pyrospin

Strains of soft guitar music wafts gently through the room, two silent guards standing either side of the large mahogany bed dominating the room. He stands at the foot of the bed, impassively looking down as she lay curled on her side, coarse wooden stake protruding from slightly below her shoulder, eyelashes dark fans against her pale cheek

Blackness. Heat. The rumble of tyres on bitumen, vibration of a vehicle engine all around her. Terror, pain as she pulls against the ropes binding her wrists, futilely screaming through the gag choking her breath and drying her throat.

Sickeningly loud and reverberating snap as his eyes bore into hers, daring her to defy him again, pain spreading from her leg as his hand pushes on the broken ends of the bone. Sweat beads her upper lip, trickling hotly down her neck, matting her hair.

Longing, gnawing desire in her belly. She wants to see him, to be near him. He was kind to her, far kinder than She had ever been. She wants to return to him, her captor's face laughing at her as the longing intensifies...

Slow, excruciating stroke of the knife as it slides beneath her skin, peeling the scars from her body. Blood, sweet and metallic on the air, in her mouth as her teeth tear at her lip, sting of salt sweat as it drips from her brow into her eyes.

Images flash before her, training with Josephine. Being sent out, shaking from the craving for her Blood, knowing that if she fails, death would be preferable to the pain she would feel. Days, weeks stretching into months without ever hearing from Her, wondering if She remembered her devotion. The images shift, to the boredom she'd never seen before in Her eyes, the disinterest. She had displeased her master and this was her punishment - she could never go back...

Shaking his head, he turns from his contemplation of the girl on the bed. "What secrets do you keep from me, Cassandra?"

"Senor, may I be excused?" Eyes down, she waits for his answer. He pauses, scanning the room as he answered with an air of indifference "No." She looks up questioningly, her voice uncertain, hesitant, "Senor?" She would not normally question him, not unless it was something necessary, something a facet of her still mortal body. As he turns away, he gives a bored wave of his hand to indicate she may leave, "have the car brought around as well."

Nodding respectfully, she turns and walks gracefully out of the room, pausing to scan her surroundings quickly before slipping outside. She looks over her shoulder as she heads towards the darkened gardens behind the building, ducking into the shadows as she braces a hand against the wall, gripping the wrapped sword and small gift bag carefully, bending double as her stomach clenches, retching an acidic stream into the bushes. Coughing, she breathes deeply before retching once more.

Shuddering slightly, she straightens, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand as she checks quickly that no one has observed her disgrace, then walks calmly towards the carpark. Approaching a gleaming black Lexus, she taps on the window. As it lowers, she leans closer, "Senor Cortez wishes the car brought around. We will be leaving shortly." As the door unlocks with a click, she opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.

Pulling up close to the entrance, she nods to the driver before leaving the vehicle and starting towards the door. She pauses as a woman approaches, smiling at her. The woman beckons her over, she looks toward the gathering, but her attention is drawn back to the unusual appearance of the woman, long dark hair framing complementing the darkly spanish complexion offset by deep blue eyes. She walks forward, nodding "May I be of assistance, lady?" The woman responds with some inconsequential questions, directions to a local business. She answers politely before the woman smiles, then disappears into the darkness.

Turning back towards the gathering, she startles as her lord rounds a nearby corner, she had thought he remained inside. She inclines her head as he moves closer, indicating to the driver that he should remain where he is before turning to her, "Follow me." As she moves to fall in behind him, he indicates the sword and the gift, still held carefully in her hands. "Leave those with the car." She nods in acceptance, opening the rear door and laying them carefully on the back seat before once again falling in behind him as he walks unhurriedly into the street.

He leads her down a small side alley, some distance from where the rest of the city's Kindred had congregated. In the darkness she makes out a car parked in the alley, he leads her towards the rear. He pauses, pulling keys from his pocket, the alarm lights flash as he flicks the button to unlock the boot. She waits, eyes remaining downcast as he reaches into the boot and retrieves a length of soft nylon rope. Her eyes widen slightly as he turns back to her, indicating for her to lift her hand towards him. She tilts her head questioningly as she does so, watching as he twists a loop of the rope about her wrist and pulling her arm behind her back.

She begins to struggle, realising his intentions, that this man was most definitely NOT her lord as he begins to laugh, his strength overwhelming her as he roughly twists her arms behind her back and binds her wrists together. He pulls her back up against his body and holds her fast as another stretch of rope is pushed forcibly between her teeth. She twists her head violently, clenching her jaw. Irritated, his palm swiftly strikes across her cheek, the sound lost in the noise of traffic from the busy street just beyond the alley.

Securely bound, he lifts her easily into the boot of the car, pushing her head down as he closes the lid. She is in utter darkness, her scream of protest little more than a muffled moan. She feels the vibration as the engine starts and the car begins to move. She tries to maintain a mental note of the turns taken, but it is almost impossible in the twisting, circuitous route he takes out of the city before she notices the car picking up speed as though on a main highway.

Frustration and fear roll over her as she feels a sudden longing to return to her lord, the feeling washing over her that he needs her at his side. She knows he is calling her, has by now missed her return. She tests the ropes binding her, straining against them. Lifting her torso, she attempts to roll her body closer to the edge of the boot, thrashing against the ropes binding her wrists. Her struggles grow frenzied as the minutes pass, then weaker as exhaustion takes hold and still they travel through the night, until finally she slips into unconsciousness.

Slowly, painfully she opens her eyes, disoriented as she returns to consciousness, feeling the hard edge of a metal chair beneath her. She shifts her weight slightly, feeling the ropes holding her arms behind her back. She keeps her breathing shallow, senses gradually becoming more alert. A chill brushes over her skin, the fine hairs standing on end - she is naked.

The room is bare, concrete walls and floor unadorned save for the single light suspended above her head. She lifts her head, blinking to clear her vision, and tests the ropes again. "Well, glad to see you've decided to wake up. Please don't try that again - you won't enjoy the consequences." She stills, warily eyeing the tall man standing before her, watching him closely. Ice cold blue eyes bore into hers, taking her measure. He turns, beginning to pace in measured strides across the room in front of her, watching her all the while. "Now, this is how it will be - you will answer my questions. You will answer them truthfully, or I will be forced to hurt you."

Guardedly she watches him as he paces, noting the chiselled features and shoulder length blond hair pulled loosely into an elastic low on his neck. "Questions about what?" "All kinds of things, my dear - I want to know everything." Silently she waits, watching. He turns, pacing back to stand in front of her once more. "What is your earliest memory?" Startled, she pauses, thinking. "Perth Royal show - sitting on my father's lap on the chairlift, seeing the lights" Satisfied, he nods "happiest memory?" Again she pauses, watching him carefully, "same one." As she speaks he reaches into her mind, seeing the play of thoughts over a very different sequence of events - the pride in her master's eyes as she successfully blocks the vicious knife slash towards her side...

CRACK The fist crashes into her jaw, snapping her head to the side with the force of the blow. She hisses in pain, but does not cry out. "Now, let's try that again." "Same question?" "Yes." Her mind dances over the first time she saw her master while she was training. The triumph, the relief as she grabbed her master's wrist, blocking the path of the knife millimeteres before it raked along her already cut and bleeding skin. Slowly she begins to speak, "the first time I saw her, saw her when she didn't want me to." "Better - who is she?"

He watches the split second play of emotions flash through her eyes in an otherwise impassive face, hears the name in her mind as she looks down and away, falling to silence 'Josephine'. For a moment he waits for her to answer, watching her. She remains silent, refusing to look at him. Taking a step forward, he takes her foot in one hand, bracing his other hand on her thigh just above her knee, as with strength far beyond that of a mortal man he lifts her foot high, pressing down with his other hand as her femur breaks with a sickeningly loud snap. Her skin pales, blood running down her chin as she bites on her lip, a brief scream of pain ripping from her throat, sweat springing out on her upper lip and forehead.

He leans closer, looking directly into her eyes as his hand presses down on the point where the broken ends of the bone meet, his expression disappointed "who is She?"
She grits her teeth, controlling her body's reaction to the pain as she whispers softly, longingly "Josephine." At that, he stands upright, beginning to pace once more. She watches quietly as she wills her body to heal, feeling the vitae coursing through her, knitting the ends of the bone. "What is Josephine to you?"

"Everything. My teacher, my master, everything." In those words he hears both the unrelenting love of the Blood, the longing and frustration, the abandonment. "I don't understand, she is ignoring me - she knows I failed" "Failed what?" He whips around, watching her as her head hangs, she breathes deeply, "He found out." Once again she falls to silence, looking at the floor. "Tell me my dear, what did he find out?"

She looks up, he can see the play of thoughts as his mind touches hers, see that she is reluctant to speak. Slowly, softly the words come, "he found out that I was lying to him. That I wasn't Budda's ghoul looking for a new master. That I had been sent by Her to infiltrate and send back information. It wasn't about him - it was about Her sire, Cesaire. He could have killed me - most would've. But he didn't."

A small alarm chime sounds in the silence. He turns without a word, walking over to a table by the door, picking up a bottle of water and unscrewing the cap. He holds it in front of her "drink it all. It's all you will get for the day." With that he puts the bottle to her lips, watching as she obeys, then replacing the cap and placing the bottle back on the table. Without looking back, he unlocks the deadbolted door and walks out, leaving her alone in the room with only the sound of the key in the lock as farewell.

Silently, she waits, straining her senses to hear his footsteps retreating down the hall, counting them. Another door opens, then closes. She knows it is close to sunrise, she steadies her breathing as she waits another few minutes, tentatively testing the ropes as she does. All falls to silence around her, the sounds of her breathing seem exagerated in the cold unchanging light. She pulls determinedly on the ropes binding her hands behind her back, wincing a little as they burn and cut into the skin of her wrists. She shifts again on the chair, rocking it a little. The clatter of the metal chair legs on concrete echo disturbingly, and she pauses, waiting, listening. Silence. She pulls harder on the rope, twisting, stretching, sweat springing out on her back. She twists, pulling and rocking the chair, trying to free herself. She grits her teeth with the effort and grunts as the chair overbalances and tips over, she lands heavily on her left shoulder and as she pulls, with an excruciating tearing of muscle and ligament, it dislocates.

Still all is silence. The scent of sweat and fear permeates the air as she lays there on the cold concrete, panting. Muffling her cries of pain, she tests the ropes again - they are tied fast, she is held. She shivers slightly, a light breeze cools the sweat congealing in the small of her back as she lies there, unable to move.

Time seems to stand still as she fades in and out of consciousness, no way to tell one minute from the next save the beating of her heart and the shallowness of her breath. Eventually she sleeps, her stiffening and battered body still lying tied to the fallen over chair in the centre of the room.

With a well oiled click, the door is unlocked and opens. She rouses at the sound of a soft admonishing sigh and the sound of footsteps approaching. "Now what did you do that for? Why did you bring this upon yourself?" It is him again, as she vainly struggles to turn herself towards his voice a foot slams into her shoulder and flips her over to her front, still tied to the chair. White hot pain explodes through her body, a scream rips from her throat as the ropes release suddenly, reopening the crusted bloody wounds where she has rubbed her wrists raw from her struggles. His hand grasps her left wrist, his boot going to the point of her shoulder as with a harsh yank, he pulls her shoulder back into position, her body spasming and shuddering as he rights the chair and places her back on it.

His cold blue eyes warn her not to move or try anything silly as he lifts a wrist to his mouth, opening a vein with a quick nick of a fang, then holds his wrist to her mouth. His free hand he slips behind her neck, holding her fast as she drinks greedily, body shuddering in ecstasy as the taste of his vitae burns down her throat. Grasping her hair, he pulls her away and forces her back to the chair. "Heal."

Calmly he turns his back to her, walking over to the table as she grimaces, flexing her shoulder. Turning back, he walks back over to the ropes discarded on the ground, picking them up and holding his hand out for her wrist. Grudgingly she lifts her hand, placing the newly healed skin against his cold fingers. Leaning forward, he pulls her arm none to gently behind her, his lips grazing the skin of her throat as he reaches for the other wrist, pulling the ropes taut as his fangs sink into her neck and her body relaxes into the Kiss.

Securely tied, he pulls away, licking the trickle of blood from the velvet skin of her throat as she shivers slightly. "Now, where were we? Oh that's right, breakfast first." With that he stands, walking back to the table where a simple meal of toast, juice and fresh fruit had been placed. She watches him, surprised, as he pulls up another chair that she hadn't noticed from next to the table and sits in front of her, holding the toast to her mouth as he watches her tentatively take a bite. "Settle down Cassandra, contrary to some opinions, I'm not a complete bastard, and this isn't really about you at all."

Swallowing, she asks half to herself "what is it about then?" He smiles, eyes cold and hard as he holds the juice to her lips, watching as she drinks carefully, "Revenge." Coughing, she pulls away sharply "on who?" fear leaping into her eyes. He laughs harshly as he stands, kicking the chair out of the way "why, on my bitch of a sire and her ilk of course. Since she's now gone, that leaves your erstwhile Prince and protector."

Nights pass, gradually she stops fighting him as the questioning continues. Her past, her time with Josephine, her hopes and dreams. Her fears. What her treatment at Sol's hands was like, whether he had been gentle or demanding. Each evening as night fell he would come to her, bringing food and a bucket for her personal needs, releasing her from her bonds to walk the length of the room to stretch the kinks and stiffness from her muscles. Each morning as dawn approached he would insist she drank before leaving her tied to the chair to wait out the day. Sometimes she dozed fitfully, sometimes her mind wandered, wondering if she was ever going to be released.

One night, as she paced the room, stumbling a little at the stiffness of her muscles, he sat watching her. She reached up to the door frame, hooking the tips of her fingers on it and leaning back, stretching slowly. As he watched, he noticed the scars criss crossing the skin of her back and legs. Standing slowly, he walked over to her, as she turned to him he indicated she should remain in position braced against the doorframe, the muscles of her back clearly defined. Gently he reaches up and traces one of the scars, then the others. "How did you get these?"

The story spills out in a rush, the training she underwent before being sent to the Court. Telling it was a release, it was something she'd kept to herself for so long. The fact that she had failed, had been discovered, even though she had managed to expose the diablerist for what he was and had seen him destroyed. He nods as his hands trace her skin in time to her voice, he is gentle, convincing her to trust him. Slowly she falls to silence, a slight shudder rippling across her body as she lowers her arms. "I could remove them for you."

She turns and looks at him, questioning. His voice is soft, convincing. "It's a shame for a woman as beautiful as you to be so marked. It would be a simple thing." She listens, thinking for a moment. "I want to keep one of them. As a reminder." She traces one mark, clearly deeper than the others just below the swell of her buttock. He nods, motioning for her to straddle the chair before tying her wrists in front of her and joining the rope to her ankles.

He stands, leaving her prone and helpless on the chair, her back exposed as he leaves the room. He returns a few short minutes later, shifting her closer to the table where he has laid out a selection of knives. She tenses as he leans over her from behind, hand grasping her hair and tugging her head back as his fangs sink into her throat, he drinks deeply as she relaxes and shivers in the joy of the Kiss. He gently pulls away, opening his own wrist and allowing her to feed from him until sated. This is not going to be pleasant.

With thumb and fingers he pinches the skin just above the first of her scars, the knife slicing into the tender flesh. Her body tenses and arches, a slight hiss of breath through her clenched teeth the only indication of the pain wracking her as he peels the skin from her back, scar by scar. Sweat runs freely down her neck, matting her hair and stinging her eyes as the minutes pass. Throughout the ordeal, she doesn't make a sound of protest. He pauses to feed her again, watching as she heals the skin as clear and unmarked as it once was. Blood pools at their feet, metallic scent mixing with the rank smell of sweat emanating from her tortured body.

With a flick of the knife, he finishes. Blood runs from her lip as her teeth have cut it to ribbons, and she shudders with the effort of forcing the vitae to heal both her lip and the final cut to her back. Exhausted and spent, her head falls forward, resting on the back of the chair. Gently he grasps her chin, lifting it as he dribbles water across her lips, watching as she licks at it weakly. Letting her head fall, he chuckles to himself as her eyes close, "My, but you are a marvellous creature."

The next night, he returns. Systematically over the course of the five nights and six days she has been held captive he has beaten every piece of information out of her that he has wanted. He has cajolled her into talking about things she has never been able to tell another soul. He has broken just about every bone in her body at one stage or another, and she has nothing left to give. Without a word, he walks up to her, tangling a hand in her hair he leans down and drives his fangs deep into the soft skin of her neck, holding her in place. Overwhelmed, she does not struggle, even as he continues long past what she is used to giving, she looks into his eyes and he sees her resignation just before her eyes slide closed, yet still he drinks. Her heart flutters, then stops, her chest becoming still, no longer rising and falling as she breathes. Time grinds to a halt as he holds her, thrusting an opened vein into her mouth and closing her jaw.

He tenses and shakes with the effort of will as he watches her reflexively swallow, waiting. Her eyelashes flutter once, twice. She twitches slightly against her bonds as her eyes open and her head snaps up, looking full into his face, his eyes filled with triumph as the wooden stake pierces her chest, "Welcome, my daughter."

The sun was close to setting as the 15 seater Gulfstream waited in the queue for the runway at Adelaide airport. Rob, her instructor and co-pilot talking her through the final pre-takeoff checks as she kept an ear out for instructions from control via the radio headphones draped around her neck. "Should be a nice easy flight, weather looks good although the bureau says there's a chance of some high level cloud just over the border." Rob nods briefly before flicking on the seatbelt sign as they moved into position for takeoff.

She smiles slightly as she takes the controls, feeling the vibration through her hands as the twin jet engines whine, Rob's voice over the loudspeaker informing their passengers that they were now ready to leave. She gently coaxes the nose of the plane around, swinging gracefully onto the runway before pushing forward on the lever at her left hand side to begin taxiing, picking up speed quickly. Gripping the joystick style controls, she feels the power of the engines at her fingertips as the nose points skywards and the ground falls away below them.

Gradually they climb higher, banking gently to the left as they do so, heading into the sun now dropping below the western horizon. She checks her guages and smiles as they settle into cruising altitude - taking off was always fun. Rob nods at her as she leans back into the leather chair and smiles at him - she'd handled it very well and was almost ready to be licenced to fly solo. She reaches up and flicks off the seatbelt sign as she confirms to control their route and expected flight time.

They'd been cruising for about an hour and a half, Cara doing most of the work while Rob looked on, seeming to almost doze in the chair, when the plane shuddered suddenly, a violent thumping against the fuselage. Looking over at Rob, she steadied the plane, checking the radar and adjusting the trim. Rob didn't seem concerned as she again steadied, banking sharply before coming back on course as another patch of turbulence saw the plane shudder again and the engines whine a little in protest. "Rob, what was that?"

She sits forward a little in concentration, Rob doesn't answer - it's then she realises something has happened. Rob appears unconscious in the seat beside her, a shrill scraping sound grates down the side of the aircraft as it bucks, shuddering and rattling. Cara scans the instruments in an attempt to negotiate the clearest path as the small plane dropped altitude abruptly, her knuckles white as she wrestles the controls to stay on course. "ROB!" She screams, trying to prompt a response - nothing. A face lears in at her from the corner of her eye, scaled leathery skin and fiery red eyes startling her. The harsh grating sound comes again, she realises it is the sound of claws tearing against the fuselage - it is after her.

She banks hard to the right, dropping altitude rapidly, engines screaming in protest - the shadow of an enormous demon sails past the window, the screeching tear of claws against metal echo into silence. Too late she sees the small single engine Cessna cross her flight path, she banks upwards, gaining altitude. She yells into the radio "what the fuck do you think you're doing?" as she brings the nose down, trying vainly to bring the plane level, fighting the controls hands gripped tight and knuckles whitening. "Alright, if you need, drop in behind and follow - we'll lead you back."

Lights and alarms flash up across the dash as the turbulence becomes extreme, the small plane buffetted and bounced around, her face set in grim concentration as the plane bucks and the engines stall, then scream as they retake, banking left, then right seemingly out of control "For fuck's sake Rob, you picked a fucking good time to pass out!" At his lack of response, she turns to look at him briefly, then whips her concentration back to handling the plane as it fights her control, gradually steadying and bringing them back on course...

A voice over the loudspeaker into the passenger space - the pilot, obviously concerned. "Can someone come up here and give me a hand please...something's...wrong." Terrance bolts out of his seat, the ride up until now had been smooth and pleasantly uneventful. Reaching the cockpit, he sees Cara, staring blindly into the space in front of her, white knuckled hands gripping the controls for grim death, face set in concentration.

"What's wrong Rob?" Terrance leans down, watching Cara. "She's taken over the controls somehow. I don't know how, but I can't do anything." He reaches down, flipping switches and indicating the controls in front of him, unable to be moved. Leaning back to close the door, Terrance opens his senses to see magic, the room crackling with it as he realises how Cara has taken control of the plane.

Without a word, he opens the door and walks down the aisle of the plane to Lysander."Cara's Awakening." Looking up, Lysander shrugs, "So?" "She has the plane, it is Space, I'm not sure how she's done it - she's Awakening in the cockpit right now and the copilot is a Sleeper."

Lysander starts, then runs for the cockpit, closing the door once Terrance is inside. He looks over at Rob, who is still flipping switches, scanning controls. He goes to reach for the radio as Lysander shakes his head, willing him to sleep. Gently he picks Rob up, opening the cockpit door and laying him into a chair, strapping him in. Before returning to the cockpit he reaches into Rob's mind and finds the skills necessary to fly the plane, then returns to the cockpit, settling himself into Rob's chair and closing the door again. There was nothing they could do but ride it out...

Occasional shudders still rock the plane as she levels out, shadows of demons falling behind her. Triumph courses through her as the plane steadies and is flying true - she's done it. A blinding flash, and the plane is gone, she standing before a Tower, it's calling to her. She walks forward, reaching out to touch the walls, seeing the names inscribed there. A space beckons to her, she knows it is hers. As she carves her name into the smooth iron, everything seems right. She looks around, she can see the entire city laid out before her, everything in perfect harmony. Places she's heard stories of from the others of the Consilium, she can now see. In that split second, she knows. This was meant to be.

As they sit, watching, her hands relax on the controls, her eyes close and she begins to lean further forward, slowly slumping. She traces a name onto the dash in front of her, Terrance smiles as he watches. Lysander is watching the altitude meter and instruments of the plane, and does not notice.

With a twitch and soft sight, she opens her eyes and looks up. Terrance is smiling down at her, his eyes filled with pride. "Welcome, little sister."

He looked down and sighed as she twitched slightly in her sleep, muttering something under her breath, the heavy book of Consilium records fallen in her lap as she lay sleeping on the couch. His brow wrinkled a little as she whimpered slightly, wondering if perhaps he should wake her - he knew she didn't like being allowed to sleep when her sister and niece were home.
After a moment's pause, he lifted the book from her lap and set it on the table before spreading the blanket over her - she looked so young and vulnerable laying there, dark shadows revealing the insomnia she usually joked about or brushed off.

The child stumbles down the hall, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The house was quiet, not the gentle hush of sleeping people but the quiet of emptiness. She pushed open the door to her mother's bedroom slowly, smelling the scents of stale bourbon and vodka, the faint musk of her mother's sweat.
"Mummy?" Tentatively she called out, approaching the bed on which her mother lay sprawled, a bottle fallen spilled upon the floor. "Mummy I'm hungry"

Silence. Not even the quiet snoring of her mother in sleep. She steps closer, reaching up onto her tiptoes to see over the bed. "Mummy? Wake up now Mummy" She reaches out, grasping her mother's hand - cold. She looks around, there is no one else in the house. Slowly the child climbs up the side of the bed, crawling up towards her mother's head as it lay on the pillow, leaning over and shaking her by the shoulders "MUMMY! Mummy wake up...mummy? Please wake up?" The body is stiff, cold - an empty bottle of tablets falls to the floor with a resonating clatter unnaturally loud in the stillness of the house.

The child begins to cry, frightened sobs as she backs away from the unresponsive body of her mother on the bed. Blindly she runs from the room, running in to the lounge to grab the phone from it's cradle, stubby child's fingers pressing the buttons she remembers for her sister's mobile "Hi you've called Michelle, I'm in class right now, leave a message" "Chelle, Mummy won't wake up. Make her wake up, please Chelle make mummy wake up"

The beep of the message ending the call, the child drops the phone to the floor, running back to her mother's room to try wake her again. As she kneels over the body of her mother, shaking, yelling, screaming at her to wake she hears a soft voice "Selina." She looks up, startled, staring wildly at the empty room. "Selina...I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Selina, please, one day, forgive me"

Her mother's voice, so close, so sad..the child cries frantically as she still shakes the cold body on the bed "No mummy, don't leave, please mummy wake up" She looks up, finally seeing the silhouette of her mother standing beside her "I can't Selina - I can't take it anymore, don't want to be alone anymore" A gentle hand reaches down and strokes the child's head even as the silhouette looks across the room to the approaching figure of a man. He holds his hand out to her, even as the child watches, they both disappear, only the voice of her mother remains "I'm sorry Selina"

The child screams, crying, sobbing "No mummy, stay, please stay - don't take her away, please mummy wake up"

The piercing screams echo through the quiet house, the blanket has been thrown to the floor, her body shudders with the harsh sobs racking her frame "No, please don't leave me" as he walks into the room and lays a hand consolingly on her shoulder. "Shhh, it's okay Selina - I'm here, Chelle's here - we won't leave you." She looks up at him, a single tear remains clinging to her lashes, "will I always remember when I sleep, Louis?"

The doll stands on a shelf, shining blue glass eyes fixed on the chaos before her. A train had jumped it's tracks, scattering months of work across the marble floor, tiny dolls of all different races and ages, painstakingly crafted as He watched her. Clockwork cars littered the streets of a town crafted to reflect her former home, buildings now cracked, toppling, destroyed. He was angry.

She stands, frozen in place, her arms held in a pose of welcome, her skin cool and smooth, flawless porcelain. Her mind wanders back over the years of her captivity, years since He took her on the eve of her engagement, took her from her family and left a shadow of her as a replacement. He is the Toymaker, the enchantment and wonder of his store is beautiful and terrible to see. Each toy taken to join his collection, once a person, taken, shaped and remade as she watched from her shelf. Soldiers, dolls of all kinds, she knew them all. She painted each one as He directed, her work perfect as it had to be.

A crystal tear slides down her cheek, though her lips are frozen in a smile. But she remembers, remembers the pain of her last escape attempt, the pain of repairing her own porcelain feet, smashed by the Toymaker's ogre guards as a punishment whilst He watched. Surely she couldn't. Not again. But the door was slightly ajar, and she knew the ogres were all with Him, chasing another. It called to her, the chance of freedom, and slowly she climbed down from her stand on the shelf.

(this has been ganked from a number of people - forget who started it really)

Post a comment with a one-word subject and one of my characters. They will post their thoughts and/or rants on said topic.

Characters available:

Ysabella de la Villere - Daeva Circle of the Crone
Caterina Moretti - former ghoul embraced Nosferatu of the Lancea Sanctum
Knife - Gangrel Circle of the Crone
Danica "Dances Amongst Fire" Campbell - Storm Lord Cahalith
Natalie "Voice of Silent Ashes" Ryan - Elodoth Hunter in Darkness

"If you woke up and I was in bed with you, what would be your first thought?"
(Now post this in your LJ and find out what mine would be)

Screening comments... just in case.

Spoken)

Folks, I'd like to sing a song about the undead dream.

About me, about you, about the way our unliving hearts echo way down

in the bottom of our chests. About the special feeling we get in the

cockles of our hearts, maybe below the cockles, maybe in the subcockle

area. Maybe in the liver. Maybe in the kidneys. Maybe even in the

colon, we don't know.

(Sung)

I'm just a regular vamp in a regular town.

I'm your average white gangrelite clown.

I like drinking and fucking and books about gore.

I've got an average haven with a nice concrete door.

My ghoul and my job, my kids and my Prince.

My feet on my turf and a cuban cigar.

But sometimes that just ain't enough to keep a man like me interested

(oh no) no way (uh-uh)

No, I've gotta go out and have fun at someone else's expense

(oh yeah) Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

I drive really slow in the ultra-fast lane,

While people behind me are going insane.

I'm a gangrel (He's a gangrel, what a gangrel)

I’m a gangrel (He’s a gangrel, such a gangrel)


I hunt in the Rack and piss off the Prince,

I walk around in Elysium saying "How about this stake?"

I'm a gangrel (He's a gangrel, what a gangrel)

I'm a gangrel (He's the world's biggest gangrel)

Sometimes I frenzy in dangerous places,

While terrified people make terrified faces.

I'm a gangrel (He's a gangrel, what a gangrel)

I'm a gangrel (He's a real fucking gangrel)

Maybe I shouldn't be singing this song

Ranting and raving and carrying on

Maybe they're right when they tell me I'm wrong

NAAAAH!

I'm a gangrel (he's a gangrel, what a gangrel)

I'm a gangrel (he's the world's biggest gangrel)

(Spoken)

Know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna head right into the middle of town and

get me a cute lil lick with big blue eyes, drain her dry and leave her cold dead

body for the Sherriff to find, and then I’m gonna lead his fuckin’ posse on a wild

fuckin’ goose chase…yeah! And I’m gonna race through the main street of town

in wolf form, rippin’ up anyone dumb enough to get in my way, suckin’ down

drugged up teenybopper kids from the hood in those ultra expensive distressed

denim jeans... yeah! And when I'm done suckin' down those shithead kids

I'm gonna piss on the Prince’s turf , and there ain't a goddamn thing anybody can do

about it. You know why? Because we got the claws, that's why... yeah! Two words—

instant fuckin' weapons, OK? Daeva, Nosferatu, Ventrue, they can have all the

democracy they want...they can have a democracy cakewalk right through the

middle of Elysium Square and it won't make a lick of fuckin' difference, because we

got the claws, OK? Randall ain’t dead--he's frozen! And when we find a cure

for wassail, we're gonna thaw out the Duke and he's gonna be pretty pissed off.

You know why? You ever taken a cold shower? Well, multiply that by 15 million

times--that's how pissed off the Duke's gonna be. I'm gonna get the Duke and

Jacqueline and the Consensus and a case of fuckin' whisky and drive down to Kal

(Hey, hey, hey, hey, you know you really are a gangrel?)

Why don't you shut up and sing the song, pal.

.. what a gangrel!

(Sung)

I'm a gangrel (I'm a gangrel, he's a gangrel)

I'm a gangrel (He's the world's biggest gangrel)

G-A-N-G-R-E-L

Everybody, G-A-N-G-R-E-L

Ay Ay-Ay Ay-Ay Ay-Ay

A-thoom A-thoom-thoom A-thoom-thoom A-thoom-thoom

Oooooooo

(Spoken)

I'm a Gangrel and I'm proud of it!

Nuff said. The results will be found out ic

I'd just like to say...timefreeze, especially when you don't find out until a week or so after the event, sucks arse. That is all.

"Kneel." Silently she drops before him, the acolytes gather to form a circle about her. Her head bows, and she waits. "You have been chosen by the old gods, and have proven yourself loyal. All that you know, all that you are must now pass to ash, you will be reborn an Acolyte of the Circle of the Crone, born into ash and blood. Is this your wish?"

She nods, once. He moves to stand before her, taking a small gas torch from his robe. "Prepare yourself." She steels herself, her vitae flowing through her veins in answer to her will. He lights the torch, holding it before her as the others look on impassively. They have each passed a similar trial, and prepare to welcome her to their number.

She braces herself as she feels the heat of the flame come closer, her claws extend, curving into the rock beneath her as he passes the flame before her eyes, lighting her hair as it hangs loose on her neck, the smell of flesh and hair scorching in the night air. He passes the flame down her back, along her spine, scorching her flesh from her bones as her back arches in pain, her face contorted in a snarl. Still she submits, as slowly the flame is passed over her body, circling her shoulders, hips, legs. She writhes at the kiss of the flames on her skin, her blood pumping into the breach of the blackened flesh.

He brings the torch back to it's starting point before her, then extinguishes it. He takes a silver dagger from beneath his robe, slicing into the palm of his hand, then passing the blade to the next in the circle, holding his hand above her head as she kneels before them in silence. He sprinkles her with his blood, the scent combining with the smell of burnt flesh to tug at her senses. One by one each of the circled Acolytes hold a bleeding hand above her, bathing her in their blood. As they step back, his voice once more "Stand".

She stands before them as he holds the dagger to her chest above her heart. "If you would betray us, it is better for you to now lunge upon this blade than face the wrath of the Circle. Will you betray us?" She stands, motionless, waiting, her gaze steady "only if I were to betray you. I will not." He nods, holding out a hand as one of the circled acolytes hands him a bolt of white cloth, then a measure of rope. "Upon an Acolyte's acceptance, her fellows take her measure." He steps toward her, draping her in the cloth, then measuring her with the rope before looping it about her waist to cover her, the white of the cloth quickly marked with blood and ash of her body. He slips a hand behind her neck, then presses a kiss to her forehead. "Welcome, Knife"

"You, Knife, will portray the role of the Scarlet Woman. Your task shall be to lure and capture an animal, to seduce it even as the Heroes defeat their foes. In order to do this, you must find your spirit guide. You will be taken on a vision quest to find your animal spirit, a totem if you will." The ancient one sits, regarding her quietly as she lounges insouciantly against the wall of the abandoned farmhouse they had selected as their haven. She lifts a shoulder in acknowledgement of the challenge, tilting her head slightly as she listens. He nods, indicating Renell as he approaches, Knife pushing herself away from the wall and frowning slightly, her lip curling sardonically. "Renell will assist you. Go now, return once your task is complete."

Renell smiles slightly as she runs her fingers through her hair, watching him. He knows her distaste for him, yet also knows that although inclined to question, to challenge the order, she will not defy the Heirophant. He leads her out into the darkness, taking up a flask as he walks outside. He pierces the heel of his hand as he walks along, allowing his blood to drain into the flask as she follows him into the bush. She follows in silence, curious but not questioning even as the delicious scent of vitae reaches her on the night air. Gradually the lights of the house fade into darkness, the bush is silent and they pause in a clearing. Renell turns, shaking the flask for a few minutes, watching her as she leans against a tree.

"I suspect you have never been on a spirit quest before. You will seek out the animal that best represents you, that embodies your essence. How you capture it is up to you, but you must bring it back alive." He passes her the flask, the vitae having returned to simple human blood. She sniffs it curiously, the scent of intoxicants reaching her nostrils. She shrugs, chugging it back. He watches her, smiling slightly as the hallucinogens begin to take effect and she begins to pace, her breath hissing slightly through her teeth as she stares up at the moon. He steps toward her, clouds banking behind him, thunder rolling. He grasps her chin, pulling her to look directly into her eyes Hunt. Pursue. Capture.. "RUN"

She walks out of the night, returning to the circle of Acolytes around the light of the fire, a large grey tomcat laying along her arm. She is cut, her clothing ragged and torn, long hair snarled with twigs and dirt, but she smiles and bows her head to the ancient as she takes her place in the circle. He nods, accepting her return. For this night, this rite, she is their equal, though not yet fully admitted to the Coven. His eyes rest briefly on each, then in silence they part, moving away to prepare.

A bower, filled with the scent of flowers. The Maiden sits, her mask a study of youthful innocence and purity, watching as the Fool approaches, smiling vacantly. He dances towards her, reaching out to her, enticing. She looks down, rebuffing him, shy. He continues, approaching her, stroking her masked cheek, she draws away as the Ancient one materialises behind him, looming. His fangs bared, he frightens away the Fool as the Crone leads away the Maiden, admonishing her.

As they exit, a cauldron fires to life above their heads, sparks flying as the Heroes stalk into the clearing, masks stern and weapons raised. Slowly, Knife steps out from the other side, her movements sensual, her mask seductive in it's beauty. She watches as the bulls are driven towards the Heroes, smelling the blood on the air as the Heroes begin to battle the enraged animals. Bending down, she beckons to the cat, crooning. He is intially hesitant, then catches the scent of her blood as she nicks the tip of a finger. He comes to her, her spirit animal. She lifts him into her arms, laying him along her chest and stroking him softly, allowing him to lick the droplets of her blood from the tip of her finger. She nuzzles the fur of the cat, stroking him as she would a lover. She watches as the Heroes continue their battle, almost purring as the scent of their blood fills the air, the horns of the bulls finding their mark. Her attention returns to the cat in her arms, she shifts, cavorting with the tom in the form of a black she-cat. Gradually, the Heroes gain the better of their foes, she pins the cat and sinks her fangs into his throat, allowing his blood to drain into the earth. She stands, shifting back to her own self, regarding the two warriors as the stand over the fallen cattle, scenting the mixture of spilt vitae and animal flesh. One in particular, Lester, draws her attention. He has spent much of his vitae in battling the bulls, his fangs extend as she steps seductively towards him.

She steps close, slipping a hand behind his neck as she tilts her head to the side, flicking her hair away from the soft skin of her throat, offering herself. He reaches out to her, a hand sliding behind her neck as his fangs sink into her throat, drinking deep of her offering. She leans into him, eyes closing in pleasure as the Kiss rolls over her. She allows him to feed, then begins to pull away. He resists, the hand at her neck pulling her closer to him, holding her in place. She turns in his embrace, tilting her neck to sink her own fangs into his throat, taking from him even as he continues to lap at the blood she allows to well from the wound in her neck. She dimly hears the muffled groan of Phillip behind her, dimly remembers that she should not be drinking from any Kindred. This feels right to her, it feels natural. After a few moments, Phillip at a nod from the Ancient begins to pry them apart, aided by the strength of two large stone figures. Gradually they calm, returning to the shadows to watch as the rite continues, the Father and Mother, by necessity played by the Ancient and Renell, continue the cycle.

The Mother, hugely pregnant and clad in robes of gold and red, meets the Father, clasping his hands. She turns away, her mask of contentment changing to the agony of birth as from beneath her robes a multitude of rats and insects erupts. The Father supports her, then leads her away. They return, to sit side by side, clad as the Hermit and the Crone, in silence. None of the gathered move until the appointed moment when the cycle begins again, with the Fool courting the Maiden.

The acolytes gather beneath the cauldron, the light wavering in the darkness, the Ancient Consensus in the centre of the circle. He steps to the Maiden, like Knife an untried member of the Chorus, his childe Elizabeth. He embraces her, tilting her head as he feeds deeply. One by one, he moves to each member of the circled Kindred, draining them as they offer themselves to him. The last, Renell, takes a blade and opens his forearm, offering it to the old one. It is too much. The scent, fresh vitae on the cool night air, Knife rages, leaping at him, hastily restrained by Phillip even as she feels the sting in her back and the weakness flood her veins. The rite is completed as she convulses beneath Phillip's hands, he lifts her as she calms and carries her inside. "It's alright, Kitten."

I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

The girl kneels, silent crimson tears run down her pale cheeks, dripping softly onto the white petals of the rose in her hand, the scent still drifts to her nostrils, she shudders slightly in rememberance. Dancing, the feel of his arms around her body. The feel of his lips brushing against her neck, the softness of his voice whispering her name. His taste, a sweet heady rush upon her tongue, it's power and mystery. Why? Why did you leave, Lestat?

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

I loved you. Why have you abandoned me, don't you care anymore? Night after night you can turn from me, ignore me, betray me, I will never leave you. You are everything to me, I cannot bear to be apart from you. I have taken the abuse of those of your kind in your name and returned to you, my beloved. Always.

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

The knife, slashing across her wrist as she begs him to accept what she can give, to not torture her anymore. Crying out to those she does not know to help her master, to save him. Desperate, despairing. Wondering why he does not answer her, why he does not respond. The memories flash before her closed lids as she kneels there, praying for courage.

You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me

The face of an angel shimmers before her, fading to darkness. She is alone, her beloved is gone, her sire is gone, her grandsire fallen to madness. For the one she loves she continues the search, wanting, needing to know his fate. She knows he still lives, that he still sleeps, somewhere. Steadily, inevitably, she traces the actions of those who no longer walk the night.

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

The search lead her to this one, the ancient Acolyte, her beloved's favourite enemy. He cradles her broken body carefully as he lays her beside her master, slipping the wood deep into her inert and unbeating heart. Her devotion and despair has earned the girl her only desire, to be with the one she loves forever. For a moment, he gazes down at them both, expression unreadable, then turns and walks from the room, the closing of the door echoing into the silence.

Mister Superstar

Hey. Mr. Superstar:
"I'll do anything for you"
"I'm your number one fan"
hey mr. porno star, I, I, I, I want you
hey mr. sickly star,
I want to get sick from you
hey mr. fallen star,
don't you know I worship you?
hey mr. big rock star,
"I wanna grow up just like you"

Heat. Bodies. Moving through the crush of humanity, feeling their euphoria, the heartbeat of the crowd. Dancing. Thrashing. His body against hers, hands on her back. Her body wilting, falling against his, the sedative in her blood taking hold. He lifts her, carrying her out of the room, a door opens. The bass is a dull thumping sound beyond as he lays her at the Horned One's feet.

I know that I can turn you on
I wish I could just turn you off
I never wanted this

Waking, thrashing, the taste of blood on her lips. The Horned Man watching her, the hunger. Her life as she knew it, gone. He extends his wrist and feeds her again.

hey mr. superhate,
I just want to love you
hey, hey, hey mr. superfuck,
I wanna go down on you
hey mr. supergod,
will you answer my prayers?
hey, hey, hey mr. superman,
I want to be your little girl

Soon, she thinks as her fangs slice into the throat of the man dancing oblivious in her arms - soon she will go to the Man. Her mouth latches onto the blood spurting from the wound, the press of bodies around them making it appear as if she merely kisses his neck, she licks him clean and lets his body fall. She turns and walks through a door, locking it behind her, kneeling before the horned figure seated against the far wall.

His hand tangles in her hair, pulling her closer. She leans forward, taking him into her mouth and shuddering in anticipation as he licks along the nape of her neck, his fangs pierce the skin, she flinches slightly as he thrusts into her mouth, tongue lazily lapping as she allows the blood stolen mere minutes ago to flow from her neck. Minutes pass as he bites harder, hand pulling her head into him, sating himself upon her. She hisses as her own fangs extend, scraping his skin, the rush of his potency filling her mouth as he pulls away, face a mask of feral ecstacy...

I know that I can turn you on
I wish I could just turn you off
I never wanted this

hey mr. superstar,
I'll kill myself for you
hey mr. superstar,
I'll kill you if I can't have you
superstar, superfuck baby...

Her eyes glint bestially in the darkness as she stalks him, the Man, the one who made her. She knows he's hungry, and wonders how he has fed these past months. She moves closer, provactive - he remembers her. She is older now, she knows herself. She rages, pinning him, biting hard and beginning to feel the rush, the familiar hunger. She wants more - he struggles, she has him...she takes him into her, can feel his essence, she wants it. His body pales, his struggles cease. Darkness. Ash. The Horned One is gone.

Curling her body into the warmth of the boy in her arms, she suddenly gets the feeling of being watched as she nuzzles just below his jaw, her fangs silently sliding down, seeking the richness of his blood as he moans at the feel of her cool hands sliding down his spine. She shrugs and continues, they're alone in the park, no one can see them as she pushes him back against the tree, tongue flicking out lazily to lap at the blood welling from his throat as his body goes limp, drowning in the ecstacy of her Kiss. She sates herself slowly, feeling the rush as the meth in his veins hits her, leaving him crumpled in the dim shadows at the back of the park, a needle still in his vein...

She wanders onward, not shaking the feeling someone saw her. For a time she ponders, then moves into the shadows behind a toilet block. Slowly she shifts, her form changing to that of a cat, a darker patch of black in the deep shadows where the light from the halogen lamps in the park do not reach. She crosses the park, coming to a tree at the edge, climbing to a low branch and stretching out along it, a cat's smile curving her lips. She flicks her tail lazily, yawning and licking her paw.

It is not long before she feels the presence of another Beast, approaching across the cultivated lawns of the park. It stops below her, looking up with an eyebrow arched. The woman appears young, formally dressed in a black mourning gown. Long red hair spills from an antique clasp at the crown of her head, catching the light behind her. The cat gazes back down at her, taking her measure. "Perhaps you had best come down here and introduce yourself." The voice is soft, with a slight edge. The cat flicks a look over it's shoulder, then drops gently to the grass, becoming as she rises a young woman, grinning in amusement as she flicks her hair back over her shoulder, exposing the tattoo on her upper arm and the silver flash of a cuff at her wrist. "Sorry, this your turf?"

"You could say that, and I would dearly like to know why you are trespassing here." "Yeah, was looking for someone. Figured there had to be others around. Looks like you're it." "Who are you looking for?" The girl shrugs carelessly, "Elizabeth." "Ah, I see. That is unfortunate, she is not here. But perhaps you had best come with me..."

She walks past him as he lounges in the doorway of the long since closed tourist shop, hurrying down the street into the shadows. He smiles in satisfaction, letting her pass, then moving to follow her. She is beautiful, fragile looking with her pale skin and the grey tinge of shadows beneath her eyes. She is also alone. His blood runs hot with anticipation as she ducks down a side street, hurrying onwards, her skin translucent in the moonlight. He picks up his pace slightly, calling out to her "hey sweetheart, where you goin' in such a hurry?"

She does not answer, startling to toss a look back over her shoulder before continuing just a little faster, appearing nervous - it is dark, she is alone. Too alone. She moves past a service alley, he reaches out to grab her arm, pulling her down into the shadows. She struggles in his arm, nails raking down his cheeks as he attempts to kiss her, his hand gripping the softness of her upper arm, his arm tight about her waist, muttering "c'mon baby, just a lil fun.." She struggles harder, scratching, biting at his neck.

She smile inwardly as her fangs slide down, seeking the warmth of the blood rushing through his veins, fuelled with the adrenalin of the chase. He moans, body becoming limp as the ecstasy of the Kiss overwhelms him, it is she supporting him as she holds him to her mouth, lapping at the blood that wells into her mouth. This is sweet, this is right. She sates herself, then licks the last little drop from the wound. He is barely aware of the murmur of her voice as she leaves him, "God has seen your sin, foolish one."

"Caterina, come here and sit down." He watches as she moves to sit before him, eyes lowered. "His Grace has given me permission to reward you with the Embrace." Her eyes widen, slowly raise to meet his, a million thoughts race through her mind. Shock, sadness, pride. She nods, smiling a little. "First I will feed, taking all the blood from your body, until you almost pass from this world. Do not fear this, I will then replace it with some from myself, and you will wake. You will feel your body changing, the rising of your hunger." As she listens, nodding occasionally, her mind flicks back over the last few nights events. She wishes it could be otherwise, but knows this must be. All she can do is ensure her beloved's safety until he is ready to be woken, there is little other choice. "Come, let us begin."

He leads her outside, to a place that has been prepared, the rich scent of freshly dug earth rising from a hole nearby, a shovel laying beside it. She looks up at him, stepping closer as he slips a hand behind the nape of her neck, drawing her closer to him as he tilts her head back, his eyes sliding closed as his fangs pierce her pale skin and the blood wells into his mouth, warm and rich. She shudders slightly as the feel of the Kiss overwhelms her senses, the sensuality and pleasure rushing through her. He continues, weakness stealing over her as he slips an arm about her body and she braces herself against his forearm, trying to remain upright. Her body goes limp in his grasp as he licks the last from his lips, then sinks his fang into his own wrist, letting the blood drip between her parted lips as he lays her into the grave, concentrating as she weakly licks at the blood on her lips, swallowing. She hears his voice as though from a great distance as her eyes close "stay there and lay still until you no longer hear the sound of the dirt and shovel above you."

She is only dimly aware as the first clods of moist earth fall upon her body, soon becoming covered, she lays still. Every instinct of her still mortal self screams to struggle, flee, to resist. She clenches her teeth, remaining still. Soon she is covered, cannot breathe, cannot see. Her body quakes, the Damned blood warping her body, her heart stilling to silence, she should be dead, yet she is not. She listens, there in the dark. Silence. Gradually she begins to move, clawing, twisting to gain purchase and push through the weight of earth upon her body. Slowly, painfully and inexorably, she pushes her way to the surface. Her instinct to survive, to be free, drives her. He nods as she staggers from the grave, shaking the dirt from her hair.

He indicates with a finger for her to stand before him, intoning "Though you are Damned, your Damnation has purpose. It is the will of God that you are what you are, and the will of God is that the Damned exist to show the evils of turning from Him. The evil become Damned; God has taken those worthy of His love to His own side. This is what it means to be one of the Damned:

That what you once were is not what you now are. As a mortal is a sheep, so are the Damned wolves among them. That role is defined by nature — wolves feed on their prey, but they are not cruel to them. The role of predator is natural, even if the predator himself is not.

That an ordained hierarchy exists. As man is above beasts, so are the Damned above men. Our numbers are fewer so that our purpose is better effected. That with the power of Damnation comes limitation. The Damned hide among those who still enjoy God's love, making themselves known only to exemplify fear.

The Damned shall make none of their own, for such is a judgment of soul that is the purview only of God. The Damned shall suffer yet more should they slay a fellow to take his soul from him.

That our bodies are not our own. Our purpose is to serve, and when we stray from that purpose, we are to be chastened. The light of the sun excoriates; the flames of a fire purify fleshly evil. The taste of all sustenance other than Vitae is as ash upon the tongue."

He reaches down and picks up an iron poker glowing red from the heat of a fire within a separate pit that she had not seen, blessing her as he makes the sign of the cross before her eyes. She feels the terror of the newly born beast rise for the first time, knows it, and denies it. She stands, resolute, and he nods, handing the poker to her, removing his shirt to reveal the criss crossing of burn scars upon his body. "As is required, for I have sinned in creating thee, thou must now punish me. Drive the iron into my flesh that I may know the pain of having fallen from grace." She nods, bracing herself then lunging, her nose flaring at the scent of burning flesh as the iron pierces his chest. He hisses, clenching his teeth against the pain and rising fear of his beast. She pulls the iron from his body then drives it into the ground at her feet.

"It is done. Come my childe, let us begin your education."

Faces solemn, they cirle the pyre. Some know each other well, have run together, fought together. Some newer, yet each is silent with their own thoughts as the rite begins. Bites opens, taking a knife and cutting his arm, allowing the blood to drip both upon the body, and the wood. "I honour you, Breaks, you were my alpha. May your journey be swift, and your deeds be remembered. I will see you again." He extends his wrist, allowing the wound to heal itself closed, turning to his right. Scrounge steps forward, a talon extending from the tip of his finger, he draws it across his wrist. "Good hunting, my friend. Breaks, you were my alpha and I honour you. May we someday meet again."

Gradually they completed the circle, the solemnity of the rites binding them together even in the face of their loss. The last of them, the girl, steps forward, drawing a knife across the mark on her palm, the symbol of a tea tree. She does not give any sign of the pain that lances through her arm as the marking is scored from her skin, the final tie to her former pack removed. She rests the same palm briefly upon the forehead of the man on the wood, letting her blood mark his skin, then also rests it on the wood beneath him, marking the pyre. "Though I only ran with you for a day, Breaks, you were my true alpha. I will see you again, my friend."

With that she steps back, and raising her head to the moon above, howls in sorrow. In unison, the voices of her packmates join hers, and the howls echo through the hisil. The one to her left, leading the right, calls fire down to consume the body of their fallen leader, the flames swirl and roar, rising to the heavens. The image briefly in their eyes of a flaming chariot, taking the spirit of their comrade and alpha, as they howl once more, and he is gone.

The girl winces as the edge of the knife slides across her wrist, brow furrowing in pain, her eyes sad. Deepening circles shadow her eyes, large in her hollow cheeked, pale face. She bites her lip, worrying at it with her teeth as she deepens the cut, then dropping the knife, holds her wrist to the creature's mouth as the blood wells up, dripping slowly onto his lips, she slides her other hand along his jaw and with a gentle downward pressure, opens his mouth. She holds herself there, letting her blood flow into his mouth, minutes pass, painfully, as she waits. He swallows reflexively, he does not reject her gift. A tear rolls down her cheek as her breathing deepens, she struggles against the blackness threatening to engulf her, hoping, hoping against hope Jason will call her tonight.

She struggles to remember, how long since. How long since Gorian returned her here, how long has she been alone, yet not? One night, no, two? Three nights has it been, the first she thought it strange but did not question, she had been taught not to question him. The second, she wondered, and asked him what ailed him, if she may help. He did not answer her, merely turned his face to the wall, his head resting upon his arm, the long pale hair shielding him from her eyes. The third night, she cried out to him, begged him, railed at him as she watched him grow pale, listless, then taking up the ornate ceremonial knife upon the mantel, angrily slashed her wrist and held it to his lips. She passed out that night, giving him everything she could, until her very life was endangered. He did not reject it, but did not demand more when she fell to his feet, laying like a discarded doll as the wound closed itself over.

This night, the fourth, and she once more holds her bleeding wrist to his lips, giving herself to him. She feels the weakness steal over her, the darkness threatening to claim her. She slowly pulls her wrist away, watching as the wound once more closes over, feeling drained as she staggers once, twice, collapsing into a chair by the door, curling into herself as she holds her arm against her body. The tears spill over, her shoulders shaking as sobs rack her already exhausted body, eventually she sleeps. Maybe tomorrow Jason will call.

"Stop. Do not run away from us. Go and sit in the corner," At the first harsh command she stops, turning to face him, head down and body held tensely, heart thudding in her ears. "I..I beg your pardon sir. Master Eli has requested I rejoin him outside" "I do not care. GO and sit in the corner" his voice rises, he takes a step towards her, she bows and does as he bids, sitting precariously on the edge of the chair, every muscle tense, alert. The old gangrel stands by the door where he had closed it, preventing her from following Eli as he had left the room. He is watching her, she can feel his eyes as they travel over her, she struggles to control her breathing, to silence the pulsing of her blood sounding unnaturally loud to her ears. Randall moves to stand in front of her, also watching her closely, she swallows hard, scanning the room.

Her eyes lock onto Eli, striding across the room from the other door towards her, eyes angry as they briefly meet hers before she looks down again, not daring to move. Randall moves to block Eli's progress, preventing him from reaching her. She watches as Eli moves to step around Randall, however Randall moves again to once more impede Eli, Eli snarls quietly, and in that moment, his beast flares as he moves to strike Randall. A scream tears from her throat as she throws herself out of the way of the pair as they grapple, beasts raging, she cowers in the corner, terror dilating her pupils as Randall snarls in response and others of the Court rush in. A hand grasps her arm, pulling her to her feet and towards the door, past the old gangrel, still looking at her, standing in a circle of confusion as stakes are pulled, she sees in the same moment both Eli go down and Gorian enter the room. He looks to her, being pulled from the room by the childe of the old gangrel, and snarls, raising a fist to strike her, she is thrown against the wall, a cry of pain escaping her lips.

Before she can react, Gorian is staked and held against the wall as she is forcibly pulled from the room. The gangrel follows them as the childe attempts to reason with him, pushing the girl in the direction of the door, telling her to run. She does so, both give chase. She hastens, trips, falling heavily at the bottom of the stairs. The gangrel smiles down at her, showing his fangs. She trembles in fear, startling as a hand reaches down to pull her once more to her feet, Roulette. Why she is here the girl cannot fathom, but there is little time to ponder this as the gangrel advances unhurriedly down the steps, snarling at Roulette "Run away, little child". The hand grasping the girls arm loosens, and she runs. The girl turns to flee, claws dig into her shoulder as the bat pulls her, making her stumble. She loses sight of the gangrel and screams in pain as the red wood of the stake bites into her shoulder. Her body goes limp with fear, pain and shock as she feels the loss of blood...darkness descends, she knows no more as she sinks into unconsciousness, the gangrel pulls the stake from her limp body and picks her up into his arms.

Bright, painful spots of light pierce her eyelids as she returns to consciousness, Gorian's wrist to her mouth, the taste of vitae upon her lips she seizes the wrist, holding it to her mouth greedily, wincing, twisting in pain as the wounds on her back knit and close. She tips her head to the side, coughing as she vomits, blood crimson and frothing as it gushes from her lips, staining the ground beneath her. She tugs upon the wrist once more, returning to seek the richness of the blood, rejoicing to the feel of Damned power flooding her veins. She feels the gaze of Gorian rake her from head to toe as he waits for her to sate herself, his voice dispassionate as he addresses the other in the room "Thankyou, Lucas. She will be alright from here, and I will see her delivered safely back to my Bishop." She startles, looking up wildly, then sits up, swaying slightly as she clenches her jaw, battling the nausea assaulting her senses. She is still in the room used for the gathering, the light that had caused her such pain is turned down low, she sees Lucas nod, his handsome face regard her briefly then disappear as he turns and walks from the room. Gorian looks down at her as she struggles to her feet, her body aching, bruised. "Come, Caterina."