Living Hunger

Frederique could still feel the lingering ache in her chest as she sat in the back seat of Groff's enormous, old-model SUV. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on her mind... the hunger, the constant tension with Frideria, and now this: being sent to meet a stranger who would supposedly teach her how to survive.

The drive felt longer than it should have. Frederique sat tense in the back seat, arms folded tightly as Groff's massive SUV rumbled down a quiet, decaying part of town she didn't recognize. Cracked asphalt, rusting fences, and boarded-up windows blurred past the windows. The silence between the three of them was thick, uncomfortable.

Groff drove in silence, his stone-like hands gripping the wheel tightly. He barely seemed to register the world around him, eyes fixed ahead.

Arno, on the other hand, was fidgeting again. His long, black tongue flicked from the corner of his mouth every few seconds as though tasting the air. His dark eyes kept shifting toward Frederique, clearly aware of her tension but saying nothing about it. Finally, when the silence grew unbearable, she broke it.

"You sure about this guy? This mentor?" Her voice came out harsher than intended, and she winced.

Arno tilted his head, considering her question. "He's... well, a Redcap. Like you."

She flinched. She still wasn't used to hearing that word.

"That doesn't mean I can trust him."

"Trust?" Arno raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting in a half-smile. "You're a Redcap now, Frederique. Trust is a rare thing. But if anyone can help you, it'll be him. Lysandro's been around longer than most of his kind. Which, you know, is saying something. Redcaps… don't exactly have long careers."

She swallowed hard. "And why is that, again?"

Arno's tongue flicked out once more, a nervous tic. "They get themselves killed. Hunger makes you reckless. Angry. Stupid. You feed on the wrong thing, bite the wrong person, cross the wrong court..."

Frederique clenched her fists on her lap. The hunger stirred inside her, a constant, gnawing ache. Since that night with the monster, it hadn't left. It was a void behind her ribs, coiled and waiting.

"Great," she muttered. "So, this Lysandro... he's not like that?"

Arno's grin turned sharper. "Oh, he's plenty dangerous. But he's got style."

The SUV slowed as they turned into a narrow, dimly lit street. The old brick buildings were scarred by graffiti, windows grimy with age. Yet, there was one place that stood out.

A single neon sign blinked over a door set between two tall, gold-framed windows:

"MIRROR MIRROR SALON."

The glass shimmered faintly, and the letters seemed to ripple, as if the reflections were alive.

Frederique stared, blinking.

"You brought me to a... hair salon?"

Arno grinned wider, hopping out as Groff parked. "Told you he was weird."

Groff finally broke his silence, voice as deep and heavy as shifting boulders. "Do not provoke him. Show respect."

Frederique wasn't sure if she was more unsettled by the warning or the fact that it came from Groff.

The bell above the salon door chimed softly as they entered.

The smell hit first... expensive perfumes mixed with something coppery, almost metallic.

It was hard to focus.

Mirrors covered every inch of the walls, enormous gold frames with elaborate carvings... roses, twisted vines, thorned crowns. But they weren't ordinary reflections. Some felt... distorted. She caught flashes of herself from angles that didn't exist. Her face reflected back with too-pale skin, dark smudges under her eyes, lips cracked.

And then she saw him.

A figure emerged from the back of the salon.

He was... blinding.

The Redcap stood tall and elegant, platinum crimson curls cascading over his shoulders in perfect spirals. His tailored purple suit was sharp enough to cut, adorned with gold buttons and a silken lavender ascot tucked into the lapel. He wore thin, silver-rimmed sunglasses despite the dim lighting, and his nails gleamed a perfect crimson, matching the small scissors hanging from a delicate chain around his neck.

Frederique barely had time to register his presence before he posed.

Yes. Posed.

One hand on his hip, the other extending gracefully in a flourish as he approached them.

"Well, well, well! Finally. The baby Redcap arrives!"

Frederique blinked. "...What?"

The man swept closer with a dazzling smile, sharp white teeth just a bit too sharp.

"I am Lysandro, darling. Master of glamour, elegance, and, of course... " He gestured grandly at the salon. "... style."

His pale gaze flicked up and down Frederique in a single, assessing sweep. She felt instantly self-conscious. Her hoodie was stained, her jeans ripped, her hair unkempt.

"Hmm." Lysandro's lips pursed. "A work in progress, clearly."

Frederique's face burned. "I'm not here for a makeover... "

"Of course you are, dear." Lysandro's smile widened. "You're a disaster."

Arno coughed, hiding a grin.

Groff, stone-faced, finally spoke. "She needs guidance. Control."

Lysandro's smile faltered... just slightly. His gaze sharpened, the predatory gleam of his teeth a little more visible as he stared Frederique down.

"So the beast within has begun to stir, has it?"

Frederique shivered.

"...Yes."

"Good."

He clapped his hands once, the mirrors around the room shivering faintly as if they'd responded to the sound.

"A Redcap's power is hunger, my dear. You don't suppress it. You master it. But before I teach you anything..."

His silver glasses slid down his nose slightly, revealing eyes as pale as frost.

"...you will join my court."

Frederique tensed. "What?"

Lysandro gave her a pitying look. "Darling, this isn't a charity. I don't train wildlings for fun. I train those who are worthy. If you want my help, you must swear yourself to the Night Court. There is no other way."

Arno stepped forward, his tongue flicking nervously. "Hey, Lysandro, maybe we could... "

Lysandro shot him a look so venomous he immediately shut his mouth.

Frederique's stomach twisted.

"I don't even know what that means."

The Redcap's grin returned, sharper now.

"Then let me explain. To join the Night Court, you must meet our King. Only he can decide if you belong among us. And to be clear..."

His gaze lingered on her, almost hungry.

"You do not refuse the king's invitation."

Silence.

Frederique's throat felt dry.

"...And if I don't?"

Lysandro leaned closer, voice a silken whisper.

"Then you will lose control. The hunger will consume you. And you, my dear, will die."

Frederique's heart pounded in her chest.

"Fine," she whispered. "Take me to the king."

Lysandro's smile was pure satisfaction.

"Excellent. We leave at dusk."

Lysandro clapped his hands, the mirrors shimmering in response as his smile turned wicked.

"But before we meet the king, darling, you need to be presentable. I won't have my pupil looking like a stray. No, no... if you're to stand before royalty, you'll do so with poise, elegance, and... flair."

His scissors flashed in the low light, and for the first time, Frederique felt a chill that had nothing to do with the hunger inside her.