Chapter 118: 118
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My body trembles on the cold wooden floor, barely covered by the cotton thinness of the Prince's white shirt: a vampire's clothing which has no purpose for warmth, only striving the achieve the unobtainable heights of vampiric high beauty and fashion. The fire and ice in my veins has subsided, the overwhelming pain subdued to a faint murmuring in my heart, both of which are a much greater relief than I would care to admit. I look with a brief flash of melancholy to my skin- much paler than it was before, as though I had been shut outside in a snowstorm overnight and the blood had directed itself to my extremities in a futile effort to keep me alive. But considering now I am at the very least half vampire, I doubt I can really be called 'alive' any more.
Those are not the only changes about me however. My canines are sharp, dagger-like, my body glittering with a majestic aura that wasn't there before, my breasts slightly larger, limbs a fraction longer, but underneath it all, there is the steady pulsing beat of my heart, as though my body got halfway through changing and gave up midway through. I am not a monster, nor do I feel like one, but there is something undeniably different about me, some rhythmic beat of power that pulses through my veins, as though suddenly the flowing rivers of red inside me have become more than just blood.
Yet out of all those concerns, all of them dull in comparison to what comes next.
Slowly, footsteps approach me across the floor causing my heart to flutter uncontrollably, but I daren't look up, not strong enough to stand whatever look may be playing on his face. Carefully, Soren bends down on his haunches. His shadow looms.
"Serena," he murmurs so heartachingly softly, and I turn my head down to the side, averting my gaze. "Look at me, Serena,"
His tone gives nothing away. No anger, no frustration, no hatred, just a gentle whisper of compassion, willing me to look at him. But I don't want to. Instead, I curl further up into myself, but Soren slides a hand under my chin, edging my face upwards to his. The moment his eyes touch mine I feel myself recoil with a lurching sob. If I wanted to run, to fight him off, I have no doubt I could do it, that much I know. But I don't want it to come to that. Not now.
The Prince's eyes gleam with gold and red.
"Serena, will you please let me take off your necklace,"
"No, just... just get away from me, dammit, get away!" I sob quietly, pushing myself away from him, scrambling to get onto my feet, clutching my pendant tightly in my hands. Panic bubbles in my throat, overwhelming me. A thick golden glow pulses outwards from my body, spiralling out of control with bright flashes and gleaming sparks. Soren eyes it- eyes me, warily, knowing what comes next. A muscle in his jaw twitches, as though the avid refusal of his request is one he is not to pleased to here. If I didn't know any better, I would say he looks hurt.
"Fuck, this, I-" I clench my fists at my sides, scrabbling for words that fail to make themselves present.
"Serena," he says again softly, so softly, holding out his hand to me as I back away, shaking my head from across the room. He offers me a wistful smile. "Serena, I know who you are,"
I stop dead in my tracks.
"Who I am…?"
Soren nods his head slowly, his eyes trained on me, as though expecting me to dart any minute. Yet still he edges closer, one hand out offering his reassurance as he murmurs sweet mumbling nothings, trying to calm the nerves he so clearly see's jolting through me. But his efforts are futile.
"Serena," he says lowly, stopping a few feet in front of me as I cower against the wall, back pressed rigidly against it, as though I might have hoped to melt into it and sink away from this terrifying situation altogether. "That potion I gave you contained the blood of an angel. It was designed to fight against my blood, help you survive, well, relatively speaking unchanged- at least in mind- and it worked. Serena, I know you aren't an elf. I know what you are,"
"You are lying," I whisper, frantically shaking my head, my knuckles clenching to a terrified white. My heart pounds in my chest, refusing to believe a word. "No, no, no, because that's impossible, you would…" I trail off, looking down at the pendant slung around my neck. The blood inside it throbs, pressing up against the glass capsule with a a nauseating fluidity. "You would have had killed me."
I back up towards the door, my back banging against it so hard it causes the keyholes to rattle.
"Serena, please, you have to listen to me," he urges quietly, holding out his hand again with the same urgency as before, willing me to take it. A desperate look flashes across his face. "You do not need to run from me, my darling."
"But you…" but I don't let myself finish, my heart pounding, fear boiling in the pits of my stomach, I open the door, and run.
***
Soren's perspective
[Twelve years ago...]
Once upon a time, perhaps some 1000 years ago, there came into Faey a monster named Soren. And the one thing Soren loved nothing more, was to kill. Back in the old times, he hadn't concerned himself with the customs the vampires brought with killing, he didn't care much for playing cat and mouse with his prey, to tempt and toy like all the others did.
He simply delighted to hear the screams, how the notes of each one hit the air slightly different from the last, and rang so beautifully in his ears like a tragically disastrous symphony. Some out of panic, some out of anguish. They faded into the night, draining away with the hope of life that was swiftly dashed in pooling blood. But more than anything, Soren revelled in the hot, wet sounds of the beating heart, thundering in the chest like a wounded bird, soft and panicked. The sound alone was enough to drive Soren into madness. It spiralled him into thoughts of sickly sweet blood pumping fresh from the arteries, coursing thick and honeyed down his throat in a delicious warmth. It was to nobody's surprise then that he was soon given the title of 'the scarlet prince'. Everywhere Soren went, no matter who the person, no matter what the creature, there was always fear.
Until one day, there wasn't.
"Brother," I call, licking the drips of thick red blood off the lengths of my fingers. The morning is bright and cold outside the borders of the angel clan, the grass misted with a fine dew that glistens in the wavering golden light. High in the tops of sycamore trees and furs, little creatures whisper quietly amongst themselves, watching me as I pass through the shadows, disappearing into one and coming out of the next. They know to keep their distance, but can't help looking anyway. All the creatures of the Great Forest are like that- all are quick to find themselves enamoured by that melancholic mystery of a creature who lacks feeling, who is empty in heart. For a moment I still, listening to their hearts flutter with fear. It truly is a beautiful sound.
I finish licking the globules blood off my fingers, savouring the last of the warmth of it on my tongue. The nymphs I had attracted last night were so petite that their blood was barely enough to feel satisfied, let alone full. And it was so easy too, hardly a challenge to get then falling into my arms like all the rest. It never failed to amuse Azrael, the fun of it all, the seductive allure of a challenge, but then again Azrael never had been difficult to amuse.
"Where the devil are you brother?" I huff irritably, my voice ringing through the forest, shaking through the leaves of the trees. In an attempt to reconcile with my brother (though reconcile is a rather strong word) I decided this morning to take him hunting. In all honesty, this little fiasco is more an occasion to keep a close eye on him if anything, and an excuse to hunt- for these days I rarely leave the palace, but it would be a lie to say I hadn't been the slightest bit pleased when he agreed to join. Nevertheless, if he doesn't turn up soon I might just decide to hunt without him instead.
"Here, brother," comes a muffled reply from above my head. My eyes shoot up as a blur of white drops down onto the ground with a soft 'pat'. Brown leaves scatter up into the air in a flurry. Azrael grins fiendishly at me, his fangs stained with fresh blood, and the tips of his white hair scraggly, as though a tree wasn't the only thing he found himself caught in last night. His shirt is half off, his trousers soaked in crimson, and a furious array of kiss marks strewn up his chest, blurry and smudged. I narrow my eyes.
"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" I sigh indifferently, not bothering to look him in the eye.. Out of everyone, perhaps the only contender for my lust for blood is my dear brother.
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My body trembles on the cold wooden floor, barely covered by the cotton thinness of the Prince's white shirt: a vampire's clothing which has no purpose for warmth, only striving the achieve the unobtainable heights of vampiric high beauty and fashion. The fire and ice in my veins has subsided, the overwhelming pain subdued to a faint murmuring in my heart, both of which are a much greater relief than I would care to admit. I look with a brief flash of melancholy to my skin- much paler than it was before, as though I had been shut outside in a snowstorm overnight and the blood had directed itself to my extremities in a futile effort to keep me alive. But considering now I am at the very least half vampire, I doubt I can really be called 'alive' any more.
Those are not the only changes about me however. My canines are sharp, dagger-like, my body glittering with a majestic aura that wasn't there before, my breasts slightly larger, limbs a fraction longer, but underneath it all, there is the steady pulsing beat of my heart, as though my body got halfway through changing and gave up midway through. I am not a monster, nor do I feel like one, but there is something undeniably different about me, some rhythmic beat of power that pulses through my veins, as though suddenly the flowing rivers of red inside me have become more than just blood.
Yet out of all those concerns, all of them dull in comparison to what comes next.
Slowly, footsteps approach me across the floor causing my heart to flutter uncontrollably, but I daren't look up, not strong enough to stand whatever look may be playing on his face. Carefully, Soren bends down on his haunches. His shadow looms.
"Serena," he murmurs so heartachingly softly, and I turn my head down to the side, averting my gaze. "Look at me, Serena,"
His tone gives nothing away. No anger, no frustration, no hatred, just a gentle whisper of compassion, willing me to look at him. But I don't want to. Instead, I curl further up into myself, but Soren slides a hand under my chin, edging my face upwards to his. The moment his eyes touch mine I feel myself recoil with a lurching sob. If I wanted to run, to fight him off, I have no doubt I could do it, that much I know. But I don't want it to come to that. Not now.
The Prince's eyes gleam with gold and red.
"Serena, will you please let me take off your necklace,"
"No, just... just get away from me, dammit, get away!" I sob quietly, pushing myself away from him, scrambling to get onto my feet, clutching my pendant tightly in my hands. Panic bubbles in my throat, overwhelming me. A thick golden glow pulses outwards from my body, spiralling out of control with bright flashes and gleaming sparks. Soren eyes it- eyes me, warily, knowing what comes next. A muscle in his jaw twitches, as though the avid refusal of his request is one he is not to pleased to here. If I didn't know any better, I would say he looks hurt.
"Fuck, this, I-" I clench my fists at my sides, scrabbling for words that fail to make themselves present.
"Serena," he says again softly, so softly, holding out his hand to me as I back away, shaking my head from across the room. He offers me a wistful smile. "Serena, I know who you are,"
I stop dead in my tracks.
"Who I am…?"
Soren nods his head slowly, his eyes trained on me, as though expecting me to dart any minute. Yet still he edges closer, one hand out offering his reassurance as he murmurs sweet mumbling nothings, trying to calm the nerves he so clearly see's jolting through me. But his efforts are futile.
"Serena," he says lowly, stopping a few feet in front of me as I cower against the wall, back pressed rigidly against it, as though I might have hoped to melt into it and sink away from this terrifying situation altogether. "That potion I gave you contained the blood of an angel. It was designed to fight against my blood, help you survive, well, relatively speaking unchanged- at least in mind- and it worked. Serena, I know you aren't an elf. I know what you are,"
"You are lying," I whisper, frantically shaking my head, my knuckles clenching to a terrified white. My heart pounds in my chest, refusing to believe a word. "No, no, no, because that's impossible, you would…" I trail off, looking down at the pendant slung around my neck. The blood inside it throbs, pressing up against the glass capsule with a a nauseating fluidity. "You would have had killed me."
I back up towards the door, my back banging against it so hard it causes the keyholes to rattle.
"Serena, please, you have to listen to me," he urges quietly, holding out his hand again with the same urgency as before, willing me to take it. A desperate look flashes across his face. "You do not need to run from me, my darling."
"But you…" but I don't let myself finish, my heart pounding, fear boiling in the pits of my stomach, I open the door, and run.
***
Soren's perspective
[Twelve years ago...]
Once upon a time, perhaps some 1000 years ago, there came into Faey a monster named Soren. And the one thing Soren loved nothing more, was to kill. Back in the old times, he hadn't concerned himself with the customs the vampires brought with killing, he didn't care much for playing cat and mouse with his prey, to tempt and toy like all the others did.
He simply delighted to hear the screams, how the notes of each one hit the air slightly different from the last, and rang so beautifully in his ears like a tragically disastrous symphony. Some out of panic, some out of anguish. They faded into the night, draining away with the hope of life that was swiftly dashed in pooling blood. But more than anything, Soren revelled in the hot, wet sounds of the beating heart, thundering in the chest like a wounded bird, soft and panicked. The sound alone was enough to drive Soren into madness. It spiralled him into thoughts of sickly sweet blood pumping fresh from the arteries, coursing thick and honeyed down his throat in a delicious warmth. It was to nobody's surprise then that he was soon given the title of 'the scarlet prince'. Everywhere Soren went, no matter who the person, no matter what the creature, there was always fear.
Until one day, there wasn't.
"Brother," I call, licking the drips of thick red blood off the lengths of my fingers. The morning is bright and cold outside the borders of the angel clan, the grass misted with a fine dew that glistens in the wavering golden light. High in the tops of sycamore trees and furs, little creatures whisper quietly amongst themselves, watching me as I pass through the shadows, disappearing into one and coming out of the next. They know to keep their distance, but can't help looking anyway. All the creatures of the Great Forest are like that- all are quick to find themselves enamoured by that melancholic mystery of a creature who lacks feeling, who is empty in heart. For a moment I still, listening to their hearts flutter with fear. It truly is a beautiful sound.
I finish licking the globules blood off my fingers, savouring the last of the warmth of it on my tongue. The nymphs I had attracted last night were so petite that their blood was barely enough to feel satisfied, let alone full. And it was so easy too, hardly a challenge to get then falling into my arms like all the rest. It never failed to amuse Azrael, the fun of it all, the seductive allure of a challenge, but then again Azrael never had been difficult to amuse.
"Where the devil are you brother?" I huff irritably, my voice ringing through the forest, shaking through the leaves of the trees. In an attempt to reconcile with my brother (though reconcile is a rather strong word) I decided this morning to take him hunting. In all honesty, this little fiasco is more an occasion to keep a close eye on him if anything, and an excuse to hunt- for these days I rarely leave the palace, but it would be a lie to say I hadn't been the slightest bit pleased when he agreed to join. Nevertheless, if he doesn't turn up soon I might just decide to hunt without him instead.
"Here, brother," comes a muffled reply from above my head. My eyes shoot up as a blur of white drops down onto the ground with a soft 'pat'. Brown leaves scatter up into the air in a flurry. Azrael grins fiendishly at me, his fangs stained with fresh blood, and the tips of his white hair scraggly, as though a tree wasn't the only thing he found himself caught in last night. His shirt is half off, his trousers soaked in crimson, and a furious array of kiss marks strewn up his chest, blurry and smudged. I narrow my eyes.
"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" I sigh indifferently, not bothering to look him in the eye.. Out of everyone, perhaps the only contender for my lust for blood is my dear brother.
My body trembles on the cold wooden floor, barely covered by the cotton thinness of the Prince's white shirt: a vampire's clothing which has no purpose for warmth, only striving the achieve the unobtainable heights of vampiric high beauty and fashion. The fire and ice in my veins has subsided, the overwhelming pain subdued to a faint murmuring in my heart, both of which are a much greater relief than I would care to admit. I look with a brief flash of melancholy to my skin- much paler than it was before, as though I had been shut outside in a snowstorm overnight and the blood had directed itself to my extremities in a futile effort to keep me alive. But considering now I am at the very least half vampire, I doubt I can really be called 'alive' any more.Those are not the only changes about me however. My canines are sharp, dagger-like, my body glittering with a majestic aura that wasn't there before, my breasts slightly larger, limbs a fraction longer, but underneath it all, there is the steady pulsing beat of my heart, as though my body got halfway through changing and gave up midway through. I am not a monster, nor do I feel like one, but there is something undeniably different about me, some rhythmic beat of power that pulses through my veins, as though suddenly the flowing rivers of red inside me have become more than just blood.Yet out of all those concerns, all of them dull in comparison to what comes next.Slowly, footsteps approach me across the floor causing my heart to flutter uncontrollably, but I daren't look up, not strong enough to stand whatever look may be playing on his face. Carefully, Soren bends down on his haunches. His shadow looms."Serena," he murmurs so heartachingly softly, and I turn my head down to the side, averting my gaze. "Look at me, Serena,"His tone gives nothing away. No anger, no frustration, no hatred, just a gentle whisper of compassion, willing me to look at him. But I don't want to. Instead, I curl further up into myself, but Soren slides a hand under my chin, edging my face upwards to his. The moment his eyes touch mine I feel myself recoil with a lurching sob. If I wanted to run, to fight him off, I have no doubt I could do it, that much I know. But I don't want it to come to that. Not now.The Prince's eyes gleam with gold and red."Serena, will you please let me take off your necklace,""No, just... just get away from me, dammit, get away!" I sob quietly, pushing myself away from him, scrambling to get onto my feet, clutching my pendant tightly in my hands. Panic bubbles in my throat, overwhelming me. A thick golden glow pulses outwards from my body, spiralling out of control with bright flashes and gleaming sparks. Soren eyes it- eyes me, warily, knowing what comes next. A muscle in his jaw twitches, as though the avid refusal of his request is one he is not to pleased to here. If I didn't know any better, I would say he looks hurt."Fuck, this, I-" I clench my fists at my sides, scrabbling for words that fail to make themselves present."Serena," he says again softly, so softly, holding out his hand to me as I back away, shaking my head from across the room. He offers me a wistful smile. "Serena, I know who you are," I stop dead in my tracks."Who I am?"Soren nods his head slowly, his eyes trained on me, as though expecting me to dart any minute. Yet still he edges closer, one hand out offering his reassurance as he murmurs sweet mumbling nothings, trying to calm the nerves he so clearly see's jolting through me. But his efforts are futile."Serena," he says lowly, stopping a few feet in front of me as I cower against the wall, back pressed rigidly against it, as though I might have hoped to melt into it and sink away from this terrifying situation altogether. "That potion I gave you contained the blood of an angel. It was designed to fight against my blood, help you survive, well, relatively speaking unchanged- at least in mind- and it worked. Serena, I know you aren't an elf. I know what you are,""You are lying," I whisper, frantically shaking my head, my knuckles clenching to a terrified white. My heart pounds in my chest, refusing to believe a word. "No, no, no, because that's impossible, you would" I trail off, looking down at the pendant slung around my neck. The blood inside it throbs, pressing up against the glass capsule with a a nauseating fluidity. "You would have had killed me."I back up towards the door, my back banging against it so hard it causes the keyholes to rattle."Serena, please, you have to listen to me," he urges quietly, holding out his hand again with the same urgency as before, willing me to take it. A desperate look flashes across his face. "You do not need to run from me, my darling.""But you" but I don't let myself finish, my heart pounding, fear boiling in the pits of my stomach, I open the door, and run.***Soren's perspectiveTwelve years ago...Once upon a time, perhaps some 1000 years ago, there came into Faey a monster named Soren. And the one thing Soren loved nothing more, was to kill. Back in the old times, he hadn't concerned himself with the customs the vampires brought with killing, he didn't care much for playing cat and mouse with his prey, to tempt and toy like all the others did. He simply delighted to hear the screams, how the notes of each one hit the air slightly different from the last, and rang so beautifully in his ears like a tragically disastrous symphony. Some out of panic, some out of anguish. They faded into the night, draining away with the hope of life that was swiftly dashed in pooling blood. But more than anything, Soren revelled in the hot, wet sounds of the beating heart, thundering in the chest like a wounded bird, soft and panicked. The sound alone was enough to drive Soren into madness. It spiralled him into thoughts of sickly sweet blood pumping fresh from the arteries, coursing thick and honeyed down his throat in a delicious warmth. It was to nobody's surprise then that he was soon given the title of 'the scarlet prince'. Everywhere Soren went, no matter who the person, no matter what the creature, there was always fear. Until one day, there wasn't. "Brother," I call, licking the drips of thick red blood off the lengths of my fingers. The morning is bright and cold outside the borders of the angel clan, the grass misted with a fine dew that glistens in the wavering golden light. High in the tops of sycamore trees and furs, little creatures whisper quietly amongst themselves, watching me as I pass through the shadows, disappearing into one and coming out of the next. They know to keep their distance, but can't help looking anyway. All the creatures of the Great Forest are like that- all are quick to find themselves enamoured by that melancholic mystery of a creature who lacks feeling, who is empty in heart. For a moment I still, listening to their hearts flutter with fear. It truly is a beautiful sound. I finish licking the globules blood off my fingers, savouring the last of the warmth of it on my tongue. The nymphs I had attracted last night were so petite that their blood was barely enough to feel satisfied, let alone full. And it was so easy too, hardly a challenge to get then falling into my arms like all the rest. It never failed to amuse Azrael, the fun of it all, the seductive allure of a challenge, but then again Azrael never had been difficult to amuse."Where the devil are you brother?" I huff irritably, my voice ringing through the forest, shaking through the leaves of the trees. In an attempt to reconcile with my brother though reconcile is a rather strong word I decided this morning to take him hunting. In all honesty, this little fiasco is more an occasion to keep a close eye on him if anything, and an excuse to hunt- for these days I rarely leave the palace, but it would be a lie to say I hadn't been the slightest bit pleased when he agreed to join. Nevertheless, if he doesn't turn up soon I might just decide to hunt without him instead."Here, brother," comes a muffled reply from above my head. My eyes shoot up as a blur of white drops down onto the ground with a soft 'pat'. Brown leaves scatter up into the air in a flurry. Azrael grins fiendishly at me, his fangs stained with fresh blood, and the tips of his white hair scraggly, as though a tree wasn't the only thing he found himself caught in last night. His shirt is half off, his trousers soaked in crimson, and a furious array of kiss marks strewn up his chest, blurry and smudged. I narrow my eyes. "You couldn't help yourself, could you?" I sigh indifferently, not bothering to look him in the eye.. Out of everyone, perhaps the only contender for my lust for blood is my dear brother.
