his too-large eyes, like a perfectly innocent little devil. “Did I say anything about getting fat?”
“Point A leads to Point B,” Jonas mutters. A plate of ham slides toward him, rich and tantalizing. He picks up a slice without thinking — bloody hell, he needs the food — and shoves it in his mouth.
Blight’s serpentine eyes dance with delight. “If you were to get fat,” he drawls, “I’d splay you out on an altar and worship you.”
A thrill runs through Jonas like an electric shock. He stiffens, trying not to envision it — himself, soft and heavy, all his muscles layered onto a sturdy frame… oh, he’d be a bear. A massive, towering lumberjack with a heavy stride and a hefty belly pressing against his shirts…
Unwillingly, he shivers. Blight, reading his mind, grins.
“I believe the night is almost over.”
Jonas tenses around a mouthful of ham.
“Yes,” Blight muses, “and we have our deal. Finish what you like, and then you’re free to leave the forest.” As he speaks, the trees part to reveal something Jonas never noticed before, would not have been able to see: a path. A guiding road, leading back to civilization. Out of the forest.
He hesitates, looking between the bright, tempting path… and the plate of ham. With a helpless little groan, he crams another piece into his mouth.
He ends up eating an entire ham before he’s ready to go. Grease coats his face and neck, down to his collarbones; he splays back in the chair like a boneless thing, belly resting heavily on top of him. It’s like a dome, a heavy, tanned globe, packed full as a lead balloon. He’s pinned down. Cronos, how can he move in this state?
“Shouldn’t— shouldn’t have—“ Jonas pants, dazed.
Blight shushes him, stroking his head with unexpected tenderness. “You needed it,” he mutters.
“But— but—“ Jonas hiccup-burps helplessly. “The whole ham?”
“You love ham, remember?”
That’s true. Jonas does adore ham… and the food was really good. He hiccups in agreement, clutching his belly with both hands.
It’s a long while before he can get to his feet; even longer before he can begin walking, step by hesitant step. He’s stuffed so full, even crossing a room would be a challenge… but he has to walk out of the forest in this state.
One thing about Jonas Horwick: he’s not a quitter. The lumberjack presses on, clutching his belly as he goes. It groans loudly, protesting this disturbance as he digests; Jason continues to hiccup, helpless and overfull.
All the while, the fae trails at his heels.
Jonas can feel Blight’s presence,’watching over him as he makes his way out of the forest. The fae isn’t visible now, but he’s surely here. Making sure Jonas doesn’t burst, or fall into a food coma by the side of the road. For some reason, he’s become the creature’s pet; it has a claim on him, and won’t let go so easily.
Remember, a sleek voice chimes in his head as he reaches the edge of the woods. Come again soon. Bring offerings.
“Yeah,” Jonas huffs aloud. “And you’ll bring the food.”
Another massive spread. More indulgence, more ecstasy… more flavor, unlike any food he’s tried in his own mortal world. Now that he’s tasted fae fare, mortal food can never compare. It will taste like ash in his mouth, turning to coal as he swallows it down. His tummy will never feel full; it will always ache, yearn for a taste of fae food.
In a few days, Jason will be begging to return to the fae realm.
And Blight will have another feast waiting for him. Can’t let his pet go hungry, after all.