Welcome, My Dearest Darlings, please enjoy your stay. This is the official intro post! There will be rules for this blog, but I’m sure you’re big enough to handle them. Most of my posts will be yandere headcannons, stories, fanfics or blurbs. I can’t promise five star posting, but I can promise yandere that are obsessed with you! Kisses! 💋💋
[Notice; Requests are open, if you want me to write a story, headcannon or Drabble then send in a request through the ask system.]
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[Mutuals]
@idanceuntilidie
@emxzz
@robarrazi
@i0could0think2b
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[Anons] (yes, I will do emoji anons)
Anon 2 (Also known as 9 cat anon)
Anon 4 (Also known as najma anon)
Anon 6 (also known as Doll)
Anon 8 (also known as ૮₍ ˶• ༝ •˶ ₎ა anon)
Anon 11 (Henceforth referred to as Banana Bread Anon)
Anon 12 (._. Anon)
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[Socials]
Wattpad (@CuddleBuddy3) I logged out of it.
Quotev (https://www.quotev.com/ForgetfulFerret) Don't write on it anymore.
Main Account (@circularcatinspace) Not on there as often now.
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Masterlisturl (https://www.tumblr.com/faux-ecrivain/738086533063655424/masterlist?source=share ) Sorry it's so buggy
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The Rules
Do not spam requests, asks or comments.
I reserve the right to reject any requests that make me uncomfortable.
Do not share any personal information on this account, that means don’t share your name, address or anything similar in a request or comment.
If you want to request something, or send in an ask, please offer details, such as pronouns, the setting, the year and basic info about your requested yan. (Eg; could you make a yan that hates their darling and only obsesses over them because they look like yan’s ex?)
I will not do smut, I can’t write smut and the most you’ll get is a suggestive tension. Still won't do smut.
If you send in a request, ask or make a comment, and it has triggering content, please label it with the symbol TW.
Do not send any asks, requests or make any comments that contain derogatory remarks towards a certain group. (In simple terms; no bigotry, which means prejudices towards a certain group.)
Do not rush me, but do motivate me. (which means I accept compliments, analysis of my works and comments of a similar manner)
Don't be scared to interact! I don't bite.
That’s all for now, more might be added later, remember rules are subject to change.
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[Fun Facts About Me]
I don’t like making grammatical errors, they are irritating and embarrassing (in my opinion). However, mistakes are part of life and I have to learn to how to move on. That said; if you do see some grammar mistakes please let me know and I’ll try to fix it. (Ugh, it’s embarrassing that I was born, and live in, Mississippi yet I make numerous grammatical errors. I’m so bad, most of the time, at English, it’s hilarious.)
I have a tendency to ramble, over explain and procrastinate
I love mysteries, they are my favorite genre and I especially love the femme fatale mysteries or mysteries with a female lead.(IE; Miss. Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, Murder She Wrote and shows similiar to Midsomer Murder.)
I have a soft spot for cute fuzzy cats and I like taking photos of scenery that I believe to be beautiful.
Alice in Wonderland is one of my favorite books, it was a childhood favorite and it still is to this day. (The animated movie and the book are my preferred versions of Alice In Wonderland.)
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(Below are some tags that may be used in future posts)
It has been a few weeks since that night of intimacy, you are once again in that same position, brushing his hair, eyes cast down but this time was different. This moment was solemn as he was now engaged to a young woman named Eden.
Their parents apparently arranged it months ago and just now informed the two heirs. At the time you could not read his expression as it was hidden behind his beloved porcelain mask, a fair skinned floral feature meant to resemble his favorite gardens. But you could feel the tension grow, his betrayal at the reveal as he swiftly tried to refuse what had been stated, This was futile, his future had already been decided or so his parents believed. Regardless, they introduced him to Eden and she seemed lovely, well-educated, polite and respectful. Daelan was not impressed, he played aloof the entire time and then stormed off halfway through their conversation. You followed after him, doing your best not to fall behind as he outpaced those around him. He turned a sharp corner and then slammed open the doors to his bedroom and you shut them swiftly. This was the best decision you could have made as he soon began to throw a tantrum, shouting angerly, proclaiming how unfair this all was and tossing around some expensive decorations. Which included, but was not limited to, candlesticks, his hairbrush, his hand mirrors, pen and ink and he yanked out one of his drawers then tossed it at the balcony doors. It's a good thing you closed them beforehand or it would've flown out the window.
Now you are crouched on the floor, gathering the various objects he scatted across his room and trying to avoid the shards of glass from his poor hand mirrors. You politely ignore his crying as he always gets embarrassed when someone draws attention to his emotions. Your hand nicks a glass shard, you wince and shake your hand, then rub it against the cloth of your blouse. Behind you, Daelan raises his head from his hands and looks at you. His eyes follow you as you scuttle across the floor, now gathering the garments he had tossed out of his closet. A small, vicious part of him begins to form bitter, hateful thoughts of envy and, against better judgment he voices these thoughts. "How lucky you must be" His sentence wavers as he rises shakily from the bed, his waistcoat swishing as he slowly proceeds in your direction. "to have the freedom of choice. To marry who you desire." Your shoulders tense, but you do not yet halt your actions, continuing to clean the mess he made. "I envy you." You find that idea humorous, a noble envying you. His steps are louder as he slowly grows closer to you. "All the freedom in the world. You will never have to 'grin and bear it', as my mother loves to say." Obviously, he is wrong, your entire life you have had to grin and bear it, this job was not even a choice of your own, the mask certainly wasn't either. But you stay quiet, knowing that he is simply expressing himself. "So much freedom." He mutters, low and solemn, halting behind you.
"(Reader)" Daelan utters your name quietly with a rather curious turn. "Turn around and Face me" He requests, you pause and cautiously place the brush you were holding down. His gentle touch lays firmly upon your shoulder. You slowly turn around, gaze low. His hand runs up your shoulder, under your chin and then raises your head. Brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment, searching for something he desperately needs to find. "What do I do?" He asks, so simple, so heavy. "How do I continue living like this?" His voice darkens as he lowers to his knees. "As someone I am not? How do i continue performing as Ellis, the dignified noble, and not Daelan, the.." Pausing, his voice cracks as he tries to explain his thoughts. "I can't even.." Now on the floor, he finds that he doesn't know who Daelan is, he can't remember how to be himself. Hiding his face in his hand, he leans against your chest and cries silently as he confronts the possibility that his true self doesn't exist. Your hands naturally wrap around him, comforting him and offering momentary solace. Although reluctant, he didn't have the energy to resist your comfort. His entire world was crashing, after this he would no longer be free. How could he possibly escape this fate?
The idea came to his late at night, when he laid in his bed and rested his eyes upon the ceiling, beside him you slept as the two of you had once again fallen for the age old temptation. It was liberating, being with you. You were never one to push, always allowing him the freedom of choice. It is wonderful, he decided. Turning on his side and nuzzling his face in the crook of his neck. He panicked for no reason, the solution was simple really and so easy to execute. A small smile dawned his face as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.
The wedding would be in two weeks and yet Daelan seems calmer than ever, it made you nervous. It's already hard enough to read his emotions behind the mask, his solemn demeanor was increasing the difficulty. But you didn't bring it up, aiding him as usual, brushing his hair, planning his outfits for every date he has with Eden. Every interaction he muddles through, time seems to pass rather quickly and then the dreaded ceremony is just a few days away. Your nerves are wrecked, you haven't been able to see Daelan all day as the higher rank servants have kept him occupied, preparing him for what should be the most glorious moment of his life. You don't even get a glance at him when they cart him to chapel or when he and his new wife are escorted to the honeymoon carriage. It doesn't really set in that he's left until later that night, when you expect him to call you to his chambers and he doesn't, because he no longer resides there. You spend the night in your bed, cold and alone. You turn and toss, struggling to sleep and eventually give up. Instead choosing to rise early and start your chores ahead of time, by evening they are done and you're exhausted. Your instincts guide you to his hallway, but you halt at the door, because he is no longer there. His room is empty and dark. So you turn away and return to your bed. You sleep and awaken with not letter from him or anyone else, you are reminded of how alone you truly are in this world.
It's sobering, you think, as you lay there under your cotton sheets and stare at the ceiling. Your mind beginning to accept that your time with Daelan was short lived, a moment of reprise in this cruel world. You abide by that thought throughout the months, waiting patiently for your lingering feelings to slowly dissipate. And it seems to succeed, as summer rolls around and the weather warms up, the flowers begin to bloom. You start to understand that being with your Master, that loving him was but a season to pass through, a phase. You started to see the world differently, appreciating it yet again. Until you wake up one morning and prepare yourself for another simple day of doing domestic tasks, such as washing clothes or assisting the cook. You had just pulled on your apron when your door burst open and you quickly turned your head, snatching your leather mask, now much more worn, from its hook on the closet door and swiftly tying it onto your face. Swerving around to face the person who dared to barge into your room, you open your mouth, preparing to lecture them. But you halt, realizing that it was the head maid. Her hair was askew and she looked quite nervous. "Hasten, the Young Master has returned. His wife is dead and we need to swiftly prepare his quarters." You pause, flabbergast as you are smacked by the sudden influx of information. "Wha-?" "There's no time!" She informs you, waving off your questions and hustling out of your room, beckoning you to follow her and you do. Because that's your job.
Rushing out of your room, you quickly tuck your hair away in the bonnet laying on the table near the door and struggle to process the situation that has fallen into your lap. Your master was back, his wife was dead, and his room needed to be prepared. There was so much to do, you would have to change out the curtains, the sheets, the carpet and you would have to dust everything, arrange his clothes, discard out of season decorations. Oh heavens, you were overwhelmed by the mere thought of what you must endure. "The young master is currently in the drawing room with his parents, they are discussing funeral arrangements." That would take some time, his parents are perfectionists. "We should have enough time to tackle the bigger jobs, such as the sheets and curtains." Nodding your head, you increase your pace, stepping in stride with your supervisor. "Elisabeth and James are going to be assisting us, I want you to ensure that everything is dusted and that there are no unsightly garments left in his closet." Unsightly meaning out of fashion, it was a waste of material, truly. "Of course, I will do my best." The Head maid pauses outside the bedroom door. "You must do more than that, the young lord is in mourning. Everything needs to be perfect, we do not need to add any undue stress to his shoulders." Nodding again, you wait for her to open the door. Then you enter and begin the daunting task of cleaning.
Your tasks were fairly simple, albeit tedious, and Dusting ate up a majority of your time. But the room was cleaned or it looked to be manageable. Obviously there was more to do, but the Head maid insisted that only the most important tasks were to be completed today. It took up the entire afternoon, by the time the others dispersed it was evening and you were left behind organizing his closet. Sighing quietly, you rolls your shoulders and yawn, stretching your exhausted arms. Stepping back, you observe your objective, proud of the progress you made. You went through nearly twenty different articles of clothing before you could start rearranging the clothes. Fortunately, your master has always been ahead of fashion trends. Turning away, you survey the room, now dawned in gloomier colors to perpetuate the mourning that awaits Daelan. You pause, would he mourn? Did he find himself falling in love with his wife? Is that why he never wrote to you and said goodbye before he left? You stew in your thoughts, then shake your head and crush the pain of unrequited love. Instead turning your attention to the suitcases on his bed, there were quite a few of them. It would likely be a good idea to go ahead and start hanging up his clothes.
Exhaling you shamble forward, slowly making your way to the cases of clothes he brought with him. Then you began to unpack them, each suitcase carefully sorted and hung, with love you didn't believe that you didn't believe you still possessed. You opened the third suitcase, the latches clicking as you popped them off and you were going to sort through this one all the same until your eyes laid upon the porcelain mask on top of the clothes. It was pristine, newly made and decorated with floral designs of the deepest red across the forehead and cheeks. Across the front of the mask, over the area where the eyes would be, was a strange design. You were sure it meant something, all of the designs Daelan chooses do. But you didn't know what, that wasn't why it caught your eyes though.
No, it's because there were small stains on it, it looked to be similar to rust, but you weren't sure. Something about it was wrong though, however you placed it aside and then reached for the ceremonial coat he wore the day of the wedding. You froze. It surely would have been gorgeous, the gentle cream meshing with the golden flowers and red engravings. However the large stain on its side ruined any beauty the garment held. You couldn't deny what that was, the reddish-brown splatter was clearly blood. You knew this much from your past, but what should you do? Surely there was an explanation. The door creaks shut behind you. "They believe it was an ambush orchestrated by cunning bandits." You freeze and listens as the floorboards croak in protest with each step he takes. "They believe that she died in my arms, that I screamed her name to the heavens." His voice is much closer now, you drop the coat. "That i begged the goddess to bring her back." Your heart races, had he truly..? "But the only name I have ever screamed was yours, servant." Daelan stands behind you know, breath hot against the nape of your neck as his arms snake around your waist and he leans his body against yours. "I only ever beg the goddess for you."
Softly, he nuzzles the crook of your neck, one hand sliding up your chest to rest above your heart. "I will only mourn you." His statement is final as his other hand slides down your waist and he carefully turns you around. "I had to wait so long to act." Pulling you close, he smiles, face bare and smile just as deranged as the look in his eyes. "Always pretending, it was so exhausting to keep the act of a loving husband up." His soft hand runs up your shoulder, cupping your face. "But i no longer have to do that. Now I am free to love you as I please." Leaning his head forward, he closes the gap between the two of you, his eyes flutter shut and Daelan kisses you softly. He pulls back for a moment, whispering softly. "I found my way back to you." All he had to do was sacrifice himself.
As the loyal servant of the Duke's son it was your job to attend to his every need. You brought him his clothes, dressed him, bathed him and ensured he always slept well. It was expected, it is the reason you are still living.
You carefully brushed out his hair, avoiding his gaze as was customary. It is a disgusting sin to lay one's eyes upon an unmasked individual, especially if they were unmarried and even more so if they were your employer. To prevent this all servants, except high ranking servants, are given leather masks. The masks covers the servant's eyes and blocks a majority of their vision. The servant is left with a pinprick of sight and forbidden from raising their head in their master's presence.
The brush cards through his dark hair, the inky strands gliding effortlessly between the soft horsehair bristles. His delicate locks shimmer under the candlelight and are soft to the touch, like silk. Your hand lingers, pausing to take in the fine, glossy wisps. Your master's hair is so soft despite how often it's colored, you envy his healthy tresses. Yours is brittle by comparison. You feel his head tilt up, signyfing that you must continue caring for his hair. Exhaling quietly, you resume your duties, eyes focused soley on the locks the brush caresses. You hear his breathy sigh and your shoulders tense as you pause yet again. He exhales sharply and waves his hand, gesturing for you to continue, which you only recognize due to the bells hanging from his wrists. A kind addition that some nobles will bear to spare their servant the stress of misinterpreting hand motions. once again you resume brushing through his hair, much quicker this time as you fear he grows bored.
Pulling the brush away, you place the engraved object on his vanity and reach for a ribbon in the deep color of purple and deftly pull his hair back, tying it gently in a low braid that hangs just below his shoulder blades. He swiftly rises from the winged velvet chair, ghosting it as he glides pass, sashaying to his bed, and your eyes follow his hips. The bells ring obnoxiously as he traipses. He carelessly tosses off his silken robe and gracefully collapses onto the bed. A loud jingle following his motions. Hurrying after him, you avert your gaze as he turns to face you and bow your head, blindly grasping for the robe. He chuckles in a low tone, relishing in your flustered behavior. The black haired man exhales benginly and then sits up, pulling his knees under him until they only peek out from beneath his satin slip. Cradling the blue robe close to your chest as though to protect yourself from whatever he intends to do, you turn away and clamber to his wooden closet. Pulling the doors open, you hang the article gently on its hook and close the doors.
You hear him sigh once more and then you hear him call your name, followed by a pet name. "Dear." Shoulders tense once more, you raise your head, to signal that you are listening and he chuckles yet again. His gentle voice beckons you to his side. "Come here." And you follow, as is your duty. Facing your head down, you stagger to his side and stumble when you halt. He adjusts his position yet again, removing his legs from underneath him and places his hands on either side of his thighs, the movement causes his bells to ring. The man raises a hand and listlessly gestures for you to grab it, you do. Grasping his smooth, tanned skin and momentarily squeezing it as you desperately crave connection. So does he, it seems, as his voice begins to suggest that the two of you have a rather suggestive conversation. "That mask of yours, it is so...impersonal, no?" Squaring your shoulders, you gulp nervously. Whenever your master begins to suggest unmasking you, it causes anxiety to swirl in the pits of your stomach. "Mine is already off, it would be rude to cause me such distress with no compensation." You did not ask him to take his mask off, he did so of his own volition and eagerly too and being bareface causes him little distress. Pulling you down to his height, he continues his persuasive speech, "Surely it is not necessary between us, we are so close after all." You have served him loyally since the two of you were young children in school. He has shared with you secrets that no one else on earth knows and it is a heavy burden to carry.
His soft hands caress your callous skin, his manicured nails claw lightly at your the back og your hands as he tugs you closer. Yet, you continue averting your gaze, determined to avoid encouraging his bad habits. He sighs once more, seeming to give up the game as he releases your hand. "Is it too much to ask my dearest servant and closest friend to see their face? Do you truly believe me to take advantage of such a intimate thing?" You do, he is no stranger to manipulation or cruel games brought on via bribery. He seems to lament, flopping back onto the duvet and covering his face with his arm. Peeking from the corner of your eyes, you observe the way his slip spills beneath him and the elegant framing it provides him. Embarassed, your face flushes and you are eternally grateful that he cannot see your face beneath this leather prison. He sighs and requests something unexpected. "Say my name." Uncertainity drowns your voice as you mutter the name he is referred to by those in society. "Ellis?" Groaning loudly, he sist up hasitly and slams his hands on the plush surface beneath him, bells jingle. "NO! My real name." Your hesitant expression is difficult to read as your face is obscured by your mandatory mask, but he knows you well and reads your body language even better. "Do not be hesitant, i will not hold it against you." He tries to reassure you. His voice unusally insecure as he shifts to sit on his knees, reaching for you once more. "Please, say my name. I fear that I have forgotten it." Sorrow drips from his melodious voice, an uncommon emotion for him to display and you risk a glance at him. Your eyes take in the pinched brows that remain their orignal ashy purple and the dark bags that drag his brown almond eyes down. You notice the small breakouts of acne that have occured due to stress and the cracks on his thin, pale lips. He looks ill, like he hasn't rested properly in days.
You look away, he pulls you closer. "Do I have to beg? It is such a simple request." Biting your lip, you try to ignore the guilt that twinges your soul. "Have you forgotten it as well?" Your heart breaks, his sorrow traps you in an endless pool of sympathy and you relent, mumbling his name with the shyest of tones. "Daelan.." His weary eyes widen and he gazess at you for a moment too long then sighs softly as a look of relief crosses his face. His brows lose their furrow and his hands run up your arm. "It has been so long." Daelan's tender hands graze your skin, pads of his fingertips imbedding themselves in your memory as he rises, still on his knees but now level with you. "Everyday it slips further and further from my mind. It is such a distant sound now and no one seems intent to utter it anymore" His tan hands slide over your shoulder, lingering for a moment then continuing upwards to lovingly cup your face, forcing you to face him. "I wonder if my parents even remember my name. If they will ever see me as..." He's hesitant to speak the word. "Daelan again" His breath hitches as he speaks his birth name, struggling to pronounce it properly. "Or if they even care to remember me that way." Daelan touches his forehead to yours, direct contact prevented by the mask you wear. His hands work to hide within your hair, nudging the string that holds your mask on. "Perhaps not. Perhaps they have always wanted me to be" A mournful sigh predates the utterance of his noble name. "Ellis." He speaks it wiht bitter distaste, reserved only for enemies.
Your mask comes loose as he manages to untie the knot holding it up and it flutters to the ground in a rather casual manner. Vulnerability attacks you as you are forced to face him with no buffer, to personally interact with him. You notice his smile, the way his mouth curls and the small dimples that joy forms. "With you, I feel.." Daelan pauses once more, fighting the cautious part of him that warns him to pull away, to put up the wall. "free." But he doesn't listen, embracing you and slotting his lips against yours, kissing you feverently as his fingers card through your hair. You reciprocate, despite your better judgment, and sturdy hands grasp his shoulders then begin to creep up his neck and eagerly claspes his nape. The motion pulls him closer, a passion sparking between the two of you as hungry lips fight for dominance. Both of you battling for control, your hands begin to wander and he mimics your action, grabbing your waist while you grab at his upper back. You briefly note the satin fabric wrinkling beneath your touch, but refuse to linger on anything other than the man before you who manages to pull you into bed. Daelan parts temporarily, gasping desperately as his hands continue to wander, exploring the uniform his loyal servant wears. He bites the corner of his pale lips, eyes narrowing as his mind races. Brown eyes search your features, memorizing what it can and simultaneously asking a sincere question which he soon voices. "If it pleases you, might we continue?" His gentle voice wavers, as though afraid you would reject him. Instead you nod and agree. "It would please me greatly, Master Daelan." His face flushes a vibrant red and his grin grows as he rapidly resumes his previous actions, kissing you yet again and pulling you as close as possible.
Tonight he was free, tonight he could enjoy a moment of intimacy with someone he trusted. Tonight is enough, It has to be.
Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed and i might make a part two. I've got a few more ideas, but idk. Apologies if my writing is off, i'm writing this at 6:19 in the morning on no sleep. :p started writing it 4 hrs ago
Tell me what you guys think about Daelan and the small bits of lore i dropped. Below is Daelan, a very average looking individual. Those red spots are supposed to acne, but i gave up. That's his old mask.
Gael hasten down the hall, the heel of his boots clack against the newly washed marble flooring and squeaks quietly when he lifts his feet. The servants scamper out of his way, casting their gazes to the floor and bowing their head low. He waves them off and they scuttle away. Exhaling, he rolls his eyes and passes numerous paintings, all displaying different eras and bloodlines. Gael pays the art no attention and keeps his gaze focused ahead of him, he turns to the left and passes various doors, finally halting when he comes to a tall, large door made of smooth walnut wood, sanded to perfection.
Pausing, he hesitates, dreading the upcoming meeting which will likely spiral into an argument about something ridiculous such as what lace to use to decorate their clothes. The obvious answer is Alençon lace, it elevates even the simplest designs. He exhales once more then pushes the left door open, it swings loudly and he winces then tries to sneak in. "Late once more, Gael." He groans internally and lazily rolls his head to face the Elder whom rests in his cushioned chair, beside him is Madam. "Did we not already have a conversation pertaining to your poor timing?"
The door slams shut behind him, likely due to a servant, and his shoulders tense. Asasel gestures to the chair next to Amro, who is doodling on his paperwork, and Gael drudges towards it. "You're lucky the Countess is running late." Phaeln chimes in, her voices grates against his ears. Her tone as condescending as always. "Hush it, girl." Gael hisses, baring his teeth at the child. She taunts him further by sticking her tongue out and a soft exsaperated sigh follows as Madam interrupts. "Let's Not Argue In The War-Room." Asasel gently corrects his lover. "Boardroom, dear, we aren't at war." "Yet." She responds. Asasel glances their way and brushes his hand over her glove. Gael slumps in his seat, Phaelen copies him as to irritate him further and Amro notices, snickering at the display.
The door creaks open again in a timid, reluctant manner as Callum enters the room. His gaze directed to the floor as he begrudingly approaches the table. Finding he seats, he claspes his hands together and rests his elbow on the surface of the wooden table, creasing the map laid across it. Gael eyes him critically, scoffing at the somber display on his face, his nose scrunches as he analyzes the sorrowful slump of Callum's posture. rolling his eyes, Gael turns away, mumblingly about how dramatic his coven member is and Callum winces. Amro glances at his brother and bites his lip, resisiting the urge to correct his callous behavior. Fortunately, The Elder politely chastises him. "Gael, Do not be so cold." Gael's face burns with embarassment and mutters an insincere apololgy. Phaelen's narrow eyes flit between the two, observing the tension and braces for any sort of argument.
Fortunately the wooden doors are forved open with a dramatic display of dominance belonging only to Countess Naia. She pauses, building suspense as the attention is turned to her. Her posture is straight as a rod, shoulders square and balanced. Adorning her is the latest fashion, a sharp fitting suit hightlighting her dark skin and elegant curls. Stepping into the room, she struts to the table and places her palms on the surface. A quirky, sharp tooth smile graces her face as her boisterous voice greets the room. "Good Evening, My Dear Family, We Have Much To Discuss."
I did not wann write this you guys, but i did and introduced two new characters! Sorry about my absenc, but hello! Man i really need to read more 😭My vocab is struggling, it's depressing me :/
Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed and now i can start working on something else, don't worry the story isn't done yet. I justwant to write some other stuff for a little bit, I'll be back to this soon. I assure you.
Eventually your fever returned, burning through your body and you yearned to succumb to exhaustion. Suddenly, you began to realize there was slight pain all throughout your body, a pain adrenaline had kept you from comprehending how badly it hurt. Groaning you curl into a ball, the chain jingling as your legs move. Gael exhales, soft and almost weary. Your eyes snap shut and you grit your teeth, grinding them together as you try to ignore the pain shooting through your limbs.
A wet cloth is pressed to your forehead, dabbing at the sweat and slowly calming the fever. Groaning softly, you lean into the relief it offers and whimper as the pain returns full force. Forcing your eyes open, you glare at Gael, blaming him for whatever suffering you're enduring. He simply smiles and continues patting away the drops of sweat continuously running down your face. Whatever illness these wretched creatures infected you with gives you more reason to despise them.
Irritated you swat at his hand, shoving helplessly at his wrist and pushing away the cloth. It doesn't matter that it alleviates your suffering, you don't want anything from them. A small sound of disapproval is Gael's response, "Tsk." though he obliges with a tilt of his head. "Don't you want to feel better, beloved?" Your response is immediate. "I don't want anything from you or the other curses in this spoiled place." He frowns, lowering the damp cloth with a pout and huffing. "Don't be stubborn, you need my help." You muffle a whine as you weakly begin to sit up, your arms quaking at the effort expended and your head spinning nauseasly. Again he reaches forward to push you down, but your resistance is stronger this time and you pull back from him, unfortunately falling onto the pillow. Your groans continue as the fever increases and you place an arm across your eyes to ease the headache caused by the dim lighting. "Poor thing." You hear Gael's sympathetic voice lament as he resumes dabbing at your heated skin. Again, you try to swat at his hand and fail. Temporarily your give up and allow yourself a chance to gather your strength.
The bloodsucker seems pleased by your compliance and inches closer to your body, moving your arm carefully to gaze into your eyes for a reason only known to him. Naturally, you keep your eyes closed, because he doesn't deserve the luxury of your sight. Sighing softly with minor disappointment, Gael relents for the moment and pulls away, you savor this small win. Though it doesn't last long as he soon returns, lifting your head up and propping some pillows behind your neck. Your disobedience returns and you move your head away from the pillows, he returns them and aggressively cups his hands around your face to prevent you from moving. "Don't move." He warns, nails digging into your skin come more and you briefly freeze. Then, in an act of rebellion, you worm your jaw free and bite the crook of his hand. He tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his hand away as your teeth break skin and latch on painfully.
You draw blood, you didn't even know these creatures had blood. It tastes disgustingly bitter and cold, you reel back and spit out the liquid. Your nose scrunches and your mouth purses as you regret biting into him. Gael quickly retrieves his hand, holding it close to his chest and wincing as his fingers brush over the wound. His dark eyes narrow as he chastises you. "That was rude, I was just trying to help you." He scoffs, rises from his seat and informs you that he is departing. "Obviously you need some time alone." Gael's snarky tone is more than enough to express his displeasure and he marches away from your bed, slams the bedroom door shut and leaves you to your lonesome, not that you're complaining. You knock the pillows back into place and lay back down, resting for a minute before you attempt to find an escape. Pulling the covers back, you survey the length of the chain, grabbing it and tugging at it to test it's durability.
The chain is heavy, clearly made of strong iron, the links are properly connected and not the least bit rusty. Turning it over, you notice that cutting through the metal would require tools that you don't have on you. Looking to your right, you notice the end table with the bowl resting on it. Your nose scrunches involuntarily at the sight, but you ignore your urges to knock it down. Instead, you reach over and pull the top drawer open. The only thing inside the shallow, wooden drawer is a few unopened letters and, ironically, a well-worn bible. You chuckle a little, then close the drawer and try to open the bottom one. Tugging on it is fruitless as it won't budge, whatever's in there they don't want you to get access to it. Exhaling, you mean back, wincing at the pain such small actions said you, and then look through the left end table. Again the bottom drawer is locked and the only thing in the top drawer is a thin book about poems. Your sister loved poems, you slam the drawer shut and collapse back into the comfortable bed. Nothing helpful whatsoever. Running your hands over your face you fight the frustration and tears back with determined thoughts of spite. Sitting up, you swing your legs over the bed, might as well see how far you can get.
Breathing out, Gael slumps briefly against the door then straightens as he realizes that he had taken the wet washcloth with him. Grimacing, he looks around for a servant. Eventually, after pacing the hallway he finds one and unceremoniously dumps the cloth in her hand. Then dusts his hands off with a handkerchief he keeps in his breast pocket and resumes his walk. Perhaps he should talk to one of his siblings or report your behavior to Madam. He isn't sure, sighing wearily he massages his forehead. The thought of talking to anyone about you gives him a headache. They don't understand how importantly you are, they don't understand that if you were properly taught you could be such a useful asset. Perhaps even a lovely companion for him or anyone really. It's not like he's attached to you, he barely even knows you. Though your attitude is so reminiscent of someone he comes knew and that makes it much harder to remain professional when interacting with you. Clearing his throat, he hastens his pace and decides to stop dwelling on the idea. There are much more important things to focus on right now, such as the meeting later today. Gael winces at the endless conversation awaiting him in that dusty boardroom. Might as well head that way now, lest he have to endure a lengthy speech regarding his attendance.
Not very far it turns out, you collapsed the moment you tried to stand. Your body was too weak, too injured, to move and the fever wasn't helping any. You nearly vomited again, which would've been extremely upsetting but satisfying as it likely would've stained their nice wooden floors. Reluctantly, you crawled back into bed and curled up under the covers, pulling them over your head to hide from the world while your emotions slowly breaks down and leave you a sobbing mess. It would be disasterous if any one of your captors saw you weak and vulnerable. You couldn't let them have that, you would remain strong and stubborn in front of them, even if it killed you.
(sorry about the wait, been procrastinating and doing school stuff, can't wait until spring break)
Eventually your fever returned, burning through your body and you yearned to succumb to exhaustion. Suddenly, you began to realize there was slight pain all throughout your body, a pain adrenaline had kept you from comprehending how badly it hurt. Groaning you curl into a ball, the chain jingling as your legs move. Gael exhales, soft and almost weary. Your eyes snap shut and you grit your teeth, grinding them together as you try to ignore the pain shooting through your limbs.
A wet cloth is pressed to your forehead, dabbing at the sweat and slowly calming the fever. Groaning softly, you lean into the relief it offers and whimper as the pain returns full force. Forcing your eyes open, you glare at Gael, blaming him for whatever suffering you're enduring. He simply smiles and continues patting away the drops of sweat continuously running down your face. Whatever illness these wretched creatures infected you with gives you more reason to despise them.
Irritated you swat at his hand, shoving helplessly at his wrist and pushing away the cloth. It doesn't matter that it alleviates your suffering, you don't want anything from them. A small sound of disapproval is Gael's response, "Tsk." though he obliges with a tilt of his head. "Don't you want to feel better, beloved?" Your response is immediate. "I don't want anything from you or the other curses in this spoiled place." He frowns, lowering the damp cloth with a pout and huffing. "Don't be stubborn, you need my help." You muffle a whine as you weakly begin to sit up, your arms quaking at the effort expended and your head spinning nauseasly. Again he reaches forward to push you down, but your resistance is stronger this time and you pull back from him, unfortunately falling onto the pillow. Your groans continue as the fever increases and you place an arm across your eyes to ease the headache caused by the dim lighting. "Poor thing." You hear Gael's sympathetic voice lament as he resumes dabbing at your heated skin. Again, you try to swat at his hand and fail. Temporarily your give up and allow yourself a chance to gather your strength.
The bloodsucker seems pleased by your compliance and inches closer to your body, moving your arm carefully to gaze into your eyes for a reason only known to him. Naturally, you keep your eyes closed, because he doesn't deserve the luxury of your sight. Sighing softly with minor disappointment, Gael relents for the moment and pulls away, you savor this small win. Though it doesn't last long as he soon returns, lifting your head up and propping some pillows behind your neck. Your disobedience returns and you move your head away from the pillows, he returns them and aggressively cups his hands around your face to prevent you from moving. "Don't move." He warns, nails digging into your skin come more and you briefly freeze. Then, in an act of rebellion, you worm your jaw free and bite the crook of his hand. He tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his hand away as your teeth break skin and latch on painfully.
You draw blood, you didn't even know these creatures had blood. It tastes disgustingly bitter and cold, you reel back and spit out the liquid. Your nose scrunches and your mouth purses as you regret biting into him. Gael quickly retrieves his hand, holding it close to his chest and wincing as his fingers brush over the wound. His dark eyes narrow as he chastises you. "That was rude, I was just trying to help you." He scoffs, rises from his seat and informs you that he is departing. "Obviously you need some time alone." Gael's snarky tone is more than enough to express his displeasure and he marches away from your bed, slams the bedroom door shut and leaves you to your lonesome, not that you're complaining. You knock the pillows back into place and lay back down, resting for a minute before you attempt to find an escape. Pulling the covers back, you survey the length of the chain, grabbing it and tugging at it to test it's durability.
The chain is heavy, clearly made of strong iron, the links are properly connected and not the least bit rusty. Turning it over, you notice that cutting through the metal would require tools that you don't have on you. Looking to your right, you notice the end table with the bowl resting on it. Your nose scrunches involuntarily at the sight, but you ignore your urges to knock it down. Instead, you reach over and pull the top drawer open. The only thing inside the shallow, wooden drawer is a few unopened letters and, ironically, a well-worn bible. You chuckle a little, then close the drawer and try to open the bottom one. Tugging on it is fruitless as it won't budge, whatever's in there they don't want you to get access to it. Exhaling, you mean back, wincing at the pain such small actions said you, and then look through the left end table. Again the bottom drawer is locked and the only thing in the top drawer is a thin book about poems. Your sister loved poems, you slam the drawer shut and collapse back into the comfortable bed. Nothing helpful whatsoever. Running your hands over your face you fight the frustration and tears back with determined thoughts of spite. Sitting up, you swing your legs over the bed, might as well see how far you can get.
Breathing out, Gael slumps briefly against the door then straightens as he realizes that he had taken the wet washcloth with him. Grimacing, he looks around for a servant. Eventually, after pacing the hallway he finds one and unceremoniously dumps the cloth in her hand. Then dusts his hands off with a handkerchief he keeps in his breast pocket and resumes his walk. Perhaps he should talk to one of his siblings or report your behavior to Madam. He isn't sure, sighing wearily he massages his forehead. The thought of talking to anyone about you gives him a headache. They don't understand how importantly you are, they don't understand that if you were properly taught you could be such a useful asset. Perhaps even a lovely companion for him or anyone really. It's not like he's attached to you, he barely even knows you. Though your attitude is so reminiscent of someone he comes knew and that makes it much harder to remain professional when interacting with you. Clearing his throat, he hastens his pace and decides to stop dwelling on the idea. There are much more important things to focus on right now, such as the meeting later today. Gael winces at the endless conversation awaiting him in that dusty boardroom. Might as well head that way now, lest he have to endure a lengthy speech regarding his attendance.
Not very far it turns out, you collapsed the moment you tried to stand. Your body was too weak, too injured, to move and the fever wasn't helping any. You nearly vomited again, which would've been extremely upsetting but satisfying as it likely would've stained their nice wooden floors. Reluctantly, you crawled back into bed and curled up under the covers, pulling them over your head to hide from the world while your emotions slowly breaks down and leave you a sobbing mess. It would be disasterous if any one of your captors saw you weak and vulnerable. You couldn't let them have that, you would remain strong and stubborn in front of them, even if it killed you.
(sorry about the wait, been procrastinating and doing school stuff, can't wait until spring break)
I'm struggling so bad with my American history class, it's not even funny. Like I love history, but I hate that class. The teaching method doesn't click with me and I feel so far behind, I can't even do the essay he gave out and it would probably improve my grade a lot. 😭😭
Eventually your fever returned, burning through your body and you yearned to succumb to exhaustion. Suddenly, you began to realize there was slight pain all throughout your body, a pain adrenaline had kept you from comprehending how badly it hurt. Groaning you curl into a ball, the chain jingling as your legs move. Gael exhales, soft and almost weary. Your eyes snap shut and you grit your teeth, grinding them together as you try to ignore the pain shooting through your limbs.
A wet cloth is pressed to your forehead, dabbing at the sweat and slowly calming the fever. Groaning softly, you lean into the relief it offers and whimper as the pain returns full force. Forcing your eyes open, you glare at Gael, blaming him for whatever suffering you're enduring. He simply smiles and continues patting away the drops of sweat continuously running down your face. Whatever illness these wretched creatures infected you with gives you more reason to despise them.
Irritated you swat at his hand, shoving helplessly at his wrist and pushing away the cloth. It doesn't matter that it alleviates your suffering, you don't want anything from them. A small sound of disapproval is Gael's response, "Tsk." though he obliges with a tilt of his head. "Don't you want to feel better, beloved?" Your response is immediate. "I don't want anything from you or the other curses in this spoiled place." He frowns, lowering the damp cloth with a pout and huffing. "Don't be stubborn, you need my help." You muffle a whine as you weakly begin to sit up, your arms quaking at the effort expended and your head spinning nauseasly. Again he reaches forward to push you down, but your resistance is stronger this time and you pull back from him, unfortunately falling onto the pillow. Your groans continue as the fever increases and you place an arm across your eyes to ease the headache caused by the dim lighting. "Poor thing." You hear Gael's sympathetic voice lament as he resumes dabbing at your heated skin. Again, you try to swat at his hand and fail. Temporarily your give up and allow yourself a chance to gather your strength.
The bloodsucker seems pleased by your compliance and inches closer to your body, moving your arm carefully to gaze into your eyes for a reason only known to him. Naturally, you keep your eyes closed, because he doesn't deserve the luxury of your sight. Sighing softly with minor disappointment, Gael relents for the moment and pulls away, you savor this small win. Though it doesn't last long as he soon returns, lifting your head up and propping some pillows behind your neck. Your disobedience returns and you move your head away from the pillows, he returns them and aggressively cups his hands around your face to prevent you from moving. "Don't move." He warns, nails digging into your skin come more and you briefly freeze. Then, in an act of rebellion, you worm your jaw free and bite the crook of his hand. He tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his hand away as your teeth break skin and latch on painfully.
You draw blood, you didn't even know these creatures had blood. It tastes disgustingly bitter and cold, you reel back and spit out the liquid. Your nose scrunches and your mouth purses as you regret biting into him. Gael quickly retrieves his hand, holding it close to his chest and wincing as his fingers brush over the wound. His dark eyes narrow as he chastises you. "That was rude, I was just trying to help you." He scoffs, rises from his seat and informs you that he is departing. "Obviously you need some time alone." Gael's snarky tone is more than enough to express his displeasure and he marches away from your bed, slams the bedroom door shut and leaves you to your lonesome, not that you're complaining. You knock the pillows back into place and lay back down, resting for a minute before you attempt to find an escape. Pulling the covers back, you survey the length of the chain, grabbing it and tugging at it to test it's durability.
The chain is heavy, clearly made of strong iron, the links are properly connected and not the least bit rusty. Turning it over, you notice that cutting through the metal would require tools that you don't have on you. Looking to your right, you notice the end table with the bowl resting on it. Your nose scrunches involuntarily at the sight, but you ignore your urges to knock it down. Instead, you reach over and pull the top drawer open. The only thing inside the shallow, wooden drawer is a few unopened letters and, ironically, a well-worn bible. You chuckle a little, then close the drawer and try to open the bottom one. Tugging on it is fruitless as it won't budge, whatever's in there they don't want you to get access to it. Exhaling, you mean back, wincing at the pain such small actions said you, and then look through the left end table. Again the bottom drawer is locked and the only thing in the top drawer is a thin book about poems. Your sister loved poems, you slam the drawer shut and collapse back into the comfortable bed. Nothing helpful whatsoever. Running your hands over your face you fight the frustration and tears back with determined thoughts of spite. Sitting up, you swing your legs over the bed, might as well see how far you can get.
Breathing out, Gael slumps briefly against the door then straightens as he realizes that he had taken the wet washcloth with him. Grimacing, he looks around for a servant. Eventually, after pacing the hallway he finds one and unceremoniously dumps the cloth in her hand. Then dusts his hands off with a handkerchief he keeps in his breast pocket and resumes his walk. Perhaps he should talk to one of his siblings or report your behavior to Madam. He isn't sure, sighing wearily he massages his forehead. The thought of talking to anyone about you gives him a headache. They don't understand how importantly you are, they don't understand that if you were properly taught you could be such a useful asset. Perhaps even a lovely companion for him or anyone really. It's not like he's attached to you, he barely even knows you. Though your attitude is so reminiscent of someone he comes knew and that makes it much harder to remain professional when interacting with you. Clearing his throat, he hastens his pace and decides to stop dwelling on the idea. There are much more important things to focus on right now, such as the meeting later today. Gael winces at the endless conversation awaiting him in that dusty boardroom. Might as well head that way now, lest he have to endure a lengthy speech regarding his attendance.
Not very far it turns out, you collapsed the moment you tried to stand. Your body was too weak, too injured, to move and the fever wasn't helping any. You nearly vomited again, which would've been extremely upsetting but satisfying as it likely would've stained their nice wooden floors. Reluctantly, you crawled back into bed and curled up under the covers, pulling them over your head to hide from the world while your emotions slowly breaks down and leave you a sobbing mess. It would be disasterous if any one of your captors saw you weak and vulnerable. You couldn't let them have that, you would remain strong and stubborn in front of them, even if it killed you.
(sorry about the wait, been procrastinating and doing school stuff, can't wait until spring break)
Nalo watches apathetically as the human before him desperately explains their desires. It's the same story, unrequited love and blah, blah, blah. Exhaling, he rolls his eyes and then slowly raises his head, light blue curls swirling around his face and bouncing in place against his dark horns. Placing his elbow on the table, he props his head up on the palm of his hand and curls his fingers into the soft locks. The human before him reacts with caution, as expected, and stops talking.
Nalo is quiet for another moment, red eyes staring blankly into his visitor's. The tension builds between them and then he snaps his fingers, the tips of his nail rings brush by one another, and a scroll appears before his customer. "Sign here." Nalo drawls, lips splitting to reveal a sharp, toothy grin. Naturally, and with little hesitation, they sign and his eyes flutter shut as he savors the surge of power conquering another soul brings. Then his grin slips and he ushers them away. "Now leave." Before the lost soul questions him, he snaps his fingers and they disappear.
Slumping forward, he crosses this arms on the surface of the table and them rests his chin on it. Now he must endure more waiting, his gaze flicks to the paperwork across the room, or start filing. The very idea causes shivers to wrack his warm skin and he gags. Nalo decides to avoid paperwork for now, after all another poor human could need him at any moment. The bell rings thrice over, the world blurs and suddenly he stands in a dimly lit room. It looks like a bedroom, an extremely boring bedroom. His red eyes survey his surroundings, they land on you. Your posture is slumped and your eyes carry a heavy gaze. You expression lights up, he notices, the look in your eyes is unsettling. "It worked..." He hears you mutter, a large grin crossing your face as you approach him.
"Of course it did." Nalo responds, watching you cautiously. "Why did you summon me?" He begins to hover, crossing his legs and glancing at the poorly drawn sigil underneath him. Your handwriting is atrocious. A large printed photo is shoved in front of his face. "Make him love me." What a common request, he reaches for the photo. "Hm." Nalo's squints as he observes the features of the man who has bewitched you. "He's a bit boring.." The demon remarks, looking back at you with minor judgement only to be startled by the pure obsession your tired eyes drowns in. "Ah." His monotonous tone picks up as he absorbs your deliciously sick love. It's his favorite type, it taints the soul, turns it dark and bitter. "Can you do that?" You ask, eager and desperate, audaciously grasping his arms. "Yes," He begins, shrugging off your touch and gracefully unfolding his legs to land on the ground. "For a price." Purple-pink gradient sleeves swirl as he turns, the heel of his wedged sandals clomps aggressively as he strides towards a chair at a messy desk.
Groaning, he shoves numerous items off your desk, the items clatter as they hit the floor. Then he looks around, gaze landing on a chair close by, he flicks his hand and the chair swiftly slides next to him. Nalo pats the cushion of the added chair and beckons you to his side with a sharp, red nails the Jewels on it gleaming in the light. "Come, let's talk, dear." He purrs, eyes narrowing as you approach. His hunger grows as you eagerly comply, leaning forward and swearing to give him whatever he wants. "I'll give anything for his love, I swear. Please, just help me!" You beg and his smile grows, his mouth waters as he anticipates the delicious payment awaiting him. Maybe he'll drag it out, just to savor that taste a little longer, he bites the tip of the nail that he has placed against his lips. "I'm sure you will." Giggling, his tongue juts out, wetting his dry lips. He grabs your hands, holding them tight as he speaks. "I know we'll both be quite satisfied with this contract." Oh, his desire nearly overwhelms him. Nalo so badly wants your soul, or a taste at least, obsession is always such a delicious meal and he enjoys it immensely.
(that's it, I had to get this outta my drafts, hope you guys enjoy!)
Previously; Asael's threatening voice rings out. "Kill the human. Madam interrupts. "Stop, I'm Intrigued, Love." The blonde pretend to ponder it for a moment, humming quietly as they think. "Well, We Do Need Stronger Coven Members And It Would Be Such A Shame to Eliminate A Member So...Loyal As Gael. Changing It should be simple." Your fate was sealed, you would join their family and there was no alternative.
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The cold of a cloth dabbing at your face awakens you, your sight groggy as you blink away the strange fatigue that weighs down your limbs. Exhaling lightly, your body, of its own desire, leans into the cloth, savoring the relief it brings from the sudden fever that threatens to drown you. Faintly you register a soft murmur belonging to a gentle voice, it tells you to stay still, pushing you down with benign force. The hand lingers on the center of your chest, just above your heart. Your lids flutter as you try to observe your surroundings. It's dark, minimal lighting, you can make out the general shape of furniture, you notice a lot of dressers. Raising your hand, you grab at the one on your chest and weakly push it away. It departs and you sit, hands resting on your lap as you pull at the heavy duvet restraining you. "Stop, you need rest." Dulcet tones caress your ears and temporarily soothe your anxious mind.
Turning your head, you focus on the figure that sits on a chair close to the bed. As your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness your trepidation and panic increase. Before you sits the young man with warm brown skin and tightly curled hair that has been pulled back into a low ponytail. A few obstinate strands escape the hold of the ribbon restricting the freedom of his hair. He smiles, the shadows hide his fangs from you but the caution remains. "The first few weeks are exhausting." Your brows furrow and your spine straightens, your hands clench around the fabric of the expensive covers. You open your mouth, prepared to question him, when you notice how dry your throat is and your tongue flicks against something sharp. You snap your mouth shut, teeth grit in denial. He leans forward, reaching for one of your hands. "Especially the hunger. It makes one wish for death." He chuckles, as though the idea of death is amusing. Your eyes narrow with growing anger as he continues talking. "The fever and pain is manageable, they have medicine for that." The man rises from the chair, friction causes it to screech as he moves. "But you cannot cure hunger. It does not matter how much or how often you eat, hunger will always remain." His hand extends to the left, your right, and grasps a small glass cup from the table by the head of the bed you lie in.
There's liquid in it, you notice it swirling as he switches it to his right hand, but it's too dark in the room to analyze it. Using his free hand for support, he clambers halfway into the bed, it creaks at the movement and he leans most of his weight on the palm of his hand. His brings his knee up, it nudges the edge of the bed and he uses his left leg to push towards you. "Donnie wanted me to give this to you. He said it will satiate you for some time until you have adjusted." He brings the glass to your lips, a delicious scent wafts to your nose and causes your stomach to growl painfully. You wrap an arm around your abdomen, lurching forward and almost knocking into the glass has the strange man not swiftly retracted his hand. A small bit of the liquid spills out onto the bed, it lands on one of the rare areas lit bit the dim lighting that you assume belongs to a candle. The color is odd, too dark to be wine and much too thick to be any kind of juice.
Nausea returns and you heave, gagging effortlessly but failing to regurgitate anything. Rushing to your aid, he places the cup back on the surface of the table and gathers your hair in his hands, pulling it away from your face. He maneuvers it into one hand, then uses the free hand to repeatedly rub your back, attempting to comfort you. "Oh, I forgot that your stomach is frail." He shifts, bringing his other leg onto the bed and folding it beneath him. There is little space between the two of you and he doesn't seem to care, but you do. It disgust you and again you gag. "Poor thing, you must feel awful." He coos, tone sickeningly sympathetic and it mocks you. "I have a name." You spit, fighting the urge to vomit as you speak. "Of course you do, every beloved human is given one." He has the audacity to giggle, as if you had said something amusing. Then he lays his head on your shoulder and your skin crawls, prickling with discomfort and itching with revulsion. Sharply you hiss and thrust your elbow into his side. "Get off of me, leech!"
The stranger jolts back, as though shocked by your outburst, he feigns insult, lips lowering to form a pout. "That was so rude." Huffing, he changes position, uncrossing one leg to rest it over the edge of the bed and then tucks the other underneath his hips. You glare at him, snarling with a hatred that beats through your bones and bangs at your soul. "It is the truth, you are nothing but a leech, draining the innocent of their life force to satisfy your twisted cravings. You are a cursed creature and I hope that every moment of your eternal life is nothing but suffering." His playful demeanor slowly slips away, pout shaping into a stoic, distant, expression as his dark eyes burn into your soul. Minor regret begins to seep into your spine, shrinking somewhat as to disappear from his sight. Your bite your lip, regretting it when your teeth split the flesh and you wince. The man tilts his head, ponytail swaying as he moves. "I have a name too, Y/N." His soft voice muted by a unique form of disappointment. "I am Gael, Oldest Child of the Elder." You don't like that he knows your name, that he speaks with an air of importance and acts as though he's untouchable. You refuse to acknowledge his name or title, instead turning your head away from him and holding your arms tightly around yourself as a form of reassurance.
Gael, apparently, doesn't take kindly to being ignored. His left hand shoots out, seizing your jaw and harshly recapturing your attention. His nails dig into your skin, you wince and try to pull away. He smiles, thin lips peeling back to flash his fangs. "Say my name." Gael commands, leaning closer and cupping your left cheek in his right hand. "You know, I could have let them kill you. I really could have." He taints, kind voice offering a sadistic dichotomy. Fear runs through your veins, your throat bobs as you gulp. Dark eyes follow the motion with an unsettling interest and you try to pull away once more. "If you address me properly I will release you." Gael's eyes flicker across your face,commiting this moment to memory. His grin grows the longer he holds you. Reluctantly, you concede. "Gael, Oldest Child of the Elder." You mutter and he snickers, left hand petting your skin. "No, it's just Gael to you." Dropping formalities, he releases your hand, you move away as fast as you can but he refuse to let you get far. He grabs your wrist and shambles closer to you. "Don't go, you still have to eat."
Releasing you, he reaches behind him to grab the cup. You try to take this moment to escape, but upon tossing the cover off your legs you immediately notice a metal shackle wrapped around your ankle. It seems to be attached to the box springs of the bed. You freeze, dread returns as the situation settles in. "Oh, I knew I forgot to mention something." Whipping your head around, you frown and snap. "What is the meaning of this?!" Tilting his head once more, causing his ponytail to brush the top of his shoulders. "Aren't you smart enough to understand?" Gael's smile remains and he holds the cup out to you. Your heart sinks, panic sets in as you begin to realize just how bad this situation has become. "It's temporary, as soon as you've..." Pausing, his eyes flir away as he tries to find the right explanation. "As soon as I've what, Gael?" You seeth, spitting out his name at the end of your sentence. Shrugging subtly, he turns his attention back to you. "Adjusted. As soon as you've adjusted, Y/N." For some reason, his simple statement increases your apprehension.
Previously; " Sanguisuge!" Someone shouted, eliciting panic throughout the room, as guess rush out of their seats and try to escape. You felt ill as your eyes run over the numerous massacred victims of the ruthless creatures, you knew these people. You grew up with them. "I am afraid God is not listening dear." A dainty voice speaks, arrogance present in their tone. You turn your head, finding a tall, slim individual standing behind you. Dropping the fabric they had bundled in their hands, they clasps their gloved hands together. "God stopped listening centuries ago."
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Their voice drew attention to their face, your eyes slowly flicking away from the strange outfit they wore to the soft artificial blush on their face and the color of their hooded eyes, a simple, empty black. Their face is made up with gentle shades of pink, it stands out on their fair, beige skin, as does the blood splattered on the curve of its cheek. You froze, processing the sight before you, the angel that killed someone you knew, someone that likely begged for mercy. You were angry, furious even as you witnessed how calmly they spoke to you. They smile at you, exposing their sharp canines hidden behind red lips.
Your mouth parts, to say what you don't know, not that it matters as no one would have listened to you. "Oh, Save Your Breath, Your Lungs Will Need It." It retorts, giving you no chance to question the massacre that took place only a few minutes ago. The floor hits your shoulder, the pressure shocking your fight system into motion as you wiggle your armed hand free and stab blindly at whomever has knocked you over.
Your blade repeatedly breaks skin, squishing disgustingly each time, as the creature, one you didn't recognize, wailed in pain. It scrambles away, hand on their neck, but doesn't get far as you pursue them. Tackling them, with minimal struggle due to their wound or status one, you continue your assault. Grief controlling you as your dagger repeatedly sinks into its chest, until it stops moving then you rise, ignoring the pain in your shoulder, and turn to the slim stranger. Beside them stands another Sanguisuge, just as tall, slightly heavier and dressed similarly to the one beside him. He brushes back a tight curl that fell from a blonde updo belonging to the one that taunted you and you're disgusted by this display of affection. How dare they act so human after slaughtering countless innocents? The blonde mirrors the blackete, neatly arranging his pin straight locks behind his ear.
Grief turns to rage as you rush forward, lunging at the blonde and aiming for its heart. Black eyes widen a smidge, surprise and sick excitement gracing their delicate features. Quickly the Sanguisuge next to them pulls it out of harms way, you stumble, almost falling but stabilize yourself and spread your feet apart as you swing around and aim for it yet again. You kiss once more, but don't stop, each time you miss it seems to amuse the blonde though the blackete seems irritated. Your only interrupted when a member of the clan knocks you to the ground, restraining your arms but you still fight, kicking at them as they hiss. A dainty chuckle of sadistic amusement follows an annoyingly haughty remark from, you assume, the blonde. "Did You See That Elder? The Child Tried to Attack Me." Their piercing laugh rings through your brain as you linger on one word, Elder. Your gaze flits to the tall, heavy blackete. His exhausted gaze, dark hair which somehow seems to be greying with age and pale skin. His shadow features match perfectly with the description your family has been given months ago. The rumors were true, there was an Elder Sanguisuge infesting the area and here he was.
Killing him was the only thought in your mind as you managed to escape, and end, the clan member that attacked you. Shakily, your legs carry you close to them and you twirl your weapon, holding it firm in your hand. Vaguely you notice the intrigued expression on the blonde and how it waves off it's children. The Elder gestures for the blonde, likely it's eternal partner, to move aside. "You aren't honestly considering to attempt fighting me." His snobby voice grinds your nerves, you continue approaching watching as he crosses his arms and glares at you. "A weak human such as yourself would lose terribly." The Elder threatens, which encourages your behavior as you leap towards him. He dodges your attack with a sigh, stepping to the side and reaching out, grabbing your arm and throwing you onto to your back, over his shoulder and away from him. You land quite harshly on the marble flooring, blood soaking into your clothes as you try to steady your shallow breathing. Groaning, you raise slowly, palm on the floor to stabilize you as you begin to sit up, right hand almost slipping across the floor as you move. The movement cause you to wince sharply, hand swiftly rushing to the pain on your right side, a cracked rib perhaps.
Foolishly, you assume you can still fight despite how terribly you struggle to stand, exhaling light breaths your vision blurs as you step forward. Each step more exhausting than the last, naturally you don't make it far. The adrenaline falling short as you collapse, your mind unable to process just what exactly has happened. You can't believe it, you just could not believe it. Everyone you loved is likely dead, your sister...on her wedding day. Turning over, onto your back, you gaze at the arches decorating the ceiling, the gaudy chandeliers brightly illuminating the disaster below. Shallow breaths soon begin to slow as your lids slowly close, you think someone approaches you and speaks soft words of reassurance, a brown blob that almost resembles a person. But you were probably hallucinating, no one was left except the bloodsuckers and you didn't believe they would spare you. Your eyes close and you welcome the sweet embrace of silence, the blissful peace of darkness warms you in this house of need.
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"I pity it." Gael spoke, soft voice lacking any true sincerity as he reached his hand out, the satin gloves preventing himself from indulging in the warm feeling of human skin against his cold fingertips. He hums once, ignoring the tap of approaching footsteps, and removes his hand to take off his glove. "Don't tell me that you have grown attached to the wretch already, dear brother." Amro teases, the tips of their polished shoes pausing beside their brother. "You know it won't last." They snicker, nudging Gael's knee with their pointed nail. Exhaling sharply, he swats away his siblings finger and whips his head around to glare at them, tights black curls swaying vicariously with the motion. "I didn't say that, fool!" He hisses, bearing his teeth to run Amro off. "Now, Now, Children, There Is No Need To Fight Over It." Madam intervenes, their voice ringing elegantly through the air. "Your Mentor is right. We don't have time to fight over this thing, Council Lady Naia is one the way to our Coven this moment." The Elder, Asael, snapped. His baritone voice sternly reprimanding the two young ones.
"Get this mess cleaned up, but don't think I'll let this slide. You both went against my orders, I will punish the two of you." Asael continues, disappointment bleeding through his tone as he walks towards them with steady steps. Gael's shoulders tense as The Elder continues speaking. "Not only did you interrupt the plan, you also got various members of our coven killed. There was a reason we were waiting until the hunters had dissappaited." Madame interrupts Asael's rant. "And You Ruined Callum's Special day, He Has Been Looking For His Eternal Mate Since He Was Reborn." The pouty tone indicates that it isn't all that serious, as they gesture towards the man Estrid was going to marry. He sits beside her corpse, or what was left of it, and says nothing, he doesn't move or speak. All he can think about it the love of his life, how he failed to save her. If he has turned her before this happened or even eloped, it would have been different. He should've known better, his siblings have always been wild cards. Gael spares a glance in Callum's direction, than quickly regrets it as guilty strikes his undead heart. Amro, however, is unaffected, merely shrugging off the playful complaints of their Mentor.
The Elder sighs, pinches the bridge of his nodd and decides to pursue this conversation another time. "Forget it, just get rid of that hunter and we'll leave." He gestures to your unconscious body, long sleeves falling forward around his wrist at the motion. Gael hesitates, biting his lips carefully to avoid digging the fangs into his skin, and turns to Asael. "Is that... necessary?" The blackete foolishly questions, clenching his bare first over his knee and resting the other on top of it. Regret instantly flood in as numerous clan members face him with disbelief and Amro snickers as though he expected this. The Elder lowers his hand, turning his tired eyes to Gael and meets his gaze. His silence is answer enough, but Gael can't help but hope. It's not because he's attached to you or anything, he just thinks you'll be useful. "I mean, you saw how well it fought and we could always transform it. We always need strong fighters!" Wringing his hands together, he considers backtracking but he was stubborn and genuinely thought you would be a wonderful addition to the coven. An awkward smile comforts his expression as he waits for a response. Madam, intrigued by you, tilts her head. They hum, placing a finger to their lips and tsking lightly. "Why, My Dear Gael, You Are Ever So Disobedient Today. How Unusual." She lowers her hand, grasping the sides of their skirt to allow ease of motion as they walk. "Are You Getting Restless, Perhaps? Tired Of Following Your Creator's Orders?" Madam stops beside Asael, linking her arm through the gap of his elbow. They lean their head forward, resting it on his shoulder. The Elder places his hand on his partner's and watches Gael's reaction with a stoic face.
Prickles of anxiety stab his brain when Madam begins insinuating such an awful offense and sparking suspicion in the others. "No, I would never!" He rushes to defend himself, shooting up from his spot on the floor and waving his hands erratically. "I'm extremely grateful to The Elder, I would never disrespect The Creator with such dishonorable actions!" Stepping forward, Gael touches his chest emphatically. "Surely you believe me, you have known me for hundreds of centuries." His soft voice cracks with desperation, fear causing tears to well up in his eyes. Amro observes the dramatics with an apathetic facade, in truth they felt minor concern that Gael would be stuck down where he stands. Their nails dig into the black pants, now stained with dried blood, he had donned for this special occasion. "Then kill it." Asael's threatening voice rings out. "Kill the human." The young man's 'heart' drops, he feels colder than usual and struggles to move. His mind swirls as pressure builds in his temple, this familiar feeling is a command spell. The Elder rarely uses it now that the fledglings are older, but it's still just as effective.
Gael tries to fight against the command, his desire to save you, to own you even, stronger than his desire to listen. He doesn't know why he feels this way, perhaps he's just far too sympathetic for his own good. "No..please" He begs, trying to persuade The Elder to change his mind. Naturally It doesn't work, after all, individuals easily swayed don't become The Elder. Just as he was about to confirm his order, Madam interrupts. "Stop, I'm Intrigued, Love." Asael turns his head to gaze upon his partner. She looks up at him, innocently blinking their hooded eyes. Exhaling, he can't help the fondness his partner elicits deep within his darkened soul. "Is that so?" He addresses the blonde with a softer tone, eyes affectionately admiring his eternal partner. She nods, a wolfish smile gracing their stunning face. "Yes, It Is." Madam reaches out their free hand, cupping his cheek in her palm. The silk fabric of their glove caresses Asael's dry skin. "What do you propose we do instead, Madam?" He inquires, placing a hand over the one on his cheek. The blonde pretend to ponder it for a moment, humming quietly as they think. "Well, We Do Need Stronger Coven Members And It Would Be Such A Shame to Eliminate A Member So...Loyal As Gael."
Asael listens patiently as Madam explains her reasoning, caressing their hand lovingly. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Another Coven member would be wonderful." He turns back to Gael who's hope grew with each remark. "Changing It should be simple." Your fate was sealed, you would join their family and there was no alternative. Though this brought great joy to Gael, Amro was not so eager. "Are you serious? A weak human like that?" They scoff, rolling their eyes and pouting. "I Believe You're Only Saying That Because They Damaged Your Pride, Aren't You?" Madam teases, a coy smile leading to a light, amused chuckle. "No." Amro responds, turning his face away to hide the embarrassment he feels, if he had blood running through his vein his face would be burning right now. The others present decide to hold their tongue, knowing they weren't nearly important enough to comment on this situation.
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(part two is done, it's rough tho cause I wrote this at 1-3 in the morning, lol. Also I'm making up lore/plot as I go, :p)
The wedding was beautiful, your sister was glowing as she walked down the aisle to her betrothed. Her smile lit the room with a contagious joy that could be felt even under the veil. Piano notes began to ring across the room as the Wedding March began to play.
Every step she took was in time with the song, her angelic gown bouncing with every movement. Your eyes tracked her as she walked, only turning away when you heard your mother sniffling. Your father rested a gentle hand on her back, comforting her as they both tried to savor this bittersweet moment. Gaze softening at the sight, you look away and return your attention to the altar. She stops by her partner's side, he turns his head to face her and you watch as a genuine smile cracks his stoic expression.
Father John clears his throat, calling for attention from the pair and gestures for the guests to sit. All oblige and you eagerly wait for the ceremony to begin. "Welcome all of you who are near and dear. We gather here today under this roof to celebrate the union of Lady Estrid-" The doors crash open, hitting the wall and vibrating slightly due to the force. "I OBJECT" A voice belted, turning the heads of every individual within the room, including you. It was a man or perhaps a woman? You couldn't tell, as they're features were far too neutral to form an opinion. But they were shockingly gorgeous, knocking the wind from your lungs as you set your eyes upon them and their loose black curls framing their pale white skin and plump, red cheeks. "What'-" Your sister begins her sentence, likely to protest, snapping you back to reality as you swallow to nurse your dry throat. But another interjects, you raise from your seat somewhat to get a look at these intruders. "You were supposed to wait, it is not time yet!" The second voice is much softer, though urgent and sharp, belonging to a young man with skin reminiscent of a cool, rich, umber, his cheeks were without rogue yet his radiant beauty still distracted you. Albeit, the distraction was different from the dazzling being next to him, it was no less breathtaking. Your eyes stuck on the man much longer than need be.
"Elder said we need to wait, that he has a plan." Alarm was raised in your mind at the chosen word, yoru eyes narrow with suspicion as you observe the two beings much closer. The pale one sweeps their eyes across the room, a seemingly malicious smile on their face as they talk. "Oh, I forgot." Shrugging their shoulders, rustling the frills of their coat at the movement, they wave their hand dismissively and continue on. "It will be fine, we have not done anything yet." They step forward, entering the church and suddenly dread runs down your spine. Your sister exhales and tries yet again to speak, stepping off the altar, though her partner attempts to stop her but soon follows nervously, she bundles the sides of her dress in her hands to quickly move towards them. "Forgive me, but I must insist you explain why you interrupted our ceremony." Her stern voice echoes through the building. Your father stands, shoulders tense as he watches the two intruders warily.
Following suit, you stand and reach for your hip, where a small blade rests, in case you have to defend your sister., and slowly approach. The pale one watches curiously as your relatives approach the two of them, the second one, much softer and respectful, rushes to comfort them. "Oh, our apologies, my sibling is far to eager for their own good." He chuckles, trying to smooth over the tension beginning to overcome the attendees. "Eager for what exactly?" Your sister snaps, releasing her dress and crossing her arms, tired of whatever game the two seem to be playing. You notice the pale one's eyes narrow, their strange golden color seeming to glow under the light of the chandeliers. Your steps hasten as you sense a subtle change in demenor, you yank the blade out of it's leather scabbard. But it's too late, your sister's blood spills across the floor as the wretched creature jumps at her. Startled your spouse is slow to react, backing away at first and then attempting to pull the attacker off your sister. "Wait, stop!" He shouts, his verbose voice cracking as he witnesses the death of love. They shove him away with surprising strength, he stumbles but strangely enough doesn't fall.
"Sanguisuge!" Someone shouted, eliciting panic throughout the room, as guess rush out of their seats and try to escape. They don't make it very far, as other creatures begin to attack them, jumping the innocent and viciously ripping at their throat. Gasping, you freeze, barely registering the cries from your mother or your father screaming at you and the others to stab them, to do something, as he begins fending off a Sanguisuge that had attacked him immediately following your sister's brutal mauling. Your legs shake, but your senses soon return and its fortunate that your close enough to stab the pale demon between their shoulder blade. They cry in pain, shrieking and then yanking away from the blade forcing it to be pulled from their skin, it doesn't bleed yet you know they are in pain. Their almond eyes sharpen fiercely as anger overtakes the sadistic grin previously expressed, they hiss, hand reaching behind them to cover the wound, and then they pounce. Your vision is spun as your swung to the ground, a heavy weight collides with you and loud hissing draws attention to another Sanguisuge, one of the guest you realize, who tries to rip your throat out. Quick to react, you thrust your blade into its eye and it screams in pain as your holy blade pierced through its cornea.
Scrambling up and rushing away, you bump into one of the bridesmaid, she reaches for you smearing blood on your sleeve as she begs for help. "H..el..p" Voice gargling from the blood suffocating her, uselessly she applies pressure to the wound on her throat. She collapse and you catch her in your arms, breathing shaking as you watch the life drain from her eyes. Her hand falls and lands on the lovely lavender dress she had worn to the wedding, blood stains it as you slowly lay her down on the floor, once a lovely white marble now unrecognizable underneath the red liquid drowning it. Your breathing quickens and your vision blurs, heart racing you turn your head and look at the scene around you. Various bloodsuckers enjoying the feast they had selfishly secured. They all ignore you as you stumble around the chapel, stepping over the broken pews and trying to find your mother or father. You felt ill as your eyes run over the numerous massacred victims of the ruthless creatures, you knew these people. You grew up with them. What about the children? Your eyes catch sight of a small bloody dress and your stomach swam with discomfort, anger and sorrow setting in as you began to dry heave. The children, even the children. "Oh, god.." The though alone caused you to wretch, bile coating your tongue afterwards and you held your mouth shut to prevent this from reoccurring.
"I am afraid God is not listening dear." A dainty voice speaks, arrogance present in their tone. You turn your head, finding a tall, slim individual standing behind you. A woman perhaps, their features were delicate and their physique remind you of a noble woman's yet they lack a chest. At least you assume they do you can't tell under all the clothes they wear. Their high collared blouse is a dark burgundy, it's sleeves hang gently around their wrists forming a bell shape. A black corset clinches their waist, though you doubt its needed, and attached to the sides is a layered skirt made of an expensive material, such as silk or satin, it matches the corset and falls elegantly around their legs, exposing a small portion of their pants. Dropping the fabric they had bundled in their hands, they clasps their gloved hands together. "God stopped listening centuries ago."
(finally wrote something for you guys, sorry about the week long absence it turns out writing is harder when your in college and struggle with motivation and run out of vitamin D, lol.)
