Busy. I've been so busy. For ten years I dwelt in the murks of mind, and those years of torpor let me practice my powers of telepathy. I honed my skills on Samwell and Rachid, culling their secrets until nothing is left of them but their knowledge and skills. Their personalities have been subsumed. Samwell is pushed away. Rachid is pushed away. They have been quelled by me and by my mother.
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Ten years later, and I am stronger than ever. With Samwell's knowledge, I can harness the power of vitae. I know how to change my blood to give me more power than ever. With concentration, I can rival the prodigious strength of Koal. I know how to make others use their blood without their consent. I can feel myself growing monstrous.
Malicus continues to visit me. His behaviour is bizarre. He enacts a Koldunic ritual which restores my ability to focus my mental reserves. He calls me into the bathroom, and the sink is filled with pinkish water. "Drink," he says, and I do. I feel stronger. More able to apply myself to anything I so desire. Malicus looks at me. "Come closer?"
I look at him, not moving, and he steps closer to me and tries to take me in his arms.
I push his arms off me and step back. "What are you doing?" My voice is cold.
He looks down at the floor. "Nothing."
Koal hears and calls through the bathroom door: "What's going on?"
Malicus pauses. "Nothing. Let's go." And he leaves the bathroom.
From time to time, I practice my telepathy, resting on the thoughts of mortals, lapping up streams of consciousness. Their thoughts are small, insignificant save for the practice they give me before I ride the mind I've been waiting so long to control: Sarrasine.
But before I do such a thing, I need to make a safe place for myself. It's a year before I do it. And in that year, I once again set up my haven in the bowels of the theology school. It's furnished modestly; the office has bookshelves, desk, a globe, and numerous chairs, and the bedroom has with a bar fridge, a utilitarian bed, and a closet with basic clothing. I have a bathroom with toilet, sink, and shower. I do not require any more than this.
I arrange to have vitae delivered to me on a weekly schedule. I have contacts throughout the city: financial, academic, security--all the people I need to take the confusion of this modern world off my shoulders. All the people I need to take care of me while I work on a much more pressing concern: Sarrasine.
One night, Malicus comes to my home while I am writing. He is agitated and rambles furiously about a wide variety of topics: Nictuku and the Nosferatu, Tzimisce, methuselahs, Celine, and Jerusalem. He talks about how he shaped me, attempting to put me on a path of transformation, but how he sees now that he was wrong to have done so. He never finishes a thought, but rages briefly on one topic before jumping onto another. I can see strange scars on his neck and shoulder as he paces. They're words. They say "Why does Tzimisce let me live?" More scars are beneath, but I do not go closer to look.
When I attempt to address anything he says to me, he screams "Shut up!" I watch his madness in silence, biding my time, and staying cautious in case he should attack. But he doesn't.
He demands I teach him how to control minds. He demands I teach him how to force his will upon others. I refuse, of course. He offers me trades. He says he will teach me how to make myself stronger, so that I may be able to take more damage. But I don't need it. I would rather focus on the knowledge that lets me remain hidden from those who would harm me. He rages on, claiming my decision is foolish. I watch him impassively. And then he offers me forbidden knowledge: the ability to permanently alter bodies, known only by members of his clan. I refuse. I know full well Elisabet would only use this against me.
He then rages against Elisabet. Does he not care that she can hear him? He says he never liked her, and that she always underestimated me. I listen to his tirade in silence.
He then offers to teach me Koldunic sorcery. This tempts me. After more than a century of research on Kupala, how could it not? But before I can say anything one way or the other, he rages out of my haven. I don't see him again for weeks.
And then one night, everything is right. Tonight is the night I will let my consciousness hang onto Sarrasine's, feeding on it like a tick. I can't find him, at first, so I sit still, calm myself, and try again. This time I find him. He's thinking about the one he wants to install as Prince of the city.
I delve deeper. He wants his lover to be the Prince.
I grind my teeth. A lover. Who is she?
With a surge of effort, I delve deeper.
The world goes red.
When I come back to myself, my haven is destroyed. The debris of broken furniture, overturned shelves, and ruined books torn along their spines litter the room. My fingernails are gouging into my palms, and I slowly pull them out, one at a time.
I hear a knock at the door. It's Koal and Malicus. I let them in, still seething. They stare at me and the room with unease.
"Sarrasine is still in Hamilton," I say.
Malicus says nothing. His face is carefully blank, but I see a hint of fear, and he stays close to the door.
"Oh?" asks Koal.
"He has plans for installing a Prince. His lover."
"Who is she?"
The answer boils out of me in a seethe: "Penelope."
That's all he has to say? Hmm? I feel my rage building. I stare at him, gauging his emotions. All I see is a mild curiosity. It is obvious he does not take the situation seriously.
"That makes me angry," he says.
I watch him.
"She has my cat."
"You dare mock me?" I shriek. I make myself vanish, and Malicus bolts out the door, shutting it behind him. Koal stands his ground.
I shape his anger, making it sharper and watch.
His self-control is admirable. He trembles with the effort of standing still. His fangs begin to drop, but he does not frenzy. In frustration, I punch him in the back. My efforts are impotent.
"I don't mock you. I..."
I appear in front of him, looking him straight in the eye. "Silence!" I shout.
His mouth closes audibly, and stays that way. He closes his eyes, and I pace the room. I try to find a chair to sit in, but they are all broken. I hurl a broken chair across the room, and it bounces off the wall. Koal stands stock still, eyes still closed. The fangs have retracted.
I go over to the door, and jerk it open. Malicus is standing there, a guilty expression on his face. It is obvious he'd been trying to eavesdrop.
"Get in here," I say to him.
He walks in and I can still smell a faint odour of fear on him.
"She will NOT be Prince," I say. "Sarrasine will NOT have his way."
Malicus nods. "No, he won't." Then, timidly, he says, "Would you like me to do the ritual on you?"
The ritual will give me back some of the power I used to ride Sarrasine's mind.
"Yes," I say, and Malicus goes into the bathroom, shuts the door, and a few moments later, he opens the door and calls me in. I see the sink filled with pinkish water, and I lean forward to drink it.
Moments later, I'm racked by pain, and I vomit gout after gout of water. Malicus flees my haven once again, and this time, Koal joins him. Incompetence! His ritual is wrecked by incompetence! I vomit again and again, and once again, my world goes red.
When I come back to myself, the sink has been torn off the wall.
I burst back out of my haven. Koal and Malicus stand in the corridor looking wary. "Get back in here," I order.
They comply, and I shut the door.
I hear them discussing the issue of Penelope with one another, but my mind is racing. I cannot focus on what they have to say. I could take her place. I could steal her identity. I concentrate on Penelope, on her appearance, and I match myself to her. And then I meet a brick wall.
I blurt it out. "I don't know what she looks like naked!"
Koal and Malicus stare at me in astonishment. I am wearing her face.
Koal starts to answer, but I'm gone again, my mind races to Sarrasine's. I need to know what she looks like naked. I put the question to him, and his thoughts fill me with rage. He thinks her body looks just like mine. She looks like me.
I stare back at Malicus and Koal. I tear my dress off and stand naked in front of them. "She looks like this."
They look at me in astonishment, and I feel Malicus's gaze creeping to my shoulder and arm. I look down at it. It is covered with a beautiful tattoo, the likes of which I have never seen. A raised tribal vine wends its way along my arm, and roses bloom along the length. And then I realize it's not a vine at all, but snakes.
I look at Malicus. "Can you do this?"
"I, uh..." He pauses. "I think I could, eventually. That's Tzimisce work. I would need to practice, and...."
"Then do it. If you do this, I will teach you what you asked of me."
Malicus nods, goes to say something, and snaps his mouth shut again. "I will discuss this more with you tomorrow night, then."
I nod, and both Koal and Malicus leave. I bolt the door behind them and realize I'm famished. Hungrier than I've been in years. find my refrigerator hidden behind my smashed up desk. I open it up and take out the vitae. There are only three bags. I need more than this, but it will be a start. I drain them, and I am once again floating in a sea of oblivion.
I am gone. Elisabet has taken over. I rage, but only the cowering soul of Magnus is there to see me.
It's time to reinsert myself back into society, or at least somewhat. I've been gone too long. My contacts lie fallow, and although the university is mine on paper, it lies outside my physical grasp. But not for long. I once again don the guise of Margot Kartoffel. Rather, I gain the guise as her daughter, who bears the same name, and who is being groomed to take over the business side of things for her aging mother.
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I visit the campus security office one night. The director of campus security is Dave Sullivan, a stout middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard and a superiority complex. He is eager to show me how important he is to the safety of the campus, its students, and staff. I arrange a coffee date with him as per the instruction of my "mother", and with a few careful, choice words, he is soon smitten with me. In three nights, he is blood bound to me, and has promised to personally care for the security of my old haven in the theology school. No one is to disturb me in the daytime, and a new security system is installed.
I also meet with the head librarian, Candace Michaelson. After three visits with me, she is eager to retrieve my books from their security box for me.
The university treasurer, Leo Minsky, with a bit of personal attention from me, finds it easy to handle the finances for me, and Dr. Morris Blajchman, a blood specialist at the hospital and a member of Canadian Blood Services team, arranges to have vitae delivered to my haven each week. A graduate student in the theology program, Nami Fujiwara, is eager to pick up some extra cash as my personal assistant.
I also ghoul the head of the janitorial staff at the Hamilton Public Library, and get keys made to my secondary haven there.
By the time the month is out, my haven is once again set up in the basement of the Divinity College, and is comfortably furnished.
|Subject:||Margd - Mother|
In the early 1400s I escape the Inquisition by fleeing to Budapest. The Prince is happy to welcome me. He encourages me in my studies, and maintains an unobtrusive curiosity. We speak from time to time, and he is both intelligent and kind. We have a common dream: we both wish to maintain a balance between kindred and kine, and between east and west. I gladly share with him my knowledge of the other cities, and when I ask permission to take over the library, he is quick to grant it to me.
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Life is peaceful, and the peace leaves me in dread. How long until the Inquisition follows me here? How long until this library is ripped from me and my wards are butchered? But I remain unmolested. I take on the two head librarians, Thomas and Paulus, as my personal servants. They are both skilled and dependable, and as the years of peace continue, I contemplate making one or both of them my childer.
They care for me while I conduct my research, and they work hard to improve the library. My research isn't based in books, though. Curious about my latent abilities, I research the ways of hiding and of disguise. This may be the key to unlocking the memories of my mother. She hides within me, after all.
But as my knowledge increases, so do my nightmares. I awaken with bloody scraps of memory. I watch an unconscious woman have her hands chopped off with an axe. I see myself feeding my blood to a dying man, only to kick him into a river, leaving him to drown. I see myself bursting into farmhouses, savaging and torturing families without even feeding on them. Sometimes I force fathers to kill their children and sons to rape their mothers. I wake up with my hands clenched so tight that my nails tear half-moons of flesh from my palms. I wake up screaming, blood pouring in rivers from my eyes.
Malicus has taken a room deep in the bowels of the library. He does his own research there, and I don't disturb him. I beg him not to harm any of the monks who work in the library, and he agrees. I don't want to know what he does down there, but sometimes when I wake up, the screams from his quarters are echoes of my own.
One night, when all is quiet, I knock on his door. I invite him into my study and I tell him of my dreams.
The exodus from Finland begins as planned. I am given my own berth, a dark room without portals on an enormous ocean-going ship. The last time I was on a ship was four hundred years ago, when I crossed the English Channel. This ship is much larger and has neither sails nor rowers. Like the trains, it is propelled by rumbling steam engines. Everything is mechanized now, it seems. Machines belch smoke and steam, ooze clots of grease, and blast piercing whistles and thunderous farts. Where I once relied upon my ability to sharpen my ears, I now find it useless or outright painful.
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My berth is far from the engine room, but incessant vibrations layer themselves over sickening drops and the crashing of enormous waves. The voyage is plagued by storm after storm. It is easy for me to feign illness when few leave their quarters. I spend my hours reading the Incunabulum Kupalum, leaving my room only in the wee hours of the morning to feed. I never go above deck. I am afraid of being washed overboard.
Although I offer no encouragement, Magnus makes excuses to visit me each night. He is afraid we will capsize. He wants to spend his last moments with me. I look at him carefully, and although I see fear, it is almost devoured by the fierce glow of love. I am startled by the strength of his emotions. Aside from my appearance, I have exercised no artifice upon him. I have not shared my blood with him. All that I see is real. All that I see is given freely, and I am reluctant to take it.
Night after night he visits me while the ship lurches through the deep. One night he sits across from me in a bolted-down chair, hands laced together beneath his chin, and he watches me while I read. The lantern swinging in the room makes crazy shadows, and the imprecations dance and flicker on the page until I grow dizzy. But despite the enormity of the task ahead of me, I am content. I am not surprised when he whispers he loves me.
I close the book. “I know.”
And then the shadow crosses his face again, and he presses his lips together until they turn white.
I set the tome aside. “You must tell me what is wrong.”
“I can't. It is nothing a lady should know.”
I look him in the eye. “I know things perhaps no one should know. I have done terrible things, unforgivable, even.” I can tell he doesn't believe me, but my expression does not waver. “You must tell me what troubles you, Magnus. I will not be shocked.”
And then he begins. At first he only hints of the things he's seen, but when I neither interject nor flinch away, he no longer hesitates, and the words tumble out of his mouth, one on top of the other.
Watching my friends leave, I feel a pang of loss. They've been my companions and protectors for so long, and now I'm going to be alone in a world which rapidly grows more confusing. I return via train to Helsinki to retrieve my books, and then I begin altering my appearance to match my new identity.
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I've always been slight of build. My hair is a nondescript brown, and over the centuries, my already pale skin has become an almost porcelain white. I gaze into the mirror and begin making changes. My hair becomes longer and the palest of blondes. My white cheeks grow faint spots of colour, as though I were slightly fevered. My already small waist becomes tinier, and my top lip juts out with a slight overbite. My brown eyes become blue and wider-set, and I increase my height by a few inches. When I look in the mirror, I am satisfied. The reflection gazing back at me is of a lovely and frail German Fraulein. I study her appearance carefully. I'm going to be looking like her for a very long time.
For the next few months, I hide myself at dinner party after dinner party, listening in on the confusing talk of mortals, learning more of their politics, wants, and desires. It takes me a few months to find what I am looking for. In the summer of 1898, I discover Sir Gustav and Lady Henrietta Brander, minor aristocrats immigrating to Canada because they oppose the Russification of Finland. The Branders are well-educated, artistic, kind, and dependable, and I arrange to have myself introduced to them as an orphaned young lady of good upbringing but unfortunate circumstances. My only belongings are the clothes on my back and a steamer trunk full of books.
In exchange for the Branders' patronage, I offer to tutor their sons in languages and elocution. Quid pro quo. We all receive something useful. I suggest a toast in celebration of our arrangement, and they drink deeply of the Merlot I fortified for the occasion. By the time the week is out, the Branders have gained a special fondness for Merlot and treat me like the daughter they never had.
Magnus, the eldest of the children, catches my attention. He's eighteen years old, handsome and bright, but there's a haunted quality to his gaze. He often slips deep into thought, and the shadow that crosses his face speaks volumes. I'm not surprised when he knocks on my bedchamber door. Margot is an attractive young lady, after all, and despite whatever memories haunt him, Magnus is in the lustiest years of his life.
I have lost sight of the dream. The customs of mortals perplex me and my recollections of their behaviour and motivations are covered with the dust of centuries. It's been far too long since I was one of them. It's been far too long since I've spent time in their company. I fear I may not be able to masquerade as one of them. But Magnus wins me over despite myself, and I let him see more than the beautiful mask I wear. He asks me many questions, and although I can't tell him the entire truth, I feel tempted all the same.
So I tell him parts. I tell how the epidemic hit my city, and how my family thrashed in their beds, their faces turning black. I tell him how I threw myself on top of them, tried to hold their flailing limbs still, and how my father died beneath me, his jaw locked open in a terrible grimace. I tell him how my mother and I dragged the bodies out into the street, crying for help, but people bolted their doors and hid. I tell him how my mother only survived to be murdered in her sleep a year later.
These are things I haven't thought of in many years. Something breaks inside of me, and I am flooded with emotion. It takes all of my strength to hold back the tears. When Magnus reaches forward to comfort me, I turn away and cover my face with my hands. Though I ache to be held by this boy with his tiny, bright-burning life, he must not see the blood brimming in my eyes.
I have strange parts in strange places. My face is embedded in the centre of someone's chest, and when I look up, I see someone else's head. Another pair of arms sprout above mine. And when I look down, I see my wizened-up legs, and a strange pair of muscled legs beneath them. I also see a penis. These new parts aren't mine. The penis is especially not mine. I can't remember when I last had one of those. ( It might even have been a thousand years ago.Collapse )
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My beloved daughter:
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It has been many years since we last spoke together. To say we did not part on the best of terms is a monumental understatement. ( You have been a failure to me, both in life and unlife.Collapse )
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Allow me to introduce myself. Our relationship is a somewhat complicated one. To simplify matters, your sire is Margot, who is in turn the creation of my child Margd. This makes you my great grandson, ( but you may call me Granny.Collapse )
We drive toward Stephen's warehouse, stopping about 500 metres back. Koal gets out. “I'm going to check out the perimeter. Are you coming?”
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“I can't move very quickly,” I say.
“I won't be moving quickly,” says Koal.
Malicus shakes his head. “Ak-Boul won't let me stay hidden, so I'll wait here.”
I look at Koal. “I suppose you want me to come along to keep you hidden, right?”
Koal nods once. I sigh, then get out of the car. I'm curious to see what's going on there. Maybe the kids all starved to death. It's likely been a week or two since anyone checked in on them. I concentrate on Koal, fading him from everyone's sight but mine, and then I follow his lead. I focus my hearing and my sight along the way, but don't notice anything out of the ordinary.
( We creep in behind the warehouse.Collapse )
The void washes over me, submerging all that I have, and all that I am. I am formless. I am nameless. There is nothing left of me but the extremes of love and hate. Perhaps even these things shall be crushed beneath the weight of oblivion. Then there shall be nothing left of me at all.
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Malicus slams the stake into Koal's chest, and the wood splinters into a thousand pieces. Koal is relentless in his frenzy, but Malicus is fearfully strong. He grapples with Koal, pinning his arms. Ak-Boul grips Koal, too, and his eye slithers back and forth between ( the gnashing of his jaws.Collapse )
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|Subject:||Margd - Undone|
I arrive, squatting over a pile of dust in an abandoned parking lot, wiping blood from my face. Malicus and Koal walk into the room, and I vanish. I am thrumming with anger. I resonate with a strange new vigor. I draw the stake from my waistband and stalk up behind Koal, my face deformed by hate.
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Malicus looks where I'd been just a moment ago. “What's with her?”
Koal shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe the usual.”
Koal is confused. I can see it in his body language, hear it in his words, and I grasp this bafflement, shaping it with my mind, scattering cohesive thoughts to the wind, filling him to the brim with questions and too many answers.
Koal's brow wrinkles, he walks a few steps, stops, stares at the wall, turns, walks, and stops again.
Malicus watches him, and I can see the suspicion blooming within. “What are you doing?”
Koal blinks, looks up at him, and says, “Where do we start? We should go to the Archon.”
“Ok, we'll go see the Archon.”
“No. We have to find Elisabet, first. But we need to speak with Stephen. Let's...” Koal's voice trails off.
Malicus steps closer. “What is wrong with you?”
And then Koal's claws rake across Malicus's face, rending flesh to the bone. Enraged further, I slam the stake into Koal's back with all my might, but it only tears the coat. His flesh is too tough. I lack the strength to pierce. Then Koal's claws shoot up through the bottom of my jaw, penetrating my tongue and palate. I throw myself back, sliding off his claws, but he's too fast. His hand slashes out again, and see a huge portion of my throat spin off through the air.
Though my anger could move mountains, my body is too ruined to move anything. I fade from sight, and in despair, force my body to heal. I'm too close to losing my place. Elisabet will come back. But I can do nothing, and perhaps Elisabet can finish the job. Malicus rushes Koal, stake in hand, and I send myself back into the void.
It's getting late, and go to Steven's warehouse to stow Brendan and the Sabbat member. When we get there, we see eight cars parked outside, so we instead go to Sarrasin's warehouse and drag the staked vampires inside. Two hobos are sleeping inside. I drink my fill, then siphon off some blood to feed to Brendan.
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Koal drags the drained men off to the lake and dumps them, and I make myself comfortable for the day.
The next night, I speak with Malicus and Koal about Howard, and how strange it is that he could read Margd's journals. It took me hundreds of years to learn the language, yet in two scant weeks, he was able to understand the salient details of the diaries.
Malicus says I should kill him, but I tell him I don't think that's wise just yet—that he may still be necessary to retrieve the documents.
Neither of us want him to read anything else, though.
I look at Brandon. He continues to heal. His eyelids are mostly grown back, and his chest has closed over. Koal looks at him. “He needs more blood.”
“Brendan can have him once we're through with him,” I say, gesturing to the staked Sabbat member. “I'll take care of it.”
Malicus busies himself with the Sabbat member, torturing and questioning him, but he doesn't know anything other than the destroyed pack he was with. Finally, he shoves him over to me, then leaves with Koal to ready the car.
I drag the staked vampire beside Brendan, and kneel down to begin the blood transfusion.
The blood tastes good.
When I wake the next evening, Koal, as always, is already up and about. I put my suit back on, then wander out into the back yard. Like a perverse Snow White, Koal is surrounded by small birds and animals. I grab a few squirrels and a rabbit, drain them, then let their corpses drop to the ground.
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At a nearby house, I can hear a little girl crying for her lost bunny while her mother consoles her. I look around at the back yard. It is littered with exsanguinated little corpses. “You might want to bury these,” I say.
( Koal grunts assent, then tosses dirt over fur and feather.Collapse )
I have no conception of how long I've been in hell. I may have been here an hour. I may have been here ten years. There's no way I can judge. Like Jonah, I have been swallowed up. Jonah was regurgitated. I shall be, too. I am still afraid, but the fear is useless. It makes an inky cloud of my thoughts. It makes me smaller within this infinity. Other emotions give me clarity. Other emotions make my presence feel larger. Other emotions make infinity feel not so endless.
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Like the need for vengeance. There can be no forgiveness, this time. When I get out of here--and I shall--retribution shall be mine.
I see my betrayer staked before me, eyes open, watching his fate descend upon him. I draw a sharp nail across my wrist, and let some of my blood trickle down his throat. Let him think I wish to make him my thrall. I spread this out over a few nights, just to convince him of it. And each night, I focus on his emotions, using all of my skill to hone them to the sharpness of a razor.
On the third night, I lean down beside him, as though to whisper, and I leisurely chew off one of his beastly ears. I hook open his mouth with one of my fingers and stuff the ear down his murderous, fucking gullet. And then I focus on his pain, purifying and amplifying it. Although his face shows no reaction, I can feel his mind start to give under my concentration. Under my steady gaze, his aura flashes impotent rage, fear, and betrayal.
He is as afraid as I've been. He hurts as much as I do. He feels the jagged edges of a shattered trust, the sharp serpent's tooth of betrayal, just as I do. And then I drink his life's blood. And then I devour his soul.
My vision disappears suddenly, washed over by a tiny wave of pleasure. At first I think it's from my imaginings, but then I'm not so certain. This contentment, this afterglow, it washes in from outside the void.
I ease myself into a state of terror again, but the contentment is still there, splashing across the edges of my fear. I collapse the fear, letting my mind skim over the thoughts of revenge, and the pleasant feeling swells.
It is the joy of killing.
|Subject:||Margd - If Only|
I'm in the void again, just like the time Malicus's voice erupted from the ether and sparked my awareness. But this time, his voice is absent. I am incorporeal, insensate, deprived of sight, of hearing, of touch. I have nothing but my own thoughts. I am alone, and I am very afraid.
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Panic fills my thoughts, spills over, and dissipates into nothingness. Panic will get me nowhere. All I can do is wait and hope. This is what it is to ride in Elisabet's wake. She controls my body now, and has forced me out. When Malicus spoke to me before, he must have cracked something open, woken me up and let oblivion slide in, washing over me. And now I must be stuck this way every time Elisabet returns.
I slow my mind, forcing it into stillness. Then eternity overwhelms me, and my thoughts tumble across one another in a fruitless effort to fill infinity.
A horrible realization dawns. I could have prevented this.
I didn't have to be here.
When Koal force fed me the blood, I could have used it to heal myself, to increase my strength, anything! If I'd thought of this, none of this would have happened. I'd still be there, protecting Malicus, working on righting my many wrongs. What have I done? I am a fool.
This will not happen again. I will not let Elisabet take over again. If I have to starve myself to prevent it, so be it. But what if she doesn't leave, this time? What if I'm trapped in this vastness forever?
I howl and grieve, but no one hears me.
I stand up, brush my clothes off, and stare at Koal appraisingly. He says nothing, and I smirk and begin to walk out of the room.
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“Wait,” says Koal. “Which one are you?”
“( Which one would you have me be?”Collapse )