He was back. Everything was familiar and terrifying and wonderful. Everything had been a dream, an imagining, a shadow wistfully taking him through someone else's life. He could feel the solid, familiar stone, see the cold, familiar walls all around him, rested on the hard, familiar pallet that was his only bed. It was night, but soon would come the dawn, for She was coming.

But it wasn't a dream....

The shadows flocked to him, hushing him, distracting him with their cool touches and fervent whispers. A faint light could be seen under the door, the echoing sound of footsteps drove out other thoughts. The same mingled fear and expectation rose, the familiar, hated, loved knowledge that night would turn into day and he would no longer be alone, for as long as She cared to use him this time.

This isn't right. This is gone. There was light and fire and fury and fear and--

The door swung open, bathing him in light that might once have blinded him. Now he could see clearly, and he saw that She was smiling at him, beckoning, holding out Her hands with their curved claws. Come to me, my love. My pet. My one, come, her shadow whispered.

But She was gone. There was the smell of death and She was gone.

Forget that, my love. Come.

He was crawling, creeping, then walking, then finally racing towards Her, unable to stop himself. There, in the dimness that was not true night nor true day, She had Her arms around him, Her fingers in his hair, Her mouth on his, and he could not get away even if he'd wanted to. She had never done this, never been so impatient; there was always the ritual of leading him down the hall that seemed so long but was truly brief, drawing him to Her bed, and whatever pains She cared to inflict along the way. Never had She kissed him before then. Never.

Wrong. This is wrong. What are you doing--

I love you, my pet, and it has been too long. I have missed you.

Then it was familiar again, as he followed Her down the hallway into growing brightness, the light which had once hid the features of the too-bright room from him. Now there were shadows in its opulence, darkness in its corners, and he could make out every detail. He had once thought it terrible and beautiful, full of nothing but light and memory. Now it was full of things: the massive bed, the hangings on the walls, the fire-bearing lamps, the giant wardrobe which he had never seen Her open, rugs of fur and weaving, a crudely carved statue. Now... now, he didn't know what he thought of it.

I don't understand. Everything is wrong--

Hush.

She took his face in Her implacable grip, drawing him roughly down to Her mouth again. When he started to resist, confused and disoriented, claws dug painfully into his scalp and it was familiar again. She threw him away from Her, onto Her bed, and followed as inexorably as She always did. The shadows were silent, expectant, waiting, and he twisted his fingers in the blankets, terrified but at least certain that he knew what was coming. There was relief in that, after so long with nothing he understood, nothing that was predictable.

But She paused, then, hovering over him, panting slightly and staring at him. Why was She looking at him? She knew what he looked like. She didn't care what he looked like, unless he was bloody and begging. There was hunger in Her eyes, the unending hate and love that he knew, that he recognized, but there were other things, and he shrank back from them.

What are you doing, please, I don't understand--

Do not think, do not wonder, do not remember. You are mine, and I intend to keep you.

Somehow, after that, he lost time. Her hands were everywhere, leaving trails of blood, pain, and desire. All he could do was struggle to escape only to find Her hand forcing him back, try to form a coherent thought and fail, and then reach for Her again, or let Her reach for him when he had no strength or breath to resist. He forgot where pain ended and pleasure began, something he had never forgotten before, no matter how much She loved him or hated him or did anything to him. There had never been a day like this one, there was nothing in his too-short memory to make this familiar, but this time he didn't care.

My love, my pet, my only one, he heard over and over, until it ceased to have any meaning beyond meaning She was still there. My own, my lost one, returned to me.

After a forever that was far too short, She drew away from him. Not thinking, he tried to follow. Her smile was secret, but when She held Her hands out to him, he couldn't reach. She was always moving away from him. Exhausted and shivering, but still on fire and wanting Her hands again, he fought with the folds holding him back, took too long to untangle himself from blankets he hadn't noticed before, and staggered after Her.

Come with me, my love. Just a little ways, then I will let you have me again, for anything, for forever. You can be mine again, and then I can be yours.

"I'm coming," he managed, breathless, fumbling with the door. Why was there a door? He wanted to slash at it, he wanted to burn it, he wanted to melt it into nothing for being in his way. It fell open at last and he stumbled into a dark hall. She was just ahead of him, still beckoning, moving away from him. Too far away, too far--

Just a little farther, my love. Just a few more steps, She coaxed. She didn't need to; he nearly tripped on his own feet trying to keep up with Her, reaching for Her but not close enough.

Too far, oh Mistress, Mother, you're too far--

There was another door in the way. The handle was cold in his hand, but it wouldn't turn. He tried it again, hauled on it, pounded on it, desperate and cursing. She was inside, She was hidden from him, he couldn't see Her, She was-- She was--

Gone.

He blinked, woke, and recognized the door suddenly. It was locked, because he'd told someone to lock it. He'd told-- who had he told-- Sentio. He'd told Sentio to lock that door before he'd gone back to his room to toss and turn and try to sleep. Because he didn't trust himself, because he didn't trust Her.

Now do you see?

Panting with fear and loss, he whirled, not recognizing his own shadow.

Now do you understand?

No. He didn't. All he wanted was Her, he didn't want any of this. Why was all this here?

You don't want Sentio, or Sentio's house, or Sentio's friends.

What if She told you to kill him?

Hmm?

Once you told Her no.

Would you tell Her no, now?

"Of course not!" he snapped, then clapped his hands over his mouth, realizing what he'd just said. The image in Her mind of a gold and white corpse, splashed with red, came back to him.

You do see.

You do understand.

"Yes," he breathed. "I do."

The shadows were closed to him. The shadows were closed to him-- but there were other things. Without a further thought, he made for the first door out of the manor that he could find. Whining wordlessly, he fought with it for a moment before it gave way beneath his desperation, and disappeared into the darkness of true night.