LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN DARKSTALKERS OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF, AND AM RECEIVING NO PROFITS OFF THIS.
[]- Indicates thought.
* *- Indicates word emphasis, italics, etc.
Hello, my poor, beleagured Darkstalkers fans. I haven't written in a while, since two new things- a BR one-shot and what is rapidly becoming a BR story- took up my time, but now I'm back to work on it.
Kudos to all my fans, Galandria, Tiger5913, Johnathan Tailban, and all the rest of you. You guys are great.
Can't believe I expected just twenty chapters!...
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 22
Shattered Dreams
Small pond in Aensland territory, Makai. Night.
A few hours had passed since the fight on the rocks. Since then, no one had gotten much sleep.
After the battle, Dimitri had wanted to run to Morrigan's side, but the sun had prevented him from fulfilling that impulse. Jon stayed near the front of the cave and reported back to him what was happening.
Morrigan had sat on the rocks after the fight, crying and mumbling incoherencies, and when Jon approached her she had lashed out, tentacles flying. The werewolf had jumped back just in time, and her whips only struck bare ground. Felicia tried to approach her, and Morrigan let her stand beside her, stroking the succubus' green hair and trying to talk some sense into her. Morrigan said nothing that could be understood, except a name that sounded like "Garrett", or maybe "Garik". Felicia couldn't quite make it out. After his abortive attempt, Jon simply stayed next to the cave. The werewolf was afraid that Morrigan would attack Felicia too, but said nothing, for fear of provoking the succubus. No one talked much, except Felicia, trying to reach Morrigan in whatever dark place she had retreated to.
As Dimitri lay in his cave, in it's protecting darkness, he thought. And what his mind coldly suggested as the best way to deal with Morrigan somewhat shocked and scared him. In it, the thought held the echoes and overtones of the vampire who had raided the human village and enjoyed killing them all, who reveled in the gore.
His mind had come up with only one solution. He had to leave Morrigan behind. She was insane now (or close to it; the details were unimportant at this point), and there was nothing Dimitri could do to help her. Best to leave her behind, kill Pyron, and return to what remained of the Aensland people. She would have been a bad ruler, anyway. Best to let her die here, and leave it at that.
But...
Could he do it? What was in him that could let him think such a thought, let alone plan to carry it out? What kind of monster was he?...
There are times, in everyone's life, when we are forced to make a choice. Some get many choices, many times in their lives where who they are faces twin paths as to who it could be, but everyone gets at least one choice. It is an immutable fact of life, part of the test we all endure, and the single most important thing in life. Fate does not exist, save as a kind of celestial travel guide; it places us when and where we are. We, however, choose what to do from there.
This was Dimitri's time and place, and this was his choice.
As the sun set, he crawled out of his cave, and stood up, Ebonrule by his side. He looked over at Morrigan, who had finally fallen asleep in the past half hour. Her head lay on her arm, green hair forming a halo about it, her wings wrapped about her body like a shield, a position Dimitri was far too familiar with. Dimitri walked over to her, noticing without really seeing Felicia and Jon look at him. Jon rose up, said a greeting, mumbled something about watching her. He walked on, ignoring them. He had made his choice.
He had originally planned to leave Morrigan here, but one thought had stopped him, a thought that made all of his former idea seem like the actions of a mean and spiteful child.
[ If this one woman is too much trouble, than this entire world is as well. You have been given a mission to save this world, to heal it, and that includes every person on Makai. Morrigan is lost now, fallen into whatever darkness taints the farthest reaches of her mind, and you have to get her back. How can you judge her not worthy of being saved, of at least being given a chance? You cannot pick and choose, Dimitri! Do so, and the darkness in your soul will make a mockery of Pyron's evil. You do not do what is right because it is easier, Dimitri; you do it for the simple fact that it *is* right.]
Dimitri walked over to her, not really having any idea what he was going to do ( wake her up and talk to her? Try to coax her from wherever she had fled?), when the Ebonrule began to glow. This was not, however, the azure flame it took on in the heat of battle; this glow was like water, rippling up and down the surface of the spear. Dimitri lifted it up before him, tip towards the sky, as he stood over Morrigan. The Ebonrule had a part to play in this, too; his conscious mind knew not what it was, but something inside him whispered what to do.
Trusting to instinct, he gently placed the flat of the spear head on the top of Morrigan's head. The watery, shimmering glow flowed down, as if it really was the water it so cleverly mimicked, and it softly trickled down her face until it covered her sleeping eyelids.
Darkness.
************************************************************************
Morrigan's Mindscape. No time.
Dimitri found himself rushing, rushing headfirst past memories and dreams and hopes and faces. He seemed to be in a tunnel of some sort, hurtling pell-mell down towards some great heart of darkness. The walls around him were red, the red of a freshly opened wound, pulsating as if they had a heartbeat all their own, and through them he glimpsed things- faces, voices, images of rooms, a bed covered in satin cloth...
He looked up ( actually down, considering the way he was heading) and saw the mass of black before him, like some hellish cancer, pulsing in rhythm with the walls around him. The black thing reached out to him, a single tentacle pushing out of the membrane and lazily raising towards him. He prepared himself for impact, raising his right hand (the Ebonrule gone from it; it apparently hadn't traveled with him, wherever he now was)...
Darkness.
************************************************************************
Morrigan's Memory. No time.
Dimitri opened his eyes and found himself floating in mid-air, the sensation dizzying him. He attempted to shake his head to clear it, and found that he could not move anything at all. Just as when he had witnessed his sins again, he could do nothing but watch whatever was going to happen here. From his vantage point, he could see a wide bed, covered in satin, the same one he'd glimpsed while falling through
(dream and nightmare)
wherever he had been. He wondered now where he
(reality)
was.
If he had been in a physical form, he would have blinked in surprise. Where had those two errant thoughts come from? Dream and nightmare? Reality? What in the hell did that mean?
His survey having been interrupted by the two phantom thoughts, he continued it while he waited for something to happen. The room was not what he'd call modest, but neither was it the bedroom of a king.
The bed itself was a beautiful thing, the drapes and cloth purple. This was the room of a Duke, at the least; only royalty was allowed to use the color purple for any purpose whatsoever. Beside it, made from what Dimitri guessed was firm oak from the Wolf Kingdom, a handsome little dresser sat, it's handles made of bronze to compliment the varnish of the wood. A small oil lamp, presumably for late night reading, sat on it, wick void of flame for the moment.
The wall to the right of both Dimitri and the bed was bare and contained nothing of interest except a door, closed at the moment. A few rays of light leaked under it, the only light in the room. Dimitri's sight, however, was perfect regardless of that fact. Considering everything else happening to him, that wasn't too strange.
To his left, various paintings hung, none of which he recognized or seemed to be intended for any purpose other than soothing the eye of the beholder; landscapes, a sea picture, a well-done view of a quiet little village. Below them, a larger dresser than the one beside the bed sat, it's varnish and color indicating it was made of cherry, the favored wood for clothing dressers due to it's beneficial effect on keeping clothes smelling fresh longer.
From his bird's eye view, Dimitri could even see what would have been behind him if he had been standing. A single dresser with a great, ornate mirror stood there, covering the far wall. Assorted jewelry and perfumes lined it's top, and more surely hid within it's drawers. This was a woman's bedroom, then, and a particularly tasteful one, too. He suddenly realized, rather belatedly, what he should have figured out when he first came here; this was Morrigan's bedroom, probably before Berial had managed to gain his position as head of the Inner Territories with some fancy political footwork, back when he was just a Duke.
And, as if the thought was a summonings, the door opened and Morrigan walked in. The difference between this younger Morrigan and the Morrigan Dimitri knew threw such a sharp contrast that Dimitri thought his mind would explode from the force of it. Confusion blanketed his mind, wonder and realization all on the brink of birth in his mind. What was going on here?
Morrigan's hair was tied back in a modest ponytail, not hanging freely as Dimitri had always known it to be. The wings on her head were slightly pulled in, as if shy of something. Her eyes, the eyes of a young girl and not an experienced tease, were demurely looking away from the bed, and to his surprise Dimitri saw she was on the verge of a blush. Her lips held a faint smile, the smile of a girl who is not entirely sure about what she is about to do, but knows she's supposed to enjoy it anyway. Her violet dress was extremely modest, covering the white tops of her breasts at the top and extending in a purple gown to cover her legs at the bottom. Her wings had been crossed over her shoulders and across her chest, making a sort of cape that Dimitri found quite attractive. Two diamonds sparkled in her earrings, and a single ring glistened on her hand. Her manner was odd, at once eager and restrained, wanting and holding back at the same time.
The only thing Dimitri could recall that came even close to the way Morrigan was acting was the way he'd seen newlywed girls act, as his cousin had acted when she led her new husband off to their wedding bower. But as far as Dimitri knew, Morrigan had never been married. Or had she? He realized he knew very little about her past, and that no one he had ever met in the courts, not even the gossips who would rave about the most private parts of noble lives, had ever mentioned Morrigan's past. Her current exploits, yes, but nothing about her past. What lay there, buried in memory? Whatever it was, Dimitri believed it was the source of her current problem.
In the few seconds it took Dimitri to take all this in, Morrigan turned and, in a voice as light as the wind, said, " I made it satin, just for you..." The almost-blush color in her cheeks deepened and blossomed into a full-fledged one, the exact opposite reaction of the woman Dimitri knew. This girl was nothing at all like the woman she would become.
Then, he stepped in. Dimitri had no idea who he was, but his sight somehow sharpened on him, as if saying (by way of focus) that this man was the problem.
The incubus was of average height and slim build, a somewhat girlish man whose close-cropped red hair would not have been inappropriate on a tomboy girl. His eyes were brown and feminine as well. His dress was apparently designed to make one think of all things fancified (or dandified, as Dimitri's people called it); a chain about his neck had several small rubies set into it, and his ears held more treasure in the form of fancified earrings. His vest was bright red, the red of spilled blood, and laced together with silk threads painted yellow, in an apparent attempt to mimic gold. His white gloves were immaculate, with small rings encircling his fingers. He was, in short, a fop.
With a jolt of recognition, Dimitri remembered who it was. Garik Aleksia, a noble who had been sent off early in Berial's reign for reasons the old incubus had never fully specified. It had been in one of the first years of Dimitri's own reign, and he hadn't paid much attention to it- Inner Territories problem and all that. The only reason he remembered it at all was because of a rumor he'd heard once, a rumor his young mind had attached itself to for some reason. He'd forgotten it over the past century or so, but it sprang up again now.
He had been walking through the halls of his keep, thinking about matters of the state (some treaty or another), when he'd heard talking through a closed door. He'd stopped to listen, for some reason feeling that this was important. Behind the door, his old advisor (who would be killed in five years, slain by a would-be ruler of the Vampires) and someone he didn't recognize were talking.
" Are you sure?" his advisor had said.
" Yes," came the reply. The stranger had a lighter voice than his advisor's gruff, deep tones, and he spoke with a slight accent Dimitri had never heard. Looking back, Dimitri thought that it must have been that strange accent Morrigan had gained in the tent when they'd met again, after Pyron's attack.
" Tell me again," his advisor had said. He sounded tired, old. " By God, I hope that I misheard you, but I fear I have not."
" No, sir," the messenger ( [Who else could it have been?] Dimitri thought, as below him, Morrigan led Garik over to the bed) replied. " You've understood me perfictly. But I'll say it again, for yer sake."
He had heard tapping noises, then, the sound of boots on stone. He waited, hand reaching towards the door handle, then easing back, not ready to open it yet. He wanted to listen a while longer first.
" About three days ago," the messenger had said, sighing, " the princess Morrigan ran to 'er father. The lass was in tears, cryin' her eyes out over some'in. Showed 'er father scars on 'er back, 'an a few bruises too. When 'is Highness asked 'er what had happuned, she told 'im about 'er fiance, a man named Garik Aleksia. Said e'd been strikin' 'er, makin' 'er do things... turrible things. His Highness flew into a rage, but Morrigan begged him not to kill Garik. Said she still loved 'im. So Berial 'as decided to send him away, to a faraway territory. Yer's."
Dimitri had been slightly angry at this, mad that he had not been told of this, but kept his mouth shut and the door unopened. He wanted to hear the end of this conversation.
" The bastard'll be arrivin' in about two days. No one from these parts 'as ever heard of 'is betrothal to Morrigan. News travels slow, thank God. We're askin' for ye to kill 'im, slow if you can, but quick if you have to. Ye have to do it before he tells anyone about the betrothal. News o' this sort is both embarassin' and damagin' to reputation, you know."
Dimitri could not see anything, but assumed that his advisor had nodded. He had not been a man of many words, his old advisor, and never spoke when a nod or head shake could suffice.
" So tha's the gist of it. 'E's 'urt the princess some'in turrible. We want justice done, but Morrigan won't let's do it back home. Says she still loves 'im. Poor lass."
" I'll see to it personally," his advisor had said.
" Thank ye, sir," the messenger had said, his message out. " We owe ye a great deal."
" It matters not," his advisor had said, and Dimitri could picture in his mind the old man waving his hand before him, " because something like this transcends matters of rank or debt. This man deserves death. It is nothing more or less than what I would do for even the lowliest peasant."
" Ye are truly a good man," the messenger had said, probably bowing as he did so, " The rumors 'bout ye are true. I've heard ye're a great man, but I did no' believe till today. Forgive me."
" It is nothing," his advisor had said magnaminously. Footsteps, then a door opening. They'd left through a different door.
Dimitri had pondered it for weeks, but had never asked his advisor about it. It hadn't seemed important, and knowing something in secret was strangely fun. He'd bothered to do research and eventually come up with a portrait of the man, which was how he'd recognized him when he'd entered. Eventually, however, he'd simply forgotten all about it, in the middle of a bad period in his reign where it seemed that every idiot with dreams of power had decided on his throne as the target.
Hearing a light giggle, his attention snapped back to what was happening at the moment in the bedroom below him.
His spiritual eyes had not closed, but lost in his thoughts, he hadn't paid attention to what was happening. Down below him, Morrigan and Garik had reached the bed and sat down on it, and begun what was obviously foreplay. They kissed and stroked, Morrigan attempting to take off the ridiculous clothes Garik wore, he merely pushing the shoulders of her dress down...
Without warning, he shoved her. She fell back against the headboard, eyes wide with shock and fear. Garik reached out a hand and cupped her face. The wings on her head had shrunk back, fear touching them as well. A smile that immediately sickened Dimitri came over his face, as he stroked her cheek. Morrigan only whimpered slightly, too shocked and afraid to move.
" I always wanted to do a princess," Garik said, his tone lazy and thick, the sound of rolling waves sickened by algae smashing into a beach and slurping backwards into the ocean, " you especially."
Morrigan stared at him, her young and naive perception of the world (a trait that had made her very popular in the deceptive, thieving courts of Aensland Castle) cracking and shattering, splintering under this brutal assault.
" So young," Garik whispered, Dimitri's stomach rolling as he heard the sickening depravity in the incubus' voice, " so pure... so easy to trick."
Garik's left hand shot up and ripped off part of Morrigan's dress, exposing one creamy white breast, complete with dark nipple. Morrigan quivered and shook.
" And you'll tell no one, understand?" Garik whispered to her as he groped her, resembling nothing more than some monstrous beast enjoying itself on helpless prey.
Morrigan whimpered, and Garik laughed, while above them, in perfect omniscience and weakness, Dimitri raged and fumed, understanding blossoming in his mind. It was all becoming clear now. Morrigan's comments on liars. Her inner weakness. Her pain.
Darkness.
************************************************************************
Morrigan's Mindscape. No time.
Light came back to Dimitri, and he found himself standing on a rock. Not just any rock, though; this one resembled a hand. Dimitri was standing on the middle finger, on the edge of the strange promontory. Hearing the crash of waves (oddly sounding like Garik's voice) he looked around, glad he could move his head.
All about him, he saw water, water as far as the eye could see. Water that was blood red, as red as Garik's vest had been. It splashed against the hand of rock, making the monstrous noise he'd first heard in Garik's voice. The noise pounded his ears and mind, and he wished he could shut it out. That wish, unfortunately, was not to be granted. Above him, in a cloudy sky of dark red, clouds floated, clouds that were long and straight and seemingly worn out, at the end of their tenuous hold on life. He gazed before him.
In the palm of the hand, knees curled up and hands held before them, her green hair covering her face as she stared at the ground, wings wrapped about her as a pathetic shield against her pain, Morrigan wept, her form small in the suddenly gigantic hand, shuddering with the force of her sobs. She wore a rent and torn dress that, in the strange colors of this world, seemed old and dusty and ruined, something fallen.
Dimitri walked down the hand, towards her. She didn't even look up as he reached the end of the finger. He called out to her.
" Morrigan."
- CLIFFHANGER! Again, Silverlocke980 pulls a quick one over on his fans! See you next chapter.
[]- Indicates thought.
* *- Indicates word emphasis, italics, etc.
Hello, my poor, beleagured Darkstalkers fans. I haven't written in a while, since two new things- a BR one-shot and what is rapidly becoming a BR story- took up my time, but now I'm back to work on it.
Kudos to all my fans, Galandria, Tiger5913, Johnathan Tailban, and all the rest of you. You guys are great.
Can't believe I expected just twenty chapters!...
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 22
Shattered Dreams
Small pond in Aensland territory, Makai. Night.
A few hours had passed since the fight on the rocks. Since then, no one had gotten much sleep.
After the battle, Dimitri had wanted to run to Morrigan's side, but the sun had prevented him from fulfilling that impulse. Jon stayed near the front of the cave and reported back to him what was happening.
Morrigan had sat on the rocks after the fight, crying and mumbling incoherencies, and when Jon approached her she had lashed out, tentacles flying. The werewolf had jumped back just in time, and her whips only struck bare ground. Felicia tried to approach her, and Morrigan let her stand beside her, stroking the succubus' green hair and trying to talk some sense into her. Morrigan said nothing that could be understood, except a name that sounded like "Garrett", or maybe "Garik". Felicia couldn't quite make it out. After his abortive attempt, Jon simply stayed next to the cave. The werewolf was afraid that Morrigan would attack Felicia too, but said nothing, for fear of provoking the succubus. No one talked much, except Felicia, trying to reach Morrigan in whatever dark place she had retreated to.
As Dimitri lay in his cave, in it's protecting darkness, he thought. And what his mind coldly suggested as the best way to deal with Morrigan somewhat shocked and scared him. In it, the thought held the echoes and overtones of the vampire who had raided the human village and enjoyed killing them all, who reveled in the gore.
His mind had come up with only one solution. He had to leave Morrigan behind. She was insane now (or close to it; the details were unimportant at this point), and there was nothing Dimitri could do to help her. Best to leave her behind, kill Pyron, and return to what remained of the Aensland people. She would have been a bad ruler, anyway. Best to let her die here, and leave it at that.
But...
Could he do it? What was in him that could let him think such a thought, let alone plan to carry it out? What kind of monster was he?...
There are times, in everyone's life, when we are forced to make a choice. Some get many choices, many times in their lives where who they are faces twin paths as to who it could be, but everyone gets at least one choice. It is an immutable fact of life, part of the test we all endure, and the single most important thing in life. Fate does not exist, save as a kind of celestial travel guide; it places us when and where we are. We, however, choose what to do from there.
This was Dimitri's time and place, and this was his choice.
As the sun set, he crawled out of his cave, and stood up, Ebonrule by his side. He looked over at Morrigan, who had finally fallen asleep in the past half hour. Her head lay on her arm, green hair forming a halo about it, her wings wrapped about her body like a shield, a position Dimitri was far too familiar with. Dimitri walked over to her, noticing without really seeing Felicia and Jon look at him. Jon rose up, said a greeting, mumbled something about watching her. He walked on, ignoring them. He had made his choice.
He had originally planned to leave Morrigan here, but one thought had stopped him, a thought that made all of his former idea seem like the actions of a mean and spiteful child.
[ If this one woman is too much trouble, than this entire world is as well. You have been given a mission to save this world, to heal it, and that includes every person on Makai. Morrigan is lost now, fallen into whatever darkness taints the farthest reaches of her mind, and you have to get her back. How can you judge her not worthy of being saved, of at least being given a chance? You cannot pick and choose, Dimitri! Do so, and the darkness in your soul will make a mockery of Pyron's evil. You do not do what is right because it is easier, Dimitri; you do it for the simple fact that it *is* right.]
Dimitri walked over to her, not really having any idea what he was going to do ( wake her up and talk to her? Try to coax her from wherever she had fled?), when the Ebonrule began to glow. This was not, however, the azure flame it took on in the heat of battle; this glow was like water, rippling up and down the surface of the spear. Dimitri lifted it up before him, tip towards the sky, as he stood over Morrigan. The Ebonrule had a part to play in this, too; his conscious mind knew not what it was, but something inside him whispered what to do.
Trusting to instinct, he gently placed the flat of the spear head on the top of Morrigan's head. The watery, shimmering glow flowed down, as if it really was the water it so cleverly mimicked, and it softly trickled down her face until it covered her sleeping eyelids.
Darkness.
************************************************************************
Morrigan's Mindscape. No time.
Dimitri found himself rushing, rushing headfirst past memories and dreams and hopes and faces. He seemed to be in a tunnel of some sort, hurtling pell-mell down towards some great heart of darkness. The walls around him were red, the red of a freshly opened wound, pulsating as if they had a heartbeat all their own, and through them he glimpsed things- faces, voices, images of rooms, a bed covered in satin cloth...
He looked up ( actually down, considering the way he was heading) and saw the mass of black before him, like some hellish cancer, pulsing in rhythm with the walls around him. The black thing reached out to him, a single tentacle pushing out of the membrane and lazily raising towards him. He prepared himself for impact, raising his right hand (the Ebonrule gone from it; it apparently hadn't traveled with him, wherever he now was)...
Darkness.
************************************************************************
Morrigan's Memory. No time.
Dimitri opened his eyes and found himself floating in mid-air, the sensation dizzying him. He attempted to shake his head to clear it, and found that he could not move anything at all. Just as when he had witnessed his sins again, he could do nothing but watch whatever was going to happen here. From his vantage point, he could see a wide bed, covered in satin, the same one he'd glimpsed while falling through
(dream and nightmare)
wherever he had been. He wondered now where he
(reality)
was.
If he had been in a physical form, he would have blinked in surprise. Where had those two errant thoughts come from? Dream and nightmare? Reality? What in the hell did that mean?
His survey having been interrupted by the two phantom thoughts, he continued it while he waited for something to happen. The room was not what he'd call modest, but neither was it the bedroom of a king.
The bed itself was a beautiful thing, the drapes and cloth purple. This was the room of a Duke, at the least; only royalty was allowed to use the color purple for any purpose whatsoever. Beside it, made from what Dimitri guessed was firm oak from the Wolf Kingdom, a handsome little dresser sat, it's handles made of bronze to compliment the varnish of the wood. A small oil lamp, presumably for late night reading, sat on it, wick void of flame for the moment.
The wall to the right of both Dimitri and the bed was bare and contained nothing of interest except a door, closed at the moment. A few rays of light leaked under it, the only light in the room. Dimitri's sight, however, was perfect regardless of that fact. Considering everything else happening to him, that wasn't too strange.
To his left, various paintings hung, none of which he recognized or seemed to be intended for any purpose other than soothing the eye of the beholder; landscapes, a sea picture, a well-done view of a quiet little village. Below them, a larger dresser than the one beside the bed sat, it's varnish and color indicating it was made of cherry, the favored wood for clothing dressers due to it's beneficial effect on keeping clothes smelling fresh longer.
From his bird's eye view, Dimitri could even see what would have been behind him if he had been standing. A single dresser with a great, ornate mirror stood there, covering the far wall. Assorted jewelry and perfumes lined it's top, and more surely hid within it's drawers. This was a woman's bedroom, then, and a particularly tasteful one, too. He suddenly realized, rather belatedly, what he should have figured out when he first came here; this was Morrigan's bedroom, probably before Berial had managed to gain his position as head of the Inner Territories with some fancy political footwork, back when he was just a Duke.
And, as if the thought was a summonings, the door opened and Morrigan walked in. The difference between this younger Morrigan and the Morrigan Dimitri knew threw such a sharp contrast that Dimitri thought his mind would explode from the force of it. Confusion blanketed his mind, wonder and realization all on the brink of birth in his mind. What was going on here?
Morrigan's hair was tied back in a modest ponytail, not hanging freely as Dimitri had always known it to be. The wings on her head were slightly pulled in, as if shy of something. Her eyes, the eyes of a young girl and not an experienced tease, were demurely looking away from the bed, and to his surprise Dimitri saw she was on the verge of a blush. Her lips held a faint smile, the smile of a girl who is not entirely sure about what she is about to do, but knows she's supposed to enjoy it anyway. Her violet dress was extremely modest, covering the white tops of her breasts at the top and extending in a purple gown to cover her legs at the bottom. Her wings had been crossed over her shoulders and across her chest, making a sort of cape that Dimitri found quite attractive. Two diamonds sparkled in her earrings, and a single ring glistened on her hand. Her manner was odd, at once eager and restrained, wanting and holding back at the same time.
The only thing Dimitri could recall that came even close to the way Morrigan was acting was the way he'd seen newlywed girls act, as his cousin had acted when she led her new husband off to their wedding bower. But as far as Dimitri knew, Morrigan had never been married. Or had she? He realized he knew very little about her past, and that no one he had ever met in the courts, not even the gossips who would rave about the most private parts of noble lives, had ever mentioned Morrigan's past. Her current exploits, yes, but nothing about her past. What lay there, buried in memory? Whatever it was, Dimitri believed it was the source of her current problem.
In the few seconds it took Dimitri to take all this in, Morrigan turned and, in a voice as light as the wind, said, " I made it satin, just for you..." The almost-blush color in her cheeks deepened and blossomed into a full-fledged one, the exact opposite reaction of the woman Dimitri knew. This girl was nothing at all like the woman she would become.
Then, he stepped in. Dimitri had no idea who he was, but his sight somehow sharpened on him, as if saying (by way of focus) that this man was the problem.
The incubus was of average height and slim build, a somewhat girlish man whose close-cropped red hair would not have been inappropriate on a tomboy girl. His eyes were brown and feminine as well. His dress was apparently designed to make one think of all things fancified (or dandified, as Dimitri's people called it); a chain about his neck had several small rubies set into it, and his ears held more treasure in the form of fancified earrings. His vest was bright red, the red of spilled blood, and laced together with silk threads painted yellow, in an apparent attempt to mimic gold. His white gloves were immaculate, with small rings encircling his fingers. He was, in short, a fop.
With a jolt of recognition, Dimitri remembered who it was. Garik Aleksia, a noble who had been sent off early in Berial's reign for reasons the old incubus had never fully specified. It had been in one of the first years of Dimitri's own reign, and he hadn't paid much attention to it- Inner Territories problem and all that. The only reason he remembered it at all was because of a rumor he'd heard once, a rumor his young mind had attached itself to for some reason. He'd forgotten it over the past century or so, but it sprang up again now.
He had been walking through the halls of his keep, thinking about matters of the state (some treaty or another), when he'd heard talking through a closed door. He'd stopped to listen, for some reason feeling that this was important. Behind the door, his old advisor (who would be killed in five years, slain by a would-be ruler of the Vampires) and someone he didn't recognize were talking.
" Are you sure?" his advisor had said.
" Yes," came the reply. The stranger had a lighter voice than his advisor's gruff, deep tones, and he spoke with a slight accent Dimitri had never heard. Looking back, Dimitri thought that it must have been that strange accent Morrigan had gained in the tent when they'd met again, after Pyron's attack.
" Tell me again," his advisor had said. He sounded tired, old. " By God, I hope that I misheard you, but I fear I have not."
" No, sir," the messenger ( [Who else could it have been?] Dimitri thought, as below him, Morrigan led Garik over to the bed) replied. " You've understood me perfictly. But I'll say it again, for yer sake."
He had heard tapping noises, then, the sound of boots on stone. He waited, hand reaching towards the door handle, then easing back, not ready to open it yet. He wanted to listen a while longer first.
" About three days ago," the messenger had said, sighing, " the princess Morrigan ran to 'er father. The lass was in tears, cryin' her eyes out over some'in. Showed 'er father scars on 'er back, 'an a few bruises too. When 'is Highness asked 'er what had happuned, she told 'im about 'er fiance, a man named Garik Aleksia. Said e'd been strikin' 'er, makin' 'er do things... turrible things. His Highness flew into a rage, but Morrigan begged him not to kill Garik. Said she still loved 'im. So Berial 'as decided to send him away, to a faraway territory. Yer's."
Dimitri had been slightly angry at this, mad that he had not been told of this, but kept his mouth shut and the door unopened. He wanted to hear the end of this conversation.
" The bastard'll be arrivin' in about two days. No one from these parts 'as ever heard of 'is betrothal to Morrigan. News travels slow, thank God. We're askin' for ye to kill 'im, slow if you can, but quick if you have to. Ye have to do it before he tells anyone about the betrothal. News o' this sort is both embarassin' and damagin' to reputation, you know."
Dimitri could not see anything, but assumed that his advisor had nodded. He had not been a man of many words, his old advisor, and never spoke when a nod or head shake could suffice.
" So tha's the gist of it. 'E's 'urt the princess some'in turrible. We want justice done, but Morrigan won't let's do it back home. Says she still loves 'im. Poor lass."
" I'll see to it personally," his advisor had said.
" Thank ye, sir," the messenger had said, his message out. " We owe ye a great deal."
" It matters not," his advisor had said, and Dimitri could picture in his mind the old man waving his hand before him, " because something like this transcends matters of rank or debt. This man deserves death. It is nothing more or less than what I would do for even the lowliest peasant."
" Ye are truly a good man," the messenger had said, probably bowing as he did so, " The rumors 'bout ye are true. I've heard ye're a great man, but I did no' believe till today. Forgive me."
" It is nothing," his advisor had said magnaminously. Footsteps, then a door opening. They'd left through a different door.
Dimitri had pondered it for weeks, but had never asked his advisor about it. It hadn't seemed important, and knowing something in secret was strangely fun. He'd bothered to do research and eventually come up with a portrait of the man, which was how he'd recognized him when he'd entered. Eventually, however, he'd simply forgotten all about it, in the middle of a bad period in his reign where it seemed that every idiot with dreams of power had decided on his throne as the target.
Hearing a light giggle, his attention snapped back to what was happening at the moment in the bedroom below him.
His spiritual eyes had not closed, but lost in his thoughts, he hadn't paid attention to what was happening. Down below him, Morrigan and Garik had reached the bed and sat down on it, and begun what was obviously foreplay. They kissed and stroked, Morrigan attempting to take off the ridiculous clothes Garik wore, he merely pushing the shoulders of her dress down...
Without warning, he shoved her. She fell back against the headboard, eyes wide with shock and fear. Garik reached out a hand and cupped her face. The wings on her head had shrunk back, fear touching them as well. A smile that immediately sickened Dimitri came over his face, as he stroked her cheek. Morrigan only whimpered slightly, too shocked and afraid to move.
" I always wanted to do a princess," Garik said, his tone lazy and thick, the sound of rolling waves sickened by algae smashing into a beach and slurping backwards into the ocean, " you especially."
Morrigan stared at him, her young and naive perception of the world (a trait that had made her very popular in the deceptive, thieving courts of Aensland Castle) cracking and shattering, splintering under this brutal assault.
" So young," Garik whispered, Dimitri's stomach rolling as he heard the sickening depravity in the incubus' voice, " so pure... so easy to trick."
Garik's left hand shot up and ripped off part of Morrigan's dress, exposing one creamy white breast, complete with dark nipple. Morrigan quivered and shook.
" And you'll tell no one, understand?" Garik whispered to her as he groped her, resembling nothing more than some monstrous beast enjoying itself on helpless prey.
Morrigan whimpered, and Garik laughed, while above them, in perfect omniscience and weakness, Dimitri raged and fumed, understanding blossoming in his mind. It was all becoming clear now. Morrigan's comments on liars. Her inner weakness. Her pain.
Darkness.
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Morrigan's Mindscape. No time.
Light came back to Dimitri, and he found himself standing on a rock. Not just any rock, though; this one resembled a hand. Dimitri was standing on the middle finger, on the edge of the strange promontory. Hearing the crash of waves (oddly sounding like Garik's voice) he looked around, glad he could move his head.
All about him, he saw water, water as far as the eye could see. Water that was blood red, as red as Garik's vest had been. It splashed against the hand of rock, making the monstrous noise he'd first heard in Garik's voice. The noise pounded his ears and mind, and he wished he could shut it out. That wish, unfortunately, was not to be granted. Above him, in a cloudy sky of dark red, clouds floated, clouds that were long and straight and seemingly worn out, at the end of their tenuous hold on life. He gazed before him.
In the palm of the hand, knees curled up and hands held before them, her green hair covering her face as she stared at the ground, wings wrapped about her as a pathetic shield against her pain, Morrigan wept, her form small in the suddenly gigantic hand, shuddering with the force of her sobs. She wore a rent and torn dress that, in the strange colors of this world, seemed old and dusty and ruined, something fallen.
Dimitri walked down the hand, towards her. She didn't even look up as he reached the end of the finger. He called out to her.
" Morrigan."
- CLIFFHANGER! Again, Silverlocke980 pulls a quick one over on his fans! See you next chapter.