Even if final confession isn't granted.

“D’you suppose there are such things as ghosts?”

Rucks stopped at the question. He turned to look at the soldier next to him, his eyes jumping from every corner that a shadow lingered in the massive corridor. He was a new, only recently hired and was young as well as naïve. Rucks couldn’t believe they paired an experienced guard like him with a blundering newbie. Still, it was his duty to watch out for any unfamiliar thing or person that crept in the castle.

There was plenty of that, he mused. So many things buzzed around in gossip from the time of the ball to only now. He thought it was odd that the shrike mixed himself up with shady people.

“Why would you ask that?” Rusk asked, rolling his eyes and continued to pace his rounds.

“Didn’t you hear it last night?” Mikar asked, holding tightly to his staff. “There were howls coming from this place. It was a ghost!”

“Nonsense!” Rucks dismissed, slapping the young guard in the back. “There aren’t things like ghosts. It must’ve been a sick dog someone let it.”

“I know what dogs sound like when they’re ill, man. That definitely was not a dog!”

Just then, something fell. Mikar yelped and jumped behind his elder. “There’s a ghost! There’s a ghost!”

“Quiet or you’ll land us both in trouble!” Rucks scolded and stepped down the staircase to see the commotion. Only a broken vase, water and flowers spilling out met at his toes. He peered through the window; the afternoon wind must have blown it over. Timidly he shut the opening and returned to the frightened man cowering under a tapestry.

“It was just the wind, you fool!” He dragged Mikar up. “Come on, let’s have dinner before you cause any more of a spectacle.”

Seryale watched the two climb down stairs as he slipped from the shadows. He looked at the vase that he had made fallen. It was a necessary diversion. He still hadn’t any real strength to become invisible or float above ground. If he had just appeared, questions would arise and despite his persuasiveness, he knew they would bring him to whoever was in charge. The clanking of his crutch and his obstacle of weakness was already holding trouble for him as is.

He waved his hand in a circular motion and the vase came up, its fragments holding place and it returned to its original position displaying its pristine crystal. The water and the flowers soon followed and with that, he continued on his way.

He knew that the summoning had occurred inside the castle but it had taken him all morning to follow the spiritual traces of an altar. He had run into five abandoned temples along the way but he still hadn’t found neither Stryphus or Hisheme. He knew he was in the correct place however seeing down the hall, two large scarlet doors were beckoning him with the symbols of his god. Dragons adorned the arches, a ruby moon gleaming from a mysterious source of light and the etching of fire and demons affirmed that it was the temple entrance. All was silent and the energy flowing from it was strong. It fueled his strength only a little but it was enough to stop him from limping. Still, his cane led him where the windows became distant and less, the light was dimmer and he was consumed in the grey mass.

As he stood before the entrance, he placed his hand on the door to pass through. Instead he drew his hand back quickly and hissed at the burning sensation that had come from the barrier. The summoning residue was still strong, the hate was still there and a shield was put up to prevent any other magic to be committed. Seryale rubbed his hands gingerly and drew them into his cloak, wrapping the fabric around his fingers and palms. He pushed again, the entrance slowly opening from its weight. He paused, drew another breath and heaved again, giving away even more. It was just enough to slip in and he uncovered his hands and slid in.

The first thing that struck him was the stillness of the temple. It was dark with the exception of the opening above him. The red walls and artifacts reflected unto everything in its wake. Black drapes hung on the walls, grey velvet aligning the main altar. He took another step but stopped. Looking at his feet, he saw a body. It was drawn to his attention that there were many of them. The stench of corpse lifted into his nose defining death was very much alive in his presence. He walked over the priests, slightly disgusted at their horrified expressions still clear on their masks. It was clear they weren’t very powerful nor blessed more over; they were acolytes still in training.

A true priest of Stryphus would be gratified to die in the god’s honor. But even so, their calls were in vain.

Seryale continued to take the room in, glancing at everything he could see. He made his way to the altar on the very opposite side of the temple, its black marble causing his eyes to be played tricks on although the shapes on the stands were moving. He stared at the statue of the dragon, its eyes made of golden diamonds, with a fond curiosity. He brought his right hand up, caressing the scales on the statue. Slowly he kneeled and touched its radiant eyes. “Bestow unto to me your sight, my god,” he prayed, bowing his head.

In his mind a flash of light and there he was at the ceremony. He watched transfixed as they brought the babe. He flinched when it was wounded, his pains from the night before returning. The shrike drank. They called. And so his god appeared in cruel demeanor being demanded as a slave. But he wasn’t focusing too much on that as he had already figured the clues out already. He was now looking at the babe who still wept and was the silenced. He wasn’t much of a person who liked children though he wished to have some of his own one day. But innocence inflicted and sacrificed was one of the most mortal sins one could commit, even more so grave when it is one who has been blessed into the world.

Above him was an echo of wings which broke off the connection. Seryale opened his eyes and turned, his eyes now focused on the pool.

There was the silent child, floating, blood drained and eyes still open. His heart pained. Another memory of long ago rushed into his mind remembering when he first met his young love, only to have experience her mother’s death. The look of both his memory and the babe inflicted his emotions. Dropping his cane, he stood and forgetting all his weaknesses, he rushed to the pool. Quickly he undid his cloak, set it aside and stepped into the icy black water, wading through. He took the child into his bosom and climbed out.

He looked down on the fragile pale figure. She was only so new into this world. It was with regret that he wondered of what the life she would’ve lived if it weren’t for the act. Gently he closed her eyes with his palm and wrapped the child into his cloak, the bundle held close to his heart.

He must now find the Hisheme temple.

Taking the steps outside and climbing over the bodies, he prayed silently, his words sharp and whispered. He rocked the still cradle in his arms never looking behind him. The child may have been dead but her soul remained trapped by the curse. If it continued to linger, the soul would become entrapped in the temple, haunting with miserable piety. It must be let free in hopes to be reincarnated into a better, promising life.

“No one is supposed to be in here,” a voice quivered behind him.

Seryale stopped and turned. A hunch shape sitting next to a pillar was trembling. This must be the head priest, he thought, watching intent as it stood up.

“No one is supposed to be in here,” he repeated. “Only the priests and the shrike.”

“As I last recalled, temples are to be welcomed to anyone despite status. It is law of religion,” Seryale muttered, still holding the child to his chest.

“How are you to know?” the man questioned never looking to him. “You are not one of Stryphus yourself. You are corrupted.”

“You have no position to say,” the sorcerer said, never raising his voice. “For you too are in not highest position.”

There was a pause when the priest finally looked up, angered and was about to strike back when he noticed the markings on Seryale’s visible eye. He closed his mouth and faltered back, shaking his head. “Apologies, my lord. A thousand apologies.”

His eyebrow rose. “You will answer to this in the after life, priest. Our god will not fall back on his mercy for what you have done.” Seryale walked away from him, now close to the exit. “Be sure of that and no word will you speak of my appearance. If you do so, I will strike you when it is least expected.”

The priest never responded and Seryale slipped out, the door automatically shutting behind him. Imbecile, he thought. You have angered Stryphus and with that you will pay a thousand pains before death.

And so it was night when he finally reached the Hisheme temple. It was dusty, antique and all the while abandoned. But the moons brightly filled the chamber with light. He looked up into the sky with the child still in his embrace, the stars twinkling and the Hisheme moon brightly in the distance. With the softest grace, he set the child on the altar and took one of the remaining living roses not too far from where he stood. Taking a petal, he placed it on the babe’s forehead and knelt, bowing in position of the utter most reverence that one could show.

He recalled the scriptures that he had been taught. Stryphus and Hisheme were of the most powerful gods and although they conflicted in morality, it was this that they were forbidden lovers. And all through out their reign they still pursue the hope of union. From Stryphus’ love for Hisheme, passion bloomed. Life and death were created from intimacy and so they still desire for each other in the shape of moons. And from Hisheme’s love for Stryphus, mercy rippled. Today their convents are segregated but only the most sacred scarce temples, Stryphus and Hisheme are together. Priests of Stryphus could never marry unless it was for a servant of Hisheme and peace was profound when these individuals were united. It was the same for him.

Seryale opened his eyes, a blinding light filling the open temple. He rose, singing a hymn as a light surrounded the child. He concentrated, his soul quaking in verse as his heart, filled with mysterious intense joy, directed his emotions for the child. The light became intense and his eyes shut in response.

When the light was gone, the blissful atmosphere had subdued, his eyes accepted reality again. His cloak remained but where the child once was, only a bouquet of bright, sweetly fragrant flowers remained.

The Games We've Played Are Now At an End

Seryale watched as she accepted his title sink in, swearing he heard a click in her brain as though it had been processed and stored. He wasn’t too satisfied with the fact his tongue slipped over his otherwise hesitant objections in his mind. His weak state was the cause of the informalities and he knew he would regret it later on. With his right eye twitching for hating what he had just revealed, he took a breath and looked back down on the wet form too anxious and alarmed from what had just happened. He didn’t like the fact she was just staring at him with bewilderment, almost as though she wanted to hear an apology or a comforting term. The long silence was also vexing him at a rate where he felt his temper slowly boiling in his throat. He flexed his fingers.

“Seryale,” she repeated slowly, her gaze now reaching the floor. She understood it but it was obvious from his view she thought it foreign.

She became silent again. He hated that. He hated that pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry? I believe I was trying to converse with someone who was capable of speech and hearing. Clearly I was wrong and have been presented with a mute,” he hissed quickly. He watched her shoulders flinch in his bitter tone.

The girl raised herself and looked him with determination in her eyes. “Why have you saved me? Why have you come?” She had calmed down from the representation only a few moments ago. Her voice cracked somewhat. She was intimidated.

“Do you not think that you are in danger?” he inquired, standing feebly and leaning unto his support. His legs buckled from his weight. “Do you not even question of why you are here?” He slowly paced himself towards the grand window. He stared outside, the moons now in rise in the crisp grey sky. “Do you not question your very existence in this world and what lies for you in the next?”

He turned his head to look at her, she now sitting on the corner of her bed post hanging to his every word. “The gods have put us here for a greater use than to amuse their needs. There is a greater connection where we are all intertwined. Nothing happens by accident. It is fate. It is destiny. And it is of a bigger resolve far complex than even the most advanced will ever understand.”

Seryale limped back towards her. “For why did I bring you up from the dungeons? It was a calling and I am not sure of what the stars will reveal. But it was necessary to follow the instructions intended for this chapter of an eternity.” He stood before her again, staring down with his fingers tightly gripping his clutch. “Believe me when I say that if it was left to me, I would have ignored the call so you may have become forgotten and corrupted of dirt. I would have let you rot and decease where you have belonged.”

The words hurt. She looked away from him, new tears forming but filled with anger. “So, I am just your toy! I am dirt to you?! If anything here that is pathetic in this room it would be you for pulling me down just because you think you are of higher than me!”

Seryale grabbed her chin and pulled it towards him, his face fuming with offense. “You have already meddled with my affairs and those of others!” he spat, his nails digging into her pale skin. “It is you who has helped the murder of what was and you who have displeased the gods!” He clenched her jaw, his heart hurting. “I am higher, far superior and more powerful than you’ll ever be! And if you dare speak to me with that tone to your own savior, then I will have to retreat into violence!”

He shook her face before pushing it away. “You have best be afraid of me, young one.”

She whimpered and held her face, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. She stifled a sob but he felt her courage still fueled on despite the hurt she was given.

“Now, I will continue of what I have begun only if you halt such foolish tears and not interrupt me with a childish voice.” He brushed his bangs out of his right eye. “Do we understand that?”

She nodded.

He waited for her tears to stop despite his temper had just broken seconds before. Even if he was cruel and harsh, Seryale was a gentleman but was cold towards many other women. It took a few minutes where she wiped her eyes, sniffled and was ready to force herself to look up at him showing she was not terrified. If she only knew.

“Tell me,” he intruded, swooping over her sitting form. “Did you see the moons last night?”

“Briefly,” she answered quietly.

“Did you notice that Stryphus was high in the night sky? Higher than it ever was and that it collided with another, causing an eclipse as it shadowed Hisheme?”

“I saw it rise. But not entirely. I was distracted by a servant.”

“Daniel?”

Her eyes widened, shocked. “How do you know?” she asked. But as she blinked, he was gone before her vision and was greeted by warm air breathing down her back. Seryale leaned forward and whispered menacingly, his fingers pushing away her wet tangled hair where his nails scratched into the back of her swan like neck.

“Believe me, little girl, I know what you’ve been up to.”

It sent a chill down her spine, the hairs on her skin standing up at the few words he had murmured. Seryale smirked, scratching even deeper into her neck. She flinched at the thought of what he had seen, what he had heard. He had violated her space and her privacy. He could read the running thoughts in her mind, each filled with shame and embarrassment. “Because I do need something to amuse me as I sit and wait, don’t I?”

She quickened, ready to push him off but he was gone and had somehow managed to sits casually in the lounging chair situated on the foot of her bed. He kept a gaze on her. It was cat-like, evil and yet unusually seductive. Was he not threatening her mere minutes ago? And now what was he up to? Was he seeking a reward? For all that, she would not even dare to go beyond those limits of one whose mood changed rapidly-

“If you think I would be tempted even to touch you lustfully, you are completely wrong.” He yawned, his palm cupping over his mouth. “Even if I was forced to, the thought itself makes me disgusted. I’d rather kill myself.”

“Enough with the games, Seryale!” she managed to shout. Her fingers intertwined with the sheets, fisting and clutching and the silk and velvet. “I asked you a question! Will you get on with it?! Besides, I wouldn’t dream of being lured by you either. I prefer sophisticated men.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sophisticated you say. Know this as I was trying to keep the truth less painful to your deaf little ears. What you think of your precious shrike is in fact juxtaposed to the truth of his masks.”

The curtains flew and closed over the light that was beaming into the large room. Pitch black and cold, his presence enveloped her. Suddenly, a red light appeared in the middle of the room, mist revolving slowly around the orb it had become. She watched transfixed by this magic show but never letting her guard down. From the weak luminosity it had given off, it revealed that her captor was once again gone without a trace.

“Last night the moons had been disarranged where Stryphus was centered. Though it has always been behind and not too far from Hisheme’s shadow, it is usually never held at such a position. Most do not acknowledge the importance of this rotation. Many ignore it. But for the educated and holy, we recognize the sign that the gods have been called.”

The orb flashed and a system of moons came forth, revolving around the room, Seryale in the middle with his back towards the girl. He raised his left arm where the reddest moon waltzed towards his open hand. Gently he motioned it to meet with the ceiling where the rest of the display had disappeared and it was dark again except for the warm glow radiating from the faux moon.

“In the late evening, a summoning occurred.”

The moon became darker and brighter in scarlet, now dripping with liquid.

“In my blood, I felt the burn of what had begun. Someone in this mere radius had issued a ceremony for Stryphus. Simple meditations do not cause an effect to his priests. No, it is only when it is powerful, full of anger and hate that it disrupts the balance.”

A silhouette of a dragon flew over the moon, its growls and cries echoing in the room.

“Even more so, it was shed in innocence where vengeance was demanded. No humility was shown. Though in anger my god was, a strong spiritual chain held him from escaping the mass. He quenched in the glory of all was, the fire in black hearts and listened. Sacrifice was in immediate return and so the war god was pleased.”

The moon became bigger, nearly touching the floor.

“And then it happened.”

A loud roar whisked inside the room causing all objects to trembled. The moon exploded an array of many shades of red floated into mere space. Stelon didn’t know if she was seeing things in reality or in her mind but it disturbed her. There were screams from every corner, flashing images of immaculate white drenched with blood, black clouds forming over the horizon, a heart being torn from its corpse, fire burning structures and wings tearing from the skin among other gruesome unmentionable demonic things. She could feel the pain in each millisecond and it continued, her body quaking in the deep vibrations and pounding in her mind.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it! I can’t take anymore!”

With that the images became gone, the voices were silenced and white light flooded the room. She flinched at the shock from her eyes. Seryale was now standing before the window again, watching the birds and sprites fly past.

“I fear that a curse was summoned last night,” he explained.

“But, by who?”

“Can you think of no other?” he asked, bitterly.

She paused, staring up at him in disbelief from what he was implying. “No. Not Larkin! He would never do such a thing. He is kind and generous and warm and would never-“

“Never kill anyone?”

“Yes.”

He turned his head towards her, but his eyes never leaving the window. “Then can you explain why there is one dead, two more gone and another alone and confused?” There was pain in his voice from a memory forlorn.

She closed her mouth, confused at why he was prodding her with such statements before making her mind and continuing. “But they were all wrong! I admit that she even led me to believe- She never explained why other than-“

“Friendship. And she too relied on you for loyalties but had chosen to betray her.” He leaned his forehead on the glass. “There are far many secrets that we have yet to learn and visions to interpret. And now with a curse at hand, we are all doomed despite thinking we are safe from harm. But it is the opposite of what we expect.”

She stood, reaching slowly for him. “You knew… Miraye?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. “Ms. Stelon?” a voice emitted behind the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. “Ms. Stelon? Are you in there? May we be of service?”

“I warn you of what may come. Do not believe everything he sweetly whispers to you. Do not accept more than what you are in need of from him. Do not become alone only with him in your presence. It is of you fault and ignorance if you choose not to accept the precautions of what I have given you.” Seryale made his way towards the wall he had come from. “If you choose to trust me, I will be here. Otherwise you will be on your own and I will only look down upon you with empathy.”

He pressed his hand against the wall and passed through.

What's life like... bleeding on the floor.

Dawn.

For once it was welcoming to see the moons rise climb slowly across the dark sky. From a sheath of morbid blue that grew into a calmer serious violet, the heavens were beckoning the start of a new day. Laying there while a curtain of pink, orange and red pulled back was the covenant that life was still breathing. The night before where the only thought that remained was the increasing shrieks of death. It was driven to the point of insanity of the voices wailing in the souls of all who had felt it.

Seryale lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes finally managed to close a few hours before. He could see the moons dance in a waltz behind the veil. He could fill the dull warmth that started to fill the room. He could see the light that was distant from across. It was numbing. He was still dizzy and everything around him, below him and above him was unstable like the waves of oceans so vast and deep. He was still feeling the after math in a state between consciousness and sleep. He felt drained.

It took him several moments to force himself to see the day. Even so, his grey eyes dilated in shock from the light that sent a wave of pain that throbbed within his mind. He twitched his fingers, trying to curl them in a fist but that too was a task within him. His body had seemed to forget how to function just from minutes of panic.

But what had caused it?

He stared at the ceiling above. There must’ve been a ceremony, a calling to his god. But something that would fill his blood in venom was that of the intention. It was cruel, selfish and poisoned. Stryphus was called in a powerful curse to kill. He felt it. He felt that power and hate. He felt those eyes burn into white skin, their lips brushing against warm and innocent life. He felt the pain throb in service of bitter revenge. And he could taste the horrible after taste of sin. Only the foolish and the most monstrous would call Stryphus to do such a biddy. And now he would feel the connection of all when each curse is rooted.

He felt something more. But still was unsure of whether it was real or not.

Seryale turned his head, his neck cracking. He looked at his wrist blazed with a holy stigma. It had been humming his veins the whole night, spreading to both of his arms and down his back. There left was a fresh scar encrusted with dried blood. In turn they would clear up in a week or so. The small stings within his skin would remain until the curses were done.

Slowly he rose, turning his body unto his chest where he pushed himself up with his arms. His body in response trembled as he tried to stand up. He heaved with a deep breath but fell. He tried and tried, coughing, gasping for air but with each attempt left him weaker. Finally he dragged himself to the foot of his bed and carried himself up, leaning on the mattress. The option of resting was no matter. There was work to be done. With another take of air, he stood, his knees buckling under his own weight. He could feel the healed wounds while his bones and organs still ached from the restless failed flight of his structure.

He turned his head to look out the window. It was full day now.

“Hisheme, help me,” he breathed as his body shook again. “Stryphus, have mercy. Please give me some strength to carry out the tasks endowed in your graces.” He feebly crossed his arms across his chest, bowing his head before the sky. Closing his eyes and ignoring the shocks he whispered incantations in humility and adoration. In seconds he could feel his strength returning. Though not great, it stopped his body from quivering. The nauseous squeeze inside was cast aside and his great migraine turned into a fading ache.

He crossed the room and assembled a temporary crutch out of air. Despite the ability to walk himself, his shins still became stressed as a side effect and the heels of his feet stung with each pressure. He would have to return later to clean up the large bloodstains left on both floor and roof. He was glad he didn’t have to see it happen or the torture would’ve been even more monstrous.

And so he limped on his crutch, walking through walls into each room and catching a glimpse of the people who occupied it without being noticed. Some were still asleep, others only awaking and then the rest were doing their morning routines. Maybe after this commute he’ll walk to the kitchen and take a few rolls and cheese. He was hungry after all.

After the tedious journey to his desired destination, he stopped before crossing any further. She wasn’t in her bed. In fact, it was as though she just came out from the evidence of rustled covers and spreads. Even the pillows still had an imprint of her form. He looked over to the connected, closed door. The splashes of water meant she was in there, taking a bath. The only question now is whether to wait or barge in now. It’s not like he was hesitant to see her naked. He saw it before. He did watch her from the shadows each morning to see if the girl had been moved, hurt or such. There was not much to see. She was shaped nicely though it didn’t cope to his standards or arousal.

The problem is that whether or snot she’d be willing to talk, to listen. And she’d see her nude nevertheless if he waited or not. He was also vulnerable if she threw anything at him. But he figured his chances were better if he just walked in since there weren’t a lot of sharp objects in a bathroom setting.

Seryale sighed and passed through, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror with a pale, sickly version of him staring back. Immediately the moisture of warm steam hit him fogging up his vision for a brief moment. He blinked and looked up, Stelon’s back to him as she washed her arms.

“We need to talk,” he interrupted.

There's no connection to myself.

“So, you plan on telling that man everything?” Seryale asked smoothly, his eye shining from the few light that had reached him. He saw her whirl around only to face the shadows in the room. “After everything I’ve done to get you here, you plan on turning in your rescuer. What a foolish girl you are.”

Stelon stood from her chair and took a few steps back, her grasp never leaving her throne. “Show yourself,” she called, weary and confused if she should trust this familiar voice. “Show yourself or I’ll…”

“You’ll scream? Last time you tried that, I silenced you.” The man stepped into the light. His expression was drawn into something between anger and of caution. “What does it take for me to gain some of your trust? I’ve already done enough as to save you from those dungeons. I saved you from a crypt filled with hungry, lonely men who’d do anything for a good ride. Away from possible starvation and sleepless nights, afraid of unknown fates that lay before you.” Seryale shook his head and stepped closer to Stelon. “And after all this, the karma you repay me is indeed most shameful.”

“How can I give you my trust when you appear quite suddenly without any warning?” she hissed, stepping back a few steps away from him as he drew nearer and nearer. Her mind started to swarm with thoughts of the possible. The pessimistic ideas out won the positive. Seryale only smiled softly at her but his eye glowed with danger from her perspective.

“Lady Stelon, you believe I would be so desperate as to pin you down and rape you?” He drew out his hand and took her chin, tilting her face so her eyes would meet up to his. “Or that I would kill you and the shrike as well?” She tried to look away but he held her face firmly. “Believe me, I am not such a man who would commit such crimes to you. But if you do make a move that reads as a possible threat to everything in this world, I will deliver such punishments more unbearable than death itself.”

Seryale let go of her and gave Stelon a serious look to make it more convincing. “There are others from the outside that are trusting the secrets you bear within your lips.” He turned his back and started back to where he was hiding. “If I were you, I wouldn’t make another foot closer to the shrike. You’ll regret it if you commence.”

“Wait!” she called but it was too late.
He disappeared yet again before muttering the word ‘bitch’ from his mouth.

I Care Not For Her.

“Now, Stelon, Lady Stelon, tell me what is wrong,” he mimicked in a shrill voice making a face as he crept behind a bush near the shrike and the girl. “Tell me what’s wrong my ass. The little bitch’s gonna get it sooner than you know it. ‘Oh, but I love him!’ Funny how that word is so over used these days.” Seryale peeked through a path between the twigs to watch them sit down. He turned his back to them opening the basket and picking out a cannoli. Silently he ate slowly, zoning out from whatever was going on behind them. All he wanted was a nice peaceful breakfast to himself but he just had to run across that stupid girl and her beloved pedophile. Seryale rolled his eyes and picked up a second pastry. His thoughts wandered from one subject to another and he was getting full of the sweets and was getting terribly thirsty. He looked before him and remembered that there was a table that had some sort of beverage. He might as well give it a look.

He hid the basket under the bush as quiet as he could as not to draw attention to himself and crawled near the table where the servants were cleaning up. The boy Daniel was still there looking quite ashamed, his hands picking up the silver ware, taking as long as he wanted. The others were minding their own business in a quiet precision. Overall the whole thing was boring to watch. He looked around and saw the pitcher or apple juice and opted to take that.

…Except Seryale was feeling a tad mischievous at the same time. He smirked and moved in closer.


Aplico was a tall man with long fingers who was suitable to carry many things at once. He was putting away the fine china when he heard a crunch behind him. He turned and saw nothing but the trees and bushes nearby. It was probably a squirrel, he thought and shrugged it off, preparing to put the china in bins and move them back in the castle. But as he was doing so he heard a louder crunch and looked up. There was nothing that could have made the noise and he turned around. However he stopped again and noticed the floating knife. He opened his mouth to say something when a bagel flew in his mouth and an unknown force behind him pulled up his underwear and clamped it over his eyes. Needless to say Aplico fell over.

The others noticed and were on their way to huddle around Aplico when some of the china danced in midair and crashed together, their shards chasing some of the servants around. The women screamed while the men tried to shield them off. Poor Daniel stood there alone and confused. There was food flying all over the place and silver ware drumming along one of the chef’s heads. Some ducked under the table before being attacked by gliding pieces of meat and being slapped by them. The ground became slippery and one by one the servants slipped. They started to swear and plead the gods to make it stop. Others were horrified that a poltergeist was let loose from the other side and was there to make them loose their jobs.

A woman shrieked for something groped her breasts and pulled her skirt up while a man nearby was hung upside down. Another was kicked in his groin and he toppled over. Clothes were lost, bruises were made and humility was a bound. The attack continued until they finally ran to the castle, screaming in terror. Seryale waved his arm and burst into laughter, holding his flat stomach and falling to the ground. He didn’t care if anyone saw him there. It was all too amusing to mess with these creatures known as mortals. After his laughter subsided, he poured himself a cup of apple juice. When he drank all of it he flexed his fingers and everything that was sent into chaos repaired itself and set back into proper place looking as though nothing ever happened. He brushed off some stray hair and turned back to his basket of cannolis to continue eavesdropping and mocking.

Like a coy tale.

From the first crack of dawn, Seryale had been up. He took the liberty of staying in a spare guest room after he located the servant quarters. He was about to barge in but thought it best that the boy get his sleep and do his duties first. Seryale would just have to catch him in an auspicious time as to not weigh him down.

So he wandered back upstairs and observed the noises that came from each room. Finally he reached a chamber that was dead silent. He cracked the door open slowly and peeked in before entering. Locking it and marking a spell upon the handles, no one would hear him and no one would have any access to it what so ever. The door had now disappeared from the outside. He didn’t want mortals sneaking in after all.

The lights dimmed on instantly and he found himself lavished in scarlet velvet and silk adorned all around. But he wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. So he headed to his right and stumbled in a huge bathroom where he stripped off his clothes and took a long hot shower with his eyes closed most of the time.

After drying himself he dragged his feet to the huge bed and crawled under the velvet covers. It was light’s out for Seryale after a long day.

When the other moons began to appear in the sky, Seryale slowly opened his eyes. It was dark in the chamber and the curtains shielded the rays of the moons from ever coming in. But it was by instinct that confirmed that a new day had begun. He closed his eyes again and turned on his side, burying himself deeper into the layers of covers. There was that gap inside of him that would creep away everyday he woke up. It was an empty feeling that he was still not accustomed to. He sighed heavily and finally sat up, drawing back the thick curtains and gazing into the sky. The rain had finally stopped and everything was wet in dew. He recognized the Hisheme moon waltzing across the sky before him as though greeting him with a Good Morning.

Seryale peered down from the window and leaned against the cold glass, crossing his arms. The servants were also awake scurrying and out with objects enfolded in their arms. It was yet another busy day for them. A life of a slave was always stressful and he thanked the gods he was never born into such a bloodline.

After watching the moons climb up he finally turned his back on the window and headed towards the bathroom again where he took another long shower. Not in the mood to dress in his same garments he prodded around the shelves and cabinets and closets until he found a casual black tuxedo. In another cabinet he found a silk white blouse and decided those would do for the day. So he groomed and dressed and was finally ready to go out and stalk once again.

He found himself outside carrying quite a number of cannolis in a basket when he had to stop and withdraw. There was Stelon eating breakfast with that good for nothing pretty boy. Seryale sneered. It looked like he would have to do some work after breakfast after all.

“Girl of a bitch,” he muttered.

Peasant Before Thou

“We must be on our way, miss!” one of the maids piped being awaken from a day dream. “We must let the shrike know that you are ready. He surely will be dazzled.”

“Very well then. Thank you for everything.”

Slowly the maids made their way out of the massive doors, each excited by the guest. They chattered and chortled like sparrows during the dawn, bobbing up and down as a replacement for ruffling their feathers. With the last one out, grinning like an idiot, a hand slipped from the shadows pushing the door behind her. It closed with a monotone click. She was still staring out to the window not noticing anything, too dazed to inquire.

Foolish girl.

“I’ve seen better dresses of my time on better women.”

The girl whisked around her, eyes wide at the scene that stranger had appeared out of nowhere before her. She staggered back while he took a step forward.

“As your savior, I’d think it be best to at least show some gratitude towards me,” Seryale drawled, whisking the hood off his face. “Even though you didn’t deserve such mercy. The gods curse you from this moment, Stelon.”

“How- How- HOW did you get in here? I’ll scream! Don’t touch me! I know the Shrike, he’ll do-“

“Oh, shut up.” With that her lips sealed together and no voice sang from her throat, her eyes glaring with fury. “Listen to me. If I were you I wouldn’t put anymore trust into that foul being you call Larkin. But being a foolish child as you are, I doubt you’ll believe me. Ignorant one from what I’ve seen.”

Seryale waved his arm and a chair swept by behind him. He sat and leaned back, analyzing her from head to toe. “I bet the ugliest rock nymph would look better in that. You seriously don’t hold the figure for such elegance if you ask me.”

Her muffled shrieks filled the room.

“I’m guessing you’d wish to speak again? All right then.”

With that he snapped his fingers.

Coffee and sweats

Seryale was eagerly nibbling on a pastry, leaning on a kitchen counter staring out the window. The servants hurried past him not noticing the stranger that was picking off the shrike’s food. The rain set in again. It was weird weather rolling on by. Just a few days ago it was warm and sunny. And out of nowhere a thunder bolt roared in the night sky. The gods were up to something. It was clear from the strange pattern of rain, wind and sun. They were angered, dismayed and in doubt. Something happened that broke all rules of fate itself.

Finishing his second cannoli, he was about to pick out another that waited for him but was interrupted. His ears caught gossiping voices behind him and something inside told him to listen. He grabbed the pastry and bit off a piece, eyes concentrating.

“The shrike got angered at our poor Daniel. Yelled at the lad and strangled him.”
“How do you know that?”
“I walked past him earlier. Poor boy’s eyes were wide and his neck was marked with finger tips. I swear they must belong to his highness.”
“What do you think he did to anger Larkin?”

The voice lowered a few notches as to prevent others from hearing. Little did they know some one was eavesdropping. And this particular eavesdropper had finished his Italian pastry and was drinking a cup of coffee before them. He strained his listening.

“You remember that damsel that the shrike was dancing with last night? Before the… massacre?”
“Yes. The girl with black hair. Quite pretty that one was.”
“Well, she’s here. Larkin set her into a guest room and Daniel was the one to see to her to it. Except, from what I heard, he talked to her and that is forbidden.”
“Well, that was foolish for him to do.”
“But she was the one who started to open her mouth to him.”
“Ah. I see now. Poor Daniel. Must be traumatized…”

Seryale set down the cup of coffee and washed off his hands and lips after the servants finished passing news to each other. As he dried his hands on a towel he caught a bright idea. This Daniel may be of use to him.

He set out again and proceeded climbing back up the stairs to find where the servant quarters were.

Those pastries were delicious, he thought to himself. I must get another later on.

Linger on you

Seryale’s eyes were dull and half opened. He was still staring out the same window, but after the minutes crawled past, he was getting bored. There really wasn’t a use for him there nor a goal to accomplish. He knew that this wouldn’t impress Miraye in the most part since she was already highly suspicious since that one particular night.

And what was happening in those closed doors? Dare he let his thoughts wander? He doubted that Larkin’s libido returned after a fatal injury. But the man had the fuel of a fox in heat. Seryale shrugged. The shrike and the girl were just conversing, that’s all.

In the distant skies, a dragon flew past the early sun.

The sorcerer leaned back and closed his eyes. He sighed to himself. He didn’t like to wait. He didn’t like to be bored either. He was craving to fly out the window and catch that frail dove in his arms and never let go. But like he thought, he already lost her and finding her again would take a long, tedious process before creeping back into her soul. Oh, Miraye, he thought. Miraye, Miraye, Miraye. The dumb fool was so love sick that this was his only weakness. How his thoughts lingered to her sad, perfect eyes and her melancholy lips with every step he took. How he longed to brush his skin against her dove white flesh as he breathed in the scent of roses in her hair. To kiss those lips once more would be divine…

His eyes snapped open and he clutched his head. His knees were weak and his body ran with tremors. He smiled weakly. He let his defense soar down so immediately. Fool, he called himself. Idiot. Imbecile. You were so open to attack and didn’t notice it.

A fool in love, he sighed.

He felt the familiar blood surge that had left his upper body. He shook his head while that soft smile lingered on his young face as he gazed down. And with love comes lust, after all. But that was what brought you here in the first place.

And with a sudden swish of his hand, he remained silent in both whispers and thoughts.

“I’m hungry, come to think of it,” he told himself after he broke his own long silence. Seryale’s robes flapped with his turn and he slid down the hallway before climbing down the elegant pathway of stairs.

Carefree eyes

The echo of a heavy door slamming open made its way through out the halls. Managing to pant, Seryale leaned on it while looking around. Transforming into a huge creature wasn’t exactly easy. He only used it when time was limited and he faced real danger. But just for that day, it was to save time. It drained a lot of his energy, so his powers had limited until he regained strength after he slept. He was only allowed to do small spells now. The girl was nowhere in sight and the only trace of her was her dirt stricken footsteps. He didn’t expect her to wait for him anyways. He thought her as stupid. He just wondered why Miraye was so accepting of such friends in the first place. No matter.

He was about to take a step forward when he remembered he had just been in bloodshed. He flicked his fingers up and the bloodstains vaporized and disappeared. Taking his cloak in his hands, he fastened it back around his shoulders but didn’t bother to place his hood back on. It was hot under the heavy velvet that touched his face and he wanted to cool off. He only realized that the two guards from earlier weren’t there anymore. They probably went off to consult the shrike or ran off when they heard the shrieks that had occurred earlier. Seryale pushed the door and it closed with a small click.

The sorcerer walked over the muddy footsteps and the tips of his cloak dusted the specks off to leave no evidence. He didn’t want everyone to find out so soon. It would take some time before they discovered that both guard and prisoners had met their deaths in the dungeons. He chuckled to himself thinking of the outcome. He wondered if the shrike was to have a field day. But that would be out of character in a way. Speaking of which, he thought, the girl must be with him right now. He knew too well of what was going to happen in the following moments that lay ahead. He shook his head. It added to his dislike to her.

But what to do until then? He still had to watch over Stelon no matter the case. His plans for her were yet unknown but he was certain to reunite her with Miraye, who wouldn’t accept her back too easily, and Tic. There were some options. Work as another guard in the shrike’s castle without anyone acting suspicious around him or questioning his whereabouts. He didn’t like the idea and snuffed as he continued down the hall. He could also work as a servant boy, but Larkin would probably pick him out and try to commit acts upon him. He didn’t want that chance, either. He’ll be with Stelon the whole time without her noticing, lurking in the shadows and watching her. There was much to do still and events were about to stir before the gods.

His tedious footsteps faintly echoed. He smelt decaying blood and followed where it lead, taking his time. It was at the same time another being crossed his paths. He was heading the direction where Seryale had just come from. It surprised him that the being didn’t stop and question of his authority. He felt security was weak as is and since he invaded the system, it added to his pride. A small smile creaked upon the sorcerer’s lips.

Seryale reached the door where the smell of blood was coming from. He put his ear against the door and recognized the different breaths taken by each individual. Larkin was inside. Stelon was somewhere, not too far behind. He felt no need to keep moving. He walked past the door and leaned against the wall with no care in the world. His thoughts faded back to Miraye as he stared out the window, the clouds floating past and the moons beaming with light.

Bored like a lion.

It was just like a song in his ears that beat with the rhythm of his heart.

The lunged.
He darted.
They swung.
He slipped.
They punched.
He twirled.

One right after another. As soon as Stelon frantically climbed the stairs like Cinderella, another guard had threatened him. Seryale started this dance by annoying all of them. He said insults, chuckled offensive jokes and poked remarks at every one of them. He just stood there with his arms folded, smiling, enjoying their expressions. He taught Miraye this as well. It made the battle even more challenging sometimes and fun. Bully first; get them to respond and kill. That’s how it went and that’s how the two fought. They would be synchronized after enduring training and rewards of innocent kisses.

Seryale was slipping back into the past as he kept talking and talking without even noticing it. That’s when the second guard flew, hollering at the sorcerer to shut up. He held a machete as big as his muscled arm and was ready to strike when Seryale stopped talking and looked at him. The guard froze in mid air, dumbfounded and trying to run. The sorcerer swung out his arm and the guard fell back and toppled the guards behind him.

“I find it incredibly RUDE when I’m interrupted while I share my thoughts!” he yelled and he waved his arm above his head and gashed it in the air. The guards were swept with a gush of violent wind and some of them hit the cells behind them. The prisoners clambered into the farthest corners of their jails. Seryale cracked his knuckles and rolled around his head, his neck making the same cracking noise. He unknotted his cloak and threw it behind him revealing his black clothes. They were still robes nonetheless, by his cloak would have gotten in the way if a fight emerged.

The guards looked at each other and they all stood up, thrusting at him with their weapons. Seryale licked his lips and turned his back at them, holding out both his palms, encircling his arms into one. He raised them over his head and an orange light erupted from his nails. He turned around and had long sharp nails that flickered like flames. He ran towards them and roared, slashing his hands at them; Deep cuts were made on their skin through their armor. They cried in pain and blood gushed profusely. Staggering, they ran again, in anger with their weapons near his arms.

Seryale clapped his hands together and the nails submerged between his palms and formed into a sword. Right when a spiked boulder was about to hit his face, he blocked it with the sword and it cut in half. He quickly moved his arms and struck the artificial blade into the neck of the guard. He fell and Seryale jumped over him, kicking the one behind him and giving him the same fate as his colleague. Seryale spun and landed on one of his arms while he kicked two more. He lunged at them again and drove them to their deaths while the blood rained on him.

“This is getting boring, gentlemen!” He exclaimed and heeled back to his feet and the sword disappeared. “What’s next? I used claws and a sword.” He looked around at them. “Oh yes. That.”

The orange light came back again and assembled into razor stars. The guards kept moving and he jumped above them, throwing his arms out and the weapons soared and landed between their eyes and necks. Once that set was done, he stepped back on the floor and saw another batch of angry guards coming towards him. Seryale rolled his eyes. “Honestly, now, I don’t have all day!”

He looked to the ceiling and cried the name of Stryphus that it echoed through the hull dungeon. Another light took him, this one blinding white. The guards shielded their eyes and when they opened them up again, the light dimmed slightly. But out came a massive claw and a massive dragon appeared before their eyes. Slowly it climbed out of the white portal, growling and gnashing its sharp teeth, smoke fuming from its nostrils. The eyes were of Seryale’s, its left socket was closed and the same recognizable blue markings around its eyes made them know it was the same sorcerer. For what seemed an eternity, they stared at each other, the deep gray jewels of its eyes showing them of what awaited them in the after life. And then, after the slow seconds went, it opened its jaws and blue fire flooded the halls while they screamed in unison.

Seryale blinked and returned back to his normal form as the white glow faded. He shook his head. The burnt corpses lay before him; their mouths wide open in terror. “It just had to be done.”

And with that, he turned and sprinted up the stairs.

A violent scream of wind.

Gently he took her hand, restraining from dragging her into the wall. He was quite annoyed deep inside. He would rather take Miraye back into the sunlight than the girl who betrayed their quest. But he continued to give her a warm look while she crawled out of the cell. Her dress was torn and he saw her skin tattered in filth. It was revealing all the least and it caused a surge of deep loathing in him. He felt like hitting her for so many reasons, both understandable and not. It was hard to him to keep himself in control. How would he keep her trust? What if Miraye found out? Yes, he knew she was alive. She heard her call the night before. It was nearly dawn now and she’d know what had happened. They were connected in a strange way. He looked down at Stelon. If it weren’t for the fact that Miraye knew her, she would have killed her.

Seryale locked the cell bars behind her. Once again he noticed her dress.
“No, no… this won’t do,” he muttered holding out his left palm in front of her. He was starting to compare her body to Miraye’s but resisted the thought. He knew what he had done before was very wrong and was very sorry to ever do so. It made him loose her after all.

Stelon stared at him, unable to fix her face into a confused expression. She heard a weird hiss come from his throat and the threads of her dress repaired immediately. Seryale felt better after not seeing her flesh in revealing place and handed her a cloak similar to his. She took it into his arms and managed to look at him with a questionable face.

“Put that on now if you want to live,” he said, trying to hold back from an insult of how stupid could one be. He turned his head ahead of them and felt the breeze of the cloak being worn. Once Stelon was covered, he took her hand. He muttered those same words again to find her and the compass reappeared. He set foot and dragged her along behind him. Soon, they were sprinting from hall to hall with shrieks of prisoners begging for freedom and mercy. Seryale ignored them even though there was a strange desire to do away with all of them.

“No wonder you people are down here,” he muttered, “You deserve it. If you were my prisoners, you’d all be dead!” They ran up and up. He heard her gasp for breath but merely tugged at her wrist. No way were they going to slow down. Something would occur. He felt it in his veins. Larkin had called for Stelon and Lovely would find out and see the empty cell. Guards would be set on them and they had to hurry. At least she had to hurry. Seryale could’ve disappeared into a cloud of smoke. He would have done that, but she didn’t rank in his class. It could be only performed with certain classes of people. She wasn’t one of them. Only ones of sacred blood were able to vanish from one place to another. If he made her vanish with him, only the half of her would appear. That would cause a stir when they saw a pair of legs running about. But the thought was funny.

“Please, slow down!” she begged.
“Shut up. Keep running.”

That’s when it happened. A loud sound roared through the halls. Lovely found out.
“Gods blasted!” He yelled and stopped. Stelon tripped. The compass was still before them, but if they continued to follow, it would only lead into trouble and longer paths. He closed his eyes and held out his free hand, crossing his middle fingers and uttered another foreign word. The compass turned red and disbursed into red butterflies that surrounded him and the girl. They swirled around them faster and faster when their bodies glowed. The compass formed in front of them, now glowing in green.

“GO!” Seryale bellowed and he picked up his legs and they were running incredibly faster. Sweat was forming on his brow and they were stampeding through each of the hallways. He could hear Stelon panting loudly since the magic was having a negative effect on her. He didn’t care now. He just had to get them out. They sped through the corridors and Seryale was yelling, his lungs swelled. It echoed as a terrifying cry and everyone took a step back when they heard it. This gave them a few more seconds since it intimidated everyone who heard it. It was haunting to say the least and indescribable to imagine.

The red glow was beginning to wear off, but they were almost to the staircase. They were slowing down and he knew the girl’s legs were beginning to ache. Finally, they reached the staircase. “Catch your breath quickly,” he hissed at her without even looking. She gasped for breath and panted, falling to her knees at her exhaustion. Seryale was just sweating but didn’t feel sore or tired. It was the usual for him. He in took a deep inhale and looked behind them.

“Funny, I don’t remember inviting you all to my tea party,” he said, an eyebrow raising at the sight. It was out of nowhere the guards appeared and they too were panting from their chase. The held their weapons in their arms and pointed them at Seryale. The sorcerer smirked and stood in front of them. “I do believe we’re all mad because your shrike has stolen all your women, am I correct?” He folded his arms and took a step forward. They, in response, stepped back. “Why so afraid, gentlemen? I am not as great as I seem.”

“Hand back the prisoner,” one of them answered, “by the order of the shrike!”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then, we’ll fight!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!”
“Really?”
“STOP THAT!”
“Stop what?”

With that, the guard lunged at him while Seryale took a step to the right, the guard missing entirely. “Go up the stairs, girl,” he thought and she heard him back in her mind. She obeyed and didn’t question how it was so he spoke in her mind.

“SHE”S GETTING AWAY!”
“And away she will!” Seryale exclaimed, taking out his hands from his robes. “And you, my friends, will not.”

I'll Give You Mercy

Dungeons, like any other, were all the same and filled with the average stereotypes. They were cold, dark and wet. They smelt of mildew and decay. Next to you may be a skeleton. Perhaps a corpse if you were lucky. Seryale had been in hundred of them. He escaped each time. Living conditions in these places were below average and the melancholy void draped the walls. You were going to die in there, starving and rotting or to be lead to torture and death. That was only the real ways to escape besides breaking out. The gods were the ones behind the blessing if every you were set free. But that just wasn’t the case.

Seryale had appeared before the dungeon doors without a word or a shadow. He didn’t have to travel long. All it took was some ‘pixie dust’.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he accosted casually, gracefully waving his hand. He was in a dark gray cloak and his face was somewhat hidden under it’s hood. He smiled softly and his deep gray eyes that matched his cloak seemed to be black. However, his blue tattoo marks under his eyes seemed to glimmer in illumination with the torches.

The guards stared at him a little dumbfounded. The one to the right scratched his head.
“Um… I don’t remember you a few seconds ago,” said the guard to the left.
“Oh? Well, pardon me, but when I came here, you two were asleep.”
“I don’t remember falling asleep…” mumbled the one to the right. The left guard elbowed him in the ribs. He made a slight sound of pain that resembled an ‘Oof’.
“Believe me, you were. I don’t think I’ll have to report this to the governor, do I? Pity such men of ranks would be fired the next morning.” He trailed off.
The two guards looked at each other. Of course when the visitor said ‘fired’ it meant ‘put to death’. Larkin was known to do away with those who slept on the job. Anything that displeased him would be sent away and be tortured or beheaded.

“What say your business, stranger?”
“The governor sent me to lead one of the prisoners to the court. He wishes to view a beheading.”
The guards looked each other. This wasn’t something Larkin would do. But dare they question the man in the cloak; they would probably end up as the ones who’d loose their heads.
The guard on the left opened the chamber doors. Seryale nodded and entered.

The doors shut behind him while the sorcerer set down the endless pathway of slippery, stone stairs. The echoes of screams bounced off the walls and the shadowy figures loomed while the torches flickered with his sweeping movement. He enjoyed the sounds of pain. He used to torture many and thirsted for their blood. He was drunk off the scent and a small smirk twitched unto his young face. His footsteps were barely heard on these steps for the anguish wails and screams continued.

He finally reached the end of the stairs and met up with another two guards. Again he explained that Larkin wanted to view a beheading and they let him through.

Down the halls we glided, his cloak floating behind him. The continuous sounds of pain echoed through the endless pathways. Larkin’s dungeons were full of endless passages. It was cleverly built like a maze. It took Seryale some adjusting to because he kept reaching a few dead ends.

On his final dead end, he turned and muttered how he was wasting time.
Seryale raised his arm and chanted an incantation while tracing invisible figures with his hand.
“Lead me to the girl.”
The invisible figures shone now as a blue light and directed him as a compass. As he stalked by, many arms were grabbing out for his mercy. They recognized his powers and saw him as a savior. Wails of help, begging of forgiveness continued. He ignored them and smacked a few of their hands away. He didn’t want any of their germs on him for he was much higher. He’d hiss at them and say insulting names, which shut them up along the way.

“Devil!” one of them spat as Seryale journeyed on.

The compass hologram stopped in front of a cell and disappeared into a cloud of smoke, fragrant of jasmine incense. There was a girl, wailing, screaming, and flapping her arms wildly to the window. Like the others she cried for her innocence, she begged forgiveness. Seryale hesitated if this was really her but he recognized he long black hair from many visions he had.

“Stop your wailing, wretched brat.” He placed his hand on the lock and it sprung open. She turned wildly around and stared at him with an indescribable expression. Seryale drew out his hand to her. “I’ve come to set you free.”

Hall of Mirrors

There was a light twittering noise coming from the windowsill. It whistled, it sputtered, it spat and it screamed. But the noises never grew louder by the slightest level. The volume remained kept and under control while a violent wind roared outside. The window had been closed so surely the wind wasn’t causing this noise. In perfect view, the noise was coming from a glowing violet orb floating above an elegant crystal blue vase. The colors swirled and mixed with each noise in response. It was at the twittering phases when the orb glowed with blinding light that spread and touched all the shadows in the cold stone-like castle.

This caught the attention of the occupant of this cold, lonely castle. He ignored the noises at first but the light was great and the violet rays had spread into the darkest chambers. Swiftly he draped over his robes and hurried downstairs where the object sat. He stood before it and squinted at the intense glows that he had to shield his eyes. With a wave of his hand, the lights dimmed and a cloud of smoke encircled him. He inhaled deeply and his eyesight focused.

The smoke wisped and evanesced with each trail it led. Slowly it turned red to the shades of blood and finally into ebony. Something ripped into his chest, through his heart and it was cold. He fell to his knees, coughing black liquid through his fingers. He feared that worse had come and he rose his head and stared directly into the orb.

“Show me,” he snarled quietly.
The orb obeyed at these words and the violet turned into a pale pink. The orb expanded into a size of a great mirror, gold bordering and scarlet draping the edges. Into the glass was a fluid substance that washed over. He saw through the hillsides, the plains, the villages and it stopped in front of a huge castle. It shone with many colors and the rain trampled on its furnish. It floated before the door. He stood up and moved his arm, his hand pushing the invisible barrier. The sight continued into a scattered party and nothing caught him until he saw it. There was red everywhere. They were like rose petals they were clinging in colonies, shining in reflections of the chandelier. It multiplied before his eyes as the mirror led him through the costumed dancers.

He caught sight of the headless corpses. Their blood continued to trickle with drops and gushes out of their necks. Their clothes consisted of the brightest jewels and medals. He was perplexed as to why he was being shown this until…

There she lay, lifeless and her eyes hung low. Her pupils were pale as a dove and her skin the purest of snow. Upon her left breast, her eyes and her scar were the kisses of death. Darkest ebony bled from her and her rose pink hair was absorbing it. He dropped to his knees again, but he was before Miraye’s body. He towered over her corpse and wrapped his arms around her. Gently he kissed her lips and tasted the blood that lingered on her. His heart wailed and tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. He buried his head into her neck and sobbed, rocking her in hopes of she to awaken. Her skin graced his in return and everything around him began to shatter.

He blinked and he was back in the lonely stone castle. His tears ran red just like the blood that once ran in her. He looked up at the mirror again and the vision had blurred and faded out. For moments he stared, choking back his wails when the mirror flashed again. It focused on a pair of violet eyes who were experiencing the same physical pain. It was the Sink boy. He was on his knees and was only surrounded by silence.

Seryale waved his hand over the mirror and it turned back into the floating orb.
“So be it,” he said and stood up, staring out the window. “So be it, indeed.”