(Collaborating with HiddenHaven)

Finn was led by the bartender down the long empty hallway, having no clue where it begins or ends. The wine-red runner carpet rustled under their travel boots and high heels. Just as the young man's mind started to wander, the bartender halted her steps in front of a heavy-looking door, resulting in a collision between Finn's hand and the woman's backside. Finn can't promise it was all but an accident. He had hoped for a warm and soft intimacy, but what he got was a cold and hard smack. And it hurt.

The bartender paid him no mind. She initiated three knocks on the dark wood, and it swung open at a man's deep vocal command.

"Magda, you may enter."

"Boss, Mr Finn is here." Though she had received permission, the bartender lady did not even set foot inside. She simply bowed and turned on her heels. The door shut in Finn's face with an ominous thud. The former park ranger stumbled backwards; he was being left alone in the dark. Blinking to come in tone with the dim interior, Finn turned around to take in his surroundings. The true scale of the room was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, and the only visible portion was being lit by a fire-breathing dragon!

"What the hell?" Finn's jaw nearly fell on his toes. His head crooked forward for a better view. Dragons aren't real, are they? It turned out to be a trick of the light, created by the stone fireplace modelled after the mystical creature. The orange glow revealed a scene straight out of ‘Lord of the Rings’ or ‘Game of Thrones’.

An imposing, long table meant for grand feasts or gatherings took the centre stage. Several chairs were scattered here and there, strategically placed within the warmth of the crackling fire. However, the real eye-catcher was the majestic, throne-worthy chair positioned between the table and the fireplace. Finn can't tell which way it was facing, but took it as away from him, judging from the two red glows hidden in the shadow of the chair's back. Perhaps they were some kind of decorative lights. Beyond the large chair, to the left and right of the fireplace, a range of...eclectic...items took up the empty space. Suits of armour, swords, axes, a drum set, guitars, basses, a poster of ‘Adventure Time’ ...

‘What a mess!’ A smile crept on Finn's lips. The room seemed unoccupied, even though he had heard a man's voice minutes ago. The young man's steps became bolder. His naked eyes couldn't see through the thick darkness to his right, so he did the reasonable thing and veered to his left. And that led to a solid collision with a piece of furniture, perhaps a table or a shelf. Loud and crisp metal ringing echoed across the wall of shadows. Finn held his breath until silence again descended upon this empty space. The young man's heartbeats thundered against his eardrums, but other than that, nothing, only the crackling of fire and his own breathing.

Then there was a sparkle; the dim shimmer of precious metal was almost blinding in the dark. Orange fire danced across various reflective surfaces. An overturned golden disc, several LEGO figurines, glass containers, and bling scattered around a silver shallow bowl. Finn, being a simple man as he is, fell immediately under the aureate spell. The former park ranger looked into a golden ring with a gigantic ruby, and saw a first-class flight ticket to Barcelona or Athens, a vacation in a five-star hotel, his ex begging to renew their relationship, and a better living condition in general. Stealing glances at his surroundings, Finn reached for the piece of jewellery, and the destination was his pocket.

"You are not only the flirty type, but also the sneaky type."

Finn's entirety froze, his head jerking towards the source of the voice. Horror engulfed him as a pale face surfaced the shadow of the tall chair in the way a corpse surfaced the dark water. The room seemed to grow colder. Finn shivered as he chocked on his own saliva. Where the hell was this man? Then, it dawned on him. Those two gleaming red lights in the chair's shadow, they were the man's eyes!

"Finn, isn't it? Come and sit with me."

The former park ranger felt compelled by the authority in the man's voice. Even though he’d rather turn on his heels and run, Finn found himself dragging one of the armchairs across the floor, making the poor piece of wood screeching against the crude stone. He was now face-to-face with the man, or corpse, or whatever being in between. The man in the throne-chair locked Finn in his glacial gaze. His hair, dark as the night, fell in unruly waves around his shoulders, the black locks melded seamlessly with the shadow that clung to him. His skin, a shade of haunting pale grey, stretched across the face of a man in his 40s or 50s. Not quite alive as the living, yet not as dead as the dead. A black jacket adorned his muscular frame; the glossy leather was more akin to a polished obsidian armour in the fiery shimmer. There was a jingle, from the many chains and necklaces around his neck, as the man leaned slightly forward.

"Do you like the ring?" He asked, his voice was as coarse and cold as the stone beneath their feet.

"Ye…yeah, nice jewel…" Finn swallowed hard into a dry and tight throat. How the heck did the man know? 

"Got it from a Venetian pawn shop. That rat of an owner dared to fool me with a fake. And guess what? He had the guts to bargain! Take it from me, boy. Never trust a Venetian! So, I gave him a little 'encouragement'. His assistant scurried out with the real deal when I pulled out the fifth tooth. Pity little rascal, could have earned his fair share. But it was good enough for him, at least he got to keep his life and teeth. I could have taken the teeth, you know, they are useful for charms."

A chill ran down the young man's spine as Finn shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He ran his tongue along his gum, trying to ease the phantom pain that pulsed through his jaw. The man across the table responded with a lopsided smile that oozed satisfaction.

"I hope I have made myself clear, boy. Magda said you have something interesting for me?"

"Yes, Mister, I mean, Mr Kvintus1807?"

"That is not me, Finny boy. You asked to see the owner, so here I am. And I thought I have made myself clear." The man's smile grew wider, sharper, and scarier.

"Yes, crystal clear, sir! Here..." Finn stammered, sweaty fingers fidgeting as he pulled out a tablet from his bag. With a few taps a photo was brought to the screen and then presented in the centre of the table. The photo depicted a sprawling, deserted mansion, surrounded by an expanse of dark forest; or at least the part of one being lit by camera flash. The club owner leaned back in his chair, casting a lazy glance at the photo then extending the intensity of his stare on to the former park ranger. He was waiting for an explanation.

"Oh, here." Those two burning coals were simply too much for a mere mortal like Finn to handle. The young man bowed his head low, his fingers trembling as he carefully zoomed in on one of the windows. The club owner's gaze shifted again, this time, he saw it. A black shape, a humanoid shadow, and when his eyes met with the pair of pale light that shone from the depth of the silhouette, a chill shoot down his spine.

"Tell me everything."

So Finn obliged, recounting his misadventure of the night. His listener never moved his eyes an inch from the photo, and remained in that position long after Finn had finished his tale.  

"Mister?" The young man's heart pounded in his chest. When he finally dared to speak, his voice raised along with his hope. Clearly the photo held more significance than he had anticipated. And it's a good sign for bargaining, isn't it?

"Have you shown the photo to others." The club owner finally torn his gaze away from the photo, but again Finn fell prey to those burning red coals.

"Maybe..." An idea came to the former park ranger, a bold but stupid idea. "There are a couple of websites and magazines...they knew, and have expressed interest..."

With feigned nonchalance, Finn extended his hand towards the tablet. But before he could touch it, a sudden, searing pain shot through his palm. His wide eyes were met with the horrifying sight of a dagger, driven into the table, pinning his hand in place. A scream, more of terror than pain, echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the shadowy walls.

"You are not only a thief, but also a liar." A chilling hiss slithered between two sharp fangs. The red-eyed man tightened his grip on the dagger, cruelly twisting it from side to side, sending shockwaves of agony through Finn's trembling form. The room seemed to spin around him.

In his moment of anguish, Finn heard the club owner call out to the door.

"Magda! If Madame Fatine of the Lyllaens is here, I’d like to see her."

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"My lord, you have summoned me?" A voice, Finn could hear, a mellifluous feminine voice was approaching him from behind. The former park ranger had long abandoned his futile whining and crying, they did him little good. Though not in agonising pain, Finn shivered from the cold and fear that gripped him. In the corner of his eye, he caught glimpse of skin of melted chocolate; satin and gossamer of peacock green, blue and purple; and the enchanted gleam of gold.

"Indeed, Madame Fatine. Please, have a seat."

Finn heard the subtle sounds of furniture being rearranged and the gentle rustle of fabrics. A scent, a blend of jasmine and sandal wood soothed his frayed nerve.

"My lord, I would have made myself more...presentable had I known you have a guest."

"It matters not, Madame Fatine. This young man has shared with me a most interesting story. Would you kindly remind him of further details?"

"Certainly, my lord." The alluring fragrance drew nearer. "Let us see. Ah, a young man, and a handsome one. What is your name?"

"Finn, Finn Norwood." The former park ranger replied, his gaze locked onto the wooden table before him, the least he wanted now was to offend another.

"Mr Norwood, look at me."

Finn could not grasp what he saw. A woman, a creature, in the form of a chocolate beauty. In place of her eyes, she had butterfly wings, the total four of them, two on each side of her face. These delicate wings, in hues of iridescent blue and purple, were adorned with intricate patterns. Her hair cascaded in purplish-brown waves that moved as though they were submerged in a gentle, invisible current. Then, from her back sprouted a pair of wings, a curious blend of those of the butterfly and bat, of delicacy and eerie elegance. Something unlike any from the natural world. These wings bore the patterns and hues that mirrored the ones on her face. All of them fluttered in an haunting grace.

Yet, it was her eyes—six in total, one at the tips of each of her four facial wings, two in where the middle of her brows should have been—that held Finn spellbound. Those pupil-less yellow orbs snared Finn, held him captivated like a fly in a spider web.

"Finn Norwood! Dream!"

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The forest trail snaked through the darkness, its narrow path unwavering beneath Finn's determined steps. He was on a quest, but what was it? Does it have something to do with dead animals? A fleeting wandering of his mind deviated the young park ranger from his path. The solid ground gave way to a quagmire, the earth itself tightened its grip around Finn's boot, pulling him deeper into the mud. No! Not here! Not now! Finn's arms flailed, desperate for any anchor—be it a branch, a tuft of grass, or even a slender reed. Anything! And then, his fingers brushed against something, something shaped like a rod. With every ounce of his strength, Finn threw himself towards this new-found salvation. He clung to it, his fingers digging into the rigid, matted fur of a...deer carcass, or what was left of one. Among the macabre tapestry of torn flesh, two murky grey orbs—perhaps its eyes—cast their hollow stare into the void. A gaping wound transformed the animal's throat into a grotesque maw; together with its exposed rib cage, they emitted a silent scream.

Finn melted down. He let go.

Strangely what awaited Finn was not his muddy demise. The park ranger fluttered his eyes open and found himself on a bed of stones. Smooth, evenly hewn stones. Pavement stones. What choice did he have now? Finn followed the moss-covered path, mist swirled around his ankles, night creatures sang their mournful songs from the unseen distance. Weathered statues, the marble semblance of angels and nymphs, stared down at him from their ivy-entwined pedestals. Some veiled their faces in sorrow, while others gestured in rejection toward the trespasser. A few pointed back from whence he came. A silent warning etched in stone.

Though the very fabric of his existence screamed for him to turn around, Finn felt compelled to move forward. Beyond the archway he saw it, a mansion. Once a grandeur of mason-art now stood in its desolate twilight, the surrounding dark woods was its sole company. A painted sky domed over the landscape, it was a canvas full of shapes and constellations that are beyond Finn's comprehension. Their mere presence filled him with a deep sense of dread, and the sight of them felt like a cruel assault on his mortal sanity. 

Beneath this artificial celestial vault, a most unexpected scene unfolded. A garden party was in full swing. Stretching from the entrance archway to the dilapidated facade of the mansion, a long table groaned under the weight of an abundance of sweets: cakes, cookies, candies, and other delectable finger foods. Tea was being poured from hand-painted porcelain teapot. All so colourful, all so lifeless. The air was sweetened with the aroma of chocolate and brandied cherries. A dark figure, in the form of swirling black mist that refused to settle into a distinct shape, took the host's seat at the far end of the table. Its icy blue glare cut into Finn's flesh as well as his frail sanity. A pulsing sound hammered his thin nerve, a beating, from a human heart within the depth of the amorphous inky cloud. Living trees, many of them, sat in the guests' places. Their roots spread far and wide, their branches entwined, their leaves rattled and hissed a low warning.

Run!

So Finn did, he ran through a troubled childhood, with an alcoholic father and a silent mother. The adolescence wasn't too bad, there was a divorce, and he was lucky enough to stay with his mother. He barely saw her in his teenager years, she was either asleep or at work. Finn never complained, but deep down he knew, under his human skin was an insatiable gaping hole of neglect and emptiness. So he became a daredevil, a breaker of hearts, a wanderer from place to place, always seeking, always wanting more. Perhaps it was time for him to go home. When was the last time he called his mother? Go home...    

Finn woke up in tears, a single phrase echoing in his mind: ‘go home’! The young man's hand had been freed from the cold steel grip of the dagger. He swept everything out of his way, the chairs, the heavy dark wood door, curtains, people…Finn was again in the dark alley. And he ran, to no particular direction, just away from that damned place! As far as possible! Finn faltered at the edge of insanity, being chased by his own shadow and many more! Their icy touch was almost tangible against his skin. In the depth of his despair, a light shone in the distance. However faint and small it was, Finn hurtled towards the light like a moth drawn to a flame. It must be the lantern! The lantern that marked the entrance to the alley. 

When Finn finally broke free from the clutching darkness, he found himself in the jovial company of the four French friends.

"Yo, Jambe de Poison, did you see a ghost?" La Taupe quipped, tossing the kebab roll back to Finn, which he caught was a trembling hand. Yes, his hand! The dagger! The young man screamed silently as he saw the perfect integrity of his hand, there was no wound, not even a cut or scratch. And the roll? It was still warm. Finn jerked to his right, the same vacant shop, the same cold dark rusty lantern.

A wave of exhaustion swept over the young man's entire being. His arms dropped to the sides, and his fingers brushed against something in his pocket – the ring! Finn was no expert in antique, but the jewel did bear the weight of time and authenticity. Glancing one last time at the alley way, at the darkness that took away part of him, Finn moved on.

Perhaps it was time for him to go home.

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"I hope you have what you seek, my lord." Madame Fatine drew her gaze away from the dramatic exit of the human, the corners of her lips curling into a half-smile.

"Yes...yes, Madame Fatine..." The club owner hummed. "Can you locate this mansion our guest spoke of?"

"I will see what I can do, my lord."

A map was carefully laid out on the table. The Lyllaen placed one hand above the tablet left by Finn, taking care not to touch the screen. With her other hand, she produced an amethyst pendulum. The crystal spun indecisively. Madame Fatine's brows knotted, she whispered something, perhaps a spell. The pendulum hesitated for a heartbeat, then resumed its back-and-forth swing.

"Your forgiveness, my lord. Mr. Norwood is only a human, and a mortal mind has its limit." The Lyllaen sighed in frustration.

"You have done enough, Madame Fatine. Rest now, you have my thanks." The club owner paused before adding. "Only half of the tither is required this year. But you must not speak of what you saw today to another." He leaned back, tall and straight, his mere presence an iron menace.

"You have my word, none other shall know of the sign of the black Ichor."

The cold flame in the club owner's eyes intensified, searing into the very essence of the butterfly creature, causing her to bow her head in deference.

"My apology, my lord. The full annual tither will be delivered to your desk." She whispered. "But if I may so boldly suggest, black forest cake will aid you on the quest of seeking out this presence. I shall take my leave now." Madame Fatine rose from her seat, like a butterfly took flight from a flower, satin and gossamer left a trail of shimmer behind her. She bowed once more and excused herself. The club owner watched her graceful exit with a dismissal nod, then he noticed another figure at his door.

"Oh, my lord, you don't have to do that." Magda, the bartender, leaned against the door frame, a wide grin adorning her face. "You should have seen how he sprinted! I swear, he might have broken a world record! Luckily he didn't cause any personal or property damage."

"He touched you with that hand." Slouching deeper into the chair cushion, the club owner grumbled, a scowl darkening his features. "I don't like that kid, he's got no honour, no guts, no wit. But what do you expect from a broken young man like him? Unlike me, Madame Fatine knows the merit of mercy. He has learned his lesson. "

"And he's well-compensated." The woman shrugged nonchalantly. "My lord, did you really extract five teeth of a Venetian merchant for a ring?"

"Of course I did!" A sparkle of crimson pride flickered in the club owner's eyes. "But that was not for the ring. I never did care much of that old trinket. It was for something else." 

The bartender shrugged again, keeping comments to herself.

"Magda, tell Shagal to do something about the supplier. I'm sick of subpar alcohol. "

"Of course, my lord." The bartender offered a respectful bow. "Are you having your dinner in your room or with the others tonight?"

"I will be skipping dinner tonight...No, wait, save it for me for later. I'm going out for a flight."