If Fen knew absolutely anything at all, he knew what it was like to walk in a reality that colored itself as a dream. He could remember those dark days in Connlaoth— his every move under the watchful eye of the Raven, sheltering him under their stifling cloak. Living like rats, dying like rats, the smell of their cowardice driving Fen off the wall. And all the while, he could only bury his head in his hands, being as helpless as he was, back then. And life had gone on like a twisted carousel, all the horses painted in black, casting silent glares at him, as the carousel went on, a repetition of endless tedium after tedium...
And then he had snapped. He hadn't been lucky — he needed to break all on his own. Fen had done the unthinkable; he had lashed out against those who had fed and clothed him, repaid their "good deeds," with a bathing of blood. And even after all that, no one had got the satisfaction of killing the other. Today, it seemed like a dream to him— his life, back then, living in fear. But something had changed in him, and ever since he had left, he had felt alive.
Had he brought her out of her own personal abyss? He could only wonder what her life had been (had been?) back there, beyond these four stone walls. As 'that' type, what could her life be like? Oh, Fen knew nothing of prostitutes. Sure, he had walked into a few brothels once, but never paid for any services: it was almost beneath him. To pay someone to give him pleasure when he could just take it out from underneath them, and leave them broken after...!
It was funny — he had been planning to do that to her, the little fox, and instead... found someone totally different. A wrinkle in the fabric that society had smoothed out to be paper thin, trim and neat. And now, she said, she was alive. The word seemed so elegant, so meaningful, and it was almost impossible for Fen to swallow the fact that he might just have helped someone through his destructive behavior. Alive. The harbinger of death was in the presence of someone who admitted that he had brought them to life. It was first, and it would probably be the last, but Fen savored the word all the same. It brought the first of genuine smiles to his face, and he found himself looking down to the floor, unsure of why he felt so enthralled at this prospect. Perhaps it was just a word, but Fen cradled it for as long as he possibly could.
He felt his fingers curling around the back of the chair as the fox confessed — she really did not know why she was so comfortable, but she did not question it. Other people, oh, they would've — they'd wonder how they had managed to get in such a situation until it drove them crazy, up the wall, until they were no fun anymore. But she knew never to question such a good thing. A trait that not even Fen could possess, for it was he who had fretted, as he had spilled coffee over his hands this morning, that she would be gone before he had a chance to speak with her, just once, to see what else she had to say...
"Foolish?" Fen echoed softly, shaking his head lightly. He ran a hand through his white hair, let his fingers comb through the locks. "Not at all. Why would anyone want to question a good thing?" He stopped here, laughing slightly. "Granted, most people would not call this a good thing. But perhaps that's what separates us from them." He spoke as if 'they,' were the outside world was one large entity that could consume one's very soul, if one wasn't careful enough.
And then she spoke her name. Eden. A handful of peaceful letters that seemed almost too fitting for this woman, this fox, this situation. And suddenly, it was as if everything was too surreal— too frighteningly perfect! For that split second in time, Fen wondered when he was going to wake up, when Eden was going to fade from his eyes... when he'd wake up in Tam's Tavern, covered in broken glass and alcohol that smelled like cat's piss and pig's blood. And his cycle would start again. But no, he was no dreaming. The fox, Eden, sat peacefully in front of him, clutching onto his coffee cup, after having just thanked him, after giving up her name.
"How appropriate," he breathed, a small laugh humming under his throat. A small, amused laugh — of curiosity, of content. Of disbelief and that small, fleeting feeling of salvation, of a medley of emotions he could not bring himself to sort out at once.
How long was it since he had actually known someone's name? Clients and targets were all a blur; some lived, some died, some were gutted and left for the rats. Whores on the streets were given names that Fen could shout when he had them by their necks in his bed, the names of bartenders were often mixed up by him, because honestly, they were all the same. People were a blur of black and white, a dull monochrome on an otherwise reckless world, and she was, lit up and colorful: Eden.
No, he could not loose her, he realized that now. If she walked out of the door, he was afraid it'd be over for him. How had he let a woman captivate and intrigue him so? It wasn't natural for him — he, whose life was supposed to be seen through colorblind eyes! The only thing he was supposed to love in this world was the red that electrified his life — when it was spilled, it was the only color he ever saw. Red, on the walls! Red, on their bodies, their chests, pouring, bleeding... But now, he saw her— the only color in this ancient cartoon called life, and could let her walk away, away from him forever.
He stood up from the chair now, pushing it back aimlessly with the sole of his foot as he strode over to the bed, next to her, the fox, Eden. With one hand, he held onto her coffee cup, even though she was holding tight enough already, to make sure it did not spill. His right hand slowly went to her face, cradling her cheek in his palm, staring into her eyes. His own, they waltzed, searching her for something but at the same time, not really looking for anything. As if they were happy to take in her face, and nothing more.
And with every minute second that passed as he didn't speak, Fen could only think of how he could not let her slip out of his grasp.
"Eden," he muttered breathlessly, his voice almost a dull whisper. He suddenly, in a rare moment of brainlessness, forgot what he wanted to say. For a moment, he merely sat there, his sierra-red staring into her apple-red, before finally shaking his head, assured: "You don't need to thank me."
That was not his original plan of action — Fenrisulfr Rotht had frozen, hesitated. He wondered if she had noticed the way his hand shook slightly on her cheek, as if afraid he'd break her into bits if the monster was let free. He let his hand slide away, shaking his head once more, suddenly proclaiming in a serious whisper, "Do you want me to show you? How to be someone that simply takes what they desire?" He inched closer to her, his breath dancing on her neck now as he dared to touch her again, his hand near her shoulder, gently squeezing it. "You could stay here, with me. Travel, with me. And you would never have to sell yourself for money again."
He would take care of anything. He would take care of everything. Because no matter how much blood he spilled or how many contracts he fulfilled, he would never found another dissenter like her again. Fen was sure of it.
