SOMEWHERE I BELONG

He feels so alien. More so here among his own people than as a blue-skinned outsider upon the shores of Blue Rafters.

Walking up to the church's double doors, he can't help but remember what it felt like as a boy walking through the massive archway. How small it made him feel. How insignificant. So much time wasted listening to such mind numbing sermons. He's never missed this place. Not even once throughout all these years. How Beulah talked him into coming here today, he'll never know. It would seem he has a weak spot for the women in his life, however few they might be. Despite how much he bitches and moans, he just can't say no. Though if he were to have it his way, he would never have moved an inch from Kitrina's side.

This morning as he found his attire so neatly laid out for him, he also noticed that Beulah had taken the time to mend Kitrina's so badly ravaged and torn catsuit as well. Folded nicely and placed right beside his little pile. She did a good job. Her handiwork at stitching up those dreadful holes is quite astounding. One would never know that just the night before it was practically the only thing keeping the cat girl from bleeding out. But best not to think about that now. There are more pressing matters at hand.

He looks himself over. The garb his sister had prepared for him fits quite nicely, though a bit looser than he tends to prefer. It seems her husband, Mordechai is a much sturdier fellow than himself. More robust in the arms and chest than Klarion finds himself. Again, less armor than he likes to wear. The man mustn't be a soldier such as he. Still, he looks quite pleasing in the black doublet and starched white stockings. It's been so long since he's worn his traditional Croatoan fashion.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, his body literally heaves with the motion. His shoulders slump. Best not wait out here any longer and delay the inevitable. He straightens his spine and holds his head up high.

He steps inside and the commotion of the townsfolk instantly ceases. All attention turns towards him, eyes on his back as he walks tall down the aisle. His mother in the front pew stands and stares wide-eyed at her son. He approaches and she throws her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

"Hello, mother." Klarion says as she nearly squeezes the life out of him.

"You've returned!" Charity exclaims, her hands resting on her son's tall shoulders.

"Just for a visit." Klarion corrects, placing his hands on hers.

Something bumps into the back of his leg. He turns to see what had touched him only to find a group of small children have gathered at his feet. Their big, bright eyes stare up at him in awe. Klarion looks down at them, unsure what to make of the mob scene around him. A leader comes forward and tugs at the edge of Klarion's doublet. The warlock waits patiently for the child to state his business.

"Um... well..." The child begins, gathering courage. "Eli says, brother Klarion, is it true that you, um... that you've been to the surface. Is it true? Magdalene says that is a lie and we are not supposed to tell lies. But is it true?"

Klarion takes a knee as to be on the same level as the child. So that he can see eye to eye with the little one.

"How old are you?" He asks.

Counting on his fingers, the boy replies, "Four."

Klarion looks up to his mother.

"Has it really been that long since I last visited?" He asks. "Do these children have no knowledge of the topside world?"

He returns his attention to the child.

"Yes it is true." He replies with a smile. "There is a whole world above ours, much vaster than you could ever imagine. Just beyond the wicket gate."

The children's eyes grow larger, waiting for more.

"A world full of sunlight and warmth. Sweet treats and wondrous sights. There's much adventure to be had and friendships too!" Klarion explains.

An adult steps forward, a woman in a black dress and prim white bonnet. She grabs her child's hand, tugging him away from the group.

"You forgot to mention danger." She hisses. "The surface dwellers are dangerous. Have you not forgotten how they invaded our village and set fire to our homes? They wished to enslave us! Many good people were lost that day."

Many villagers agree, voicing their opinions and creating a rabble of voices. Rumors and gossip swirl, outcries and angry tones alike. It's difficult to make sense of it all, impossible to discern a single voice from the clamor.

"Sure, the world above is dangerous." Klarion yells, cutting through the crowd and making himself be heard. Once more, he regains their attention. "It is dangerous and strange and so much different than our world. But that does not make it bad. Neither does its people. Not everyone is like those men with their guns."

They look at him, still so unsure, torn by his words. Klarion steps to the front of the room, just behind the Submissionary's podium at the altar as he addresses the crowd.

"Our ancestors came to this land to hide in shame. But we have nothing to be ashamed of." Klarion continues. Slowly, one by one, the townsfolk sit and listen. "Do we not deserve to live under the same stars as our topside brothers and sisters? For our children to feel the sun's warmth on their skin? I will tell you this. The surface is WORTH the danger. It is what makes life worth living. It is what gives it purpose and makes us feel alive. Would you rather sit here in the dark where nothing ever happens, or claw your way to the surface where a brand new, exciting life is waiting for each and every one of us?"

Silently, his fellow Croatoans stare up at him, eyes wide with wonder. For a moment, Klarion feels as if he may have gotten through to them, but then someone speaks and all at once, the rabble of voices consumes the tiny church once more.

Defeated, Klarion hangs his head as he makes his way back towards the front pew to sit beside his mother.

Both physically and mentally drained, Klarion steps inside the doorway to his sister's home. He expects to find Beulah waiting for him at the kitchen table, eager and ready to dig into him about his time at church. Instead, he finds the quaint, little home rather empty and dark. The fur on Teekl's back stands on end. Worried, Klarion calls out for his sister. Something doesn't feel right.

A sound catches his attention from inside Kitrina's bedroom chamber and he quickly makes his way over. He's about to swing open the door when Beulah steps out, blocking his view. She holds in her arms several bloodied towels and bed sheets, making Klarion ever more anxious. The color in her face is completely drained, leaving her a sickly shade of pale blue. With her eyes wide and unblinking, she stares at her brother, her mouth agape, unsure what to say.

"I had gone in to change her bandages and..." Beulah begins, nearly trembling. "Oh, Klarion... I'm so, so sorry."

Pushing his sister aside, Klarion rushes past her, making a bee-line towards Kitrina's bed. She looks so pale, much more so than normal. Ghostly white and cold to the touch. Lips blue and closed eyes sunken. Blood seeps through the sheets she's wrapped in, starting in the center and bleeding outwards, becoming fainter towards the edges. If it weren't so ghastly, it would be beautiful. Like roses blooming from her chest. He gathers her up in his arms like a rag doll, so limp within his grasp. So light.

"What happened?" Klarion growls while holding Kitrina. "You said she was fine when I left this morning."

Beulah steps inside the doorway, still clutching the bloodied bandages tightly to her chest.

"I also said I was not a doctor." She hisses in return. "I have never seen such a wound of this caliber before. I removed what I could and patched her up to the best of my ability, but she must have sustained a greater deal of internal damage than I had initially thought. She just began hemorrhaging and I... I couldn't get it to stop. She just... She just wouldn't stop bleeding."

More furious than frightened, Klarion's eyes narrow on his sister.

"And you couldn't summon me to assist you?" He spits. "Why hadn't you called for me to return?"

"What would you have had me do, brother? Leave her dying here ALONE to go run and fetch you? Burst inside the church doors with this human's blood on my hands?" She defends. "Is it not enough that I have opened up my home to you and your friend? I did the best I could!"

Lifting Kitrina, Klarion begins to make his way back towards the front door.

"Where are you going?" Beulah asks, her voice still trembling.

"To Doctor Isaac. There's still time before she..." Klarion stops mid-sentence. He can't bring himself to say the word.

"Perhaps if you had gone straight there in the first place, brother, rather than bring her here." Beulah says softly, placing her hand on Klarion's as she stops him at the door. "Too much time has passed and she's lost far too much blood. There's nothing we can do now. Perhaps it would be best to make preparations-"

"Leave." Klarion growls, cutting her off.

"It's too late, brother." Beulah replies in a soft, motherly tone. "You should say your goodbyes."

"I said LEAVE!" Klarion shouts at the top of his lungs, making the foundation shake. Eyes red and teeth sharp, he's a frightening sight.

A shudder runs through Beulah. She swears she can hear the glass windows groan, bowing out at the seams and threatening to burst. The porcelain plates in the kitchen rattle and clank. Her owl familiar cowers on her shoulder.

"There's an order to these things..." She quietly dares to speak.

Klarion walks past, a chill to the air in his wake. He stands inside Kitrina's bedroom door, his back towards Beulah. Such a dark and brooding aura about him. So deeply lost.

"Order?" Klarion lowly growls in return. "There is no place in this world for order. Only chaos. Love... Love is chaos. And I am it's lord and master. "

Without another word, Beulah backs away slowly with her head hung low, leaving her brother in the darkness of the bedroom, holding his broken friend.

Klarion's black eyes sting wet with tears as he carefully lowers Kitrina onto the dusty hardwood floor. Kneeling beside her, his shaking fingers tentatively graze over the tangled bed sheet, wet and sticky with her blood. What little spells he knows in the realm of healing magic is not nearly enough to fix her.

So much fear and sadness swirls within him, an inner turmoil of distress and emotion. He grabs onto her shoulders and tries to shake her awake, all the while pleading with her, practically begging for her to awaken. His sadness turns to rage, making his eyes glow a blood-curdling crimson. His black nails turn sharp, digging into her skin as he shakes her more violently, making her head flop to and fro. He yells at her to wake up, demands and threatens her to do as he commands, but still she will not stir. He howls like a pained animal desperately searching for its mate. And in his moment of panic, he knows there is only one last thing that he can do.

This is what happens when you spit in the face of fate. They had given him a gift to which he had rejected and only after finding his fault and reaching out to grasp what he so wanted, they'd taken it away. Pulled her from his grasp. It would seem, the universe is not without a sense of humor. Sick and twisted as it might be. Should he beg for forgiveness, would the fates show mercy and give her back? Somehow he doubts that. Nothing precious in this world can be obtained without sacrifice.

"I made a promise, Kitty." Klarion growls, hastily removing his doublet. "I will rip this whole damned world apart... Just to keep you safe."

A button flies across the room as Klarion tears into his cotton undershirt, exposing his chest. It comes to a rest in the corner where Teekl cowers in hiding. Removing the ceremonial dagger from its holster around his belt loop, Klarion holds the blade to his chest. He takes one last deep breath, steadying his hand and clearing his mind, just before carving a symbol into his cerulean flesh. Biting his tongue keeps him from screaming.

He then turns the dagger on Kitrina, carving the same symbol into her chest as well. Unlike him, she doesn't even make a peep as the blade kisses her skin. She also doesn't bleed nearly as greatly as he. Having already lost so much blood, there's hardly much more to give.

When the deed is done, the dagger falls to the floor and Klarion, once more, scoops Kitrina up into his arms, hugging her closely to his chest as he cradles her in his lap. His wound stings terribly as he applies the pressure of her skin against his. Their blood mixes. He rests his his sweat-filled brow upon hers and closes his eyes as he begins to chant in tongues never spoken. His lips find her ear and he whispers something so soft and quiet that only she can hear, wherever in the darkness her soul may be.

His whole body begins to glow a vivid and unearthly light. Starting from the mark on her chest and spreading across her entire body, she begins to glow the same. He presses his lips to hers.

The floorboards creak and vibrate terribly, splintering beneath them. A strange hum fills the air. Slowly, he can feel the magic flow through his veins and into her body, his life force filling her with warmth. It starts out warm, just a little more than a tingling sensation, then turns to burning hot, like lava churning in his blood. With every heartbeat, he can feel her strength grow, feel her color and warmth returning. And he can feel himself weaken.

Her lips warm and she deepens the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she feeds from his soul. He can practically hear her heart throbbing in his ears to the same rhythm as his own. It starts off faint, at first, but then grows louder, nearly deafening. A stampede of drums inside his head, thrumming against his skull. The sound of her blood whooshing through her arteries as her heart races faster and faster yet is enough to make his head spin. Her warm breath on his lips mixes with his own and he can feel the room begin to twirl. He feels faint, completely drained of energy as she continues to feast, growing stronger every second.

His chest burns fiercely as if his heart were on fire. His ribs feel as if they just might burst into flames. She weaves her fingers through his hair and his skin feels electric. Like little pin pricks all over. Tingly and painful just the same. It's about the last thing he feels before his eyes roll back and the room grows dark.