onewhoturns

A/N Nov 2018: Oh wow. I guess I’m all caught up posting the faeU. Working on 5-1/5-2 now, posting the whole project (in full chapters) over on AO3, as well... but in case anyone is trying to keep up with things, I thought I’d keep sharing. This section contains something akin to a panic attack, and a bit of distorted thought processes and teensy bit of comforting around trauma. Reader discretion is advised. Also; shifter! AO3, FFnet, and over on ko-fi, there’s a bit of 5-1.

Story Title: Iron & Gold
Chapter Title: Flight
Chapter Part: 3/3
Story Part: 14/?
Pairing: Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 1885
Rating: T maybe M
Summary: Ever since she was a child Emily had been cautioned: beware the fae. She’d heard the typical warnings – faerie rings, wishing wells, mysterious lights in the darkness. But they were just cautionary tales... [A Dishonored fae AU]
start here (prelude), previously (4-2), next part (5-1)

Her supplies weren’t exactly ideal, grabbed rather hastily in her escape, but Emily made do. She could focus on future plans in the morning - where she was going, how she’d feed herself, defend herself. Morning was only a few hours away, if she woke at the crack of dawn. She needed rest and she needed to stay warm as autumn shifted to its second half. With the dry chill in the air she hadn’t bothered using her quickly waning energy for building a full shelter, instead setting up a makeshift bedroll between log and fire, where she now lay staring at the leaves that blocked her view of the sky.

She’d pulled a shirt on over her dress before she’d laid down, but now she regretted it. There was barely anything left of the bottom half of the garment, a few scraps of skirt that had been easily replaced with trousers, but the beaded bodice still clung to her ribs. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the fact that it was another layer to protect her from the cold, but in the empty night her mind only got louder and she felt restrained by it - trapped in boning and fine fabrics. She shifted onto her side, putting her back to the flames.

Sticky. She felt sticky. Like the juice of the fruit had made her skin tacky, itching -- her breath grew shallow as the thoughts flooded into her head, her pulse quickening. Fingers tensed and she shifted again- stuck, she was stuck in it and it was stuck on her and- rolling over once more- she needed a bath, needed to scrub any trace of the thing off of her. Her nails dug into her thighs for a moment as she tried to think logically.

It could have been so much worse. All they hurt was her pride. She’d felt humiliated and used, but it could have been so much worse. It was just her mind that was violated.

Her knees slowly curled inward. Slipping her arms around herself, she wanted to cling to that fact as a positive, but she couldn’t. Her mind- her will--

Her chest ached hollowly remembering how good it had felt to be so thoughtless, so eager; to enjoy the jeers and mocking praise of the witches as she crawled and begged and-- And she’d smiled through it all- how could she have smiled?-

She wasn’t sure when she’d brought her hands to her face, but she was rubbing at her mouth, her cheeks, her chin-- the ache of bruises on her jaw was almost comforting, knowing she’d fought, as she pressed her palm against her lips, nails digging into her cheek as her other hand covered the first. She wasn’t sure what she was stopping from coming out of her mouth - what words, what thoughts, what bile - but she thought she must need to stop it. She breathed heavily through her nose, trying to calm herself. Too tight. Everything was too close and too tight and she still felt it and she wanted it off-

Thrashing free of her blanket, Emily fumbled out of her shirt before scrabbling at the remains of dress beneath. Ignoring trying to undo the buttons at her back she just tore at the thing, feeling the slightest trickle of satisfaction at the ripping noise as she pulled at the seams, popping thread free and yanking boning from their channels, clawing at the panels until they split. Even once she’d freed herself she ripped and tore at the thing, shredding it, mutilating it, the sounds cutting through the throbbing repetition - get it off get it off get it off - that filled her mind.

The solid pain of effort as she ripped the fabric again and again with her bare hands was cathartic. The whole storm of sudden chaotic energy was channeled through sheer destruction as her hands wrenched at scraps that were harder and harder to tear. Harder and harder to see.

Breathing heavily, she let herself focus on the sharp throb in her fingers, the burn from the friction of her fabric carnage. Her head pounded again. The rush of energy drained, leaving her shaking, eyes stinging as she rubbed knuckles across them, clearing her vision of tears. Steadily her panting slowed. It was cold. She reached for the discarded shirt and slowly pulled it back over her naked torso, half numb, distantly glad that she’d grabbed one of the larger sizes that gave her some breathing room.

She stared at the fire again, slowly burning lower. When her gaze wandered, she found herself reaching for the remnants of her gown, feeding it piece by piece into the embers.

As the fabric curled and glowed and was eaten away by the flames, Emily’s mouth felt sealed again.

She would make them burn. She would kill every last witch who’d dared to invade her home. She would gut them, choke them, tear limbs from sockets if she got the chance. Not one of them was safe. And Delilah… Delilah would suffer. She would-

Emily’s head lifted at the sound of barking from afar, and some kind of snapping and growling and yelping. The barghest. The dogs. If they were out here, if they had hounds… There wasn’t much she could do, she was far too tired to try to run. But if there were witches searching for her… at least she could make herself harder to spot.

With a last wistful look at the fire she let out a soft sigh. Then, gradually, she smothered the flames.

It took a moment for her eyes adjust to the combination of moonlight that filtered through trees and the specks of light that were only visible in her modified vision. Shifting once more, she settled under the blanket, her back pressed to the log behind her, already missing the heat.

She tried to let her mind stay blank, tried to think only of light on leaves, but it was difficult. Her eyelids were too heavy, but each blink threatened memories she didn’t want to recall.

If they did catch her? If their hounds tracked her through the forest? She knew they wouldn’t kill her. Delilah wanted her alive - perhaps only to torment as the curse funneled her life into the witch, but alive.

Alive, but how lucid?

Ten days. Ten months. How long could Delilah keep her in a fog of compliance? How many days would she smile stupidly and obey and worship the sickening creature that had stolen her kingdom?

Once more she found herself drawing her knees to her chest, pulling the blanket around her for more than just the chill of the night air.

She had done nothing. A weapon at her side and she hadn’t bothered to raise it. She’d wanted to eat it. She’d known not to but still she’d wanted. And the taste still tempted her. For all she could pretend it was too sweet, a disgusting rotten thing, Emily had no doubt that just the scent of it would still be hard to resist.

“You poor girl-- you love it.”

She shifted again, staring up into the canopy of trees if only to keep herself from closing her eyes. She had loved it. But she hadn’t been herself, hadn’t been in her right mind. Something had crawled inside and puppeted her and changed- changed everything about her. Changed who she was. Her face burned, remembering the feeling of stone on her tongue- no, not her tongue. That person wasn’t her. That creature that had been so desperate for approval, for any treat they’d tossed her way, even if she’d have to crawl, to lick any scrap from beneath their boots--

She swallowed hard, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill into her ears.

She didn’t want to remember. If only she could be unaware of that time, hours of pathetic loving mindless idiocy. It was terrifying. Was it a blessing that her... her self, for lack of a better word, had been absent, rather than sitting in the back of her mind, watching the events unfold? If they’d kept it up, kept feeding her, kept drugging her... She may have lived the rest of her life unconscious of a body that laughed and smiled and enjoyed every torture they’d inflict on her. Practically dead from the moment her body became something other than her own. And how long would they keep to minor humiliations? How long before bruised knees became welts - cuts - they could have done anything. She’d been utterly powerless. And worse: she’d had no desire to fight it.

There was a snapping of twigs not ten feet away. When no growl, no shout of warning came, Emily tentatively sat up, blinking as the tears fell, unfogging her vision. She wouldn’t have seen him, had the halo of her Sight not silhouetted the beast. And had it not, she may have assumed the creature of shadow was the barghest - massive, a pitch-black dog nearly the size of a bear - but that glow was becoming recognizable: the fae. The Outsider. She wanted to feel ashamed, but she just felt blank as she wiped her face on her sleeve. When it made no move - no step toward or away, no sudden shift of form - she just looked away, slowly settling into her blanket again, rolling over to put her back to him.

Stupid. She was being stupid. A stupid human, a stupid queen-- a stupid girl. Even her ears felt flushed as she suddenly recalled those first moments after he’d arrived in the castle. How she’d latched onto him like some pathetic creature, begging for more of the monstrous fruit, apologizing for nothing, willing to do anything he’d ask of her.

“You have nothing to apologize for… But I will.”

She flinched as she heard the padding of massive paws over the earth toward her - not quite even, a stuttering gait that gave away his slight limp - and tucked her face to her chest. Curling herself even tighter, she tried not to shiver in the cold of the autumn air. It was like she could feel its eyes on her. She didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t want to see him. Not when all she could think of was her own shame and failure and--

The beast drew closer - close enough that she could hear the rasp of breath in its throat. It circled once, then she stiffened as it lay down beside her. It - he - didn’t give her very much space, and it was something she may have felt irritated about in any other instance. But there was something comforting about laying back to back with something so big, and warm, and soft, and mercifully incapable of speech. So focused was she on her awareness of him, she didn’t notice when her tears dried up.

Gradually she released some of her tension, the stress of the day washing over her in a tide of weariness. And when her nose, knees, and toes started to feel the chill, she rolled over without a second thought, already half asleep as she buried her face in the soft fur between the creature’s shoulder blades. She barely noticed the slight tang of blood in the air as she drifted off.