'Will you walk into my parlour?' said the spider to the fly,
''Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy,
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've got many curious things to show when you are there.'
'Oh, no, no,' said the little fly, 'to ask me is in vain,
For whoever goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

The Spider and the Fly" Mary Howitt.

The noise of the bustling streets quietened the further down into the dark Kiku climbed. It was as if he was descending into a completely separate world; he felt almost as if he was falling, crashing down into another world he wasn't so sure he wanted to be in, like Alice, falling down her hole into Wonderland. But this wasn't going to be a wonderland. He was descending the dark ladder into hell, crawling down away from the hustle of everyday life, where no one would even notice he was gone. It was almost pitch black, and cold- getting colder, he realised, as his foot slipped, missing a rung, and he was forced to scramble to catch himself, palms burning from the fiction against the ropes as his face flushed.

A thump came from just below him, alerting him to Arthur's continued presence, and he glanced down to find two eyes staring back up at him, dancing in anger, even in the gloom, sour expression still omnipresent on the man's face. Kiku only reddened more, and he quietly thanked the hole for being so dark and saving his dignity from Arthur's steely gaze. Sheepishly, he scrambled the res of the way down the ladder, trying his best not to cower under Arthur's rock hard stare. Arthur merely sighed in reply, and spun on his heel, stomping moodily away down a small corridor, towards a barely noticeable glimmer of light. Stumbling to catch up, Kiku's foot caught on a small stone, and he tripped, letting out a particularly undignified squeal, and eliciting a glare from his companion. They continued the walk in silence; Kiku didn't dare to speak to the unwelcoming figure in front of him- Arthur was practically spitting at him. He'd never felt more unwelcome in his life. The light was getting brighter the further along the tunnel they trudged. Kiku's heart pounded in his ears, the steady beat like a timer, ticking down to the moment when his life would change forever.

Arthur stopped. More engrossed in his own thoughts rather than what was going on in front, Kiku had to bring himself up, before he slammed into the larger man's back. He had obviously already done something to anger the man, and he didn't want to risk anything else. They had reached a clearing, lit by a pair of torches bracketed on either side of a large wooden door, towering over both of them, as though it was attempting to scare them into submission. Arthur seemed to be unfazed by the intimidating manner, however, and simply grabbed hold of the rusting latch, giving it such an almighty tug that Kiku could see the muscles in his arms straining, strong hands clutching the handles so hard that the blue veins in his hand stood out from his milky white skin. There was a click, and Artur fiddled with the latch for a few moments in a way that Kiku couldn't quite see. The door stuttered open, creaking loudly with the sound of hinges that hadn't been oiled for decades. Once completely open, it stuck in place, and Arthur must have seen Kiku's surprised face for he muttered "Pneumatics", before stepping into the room, flourishing a single arm sarcastically for Kiku to enter.

Gingerly, Kiku stepped forward into the room, jumping slightly at the noise as the door slammed shut behind him. It was a small, dingy room, bone-chillingly cold air thick with the stench of opium and barbiturates. A stifling layer of smoke caused the area to be bathed in greyish, depressed hue. The walls, if that was what they could be called, were bare, yet rich carpets and rugs littered the ground, covering chairs and crawling up walls, providing some washed out colour to the otherwise monochrome room. There was barely any furniture, only a single table off to one side, holding a single candelabra, the only source of light in the room. The combination of the low lighting and thick, smoky atmosphere gave the room a heady quality; Kiku found himself having trouble thinking, with the stifling nature. This atmosphere could in no way be natural; there was something just... wrong about it. No-one could be this docile in this situation.

But they all seemed so calm, strewn around the room, in various states of undress- seemingly oblivious to the freezing temperatures and the fact that there was a stranger in their midst. He supposed people must come and go around there, but he wondered whether they were able to even notice his presence. Two men, a blond and a brunette were off to one side, heads together, overlong greasy hair tangled and tousled. They were whispering quietly; the blond's shirt was open as he lay, finger in mouth. He occasionally let out a stifled giggle, before being hastily shushed by his companion. Huddled in a corner, barely visible curled underneath a blanket, was another blond. This one was much less vibrant than the other; he was younger even than Kiku: he couldn't be much older than eighteen, curly hair barely visible as he chewed at the sleeve of his shirt. He huddled down in his nest, engrossed in the piece of paper he was holding. Another was darker than the rest, and sat at the table, back stiff and regal, pushing his spectacles up his nose, as he drummed his fingers on the surface, almost as if he was playing an invisible piano. Two more, twins, sprawled on the floor; they all seemed so fascinating, he could have spent all day just...

A pointed cough came from behind him and he turned to find Arthur still standing in the doorway, leaning against the now closed door, wearing a vaguely amused expression and with his arms folded against his scrawny chest.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, raising a single overly large eyebrow. "Having fun looking at the exhibits?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're practically drooling," Arthur replied, smirk growing wider. "Like what you see, then? I must admit, they're all good specimens, but just forget them. I mean, they don't even give a shit about you. May as well not be here."

Kiku said nothing. He wasn't sure he knew what to say. He wasn't even sure that if he opened his mouth anything would come out.

"You're nothing special," Arthur continued, seemingly oblivious to Kiku's discomfort. "Exotic, sure. I'll give you that much. Must get a lot of things handed to you on a fucking silver platter for that." He scratched his leg, idly, with a single bare foot, and Kiku briefly wondered how on earth he could stand the cold with no shoes. "Well here you won't," he added sourly. "It'll do you well to remember that. Special?" He scoffed. "Nah, you're nothing we haven't seen before. No one's special here. No one."

"I-I'm not sure I understand."

Arthur gave a mirthless chuckle. "We're more of a... lets say buffet, down here. But just forget it. Trust me, you'll learn soon enough." He started moving away again without elaborating, swiftly weaving his way through the room, and Kiku had to practically jog in order to catch up. "C'mon. Your room's down this way."

Kiku followed Arthur through an archway, and down into another series of tunnels, these a lot smaller, narrower. It was a very claustrophobic sensation, as though the sloping walls were squeezing them down as far as they could go. Every now and then there was a room, carved into the tunnel, hidden from view by a partition made of some sort of cloth. The two men walked in a stony silence; neither was particularly willing to talk to the other, until Kiku finally gathered up all of his courage and spoke up, voicing a thought that had been pressing heavily on his mind.

"What did you mean earlier? When you said that we were a buffet?"

"Hmm? Oh, you're still thinking about that?" He paused, as if mulling the question over in his mind. "Put it this way," he finally said. "A lot of the men prefer to pick and choose, rather than have the same one of us twice. It's just a personal preference they have."

"But why?"

"Beats me. Boredom? Dislike of commitment? Maybe they'd rather just try us on and then put us back on the shelf?" All I know is a lot of them take pride in having slept with all of us. Like it's a medal of honour, or something. They just put us back on the shelf. And let's just say that some of us have been on the shelf longer than others."

Kiku looked down at his feet. "Oh," he said quietly. The word echoed in the tunnel, giving it a metallic quality. Oh...Oh...Oh...

Arthur glared. "Man up. You're not gonna last more than five minutes at this rate. If you're hoping for a Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, trust me, it ain't gonna happen. We're prostitutes, we're not meant to find love. We just get down and do it. We're here. And we're stuck. Nothing you can do about it now. None of us care about sob stories."

They had reached the end of the tunnel, where there were two rooms, placed next to each other. In the doorway of the first hung an elaborate tapestry, a tiger, embellished in fancy reds and golds; in the other hung a simple brown piece of fabric, ends frayed from what looked like years of dragging along the cold floor.

Arthur raised a hand lazily towards the cloth. "This one's yours. Enjoy."

He turned away, and left Kiku staring at the blank cloth that hid what was to be his new home. Steeling himself, he pulled it back in one swift movement. The room itself was small, but appeared to be larger than it was thanks to the bareness that came with a lack of furniture. It was filled only by a single bed, with a straw stuffed mattress, and was made even less inviting by the lack of personal effects. It was unwelcoming, to say the least, almost sterile. Kiku sighed, and tossed his bundle of belongings on the bed, yet he did not enter. There. Now it was a home. He felt like he was going to start crying. This was it, he thought. Now is the point at which I have finally been reduced to this.

The anger bubbled inside him before he could stop it. He had always prided himself in being a passive person, never quick to rage or furor. Yet here he was livid, shaking with the force of his fury. In a sudden loss of control, he raised a fist, and hurled it into the wall of the tunnel. It gave a great clang, the vibrations coursing through the metal and Kiku swore, as the place rattled with the force. It was obviously not as well constructed as it had seemed. Dirt from the ceiling rained down on him, coating his only shirt cobwebs, and lightening his hair with the clouds of dust, as though he had suddenly aged thirty years. He stood covered in dirt, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back his tears.

A noise behind him alerted him to movement, and he turned, wiping his face with his sleeve, and leaving a line of mud on his cheek. Someone was moving in the room next door; the tiger tapestry was being pulled away by a small, gentle finger, almost a caress.

And that was when he saw him.

"For whoever goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."