Fortunes of the Favoured
The mysterious boy looked over himself in the mirror, secretly pleased with the rather unusual appearance. Smooth silver shimmered on his skin as minute metal scales, exceptionally thin but strong and durable. He looked closer, no, not silver – something else.
He brought a scaled hand to his face, allowing the cool texture to mould to his face, mapping each of his features with this new sensory accuracy. His eyes were a dark green, seeming to draw in the light from the surroundings, serpent-like and with a feral intensity. He looked fearsome with his pale, armoured skin, and yet he couldn't help but think he resembled a piece of exquisite artwork, so uniquely fashioned, sculpted using human bone. He made a masterpiece.
His teeth gleamed menacingly as he smiled at his reflection. A slightly clawed finger reached up to touch them – so sharp! A drop of dark viscous blood pulsed on his fingertip. He licked it tentatively. A sensory overload took him as he learnt to taste with his improved palate. So delicate, complex, utterly intoxicating with a heavy metallic odour that he knew would have gone amiss if he had been merely a human.
He wondered idly if the powers that be would be proud of him; he hissed in amusement. The looks of shock emblazoned on their faces, crossed with fear tore through his mind as he scented the stale air, so amusingly poignant it seemed. A cold shiver passed through him as ice cold metal met his wandering hands, chilling him from within. The boy sighed as he grasped a hold of the old timepiece, a mere relic, and a mechanism by which he had had to live his human life. It was thrown down viciously and the boy enjoyed the moment of impact, such perfect destruction, wonderful deterioration, a stillness of unacknowledged time.
The boy eyed the room with distaste, watching each shadow carefully, scenting out life, searching for magic, but he only caught the decay of the room. He drew his heavy coat over his frame and strode through the unlocked exit.
The man was waiting, eyes glowing like burning coals in the darkness. He was acknowledged with a brief incline of the head.
"You look much improved".
"Yes", the boy hissed, irritation that he couldn't explore his new found world of prey and victims that was set before him right away.
"Patience is a virtue", the man said reprovingly.
The boy remained silent, instead focussing on the new room, the new figure that reeked of sorcery and a darkness that was tremendously enticing.
"This world will be yours in time, but for now it remains mine", the man smiled. "Let's see what you make of death".
He led the boy down a steep staircase that spiralled out of sight, only their echoing footsteps betrayed the chasm's depth. As he neared the bottoms his feet hurried, eager to see what awaited him, the thing that was rousing his slumber serpent's hunger, His eyes grew keener scouting out the movement that he could feel as the air swept past him. Soft murmurings met his ears, harsh intakes of breath, that alluring scent of blood and at last the sight of their grimaces of pain.
The boy stared intensely at the huddled humans, attempting to draw feeble comfort from each other. A candle flickered into life, the blaze illuminating each imperfection in their terrified faces. The candle's hesitant warm breath touched his own skin and his scales itched imperceptibly as they adjusted.
A girl's eyes blinked in confusion, as well as her deep breaths, shudders, and an involuntary gasp of inner anguish. The bushy hair was gone, shaven-headed the girl returned his foreign gaze.
…
"Harry".