The Contract

The girl stands on her balcony, overlooking the starlit and gaslit bustling of the City. In her hands a piece of parchment flutters, crisp and new, on the evening breeze. The inked terms of a contract line its surface and glisten slightly as if not quite dry yet. The girl smiles, thinking of the cost of zephyr ink these days, and begins carefully to fold the thick paper in thirds, and then in thirds again. The almost-square feels heavy in her palms, like a chunk of glass. She kisses the center of it, leaving a red impression that slowly twists before her eyes into the shape of a dancing fox, her seal and sigil. Her hands clasp around the document, and she bows her head, murmuring. When she opens them again, the paper bursts into flame, and burns merrily on the platter of her open palms for a few moments before guttering out. The folded ashen paper holds its shape in her hands, trembling slightly with her breath. Closing her eyes, she closes her hands again, crushing and grinding the ashes between them until they begin to trickle from between her fingers like fine black sand. When she opens her hands again, a tiny key, the length of the final joint of her little finger, nestles delicately among the ashes. She holds up her hands, letting the remaining ashes drift away across the City on the night air, then turns to the shadowy figure that has been watching her from the balcony door all this time.

"I will not claim him like property. That would defeat the purpose of the arrangement. No," she hesitates, deciding, "And I will not keep him past the time that he wishes to stay. Let it end where it will, of its own accord." The final words are tinged slightly with defiance, like a child resigned to punishment who will not give up her pride.

To her surprise, the figure only nods once, solemnly, and drifts into a mist that disappears as if it never was.

Inside, the green eyed man stands, barechested and with his face quietly downturned. She walks to him, the spreckles of ash on her skirts fading and winking out like stars at every step. She cups his cheek in one hand, and with her thumbs, dabs his eyelids, lips, and heart with the residue of ash from her palm. His eyes dart to hers, bewildered. "Speak," she says softly, "Speak and be heard, for you are a guest in my kingdom." His mouth gapes silently, but no words come. Quickly, the girl puts the tiny key upon his tongue and kisses him, hard. In surprise he swallows, and breaking the kiss, smiles softly back at her. The green of his eyes is drowning, and he is suddenly more solid, more present in her land, more real.

The girl closes her eyes, and whispers softly to him. "Yes, come and go as thou wilt. Leave when thou must, as thou will. Be neither servant nor slave in this kingdom, but lover, companion, and friend."