#enchantedcase

[enchantedcase]

Kendra : Where the tears and the fears make us whole...

4. Where the tears and the fears make us whole... These days... there were few dreams that Kendra remembered. But the ones that she did were usually the same. Always as vivid as she remembered. Which was probably what stung the most. Because at one time, they were more than just the memories her subconscious had tucked away. She could still hear her mother's voice echoing from her dream, as clear as the day she'd spoken the words to her. "I've failed you..." she'd said, and Kendra had clutched her hand at her bedside, shaking her head in protest. "You always did what you thought best." Her words were honest, and genuine, and she held nothing but love and admiration for the woman before her. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many things she wanted her to know... But then she would wake. Because though her subconscious was redundant, it was not entirely cruel. It was only one moment, in a whole lifetime, but for some reason, her mind liked to replay it in her sleep. That /one/ moment. Even in her dreams, she knew what came next. She knew that those moments were her mother's last, /their/ last together. And she'd wake before being forced to relive them. It was always the same though. Always the same feelings when she woke, feeling the loss like an ache in her chest, as fresh as she did that day. Always the same reaction, her face strewn with tears, gasping for breath between hopeless sobs... And always, always, she was alone. Many years ago, she'd realized that was probably the trigger. Her own loneliness. Beyond the sorrow, and beyond the pain and guilt of that day, was the undeniable fact that Kendra had been left alone in the world. It was the very reason why her mother had felt she'd failed her. Kendra couldn't argue, but there was nothing to be done about it. Not then, and not now... Belatedly, she also realized she should've taken a dreamless sleep potion before bed. For the first night back in her own bed, in her own house, without her ogre, and without their cuddly beast of a wolf-dog, she should've known better... Because the loneliness had a tendency to creep up on her. Maybe it had been an oversight. Maybe she had hoped that she could face the night alone. Maybe she'd simply been too optimistic. But it was a surprising clarity that greeted her with these realizations... Until now, she hadn't realized just /how much/ she depended on Lysander. On his arms around her, or how easily she curled up beside him as they fell asleep. On how much safer she felt, and better she slept knowing that he was beside her. And it was the sting of all this that followed as she peered around her empty bedroom, enveloped in nothing but bedding, and surrounded by overstuffed pillows. If she thought he'd allow it, she might've gone back to his house, a home she'd grown almost more familiar with than her own of late, and snuck into his bed as she had countless times before... But things felt different tonight. Another realization, though this one wasn't nearly as surprising: she couldn't lose him now. No... Couldn't. Wouldn't. She'd make sure of it. But later. When she was more prepared to greet the day, and less intent to hide from it as she once again submersed herself in her bed sheets as the early morning light threatened to spill into her room.

[enchantedcase]

[Scene 4.] Champagne and Sticky Bun Brunch: at a glance, pt. 5

@MagicMistress -the plush carpet of her bedroom was a welcomed contrast to the hardwood that lined the rest of the house, the smile she wore one of satisfaction as she was led over to the bed, the miniature mountain of pillows at the head of it seeming to be her goal as she met with the edge of the bed, her hands out to climb onto it- So many pillows, and only for decoration, can you imagine? -her tone was amused, thoughtful-

@ConjuringCase Or to lay upon... [offers curiously, a hand on the small of her back seeing she makes it onto the tall mattress] They are *yours.*

@MagicMistress They are... -she managed onto the bed without incident, carefully tossing pillows aside to reveal larger ones beneath- /These/ are for laying on... -she displayed them fondly with a flourish of her hand and a proud smile-

@ConjuringCase I see that. [his face lit in a soft expression of fondness and entertainment] Even in your state, ever the princess. [As he had promised before leaving, with a wave of his hand, a clear tumbler of water and two white pills appeared on her night stand.] Rest now, troll. Take those when you wake. And I suggest eating some protein and carbs, avoid sugar. It'll help with the hangover. [Irises usually almost coal, they settled on her with an amber hue] Sleep well.

@MagicMistress -she was half listening... as she settled amongst the large, fluffy pillows, she set her gaze on him with a mixture of awe and annoyance- How come you get to wave your hand with magic, but I don't? -she scooted back on the bed, the thought as fleeting as her expression as her head rested against one enormously comfortable pillow, a smile now upon her lips-

@ConjuringCase [A throaty chuckle flew out first at her expression then her question, and it grew louder again at her fluctuation in demeanor] Why? Would you like me to poof the water and cup back to your kitchen and the pills to your medicine cabinet from where I retrieved them, and do it yourself? It's transportation, not miraculous formation of matter.

@MagicMistress No... -her tone was almost pouty though her features showed no signs of it, her head shaking against the pillow- I like when you do it. -she spoke simply, unbothered by propriety in her temporarily tipsy state as she glanced up at him, his amusement with her equally amusing to her-

@ConjuringCase Then don't complain and go to sleep. [A pointed look commanded she do as he ask]

@MagicMistress -his command earned a quiet sigh, her expression somewhat less amused at the realization- You're leaving then?

@ConjuringCase [Blinking once, twice, brows coming together in a crease, he lightly nodded.] You do realize I don't live here? I was only seeing you home. It isn't my place to, nor would I ever, take advantage of a woman in this state. Is there something else?

@MagicMistress I wasn't asking if you were going to take advantage of me... -but even in her inebriated state, her thoughts weren't so foggy as to allow her to ask what she did mean to, instead she offered a small smile, patting the large pillows beside her own- You should try these... They're infinitely better than the ones we had at home.

@ConjuringCase [An eyebrow quirked in quizzical response, skeptical.] Did your parents never tell you not to invite strange men to try out your pillows?

@MagicMistress There are a /lot/ of things my parents neglected to tell me... -her tone lacked the conviction it might've had otherwise, but she merely shrugged, her gaze upon him remaining hopeful for just a moment longer before her smile faltered- I probably shouldn't keep you though. This troll's been nuisance enough...

@ConjuringCase [Brimstone and gall. Walk away. Just walk away.] ... [Heavy boot steps thudded on the carpet as he made his way toward the bedroom door. The things he did for vengeance and tolerable company. Off came his suit jacket first which he folded and draped across the back of a chair near the door, his shoes following suit before he set them at the foot.] I will stay until you fall asleep. [Decision made, Lysander shuffled to the opposite side of the bed, shifting some pillows around in a cozy configuration, before sliding onto the sheets, back and head resting in the plush pillows she praised.]

@MagicMistress -there was a certain astonishment that met his agreement to stay, and then a bemused smile as he settled onto the bed beside her, having since turned to face him, expectantly awaiting some word on his opinion of the pillow and quickly growing impatient enough to lightly tap his shoulder- ...well?

@ConjuringCase Well what? [his gaze flitted to hers, shoulders rolling in a shrug of indifference]

@MagicMistress You don't like the princess pillow? -she asked with genuine curiosity- I think they're quite comfortable, if not oversized.

@ConjuringCase They are comfortable. [Conceding her point about the pillows, he shifted against one.] Had only I drank more champagne, I might have quite enjoyed a nap here. I may need some of these.

@MagicMistress There's still some downstairs... -she noted with a shrug and a smile- If you want to nap, I won't kick you out.

@ConjuringCase I am debating whether you're a drunk rambler or cuddler. Either could prove bothersome. [he smirked]

@MagicMistress Which would be worse? -she couldn't help but ask, her own smirk forming as she did-

@ConjuringCase I've yet to decide.

@MagicMistress Yet to decide if being near me is worse than hearing me tipsily talking? -the idea was amusing and slightly insulting all once, though all she showed was a curious smile, her brows raised as if awaiting a final decision from him-

@ConjuringCase Being near you isn't so bad. You don't smell like a forest troll. Instead, sugar and champagne.

@MagicMistress Hm... -his answer provoked a soft chuckle- So then cuddling me seems more tolerable than talking to me? Is that what you're saying? -her tone was teasing as she regarded him, pulling up a throw from the edge of the bed to set over her-

@ConjuringCase If you weren't buzzed, you'd realize you do not want to cuddle me. [Reaching over, he helped drape the blanket over her.]

@MagicMistress But fires keep me warm... -her answer was quiet, slowly relaxing beneath the blanket with a sigh before her expression grew thoughtful, tone bordering on impertinent, were it not for the light, playful smile she wore- And how would /you/ know?

@ConjuringCase I know because cuddling turns into kissing and kissing turns into sex and sex turns into mistakes. [He shot her a glance]

@MagicMistress -she heard the words, her brow knitting in response, a hint of disappointment ghosting over her features for just the briefest moment before she spoke- Is everything going to be so complicated with you?

@ConjuringCase Yes. [his reply was simple and met with a smile] You'd be bored otherwise.

@MagicMistress Even cuddles... -she mused, more to herself than to him, resting an arm on the pillow her head laid on, her own smile soft, easy, relaxed despite the proximity as she teased quietly- Case of the complicated cuddles...

@ConjuringCase Sounds like quiet the mystery. Perhaps base for a new series? "Sinclair's Secrets" or "Kendra's Conundrums." [he tilted to his right, rolling until he could face her on his side, mirroring her position with a limb tucked beneath her head]

@MagicMistress "Sinclair and the Sorcerer." -she offered sleepily, her soft smile masking a slow intake of breath, willing herself awake-

@ConjuringCase Once upon a time... [the aforementioned sorcerer crooned in a voice fit for a lullaby] in a cursed little town by the sea there lived a pesky but tolerable troll... [chocolate eyes watched her chest rise and fall in slowing breaths, the telltale sign of impending sleep] and a ruggedly handsome but positively villainous ogre. [a light smile affixed to his lips, no need for his parlor tricks now as his companion's bright blue eyes began to dim behind sleepy eyelids.]

@MagicMistress -her eyes remained open long enough to meet his gaze, though briefly, a smile remaining on her lips as she listens, even as her lids slowly but surely shut, at least still conscious enough to add- ...the ogre isn't so bad.

@ConjuringCase ...neither is the troll. [The truth was whispered just as she drifted off, sure it was the last thing she heard]

[enchantedcase]

Kendra : Just a lonely, just a lonely, lonely, child

3. Just a lonely, just a lonely, lonely, child "The princess cannot rule on her own..." The slanderous statement was spoken around a large oak table, echoed and agreed upon by the grave looking royal councilors that surrounded it. In the King's antechamber, they had gathered, to discuss the future of the kingdom and the throne while her father lay in his bed, guarded by physicians, and looked after by his wife. Death was imminent, that much they knew. And so, preparations had begun to ensure the kingdom would be well preserved in the hands of a successor. For Kendra, the role had not been something she'd been groomed for, not from the start as a young prince might've been. For years, there was anticipation that she'd be joined by a younger brother, a longed for son that would carry on the family name and grow into the throne that would be left for him upon the King's death. But years went by, and Kendra remained, the princess, the sole heir, and as she came to expect, the next Queen of the kingdom. Truthfully, she'd had her reservations. It was quite the undertaking, she knew, for anyone, much less someone who didn't anticipate the heavy weight of such a crown. And then, there was the resistance that she met, not for being unprepared, but for being a girl. A mere daughter, they had said, could not possibly be expected to carry on as a son might have. So feeble were the minds of these aged men, wizened with their grey and white beards, but blinded to the potential of the young woman standing before them. "I assure you, my lords, my daughter is as well equipped as any to handle the responsibilities of the task at hand." It was her mother's voice that spoke now, standing in the doorway as she addressed them, picturesque in her manner, with her head held high and her hands clasped in front of her. They bowed their heads to acknowledge their sovereign, though immediately, one spoke to the contrary, begging her pardon before he even started. "Your majesty, she is a fine young lady, but young, nevertheless, and it may prove too much for one so delicate as a daughter. Surely, /surely/ you can see the merits in deferring the throne to a male." "What I can see, sir," her mother had responded coolly, "is my husband's trusted advisors consorting to deny my daughter her crown." Kendra remained silent as she watched the scene, hardly able to hide her amusement at the mens' indignant huffs that followed, but her mother continued, before giving any of them the chance to respond. "Would you say I am an incompetent regent, my lord?" She had posed the question carefully, leaving the men at a loss for an answer as she took purposeful strides around the table, one hand across her chest, the elbow of the other resting atop its hand while the other gestured casually with each word. "For I, have served in my husband's stead, in times of chaos, and battle, and I do believe, I have served the kingdom well." There was a murmur of agreement from the men this time, lest they insult their Queen. Though none of them could argue her mother's ability to take control when it was necessary. More than once, the King had been called away for duty, and more than once, her mother had taken his place, taking it upon herself to rule the kingdom in his stead. Kendra had watched each time as the people revered her. Both kind and intelligent, but fierce when necessary, she was, to her daughter, the epitome of what a Queen should be. And never more than now, as she addressed this table of men, using every method at her disposal to secure her daughter her rightful place on the throne. "I find it very hard to believe that my daughter would be any less suited to the station than I..." Her tone almost begged them to argue. There, her mother stood, pausing as she took a moment to glance around the table, leaving no room for their nonsense before she carried on. "Nor do I believe that my lords have purposely overlooked the advantage of a Queen on the throne... For it serves as one of the swiftest ways to gain an alliance. Surely /you/ can see the merits of garnering a marriage between a prince, with power. Rather than a King marrying a lady, who will inherit no property, no titles, and no... Oh, yes, armies, navies, or fortunes." She ticked off the list with a finger for each, as if they'd only now crossed her mind, her smile bordering on smug before she took another few paces with Kendra looking on. Again, the men whispered amongst themselves, looking from one to other, still unable to argue, though one did offer a few words in defense. "Then Your Majesty would not be opposed to a marriage for the princess, before she would become Queen." Her mother glanced towards her then, and Kendra could see her jaw clenching, even from where she stood, though she was sure it was lost on the advisors. "I hardly find that a requirement for wearing a crown, my lords," her mother countered easily. "Many a King have sat before my husband, unmarried and relatively competent in their rule." The tone wasn't insulting. Just cynical, though paired with a dazzling smile to detract from it. "So, unless you mean to imply that the crown is too heavy for my daughter, and expect her /husband/ to wear it for her instead, I don't see how that would be a likely solution..." The men's wary glances were easily noted. "My lords," her mother's smile remained, her voice taking on a softer, dulcet tone now, "what assurance can I give you that our princess is willing and capable to continue our King's legacy? She is as well educated as any prince, as well received in the land, by the court, and the common people. And with the guidance the King's council..." she'd resorted to flattery, and Kendra's lips tugged at the corners with a smirk the threatened to form, "How could any monarch be steered in the wrong direction with such wise advisors at her disposal?" The way her mother spoke, she was sure there was nothing they could say to prevent her from achieving her goal. There was less and less to be argued, and more and more to her advantage, in light of her mother's debate. With their support, it would make this much easier. She'd have the throne, the crown, the kingdom. Her birthright. But there, in the doorway of her father's chamber, having stood quietly, watching the display with a set of dark, narrowed eyes, was the King's oldest confidante, his head advisor. He stood silent another moment, just long enough for the table of nobles to agree on Kendra's rightful inheritance before he took a full step into the room, his expression, before showing only mild concern, now morphing to one of almost smug satisfaction. "I'm afraid that won't be necessary..." His voice cut through the chatter with ease, without even a single glance to her as his ominous gaze rested on her mother. "While your efforts are admirable, madame, I regret to inform you that your daughter will not be following in your footsteps. She will not rule here." The Queen did not falter. With her chin lifting slightly, and a single hand on her hip, she took a step forward towards the man, as if humoring his argument, three simple words spoken in a tone that hinted at challenge. "And why not." The inflection was implied as she addressed him, her elegant brows lifting questioningly. In response, the man held out a single sheet of parchment. Even from where she stood, Kendra recognized the signature at the bottom, the royal seal that accompanied the decree. "Because the King did not wish it." Kendra could feel her heart in her throat, beating wildly as she viewed the exchange. Her mother's approach was swift, snatching up the parchment without a word, and the room fell silent as she read it, her eyes widening with outrage as her gaze moved down the page, her head shaking. "No. Our daughter is the only heir, why should he deny her now?" She handed the decree back, her expression one of disgust before her tone turned accusing. "This is your doing, not his. If I find that you've forced his hand in this matter..." She was already moving towards the door of the King's chambers. "Once I've spoken to my husband..." "The King is dead, my lady." Kendra could've sworn time stood still in that moment, as if time itself wanted to capture it. Instead, it would remain forever embedded in her mind. The way her mother's footsteps had stopped short of the doorway, the way her head bowed as a hand came over her mouth. She stood and turned, and Kendra would never forget the expression she wore when her mother looked to her, for she'd never seen her mother look defeated... It was in that moment that she truly realized what she was up against. What she'd lost. The King, her father, his favor, his faith in her... Signed away forever with the flourish of a quill. The weight of the realization threatened to crush her, and it took more strength than she knew she had to force herself out of the room then, mustering as much dignity as a discarded princess could manage. Her footsteps were heavy as she returned to her chambers, dismissing her ladies with a single wave before she finally succumbed to the hopeless sobs she'd held in. It was a familiar dream. A familiar feeling as she woke, her chest tight, gasping for breath as she sat up, wiping her cheeks free of the tears that had spilled in her sleep. Even now, the years that had passed since then did nothing to temper the sting of that day. Every wound, every emotion, felt as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday. For some time, she'd not dreamt of it. She'd not thought of it. Not dealt with it. But she knew better than to think it would ever truly cease to haunt her. It was a sobering thought as she finally caught the deep breath that had been eluding her. Always the same dream, always the same result... And always, she buried herself beneath the mounds of pillows upon her bed, hiding from the unforgiving, early morning daylight, taking slow, steady breaths until she finally fell back into a dreamless sleep. She'd need the rest to eventually face the day.

[enchantedcase]

[Scene 4.] Champagne and Sticky Bun Brunch: at a glance, pt. 4

@ConjuringCase You should embrace your magic more than you do. [Offering lightly, he set their parcels on the counter.] It's a gift.

@MagicMistress I know... -she didn't specify to which she was answering, though her answer would've suited for either, or both- I guess it's just easier said than done. I spent half my time trying to learn how to use it, and the other half hiding what I did know. -she carefully lifted herself up on the counter, ankles crossing as she spoke, honest, thoughtful- I don't really boast about it. I know I'm outmatched in magic here. I can feel it.

@ConjuringCase Ah, the ever daunting 'feeling.' [Lysander mocked. He hated how others gaged abilities based on this sixth sense and a shy perception that one magical being got from another. All too oft he was mistaken for a low level sorcerer as he had charms keeping his powers concealed. Why anyone would wave a 'Here are my strengths and weaknesses; take advantage of them!' flag he had never understood.] Your magic is stronger than you believe, Kendra. What you know how to wield isn't all you have. [The curly haired man almost seemed agitated as he began going through the boxes of leftovers, sorting out equal shares for her to keep here, and those for him to take.] Yes, some are more powerful in tact and usage, but few have your power.

@MagicMistress -she remained quiet a moment, having noted the tone, and the slight irritation with which he seemed to be distributing the food, her question posed perhaps from too much champagne, or maybe genuine concern- ...have I upset you?

@ConjuringCase [Her question furrowed his brows in what might've been a shade of guilt, the eyes beneath slowly lifting to peer up at her] No. [Came the whispered reply. He could not tell her why he was upset, that her power was that of some of the very same that coursed through his veins, once having flown powerful through her fathers'.] I apologize for my tone. The upset you picked up on was not a direct at you. Other of our... *persuasion* dally away their magic and some believe themselves to be better because of that sense you spoke of. Kendra, [He set the foil container housing steamy sticky buns he was holding down upon the counter, a broad but gentle hand coming to rest beside one of her thighs on the countertop.] what power do you *feel* I have? More than you, obviously, but expand on that. What sense do you get from me?

@MagicMistress -her gaze on him was thoughtful, perhaps finding herself and her words uninhibited from the earlier bubbly as she thoughtfully answered him- I sense that you're more than you let on... And the same probably goes for your powers. -her brows knit together as she considered, a slow hand lifting to set her index finger beneath his chin, her light eyes boring into his dark ones, as if searching for some secret in them before revealing- There's a fierceness in you. I can tell sometimes, when you seem annoyed, and you don't mean to. You're very in control. Of yourself, of your magic. I don't imagine that was honed overnight, or easily. But these parlor tricks are not all you can do. You don't flaunt your powers. But you could. You have the confidence to. You're just smarter than that...

@ConjuringCase [Her observations were met with a calm breath and a wash of relief. It hadn't been the answer he was expecting. Far more pleasant. Gaze, unwavering from hers, Lysander took a step closer, searching for something in her deep, hidden eyes that he could not quite name.] I *am* far more powerful than I let on. There are few who surpass my skill in this world now. [His voice was quiet, as though sharing secrets meant for only her ears] Too much power though, as much as mine... poisons the soul. [There was a misplaced longing deep within his eyes. Lysander remembered when his magic had been as Kendra's. When he was only a threat to himself and a few. When his powers made him special but allowed him to remain human. Sometimes, when in the proximity of simpler power, purer energy, untainted magic, such as hers, he found himself yearning for the days when it had been his.] Train to make yourself happy with your powers. Don't compare to anyone else. Your magic is a gift, solely your own. Don't let it become a curse.

@MagicMistress -his words were met with a tilt of her head, her thumb gently trailing along his jaw, brows knit in thought at the feel of his facial hair beneath her soft touch- I know what I'm capable of... Sometimes, I think that's what worries me. But it doesn't feel like a curse. -here, a soft smile formed- I use it for useful things... Silly things. When I'm feeling lazy.

@ConjuringCase [A shallow gulp staggered its way down his throat the moment her dainty digit made contact with the plush fur of his beard, his eyes briefly threatening to edge from hers and spy the roaming touch. But he didn't. He kept her gaze as she spoke, he scarcely breathed for fear it be too loud in the silence that seemed to have settled between their proximity. Surely under the effects of those bubbles, the remains in a bottle nearby, how could he put much stock or faith in the light touch. She was the enemy. He needed to remind himself. Yet when his lips parted to respond...] You're stronger than you believe, Kendra. More special than anyone ever let you realize.

@MagicMistress -his words were unexpected, earning a small, thoughtful smile that masked her skepticism even as her hand remained holding his chin, the bristles beneath her thumb not as course as she expected, a thought that made her smile grow as she spoke, her tone light, her eyes crinkling at the corners with her teasing- How can you be so sure?

@ConjuringCase You'll just have to trust me. [She had no reason to, he knew. None whatsoever. He hoped though, that she wouldn't press.]

@MagicMistress Hm... -her expression remained smiling, almost playful, her hand moving only to cup his cheek- Maybe if you smiled more.

[enchantedcase]

[Scene 4.] Champagne and Sticky Bun Brunch: at a glance, pt. 3

@ConjuringCase You *are* more tolerable at present.

@MagicMistress Are you sure it just doesn't seem that way since /you've/ had some champagne and sticky buns?

@ConjuringCase I did not consume nearly as much of that bubbly as you, darling. [he quipped]

@MagicMistress /Darling./ -she repeated with a laugh- Not troll? I must seem very tolerable.

@ConjuringCase Oddly, that makes more sense, coming from you. -her shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug, abandoning her glass on the table-

[enchantedcase]

[Scene 4.] Champagne and Sticky Bun Brunch: at a glance, pt. 2

@ConjuringCase I'm always useful. [Brown hues narrowed in jest to match the teasing smirk he wore.] Dead or alive.

@MagicMistress -she met his narrow eyed gaze with an endearingly impish grin, unbothered by the topic at hand- Good. pic.twitter.com/z5o9DPyEmS

@ConjuringCase [Keeping cheekier comments to himself manifested in a naughty smirk and playful look to form.] pic.twitter.com/LnIy2Li13q

@MagicMistress -his silent smirk earned a genuine smile from her in response, her gaze keeping his a moment before finally speaking, only to reveal another secret- You should smile more... I like it. pic.twitter.com/8hYWbivObv

@ConjuringCase You like it because you've had a bottle of champagne and delicious sticky buns. pic.twitter.com/wyOGCe0XmW

@MagicMistress Fine... -her smile remained as she addressed him, taking his words as a small challenge- I'll be sure to tell you again when I'm not under the influence of sugary sweets and delicious bubbles. pic.twitter.com/9XwLMqXJws

@ConjuringCase [Kendra was certainly amusing to Lysander, especially under the influence of delicious bubbles and sugary sweets. His amusement and her smile broadened his to a true grin.] Is this where I escort you home and take advantage of your delicate and questionable sensibilities? pic.twitter.com/OIHP4VWNn9

[enchantedcase]

Lysander : Stained Fate

2. Stained Fate

”*”Kill.”* Even here in the still of the night, leading a victim whose name he knew, whose plea he empathized with, whose affections he had stolen under false pretenses, Lysander realized he didn’t want to. …But it was too late. Blood had fallen and stained his fate.”

——-//——-

Music is a killers’ most innocent ally. Subtle in its entrapment, doe-eyed pawns absorb into its pleasing waves, willingly magnetized into a cage of chords. Ribald verses croon to hidden venereal vices. Static rhythms bewilder the body, stutter the heart, and send the mind into a fit of euphoric seizures. Dim light perfumed with sex, alcohol, and freedom render prey blind and clamoring for the hot bodies of their fellow animals who twist and sway in their lost, mesmerized state, clawing for absolution from a life that lay just beyond the thrum of the bass and twinge of the treble.

Half his work was already done.

Flat. The light-sucking color of coal dust. Predatory. Over the rim of obsidian shades, the sorcerer revealed his eyes to the low-lit jungle. Smoke and lust clung in the air, so thick one need almost physically push through the greedy haze to the dance floor. The perfect hunting ground. Amidst the writhing forms coated with sweat, glitter and desire, masked beneath tones of abandoned staccato and electric hum, the steady echo of magic called to him. It was here. He or she, the vessel embodying the energy he would need to pacify his curse’s hunger, was here. Waiting.

No crueler smirk had ever stained a man’s lips as that of Lysander’s when he lowered his sunglasses to his side, vanished them with nary a thought into heated air, and peered around for a victim.

Finally. For days, upcoming on a week, his blood had seared from the inside; a not too subtle way of reminding Case the monster he had become. It was time for him to feed. It was time to exhume the powers from another magical being so he might be strong and unstoppable again. His last dose had been six - no, seven months ago. A traveling psychic in Alberta. Her magic, sparse and unschooled though it was, sated the beast long enough for Lysander to continue about his life and quest without worry or desire for another kill. Of course it would stand to reason, and the pestilence that was the ornery quim karma, that the moment Lysander traced his predecessor’s seed and locked onto her location, he would be struck ill with his bane.

So there he stood, the lion licking his fangs in a field of idle gazelle grazing on passion while prancing about in pumped up kicks. This was going to be easy. Far too easy.

Fitted slate slacks allowed the musculature of his toned legs to tease through while maintaining an air of gentlemanly casualness; the black silk-lined blazer to match adding effortless suave to the smoky stranger. It was only the blinding ivory of his crisp dress shirt that provided him any notice as he stepped from the shadows of the doorway and began his search of the club. Strobes winked, lasers shot, lights shied from the dark herd of bodies twitching in ritual dance to a discord throb of static sound. This place was ungodly. A cacophony of mindless clatter, desperate molls, and pathetic excuse for socialization - where to start? A restaurant, bar, park, a brothel, any other venue would be preferable to this, but here was where the easiest victims wallowed. Lysander had spent the leading days scrying and tracing magic roots hither and thither, narrowing down viable subject after viable subject, his search leading him here. A hole in the wall where cockroaches mated. How lovely. *But* it was here he would find a demi-god, a fair source of power, easily disposed of and known for their capricious tendencies; an illegitimate son or daughter no one would miss in this town overrun with the bastards.

What do you know… Cued apparently by thought alone, a band of young deities caught his attention over by the bar, one in particular standing out. A loner. The third wheel, so to speak, in a gang of seven. Three couples paired off, drinking shots and chortling between guffaws of laughter while the lanky recluse hung to the side. Perfect. By the young man’s second-skin tight jeans, his pink neon tipped brunette shaggy tresses, and the grunge band tee he wore, the sorcerer concluded either fatherly praise or masculine seduction would lure the boy.

A shot of golden heat tore through the middle of his head, to which he pierced a hand through his curled mane in an attempt to disguise his wince of pain as a suave gesture of grooming. The curse was a hungry dog that sensed meat. ‘Soon,’ he mentally promised the beast, willing himself to remain upright though the pain threatened to send him buckling in half. The magic here was literally driving him into madness. Never before had he been surrounded by such an abundant supply. As an addict aching for a fix, the dark curled man wondered if just one hit would be enough…

Music pulsed, the air swayed, and Lysander eventually strode up to the bar, an arms length from the bohemian outcast with the shifting gaze and feigned nonchalance. Seduction was an art form for a killer. Yet it needed to be artless, natural. Every word needed to be synched with a calculated movement or glance, a precise lift of lips or an amused creep of a single brow. The non-verbal lure was more vital to attraction than any words of praise or sexual offer. So, it was with a croon for a bourbon on the rocks to the bartender and a lingering toss of his Cimmerian-lashed gaze to the youth at his side that Lysander set his bait.

And waited.

Blue eyes squirreled about, failing to defend the deity’s devil-may-care charade. It wasn’t two glances before the whites of the boys eyes became more pronounced, realizing then that the handsome gentleman to his side had indeed acknowledged him and was now, could you believe it, speaking to him. Lysander mocked casually about the vulgar atmosphere and how he had been abandoned by his group in their favor of lustful dancing - if one could call it dancing, the way they flailed about. The joke and accompanying charming grin earned a quiet chuckle from the youth. Humor, empathy, sex appeal, and pure attention - oh, seduction was far too easy.

Under the guise of waiting for his refreshment, Lysander moved closer so as not to shout over the crowd, his proximity earning a rose blush from the boy that accented his neon tipped hair. They exchanged names, a few relatable anecdotes about their “friends” over shots of tequila and swigs of bourbon, a light chuckle and a brush of arms here and a leaned in whisper there. Before either mans’ friends could be privy to where their third wheels had rolled off to, Lysander was escorting him out of the murky club into crisp air with the promise of a change of more intimate venue.

"Are you sure this is a shortcut?" The youth had asked, his spindly arms wrapped around Lysander’s contoured middle, inquiring more for sake of conversation than care for where they were going. Lysander assured him with an enchanting smile and a soft purr that his car was just on the opposite side of the street. The deity need not know Lysander owned no vehicle. Such a trivial detail.

The whole hour, twenty seven minutes and thirty six… thirty seven… thirty eight… seconds that Lysander had used to enamor the juvenile god had been near excruciating. The curse was baiting him, taunting him, gnawing at him with jolts of hot shocks. Magic was so close. Too close. *”Kill…”* It had crooned over and over, the single syllable louder than the raucous noise of the nightclub. *”Kill…”* It demanded repeatedly, ringing through his ears to the point he almost believed ‘kill’ was his name.

*”Kill.”* Even here in the still of the night, leading a victim whose name he knew, whose plea he empathized with, whose affections he had stolen under false pretenses, Lysander realized he didn’t want to. The sorcerer did not want to kill. Not for this. Not to sate a curse he inadvertently cast upon himself. Had he known taking the life of his master to protect his own would damn him to an existence of salving an unquenchable beast of guilt and power with the blood and magic of others, Lysander would have exposed his neck willingly to the cold blade of betrayal. Gladly he would’ve embraced death if only then he had the knowledge he harbored now. But it was too late. Blood had fallen and stained his fate.

Case almost didn’t notice the playful peck against his neck, his legs absently carrying him toward a darkened canyon alley between the town bookstore and cake shop. The youth curled up under his blazer, head pressed to his shoulder, laughing out a comment about how the bearded man had gotten lost in thought. The boy wondered what world he went to. ‘Any one but this…’ The comment struck the innocent youth as an odd one though his shining eyes and simpering smile remained serene.

*”Kill…”*

Ebony eyes snapped shut, forcing the voice to silence itself. He had enough audience with his conscience, he did not need the guilting nag of the power-hungry animal growling inside of him as a heckler. He would kill as was his curse. He would do what needed to be done to survive.

Street lamps on either end of the back street illuminated each opening of the alley that soon enveloped them in uncommon darkness. The young man tightened his hold around Lysander’s abdomen to seek safety from the murky black. The irony of the act was not lost on the sorcerer; hugging your murderer moments before he would rid your existence from the known world. Lysander wasn’t sure what colorful set of emotions he was feeling. Every experience was new, different, damning. He felt… protective, as he slipped an arm around the trusting youth’s feeble shoulders, pulling his lithe body flush to his strong side. Guilt, as he welcomed the boy into the final embrace he would ever have. Lament, as he thrust the young man at the nearest brick restraint with muscular ease, his back meeting stone with a fleshy thud, and pinned him beneath a stare emblazoned with silver power that rendered the boy immobile. Remorse, apology, desperation - a staccato of anguished emotions as Lysander’s hand bolted forward, coarse fingers plowing into the demi-god’s chest, words of repentance silenced by the ancient prose of a speech long used to kill, torture, and steal life. But the feeling that shuddered through Lysander when he forced himself to look into the boy’s horrified eyes was an unknown one.

Everything slowed. Almost as though the world needed a respite to process the occurring event, time procrastinated, lagged, waited for Lysander to breathe. He blinked. Once. Twice. A third time. Each bat of lashed lids an audible drum, a calm contrast to the frantic throbbing heart beneath his fingertips. Lysander looked down into the oceanic eyes of the boy, twenty two in human years, he had said. Lysander remembered that age. How young, how vulnerable, how naive and eager for acceptance. The acceptance Lysander’s tutor had falsely bestowed him, Lysander had now conned on this boy. Was he no better than the man he loathed? The man he loved as a father who betrayed him for greed alone?

Again, it was too late. This needed to be done. Agony ripped through the youth’s fragile body, inherent magic being extracted with an unapologetic, unstoppable vengeance. Beneath Lysander’s broad fingers, the boy’s chest began to glow a vivid aqua, the color of a sea one can only dream of. He wailed. Lysander slapped his free palm over the demi-god’s mouth. Oh how he wanted to assure the boy it would soon be over and he would be free from this. But what right did he have? The murderer does not win the privilege of comforting his victim with sweet lies. No words known to man could ever rectify this act. Why waste breath.

Lysander braced himself. It was coming. The flood. The appeasing pain.

"Aghh!" The cry tore from his throat as a strangled yelp. From the young demi-god, through Lysander’s touch, into the sorcerer, feeding the beast, an excruciating volt of energy shredded its claws into every cell, engorging already incredible power with more omniscience and strength, a potency of magic few had ever known. Waves of ice sluiced through his veins, hardening the pronounced ridges beneath his fit clothes. Lysander pressed against the chest trapped beneath his vice, using the shivering vessel of a young man as a brace to keep him steady. Bright and violent colors exploded behind Lysander’s pitch eyes, spearing into his brain with sage foresight. The experiences of this boy, his life, his lessons, his heartaches, sorrows, and joys, all played as a rampaging movie, filling cranial shelves with knowledge no man but this youth should have. Thieved power. Stolen memories. Lost life.

The exchange was quick. A minute. If that. Though it felt like an eternity.

Head hanging low, the hand taped to the youth’s mouth slipped from his cheek to land with a slap on the brick, Lysander using the structure to steady himself while the useless boy still quivered from shock beneath the sound hand keeping him upright. It was rarely the magic drain itself that killed the host, rather the shock of pain and loss of oneself that saw to the death. Lysander panted, willing his body to still from its tremors. It was done. His curse was quenched. For now.

Thrumming with newfound power, pain but a phantom reminder now, Lysander soon rose up straight, block shoulders squaring with purpose, his strength and health instantly restored. He cast his glowing gaze into the glacial orbs of the enamored youth, now dulled and confused. As a tear of dye being dropped into a calm pool of water, the boy’s expression began to diffuse with fear, the light of life waning slowly from his eyes.

It is sorrow that pulled Lysander’s full lips downward and furrowed his bold, black brows. Doleful regret radiated from the sorcerer. He knew what he had done and why, but this innocent young man would never have the peace of understanding. No one could ever understand.

The youth’s body slumped against Lysander who caught it with his own, enfolding the young one in a protective, cradling embrace that saw him lowered reverently to the ground.

"I’m sorry…"

[enchantedcase]

[Scene 4.] Champagne and Sticky Bun Brunch: at a glance, pt. 1

@ConjuringCase These I actually have had here. [he helped himself to several] pic.twitter.com/P3zo7WCnzU

@MagicMistress You didn't say... I could've passed right over them, and you'd have been deprived. -she shook her head with faux disapproval-

@ConjuringCase You assume I would leave my pleasure to the hands of a woman. [he smirked, lifting a bun to inhale the aroma, the scent met with a pleased hum of approval] I already placed an order for a dozen with Sam. Fresh. Hot.

@MagicMistress Maybe not just /any/ woman... -she responded with a hint of cheek as she served herself a sticky bun, unable to resist considering his praise of them-

@ConjuringCase Women are women. [The appraisal wasn't bitter merely honest. In his dealings with the opposite sex they couldn't be trusted with much more than keeping the flesh sated, the sheets warm, and the heart yearning for something that does not exist.]

@MagicMistress You've just not met your match... -she conceded with one shoulder shrugging, focused on carefully cutting a bite of the sticky bun, tone casual as she carried on- I'm not surprised, actually. I imagine it wouldn't be easy.

@ConjuringCase I consider myself fortunate no women here have tried. [Partaking of his quiche first, Lysander watched her in eager appraisal of the sticky bun]

@MagicMistress Perhaps they're not up to the task... -a simple reply, and soon her attention was on the delicious morsel in her mouth, a soft hum of approval the only response before a nod of her head and a glance up to him, as if sharing in some secret-

@ConjuringCase [The sage nod that met her approving nod preceded a small, curious smile.] Quite the delightful gem, yes?

@MagicMistress You should've told me about them, I'd have tried these first... -it was a vain attempt at scolding, easily negated with a lingering smile before another bite-

@ConjuringCase You're supposed to save dessert until last. [he chided far better than she had managed to. In truth, he was jealous and a bit protective of his sweet find. Sharing it with her was a trust he wasn't sure the woman deserved yet.] Don't get attached.

@MagicMistress According to whom? -she questioned lightly, enjoying another small bite as she sat back, regarding him curiously- Attached?

@ConjuringCase To my sweet buns. [He masked a cheeky grin behind a bite of butterscotch sticky bun.]

@MagicMistress I'll make no promises... -she lifted her fork, a morsel of sticky bun skewered to the end with a laugh she barely tried to conceal- About these sweet buns, anyway.

@ConjuringCase *My* sweet buns. [Lysander endeavored to correct, polishing off his second.]

@MagicMistress -she watched him for a moment, the correction not going unnoticed, even as she slowly reached for another sticky bun-

@ConjuringCase [A brow shot up in a clear warning for her to not to dare take another.]

@MagicMistress -notes the warning with a tilt of her blonde head, setting a fork upon one sticky bun, prepared to claim it- If you didn't want to share... You probably shouldn't have ordered the tasty buns.

@ConjuringCase [An imperceptible flick of his eyes sees her fork forced off the bun and onto the tabletop. Now he was just playing with her]

@MagicMistress -the dismay was clear on her face as her brows knitted briefly, glancing to him before reaching to slide the plate closer-

@ConjuringCase [The plate evaded her grasp, guided by an invisible hand owned by the man across the table.] Say please. [Yes he was mocking her now. Yes he was enjoying himself. Yes he would share whether she obliged or not. But first he would indulge in a little magical foreplay. Lysander's childish gaze never left Kendra's as he silently willed her to return the challenge.]

@MagicMistress -she inhaled deeply, sitting back with a four beat drum of her fingers against the table, her free hand reaching for her flute of champagne, keeping her gaze fixed on his even as the glass reached her lips, paying not one iota of attention to the sticky bun that dissolved from his plate, reappearing a moment later on her own plate, the removal of her glass revealing a small, and considerably satisfied smile in silent response-

@ConjuringCase [His shoulders bounced in silent laughter while his lips struggled to bar closed and keep his grinning teeth concealed. What do you know, the enchantress had magic. A lift of his champagne glass and tilt of the crystal in her direction acknowledged her trick and honored her gall for doing so in public. Yes, he was quite pleased. A mental note was made to reward her properly for that later. After he nabbed another sticky bun for himself, of course.]

@MagicMistress -his reaction was reward enough, that, along with no further threat of sticky bun deprivation, her own smile offered across the table to him with a gracious bow of her head- If we come here again... we'll just have to get two orders of them.

@ConjuringCase Roping me in for another forced encounter already, are you? [the jest flew across the table with ease]

@MagicMistress Forced? -a hand set against her chest in mock offense- I'll do no such thing. -she corrected him with an even tone, thoughtfully chewing a bite of her sticky bun before continuing with an almost coy smile- You'll invite me, of course.

@ConjuringCase Will I now? [A snort escaped into his flute and threatened to backwash into his nose]

@MagicMistress -his skepticism earned a soft, tinkling laugh, and she merely nodded before another bite of sticky bun- I think so, yes.

@ConjuringCase [he sat back into his chair, allowing his roaming gaze to search for another morsel of food. Choosing to ignore her comment and select a bacon wrapped, cheese-filled, grape tomato, a couple of the delicate appetizers appeared on his plate.] You are just using me for free food and beverage. I see now.

@MagicMistress I'm doing no such thing... -she countered with a shake of her head, blonde locks shifting at her shoulders with each turn- I can afford my own food and drink, sir. It's decent company that cannot be bought.

@ConjuringCase Which begs, why are you in my company? For I am not decent and I *can* be bought. [he chuckled]

@MagicMistress Ah, and now I know a weakness... Should I ever care to bribe you for such company; sticky buns! -she smiled somewhat triumphantly across the table to him before another bite-

@ConjuringCase Most sugar will buy my companionship, actually. [Lysander stated nonchalantly]

@MagicMistress You're offering me this information freely? -the thought provoked a smile from her- I might use it, you know.

@ConjuringCase Free only because I expect a kind secret in return.

@MagicMistress I'm sure you'll get one... Eventually.

@ConjuringCase Come now. [Batting dark lashes in a most adorable manner to accompany the gentle nudge of her foot beneath the table with his own, Lysander pouted his lush lips puckishly.] Don't force me to bribe you with more of my sweet buns.

@MagicMistress -she contemplated his comment with a sip of champagne, the smirk forming against the rim of the glass admittedly trying to contain a laugh at his, yes, adorable, plea, but instead answered with a question of her own- Which ones, exactly? -her tone was coy, teasing, the glint of mischief in her gaze undeniable as she regarded him-

@ConjuringCase [Again Lysander laughed] That depends on which you want to sink your teeth into.

@MagicMistress -she had to admit, she was growing fond of the sound of his laughter, maintaining a coy, almost flirtatious smile- Well, I've already tried these... Much to my liking.