(Starter for Corrand @forgctmenct)
Damian took a deep breath as he broke the surface, water streaming down his face in shimmering rivulets. He dragged both hands through his soaked hair, pushing the dark strands back from his eyes. For a moment he simply floated there, letting the warmth cradle him.
He had always loved being underwater. If he had to explain it, it was the stillness. It didn't matter whether it was the ocean, a river, or one of the hot springs Zhorvak had once been known for. Beneath the surface, the endless blue bled into green, swallowing him whole in a silence that demanded nothing. No expectations. No conversation. No company. In deep water, no one else had to exist.
If he were being completely honest, it was the closest thing he could imagine death feeling like.
The moment the pressure surrendered him back to the surface and he filled his lungs with air again was the most human he ever allowed himself to feel. There had been a healer in Zhorvak centuries ago who used to scold him for diving too deep and staying under too long. âYou laugh in deathâs face,â heâd say. Damian had laughed right back. âDeath would never take me. The Grim Reaper is far too possessive a lover to let me stray.â
Novigrad, unfortunately, lacked any water worth drowning in. Its gray-blue waters reminded him of storm clouds gathering on the horizon, heavy with the promise of catastrophe. The ocean always looked moments away from swallowing the city whole.
Which was why he found himself spending more and more time at the Serpentine Bathhouse. At least until his house was finished. Not that he minded, The new manor would still be close to both the bathhouse and Passiflora. He could swim whenever he pleased and, more importantly, continue pestering Dorian.
The bathhouse pool stretched wide and quiet around him. Lanterns burned behind carved screens, casting golden reflections that danced across the waterâs surface. Steam drifted lazily through the chamber, softening the edges of marble columns and painted walls. At this hour, the place was deserted, exactly how Damian liked it.
He sank lower into the water until only his nose and eyes remained above the surface. Peace. Then, with a lazy flick of his hand beneath the water, he focused as warmth gathered in his palm, magic answered immediately, curling through his veins like liquid sunlight. The water around his hand began to heat, warmth spread outward in gentle waves. Fire powers had easily been the most practical gift heâd ever received. The necklace that had bestowed them remained infuriatingly missing, but at least its absence hadnât robbed him of the magic entirely.
A useful consolation, almost enough to stop him from being angry about it.
Damian reached for a small ceramic bottle resting beside the pool and poured a measure of herbal tonic into his palm. The scent of rosemary, mint, and lavender drifted upward, closing his eyes, he worked it into his hair.
He was preparing to disappear beneath the surface again when a sound to his right caught his attention.
Another late-night visitor, the water moved and he looked away by reflex. Damian had been glad to notice that humans had become considerably less prudish over the last three centuries, even bathhouses no longer guaranteed privacy. Higher vampires, by contrast, had never been particularly burdened by shame. They tended to concern themselves with simpler mattersâcomfort, pleasure, hunger.
When one possessed all the time in the world, what purpose did shame serve? Why compare oneself to the standards of creatures who barely survived a century when the body itself offered so many delights?
Still, he averted his gaze, not wanting to make the other uncomfortable. For all he knew, he could be bathing beside a bishop.
Human etiquette remained one of lifeâs great mysteries.
"Excuse me, you'reâ" Damian glanced up. Recognition struck him so suddenly that he nearly laughed. The bard of the festival! "The bard!"
Of all the people he expected to encounter tonight, this person ranked somewhere below a dragon and slightly above a tax collector.
"I've seen your performance, the romance, the star-crossed lovers!" His grin widened. "You were marvelous!"
For all his frequent disdain toward humanity, Damian had always adored a good performance. Bards, jesters, actors, mimicsâhumans became fascinating whenever they threw themselves wholeheartedly into living.
With effortless ease, he dipped beneath the water and resurfaced moments later beside the newcomer, droplets running down his shoulders.
"Truly a wonderful work," he said, giving the bard a pat on the back. âThere was a moment during the second act where I was absolutely convinced one of them was going to throw themselves from the balcony.â
vaporwave
jimmyeatworldofficial
2087
stormborns
