[ohfiendangelical]

He wants to scream, he wants to ask why she’s doing this. He wants to run, he wants to get as far away as possible — but he is so hungry. There is nothing quite like a dark childe’s hunger, an insatiable need that can completely consume the creature itself if it isn’t careful. His hunger is getting the better of him; he finds himself approaching her despite himself. He feels colder and colder the closer he gets, but there is nothing to do now but give in: he needs blood. 

He’s close enough, now; he can taste the blood in the air. Lips part, and tongue meets flesh — he licks the blood from her face, a low whine souding in his throat.

[lightcages]

head tips back , a malicious grin widening across her face. marcella breathes out a laugh,  eyes falling shut. she feels the heat in her chest rise to splash colour across her cheeks. young girls in the small town that fringes her forest claim she bleeds black  ---  cut into the witch’s flesh and watch maggots crawl onto the blade. she wonders if it’s vitriol on his tongue.  bitter , thick and foul like tar. 

still , it mustn’t be enough for him , fingers snake through his hair, find a too - rough grip on his roots and coax him further down.  her throat’s already scarred , impossibly faint white lines laced across her windpipe . rope burns, knicks, cuts, bite marks, all too faint to see from a distance, but close up it’s like botched patchwork.  

it’s more invitation than command ,  marcella tilts her head to one side, bare throat exposed.

[ohfiendangelical]

He doesn’t want to go to her; her scent is too strong and she makes him angry and frightened and panicked, but there is nowhere else to go but further into the wall and the blood on her face draws him to her like a moth to a flame. Of course he hesitates, of course he tries to resist the ashen, raspy purr of her voice, of course he growls and hisses in denial for a moment or two — but he does inch closer eventually, even if he’s crouching low and looking about ready to pounce if need be.

The nausea gets stronger the closer her gets. He doesn’t know whether he needs to feed or vomit or both. Her pulse pounds in his head and the sight and scent of her blood so close makes his entire body shiver.

[lightcages]

marcella draws back a pace,  an arm’s reach away from where the chains will stretch. despite his wariness, the witch beckons him closer , welcomes him warmly. she seems both bitter and thrilled about his distrust  ---  cross that she hasn’t won, elated that the game should continue. still, it’s a great surge of power, having someone obey when they so desperately resist. ideas bite at her as she watches him approach , too - slow and faltering. she’d keep him if she could , lock him away and feed him rats and girls.  

chin tilts up , indicating the small stream of blood there. brows raise , eyes glistening. silently , it’s yours . take it. 

[ohfiendangelical]

His head raises again and he stares at the small bead of blood, dizzy and mad with hunger. Instinct is what makes him lunge, not logic — consciously, he knows she’s too far away, but his body acts on its own and he pays he price. His bonds bite into his skin as he strains against them, another inhuman sound rising from his throat. Teeth gnash and bite in her direction, despite the knowledge that it’s no use. 

He ends up a heaving mess on the cold, rotten floor. Nauseated, humiliated, he sinks back into his corner, still watching her with inky-black eyes. He can hear her pulse, and the sickly sweet smell of her blood gets stronger and stronger with every second.

[lightcages]

his reaction warms her heart ,  the beating quickens beneath her breast  ---  it’s almost venereal , witnessing something so overcome with desire. a soft sigh is breathed out through smiling teeth, marcella neglects to reach up and wipe warm blood from her chin. she watches zero cower , feels a great swell of excitement at such a display, lowers herself to the ground and sits with her legs curled beneath her  ---  old style skirt covering dirt - caked flesh and bare feet.

perhaps it doesn’t register within her mind how utterly cruel she’s being . perhaps empathy truly is so out of reach. 

❛   do you want to leave this place ? come here.   ❜

[lightcages]

gohfiendangelical:

Zero shrinks back further, his back pressing so hard against the wall it feels as though his spine may break. He tries to look at her in the eye, but can’t for long — especially not when she asks him that. He stares at the ground, heaves another dry cough and vows to himself that he will not answer her, he will not play along with her games. 

Instead, he snaps at her — a dog declaring don’t touch me, don’t come near me. It’s paired with a demonic howl, an inhuman screech: BACK AWAY.

head tilts , expression softening. she stops just out of the chain’s reach,  so that if he were to lash out  ( lurch forward , teeth bared )  he wouldn’t come close to tearing into her flesh. resisting is useless  ---  how does he ever expect to get out of here if he doesn’t play along ?  marcella is a reasonable woman ,  always open to bargaining. find her an alternative with more pros than cons and she’ll find some way to agree to the terms.

sharp , fascinated eyes watch as he recoils.  there’s a smile, before she bites into her lower lip ,  catches it between sharp teeth and clamps down til she draws blood.

[ohfiendangelical]

   ❛  Alternative?  ❜    His voice doesn’t sound like his own, the usually syrupy gravel of it dry and cracked. The word is punctuated with a dry cough that comes from deep within his chest. His throat feels raw; he thinks he may even feel his blood falling down his esophagus. 

What could the alternative possibly be? What could be worse than this? 

In protest of his own weakness, he growls again, flashes his teeth.

[lightcages]

you’re all alone in here. 

( it could be worse. it could always be worse. there is no crueller thing than her in this forest,  but she hasn’t got claws and needle - sharp teeth, she is not rabid or uncontrollable. though, maybe this is just as bad  ---  the slow decay of starving to death. still, she feels her presence but make up for it, at least in some small part. it’s a pleasant torture, if she’s the one inflicting it. 

marcella gets to her feet, approaches the boy. then, coyly --- )

are you hungry?

[ohfiendangelical]

She’s back.  He smells her before he sees her: rich blood that both nauseates him and makes his mouth water. The room also feels colder when she enters it, somehow, as though she’s brought the winter with her, despite the fact he’s already been shivering and shaking for hours. He can’t help but push as far away from her as possible, pressing into the corner and growling with the little strength he has, a wounded and frightened animal.

[lightcages]

( IT’S GROWLING AT HER. marcella smiles as though it’s a compliment ,  like her heart flutters in her chest. fear is a funny thing , a sweet thing  ---  marcella’s stomach coils at the realisation that she’s reduced such a confident creature to a trembling, snarling victim. bony hands clasp the teacup, the tip of her thumb circling the rim. she brings the cup to her mouth, glances back at the beast. )

there’s no need to be so afraid. this is much better than the alternative. 

[tterrymcginnis-blog]

Hello my child…

[lightcages]

( there’s a thin - lipped smile, dark skirt fanning around her as she settles into the seat she’d brought down . there’s a steaming cup of tea that smells distinctly rotten. like spoilt fruit . she’s bound him in heavy shackles  ---  left him to wither on ice - cold, mould infested concrete with nothing to eat, kept him in the dark for much too long. the witch glances toward zero, over the putrid tea. )

[sikanapanele-deactivated2018121]

[birinsansinlar]

Visit Original Link

Katie Melua, I’d Love To Kill You

[periodperfection]

[stardustch0rds-deactivated20210]

Crimson Peak (2015) dir. Guillermo del Toro

[egouist-blog]

                ( warding? what warding? was it that ward he dismantled briefly earlier? oh yeah, that thing. what a damn strong ward that was. it healed right up despite initially breaking through, which leaves him to believe it will not be any easier to get back through. a sigh rolls out mentally at the prospect of more effort, but he can just cross that bridge when he gets there.          what’s more interesting is the surprising witch found after a bit of trekking through what could only be described as a tim burton horror film. a cottage in the woods placed oh so conveniently. it as his mistake for not assuming that someone might be living within these walls rather than his previous assumption, that something is hidden here.         which only makes fin wonder why exactly the other wants to keep witches out, especially given their considerably impressive skill. )         ‘ i wasn’t aware that this was a privately owned area.                       my apologies. you could say i felt like going out for a midnight stroll. ‘                      ( his voice is laced with haughtiness, yet caution. he only means to prod, never provoke, not when his host i a mystery )       ‘ what a lovely home you have here, in such a quaint area too.                              did you decorate it yourself? i’d love to learn your secret. ’

[lightcages]

     sometimes the warding grows weak, sometimes it lets things in. people find themselves lost in her forest more often than she would care to admit. she blames the fates, pesky and troublesome things, letting all those wanderers into her home. most don't make it too far in; some of her pets are allowed to roam free from time to time. sometimes she takes the warding down entirely to feed those that need to be fed -- she doesn't have the time to lure unsuspecting humans back home, it's much easier when they come to her.

     she's lived here for years; so long that the humans in the small town her forest sits beside have begun to grow curious about her -- hence the occasional strays. she's surprised, even though he managed to get past the warding, he's made it this far. the forest is a large maze, dark with swirling shadows in every direction. the cottage is in a clearing surrounded by the thickest part of the forest, buried behind trees for miles. 

     is he lying? there's always the chance he's come here to see her -- to meet her, to steal from her, to trade with her, to ask for favours and spells (though she doubts that, when he has magic of his own), or, perhaps he was simply curious about the magic within the forest. 

     ' don't mention it. we're always happy to have company. '

     she murmurs something to the cat, in a language so old she doubts there are many left who speak it. she lifts her hand, allowing it to move away from her -- it lands gracefully at her feet, before leaving them. it'll go curl up under the table in her living room, no doubt; she just doesn't want it eavesdropping until she knows the stranger means her no harm. 

     ' of course, ' there's a tight lipped smile as she gets to her feet. she'll usher him inside, offer him tea, decide whether or not she cares enough to poison him. witches are fine, when they're useful -- but when they're not, they're untrustworthy. and they haven't proven themselves to be anything, just yet. ' come inside, won't you? it's chilly out. '

[lightcages]

     surely, the warding would be strong enough to keep other witches out. perhaps it's getting weaker -- perhaps she needs to reinforce it. no matter, she'll work it out later. more pressing matters. she sits with one leg crossed over the other, slender digits of one hand weaved through the fur of the cat on her lap, cup of tea in the other. she peers toward the other, what do they want. she could just ask. 

     ' why are you here? '

[ohfiendangelical]

  He may not be the wisest of all monsters, but Zero is clever enough not to trust a witch’s word. There have been very few incidents in which her kind have proven to be allies, and he knows better than to agree blindly. However, as far as he’s concerned, there’s no way out of this one without getting a few bumps and scratches—she hasn’t caged him yet, but she does have him quite trapped.

  Perhaps brief cooperation and a few answered questions will give him time to feel out the situation and give him time to come up with a good escape plan. Until then, he really has no other choice, does he? This is his best bet, and he knows it.

  “Guess that’s a fair trade.”

  Though he knows he won’t be getting anything good from her at all. He knows the lying game too.

[lightcages]

     she's not sure what she'll do, just yet. she can know when people are coming (the birds tell the cat and the cat tells her), but she can never know more than that -- can never know who they are, what they are, or what it is they want from her. she wishes she had time to plan for him ; she would have designed a trap so sturdy he'd never break free. 

     no matter, he's here now, and she's thankful for that, the gods are certainly smiling down on her. she can make plans as she goes. 

     ' now, come inside. do you like tea? or would you prefer wine? '

     she won't harm him if he accepts her invitation into her home -- though, if he declines, she'll be unhappy with him. it's more a quiet demand than a friendly suggestion. 

[princeofplenty-deactivated20160]

  ᴘʀɪᴅᴇғᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴀɢᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ, Vincent will have no problem performing any sort of task for her. After all, it is customary in his own homeland for a suitor to do three tasks to prove his worth for a bride. In this world, it is much simpler, and he knows he can get away with doing a lot less than slaying a dragon or searching the bottom of the ocean for a single red pearl—but he’s still up to a challenge. What sort of prince would he be if he weren’t?

  And cooking is, of course, easy enough. Usually, he has servants do such things for him, but he is capable. He was given many lessons as a boy, as princes are meant to be talented in all things, and he knows he can make a fine enough meal.

  “But of course.”

[lightcages]

     ' then come, I'm starved. '

     she gets to her feet, ushering him inside. the invitation into her house is not significant at all (she invites almost everyone who makes it this far into the forest into her home; they deserve some kind of reward for making it past all those beasts), but she does hope he thinks that it is. she leads him into and through her home, past the clutter of the living room filled with cabinets and mysterious objects, and into the kitchen. 

     she has just about anything, depending on what he wants to make for her. she went into town a few days ago to fetch groceries, so everything's still fresh. 

[godfruit]

  Cato sips his own tea, offering a small smile. He’s only silent for the briefest of moments, feeling a sensation as though his brain is stretching and pulling in order to connect with her own. He blinks and there’s a flash, her thoughts and her voice. He says nothing of it, but then:

  “Ask whatever you wish, devotchka. I will not be bothered by it.”

  She wouldn’t be the first with curiosity plaguing her. When it comes to himself, even he struggles with curiosity at times. (Where did he come from? Here, somewhere else? How old is he? What did he see in the flesh and what are only memories of visions? Many things are unclear to even him, despite his vast knowledge and self-assurance.)

[lightcages]

     there are so many things to ask about, she's not sure where to begin. she's torn -- if she does ask questions, he'll know she's not as well versed as she claims to be. though, she may never get another opportunity to have an honest q and a with a prophet. these things don't come along so often. she'll be happy to take him up on that offer. she simply hopes he doesn't expect much in return. she leans forward, meets his eyes, wicked grin still forming.

     ' what do they say to you? '

     how much does she know about prophets. not a whole lot, not as much as she'd like. she knows they can talk to gods -- or, that the gods actually listen to what they have to say. she knows that they probably have long lives -- or multiple lives. she wonders if the memories carry over. there's so much to ask.