His heart settled into a steady beat, the exhilaration of the hunt abating, and a sweet silence and calm enveloping him. He strode across the room and closed the curtains. It was almost midnight, there was no one around to look in the windows but hadn't she thought the same thing when he had been spying on her? There were monsters in the dark, Vincent knew this well. He was one of them. His hands gripped the material after he had pulled them closed, his forearms flexing, anticipation building once more. If not for the soft cotton drapes his nails would have drawn blood from his palms because of his intense grip. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He forced his breathing to slow and his heart slowed once more to that steady pace he needed to have a steady hand.
He had never done this before. It was what kept him hidden, he changed his method consistently, never falling into a pattern. She was special though and so he had needed to take such a risk. Never before had he sated his need anywhere other then a foreordained spot. This had been an urge that had so suddenly come upon him he could not resist it any more. It was impulsive, as he was sometimes want to be, but never to this extent.
"She is special." He whispered to the night. "She deserves to be exalted, like her beloved Andraste." He turned to face the girl he had tied to the bed. There was nothing sexual in this scenario, although Vincent's cock was hard from looking at her. It was the anticipation of another release that excited him though, but he could not deny how beautiful she appeared at that moment. He crossed the floor to the bed and sat down next to her. She flinched, her face wet with tears. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth which was gagged. He gently reached for the sash he had stuffed in there, a sash she had worn around her robes whilst praying in the Chantry, and pulled it from her mouth. She gasped and coughed up blood, turning her head to the side and wheezing. It was a quiet sound, just as he had intended. He didn't care for her voice and could not risk her crying out, the gag had been out of irony and to soak up the blood that had filled her mouth after cutting out her tongue.
"Ga...hh..." She gargled. Vincent lovingly caressed her brow, wiping it with the bloody rag so her blood mixed with the sweat on her brow, then the tears that leaked freshly from her bloodshot eyes. She sniffed, hitched her breath and moaned but there was no real fervour in it. Normally that would have angered him, he wanted to see them in pain, but she was special.
She had a name.
Alanna...
"How do you think Andraste felt when they were tying her to that stake in Minrathous?" Alanna's eyes went wide when he produced a bottle of oil. He doused her as so many Revered Mothers had done before him, gently touching her forehead with it. Then, as no man or woman had ever done so before, he touched her lips, so she could taste the acrid oil, then her neck, and her breasts, then covered her legs in the liquid. She didn't struggle, she knew there was nothing she could do and Vincent knew he had chosen well. She was brave, even to the end. Just like Andraste.
"Let the blade pass through the flesh,
Let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.
Her breathing slowed as he spoke, comforted by his words, by the words of Andraste. He marveled at her, her beauty, her conviction! He took the lamp off the side of her bedside table and poured the hot oil over her body. She would have screamed but her throat was silent, now burned as he poured the oil down her throat. He smiled, it was a beautiful sight... soon she would be burning inside and out.
When the flame touched her skin moments later her whole body was alight. The necromancer cast a spell to protect the rest of the room from the heat and flames so he could watch as the fire consumed her. Above her bed he had placed an empty phylactery that had been enchanted. Her skin bubbled and slothed from her bones, the heat intensified by the ward consumed her completely. At the moment of her death Vincent reached out and channeled her spirit into the vial, capturing it. The phylactery glowed a bright purple, before dimming and appearing empty once more. When her organs and her skin were gone and the fuel was burned out all that was left was a charred skeleton.
Vincent released the ward and was almost overwhelmed by the smell. He dry retched, and hastily placed her charm of Andraste upon her decimated remains before slipping out of the newly opened window. From a vantage point high above the cloisters, from a window hidden to all who may chance to look up, the necromancer witnessed the aftermath of his actions. The cries to the Maker drifted up to him and he pressed the phylactery to his bared chest. It was warm to the touch but the spirit within could only weep. She was his now, his alone, and only he could enjoy her.
Her name was Alanna, and she was special. She was special because he loved her.