Dark Obsession

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion

Chapter One

The child huddled in the corner, sobbing with streaks of tears running down her face. She tried to block out the sound of her parents yelling at each other at the top of their lungs with her small hands, but the fleshy barriers weren't enough. It was all her fault that they were fighting again. If she would have been watching where she was going, she would have never knocked over her father's mug, spilling the contents of it everywhere. He had got so upset with her that he'd struck her across the face, yelling out obscenities. Her mother had to come to her rescue, once again, because her father had become physically violent. The woman would tell the man not to strike her child, and he would retort by raising his voice, telling her that their child needed to be disciplined. They would then fight over her for hours, and she would curl up in the corner, wishing that they would just stop. She tried not to be bad, but somehow her actions always resulted in predicaments like this one.

The five year old girl closed her eyes, trying to escape from this hell by erasing her vision. Even though she could still hear the argument, she could now convince herself that this was all a dream. If she didn't see what was going on, then she would imagine that it wasn't real. To further distract herself, the girl focused solely on the pain in her cheek from her father's earlier assault. Even though it was now a minor sting, it was enough discomfort to lose herself within the sensation. She prodded at her cheek with her small digits, recoiling at the sharp ache that coursed through her face. Slowly, she poked at her cheek again, except this time she didn't remove her fingers. She instead, added pressure to the spot. The pain—when helping her forget the outside world—was her friend. It was good.

"Keep your hands off of Marielle! If you hit her one more time, I will take her and leave!"

Silence followed her mother's beautiful voice, and for a short time, the girl thought that the whole thing was resolved. Her father's voice spoke up, killing her hopes.

"Oblivion will freeze over before I will let you take my daughter and leave!"

"I will," her mom's voice wavered.

"I'd rather you be dead than to take my family away from me!"

"What are you doing?" her mother asked almost frantically.

Not too soon after her mother had spoken, an orange light caught in the girl's peripheral vision, accompanied by a chilling scream that vibrated through her small frame. Chills raced down her little spine, causing her to shudder and flinch despite not being cold. She heard ringing in her ears from her mother's scream, and a pungent scent reached her nose. Afraid to look, she brought her knees up and buried her face within her hands. She didn't want to see why her mother was screeching, and she most certainly didn't want to know why there was a sound of a fire cackling or an increase in temperature. She wanted nothing more than to disappear. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

After a few moments, the shrieking ended, and the sound of something hitting the stone floor of the cellar registered in her head. Shortly after, she heard her father muttering useless apologies that received no response. From the way that his voice came out, it seemed like the man was crying. Fueled by curiosity, the girl gathered her courage, determined to see what had transpired. Gradually, she lifted her head, and gasped at the horrendous sight before her. Nothing could have ever prepared the girl for what she was facing now. Her mother was lying motionless on the cellar floor, and flames were licking every inch of her disintegrating body. Her father was by her mother's side, crying and murmuring to the soon to be ash.

Unlike her usual nights of waking up with a scream, Marielle was barely shaken by the reoccurring nightmare. She had become accustom to reliving those dark memories of her past, and it didn't faze her like it would have a few years ago. Living in the house with her abusive father for nineteen years would cause anyone to grow numb inside, suppressing any form of emotion.

She rolled over in her bedroll, listening for any sounds of her father upstairs. When she found none, she released a sigh, reveling in her time alone. With him absent, she didn't have to worry about being on guard so much.

She crawled out of her sleeping place, standing gracefully. A groan escaped her mouth as she stretched her arms over her head, relieving the kinks of being idle for so long. Bare feet padded across the stone basement floor as she came upon scorch marks that would forever be burnt into the ground. She concealed her eyes behind their lids in respect to her mother, giving a few moments of silence. She was overcome by the overbearing guilt and sorrow of her mother's death.

Why did her mother have to leave her behind? She was so young, and it was so unfair. She opened her eyes, staring bleakly at the spot where her world had ended. She sort of felt like a traitor because she didn't possess the ability to shed any tears for the loss of her mother. Did that make her a bad daughter? With a shaky hand, she put a scarred arm out, touching the humanoid imprint on the ground as if she could actually feel her mother.

A loud crash upstairs interrupted her, causing her body to go rigid. Her emotions of sorrow receded back into an unreachable void, leaving her impassive and indifferent to the world. She knew that the sound upstairs indicated that her father was home and most likely drunk. He always slammed the door open when he stumbled in at night.

"Marielle you piece of shit, where are you?" a loud voice boomed through the house, assaulting her sensitive hearing.

She flinched at the volume of her father's voice. A scowl appeared on her face at the way that he addressed her. She was tired of his behavior toward her, and she didn't know how much longer she would tolerate it. She tried to ignore him, but his screams persisted, telling her that he wouldn't wait any longer. Begrudgingly, she made her way to the stairs, taking deep breaths along the way to calm her ever rising anger.

When she reached the door, she stopped. Only a fool would go into the common area of the house without knowing where her father was; she had made that mistake too many times before, resulting in the reward of receiving a barrage of attacks. After casting a life detect spell, she saw that her father was standing some distance away from the door, most likely waiting for her to come through. She deactivated the life detect spell, readying herself to evade anything that he might throw at her.

Within one quick motion, she threw the door open and rolled into the room, dodging the wooden chair that was hurled at her. A loud splintering sound shot through the room as the chair broke into several pieces where her head would have been. Marielle looked back to see the damage, failing to escape her father as he slammed her back against the wall by a punch to her stomach. Her breath rushed out of her from the impact that otherwise had no real effect on her; she was used to his rough treatments. Her usually slow beating heart quickened some while she tried to regain her breath through quickened gasps. The scent of ale flew into her nose when she finally regulated her breathing, indicating that her father was indeed drunk.

Her head whipped to the side when his hand collided with her cheek, causing her blood to boil. Not soon after, she was yanked off of her feet by her ruby colored hair, dangling in the air at eye level with her father. She was tired of being treated like trash for no reason, and she was tired of him. On instinct, Marielle glared into the bloodshot eyes before her, and she made a weird hissing noise, baring her teeth at the man. The lividness in her father's chocolate brown eyes wavered, revealing fear for a brief moment. His heartbeat quickened, and her ears picked up the now erratic thudding.

Abruptly, she was tossed aside, landing on a nearby desk. It cracked under the impact, sending her to the floor with the rubble as its legs gave out. When she looked up, her father was stumbling away, muttering under his breath, saying that it was biologically impossible for her to have even survived in her mother's pregnancy. She let him go, pondering over what just happened. Never before had he walked away from her, and never before had she seen such fear in his eyes. Thinking back on that one moment of his fear enlightened her. She glowered at the man as he disappeared around the corner to ascend up the creaky stairs to his bedroom. He should be scared, very scared.

She looked down at her scar covered arms, seeing herself in a different light. She had never heard such a sound emit from her throat, then again, she had never channeled her hatred to the point where she was ready to retaliate. That bastard had did that to her. He stole her childhood and happiness, and he stole her mother away from her all of those years ago. He destroyed all of the light in her, leaving her a cold, dark shell that merely existed. She hated him for turning her into a lifeless waste of space that served no purpose. Most of all, she hated herself for letting him. Had she been stronger, she could have prevented her mother's death, and when she was stronger, she didn't do a damn thing to stop her father's continuous abuse. Her father had always blamed her mother's death on her, and she agreed—she was worthless.

After a few moments of saturating in self-hatred, Marielle made a move to get up. Her hand came in contact with a cool feeling of leather, and she looked down, seeing the remains of what used to be a drawer in the desk and a book that used to occupy the said drawer. Curiously, she grabbed the unmarked book and flipped through the pages, gasping when she realized that it was her mother's diary. Some of the entries dated back to before she was born, and the last entry dated to the day of her death. Not wanting to read the beautiful cursive yet, she closed the book, making a mental note to look at it later—she needed to accomplish something else first.

After depositing the diary into another desk across the room, she walked to the chest in the corner of the room that sat next to the stairs that led up to her father's room. She fumbled around in her pockets in her pants, looking for her lockpick. When her fingers grasped the small metallic utensil, she smiled in victory, pulling it out. She dropped to her knees and hunched over the large wooden box. She worked the lockpick into the hole, thankful for her lessons from Samuel Bantien. He had only taught her how to pick easy to moderate locks, but it was enough to help her out. With a click, the chest unlocked, and she quietly lifted the lid so that it wouldn't make a noise. From a quick glance, the chest seemed only to contain clothes, but she knew better. After tossing out various shirts and pants, she stopped when her prize was revealed.

Looking into the bottom of the chest, she spotted a few daggers. As she reached her hand in, she paused when a particular dagger caught her eye. She frowned realizing that one of the daggers was silver—she abhorred silver. They scarred her body every time that her father had used them to cut her, unlike the iron and steel ones. They hurt a lot more, too. She looked down at her pale arms, reminiscing on the pain. She brought her attention back to the silver thing, grabbing a shirt to grasp it with. With the silver dagger out of the way, she grabbed an iron dagger, bringing it up to eye-level. It wasn't elven or glass, but it would do just fine. She wiped her finger along the edge, noting the sharpness. It would most definitely accomplish her task.

Neglecting to put the items back into the chest, Marielle got up off the floor and turned toward the stairs. One by one, she silently crept up the stairs, failing to make any noise as she merged with the darkness. When she reached the top, she found the door ajar, saving her from having to pick another lock. She quietly slipped into the large bedroom, catching the figure of her father sprawled out on the large bed in the dimly lit room. She clutched the dagger into her right hand, and it fit perfectly into her palm as if it was made for her. In a lazy stroll, she made her way to the man, her instincts screaming for her to stop her advancement. She ignored it and pressed on, her hatred growing with every step.

She now towered over her unsuspected victim as he snored away, oblivious to his upcoming doom. With him being this drunk, she could jump around the room without waking him. She frowned upon the realization that he was face down in the bed fully clothed. She laid the dagger on the bed some distance away from the man, and put both hands on his body. With some difficulty, she rolled the man onto his back, and his snoring grew louder.

She grabbed the dagger off of the bed, looking at him with distaste. Her gaze was then drawn to the pulsing vein in his neck, and the steady beating of his heart drummed in her ears. Her teeth ached in her mouth and her stomach clenched, but she brushed the foreign feeling aside. She grabbed his large arm and she gripped his wrist in her left hand, making sure that the artery was faced upward.

She lowered herself onto her knees and brought the blade to his warm skin, making a shallow cut from the bend of his arm to his wrist. Gradually, a thin line of blood welled up and ran down his arm. Unlike her thick dark, red blood that ran slow, his blood was a bright crimson, flowing fast. The metallic scent hit her nose, and oddly, it smelled rather good. The aroma caused her mouth to salivate and her stomach to clench even tighter in anticipation. Rather than recoiling from her body's foreign reactions to the red liquid, she put the tip of the dagger on the same incision and recut the same wound a little deeper. More of the crimson blood came, entrancing Marielle by the beauty of the way that it poured out. She made intricate designs on his arm, watching the blood with a small smile. When she used up all of the space on the arm that she was working on, she climbed over the man and began doing the same with the other arm. After she grew bored, she crawled off of the bed, avoiding the red stains of the blood from his arms, and stared down at his neck, watching the pulse jump.

Marielle set the dagger on the bed away from the blood, all while keeping her eyes glued to the man's neck. She swallowed hard, too far in her resolve to turn back now. With sure hands, she reached out, pinching his nose with her left and pushing his mouth closed, holding it with her right. After a few seconds, he began to panic, thrashing about wildly. His bloodshot eyes came open with confusion swirling in the depths of them. She released him quickly and grabbed the dagger, allowing his eyes to focus on her. She wanted him to know that she was the reason for his demise.

"M-my love?" he asked, clearly disoriented.

She snarled. That was what he used to call her mother. She didn't even remember what the woman looked like, and she realized that she envied him for knowing the woman that she wanted to know so badly. He remembered what her mother looked like, whereas she didn't. He knew her smile, her laugh, and her life, while she had foggy memories. He took her mother away from her and then had the audacity to call her by the name he had given to her mother. If he loved her so much, then why did he kill her? Despite the turmoil of her internal war, she smiled. At least she looked like her mother, given his outburst. The idea of containing something from her mother was comforting, but it wasn't enough—it would never be. She wanted the woman to be standing before her in flesh and blood, not some faded memories.

"Wrong answer," her hoarse, barely used voice cut through the silence. She raised the blood stained dagger into view, letting him get a full view of it. His eyes turned from wonderment to that same fear that they held earlier. He began to scream, but Marielle lodged the blade in his throat, cutting off the wretched sound. A sick gurgling sound came from his mouth, and he opened and closed it, trying to obtain air as his lungs filled with blood. He flailed about in his last moments, giving her the upmost satisfaction and exhilaration. This was the moment that she had waited her whole life for. She twisted the blade harshly, smiling when large amounts of blood escaped the wound. She listened to his heartbeat deplete, reveling in the sound of his life draining from his body. Within seconds, his form went still, and the life in his eyes faded into dullness.

She snatched the dagger out, intrigued by how the blood ran out of the gaping hole. She stood there, engulfed in the wonderful scent of it and mesmerized by the gushing action. She didn't know how long that she stood there watching, but when the blood slowed, she leaned forward. With gentle fingers, she closed her father's eyelids with her left hand. Shocking herself, she placed a kiss on his forehead, closing her eyes. She then whispered against his clammy skin, "Goodbye, father, you heartless bastard. May you burn in oblivion for the rest of eternity."

After separating herself from her father's corpse, she wiped the dagger free of blood with a part of the sheet that wasn't stained. Almost immediately after she had finished, her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees. It took a while to process that she was finally free. She had avenged her mother and herself, bringing justice to the wrongdoer. A maniacal cackle escaped her throat, lifting her spirits. It felt odd to be so…elated, but with her father gone from this world, she couldn't help herself. It was odd, she felt no remorse while taking a life, but she did feel something. In that one moment, she was happy, basking in the thrill of killing. It was different than her usual emotionless persona, and it felt amazing. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and then nothing.

0-0

Time passed, and Marielle never moved from her spot on the floor. Although her eyes were staring at the bloodied corpse, they weren't focused. She was torn from her stupor by the tingling of her skin, alerting her that the sun had raised. It was odd how she knew this considering that there were dark drapes covering the windows, but somehow her body had never failed to sense it. Her eyes focused and she turned to glare at the drapes—she had never liked the sun.

A slight pain shot through her legs as she made a move to get up, causing her to wince. When she was successfully on her feet, she made a grab for the dagger, securing it to her side. With an eerie calm, she went for the door without sparing a backwards glance. This was her past, and she was destined to leave it where it belonged—behind her.

Thoughts of leaving crossed her mind as she mounted the stairs to the common room. She couldn't stay here after she had murdered someone. Sooner or later, the authorities would be sent to investigate her father's absence from his frequented locations. Unlike her, he kept up a healthy social life. Occasionally, she would slip out of the house when he was at the bar, but she didn't really talk to anyone, except Samuel Bantien. And she only socialized with him to learn how to pick locks.

The first thing that she did when she reached the leveled floor was head straight to the desk where her mother's diary was. She took a seat at the chair and grabbed the book out of the drawer. Delicate fingers stroked across the worn cover as thoughts of being able to get to know her mother's deepest feelings swirled in her head. She opened the book carefully, turning to the last entry that dated back to the last day of her mother being alive.

At one point in time, I loved him more than everything else in this world. Now, my love is fading, although it remains strong. He has started to target Marielle, almost like he is jealous of the attention that I give her. He always complains that I don't spend enough time with him because of her, and he wont listen when I try to explain that Marielle needs love and care.

As of late, he has started to drink heavily, and he always beats my child. I've intervened and even told him meaningless threats, but he persists in his abuse. Tomorrow I will take Marielle, and we will go to Bravil. I know that he will follow, unless I permanently stop him, but I just can't do it myself. I have to visit The Lucky Old Lady.

In the event that I fail in my endeavors and that you may find this, Marielle, then I ask of you to travel to Bravil. I love you very much, and I'm sorry that I allowed him to continue in his harsh acts against you. In the basement, under the waterfall painting, there are some septims and an amulet. It's enough septims to last you for a while and the amulet is enchanted to help you with your… special traits.

May you be happy, my beloved daughter.

A lump had long ago formed in Marielle's throat from the entry. She felt like she wanted to cry, but in this saddened moment, her lacrimal glands once again refused to work. Her mother was indeed a great woman, and she couldn't help but miss her even more. She had caused her mother's death, and she would never forgive herself for it.

She clutched the diary to her chest and allowed dry, tearless sobs to rip through her small form, unable to contain herself. If nothing else bound her to this world, then her mother's request did. She owed the woman that and so much more.

After a few deep breaths, Marielle was able to slow the sobs. She couldn't allow her emotions—or lack thereof, in terms of tears—to prolong her mission any longer. She felt so weak, having experienced so many feelings in such a short time limit. It was like a dam that had held steady for so many years busted open, permitting a raging current to pass through.

Within a few moments, she was able to calm herself to the point of reverting back to her emotionless self. Quickly, she stored the diary on her person and made her way over to the stone stairs that led to the basement. Once on level ground at the bottom, she went over to the painting that was indicated in the diary. She removed it with haste and came face to face with a regular wall. With concentration, she was able to tell that one of the stones was slightly out of place. She reached for it, dropping it on the floor, careful of her feet.

Inside the small hole that was revealed were a small sack and an amulet. Ignoring the currency, she went straight for the amulet. The stone on it was… beautiful. It was a deep ruby color that reminded her of her hair coloring. The subtle hum of the enchantment reverberated through her fingers. She quickly clasped it around her neck, feeling the magic from the jewelry run through her body, enveloping her. She wasn't sure about the special traits that her mother had said that she had, but she wouldn't for a second doubt the woman when she said it would help her. Marielle's eyes went to the sack, and she made a grab for it, hearing the jingle of the septims clang together. Curious to see just how many that the sack contained, she opened the bag, guessing that it had to be over five hundred in there.

Without the patience to count the exact amount of septims, she stuffed the oversized bag into an unoccupied pocket and went to put on her braided leather sandals. She then retrieved her black robe for secrecy and all but ran up the stairs to the main room. She went over to the cupboard and snatched out a couple of apples. They wouldn't be much, but it was enough to sustain her. She held on apple in each hand as she headed to the door, munching on the shiny red fruit that tasted horrible to her. She stopped in front of the wooden portal, hesitating inside, absorbing the darkness that the dark drapes over the windows provided. She could feel that the sun was at its highest point in the sky, and she despised the thought of having to go out in it. Dreading the sun, Marielle suddenly became interesting in the apples, eating at a super slow rate. She frowned when she realized that both were eaten to the core, discarding the remains into a random basket on the side of the door. With a calming breath, she opened the door and stepped outside, leaving the shadows of the candlelight behind.

She didn't spare the local people so much as a glance as she closed the door behind her. The enveloping magic from the amulet made itself known once again, reminding her of its presence. Strangely, her skin didn't feel itchy and uncomfortable like it always did when she stepped into the daylight. Also, her eyes didn't sting and water from the angry ball in the sky. Was this the power of the amulet? She brushed the thought aside, heading toward the front gates of Imperial in an almost lazy manner. Albeit the sun didn't deal its usual physical discomforts on her, Marielle still felt lethargic. She sighed—the sun always seemed to greedily suck the energy right out of her, and she never knew why.

The guards paid her no mind as she officially left the Talos Plaza District with a sluggish gait. She had absolutely no idea where Bravil was, but she did know her way out of Imperial. The bridge in the distance caught her eye and she hurried to it, gazing out at Lake Rumare in wonderment. The deep blue waters were calming, and she felt like she was seeing the world from a different perspective. No longer did she feel trapped, no longer would she have to worry about her father, no longer would she be controlled. From this day on, she vowed that she would start anew. She was no longer a prisoner.

All too soon, she was across the bridge and next to Wawnet Inn. She paused and looked at the establishment longingly. What she wouldn't give to sleep through the day and continue on her way at night, and maybe she could also get directions while she was at it. Mere seconds passed, presenting Marielle with enough time to make up her mind.

She headed toward the Inn, knowing that it wouldn't be wise to stay this close to the city that she had just committed a crime in, but no one knew that her father even had a daughter, so she wouldn't be suspected. The scent of alcohol and cooking meat came from the other side of the door, stopping her in her tracks. She shrugged—she needed the rest.

She pushed the door open and walked inside, glad for the darkness, save for a few candles along the walls. Her relief was erased with anxiety, stopping her in her tracks at the sight of so many people inside of the main room to the right—it didn't matter that it was only two guards and what she assumed to be the owner. She hated interacting with people, and more than that, she hated to be the center of attention. As if the occupants of the main room were out to piss her off today, they all stared in an uncomfortable silence. She scowled in disgust, trying to ignore her audience to no avail.

The silence was broken by the lady behind the wraparound counter, calling her over. Marielle tried her best to ignore the stares as she obliged the woman's request. When she reached the front of the counter, the Imperial guards resumed talking and drinking as if she didn't exist.

When the Altmer looked to be about to speak again, Marielle silenced her by cutting her off. "Do you have an available room?" She turned her hard gaze up to the woman, waiting for her answer. She never actually realized that she was short until she found that the other woman was taller—a lot taller.

The woman offered a smile. "There's a fresh bed available to anyone who's got the ten gold."

Marielle ignored the woman's kind gesture as she withdrew her arm into her sleeve, and grabbed for the septims. She counted out the correct amount with her bony fingers before her hand reappeared from the robe, placing the currency on the counter. It seemed rude to not place them in the woman's palm, but she didn't want to risk coming in contact with her—she wanted to avoid physical contact at all cost.

The owner didn't seem to take offense and handed over a key before grabbing for the coins. "Head upstairs, and look for the last door on your right. That's your room. Sleep well."

Too uncomfortable to continue any forms of communication, she nodded and spun on her heel, heading to go upstairs. After passing the door that she entered on the left and turning a right corner, Marielle paused. Sitting sideways on the stairs that led up to the rooms was a shady looking Breton. He seemed to be preoccupied in watching three pieces of meat that he was cooking on an open fire, and she scrunched up her nose at the horrid smell. She gave him a brief glance over and tried to walk by when his voice stopped her.

"Psst. Hey, you! Yeah, you! Come here! I got what you need..."

She stopped in her tracks, sending a death glare at the pervert. She didn't know who he thought she was, but she wasn't that type of girl. "I want nothing to do with you," she replied in an impassive voice that hid her anger. Without wanting to cause a scene that would attract the guards' attention, Marielle rushed by the man and leaped up the stairs.

She wasted no time in making it to her room and inserting the key. With a click, she pushed the door opened and stepped inside. To her pleasure, the room was a medium size. There was a lit candle in the left hand side, a large bed, a chest at the end of the bed, and a set of drawers next to the door. After noticing that she was standing in the room with the door open, she closed it and locked it. She then removed her braided leather sandals and robe, draping the latter over the chest. Not bothering to remove her burlap vest or sack cloth pants, she trusted her nose in telling that the bed was clean and plopped down on it. It felt weird lying on a semi soft bed considering the fact that she was used to a bedroll on the hard basement floor.

Before allowing herself to rest, she removed her dagger from her waist, clasping it tight within her right palm. She didn't feel secure in this foreign location—not that she had ever felt secure after her mother had passed—and the dagger gave her reassurance. Nobody would dare attack her while she rested, at least not anybody who valued their genitals. All too soon, sleep carried her away.

Thirst clawed at her insides, pulling her from her slumber. She forced her body into a sitting position from lying in the lush green grass. Stars sparkled overhead and two moons illuminated the sky, drawing her attention. Her eyes averted from the moons, taking in her surroundings. There was nothing but a vast grass field—no trees, no humans, no animals, no roads. She climbed to her feet, turning in a full circle. The endless stretch of nothing but grass confirmed her assumption—there was absolutely nothing around.

"Why do you deny yourself?" a powerful voice growled out.

Marielle immediately went on the defensive, ready for any attack that may come. Once again, she scanned the area and found no forms of life. A light breeze caressed her skin, carrying a light-hearted chuckle with it .

"Calm yourself, child. I do not wish to harm you," the same voice purred this time.

"I am not a child! Who are you? Where are you?"

As if responding to her demand, a large pitch black wolf darker than the night shimmered into existence a few feet in front of her. On all fours it was at least twice Marielle's height. Its glowing blood red eyes regarded her with more intelligence than an animal should contain. Muscles rolled under the silky fur as it took a step toward her.

Marielle jumped back, startled from the enormous size of the creature. "Stay away from me!" She put more distance between herself and the wolf, ready to turn and run should the need arise. It stopped its advance on her, and then showed two sharp rows of white fangs.

"I shall ask again. Why do you deny yourself?" The wolf's jaw didn't move, but she could tell that the sound came from it.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Marielle tried to look brave by the tone of her voice, when in reality, she felt anything but. Beside the wolf, a large black fountain made of marble appeared. Dark liquid spurted from the top and fell down into the larger bowl that made up the bottom. The sight and smell of the unknown liquid caused her stomach to cramp in an unbearable hunger, and she found her feet moving without conscious thought. Forming a cup with her hands, she plunged it into the warm liquid, bringing it to her mouth, letting the liquid slid down her throat. She almost closed her eyes from the ecstasy that the taste had provided as she went back for more. The taste was indescribable; all she could say was that it was the best thing that she had ever consumed. Before long, her arms and the front of her clothing were stained with the almost black substance, but she was finally satiated.

Another chuckle brought her attention back to the wolf. "Ah, I can see that you are receiving some strength, good."

Warmness blanketed her body, and she looked down at her arms, gasping. Her unusually pale skin turned slightly rosy, and she felt more… alive. Her already superb abilities of sight, smell, and hearing increased by tenfold. She felt like a predator of the night, all raw power and senses. Despite feeling complete, an unknown yearning began to rise. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because the wolf started speaking again.

"That is your lust for killing, it is insatiable. I can, however, appease it for you. Join my ranks, child, and reconnect with the darkness. It is waiting for you with open arms."

The liquid in the fountain and on her person turned into a crimson red.

Marielle woke, gasping for air. After taking a sufficient amount of time to calm herself, she turned the dream over in her head. What had it meant? Was it real or just a cruel joke of her imagination?

She froze in horror when she realized that there was another heartbeat aside from hers in the room. She clenched the dagger in her right hand tighter, scanning the semi dark room but finding no one. Just as she was starting to think that she was just being paranoid, a figure appeared next to the door. She hurriedly jumped out of bed so as not to get caught in a vulnerable position, crouching just opposite of him with her dagger readied. "Who are you, and why are you here?" she growled, and her burgundy eyes trained on the robed intruder.

"The Night Mother is correct—you are indeed a unique one."

Chapter End

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