Chapter 60: 60
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This time, Soren does not take me to the worn walls of his study. Nor does he take me to the shallow comfort of his room- comfort being a much needed solace in light of the pressure of a near to-be execution. In fact, he doesn't take me to anywhere familiar whatsoever.
Instead, when the shadowshifting has finished, and I feel positively like I am going to be sick as nausea roles over me in embittered waves of absolute agony, we materialise into a part of Sezeria I have never seen before.
It is a peculiar place, beguiling yet, somehow, lonesome. The air whispers with the voices of souls long since lost through the clearing of feathery grass, and though the sky is bright, the air is cold and grey in parlour, as though someone had taken a brush and washed the world of its vibrant colours and replaced them with a mellow, pastel glow.
Yet, letting go of Soren's hand to absorb the lightness of my surroundings, I find that I do not hate it. In fact, there is a part of me, a small, indisputable section of my being that has fallen in love with the pale parlour of the vampire world, the gentle wintriness of it all that covers their lands like an immovable frost, and endeavours only the serve the eyes with looks and a dazzling beauty that only those fond of it are privy to.
At the time of my first arrival at Sezeria, I may have called it bleak, or bitterly depressing, but now my eyes catch on the indisputable beauty of it all, and I find that despite everything, it is not such a bad place after all.
I do not think, I muse heartily to myself, twirling around in a rush of cold wind that flows soothingly over the planes of my face, that I have never seen a place like it. It is profoundly beautiful, yet entirely… sad. Yet serenity peaks through the cracks in the bark of an overhanging willow, its spindly vines draping like a nymph's hair as she bathes in the shallows of a crystalline lake. The edges of the clearing blossom with deep purple roses, springing with shades of mauve and violet, lavender and amethyst, curving up towards the sun through delicate tangles of prickly thorns. The roses looked well cared for. In fact, I decide to myself, they look utterly perfect.
"I suppose this is your doing?" I ask quietly, tilting my head in silent questioning towards Soren, who has since taken to swaying back on his heels with a bored ease. He spares a glance in my direction.
"I was the one to make all of Sezeria beautiful after my late fathers rule. After all, what is a trap without it's bait? No creature would visit Sezeria if it looked like a prison."
I raise my brow in recollection. Upon my first arrival here I had called this place a prison. But that is not the element surprises me.
"So you think of Sezeria as a trap?" I ask, steadying myself from another bout of dizziness that resides as an after effect of too much magical travelling. Soren swoops to take hold on my arm, holding me steady. I offer an appreciative smile.
"Places are but what their people are. A vampire is on most accounts, a beautiful trap and the perfect predator. It only makes sense for their area of habitancy to share the same superficial qualities."
I nod slowly. That does make sense. At least from a realistic point of view.
Soren, once my dizziness has subsided, leads me by the elbow over the lush grass, which bends under my feet, stiff from the chill of the air. A cold breeze flows through the trees, rustling the leaves and throwing the branches of the willow into a pleasant disarray.
I decide we must be in one of the gardens somewhere, or a part of Sezeria that has not been inhabited by the mostly vile creatures who haunt this place. For, I observe, my eyes trailing over to the frogs peacefully croaking at the bank of the lake below the willow, there are no vampires around here at all.
Moreso, I add to myself, making a quick look around me as Soren stops us at one particular patch of full, plump roses, toying with the petals on the tips of his fingers, it doesn't seem like we are near any sort of civilization either. This place is, in terms of blood sucking creatures, barren. I let myself think about that for a while.
Soren materializes a bench before us in the throng of the roses, dark and shadowed, like all things he makes. I stare at it blankly for a second. Did he honestly think this would support my weight? I almost scoff to myself. But when he sits down, and coincidently doesn't fall through to the floor, I reluctantly decide that this abnormal shadowy bench is, indeed, going to support my weight, whether I would fancy to believe it or not. Soren doesn't need any words to get me to sit. He beckons me with a single finger, and I do so.
We sit there for a moment in silence, letting the coldness of the wind passing between us like an unspoken verse, but regrettably I am the only one to shiver. True, dressing like a vampire Queen has its benefits, but only really if you are a vampire, and the cold is a little more than a faint awareness.
A frog plops into the lake. The willow groans. Yet still a silence continues to linger between us, eating away at our resolve. At last, Soren sighs.
"And here I was honestly thinking you would stay in your room, and not barge in to the execution." he says, a little exasperated, pursing his lips in a slightly frustrated, if not bewildered expression. At this I snort.
"You clearly don't know me well enough," I retort, and push away one of the long sleeves of my dress to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ears delicately. Soren stares ahead, eyes fixed on a small glowing water fairy who has begun to dance her way around the lake, springing from lily pad to lily pad. His eyes smoulder with a thoughtful expression, and I swear for a moment I can see the faint inkling of amusement swimming in their depths.
"Clearly."
I tilt my head to look at him. His mouth is set in a hard line, motionless and stiffer than granite, the sharp cheekbones of his face forming deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. Combined with the paleness of his skin, he looks like a phantom, a ghost, a vision I used to have from my nightmares, of the vampires that danced and drunk and killed and kissed, and of the angel who loathed them as much as she loved them. Except they aren't really nightmares. Not any more.
"Are you angry at me?" I ask at last, exhaling a long breath into the damp air. Soren taps his fingers on the side of the shadowy bench and flicks his thick cloak behind him, fingers flexing, as if searching, seeking for an answer.
"No," he says, slowly enough to make me think he is at the very least deliberating over the matter. And then he adds quickly: "Not with you, little dove." He turns to face me, a small, wan smile creeping over his face.
He looks exhausted- probably with me and my shenanigans. If vampires could sleep, I might have said he didn't have enough of it. But clearly, the case is not so simple. He moves to sweep back my hair, continuously tucking and tucking from the braids around my head in the light gale that blows up around us. His fingers absently roam the spikes of my silver crown, and I shiver. Even now having him so close is something I never quite got used to. Although, I remind myself with a hint of disdain, it is not something I object to either.
If I am to be a good angel, I probably should.
"Your little friend, on the other hand, does not share that fate." He frowns, and gives me a stern look. I make to open my mouth, but he holds up a finger for me to listen. "Imagine my anger when I discovered he was the one that bereaved you that day? That made your heart turn black with agony? And don't try to deny it," he growls with a low warning when I try to retort otherwise. "His heart was racked with grief, I know a guilty heart when I see one. It took everything I had not to go in there and spill his guts all over the floor."
My mouth sours with an unsavoury taste: shame.
"Well, thank you. For, you know, not killing him."
In answer, he breathes a long, shaky breath, the tips of his fingers trembling as he claws the side of the bench, digging into its shadowy surface. At least this time, he doesn't draw any blood. I suck in my cheeks, turning from him a little so that I might miss the redness swelling in the depths of his eyes, and the embittered hatred that sits in the venom of his words. There is no doubt he will kill Ithuriel, if he can.
But I am not going to let that happen.. Not now, not ever.
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This time, Soren does not take me to the worn walls of his study. Nor does he take me to the shallow comfort of his room- comfort being a much needed solace in light of the pressure of a near to-be execution. In fact, he doesn't take me to anywhere familiar whatsoever.
Instead, when the shadowshifting has finished, and I feel positively like I am going to be sick as nausea roles over me in embittered waves of absolute agony, we materialise into a part of Sezeria I have never seen before.
It is a peculiar place, beguiling yet, somehow, lonesome. The air whispers with the voices of souls long since lost through the clearing of feathery grass, and though the sky is bright, the air is cold and grey in parlour, as though someone had taken a brush and washed the world of its vibrant colours and replaced them with a mellow, pastel glow.
Yet, letting go of Soren's hand to absorb the lightness of my surroundings, I find that I do not hate it. In fact, there is a part of me, a small, indisputable section of my being that has fallen in love with the pale parlour of the vampire world, the gentle wintriness of it all that covers their lands like an immovable frost, and endeavours only the serve the eyes with looks and a dazzling beauty that only those fond of it are privy to.
At the time of my first arrival at Sezeria, I may have called it bleak, or bitterly depressing, but now my eyes catch on the indisputable beauty of it all, and I find that despite everything, it is not such a bad place after all.
I do not think, I muse heartily to myself, twirling around in a rush of cold wind that flows soothingly over the planes of my face, that I have never seen a place like it. It is profoundly beautiful, yet entirely… sad. Yet serenity peaks through the cracks in the bark of an overhanging willow, its spindly vines draping like a nymph's hair as she bathes in the shallows of a crystalline lake. The edges of the clearing blossom with deep purple roses, springing with shades of mauve and violet, lavender and amethyst, curving up towards the sun through delicate tangles of prickly thorns. The roses looked well cared for. In fact, I decide to myself, they look utterly perfect.
"I suppose this is your doing?" I ask quietly, tilting my head in silent questioning towards Soren, who has since taken to swaying back on his heels with a bored ease. He spares a glance in my direction.
"I was the one to make all of Sezeria beautiful after my late fathers rule. After all, what is a trap without it's bait? No creature would visit Sezeria if it looked like a prison."
I raise my brow in recollection. Upon my first arrival here I had called this place a prison. But that is not the element surprises me.
"So you think of Sezeria as a trap?" I ask, steadying myself from another bout of dizziness that resides as an after effect of too much magical travelling. Soren swoops to take hold on my arm, holding me steady. I offer an appreciative smile.
"Places are but what their people are. A vampire is on most accounts, a beautiful trap and the perfect predator. It only makes sense for their area of habitancy to share the same superficial qualities."
I nod slowly. That does make sense. At least from a realistic point of view.
Soren, once my dizziness has subsided, leads me by the elbow over the lush grass, which bends under my feet, stiff from the chill of the air. A cold breeze flows through the trees, rustling the leaves and throwing the branches of the willow into a pleasant disarray.
I decide we must be in one of the gardens somewhere, or a part of Sezeria that has not been inhabited by the mostly vile creatures who haunt this place. For, I observe, my eyes trailing over to the frogs peacefully croaking at the bank of the lake below the willow, there are no vampires around here at all.
Moreso, I add to myself, making a quick look around me as Soren stops us at one particular patch of full, plump roses, toying with the petals on the tips of his fingers, it doesn't seem like we are near any sort of civilization either. This place is, in terms of blood sucking creatures, barren. I let myself think about that for a while.
Soren materializes a bench before us in the throng of the roses, dark and shadowed, like all things he makes. I stare at it blankly for a second. Did he honestly think this would support my weight? I almost scoff to myself. But when he sits down, and coincidently doesn't fall through to the floor, I reluctantly decide that this abnormal shadowy bench is, indeed, going to support my weight, whether I would fancy to believe it or not. Soren doesn't need any words to get me to sit. He beckons me with a single finger, and I do so.
We sit there for a moment in silence, letting the coldness of the wind passing between us like an unspoken verse, but regrettably I am the only one to shiver. True, dressing like a vampire Queen has its benefits, but only really if you are a vampire, and the cold is a little more than a faint awareness.
A frog plops into the lake. The willow groans. Yet still a silence continues to linger between us, eating away at our resolve. At last, Soren sighs.
"And here I was honestly thinking you would stay in your room, and not barge in to the execution." he says, a little exasperated, pursing his lips in a slightly frustrated, if not bewildered expression. At this I snort.
"You clearly don't know me well enough," I retort, and push away one of the long sleeves of my dress to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ears delicately. Soren stares ahead, eyes fixed on a small glowing water fairy who has begun to dance her way around the lake, springing from lily pad to lily pad. His eyes smoulder with a thoughtful expression, and I swear for a moment I can see the faint inkling of amusement swimming in their depths.
"Clearly."
I tilt my head to look at him. His mouth is set in a hard line, motionless and stiffer than granite, the sharp cheekbones of his face forming deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. Combined with the paleness of his skin, he looks like a phantom, a ghost, a vision I used to have from my nightmares, of the vampires that danced and drunk and killed and kissed, and of the angel who loathed them as much as she loved them. Except they aren't really nightmares. Not any more.
"Are you angry at me?" I ask at last, exhaling a long breath into the damp air. Soren taps his fingers on the side of the shadowy bench and flicks his thick cloak behind him, fingers flexing, as if searching, seeking for an answer.
"No," he says, slowly enough to make me think he is at the very least deliberating over the matter. And then he adds quickly: "Not with you, little dove." He turns to face me, a small, wan smile creeping over his face.
He looks exhausted- probably with me and my shenanigans. If vampires could sleep, I might have said he didn't have enough of it. But clearly, the case is not so simple. He moves to sweep back my hair, continuously tucking and tucking from the braids around my head in the light gale that blows up around us. His fingers absently roam the spikes of my silver crown, and I shiver. Even now having him so close is something I never quite got used to. Although, I remind myself with a hint of disdain, it is not something I object to either.
If I am to be a good angel, I probably should.
"Your little friend, on the other hand, does not share that fate." He frowns, and gives me a stern look. I make to open my mouth, but he holds up a finger for me to listen. "Imagine my anger when I discovered he was the one that bereaved you that day? That made your heart turn black with agony? And don't try to deny it," he growls with a low warning when I try to retort otherwise. "His heart was racked with grief, I know a guilty heart when I see one. It took everything I had not to go in there and spill his guts all over the floor."
My mouth sours with an unsavoury taste: shame.
"Well, thank you. For, you know, not killing him."
In answer, he breathes a long, shaky breath, the tips of his fingers trembling as he claws the side of the bench, digging into its shadowy surface. At least this time, he doesn't draw any blood. I suck in my cheeks, turning from him a little so that I might miss the redness swelling in the depths of his eyes, and the embittered hatred that sits in the venom of his words. There is no doubt he will kill Ithuriel, if he can.
But I am not going to let that happen.. Not now, not ever.
This time, Soren does not take me to the worn walls of his study. Nor does he take me to the shallow comfort of his room- comfort being a much needed solace in light of the pressure of a near to-be execution. In fact, he doesn't take me to anywhere familiar whatsoever.Instead, when the shadowshifting has finished, and I feel positively like I am going to be sick as nausea roles over me in embittered waves of absolute agony, we materialise into a part of Sezeria I have never seen before. It is a peculiar place, beguiling yet, somehow, lonesome. The air whispers with the voices of souls long since lost through the clearing of feathery grass, and though the sky is bright, the air is cold and grey in parlour, as though someone had taken a brush and washed the world of its vibrant colours and replaced them with a mellow, pastel glow.Yet, letting go of Soren's hand to absorb the lightness of my surroundings, I find that I do not hate it. In fact, there is a part of me, a small, indisputable section of my being that has fallen in love with the pale parlour of the vampire world, the gentle wintriness of it all that covers their lands like an immovable frost, and endeavours only the serve the eyes with looks and a dazzling beauty that only those fond of it are privy to. At the time of my first arrival at Sezeria, I may have called it bleak, or bitterly depressing, but now my eyes catch on the indisputable beauty of it all, and I find that despite everything, it is not such a bad place after all.I do not think, I muse heartily to myself, twirling around in a rush of cold wind that flows soothingly over the planes of my face, that I have never seen a place like it. It is profoundly beautiful, yet entirely sad. Yet serenity peaks through the cracks in the bark of an overhanging willow, its spindly vines draping like a nymph's hair as she bathes in the shallows of a crystalline lake. The edges of the clearing blossom with deep purple roses, springing with shades of mauve and violet, lavender and amethyst, curving up towards the sun through delicate tangles of prickly thorns. The roses looked well cared for. In fact, I decide to myself, they look utterly perfect."I suppose this is your doing?" I ask quietly, tilting my head in silent questioning towards Soren, who has since taken to swaying back on his heels with a bored ease. He spares a glance in my direction."I was the one to make all of Sezeria beautiful after my late fathers rule. After all, what is a trap without it's bait? No creature would visit Sezeria if it looked like a prison."I raise my brow in recollection. Upon my first arrival here I had called this place a prison. But that is not the element surprises me."So you think of Sezeria as a trap?" I ask, steadying myself from another bout of dizziness that resides as an after effect of too much magical travelling. Soren swoops to take hold on my arm, holding me steady. I offer an appreciative smile."Places are but what their people are. A vampire is on most accounts, a beautiful trap and the perfect predator. It only makes sense for their area of habitancy to share the same superficial qualities."I nod slowly. That does make sense. At least from a realistic point of view.Soren, once my dizziness has subsided, leads me by the elbow over the lush grass, which bends under my feet, stiff from the chill of the air. A cold breeze flows through the trees, rustling the leaves and throwing the branches of the willow into a pleasant disarray. I decide we must be in one of the gardens somewhere, or a part of Sezeria that has not been inhabited by the mostly vile creatures who haunt this place. For, I observe, my eyes trailing over to the frogs peacefully croaking at the bank of the lake below the willow, there are no vampires around here at all.Moreso, I add to myself, making a quick look around me as Soren stops us at one particular patch of full, plump roses, toying with the petals on the tips of his fingers, it doesn't seem like we are near any sort of civilization either. This place is, in terms of blood sucking creatures, barren. I let myself think about that for a while. Soren materializes a bench before us in the throng of the roses, dark and shadowed, like all things he makes. I stare at it blankly for a second. Did he honestly think this would support my weight? I almost scoff to myself. But when he sits down, and coincidently doesn't fall through to the floor, I reluctantly decide that this abnormal shadowy bench is, indeed, going to support my weight, whether I would fancy to believe it or not. Soren doesn't need any words to get me to sit. He beckons me with a single finger, and I do so.We sit there for a moment in silence, letting the coldness of the wind passing between us like an unspoken verse, but regrettably I am the only one to shiver. True, dressing like a vampire Queen has its benefits, but only really if you are a vampire, and the cold is a little more than a faint awareness. A frog plops into the lake. The willow groans. Yet still a silence continues to linger between us, eating away at our resolve. At last, Soren sighs."And here I was honestly thinking you would stay in your room, and not barge in to the execution." he says, a little exasperated, pursing his lips in a slightly frustrated, if not bewildered expression. At this I snort. "You clearly don't know me well enough," I retort, and push away one of the long sleeves of my dress to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ears delicately. Soren stares ahead, eyes fixed on a small glowing water fairy who has begun to dance her way around the lake, springing from lily pad to lily pad. His eyes smoulder with a thoughtful expression, and I swear for a moment I can see the faint inkling of amusement swimming in their depths."Clearly."I tilt my head to look at him. His mouth is set in a hard line, motionless and stiffer than granite, the sharp cheekbones of his face forming deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. Combined with the paleness of his skin, he looks like a phantom, a ghost, a vision I used to have from my nightmares, of the vampires that danced and drunk and killed and kissed, and of the angel who loathed them as much as she loved them. Except they aren't really nightmares. Not any more. "Are you angry at me?" I ask at last, exhaling a long breath into the damp air. Soren taps his fingers on the side of the shadowy bench and flicks his thick cloak behind him, fingers flexing, as if searching, seeking for an answer."No," he says, slowly enough to make me think he is at the very least deliberating over the matter. And then he adds quickly: "Not with you, little dove." He turns to face me, a small, wan smile creeping over his face. He looks exhausted- probably with me and my shenanigans. If vampires could sleep, I might have said he didn't have enough of it. But clearly, the case is not so simple. He moves to sweep back my hair, continuously tucking and tucking from the braids around my head in the light gale that blows up around us. His fingers absently roam the spikes of my silver crown, and I shiver. Even now having him so close is something I never quite got used to. Although, I remind myself with a hint of disdain, it is not something I object to either.If I am to be a good angel, I probably should. "Your little friend, on the other hand, does not share that fate." He frowns, and gives me a stern look. I make to open my mouth, but he holds up a finger for me to listen. "Imagine my anger when I discovered he was the one that bereaved you that day? That made your heart turn black with agony? And don't try to deny it," he growls with a low warning when I try to retort otherwise. "His heart was racked with grief, I know a guilty heart when I see one. It took everything I had not to go in there and spill his guts all over the floor." My mouth sours with an unsavoury taste: shame."Well, thank you. For, you know, not killing him."In answer, he breathes a long, shaky breath, the tips of his fingers trembling as he claws the side of the bench, digging into its shadowy surface. At least this time, he doesn't draw any blood. I suck in my cheeks, turning from him a little so that I might miss the redness swelling in the depths of his eyes, and the embittered hatred that sits in the venom of his words. There is no doubt he will kill Ithuriel, if he can.But I am not going to let that happen.. Not now, not ever.
