She is walking the misty gardens of Cloudtower at midnight.
They are not visible to an ordinary eye. One could enter such a garden with permission from the tower herself. Darcy is now alone inside the purples and greens, an image of a forest lives here, not the forest itself. Darcy has no problem with that. She delights more in illusion than reality.
Finally facing her mother had made her feel complete freedom from the boundaries of childhood. Tonight, for the first time, she felt whole. She had no parents. She was beyond such mortal concepts. Under the dark starry night, she sank deep into a delightful delusion. She was beyond them all. She never had moral boundaries, but now, with her coven and Valtor, her magic also knew no boundaries. She came across a lake, an image of a lake, and saw the reflection of a goddess which was herself. Her heart paced. She wanted something, someone. Anyone. She wanted to hunt.
She suddenly sensed heartbreak and misery. The sadness of a beautiful young man.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The knife dropped from his hand. Tristan watched his dark red blood in motion, emerging from his wrist. A beautiful place to die. The nineteen year old closed his eyes and reflected on his short, miserable life. A poor street artist meets a woman with many faces. He follows beauty and passion. By mistake, he finds himself at an evil court, whose participants had no eyes to see beauty.
Unless a very twisted version of it.
When Lilith was taken to dungeons, he could only see loneliness and pain in his future. He had no place here. He felt like a lamb in a room full of lions. Such were the thoughts occupying him when his vision started to blur. He inhaled the scent of fake belladonnas in the fake garden. He was just about to surrender to the void. But he was found. A rare flower can't stay unnoticed, even in his last moments.
Healing magic sparkled in shades of purple on his wrist. Minutes later, he was completely unhurt, perfectly beautiful again. He opened his eyes to see the daughter of her love, with an expression of honest appreciation of beauty and fake concern.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
She hold her breath at the sight. It resembled a tragic painting. He had black hair and tanned skin, he was tall and lean. He had the saddest green eyes she ever saw in a male. He was taking his own life in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible. His blood looked black in moonlight. "Don't…" He was not allowed to die. She would not let him waste away. Not now, at least.
"Hi." She smiled seductively at the boy in her arms. She could sense him go speechless. "My lady." He panicked. Was he not allowed to commit suicide? Was he in trouble? He was unbelievably naive. "Don't be afraid, come with me instead. I am sweeter than death." He followed Darcy to her room like a puppet. Her chamber was airy, bohemian. The bed was undisturbed. He was going to be the first lover, first victim of the lady of darkness.
"Take off your clothes." The boy's mind was torn in two. One half was still in despair and longed for self destruction. The other half was aching to melt inside this woman. She undressed slowly, keeping eye and mind contact. Meanwhile, Tristan was anxiously undressing. Darcy reached for a bottle from her shelves. First, she inhaled it slowly. She then took a sip. Turning towards him, she pointed to her bra. He helped her out of it with nervous, shy hand movements. Darcy suddenly faced him and kissed him, passing the magical liquid to his mouth. Tristan forgot about death instantly. What he longed for did not matter. His lady was all that mattered. He shall serve her now and forever.
"You are so beautiful." The artistic soul could not bare such a pleasant sight. He let go of his tears. Darcy came closer to him and licked a tear from his cheek. She pushed him to bed.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Checkmate."
Icy declared with satisfaction, holding the white queen. Valtor's black pawns were scattered around, like soldiers fallen in battle. His black king had nowhere to go. Her moves had been so cleverly calculated, and Valtor could not read anything from her poker face. He finally relaxed his tense jaw and hands, and poured them another glass of whiskey. "I won. I get to kill the the old man." With a simple spell, she collected all the pieces and put them inside the chess box. She then sat back and placed her bare legs on the table, playing with her silver locks.
"How do you want to do it? Shall I serve him to you in a cage?" Valtor asked, taking a sip. It had been an intense game, and since he hated mental laziness, he was in a good mood from spending a productive night. Icy finished her drink at one shot, and her eyes sparkled. "I will appreciate that. In return, you can have his frozen brain. He relies too much on that organ of his." Valtor repressed a laughter, and reached for her legs to caress them. "Is this a conversation, or foreplay?" She took her legs off from the table, leaving Valtor empty handed. "I know what we will do! We will call for a feast, and serve the old man to his students!" She let go of an hysterical laughter. Valtor rarely got to see her drink, and when she did, the result was pleasantly maniacal. "Foreplay, that is."
The foreplay was cut short. Both were too eager to enjoy the diabolical harmony of fire and ice.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Lady of Storms is resting on her red velvety bed.
She is waiting for the content to come. The satisfaction. It does not come.
Smoking in her red dress from earlier, she watches herself in the mirror. Her hair got all messy, and her makeup was also turning to a mess. But it did not matter, she had a lot of time to clean up. Since she had no intention of going to sleep. She could not go to sleep with the anticipation of violence. In the early morning, she was going to execute Musa, and Valtor would make sure the Red Fountain is observing, from their castle.
She imagined the root of her wings, and how they would bleed when she ripped them off. Adrenaline rushed to her blood, her heart paced. Maybe she would feel content after the murder. She would feel comfortable here, knowing that she was doing her part, serving both herself and her coven. But she still doubted that. Something was still bugging her, something from her past was begging to be released and transformed. She had an inkling of what that was. She slowly took her clothing off.
She still had the marks on her body, signs of violence and humiliation, from her two years at the brothel. All the violence she was showing to others did not undo what was done to her. It did not erase her hatred, the feeling of helplessness and worthlessness.
All those men, treated her like she was a piece of shit.
Now, everyone in this castle would give their legs to be with her.
She was not broken or traumatized. She was the cause of the traumas of others. She would not let the past take control of her.
She went to have a relaxing bath. Tomorrow, she would be reborn. Not as a mortal, as a hurricane.