‘ey this where the music stuff is? the thing i got the letter about?
- @r3ady-aim-fire
A nebulous, shadowy creature, amorphous yet humanoid with stars speckled through the mass of its body opened the grand double doors of ebony wood. It bowed to the Duke before waving him towards a lounge area. The room had great arching ceilings lined with dark wood and built of stained glass. The seating was carved out of obsidian inlaid with gems and upholstered in midnight blue velvet. The creature directed him to a seat before dissipating into shadow.
Another creature—shorter, with two red motes of light for eyes—arrived with a silver tray of finger foods and a glass of wine in a glass seemingly made specifically for him. After setting it on the table nearest to Aim, it disappeared into shadow as well.
*She's rather composed for being drunk as Hell (pun intended). There is no sway in her step, no stagger in her stance as she arrives at Beleth's quarters. But there is the very clear stench of alcohol surrounding her.*
Hello, Beleth. Dagon is busy, what do you have to drink?
Beleth was draped on a plush black chaise, one of many in his possession, staring up at the ceiling. He seemed almost boneless, head lilted to the side, tails laid over the fair end of the furniture, and arm dangling off the edge of the couch. His legs, folded at the knee, faced inward towards the back of his chaise. His face was exposed for once, under eyes puffy and blue from tears long gone dry, as was his hair, which cascaded over his shoulder in tight, ink black ringlets. Their body was consumed by a luxurious black robe, waterfalls of smooth fabric with black fluff recreating the foam at the bottom. It was a good thing, too, because things would’ve gotten very sad had the robe been anything but opaque. So many scars and such little skin...
A truly ancient VCR television sat a healthy distance away from them and their chaise of despair, white static filling its screen. The entirety of The Young and the Restless sat stacked in neat little towers of VHS tapes next to it. Several empty bottles of—oh, dear, sweet God—a wine titled ‘Skinny Girl Pinot Grigio’, complete with ‘100 calories per 5 fl.oz serving’ on the label, laid next to him. .
Their ear twitched, the sound of someone talking to him cutting through the lovely haze of their complete and utter detachment from anything that wasn’t their chaise. The spicy sweet smell of power wafted into his nose before immediately being beaten unconscious by a stink he knew all too well: drowning one’s sorrows in far too much alcohol. He whined a sort of quiet, broken ‘I don’t want to deal with the world currently’ whine before pushing himself to sit up. They finally spotted fiery red hair and surprising cohesion.
Your Majesty… I ap- apologize for my appearance. When…
There was a sort of low rumble in their throat as they shut their eyes tight before opening them once more.
you are TOO SAD have uh a microphone and a cupcake (NOT poison NOT a bribe)
🎤🧁
As the objects materialized upon their altar, dusty from years of nary a sacrifice to be found, their eyes softened. Upon touching the microphone, it became a more dated model, one they remembered fondly crooning into back in the Roaring Twenties. As for the cupcake, they held it in their open palm as they whistled a long, clear note. It was safe, now. They placed it back on their desk for some time when they weren’t wearing their mask.
They picked up their quill and dipped it in the ink, the ink so dark and blue and glittering that it could have been made from the corpses of dying stars.
They paused.
Sighed.
They sounded tired.
Regarding my curse,
As far as I am concerned and knowledgeable about, no. I have consulted the greatest conjurers and magic wielders in Hell, gotten my hands on as many grimoires and Heavenly files as I could - I have threatened more of those foot soldiers they send to the Pride ring to slaughter sinners than I’d care to say. And, still-
Nothing.
The most I’ve come to know all these years is that this was no secretary’s curse. It was made with powerful magic, by a powerful angel. Furthermore, that angel dealt in things regarding fate, specifically changing it as punishment.
Lastly, and that which terrified me most: it was cast incredibly deliberately. I was not merely caught in crossfire- no, someone wanted to specifically doom me. The worst of it is that I know not what I did to deserve it.
So, in short, I haven’t any clue the who, when, where, or why of its casting, and I don’t know how to cure it. This isn’t some fairytale - I’m stuck with the what. What I’m cursed to, that is, and that is the fate of living out eternity dooming all who care for me to leave, whether of their own accord or through death.
Thank you for writing. I shall take all the conversation I can.
Sincerely,
King Beleth, Commander of eighty five Legions, Lord of Music and Silence
