Chapter-18 Lesson In Hunger

Lysandro's workshop was not what Frederique expected.

The sprawling, candlelit space was decadent yet chaotic, filled with half-finished mannequins, wigs of unnatural colors, and mirrors framed in tarnished silver. Scissors floated through the air on their own, snipping at invisible strands. Shelves overflowed with hair tonics, perfumes, and enchanted tools humming faintly with magic.

At the center of it all stood Lysandro, flamboyant as ever, wrapped in a violet fur-lined robe with his sharp teeth flashing as he turned to face her.

"Ah, my Dark Star! My little horrible thing... you survived the King's test. And you're still standing! Marvelous!"

Frederique was still raw from the trial, her body aching, mind half-dazed. Her hair had become slightly redder since the test, her skin paler, lips stained a faint unnatural red.

She felt... sharper.

And hungrier.

Her stomach growled, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

Lysandro's grin widened.

"Yes, yes, that's what we must fix. You're starving. Perfect! Today, we learn the art of control. Come—sit!"

He gestured to an ornate chair that looked suspiciously like a throne, its velvet cushions slightly singed.

Frederique obeyed, sinking into the chair as the hunger gnawed deeper. Frideria whispered in the back of her mind, still quiet but restless.

Lysandro twirled a comb between his fingers, pacing as he spoke.

"You see, my dear, being a Redcap is not just about eating. No, no, no. That's what the lesser ones do. They gorge. They devour."

His lip curled.

"But we, my dear? We consume with finesse. Precision."

He leaned in closer, voice lowering.

"You can feed without losing yourself, but first, you must understand the source of our hunger. Do you?"

Frederique shook her head slowly.

Lysandro snapped his fingers, and a swirling illusion appeared before her... two ghostly figures, one a monstrous, fanged figure with blood dripping from its mouth, the other, a slender, regal fae with hair like spun silver.

"We do not crave food, Frederique. We crave essence. Emotion. Life force. The thrill of consumption, yes? Our bite is not just to devour flesh—though, mmm, the flesh is delightful—it is to consume power. Fear. Pain. Desperation."

The images shifted, showing a fae devouring a screaming man's dread, the fear twisting into a pale mist that flowed into its lips.

Frederique felt Frideria stir, drawn to the image.

"But this hunger, unchecked, will destroy you. That is why the lesser Redcaps die so young. They let the hunger own them."

The illusion shattered. Lysandro grinned, leaning so close his sharp teeth nearly brushed her cheek.

"So. Let us test your control, no?"

He clapped his hands.

A door opened behind him.

Groff entered, silent as ever, carrying a silver tray. Upon it sat a small, raw heart—human, from the scent.

Frederique's stomach twisted violently. She could smell it. The iron tang, the pulsing life still clinging to the meat.

The hunger roared.

She felt Frideria surge, her teeth sharpening, claws flexing involuntarily.

"Focus!" Lysandro snapped.

The hunger pulled harder.

"Eat. Eat. EAT."

Frederique's lips parted...

And then Lysandro's voice cut through.

"NO. Look. Not with the body. With the mind."

She forced herself to focus, to shift her attention from the heart to the feeling it radiated. There was... pain. Loss. Regret, as if the final moments of this heart's owner lingered within it.

The hunger surged again, but differently. Less physical. More... abstract.

And as she focused, the emotions seemed to peel away from the heart in thin wisps of pale energy. The hunger latched onto the mist instead, not the flesh.

Frideria coiled tighter, no longer a beast clawing for control but a presence watching, learning alongside her.

Frederique inhaled.

The mist poured into her lips. Warm. Satisfying. But not overwhelming.

The heart remained untouched on the tray.

Lysandro clapped his hands, delighted.

"Magnificent! See? You can control it! Now, imagine what you could consume from a living target. Mmm, the panic, the dread... it tastes so much better when it's fresh."

Frederique exhaled shakily.

But she had done it.

She had fed.

Without losing herself.

"Again," Lysandro commanded, tossing the heart aside and summoning a new illusion... this time a pale figure trembling in fear, clutching his chest.

The hunger stirred.

And Frederique smiled.