Chapter 47: 47
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(Soren's perspective)
Andrais indeed did not have a tongue by the time the sun rose the next day. And perhaps I would have been less generous had I not passed Serena fleetingly in the hall the next morning. I don't bother to hide my smirk upon hearing her heart hammer in her chest as she passes, petite nose wrinkling, as though there is some offensive smell in the air that my own is blind to.
Her mood is, as ever, a tumultuous array of emotions. I almost have a hard time deciphering whether she is annoyed at me or not, though her deepening frown seems to say enough. She daren't look at me as she passes, but makes a good show of bumping her shoulder against mine hard enough that had I been mortal, it might have knocked it out of its socket. I let her pass.
With an attitude like that- cold and bitter, and as changeable as the winds of a snowstorm in the bleak mist of a winters night, I muse that she would make an excellent vampire.
I'm sure that would annoy her, too.
Sighing, I move to collect my hunting wear from my room- a long overcoat, dark as night, and a leather belt, clipped round my waist with two knives slotted in the side. The knives are for show- they always are. A vampire doesn't need mortal weapons with talons that will fare just as well, but if one is to disguise as a hunter, one must first look the part.
I draw the second knife from its sheath, weighing it lazily in my palm, assessing its sharpness, the heaviness in my hand. A frown creeps across my face. I linger in my room for a moment, staring at the claw marks cascading down my wall.
My mouth sours with a bitter self loathing.
The marks are fresh with my own blood that clings to the splinters like a scab on the skin. Sometimes, I like to leave them there- the marks, the reminders of failings- a vampire who cannot hold down his own bloodlust at the sight of a small, fragile, girl. The other part of me, the sane part, knows that if I leave it there, the wood would surely rot. I make a note to clean it up later, and shove the second dagger back into my belt.
Leaving the Palace of Sezeria is never a difficult feat to pull off. In fact, one might say it is almost too easy.
As I shift from shadow to shadow, lingering for a second to catch the whispers of passing rumours down the corridors and echoes of fiendish laughter over breakfast in the dining rooms, I hear the faint beat of a familiar heart, a permanent stain on my conscience, a never ending taunt.
Somehow, I could never get it out of my head.
The sound in itself is almost enough to draw me back to the castle, to trace its host in pursuit of fresh blood and terror filled screams, until I remember I have a mission, and immortal may I be, time will wait for no-one.
Besides, I think to myself with a widening smirk, with this particular heart, screams of terror are not the screams I would like to hear the most.
***
The Great Forest had, and always has been, a beautiful place to roam. In my younger years, when my powers were not fully developed, and my blood lust could still be quenched by a single feed, I would often wander down to the creeks where the nymphs play, smile at them, laugh, and my brother- who was more timid than me then (not a proper vampire, my father would say), would linger around the water, staring into a reflection that wasn't even there.
I shove a stone with my boot, watching it bounce heavily through the grass before laying to rest in a large clump of bracken. A wind blows up, and a pair of robins alight from where the stone fell as I trudge on through the thorns, following a path that had long since disappeared. The needle-like points scrape at my calves, tearing up the hem of my trousers, like little claws.
As I stumble further, past the thousand-year oaks, and the camps of goblins who regard me with shaking claws and fearful, wide, eyes, I find I can still hear that steady beat, that rhythm, somewhere long behind me, tucked away in the confines of my palace.
Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump.
I shake my head furiously. I must stay focused.
Deeper into the woods and all that is left is darkness, and cold. Light has ceased pouring from the heavens, blotted out by a thick array of branches, leaves, and giant purple flowers whose stalks are the thickness of my wrist.
I stop for a moment, surveying my surroundings, then pick a young flower off the ground and tuck it in my pocket for later. To many of the Folk, this is the 'end'. The part of the forest where no one else goes, devoid of life, of beauty, a cut off point that is rumoured that once entered, one may never return. I smile to myself at the strangeness of the rumour, fangs glinting against my lips.
Fortunately, I know better.
Tapping my heel, I lean under a particular redwood with a pair of horns etched into the side, and wait.
Not a whisper arises from the forest, and not a creature emerges from the impenetrable darkness. Perhaps later I would find a lone creature at the borders of the 'end' to satisfy the hunger that has been gnawing at my stomach all morning.
My mouth waters at the thought of feeding, of blood, fresh in my veins, warm and slick as it slides my throat. Talons dig into the wood, and a shuddering sigh escapes my lips. I imagine the struggle, the fear, a creature paralysed beneath me, unable to look away. I lick my lips, allowing my claws to dig further into the bark, causing it to groan against me.
My breath quickens. Then the sound of that steady beating heart wards me back, and I snarl furiously into the air.
A voice behind me shocks me to my senses....
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(Soren's perspective)
Andrais indeed did not have a tongue by the time the sun rose the next day. And perhaps I would have been less generous had I not passed Serena fleetingly in the hall the next morning. I don't bother to hide my smirk upon hearing her heart hammer in her chest as she passes, petite nose wrinkling, as though there is some offensive smell in the air that my own is blind to.
Her mood is, as ever, a tumultuous array of emotions. I almost have a hard time deciphering whether she is annoyed at me or not, though her deepening frown seems to say enough. She daren't look at me as she passes, but makes a good show of bumping her shoulder against mine hard enough that had I been mortal, it might have knocked it out of its socket. I let her pass.
With an attitude like that- cold and bitter, and as changeable as the winds of a snowstorm in the bleak mist of a winters night, I muse that she would make an excellent vampire.
I'm sure that would annoy her, too.
Sighing, I move to collect my hunting wear from my room- a long overcoat, dark as night, and a leather belt, clipped round my waist with two knives slotted in the side. The knives are for show- they always are. A vampire doesn't need mortal weapons with talons that will fare just as well, but if one is to disguise as a hunter, one must first look the part.
I draw the second knife from its sheath, weighing it lazily in my palm, assessing its sharpness, the heaviness in my hand. A frown creeps across my face. I linger in my room for a moment, staring at the claw marks cascading down my wall.
My mouth sours with a bitter self loathing.
The marks are fresh with my own blood that clings to the splinters like a scab on the skin. Sometimes, I like to leave them there- the marks, the reminders of failings- a vampire who cannot hold down his own bloodlust at the sight of a small, fragile, girl. The other part of me, the sane part, knows that if I leave it there, the wood would surely rot. I make a note to clean it up later, and shove the second dagger back into my belt.
Leaving the Palace of Sezeria is never a difficult feat to pull off. In fact, one might say it is almost too easy.
As I shift from shadow to shadow, lingering for a second to catch the whispers of passing rumours down the corridors and echoes of fiendish laughter over breakfast in the dining rooms, I hear the faint beat of a familiar heart, a permanent stain on my conscience, a never ending taunt.
Somehow, I could never get it out of my head.
The sound in itself is almost enough to draw me back to the castle, to trace its host in pursuit of fresh blood and terror filled screams, until I remember I have a mission, and immortal may I be, time will wait for no-one.
Besides, I think to myself with a widening smirk, with this particular heart, screams of terror are not the screams I would like to hear the most.
***
The Great Forest had, and always has been, a beautiful place to roam. In my younger years, when my powers were not fully developed, and my blood lust could still be quenched by a single feed, I would often wander down to the creeks where the nymphs play, smile at them, laugh, and my brother- who was more timid than me then (not a proper vampire, my father would say), would linger around the water, staring into a reflection that wasn't even there.
I shove a stone with my boot, watching it bounce heavily through the grass before laying to rest in a large clump of bracken. A wind blows up, and a pair of robins alight from where the stone fell as I trudge on through the thorns, following a path that had long since disappeared. The needle-like points scrape at my calves, tearing up the hem of my trousers, like little claws.
As I stumble further, past the thousand-year oaks, and the camps of goblins who regard me with shaking claws and fearful, wide, eyes, I find I can still hear that steady beat, that rhythm, somewhere long behind me, tucked away in the confines of my palace.
Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump.
I shake my head furiously. I must stay focused.
Deeper into the woods and all that is left is darkness, and cold. Light has ceased pouring from the heavens, blotted out by a thick array of branches, leaves, and giant purple flowers whose stalks are the thickness of my wrist.
I stop for a moment, surveying my surroundings, then pick a young flower off the ground and tuck it in my pocket for later. To many of the Folk, this is the 'end'. The part of the forest where no one else goes, devoid of life, of beauty, a cut off point that is rumoured that once entered, one may never return. I smile to myself at the strangeness of the rumour, fangs glinting against my lips.
Fortunately, I know better.
Tapping my heel, I lean under a particular redwood with a pair of horns etched into the side, and wait.
Not a whisper arises from the forest, and not a creature emerges from the impenetrable darkness. Perhaps later I would find a lone creature at the borders of the 'end' to satisfy the hunger that has been gnawing at my stomach all morning.
My mouth waters at the thought of feeding, of blood, fresh in my veins, warm and slick as it slides my throat. Talons dig into the wood, and a shuddering sigh escapes my lips. I imagine the struggle, the fear, a creature paralysed beneath me, unable to look away. I lick my lips, allowing my claws to dig further into the bark, causing it to groan against me.
My breath quickens. Then the sound of that steady beating heart wards me back, and I snarl furiously into the air.
A voice behind me shocks me to my senses....
Soren's perspectiveAndrais indeed did not have a tongue by the time the sun rose the next day. And perhaps I would have been less generous had I not passed Serena fleetingly in the hall the next morning. I don't bother to hide my smirk upon hearing her heart hammer in her chest as she passes, petite nose wrinkling, as though there is some offensive smell in the air that my own is blind to. Her mood is, as ever, a tumultuous array of emotions. I almost have a hard time deciphering whether she is annoyed at me or not, though her deepening frown seems to say enough. She daren't look at me as she passes, but makes a good show of bumping her shoulder against mine hard enough that had I been mortal, it might have knocked it out of its socket. I let her pass.With an attitude like that- cold and bitter, and as changeable as the winds of a snowstorm in the bleak mist of a winters night, I muse that she would make an excellent vampire.I'm sure that would annoy her, too.Sighing, I move to collect my hunting wear from my room- a long overcoat, dark as night, and a leather belt, clipped round my waist with two knives slotted in the side. The knives are for show- they always are. A vampire doesn't need mortal weapons with talons that will fare just as well, but if one is to disguise as a hunter, one must first look the part. I draw the second knife from its sheath, weighing it lazily in my palm, assessing its sharpness, the heaviness in my hand. A frown creeps across my face. I linger in my room for a moment, staring at the claw marks cascading down my wall.My mouth sours with a bitter self loathing.The marks are fresh with my own blood that clings to the splinters like a scab on the skin. Sometimes, I like to leave them there- the marks, the reminders of failings- a vampire who cannot hold down his own bloodlust at the sight of a small, fragile, girl. The other part of me, the sane part, knows that if I leave it there, the wood would surely rot. I make a note to clean it up later, and shove the second dagger back into my belt.Leaving the Palace of Sezeria is never a difficult feat to pull off. In fact, one might say it is almost too easy.As I shift from shadow to shadow, lingering for a second to catch the whispers of passing rumours down the corridors and echoes of fiendish laughter over breakfast in the dining rooms, I hear the faint beat of a familiar heart, a permanent stain on my conscience, a never ending taunt.Somehow, I could never get it out of my head.The sound in itself is almost enough to draw me back to the castle, to trace its host in pursuit of fresh blood and terror filled screams, until I remember I have a mission, and immortal may I be, time will wait for no-one.Besides, I think to myself with a widening smirk, with this particular heart, screams of terror are not the screams I would like to hear the most.***The Great Forest had, and always has been, a beautiful place to roam. In my younger years, when my powers were not fully developed, and my blood lust could still be quenched by a single feed, I would often wander down to the creeks where the nymphs play, smile at them, laugh, and my brother- who was more timid than me then not a proper vampire, my father would say, would linger around the water, staring into a reflection that wasn't even there.I shove a stone with my boot, watching it bounce heavily through the grass before laying to rest in a large clump of bracken. A wind blows up, and a pair of robins alight from where the stone fell as I trudge on through the thorns, following a path that had long since disappeared. The needle-like points scrape at my calves, tearing up the hem of my trousers, like little claws. As I stumble further, past the thousand-year oaks, and the camps of goblins who regard me with shaking claws and fearful, wide, eyes, I find I can still hear that steady beat, that rhythm, somewhere long behind me, tucked away in the confines of my palace.Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump.I shake my head furiously. I must stay focused.Deeper into the woods and all that is left is darkness, and cold. Light has ceased pouring from the heavens, blotted out by a thick array of branches, leaves, and giant purple flowers whose stalks are the thickness of my wrist. I stop for a moment, surveying my surroundings, then pick a young flower off the ground and tuck it in my pocket for later. To many of the Folk, this is the 'end'. The part of the forest where no one else goes, devoid of life, of beauty, a cut off point that is rumoured that once entered, one may never return. I smile to myself at the strangeness of the rumour, fangs glinting against my lips. Fortunately, I know better.Tapping my heel, I lean under a particular redwood with a pair of horns etched into the side, and wait. Not a whisper arises from the forest, and not a creature emerges from the impenetrable darkness. Perhaps later I would find a lone creature at the borders of the 'end' to satisfy the hunger that has been gnawing at my stomach all morning. My mouth waters at the thought of feeding, of blood, fresh in my veins, warm and slick as it slides my throat. Talons dig into the wood, and a shuddering sigh escapes my lips. I imagine the struggle, the fear, a creature paralysed beneath me, unable to look away. I lick my lips, allowing my claws to dig further into the bark, causing it to groan against me. My breath quickens. Then the sound of that steady beating heart wards me back, and I snarl furiously into the air.A voice behind me shocks me to my senses....
