Fiach was not fond of being sent to the human world. It seemed more of an imprisonment than a sanctuary. Filled with the iron and the artificial he could already feel an ache deep within his being. It was ... irritating. And the scenery? Very different from a royal upbringing. The mortal realm was bright in all the wrong ways, even the night was alight with electricity. This .. would take some getting used to.
When he came to the door steps of the mansion, a witch on either side of him, he looked up from under his hood, resembling his namesake in blackened profile. The abode reminded him of a oubliette, somewhere to put him and perhaps forget him. Yet he held his tongue. This was nothing in comparison to the Hunt. So what was worse? To be forgotten or death should he try to step foot back in his homeworld again? The idea of reclaiming what was his grew smaller and smaller despite the ice in his heart for what had become of him due to his own blood. Cael. His veins were frozen fury at the thought of his brother, a stark reminder. Suddenly the idea of returning to see his brother at his feet roared back to life and Fiach's strong jaw tightened visibly under the dim lights that bathed him and his guides.
Such was the way of the fairfolk. Easily slighted, scorned, and betrayal--coupled with lies? Those were the most blasphemous of actions. They did not take being scorned lightly, a tooth for a tooth was not always their way, but a tooth for a whole damn head certainly would suffice.
"Lord Fiach, are you alright?" One of the witches whispered, her voice was as delicate as cobwebs, and twice as old.
"I am as I will ever be." Was his response.
The second witch, her hair was a wild red bramble, didn't even hesitate giving the heavy front door three sturdy knocks. They waited.