[P] the devil and the darkness

[Eulalie]

we will travel this life well worn
no matter the cost, no matter how long

Eulalie is restless this night, unable to fall asleep as she lays next to Somnus in their rooms. She looks at moonlight cutting across the ceiling, watches the way her love’s chest rises and falls in the dark, feels the warmth of his skin against hers. Normally these things would lull her to sleep easily; peace, love, comfort. But not tonight, tonight something is pressing down on her, a strange and unsettling feeling. She thinks it might be her concern for Regis and the ivory maiden rises more than once to check on her quietly sleeping son, making sure his temperature has not climbed, making sure his breathing is even and steady. Every time she peeks in on him, nothing changes. Eulalie can’t place the heaviness knotting up her chest, but it only makes her feel as if something is about to go horribly wrong.

She returns to Somnus’ side one more time, gently pressing her cheek to his. “I’m going to go for a quick walk, I can’t sleep” she whispers, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Then, “I love you,” and she presses a kiss to the same cheek before pulling away and turning toward the doors. Just before leaving, Tabbris stirs, but she shakes her head no. There’s no reason she should drag the gryphon out into the night with her. Then she is into the hallways, through the courtyard, out into the silent, midnight streets of Delumine. There is a chilly autumn breeze and it tugs at her loose golden hair, unbraided. She stands for a moment in the calm and looks up at the sky, watching stars twinkle in and out, in and out. It reminds her of the night that Somnus and she had stood in Eluetheria and he had told her stories about the stars. A smile touches her lips, and she breathes a little easier.

Still, tiredness does not come to her her. Eulalie turns away from the heavens above and begins to walk, the clip of her hooves against the cobblestone the only sound other than the breeze in her ears. She passes dark windows with sleeping bodies behind them, tucked safely into their beds for the night dreaming peacefully, she hopes. She thinks of their faces as she does, all ones familiar to her and she thinks of how different her life is now than even two years ago, just after she had come to the Dawn Court. Then, Eulalie had kept more to herself, had no friend other than Ulric  who she had always been fond of since their chance meeting out on the edges of Delumine’s territory. Then she had been only a warrior searching for a new start.

In the end, it had found her.

Now she has Somnus, her children, Tabbris, still Ulric of course, and a court full of those she considers both friend and family. How quickly life could change, and Eulalie believes it all a gift. She is truly fortunate, and grateful, for all those she has in her life. Of course life in the citadel is glamorous, with servents willing to do whatever she needed of them, and a spectacular view of the court and the lands beyond, but those things did not matter to her. Wherever the ones she loves are, that is her home. They are her heart and her life, and she would give anything for them. She is still smiling when she turns back toward home, ready to settle down at last she thinks.

But a sound like whistling catches her ear and Eulalie pauses, waits, listens. She thinks it might be the sound of the wind rushing down an alley or catching on the corner of a roof, as she hears no other sounds to accompany it. After a few seconds it is gone and she begins to walk again, and still the wind picks up, causing a shiver to run down the length of her spine and she can’t wait to curl up next to Somnus and relish in his warmth. Then she hears it again, a whistling, faint and crooning, but this time it sounds as if it is accompanied by steps, clicking against the street. This time when she stops, Eulalie glances behind her, not truly expecting to see anything, but there at the end of the block of homes stands the shape of another, half hidden in shadow. Still it is unmistakably equine. They do not move, she does not move. For a moment they only stand there in silence, looking at each other.

Then the shape begins to run toward her.

Eulalie doesn’t wait to see who it is, she turns and races further down the street, her hooves almost slipping on the stone as she turns the corner. She glances behind her as she does so and breathes a sigh of relief when she no longer sees the mysterious stranger there. For a moment the ivory maiden thinks perhaps she really is tired and her mind is just playing tricks on her, but she thinks it too soon for when she looks up they are there again, at the end of the street, staring at her. Eulalie’s shock is plain to see on her face she is sure. How did they get in front of her so quickly? Again, they do not speak, but they begin to move. More slowly this time, walking even, casually as if they were simply strolling down the street.

She thinks quickly, her heart beating a staccato in her chest, fast as a hummingbird’s wings, and in her mind she pictures an alley just on the last street and disappears back around the corner, her legs carrying her as quickly as they can toward it. The steps behind her don’t speed up, and as she turns into the alley she backs as far into the shadows as she can, trying to slow her breathing and make as little sound as possible. After what feels like hours of waiting, the figure passes by the mouth of the alley. Eulalie waits still, with bated breath, not wanting to risk moving out into the street again. More time passes, there is no sound, nothing to indicate whether they are still out there or not. With hesitation Eulalie takes a few steps closer to the street, and that is when the figure arrives, blocking the entrance to the alley.

Their silhouette is tall, heavy, nondescript in the heavy darkness between them. “Who are you?” she says, lifting her head a little higher, standing her ground. “If you expect me to cower before you, you would be mistaken.” And though her voice is solid and strong, inside a part of her shivers, because she has no upper hand in this situation. Whoever they are, they have blocked her exit, and even at this distance appear much larger than she. Eulalie thinks again of Somnus, resting peacefully in their room, and then she knows: this is what her intuition had been telling her about, it had to be. She breathes in deeply, preparing herself for whatever may come.

"Speaking"

credits

[NPC Account]

so, rabbit please, stop
looking the other way.
it's cold out there so why not
stay here—under my tail.

He is but a shade in the night, a spectre made of darkness and destruction and fueled by lust and delirium. He stalks the dark streets of Delumine with equal measures of impatience and anticipation, passing in and out of the shadows of buildings as if he is made of them. This is not his home, and while these streets may not belong to him, someone who walks them does. The man is here to take back what is rightfully his, no matter the cost, and just the thought of it sends a thrilling tingle along his spine. He is leonine and predatory and as he paces his mind is busy thinking, busy hatching a plan.

It started when he had traveled to Denocte for their summer masquerade, dressed in his finest attire, ready to work the crowd like a true noble, wooing women and men alike with his charms and prowess. It was there that he had seen her, not even dressed for the celebration, no silks or jewelry to cover her scars. Only her gilded hair tied back into a braid, and he’d thought about all the times he had held that hair in his grasp, smelled the sunshine and earthiness of it. He might have gone to her then, but she had no been alone, and he’d scowled when he noticed the man who appeared to be escorting her.

He’d followed them for a time, watching the way they seemed to relish in each other’s company, the way they looked at each other as if they were the only two in the world. It had made him sick, to see that man look at her like he was everything in his world. She was his, and nobody else’s, and from that night on he’d started thinking. It had only taken a simple, innocent enough question, ”Who is that? to find out it was the Sovereign of none other than his neighbors to the west. Delumine. Somehow, she had laid claim to a King, and it did not sit well with him in the least. He had watched them disappear into a tent, and the smile that turned his dark lips was wicked and sinful.

After being sure he had no outstanding business at home in Solterra, the man had decided to take a little trip to the Dawn Court. He’d never been, preferring his desert home above all others. It provided him the means he needed for his lifestyle, and well, he was loathe to leave behind everything he had made for himself there, and all the perks he enjoyed. Still, it hadn’t been quite the same for awhile now, ever since his prized possession had stolen away, out of his reach. How he missed it, every day he longed for it. He oft had tried to replace it, with more than one, even, but none of them made him as happy as she had.

Finally, all of that would change. He was here, standing on the streets that she walked every day, standing beneath the sky that she looked up at. His heart was a drumbeat against his chest, and he could not deny his excitement at just being this close to her again, closer than he had been in more than 2 years time. It was a tingling, electric feeling on his skin. He had thought he might need to get her alone somehow, and he wasn’t quite sure how. From his short time in the court, he noticed she rarely went anywhere alone. If she wasn’t with another equine, there was a overgrown bird following her around. It would be a problem.

But oh! What luck he must have. Truly, the gods have blessed him, for as he paces the streets of the court this night he looks up and who does he see but the object of his desire. She stands but a walks but a short distance from him, seemingly occupied in her thoughts as she does not notice his shadowy figure there, watching her. Her golden hair hands loosely against her neck, swaying gently in the breeze, and he imagines himself pressed up against her, burying his nose in it again after so long.

She turns a corner, away from him, and he follows her. He keeps at a distance, simply observing her. Whatever is she doing by herself walking the streets at night? All the better for him, of course, he thinks as a devious grin stretches across his face. Soon, his excitement becomes so great he begins to whistle to himself. When she stops suddenly, he does too, waiting, watching, listening. She doesn’t turn around, does not say anything, simply begins to walk again, and with her so does he. He closes the space between them, his height allowing him to make larger strides. When he begins to whistle again, this time he is testing her. She stops a second time and at last turns.

He doesn’t think she can see the smile on his face, but he can almost taste her apprehension, taste her fear, and it gives him a flush of pleasure. Soon she is running away from him, and if anything the chase has always been the best part. He begins to run, but soon two massive, black as night wings are unfurling at his sides and lifting him into the air. He watches her with intent, swooping low over the buildings, cutting off her path as she stumbles around the next corner. She isn’t expecting him when she catches herself and looks up, he can see it in her face, in the widening of her dark brown eyes. He thinks, perhaps, she wont run this time, but he knows the moment the idea comes to her mind.

It is then that he begins to walk toward her, slowly and with methodical intention. She turns back around the same corner she had just come from, and he knows where she is going. He knows her well, even after all this time apart, and because of this he does not rush. There is no rushing the reunion that is about to come to fruition. She cannot escape it, even if she thinks she might want to. He had seen the alley from the sky, the only suitable place to try and hide on an open street. When he rounds the corner he sees she has already disappeared down it for she is gone. Still, he walks oh so slowly, relishing every minute, every step that brings him closer to her.

At first he walks by the alley, glances down it from the corner of his eye. She breathes quietly, so quietly, but he lived with her breath in his ears for years, he knows she is there. So, as he passes the mouth of it, he stops, waiting, waiting to see if she emerges. She does not, and in some respect he is proud of her for it. She is biding her time, but their time is now. The minutes have passed, and then he turns and steps before the alley, looking deep into its shadows. She stands halfway between him and the dead end behind her, half concealed in darkness and half lit by the fringes of the moon above. He does not speak, but she does. She is brave, always so brave. It is a troublesome quality, and the one which he overlooked. The one which helped her escape him. Not again.

“Oh, my dearest Eulalie,” he says, and his voice is velvet and liquid gold. Even in the poor light he can see the way her body stiffens. He misses the way her body feels against him, misses the way she used to need him to provide for her. He misses the way he have her, but soon he would own her again. “This is where you’ve been hiding from me all this time?” his words croon softly into the night, sickly sweet. He is a good 3 hands taller than her at least, with fine tuned musculature and violet eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. He makes his way down the alley toward her, one step after another, and his anticipation only builds to a crescendo.

She is oh so close to him now, he can smell her. Her skin, her fear, but he can also smell what he assumes is the man of gold and ivory, the King of this place. It sours his expression, but even that cannot truly dampen this moment for him. Then he is before her, towering over her, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, for now. “You have been bad, my dear.” It is a threat, and he knows she knows, he watches her swallow, his eyes raking over her. And then she says it, the word he had longed to hear, the voice he so dearly aches for.

“Albrecht.”

@Somnus