'Good evening… Mr Lockhart.' Through the door stepped a young lady, nimbly striding through the room to have a seat upon the cluttered surface of one of its several wooden desks. Wearing a crème-coloured lace blouse underneath her tan academy robe and snugly fitting umber trousers, midback-length blonde hair fixed in a high ponytail and round spectacles resting upon the tip of her elegant nose, she looked as salacious as ever.
'Miss Sinclair.' The man in the far end of the study immediately ceased with his dedicated activity, putting down the tools in his hands to greet his partner with a captivating smirk. 'Tonight, for some reason, the sight of your enticing visage brings me a joy even greater than usual.' This remark earned him a rather coy, yet clearly flirtatious smile in return, and as he approached her she let him grasp her hips where she was sitting and tilted her face eagerly towards his. The man himself was not quite as fashionably clad as her, caught in the midst of a grimy operation he wore a thick leather apron over his white shirt, discreetly striped cadet blue vest and gray trousers, the cover yet to be stained with blood and thus she did not mind. She let out a gentle, delightful sigh as his hand moved along the length of her body to her jawline, his hold just as resolute as it was tender. The utterly perfect balance in the firmness of his touch had her shivering.
'Oh, Alistair… You know perfectly well what night it is tonight', she said with eyes closed as the man took the liberty of tantalizingly kissing the supple, pale skin of her neck, before placing the very same upon her cheek and lastly her rose-tinted lips. 'I do, Phiora, I do.' The pair had already grown lustful, restless, but they needed save their appetites for later. 'Forgive me for not having done any at all work today', she added through her sweet enjoyment, 'but they had me give blood. You know how I feel about it, the more time passes the more awful I feel about it, you poor dear…' The man named Alistair scoffed with disdain. 'Oh, I know all too well what they expect of you. Every Blood Moon they take what's yours, and your enlightenment is wasted on their feeble minds. Yet, you know I do not blame you. I'll wait.
The numerous incense lanterns adorning the walls flickered as the pair embraced anew. The oozing chunks of meat on the operation table crawled on their own, the scent possibly what kept the mutilated beast sprawled across it from springing to back life. 'Are we hunting?' He asked. 'No', she replied softly, Alistair's interest piqued by the rejection of this important custom. 'Then you must have something… Particular in mind' he mused with intriguement, 'for I know how much you love the hunt.'
Something mischievous yet amiable sparkled in the eyes of the lady in his arms. Hunters, scientists, colleagues, lovers… Since his arrival, their association had risen to highs the man did not imagine he would ever again experience in his lifetime. She had taken him by storm in ways he thought himself invulnerable to, and in ways she had come to rule completely over him. Nothing could satisfy him greater, except…
'I do so love the hunt', she agreed, now she the one who held his face lightly in her hands, 'but I have been growing certain that it is time.' The man could feel his senses sharpening, a surge traveling up his spine at the carefully spoken words. Could she really be speaking of…?
'You've been such a good, patient man, Alistair. She raised her gaze, her emerald staring directly into his bluish gray. 'And you, if anyone, deserves it. So you shall wait no more. Tonight, I want you to taste my blood.'
The mother of Phiora Sinclair had been, according to the young lady herself, a thoroughly good-for-nothing nun of the Healing Church. Her immense will to protect her only daughter did not sit well with her habit of credulously donating her offspring's blood to those of position who requested it. It was unknown why the girl's blood was of such outstanding quality, but as it was Phiora did at a very young age become one of the most prominent sources of blood ministration in the city of Yharnam's parish. All because of her mother's blind will to mindlessly serve and please the Church and its vicars. Foolish wench.
Yet, she had to stay. Where else could a child go in such an awful time? Many would say that she was spoiled, given enough food to never go hungry, a softer bed and private tutors. Everything to keep her blood supreme. Naturally, such special treatments won her no friends, and the other blood-letting maidens she found haughty and malleable. Wenches, all of them.
She could only truly live on the Inside. Her innate gift granted her audience with entities most could only dream of, not least with one's sanity intact, and as womanhood eventually overcame her the visions grew all the more potent. These visions, the visions of Old Gods and Otherworldly beings became her reality, her company, but also her greatest burden. Would insight overtake her fully, she was not able to break away at will. While lesser cosmic critters would make out what could be called friends, mightier ones could easily have her in shackles, not as a slave but like some kind of pet, a perverted dynamic that she struggled for years to withstand. Alas, many were those who got drunk off her blood, and thusly they phlebotomized her again and again until anemia nearly became her demise.
In her late teens, she finally dared to leave the Church to join the School of Mensis. Yes, the school did indeed originate from the same fundamentals as the Church, but as time had passed their beliefs and practices had begun to grow apart. Surely Mensis, whose followers sought contact with the Old Ones without depending solely on the inebriation of blood, would be preferable?
Barely. Phiora's inclusion in the School of Mensis initiated a new clash between the two institutions, the only good that came from it being the head of Mensis pledging to her to not take her blood by force, as long as she in return would agree to donate samples upon important events such as Blood Moons or her own Time of the Moon. Many urged her to share her wondrous reality of Eldritch secrets, but she kept more to herself than she ever gave appearance of. How could she ever trust the likes of them, being so obsessed with narcissistic indulgence that she could not even believe in their endeavors to achieve true enlightenment rather than mundane self-fulfillment? And although none could take her blood by force and go unpunished, the demands posed a constant nuisance at best.
If they had only known how it had begun to change her to be in that state, maybe then they would have been more heedful…
She spent over a decade at the School, and by the time of her thirtieth birthday she was not only a maiden of blood but a knowledgeable academic and a proficient hunter. She was also lonelier than ever. Thank the Gods that he had appeared to keep her company.
Alistair Lockhart was different. For several months after his arrival at the Academy Phiora knew very little about him, and intended to keep it that way. She knew that he came from abroad, and that the Mensis Elders had nearly immediately granted him close to unlimited freedom to use the laboratories as he saw fit. Granted so great a benefit his scientific findings had to have been quite the asset to the Academy and thusly she thought him to be exactly like most other scholars of esteem; pompous, conceited and surprisingly narrow-minded for someone who claimed to wish to expand their views and see the truth of the world. How wrong she had been!
He was undoubtedly a handsome man, albeit of age. As she made his acquaintance she learned that he was more than twice as old as she, though astoundingly well preserved by years of blood ministration. He was in ways very much like her; analytical, poised and clever bordering on sly. Unlike her, however, he carried himself in an unfaltering assertive demeanor, and when she would keep to herself to avoid bothersome encounters, he would face them steadfastly and unhesitatingly. Of course, he had not as much worth protecting as she.
His fascination with the Gods was genuine and passionate, burning with unrestrained enthusiasm and eagerness. While most could not imagine further than to commune with the Old Ones through sacrifice and hope for them to share their wisdom Alistair sought something greater than such a one-sided exchange, and when others would begin to turn insane from what horrors the Otherworld would reveal to them, Alistair strove to remain in perfect control of his senses. To do so one has to be extraordinarily sane of mind… Or a special kind of mad. If unfazed by such horrendous things, where there even limits to what one could accomplish?
It was hard to believe that he was one of the few who did not try to use her solely for personal gains. Maybe he was simply too proud. Maybe he showed respect when he believed that respect was due.
Maybe he had grown to adore her.
Yes, these two individuals had indeed established a peculiar relationship, and it all started with a rather dramatic event about three moons back. Phiora, at that day particularly bored, had ended up in the very back of a lecture hall to listen to the presumed drivel delivered by the Academy's new asset. He wasn't bad to look at, tall, slender, straight-backed and tastefully clad. He had an oblong face with sharp features, intelligent eyes and a straight, slightly narrowed nose. His thick sideburns were flawlessly groomed and his long hair was resting in a loose, low ponytail on his back. Although he did not seem quite of such age, every strand was in a pleasant shade of silvery gray. He spoke with a light foreign accent, and she soon found his lecture to be quite intriguing. She also found herself, however, to sense that he was just skimming the surface of his knowledge, and that there were things that he would not so carelessly share with others.
But a few days later, she had been on her way from the faculty's grand library late in the evening. She had been clear of mind that night, and although few could sense the Cosmic presence as well as her, she thought the entire day to have been oddly peaceful. This made the event that would soon unfold all the more unsettling.
Phiora had met the alien entities known as the Amygdalas countless times before. Huge and terrifying they sprouted six slender arms with spindly six-digit hands and huge, bulbous insectoid heads. Gleaming and black as ebonite they loomed over the architecture of Yharnam, ominously stalking those losing their minds until they could snatch them up and warp them away to wherever they pleased. She did not fear them, but she was wise enough to keep a safe distance between them and herself. She seemed to intrigue them far more than the other way around, and often they would curiously turn their hideous faces towards her but as she had grown influential enough to perplex them, they would not actively bother her.
Suddenly she had sunk to her knees, as if some force had violently tried to drag her down into the earth. At first, she could not think nor see. As she fell on her side on the cold marble floor, she was overtaken by a feeling of paralyzing dread, far more horrifying and tormenting than anything she had ever felt before. She knew this could happen, that this was what eventually happened to most when one finally lost it, when one's mind went to shambles from the blood and the insight, but she had imagined herself to be stronger than to…
She could not even scream as she saw it.
Through the large, bowed window decorating the short side of the hallway she could now see an enormous, oval, cavernous head without eyes. Amygdala. This one, unique of its kind, was of a light grayish cerulean in colour and though it was in all other senses the very same as its kin, its mere presence frightened her to the very core of her soul. It was as if it reeked of terror and endless pain and without even understanding that it was she who made the sound she had let out an defeating, agonizing shriek as the world crept in on her until there was nothing but darkness. Her voice died out, sunken back into her throat, and under the excruciating pressure she took no notice of the person kneeling down beside her, scoping her into their arms before carrying her away to save her from her nightmare.
Dazed and utterly confused, she had awoken on a small divan in a room she did not recognise. Adjusting her eyes, she soon found herself to be in one of the laboratories' numerous studies, and the person turned away from her indulging in some strange experiment was none other than that newcomer himself. He had immediately taken notice of her wakening, but did not take his eyes off whatever laid on the table before him. 'A terrible burden to bear… Is it not?' 'Did you bring me here?' She asked without answering his question, trying to regain her composure without seeming all too ungrateful. He had, after all, found her in the nick of time. However, she could not be sure that he would not demand something in return. 'Yes… Miss Sinclair, is it not?' Finally, he turned his head to face her. 'I apologize for not bringing you directly to your chambers, but I'm afraid I'm not fully familiar with their location, and… Too many people in the way, if you catch my drift. I have understood that you are not very fond of the kind of attention you're getting from the Scholars. But enough of that now, how terrible it must be to hear gossip about yourself from someone like me!' He grinned ever so slightly as he said it, but he seemed sincere about his sentiment. 'I'm Alistair Lockhart, as you might have caught during my lecture the other day, and I've brought you to my private study. If you want to leave I won't bother you with any questions, however if you want to rest up, feel free to stay as long as you please.'
With these words, he turned around again, casually returning to his work. Huh. For a while, Phiora pondered the reason for his uninterested manners, but soon found them pointless to analyze. Instead she was reminded of her blowsy complexion, shoving loose strands of hair from her eyes and smoothing out the wrinkles of her clothes. 'Don't worry, you look just lovely', he stated plainly without looking at her. She ceased her fiddling, suddenly bashful, and crossing her arms she leant her elbows on her knees as she considered just how much she could ask this man. He had, after all, piqued her interest.
'Could you… See it?' She eventually said after a few moments of silence, her inquiry making the man halt his diligent task and turn to her anew. He too was silent for a little while, before thoughtfully shaking his head. 'I did not see what you must have seen, but I felt a truly gruesome presence. There are plenty of them around here, and I understand it must be particularly hard on someone of your… Qualities. 'I feel… Nothing, right now', the woman said lowly, careful as not to jinx her statement as she stood up and curiously approached the operation table. Albeit grossly mutilated, she immediately recognized the creature securely strapped onto it.
'You did not look into its eyes, did you?' She said, watching the man rubbing his chin between his thumb and index finger. 'Hrm', he muttered as he contemplated her remark. 'I certainly did, and it felt like my Gods damned head was going to split in half.' 'It's called a Winter Lantern', she continued, inspecting the now blank, dull stare of the dozen eyes covering the enlarged lump of meat that made out its head. Its body was slim and covered in dirty cloth and broken tissue that the scientist had yet to start dissecting. 'Did you hear it's singing?' 'Oh yes', he said, adding 'never seen anything like it back in my country, makes me think I should start consulting others before I get to business… Hah!' 'I could tell you more', she said without even realizing it, momentarily shocked as to how she could so easily offer her time and knowledge to a stranger such as him. However, she could for some reason feel a fleeting surge of contentment from fraternizing with this man. Alistair considered the offer for a brief second before a genuine smile spread on his lips. 'Well, am I not the fortunate one', he said with true enthusiasm in his tone, 'the pleasure would be entirely mine. Let me bring you an apron and a pair of gloves and we'll get started!'
It did not take long for their relationship to grow from a single fateful encounter to something far more… Exciting. After their first project with the Winter Lantern Phiora was more than welcome back to work alongside him, even teach him as he listened with humble interest. Not only did she assist him with his peculiar science, the two soon began hunting alongside each other with astounding success. The old man was surprisingly agile for his age, and with his trick-weapon scythe with a powerful, mechanically retractable blade he was extraordinarily unforgiving as he sliced his victims in half. Phiora wielded a cane which on the flick of her hand sprouted a whip threaded with razors, tearing beasts to shreds in the most gruesome way. Alistair found her way of hunting to be of the likeness of a cat chasing a mouse; playful but very, very cruel. It excited him to no end.
He did not once ask about her blood, and soon her curiosity as to why had grown strong enough for her to bring up the topic on her own accord. 'Well', he'd stated matter-of-factly, 'it is not mine to take, now is it?' She asked him if he did not desire it, to which he answered that he would be a proper fool not to, but that although he was not what could be called a good man he was no animal, and therefore he saw no reason to damage what he considered to be a very pleasant exchange. 'Those who wait', she'd told him cunningly. That too had been said on impulse, but she had not once come to regret it.
Phiora had not had a partner since her late teens, at least not one… Fully human. In her younger years, more naive but much less cynical she had found company in a few men she thought could please and protect her, but each and every of these relationships had ended in broken trust or broken minds. After her transfer to the School of Mensis, she solely relied on herself to have her lusts stilled, either that or… Her alternate form. In that state everything was enhanced, her body fashioned to give and take pleasure, and many were the alien entities who were sentient and humanoid enough to serve as mates, when she saw fit. These unions could, however, only quench her thirst so much. Would she be by herself for the rest of her earthly life then so be it, yet…
How she wished for an equal. How she wished for a man who would see her as a queen and who she could in return treat as a king…
The beast's in the clock tower roar echoed out over the moonlit plaza. Alistairinstinctively pulled Phiora close to him by the waist, and together they watched the monster's erratic movements with intriguement. Her heart pounded in her chest. 'What do you want to do?' He asked her. She weighed her cane in her hand, feeling its handle stick to her smooth leather gloves where blood had been splattered and partly dried. 'I want it', she said steadfastly, earning a grin from her partner. Tonight, he looked especially appealing, clad in a classy traditional hunter's garb, an elegant belled top hat adorning his head. Maybe tonight was the right time… 'Well then, let us proceed.'
They escalated the spiral staircase leading up the tower, him just ahead of her, they waited eagerly for the frenzied beast to take notice of them. It was a giant werewolf, probably once a man of enormous physical ability, now reduced to a massive, snarling mindless disaster. When it saw them its dirty fur stood on end, broad snout foaming, eyes glowing yellow with a black vibrating pupil giving it a crazed, utterly unsettling look. It immediately charged at the duo, large four-finger paw slicing through the air to strike at them. A single hit would be devastating, but the experienced huntress caught its arm in the sharpened cord of her weapon, making the creature bellow in pain and fury. It tried to retract but it was hopelessly stuck, and as it pulled fruitlessly it's skin teared and thick blackish liquid began running down its outstretched limb. The second Alistair saw that she had successfully snared it, he swiftly raised his scythe and had its automated retraction effortlessly severe it.
The werewolf backed up into the clock tower's chamber, a high-pitched scream escaping its fanged mouth, and the pair wasted no time in pursuing it. It pressed up against the glass-covered wall, moon illuminating it to show the blood cascading from the stump by its elbow. As it saw the two hunters approaching it in stride it got madder yet, sizing up as if ultimately realizing that it had but one last chance to kill its pursuers before they would doubtlessly dispose of it. 'Let me', Phiora said, and the man humbly stepped back. She cracked her whip almost impishly at the beast, and as it roared and charged rampantly at her she lashed the whip across its snout, inflicting cut after cut until its visage was deformed and unrecognizable by gore. Too furious to even notice the creature pushed through, leaping at her with mangled mouth wide open, it's only sharp-clawed hand ready to strike her down. Swiftly and unhesitatingly she stepped forward, pistol drawn, shoving its barrel in between its jaws and firing. The sharp reverb of the shot mixed with the wet sound of the beast's brains splattering from its skull had the spectating man shudder with excitement. Thick blood splashed across the woman's face, and with a delighted grin she licked it from her lips. 'Is it good?' Alistair knew that no beast's blood could change her quite as her own, but it could raise her senses or intoxicate her to the likeness of the most potent of spirits. She nodded. Then, without hesitation, she stepped up to him and threw her arms around his neck before pulling him into a deep, yearning kiss. The man's eyes widened for but a mere moment as it was their very first, then he responded with fervor, feeling the bitter taste of beast blood from her lips and tongue beginning to inebriate him. 'Please tell me that you want me as I want you', she breathed. 'Of course', he stated back.
Behind Alistair there was a sturdy oaken bench where the old workers of the tower could rest their weary feet, and down onto it he was pushed with one arm learning over the backrest and legs apart. He had already forgotten about the blood he'd just savored, surely his head was spinning and his body was throbbing solely because of her. How long it had been since he felt the fiery passion of a woman… She wasted no time unbuttoning his pants, bringing out his heavily erect manhood before backing a few steps so that he could bask in the sigh of her undressing. Her generously adorned sand-coloured robe was quickly undone by the clasps in the front, she kept it on but followed suit with the button-down exquisitely tailored blouse and the latch to her front-closure bustier so that the outlines of her perky, alabaster breast came into view. She removed her knee-high black leather boots and lastly slid off her trousers to reveal long, slender legs where secretion already trickled down her loins…
Gods, what a display.
'You are every man's dream', he flattered her smoothly, to in the next instant having her lean in to kiss his lips anew. 'I've found the one I want', she mewled slyly, earning a chuckle before he felt his arousal twitch in her grip and his voice was reduced to a groan. 'You poor dear-' 'Schhh', she silenced him immediately, 'do not tease me and say such foolish things…' She straddled his lap, and in the next moment he was completely captivated by the enthralling sensation of entering her. Oh, the wetness, the warmth…
'Alistair… Alistair…' Arms again around his shoulders she grinded her hips voluptuously, eyes hazy with bliss. His hands found their way into the gap in her shirt, grasping her by the waistline as he took in her supple figure. The werewolf laid dead mere feet away, but it did not become them. His hands slid further down her back to reach her buttocks, pressing her down in rhythm with her own rocking. Alistair buried deeply inside of her was well enough to drive them closer and closer to the edge until their blended moans filled the air and he filled her body.
Many decades ago, the young Alistair had a fiancée. She had been of a sharp mind just like him, and though he could no longer recollect those feelings he knew he had held her very dear. Alas, just as their research had begun to lead them somewhere and they had discovered the usefulness of blood ministration, she wanted to stop. She wanted children and security, she'd told him. His prominent experiments would have to come to an end. Naturally, they did not. Even after her leaving, he never lacked female company, would he wish for it. However, as the years passed this kind of entertainment began to mean less and less to the professor. Not only did he grow older, which the frequent ministration effectively halted to a degree, he also grew conceited and obstinately dedicated to his work.
How had Phiora so easily managed to get under his skin, wrap him around his finger and turn greed into need?
He had saved her because of common civility. Conceited or not, he was no unrefined ruffian. He did not ask for her blood out of dignity and aversion of relying on anyone but himself. Still…
After the night in the clock tower, he had fallen deeply into a passionate relationship with this woman and though she had yet to share her secrets with him, he quickly came to regard her as his own and himself as hers. She was perfectly vocal about her desires, and they suited a man of his character impeccably. Phiora wanted to be… Mastered. She would be beyond delighted on her knees, orally dominated until saliva trickled down her torso and her eyes were teary. She let him hold her hard by the hair, press his fingers down her throat as he had his way with her, and at times she asked him to suppress her breathing until she experienced earth-shattering climaxes. He would never, ever strike her or tear her skin or talk to her in a derogatory manner. No, he would tell her how good she was being, that she was a queen, a goddess…
He took this role he had been assigned with utmost seriousness. As much as he thoroughly enjoyed himself endlessly each and every time, he would never let himself leave his woman unsatisfied or wanting in any way. He demanded of himself to be absolutely, flawlessly present in every breath, every movement, to never lose himself in the moment but instead to sharpen his focus and still express to her the most genuine emotions. Nothing but perfection was good enough for her.
Whatever activities took place in their study or during hunts, they could not spend the nights together at the academy. As the mens' and womens' dormitories were separated, they simply could not sneak between them like lecherous youngsters and fuel the already accumulating dislike amongst other academics regarding the frequency and nature of their collaboration. To solve this issue, at least on occasion, they sought for somewhere in town to spend their nights after hunts. Eventually they discovered that the office of a well-known doctress stood empty after her unfortunate demise, and personally exploring the place they found that it had most of its equipment intact, as well as several bedrooms. They cleaned the one they found most suitable thoroughly, washed the sheets with water from the well in the yard and so they had made quite a nice retreat for themselves.
One particular night, after spending the evening at this place, they laid in bed together and relished the aftermath of an especially hedonistic union, Phiora enjoying a pleasant pain from the rope that had previously bound her wrists, and her behind hurt dully from sodomy. 'Hey', she said softly, turning to her man who had his arm wrapped securely around her. 'Hmm?' 'My blood', she began, sliding her fingertips along his chest leisurely. 'What about it?' 'I wish you were the only one who could have it…' he turned to her, the couple now lying on their sides just inches apart. 'What's stopping you?' She sighed somberly. 'Firstly, it's the deal that I made when I first arrived at the Academy. If I stop donating, I won't be under the ministry's protection anymore. They would surely assume why I stopped, correctly so, and you would lose all your benefits too, which would be the least of your problems. Also, it's… Well…' The usually so outspoken woman stilled her voice. Alistair waited patiently for her to continue. 'It's… Very potent. As you know. I've seen what it can do to people. I'm not afraid you wouldn't be able to take it, it's just…' She looked away, biting down on her lip as she hesitated to continue. 'Are you afraid I will get so blood-drunk that I forget about you?' She nodded. 'Yes. You will gain insight, heavily. Everyone does. You will be able to withstand it, I'm sure. I think it would make you… Powerful. You must have pondered it, have you not?' Her partner firmly pulled her closer to him with a hand on the small of her back, causing her to gasp quietly. 'I have.' 'Have you felt jealousy?' 'I have.' Through her sympathy, she could not help but to feel contentment over this fact. 'Phiora…' Suddenly, he sounded grave. 'I doubt it would turn me as powerful as you must be. I might be old, stubborn and selfish, but to belittle you or what you're granting me would be unforgivable lunacy. If I would forget you, you'd have every right to annihilate me. Do you understand?' 'Alistair…' He leant in to kiss her, and her response was far more ardent than expected. Soon, she was on top of him, feeling him stiffen against her naked crotch. 'Are you not spent?' He grinned. 'Just my bottom', she purred happily.
He really had it all…
But he had yet to taste her blood.