When People Run in Cirlces(Xelly)

[Volcon]

Pain, horrendous pain flooded his body. Piercing his mind, and filling it with the thoughts that ravished it, tearing it down to a level of extremes. It wasn’t a physical pain, no he no longer felt that kind of pain, it was the pain of something lost. Like a thousand drums drumming on the inside of his ears it beat to the rhythm of an unheard song. Perhaps one time, a long time ago he would have thought it had been to the tune of his heart, but he no longer had one of those, long forsaken in the pursuit of power. Setting in his throne room with a grimace on his face he could feel it, coming like a wind through his castle.

How could she do this to him? Come crawling back to him after all this time without the faintest warning as to why she had abandoned his messenger. Of course he had talked to him, given him word of her return but he had not told anything beyond him. It outraged him for some odd reason. Maybe it was the malcontent of their last meeting, and what poor conditions that she had left in. Either was he would be talking to her about bringing back his messengers when he sent them specifically to go get her, it wasn’t courteous to do any different.

The entire presence of a shade was like a scorching fire in the middle of the darkest black that anyone has ever sought. It was like a blind man suddenly being opened to the light of the world, it was almost as strong as a dragon rider themselves. Although Galbatorix could read the signs of a dragon rider he was much more adept at cracking the minds of the unwilling. Their inner thoughts are his playground, and with them he can discover the very key to unlocking their core inner most secrets. Their true names were out on a silver platter and all he had to do was reach out and get them. No, they had no secrets from him.

Galbatorix was the strongest being in the world, even these little shades that went around boasting their magnificence paled in comparison. It was like the difference between a new born sparrow and a deadly eagle. Even if everyone else was a simple little ant, crushed by any creature he was still stronger then all of them. They would die if he had engaged them more then what he already had, but now was not the time. No, there was too much to do here, he had to find it if he was to do what must be done.

Standing the magnificent robes that he flowed from his shoulders touched the ground dragging behind him slowly as he started towards the door. How could it come to this, when he had so carefully made sure that his powers wouldn’t slip from his fingers the blood on his hands had found a way out. These dragon riders were merely amateur magicians wishing that they had the extent of his abilities. They lacked the knowledge to know the difference between the two and still they wished for the redemption from his wrath. They would get no mercy, there is no mercy from him.

A dark scowl covered his face, lining it with the thick residue of his hate, and distorting it with the cold confines of his sanity. Twisting his hand to hold the pommel of his sword, it covered the dark black obsidian with the white lacy fingers that seemed much too long for his hands. Walking down the stone steps of the throne room towards the door he could only wait for that woman to get here. The creature that had secluded herself from his presence for so long would now be revealed. A cold laugh emanated from his throat echoing through the chambers, anyone who heard it would no doubt have chills run down their back at the cold nature of his deceiving madness.

The tall pillars which gave off an unearthly radiance of shuddering cold tingled under the back of his hand. Uneven ridges were hard and granulated under his touch, still eerily smooth after all these years, a true showmanship of the elven magnificence that had gone into this. If he ever caught up with them he wouldn’t just kill them, he’d enslave them and they’d be his tool. Whatever his need be, should it be craftsmanship, killing, assassination, population control, or even simple tasks around his palace the fair elves would be a lovely edition to his vast work force. Perhaps the dwarves could help a little too, or perhaps he could just kill them.

The silent brooding of his mind wandered, and he know felt the shade’s presence lurking dangerously close to the palace. Smiling he looked over towards a man in a uniform looking absolutely terrified, “You! There, go help our guest find my chambers. Hurry, or she’ll take it upon herself, and I really wouldn’t like to have to punish her.” Taking a deep breath he realized how much he didn’t want to do that, it would be a pity to make her even more uncomfortable then she already was. Of course he could simply let it slide, but that would be less then pleasing, and it would tarnish his almost flawless reputation, Galbatorix would never want that.

Turning abruptly he looked at the long red of the single length of carpet that stretched it’s way to the throne. The gold of it’s fringe glared at the sun, taking it’s splendor and reflecting it back in only a fraction of the magnificence that the sun manages to procure. Instead it seemed a simple inadequate display for a king of his majesty, he’d need to right that wrong one of these days, perhaps he’ll put the elves on it. Damn, he realled did need those things if he was going to get much done around here. Of course he could have his servants do it, but they screwed things up too much.

It felt like a prolonged pacing match as he walked back up the steps, each step of his feet resulting in a silent thud. It echoed, but hardly far enough for the man, whom couldn’t be judged by time strode up. Confidence poured from his face, and it flowed from his fingertips. Everything he touched was full of the vibrancy, and graced by his excellence. Yes, he was ready for this shade no matter what she managed to throw out at him with the wicked extremities of her heart. If you could call that black hole a heart.

“Servant come here, now” The harsh edge to his voice echoed towards her as he whipped his head around to look at her. The timid girl shied back looking more like a deer frightened by a fierce grizzly then the maid that she was. A scowl that lined his face took her in as she suddenly scurried across the floor realizing that she had been summoned. “Get a chair for my guest….” The words were cool acid on his tongue as he looked at angrily, “and some wine, and be quick about it.”

Turning on her heels the woman fled his presence, scurrying quickly over the marble floor. The dress under her flared up as she ran away, ahhh what fine legs she had. Perhaps this little whelp wasn’t quite so useless as he had originally thought that she was.

[Xelschea]

~
“When I said we,
you know I meant me and
when I said sweet
I meant dirty.
When I said we,
you know I meant me and
when I said sweet
I meant dirty.”
~

Behind the elegant stone walls of a palace under siege by a sickness that rotted within its walls, a city lay surrounding its towers. The castle itself was proof of tyranny, yet no one in their right mind would dare act against it, for to do so would be to motion against the so called ‘Great and Powerful’ King himself. Outside, the insulting noise of mortal voices rose and fell within the ears of an ancient creature, yet a creature virgin to the touch of time. Vendors screamed their wares with obnoxious glee, drawing in small children with colorful displayed and dragging parents with them. Windows were open, bakery smells intoxicating to the simple mindedness of humans, while this stench was almost enough to make the creature gag. Almost. Despite her very humanlike appearance, she had more monster within her than even the King, whose heart was filled with gluttony and a need for domination. The latter, at least, they both mirrored. Twin ivory pillars balanced her lean frame, hourglass figure contrasted with pallid flesh, gleaming white when revealed in the bright sunlight that could do nothing except smolder her skin in soft agony. Night was her true dominion, something that no mortal could ever steal from her, and a true companion who caressed her with pretty moonbeams and also shielding her in a cloak of night.

The Shade of whom had no limitations, nor heart, nor soul…but an endless bloodlust that never was sated. Her beauty was perhaps only outmatched by a husk full of greed and lust, seven deadly sins incarnate in her white iron frame. This day called for a special occasion, such a day when she required to wear something other than the garbs she wore for casual murders. Today, she was dressed to spin heads so swiftly that a mortals neck would snap from the whiplash and fall promptly in front of her before her black knee length heeled boots poked holes into their flesh as she walked over them. Covering her chest with sparse placements of cloth to bring obvious factors to mind when dealing with Men, she wore a tight dark crimson leather breastplate, revealing her stomach and mimicking a spiders web tightly clinging to her pale flesh, adding to the splendor of her body. Today she wore pants, tightly woven over her thighs down to the beginning of her boots, littered with openings and designed with intricate patterns, visible only to the sorcerer’s mind. A cold steel blade hung at her side, moving in tune with her body as she drifted in between the chaos of the crowd. It glinted the color of dried blood, burning with the screams of the innocent and condemned alike, all who fell victim to the woman’s deadly attacks. All this would be enough to silence the noise of the mortals, even halt children as they laughed among their friends with as much ignorance as a beast. At least they understood fear. Yes, all that would have happened if not for her maroon cloak that adorned her shoulders, shielding every single open part of her body, hinting that this woman was merely some sort of magic woman. A select few stared at her, but others merely turned and continued doing what ants did best.

She was nearing the palace now. Step by step, soft yet burdened by centuries of defying death and all of its gifts, she advanced upon the cold stone, rivaling such cruelty hidden in secret, awaiting for her beloved return. Let the little King fret…let his heart be rekindled and tear into his flesh… Demons, half veiled and trapped uttering in subdued hisses, whispered their secrets, yet the woman paid them little heed, knowing every secret murmured in silence having since accumulated quite a collection herself. A foreboding presence alerted her of her closeness, taken in the shape of a large, gossamer feather raven. Rauthr’s beady eyes were locked on the castle, a murmur of fear swelling inside his throat as if it pained him to act in such a way in front of the one being he revered. It was madness to return back into the arms of the Empire, but then again, the insanity that oiled the machine in his Mistress’ mind paled those of the King even tough he himself was claimed by such conditions long ago. His talons clung to the fabric of her cloak, digging his claws into her flesh, but not forceful enough to spike a bead of crimson from the shoulder he clung to. Her comfort and protection was all that he had, the privilege to be near such a powerful woman without needing to fear death. Punishment, often, but never death, not from the hands that created him, perfecting his build and contorting the bird into a cherished familiar.

Once both woman and raven reached the marble steps that led curving towards the palace doors, she peeked out behind the mask of maroon, her hood deliberately placed over her face to cleverly keep monsters hidden from casual view. Every step was like the sound of a hammering heartbeat of a giant in slumber, the chime of a slumbering beast in seclusion. The number to reach the top reached thirty seven, consciously reminding her how absorptive she was of every sense. Sight. Smell. Taste. Hear. Touch…With slow confidence, she led a crimson trail on her wake, passing rows of suspicious soldiers, lances at their sides with cruel points winking dully in her direction. Any other person seen approaching the castle was instantly interrogated, beaten until given the correct answer where they would be hurried inside and dragged to wherever they needed to be, but at this moment, she seemed to draw upon the idea of allowing her dark magic to do the talking for her. Invisible tendrils of miasma surrounded each one, the breath freezing half way into their lungs before exhaling mechanically, optics staring straight ahead with a blank expression to match. How easy it was to infiltrate the castle! If that Galbatorix thought on relying on his devoted subjects and pawns to stop such destruction when the time came, then he would be disappointed. He might even have to lift a finger himself, now wasn’t that a feat on his part? Her less than pleasant thoughts were interrupted, however, as a single figure unlatched the door and carefully approached the Shade.

The first thing that alerted her was the wave of fear that rolled off from his figure, lazy rolls of translucent anxiously and uncertainty at his reluctant advance. He bowed, his posture hurried as if a monster threatened to devour him, skin and bone, in painful bites. She gave no indication she heard his precise greeting, directly apologizing for not arriving sooner to escort her up the stairs and passed the guards. The shade, known as Xelschea, still did not even bother to acknowledge his petty existence. The dog was sent by his master to fetch a guest to his chambers, all she wanted to do was get his over and done with so that his death might come quicker. She grinned, features shadowed and walked forward without the man, who quickly reclaimed himself and picked up his pace to walk ahead of her. The stride she traveled on was obviously not something the messenger was used to, for he struggled to keep his lead, which ultimately led to the strain of jogging to stay ahead. The raven hissed, feathers spiking at every opportunity when the bird deemed the mortal too near to his Mistress, not being quick enough to remain in front of them as they turned corners into elaborately decorated hallways. Without a single falter, the woman lifted her head a fraction of an inch, suddenly coming to life as if a corpse reanimated to gaze at the wide framed door, tall as the ceiling was high. Her orbs, smoldering with emotionless indifference, were the color of old blood, coated and rotting on an open carcass. With a simple elegance, the woman felt a thin smile along her lips, eyes narrowing expectantly as the sensation of meeting an old enemy rekindled within her core.

The man made use of his corpse and knocked three times, each sound echoing around her as they somehow waited for her reaction, yet none came. Not quite yet. This announced the messenger’s return with positive results. The Shade waited behind closed doors, impossibly white blonde hair snaking under her hood. The man stole a sigh of hurried relief like a dog panting its shame. Openly expressing a delicate sneer, the woman strode forward once more. Howls of the man behind her and the commotion of quickly alerted soldiers who stationed themselves around the bend resounded through the castle loud enough for all of its residents to hear. Her hand flew out before her, and beside her, standing with his wings stretched at his sides, cackled a very enthusiastic Rauthr. The door to the throne room flew open on oiled hinges, only making a sound when the wooden frame clashed upon the marble walls of the room. Slaves jumped when the loud noise assaulted their tiny ears, driven by fear for their master to flinch at every motion and sound. An inward smirk, sadistic yet carrying a mockingly sweet charm relished itself, taking pleasure in the stares that engulfed her. One in particular held her interest, one of burning conquest in endless pits, flesh touched by age and selfish enough to consume all of Death’s gifts. Her King was watching her as well. Slowly the door closed behind her, her maroon adorned figure a bright burst of color in the cold marble corridor as she stood with her omen atop of her shoulders, beady eyes filled with steady loathing. ”Galbatorix…” Her voice was a feathery hiss, a kiss seeping with poison at every crack and angle. Her syllables themselves paled the scream of the doors in their own eerie aura, a cold sheet blanketing the room and filling it with her icy beauty.

~
“I'll pretend that I want you
For what is on the inside
But when I get inside,
I'll just want to get out
I'm your first and last deposit
Through sickness and in hell
I'll never promise you a garden
You'll just water me down
I can't believe that you are for real
But I don't care as long as you're mine.”
~

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[Volcon]

Deaf they were to the sounds, not those of the mortal, but those not of them. A sound that magnified from the oddity of her aura. It singed the precedents that lay to witness in this place, her entire being an enigma, and a way of setting herself above all other things. The narrowed eyes of a king, a monarch, a god, even stared down at her, trying to decipher what she was. So long had it been since this creature had infiltrated these halls, so long since she had come here peacefully. The clumsiness of those mortals who stumbled about, and pretended to be someone of importance made him almost want to chuckle. They knew nothing at all. They were but another excuse at this fallen petulance of man, a wishful conqueror, and a dead weight. Nothing they did was any consequence to the future, the fact that they were even allowed their next breath was a bestowed gift, never to be taken lightly.

The light pale figure before him stood like a pillar, tall and strong in the face of a man who could crush even her without much effort. Even a shade, both menacing and devious, paled in comparison to the might that this king held. With the strength of thousands of Dragons who have befallen to him, he has become the greatest being in all of Alagaesia, no one would dare stand in his way. With the growing number of dragon riders in his possession he has only become stronger, his reach stretching father, and soon all would be his. Still, there was too much for him to do, and so little time for him to do it, not that he had to worry. This king had all the time in the world, and so much more. This creature, even if strong, wasn’t anything what she probably thought she was.

“Galbatorix”

The name was like a whisper, with all the intensity of an avalanche backing it up. Like a nail scratching down the side of a chalk board, and a thousand trumpets blaring one harmonious note it clashed. Nothing about this woman was normal, not the set of her eyes, not the glimmer of her stark white skin, and not even the way she walked through the room. Some might call her an angel, a demon, or even something as mortal as a queen, but all that was a lie. Instead she was a corruptible little witch, only motivated by her own agenda, which hardly ever corresponded with those who she was affiliated with. In all Galbatroix didn’t trust her, but he would use her, for destruction if nothing else. Just another pawn in this war of the powerful, just as disposable as the slave sitting in this very room.

Standing up with an eloquent flourish of his hand he grinned a large smile. “Xelschea, it’s so nice to have you back.” The words were like a liquid metal streaming from his mouth in some menacing tone that faded into silence after a moment of floating in the air.

Walking down the stone steps, the long flowing cloak following after him, he went to meet his patron, to embrace her. The soft welcoming of a hero perhaps it was, but there was a spell in his mind that would stop her the moment that she made a move that was out of line. The sword at his hip, black as midnight, was also here to help him in such moments. If she would dare attack him, she’d be dead before the first murmur escaped her mouth. Nothing could stop him, here, in this place that he called his own there was no beating that which walked among it’s halls. Everyone else seemed little more then a speck at the moment though, as he went to meet her.

Instead of a simple hand shake he went up to her, taking her in a embrace such as a father embracing a long lost father. Of course, he’d never be a father, he had no need for more annoying little brats running around, but he had his fair share of pleasure. Sighing he let go of her, and smiled at her, a demented smile that didn’t fit the situation. It looked more like he was looking at ways that he was going to kill her, then reveling in the fact that she was once more here at the place that he called home. Still, she was here, and now she’d do his bidding, and when he was done with her he probably would kill her. It just depended on how well she suited him, and if he thought she would be useful again, if yes, he’d think about keeping her, perhaps as a pet.

Turning around he motioned for her to follow him, “Come, Xelschea and sit, we have much to discuss.” Walking towards the steps he was contemplating what all he would tell her in this session.

Walking up the stairs to where the large throne set, it was a spectacle to take in, but nothing like it’s beholder. It was much higher then the simple chair that had been brought for her, and would probably make her feel much smaller then him, which didn’t really matter in her case. The woman could probably kill a dragon with her bare hands if she got the chance and walk away still kicking, but Galbatorix was much more then a dragon so it didn’t much matter. Speaking of which he wondered where Shruikan was, he seemed to be missing as of late. Of course he felt him in his mind, but at the moment he didn’t make enough contact to figure out where he was, needing to concentrate at things at hand. The large obsidian dragon was close enough for him to be seething feelings off onto Galbatorix, so it was fine.

A hideous smile showing the whites of his teeth broke his lips, as he looked at her. That bird was on her shoulders, nasty thing it was. It was still and enigma as to why she chose to keep such a thing around, it was pitiful in a way, but it must serve her purposes for her to keep it with her for so long. Perhaps at one time he’d pull it apart and see what it was that made this particular creature so important to her. There was something in it’s eyes, something that burned back at him, calling him in a way, but it was probably just his imagination. The king still had that, an imagination, and it ran ramped some days as he imagined a world ruled by him and an army of dragon riders. That was his dream, to be a god among men, and to rule the world from every parts, even the ones far across the seas only talked about in the deepest of legends from long ago.

“I will need you for something in the coming future, my lady, and it won’t be easy. I’m putting a lot of trust in your judgment for these things. I want to know if you will accept these challenges.” The words held the full intensity of his commanding presence as he spoke them across the room.

Sitting down a sweeping motion he would let her come and set at any moment that she wished too, he preferred to even if it wasn’t necessary. A simple look of questioning was on his face as he looked at her, wondering if she was in fact ready for this. It wasn’t as simple as stealing some child’s cookies or dealing out the cards at a tavern. These would be things that stretched the edges of her minds as she struggled to figure out the complexity of what was going on. This of course had to do with upcoming battles, she seemed the most likely candidate at the moment to be one of his generals, a commander that will reign with little effort. The king needed people who would strike fear into the hearts of it’s servants and she was one of them.

In a way she was a key player in some of his plans, although easily replaced it would be much easier with her there. If she didn’t want to be apart of this, he’d probably dispose of her now, which he wouldn’t life would be very unfortunate, but it was necessary to sustain his kingdom, he couldn’t have people running around that were this important to him. Also, if she in some weird idea decided to go to the Varden to help them it would be very inconvenient and he couldn’t have that. In all it would be the best that if she wasn’t with them she was against them, and of course everyone against him would die.

[Xelschea]

~
“When I said we,
you know I meant me and
when I said sweet
I meant dirty.
When I said we,
you know I meant me and
when I said sweet
I meant dirty.”
~

It was the way he gazed at her so, that look of amusement, perhaps sick enjoyment. Did he think this was all some game? Rauthr understood the inner struggle his Mistress was battling against, already vanquished and quelled past devils. Of course, they still haunted her and sat upon a throne surrounded by her demons, tiny nipping creatures like shreds of shadow, giving her council whenever her swelled pride allowed it. The Rider King’s eyes were like orbs, igniting when they found his chosen prey, like a cat eyeing down a mouse. What the foolish knave didn’t grasp was that he was staring a beautiful death right in the face, a crimson serpent in a pleasing ivory husk. His head lowered, leveling himself with the man’s gaze. The creature trembled lightly, as if colliding with the power of his gleaming pits. He held steady for a second more before flickering his own midnight holes to the ground, briefly recovering before turning to his Mistress. From what he could tell, Rauthr could feel the rage resonating off her form, very subtly, but enough to send his tiny heartbeat into a gallop. Some would question their relationship, deem it only as slave and master, but wicked Rauthr was more than that, more so than Xelschea would admit. They were bonded. Like Dragon and Rider they shared what others could not contemplate. Not the elves who held themselves so regally even in death, or even the ‘mighty’ Dragon Rider’s themselves. All because the connection wasn’t between dragon and mortal, but loyal familiar and Shade. Simpler things… but power spoke louder than words.

The woman held her gaze at a higher level, mentally looking down upon the being that commanded so much power, if not for the fact that his servants and subjects had misplaced their senses long ago. Perhaps then, they would see how weak he was, engulfed in a world of his own fantasies. At least Xelschea had a firm grasp on reality, despite how warped it had become in all her years of intoxicating madness. Hiding a crooked grin that would surely seal away her intensions, she eyed the man that once held her devotion for so long, yet hardly the span of her lifetime. The taste left a sour bile on the tip of her tongue, perhaps leftover from memories she would have cast aside if not for her greed driving her forward for a revenge most sweet. Her head tilted momentarily cocked to the side, slightly indicating that she was perhaps humoring him when he spoke, acknowledging the fact that he still stole breath into his putrid lungs, something she would surely correct at the proper time. His words melted into her skin even before he finished the sentence. So formal. The notion was enough to make a sickly sweet grin contort her face into that of an angelic canvas with the soulless eyes of a demon revealing her twisted black tendrils of corruption. Only one look, and she could force men to fall to their knees, begging for her to smile their way, or at least lower themselves before her. Surreal, yet utterly alluring all the same. “The feeling is mutual, my dear Galbatorix.” The hiss escaped her mouth seemed more foul of saying his name twice now in his presence, peeling open a fresh wound at the thought of winning his approval through simple flattery. Her voice dripped with honey, thick with toxins enough to choke a man on its false sweetness alone.

Like the steady beating of his still mortal heart, Galbatorix was the symbol of disgust. Old age was beginning to dust along the features of his face, hinting once more that no human could cheat a being as mighty as death. It amused her to think that she could merely wait out his demise as age festered and ate away at his fleshy body, but where was the fun in that? Things were already personal. The smirk that had widened along her face, yet poised with pride twitched in faint response when he rose in a flourish of robes, in a shimmer of silk. His arms were widespread, smile unpleasing to gaze upon as if she already knew what secrets lay hidden inside such a mocking display. He approached, and Xelschea remained where she was, unmoving, her body glinting like the sharpness of a ivory dagger. She couldn’t allow that mongrel the pleasure of seeing her uncertain, let alone unwilling to let the delusional king to do as he pleased. Her limitations would surely be breached, so it seemed at the moment, but she simply donned the cunning mask over her face and decided to humor him. Rauthr wasn’t so co-operative. Of course, he possessed the sanity to keep well away from the Rider King, but the thought of another mindless corpse coming into physical contact with his Mistress again was infuriating. Well before he even made it halfway towards the Shade, his wings lurched to life, launching his gossamer corpse into the air and circling, head cocked towards the man’s directing with a look of pure scorn before landing upon one of the marble rafters. Xelschea, however, focused her attention upon the being who thought so highly of himself, enough to think that everyone surrounding him must love him just as much as himself. She was used to her loyal, yet somewhat cowardly, familiar taking wing at the presence of something that could easily kill him. The Shade was another matter entirely.

It was then he embraced her. Her arms were limb by her sides, as if forced into a state of slumber. The flesh of her face hovered beside his own, lingering there for a moment, frozen. Something triggered inside of her core, swelling up as the shadows of her body cast vicious contours along her face as her lips dawned into a feral grin, hidden from his view. She was so close, feeling his heart beat hammer against the confines of his gaunt chest and press torrents of blood through his fragile veins. Imaginations ran wild, flashes of gore splattered against her chest and face, ripping through the delicate tissue of his skin. She suppressed a sigh, thin eyebrows arched mockingly as she imagined his ichor staining her tongue, washing down a taste of poison. Bitter. Foul. A fetish that would repel even her disturbing appetite.
As her limbs animated back to life, she gently wove her thin tendrils around his form. At every breath they remained together, sharp needles pricked his back where she absently held him. Fool, I will make you remember your hunger. Echoing from the vastness of her mind, a serpent’s voice slinked through the darkness, beady eyes narrowing in distaste. No man could withstand her, not even the King of Mongrel’s himself, though she had no doubt that he felt the pain of her absence. In response to the embrace left an unsettling grin plastered on his face, as if debating whether or not to dispose of the woman now, but ultimately deciding against it. To his subjects, such a grin would strike fear into their pathetic hearts, but for the Shade, she merely offered him an empty smile in return, her actions hinting a subtle playfulness in them, as if a Goddess were playing with her favorite toy. A blood stained gaze flickered over his shoulder, catching the eye of Rauthr who seemed to have forgotten his Mistress’ form, whose hatred burned only for the man and he alone. Such a jealous beast. She mused inwardly, It will be the death of him.

She heard his words, but hardly acknowledged them with even a head nod, let alone words. What was there to say? Breath could be so easily disposed of and wasted, it was almost a shame when Death tolled for the unexpecting, why their silly little faces, wide eyed and mouths gapping in mute screams. It seemed no one died peacefully, but then again, who could imagine dogs laying down with grace when Xelschea displayed her blade? The single thing the woman did do was follow at his plain motion, slow and steady, as if she tread on glass that tore on the sole of her feet, yet she wasn’t sure whether to welcome or forsake the agony it caused. The mongrel approached a finely ornate throne of obsidian, an elven decoration no doubt, though she was certain that it was wasn’t a gift of good fortune to his ‘majesty’. From the rafters, a frame entirely of feathers and a frozen heart stared down at the scene below. With a click, his beak parted, hot breath leaking from his lungs into the atmosphere. Ebon eyes set upon his Mistress, he didn’t fail to notice the space that was separating Xelschea and the King at every step they took. Cawing softly, he shook out his glossy coat, making himself look twice as large before cawing briefly, the ending note sounding like it had been cut off unexpectedly. Weightless wings descended from the ceiling, banking to the right while arching his limbs as he went to meet his Mistress. Within another step, she felt the familiar talon’s grip her cloak, partially digging into her left shoulder for support like he always did when he felt threatened. Her desire to scold him for his stupidity faded from her throat, instead catching Galbatorix’s intent gaze upon the creature as it momentarily preened its feathers before snapping back to glare threateningly in return.

Her legs, gleaming like precious white gems, made her drift forward as seamlessly as a shadow. A half circle later, more words rang through the air and into her ears where she debated her response. She knew that he truly be a fool if he already trusted her word, and understood his doubts. After those years, the mysterious way she departed from his company, and those lifeless bodies of limbless commanders at her leave, she expected no less. Her mouth contorted into a delicate grin, a line crimson line tugging on the corners of her lips into a somewhat haunting smile. ”What are old friends for?” She inquired with a half hidden wink in his direction. It was humorous to think that she once took this fool seriously. As he sat down with his robes placed at his side, her gaze engulfed the casual chair that sat diagonally from him, but her grin didn’t falter. Approaching the chair, her arms swept back her crimson cloak, raining down like tears of blood before her body planted itself on it seat. Shifting her feathery weight to the side, she draped her winter kissed legs over the arms of the chair to find a position that suited her. Once the Shade had made herself comfortable, her intensions coming onto as almost disrespectful, Rauthr’s outlined skull lowered humbly. Absently, her fingered drew invisible patterns along his beak and throat, feeling the hoarse vibrations of her familiar devoured in simple pleasure at her caress. Her wicked maroon orbs flashed in the mortal’s direction with the slyness of a viper. “It’s the very least I can do.” And Rauthr couldn’t help but grin.

~
“I'll pretend that I want you
For what is on the inside
But when I get inside,
I'll just want to get out
I'm your first and last deposit
Through sickness and in hell
I'll never promise you a garden
You'll just water me down
I can't believe that you are for real
But I don't care as long as you're mine.”
~

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