a whore for the cold world

a part of you that once knew love

Witch nodded at his answer. Her fingertips touched the cold and sleeping branches of a firebush. They might be bare right then but there was the potential for what would come in the spring. Like him they were stark in this season of their lives. When spring came they would reach their potential and become what they were meant to be. And they would be glorious - red leaves and yellow flowers rising above them like tiny flames.

She moved through the garden - a command for all it was silent - until she reached the furthest recesses of the garden. The plants there were her secrets - her living momento mori for the witches who had tried to fight Dorothea’s corruption. She knew each of them by name, sometimes they whispered secrets to her.

He named her Witch - a recognition she’d experienced only a few times from adults and never without a tempering of fear. He didn’t sound afraid - more weary to her ears. “I am Witch.” She replied, her voice an echo of what it would become, but with none of the conviction. She knew what she was - and that it had brought nothing but pain and rejection in her life.

"It is my sanctuary - but the spells I wove were meant to offer a safe place to others as well." Those who belonged to her, but she knew him and didn’t. He may not intend to hurt her, everything within her promised he did not. But she knew well that the males under Dorothea’s command could be forced to do things they did not want to do.

"She brought you here for a purpose. If you do not fulfill it…" She might have known him only a few minutes but there was pain in the thought of him suffering what others had. "She’ll hurt you. Like she has others." One hand gestured to the bed of witchblood before her.

He knew what they whispered as fables and tales about witchblood, but knew little of the reality of the horrors it bespoke. Still, he knew it was terribly important that she had shown him this, and he studied the plants with a measured understanding of her intention. She knew far more than he'd thought she could; she was still a half grown child, for all that glory that was housed within her.

He looked at her with an unwavering expression. He wasn't sure he could speak, didn't know what to say to combat that strange darkness in her eyes. She had seen witches come before her and watched them die brutal deaths. Such was the amusement of Dorothea's Court, the life he had been raised to. Her as well, it seemed.

"I have always been a two-sided knife. Even as Dorothea holds me to throat of her enemies, I am poised to strike at her heart." he said with great promise. "It is time for a reckoning in Hayll, the likes of which have little been seen in these last dark centuries." He breathed between them.

He believed he had been born to become the lover of Witch; his devotion had not wavered, though he looked on her and saw a bright eyed child who may not live to see the fruition of her days if he didn't find the strength to be her sword and shield.

#inyoureyesiseelightning

The Harvest Festival

Seren felt his presence before she heard his voice. His presence she noted brought more relief than stress despite who he had been escorting. Prince Sadi was a comfort to her. Where as many of the staff were still wary of the man, she was more than happy to see him but where he was Bethany and she would rather have killed the bitch.

"Prince Sadi," Seren said with a smile. "I hope you are enjoying yourself?" she inquired as she sat down ignoring the looks she was receiving. People seemed disturbed, some frightened, though there was curiousity.

"Please sit," she requested, "Unless you on an errand for Bethany? I wouldn’t want to keep you." Actually she was lying, she would love to annoy Bethany but not at the cost of Prince Sadi. She had enjoyed his company and this was no different for her.

"If so, I will probably wander the festivities if you’re able to get away later," Seren suggested.

Daemon considered his options and decided that if Bethany disliked this, then she could choke on it. He had a plate full of local harvest time goodies, and he was actually looking forward to enjoying them. He settled next to Seren and looked down at her plate. "You don't have much there." he observed. "That's not all you're going to eat, is it?" he added.

Fussy males. He'd never thought he'd be one, but apparently he was no different, when it came to a person he actually liked. That had been a strange realization. Before it had only been Surreal among women that he didn't hate, and they'd had a falling out for many years. Tersa wasn't a woman in his mind, precisely, though he fussed over her when he had the opportunity; she had always been a matronly figure in his life.

Still, it was strange to add another to that very short list. He knew better than to push the issue, though, and dug into his own plate with unfeigned relish. Tacean food, he'd found, was hearty and enjoyable. Lots of vegetables, broths, thick crusty breads. Much better than the Hayllian foods that were tortured and primped and polished until they were hardly recognizable as food before served in such tiny portions that none of the dark Jeweled could ever eat enough to fill that deep, empty pit within them.

#thelastdane

vanoliya

a part of you that once knew love

This was a place where no one came. After all the weaving she had done it had better have been so. The trysts that had occurred here had long since stopped. This was her haven and shelter. The few who could trespass here were those who belonged to her. This place meant safety to them too. As soon as he set his hand on the door knob she knew he was her’s. Within three steps into her garden she could see more of who he was than she knew how to explain. It frightened most, but it was just a different way of seeing.

First step. Swirling violence, the capacity for deep cruelty. Something masculine in his psychic scent that she understood - and yet didn’t fully. Angry and hurt and broken in a way that made her weep for the boy he’d been and the scars someone had put on his soul.

Second step. She sensed the center of him was still molten, still wanting something cleaner that everything he’d known. The core of him as soft and malleable as the golden she knew his eyes to be without ever seeing them. Someone who could embrace a new path but who would never ever shed what Dorothea had made of him.

Third step. Her’s. She’d already known that but this was something deeper, an understanding that this man was unlike any other who she’d felt called to in her life. That it meant something she didn’t understand fully yet.

Jaenelle brushed her hands off and stood, her decision made the moment she turned and the Other shifted beneath her skin. It gave her a wisdom and power beyond her twelve years and a voice full of midnight and caverns.

"Have you come to destroy me, Prince?" Witch asked.

Daemon had the distinct feeling of having been judged the moment that those dark sapphire eyes took him in and she turned her head to him. She was small. It would be foolish to call her a child, because children didn't survive long here, but her body was still small and weak compared to the one she would boast one day. There was a hint of it in dusky lashes and the lean planes of a body forged in adversity.

She looked at something in him that even he couldn't see. Instead, he fell into those eyes and found himself lost. "No." he admitted. He couldn't lie to her, wasn't sure he could have even tried it. She commanded him. He'd never felt that pull before, but he felt it so strongly now that it took real effort not to fall on his knees before her and beg for her mercy.

But he was a predator, and submission of that kind was not in his nature.

"You're Witch." he said plainly. He had given up hope that she was coming. He had not believed she would come. Why was she here? She had the look to her of a wounded animal, but one who would fight with the kind of ferocity that could frighten a man to death if challenged. "I meant no disrespect in coming here." he would leave, if she asked; he hoped he wouldn't be sent away.

What decision had she reached about him? Would he ever know?

#inyoureyesiseelightning

The Harvest Festival

It was one of the biggest celebrations in Tacea next to Winsol and the annual Masquerade. The Harvest was more relaxed of the three celebrations. The servants would hear none of it that Seren be working at the festival. She had made much of the festival possible and had helped bring the harvest in because she was one stubborn witch. Everyone was unanimous in saying she deserved to celebrate with others. Eat, drink, partake in everything. There were all sorts of things set up, even a haunted cornfield.

Seren laughed at the idea mentally. She had made it to one of the tables and was having her plate filled with all sorts of food and a mug of spiced Ale. She had noticed not far away she could Bethany, and she tried her best ignore the women. Though her eyes drift towards Daemon who was accompanying Bethany apparently. While she didn’t mind the man’s company, okay she enjoyed his company however brief it was, she loathed Bethany and if something tragic happened to Bethany she wouldn’t have shed a tear.

Seren returned her attention to her food and drink as she made her way to one of the long wooden tables. She wasn’t entirely sure she cared for some of the looks people gave her but that was the curse of the deception. She was someone that was prey or someone to be pitied. None of them realized she was a Black Widow and it was never wise to anger anyone like that.

Daemon was used to the inane chatter of vapid, empty headed witches by this point in his life, and he was used to being paraded around like some kind of trophy, so the evening was hardly particularly taxing for him. He followed Bethany around because it was expected of him, but he didn't try to engage her conversation, or otherwise make the evening enjoyable for her.

In another life, the festival would probably have been enjoyable. But Daemon hadn't grown up with the freedom to enjoy much of anything, burying pleasure so far down inside himself that he wasn't sure what he would have to do to conjure it up anyway. Anything he loved would have been a weapon against him. It was safer to simply not have a heart.

That said, he found himself looking around as if he was looking for something. It took him far longer to realize he was looking for Seren than was entirely comfortable, and when he realized it he felt chilly. That wasn't good.

Still, when Bethany imperiously ordered him to get her something to eat, instead of ripping her apart either physically or emotionally, he simply inclined his head and beat a hasty retreat to the food table, where last he'd seen Seren.

He took a plate and went down the line, glad for the informality and the freedom it offered him. A small part of him wanted to poison the food, and watch Bethany sicken and die. That idea was intriguing.

"Lady Seren," he greeted with more perk to his voice than anyone had heard from him in awhile.

#thelastdane

the night grows dark

Seren has been relieved when he had agreed on going along with her on the Sapphire Winds. She imagine it was more he was exhausted, the signs were blatently obviously. She was sure to make no mistake in regards to riding those Winds to Cassandra’s Altar. She had been surprised at who was joining them, an Eyrien named Lucivar, and someone that felt Landen to her senses. She knew the name Lucivar Yaslana just as people had known the name Daemon Sadi.

Seren accpeted the contact, by nature she hungered for the physical contact. She didn’t pull away from it. If anything she held on to Daemon. She ignored any looks she may have received. To an outsider, it may have looked strange, but to Seren she was comfortable and she felt safe for once.

Seren was relieved when they passed through the Gate. “What happens now?” She asked trying to think of anywhere they could possibly go.

Daemon didn't really have an answer for that, so he didn't both trying to answer at first. What he knew about Kaeleer could be written on one piece of paper and it wouldn't even take up all of one side. Lore said that it was the Shadow Realm, a place darker, more magical, than Terreille. Legends said that this is where the High Lord had gone when Dorothea SaDiablo drove him out of Terreille. Myth said that most of the Realm was wreathed in thick barriers and most Territories were closed to outsiders.

When they emerged from the Gate, the Altar was cool and clean. They were alone, but it was late here, too, and Daemon was glad they had time to collect themselves before dealing with anyone else. Part of him wanted to keep moving, to find sanctuary.

Sanctuary. The Keep. Why hadn't he considered that before?

He was exhausted. Now that they were out of immediate danger, he felt prickly and gritty like a bag of bones, too numb to consider much else. He looked at the men, then at the Queen, and realized they made a terribly conspicuous group. How would they ever hide here?

First shelter. Then rest. He tried to stretch out his senses to determine where they might be, but he couldn't even manage to see far beyond the confines of the building. He was basically useless, and it galled.

#thelastdane

the night grows dark

This was it. This was the end. The end of illusions and webs. They had protected her and she knew that for once in a long time it was time to be the Black Widow Queen she was meant to be. She turned a blind eye to what he was sure to do. She had no intention of asking what he had done afterwards.

She had opted to not change her clothes at all. What she had chosen was to don her Birthright once more. She felt relieved for once in years. Carefully she placed the Hourglass pin on her collar after placing items that she held to great importance to her in her cabinet.

When she saw Daemon, she felt his exhaustion and considered it, the uncut Sapphire’s power that she had once used. “We should take the Sapphire Winds there,” she told in as matter factly tone. Seren could feel that he was still cold but she would do her best to not waver. Daemon was still a Predator and you never showed fear regardless of what she felt.

Daemon fought a brief, brutal war within himself to allow Seren's statement to stand, but she was right. The Red was drained. He needed to keep what little strength he had left to protect her on their way to the Altar, and as they transitioned to Kaeleer. He took her things and vanished them, and followed her outside. It was strange, sensing her fully at the depth of the Sapphire, but the webs were shattered now. There was no going back. She was free from deception.

As soon as they were clear of the house and the protections there, they caught the Sapphire Wind and headed for Cassandra's Altar. They landed, and Daemon tucked Seren close in to his side, needing that contact and to know that she was safe, that she was here.

They met Lucivar and Ben in the Altar, with a very tired looking Priestess who lit the candles and sent them on their way, through the Gate into Kaeleer.

They'd made it.

a part of you that once knew love

Spending time with other young Ladies of the Court was mandatory. There were two types of young Ladies here in Dorothea’s Court. The first type were young Ladies in a position much like her own. They were being held in this Court so that those who loved them would become more amenable to putting their faces between Dorothea’s thighs. She spent time with them in the hope that she would become close to them. Then they could be used as pawns in the never ending game she and Dorothea played.

These were the pretty, vicious, young things that would grow one day to become part of her Coven or Court. They were not as dangerous to her, but the things they said managed to be both disturbing and vicious. Jaenelle tested her tea between every sip, her powerful mind torn as it always was in a dozen different directions. Assuring her safety, making sure that no one entered her rooms… There was also the web she’d laid down last year that monitored those who came and went. She sat at the center like the spiders who taught her to weave.

Which was how within moments of Daemon crossing the threshold Jaenelle was aware that someone new had come. Someone male, powerful. Remembering her conversation with Dorothea a few weeks before the man’s sudden appearance was… alarming to say the least. She was too afraid to touch his mind with her own. While she had a good deal of faith in the spells she’d woven to claim the Red as her Birthright she had never had an opportunity to test them on anyone who wore darker than the Red. And this man… he did. She might not know how strong he was but she knew that much.

At least until she felt a delicate touch. He had touched her, tasted her. And she knew that he also wore the Black. The Other, who Jaenelle knew from experience hated to be touched like that, did not show him the soft and lighting filled mists. Instead she nearly purred at that touch. He was an adult, a powerful adult, but Witch… She’d already made her decision about him. Disturbed, Jaenelle dripped a bit of tea onto her gown.

"Dinner, Ladies." A young manservant announced. Jaenelle thankfully escaped to her room to dress in the kind of gown that Dorothea would consider appropriate for dinner. Blue satin and her nice dress shoes. She had to remember to line them up precisely every time - once they were lost she had no way of finding them. That bit of Craft continued to elude her to her everlasting shame.

Who was he? Was he here, as she feared, to make good on Dorothea’s threat? What would she do if he were?

Gasping for air suddenly gone thin and useless Jaenelle pushed the door to the left of the hallway - the one that opened into the tiny, never used garden that was her sanctuary. It had flourished under her care and was right then green and splendid in the bloom of spring. Spells she’d woven kept it safe from prying eyes. Her place. She dropped to her knees and pressed her hands against fresh turned earth because she needed that connection.

Daemon glided through the halls of the Court with a carefully constructed bored expression on his face. He'd heard the terms of Dorothea's deal, and he feared the meaning behind them. He'd chased personal demons through his own mind for hours before the confinements of his own room proved to be too much, and he forced himself into the halls.

He wanted to chase down the presence he'd felt before, but he was afraid to. He had the name of the witch that Dorothea wanted broken, but her mind left intact. Jaenelle Angelline. A prospect of hers that had turned less pliable or perhaps more dangerous than she'd originally suspected she would be. Daemon wasn't sure which, but he knew Dorothea well enough to know that she only destroyed what she couldn't control, and what she feared.

When he let himself wander, he found that his feet had direction where the rest of him did not. Something dark and cobwebby drew him to pause in front of a door. He knew from years crawling this Court as a child that the door led out into a little used garden; courtesans favored it as a place for trysts, but few others bothered with it.

Someone was there now. He raised a hand and pushed open that door. He found the garden bursting with life, something he couldn't have expected, for how long it had lain dead and faded. Even now, as winter laid heavy over it, he knew that these plants only slumbered, waiting for spring.

Finally the occupant drew his attention. He could see the half grown girl, perhaps twelve or so. Short lived, judging by the hair and coloring. But there was far more to her than that. He could sense it.

Something glorious.

He stared at her for a long time before he realized he was staring.

#inyoureyesiseelightning

the night grows dark

Seren by nature who found comfort in physical contact, but only in certain forms that were wanted and freely given. She was happy to feel the contact of Daemon touch her hair but then she felt it long before he spoke. She had been hit, she had been nursing a bruise that had been given to her for trying to save Lord Charlus’s life. A man that had been protecting her the only way he knew how to. It was only recently that he had explained that he had been friends with her father and why he had given her the land as her’s. Why he never punished her.

Every lesson she had learned so far had told her that Daemon was hers as much as she belonged to him. The sound of his voice sent chils through her and not in the ways that it would have another Queen. There were going to be a pile of dead bodies tonight. Seren couldn’t feel afraid of him in that moment. She knew what he was asking for and why, a Warlord Prince was a predator especially when it came to protecting what was their’s.

"Lady Bennet," she spoke clearly. "But Prince, why are you here? If you were returning, it would have been announced. Why did you come back?" It was dangerous ground and she knew not to get into his way, his temper was ice cold and there was no way to stop it or soothed him. Right now she was speaking to the Sadist, she could feel it.

There was treachery in Tacea; a taint that needed to be lanced. His gold eyes were distant and cold, and even though Seren was here and safe for the moment, the fact that someone had hurt her, had intentionally enacted violence upon her, was enough for the blood in his veins to sing with ice.

"We're leaving. Pack what things you value. Be ready to go when I come back." his voice was like dark silk, smooth and rich in the air. He shifted away from her, a dark little smile for her. "I have an appointment with Lady Bennett."

He glided out of the room and through the servants' quarters. No violence here, they had done nothing wrong. He moved up the stairs without a sound, wrapping himself in layer upon layer of tightly knit shields. When he reached the residential quarter of the home, he let tendrils of power lick at the doors as he passed. He sensed the Warlord's bed chamber, and the room where his slut of a daughter slept. He marked that one and moved on.

He found the guest's room without a lot of trouble. He recognized the scent of her. Soleil. A Queen. Ah, well, it wasn't the first time, though he had hoped those days were behind him. He didn't bother to open the door, passing right through it.

She was asleep, far too soundly for his presence to wake her. The Summer sky she wore was nothing compared to the Red around his neck; he wouldn't need to try and channel the power of the Black here.

She woke screaming. The screaming continued long after her vocal cords were gone. The carpets were soaked with her blood, and her broken body lay twitching before him, fully alive, for long after her mind had succumbed to the pain and broken.

What he left for Lady Bethany to find in the morning was horrific, and the door was keyed so that only she might open it.

When he returned to Seren's room, he hadn't warmed. But he was pristine. She would never know what he'd done. He wouldn't allow it. He simply looked at her with that glazed look in his eye. "We're headed to Cassandra's Altar."

the night grows dark

Seren had been nursing a bruise. She had to be careful, now more than ever. One of the Bennets would be staying here longer and she knew that there were more bruises coming. She had to take it because from her point of view there was no other option. Seren had no options, Lord Charlus had been taken ill and Seren suspected poison. Thankfully she had found a cure and administer it only to be caught after the fact by the Bennet-bitch and Bethany.

Whatever Black Widow the Bennets had, their poison hadn’t been as good as it should have been. Seren expected things would get worse tomorrow morning or whenever Lord Charlus recovered. She didn’t know what to do, running away was an option but she was loathe to go that route.

Seren stood straight when someone walked through solid wall into the room. “Daemon?” She asked and she couldn’t have been happier to see him especially now. She didn’t think about Protocol, she rushed to his side and embraced him forgetting one very important thing, her cheek with a newly forming bruise across her cheek.

She rushed into his arms, which he hadn't suspected. It took him twice to try and summon a witchlight, and then looked down at her, a hand running the length of long brown hair, and then frowned. Something was wrong. She looked up at him and he saw something that made him go very, very cold. He tilted her chin up and turned her face to the side. A bruise darkening her cheek, and not a superficial one. He'd tended the likes before among servants.

"Who?" he crooned. She wouldn't know that was the voice of death, or maybe she would. She was a Queen. His. The possessive jealousy and rage that sang through him cleared through a mind made foggy by exhaustion.

He would make the walls ring with blood and the screams of those responsible. He'd done worse. So so much worse. "Who did it, Lady?"

a part of you that once knew love

Jaenelle had always wondered how, in the Realm of Light, things could be at their very darkest for her. Still there was no denying as she walked quietly through Dorothea’s halls on her way from her room to Dorothea’s sitting room for her weekly audience that this place held nothing but pain. Everything from the well cut Court gown appropriate for a young Lady to the severely elegant style of her hair was wrong in a way that constantly grated.

The tutor who accompanied her was named Lady Haelen and was woefully inadequate as a teacher of Craft for a gutter brat - let alone a Lady of the most powerful Court in the Realm. Still Jaenelle was not, thankfully, dependent on her for her instruction. It didn’t mean the woman’s constant barbs about her seeming ‘inability’ to master the most simplistic basic Craft didn’t touch her. She had just learned long ago to not let them see. To never let them see. To be weak, here, would spell her death.

They were admitted to Dorothea’s presence where they were kept waiting while Dorothea conducted the business of her Court. While the older Lady was not obtuse enough to gloat openly Jaenelly understood she was being watched. So her face was paper blank and her eyes summer-sky blue. Once they had been called her tutor was asked to give her report - it took less than ten minutes to tear her down to size, then the rest of the Court was dismissed and Dorothea took her into her suite for a private audience.

The sashaying hips and sultry smile did nothing for the twelve year old girl who stood there, but Dorothea did not put off her airs just yet. She tapped her feather quill against blood red lips as she examined the girl before her. As always when she appeared before her mentor Jaenelle wore the Red Jewel she claimed as her Birthright openly. "What are we to do with you, Jaenelle?" Dorothea purred. The light in her golden eyes was cruel and vicious. "If you cannot focus on your studies and master what even children can understand perhaps it is time to take more permanent measures." Her golden eyes lit on the Jewel around Jaenelle’s neck seemingly by random and she smiled. "You know, it has been shown that an… excitable young woman can be calmed by undertaking her Virgin Night." Perhaps she should have been frightened. Jaenelle was not. “You won’t have it done. Your purge of the darker Jeweled Blood who could have challenged you was thorough. Thorough enough that you now have no one dark enough at your command to threaten me that way.” But the dig, intended to remind Dorothea of her power, brought a smile to the Priestess’s face. “Oh? I think you’ll find I do.”

Jaenelle was dismissed to the remainder of her lessons.

#inyoureeyesiseelightning

Daemon was being summoned back to Hayll. It had been more than a decade since he'd been required in the High Priestess's presence, and while that wasn't precisely odd, she had been oddly quiet for much of that time. As if she was... skittish somehow. That thought was as odd as anything, though, as he wasn't sure that Dorothea knew how to be skittish.

The image of boredom and disconnected interest, Daemon rode sedately in the back of the Coach as it moved along the Wiinds to Dorothea's summer home. When they landed, he left what few things he carried as "official" baggage for lesser servants to carry and made his way towards the house. He thought to perhaps ignore Dorothea, but he knew that since he'd actually been summoned, then he had best pay his dues now, and hope for a reprieve for the rest of the evening.

He found her reclining in one of her open rooms, littered with others of the Court. He stepped into the room, and didn't bother with pleasantries. He glanced about, wondering what had changed beyond the furniture. He recognized few of the people there, which wasn't odd at all. He let little tendrils out, tasting the air, expecting to get a feel for the room and realizing with a start that he'd been so closed off that something had slipped his mind.

A deliciously dark psychic scent that should had repulsed him, because it was most assuredly female. It didn't. It intoxicated him. He felt his lips part, slightly, tasting it on his tongue as well as with his mind. Where was she? Who was she? She had been here recently. He reached further out. No one in the room. Somewhere else in the house, though, he found her and touched her mind, like a gentle caress.

Dorothea was speaking, but he didn't care what she was saying. He finally managed to focus on her words and looked at her. "I have a job for you, Sadi. Do it, and you'll earn yourself 100 years without having to kneel."

He was paying attention now.

the night grows dark

Pruul had taken more out of him that he wanted to admit. The fighting, the desperation with which he'd broken his restraining ring, and that glorious feeling of openly wearing the Black for just a few moments while they escaped. Lucivar was with Ben, and they were waiting for him at Cassandra's Altar, north of here at the other end of the island. They were trying to find a Priestess who could open the Gate, so that they might escape to Kaeleer.

He had something else to do first. He couldn't leave without Seren. It was long after dark when he made his way onto the estate grounds. He wore the Red, and even that was hardly a whisper of power. He should have taken more care, and rested for awhile. There was a strange hush over the land, like something poised and waiting to strike.

He noticed there were more people in residence than had been when he was here. He recognized Bethany's distinctive scent and scowled, but there were other women here, too, and a contingent of guards. He didn't know them, but he hoped not to have to tangle with anyone. He made his way into the servants' quarters. He didn't know which door was to Seren's room, though, so he found himself sneaking along and pressing hands to doors, trying to sense what was going on inside.

Eventually he found her. He passed right through her door, and stood for a moment, adjusting to the dark, before he spoke directly into her mind.

*Lady Seren, please, don't panic.*