Visitor
Ariamis was a cold, barren place, much like its creator… or so she had always thought. It was filled with skies that poured down endless shards of frozen glass, winds that spun too fast for the eye to see and a chill so potent, even the bones of a corpse would flake off in a matter of hours.
Those that had taken refuge in its cruel bosom – a kinder way of calling it a prison – were none the better. Though, in their case, it was the fault of the world itself that tainted their minds with rust and infused their hearts with sadism. Some had been but loyal subordinates, others accused burglars with no solid proof; however, the fact remained that like her, they had all been imprisoned in the same nightmarish land after they had all been used, abused, and tossed away like mouldy bread for the hounds to devour.
When she had been a child, she had thought she had done something wrong to be sent to a place without any warmth. She had feared that the reason she had been left alone at such a young age was because she had not been kind enough, not smiled enough or said please and thank you to each and every person she had met. In the first few hours of her incarceration, she had cried herself to sleep wishing she hadn't accidentally tripped one of the young squires in her father's castle – thinking that if she had just been more careful, the adults wouldn't have sent her to this freezing ruin as punishment.
As the years had progressed, she had realised that the reason she had been ostracised to the extreme was simply because of what she was, not what she had done. It had made a whole lot of sense later when she had discovered that normal people didn't possess a tail like her, or these odd scales like her. And the fact that most people she had attempted to befriend back home had run away from her at first glace because she was taller than them also drove the nail into the frozen coffin quite well.
Who could ever love a beast? Those were the words she had once read in a fairy-tale many moons ago. She had wondered why such a thing would warrant thought when love wasn't bound to species. It was only when she lost that naivety did she understand that love had to first bind to people's warped mindset's which prevent it from wrapping its warmth around anything other than society's definition of 'acceptable'.
And so, she had spent her days passive, reclusive and subdued in her mansion of misery. The beings outside of her domed chamber never bothered her, for what monster with an inkling of consciousness would dare challenge something leagues above it? So, of course they would leave her be, even when she yearned for the smallest fraction of attention they could offer. She hadn't a care in the world for what kind of creature it would be, just so long as something filled the craving her heart bled for. Perhaps whatever gods were still ardent in making others happy had heard her plea after years of tears that drowned the very rain in the skies? What else could have explained the appearance of the stranger before her?
In truth, Jeremiah of Xanthos had been the first 'real' person she had seen in eons. However, although he was amusing in appearance and did not think ill of her, he was a creature that avoided company and even if he could speak, she doubted he would have uttered a word to someone like her. After all, he had done his best to ignore her whenever she was standing right in front of her. What kind of fool would she have been not to take a hint when she was being a nuisance?
But this time, it was different. When she had seen him, her mind had drawn a blank, her heart had frozen like the ice around her and the warmth in her cheeks had grown to an inferno. It was the first time in many years that she had had the luxury of company, after all. How would an anti-social being like her even begin to start up a conversation?
Why, by telling him he needed to leave, of course.
When those words had left her mouth, she had damned her mind for trying to banish the one thing she desired above all. She had blamed the wind, the snow, the cold and the very horizon itself for making her ruin her first opportunity at regular conversation, though she knew that it was truly her own blunder that had caused this mistake.
So, as an apology, she had ended her monologue by telling him how to exit this world – her world, a world of more darkness and despair. In her defence, he had looked the worst for wear. Torn metal that once represented an elegant breastplate, chipped armaments that endured further degradation from the elements around her, and the numerous sword and spike wounds freely bleeding from his limbs painted the picture of someone who had, quite frankly, been through hell.
Yet, he had done the unthinkable in reply to her warnings, and had opted to sheathe his sword, discard his shield and recline into a sitting position before her. If that hadn't been the biggest surprise, his words had.
"Finally… someone not after my soul." He had said in a pleased tone. She had been forced to take a step back in alarm at the fact that he hadn't found her repulsing like the others that had shunned her.
Granted, he did not resemble a human, or one of the Sun King's dependents. In fact, his aura resembled the oddly crowned phantom she shared residence with.
Nevertheless, she had thanked whatever force out there for granting her the chance to sate her desire. So, how had she shown her gratitude for this once in a lifetime opportunity?
Why, by acting mute of course.
It wasn't that she had meant to squander this boon granted to her, it was that she was unable to find the right words to begin a proper conversation. She had trained her mind endlessly in the past, thinking up scenario's and simulating possible events whereby a situation like this might occur; and now, when the time had come it felt as if her voice had decided to trap itself in the dungeon she called her own insecurity.
Astoundingly, he had not thought ill of her rigid posture and aloof behaviour. In fact, he had simply shrugged his broad shoulders when she had failed to reply or even react.
They had spent the next few minutes – which had felt like hours for her – simply basking in silence whilst she had wracked her brain for something, anything to say to him. Unfortunately, it was only when she had begun to open her mouth that she had seen his smaller form rise to his feet, quietly dusting off the fallen snow that had perched itself on his arms and legs.
"Say," he had begun to say whilst checking that his person was fit for travel once again. "What's your name?"
She had stared back at him petrified. He had asked it as if pondering why the sky was violet, without hesitation and in earnest if his visored gaze was any indication. It was then that her minimal skills in communication had flaunted its premature, featherless wings.
"A-A-Ah uhm…" He had tilted his head in confusion, she had turned crimson. Even so, he still waited for her to continue. With a deep breath to settle her frayed nerves, she had attempted it again.
"I a-am known as P-P-Priscilla," she had sputtered out, fingers nervously squeezing her scythe. In reply, he had nodded his head in satisfaction and bowed curtly.
"Thanks for the resting place."
And then he had walked on, reached the end of the walkway she had previously directed him to, turned to her… and fell.
She had stood there with bated breath for nearly two hours, wondering if she would spontaneously see his smaller arms pop up from the ledge and climb back up, stating that he had forgotten something so that their awkward exchange could begin anew. Such an image had not greeted her jade eyes, however.
So, she had lost her grip on the scythe that declared her a monster by those of the past, dropped to her knees and cried large, hot tears that hissed softly after making contact with the blanket of snow below her. Her sobs were lost to the wind that mocked her for thinking she had stood a chance in the first place, and the ache in her chest had spread to the far corners of her being – making her feel smaller than she had originally perceived.
It had felt like months had passed when that pain had abated and her eyes had dulled once again, that spark of hope looking like less of a possibility and more of a hallucination caused by the very clouds above.
It had been five moons later that her sharp ears had caught the clashing of swords in the corridor beyond her fog door.
At first, it just sounded as if the hollowed husks of men with loincloths were simply involved in some pointless, mindless squabble over who was to stand where. But after the sound of shattering clay had overcome the noise of the blizzard and the scent of ignited oil had filled her nostrils, it became obvious that something else was going on.
Soon, the smell of congealed blood filled the air followed by the thumping of steel boots. It appeared that whatever was on the other side of the silvery clouds obscuring her vision had warranted enough danger to draw the tall Berenike Warrior's attention.
Priscilla tensed at the sound of approaching footfalls and readied her scythe. However, what had entered through the mist been quite… peculiar.
The creature held a wicked halberd in its arms, dripping with the blood of the hollows it had just slain outside her chambers. It wore the head of a boar and yet it stood on its hind legs. Upon its chest was blackened armour almost akin to thick iron, and the trousers it wore were so baggy she was surprised it didn't just glide away with the wind itself.
She observed it with a frown as it backed away from her fog door, its back to her. She thought how easy it would have been to slash it in half if it were here for her, but from the focus it retained on the swirling mist before it, she doubted that with all certainty. Besides, if it was here for her, then it would have noticed her overwhelming presence within the confined space.
It was not an inhabitant of Ariamis, that much was clear. The individual wouldn't have entered her domain if it was. Furthermore, since it seemed so unguarded in the face of something that could wipe it from existence with a flick of the wrist, it meant that the creature most likely didn't know of her. And if it didn't know her then it wasn't after her, meaning that it was probably lost. As such, the least she could do was show it the way out.
Priscilla decided to get the creature's attention. The being turned at the sound she made with her throat. Her eyes locked onto the red, glassy ones of the boar but felt no sense of fear or tension. In fact, when the thing had seen her it had dropped its weapon and jumped in what seemed like joy. Priscilla frowned at the odd reaction. Was she missing something here?
"Phriphira!" it shouted in a muffled voice, making her lower her scythe. The creature seemed somewhat intelligent, but as to what it was trying to say, she was unsure.
"Phriphira," it said again and waved a black gauntlet at her. To say she was confused would have been an understatement. She had no idea what was going on.
The being grabbed one of the tusks the boar head possessed and tugged upward, revealing a fair chin and pale lips. "Priscilla, its me."
The crossbreed's eyes widened. She recalled that voice. She remembered the deep, rich tone of that voice very well. It was the human that had walked through her door not long ago. The hair at the back of her neck rose as her nervousness returned.
She was happy he was before her again, ecstatic in fact. However, her regret from failing to do anything the last time he was here was still fresh in her mind. It filled her with so much anxiety that she was unsure whether to greet him or stare at her trembling hands.
"Man, am I glad to see a familiar face."
Priscilla stiffened at the comment. He was glad to see her? She was familiar to him? What? How? Why? All she had done was be a nervous host the last time he was here. Scratch that, all she had done was show him the door when he arrived, why did he sound so pleased to be here at all? Not that she was complaining, of course…
The being – now found out to be the undead from five days ago – dropped to his knees breathlessly. It was obvious that he had been kept on his toes by the armed inhabitants outside. She watched in rapt attention as each pant he made caused a puff of thick steam to appear in the air before dissipating. It was quite interesting to watch. Did all humans breathe like that or just him? Why was he wearing such odd clothing? Was it comfortable to wear the severed head of a hog on his shoulders? What about the smell? She decided she would channel out her courage and ask him just that.
"Why did thou return?"
Priscilla mentally banged her head against her scythe. That wasn't what she wanted to ask him! Now he would think he was unwelcome here, and that was the last thing she wanted him to feel! Look at the new cuts and wounds decorating his body, he needed rest and she just asked him why he was here as if her were some sort of nuisance?!
The undead lifted his head to her before lowering it, a pensive look on what part of his face she could see. He grumbled out something about not being able to see before he removed the boar head entirely. What she saw made her tall knees quiver.
His skin was flawless as porcelain, his medium-length hair as red as rubies, and his eyes a piercing orange topaz. The crossbreed couldn't help but flush red yet again. The sight of him made her heart pound.
"Those guys can't come through the fog, right?" he asked, small beads of sweat running down his face.
Priscilla simply shook her head, eyes glued to the transparent bead of liquid slowly sliding down the length of his pronounced jawline.
"Phew, thought as much." He breathed and collapsed against the stone floor. He remained this way for quite a while, body spread like the birds that flew in the sky.
For the crossbreed, she had chosen to spend their time together wisely as compared to their last encounter. So how did the jade-eyed, pale-haired, and fluffy tailed being do so you ask? It was simple; instead of staring at the floor whilst fiddling with her fingers in silence, she had stared at the undead on the floor whilst fiddling with her fingers in silence. She understood that the change wasn't much, but she didn't mind it much. Her philosophy was that one had to crawl before they began to walk, anyways.
She took in every detail of her spontaneous tourist, making sure to commit every minute detail of him to memory – which wasn't really that difficult when he was the most interesting thing in her drab and familiar chamber of freeze. The circumference of his shaggy head, the way his adam's apple bobbed after four and a half seconds, the size of his boots… even the plushness of his lips. She had made sure to absorb everything she could about the strange man. She claimed that the reason was purely scientific, although her inner self knew it was for a different reason entirely.
"Sorry for stopping by uninvited." He said suddenly after almost an hour – which had felt more like a few minutes to her.
"Oh, please do not ponder on the matter," Priscilla pleaded. If anything, she was happy that he was even still here to begin with, never mind the fact that he had come back . Of course, she couldn't really tell him that boldly without her tail slapping the floor in semi-anguish whilst her cheeks would, without a doubt, grow as intense as the burning hot flames on the end of a torch. So, she had gone with the more discreet approach.
"However… if I may be forward, why hast thou returned to this land? Was it not thine wish to depart after much prosecution ushered in by my fellow inhabitants?" the undead rose from his reclined position to place his searing gaze on her form, his fiery brow cocked. She wriggled under it quietly, unsure of whether to look away from that intense gaze or allow herself to be absorbed by its heat. She eventually decided to alternate between the two, another rosy blush smacking the bridge of her nose.
After some time of him staring and her anxiously darting to and from his face, the undead blinked before replying.
"Eh?"
The crossbreed stared at him with her a concerned scrunch of her brows. Had he honestly not heard her or was he merely teasing her with that oddly comforting and uncomfortable silence he brought with his presence?
"Oh, sorry… got lost in thought for a minute." He supplied and got to his feet. "Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?"
Priscilla stared at the man wide-eyed. First he sparked a tense atmosphere with her, making her writhe in her own uncertainty, thinking she had done or said something to prompt such treatment and then he changed the subject as if their staring contest hadn't even existed to tell her that her eyes were attractive to him?
Why, the nerve of that small, silent, mismatched, oddly charming human that made her face heat up and heart palpitate without recourse because she secretly enjoyed the mystery he possessed. She had to admit… she was beginning to like him. Very much.
"I've got two reasons. The first is because of this." he said as he pulled out a massive slab of glowing coal from somewhere behind his back. Instead of wondering where he had been hiding the large object, her gaze zeroed in on the item itself – noticing the ominous ripples of violet energy cascading off the cube's surface. She recognised that energy because it wasn't energy at all, it was magic, a magic she knew well since she possessed the same affinity. It wasn't a slab either, but an ember; an occultic ember.
"How… no, where did you come upon this?"
The undead shrugged as he dropped the cube. The crossbreed's eyes widened and she reached out to catch try and catch the item before it hit the cold floor. She didn't know whether embers were fragile or not, since they were handled by smiths to strike enchantments into armaments. Needless to say, she didn't need to find out. As the large ember fell it seemed to shrink until it just vanished from sight within the blink of an eye.
Priscilla blinked in mild confusion before she heard his armour clinking and looked back up to see the undead heading for the ledge.
"Thank you for your hospitality." He waved behind him as he placed the boar helm back on and stopped at the end of the walkway.
"W-Wait," she called out to him, a hand outstretched toward him. He turned his body slightly to look back at her and waited for her to continue speaking.
Now was her chance to ask him what she had been meaning to. Like why he was really here, or what he intended to do with that ember. Was he really going to use it? Did he know how dangerous it was if it was locked up in Ariamis with her? What was the second reason he had come back? Was it for something else in her prison? Was it possibly for her? Did he not want to spend a bit more time here… with her? Just so that he could rest, of course. Yet, also so that he could realise that he could possibly take a lonely crossbreed along with him… if he wanted… did it count that she wanted it badly enough for the both of them?
But instead of those words leaving her desperate lips, she had uttered out her meekness and allowed yet another once in a lifetime chance slip away with the blizzards around her.
"Please… travel safely."
He nodded back in reply. Not saying a word, just leaping off the ledge, leaving no trace of his visit besides the outline of his footprints in the snow that did its best to cover up that which she desired to remain visible.
The sky was never clear. Perhaps it was because of the everlasting, rainless storms plaguing the stale air, or maybe time was just stuck in some infinite loop; like some further attempt to suck out the measly crumbs of happiness she could glean from being here.
When she thought about it logically, however, she supposed this was just another feature of the Painted World itself. Although Ariamis had created this cage, it was still conformed within unmoving canvas, meaning that since the painting itself was forever paused on an eternally bruised sky, it would mean that time spent inside the painting was trapped within an endless sense of night; therein signifying that there really was no way to go forward in this miserable life of hers – but just remain in a constant sense of reanimated sorrow. Whilst she had criticised the artist before, now she simply wanted to applaud him. He was truly a genius of creating the perfect netherworld, a punishment worse than death itself.
Even so, one could still manage to find at least an iota of joy, even in a limitless prison of wretchedness. Priscilla proved this point by drawing another X into the snow with the end of her scythe. She was winning in a game of tic-tac-toe against herself by 9 to 6 now.
As mundane as playing a game – that required two people – by herself was ad infinitum, she had to admit that at least it passed the time. Oh wait, she forgot, time here in Ariamis didn't move; it stood still.
With a sigh, the crossbreed etched a second circle into the grid-shaped board, right next to the first one. She hadn't imagined that just two visits from the undead with the bright face and burning eyes would leave her like this. Before he had even come to this world, she had been content playing a mindless children's game with herself until her imagination made it seem like the sky had grown darker. Now, she was as restless as a recently promoted squire awaiting his master's summons.
She had done everything she could think of to rid herself of such intense boredom, and she meant everything. From counting the cracks in the domed ceiling, drawing in the snow, to talking to herself, and even the occasional casting of her magic. It had all been for naught. In fact, what it had really done was make her groan in frustration that what she actually wanted was proper intelligent company.
Sure, she had had the chance to meet the other inhabitants of the Painted World. She had just never managed to get along with any of them. Not because they thought ill of her but simply because they lacked the mental capacity to do so – or even speak back whenever she greeted them.
Granted, the Berenike Warrior just outside her fog door had been somewhat cognisant, however since he was hollow, he had lost the ability to speak – or hear very well for that matter.
However, that undead had been completely different. He had been able to hear, talk and understand. He hadn't said much to her within his first two visits, but the pleasant feeling his mere presence brought had satisfied a hole in her heart she hadn't even known was there. It had fulfilled that sense of longing buried deep within her soul. The only problem with that: it had started a butterfly effect that ended up awakening the other holes in her heart; boredom being number one on the list followed by attention.
Now, she was by no means high-maintenance – as far as she knew – but even she had to admit that lately she had begun to act like a spoilt child if the sudden sulking and pouting were any indication.
Priscilla sighed out again, watching the mist from her mouth swirl lazily in front of her small nose. She narrowed her slitted eyes at it. It was in no manner like his breath when he had exhaled. When he had emptied his lungs, the air had spun more rapidly, foaming the very snowflakes as the wind tried to suck up the warmth he offered.
With her, it was the complete opposite. A cloud of fog would just float in front of her, lazily jiggling like some soapy bubble. It was really thick too, so thick the wind itself seemed to ignore the offering and blow around it, as if it had offended the element with its very existence. It wasn't fair!
She blew out another cloud of air from her lungs and gazed at the lethargic mass with a flat stare. It was taking more than a few seconds to evaporate, but when he had done it, it had disappeared in less than a single second. Priscilla stabbed a sharp finger into the mass of air in front of her and frowned. Her breath seemed cool instead of warm. Perhaps that was why it wasn't doing as she willed it? If so, then why was her breath so cold? She knew she could cast blizzards and ice with a simple sneeze but that was when she was using her magic. Why that ability seemed to extend to her natural way of living was both befuddling and annoying.
To take her mind off the outrageous attributes her own body hid from her, Priscilla lifted her scythe to draw another circle in her unfinished game against herself. Perhaps winning at something, anything would make her feel better. However, that was not to be when she found a large X drawn into the snow right next to her would-be win.
She frowned and scratched the few scales she possessed on her forehead. When did she block herself? This game was meant to be her redemption match. Had she forgotten while in a daze? No, that was impossible, she never forgot about her valued tic-tac-toe matches.
But then… if she didn't place the X there… then who did?
Priscilla pouted in thought before she felt an odd sensation against the end of her tail. Thinking it was merely the snowflakes that had accumulated on the appendage, she lifted and shook it like a dog would shake its wet fur. However, when she placed it back against the ground, the sensation was still there.
With a confused look on her face, she turned around only to stare in shock at the pure white handkerchief tied around the tip of her tail.
Okay, now she was freaking out. There was no way she would ever do that. She didn't even own a handkerchief! With a quick glance around her chamber, she gingerly lifted her tail and withdrew the foreign piece of material. She had a second to ponder what was going on when a light tap on her right shoulder made her scream, grab her scythe and swipe sideways in a wide arc.
With bated breath, Priscilla stared with wide, terrified eyes around the room; her weapon clutched so tight in her hand that her knuckles turned white.
"Now, now, ease up a little." She jumped in response to that familiar voice and turned to her fog door to see a familiar face… well, helm.
Priscilla sighed out in relief as the undead she had been dying to see again after so long shimmered into perspective a few feet in front of her, this time wearing a set of pure black leather armour and the knight helm he wore when she had first seen him. If that wasn't absurd enough, the gloves he had on looked as if they belonged to a Black Knight. He was really a weird human… undead. But even after his unforgivable scare tactics and mismatched armour, she couldn't help but brighten at the sight of him; previous misdeeds immediately forgiven.
"T-That scared me." She said with a pout.
He merely took of his helm, shook his untamed hair, and grinned at her. "You were too tense. I couldn't make my appearance known with you poking your own breath with a glum face."
Priscilla reddened at the mention of her previous deeds. He had been watching her when she was doing that?! How long was he just standing there? What did he see exactly? How had she not noticed him come in? Was she just too absorbed in thought that she missed him enter? If he saw her embarrassing act, what else could he have seen whilst he was invisible? Wait, he was invisible?
She turned back to the red-haired undead who was observing the many completed games of tic-tac-toe she had played so far. "May I ask a question?"
"Mm-hmm." He nodded, rubbing out an X with his boot and drawing a circle in its place.
"How was it thou was able to fade from sight?"
The undead turned to her with a blank look before blinking, as if just remembering she had asked him a question.
"Oh, that? I learnt the spell for it."
Priscilla frowned. As far as she was aware, not very many people could use a spell to hide themselves like she did with the wind and snow. If she recalled correctly, it was only her uncle Gwyndolin that could also cast such magic. So, how did the man before her…
"I can see you're sceptical, but believe me, it's a spell. From Oolacile in fact."
Priscilla gasped at the mention of that name. Besides her knowledge of the place from when she was a child, Jeremiah had animatedly expressed his interest in the kingdom of advanced light magic. If she were to remember correctly, he had told her – or rather written down a letter to her in his shadowed form – that Oolacile had long ago been swallowed up by the Abyss. So how was it possible her guest could have travelled there? Unless…
"Oolacile… is still alive and well?" She asked carefully, hope hanging off her every word.
"You know the place?" she nodded eagerly. Whilst her experience in Lordran may not have been the best, her time in Mirkwood had been a memory she held dear to her heart. A place where others had not despised her existence or regarded her as an atrocity that needed to be hurt. To hear that Oolacile, the only place that she had ever really loved, had survived such an evil would be a pleasing bit of news for her fractured soul.
"Sorry to say its not really… inhabitable anymore." He responded with a slight pause.
"Oh…" Priscilla whispered sadly in understanding. She shouldn't be surprised by such news, although the reality of it still stung. What had she expected; that the Abyss would be easily purged by the ally of Lordran? If the land of the gods had fallen before Oolacile due to a premonition of that scourge, imagine how horribly Mirkwood was twisted by the real thing?
"There are some people that are still alive though…" the undead murmured sheepishly, obviously feeling guilty for being the bearer of bad news. "some dude that looks like a jester in a coat, a blind archer the size of a tree, some dual-wielding ninja chick in cobalt, a sobbing princess…"
The crossbreed's eyes seemed to gain more life in them as she matched the description of some of the people her guest named with a the occasional flick of his gloved fingers. She didn't understand most of his words but the archer and 'chick' in cobalt reminded her of Sir Gough and Lady Ciaran. The mention of a princess was unclear to her as she hadn't known the monarchs of Oolacile had possessed any spawn of their own. As for what poultry had to do with his description of the Lord's Blade, she had no idea – and what did he mean when he said that Sir Gough was blind? The giant had the best vision in the entire kingdom, from Lord Gwyn's sharpshooters to the most skilled snipers of the giant race themselves.
Even so, it was calming to hear that some of the people she knew were still well, even after all this time – but as for how Gwyn's most trusted knights were still alive after over a millennium now was beyond her comprehension.
"There's even a talking mushroom there." The crossbreed stared at the undeads broad smile. It was pleasing to witness and made her heart decide to gallop but she thought it odd he found something like that so surprising. After all, he must have seen much, much more stranger things than conversing fungi.
"Anyways, all that doesn't matter," the undead brushed off the earlier topic and motioned for her to come closer. She followed his command and sat down, folding her legs under herself as she let go of her scythe. He walked up to her and chewed the edge of his bottom lip with a sharp canine as he thought. The action caught her attention and she found herself locked with how that plush bit of skin cushioned the impact of the ivory tooth encased in a shining enamel. It was so interesting to her that it began to make her thoughts wander again.
She pondered on how those seemingly soft lips would feel against her fingers, or if the warmth of his breath would cause her to steam up like the many snowflakes falling around him. Perhaps if she were the same size as him, she would be able to test out that theory. Would he even allow her to come that close? Maybe he was fond of close contact – which would be a bonus for her since she would want nothing more than to press herself closer to his warm body. It wasn't an odd desire after watching the rise and fall of his undoubtedly solid chest. He was definitely sporting a cluster of lean muscle under that tight leather, perhaps he would allow her to take a peek? Wait, no- bad Priscilla! He was her guest, her first visitor in forever! She would certainly not allow her wild desires and thoughts to take control of her now that they had been loosed upon her psyche. At least… not all of them.
Her mind snapped back into focus when he hummed aloud, eyes narrowed in deep thought. She felt nervous under such an intense look but before she could open her mouth tell him to stop, he had begun to speak.
"I need something. Something of great importance. It was the reason I came here today." He motioned for her to come even closer, so she placed her hands on the soft snow below them and leaned forwards.
It was then that his hands found her cheeks and his burning gaze locked onto her deep emerald pools. He stared at her for a long moment before saying the words she never thought would ever leave his mouth.
"I need you."
As if her increased nervousness hadn't been enough, she had flushed the deepest red he would ever see on her face before promptly fainting on top of him. Unfortunately, that had been just too much for her mind to process.
Later on, when she had awoken with a soft yawn and frozen drool stuck to the side of her mouth, he had been there to apologise for making it seem like he was being forward. It turned out, to her unnoticed disappointment, that what he had really been meaning to ask for was one of her scales. The humiliation had burned her face scarlet for the remainder of their time together. How crass of her, thinking that she was some damsel he had come to spirit away from her distress. She should have known that things like that only happened in her wild and delusional fantasies.
With regard to his request, she had explained to him that even though he was correct in assuming that she was part dragon, the few scales that she did possess weren't really removable – or scales in particular. The pale scales were actually more like traits to her person, the ones that served as both her pseudo-horns and eyebrows was a perfect example.
His reply hadn't been one of disappointment. In fact, he had merely shrugged and stated that he just needed to hunt for the rare material elsewhere for his weaponry. She had wondered what kind of armaments he used that required such ingredients.
Thereafter, he had challenged her to a game of tic-tac-toe that she was more than happy to oblige to. Even though she had practically mastered the game, his introduction of a challenge had made it a battle she had found tough to contend against, though the smile on her face at each loss seemed to erase the bitterness of defeat; and the conversation they had would lighten her heart to a point where she felt as if she could fly.
For a minute there, when she was with him, she had momentarily seen the darkness around her brighten; and had peered up at the sky to see that it was clear for once. She hadn't know how to explain it all, but it almost seemed like the more her odd visitor interacted with her, the more she began to see and realise about the world around her and the thoughts inside her own head. And for once, that wasn't a bad thing.
Priscilla was not a person to pry. She was proud of the fact that her inquisitiveness was mellowed down to a genuine sense of curiosity that prevented her from sticking her nose where it didn't belong. That being said, she had still asked her undead companion the same intrusive question every time he visited: why did he return to Ariamis so often.
Each and every time he would always smile and reply in the same way: because there was still something he need from this place.
She had never questioned him any further on the matter nor given it more thought simply because she was honestly content with such a response. Besides that though, she understood that there were many things he probably wanted to keep secret from her. After all, she was still technically a stranger to him. However, they had found a loophole around that problem by simply getting to know one another.
It was clear that her friend was no scholar, but he had made the immediate and accurate deduction of who she was and what she was after no more than a few visits to her chamber. And she had to say that it had been quite surprising when he had stopped her from introducing herself properly so that he could do it himself, like some royal announcer with a band of the king's men holding golden trumpets.
Of course, he hadn't known everything about her but she had been more than happy to explain the rest of her story; and in return he had regaled her with the long, sombre account of his own life and his experiences leading up to them conversing like old compatriots.
Although she would be loathe to admit it to anyone that would have asked her, she had wailed sadly at the tale he told. First of the inheritance of a mission from a dying friend that had saved his life in a decrypt jail, to the horrors he had been forced to best during his approach to the grand city of Anor Londo as the official "Chosen Undead"; and she could never forget the struggle he had had, battling to discover the truth buried in mausoleum's of lies.
In every short story of his life he had told her, she had sympathised and listened with an open heart. Not once had she condemned him for the choices he had made, and at every step had she comforted him with her kind words – reassuring him that even if the path he walked was one built on lies, he would still prevail when the endgame arrived.
One of the biggest shocks to have effectively left her speechless was his account of her dear uncle Gwyndolin and his methods in attempting to recover all that had been lost. Her heart had bled for the Lord of the Darkmoon, and her tears had run so freely that her guest had done his best to quell them with his calming words and affectionate strokes against her spine. She had been grateful that he had told her, and he had been grateful to share such a heavy burden with another – stating that after all that had occurred, he had been starving for a person he could confide in to ease the weight on his chest.
She had not been apathetic in reply. After all, the sudden responsibility of claiming the place of Lord Gwyn by sacrificing your life to the First Flame, in order to save the beings that had only lied to you was a difficult and bitter pill to swallow. So, she had done her best to comfort him.
One of her questions had been to ask if relinking the Flame was something he still wanted to do after discovering such a dark secret. Although he had told her of how his rage at this deceit felt like consuming him, and how he felt like the many Darkwraith's he had slain – filled with the corruption of darker thoughts better left smothered – he had made the decision to continue on his futile errand. When she had questioned his motives, the undead had looked up to the bruised sky wistfully, like an old man reminiscing his days of youthful glory.
"I would betray my honour if I were to fail the knight who invested everything in me." He sighed out before drawing a silly illustration of an Astorian helm in the snow with a throwing knife.
"And besides your pleasant company, what else do I have left to live for in this world? My life should have ended long ago, yet here I am living on borrowed time to serve Lords and Demons I've never known. That's worse than the prospect of going hollow, if you ask me."
Priscilla looked at his dejected expression with her heart in her throat. As much as she wanted to discredit his statement, he was right. Being forced to live as a slave when all you wanted to do was rest in peace was not something a person should need to endeavour. When she thought about all he had been forced to face and endure, she couldn't help but feel guilty for all the times she had wished he would never leave her to herself, or that he should make it common practice to visit her more often.
She knew first-hand what it was like to suffer, but was her experience anything compared to his eternal desolation? Imagine how much pain he must feel just sitting across from her, the literal weight of the world on his broad yet tiny shoulders as his impending doom waited for him to be most vulnerable. Behind those bright eyes that shone like the hottest stars must lie deep depression from the solitude of so much lost and so much more to accomplish. While his face glowed with joy when he saw her, it must look utterly broken and lifeless behind the numerous helmets and masks he would need to wear so that his foes could not use his internal submission to their advantage.
By this point, she thought that an excruciating death by flame so potent it was near transparent was more like a swift release for him rather than a final torture. He had suffered so much, and yet he was still brave enough to show her that charming smile of his that never failed to make her heart flutter. The crossbreed admired him like never before. If anyone could be called the strongest in the world, it would be him, hands down – for what other being could attest to such atrocity and still find it pertinent to lift the sorrows of another instead of his own?
Suddenly, Priscilla blinked at her visitor in surprise, a hand to her mouth as she felt more guilt bite at her conscience. He had spent all this time with her and she had never asked him once for his name.
"Ah! Please forgive me for not retaining proper manners. It was truly not my intention to offend thou."
The undead lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "I don't see why you have to apologise. It's okay."
Priscilla shook her head violently, adamant to back down now. "No, express the error of mineself, I must. Thou hath spent near an eternity in my company and yet… I had not the courtesy to ask for thine name."
He opened his mouth to speak but she heard no words from him. She watched as he lowered his gaze, his eyes clouded as he desperately searched for something placed deep within the recesses of his mind before he turned back to her, a sheepish – but sad – smile directed at her.
"You're the first one in a long time to ever ask me that. And whilst I'm pleased to answer… I fear that I have forgotten even that small but important part of me."
This time, the tears didn't stop as they flowed down her face and against the cold snow below them. And she hadn't cared for thoughts of forwardness, manners or personal space when her arms had found their way around him, holding his smaller form closer to her throbbing heart. For the first time since she had met him, he had stifled back a sob before his own deluge of bottled up emotions had broken the seal on his already cracked psyche. The sound of his cries and the taste of his tears had been new facets to learn about, but she welcomed them with a loving soul… just like he had accepted her for being another living being – and not some cross bred monstrosity.
He felt warm in her arms, almost hot. She had always wondered how it would feel this close to him. She was glad her expectations were outdone, because he felt more than just warm to her – he felt like home. And she knew right then and there that she would never feel the same again once he left her side.
They had stayed close together like that for quite a while, simply basking in the comfort two tainted souls could offer one another. It was only when she realised that he had stayed for longer than usual, that today would be his last time visiting the Painted World and her cold, drab chambers. She knew this to be so because she had spent enough time with him to know how he normally thought. As such, she hugged him a bit tighter as she breathed in the heavenly aroma his scent gave off; wanting to ensure she didn't regret ending their embrace when it was finally time for him to leave.
That time seemed to come all too quickly when she watched him change from a cuirass to a white vest fitted with thin interlinking chainmail underneath. She would miss him more than he knew but it would be her challenge to face, not his. As much as she wanted to curse the gods, the world and everything else around her for separating someone she held more dear to her than the lost doll of hers he had given back to her, she knew that not everything was there to last forever.
That said, she could still at least ask him one final question before he jumped over that ledge and disappeared from her emerald gaze forever.
"If I may…" she began and he turned to her, eyes still puffy but rich with his warm, kind nature.
"Yes?" he asked innocently.
"What was the second thing… that thou had come here for." She fiddled with her hands, nervous to ask something that shouldn't be taken that seriously. "Thou returned again and again stating that there was still something of great importance to acquire. I would… I would like to know what that was… if it would not offend thou."
Her nervousness melted away when he laughed in response, and instead her curiosity took its place. After waiting for his uncontrollable and infectious chuckling to subside, he gave her the most affectionate stare she had ever had the chance to see – and for a moment she felt as if such a beautiful sight would kill her on the spot. When he finally spoke, it was as if his journey, his destiny and his dark, sinister fate was nothing but a lost memory in the blizzards around them.
"You still don't get it, do you? My, what am I going to do with a simpleton like you?"
Her cheeks couldn't help but flush crimson, although it was not in anger or outrage at the insult, but in embarrassment at the affection it carried. She was a simpleton, whether she admitted it or not. She just hoped he would accept her for it, along with all her other flaws he preferred to call unique traits.
"let me answer you with a question instead."
Priscilla nodded, standing straighter, her scythe rested against her shoulder. She nearly dropped the weapon when he gave her that mischievous smile of his.
"Would you like to leave with me this time?"
It was a simple question that required a simple answer. Even so, it had made her breath catch in her throat. Whilst she knew the answer to choose, her mind flooded her with a barrage of how's, who's and why's. Nevertheless, the pushed them aside to reply.
"Will we be leaving via the ledge?"
He snorted. "Nope, we're going to warp out of here. I don't want to go back to Anor Londo any time soon."
"I thought that thou could not utilise the powers of the Lordvessel when inside the Painted World?"
"Pfft!" he snorted again and withdrew a long bone from somewhere behind his back. "I figured out how to navigate around that annoying loophole the second time I came here." He approached her and wrapped his arm around her waist as she hugged him gently. She should have known he would. He wouldn't have been him if he hadn't.
"I don't suppose you want to say goodbye?"
The crossbreed shook her head and smiled widely. She was done with this world that had failed to remain her prison after the man next to her had freed her heart and soul from its captivity.
"Good," he said. "Because I don't think I want to either. Besides, when we reach somewhere warmer, I intend to figure out a way to save this pathetic world without risking my damn soul."
Priscilla's smile grew even wider as her facial muscles began to hurt. Now that was the undead she knew and had fallen in love with.
"Hold on tight." He said to her.
Priscilla squeezed him a little tighter and leaned down to kiss his forehead before smiling at him sweetly.
"Always."
As if some signal had been shown he snapped the bone in his fist. And then, just like that, the crossbreed and the undead vanished into thin air; leaving behind the desolate world where their doubts would remain trapped for all eternity – never to return again.
I really enjoyed writing this little one-shot. Honestly, my mind was just so all over the place that I had to write this just so that my focus on the story I'm half-way done with could be centred once again.
I thought this up whilst writing up the draft for my recently published Fairy Tail fanfic, believe it or not. All that ice from Gray just had me thinking back to the Painted World.
After I post the next chapter of Kingdom Come, I'll create another one-shot like this pairing two other characters from DS 1. If you have any requests for people from Lordran, please mention it in the review section and I'll write up a draft to see if I can make it work. Disclaimer, I'm not a fan of BL so please don't ask me to pair Solaire with the Chosen Undead or something like that.
In any case, thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked my fragment of creativity. Stay safe and God Bless. \[T/