Chapter 9: 9
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The heavy light of dusk hits me in the face harder than a sword to a shield. Groaning, I raise myself groggily on one arm to look around my room. In the dim orange glow cast by the reluctantly fading sun behind the horizon, shadows are flung around the room like dancing fires of black and gold: things are missing from my shelves- books, potions, and my wardrobe has been flung open to reveal a smattered array of messy clothes. Looks like somebody didn't find what they were looking for, I think heavily to myself, slowly becoming aware of the pain in my head and the crooked mess of white and gold feathers that have splayed all over my back. I glimpse my best sword leant up precariously against the bedside counter, the golden hilt gleaming with its proudly emblazoned rubies, like vampires eyes. For a moment, I stare in blissful ignorance.
"The locket!" I gasp, plunging my hand into my pocket, only to be greeted by the cool touch of the ruby capsule. My shoulders relax as I breathe a heaving sigh of relief, closing my hand around the locket and carefully placing in on the small oak table.
"Stay," I tell it stupidly, half expecting the locket to grow legs and walk off. Staring blankly at the churning red blood enclosed in the locket I grin a grim, sickening smile. A knock rings for the first, or maybe second time on the opposite side of my door. It rings around the room, dancing with the fiery light of the shadows before it finally settles on my ears with a hollow bump. I groan. I still had clothes on, so at least if it was Ithuriel, I could maintain some decency, but I drape my covers over myself, just to be safe.
"Come in," I call hollowly, my voice empty sounding. My wings shift behind me as I sit up, stretching out and stirring up a faint gush of wind that chills my bare arms, bringing up goose bumps all over my skin. I sniff loudly and draw the cover further around myself, enclosing my body in a make-shift cocoon of cotton and silk. A looming shadow casts over me and a quiver runs through my spine. Looking up, I strain to peer at the figure so ardently blocking the warmth from my skin. A warm energy radiates from her skin, smooth and calming, the twisted locks of her hair descending gracefully down her body in a mess of dark curls. Her lips stretch in a smile that, once upon a time, may have seen happiness. The red tribal dots of a guardian are stark against her face, worn with worry and pain, the ink slowly fading from her skin, never renewed. The stubs on her back twitch a little, as though remembering the once beautiful spread of her glorious wings.
"Lilyana," I utter softly. Realising that my face is scrunched up in pain, I quickly relax my features.
The pleasant tones of her skin shift in the shadows as she moves closer to me, the scent of freshly picked blossom wafting off her like a welcome breeze in the spring. She sighs, holding out a pile of clothes, the expression on her face difficult to read.
"You are a mess, Serena,"
"Thank you," I say, half serious, half joking as I move to wipe the sleepy dust away from my tired eyes. "I didn't expect you so early," I admit with a secondary yawn that smothers the rest of my sentence. She thrusts out her arms with the pile of clothes again, a mix of whites and reds and golds all clumped together in an incomprehensible mess. I peer at them cautiously, trying to make sense of each strand of tangled fabric.
"Well go on, they won't bite," Lilyana huffs, dropping the clothes into my arms out of sheer exhaustion. My arms drop for a moment, the weight of the clothes catching me off guard, and I stumble. "Your clothes for the palace," Lilyana affirms, giving me a substantive nod. "Might as well put them on now, you'll be there by tomorrow. Oh, and make sure to glamour your divinist marking."
I do so quickly, brushing my fingertips over the red sun marking on my shoulder that disappears at my touch, and glance outside towards the ever fading light. The clouds rush past, caught in a flurry of wind and dusky angel wings. Glittering lights twinkle in rows on rows on other floating isles, obscured by trees and the harsh, impenetrable smog of the smithing forge, the still night sound occasionally penetrated by the harsh clank of a forger's hammer, or the distant scream of a woodland fox. Somewhere out there, past the great woods, is Sezeria. A rush of adrenaline flows through me.
Lilyana turns away as I change, tapping her heel with disdain, as if she would like nothing better than to force the clothes on me herself. My mind wanders through dreams of sickening red blood trickling down the skin, flitting across my vision like memories from the past. I sneak a glance as Lilyana's de-winged back, a burning pang flowing through the spread of my own wings, as if in sympathy. I wince gloomily at the pain she must have felt, when the elders found her, the moment she realised her fate.
There is only one rule among the angels: Never form a partnership with a vampire.
I look again at the stubs of her wings and grimace, the cruel irony of the situation hitting me like an arrow to the chest. A cruel punishment.
Pulling on the rest of my clothes, all at once take into account what I've committed to wearing.
"What is this..?" I ask, yanking at the straps on the open backed dress, struggling to keep steady in my heeled boots as the array of black and burgundy ombre fabric presses firmly against my skin. A starry belt cinches in my waist so tightly that my breaths come out in short sharp huffs, and I tug uselessly at it, hoping to lighten its grasp. From the belt extends thin layers of silky fabrics that form a long, billowing dress: a mix of reds and silvers swirling together, dotted with faint golden stars, cut away to reveal an upper portion of each of my thighs. It was all so… Revealing.
Embarrassed, I draw my bare arms across my chest hastily, hoping to hide the terrifying amount of bust exposed. Lilyana barks a laugh.
"You best get used to that, Serena," she cackles, throwing back her head like some terrifying owl hawking a mouse down its throat. She points her finger at me, wiggling it accusingly. "The vampires in Sezeria are far more daring with their attire. If you want to earn their favour, you must first play their games." For a moment, she grins, pushing my shoulders backwards and with her clawed finger, raises my chin. "Confidence," she exclaims, "Show them just how cold your blood runs."
Anxiously, I laugh.
"Confidence," I confirm wearily, not knowing what else to say. Sitting down, I wait as Lilyana ties up my hair into two loosely tied buns. My eyes latch onto the locket, on the ice cold liquid that heaves inside, and for a moment I wonder. What would the vampires really be like? Were they really the monstrous creatures who I'd been taught to hate? They say the Scarlet prince is the worst of them. For years I had heard stories of his tyranny. Of how he killed for the fun of it, to bathe in the blood of the creatures whose hearts he took great pleasure in stopping. He was the one mothers told children about to keep them from wandering out when the night was dark, the one that made grown men wary to walk in the shadows, and stick to the light. They say if you look too closely into the duskiness of twilight, you might see him lurking through the murkiness of the gloom, eyes glowing like lanterns, waiting, watching. They say he is just as beautiful as he is deadly. Whose teeth are sharper than steel, whose eyes would mesmerize you, paralyse you in fear just long enough for him to take you and.... I think about dagger-like teeth entering my neck, tearing open my jugular with one easy, bite, and shudder.
The beautiful, deadly Scarlet Prince, the monster of all men.
Part of me hopes I will never get to meet him in Sezeria.. Another part of me wants nothing more.
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The heavy light of dusk hits me in the face harder than a sword to a shield. Groaning, I raise myself groggily on one arm to look around my room. In the dim orange glow cast by the reluctantly fading sun behind the horizon, shadows are flung around the room like dancing fires of black and gold: things are missing from my shelves- books, potions, and my wardrobe has been flung open to reveal a smattered array of messy clothes. Looks like somebody didn't find what they were looking for, I think heavily to myself, slowly becoming aware of the pain in my head and the crooked mess of white and gold feathers that have splayed all over my back. I glimpse my best sword leant up precariously against the bedside counter, the golden hilt gleaming with its proudly emblazoned rubies, like vampires eyes. For a moment, I stare in blissful ignorance.
"The locket!" I gasp, plunging my hand into my pocket, only to be greeted by the cool touch of the ruby capsule. My shoulders relax as I breathe a heaving sigh of relief, closing my hand around the locket and carefully placing in on the small oak table.
"Stay," I tell it stupidly, half expecting the locket to grow legs and walk off. Staring blankly at the churning red blood enclosed in the locket I grin a grim, sickening smile. A knock rings for the first, or maybe second time on the opposite side of my door. It rings around the room, dancing with the fiery light of the shadows before it finally settles on my ears with a hollow bump. I groan. I still had clothes on, so at least if it was Ithuriel, I could maintain some decency, but I drape my covers over myself, just to be safe.
"Come in," I call hollowly, my voice empty sounding. My wings shift behind me as I sit up, stretching out and stirring up a faint gush of wind that chills my bare arms, bringing up goose bumps all over my skin. I sniff loudly and draw the cover further around myself, enclosing my body in a make-shift cocoon of cotton and silk. A looming shadow casts over me and a quiver runs through my spine. Looking up, I strain to peer at the figure so ardently blocking the warmth from my skin. A warm energy radiates from her skin, smooth and calming, the twisted locks of her hair descending gracefully down her body in a mess of dark curls. Her lips stretch in a smile that, once upon a time, may have seen happiness. The red tribal dots of a guardian are stark against her face, worn with worry and pain, the ink slowly fading from her skin, never renewed. The stubs on her back twitch a little, as though remembering the once beautiful spread of her glorious wings.
"Lilyana," I utter softly. Realising that my face is scrunched up in pain, I quickly relax my features.
The pleasant tones of her skin shift in the shadows as she moves closer to me, the scent of freshly picked blossom wafting off her like a welcome breeze in the spring. She sighs, holding out a pile of clothes, the expression on her face difficult to read.
"You are a mess, Serena,"
"Thank you," I say, half serious, half joking as I move to wipe the sleepy dust away from my tired eyes. "I didn't expect you so early," I admit with a secondary yawn that smothers the rest of my sentence. She thrusts out her arms with the pile of clothes again, a mix of whites and reds and golds all clumped together in an incomprehensible mess. I peer at them cautiously, trying to make sense of each strand of tangled fabric.
"Well go on, they won't bite," Lilyana huffs, dropping the clothes into my arms out of sheer exhaustion. My arms drop for a moment, the weight of the clothes catching me off guard, and I stumble. "Your clothes for the palace," Lilyana affirms, giving me a substantive nod. "Might as well put them on now, you'll be there by tomorrow. Oh, and make sure to glamour your divinist marking."
I do so quickly, brushing my fingertips over the red sun marking on my shoulder that disappears at my touch, and glance outside towards the ever fading light. The clouds rush past, caught in a flurry of wind and dusky angel wings. Glittering lights twinkle in rows on rows on other floating isles, obscured by trees and the harsh, impenetrable smog of the smithing forge, the still night sound occasionally penetrated by the harsh clank of a forger's hammer, or the distant scream of a woodland fox. Somewhere out there, past the great woods, is Sezeria. A rush of adrenaline flows through me.
Lilyana turns away as I change, tapping her heel with disdain, as if she would like nothing better than to force the clothes on me herself. My mind wanders through dreams of sickening red blood trickling down the skin, flitting across my vision like memories from the past. I sneak a glance as Lilyana's de-winged back, a burning pang flowing through the spread of my own wings, as if in sympathy. I wince gloomily at the pain she must have felt, when the elders found her, the moment she realised her fate.
There is only one rule among the angels: Never form a partnership with a vampire.
I look again at the stubs of her wings and grimace, the cruel irony of the situation hitting me like an arrow to the chest. A cruel punishment.
Pulling on the rest of my clothes, all at once take into account what I've committed to wearing.
"What is this..?" I ask, yanking at the straps on the open backed dress, struggling to keep steady in my heeled boots as the array of black and burgundy ombre fabric presses firmly against my skin. A starry belt cinches in my waist so tightly that my breaths come out in short sharp huffs, and I tug uselessly at it, hoping to lighten its grasp. From the belt extends thin layers of silky fabrics that form a long, billowing dress: a mix of reds and silvers swirling together, dotted with faint golden stars, cut away to reveal an upper portion of each of my thighs. It was all so… Revealing.
Embarrassed, I draw my bare arms across my chest hastily, hoping to hide the terrifying amount of bust exposed. Lilyana barks a laugh.
"You best get used to that, Serena," she cackles, throwing back her head like some terrifying owl hawking a mouse down its throat. She points her finger at me, wiggling it accusingly. "The vampires in Sezeria are far more daring with their attire. If you want to earn their favour, you must first play their games." For a moment, she grins, pushing my shoulders backwards and with her clawed finger, raises my chin. "Confidence," she exclaims, "Show them just how cold your blood runs."
Anxiously, I laugh.
"Confidence," I confirm wearily, not knowing what else to say. Sitting down, I wait as Lilyana ties up my hair into two loosely tied buns. My eyes latch onto the locket, on the ice cold liquid that heaves inside, and for a moment I wonder. What would the vampires really be like? Were they really the monstrous creatures who I'd been taught to hate? They say the Scarlet prince is the worst of them. For years I had heard stories of his tyranny. Of how he killed for the fun of it, to bathe in the blood of the creatures whose hearts he took great pleasure in stopping. He was the one mothers told children about to keep them from wandering out when the night was dark, the one that made grown men wary to walk in the shadows, and stick to the light. They say if you look too closely into the duskiness of twilight, you might see him lurking through the murkiness of the gloom, eyes glowing like lanterns, waiting, watching. They say he is just as beautiful as he is deadly. Whose teeth are sharper than steel, whose eyes would mesmerize you, paralyse you in fear just long enough for him to take you and.... I think about dagger-like teeth entering my neck, tearing open my jugular with one easy, bite, and shudder.
The beautiful, deadly Scarlet Prince, the monster of all men.
Part of me hopes I will never get to meet him in Sezeria.. Another part of me wants nothing more.
The heavy light of dusk hits me in the face harder than a sword to a shield. Groaning, I raise myself groggily on one arm to look around my room. In the dim orange glow cast by the reluctantly fading sun behind the horizon, shadows are flung around the room like dancing fires of black and gold: things are missing from my shelves- books, potions, and my wardrobe has been flung open to reveal a smattered array of messy clothes. Looks like somebody didn't find what they were looking for, I think heavily to myself, slowly becoming aware of the pain in my head and the crooked mess of white and gold feathers that have splayed all over my back. I glimpse my best sword leant up precariously against the bedside counter, the golden hilt gleaming with its proudly emblazoned rubies, like vampires eyes. For a moment, I stare in blissful ignorance."The locket!" I gasp, plunging my hand into my pocket, only to be greeted by the cool touch of the ruby capsule. My shoulders relax as I breathe a heaving sigh of relief, closing my hand around the locket and carefully placing in on the small oak table."Stay," I tell it stupidly, half expecting the locket to grow legs and walk off. Staring blankly at the churning red blood enclosed in the locket I grin a grim, sickening smile. A knock rings for the first, or maybe second time on the opposite side of my door. It rings around the room, dancing with the fiery light of the shadows before it finally settles on my ears with a hollow bump. I groan. I still had clothes on, so at least if it was Ithuriel, I could maintain some decency, but I drape my covers over myself, just to be safe."Come in," I call hollowly, my voice empty sounding. My wings shift behind me as I sit up, stretching out and stirring up a faint gush of wind that chills my bare arms, bringing up goose bumps all over my skin. I sniff loudly and draw the cover further around myself, enclosing my body in a make-shift cocoon of cotton and silk. A looming shadow casts over me and a quiver runs through my spine. Looking up, I strain to peer at the figure so ardently blocking the warmth from my skin. A warm energy radiates from her skin, smooth and calming, the twisted locks of her hair descending gracefully down her body in a mess of dark curls. Her lips stretch in a smile that, once upon a time, may have seen happiness. The red tribal dots of a guardian are stark against her face, worn with worry and pain, the ink slowly fading from her skin, never renewed. The stubs on her back twitch a little, as though remembering the once beautiful spread of her glorious wings."Lilyana," I utter softly. Realising that my face is scrunched up in pain, I quickly relax my features.The pleasant tones of her skin shift in the shadows as she moves closer to me, the scent of freshly picked blossom wafting off her like a welcome breeze in the spring. She sighs, holding out a pile of clothes, the expression on her face difficult to read."You are a mess, Serena,""Thank you," I say, half serious, half joking as I move to wipe the sleepy dust away from my tired eyes. "I didn't expect you so early," I admit with a secondary yawn that smothers the rest of my sentence. She thrusts out her arms with the pile of clothes again, a mix of whites and reds and golds all clumped together in an incomprehensible mess. I peer at them cautiously, trying to make sense of each strand of tangled fabric."Well go on, they won't bite," Lilyana huffs, dropping the clothes into my arms out of sheer exhaustion. My arms drop for a moment, the weight of the clothes catching me off guard, and I stumble. "Your clothes for the palace," Lilyana affirms, giving me a substantive nod. "Might as well put them on now, you'll be there by tomorrow. Oh, and make sure to glamour your divinist marking."I do so quickly, brushing my fingertips over the red sun marking on my shoulder that disappears at my touch, and glance outside towards the ever fading light. The clouds rush past, caught in a flurry of wind and dusky angel wings. Glittering lights twinkle in rows on rows on other floating isles, obscured by trees and the harsh, impenetrable smog of the smithing forge, the still night sound occasionally penetrated by the harsh clank of a forger's hammer, or the distant scream of a woodland fox. Somewhere out there, past the great woods, is Sezeria. A rush of adrenaline flows through me.Lilyana turns away as I change, tapping her heel with disdain, as if she would like nothing better than to force the clothes on me herself. My mind wanders through dreams of sickening red blood trickling down the skin, flitting across my vision like memories from the past. I sneak a glance as Lilyana's de-winged back, a burning pang flowing through the spread of my own wings, as if in sympathy. I wince gloomily at the pain she must have felt, when the elders found her, the moment she realised her fate.There is only one rule among the angels: Never form a partnership with a vampire.I look again at the stubs of her wings and grimace, the cruel irony of the situation hitting me like an arrow to the chest. A cruel punishment.Pulling on the rest of my clothes, all at once take into account what I've committed to wearing."What is this..?" I ask, yanking at the straps on the open backed dress, struggling to keep steady in my heeled boots as the array of black and burgundy ombre fabric presses firmly against my skin. A starry belt cinches in my waist so tightly that my breaths come out in short sharp huffs, and I tug uselessly at it, hoping to lighten its grasp. From the belt extends thin layers of silky fabrics that form a long, billowing dress: a mix of reds and silvers swirling together, dotted with faint golden stars, cut away to reveal an upper portion of each of my thighs. It was all so Revealing.Embarrassed, I draw my bare arms across my chest hastily, hoping to hide the terrifying amount of bust exposed. Lilyana barks a laugh."You best get used to that, Serena," she cackles, throwing back her head like some terrifying owl hawking a mouse down its throat. She points her finger at me, wiggling it accusingly. "The vampires in Sezeria are far more daring with their attire. If you want to earn their favour, you must first play their games." For a moment, she grins, pushing my shoulders backwards and with her clawed finger, raises my chin. "Confidence," she exclaims, "Show them just how cold your blood runs."Anxiously, I laugh."Confidence," I confirm wearily, not knowing what else to say. Sitting down, I wait as Lilyana ties up my hair into two loosely tied buns. My eyes latch onto the locket, on the ice cold liquid that heaves inside, and for a moment I wonder. What would the vampires really be like? Were they really the monstrous creatures who I'd been taught to hate? They say the Scarlet prince is the worst of them. For years I had heard stories of his tyranny. Of how he killed for the fun of it, to bathe in the blood of the creatures whose hearts he took great pleasure in stopping. He was the one mothers told children about to keep them from wandering out when the night was dark, the one that made grown men wary to walk in the shadows, and stick to the light. They say if you look too closely into the duskiness of twilight, you might see him lurking through the murkiness of the gloom, eyes glowing like lanterns, waiting, watching. They say he is just as beautiful as he is deadly. Whose teeth are sharper than steel, whose eyes would mesmerize you, paralyse you in fear just long enough for him to take you and.... I think about dagger-like teeth entering my neck, tearing open my jugular with one easy, bite, and shudder.The beautiful, deadly Scarlet Prince, the monster of all men.Part of me hopes I will never get to meet him in Sezeria.. Another part of me wants nothing more.
