EIDOLON
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5
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The body ticks as the previous soul expires. Traces of the boy remain, but they are mere glimpses of who he once was. It emits a hopeful, loving ache only humans and animals possess, gives flickers of a gilded life, then consuming fear begins to settle and die; the last embers of a dying inferno burning its final farewell. As this soul disintegrates, the creature stretches into the remaining mass, but the aspects do not match. He must find his carriage if he's to exist, but the body, fresh with death has not yet consumed the predatory soul. Time will allow him to adhere. So he lies there for endless moments, his soul searching for the eyes and limbs so he may see and function.
Fingers flutter against sheets then clutch the mattress with unnatural force as he pulls himself from the bed. The final breath in the lungs expel and crackle while the creature shivers in the cold. The warmth from the foundation of the mortal already begins to wane, and he knows he must seek the cure of its distress. For cold will freeze it, mar its existence, and reject him from the flesh he possesses.
His eyes dart from one side of the room to the other, the surroundings seen through a milky haze. This young human's body is weak, the muscles, while developed, have never known their potential.
Bare feet find the floor and he stands. The creatures eyes fall upon a silhouette across the room. He startles, baring his teeth. With urgency, he strides to the form, raises his bent fingers and strikes with careless inaccuracy, shattering the reflection. Through the fog and shards, he recognizes it's the same body as the boy he took. He looks closer. His eyes are green as new spring grass. The skin hosting him is ghastly. The masterful fabric adorning his torso seems aureate in the firelight. The full, untamed russet hair is a mess on his head, and the creature reminds himself it does not belong to him. Not yet.
Still, he gives a slow admiration for the specimen he acquired. He understands humankind from a distance. He recognizes their jubilation, the fear, their anger. He's witnessed their mores, their ceremonies, their procreation, births, even their deaths. He's never been so close, this ancient soul, to possess a body within their sweeping coil. Cool, shaking fingers pass over the boy, discovering the square face, firm torso, and thick collection of flesh which he knows to be the pillar for breeding.
He is pleased with all this, but he remembers the teeth are round and dull, suitable for a human, but aberrant to his existence. It's not a matter he can rectify now. The body cools more with every passing moment in the frigid air. He treads to the source of heat inside the space, curling close to the warmth, turning his hands over and inching closer until the flame licks at the edge of the fingertips. This mortal fire bites at the flesh and he pulls away.
This form is delicate. He's on the precipice of surrendering the corpse, leaving it cold, and returning to his slumber in the dark banks of the forest and pyre until a sound, a resonate murmur, as though a drum is being pounded from some distance away clamors inside his head. The rhythm is slow, purposeful, and he lifts himself and reaches out to search for the vibration. He shivers when his fingers touch a curious, wintry node, but he twists and pulls, dividing the barrier from its frame.
He raises his chin in this newfound darkness, searching the air to locate the ripple he feels and hears inside his head. The enveloping cold tremors as his fingers search the pitch dark.
He touches a solid mass, the pale hands of the body and his soul hunting as one for the first time, stretching across the grain, immersing himself and reaching for an aura. He does this over and over again, moving down the dark stretch until a pulse radiates behind another obstruction. His fingers fall onto another cold stud, it's flourishing design barely filling his palm as he twists it to the left and pushes the heavy wood from him. A dying fire beckons the creature inside, and on the flat, soft platform is the cadence he searches for.
This warm, hollow pocket is desirable, and the creature's steps fall silent on the wood beneath him. The pulse exudes from the form under the layers of material, and he can almost hear the pumping of heat through the body underneath. The breaths of this soul are tranquil, unsuspecting of the monster he attracts.
He considers this warmth and how to help himself to it, and finally he lifts the fabric and eases himself into the cocoon, pressing himself against the hot skin of this human who, when he feels the icy flesh against him, pulls away opening his eyes and glances behind him. He protests this embrace.
"Edward, what are you doing in here? Your fingers are ice!"
The creature withdraws momentarily as the human he desires turns onto his back, placing a hand on his face, not bothering to look at him again. "How are you feeling?"
He fastens himself against the human again.
"Stop! You're freezing. Did your fire die?"
The creature mouths the word 'die'. A fascinating term. The man removes the sheets from himself, sitting upright and moving on his bare feet. He is nude until he pulls material over his head to hang along his body. The creature stands, too, and situates himself near the human as he begins to prod the mortal fire, awakening the flames, and when he straightens the creature embraces him, seeking the warmth once more.
"Edward! What are you doing? You're as ice!" the man pushes on the creature, but he is unable to remove him. "Leave me! Go back to your room!"
He struggles, placing his arms between himself and the cold body, but the creature latches, his face flush against the scorching flesh.
"Get off! Get off, I say!"
"Need fire," the thing says in low, breathless clicks. And he thrusts himself onto the human, the weight of his body, the strength of his soul, crushing the man to the floor.
The thing covers him, squeezes the human's wrists with his hands and pins them at his sides. Bones begin to fracture, and a wail escapes the man's throat. The terrible howl in the silent flicker of the night is arousing, and the hard swell of purpose under his skin causes his eyes to widen and the body of Edward, the mind of a demon, gives no liberty to this man. The creature presses his mouth to the contracting flesh under his jaw and receives the salt on his skin, licking, tasting, and knowing the heat he must draw can not be taken by a simple touch. It is the thrumming from within, the hot cascade inside the meat is what he must consume.
He spreads his lips, opening the divided skin next to his mouth, filling the chasm with the human's neck. When he closes around the flesh it takes little strength to break through.
A river runs from the tear, and the man tries to scream, but the creature fastened to his neck shortens his breath, and he feels he will burst from this abnormal vice. He continues to push, trying to free himself, but there is nothing he can do to pry away. The purchase is too strong as teeth and lips nurse the life from his body.
The heat from this man fills his cold cavity, animates his spirit, and there is such vigor within him he lifts himself from the floor. His eyes begin to clear, adjusting to light and shadow. He watches the human, his eyes on the fire, his mouth opening quickly with a shallow and pointed intake of breath. His jaw closes slowly before he's attempting another flux of air. A rose river flows from his neck and onto the floor. The creature dips his fingers in the surge and touches it to his tongue. It's already growing cold. He remains by the human until his jaw ceases to tick and his breath expires. He can almost feel the soul depart.
He rolls his head, feeling the movement of the body like he hadn't before, the position of his legs, the stretch in his arms. He steps over the corpse sprawled in front of the fire and continues into the dark once more in search for the heat masked by supple flesh. He doesn't walk far before entering another room, but unlike the last human his eyes are already open, blinking as he sits up to appraise what came through the door.
"Edward?" he asks, his dark hair shielding his eyes, and when he swipes it back he's out of bed and on his bare feet. "What in...?"
He traces the human, mimicking his movements, pacing.
"You've blood on your mouth. Did you cut yourself?" His voice wavers. It's unsteady, fearful, and though this monster cares not for words, one rhythmic sound, and its context, intrigue him as he finds the strum and beat of liquid fire under the skin.
"Blood?" the creature clicks, intaking air.
"Holy Lord, protect me from what trespasses against me," the human says, then continues to mumble words under his breath.
The creature crosses the room and lunges at the man, opening his mouth and fastening under his jaw. The meaty sinew is larger than the previous.
This one has more strength. He tightens his large, hot hands around the creature's arms to shove him away, giving more effort, but not enough to sway the teeth sinking into his neck. His voice finds him and he hollers before succumbing to the weight of his attacker.
The creature drinks him slower, tasting the intense sting of iron as he squeezes it down. The heat melts the piercing cold in his chest with each swill. Every swallow compels a new sense, another awareness, and anchors him closer to the body. A quick breath causes him to pull away, and in the doorway is another, dressed in a long frock, a light flickering above clear liquid in his hand. His blue eyes are penetrating the dark, and his silent observing is giving unrest to the creature.
He must've heard the large one scream.
He removes himself, and rises to his feet, licking his lips, pushing an outline of blood around his wide mouth. His pace is slow and smooth, like that of a human. And though the creature knows he's not fully integrated into this body, it's enough to control its limbs without further mistakes.
"Edward?" the human asks from the opening, though he backs up as the creature nears.
He can feel his pulse through the air and smell the juice under his skin
"What have you done?"
"Blood," he clicks, his mouth opening wide to accommodate the word.
"Blood?"
"Yes," he clicks again, "blood."
His face pinches and his lips turn down. "My son," he cries. A shatter sounds next to him, and a flame ignites then roars to life.
The creature's eyes widen, and he hooks the man over his shoulder and bounds down the stairs away from the scorching flames beginning to spread over the wood. When the creature bursts through the front door, retreating to the lawn, he can see the bloom of destruction through the windows of the white enclosure. The creature allows the man to fall from his perch, sliding from his shoulder and onto the ground with a heavy thud.
He's on his back, eyes wide in the sunless morning and studying the body of his child. "Edward?"
The creature stretches his throat, but he is yet unable to speak. He kneels next to the trembling man. The grass is wet and cold, but his body is made of flame and passion. The boy's brothers awakened the connectors between body and soul, their blood gifting to the creature perception and strength. As he stares into the eyes of the father, the procurer of life, he wonders how he will complete him.
"What are you?!" the father pleads. "What have you done with my son?!"
The creature doesn't answer him. Instead, he inches closer on his fingers as they gouge deeper into the ground. The pulse in the air quickens, a drum against the creatures ears.
"God forgive me," the father closes his eyes. "Elizabeth forgive me."
The creature plunges into his skin, and the father cries, screams, and gurgles when Edward's teeth rip into his flesh.
He wraps his arms around his son's back, clenching onto the gold-threaded waistcoat as the fire takes hold of the structure behind them.
The golden life of the Cullens burns brightly in the early dark, and if anyone saw this they would believe the sun to be dawning in the northland instead of the east. And the creature drinks every last drop of the father until he is nothing except pale flesh, rigid bones, and still skin.
He feels the life in him now, the breath seep into his lungs, the voice crack in his throat as he rises to his feet. His mind is comprehensive and full. He stands, watching the manor snap and hiss under its disastrous circumstance.
He is ripe with the glorious heat from the boy's family. Fog no longer heeds his vision. He stretches, feeling the muscles dance in his body.
His.
For the first time in human form a faint smile casts upon his mutilated lips. "Mine," he says and breathes in the cold morning air.