"It burns. Itches and torments the more you deny it. You should not disobey me. The pain will be far more tolerable."
"We had an agreement. I plan to stick to it."
"Good. Very good Chela. You learn well and you have something for me."
"As you asked."
"It is done then?"
"Yes. I have done as you wished."

Stiff fingers cracked and snapped as she considered the paint beneath her nails. A shade and thickness unusual for the typical palette but the paint she used was unnatural and rare for favoritism.

She scrubbed her hands until they were left near raw. The paint and the deed she had become used to. No longer did it bother her. The sensation though, the rubbed raw bloom of color in her flesh brought a small satisfaction even as the reality settled in once more. Once again. Mortal.

The orders no longer crawled their demands of the Dark Man on her skin. The skin carried more color now then the ivory shade within the hours of the sun. Her eyes were a far more natural shade, a blue so dark to seem black.

Black and blue.

The color choice of the Dark Man for his painter did not deceive her. She knew the irony of it. The colors of pain, anguish and torment as much as they would be the colors of comfort and serenity.

The sketch had become a painting and the painting turned in. Her duties for now were over.

Still come the hours of the moon she was ever aware of the fragility of life. How very careful she must be until the sun would rise again.

"I am fascinated by the friends you find."
"Friends?"
"The Amber and the Red. The Beast."
"Those are..."
"Oh it does so delight me when you visit me in the Hours of the Sun."
"Why?"
"Because my little Death Fae, you cannot lie. Not now."
"No."

The orders scrawled over her skin as the talon state of nails pierced into the flesh of the one requested. The next canvas. The final chapter. The end of the line for one. The recollection of conversation had the onyx surface of nails to grow as knives. Pierce the flesh and take the pain to the last breath.

Nothing but a vessel, a shell now was the flesh as she collected what mattered. For him. The Dark Man.

His mention of friends brought the Death Fae to be far past the impasse of expression. Chela had no reason to control or reign in the emotion. No rage or hatred. Just this. Feeling. He had taunted her. Asked if she would bargain again for a broken mirror of a woman, or perhaps a warrior. Chela did not answer, she could not deny what she might bargain for if given opportunity.

The Beast though, he was another matter. Ilk and fashion forged like kin. Like the one who had entered the evening prior. Even the warrior of amber was on a thin line. A line drawn between what was ilk and kin. What was known. Amber had tracked her in the departure for Orders. That much Chela knew. That much she wondered on for one wishing solitude.

Weapon gathered again, the blood upon silver left to mark the ash and shadow of the fabric worn. Red that pooled and spilled to spread as the poppy blooms come the spring.

Marks and measures. Words that were spoken. Vows of honor kept. Chela was again at the lines drawn as she stepped through the Veil. No longer was Chela haunted by the lost souls that wandered, wishing only to part the veil as Chela would.

The package delivered, painted for him and him alone. Chela kept control over emotions. It was easy when Death Fae, harder when mortal. The eclipse of eyes. The matched longing in tourmaline.

The sound made was not well matched for the delicate, slender elegance of throat. Something feral. Primal for those more to show teeth in challenge. There was no fight in Chela now. There was nothing more then confusion.

The Beast understood perhaps. Maybe so. The others, they could not be known so well.

Chela promised a return to dreams just as for another she swore to leave another alone.

She would not break her vows. She would not. She could not.

No matter how hard it may be to resist. Chela was bound.

"Shall I paint you in pain?"
"If that is what you wish I cannot exactly disagree to it now can I?"
"Smart mouth also. Others would lose their tongues over such."
"I imagine they have."
"You are weaker now Chela. Do you forget?"
"No. How can I? You remind me every night."

The stars were lost to her. Chela found herself once more in the graveyard. It might have been she never left. Maybe she was brought back there as a reminder. How easy she could be buried now.

The cost could be more then she might be able to pay. Chela didn't dare open her eyes. The pain swelled around her, blooming burst of discomfort at cheekbone.

Lashes ensnared the vision of the Clover and the Gunslinger. Already there was the risk. The danger in it all. A touch could go wrong. Could turn deadly.

A ginger touch of fingers on skin, tempting that bruise as she found her feet once more. Ready and steady. Swaying as the weeping willow in the breeze.

There was no mourning but mortal again and looking down at your own grave. It hit home. Hit like a blow to the chest that she'd never survive from.

Bargains and friends. They didn't seem to fit in the same place. Ill matched for Chela.

Some just couldn't survive that choice. Far more then a touch.

There was no survival in such a balance. Perhaps she damned them all by presence alone.

"Still looking for the light at the end of the tunnel?"
"Is there one?"
"Tsk. Chela never should you be so pessimistic."
"I'm not. More so realistic."
"If you care, well then. You will find a way."
"A way?"
"Tell me Chela, for him would you dare another bargain."
"A bargain?"
"I can tell Chela. You would risk everything."



Everything.

The word clung to the hours, twisting and twining in her thoughts. A torment of a drifter that wandered through her senses. Waking emotions that the Dark Man could collect and use against her.

If Chela didn't play along with this cryptic game of chess then more then emotions would be used.

Could Chela risk another bargain? How much more would the Dark Man take?

Moonlight soaked flesh as pale as porcelain but not the ivory of death now. The proximity of mortality loomed even as fabric left flesh to be washed and cleansed.

Not only the fabric possessed a necessity to be clean. Made pure again.

Purity though was far from the possibility for fabric and for flesh. The Glen by Moonlight was searched with blue-black eyes.

Lashes crushed out the light, turning away from it. A shoulder exposed to the glow of a pale moon would crawl over and slip its glistening rays along the myriad display of scars.

The shattered pieces all collected and put back together. Something more then a spirit had snapped a long time ago.

Did they know? Did they realize?

Pale hands smoothed the blue from eyes. Here when Chela could reveal it all there were no words to be spoken.

No one to tell them to. For this night the silence was anguish. A lamentation of emotions that kissed by the hours of the pale moon could grow.

Could be fathomed and understood. The realization could do nothing more then terrify the Collector. Breaking her to pieces all over again.

?So you return then, my Blue Death.?
?I had no choice.?
?No luck in finding the way out??
?Something like that.?
?I see and have you seen this one that you are risking everything for, since your research??
?I have not.?
?Hmm, this fascinates me very much all that you would risk and yet you know nothing of the future planned.?
?I figured it was set in stone.?
?Only in gravestones child is it set in stone. There are far more then just Drifters that would walk amongst the dead and beckon you.?
?I know nothing of which you speak.?
?Oh you will child. When he comes, you will know.?

The conversation with the Dark Man had left Chela disturbed and restless. Even when the night fell around her and freed her from her presence in this world as the Death Fae did she feel that restless will of her limbs and nature. The small comfort she took in the light drizzle and mist was for this time as the painter and nothing more.

Her perch upon the roof of the mausoleum left her in the disturbing vision of a cemetery angel having fallen, more so gargoyle or broken marionette then true angel to watch the cemetery below her.

The message of the Dark Man that went by numerous names but was well known as Thanatos, Death, or Far Dorcha was disturbing to Chela. Of anything that the Dark Man had done this would have to be the most unusual. His words ever were cryptic but this was something new.

Was it even possible that he was planning on offering Chela a companion in her dark hunt and collection? It perhaps would make sense given that often Astraea?s assistance could be a far more fragile help if the circumstances of the death became far more violent then the woman could stomach.

It might be of assistance to have someone to help collect and gather. Needless to say those that fought Death were not always so willing to give in and succumb to their end of days. Still she had to wonder what it all meant, what hidden intent the Dark Man possessed towards the dark painter.

There was no one to seek counsel of for this very matter. For now it was nothing more then a waiting game.

No matter the nature of Chela?s patience the waiting was ever the hardest part.