Page 80 of Caging Darling

I switch everything out for Astor, knowing good and well it’s a malignant fantasy I’m allowing myself to endure.

But I should be allowed some things. This one thing. This one version of a future that might have been mine had the mancurrently holding my hand, stroking my cheek, not tampered with it.

I’d expected the pain to be localized to the bargain, but it only starts there, trickling down through my bones until it feels as if there’s no marrow left. Only a serum that stabs and stabs and aches until my body can’t help but writhe. The leather straps hold me in place, keeping me from the movement my body is so sure would distract me from the agony.

And then, everything goes dark. The faerie dust in the room flickers out. At least, that’s what I think happened.

Until the voices begin to speak.

What are you doing?

Why are you hurting her?

She didn’t do anything to you.

She’s innocent.

Get your hands off her.

I frown, confused, but the old woman mutters something in surprise, and as soon as they came, the voices are gone again.

Sweat beads on my brow, but a moment later, there’s a tugging at the back of my neck. Like someone’s placed a hook into my spine and is dragging the serum out of me.

It’s foolishness, but I let myself believe it’s him, just for a moment.

Soon, a faint light begins to glow from above. I crane my neck, my cheek pressed to the table, to get a better look. Inside the orb is a man sitting at a desk, his blue eyes piercing. The old woman stares at it, the pleasure of a job well done shimmering in her eyes.

There are voices, muffled this time, not like the voices before. And there’s only two this time.

I recognize them.

Because one is mine.

“You’d be surprised, Miss Darling,” says the Nomad from the past, “how many mortals prefer to make pets of their curses.”

My past self is so confident in her answer. “Not Peter. Peter would choose to be free if he could.”

Next to me, Peter flinches.

The Nomad again. “He would choose pain? To love you more fully?”

“Just because you can’t comprehend that kind of love doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

The Nomad’s laugh still chills my bones, just as it did the night we had this conversation. “You have no idea the pain I’ve subjected myself to—time and time again—just for a taste of that sort of high. But you know about highs, don’t you?”

There’s silence, then the Nomad speaks again. “So you choose this Peter, then? How unfortunate for Captain Astor.”

I hear my past self snort. “The captain prefers to cage himself in the past.” Oh, how I hadn’t realized the extent to which that was true at the time. “If the captain wishes to be rid of me, who am I to stop him? Why would I choose someone who refuses to choose me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” says the Nomad. “Surely you can admit there’s fun in the chase.”

“I don’t want to chase,” I say. “My feet are too tired for that.”

“Very well, then,” he says. “I believe you and I could be mutually beneficial to one another.” No, no, no. I remember now, how this conversation ends. Panic infuses me, yet I can’t bring my mouth to obey, to scream out so Peter won’t hear what the Nomad says next. “You see, I’d quite like?—”

A shriek sounds through the cabin, but it’s not mine. Peter and the witch both jump, Peter’s hand finding the back of my neck instinctively. I watch in wonder as shadows swarm the witch’s cabin.

They’re coming from the table where she’s tied me down.

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