Living Hunger

The bar was nothing like Frederique had imagined.

The exterior was unassuming, a weathered building tucked between a boarded-up pawn shop and a narrow alley that stank faintly of mildew and old rain. A cracked neon sign above the door flickered dimly, the letters so faded she couldn't even tell what the place was supposed to be called.

Inside, however, the world felt... different.

The moment Arno guided her past the heavy wooden door, the atmosphere shifted. Candles floated in midair, casting a pale violet glow over the room. The air was thick with the scent of incense, clove and something sharper, like burnt sugar. No music played, yet there was a rhythm in the room... a pulse she could feel in her chest, steady as a heartbeat.

And the people.

Frederique knew, instinctively, they weren't all human. Some looked normal enough... though a little too perfect, their features too symmetrical. Others wore masks, elegant but strange, shaped like the faces of animals. A few didn't bother with disguises at all. A pale woman with branches growing from her scalp sipped from a glass filled with something that shimmered silver.

"So...this is a bar?" Frederique whispered, voice hushed as her gaze swept the crowd.

Arno smirked, leading her further inside. Groff followed silently behind them, his bulk casting a long shadow.

"It's a meeting ground. For us," Arno corrected. "Changelings, Fey-touched, whatever you want to call it. Neutral territory."

Frederique frowned. "Neutral from... what, exactly?"

Arno's dark eyes met hers, his usual grin dimming. "The Courts. You're about to get a crash course in our world, Freddy. Keep up."

He gestured toward a corner booth, the plush seats oddly dark as if the shadows themselves were deeper there. As they settled in, Groff remained standing, arms crossed, watching the room like a bodyguard.

"Okay," Arno began, folding his hands on the table. "Here's how it works. There are two major factions in our world... The Day Court and The Night Court. Both made up of Fey, and both... complicated."

Frederique raised an eyebrow. "Like, magical fairy tales complicated?"

Arno shook his head. "Not even close. The Day Court... on the surface, they seem noble. They're all about honor, loyalty, glory. 'Good' stuff." His lips twisted as he said it, sarcasm thick. "But it's a mask. They feed on positive emotions. Joy, excitement, even lust. And they don't care how those emotions are drawn out. All that matters is the taste."

Frederique blinked. "You mean... they hurt people? Just to get them to feel happy?"

Arno nodded grimly. "A perfect night for them could be a party where everyone's forced to dance until they break. Or a romance twisted into obsession. It's about the energy, not the morality."

She swallowed hard. "And the Night Court? The... bad guys?"

"Not bad," Arno said, voice softer. "Different. They feed on heavier stuff. Fear, grief, anger, pain. But they're honest about it. They value strength, cunning, self-preservation. If the Day Court throws a masquerade, the Night Court... fights in the pit. But they won't lie to you about who they are."

Frederique sat back, absorbing it all. "And you... you're with the Night Court?"

Arno nodded. "Yeah. Fits me better."

"Because you're... cowardly?"

Arno's eyes narrowed, but he didn't deny it. "Cowardice keeps you alive, Freddy. So does knowing your limits. And your strengths." His gaze darkened slightly, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. "You? You're still figuring yours out. You're somewhere between us."

Frederique's stomach tightened. She could feel it again... that presence beneath her skin. Frideria. Restless. Listening.

"You're saying... she's Fey too? The thing inside me?"

Arno nodded. "Yeah. A young one, I think. Maybe born from hunger itself."

Before she could respond, a figure approached their booth.

Tall, elegant, wearing a suit that seemed woven from twilight itself. His skin shimmered faintly, tinged with pale lavender, and his eyes... entirely black, no whites... settled on Frederique with sharp interest.

"Arnatraax," the man said, voice like silk.

Frederique blinked.

Arno gave a tight smile, nodding his head. "Visiren. You got our message?"

Visiren's gaze lingered on Frederique, ignoring the question. "This one smells... young."

Frederique tensed.

"She's new," Arno said, his hand casually resting on the table but close enough to her wrist that she could feel his presence like a protective barrier.

Visiren's smile widened, revealing perfect, glassy teeth. "Yes. I can see that. And... taste it."

The hunger stirred.

Frederique's breath hitched as the void in her chest twisted, responding to the fey's presence.

She could feel his aura pressing against her own.

' Feed. '

' No. '

' Not now. '

Arno's voice broke the tension.

"We're here for introductions. She needs a place. A Court. You know the rules, Visiren. You will honor them."

For a heartbeat, the tension lingered... Visiren's gaze narrowing, assessing Frederique like prey.

Then he stepped back, bowing with a mock flourish.

"Of course, Arnatraax. Neutral ground, after all."

But as he left, Frederique felt the words echo through her mind like a threat.

This world wasn't safe. And neither was she.