That sickeningly sweet smell of decadent flesh, carefully paired with a bright savory drizzle of cruor and barrage of soft tissue — all perfectly packaged into an impeccable main course near complete from being served atop a dinner table.
You were torture; Solomon could no longer resist.
His nails scratched the underside of his hardwood desk. Traces of luminous liquid splatter on the floor in spontaneous droplets, singing 'pitter-patter' as the pool casts a mirror-like shine with arrays of blazing candlelight illuminating the study. Speckles and shards of broken glass were scattered everywhere: on the floor, on the table, through cracks, and at the tips of his fingers.
The sorcerer pants, his head hanging low as he tries to catch his breath. What little remained of his beating heart and working lungs staggered nearer to stillness with every 'tick' of the grandfather clock.
It was a day he dreaded most.
With a simple nudge, the bright diamond-shaped vile had loosened from his necklace. His last hope oozed into a small puddle, rendering the potion useless.
Curses were muttered beneath shaky breaths. That vile was airtight for a reason.
"Drat," Solomon's voice cracked, with each gasp of air growing more frantic than the last.
His hand lifts itself up to tangle its fingers within platinum locks, feeling his hair grow thinner with each pulling stroke. Whisked in the air was the rancid stench of oxidized flesh. It tickled his nostrils, making him salivate—
No.
The heavens forbid he turns into the cadaver buried all those centuries ago.
Every twitch of his bright, gray eyes made his irises turn translucent. Every prick of blood trailing from the corner of his lips was accompanied by his severed breathing. Every single sign of life now lost at his fingertips.
You feel the wooden door close shut. It was only you and the human sorcerer. A fellow human, you thought.
"A fellow human," you hoped still.
You could only feel a shudder up your spine. Each subsequent 'tick' had left the other gnawing at the high black collar for his turtleneck.
You open your mouth to say something. Anything.
'Please don't let this be.
Please don't let him be like this.
This wasn't him.'
You tried to plead, but the words lodged themselves in your throat.
Because earlier, he wasn't like this. For one second he was his usual cunning self, entertaining your simple choice of visiting Purgatory Hall.
Not like this. The usual. The normal: his simple nod and open arms to gesture you to the living room, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he offers you some of his cooking—that. Just that.
And yet, despite all the familiarity, you've noticed how his already light skin had gotten paler, almost gray and dry. How the bags under his eyes grew more prominent. How with every chance he took a stealing glance, his breath hitches; his eyes scanning you with an underlying intent that you couldn't quite put a finger to.
"Have you been sleeping?" You asked, placing the cup of a nauseating mixture of spices on the table.
Solomon raises a brow. "Hm?"
You simply cocked your head to the side, your brows hinting at the glaring dark circles on his face.
"Your eyes. You look dead as hell," you said.
"Ah," he followed with a soft chuckle. "It's from the spell research. This book was written in a much older language, which took a lot more time to translate—but, you need not to worry. I've already had my fair share of all-nighters. Shouldn't affect me much."
You hummed in discontent. That wasn't the answer you wanted.
"You always say that," you pouted, resting your chin on your hand, with your elbow supported by the plush blue armrest. "'Shouldn't affect me much,' when it's written all over your face. What are even you researching anyway?"
Solomon takes a sip.
"It's rather important," he says, before staring back at you with that lingering gaze once more.
It seems like you could never get a proper answer, only averting your eyes so as to not shiver from his blatant choice of action. Had it not been obvious? You think he wasn't able to catch himself this time. Sure you recalled the moments of his longing stare, but those were different. Those were momentary glimpses that he'd use to tease you when given the incentive.
These were different.
You also noticed how beneath the cuffs of his dark turtleneck was an ombre of muddled blues, with veins bulging at its underside. Before you were able to point it out, Solomon excuses himself, tugging his sleeve to cover the marks.
You blurted out, "where are you going?"
Solomon clears his throat, his expression, once blank and unassuming, quickly shifts to a reassuring smile. "Nothing, just something... urgent."
You see his face turn bitter seconds before he coughs into the palm of his hand.
"Hey, wait up—"
With a shake of his head, he wipes whatever residue remained, closing his eyes as he gives you one final look. Solomon spoke through gritted teeth.
"Stay here."
Before you were able to interject, the sorcerer strides off to his room.
You hear the 'tap' of leather shoes against tiles grow quicker, yet fainter, the further he goes away. You were left sitting there, on the couch, with two cups and a teapot. The echoed would soon muffle out to a deafening silence. Now, it was only you.
The warm atmosphere shifted to an unnerving heat, with chills adding up as the flames burning within the living room lamps started to fade.
Luke and Simeon didn't seem to be here, and Raphael had been called back to the Celestial Realm upon Michael's request.
You took one final scan across the room: shelves open and hanging, plants wilted and dying, lights beyond blinding, the room beyond empty.
You get up, immediately inspecting the armchair in search for any more clues. Squinting your eyes, you knelt down on one knee, finger tracing over the brown dried up residue, slashes and mists that have long since passed.
The liquid trailed off to the underside of one of the pillows. You hesitate for a moment, your peripheral view scanning for any peering eyes.
The coast was clear. You gently picked up the large cushion, angling along one of the many blazing lights to take a proper view of what you suspected was underneath.
It was a reflective fabric, with subtle hints of gold and opal.
You shrieked, causing the cushion to fly off and hit the light turquoise walls. On one end, there was a loosely hanging golden diamond that had caught abor mold.
Not just any fabric. An angel's.
The brash ring of shattered glass bounces along the walls, hitting your ear without warning. You flinched again, slowly turning your head towards the now dark, barren hallway; with a luminescent crimson glow beneath the doorframe.
The end of the cold marble hall where Solomon had walked.
That was moments ago, before you started wishing to have moved cowardly, escaping this haunted wasteland before luring yourself in a weathered cage.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes shut tight, your feet twisting and turning you to face back.
Within moments, if your timing is just right, you'd swiftly open the door by the handle and dash long those same cold, marble halls. It didn't matter how long the run would be. You had to leave.
One step, and his erratic suffocation stops.
The eerie tension palpable in the air got thicker, cutting through the fog and reforming with ease. Your lips quivered.
"What did you do to them?"
There was no response; instead, you were only greeted by the unburied silence.
Two steps, and you hear the floor creak.
It was subtle, though you feel the walls pull closer towards the both of you. With him. Whatever he was. Be damned, whatever monstrosity extinguished the light of humanity.
His motions felt precise and calculated, yet wild and uncontrolled. Your ears could pick up the soles of his shoes grazing against the floor, as if he’s dragging through a limping stance. It’s inconsistent, almost as if the little spark surviving in his core tries to reignite and rule over his carcass.
The tiny sounds stop, but continue again with every branch his conscience falls.
Solomon mumbled incoherent phrases, his voice slurred but retained his clear and concise diction. Like a fork to a plate, he prolongs the roll of the ‘r’s or ‘ch’ of ‘ts’ with no breath in between.
Three steps, and his hands found your body.
Solomon pulls himself closer, limbs dangling as his hands would only cling tightly onto any grasp of loose fabric. A gush of cold air hits your neck, with his revellent embrace sinking you into his ashen body. His lips graze over your lower neck down towards your shoulder.
Solomon lowered his gazing, taking a whiff of your intoxicatingly delectable scent. He shook his own head in delight, cocking up his head to whisper in your ear.
“Starlight…”
It was a bloodshot speech with a croak of each syllable, but something was different. Solomon chuckled—that all too bastardous sneer you came to know and admire. The shift in tone and pitch had his timbre stabilize, as if you could picture his coy smile atop the barren pale face whom ghosts your every whim.
“Moni..?” you asked, your voice nearly squeaks.
“Oh, starlight,” Solomon hummed, thumb gliding along your chin in expertise. “You shouldn’t see me like this. Gifted to live forever but, at what cost?”
He lifts your chin up, while his other hand pushes back locks of hair that guarded your neck.
Solomon sighed. “Keep your eyes away. I'll handle the rest....”
"B-but—"
"You shouldn't have seen this," he grunted, almost annoyed.
You gulped, yet obliged with his words. Eye remained shut, feeling him inch closer. “What are you doing...?”
Solomon shushes you, giving your neck one final kiss. It was like that for a few moments, gentle praises while the reek of a living corpse circulates your thoughts.
“Would you hate me if I did this?” Solomon asked. That question came when you feel the lining of his teeth press on your skin, digging deeper like a tease, yet horrific with how it pained even in the dullest touch.
Your demeanor faltered, your foot lifting to take the final step. “If you...?”
Burked by the absence of common ground, yet arguably, he’s human still. Only proven by a simple answer, after Solomon playfully nips at the tougher parts of your cartridge.
“We’ve dealt with other atrocities before," he coos. "It will all just be the same. For sure..."
A beat.
"Demons and angels... Tell me,"
You feel the sudden clash of his teeth tearing off your skin.
"What's the worse?"
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A/N : hi hi yes this is reposted from two years ago (crazy). I love my reanimation aus sm ♡♡♡ I have altered some of the wording and tweaked it a bit. anyways, I hope you enjoyed <33
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