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Lady Draven · Visitor Joined: 11 Nov 2011 Posts: 13

Torpor – the dreamless sleep that only those truly undead in nature could take. She knew differently, perhaps they were not dreams but merely hauntings of her past. The look in his eyes that bespoke of her failure more than words ever could. Silence stretching between them, thick and heavy in the air. That last look of tenderness draining from his eyes, turning to one of cold compassion. The wooden stake slicing through the air like a knife, driving through yielding flesh and piercing her heart.

After that it was as if she relived it all up to that moment, every millisecond of life flashing into her mind in fragmented pieces. The small orphan girl, filthy with dirt and grime from the street – hunting rats to stave away the ache in her belly. The strange, hauntingly beautiful woman with dark green eyes and fiery red hair, one she would eventually come to know as a twisted representation of what a mother should be. Silence and resilience enforced with daily whippings, menial servitude, and prolonged periods of fasting. Knowing the sweet taste of first love, only to have it destroyed by the very nature of what she was and who she could not become. Running from her nightmarish past in a futile attempt to escape the beast that raged within her. And then there was Marcus, the one person in her life whom she truly believed she was meant for. Embracing the dark gift, morphed into a blessing. Rising, hand in hand with her sire, merging those of many faces into one strange, yet cohesive family of sorts.

Then her failure, the stake driving within, over and over, piercing her mind and heart in a continuous circle of ever increasing madness. There was no escape, only brief respites as the images recycled. No running, no escape, no rising and fleeing into the night. The stake kept her physically immobile, unable to flee from his baleful stare of disappointment. Just when she thought the mental taunting would never cease, her very being exploded into life once more.

Her senses were assaulted all at once – the dry taste of stale air, the feel of hard, cold stone beneath her, the faint whispering of the wind outside and somewhere in the distance the slow, baying cry of a lone wolf. The realization that the stake that once held her captive had relinquished her heart as its prisoner. Her flesh trying vainly to knit itself back together. Yet, without blood there was no life to be had within the pale husk that was her body.

“Adara..” his voice broke through the silence. She turned her head, his eyes peering through the very depths of her soul.

“Mar.. Marcus” she croaked, her voice sounding harsh and feeble in the darkness that was their tomb.

He silenced her lips with a fingertip, bringing his wrist to his lips, dragging slowly across the vein, the blood welling to the surface instantaneously. She rose, grasping his wrist with what little strength remained to her. The blood, warm and metallic, sweet upon her tongue, trickling down her throat. Then it was gone, his flesh healing before she had even taken her first breath. Her beast rose in defiance, growling in wrath at being denied its feast but she tucked it down deep inside with well-practiced patience.

He loomed above her, a hulking giant compared to her small, undernourished form. His gaze met hers a moment, hand sliding down to grasp her wrist, the only movement a small nod of her head, openly admitting her submission to his touch and authority. A flash of white gleaming teeth upon her wrist, the bond between them renewing. She could feel the tendrils within her, stretching, reaching, and then finally grasping those cords that bound them eternally to one another.

“I am sorry.. I.. “ she hung her head in shame, unable to look him fully in the face.

“There will be time for that later” his voice filled her mind, speaking softly, “For now you must feed and rekindle your strength.”

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She stalked silently, moving lithely amongst the shadows of the tree, staying low so as to prevent being seen. Normally, she would have merely manipulated the gloom around her, concealing her form to others, but the long sleep had left her too weak to procure her inner gifts. Her prey, an older gangly youth of no more than twenty walked before her, chin jutting out in a farce of tough defiance to anyone passing by. A street rat, not too grimy to make a morsel of, young enough to bounce back quickly, and unimportant enough not to be missed for the night.

He turned down an alley, footsteps quickening as if he could sense her presence in the vicinity. She crept cautiously, her leather boots soft as wind in the grass. The beast curled inside her, crouching in anticipation of the thrill of the hunt and the knowledge of the reward at the end. Deft fingers slipped the dagger from its sheath, dark blade gleaming like a beacon in the darkness. With outstanding speed she struck, hilt of dagger cracking loudly against his skull, not hard enough to kill but just enough so that he slumped to the ground into unconsciousness.

Kneeling, she gathered the youth into her arms, brushing aside long, tangled hair to reveal a surprisingly slender neck. Her tongue darted out, tasting the air around her – the smells of the city paling in comparison to the waft of blood just beneath the skin. Fangs elongated, sinking smooth as silk into his skin, then the blood. It was not as potent or alluring as her mate’s – that was to be expected since she shared a bond with him. But her beast reveled in the taste all the same, it growled in triumphant pleasure and approval. She could feel his pulse within her mouth, heartbeat pounding a slow steady rhythm from her fangs to her fingertips. This was what being undead truly meant, taking the blood of life and giving birth to the dead. It was what the world of her and her kindred revolved around, the only true sustenance to be had.

She drank slowly, savoring every drop – tasting the youthfulness, the spring in his step, the joy of innocence, the invigoration of being well and truly alive. Pulling away, she dragged her tongue across the bite marks, the potency of her saliva healing the wounds over. Tomorrow he would wake, feeling a little weak with no recollection of the evening. She did not believe in wasting life merely so she could survive. That and death drew unwanted attention to the suspicious fantasy of the kindred, a risk she was not willing to take.

Her strength restored, she slid into the gloom, shadow wrapping about her lithe frame like an old familiar lover. She would return home, to her rightful place, at the side of her mate. She would not, could not, falter this time. She would take her place, rightfully, by his side, and hand in hand they would lead the House of Draven to its potential greatness.

Lady Draven · Visitor Joined: 11 Nov 2011 Posts: 13

She closed her eyes, feeling the ebb of the waves lapping gently at her bare feet. The water felt surprisingly warm against her cool skin, the damp grass moistening her fingertips as she gripped the earth. The smell of the outdoors accosted her – the saltiness of the waves, leaves in the wind – all bathed in the dim glow of moonlight. This was her Eden, her place of concentration, fortitude, and rejuvenation.

The days since her awakening had melded into one, sunrise and sunset being the only markings of time to constrain the events. A myriad of meetings, introductions, appearances – always keeping the facade, playing the role, and wearing the mask. She carefully trod the line between inner nature and the perception of others. As long as remained tactful, polite, and slightly empathetic she would find her place among this new Coven.

She had seen very little of Anfalas since the night he was demoted. She knew his pain and hurt, felt it deep down in her breast. When she was with him it was ever present, creating a irreparable barrier she had not yet managed to break down. In his absence the tendrils of thought haunted her mind, leaving her with a feeling of desolation. In a gesture of mercy she had offered to wield the proverbial stake herself, sending him into the long sleep – his refusal came with a feeling of relief. She would only do such in the most dire of circumstances and it appeared there was fight to be had in him yet.

Her time with Marcus was sparse, most being spent meeting, calculating, and planning their family’s potential greatness. He had accomplished much in her absence, bringing forth new blood to fill the ranks. The beast within raged at this, its territorial jealousy being first and foremost when it came to her mate. With a practiced hand she would grip the reins, guiding it back into the deep, dark recesses from which it would awaken. He shared his time with many, his obligation to his fledglings and other kindred filling most of his time. She did not begrudge him this, merely accepted such, waiting quietly in the shadows for when he would return to her. For return he always did, their inner beasts reveling in each other’s presences – their kindred spirits and fated destiny to walk the world hand in hand.

She sighed, pushing a loose curl back behind her ear, forcing a deep breath of the sea air. It would not do to merely dwell on incidents long past and deeds long done but instead to set her eyes to the future. Tomorrow, a meeting and the first formal introduction amongst the others of the Coven. She would be an unmovable pillar, a beacon of strength in times of hardship for that is what Marcus needed of her. And in the end, his wishes were all that really mattered.