Chasing indulgence
Scribe x Reader!Reader
“Even dreams aren't forgiving.” - P
In this land of dirt and fog, there lies a looming tower that stretches over at the dim stars above.
One that rolls in no gold, nor glory, but of cheap sin. Treasure troves of once beloved, now lack therein.
“Get out of my way!” And here you are, in disillusioned madness. Faceless nobodies that wear identical clothing, turn and face you. Hours must have passed since you’ve set foot in this place, perhaps days even.
A stranger in dim yellow robes voiced out from the wooden stairs that descend from the spiral haven, one’s gaze that would spell admonition, “Dear guests, do not be alarmed.” His voice seems to give solace, even if the whole place has been baptized in depraved avarice.
"Ollie, Jade, please see our honorable guest is settled at the fireplace. I shall deal with them tactfully.”
Two men emerged: one of which is a gallant looking knight; and the other who wore a cassock like the Strange Stranger in yellow. You could even see their glowing yellow eye that mirrored each other.
“Let go of me!” Hissing at the one who got your wrist. Fighting for dominance, almost sending both of you in a tumble. You could tell the short hair one does not wish to bruise you.
“Oh my, what a dirk!” The one with long hair insulted the shorter tassels.
“Surely this one must be taught like the cirque.” He tugged at your arm, restraining you with a huff. It causes you to wince at the raw strength despite his lean structure.
“Ha! One that lurks within, could only be a berserk.” Laughed, the one who instigated the fight argued.
“And unlike you, they don’t shirk.” Now the one who held you in place retorted at the other. Their rivalry is evident, despite working for such omnipresent.
Everything felt like it was spinning around, the ghastly light glows eerily as the flames it cradled sways.
When you came to, here you were sitting upon the cushions that face the forever, kindling embers of the fireplace.
"Tea? Or maybe you like those things that make your tongue go numb?" Facing the chair just adjacent to you is the figure in yellow.
He had his legs crossed, "well?" Even with the pallid mask that he donned, the cheeky voice of his would make anyone's blood boil.
“Just water." You replied with a hoarse voice.
He chuckled, “Here." Pouring from an opaque pitcher, water flowed like wine. The dull tone of fluids against each other in the cup made a chilling crisp.
“So, what is your problem with our archive ruin?” Even with the mask, the smile can be felt through it, mocking you with genuine interest.
Hands quivered as they held the thinly made glass of water, “I want to go home." He huffed at the notion of leaving.
" Why, dear Bubbles. What has gotten into you. You looked ecstatic earlier during your stay.” Tea cup clicked when he placed it back onto the saucer. Now that you think of it, he hasn’t even taken off his mask to drink.
“Perhaps a dance, or a rather intimate time?" He teased, then again, he did always have this sort of thing.
“I just want to leave.” Pleading, as if he were the judge that sees who passes through the doors scott free.
Strange is the stranger who huffed, captious gaze lay evident through the stilted, pallid masque, “Fine, fine, here.”
Within a snap of the lanky hand, time had passed, and here was the promised door. Just within reach.
“Open it." His voice demanded with the secrets that incites such indulgence that the covers so sweetly shys.
Upon opening it, the mirth it provides has fulfilled its promises. In a world where fantastical beings rests, now everything, a blur.
War, where the sun’s dim color set, the savage souls marched with unrest. Sound of thy soul have been wed, to the hand chained mislead.
Tyrannical growls were heard from you, "I shall see you in the eternal flames.” A silent voice cried a name to blame, only ending with shame.
Lush greens now dyed in grim purple, dripping of dis-myrtle. Hearing only a ghastly chortle.
“See, bubbles, you’re just stressed.” Says the tall man in yellow shawl, who then starts to rub your shoulder, unfazed by your blood stained armor.
Laughed, "Now, do you feel better?" He smiled which is no daft, now his face partially revealed under his alabaster mask.
‘Where am I?’
In this setting stage, the spot light which shine down. Shawled ill-rumored dressed to the nine, You know him, you should get away from him.
"You just need to get your head in the game, bubbles. It is all just a storybook." Open your eyes and look like a mook, through the shard of the metallic blade of Sir Brook. The blood rushing underneath your skin, made your heart ache.
To wake up is to undo, yet you look at him, like a red rose, seeking the sun no matter where it goes.
“Where are you going, bubbles?”
“To… To …” Rapid eye movement was made, heart beating faster as he took long strides. Voice falters while your own mind fade, mold portrayed betide.
"An audience? Don't mind if I do, a feast for this occasion." He chafed with a huffed fit, taking an arm hand. Though it feels like the harrow’s pit, for what does this Fool demand of you to uphand?
“Don’t mind if I do… “
“Scribe, You can’t just infect our guests like that.”
" Well, well, if it isn’t the little miss Puppeteer.”