The Virgin and the Fae

The armoire held a wide array dresses that seemed to span over the course of several centuries. They were floor length, most with what appeared to be low-cut bodices. There was one dress that didn’t appear as revealing as the others. It had rounded, cap shoulders with no sleeves and cinched beneath the breasts. It was also a pretty, pure white. Charlotte slipped it on, enjoying the cooling feel of the silk against her. It was only then that she remembered her nakedness for the entirety of her conversation with Garrick. She blushed brightly. And yet at the time she hadn’t felt self-conscious or embarrassed, indeed she hadn’t even been aware that she was naked. Of course she’d known, it just hadn’t struck her as noteworthy somehow. Perhaps it was magic again. But then perhaps it was that there hadn’t been anything lascivious about his gaze. Charlotte pushed it from her mind, it was easy enough to do. As soon as she did, another thought—the thought of the other Fae—took its place. She didn’t feel safe with Garrick, but the others, if they were as bad as he’d implied…she shuddered at the thought of the other humans trapped here, wherever here was.

Someone had stacked her books and papers on the table in the corner and Charlotte walked over to it. Calculus and everything else seemed so far away. For a moment, Charlotte wanted to cry, and then more than anything she didn’t want to. Crying should be something she could control; she should be able to control herself and her emotions. She fought the urge ruthlessly, and yet the tears came anyways. Her failure to control even them made her cry all the more. She sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands. Everything was so confusing. This place, these people. Her head still felt warm and she had little doubt that the fever was still there, merely temporarily beaten back by the fever-reducer. She looked up from her hands and reached for the bottle of Tylenol by her books. Her hand knocked over her vitamin bottle but she paid it no heed. Twisting the cap off, Charlotte shook out two white tablets, then, for good measure, she shook out a third and tossed them all at once into her mouth, swallowing them.

“Why are you crying?” Charlotte jumped up with a scream, spilling the pills over the table and carpet when she dropped the bottle in surprise. Gasping to catch her breath, Charlotte turned to see Garrick watching her. He was handsome, she thought once again, and yet there remained something about him that made her want to run.

“Don’t do that! You’ll scare me to death!”

“Humans can be scared to death?” Garrick looked worried again at this reminder of her fragility. She seemed to him like the most precious of glass figurines. He had admired her for so long, safely from afar, but now that he had taken her down and into his hands, everything was a reminder of how easily she could shatter.

“Well—“ Charlotte wondered if lying to him would accomplish anything. “No, you can’t be scared to death, at least I don’t think so. I suppose it could cause a heart attack, but that would be in extreme cases.” She paused. “And actually, I don’t even know if that’s true. But I’d appreciate it if you knocked or somehow announced yourself beforehand.” She sounded a bit uppity, Charlotte thought, but she was trying to recover as much dignity as she could while wiping off her face.

“I’m ready to go, if that’s why you’re here.”

“You aren’t ready at all. All you’ve done is put on a dress.” Garrick noted, surveying her.

“What more is there to do?”

“Fix your hair, put on jewelry, maybe even some makeup.” Charlotte nodded obediently and went to the vanity. There was a brush there. She pulled it through her hair several times before setting it down again.

Garrick watched her as she moved. She obeyed him, but there was an undercurrent of hesitancy or even reluctance. The Charlotte he had come to know was too timid to openly fight him, but he had little doubt that she would resist, in her own practical ways. Struck by an idea, Garrick conjured up a sprig of tiny blue flowers, bluebells he’d heard them called.

Suddenly Charlotte felt herself paralyzed again. Garrick watched her eyes widen in surprise and, even, betrayal. Yet he felt little guilt. He wanted to do this, and it was so much easier to just simply do it rather than have to explain and wait for her permission.

“These will look beautiful in your hair,” he said good-naturedly, showing her the flowers in the mirror. He set them down besides her hand, which lay, frozen in place, on the desk. He ran his fingers through her hair, sighing softly as he did so.

“I touched your hair once before, you know. You were seventeen, studying for something—you were always studying—and you’d fallen asleep at your desk. I couldn’t help myself, I want to take you back with me, but I knew I shouldn’t, so I contented myself with a touch, just one. I promised myself I’d give you time to grow. And you weren’t grown yet. I needed you to be strong enough to survive being here, with me and away from your world. You would have broken then, but now, now I think you will be fine.” As he spoke, Garrick weaved the sides of her hair into two small braids that he secured together behind her head by twisting the bluebells stem. The flowers looked pretty there, he thought.

“I want you strong enough to withstand all that I will require of you. You’re my first human. That is, the first human of my own I’ve ever had. Should I get you a collar? Some of the other humans wear them. Would you like one?” Garrick realized that he’d begun to bait her. He had no intention of making her wear something as grotesque as a collar, she was not a slave, after all, and yet there was something thrilling about the idea that he had so much power, such absolute control over a single being. He couldn’t help himself but to revel in it.

She was furious, he could tell, but also frightened and their interplay across her face was gave him a heady and intoxicated feeling.

He ran his fingertips over her neck, holding her eyes with his in the mirror. “A collar would look nice, don’t you think?” And that was when he saw it. Her index finger twitched. It was impossible. The whole point of the magic was to stop movement, or rather for him to control movement. But there it was. He’d seen it. It was undeniable.

Charlotte had powers, whether of magic or sheer will, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed that if provoked enough, she could fight him. Not only that, she would fight him.

He looked back at her eyes, searching them to see if she’d realized the magnitude of what had happened. She appeared angry but otherwise unaware that she had momentarily broken through his magic. It was a small crack, but if she realized it….Charlotte was nothing other than determined. If she realized it, then she wouldn’t stop searching until she could break through all of his magics.

“We’ll be late.” Charlotte felt her body released from the spell and she slumped forward slightly. She was struggling to control her temper, before speaking to him, but before she could, they were somewhere new.