Third Day

17th day of the 11th moon, 1105 HC

Damion wakes up squeezed into the blankets at the foot of the bed, wrapping tightly around him because they're tucked under the mattress. He's completely enveloped by them. He opens his eyes and still sees nothing.

The tightness around his body is comforting. He's still feeling the emotional after effects of last night. He still feels overwhelmed at all he needs to do, figure out, and learn in order to live his life. There is a little voice buried in his mind that wishes he could still have that simple life with Mulsae.

He pushes his way out of the cocoon of covers. There's not even really thought to moving, he's just been still for so long and it's time to move again. He sighs at the dawn's morning light. Another day.

He lumbers into the bathing chamber, hops into the tub and turns on the tap. He lets the water warm up around his skin. He sits back and just soaks in the water.

"Bank morning, Fal afternoon," he says to himself. I can do this.

He finishes bathing himself and puts on one of those neat robes made of towel material. He goes back into the other room and groans at the sight of the chair he broke last night. Stupid stupid stupid.

He slumps into the other chair. He feels like shit. Shouldn't I be happy? I was just freed after two years of sexual torture and humiliation. I should be floating in glee. Instead I'm slumped in a chair feeling anxious and worried. What the fuck?

He continues to admonish himself and slumps down low in the chair. If I'm so stupid I can't manage living in this room, how am I going to manage living out there?

He groans and slides off the chair onto the floor. He goes completely limp. His mind blanks out, like someone flipped a switch inside him. No thoughts, no feelings, just weight pressing him into the floor. He lies there, not really aware of time passing.

Then a thought flickers through the haze, "get to the bank," and his body obeys before he can question it. He just stands up and walks over to the robes he received yesterday. He's puzzled a bit. He feels better. He can move more freely. But he puts the confusion aside and just puts on the robe and heads out the door.

Damion walks out onto the front porch and realizes he doesn't even know how to get out of this palace complex. Fuck. And if he did get out, he wouldn't know how to get back to this building. Godsdamnit.

He slumps onto the stairs in frustration. Even trying to get into the city is a problem. Stupid. He then realizes he could do what he does best: fly. He stands and steps out from under the porch roof, spreads his wings wide and jumps into the air with a mighty flap.

He flies over the city having no idea where to go. Where would a bank be? I don't even know how to get to the bank. Stupid. He sighs and scrubs his face as he glides. Maybe I should start at the city center and work my way out.

He flies high so he can see the whole city and analyze the street patterns. There does seem to be an area that looks like the rest of the city was built around it. He decides to give it a chance and flies towards it.

He circles around what he assumes is the city center trying to identify the buildings as he passes by. He actually doesn't have to do this for too long because he finds the bank a block away from the city center! It's a stone building that looks well made and sturdy. And a sign across the front says 'Bank of Marsh Sanctum', just what he was looking for.

He lands in front of the bank and walks in. It is decadent. More decadent than the palace complex by far. He feels he doesn't belong. He's only wearing a robe. He doesn't even have any shoes on. He feels so out of place and has no idea where to go. Stupid.

A Sky-Touched man walks up to him, "How may I help you today?"

Damion feels even more intimidated. This man is dressed like he's attending royalty. And here he is in a robe and wind swept hair. Fuck.

"Uhh, I was given a bank account yesterday. I was told to come here and learn how to access it," he says bashfully while rubbing the back of his neck.

"I can help with that, let's go to my desk," the man says kindly and then gestures for Damion to follow him.

They sit at the incredibly constructed desk. It's solid with carvings up the corners and around the edge of the top. And the top, gods, it is polished to a mirror finish. The desk is impeccable with everything perfectly ordered and not a drop of dust.

"Do you have the account information?"

Damion pulls out the parchment and hands it to him, "This is what I was given."

"Ahh, yes!" he exclaims, "I'm the one who wrote this," he lowers his gaze at Damion, "You are now one wealthy individual."

Damion blushes, "That's what I've heard."

"Alright, you want to learn how to access your funds, is that correct?" Damion nods in confirmation and the banker patiently explains the process to withdraw funds. He gives Damion a small stack of duplicate withdrawal forms and puts them in a folder. Oh gods oh gods oh gods. This is so complicated. How the fuck am I going to manage this?

"Would you like to withdraw funds today?"

"Yes. Please." The banker then proceeds to help Damion fill out the withdrawal form.

"How much would you like to withdraw?"

"I wouldn't know," Damion says bashfully.

"What do you intend to do with this money you're withdrawing?" the banker says still being kind and patient.

"Well, I have to buy a new wardrobe. I'm going clothes shopping this afternoon," he says while rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

"Alright," he writes down a number, "How about this much?"

"Umm, I think it's fine," he says unsure.

"Then you're all set. Take this form to a teller and they'll give you your funds," the banker smiles kindly.

"Thank you," he says as he stands. He doesn't know what the etiquette is. Should he bow? He has no fucking clue. He rushes away just to run away from the problem. Stupid.

Damion walks up to a teller and hands him the completed withdrawal form. The teller is a small Sylvaran Windborne with green wings flecked with azure. He sits on a high stool so he's eye level with Damion.

The teller silently accepts the form and looks through it. He then flutters up and glides out into a back room. He's gone for a bit then comes back with a tray heavy laden in coins. Damion gawks.

The teller proceeds to count all of the coins to verify with Damion that this is the requested amount. He ends the transaction with a curt, "Have a nice day."

Damion blinks and doesn't move. How do I carry all these coins?

The teller speaks up, annoyed, "Is there a problem?"

Damion's throat bobs as he swallows, "I don't know how to carry all of this."

The teller sighs loudly, "You didn't bring anything?"

"I literally own nothing. I don't even own this robe. I'm not even wearing shoes," Damion spills his frustration.

The teller flutters up to peer over the counter at Damion's feet to confirm that, yes, he is barefoot. The teller's eyes widen.

"How about if you go purchase a coin purse and then come back," the teller suggests, annoyed.

"I don't have any money."

The teller sighs dramatically, "Fine! I'll reverse this transaction, and we'll do another one with a smaller amount of money that you can carry and go buy a coin purse."

The teller whips out a form and angrily fills it out then shoves it in front of Damion and growls at him to sign it. He whips out a withdrawal form and angrily fills it out, too. He slides it across the counter, "This much should get you a coin purse, okay?" Damion nods, "Then sign it." Damion obeys.

The teller angrily grabs the tray laden with coins and flutters into the back room.

Fuuuuuck. Damion feels so humiliated. This feels just like when Mulsae humiliated him, except he doesn't have anyone to blame but himself. I'm just so stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

The teller comes out with a tray that has only a handful of coins on it. He counts the coins with Damion, then dismisses him with a, "Have a good day."

Damion collects the coins, puts them in his pocket and leaves. He was going to ask where he could buy a coin purse, but the teller clearly wants him gone.

He walks out onto the street. People of all shapes and sizes are walking about. I have no fucking clue what type of stores sell coin purses. Stupid. He feels like he could cry out of frustration. He wants to run and scream and curl up into a ball and cry.

He takes a step, then another step. One foot in front of the other leads him down the block. There are stores here, but which should he try? He walks and looks at all the establishments. He walks around the entire city center then goes a block further and walks all around the city center once again.

One store nearby caught his eye so he decides to gird himself to be stupid again asking stupid questions. He walks in and a bell above him chimes. There are items on display. Nothing looks like a coin purse.

"Good day!" exclaims the proprietor, "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a coin purse," Damion says shyly.

"I'm sorry, I don't sell things like that." I knew it, I'm so stupid for coming in here. "But I'm sure the general store keeps some in stock."

Damion perks up. He saw an establishment that called itself a general store. "Really? Thank you!" he exclaims and practically skips out of the store.

He wanders around a bit before he can find the general store again. He goes inside and there is a clerk at a long counter. No items are on display.

"Can I help you?" the clerk says gruffly.

"I'm looking for a coin purse," Damion says tentatively.

"How big?" the clerk is curt and to the point.

"Umm, I don't know. I have this many coins," he holds out his hands to demonstrate the size the bank teller had originally presented to him.

"You'll need three large ones to hold all of that!" The clerk exclaims.

"Is that a lot?" Damion asks as he rubs the back of his neck.

The clerk eyes him suspiciously, "Why do you need so much all at once?"

"I need a new wardrobe. This robe is all I have," Damion picks at the robe.

"Why don't you just have the store debit your account for you?" the clerk asks incredulously.

"What?" Damion blinks.

"Local stores work with local banks to transfer funds so folk don't have to walk around with so much money."

Damion has hit his limit. He's hungry and frustrated and just can't take any more. He collapses forward and bangs his head on the counter. This is too much. My day has just started and this is too much.

"This is not the place for dramatics!" the clerk admonishes.

"I'm sorry," Damion says without lifting his head from the counter top, "So much has been thrown at me so fast. I'm just so overwhelmed."

"Get out and have your pity party elsewhere!" the clerk exclaims while pointing at the door.

Damion straightens, "Can I please buy one of each size coin purse you have?"

The clerk narrows his eyes at him then grunts and heads into the storeroom. He returns after a few moments with three coin purses, "One small, one medium, and one large coin purse."

The clerk tells him how much it is. Damion pulls the money out of his pocket and stares at it dumbly. He doesn't know what the coins mean.

"Umm," Damion swallows, "Can you take it out of this?"

The clerk eyes Damion up and down then narrows his eyes. He turns to Damion's coins and flicks coins towards himself one by one until he's collected about three fourths of how much Damion had. The clerk shoves the remaining money back at him and collects his portion. Damion has no idea if he is being scammed or not. Stupid.

The clerk puts the coin purses in a bag and shoves it towards Damion. "Good day," the clerk says curtly. Damion nods, takes his bag and leaves.

He gets outside and wants to burst into tears. I'm in over my head. I can't handle this. This is all too much. I want to just spend my day training and reading with Mulsae, not dealing with all of this bullshit.

Damion sulks over to the bank and back to the snippety teller. He puts the bag on the counter and pulls out each of the purses.

"I've been told I don't need to withdraw all that money because the store will handle the transfer of funds," Damion says with exhaustion.

"That is common here, yes," the teller says with pursed lips.

"I just need some money for incidental expenses. Can you help me with that? Some money I can leave in my room," he places a hand on the large purse, "and some money to carry around," he puts his hand on the little purse.

The teller narrows his eyes at him then sighs dramatically. He whips out a withdrawal form and fills it out.

"Withdraw this much," he says pointing at the number. It's about a third of what Damion originally withdrew. Damion nods and signs the form. The teller flutters to the back room.

The teller returns with a tray of coins not nearly as laden as it was before. The teller counts the money with Damion and then ends with a curt, "Have a nice day."

Damion scoops the coins into the large purse, puts it in the shopping bag and heads out. He sighs deeply once he's on the street again. That was such a humiliating and agonizing ordeal. He turns a little hopeful. At least I won't be clothes shopping alone. It will be nice to spend time with someone else.

Damion holds the shopping bag tightly, spreads out his wings and jumps into the sky. He flies over the city, to the palace complex, and back to his room's terrace. He notices his bed has been made, and the broken chair has been replaced.

He plops the bag on the table and takes out the large and medium purses. He transfers some coins to the medium purse then puts the large purse back in the bag, folds the bag over itself and stuffs it under the bed.

He is exhausted. That experience was so draining. If I weren't such a stupid brute it wouldn't have been so hard. He flops onto the bed face first. I'm just a soldier. I'm just a pet. I'm not built to handle all of these complications. I'm built to follow orders. Just a stupid, stupid brute.

He kicks his feet to scramble himself onto the bed fully. His stomach growls. I guess being stupid burns a lot of energy. He hasn't eaten yet. He doesn't even know where to eat. He's too exhausted to solve the problem and falls asleep.

=*=

"Hi Damion, it's me," sings a female voice.

Damion jumps up and off the bed, "Sorry! Sorry! I fell asleep."

"I'm sorry I woke you," Falloway says sadly.

"It's okay, I've been waiting for you." He scrubs the sleepiness off his face.

Falloway smiles. She looks radiant. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, please, lead the way, I have no idea where anything is." She chuckles. Damion swipes the coin purse off the table before exiting the room with her.

Falloway leads Damion through the palace complex of Reedrest. He already feels better. He's not alone. Just being with someone seems to ground him. He takes a lung full of air for seemingly the first time today.

She walks them through the city, pointing out the architecture and notable historic facts as they walk. Damion is enjoying listening to her and the sound of her voice. All his problems are forgotten, he can just be with her. Be in the Right Now.

She leads him into a store that appears to be specifically for men's clothing. She walks through looking over the clothes with a discerning eye. He glances around. He has no idea what looks good and what doesn't.

"May I help you?" the attendant asks.

"We're here to buy this big boy some new clothes!" Falloway pats Damion on the chest. It feels great to be touched by someone that isn't Mulsae.

"I have no idea what to wear," he says bashfully.

The attendant points at the wooden models displaying full outfits, "We could start by looking at these styles. Do any of them stand out to you?"

Damion looks them over. He doesn't know what a quality style would be if it hit him in the face.

"They're all adequate," he decides to respond with a non-decision.

Falloway walks up to one of the outfits, "I think this one would look good on your wide shoulders."

"Okay," Damion has no idea what the next thing to do is.

The attendant goes over to a rack then asks, "What's your size?"

Damion blinks, "I have no idea."

She hums, "Let's go with an extra large." She pulls a shirt out from the rack, then goes to another rack with pants. She pulls out two and approaches Damion and holds each up to his waist. She puts one back then hands the pants and shirt to Damion.

"The fitting alcove is over there," she points to the back of the store. What's a fitting alcove? He wanders over to where she's pointing and sees a small alcove with a mirror in it and a curtain over the threshold. Ahh, it's a place to try on clothes.

He goes into the alcove and pulls the curtain closed. He whips off the robe and puts on the shirt and pants. He looks in the mirror. They're clothes, does it matter what he looks like? He's never had to be concerned with it.

He steps out and the two women coo at him, "So handsome!" and "Looks great!"

"Okay. So I'll purchase these?" Damion asks.

"Yup," Falloway says, "And now I must be off." Damion's expression falls. She's leaving? "Sorry I can't shop with you all afternoon! Would love to but I've got other things to do."

The anxiety and worry and the weight of the world comes crashing back into Damion. "Okay," is about the only thing he can muster to say.

Falloway smiles brightly at Damion, "Alright, you buy some more clothes, and I will see about getting you that rental." She puts her hand on Damion's arm, "I'll see you later."

Then she turns and exits the store. Damion just stands there overwhelmed. Alone. Again.

The attendant gets his attention, "Is there anything else you need?"

"I need a whole wardrobe."

"A whole wardrobe?"

"I don't own any clothes at all," he looks down at his feet, "I don't even own shoes."

Her eyes widen, "How did that happen?"

"Umm," he rubs his hand behind his neck, "I was a soldier. Then a lot of embarrassing things happened and now I have absolutely nothing. Except for a bank account with apparently a good amount of money in it."

She cocks an eyebrow, "Embarrassing things, eh?"

He shifts his gaze to the floor, "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's alright," she says brightly, "You're here for clothes, not chatting." I'd love to chat with you all afternoon.

"How much clothing do you want to buy?"

"What would be good to get started?"

"Perhaps three pants and five shirts. You'll also want socks and underwear. And maybe some undershirts."

"Okay," he says dumbly, "That's all great."

"Are there any others of these outfits you like?" she gestures at the wooden models displaying outfits.

"Couldn't I just buy five of these shirts?" he picks at the shirt he's tried on.

She chuckles, "Besides the fact that I don't even have five of them in stock, you don't want to wear the same thing all the time!"

"I don't?" Fuck.

"No! Everyone is expected to wear a different outfit every day."

This sounds exhausting. "People pay attention to that?"

"Oh yes, people notice if you wear an outfit two days in a row. They'll think you don't clean yourself!"

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Damion puts a hand to his brow. Now I have to manage multiple outfits? He sighs.

"Okay, can you pick out five outfits for me?"

"Really? You just want me to dress you?"

"Please. I really don't care about what I wear."

"Okay!" she says excitedly. She merrily skips around selecting shirts and pants. She returns with her haul, "Try all of these on to see if they fit."

"I have to take on and off all of these clothes?" This sounds exhausting.

"Yes, we need to ensure they fit you," she cocks her hip and puts her hand on it, "You seem like a newborn!" She chuckles, "I'm explaining everything to you. Where are you from? I haven't seen your type of Windborne before," she reaches out for his wing, "I've never seen such red and orange wings like these before." Damion deftly dodges her touch. She gets the signal and doesn't try to touch his wing again.

"I'm an Emberai."

The attendant's face falls, "From the Sanctum of the Cutting Deep?"

"Yes."

She gasps and takes a step back clutching the pile of clothing in her arms defensively. Damion is confused.

"Is something wrong?"

"I've heard of your kind. You're dangerous."

Damion blushes and lowers his gaze, "Only to my enemies."

She shakes her head, "I think you should go."

"What?" he's crestfallen.

"Please, go," she looks pale.

"May I buy what I'm wearing?" he gives a pleading expression.

"Just keep them. Collect your things and go," she takes another step back.

Damion nods slowly and goes into the fitting room to fetch his robe and coin purse.

He starts to walk out, "I'm sorry," he says sadly. She just watches him carefully.

He steps out of the shop into the open air. Fuck. What the fuck? At least Mulsae had stopped humiliating me. And now all the Sanctum Masters got together and have thrown me into a pit of humiliation all over again. He wants to scream. He wants to punch the wall. But now he can't show any sign of aggression because he's Emberai. Fuuuuuck.

Damion unfurls his wings and leaps into the sky. He lands on his terrace with a thud, storms inside, tosses the robe and coin purse in a corner, and grabs a pillow off the bed. He buries his face in it and screams. Then screams again, muffled and raw.

I need a fucking drink. He tosses the pillow aside, snatches the coin purse from the floor, and storms back out. Fuck this shit.

He flies to the outskirts of the city and looks for something that looks like a tavern. It takes him a while, but he finds something. He enters and immediately is relieved to find a bar.

He slides up to the bar and orders a double shot of mistburn. The bar tender obliges and Damion swallows it with one gulp. He hasn't drank alcohol in two years. Fuck, it feels good. He feels the burn down his throat and warmth start to bloom in his body.

"Anything else?" the bartender asks while stereotypically wiping a stereotypical glass with a stereotypical white cloth.

"Whatever will make me forget shit for a while," Damion groans. The bartender pours him another double.

A tall woman with bright red hair and crystal red eyes saunters up to Damion. She places a hand on his shoulder and slips into the chair next to him.

"I hear you're looking to forget things," she purrs.

"Yup," Damion grunts.

"For a price, I could make you forget things," she leans in close, invading Damion's space. Oh, he does not mind. He leans towards her and their cheeks just barely touch. It feels delicious.

"I bet you could make me forget things," he coos in her ear. She runs her hand down Damion's arm to his thigh as Damion noses her jaw line drinking in her scent.

"Would you like to go upstairs and forget things with me?" she whispers in his ear and nips at his earlobe.

But then she freezes. She pokes at Damion's caged cock through his pants. She runs a nail along the bars to get a feel for what it is.

"Are you wearing a cock cage?!" she asks incredulously, all hint of seduction evaporated, "I didn't realize you were a pixie," she says loudly.

"I am not..." he says even louder, then lowers his voice to stop drawing attention, "I am not a pixie," he hisses.

"Why the fuck would you cage your cock if you aren't a pixie?" she narrows her eyes at him.

"It's... I was..." he struggles to figure out how to explain succinctly, "I was cursed. I can't take it off."

She starts to slide off the stool, "Sorry for your predicament, but I don't know what you thought you were going to do with me without a cock," she leaves with a passing remark, "You probably should just be a pixie."

Damion drops his head to the bar top with a loud thunk. He calls out, "Another double, please."

Fuuuuuck.

Damion sits up and gulps down his drink as the bartender slides the next cup over to him.

"Cock cage, huh?" the bartender asks casually.

Damion nods. "Oh, and if you'll believe it, an anal plug, too!" Damion is drunk. His tolerance to alcohol is gone after being sober for two years. He swallows the double shot anyway.

The bartender hums in thought, "I know a crowd into that sort of thing," he says nonchalantly.

Damion cocks an eyebrow, "What?"

"Most people think it's weird and get turned off, but these folks find it hot."

"Really? Someone would find it hot?"

"You don't think it's hot?"

"No, it's humiliating," Damion says with a sneer.

The bartender shrugs, "It depends upon your opinion whether humiliation is a problem or a desire." Damion narrows his eyes.

The bartender pulls out a piece of parchment and writes an address on it, "Here," he hands Damion the parchment, "That type of people hang out at this bar. Why don't you try hanging out there for a night and see what you think of them."

Damion takes the parchment and looks at it. He's a little wobbly as he moves from all the alcohol. "Okay," he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, "Another drink, okay?"

The bartender chuckles, "Sure."

People who could accept me as I am? Mulsae told me to find people who will accept me just as I am. Maybe I should go there. Maybe tomorrow.

He gulps some of his drink.

Gods, it's not even dinner time and I'm already drunk. What the fuck am I supposed to do for the rest of the day? For tomorrow? The day after that? The rest of my godsdamn life?

He gulps down the last of his drink. The alcohol has hit his bladder. He gets up and stumbles over into the bathroom. There's a long trough against one wall to pee in, and an enclosed area with a toilet to shit. Well, I don't need to shit but it's the only way I can pee with this godsdamn cock cage.

He goes in the enclosed area and sits down and hears the door open to the main area. He pees. After being forced to pee while looking at Mulsae's eyes, I can manage peeing when someone is nearby.

He flushes and opens the door to the enclosure to a man just standing there. He has a large build, but Damion still has him beat.

"So it's true," the male says, "A big boy like you is a pixie."

"No, I'm not," he says while swaying.

The male hums and puts his hands on Damion's shoulders and drags them down his chest, "I think you are." Someone actually touching Damion feels great. He's felt so alone, and now he isn't alone.

The male ushers Damion back into the enclosure and shuts the door. "See? You like it," the man purrs. Damion just wants to be touched and held. He just doesn't want to be alone anymore.

The man unties his pants and releases his length. He pumps it a few times then puts his hand on Damion's shoulder and pushes down. Damion starts to slide down, but then he realizes what this man expects!

Damion bolts up, "No, no," his words are slurred, "I don't do that. I don't do that. Never again. Never."

The man reaches up to Damion's mouth and pulls down his lower lip. Damion lets his mouth open and the man inserts three fingers.

"But this mouth would look so pretty on my cock," he purrs, "And oh! Look at this," he fiddles with Damion's tongue ring, "You've even got a tongue ring." He sticks his fingers down Damion's throat and he swallows them down. The man bucks and moans, "You're made for it," he thrusts his hands in and out of Damion's mouth.

Damion doesn't do anything. He feels like he's not supposed to do anything. Someone has him and is using him and his task is to endure and try to enjoy what he can.

The man removes his fingers and pumps his cock with his saliva covered hand. He puts his other hand on Damion's shoulder and pushes down. Damion goes down to his knees.

He rubs his cock on Damion's face, "Comon, open up for me, baby, open up," he moans.

Damion zones out. He goes to the far away place he goes to when his body is being used. He opens his mouth, the man promptly thrusts his cock in and makes Damion gag.

"Gag on my cock, baby," the man pants as he thrusts.

The man crowds Damion and pushes his head up against the wall. His head can't move. He just has a cock thrusting down his throat and his job is to endure. Tears leak from his eyes.

The man withdraws, "I want to fuck that ass of yours, baby." He pulls Damion up and turns him around and presses him into the wall. He unties his pants, ripping them as he does and shoves them down to Damion's thighs.

The male reaches around and fondles Damion's cock cage, "It really is there. It's so hot. Your cock is trapped. You're just designed to be fucked."

Mulsae designed me, Damion thinks numbly. He designed me and shaped me to be fucked, and I guess that's all I'm useful for now.

The man gets a grip on the anal plug and pulls. He pulls forcefully, quickly, Damion grunts in discomfort as the flare comes out.

"Wow, this is big. You keep this in you all the time?" he ruts against Damion, "You must be so loose." He drops the plug on the dirty floor.

The man sticks a dry finger into Damion and feels around and pulls on the rim, "You are so godsdamn loose. I bet you can take me just the way you are."

Damion whimpers. He's been changed and altered. Designed to be fucked.

The man notches his cock and pushes in. Not carefully like Mulsae did. No, this male goes quick. Damion gasps in pain.

"You like that, baby, don't you," he growls.

"No, I don't," Damion whines, "It's too fast."

The man continues thrusting, "A loose little girl like you? You can take it. You can take it all." He speeds up and pounds harder and deeper. Damion whimpers and moans. The man just continues.

This man doesn't think about Damion. He doesn't care how he feels. He just wants what he thinks he deserves.

I miss Mulsae, Damion laments. This felt so good with him. I want Mulsae to be here.

The man quickens his pace then gives one last mighty thrust and holds, grunting. His seed spills into Damion as he pants in Damion's ear. "Good little girl," he whispers.

He pulls himself out quickly and Damion grimaces. He puts himself back in his pants and ties them.

"Gods, thanks for the fuck. It was great," the man says unceremoniously as he walks out of the enclosure. Damion just stays there unmoving. His cheek and hands are against the wall. Seed is dripping from his hole. He hurts. The door to the bathroom opens and closes as the man leaves.

Damion pulls up his pants then slowly bends over to grab the anal plug off the floor. He rinses the plug under the icy tap, his hands shaking. He hates the dirty soap smell but endures it anyway. He needs to put it back in or he'll ruin his only pair of pants.

He finishes washing it then bends over and pulls down his pants. He slowly presses the anal plug back in. But no oil, and his hole is sore from abuse. He doesn't want to ruin his pants, though, so he endures. That's what he's good at: enduring. He presses, and groans, and wiggles, and whimpers, and thrusts. He's at it for awhile, but it pops back in. He sighs. He's exhausted.

He pulls his pants up and sees that they've been ripped. Fuuuuuck! Godsdamnit. He clenches the sink in front of him and seethes. Now I have to get another fucking pair of pants.

His anger passes and he stumbles out of the bathroom and back to the bar. The bartender sees him, "I was getting worried you bailed on me."

"No, I'm here. Let me pay," he stumbles onto the stool but it hurts his ass so he stands. The bartender hands him the bill.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" Damion takes a chance.

"No, you can't have a loan."

"No no, I have money," he takes out his coin purse and dumps the coins, "Can you just tell me what each of these coins mean?"

"You don't know how much they're worth?" He narrows his eyes at Damion.

"No. I'm new," he blushes.

"New to all of Harmura?"

"Most of it, yeah, you could say that," he sighs, "Can you please tell me?"

The bartender shrugs, "This is one, five, you don't have a ten, and this one is worth twenty."

"Okay, thank you so much," Damion is relieved. He counts out the coins based on what the bartender just taught him and pushes forward the amount, "Did I get it right?"

"Yeah, I was watching you. You got it right," he says with a jerk of his chin.

Damion scoops the rest of the coins into his coin purse, "Thank you, and thanks for the recommendation."

"Good luck," the bartender says as Damion stumbles away, "Looks like you need it."

Fucking understatement, Damion thinks as he stumbles out the door.

He's bombarded with the bright light of late afternoon. I still have so much of this day to get through. Days to get through. A whole life to get through. Fuck.

Damion blinks bleary eyes at the sun then unfurls his wings and leaps into the sky. He tries to make the turn towards the palace complex but his wing positioning is off and instead veers awkwardly. He becomes disoriented from not being where he expected to be, his drunkenness compounds the disorientation, and his attempt at a correction is an utter failure.

His wings lose lift and he begins free falling. He twists and tumbles trying to get back into proper orientation, but he just isn't high enough, and the ground is coming quickly. He crashes into the street.

He just lays there a moment trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. He eventually tries to stand up and uses his right arm but it collapses under him and he smashes his face into the street once again. His arm is screaming in pain.

Fuck, my wings! He's landed on the right one. He rolls off of it and raises it up. It hurts so fucking bad. He can't even get a full assessment because it's just flooded with pain. Fuuuuuck! He starts to panic. His panting becomes deep and fast but less and less air is getting in. Razorblades start to fill his lungs.

Someone crouches down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "We've called for help," she says, "Just stay still, we've called for help."

He sees shadows of multiple people standing around him. Fuuuuuck.

The razorblades in his lungs are becoming the dominant problem. He needs to calm down. Fuck. Where is Mulsae's voice when I need him? Fuck fuck fuck. Breath in, breath out, breath in, out. Where the fuck is Mulsae?

The original person leaves and two more people crouch down next to him. "We're here to help you. We're going to take you to the hospital, okay?" Damion nods.

"Okay, I'm going to move your left wing." Damion jumps and pulls the wing in tight before anyone touches it. Pain screams through him.

A long narrow platform is placed to his left. "We're going to help you crawl over onto the stretcher and then lay you down on it, okay?" Damion nods. They support his shoulders as he carefully crawls the short distance to the stretcher. He lays down on his stomach.

"We need to fold your right wing so you can fit into the wagon," someone touches his wing as they spoke the warning and Damion jumps again and tries to retract his right wing. But it won't go. Someone is touching his wing and moving it. No no no! He tries to crawl away from whoever it is.

"You need to stay on the stretcher," he gets caged on the other side by someone preventing him from getting away from the one manipulating his wing. He struggles and then they stop touching his wing. He sighs in relief.

"I think that's closed enough. He's clearly sensitive about his wings," the one on the right says.

The stretcher suddenly lifts and moves. It rocks with their steps. They reach another platform and he is slid on top. His wing touches something but it folds easily by whatever it is his wing is brushing against.

Then he's moving again. It's bumpy and he rocks side to side. The jostling hurts a bit. He rides like this for awhile and then they stop. Damion is relieved. It was an awful ride.

His stretcher is pulled off the larger platform. He's carried into a building. They walk him into a room and raise the stretcher so it is level with a high bed.

"We need you to crawl onto this bed here, okay?" Damion nods and works on shifting over to the bed while someone helps him.

Someone touches his right wing. He jumps and almost falls off the bed. "I need to assess your wing," she says sternly. She touches his wing again and he flinches again, barely hanging on the bed.

She gets into Damion's face, "You need to calm down!"

"I'm trying to," Damion croaks. He shifts back to the center of the bed while the female rounds the table. She touches his wing again, and he jumps again.

"I can't deal with this shit." And then he is alone.

I want Mulsae...

Damion buries his face into the mattress. What the fuck have I gotten myself into.

The same female voice calls into the room, "Can you at least tell me your name?"

"Damion," he says hoarsely as loudly as he can to meet the apparent distance of the voice asking the question.

"What type of Windborne are you?" the voice calls again.

Damion gulps, but answers honestly, "Emberai."

The door to his room slams shut.

He's alone for a long time. He can hear that people keep walking back and forth near the door, but no one comes in. He's alone. Again.

Have they forgotten me? Are they scared of me? Should I try to leave? He tries to sit up, but his right arm is useless and the right wing won't retract. He flops back down on the bed.

His mind drifts as he waits alone. Mulsae was always a great comfort. Damion could really use that comfort now. He was a good lover. Not even comparable to the man from the bar. His asshole aches. He hasn't had to deal with an achy asshole in over a year. Mulsae has been careful with him.

A calming power washes over Damion. He recognizes it. It's familiar. He felt it during the summit with the Sanctum Masters.

The door opens and the power intensifies. A familiar voice says, "Damion, I'm going to help you. Everything will be okay." It's Marsh Master Selune's voice.

"He just will not calm down. I can't get near him," that same woman's voice says with disdain.

"It's okay, I'll take care of him," Selune says soothingly.

The woman scoffs and mutters to herself as she departs.

The door gently shuts with a soft snick. "I'm Master Selune, do you remember me?" She drags a stool over to sit in Damion's line of sight. Just looking at her is soothing. Her grey eyes are mesmerizing.

Damion nods, "You ran the summit."

"Yes, I did," she says like music on the wind, "I've brought a healer. Her name is Sylunei. She's going to take an assessment of your injuries." She looks up at the person outside of Damion's line of sight and nods.

"Damion, I'm going to assess your right wing," says the other woman, "I'm going to touch it, okay?" Damion nods.

"I'm going to touch it now," and gentle fingers rest on his wing. Gradually more pressure is added until the healer has a light grip on the edge of the wing. "You're doing great, Damion. I'm going to open the wing now." She slowly pulls it open. Damion hisses from the pain.

Soothing energy flows from the healer's hands. "You have fractures in several places, pulled muscles, broken feathers, and abrasions all across the back," she places a gentle hand on Damion's back, "But everything will be okay. You will have a full recovery and fly again." Tension melts away from Damion's muscles.

"I'm going to inspect the left wing. Can you open it?" Damion unfurls the left wing. "I'm going to run my hands over it to assess it, okay?" Damion nods. Soothing energy flows across the wing. "You've only pulled some muscles. It will be fine by the end of the day."

"I'm going to assess your body now. I'm going to assess your feet and work up to your head, okay?" Damion nods.

Soothing energy enters his feet and goes up his calves to his knees, "You have a major contusion on your right knee," the energy continues up his thigh and over his buttocks. The healer pauses there and then the energy stops. The healer walks around the table and taps on Selune's shoulder. They switch places so the healer now is face to face with Damion. She has tanned skin, light brown hair, and wings of green with azure tips.

"Damion, you have significant tearing in your anal canal that is fresh. Did something happen to you today?" The healer says softly without judgment. Damion shrugs.

"Is it why you had the accident?" Damion shakes his head.

Where is Mulsae and his telepathic powers? Damion doesn't want to speak out loud. He doesn't want to say it.

"Did someone hurt you?" The healer asks softly. Selune gently puts a hand on the healer's shoulder.

Damion sighs then nods his head.

"Master Mulsae is in the Fire Sanctum, so I imagine it was someone else?" says Selune.

Damion nods, then musters up the will to speak, "A man... at a tavern."

"Did you know him?" Damion shakes his head.

"What's the name of the tavern?" Damion shrugs.

Selune crouches so she's eye level with Damion, "I'm going to look into it, okay? What he did is illegal here. You don't need to be involved, just know that I will do what I can to prevent him from harming anyone else, okay?" Damion nods. His eyes line with silver.

"Okay. And secondly," the healer resumes, "Your anal sphincter muscle is stretched to unhealthy levels."

Selune drags over another stool and sits next to the healer, "Is this what Master Mulsae did to you?" Damion nods. The tear finally falls.

"We can work with you to help restrengthen those muscles. Would you like that?" Damion nods.

"I also sense there is something wrapped around your penis," the healer asks, "Would you like it removed?" Damion nods.

"Alright, let's move on to assessing the rest of your body. It looks like you should be able to sit up for me, can you try it?" Damion nods. He lifts himself up with his left arm and twists his legs over the edge of the bed so he's sitting facing Selune and the healer.

"I'm going to assess your torso and chest area," the healer stands, brings her hands up and soothing energy flows through, "Your liver is bruised," moves up to his chest, "Three ribs are fractured in the right side."

"Okay, I'm going to do your arms now. Hold up your right arm." Damion holds it up and grimaces. Her soothing energy flows through his arm, "Your wrist and elbow are fractured."

"Left arm." Damion lowers the right arm and raises the left. "This arm is good," the healer says after her assessment.

"Lastly, your neck and head," she brings her hands up and sweeps them across his head, "Your right eye socket is fractured and you have abrasions on the right side of your face."

The healer looks up at Damion with a kind face. Not smiling, not frowning. Just simple kindness.

"You'll make a full recovery. Most we can have healed by tonight. Your arm and wing will take a few days. And your sphincter will take a few months of physical therapy." Damion nods.

"I want to remove what is wrapped around your penis now, is that okay?"

Damion shakes his head. "It's enchanted to not come off," Damion says in a soft hoarse voice.

"May I evaluate it?" Damion nods. "Please lay on your back and lower your pants." Damion gingerly moves his right wing around so he can maneuver to lay on his back and shoves his pants down.

The healer looks at the cock cage. She runs her soothing hands over the area. "You may pull your pants back up," she says as she sits back on the stool. Damion pulls his pants up.

"I feel that a Mountain Seal is present. That is beyond my capability to break," the healer says solemnly.

Selune speaks up, "Don't despair," she places a soothing hand on Damion's arm, "I will look for someone who has experience breaking Mountain Seals. But, I must warn you, that Mountain Seals are notoriously difficult to break. We may have to wait until Heaven Master Halion is done with the Fire Sanctum so he can personally break it." Damion nods, but doesn't let the concept of hope enter his mind.

The healer stands, "I'm going to send in three healers to work on you, okay?" Damion nods.

"Everything is going to be alright, Damion. We'll take care of you," Selune smiles gently then she and the healer leave the room and close the door behind them.

Damion is alone again.

He sighs deeply. He can't even go a full day of freedom without getting raped and hurting himself. What the fuck is wrong with me? Stupid.

He stares at the ceiling thinking about how monumentally stupid he is when the door opens and a stout dark woman walks in. "I'm here to heal your knee, arm, and ribs." Damion nods.

She repeats the gentle scan, then sends a deeper magic flooding through him. He closes his eyes, lets the warmth pool in every bone.

"I've done what I can for your arm. Take it easy with it for three days," she goes through a drawer and pulls out an arm sling, "I want you to wear this for three days, okay?" Damion nods. The healer helps Damion put on the arm sling.

She finishes up and then bids her farewell to him and leaves.

He's fortunately not alone for too long when the second healer arrives. Tall and black with white eyes. "I'll be healing your internal injuries and head today," he smiles sweetly. Damion nods. The same routine occurs and Damion enjoys the wonderful soothing sensations of being healed.

"I'm sure you'll have a full recovery. Have a good evening," he smiles kindly again and leaves.

Damion sighs and waits. Alone. It was actually really nice that he was always at Mulsae's side. He's becoming acutely aware that he hates being alone.

He already feels better at least. He can breathe easier.

The third healer comes in and announces she's here for his wings. She's a Sylvaran Windborne who looks old. She must be over a thousand to look as old as she does.

"Please turn to your stomach." Damion sits up and gingerly rotates so his unfurled right wing doesn't hit anything then lays on his stomach.

"I'm going to touch your wing now," and then that soothing energy flows through him once again. The healer diligently works her way through every bone and joint. She does both wings and now the left wing feels perfect. The healer folds the right wing and binds it in some gauze.

"The right wing will take one week to heal."

Damion eyes go as wide as saucers. "I can't fly for a whole week?!"

"Unfortunately, yes. Keep the gauze on the wing for the whole week, then remove it. If you experience any pain come right back here, okay?" Damion nods. Fuck. I don't even have a pair of shoes to walk in.

"You are all set then!" She smiles with calm glee, "You'll have a full recovery. You are free to go when you are ready. Have a good evening." And with that, she disappears out the door.

Damion sighs and stands up. He's a little achy but the healers did a great job. He walks out of the room and looks around. Where's the exit? He wanders the bright hallways, bare feet whispering on the stone. There’s no Mulsae to lead him now. Just himself amongst a thousand doors he doesn’t know how to open. He wanders until the air shifts cool against his skin: the exit. He steps through it alone.

He walks out to the street and has no idea where he is. He sighs. He can't fly and get oriented aerially.

Well, he thinks, the palace is on the east side of the city. I might as well go east. He looks around. Where is east? The sun has long since set. He sighs and starts putting one bare foot in front of the other.

He decides to chance asking for directions. The man looks him up and down and harrumphs as he walks away. Damion sighs again. He must look a sight. A wing wrapped in gauze. Bruised eye. Arm in a sling. Ripped shirt. Ripped pants. And no shoes. Fuck.

Where is Mulsae? He promised to help if I needed it, and right now I need help. He sighs deeply. Mulsae would help me if I had any means to get in touch with him. So many people assured me I'd have help, and yet here I am, lost in a strange city in the middle of the night. Fuck.

He's wandering in a random direction hoping for some sign of the palace complex when a woman stops him and asks if he needs help. Her hand cups his elbow in a gentle touch.

"Yes," he almost starts crying from relief, "I'm trying to find the palace. Do you know which direction it is?"

"Why are you looking for Reedrest in the middle of the night?" she asks cautiously.

"I have a room there," Damion explains.

"I see. Why don't I help you. Come walk with me," she says soothingly. Oh thank the gods. I have help and I don't have to be alone.

"What's your name?" she asks softly.

"Damion."

She smiles radiantly, "It's nice to meet you, Damion. My name is Izabelle." Damion smiles in return.

He walks with her and his tension dissipates. Finally he'll just get back to his room and go to sleep and end this rotten day.

She stops in front of an entrance to a building and gestures to it, "I'd like us to stop in here, okay?" Damion nods. He'd follow her anywhere as long as he doesn't have to be alone.

They go inside and she speaks with someone at the desk, "This is Damion. He's been wandering around looking for Reedrest. He says he has a room there." The woman at the desk nods.

"If you'll just have a seat over there someone will come and help you," she smiles sweetly.

Damion sits down with Izabelle. Now he's getting confused. All he needs is someone to point in a direction and he can just walk to the palace. Why does he need help getting oriented? All he needs to know is which direction is east.

A man comes and crouches in front of Damion, "Hi there, Damion. My name is Owen. Are you hungry? We can get you something to eat."

Damion hasn't eaten since yesterday and he is starving. "Now that you mention it, yeah, I really could use something to eat."

"That's great. Come with me then," he stands and holds out a hand for Damion. Odd. But, okay. He holds Owen's hand.

Owen leads him down a hallway, and Izabelle doesn't follow. "Is Izabelle joining us?"

"Don't worry, she's already eaten." Damion is very puzzled.

They're about to cross the threshold at the end of the doorless hallway when he realizes both sides have doors. His tactician training kicks in. This is a buffer zone. He's being trapped.

He freezes in place, "I'm just going to go back outside."

The doors at the far end of the hallway slam shut and a lock can be heard clicking into place. Damion yanks his hand from Owen and makes a barrel run down the hallway with the intent to burst the doors open. Owen yells for help. Damion runs at the doors at full speed and slams his left shoulder into the door. It budges, but does not break.

Damion continues slamming himself into the door trying to get it to break. Owen and two other men are running up to Damion. He tries a few more times to break the door down but then has to switch his focus to the men running up to him.

He's got one arm, but he's the superior fighter and in a narrow space they can't surround him. He crouches into a fighting position.

The men reach him and also crouch into position. They have a momentary standoff but then the lead man attacks. Damion blocks and shoves the first attacker into the second knocking them both to the ground. The third is blocked by the pile of bodies. Damion takes a chance to slam into the door again. No luck.

The men stand up and reengage. Damion uses their momentum against them, slamming them into the walls and each other every time they try to attack. Finally he grabs one, whips him around and slams him into the doors blocking his path. They burst open!

Damion jumps over the attacker he used as a battering ram and flies by the desk and out the door. He runs down the streets zig zagging through the blocks. His adrenaline wears off and exhaustion reaches him. Fuuuuuck. His good arm shakes, his lungs burn. He’s got nothing left.

Damion gives up. He's going to wait until dawn and follow the sun to the palace. He now wanders around looking for a spot out of the way so he can sleep. He finds an alcove tucked inside an alleyway and decides to curl up and sleep there. He presses his back to the cold brick. The smell of old rain and stone seeps into him. He pulls his knees tight, too tired to shiver.

Fuck. His first full day free and he gets himself fucked more ways than one. He falls asleep curled up against the brickwork. Alone.

=*=

He's poked hard in his ribs and a gruff voice says, "Get up!" Damion opens his eyes and sees five men with shields and blunt sticks all wearing the same outfit. They have him completely caged into the alcove.

He's trapped. Can he fight his way out of this? He stands up and assesses the situation. With all their shields they can easily cage him to the wall and then beat him to death.

"Turn around and put your hands on the wall," the gruff voice says.

"My arm is broken," Damion flaps the sling for emphasis.

"Then you shouldn't have assaulted three men and broke private property! Get your arm out of the sling, now!" the gruff voice gets angry.

While taking his arm out of the sling he tries to explain, "They tried to trap me. All I was trying to do was get away from them." His arm is out and the sling hangs empty from his neck.

"It's a charity for heaven's sake!" a different voice exclaims, "The worst they would have done to you is give you an uncomfortable bed!"

"How was I supposed to know that?!" Damion yells back. He almost laughs. How was he supposed to know what charity looks like? He’s never seen it. Not really.

"This isn't the place," says the gruff voice, "You don't plead your case with us. We're just here to collect you and keep the public safe from you."

"Safe from me?" Damion guffaws, "I've just been kicked while I'm down all day today."

"Turn around, put your hands on the wall," demands the gruff voice.

Damion does as ordered. One of the men gets close to his back and his breath blows across Damion's neck. Memories of what happened in the tavern bar and Mulsae taking him up against a wall flood his mind. He presses his forehead into the wall, "No, no, no, don't, please, don't, I can't take any more."

"We're taking you in," the gruff voice says loudly in his ear. Damion whimpers.

The man grabs Damion's right arm and pulls it behind him. Damion hollers from the pain, "My elbow is broken!" he yells. He's ignored and the man holds tight onto his equally broken wrist. The man grabs his other arm and pulls it behind him. He then wraps Damion's wrists with a rough scratchy rope.

The man tugs on Damion's right arm to pull him from the wall and pain shoots through the right side of his body. "Please," Damion yells, "My right arm is broken!" No one responds to him.

He's brought to a large box on wheels with horses to pull it. It's like a carriage, but just a simple bare bones box. He's thrusted inside and the doors shut. He can hear the doors being secured from the outside.

He's on his knees in the black of the box. He can't see anything. It starts to move, swaying back and forth and bumping over cobblestone. He's rocked and bumped for a ways before it stops. He can hear people milling about outside, but can't hear what they're saying.

Then there's the sound of the doors to the box being unsecured. The doors open. "Get out," demands the gruff voice. Damion rotates into a seated position then scooches himself out of the box.

The man grabs Damion's right arm again, and Damion yells out, "Please! My arm!" but no one responds.

He is roughly dragged inside and led into a cell in the corner of a room with two desks with men seated at them. There is an identical cell across from him that's empty.

"Face the wall," Damion is maneuvered to the wall. The rope is untied from his wrists. "Put your hands on the wall," the man grabs Damion's right arm and tugs it out and up to the wall. Damion moves his left hand on his own.

The man takes off Damion's coin purse and tosses it out of the cell, then runs his hands around Damion's body, pressing against everywhere. He gets down to his crotch and stops, then fondles his caged cock, "What is this?"

"A cock cage," Damion says softly.

"A what?! Okay, I need to lower your pants and inspect this," the man reaches over to the ties on Damion's pants, undoes them, and then roughly pulls down on his pants down to his ankles.

"You have tattoos literally everywhere," the man moves aside Damion's ass cheek, "Even here. Godsdamn," he remarks about the tattoo that rings Damion's asshole.

The man pokes at the base of the anal plug, "What is this?"

"An anal plug," Damion is so humiliated. Fuck.

"You can't have something up your butt in here. Against policy. You'll have to remove it." Damion hangs his head.

"Turn around. I need to inspect this 'cock cage' of yours," the man says gruffly.

Damion shuffles 180° with his pants wrapped around his ankles. The man crouches down and gets real close to Damion's crotch. Damion looks up at the ceiling and imagines nothing is happening at all.

"You gotta see this," the man announces to the room. Fuuuuuck. The two other men sitting at the desks come over.

"What the fuck?" one of them says.

The gruff man stands and says to Damion, "You'll have to take that off, too."

"I can't. I've been cursed," Damion says meekly.

"What? You can't ever take it off?"

"No," he whispers.

"I don't believe that," the gruff man crouches back down and fiddles with the cage. He pulls and yanks on it. Hard. Metal scraping skin, sharp pinches like teeth. Damion grunts with the painful tugs.

"I can't get it off, either of you want to try?" the gruff sounding man said.

"Sure, I'll figure it out." Fuuuuuck.

The other man crouches in front of Damion and tugs and yanks at his already tender area. At one point he tries to pry it off and Damion exclaims, "Ow ow ow ow ow! Please, I wasn't lying, it's cursed! Please stop!"

The man stops, frustrated and pushes against Damion's hips. With his ankles wrapped up in his pants, Damion can't balance himself and ends up falling onto his ass and smacking his head into the brick wall. Fuuucckk.

They laugh at him. The three of them just stand there and laugh. He tilts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes and wills himself to be anywhere else but here.

"Get the fuck up," growls the the gruff one. Damion struggles but manages to stand.

"Take the plug out," he demands.

Damion sighs. He crouches down and works the plug free, grimacing as he does so. He holds the anal plug out.

"That thing is disgusting," he jerks his chin to the third man, "Get a box."

The third man scampers away, then returns with a suitably sized box. He holds it out to Damion and he drops the anal plug into the box. The man puts a cover over the box. "Nasty," he mutters.

The gruff man waves his hand and the three of them leave the cell and then close and lock the door. Damion pulls his pants back up, not even bothering to tie them, and flops onto the hard mattress.

Fuck.

He's so overwhelmed he can't even think straight. He throws his arm over his eyes. Fuck. He's exhausted. Exhausted from pure humiliation.

How did I get here? I'm so stupid that within a day of being released as a prisoner I become a prisoner once again. Stupid stupid stupid. He stomps the floor in frustration.

"Hey! Settle down in there!" one of the men calls out from the desk area. Damion groans. Stupid. I can't do anything right. So stupid.

Damion falls asleep kicking himself for his stupidity. If he’s so free now, why does it feel worse?