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A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Foster Croft

Tags: Rhyme Rhyme Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees Britt-21 Britt-21 Silver- Silver- | Location: Hell ​


Nose twitched as much as his whiskers, scurrying as fast as his little mice feet could go. Fast, but he also had to try and be as quiet as possible. Thing was, Foster was completely lost, he had no clue what lay ahead, behind, or on either side. He just knew he had to stay hidden and keep moving.

Every so often, the mouse would stop and listen. Footsteps were to be avoided, same with voices, and other animal noises. Were those dogs? Ah, fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. He most definitely stayed away from those sounds in particular.

It felt like forever, aimlessly wandering down one stone corridor to another. Hell, they all looked the same, he might have been running in circles for all he knew. But then, a scent, a light in the proverbial darkness, more or less.

The scent of flowers drifted his way, and flowers meant sunshine, and the outdoors, right? Or close to the outdoors perhaps. It could be a greenhouse, but a much greater possibility to stay hidden while Foster figured out his next move. A move that hopefully wouldn't entail his capture or death.

Problem was, the room with the scents had a door, which was closed. Foster rested in a small little hole along the base of one rock wall. Not so much a hole, as a naturally gouged out nook, perfect for his current mouse size. He just had to wait for someone to open the door, and hope he can scurry inside before it closes and smooshes his little mouse body.

Luck must have been on his side, as the wait was only about ten minutes, when footsteps grew closer. They paused at the door, and chanted something quietly, making the door open. Flowers were definitely inside there, but the guy wasn't moving. "Sage? You in here?" There wasn't an answer. "Dumb cow. Dammit. Where is he?"

And then that same chant, Foster knew it was to close the door, had to be. This was the moment. He darted as quick as he could, narrowly missing being stepped on as the guy turned and started to walk away, oblivious to the rodent he just passed.

Foster did a tuck and roll, his tail nearly caught by the rock door as it slid back into place. Couldn't stop there, in case someone was inside. Little paws carried the mouse to a trough of flowers, up and over and into the grass and dirt he hid. This would have to do, while he caught his breath, and got a peek at what else was in the room.

Fuck, he was getting too old for this shit.
coded by natasha.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Razial Hale

Tags: Maylee Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees | Location: Coven HQ​


Razial drank in all the events that followed the unlocking of Maylee's magic. Legs crossed, hands resting on top of one knee, the dark self satisfied smirk never left his face. Even the screaming had been exquisite. The only thing Razial might have changed, would be getting to do this sooner, rather than later.

When the little beast had managed to break the straps holding her down to the table, Razial gave a golf clap, with eyebrows raised. "Good job." He looked absolutely amused when she started ordering him to let Sage go. He had to laugh, it was so cute. "Oh, bless your heart. You think you're in control?"

When she threw herself at him, Razial just grinned wider and wider. He didn't have his position without more than a few protection charms and amulets. One just didn't leave their back open and vulnerable to be stabbed by the second in command.

"Coward? Oh, little doll, no. I'm the smart one you see. Which one of us is hurt, and which one isn't?" He gave a little smarmy chuckle. "That's right. I'm not hurt. But pain is a good look on you." He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward so she could see him clearer from the floor where she writhed about.

"Now, if you want to be one of those who doesn't get hurt, we can teach you all about that magic bottled up inside you for so long." Razial used the index finger of his left hand to make a circle as he said 'all about'. "You're stronger than your mother, but she wasted it. You? Well.." He sat back in his chair, relaxing again. "I'd strongly suggest you don't waste it."

Hands were doing motions again, building up the red lightning along his palms and forearms, chanting softly the same words as before. "Puer receperint ac tenebras." There was just one more lock to release, and all of her magic would finally be free, infused with every fiber of her being. As the red light was pushed toward Maylee's prone form, Razial added, "Waste not, want not."

coded by natasha.
 
Leif Hjalkarssen (Maddox Ward)
Location: WTF
Tags: Out Of Words Out Of Words ​


Leif blinked several times as the door finally splintered underneath the weight of the horde of undead. Enveloped by darkness as he was, after the sudden nightfall, he could barely outline them. It was as if the night was again a sea of mysterious murk he couldn't see through any better than an ordinary human.

He'd have to do something against the corpses now, but there was no time. As quick as he'd entered the scenario, it seemed to move out of sight, giving place to something else like in a bizarre presentation that only got stranger. Why couldn't he see through the darkness? If he was just a human, why was the smell of that blood so strong now, stronger than in the previous scene?

He remembered his parents' home. Not with every detail, but the outline was never fully erased from his memory. It was strange to look at it again after so much time, as if in some sort of time travel, more intense than just a trip down memory lane. Something similar happened when he saw the faces that were also present there to greet him. Faces he hadn't seen in over a millennium, that no matter how hard he'd tried to hold on to, had also become partially erased from his memory. It'd be deeper and more beautiful to say he remembered their faces, clear as day, but it'd also be a lie.

Time had had it's inexorable effect, and over the centuries had brushed off the features of those still familiar faces to a blur. A ghastly realization at first, that'd later settled within him, accepted like many others. There wasn't a single picture, a single painting of them, and Leif's mind had learned to fill in the gaps every time they'd appear in one of his dreams or memories, a progressively rarer occurrence.

Though now they stood before him, as real as flesh and bone. Or so it seemed, at least. Such a vivid dream he hadn't had in a long while.

He listened to his father's words, though his eyes wouldn't drift away from the little girl for even a second. She was only months old when he last saw her. How long had it been? It was only when she reached out with a tiny hand and her sweet little voice uttered the word 'papa' that he was pulled out of the stupor he'd been in. A smile emerged on his face, bright, of the type that hadn't been seen in a long time, and though he intended to answer her, he realized his throat felt like it was blocked by a knot. Because he felt unable to speak, he rushed towards them, kneeling before Turid and pulling her into his arms.

Her warmth, the scent of her skin, everything was too familiar and made it seem like yesterday was the last time he'd held her in his arms. He held her face between his hands, and he saw Kadlin, though the little girl's nose and hair were his. Kadlin, another wound, though overshadowed by the joy of seeing Turid again. She'd have given anything for the chance to see their daughter at least once. He didn't dwell long on those thoughts, led away from them by the need to plant several kisses on the little girls face then pull her back into an embrace.

He shot his father a brief glance. He'd forgiven him long ago. He'd forgiven him because he, too, was a father, and he knew what parents were capable of doing to save their children. He missed him, too, though he wasn't ready to let go of Turid yet.

What his father was saying didn't make the smallest amount of sense, though. How could the thought of her dying help him get better? Her death had in fact helped him get better, but in a much darker way than what his father was suggesting. The man spoke again, and again Leif wasn't able to say a word in reply.

Pulling away from Turid enough to look at the source of the sound he just heard was painful, but he managed and turned his head to look at the doorway, still holding the child's shoulders. He had no idea what lay within that darkness, yet he knew he had to choose between that and his family. It sounded like an easy enough choice, though it was anything but easy and he couldn't tell why.

Part of him wanted to believe what he was seeing and hearing, but another part of him knew Turid and his father had been dead for a long time. He had 1000 years worth of memories to prove it. Could that be a hallucination? Was he still sick? Was that a different time loop? Countless unanswered questions swirled within his mind, preventing him from much more rational thinking. He let go of Turid and pushed himself up to a stand out of a sudden - if it took too long he might not be able to.

A quick glance was shot to his father and his daughter one more time, and while he wanted to talk to them, to try to make sense of what was happening, he remained silent, the knot in his throat growing to what felt like the size of a tennis ball. He hoped his eyes would be able to convey the message; what message, exactly, he, too, didn't know.

He turned around and slowly stepped towards the open door, and finally the warm tears that'd slowly been pooling up in his eyes overflowed and started to run down his face. What he was seeing was nothing but a well built lie. Yet, it was a beautiful lie. He stared at the void within the doorframe for what felt like forever, and yet the darkness offered no answers but the silence and the sound of one or two quiet sobs coming from himself. He felt the ancient wooden frame with his fingertips, and eventually his hand reached the door itself. He grasped it, as if the action would help him not look back at those he felt were still standing there and watching. A deep breath. It was a beautiful lie. The real world was somewhere else, perhaps beyond that dark doorway, with people that were actually alive and real issues that required solutions. His hand would be shaking had he not grasped the door so tightly, and he slammed it shut before he had time for second thoughts, locking the darkness behind that old wooden door. He was tired, tired of the real world, and a beautiful lie was all his mind needed to rest, however long it was going to last.
 
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A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Morgan Feigh

Tags: Britt-21 Britt-21 Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees Rhyme Rhyme ⬇
Location: Sadland ​


Morgan was doing what he did best, lay low, be as invisible as he could be. Quiet, move slow, keep a slouched posture, don't look anyone in the eye, and people tended to forget he existed. It worked very well when his brother had always been pissed at him. Inconvenienced he called it, and Morgan had learned early on, it was in his best interest to be as invisible to his brother as possible.

It seemed to work, or maybe there was just a lot of other shit going down at the time. He was in the back of his cell, his cuffs were still on, they hadn't been taken off yet. But he had already proven to himself, they didn't fully work, and in a hard pinch, he could likely escape them again.

Truth be told, Morgan was also in shock. Like, they fucking killed Banks. Just up and killed him. And Roje was, he wasn't sure anymore. Not sure of a damn thing, other than it was in his best interests to not call attention to himself. Morgan pressed into the farthest corner of his cell, behind the small privacy screen setup, and that's where he sat. Knees to chest, hands over his ears, only problem was he had two sets of ears. He could still hear, no matter how flat he made his fae cat ears.

He still heard every fucking thing. And in hindsight, life hadn't been so bad locked in his basement. It really hadn't been so bad.
coded by natasha.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Out Of Words

Fine Tuning | Current Timeline: ??? ​

Tags: Clementine @AsherMasher
Location: ???

Lew smiled and clapped her hands with obvious glee when Clementine began to fight back. As for hurting the little things, she shook her head. "Don't worry your head, these pixies can't be made dead. They're pure magic you see, not like you and me." She held out one hand, palm upward as the pixies stayed their training assault for a small show and tell.

One little twinkling light came to land on Lew's palm. She walked over to show Clementine better. It was a small thing, much like one would expect Tinkerbell to look like. "They aren't real here, so you have nothing to fear." In a sudden move, she clapped her hands together, crushing the little pixie between her palms.

When she opened her hands, the flattened light made a small pop of a sound, and the pixie was back as good as new. "This is but a dream to let you train. Everything you see is just in your brain. But you mustn't let the secret out, or your compliance they will start to doubt."

The pixie flew off and Lew waved one hand around, showcasing the glade. "This was all made for you, by me, Lew. The time will come, when your training is done." She drew her head close to whisper to Clementine. "Then you're going to help wake up everyone. Until then, have fun."

Lew started to draw away so she could sit and observe Clementine again. The little pixies were getting into position to give it another go. "Train hard, learn well. Soon you'll give the Coven hell." She grinned wide, and with another signal, the pixies began a new round of training.

coded by natasha.
 


(Spoilered flashback/dream sequence I got carried away with please forgive my sins)
Waste not, want not.

The words were ringing in her head as she crept cautiously toward the pallet bed at the corner of their little cabin and peeled it up by the corner. Mama was not home, now, and she shouldn't be until after dusk—this hunt she had gone out on was a job, not a mere subsistence run, and so that meant whatever creature she was bravely facing down was stronger and more fearsome than the wild game she hauled in for their supper.

Mama was not home, but little Maylee still tread with caution as she pulled out a little wooden box from under the bed and examined its straw-lined contents. The rabbit she had found in the bushes behind their cabin was still curled up inside, its body taut and trembling from the sudden disturbance, its right hind leg still fastened to the twig Maylee had fashioned into a makeshift splint.

"It's okay, little one," she cooed gently but a little nervously. "I brought some food."

She slowly and deliberately moved her hand into the box before she loosened her fist, releasing a pinch of sliced carrots she had pilfered from the stock in the cellar. Carrots that were meant for them to eat, not the woodland creatures, but... Mama wouldn't notice a few missing carrots, would she?

Waste not, want not.

She would. Maylee's shoulders were hunched up, her fists clinging timorously to her skirt as Mama towered icily over her.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, blinking furiously in an attempt to dispel any tears. "I was... I was hungry. And I thought we had extra..."

She bit her tongue to stifle a yelp when Mama's callused hand lashed out and gripped her by the chin, tilting it forcibly up and trapping Maylee in her stony, impassive gaze. Up close, like this, her face seemed impossibly huge, round like a full moon, and it hovered so, larger-than-life in all of her frightened visions of anticipated punishments. Well, she need anticipate no longer.

"I thought we'd agreed not to tell lies," Mama said fiercely, and then she dropped Maylee's chin and turned her back and picked up a wooden box before slamming it onto the table.

Maylee felt her insides shrink with dismay. The rabbit was thrashing about inside, its paws scrabbling feverishly at the cardboard walls she had inadvertently trapped it in.

For a moment, her mouth felt useless and dry; when the pleas came, they tumbled out in a mess: "I'm sorry, Mama, I'm sorry, I just, I found it in the yard, and its leg was hurt, and—and—I thought maybe I could just—help its leg get better, and—I'll let it go as soon as it's better—"

Mama didn't need to speak to cut her off; the withering glare was enough.

"I'm sorry," Maylee mumbled feebly.

"The stock in the cellar is for us to eat. For you to eat. Extra? There is no extra. Everything we don't need today, we'll need tomorrow."

Maylee's eyes burned. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Mama sighed deeply. "There is no charity. Only waste. That rabbit—it's done for. Even if it got better, once you've released it, it's all over. You've taught it to expect food. Food the wilderness won't hand out so easily."

She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose in a way that suggested pain. Then she crossed the kitchen and opened a cupboard and pulled a knife from the set she kept on its highest shelf.

Panic blared within Maylee. "Mama? What are you doing, Mama?"

Mama held the knife expertly and as nonchalantly as one might wield a toothbrush. "Mercy. I guarantee you this will be much swifter and more painless than whatever hunter's jaws it wanders into."

Frantically, Maylee launched herself at Mama, her hands clutching the woman's wrist, her lips a Niagara of litanies. "No, no, please, Mama, I promise, I'll let it go, just let me let it go, don't hurt it, I—"

An electric shock of pain erupted across her cheek as Mama raised a palm and struck her, and Maylee turned her face away and clamped a hand over her stinging cheek and blinked and blinked and blinked.

"Stop blubbering," Mama snapped. "Look me in the eye."

Reluctantly, she did.

"The world is not kind. If you keep refusing to learn, it'll chew you up and spit you out just like that rabbit." Strangely, Mama's eyes shone as if with tears, and, though Maylee couldn't be sure, she thoughts she caught a glimpse of her hands trembling. "But you're right about one thing. I'll give you that. I shouldn't be the one to end the rabbit's suffering."

She took Maylee firmly by the wrist, and something cold and dreadful slithered in Maylee's gut as a cold length of steel was pressed into her hand.

"You should."
She awoke with a hoarse cry and immediately lurched forward, expecting a fresh binding of restraints to snap her once again to the table's surface. Instead, Maylee found herself sitting upright on a plush, comfortable surface—not the stiff table she had previously awoken upon. She stiffened at once, hands clenching into fists, feet ready to kick out furiously the moment her gaze landed on Razial, but as her dazed, pulsing eyes swiveled around the room, she could make out nothing save for the shapes of unfamiliar furniture.

"Sage?" she called out tentatively, her voice gravel in sound form, but there came no reply.

Alone again. One way or another, I always end up alone.

The memory of pain came rushing back to her, and Maylee anxiously thrust her arms out in front of her for examination, but the strange, painful bands of glowing red skin had faded. Her body still ached, but compared to the excruciating sensation that had gripped her beneath Razial's scornful gaze, this pain was a mere phantom, a suggestion.

Her body taken stock of, Maylee cast another discerning look around the room—a door, closed; a little bathroom off to the left of the bed; an ancient-looking armoire and a table piled with what looked to be an assortment of fruits and cheeses. A sudden pang of savage hunger shuddered through her, and Maylee swung her legs over the side of the bed—she was still clad in that eerie little hospital gown, she noted—and rushed to the table, reaching for a plump wedge of cheese before something else occurred to her and stayed her hand.

Don't. It could be poisoned.

Slowly, Maylee lowered her hand and turned her eyes to the door before clenching her fists and striding briskly over. A violent tug told her it was locked—as expected, to be sure—but she continued to pull at it in vain for a few moments until she began to pound her fists against the door in impotent frustration, a growl escaping through her teeth. Helpless. Doomed. As useless as ever.

No. Not anymore. Maylee shook her head brusquely, swiping her fists across eyes that had grown watery from fatigue and frustration. She took a few long strides back, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath as she sized up the door. If it would not open, she would make it.

But as she sprinted in her bare feet toward the door and threw all of her weight against it, Maylee was sent reeling back in an immoderate blast she recognized to be magic by the time she landed on the floor, head spinning. Teeth gritted, she pounded her fists feebly on the floor. Not strong enough. Never strong enough.

With a morose weight in her chest, Maylee lifted herself to a sitting position and slouched wearily, and then she noticed that the force of whatever magic ward had sent her flying back had torn her gown. A bitter laugh hissed through her teeth as she lifted her head level with the huge, stately armoire. What a gracious host you are, Razial.

In a huff, Maylee hoisted herself to her feet and approached the armoire, expecting to haul its heavy panels open to reveal a line of identical, pristine hospital gowns, or perhaps nothing at all. A note, maybe. Silly girl, you really thought I wanted you to be comfortable?

What she did not expect was what she saw. In fact, a lineup of elegant, well-tailored dresses was perhaps the last thing she could have suspected.

Maylee's limbs felt cold and reluctant; she had to forcefully lash an arm out to grab a fistful of fabric and, bewildered, drag a discordantly lovely garment from the closet. A tight bodice fanned out into a long, ethereal skirt; stitched from white gossamer and inlaid with intricate floral embroidery, it was so delicate as to be near-translucent. A garment befitting a princess, not a prisoner.

Dread clawed deeply within her. She felt watched, played with, laughed at. Everything in the room felt eerily, deliberately placed, staged with the sweet artificiality of a dollhouse. A gilded cage completed by the beautiful grotesquerie of the sort of garb she used to dream of wearing while chasséing into happily-ever-after. Perhaps she was safe within these walls, but she was no less doomed from whatever inevitability awaited outside. A rabbit in a box waiting for the knife to descend on her throat.

maylee song.

hunter | werewolf

 
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Roje started screaming her protests immediately after the words left Indy's mouth, but her eyes stayed cemented on Key's cold expression.

There is a point, standing in the tides of insanity, that choices must be made. Really, nothing could change her mind on the point of this manifestation of Hell; yet, as her fingers gripped cool steel and she licked the cracked, dry skin lining her lips, Indy could quickly feeling her feet sinking into the proverbial sand. The question now, as Key's cold stare brought the waves higher around her ankles, was whether to jump into the waters or back further and further away into her unconsciousness in the attempt to outlast the inevitable final wave that would swallow her out to sea.

Fuck it. If the Devil wanted to dance, she would waltz.

So Indy ignored Roje's warnings. She watched, vision split by the bars as her new-found sister was shoved away in another cell. She focused on the demon as he pulled Banks away from a pleading Winnie, memorized the lines of a man confronted with the consequences of morality as Banks resigned himself to his fate.

She listened, as Roje's pleading to look away--her condemnations for Coda--fell on deaf ears.

Seeing a man's face smashed in wasn't like the movies. Blood didn't fly out in fanned displays that splattered the walls in any dramatic display. Instead, the crunching of bones was followed only by an increasing pool of dark blood that quickly swallowed any familiar features on Bank's face, leaving only a wet mess that barely resembled humanity.

Watching a man's head explode was one thing, but watching another man be practically devoured within the same week? Frankly, it was overkill.

Winnie though--her desperate pleading, her sobbing, oh fuck. Indy could feel her chest compress with empathy for the sweet girl, her hands dropping in mourning as previous promises to orchestrate Key's demise replayed on a steady track within her mind. But then he could be saved? By Winnie? Is that how vampires are made? Do you have to kill them first? Jesus, I wish someone would just give me a fucking Supernatural Bullshit Dictionary.

There was no time to think about her ignorance. As quickly as it had started it was over, Banks was tossed inside the same room as Winnie and left to his fate as Key and Coda left the room, leaving Indy to stare at the walls.

She couldn't sink into the sand.

She had to think.

If Foster saw that shit, he'd go fucking comatose for a year. She needed to get out, if for no other reason than to squash the absolute shit out of that coward and scrape him off her boot to feed the rats. But as she admired the walls, she realized--Foster had never removed his cuffs. Neither had the kid.

Staring at the cuffs on her wrists, Indy pursed her lips. She flexed her hands reflexively, admiring the sheen of her claws under the dim light. There was a million ways this could go wrong, she knew better than most. Was being trapped as a cat, however, any worse than being trapped as a human in a literal cell? Even that thought may be putting the cart fully before the horse, she wasn't even sure she could shift. Yet, if she could, she could sneak away--she could join one of the others, join Roje, break Winnie out--drag Bank's corpse out by his fucking heels if they needed to.

What the fuck am I even thinking; this is Hell, what does it matter if they escape with me?

Still, Indy found herself curled against the back of her cell, breathing deeply as she stared at the gap between the bars. She had certainly snuck through smaller gaps in her time, and God knows she had done anything but gain weight during this experience. Shutting her eyes, she allowed her mind to empty--feeling the weight of her thoughts as their chaotic spinning turned into rhythmic drumming that drove waves down her spine. The feeling of a slow motor winding her body, tightening her muscles and bundling her nerves as a familiar heat washed over her skin. Slowly, she could feel her skin stretch and tug against loosening bones.

It was working.

When Indy reopened her eyes she was greeted with the familiar overwhelming sensations that never failed to shock her every time she shifted, though this time it was accompanied by an overwhelming sense of glee that drew her fur on end and sent her tail straight to the sky. It was going to fucking work.

Rearing back, Indy waved her tail once, decisively with glee as she crouched low, eyeing the gap between the bars and imagining Key's expression on the other side, as she launched straight out of her cell into his awaiting face. The metal collar and cuffs lying among her paws scraped against the floor and jangled as she shot forward, eyes wide and bright.

Until she slammed into an invisible force, knocking her back and skidding her against the hard floor into the wall.

What?!

Indy stood back up, shaking herself off and running her tongue anxiously over the fur on her chest as her mind reeled. What? What?!

Once again, this time slower she paced to the wall and tried to jam her head through the gap in the bars, only to be met again with that invisible force. Furious, Indy let out a vengeful hiss, fire consuming her body as it progressively morphed back to a human state, leaving her naked and crouched in front of the bars as she slammed a hand against the force.

"What the actual goddamn fuck! Fucking Prick." She was seething. "Newsflash, everyone, there's a fucking forcefield on the goddamn bars. Some fuckin' Star Wars bullshit."

She slumped against the bars, knocking her forehead against them twice as the sudden dispersal of elation was replaced by a familiar frustration and anger. When she opened her eyes again, she realized she wasn't even sure the others could hear her--whether this mysterious barrier was also soundproof. Probably. Key is just the kind of pervert to pull that sort of shit.

Just in case, however. "Anyone alive, out there? Hello?!"
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Out Of Words

You've Got a Friend in Me | Current Timeline: May 16th ​

Tags: Silver- Silver-

After someone had stopped by seeking Sage, and a small mouse took the opportunity to dart in and hide in one of the flower troughs, another hour passed. Then the door opened again, and someone entered, or rather, something. The minotaur was probably considered more of a something.

Large hands were pressed to the wall next to the door. A quiet, but very deep voice, murmured to the rock, and it actually moved with his guidance. He made sure the door was sealed and would not be able to be opened from either side without his help. Then he turned and looked at the spot where he had hidden the two wolves.

A goofy grin crossed his face, as he moved to crouch and even crawl toward those hidden. He reached through to touch one of the rock runes, and the barrier faded. When the minotaur spoke next, it was clear he was trying to be quiet and calming. "Hello. You are okay. You are safe here. Just.. they didn't tell Sage to wake you yet but.. you two.. were too cute.. for.. that. So.. Sage took you. Sage don't think they know yet."

Here he frowned a bit, and the pointed ears on either side of the minotaur's head spun in a little circle, like the ears of a hippo. "Sage doesn't know what to do then, but will figure out. Oh uh.. Me. Sage. Hi." He grinned big again, one large hand waving in the air for a brief moment.

"Uh, you.. probably can't.. move yet. Slept long time. Not as long as some. Oh oh!" Ears twirled and he moved to stand up. "Hungry? Thirsty? Sage can help." Hooves echoed in the garden as he made his way to a little rock chest along one wall. A moment was spent rummaging around inside, but soon he returned.

In his hands he held two bowls, both with water. These he set carefully down in front of each wolf. "Oh food! Food! Yes.. Sage get." Back to the wall and a different rock chest, then back with two smaller bowls. Inside were some chunks of meat, chilled from the ice he kept stored in the one he used as a refrigerator of a sort.

"Sage share his food. Sage not hungry. Long day. Sometime Sage doesn't eat on long days. You eat.. Okay?" He sat down on the floor with a bit of a thud. The minotaur kept his grin as he watched both Silver and Midnight, making sure they did eat and drink. "You eat and get strong, and then can move again soon. Just.. have to stay here. Sage can't keep you safe if not in here."

coded by natasha.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Out Of Words

One Way Or Another | Current Timeline: May 16th​

Tags: Evelyn Maeteris Maeteris

The beast roared in pain each time Evelyn landed a hit with the sword. The old man, beast, had grown slow in their age, languid and just lazy. Determined to let others do all the hard work, while he sat back to reap the benefits. It left him lacking in combat skills when it came down to it.

It was wounded and bleeding, and yet still enraged. Both heads roared, saliva and blood dripping from its canines as it swung around with a bit of a stumble. It wanted to take a different angle for its next attack. Her father's voice was somewhere in the growl, low and guttural. "Varya! How dare you! Put that sword down!"

Paws of the beast dug into the ground, gouging out deep furrows as it began to lower itself, preparing to pounce. The heads seemed to be syncing the motions of their jaw, so they could chomp at the same time, seeking still to devour her for the disrespect her father believed Evelyn had shown.

There was a moment of clarity here. This was a choice, an important one. There was a weight in the air, she could almost taste it. If she laid down her sword, and asked for her father's forgiveness, it might tame the beast about to charge. Or she could face head on, fight it, attempt to slay it.

Slay her father.

coded by natasha.
 
SILVER BLACKWOOD
Tags: Out Of Words Out Of Words | Location: Garden of Eden​

The invisible force that retained it’s taut grip around both of the wolves felt as if gravity itself had weighed anchors down on them. Silver could feel herself growing increasingly restless at the idea of only being able to lay on her side until whatever being had cast them into this circle returned to free them. Who knew what kind of plan they had in store for them, after all. Her body had other intentions though as she felt a familiar darkness threatening to wash over her uneasy mind. The scent of flowers wafted into her muzzle once more like a quiet temptation as her white pelt rippled with loosened muscles. They could only rest for now; conserve their energy for whatever was to come their way. Silver felt herself slip into a moment of respite, images of her once normal human life flitting across her vision. In a way, this could all be a blessing.

She was reminded of the constant mental feud that living with her parents ensued, how life in itself felt as if it held something in store for her but was never willing to reveal a glimpse of it and how her dreams were the only place she could find some sort of solace in—regardless of whether they felt like they mingled too vibrantly with reality in terms of fantasy or nightmare. Every waking moment came to be more of a shock as her mind could only further distance itself from what she had to call reality all her life. There were pockets of positive emotions here and there, taking form in the shape of a four-legged creature she happened to find or a character in a movie or show she could find similar characteristics to but joy was fleeting and the anger or melancholy that constantly simmered beneath her otherwise nonchalant surface would always remain. The wolf breathed a sigh just as a heavy rumbling noise greeted her ears.

Amber-gold eyes blazed open, scanning wildly upon being torn from reveries. A scuttling noise coincided with the dragging of rock against rock, a large figure stepping into the garden and sealing the doorway behind itself as well. The majority of the figured seemed humanoid aside from it’s head that bore large nubs of what could’ve been filed down horns as well as bovine-like ears that sat on each side of it’s head. Silver felt herself grow tense once they spun around, both amused and confused at the unexpected expression that they flashed in her general direction. A minotaur? From werewolves to now minotaurs, there was no reason for her to hold any sort of skepticism that supernaturals most definitely existed. Silver’s ears instinctively pushed back despite the force holding them down, the large beast’s approach sparking a mixture of fear and curiosity in her heart as she watched him crawl over to them like an overgrown child. The dialogue that slipped from his lips had an image of the wooden sign flooding her mind and she wondered now if he had been the one to carve the message of returning on it.

He was reassuring them in third person, to her amusement, speaking of him having taken them before someone else he seemed to know had and also without their knowing. Weirdly enough, it came as more of a relief to have been taken by this beast than some person instead. His mannerisms, his expression, the way his tone wasn’t forcibly offering kindness—genuine. He took us because we were cute to him but someone else had us before he did? Whomever it was that had captured them originally, seemed to be the ones that Sage had to answer to and whom he would eventually have to explain why he'd stolen from them as well. They must've been the ones to cause the warped zone in the forest and whom had barricaded them in the bramble tunnel.

Silver blinked in response to his little wave, snorting softly as if to return the greeting. Sage. The minotaur didn’t sit still for long as he was quick to realize they probably needed sustenance after laying for what appeared to be a while, according to him. The scent of meat had her mouth watering as her animal instincts took reign in deciding on what would be good to consume right now. Fueled by a suppressed hunger, the wolf trembled violently as she shifted into a low crouch, her legs wobbling treacherously as if she’d keel over at any moment but her mind’s fixation on the meat rendering her physical woes powerless as she practically swallowed the food whole.

She stopped herself mid-way to gaze up at Sage before nudging the bowl towards him, an untouched hunk remaining in the bowl as she slowly lapped at the water before she winced, collapsing back onto ground. With renewed strength came the realization again that her muscles were screaming in agony at having stiffened up while she’d been asleep for whatever length of time and in being forced into a crouch had only ignited further soreness. Everything ached; voiced it’s pain and discontent—nothing particularly new. Silver huffed in annoyance, gazing to Midnight whom was in view now that she laid on her bad side.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Out Of Words

A Moment In Time | Current Timeline: ??? ​

Tags: Leif KodakWolf KodakWolf

When Leif turned around, his father had let go of the little girl's hand. Turid giggled with a grin from ear to ear as she did the half walk, half run trot most toddlers did. Arms raised, hands stretched out toward Leif, "Papa! Papa!"

His father had a cautious grin on his face. "You'll stay this time?" The man didn't approach, allowing father and daughter their overdue cuddle time. "She's quite the handful. Takes after her father, I suppose." And there was that parental grin, the one that was proud and chastising subtly all at the same time.

Turid was fascinated with the hair on Leif's face. Little fingers patted the beard, and tugged on it just a little. The little girl even framed Leif's face with both hands, patting gently, as she said, "Oh, Papa." Turid gave Leif's nose a kiss before she broke into giggles and hugged his neck, like she was hugging her favorite stuffed animal.

She must have caught a glimpse of his father, as she stretched out one hand, "Poppy!" She then did her very best to convince Leif to go over to his father. He stood there chuckling, warmth in his eyes every time he looked at Turid.

"She hasn't quite gotten the hang of grampa yet, but I'm fine with Poppy. Makes me sound younger." He smirked, a bit of a serious glint entering his eyes as he regarded Leif the closer they came. "You look good. Healthy? How long are you here for?" As if he had been here before and left.

Turid was babbling off and on, petting Leif's beard and hair, sometimes playing with an ear before spontaneously hugging his neck off and on. One of those really good neck hugs with her face buried into his shoulder. She'd hug as tight as she good with a little sound, and then draw back to look into his face again.

It must have been a trick of the light that one time. When Turid drew back to smile at him, ear to ear, and Leif looked back. Only for a moment, it was Maylee, not Turid. "Papa!" A blink, and the visage of the toddler Maylee was gone.

coded by natasha.
 
Last edited:
Roje & Indy & Winnie
Rhyme Rhyme Out Of Words Out Of Words Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees

Roje overheard the conversation between Winnie and Key, knowing very well of the vampire changing-process. Giving blood to one that just died to reanimate them and bring them back. It was a cruel fate, she knew from experience. If Banks made it, then so be it she'd do what she could to help him and surely that girl in the cell would help too. Sitting in her cell, she listened to everything else going on around her, hearing noises coming from nearby and when she heard a hissing noise, she figured either Morg or Indy managed to shift. Though her words followed soon after and despite Roje's quiet crying, she couldn't help the smile that tugged her lips "Damn it Indy." she said softly with a shake of her head. It was a dark time but Indy was steamrolling through it.

It was almost as if she was the one pushing for her older sister now and Roje didn't know how to feel about it. But she let those words sink in before she called out "Kittenette, you don't have to shout. We can hear you." she said, her voice raw from the crying before she cleared it and wiped her face of the tears "Glad you can stay strong in this hell. Unlike me." she lifted her one leg and rested her arm on her knee, her head leaning back on the bars. As soon as she closed her eyes, she regretted it and opened them back up, her jaw clenching and tears threatening to come back out once again.

Indy lifted her head, looking to the walls beside her as she recognized the muffled sound of quiet breathing and soft sobs. Her chest tightened, hands running through her hair uncomfortably as she listened to Roje's defeated, exhausted voice.

"I uh. I mean." Shit, this was way more emotionally complex than she was prepared for. "Are you... okay? Did they hurt you?"

Her skin pressed into the cold ground as she scooted closer to the wall nearest Roje's cell, curling up and wrapping her arms around her knees. "I mean, was that shit true? Are you... Fuck, are we--you know."

"I'm fine. If someone hurt me I definitely wouldn't have went down without a fight. No one hurts me and gets away unscathed." she admitted, lifting her gaze to the ceiling "Fucked? Yeah, I'd say we're pretty fucked right now." she huffed and shook her head "Banks is dead, not sure if vampy's blood over there is gonna bring him back." she flexed her hand every so often "I knew something was wrong. As soon as I saw you guys brought in, in cuffs... My gut told me that I wasn't on the good side." she went quiet briefly before speaking back up "You dont make deals with the coven. Ever. I did it for a selfish reason and I'm paying the price." she sighed "Right now, all I want to do is get out. Get you out, get the others out, and escape this hell."

A warm breath washed over Indy's knees as she sighed. She wasn't sure what to say, her mouth opening and closing as she reached desperately for words that danced beyond her reach. "Yeah.... Yeah, yeah 'fucked' is a good word for it." Roje had said it herself; she was their only real ally from the start, the only one who was suspicious of their circumstance, and now she was a prisoner like the rest of them. Their advantage, gone before they had even realized it was there.

She had mentioned a deal though, and Key had mentioned Indy taking over her contract as a blood-right.... did that mean...

Indy shuffled a hand again in her hair, twisting a strand between her fingertips as she stared at the split ends--her eyes dark. "Your deal. Did it have to do with, I guess, our-uh-parents?" Her voice was hard, lips pursed before she suddenly let a deep gust blow the broken strands back. "I just... I just, I don't know if I believe that we're... sisters." The word carried an uncomfortable weight on her tongue, alien and bitter.

Roje noticed the silence that followed and simply used her hearing to pick up anything that might be useful before Indy had spoken up once again "The deal had something to do with my daylight ring. Let's me go out in the sun... I missed it so I made a deal. Which meant i was in their debt." the deal was nothing but something selfish for her own gain "Honestly, I would believe we're sisters. Same color hair, same attitude, the only thing different is our races really." and their eyes but Roje didnt figure that one out yet "My parents were failures. My father was a drunk, my mother left and never came back. I have a little brother." she laughed bitterly "Had. I guess. Since according to Key they were all a fake family."

Her hand had balled into a fist "Because of my father becoming a drunk, I became short tempered. Always yelling and fighting with him to get his attention off my brother." she shook her head "Not like any of that shit matters now. I'm a short tempered vampire that just learned what death feels like, as well as learn that majority of my childhood life was a lie and that I now have a little sister." not that she minded having a little sister. "Kittenette, I dont think you've learned my name, have you?" she asked "It's Roje. Roje Jenkins." maybe the name would ring bells?

Daylight ring? Were some of the stereotypes about vampires true then? Indy tried to think back about her time with Winnie--she was almost positive she had seen her in some sort of sunlight, right? Or was it truly all artificial lights which had quickly replaced honest sunlight in her memory.

"Guess happy childhoods don't run in the family." Indy tapped a finger on the wall, nibbling on her opposite thumbnail as she considered what Roje had said. "Drunk father matches up." She spat out the nail, leaning over to flick it across the floor. "Not aware of a little brother, though. Your mom-- did she have blonde hair? Name's Beth? But, even then, I just--you're a vampire. Were you... does that happen naturally? Or, were you, I don't know, risen from the dead? Like kiddo is trying to do with Banks?"

Roje processed her words, taking a moment to think before she spoke. Kittenette was just as much in the dark as she was. The vampire finally spoke up "I don't remember my mom. She left when I was pretty young. I erased her from my mind and pictures...My Fake father burned every one that had her involved." relaxing her hand, she took a deep breath and lowered her head a little to look at the back wall "Don't think too much into my family. Since they werent real to begin with." she said with venom dripping off her words. The more she spoke the Indy, the more it felt like she was able to relax, get her mind over the situation they were in. Or at least just distract her from it. "Vampires are made, not born." she said, looking at the ring on her finger.

"If we give a person our blood and they die with our blood in their system, there's a chance that they come back a vampire. Issue with that is that you have a baby vampire on your hands. Have to teach self control, strengths, weaknesses. It's all dependent on the vampire that chose to change you." her head tilted slightly to the side "I cheated death. Twice. First time being forced into a vampire state, second being by Coda's own body. Third times a charm." she laughed but it wasn't a light hearted one "There's a reason why I keep being brought back. There's something I have to finish and I plan to figure that out." she really was starting to ramble though, so she tried to get back on track "I dont know much about the parents you had. So if you have questions, I'm just as lost as you are, Kittenette."

So it didn't seem Roje could shift, like Indy or her father--maybe she was like her mother then, a human, only unlike her mother Roje had been brought back from the dead.

Twice.

"I am the resurrection and the life." Indy murmured. "The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die." It was starting to look like Jesus had actually been a vampire.

"I don't know," she carried on. "I stopped believing in that predestination shit a while ago. I mean, not to disappoint, but my--I guess your dad, too--he's a dick. Having a secret kid is right in his wheelhouse. But I just, it's hard to believe mom wouldn't mention you--she's not the type to, I don't know, dump and run, I guess." She cringed at her own verbiage. "Not that you were uh, you know. Dumped and, yeah."

Roje rolled her eyes “I was forced life. Twice. Wish Jesus let me stay dead.” She remarked and continued “My own mom dumping me... ha... it sounds fitting for someone like myself. Dad doesn’t sound too far off either.” She turned her head toward the wall “you still haven’t told me your name, Kittenette.”

"Aw, shit. Sorry. Indy. Indigo Sanderson." Indy tapped out each syllable on the wall. "What a hell of a way to meet your sister, huh?"

“Indy.” She repeated and couldn’t help the grin coming up on her lips “Definitely one hell of a way, a little one at that.” She pointed out “I’m 29. Nine years of being a Vanpire. Guess you could say I’m a baby. What about you?”

"Going on twenty-four years of being a cat." Indy grinned, biting at another nail. "Guess that makes me the baby of the group, aside from--wait, shit." Indy spat out the nail, eyes wide. Had she seriously forgotten about the kid chillin with the fucking corpse? "Hey, uh, Winnie, you good over there? How's your Weekend at Bernie's going?"

Winnie lifted her head numbly at the faint traces of voices wafting to her cell. It wasn't her senses that muffled them—her preternatural hearing was more than sharp enough—but rather the impermeable glaze of catatonia that had stretched across every one of her nerves. She felt separated from the world in all ways: sight, sound, touch. The only thing she knew to be real was the empty, accusatory stare boring into her from poor Banks's swollen, sightless eyes.

I'm sorry, Banks. I know. It's my fault. I'm sorry.

She tilted her head to rest against the bars of her cell, her eyes drifting shut—as if that could provide any buffer for the sting of reality. Roje's and Indy's voices were slow and shrunken in her ears. Sisters. It had taken a nightmare to do so, but they had been brought together. They had each other. And me...

Her sister was long gone. Winnie imagined Wendy's sweet, bright eyes and buried her face in her knees. No Banks. No Wendy. She was completely, irretrievably alone.

It was then that Indy's voice addressed her directly, and Winnie flinched, pressing harder against the bars of her cell. "I—"

Her voice came out thin as a thread, and she clamped her mouth shut in frustration—

For fuck's sake, Winifred, would you speak up?

—and then tried again, a little louder.

"I'm not the youngest," she said softly, dodging Indy's question about her condition altogether. "I've been alive... a few decades." To be honest, she couldn't remember the exact amount through the fog permeating her brain. "And when I was turned, I was twenty... something. I'm just... small." Malnourishment would do that.

Roje let out a light laugh at Indy's joke, listening to Winnie not long after."I guess you're the type of race that doesn't fill like mine does, huh Winnie?" she said after the other vampire finished finished "Guess you're the mama of the group then. What's the status? On you...Banks..." her tone had gone softer, more saddened

Mama.

Faintly, Winnie tried to remember her own mother. Her name had been Amanda. She had been short but full of fire and vitality. She had not been the patient, tender sort—her children slowed her down, Winnie knew, even if she never said it outright; her children were shackles. Winnie could feel the resentment in the too-rough strokes of the hairbrush Amanda dragged through her hair in those earliest mornings, but that, too, faded over time. Amanda became a specter, an image that haunted the house only at the palest hours of the morning between shifts.

Oh, Winnie knew she was working hard to keep them afloat—those exasperated admonitions had been for all of their ears, even if she was only addressing Cullen directly—and it made her own resentment sting all the more. As Winnie spent her days pouring formula into a bottle and changing stinking diapers and desperately trying to shush a bawling Wendy as Cullen bellowed for someone to shut the fucking baby up, she could remember thinking that she had never signed up to become a mother.

Guess you're the mama of the group then. Spoken just as casually as it had been decided back then. No choice in the matter. Amanda was working. Cullen, when he was home, couldn't be bothered. And Pa—well, he had stopped even putting in the effort to respond to her letters. Looks like you're the mama, then, Winifred.

Her eyes shifted to Banks's prone, bloodied form, and her hand slipped through the bars to trace gently along his swollen cheek. Tears flooded her vision, and Winnie swallowed a bitter sob. Mothers were supposed to protect and nurture, weren't they? Clearly, she wasn't good for either of those. She had failed Banks, wholly and unforgivably.

"...He's gone," she said simply, small and defeated.

"Shit." The word was a hiss, the air splitting between Indy's teeth as she leaned against the wall and shut her eyes.

Against her dominant thinking, she allowed her hand to raise and tap her forehead lightly with one finger; the echo of a prayer left unfinished. "You did what you could, Win." Indy coughed uncomfortably, dropping her hand quickly to go back to scrapping at the wall. "He was...shit, he wasn't an asshole."

The only one. The only decent one.

And the rest of them, they were all left alone in the house of Hell.​
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Out Of Words

Key Notes to Being a Bad Guy | Current Timeline: May 16th​

Tags: Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees Rhyme Rhyme Britt-21 Britt-21
Location: HQ

Key made his presence known a few moments later, or maybe he just arrived, finding out which it was would be impossible. He stood at the entrance to the room with Winnie's cell, gesturing to a couple of coven members who had accompanied him. "Move him into her cell."

They moved into the room, one uttering an incantation to open her cell, the other lifting Banks' body under the arms. He scowled at getting blood on himself, but they obeyed. Banks was carried to the cell door and tossed in without entering Winnie's cell. They sealed it back up immediately after and moved out of the room.

Key tilted his head, making a 'tsking' noise. "Maybe you're not really a vampire, Winifred. Pity. Guess there's still time. We'll check back later." Key looked to one of the other coven members. "Alert me if there's any change." They nodded and his attention returned to Winnie.

"It's okay though. Since you failed months ago, we've already conscripted another of your family to carry out the duties you were incapable of performing. Maybe they'll tag along later to see how Banksy is doing." Key gave a dark smirk before looking at the others.

He moved to the cell with Morgan, who had been quiet all through the others talking. Who still hid behind the privacy screen. "Prepare that one. Don't fail me like the cuff maker did. Oh.. that reminds me. Find me a new technician. One who will not fail. Or you'll be the next meal in the labyrinth." The coven member seemed to pale and nodded. Two others exchanged glances and moved to Morgan's cell.

Key signed, tossing one more look at the sisters. "You two will have plenty of time to bond. Indigo, I will have your contract ready when I return to check on Banksy." Then Key turned and left, talking over his shoulder. "I'll see if Coda wants a collar and leash for his new pet."

coded by natasha.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Razial Hale

Tags: Maylee Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees | Location: Coven HQ​


"Hello, doll." Razial's smooth voice came from where the door was. It was still there, only made transparent as he held up one hand to a spot on the left side of the door. His head tilted as he looked around the room, taking in the food still uneaten, and the wardrobe closet opened. "Do you like the dresses? I think they are very pretty and would suit you very well."

Razial scowled a bit, "Oh, gross. I used very two times in that sentence. How barbaric of me." He gave a little shudder before the smarmy smirk returned. "No matter, we'll skip over that, like we will avoid discussing how you haven't eaten anything yet. Okay, I'm lying. We're going to talk about it."

His other hand did that index finger circling motion in the general direction of the food. "Is it not to your liking? Would you rather something else? I didn't think you should eat a large meal after just waking. Never sits well in the stomach." The free hand moved to press against his stomach. "Tummy aches are soooo distracting when you're training."

Razial leaned against the transparent door, shoulders moving slightly as he talked. He spoke with his body as much as he was a verbal vending machine. "You need to eat, relax, recover. I'd much rather get you started in training sooner than later. Oh.." Head tilted the other way, and again some vague hand motions. He tried to make a pointed ear on top of his head. "Your wolfy? I think we'll work on that first. Your transformation wasn't baaaaad. But.. we can improve it."

Razial clapped with his hands as his expression suddenly turned gleeful. Which made the transparent door solid. "Oh shit." And it was back, with his hand on the left side of the door once more. "Sorry. I got carried away. We're going to do SO MUCH together! It's going to be absolutely grand! Now.. eat and I will be back in.. oh.. a half hourishorso. I can answer your questions! Well, the ones I want to answer."

He gave a wave with his other hand, "Ta ta, love." And then the door was solid again the moment he took his hand away. And back not ten seconds later. "Sorry, I forgot. Someone else is going to stop in, give you a general what the fuck is going on spiel, and they can answer some of your questions. Just don't hurt them, they really have very little to do around here but greet new members. They also can't free you. Oh.. here they are."

Razial used both hands, and the ward was temporarily dispersed, allowing the small twinkling orb inside. "Enjoy. Ta ta." And the door was solid just as the orb transformed in the blink of an eye. A young girl stood there, human as much as she was not. Two horns rested atop her reddish brown hair, eyes as bright as the glowing fairy orb, with a smile to match.

She was clad in a simple dress, homemade from the longer stems of grass and more. Weaved together with magic and mirth, she grinned with a small bow. Wings curled around her on either side, a small talon at the top juncture, they originated from somewhere along her back shoulder blades.

When she spoke, it was like a tinkling of gentle chimes, whimsical and soft. "Greetings to you, I am Lew. Many I have assisted, I've heard you've been enlisted?" She took a seat on the floor, knees drawn up and wings fluttering lightly behind her. "Questions I'm sure you must possess, oh that is a lovely dress!"

coded by natasha.
 


The voice that greeted her sent an instant chill skirting down her back, and Maylee whipped around to fix the door with a fierce glare. There he was again, standing as placidly as he had over her writhing form before, and her hands balled into tight fists, tense elastics waiting to snap. When he acknowledged the dress she was still holding, she felt a horrified flush creep across her face and promptly threw the garment across the room in disgust, wrapping her arms around her shoulders to cover any skin her torn gown neglected to cover from his slithering eyes.

The anger within her burned hotter and hotter as he continued to speak languidly and familiarly, as if he knew her, as if he were simply having a pleasant chat with a friend rather than a prisoner behind a locked door.

In response, she merely bared her teeth at him and let out a low snarl. What the hell made him think she trusted him enough to eat food he had left out for her? And training? Training for what? Whatever he wanted her to do, she certainly wasn't about to just go along with it like a docile little doll—

The only thing I'm going to be training for is to cut you down.

To her rising fury, however, Razial then seemed to decide he had more important matters to attend to and promptly began to bid her farewell, no explanation, no further mention of her mother, nothing but scorn and condescension. As if she were nothing more than a child who needed to be scolded into finishing her dinner.

No. She was not a child. She had stopped being a child long ago, long before the only people she could ever call parents were gone. No—she had stopped being a child that night she sobbed and rubbed her hands raw trying to scour the fat drops of rabbit-blood from her dress. The world, indeed, was not kind, and if Mama wanted her to learn so badly—well, she had demonstrated the truth herself.

And yet they were always looking at her as a child. They—some amorphous, lofty entity that towered always above her, always out of reach, a sort of peak of strength she pushed for again and again until her Sisyphean boulder shattered and sent her reeling back to the start. To her mother—nothing more than a runt in her way. To her brother—too insignificant even for him to kill. Even the ones who cared for her—Leif, Roje—did so from above; she was the pup, the little girl clinging to her Papa's pant leg. There was no doubt in her mind that they did not see her as an equal.

Her fists tightened. I am not a child. Even if I'm the only one in the world who believes it... I'm not. She glanced up just in time to see Razial temporarily lowering the ward from the door to allow a little glowing orb passage, and Maylee's skin tingled. This was her chance to prove it. With a war cry, she leapt to her feet and threw herself again at the door—

—only to hit the impassive ward just as it finished reconstructing.

She fell back again, trembling in exhaustion and frustration and fear—yes, fear was now forcing tears into her eyes, and Maylee swiped at them with her fists. She could be afraid, she had told herself again and again, as long as she didn't let it show, but the streak of panic running through her now threatened to rupture her very skin.

Shakily, she raised her head to look at the newcomer, an enchanting yet eerie little girl with a luminous manner and several more appendages than the average human. Maylee's hunter mind briefly slipped to the forefront as she ran her eyes across the girl's horns and spread wings. Some sort of Fae—?

The girl spoke, then, and Maylee's reflexive flinch was followed swiftly by a rush of shame. Thankfully, the girl's words rekindled the anger within her, and she jumped to her feet, fists clenched at her sides.

"I was not enlisted," she cried out harshly, and then she snatched up the elegant dress from the floor and flung it at the child. "And I don't care about the dress! I'm not some doll to be dressed up and discarded as he feels like. If he thinks I'm going to sit around and wait and eat his food and—and wear his stupid dresses like some little princess—he's dead wrong!" Her voice was quivering more than she wanted, and the tips of her fingers were trembling. Brusquely, she pushed past the child to the firmly-warded door and smacked the palms of her hands against the door, feeding her anger in an attempt to mask her fear. "Do you hear me, Razial? I'm NOT your doll! You get back here—face me like a man!"

Part of her knew, even as she pushed against the tide of fear within her, that it was useless. When she noticed the hot sensation of tears dribbling down her cheeks, Maylee slammed her fist into the door with an anguished cry and turned around, collapsing to her knees with her back pressed to the door. The fairy child, Lew, was still watching her, as serene as ever, offering to answer her questions in a strange rhyming cadence. And, God—she had questions. Where the hell was she? What had Razial done to her? Why did he know her, know her mother? How had she gotten here? What about—

A sudden, startling thought leapt into her mind, and Maylee hurriedly pressed a hand to her face, feeling around the landscape of skin for any blemishes or wounds. Before she had gone to sleep... she had scratched herself, right? But she couldn't feel any wounds anymore. Why had she scratched herself...? Because she had scratched Leif—

Leif—!

A ripple of terror ran through her, and her lips automatically parted: out of everything whirling behind her tongue, the first question that began to form on her lips was of Leif's whereabouts—but she stalled, snapping her mouth shut. Did they even know about Leif? If not, wouldn't she be putting him at risk by letting slip his name, essentially painting a bulls-eye on his back for Razial and his sinister machinations?

No, she couldn't risk causing Leif any more trouble than she already had.

Biting her lip, Maylee lifted her head to meet the winged girl's uncanny gaze, her mind a blur of overwhelming confusion. This child, from the way Razial had spoken, was far below him on the ladder, and she sincerely doubted she would have the authority to divulge the most crucial answers. No—one way or another, Maylee had to lure Razial back to the room. A hostage, maybe—? No, she didn't want to hurt the child who, as far as she knew, was an innocent wrapped up in this mess. She shut her eyes and rubbed at her temples, wracking her brain for something, anything she could do—

Finally, something occurred to her, and the mere thought of it made her shiver. It was a risk—a foolish risk, maybe, but if it paid off...

Maylee swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat before she spoke. "Razial... he said he wants me to be fed, rested. In good condition, I guess. So... that means he needs me alive for some reason, right?"

She swallowed again, her heart pounding high in her ears.

"Then—what happens if his little doll breaks?"

And then, shifting her fingers to claws, she pressed a sharp point to her own neck, just above the spot where the artery throbbed.

( Tags: Out Of Words Out Of Words )​

maylee song.

hunter | werewolf

 


As Banks's body was unceremoniously thrust into her cell, Winnie scrambled up to her knees and then to his side, her hands feebly and automatically feeling around his neck, his chest, his wrists for even the slightest suggestion of a pulse. Of course, there was none; he was stiff and had already begun to go cold, and Winnie let her head drop to his chest, a defeated sob escaping her. An ugly noise, much louder than the amount of decibels she usually allowed herself to occupy, but it burst from her unbidden. Beneath Key's taunting, she merely trembled impotently. For all she knew, he was right. Perhaps she wasn't a vampire after all. After all, she had never even drunk someone else's blood—no, her half-crazed attempts to starve herself had morphed her into a psychic little aberration, a curiosity that drew life directly from its source. And yet, for all the life she had taken, she couldn't give a single bit of it back to Banks.

I'm sorry, Banks. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

But then Key's next words struck her ear sharply, and her head shot up, a thrill of dread running through her. There it was: her own personal f-word, a malediction that made her skin crawl with unwanted memories. Family—?

But she had no family. She hadn't in decades. And, either way, surely the Coven wouldn't have cared enough about an insignificant little peon like her to peer into her family history, right? Sure, they had dug up info on Roje and Indy's shared lineage, but, judging from Indy's condition at least, shifting ran in their blood. They were special. There were no such exciting truths to be found about her own family. They were dismal in their ordinary mediocrity, a scattering of white trash stuffed into a too-tiny house that stank of beer and dog piss. Ugliness from the skin all the way down to the bone.

The more she thought about it, though, the more it began to trouble her. Her parents—if they could be called such—were surely dead by now, but her siblings...? Well, she supposed Cullen could be alive, though, with his heedless lifestyle, she had always quietly assumed he wouldn't make it far beyond twenty. The real issue was Wendy.

Wendy—she remembered her sister as a sweet, gap-toothed little girl with a smile far too bright for the dim backdrop she lived in. She would be grown now, a woman; Winnie wondered if she had gotten the shape to her body that she herself had always yearned for but never received, wondered if she would even recognize her if she saw her. Wendy would recognize her, surely; she still looked exactly the same as that spineless big sister who had abandoned her all those years ago.

Key had to be referring to Wendy, right? There was no other family she had left.

She had no other family, right?

Abruptly, feverishly, Winnie threw herself against the bars of her cell and gripped her fists around them, feebly calling after Key as he faded from view down the corridor: "Wait! Please, I... what family? Please... please tell me—"

But her pleas, just like all of her prayers since childhood, fell on deaf ears. Key was already gone, as distant and remote as the Heavenly Father who had wanted about as much to do with her as her real father.


winnie sawyer.

psychic vampire

 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Griffin Banks

Tags: Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees Britt-21 Britt-21 Rhyme Rhyme ⬇
Location: HQ ​


The body of what was once known as Banks, lay there, partially propped up in a corner formed by the bars of Winnie's cell, and one of the room walls. Blood had stopped flowing as the heart ceased to function. Now the volcanic rock floor was covered with the blood, it seeped into the carved runes upon the floor.

After he had been moved, any last bits of his blood had been lost in the transportation. Banks lay there, cold and stiff, while Winnie cried over him, cried over many things, and pleaded upon deaf ears for information on her family. Maybe all that noise she was making hid what was happening, what started to happen. When she looked again, Banks' good eye was focused on her, and the other's swelling was starting to actually go down.

Flesh began to mend and knit itself, slowly but steadily. The jagged parts of his right arm, where it had been ripped away with feral rage, started to close and heal. It wasn't regrowing, it was too late for that, but the rest of his wounds were receding. And then came the sound.

A low keening wail emitted from within his chest as his body bowed sharply upward, and limbs convulsed. Whatever blood, liquid or other contents remained in Banks' body, were now being evicted like some tenant who forgot to pay the rent. A body no longer human, but something else. It had to transform, get rid of the old to adjust to the new.

Just what that new was, wasn't yet clear.

coded by natasha.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Llewella Nyxen

Tags: Maylee Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees (via Discord) | Location: Coven HQ ​


Lew clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Do you think they would be stopped by your death? They have ways to bring back your breath." She held up a finger in front of her lips in a classic 'shush' motion, then gestured with her free hand around the room before pointing to one ear.

"Ways you'd not like to hear." With a strong emphasis on the last word. "Ways you should very well fear." Lew was trying to get a silent message across, her eyes glowed with an excitement she couldn't hide.

"You should sit and eat, like he said." Another pointed 'shush' motion followed with a gesture to her ear. "We can talk, while we break bread."

Maylee felt her skin tingling uneasily as she watched Lew’s strange, pointed mannerisms. It was clear that the girl was trying to tell her something, gesturing to her lips and then her ear—listen carefully? No, that wouldn’t explain the shushing gesture. Be quiet and listen? Then why was she inviting Maylee to chat over food?

Oh—!

Someone was listening to them. That had to be it, right? Maylee felt an anxious stir as she searched Lew’s bright, ethereal eyes. Did this mean... the child was trying to help her? Could she be trusted, or was this some sort of trick...?

With a reluctant, angry huff, Maylee snatched up an apple and a wedge of cheese from the table and then returned to her seat on the floor, offering Lew one of the two.

“I don’t want to be fed like some little pet rabbit. But... I’d be stupid if I let myself starve to death.”

She frowned, turning over the implications of what Lew had said in her mind. They were under surveillance, and so she decided firmly not to spill any details about Devlin, about the trip to Ecuador, even about the moon. No, she would stick to what she knew Razial already knew, what he had told her.

“What... what did he do to me?” She asked, looking uneasily down at her hands. A wave of trepidation swept her as she remembered the painful, glowing bands of skin. “He... red lightning shot out of his fingers, and he said something in... Latin, I think. And then... I don’t know what. Everything started to hurt, and I woke up here.”

Lew gave a small nod of her head when Maylee sat on the floor with her. "From what I was told, if I may be so bold..." She took the apple, taking a bite with a satisfying crunch. Which meant she couldn't talk for a moment. However, it also gave her an idea.

Using the juice of the apple, she squeezed as much of it as she could on the floor. "You have magic sealed by a contract, which is why to you your skills seemed to lack."

She dipped a finger into what juice there was, and quickly started to write on the floor. It would be difficult to see, and it wouldn't last very long before it started to dry.

~Play along~

"Now, with your magic free, so will the strength of your ability." Another crunch of a bite, she was hungry and not opposed to eating. And it would give a reason for the small silences on her part.

~I can help~

"So, listen to Lew, here's what you need to do." Again she tried to place a subtle emphasis on the last word before she took another delaying bite of the apple.

~Must play along for now~

"Eat, rest and recover. Then with their help, your magic you can discover."

~Trying to free friends~

"So with all of that in mind, is it really that sort of a bind? To be here, to train, and learn who you really are? Once you embrace your magic, you can go very far."

Maylee reluctantly took a bite of the cheese, which had a sour, slightly bitter flavor she thought not altogether unfitting for a gift from Razial. As she chewed, however, she noticed more strange, deliberate movements from Lew, and a jolt ran through her as she realized the girl was writing out a secret message.

Friends? No—so Leif and the others were here, after all? And whatever had happened to them, they needed to be freed from it—?

Maylee struggled as half of her brain tried to process Lew’s secret messages; the other half, her words. It seemed like the girl was, indeed, trying to help, but—as she had said, play along. Maylee had been wound up, near-explosive for the entire conversation so far; it would be beyond suspicious if she suddenly adopted a friendly attitude.

And, either way, the words she had said did little to lighten Maylee’s agitation.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Maylee spat out, but she lightly tapped her finger on the floor to signal that she had seen. “A contract...? I’ve never made a contract with anyone. And... what are they training me for? Just for the hell of it?”

They were genuine questions; it was much easier to play along when she didn’t have to lie.

Lew grinned and did an air clap to show she understood Maylee was playing along. Air clap so it wouldn't make any noise. Her wings fluttered a bit, and she had to shift around on the floor before the excitement grew too much.

Another crunch of the apple, and she tried to get more juice on the floor to write with. "A contract made by your mother, not you or another. She knew of the magic inside of you, asked the coven and worked her due."

~Have to arrange things~

Crunch when the apple, and that's usually when she wrote on the floor. It'd be suspicious if she just stopped talking without a reason for it. "Only she couldn't finish her part, so per the fine print, you were next in the chart."

~More are here to help~

"And no need to be so brusque. You're important, from dawn to dusk." She tapped at her mouth when she said the last word, subtle emphasis given, and her eyes grew big. She tapped the word more with her other hand at the same time. "Going to teach you about your magic, your story doesn't have to be so tragic."

~Will work with you~

Crunch went the apple, nearly out of all juice to write with. "It's hard to grasp, but let's seal it with a handclasp." She reached out then with both hands, intending to give a reassuring squeeze, and press something into the palm of her hand. "I will be your friend, and we'll see it through to the end."

It was a small golden leaf barrette, something she could put in her hair and hopefully not be suspicious to the coven members. This she press into Maylee's hand and squeeze again. "For now I have to go, but we'll talk again, I know. Just think of me when you're feeling down.." Squeeze. "And before you know it I'll be around!"

Maylee's mind was spinning as her hands were seized by Lew's and given a reassuring squeeze. What? Her mother had made a contract? A contract to do with... magic that had been inside of her all along?

She didn't know how to feel. All at once, now, her anti-affinity for magic seemed to make sense; her body really had been sealed off from it. But why...? If her mother knew she had magic, why seal it away? The strongest survive—Mama had believed that above all else. So why purposefully handicap her daughter of something that might have protected her—

A tiny ember of despair flickered within her, and it quickly swelled into anger.

—something that might have protected Papa and Dad?

Furious tears burned in her eyes, and Maylee found herself, not for the first time, cursing her mother as her teeth ground together. First, she had deprived her of the love she so craved in those early years; and then, when Maylee had found someone who did value her—in her own indirect way, Mama had taken them away, too.

Her shoulders trembled. Maybe she wouldn't have been so weak...

Maylee gave a little start when she felt Lew press something into her hand, and she glanced down to see a little golden leaf affixed to a hairclip. Beside the grotesque elegance of the dress Razial had left for her, the leaf was small and simple and charming, emitting an aura of warmth.

Almost shyly, Maylee took it and slipped it into her hair, clipping back a few pesky strands of hair that always tumbled out of her braids. "I... thank you," she murmured, though she found herself unable to return Lew's radiant smile. "You're definitely more pleasant to talk to than Razial."

Lew grinned and started to stand up from the floor. "You'll rest and train then? And I shall say goodbye until we meet again." She gave a little curtsy, wings flaring out to either side.

And as if on cue, Razial was there, letting Lew out once she returned to the small orb of light. He let himself in afterward, the door shut behind. "Hello again. I do hope your talk helped ease some of your fears. We're not the bad guys, we're just ... protective of what we are trying to do here. So.."

He sat down in the chair at the table, pushing the food to the side so Maylee could still reach it. "Did you still have some questions? Do you want a different color of dress?" He gestured to the discarded gown with a bit of a frown.
coded by natasha.
 
Edwin Blut
Location: Living his best life.
Tags: None​
Edwin's consciousness drifted deeper and deeper into itself. The bear spreading out to take full control of the body for what seemed like the first time. He followed his mate and her cubs into the woods. The forest's bloom around him felt beautiful, natural. This is what he'd sought. Sought for ages. A land untouched by man, unsoiled by machine, unpolluted by smog. A perfect landscape.

As he laid on the riverbank, watching the cubs learn to fish, a thought snuck up on him. "Hurt." The single word, drifting in off the back of his mind, confused him. He didn't hurt, he was fine. Life was good. Wasn't it?

Why didn't he hurt? He'd just fought off the hunters, a group of them. Guns had gone off, but he was unharmed. They had simple missed. Yes, that made sense. He charged them, scared them. In the confusion they had simply missed their shots. All of them. Every single shot had missed. It made sense.

Then, from the corner of his eye, movement. A white wolf? Couldn't have been, not this far south. They needed the frozen lands of the north. Another. A big cat? There were no big cats in these lands. Neither belonged, yet they were what he saw. They were watching him. Judging him.

And ever more he felt Edwin shift within. Struggling against himself, struggling to rouse from his sleep. Struggling to take back control. The bear fought back. He had lost his family to man before, nearly lost them to man again. What was one more man? He was not going to take them away.

"You're hurt." the voice said. Edwin's voice.

"You're hurt because you know it's not real."

The bear tried not to listen. Tried to block out the words, but they were already taking root. Everything was perfect here. Too perfect. Unnaturally perfect.

"I swore to you. I will keep that promise."

The bear finally relented. Released it's hold, and allowed Edwin to take hold. But he didn't. "Say goodbye. I know you didn't get to before."

The bear rose, nuzzled his mate and the cubs a final goodbye. He knew what they were, and more importantly what they weren't, but the gesture meant enough to him. He then turned, and with Edwin's spirit along side him, walked back, leaving the family behind, to go save those that could still be saved.
 


A horrendous squelching noise crawled suddenly to her ear, and Winnie flinched, backing away from the bars as if they had scalded her skin. The realization came swiftly, however, that the noise had come from behind her, and with her heart pounding in her throat, Winnie turned her head shakily around, petrified of what she might see happening to poor Banks's corpse.

Please, God. He's suffered enough. Just let him rest.

But—no—there was no way, was there? Winnie's eyes widened at the sight of flesh mending itself, the horrendous wounds that had disfigured his face receding as if by some cosmic rewind button. Her heart leapt, and her body followed, bringing her to her feet and then rushing towards Banks's healing body.

"Banks!" she cried out, high and disbelieving but tight with hope. This was real, right? Oh, God, please let this be real. "I-Indy—Roje—Banks is—he's healing! His wounds are—"

Her words cut off in a little gasp as she glimpsed the flesh of his arm repairing itself—not building a new arm, but protecting what was left. With a pang, she looked down at her own prosthetic leg, at the stump she knew was nestled inside. She had lost it long before her second, undead life; she had watched the grotesque landscape of stitches and gore heal into a smooth, bald cap, had struggled through the grueling physical therapy of learning to work her new, unnatural limb. Now Banks, too, would know the specific, intangible longing of missing a limb, but the process had been accelerated for him—how would that affect him? Would he have a harder time adjusting? She had lost a leg, not an arm, but... maybe she could help him all the same—

Before she could reach out, though, and touch Banks's repaired skin, confirm to her muddled senses that this was real, a horrid, infernal screech split the air, and Banks's body shot upright, his mouth wrenched open in what could only be agony.

Winnie bit her tongue, having long conditioned herself not to scream, not to draw attention to herself, but she retreated back against the far wall, her arms clamping over her head in a feeble defense. Horrendously, Banks began to spew a cocktail of blood and vomit and other bodily fluids from every orifice, and Winnie could not hold it in; as she was splattered with the mess, she folded at the waist and vomited herself, spraying her shoes. Panting, she raised her head and wiped the traces of vomit from her mouth, her panicked, blurry vision broken by the errant strands of her that fell over her face as if to protect it.

"Banks—? Banks, I—I'm sorry, I don't—"

This was worse. This horrid, unnatural state was somehow worse than the violence Coda had inflicted on him. God, what had she done—?

"I don't—I don't know what I did," she sobbed, half to Banks and half to Indy and Roje, whom she knew, at least, were lucid enough to hear her. "I don't know what I did. I don't know what I did! Oh, God, Banks, I'm sorry—I just wanted to help—"

That was the problem, wasn't it? She had deluded herself into thinking she could help when she knew well that she was a rotten, sinful little creature, a vessel only for harm, not healing. She trembled with the weight of the sob that crested within her, and then, impulsively, Winnie flung herself at Banks, wrapping her arms around his writhing form in a tight, tremulous hug. If nothing else, she had to show him that, whatever he was suffering, he was not alone.


winnie sawyer.

psychic vampire

 
Evelyn Harper



The beast couldn’t block nor evade her attacks, as expected from his sluggish form.He swung at her, spittles of saliva and blood flying off from the two heads, snarling. Evelyn didn’t risk blocking any of his attacks, parrying it would’ve been preferable but she didn’t feel too comfortable staying in the beast’s immediate area of attack.

She leaned back to avoid the swipe, back stepping.

She was blindsided by a haymaker, throwing her back. She rolled on the dirt, cursing and spitting the dust. Accursed beast could still think after all. She spat again, mostly blood. Curse this damn thing.

It curled forth, claws digging into soil, like a tiger about to pounce on it’s prey. The twin heads still spat blood and saliva, the eyes never devoid of hate and spite. It spoke with his voice--with his face.

A poor attempt to parlay, Exarch. Show him Aeldari mercy and then we shall talk about your child-like movements.

Evelyn snorted, all manner of decorum tossed over her shoulder. She circled the beast again, the sword brought over her head in a guard. There is no parlay with a beast. He was once a father but no more, a beast with an elf’s face. It would be just and honorable to grant it peace for there was no life in those eyes.

The blade seemed to vibrate in her grip, agreeing with her assessment.

She initiated her attacks when she was at the right spot--away from the beast’s line of assault, perhaps granting her ample time to lay siege to it’s open flank. Slash, jab and a stroke. No emotion behind them, pushed simply by the need to eradicate this threat. Guided by the subtle vibrations of the sword itself, the handle seems to speak that way when a strike would inevitably puncture mass and be blocked by thick bone.

Exarch, the heads! I shouldn’t need to tell you this.

Sweat ran down her temple, she blinked and huffed. Her hair had come undone at some point, flowing back and forth with her movements. I cannot reach the damnable heads, she thought.

Get closer.

She would try this at her own peril closing in the distance and well within the beast’s area of attack. The plan was to jab and strike at the twin heads, lopping them clean off would work perhaps but she didn’t want for the blade to get stuck in whatever bone it had connected and leave herself defenseless while she tried to pull it out.


location: ??? • tags • mood • Outfit • interactions
 
Maddox Ward (Leif Hjalkarssen)
Tags: Out Of Words Out Of Words
Location: WTF​


Leif didn't know what it was that he'd locked behind the old wooden door. Could have been the truth, the opposite of whatever was presenting itself to him at that moment. That darkness had promised things he couldn't name, but somehow knew rivalled what Turid and his father represented. However, the sight of the little girl clumsily running towards him erased any further concerns that might still plague his mind. He just couldn't focus on anything else as he took her again in his arms, lifting her off the ground with a grin on his face, not even bothering to wipe away the tears. She was a lot heavier than the last time he'd held her.

His father's next question raised a red flag for sure, though one not big enough to take over his mind at that moment. His smile gave place to a confused and slightly concerned expression, one that lasted, however, only about two seconds, until his father spoke again and the next words brought the smile back to his face. She'd been only months old when everything happened, he hadn't had the time to see much other than the newborn version of her. In reality, no one had, but reality didn't matter all that much. He had no idea how long all that was going to last, but he hoped she hadn't taken after him too much on that aspect. Hjalkar's words brought back buried childhood memories he didn't know he still had, that made him chuckle while shooting a glance at the man.

"I missed you... so much." his voice was a mutter, only for her to hear. Not that he could've spoken much louder, as his breathing was still on it's way back to normal. There weren't words to describe the sensation of those little hands patting his face, that toddler kiss on his nose then the small arms around his neck. It was a moment to be enjoyed, not described.

She had to tug on his beard (had it been that long before?) with more determination to get him to snap back with a grimace and oblige, moving so she could be close to both Papa and Poppy. His father's words did the trick too, and he frowned slightly at the questions. Yes, he felt healthy and nodded positively in response. How long would he be there for? No idea. Where would he go, though? Ever since Turid had been born, he never left on raids again. The furthest he'd go was the woods near the village to gather this or that or hunt small game. Where had he been that his father acted as if he'd just returned for a visit?

"It's good to see you." he finally regarded the man properly, a warm smile not failing to return to his face. "Poppy." And a chuckle at the nickname. One arm holding Turid, the other reached forward to pull Hjalkar into a brief, but tight hug. While he wished he could hide longer into that hug, he knew there was a question left unanswered, and he wouldn't leave his father waiting. "I'll stay as long as I can." he spoke quietly as he pulled back, observing the man's reaction. He wanted to say that he was lost, and ask when had been the last time he'd been there. That he didn't know how he ended up there or exactly where he'd been before. But truth be told, he was afraid of the answers, if there were any. It sounded wrong to spoil the moment with such dark questions.

"How's mother?" Was instead what he uttered. Maybe they'd have time for other questions some time later. Turid drew his attention away once more, with the sweet giggles and babbling, and he moved one hand to caress her hair, placing a kiss on the side of her head before she moved to hug his neck again.

As she pulled away that one time, she was someone else. Someone he knew, that should only be born centuries later. 'Papa' was how toddler Maylee called Adrien. She was bigger now, though. A woman, no longer a toddler, though she still called Adrien 'Papa'. Memories of their last encounter flickered in his mind, though now he didn't know whether they'd been real, or just another vivid dream. As quick as she'd appeared, she was gone, and Turid was back, smiling at him, forcing his mind back to the task of memorizing every little detail of that sweet face it could grasp before she became just a memory once more.

Although things seemed to make less sense the further they rolled, maybe if he stayed long enough they'd settle into something he could understand. Maybe.
 

A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words​




Razial Hale

Tags: Maylee (via Discord) Vinegar Bees Vinegar Bees | Location: Coven HQ​


And then Razial was back, and all of the tension that Lew had managed to coax out of her came rushing feverishly back. Maylee stiffened, pulling her ragged hospital gown protectively around herself and pressing up against the wall, as far as she could possibly get from him.

"I've got a lot more to worry about than the color of some fancy dress," she spat defiantly, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why the dress, anyway? Why treat me like a princess? I'm locked in here. Rapunzel in the tower? Is that what you were going for?"

She sat up a little straighter, trying to embolden herself with her anger and conceal the fear that still quivered in her. "And no, I don't feel the slightest bit at ease. All I know is that... apparently my mother made a contract to seal away some magic I had. I don't know why. I don't know what that contract even means, really. I don't know where I am or what you're trying to do here or why you're so concerned with training me. Training me for what?"

That was quite a lot of questions at once, to be sure, but Maylee wasn't worried about Razial keeping track of them. She didn't expect an answer to a single one.

Razial stuck out his bottom lip in a bit of a pout, head tilting to the left. "Awww, mommy never told you?" One hand had fingertips pressing against his breastbone, a classic 'bless your heart' kind of move PTA moms tended to do. It lasted only a moment before he was resting both hands on top of his knees, where his legs were perfectly crossed.

"Suppose, it's understandable, in a way. Still...." He drew out the word, left shoulder leaning forward in a partial twist of his upper body. "You were going to be akin to royalty, before the Coven agreed to her silly contract."

Razial gestured with one hand, hand turning over to reveal the palm in a very smooth and fluid motion. "You were here..." And his other hand moved below his knee, much farther down than his first hand. He repeated the hand flip motion, his expression taking on a bit of an 'oopsie' type of pout. "And nearly everyone else.. is down here."

Her eyes burned with hatred as Raziel mocked her relationship with her mother, but, humiliatingly, they were burning with tears, too. Maylee turned her head away, pretending she was merely giving him the cold shoulder as she blinked and blinked and fought to hold her tears back.

No. She never told me anything.

Not in the literal sense, of course. She had dispensed plenty of harsh, pitiless advice: don't waste food. Eat or be eaten. Stop crying. But Maylee had never known, not even a little, what went on behind Yan's dark, opaque eyes. She had tried, and failed, to listen to what was in her mother's heart. Yan had walled it off completely.

She flinched at Razial's next revelation, her gaze snapping up to meet his. What—? No. Surely he was mocking her. He knew about her mother—it was likely he knew about Dad and Papa, too, knew about her fatal weakness, and was merely tormenting her as a game. His tone of voice had not broken from its jovial, sardonic standard.

Royalty? The word in itself was so remote as to feel fabled. There was nothing royal about a weak, bruised little girl limping over to a werewolf and begging to be cursed.

"No... I'm sure you have the wrong person," she said, shaking her head. "It's not me. Can't be. I'm... nobody."

Razial started to laugh, a quiet, chuckle of base amusement. Only it trailed off when Maylee didn't join in. He gave a little sigh at the end, picking lint off one of his pant legs. "Oh. You weren't making a joke. Hmmm."

A more pronounced sigh, and Razial's upper body leaned forward, shoulders nearly over his knees. It was as if he was trying to get all cozy and gossip like some valued confidant. "I'm very sure you are the right person. You just have to embrace the magic unlocked inside you."

There was the index finger circling in the air. "It's allllll wound up, like.. a coil spring. Or.. if you're more of the modern variety, one of those purple mattresses that come compressed as fuck in a plastic wrapping inside a box."

Yes, he liked that analogy better. "We've done the hard part, we opened the box and cut away the wrapping holding it down, flattening it to almost ... nothing. Now.." He sat back in the chair, both hands doing the graceful wrist turn, flipping palms upward.

"We let it expand."

Fear shuddered through her at Razial's unfazed, lackadaisical demeanor, as if this were nothing more than an everyday conversation. And, really, what reason did she have to believe that it wasn't for him? Something that upended her entire world could very well be just another Tuesday for the strange, glib magician.

"I... fine. So I have magic," she said, low and guarded. She still couldn't quite believe it, the unnatural, unfamiliar idea struggling to find a foothold in her brain. But, as Lew had said, she would play along, if for no other reason than to find out just what the hell was going on. "So what? The world is full of people with magic. Incredible magic." She thought briefly of Shia, how he was able to see the very threads of magic itself, and felt a pang of anxious fear. Where was he now? In the same place as Leif? And Levi, and Evelyn, and all of the others... were they scared? Were they suffering?

Her heart had started to race, and Maylee forced a steady breath through her nose. Play along.

"Then I'm just another one of them," she continued. "Having magic doesn't make me royalty."

Razial held up his index finger and tilted it from side to side in a no movement. "Ah-ah-ah. Not actual royalty, but.. akin to royalty. Really though, the only difference is a piece of paper stating such." He held onto his knees again, doing a little brief lean forward. "But they are such sticklers for that piece of paper. Silly twits."

Razial relaxed again, tilting his neck as if it ached and he sought to ease the tension before addressing Maylee's points. "True, just having magic does not make you akin to royalty. However, having a proper parentage does, a lineage follows the familial tree, one branch leads to another, and so on."

Now he grinned at her. "And well, your father AND mother.." He let out a low whistle, meant to be an imitation of being impressed. Then his expression turned into a semblance of distraction, like the current thought in his head was so puzzling. And to him, it was.

"I'll never understand why she wanted to rebuke it. I think it was when she became pregnant. Did you know.. pregnancy can affect one's magic?" Razial gave her a look, with the eyes briefly growing wide, eyebrows raised, shoulders shrugged once.

"It does a lot to the body's chemistry and can either enhance it, or fuck it up royally." Then he laughed, finding his own word usage amusing. "Oh, oh.. See what I did there? Royally? Get it? HA!"

Every inch of her was trembling. He was mocking her, wholly and unequivocally, delighting in watching her squirm as he opened wound after wound from the past. Why did he know so much about her? About her mother? Even about... the man who had made her?

"I don't have a father," she snapped, trying to sound sharp and sure but quavering instead. "No—that's not true. I had two, the only ones deserving of that name, and they're gone. Some... some stranger who abandoned my mother the moment she got pregnant is no father of mine."

She had been fighting it with every muscle in her body, but the battle was lost, now, and Maylee felt a sting of shame as her tears finally spilled over, hot and heavy on her cheeks. It took every ounce of strength she had not to wipe them away. Somehow, she felt calling attention to them in front of Razial would be worse.

"So my mother... she made a deal with you to keep my magic sealed away. What was in it for you? Why agree to it?" Something else occurred to her, then, a heavy thought that came suddenly crashing down on her shoulders. Her mother was the one who had made the contract, not her. If they already had Yan on their side, what did they need her for?

She recalled with a shudder the words she had awoken to earlier: You are going to take your mother's place.

"My mother," she said in a small voice, fighting to keep her tears from mingling with the sound, "is she...?"

Razial watched, calm, cool and collected, as he liked to be. At the protest of her not having a father, or rather, not the one who donated to her gene pool, eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. He could tell there was still more inside she had to get out.

And get it out she finally did. "My, you're just a tightly wound package of.. everything, aren't you? So much inside, just bursting to get out, like your magic. So interesting."

He helped himself to a small bit of the cheese wedges, for he had been here a little while now. He picked off small bits and ate them in between addressing all Maylee's questions, more or less. He never talked with his mouth full, however, so small nibbles were best.

"Did you ever think, maybe it was your mother who abandoned your, oh how do they put it, biological father? No? Of course not, it's always the men's fault, isn't it? Pfft!" More cheese bits were nibbled down.

"As for your mother's contract, well, I was not in the position I am in now, or I would have absolutely, one hundred percent-ly, refused it." Oh, there was that index finger wave again. "Suffice it to say, at the time it was made, it must have been a real hell of a deal. A real banger of a party, I'm sure."

Oh, and then the kicker. The last bit of verbal vomit he had to address for now. "Is she... dead?" There was the fingertips pressing against the middle of his chest, 'bless your heart' style. "Well.. yes. She'd have to be for the contract to pass onto the next relative we located. And that, my dear. Is you." He booped her nose from a far, and in the air, much like that night she woke up.

Deep, bitter sobs burned in her throat, and Maylee fought to keep them down, every muscle pulled taut. Crying, much to her shame, seemed to be as natural to her body as breathing, a vital function she could not purge no matter how she struggled, but if anything, she must not sob. If she had to cry in front of Razial, she must do so with the closest thing to dignity she could muster.

He was right, of course. Mama very well could have absconded from the man who would have been Maylee's father—the woman knew well how to abandon, she thought bitterly. But in that case—where had that man gone? Why had he not come looking for his daughter? Did he even care, or had it been a relief when his lover severed him from the impending responsibility?

And then—

Maylee stared down at her hands in her lap and clenched them, watching their forms blur and streak with the tears swimming in her eyes. Of course. Of course Mama was dead. What had she been expecting, exactly? A long-awaited, heartfelt reunion, a wholehearted apology, a coveted affirmation of love? Or a confrontation, perhaps; perhaps she had simply wanted the coda of being able to look her mother in the eye and show her that she had damaged but not destroyed her. Perhaps she had wanted the chance to forgive her mother, only so that she could reject it.

And now, of course, it would never happen. The door had been permanently shut, her relationship with her mother doomed to stay a raw, frayed nerve forever. Every person she had once called her parent had been thoroughly extinguished from this world; she was irreconcilably alone.

Maylee shivered, clenching her fists tighter in her lap. It's not fair. It's not fair. Stupid, petulant thoughts, the sort of thoughts Yan would have dismissed with her well-practiced refrain of the world being unfair by its very nature, but Maylee could not bat them away. As complex a figure as her mother was in her headspace, she had loved her with an aching, primordial longing, and she had wanted nothing more than for the woman to love her, too. Now it would never happen.

She lost the battle as a sob slipped from her throat, and heat shot through her from a cocktail of tears and shame. Maylee pressed her fists into her eyes, gritted her teeth, and desperately tried to rein herself in before she fell apart in front of Razial.

What does it matter? What the hell does anything matter anymore?

"What... happened to her?" Maylee hissed, finally, through a shaking breath, her voice thick with anger and grief. "Did someone kill her?"

Razial pout on a small pout on her behalf. Even reached into a pocket on the inside of the small, yet very stylish, jacket he wore. The handkerchief was held out, and then floated over to land in Maylee's lap. "There there, bambi. Dry your eyes. She really wasn't worth it."

"We know how sub par of a mother she was. We've kept tabs. As for what happened to her." He paused, head leaning to the right, one eyebrow lifting. His expression became one of those 'are you sure' looks.

"Do you really want to dive down that rabbit hole?"

Maylee stared resentfully Bambi. Doll. Everything he called her was infuriating in how it infantilized her, made her small. But was he wrong? As much as she hated it, as much as she tried to struggle against it, she was completely under his control. Locked in his cell, eating his food, rejecting his dresses.

But when he spoke again, Maylee raised her head with a swift flinch. Down that rabbit hole—? A shudder of dread ran through her.

No, she told herself. No, it was just a turn of phrase. But was anything ever just with this incomprehensible man? He had to have said it on purpose. He had to know the recurring role rabbits had played in her life, at times horrific; at others, comforting.

But phrasing aside... he seemed to be implying that some horrific, gruesome fate had befallen her mother, and Maylee’s mind filled to surfeit with unbidden images of countless grisly ends. Did she really want to know? As much as she had tried, she did not, could not hate her mother. Knowing of her suffering would bring her nothing but grief.

(And yet, how many times had she thought to herself after that long, bloody night, if only she had been home, if only she had known—)

Tears still stained her cheeks, but Maylee forced herself to tilt her chin up. “I think... it’s better to know, even if it hurts, than to live in ignorance. Not knowing, it’s... it’s a comfort built on a lie.”

She shook her head, trying to sound resolved despite the fear still climbing her throat. “The real world is unkind.”

Razial gave another soft golf clap, but it was filled with genuine appreciation. "Good realization. On both points. The world lies, the world is unkind, unforgiving. Give it an inch, and it'll steamroll you over for a mile. Very important points to remember."

One hand moved to touch his hair, making sure the carefully designed do was still in place. Maybe sort of a self affirmation habit. "If you keep all of those items in mind through your training, you'll wind up being the one driving the steamroller instead of the one under it."

Razial circled back around now to the issue she wanted to know about, her mother's fate. "She went after a prey she wasn't prepared to handle. And she didn't come out on top, she didn't get to drive."

Maylee flinched at the news. All deaths were not made equal. The fortunate ones slipped away in their sleep, but most deaths were a terror, a suffering. She had seen it many times. And so it seemed that Mama, too, had died brutally, violently, in just the same way that Papa and Dad had been so cruelly snatched away. When death came for her family, it did not come softly.

She tried to imagine the scene, tried to feel her mother's final moments, and horror and revulsion swam through her. Had she been frightened in the end? Had she cried out for help that would never come?

Then again, it was the only sort of death that made sense for her, wasn't it? Yan Song had built her life around what she perceived as an intrinsic struggle between predator and prey, and ultimately, she was as much a link in the food chain as everything else.

Her hands, squeezed into fists, trembled. "Who—or what—was it? The one who killed her." She stared with raw, earnest eyes at Razial. "And... are they still out there? You told me that I could become stronger than my mother. And if I do... maybe I can finish what she started. My mother never let me know her well, but I know enough that she would never want a target to get away."

One corner of his mouth turned upward slowly, a subtle smirk. "You can. You can be more than the pebble you are right now. You can become the fucking mountain. There is that much potential in you. Granted, it will be more difficult, because of your age, because you weren't raised with the magic. Sometimes it makes the magic more resistant to bend to your will."

Razial stood up, taking one last bit of a cheese nibble from a remaining wedge on the table. He took his time, as if giving something serious thought. When he did look at Maylee again, he was blunt, and to the point. Though he usually was one of the two most of the time anyway.

"It was a dragon." Then a moment later. "Is.. a dragon."

No—it couldn't be—

Maylee's heart began to pound furiously, her mind racing at the revelation. A dragon—until recently, until Devlin, she had not even known they were real. The impression she had gotten from Devlin's marvelous reveal was that there were few of his kind. The odds, then, of this dragon being someone Devlin knew were immense.

Or even—

No, it was unthinkable. Devlin was a kind, gracious man—she could not imagine him killing anyone.

But if he had no choice? If it was either his life or hers?

Her mother had certainly been the sort to strike first, seek out her enemies before they found her. It would not have been unlike her to corner a dragon into defensive manslaughter.

Feeling ill, she pushed the thought from her mind. Just because Devlin was the only dragon she knew didn't mean he was the only dragon that existed. And, at that, she absolutely couldn't let slip any information about Devlin to Razial.

She shook her head, trying to pass off her moment of hesitation as the shock of learning something fabled. "I... I thought dragons were just in legends," she said, and then, trying to shift the topic away from dragons, she latched onto his comments about her magic: "But... I don't care if it's difficult. It wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't."

Playing along, as Lew had said, but—uneasiness squirmed in Maylee's chest. That last declaration had come a little too easily. All her life, she had been a Sisyphus, doomed to push a rock up a mountain only to endlessly crash down before the summit. Was there a piece of her that truly did want to learn how it felt to be the mountain?

Razial straightened his clothing as he moved closer to the door. "Truer words were never heard, from.. someone other than my own lips that is." Small shoulder shrug and he gave Maylee a little smile.

"Use today to relax, and if you do need anything, and I mean anything, please.. let me know, hmm? I want your focus to be on the training. Before you can become the mountain, you have to become a hill first. So... think..." One hand did the flipping turn around the wrist. "Hillish? Hilly? Hillerrific? Hilltastic? Something. Hill."

Razial gave a little scrunching of his nose as he prepared to leave. "Now.. I have beauty rest to see to, it's a favorite of mine. So.. ta ta for now. Kiss kiss." He did a french style kissing of either cheek in the air before he moved to the door. And with a small incantation, pressing of one hand to the stone, he was out and the stone closed up behind.

Panic swiftly threaded through her when Razial announced he would be leaving again, though it was tempered by a relief that muddled her mind. Panic because, frightening as he was, Razial was the one with the answers, the only way out. Relief because every moment spent within his presence felt like a vise clenching tighter and tighter around her neck. They wrestled for a moment, but ultimately, panic triumphed, sending waves of anxiety rocketing through her body.

Keep it together, she told herself, and she tried to dress her face with what she hoped was a stony glare. "Fine," she muttered. "Not like I have a choice, anyway."

Maylee held her breath and watched Razial disappear through the door, listened to his footfalls echoing through whatever corridor lay beyond this room, and only when she could no longer hear any trace of him did she allow herself to collapse into sobs.
coded by natasha.
 
Indy froze as a soft chill announced Key's arrival, accompanied by two members of Cult Cocksuckers. She stayed in her corner of the cell, only crawling forward after she watched Key and the dipshit disciples disappear into Winnie's room. Her knees dug into the freezing ground as she heard him berate Winnie; apparently, Roje wasn't the only one who was destined to suffer their family being dragged along for this hellish ride. But what family did Winnie have? Listening to her begging, it was clear Winnie didn't know either. Yet, more importantly, if Winnie failed months ago and Roje similarly failed--albeit more recently--why were they brought along and still kept by the cult?

Key reappeared from the room, only in her vision for a moment before disappearing like a shadow into another room--possibly the kid's, judging by the direction of Winnie's and Roje's voices from earlier. What in the ever-loving-fuck is the labyrinth?!

And to think, Indy had somehow managed to forget her magic ball of thread back home. Damn.

When Key reappeared for the final time Indy sat back, one leg curled underneath herself as she propped an elbow on the opposite knee. "Contract? Can I call my lawyer?" But he ignored her, throwing one more pointed remark over his shoulder about the fucking demon before leaving.

Leash? I can't wait to strap you and the demon together and drag you two through the pits of Hell off the back of a Jeep with your fucking leash, prick. Roje and I will piss on your goddamn bones.

A violent, horrible sound ripped Indy from her inner damnations; a keening, hollow and violent as if split into thin needles of sharp sound that traveled through the walls and entangled themselves within her brain. Indy shuddered, cupping her hands over her ears as she looked over to the source--the wall nearest Winnie's cell. But it didn't sound like her, it didn't sound even remotely human---vampire or not.

Indy stood when she heard Winnie call their names; Banks was healing? Not a chance. There was no way he had healed from that attack; this wasn't just any death, the man had been absolutely shredded by a child of Satan. That path was one-way only; the line bordering humanity had firmly and permanently been crossed. Banks was dead, whatever was awakening in Winnie's cell was only a culmination of the horrible evil nurtured in Hell.

Indy clutched at the bars, panic seizing her chest as Roje's words replayed in her mind. A young vampire was volatile, they needed training and to be taught control. In the best case, sweet, quiet Winnie was locked in with a freshly wild vampire. Worst case, something entirely new and horrifying was about to awaken.

The distinct sound of vomiting echoed into Indy's cell, alongside the splatter of fluids across a hard floor, followed by another series of vomiting. "Winnie?! Winnie, you good?! What's happening?" The sour stench of blood and bile suddenly slammed into Indy, causing her chest to clench as she heaved. Winnie was sobbing, her voice panicked as she rambled frantically. "Fuck." Indy hissed. "Roje?! Can you tell what the fuck is going on?! Jesus, kid, just stay away from him--can you tie him up? Do like, fuck--I don't--can you use your vampire powers or some shit?! That's not Banks!"

God help her; if that demonic, sloppy zombie touched Winnie... Indy hissed, her fingers burning as they shifted back into claws that she desperately swung at the bars, feeling the invisible force push her back. "Roje!" She shouted again, praying the vampire expert may have better insight.
​
 


She cried until she felt her eyes might cave in, and then she slumped back against the door and buried her face in her knees, defeated. Something about this felt eerily familiar, and when the realization hit her, a dry laugh crackled in her chest. She had only recently been slumped against the door of her room in Devlin's home, crying her heart out. Maylee had always had trouble holding in her tears—her eyes were fertile, eager to spread their little liquid seeds at the slightest hints of distress, but normally she did her best to carry on as if she were not crying at all. Full-scale breakdowns were a much rarer occurrence, and she wasn't too comfortable with the idea that they were becoming something of a habit now.

Although—had that lonely night in Devlin's home been as recent as it felt? The scratches on her face had healed. How long had she been here before Sage woke her up? And why couldn't she remember anything else? Maylee strained, searching every inch of her consciousness for a memory of a plane trip, a car ride, anything—she had to have left Devlin's house somehow.

And the others—Maylee didn't have a clue what, exactly, had happened to them, but based on Lew's hints, she could only assume it was treacherous. A violent pang thrummed in her chest with the thought of them—Shia teaching her a little bit of the draconic tongue; Levi gleefully calling the group to a joust; Evelyn returning to them, after all; Leif—

The tears welled up in her eyes again. Leif. They had left things on a terrible, precarious note, all because of her bizarre little outburst—why in the world had she hurt him? The image of those streaks of blood cutting through his face burned behind her eyelids every time she shut them. She had hurt him, and then she had run away, and now—who knew what he might be suffering now?

And all she could do was sit here and wait, a princess in a tower.

Oh, she remembered the storybooks from her childhood, the tales of beautiful girls with wicked stepmothers and hopeful hearts. Sure, her tormentor had been her mother instead, but still, the stories resonated with her. The princess might begin the story miserable, might not even know she was a princess at all, but her time would come; she was special, magic, and she need only wait for the world to recognize it and call her to the palace that was her true home.

But as she got older, she realized that princesses did little more than just that—waiting. Cinderella waited for her fairy godmother to give her her chance at the ball. Little Briar Rose waited to be awoken with a kiss. And yet, the more Maylee waited, the more nothing happened. Had she missed her cue? Was her magical fate simply running a little late?

No—it was as Mama had said. The world was not kind, and if she tried waiting for a happily-ever-after, she would be waiting forever.

And now she's dead. So what did she really know, anyway?

Maylee clenched her teeth together, another bitter pain twisting through her at the thought that she would never, ever get the chance to find any sort of reconciliation with her mother. That was how the real world worked—raw, loose ends; in the real world, nothing ended tied in a neat little bow.

And in the real world, those who waited were left behind.

She rose stiffly to her feet and sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes with the butts of her wrists. What could she do? What could she do? She was trapped in this room, trapped in the palm of Razial's hand, but he was going to train her, and maybe, just maybe, if she trained long and hard enough, she would find herself strong enough to cut Razial down and save Leif and tell him again and again how sorry she was, how much he meant to her.

So she would train. She would train with every breath in her body, train until her limbs collapsed beneath her and her vision streaked in a blur. And if it hurt—that only meant it was working.

Maylee glanced down as the thin, flimsy material of her hospital gown flopped uselessly down along its tear, exposing her shoulders and chest. A flash of irritation ran through her. If only she had her jacket...

That fairy tale dress was still a white gleam in the corner of her eye, and Maylee gave it a grim, resentful look. Was that really her only option? She let out a hiss of a breath through clenched teeth. Not quite—she could, after all, simply face Razial in her underwear.

God dammit. With a frustrated huff, Maylee crossed the room and spitefully snatched the dress up from the floor; as she slipped out of her hospital gown and caught sight of her familiar bra and underwear, a horrifying thought occurred to her: someone must have undressed her to put her in that hospital gown.

The thought was too troubling to dwell on for long, and so Maylee focused on wriggling her way into the dress Razial had, apparently, picked out for her. Shame colored her cheeks, even as she found herself unnerved by how perfectly the garment fit. It felt... grotesque to be wearing a flouncy dress, and she imagined that Razial had anticipated such, that he had wanted her to squirm a little.

Maylee narrowed her eyes. I have to fight back somehow. Even if it's just a little.

The skirt floated around her ankles, delicate and ethereal and entirely impractical for anything except, well, waiting. Maylee spread her hands out at her sides and clenched them, the tendons bulging as her wolf-claws eclipsed human flesh. Then, grabbing the skirt by the hem, she ripped and tore with her preternaturally sharp claws until a pile of gossamer sheaves lay on the floor like dead butterflies and the skirt terminated above her knee. Much easier to move in.

Maylee looked down at her claws, then, and something tugged at the back of her mind. There was something else she wanted to cut, too.

With heavy feet, she dragged herself to the bathroom and locked eyes with the girl in the mirror, a hand reaching up to gingerly touch one of the long braids that hung down over her chest.

She remembered Papa braiding them for her every morning, the pleasant tingle of his fingers in her hair; then, when she was old enough, he taught her how to do it, herself, and she often buried herself in the soothing spell of loosening and braiding, loosening and braiding when she was feeling particularly anxious. And then, at the worst of times—on those darkest evenings when the violence simmering in Dad and her brother's eyes threatened to spill over onto each other—Papa would slip into her room and braid her hair again and reassure her that he would always be there. She would always be his little girl.

Tears blurred the image of her reflection. She had failed him, stood uselessly by as he died. She could not be his little girl if he was gone, and, in this unkind world, she could not be a little girl, either.

Her shoulders trembled, and with a teary but determined sniff, Maylee grabbed one of her braids at its root and pressed her claws against the knot.

For you, Papa.

A swift slice, and the severed braid sailed to the floor, shedding strands of dark hair on its way down.

For you, Dad.

A swift slice, and the other braid followed, landing with a soft thunk as it twined with its counterpart on the floor.

She stared at the new, unfamiliar image of herself, her hair now truncated at the neck, just like how Mama used to wear hers. Carefully, she tucked in the barrette from Lew that made it hers and not her mother’s. Then she turned and slipped out of the bathroom, her bare feet brushing against the felled braids as if they were fingers trying to hook in and pull her back.

For you, I'll become the mountain.

maylee song.

hunter | werewolf

 
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