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[Mikhaeil]

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His senses never singular nor remotely similar to their origin, Mikhaeil stood beneath the stars surrounded by the rapture of night's infinite enchantments. Sweet spring scents cozily ensconced within a gentle breeze caressed the surface of his sinews, languishing in caring touch before drifting softly on. Warmth, indeterminant to him beyond knowledge of the season, waltzed gracefully upon the air in tender whirls of whispered halcyon. He drew a deep breath and turned back toward the ludus. He'd held to the covenant, borne its chains of submission; devised a means by which to see the archdaemon to his demise thus bringing the blade to its purpose and accomplishing a feat denied his own hand. If ever there existed a time more perfect than this to seek redemption he remained unaware of it.

The sword lay in the display case, a silver etched silhouette of silent and powerful ponderance resting resolutely upon a swath of pleated crimson velvet. Torchlight glinted off the blade, bathing the small chamber in a glimmering reflection of hallowed purity. Mikhaeil tensed as he lowered a hand toward the weapon. What had once been a natural action became now a motion of halting hesitation. This touch would bring either grace or destruction. He slowly closed his fingers over the hilt, prepared to meet his end but hopeful instead to meet glory.

In a sudden and stunning storm of release the shackles fell away from his wrists, vanishing in a blinding flash of cerulean flame. He lifted the sword from it's scarlet bier. Perfect and familiar in his grasp, it was his, as was freedom, once more.

[Xoriah]

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She knew the moment it happened. Standing before an easel, charcoal in hand, she followed the lines of model's body with a long, fluid motion across the canvas. As she finished the line and lifted the charcoal, an impact hit her as surely as if her world had been shaken. Xoriah flinched, eyes wide, heart beating wildly.

Freedom. He had chosen freedom. And it had been granted. The covenant was not broken. It had simply ceased to be. Mikhaeil had taken up his sword again.

Part of her rejoiced for him. The freedom she had so longed to give him was not hers to give. But having fulfilled his obligations, it had been granted, all the same. And the sword's retribution had not slain him as she had feared. No, he was free, as sure as she knew he still drew breath. She felt his energy even now, even here.

Freedom. He was no longer hers. But in truth, he should never have belonged to her, or anyone else. A sense of loss beyond any she had ever known threatened to overwhelm her.

A soft feminine voice startled her reverie. "Ye all right, MiLady?"

Xoriah startled with a soft gasp, remembering herself, and the model for the project at hand. A pretty young blonde tilted her head and watched Xoriah, clearly concerned.

"No, Katerina. No...I just realized that I'd lost something."

"Sorry, Miss, can I help ye look for it?" The girl moved from her position, scanning the floor with wide, innocent eyes.

Xoriah forced a thin smile and shook her head. "Thank you, Precious. But looking will not help."

The girl shrugged helplessly and smiled. "Can we take a break, then? I'm hungry." Her request met with silence as the fiery, selfish anger of succubus raged inside Xoriah. Katerina smiled and approached Xoriah, prodding in a sweet and quiet voice. "Aren't you hungry?"

Incensed, Xoriah took a deep breath and inclined her head to gaze upon the girl with intent that was altogether new. She held out her hand, beckoning the girl. "My Dear, I’m simply famished."
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Come with me where chains will never bind you...all your grief at last, at last behind you. ~Les Miserables

[Mikhaeil]

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Where was she? "Xoriah," he whispered as he lay the diamond bracelet in the sand. "It was never the sword that bound us, but simply my heart. Freedom is nothing without you."