East of Eden (Closed)

[Vixo]

A short chuckle left him. "Yeah, something like that." He didn't consider himself among the people who preferred an animal's company to a human's (this was still how he referred to fellow thinking creatures in his head), but many a night had been made a little less dreary with Rosalind's company. She was an affectionate pet, content to lay with him, to be held and stroked and even talked to without any protest. More than once he'd fallen asleep with her warm, soft body purring contently on his chest, though he never did wake up the same way, even from a nap. What it came down to was that he was the sort of person to work up a lot of affection and, lacking anyone to lavish it on, he'd surely grow dangerously frustrated. Having only a cat did allow a certain misery to persist inside of him, but this was one he attempted to ignore with the assistance of a large workload. . .one, he was beginning to realize, which might not be so large any longer. He'd need to make this studio a place that he could work in.

"Well, I've begun to think of a few things. . .you don't mind if I work on other projects here, do you?" What it meant to be living in the house of someone he not only didn't know, but would have to maintain a stiff, professional relationship with was becoming more and more clear to him. It was bound to be smothering, but it was too late to reconsider the terms now. Wasn't it? God. What had he agreed to? This was beginning to feel like a sort of slavery. Money only changed things to people who had a use for money. . .most of his commission would simply be hoarded away, perhaps donated to government use on his passing. He tried to steer his thoughts away from such things, though. The thought that he had no one to leave his growing wealth to, would have no distant relation, let alone a wife or child, was massively depressing.

"Is there a town nearby? It felt quite unseemly to be going up and down the mountain too often." Never mind that he often spent ages at home before opening the shop, playing his piano, reading, writing and things--the prospect of spending his time in this way here felt like being imprisoned. Before he could work himself up beyond the smallest concerned pout of his full lip, however, she scooped up one of her cats, to whom his increasingly woeful gaze did warm.

"God, he's a gorgeous animal," he remarked in a hush, reaching out to stroke the feline himself. A small scratch was employed beneath the chin to start things out on a pleasant note before he indulged himself briefly in the fluff across his belly. His hand, warmed now that he'd been indoors long enough, brushed across hers as he retrieved it again. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I'll be sure to bring Rosalind in the morning."

 

[satindesire]

She still had several hours to tend to him before dawn would come and force her to sleep, plenty of time to make the necessary arrangements for the servants to attend during her unconscious hours. Still holding the feline, who was contentedly purring loud enough to make her entire fluffy body shake, the Lady nodded calmly "Yes, yes, that's fine. Bring whatever you need to bring, this will be your home and workspace for the time being, so treat it as such. I understand my portrait cannot be your only focus, that would drive anyone mad from boredom."

At his question of a nearby town, she visibly hesitated, nostrils flaring. If it was disgust or disappointment, it was hard to tell. "No...." a long moment "Nothing is nearby."

She looked down at Nicholas's extended limb as he fondled the cat, watching his long white hands in the ebony fur. "Forgive me for the inconvenience. I'm afraid it can't be helped. I'll send the chargers with a carriage next time, it should make your ride markedly shorter."

A touch of a smile curled the corners of her wide mouth. "She. It's a girl." As if knowing she was being spoken of, the cat opened her large orange eyes, looking up at Nicholas trustingly. "She's never let a stranger touch her before."

This seemed to please the Madame to no end.

 

[Vixo]

What was he going to do? Strangely, a pang of homesickness struck him as she continued to speak of how he'd be staying in this house with her. If a situation like this arose at home, after all, he'd eventually be able to phone a friend and relate how strange it all was, would be able to communicate with other people. Here, he hadn't the means--never mind that he didn't have anyone to communicate with even if he did. Wasn't that a bit of homesickness too, though? He hadn't been so alone at home. . .in his position it would have been easy for him to continue making friends. His relationships here had a way of beginning well enough, but stunting quickly and breaking off out of convenience or discomfort. A logical person might reason that he'd simply have to make friends with the work here, or the lady herself, but. . .God, what a struggle it was not to obsess over this too visibly. The worried expression was already starting to form on his face again.

Struggling to dismiss it, he forced a laugh. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm to be your painter or your captive." While his feeling like the latter was quite genuine, he was quick to attribute everything to himself, to take any fault which might be in her hands away. It was his pessimism that made this gorgeous home a prison, rather than an attractive mountain retreat.

"Oh, oh, I should've looked before speaking," his voice issued in a smoky murmur, his discomfort warmed briefly away by the sight of the cat's large eyes. He smiled at her, but kept his focus around her nose and mouth, knowing that cats didn't like their eyes stared into. Continuing to scratch under her neck, he inquired, "What's her name?"

 

[satindesire]

She waved off his apology with a flick of her hand, the thick brush of lashes deeply shading her cheekbones as she looked down at the feline. "Lucifer." She said, then paused, smiling wryly at her miscommunication. "Lucifer is the cat's name. The staff has nicknamed her Lucy."

Her gaze was frank and level as it focused once again on his face. "I cannot lie to you, Master Ardel, regarding your employment here. It will be a guilded cage, but a cage nonetheless." The feline's monster rumbling was the only counterpoint to the crackling fire and the silence, pregnant and hot with promise, stretched after her statement.

Finally, she set the cat down on the floor, who cried for more attention, winding lustily around Nicholas's ankles.

"I understand that to bind a free spirited artist for too long would be...cruel..." although that particular thought didn't truly seem to bother her. It was statement rather than sentiment, on her part. "but I hope that the rewards will be greater than the torment in the end." A faint smile touched the corners of her unpainted mouth.

 

[Vixo]

He chuckled faintly at the naming of the cat, not taking all too much out of such things. It seemed like a natural enough name for a black cat, and the feminizing of it was endearing. "Sweet little Lucy, of course. . .who'd know?" grinned he, giving the feline a pointed, loving scratch. If his client was to be trusted after all, this cat probably would've bitten or scratched anyone else to touch her! Playing with this cat was a fine way to ignore the feeling of walls popping up around him.

The artist's gaze lifted from the animal when she spoke again however, and there was question in his eyes--Why would you do this to someone?--but it was one he felt he had more dignity than to voice, and so his lips momentarily thinned until his eyes looked a bit more determined.

Saying nothing at first, he lowered himself with a bend of the knees to scratch between Lucy's ears, trying to work out his growing feeling of discomfort. He had to watch his words; at the moment he was making a fierce effort to hold his tongue, letting the things he felt compelled to say tickle his throat without being voiced. She would surely be offended if he let her know how unappealing this arrangement had become, that he wanted it to be over with quickly. It would seem like shunning her company. But it wasn't company she was offering, just money! Wasn't it? God, but there had to be something. . .

Swallowing heavily to push these responses further away, he submitted at last to scooping the cat into his arms and, if allowed of course, brought her close to his body in a loving cradle. "I'll need a bookshelf to house some of my personal library, and a good deal of help to retrieve my piano from the shop--an upright, with enough hands we should be able to have it up here. I. . .don't know what else, beyond supplies, I. . ." He'd started out reasonable enough, but his voice grew audibly desperate shortly before he recognized it and cut himself off.

"I spend most of my time working as it is. I'll be all right." How was he going to sleep in this foreign house?

 

[satindesire]

Oddly enough, she noted his discomfort but did not seem bothered by it. Instead, her emotional range was limited from curiosity to the watchful pinings of a predator, without the empathic sympathy that any mortal would possess. Cold, there was something supremely cold about her calculated gaze and piercing truthfulness. She knew he would be pointedly unhappy. She seemed not to care, and even beneath the apathy for his discomfort came a small uncomfortable measure of amusement that lurked in that distant chill, like a wicked scientist researching a bug 'neath a pin. Why indeed would she do that to anyone? Why choose him, of all people? The artistic pool was limited in range and talent in these parts, yes, but even so. Why had she chosen Nicholas Ardel to torture so?

And what supreme masochism in him was urging him to stay? For the sake of such suffering? Was she aware of his self destructive desire, the urge for such torment?

Lucifer indeed allowed him to pick her up, and she was a solid and comfortable weight in his arms, if incredibly furry. If he weren't already wearing black he would have soon been! She began purring instantly the moment he cradled her bulk into his chest, kneading sharp claws into his jacket sleeve.

"I'll send some men down with your carriage, and a few wagons. Take whatever you think you'll want. Anything you don't have can be purchased later."

And stepping closer to him, just perhaps a touch too close for a proper measure of comfort, she narrowed her crystaline eyes into his, her hand lifting to hover over his cheek as if to give it a fond, adoring caress.

"Dawn comes soon and I have much to do..." she murmured softly, her will plucking gently at his. Playing at the human urges, tasting the tenor of his masculinity. "Chloe will make sure you have everything you need." She withdrew, the warm and sensual contact broken as suddenly as a shattered mirror.

 

[Vixo]

Though there was perhaps truth in that, Nicholas didn't allow himself to think that what he was doing was masochistic. In his mind, he had an obligation. He had read the letter and agreed to it there; he couldn't back down now. Reason would say that if there was any commission he could decline at this stage, it was this one, as her necessitating secrecy suggested she wouldn't say anything ill about him to the public. . .but this didn't occur to him. He felt as though he'd trapped himself, woven a prison of public opinion. Funny how he could be entirely selfish in his creative exploits just a short time ago! Sometimes this business was stifling. . .if not all the tme! At least at home, he could distribute his selfish works all over the world and there would be some audience for them. Here, that freedom simply didn't exist.

"Yes, I'll do that." It was growing more and more difficult to hide his emotions, for with every word from her they bloomed into a wider misery, dug a new depth to his pit of hopelessness. Was this what he'd become, slave to fear, to whoever commissioned work of him? But what other choice was there? He'd have gone broke if he kept to music, died in the streets like a fool. . .or else worked some menial job, whoring out his talents for tips at a restaurant or some such nonsense. Playing songs written by people who'd died long before he was born, as he knew they would want nothing of his own output.

His breath drew in quickly and was held tight in his lungs as she approached and lifted her hand, his distracted fingers stilling in their gestures of affection about Lucifer. He wasn't sure what to think of this strange move she made, and confusion shone easily in those brilliant blue eyes of his. This uncertainty soon passed into an anxious heartbeat, however; there was something intimate of the way she looked up at him, holding her hand just so. Dawn, though? What would she care of dawn?

"A-are we meant to return tonight?" His voice faltered as she stepped so suddenly back, leaving the strangest sense of abandonment. If he hadn't felt so lost in his emotions to begin with, perhaps he would've realized that this made no sense for him to feel about a woman he'd just met. "I'm getting a bit tired, but it might be best. . ." An idea had just dawned on him--if only he could get out again while these feelings of discomfort and uncertainty remained raw in him, perhaps. . .!?

 

[satindesire]

Eternity had a way of dulling the senses, the passion, the humanity out of her. Draining away the life and will and blunting the color and taste of the outside world, making Torpor easier and easier to surrender to. It had been too long this time, she had slept far past any measure she had intended, and it took much ritual and many sacrifices to bring her back. The humanity and raw emotion in him sparked a hunger that she had not felt in some time. It was difficult for her to maintain that modicum of proprietary civility that allowed her to pass, at least to the untested eye, as mortal. The Blush of Life didn't hurt, it gave her the warmth and pliant skin of a human, if only for a short time, but even that skill was limited.

The more time she spent with him, the more she risked. And she had a great deal to hide, even more than others like her.

The Thirst was so sharp that she trembled, feeling the twisting pangs scrape at her willpower and humanity. "Yes, yes, of course. Do as you like, Master Ardel, if you wish to go and fetch your things now, then Chloe can certainly arrange that. I'll have her come up and see you now."

Hot chills ran down her limbs, the whispered taunts of kills long past. Tactile memories of hot human skin beneath her hands, lips. Sweet, silky torment.

"Good day, Master Ardel. I will see you soon."

Before he could bid farewell to her, or ask her any further questions, she turned on a booted heel and left the studio. Lucifer struggled and twisted in his arms to follow after her owner.

 

[binishhaider]

Thanks

Nice Awsome story

 

[Vixo]

What a strange feeling it was, that near touch; it had made him want the touch itself, something that he wouldn't have allowed himself to even desire otherwise. Preposterous. He wasn't even on a first name basis with this woman. How many beauties had he easily overlooked? Was it simply the idea of his living in her home that set it off? To her, it was likely nothing, as she had many servants within these walls, yet the invitation to live with her was. . .highly unorthodox, to say the least. There was much he'd need, things that occurred to him with the passage of time. The room was windowless--he would need to prepare his paints down in the kitchen, likely, for having a stove set up in a windowless room didn't seem like a reasonable idea. Likely the depth of his needs didn't occur to her. All the same, to invite him in, to be so accommodating. . .when mixed with her insistence on secrecy, it was strange indeed.

All the same, there was an idiot part of him which, at the same time as it was moving into suspicion, ached at the thought that he should be so remarkable as to merit this. Heavens, though, it was incredibly late to be making that long trek back, which would stretch still longer when taking into account that his home wasn't exactly close to his shop. "Perhaps it should wait after all. . .such an ungodly hour it is. . ." As much as he meant to relate his thought to her, it passed in a murmur as though he did not consciously give voice to it after all, his eyes fallen to the feline. He always left enough for his own pet, giving her fresh food before he left, a generous dish of water and leaving dried meats in a separate bowl in the event that he didn't return for the night. More than once he'd made a bed of the couch in his office, a mistake to which his back could certainly attest.

He found himself watching her as she drew away, not yet turning from him out of something he imagined to be politeness. The struggling cat was noted and placed delicately on the floor with little hesitation, lest his hands wind up clawed. Straightening again, he offered, "Sleep well, Madame Ravencroft," knowing that he himself would do no such thing, if he slept at all. . .perhaps this was a matter he would take up with Chloe when she arrived to attend to him. Surely there was something he might be encouraged to take. . .? He paced between the empty studio and hall, his exhaustion beginning to frustrate him. He had nothing to do with his hands!

 

[Vixo]

Double post, sorry.

 

[satindesire]

Chloe met her on the staircase, on the south wing of the manor. The girl said nothing, merely took Alais by the arm and led her into her own sleeping quarters, a huge and nearly barren room dominated by a massive four poster bed, hung with myriad layers of flimsy translucent hangings, colorful ribbons and delicate flags of crimson and black velvet.

Alais sat on the edge of the bed, her weight sinking welcomingly into the plush down mattress. Chloe hurried to the fireplace, stoked the flames to brighter brilliance and added a few slabs of wood, then pulled the drapes closed around the bed.

Chloe's weight disturbed Alais out of her stupor, and the vampire looked at the flame haired servant with naked hunger glinting ferally in her glassine eyes. Silently, Chloe's arms curled comfortingly around her Mistress's shoulders, her slender body fitting into the more generous curves opposing her.

"The Thirst is too high for you, love..." Alais murmured, her words slurred by the pressure of lips to Chloe's delicate neck. "I need you awake and strong to tend to our...guest." Chloe arched into the Kindred, the fine translucence of her creamy complexion nearly transparent at the throat, the thick bluish veins a tempting beacon to the famished kindred.

"I have done worse things with less blood." the girl replied. There was no more room in the Lady to argue.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Alais gathered and gently cradled the slender woman into her chest, feeling the sharpness of fang on her lip. Control...she could easily kill the woman if she let the Beast go unchained, even if for just a moment. The silky skin of her throat parted almost lovingly under the pressure of teeth, with a delicious gasp of agony from the young mortal.

She drank languidly, almost adoringly stroking warm hair and back, white fingers shocking against crimson. Chloe's swoon was high, eyes closed in surrender and tender acquiescence. For some time they swayed thus locked in that passionate embrace, until Chloe grew pale and her limbs were too heavy to keep around the Kindred. Finally, with a gasp, Alais drew back, shaking with the pleasure of the feed.

Chloe's nearly unconscious body fell back into the mattress, for the moment, forgotten.

Color burst into Alais's cheeks, warming her skin to a pink mortal sheen. The Blush of Life. For the next day, she would be close enough to pass.

Chloe's lashes fluttered open, languidly gazing up at the glowing and sated noble. "Give me my due." She murmured, weak smile touching the corners of her mouth.

"As you are so deserving..." the renewed Lady said, and scraped at her wrist just so with pink-stained fangs. Lowering her bleeding wound to Chloe's mouth, the woman received a single mouthful of blood before the wrist was torn back from her.

Just enough to keep her bound. Just enough to sate her own Hunger.

The ghoul swallowed the vitae, her ragged breathing slowing finally into a more peaceful rhythm.

"When you are able, go up to the studio and speak to Master Ardel. He may have some tasks for you." Alais was already undressing, and her suddenly cold manner was a signal of dismissal. Fishing a scarf from her pocket, Chloe nodded silently, wound the scarf 'round her throat, and excused herself from the now-silent bedchamber to ascend the staircase up to the studio.

Alais didn't even notice when Lucifer's furry weight disturbed the comforter.

 

[Vixo]

The artist paced between the studio and attached room, making as ready for bed as was reasonable when he was a guest. Shoes were discarded, along with his jacket, waistcoat and belt, leaving his red shirt cuffed conspicuously low on his wrists, a tight silk, heavy enough to be opaque. As much as the oddity of his position did reside in his present discomfort, more immediate was a worry of falling asleep at all, for he would need to be alert come morning, where at the very least he would help populate the studio and attached room with his materials and personal effects. The amount of things he thought of himself bringing was worrying, really; but two hours' travel wasn't something to take lightly. He was to be stranded on this mountain until the portrait was through. It was such a strange hour, he told himself--perhaps there were more people, different people, about during the day. People he might befriend and who would make this place feel like less of the beautiful prison it had become (the word 'cage' recalled a pet to him, more than anything a human being might be, and so he would not use it even in his thoughts).

Soon Chloe's presence occurred to him, pulling him from his feverish thoughts. Ever concerned with making a friendly impression, another of his ill-fitting smiles (for he had quite a gloomy face) rose to his lips and he inquired, uncertainly, "Might you have anything to assist in sleeping, Ms. Blount? It's been a long while since I've slept away from home. . ." He could ask for nothing without leaving a wide opening of doubt in his tone, as though his every request--no matter how small--was to be a massive burden on those expected to carry it out, and so was more likely to be denied than not.

 

[satindesire]

She had arrived via a delicate knock on the open bedroom door, letting herself in quietly once she had seen his distracted state. The quest quarters were lavishly appointed, with five large shuttered windows cut into the pale golden-cream marble wall opposite the massive canopy bed. Heavy velvet drapes hung as both curtains and privacy drapes for the bed. The furniture was somewhat sparse but each piece was obviously chosen for quality's sake, and it spoke of wealth in careful, tasteful investment. A few colorful rugs warmed the glossy floor here and there, in front of the fireplace and the bed for instance. There were four doors in his quarters, one for the studio, bathing chamber, closet, and hall respectively.

Chloe had set down a tray of warm spiced wine and a few tidbits to nibble on, should he have been hungry, leaving it on the sidetable by his bed. She looked up at Nicholas when he spoke, nodding pleasantly "Of course, I'll go downstairs right away and have the apothecary mix something up for you. Can I get you anything else, Master Ardel?"

 

[Vixo]

It was a rich room that he was being set up in, and one whose sparse furnishings he didn't mind. The bed, as it went, comforted him long before he would seek to settle himself inside of it. His privacy was massively important, and though he couldn't be sure of what rights he had about locking the door behind him in someone else's house, the heavy curtains would perform a most important task--being sure he could sleep in comfort without risking the humiliation of someone wandering in and seeing him. His formal attire wasn't exactly comfortable, and he hadn't thought to gather any sort of pajamas. The covers were generous enough that his undergarments would suffice, as they normally did save on the most chill of nights at home. . .but God forbid this should be his normal activity in a house where other people lived. Not only did these people seem the sort to deem it highly inappropriate; the thought of anyone laying eyes on his body was enough to make him tense with misery.

When Chloe passed into the room as promised, he stilled his pacing between all those places set aside as 'his', giving her his full attention--or, at least, as full as his worried mind would allow. Her question was given some thought before he responded, "Is there a razor and shaving soap I'd be welcome to use in the morning?", supposing they might be in the bathroom and he simply missed them, as he failed to open all of the drawers and cabinets. He'd fetch his own come morning of course, but he didn't welcome the thought of presenting himself to such dignified people as the scruffy, itchy mess his face had a way of becoming in the morning.

 

[satindesire]

Chloe's cool and dismissive manner had changed considerably, she seemed to be in much higher spirits, and her cheeks had a blush to them that would suggest a highly improved mood.

She opened the drapes of the bed, turning down his covers and fluffing his pillows. As she busied herself with this task, her reply was a warm "Oh, yes, those items have been provided for you in the bathing chamber already..." as if she had been asked that question a million times but didn't seem to mind the explaination "..Master Ardel, as well as all your other hygienic needs, and a servant has been appointed to this room for your convenience. Breaking fast in the mornings is generally at eleven unless you prefer to be awoken at a different hour, what would you like to eat?"

 

[Vixo]

The lengths to which she went - and to which the lady of the house had gone - to accommodate him had quite the opposite of their intended effect. He frowned faintly watching her turn down the covers and fluff his pillows, wondering if this really was her life, waiting on other people hand and foot all day. . .often people she didn't even know, as was his case. And now there was to be another servant doing the same for him? Why was this necessary? The pampered lifestyle existed for those who had earned it and deserved it, or in the very least for those people associated with greatness. He had none of these qualities! This remained just short of ridiculous to him, and it seemed as though she'd say someone had been appointed to bathe him, too! Could he do nothing on his own?

"That's great, thank you. Ahh. . .eleven should be quite alright, we've things to do in the morning," wasn't it already morning?, "and whatever you normally serve should be fine, I'm not particular about my food."

 

[satindesire]

She nodded, then motioned to a heavy velvet rope that hung beside the fireplace. "This will ring down to the servant's quarters. Madeline will be helping you during your stay. Do not hesitate to go to her or myself for anything you need." There was a certain strange way she stressed the word "anything" that might have made him think it didn't necessarily mean soap and extra towels.

Perhaps it was just his imagination, though?

Indeed Chloe's life was a life of servitude, as was her place as Alais's bonded ghoul. Of course, his foreign upbringing could not imagine what it was like and found it unnerving and distasteful, but service was all she had known, for years beyond count...and her days here had been relatively easy and pampered compared to the sometimes abject poverty that struck some unlucky outside of the manor walls.

It was easy enough for a star-crossed foreigner to turn up a nose at her employment, but there were far many and far worse other fates for the mortal. Under Alais's care, Chloe and the rest of the Lady's people had access to a plentiful and varied, and healthy, diet...excellent medical care, education, travel, a wage that supported their families very adequately, and protection from disease, plague, famine, uprooting and starvation that outbreaks of war and noblemen's power struggles often brought.

Given the choice, one could imagine that struggling in the outside world just to feed oneself made this job look appealing in comparison.

Finished with her menial tasks, she dipped in a polite bow. "I'll have Madeline bring up your sleeping drought immediately, Master Ardel. If you require nothing else...?"

 

[Vixo]

Nicholas had more distaste for those who employed servants than those who accepted such employment, truthfully; he could easily understand the appeal of not having the sort of worries that 'independent' people were plauged by. All the same, to be waited on as such was intensely uncomfortable for him. It was something he'd simply have to deal with. There would be a certain sense of entitlement if he was to complain, after all. Why should they change the way their house functioned simply for him? It would be ungrateful to continually decline the services they offered. He doubted it would be a matter of declining, though. . .many things, it wouldn't even occur to him to request assistance for!

"All right," he consented slowly, clearly finding her tone odd and recognizing that he wouldn't even know what to ask for. Though wealthy enough himself, he simply wasn't used to being attended to at all, let alone attended to at the lengths they went to. Furthermore he wasn't especially used to being with people for an extended period of time, always having a place of comfortable solitude to return to at his leisure. . .this would be a strange time indeed.

"No, I imagine I have everything here I could possibly need. Thank you, Ms. Blount." He remained uncertain of how to address the people here, but assumed that was a fine enough thing to default to. . .though Madame Ravencroft called her by her first name, he didn't feel his short time here afforded him that liberty, not when he was consistently referred to as Master Ardel, a term he used all of his willpower not to protest every time it left her mouth.

 

[satindesire]

A faint polite smile and another half-bow, then she turned and left, swinging the heavy double doors closed behind her. It immediately plunged his room into blessed silence. Whatever soundproofing she had installed, it was effective. Perhaps that would be some small measure of comfort to him, or perhaps it would make the strange bedroom seem even more shut off and alien.

If he took the time to adjust to his surroundings and explore, he would find several robes hung up on the inside of the closet door, one black satin for lounging, and a heavier, soft plush fabric that was intensely warm and held body heat well. Probably for after a bath so as to not freeze in the cool air.

The fireplace mantle was glossy black stone that jutted from the creamy marble wall like a wound, it's gaping mouth blazing with a recently fed fire. It would take a while, even with the size of the flames, to warm the bedroom to a comfortable temperature. It seemed like no one had been in the guest suite in some time before his arrival.

The mattress on the bed was incredibly soft, perhaps of down or feathers, and the sheets were soft ivory, in a smooth flax and cotton blend with a faint delicate sheen. Several warm, furry-knitted blankets were atop that, along with a plush feather comforter several inches deep. Whatever heat the fireplace could not provide, the bed would readily make up for.

A knock on the door sounded. Madeline with his potion, probably.

 

[Vixo]

In truth, Nicholas still wasn't sure how he felt with this arrangement. Discomfort was an overbearing feeling, but there had to reside something beyond that. He just couldn't pluck it out. Drawing a deep breath, he moved to settle on the edge of the bed, setting an eye on the wine that had been offered him. It wouldn't be such a terrible thing to drink it, would it? It was only wine, only one glass--he would not be allowed overindulgence even if he tried. Yes. This was a safe place. Making this decision, he took up the glass and drank down a large swallow of it, a loose smile moving across his mouth as the alcohol's warmth moved into his stomach.

Upon hearing the knock on the door, he rose with little hesitation, opening it slowly and smiling at the woman so revealed. "Thank you, Madeline." His voice was warm and slow, genuinely grateful as he assessed what she had to offer him.

 

[satindesire]

It was a small glass beaker, tinted faintly blue at it's top. The elixir within was hot, a mouthful's worth of liquid that was a rich crimson wine color. Probably had red wine as it's base, with finely minced herbs floating inside. The smell was a strong warm-green smell that might have reminded him of a garden in the sun.

"Hathorn says take this with the wine, and not to leave a drop behind. You should sleep deeply without troubled dreams or waking fits and wake with no soreness or foul tongue."

She handed him the beaker, curtsied, and stepped backwards. "Good morning, Master Ardel. Please pull the bell cord should you need anything else."

 

[Vixo]

"That sounds perfect," he murmured, taking the beaker from her hand without hesitation. There was a small freedom in being able to drink, and this had improved his outlook, if only slightly. Likely he was just being pessimistic. The help here was kind, loyal, though he doubted if they'd make fine conversation partners. They were likely too formal for that, and he couldn't imagine being at much ease with them. Perhaps after a few days this would stop feeling so alien.

"This should be all until the morning. Give Hathorn my thanks," he instructed, realizing only afterward that this might be taken as a formal command. He decided not to amend anything he'd said however, repeating "Good morning," back to her and shutting the door. He felt a pang of regret as it fell back into its frame, one he couldn't pinpoint and carried back to the bed with some concern. Settling once more on its edge, he set the beaker down and went back for the wine, figuring its taste would better fill his mouth, prepare it for whatever was in the other drink. A supreme sense of loneliness weighed on him there, with the room silent save for the crackling of the fire. It was different to be alone in someone else's house. . .sighing, he took up the beaker and drank all of it down at once, not wanting to risk enduring a poor taste longer than he had to.

When finished with both wine and potion, he began to unbutton and unravel his cuffs, a gesture he sometimes found himself performing with a certain misery, as he did tonight; his mouth dried and he swallowed heavily, trying not to hesitate too long in loosing the front buttons and removing the garment. Knowing he'd need to wear the same tomorrow, he rose and hung it in the closet, doing the same with his pants, which were removed with much less ceremony. A pair of undershorts remained, and that was to be all he slept in. A chill tried to strike him, but before it could penetrate, he retreated to the bed, drawing the curtain around it and settling beneath the covers to sleep.

 

[satindesire]

Alais slept fitfully plagued by nightmares that were a daily occurrence, one she had wearily become accustomed to after so many years. It was one of the many curses she had to bear in order to gain the secrets of Dark Thaumaturgy, and in the end, the advantages far outweighed the costs in her eyes.

Demons never gave without taking something in return. Even if the thing they were taking was precious, or not even hers to give.

.....Alais Dreamed.....

It had been a cold winter, and spring had come so late that the market was still largely empty of vendors when she and her sister went into town. Flidias, though her twin, had sprouted into early womanhood and was more than proud to bind her shift more tightly around her budding bosom. Stopping at every polished copper mirror to look at her reflection and contemplate the budding mounds that looked more like swollen lumps of a spider's bite instead of full-grown breasts, infuriated Alais to the point of storming off in search of a better playmate.

Turning a corner she had not been down before, she was assaulted by the rich scent of drying herbs, faint musical tinklings heard by the way of the chill breeze that filtered down between ancient carts carved into fantastical creatures...Dark purple dragon wings sprouted over her head, the glossy pink of a snail's shell, the yawning, terrible maw of a great panther. Lost in the magic of the wooden carts and the tales that surely whispered just below the chipped, antiquing surface, she continued down the grassy path, anger forgotten.

A flash caught her eye, and she turned towards it's source. A cart, laid open to reveal it's dark, fragrant interior. Jars of herbs and poultices promising cures from anything from a headache to infertility lines one shelf, objects of copper, brass and silver glimmered in another. Fetishes and totems in gruesome shapes...a many-armed man whose vast belly was an open mouth lined with razored fangs, a goat-legged woman with seventeen pendulous breasts...carved of glass and jet and stone, lined the bottom.

Taken aback and totally absorbed, Alais jumped in shock and fear when a sudden voice prompted her attention. "A young woman such as yourself should be in such a place as this." Looking up at the owner of the rich, foreboding baritone, she was again shocked to see the nut-brown face of an ebony-skinned man standing in the steps that led into the cart. "I-I'm sorry!" She said, her voice stolen by surprise into a mere whisper. "I promise I didn't touch anything! I was only looking!" But to her thankfulness, his glossy, dark face split into a smile that revealed a mouth full of large, square, white teeth. "Did I scare you?" before she could answer..."Good! Now come inside and I shall have your day."

Although her better logic dictated she probably should turn and run away, look for her sister at some jeweler's mirror and run back to the Temple, inside the musty, dark interior she went. It did not come as that much of a surprise to see that the cart was MUCH larger on the inside than it appeared, and she was ushered to a table where she was gently but forcefully sat in a chair, handed a cup of hot, honey-sweetened tea, and then joined by the dark man.
"How old are you, little one?" She bristled at that statement. Her sister, damn it all, had always looked older. Always ran faster, always been better liked by the priestesses and tutors...."Thirteen." Although she didn't mean it to, it came out hard, her eyes dropped to the cup in her hands, sorrowful and contrite. "...thirteen. I...have a sister whose my age, too."

He took the tea cup from her hands and closed her own, much smaller and lighter, in both of his. He smelled like spices and oils and sweat...not unpleasant. The smell of work and health and good things that suddenly made her understand how boys could be okay sometimes. Not disgusting, like she had thought before. "Your eyes are far too sad for one so young." He stood up, drawing her along with him, and ushered her outside. Feeling something hard and cold in her hand, she opened them up to reveal a large yellow stone, uncut but still a nearly perfect jewel. Turning swiftly on her heel, she opened her mouth to promise she didn't know she had it, hadn't stolen it, and to please NOT tell her mother....

...but she was not at all surprised to see her strange dark man was gone. The cart was gone, and she was standing alone in them midst of a field of grass untouched by the wheels of a faire.

Alais woke with a gasp, narrow white hand clutching at her throat.

...and alone in her bedchamber, Alais wept.

 

[Vixo]

Nicholas, contrarily, dreamed little during the night, as promised. This wasn't to say he wanted for terrible experiences to recall, however. . .often the deeds of the Vixo would haunt his mind when his eyes dared shut, would curse him for still breathing. What business did he have alive when his living could well mean the death of more women? He had felt nothing on his conscience of murder or torment for some time, the last female visited being that young woman, on whom he had merely left a bruise and venomous threat. The threat had worked, of course, for Nicholas was presently very much alone, as he should have been anyhow. He hadn't had any business setting his sights on such a young girl. If only he could've washed her eyes of what he'd allowed her to see of him. . .

Come eleven, he woke at the first knock, frowning faintly as he emerged from the covers. He normally slept with his long limbs splayed across every inch of space the bed would give him, but the chill which had come with the fire dying overnight saw him curled in a tight ball under the blankets. "I'm awake, thank you!" he called out, sitting up in the dark afforded him by the curtains and taking a few moments to come acceptably out of his drugged sleep.