Chapter 55: 55
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The Scarlet Prince snaps quicker than a twig in the hands of a 100 foot giant. So quickly, in fact, that the vampires, as swift and as agile may they be, do not have the cunning nor the speed to dart away from the path of his lethal claws, trapped in the path their own hands had often forged to create.
It is a massacre.
With one swift slash of his hand, a movement so blindly quick I can barely register it, shadowy claws tear into the nearest vampire. The Scarlet Prince's firm hand covers my eyes before I can see the carnage that unfolds, his grip so tight that even if I had wanted to struggle against him, my efforts would have been utterly futile.
A sickening thud echoes down the corridor, followed by a barely audible gasp that leaves a ringing in my ears. A nauseating smell wafts up through the air, bleaching my nose with its scent enough to make my head spin like a horse on a never ending roundabout. For the second time today, I find myself wanting to vomit. My chest heaves. The stench permeates through my clothes, embedding into my skin, so strong and so vile that I think for one gruesome second I might never be able to wash it out.
After all this time, I have never gotten used to the smell of blood. Soren's solid form encompasses my own and uncovers his hand, bringing with it the delicate smell of roses, and I breathe it in thankfully. Anything to rid myself from the smell of blood, and rot. With a gradual air of relief, my nausea subsides.
I make a point of not looking at the decapitated body on the floor- it is not that I hadn't seen a body before, far from it. I had seen plenty of decapitated angels around the borders of our clan after a particularly brutal vampire attack, their bodies limp and bloodied, stained with that same unforgettable crimson of golden blood turned to a blackened scarlet. One can never forget the first time seeing a dead body, the blank stare, the frigid skin.
And so while I can not forget, I equally prefer not to look at all.
Silence fills the corridor. None of the other vampires make to grab me, to pull on the locks of my hair, the veils of my clothes to try and get a peek at what is underneath. Not as they have tried to do countless times before.
But that is likely, I think to myself, due to the deathly aura radiating from behind me, whose presence is so strong, and anger so cold, that the vases of roses along the corridor seem to wilt in a matter of seconds. The remaining vampires' eyes shift to the body on the floor, and then back to Soren, wide and fearful. Most of the other Faey folk had scuttled away as soon as Soren had arrived, but the ones that didn't sway where they stand, looking as sickly and pale as I feel. Perhaps they didn't like looking, either.
From finishing bouts of nausea, I raise my head in time to watch them all take a step back. The terror is practically tangible, amassing in the air, and fogging the atmosphere with an odd mix of dread and fearful loyalty. Shadows coil along the ground, materializing into thick, ropey vines, prickled with dark spikes, coiling and lashing like snakes towards the name calling vampires.
They take another step back.
"Allow me to make this clear, my friends," comes Soren's cold drawl from behind me, as he presses himself against my back, cocooning me in his solid form while he holds me in place, forcing me to listen.
"If I hear one word from her that any one of you have come after her- and I don't care who it is- they will find themselves hanging from the rafters in silver chains for as long as it takes for them to get themselves out of there. And if Serena is feeling merciful, I will let her end your suffering, and stab you through the heart instead. Are we at an understanding?"
A series of rigid nods circles around us. The shadowy vines recede back a little into Soren's pale skin, eyes glowing a fiery red so vivid it is almost as though they cast their own light from behind their sockets. It doesn't take long for the vampires to disperse. Within a matter of seconds, the hallway is empty. Soren breathes out a long breath.
"You room," he urges, motioning towards my door with a lion headed knocker, stepping around the vomit as he does so. He doesn't look at the body, either. If either of those things bother him, he doesn't say. Through the nausea I manage to roll my eyes.
"You act as a gentlemen to me, and yet here you are killing people," I tease, and jab at his ribs. There is no way I would let him know I am thankful for it, that there is one less bloodthirsty vampire I have to worry about. Soren evades my attack in one swift motion, and bows with the gracious elegance of a dancer in a play. Perhaps he already realised.
"I leave you here, Serena darling,"
"But-" I make to stop him, but he cuts me off with a firm shake of his head.
"Remember what I told you. If you don't want to have your blood split tonight, stay away. You are not the only one feeling unstable." I glance over to the ruined body and bite the inside of my cheek. Right. I look down at the sword still clutched in my hand, at the pastiness of my reflection, the darkness under my eyes, and the strange sallowness of my face, as though my lifeforce had been drained from my very being. I don't remember ever looking so… grim.
By the time I am drawn from my distracted daze, Soren is already gone. Heavily, I enter my room, and Ithuriel is already there to catch me, almost certainly having heard the events outside the door. It takes one look at me, at my aura, for him to scoop me up and throw me onto the bed in the next room. I become vaguely aware he is talking to me, but the sound barely registers in my ears, becoming nothing more than a dying hum in the background, distant and obsolete. A light tugging sensation pulls at my heart, and a familiar voice coos in my mind, soothing words lulling me into senselessness:
Go to sleep, little dove.
And I do.
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The Scarlet Prince snaps quicker than a twig in the hands of a 100 foot giant. So quickly, in fact, that the vampires, as swift and as agile may they be, do not have the cunning nor the speed to dart away from the path of his lethal claws, trapped in the path their own hands had often forged to create.
It is a massacre.
With one swift slash of his hand, a movement so blindly quick I can barely register it, shadowy claws tear into the nearest vampire. The Scarlet Prince's firm hand covers my eyes before I can see the carnage that unfolds, his grip so tight that even if I had wanted to struggle against him, my efforts would have been utterly futile.
A sickening thud echoes down the corridor, followed by a barely audible gasp that leaves a ringing in my ears. A nauseating smell wafts up through the air, bleaching my nose with its scent enough to make my head spin like a horse on a never ending roundabout. For the second time today, I find myself wanting to vomit. My chest heaves. The stench permeates through my clothes, embedding into my skin, so strong and so vile that I think for one gruesome second I might never be able to wash it out.
After all this time, I have never gotten used to the smell of blood. Soren's solid form encompasses my own and uncovers his hand, bringing with it the delicate smell of roses, and I breathe it in thankfully. Anything to rid myself from the smell of blood, and rot. With a gradual air of relief, my nausea subsides.
I make a point of not looking at the decapitated body on the floor- it is not that I hadn't seen a body before, far from it. I had seen plenty of decapitated angels around the borders of our clan after a particularly brutal vampire attack, their bodies limp and bloodied, stained with that same unforgettable crimson of golden blood turned to a blackened scarlet. One can never forget the first time seeing a dead body, the blank stare, the frigid skin.
And so while I can not forget, I equally prefer not to look at all.
Silence fills the corridor. None of the other vampires make to grab me, to pull on the locks of my hair, the veils of my clothes to try and get a peek at what is underneath. Not as they have tried to do countless times before.
But that is likely, I think to myself, due to the deathly aura radiating from behind me, whose presence is so strong, and anger so cold, that the vases of roses along the corridor seem to wilt in a matter of seconds. The remaining vampires' eyes shift to the body on the floor, and then back to Soren, wide and fearful. Most of the other Faey folk had scuttled away as soon as Soren had arrived, but the ones that didn't sway where they stand, looking as sickly and pale as I feel. Perhaps they didn't like looking, either.
From finishing bouts of nausea, I raise my head in time to watch them all take a step back. The terror is practically tangible, amassing in the air, and fogging the atmosphere with an odd mix of dread and fearful loyalty. Shadows coil along the ground, materializing into thick, ropey vines, prickled with dark spikes, coiling and lashing like snakes towards the name calling vampires.
They take another step back.
"Allow me to make this clear, my friends," comes Soren's cold drawl from behind me, as he presses himself against my back, cocooning me in his solid form while he holds me in place, forcing me to listen.
"If I hear one word from her that any one of you have come after her- and I don't care who it is- they will find themselves hanging from the rafters in silver chains for as long as it takes for them to get themselves out of there. And if Serena is feeling merciful, I will let her end your suffering, and stab you through the heart instead. Are we at an understanding?"
A series of rigid nods circles around us. The shadowy vines recede back a little into Soren's pale skin, eyes glowing a fiery red so vivid it is almost as though they cast their own light from behind their sockets. It doesn't take long for the vampires to disperse. Within a matter of seconds, the hallway is empty. Soren breathes out a long breath.
"You room," he urges, motioning towards my door with a lion headed knocker, stepping around the vomit as he does so. He doesn't look at the body, either. If either of those things bother him, he doesn't say. Through the nausea I manage to roll my eyes.
"You act as a gentlemen to me, and yet here you are killing people," I tease, and jab at his ribs. There is no way I would let him know I am thankful for it, that there is one less bloodthirsty vampire I have to worry about. Soren evades my attack in one swift motion, and bows with the gracious elegance of a dancer in a play. Perhaps he already realised.
"I leave you here, Serena darling,"
"But-" I make to stop him, but he cuts me off with a firm shake of his head.
"Remember what I told you. If you don't want to have your blood split tonight, stay away. You are not the only one feeling unstable." I glance over to the ruined body and bite the inside of my cheek. Right. I look down at the sword still clutched in my hand, at the pastiness of my reflection, the darkness under my eyes, and the strange sallowness of my face, as though my lifeforce had been drained from my very being. I don't remember ever looking so… grim.
By the time I am drawn from my distracted daze, Soren is already gone. Heavily, I enter my room, and Ithuriel is already there to catch me, almost certainly having heard the events outside the door. It takes one look at me, at my aura, for him to scoop me up and throw me onto the bed in the next room. I become vaguely aware he is talking to me, but the sound barely registers in my ears, becoming nothing more than a dying hum in the background, distant and obsolete. A light tugging sensation pulls at my heart, and a familiar voice coos in my mind, soothing words lulling me into senselessness:
Go to sleep, little dove.
And I do.
The Scarlet Prince snaps quicker than a twig in the hands of a 100 foot giant. So quickly, in fact, that the vampires, as swift and as agile may they be, do not have the cunning nor the speed to dart away from the path of his lethal claws, trapped in the path their own hands had often forged to create.It is a massacre. With one swift slash of his hand, a movement so blindly quick I can barely register it, shadowy claws tear into the nearest vampire. The Scarlet Prince's firm hand covers my eyes before I can see the carnage that unfolds, his grip so tight that even if I had wanted to struggle against him, my efforts would have been utterly futile. A sickening thud echoes down the corridor, followed by a barely audible gasp that leaves a ringing in my ears. A nauseating smell wafts up through the air, bleaching my nose with its scent enough to make my head spin like a horse on a never ending roundabout. For the second time today, I find myself wanting to vomit. My chest heaves. The stench permeates through my clothes, embedding into my skin, so strong and so vile that I think for one gruesome second I might never be able to wash it out. After all this time, I have never gotten used to the smell of blood. Soren's solid form encompasses my own and uncovers his hand, bringing with it the delicate smell of roses, and I breathe it in thankfully. Anything to rid myself from the smell of blood, and rot. With a gradual air of relief, my nausea subsides. I make a point of not looking at the decapitated body on the floor- it is not that I hadn't seen a body before, far from it. I had seen plenty of decapitated angels around the borders of our clan after a particularly brutal vampire attack, their bodies limp and bloodied, stained with that same unforgettable crimson of golden blood turned to a blackened scarlet. One can never forget the first time seeing a dead body, the blank stare, the frigid skin. And so while I can not forget, I equally prefer not to look at all.Silence fills the corridor. None of the other vampires make to grab me, to pull on the locks of my hair, the veils of my clothes to try and get a peek at what is underneath. Not as they have tried to do countless times before. But that is likely, I think to myself, due to the deathly aura radiating from behind me, whose presence is so strong, and anger so cold, that the vases of roses along the corridor seem to wilt in a matter of seconds. The remaining vampires' eyes shift to the body on the floor, and then back to Soren, wide and fearful. Most of the other Faey folk had scuttled away as soon as Soren had arrived, but the ones that didn't sway where they stand, looking as sickly and pale as I feel. Perhaps they didn't like looking, either. From finishing bouts of nausea, I raise my head in time to watch them all take a step back. The terror is practically tangible, amassing in the air, and fogging the atmosphere with an odd mix of dread and fearful loyalty. Shadows coil along the ground, materializing into thick, ropey vines, prickled with dark spikes, coiling and lashing like snakes towards the name calling vampires. They take another step back."Allow me to make this clear, my friends," comes Soren's cold drawl from behind me, as he presses himself against my back, cocooning me in his solid form while he holds me in place, forcing me to listen. "If I hear one word from her that any one of you have come after her- and I don't care who it is- they will find themselves hanging from the rafters in silver chains for as long as it takes for them to get themselves out of there. And if Serena is feeling merciful, I will let her end your suffering, and stab you through the heart instead. Are we at an understanding?" A series of rigid nods circles around us. The shadowy vines recede back a little into Soren's pale skin, eyes glowing a fiery red so vivid it is almost as though they cast their own light from behind their sockets. It doesn't take long for the vampires to disperse. Within a matter of seconds, the hallway is empty. Soren breathes out a long breath."You room," he urges, motioning towards my door with a lion headed knocker, stepping around the vomit as he does so. He doesn't look at the body, either. If either of those things bother him, he doesn't say. Through the nausea I manage to roll my eyes."You act as a gentlemen to me, and yet here you are killing people," I tease, and jab at his ribs. There is no way I would let him know I am thankful for it, that there is one less bloodthirsty vampire I have to worry about. Soren evades my attack in one swift motion, and bows with the gracious elegance of a dancer in a play. Perhaps he already realised."I leave you here, Serena darling,""But-" I make to stop him, but he cuts me off with a firm shake of his head."Remember what I told you. If you don't want to have your blood split tonight, stay away. You are not the only one feeling unstable." I glance over to the ruined body and bite the inside of my cheek. Right. I look down at the sword still clutched in my hand, at the pastiness of my reflection, the darkness under my eyes, and the strange sallowness of my face, as though my lifeforce had been drained from my very being. I don't remember ever looking so grim. By the time I am drawn from my distracted daze, Soren is already gone. Heavily, I enter my room, and Ithuriel is already there to catch me, almost certainly having heard the events outside the door. It takes one look at me, at my aura, for him to scoop me up and throw me onto the bed in the next room. I become vaguely aware he is talking to me, but the sound barely registers in my ears, becoming nothing more than a dying hum in the background, distant and obsolete. A light tugging sensation pulls at my heart, and a familiar voice coos in my mind, soothing words lulling me into senselessness:Go to sleep, little dove.And I do.
