Page 111 of The Shape of Monsters
He looks over his shoulder at her, both amused and taking her to task. The bells in his hair sound like tiny waterfalls.
Iriset swallows. She looks at Eliri, not bothering to hide the accusation she’s feeling. Their conversation when high led Iriset to believe that Eliri hasbeentortured! How can she—!
Eliri simply says, “Shade wants to let go.”
Tapping the hooked knife against his cheek thoughtfully, Shade says, “Eliri and I have tried various arrays and static designs to hold my body embodied, but the fact is if I want to feel pain I must make the pain exist to myself. I want you to help.” He stalks back to her, and Iriset sucks in a breath, holding her ground as he gets way too close. She can feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. She hears the slight scrape of the blade against his skin as he drags it down without cutting. The Moon-Eater smells like nothing when he speaks, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. “You’re a sunderer, aren’t you? That’s what I’ve been promised, and you can do it. It occurred to me that a different kind of impetus might help you achieve your goals. Won’t stabbing me be exciting?”
Iriset’s mouth drops open. She has no idea what to say.
“Come on, Iriset. Eliri likes this part of our work together.”
That makes Iriset cut a hard look at Eliri, who displays zero reaction. Iriset narrows her eyes. She looks at Eliri’s left hand where there is absolutely no hint of wound or scar on her smallest finger. Like one would expect from a master designer. Iriset’s mind whirs and she says, “That’s because Eliri finds this to be a game of extreme consent.”
Eliri blinks, and the Moon-Eater says, “Ah?” totally confused.
It takes a lot of willpower for Iriset to tamp down how smug she feels. She smiles her worst smile at Shade. “You make yourself feel pain? Eliri can stab you and it’s your choice to feel it. You choose the consequences of her actions. She can shove a knife right into your heart and get away with it because you choose, Shade.” Iriset laughs and does her best to make it mean. “Eliri hasn’t solved this problem because Eliri doesn’t want you to be able to feel anything without choice.”
The Moon-Eater spins to Eliri. “Eliri?”
The chimera looks at the floor, but there’s a flush to her desert-peach cheeks. Her blunt haircut shifts forward, but none of it is long enough to hide anything. “This chimera obeys the Moon-Eater,” she murmurs in Old Sarenpet.
And the Moon-Eater actually pouts. He crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out.
Iriset throws her hands in the air. “I’ll do it. Let Eliri go.”
“Can you hold me embodied and stab me at the same time? It might be a three-person job,” the Moon-Eater says.
“It’s better if everyone present wants it to work,” Iriset says flatly.
Eliri falls to her knees. “Forgive this chimera, Moon-Eater,” she whispers, hands clutched together, thumbs pressed hard to her forehead.
Shade—to his credit, Irisetsupposes—kneels, too, and pulls Eliri’s hands from her face. “No need, my little chimera. Tell me next time.”
She turns watery gray eyes to him, and Shade kisses her forehead where there’s a reddening mark. “Go home for a few days.”
Eliri gets to her feet with his help and goes quickly, back straight. When she’s gone through the stairway, Shade cocks his head so his ponytail rings harshly. “I thought you and Eliri were friends.”
“Maybe that’s why I got her away from you,” Iriset says. Her pulse is uneven, too much ecstatic making her reckless.
The Moon-Eater hums again, and between blinks he’s before her, grasping her elbows with long fingers. “Do you think you can hold me in my body?”
“If you aren’t trying to break out, maybe. Probably. Is that all it takes to feel pain?”
He stares at her, stunned. “What?”
Iriset stares back. His skin is too smooth, like glass. No pores, no hair disrupting his upper lip or between his thick black brows. None along his chin or peeking out of the cut of his robe. The hair itself is pristine, obviously millions of strands, and his eyes look alive except they’re the color of blood. Even miran don’t have eyes like that. She pokes at his cheek, and he doesn’t move. No playful scowl. Iriset says, “I’ve never thought about pain, the mechanics of it. It’s a warning, isn’t it? Something is wrong, so you feel pain? Why would there be pain if nothing is wrong? A knife can’t kill you, so what’s the point of pain?”
“To feel it!” the Moon-Eater exclaims. “A tiny cut to your finger hurts even though it won’t kill you.”
“But it damages me. Not you. What damages you?”
The Moon-Eater gapes at her. “I do feel pain,” he says. He puts a hand over his chest, where a heart would be if he had it. “Heartache. Guilt, anger, grief. That’s pain.”
“Yes, and pleasure is joy, laughter. You laugh spontaneously, don’t you?”
He nods.
“So what the fuck is your problem?”
