Zia enters, and if he was glamorous this morning it's actually sort of ridiculous now. Sloppy. Very sloppy. If he suspects that you're not playing along, why would Silk-and-Eye go and make Zia into this walking figure composed of bits taken from all the fantasies you fed him last night? Oh, if you were as shallow as the version of yourself you showed him it would probably have worked, but he is assuming that everything will work in his favour and you will perfectly play along with the directions to his stage play.
Strong, but not used to shaped beings who can oppose him. A dangerous combination, especially if he can learn.
But those thoughts are just running over in the back of your head, because for all your pretences, the fact is that Zia has been enchanted with layer upon layer of glamour spun from your dreams and fantasies. And if you didn't have extensive experience with boyfriends who did the same thing as a fun past-time, you'd be struggling to keep a clear head.
"Meira," he says at the door. "Sorry for the intrusion, but—"
Rising, you smile at him. "It's quite alright." He's taller than you even when you stand up, but slender with those deep blue eyes even bigger and more soulful. "It's awfully hot out there."
"It is." He coughs. "I… I wanted to talk."
"Yes?"
"I… do you remember the party? The one at the Kinzara house? Before you were involved with Hilmi?"
"Yes?"
"I wished I had the courage to say it then, but," he steps in, "you're a beautiful woman, Meira. Very beautiful. I wanted you then, but I was too ashamed. Afraid you'd reject me. But I'm not afraid anymore. As the poet Raitha wrote to her lover, 'and your enticing laughter— that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast. For whenever I look at you even briefly I can no longer say a single thing'." He smiles at you. "She was my great-great aunt. She didn't marry, for… ahem, obvious reasons. But I remember reading her poetry and feeling the depths of her adoration all the way through time - and Meira, I adore you!"
It's nice to have someone who quotes poetry at you. What a shame he's being used as a feeding maw by a malevolent prince of chaos who wants to reduce you down to chow. You don't even know these feelings and words are real, as opposed to a false memory that Silk-and-Eye embedded in him. After all, Zia does not like the way he looks. How easy would it be for a fey enchanter to turn him less into the man he is and more into who you want him to be?
It still isn't going to be easy to do what you're going to do.
"You want me? I… I didn't think…"
"I do, Meira, I do!"
You bring him into your embrace, leaning your head against his chest and feeling the wyldflowers trying to entrap you too. "I love you," you lie.
"I… I love you!"
Hmm. Interesting. That doesn't feel like it is in character for Zia. In fact, it feels more like the memories of Hilmi you fed the fae in your dreams. He quoted poetry at you too. It's too simple, without the adorable shyness; it is the mode of address of a playboy who's found that many women are weak to unconditional, unprompted declarations of adoration. It helps take you out of it, because it reminds you that while you are attracted to Zia, that is exactly it. You are attracted to quiet, bookish, intense-when-talking-about-history Zia. And this is not Zia.
You cup your hands around his head, kissing him, and you feel the phantasmal growths on his head. And then trace your hands down his back, to his bottom. Another growth.
Ears. A tail. This is not Zia. This is a fox, who has stolen his shape. Zia will be in his room, asleep yet seeing what happens here and now in an uncannily vivid dream, his will and thoughts slowly being drained by the leech of his soul. The one wearing his visage is a servant of Silk-and-Eye.
That makes things easier.
"You love me?" you ask once you come up for air.
"Yes! And I want you!"
"Trust me, darling," you purr, "you've never had anyone like me before. I'll show you things you never expected."
"Oh?" He smiles sweetly at you. "Tell me more."
"Let me put it this way?" You lean in to kiss him on the cheek, and then whisper in his ear, "I'll make you scream. When I'm through with you, you'll be moaning and gasping. You'll be on the floor, feeling like your legs don't work."
You place your finger on his lip to shush him, and then undo the belt of your robe. With a coquettish smile, you let your robe fall.
Then you jab forwards, your fingers aimed for the site of his liver. Foxes place great spiritual importance in their livers. For a tricker fox like this, it is considerably more painful than a mere knee to the crotch.
He sinks down, making a faint noise that would be a scream if he had the breath for it. The green stain of your venom oozes out, staining the cloth. You catch his hand.
Then you break one of his fingers.
You really take no pleasure from it. But Sei, whose chuckles echo in your ears, does.
