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Lithoniela, of Baltoris
Death defying illusions
Part I
The Witch's Acolyte
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> Somewhere in Oakenfalls,
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> Summer of 66 NC.
>
> Seventh into the reign of High King Lennert Eikenaar (the Bloody), of Kaltha
>
> Second into the reign of King Titus Alden (-us) of Regia
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> It had taken twenty years for the jungle to return, another fifty, or close to it, for the trees and tall grass to cover everything. For nature to conceal the destruction and secrete her mother’s final resting place.
>
> A mere day, for scavengers and the realm’s biggest scum –adventurers- to unearth her. Shift through her bones, break her fragile skull and take her stuff. All she had placed inside after digging through the ruins for years. Her sword and the dark-red scaled wyvern armour, the golden bracelets and her favorite obsidian dagger with five rubies at its handle. Shadowbite, the ‘Hulking’ Fergen O’ Mecatan du Nord Blacksmith’s cradle gift to Baltoris, of Ninthalor.
>
> The Queen of Queens.
>
> Lithoniela had tracked them through the trees and towards the ruined temple that was once the center of Oakenfalls, but she hadn’t returned since Ovinet had dropped her off more than six decades ago. Lithoniela had pleaded for the Wyvern to take her away, but Ovinet just wouldn’t listen anymore and had almost killed her in the attempt to push the distraught Princess away.
>
> “THERE'S NO NEED FOR A SPADE!!!” The bard bellowed his refrain fighting with the cords in a manic crescendo. “IN THE LOVELY SHAAADE…”
>
> “Heaven’s mercy,” the tall blond Lorian commented, his finely trimmed mustache dropping low on both sides of his chin, leaving his wicked mouth free. His eyes the color of the clear skies. He waved a ring adorned hand at the sweaty heavy breathing bard. “Are you done Valwarin?”
>
> “It’s a deliberate pause,” Valwarin, a well-groomed Issir clad in rich carmine-colored leather replied, his white hair caught at the nape and the sturdy dwarf with the large Warhammer on his back scoffed at his reply. “To increase the audience’s anticipation,” he added eyeing the dwarf warningly.
>
> “More like desperation, right Eb?” The dwarf grunted, much to the bard’s ire and the handsome leader of their small group raised his arms high as if to stop this before it turned ugly.
>
> “Gents, let us shift our attention to the plan at hand. Where in Junia’s heavenly tits is that cock-sucking Gish?”
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> “Hahaha,” Valwarin guffawed as if inspired anew. “From the Priestesses silken sheets FORLORN WAS THE SPAN!!!”
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> “Mountain’s black sorrow,” the dwarf protested and stooped to pick a hefty rock to hurl at him.
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> “BUT TURNS OUT FRAMTOND HAD A PLAAAN!” Valwarin roared and ducked to avoid a rock through the brain. Luthos shoving him away from Lithoniela’s arrow at the same time.
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> Bothersome are the Devil’s spawns, Lithoniela cursed and fumbled in her panic with another arrow, when she heard a branch snapping behind her.
>
> “Hehe,” a painted Gish chuckled. “You better run girl.”
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> “THERE!” Framtond bellowed spotting her. “KILL THAT FREAK!”
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> Lithoniela gasped and glanced at the female Gish.
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> “Run,” she told her in that heavy male voice. “Whilst you still can. Chop, chop.”
Run.
The large Moose snorted seeing her landing on the wrong side of the tree and Lithoniela rolled bow in hand, bounced off the ground and cartwheeled behind another trunk. The animal came after her, but she sprinted around it fast, boots gliding on rotten leaves and fresh mud. She stopped on a knee, arrow nocked and the smell of incense burning in the air.
She fired three times in a breath, then jumped to the side. A tumble, the Moose thundering past her blinded from both eyes and crashing on a tree almost snapping it in half. The crack sounding like a close thunder on the moody sky.
Her next arrow brought it down.
She breathed out and blew a curl that had gotten loose away, Faelar’s somber voice chilling her blood from somewhere above.
“You’re dead.”
Lithoniela turned to stare at the Ranger perched on the five meters tall branch and he pointed with an arrow low between her legs. Another arrow was lodged there, near her left ankle, stuck firmly in the soft ground.
“I could’ve shot a couple of more, but that was a neck wound,” Faelar explained and jumped from the branch to land lithely a meter from her. “So that would have been a waste of perfectly good arrows,” he continued and picked up his undamaged arrow. “And a job for a sharp knife to put you out of your misery.”
“I was hunting a Moose,” Lithoniela protested a little flushed at being lectured again.
“A good excuse, I suppose,” Faelar retorted, his long ears turning to a distant sound. “There’s your friend coming. A mediocre ranger would have taken both of you out. Worked on your bodies afterwards. Either for food, or pleasure. I make soles for my boots from fools’ skin.”
Lithoniela narrowed her eyes. “I could set a trap as well Master Faelar,” she hissed.
Faelar nodded, his face turning mean. “And you’ll fail again. Your skill is well below your years your highness. An insult to your lineage.”
I didn’t have a teacher for centuries your prick!
Lithoniela gulped down and bowed her disheveled head flustered.
“I’ll strive to improve Master Faelar.”
“Hmm,” the Ranger murmured and flipped the arrow he’d gotten out of the ground in his hand, turned sharply and hurled it at the emerging from the bushes Zilyana. The witch gasped and a wind blew through the trees so sudden and so violent Lithoniela almost lost her footing.
But it had taken the arrow away.
“Are you insane?” Zilyana snarled, crooking her pretty mouth. “Fucking old prick!”
Yeah, Lithoniela agreed with a grin, she kept at the minimum.
Faelar smacked his lips, raised his right hand abruptly, a small unassuming stick in it and then hurled it without warning at the furious young sorceress smacking her right between the eyes. Zilyana went down without a sound and the veteran Ranger sighed in disappointment. “Witches,” he said and stooped to help a moaning Zilyana to her feet. “She blew her load to avoid an arrow. Do you know why you can’t trust magic Lithoniela?” He asked her while he gave a dazed Zilyana a flask to drink some water.
“I’m not a sorceress,” she droned worried about the welt on poor Zilyana’s forehead.
“Yep. Unless you have one at your beck and call, you need to use resources sparingly and if you go the other way, remember an enemy will fight you on a rock and in the desert,” Faelar told her pressing a coin on Zilyana’s forehead to reduce the swelling. “But mostly in the fuckin’ open.”
“I understand Master Faelar. Thank you for the lesson,” Lithoniela said politely.
“Hmm,” Faelar said looking at them both. “On the morrow again. Sleep a little more tonight. I expect you at the gates two hours after midnight.”
Noble Goddess! Seriously?
“I’ll be there Faelar,” Lithoniela croaked, trying not to laugh at Zilyana’s expression.
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“How’s the head?”
“I have a salve for it. I think?” Zilyana replied watching her cutting pieces out of the moose with a curved knife.
“How do you make it?”
“Eh, I stole it from Aelrindel,” Zilyana chuckled. “You need to dive in a lake and pluck the roots out of a flower. I don’t like that part at all.”
“Won’t she be mad?” Lithoniela asked placing the bloody cuts on a cloth to take with them.
“Ahm, I won’t tell her? Seriously I hate it.”
“The lake, or the potion making?” Lithoniela asked her with a smile.
“I don’t have her patience.”
Lithoniela gave her half the load to carry. “She’s that tolerant? I wouldn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t go that far. In her craft she is meticulous though,” Zilyana replied and walked towards the edge of the opening towards the path leading outside the forest. “But mostly it’s practice, talent and her mother’s teachings.”
“You sound like a love-struck acolyte.”
“Babe you need to take a good hard look at a mirror,” Zilyana deadpanned with a stupid grin.
“Mmm,” Lithoniela murmured watching the trees for another sneaky trap from Faelar. She wouldn’t put it past him to ambush them on the return trip. “I wish I had a teacher all those years,” she said changing the subject.
“Poor thing,” Zilyana teased her. “I wish I had the freedom to wander about with adventurers. Or did you mean, you wished you had her as a teacher?”
“Stop it. Let's move on. And adventurers ain’t all that much. It depends on what Luthos will toss in your path.”
“Here,” Zilyana said cutting right and stopping near the river. The trees leaving a two meter gap near the path a traveler could rest unseen. “What did Luthos toss in your path Princess?”
“Mostly rogues and killers,” Lithoniela replied and then thought of Glen. A younger version of him rushing her with a large sword that wasn’t his. The Wyvern’s Tongue and a sack full of Imperial gold coins. A knight’s sword, the Witch’s gift and a king’s fortune in a young vagabond’s hands. The memory put a smile on her lips. “Some better than others.”
“In what way?” Zilyana asked a bloody piece of meat in her hand. “I’m famished.”
“Go ahead,” Lithoniela replied and found a trunk to rest on. “Talented and funny. Very foolish some times. Very young also.”
“Sounds like a good story. How does it end?”
“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. “He’s in Wetull now somehow. I hope all of them made it out and are safe.”
“Is that the ‘Wyvern’ guy?”
“Supposedly. That part is very strange,” she murmured.
The witch smiled a bloody smile and then stared at her smeared hands with a frown. “I got stuck in Dan for two hundred years,” Zilyana chuckled getting up.
“How was it?”
“Uncomfortably cold,” Zilyana replied and stooped near the river to clean her hands. “It’s not funny Princess.”
“Sure. See how you’d like living like a stray, hunt for your food, without a warm bed to go back to.”
“Faelar has you spooked. Next time shoot an arrow in his knee without warning,” Zilyana said from the river shore. “Or a fireball.”
“I can’t.”
“Touch that exposed root, bind a ‘thread’ to it,” she told her, eyes gleaming while removing her boots. “Like I showed you.”
Eh, Lithoniela thought watching her undress. “What are you doing fool?”
“Don’t dodge. Come on. Fuck Faelar and his rules. You’re an Elderblood. Royal on top of it. Don’t you get points for that?”
“Zilyana, of Cydonia. You’re an Elderblood as well.”
“Calamer never acknowledged me. If not for Edlenn I would have had Galadriel’s fate,” she replied with a cute frown working with the shirt’s buttons. “Do it Lithoniela, I have something to show you.”
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Lithoniela was always uncomfortable with this side of her. “Make a house in my head,” she murmured getting up to approach the leering witch.
“Start with a room. Knit it with threads. Brick by brick,” Zilyana teased, long legs sprouting out of her short shirt.
“Aelrindel’s way,” Lithoniela murmured and saw her small imaginary cabin in the woods. Lithoniela had been working on it for almost a year. “No bricks.”
“Also Edlenn’s, Galadriel’s, Eroshin’s, Ena’s and Nororis,” Zilyana corrected her, naming some of the famous sorcerers of the past. “The moon wasn’t conceived on its own. Her knowledge was passed down from the ancient Zilan of Cydonia. Us Islanders are the plinth your mother’s kingdom was built upon, afore the Wyverns and the Phalanx’s spears. Touch that root, light a fire in your little fireplace.”
A fire, she thought opening the door. Her left hand started warming up, a tingling in her fingers. Lithoniela closed her eyes and there it was, a gold thread touching the tree she had been resting on, following behind her. Lithoniela turned to stare at the fireplace and the torch in her hand. A spark and smoke billowed at the oil-soaked tip. She wafted a dragging breath on it, the river’s sound retreating.
The torch caught and she felt the warmth on her face.
“Haha!” Zilyana guffawed in the present. “There it is! You gorgeous talented doll. Puff it now towards the water.”
Lithoniela opened her eyes confused and stared at the small bright flame burning on her palm. The feeling quickly turning uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. Ouch. “It’s a torch,” she mumbled slowly panicking, despite putting up a brave face, an excited Zilyana urging her with large purple-blue eyes to get rid of the tiny fireball.
Which was what Lithoniela wanted, but didn’t know how.
Her words finally penetrated Zilyana’s fervor and forced her to action.
“Wait… a what? That’s what you used? Enchantress’s knotted hair!” The witch retorted standing back in alarm. “Toss the darn thing girl!”
Ah.
“Toss the torch?” She probed just to be sure, clenching her jaw hard not to scream.
“Seriously?” Her friend hissed. “Just DO IT!”
Lithoniela turned towards Yeriden’s waters and there it was, the reality merging with her fantasy’s constructs. She chucked the ‘torch’ in the river and the water’s surface fizzed followed by the rumbling sound of a small explosion.
“We are going to have to work on delivery,” Zilyana declared with a grimace and tossed her shirt away to dive into the river naked.
Lithoniela frowned and stared at the boil in her palm. The skin around it hurting so much it brought tears in eyes.
“I’m hurt!” She blasted the still under the waters witch and reached into her satchel for something to tie her hand. A scarf would do. “Your lessons suck Zilyana,” Lithoniela griped bandaging her burn, the redness spreading and the boil leaking. She turned hearing the witch coming out of the river, but instead of her friend, Aelrindel stood there smiling mischievously.
“Ahm,” Lithoniela blurted as the Moon’s Daughter approached tauntingly, hands resting on her soaked hips. Something was off in her face though.
Damn, Zilyana got the other parts pretty darn close.
“What threw you off?” The masqueraded witch asked standing in front of her. “The nose?”
“The mouth I think,” Lithoniela admitted, keeping her stare on the fake Aelrindel’s face.
“That what you were thinking?”
The query made her forget about the hand, the blood rushing to her face. Lithoniela stepped back, but Zilyana caught her.
“Let me into your cabin Princess,” she whispered near her face. “I’m outside the door.”
“How?” Lithoniela croaked, a shiver under her skin as pleasant as it was scary.
“I’m witch of Cazan,” the fake Aelrindel gushed their noses touching, eyes large and the color of warm silver. “We walk in all dreams, make covens to shape the reality to our liking and fuck a lot.”
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The real Aelrindel, clad in her soft leather long coat, a bone-reinforced bustier underneath it and warm riding pants with tall heeled boots, looked as much furious as she was stunning.
“I don’t want to talk to Prince Atpa,” she hissed walking back and forth to calm herself down. “Tell him I’m sick with the flu. Can’t we poison him or something? He’s very annoying.”
“I can’t approach his quarters,” Faelar replied not amused. “The army has sealed the city’s center tight.”
“So what does he want?”
“You out of the palace and back in Rin An-Pur.”
“Is that all?” Aelrindel queried frostily.
“With the other wives was the full quote,” Faelar replied with a shrug. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
“You did.”
“So, if we are to go…” Faelar started, but paused seeing her recoil and the tongue of fire blasting out of the Duke’s fireplace setting the carpet alight. He moved timely and stepped on the flames, wrapping the smoking carpet in the end to prevent the fire from spreading. With a sigh he tossed the ruined carpet in the fireplace and stood back to watch it burn. “Afore Prince Sahand returns, we need to go now,” he finally said finishing his thought.
“Didn’t you just see how frustrated I was?” The sorceress blasted him.
“How is destroying a small carpet answer your problem?”
“My problem?”
“Yes. You either leave your husband behind, or you don’t. Unless he dies I don’t see how you are getting out of this mess.”
Aelrindel pouted and returned to the throne to sit down. She crossed her legs and eyed the two of them pretending they weren’t there.
“Never have I seen so much mud on a Princess and a Witch before,” she commented dryly. “Unless they were fooling around by the river and didn’t wash afterwards.”
“It was cold at the day's end,” Zilyana replied all serious, whilst Lithoniela hid under her hood. “And you have a bathtub. Mistress,” she added to save it.
“Faelar leave us,” Aelrindel ordered the Ranger. “Have our people informed of the new developments and call for Wulan to have some water prepared. Make it a lot of water.”
“Ralnor is en route,” the Ranger reminded her. “He’ll want to know of what you decide.”
“I can’t wait for him to finish whatever side projects he’s running Faelar,” she griped and rapped her long nails on the armrest impatiently.
“There’s nothing in the city worth your presence Aelrindel,” the ranger insisted. “Stop being so stubborn. We must move to Queen’s Lake soon and out of their reach, or your plan won’t work.”
“Just find Wulan,” Aelrindel gasped in frustration. “My head hurts. Where is that darn cat?”
Melon was missing in action for a couple of days per his habit.
So the sorceress made a couple of meowing cats appear near her legs in his stead and stooped to pick one of them up.
“This better be good,” she told them when Faelar left them alone, while petting the fiercely gold pelt of her cat.
But for the tail.
That was a sparkling silver.
Aelrindel had a thing for it.
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Wulan paused at the entrance and waited for Zilyana to finish her praise on Lithoniela’s new skills. Aelrindel listening with a blank face, her eyes flickering at her Cofol servant from time to time.
“What does Lithoniela think?” Aelrindel asked cutting her old pupil off. “Don’t you want to learn from Faelar? He’s very well regarded as a teacher, old political matters aside.”
Lithoniela thought him a mean bastard, but she also wasn’t unwilling to learn more from him.
“I don’t feel her enthusiasm spilling out Zilyana,” Aelrindel commented and glanced at Wulan again. “Let her finish her studies under Faelar.”
“Tell him about the fire spell,” Zilyana urged her.
“What fire… what spell?” Aelrindel hissed. “Weren’t you two at the river?”
“Sure,” Zilyana replied. “But more outside the walls than inside…”
“What does that mean?” Her teacher asked warningly. “How far outside? By the gates?”
Yep, thirty kilometers from them.
“Eastwatch Forest?” Zilyana guessed leaving it purposefully vague. “Many trees about,” she added ruining it not very skilled in subterfuge.
Aelrindel’s face hardened. “You’re jesting.”
“She speaks the truth,” Lithoniela defended her friend, equally unskilled in lying under pressure.
“You shot a fireball inside the forest?” The old Sorceress gasped in horror.
“Eh, let’s not exaggerate, it was more like… this size? Are you going to tell it or not?” Zilyana asked Lithoniela frustrated.
“I made a torch,” Lithoniela said with a sigh. “I threw it in the river.”
The sorceress stood back. “You made a torch.”
“No commands,” Zilyana mouthed off and the fake cat meowed raising her head curious.
Aelrindel got up and approached her. Lithoniela returned her stare a bit nervous and excited at the same time. The sorceress mouth curved a tad on its left size in a half sneer. “Is that yours?” she asked tauntingly pointing at a thin white thread Lithoniela had used to trace the perfect lines of her face, to commit it in her memory.
And add it to her ever expanding cabin later.
“Yes,” she croaked embarrassed.
“What did she miss?” Aelrindel asked twirling her index finger around Lithoniela’s thread and then snapping it. “Zilyana?” she asked casually, but the Zilan caught her undertone.
“The mouth. You have like three different smiles Mistress,” Zilyana replied. “Apologies.”
“Everyone does. More than that really, unless they are stiffs. Start with your own visage first,” Aelrindel told them both. “Use a mirror. You need mirrors always to see what you’re changing. But before experimenting with the human form try making a bird first, or a cat.”
“With a real cunt folk can use,” Melon’s baritone voice added, strolling snuggly inside from the open large balcony. He sniffed under the fake cat’s tail, the one resting under the sorcerer’s chair and snorted waltzing away. Melon’s hind legs walking on the tips of his paws and his own tail raised provocatively to showcase his swollen balls. “I ain’t putting my cock in that just saying, but wit such an amount of pussy on display, we’re gonna have problems!”
“Wulan take the stupid cat for a bath,” Aelrindel hissed, furious at the interruption.
Melon snorted and it turned into half a sneeze until he smacked his paw on his nose a couple of times to stop the tickling. “Well, was going to offer a tongue bath meself, but with this kind of shitty attitude thrown my way, I’ll just fuck the help.”
Wulan stooped to pick him up with a glare, but the black cat jumped on her arm, twirled around and reached the back of her head in less than a second, despite her efforts to stop him.
“Head forth then,” Melon ordered clasped with all legs tight. “My two-legged small-titty mount. To the baths!”
Aelrindel sighed deeply and returned to her throne. “Never put a charm on a cat,” she advised them and with a cute frown added. “Or a goat.”
“Can I show Lithoniela your illusion techniques?” Zilyana asked innocently the troubled sorceress. Lithoniela almost chuckled at her friend’s much belated attempt at gaining her mentor’s permission.
“You’re not that good at them Zilyana,” she told her absentmindedly. “Better start with something more useful to compliment her other skills and I’ll see to it personally at a later date.”
Oh, we’re way past the first lesson, Lithoniela thought her skin tingling.
“It does compliment her skills oh, wise old teacher,” Zilyana droned a bit too on the nose. “Just not in a death defying manner.”
“Have a good night’s rest girls,” Aelrindel retorted soberly. “Sleep early, get your rest and avoid games. Lithoniela I know all this socializing is very exciting to you, but this place is getting too crowded at this moment and we can’t afford any mistakes. Use caution and what you already know.”
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The rows of Cofol Royal Cataphracts entering the palace premises were a sight to behold, she thought watching from the gates of the pyramid. The Prince’s carriage surrounded by officials trying to get a glimpse on his condition. Sahand paused for a moment, covered in his cloak and waved at the small crowd reassuringly. He then followed his bodyguards past them walking slowly, the crowd staying behind.
Some servants and officials lingered on inside the massive yard, some even trying to follow the Prince inside the pyramid, but most were turned away by the guards at the internal gates. Only those living behind the walls of the Duke’s palace were allowed to stay and seeing as the night was getting late Lithoniela expected the few remaining curious bystanders to walk away.
She spared a glance under her hood at the dark yard for any familiar faces, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Lithoniela turned her head, secure in her shaded hiding spot and looked at the massive pyramid looming over her. The many lit windows slowly turning dark and only the flat top where the palace was remaining brightly illuminated. She found their sleeping quarter’s window north from the throne room’s floor and the Duke’s Balcony. Aelrindel had come out for a moment to watch the injured Prince’s return and then had slipped inside again.
“Someone get those patrols back on the perimeter,” a sergeant barked at the guards. “Get those fucking people out and for Allgods sake remove the horses afore they shit on everything!”
“What about the Cataphracts sire?”
“There’s stables for that adjoined to the walls. Tell them to use them for crying out loud!” he replied gruffly. “Move lad, or it’s early turd collecting duty on the morrow!”
Lithoniela decided to return herself and moved away from her corner, after a group of guards trotted close to her spot, looking to get everyone left behind escorted outside the walls. She walked swiftly, not bothered from the dark and reached the stairs. Lithoniela waited for the disturbed officials and guards to settle down for the remainder of the night, before making her way to her quarters.
She was to wake up soon anyway, unless Faelar had cancelled their training given the new developments. With a deep breath to calm herself down from the long climb, she pushed the door open and entered her bedroom.
Wulan was with Aelrindel and the injured Prince probably, their much larger bedroom belonging to the late Duke on the other side of the long corridor, starting behind the throne room and reaching the back of the massive building.
“Is prince charming dead?” Zilyana asked sitting on the desk near the bed across from hers.
“Still walking. But he could have been playing it for the crowd,” Lithoniela replied and removed Zestari’s cloak and hood to hang it next to her quiver. “Did you see him?”
“Not really,” Zilyana said behind her back. Lithoniela sat on the edge of her bed to remove her boots. The right first then the left. “That would have been nigh awkward,” her friend added ambiguously.
“Zil,” Lithoniela murmured seeing her improved naked ‘illusion’. “Didn’t we promise, not to fool around?”
“I made no such promise Princess,” Zilyana purred and knelt between her legs. She wrapped her long fingers around hers. One hand at a time from each side.
First the right and then the left.
Oh, you naughty witch, she thought her heart flattering.
“It doesn’t feel right,” she whispered in her glowing face, feeling Zilyana’s hot breath lingering.
“Knock, knock,” Zilyana teased hoarsely catching the weak lie, her nose touching hers and Lithoniela felt her body quivering in anticipation. “Open up Princess,” the voice coming from far away, Aelrindel’s face blurring, the immersion breaking and the illusion collapsing.
Lithoniela’s warmly lit, now much enlarged cabin, turning a dark and sinister place, her mouth, face and nostrils flooded with something gluey and brittle. Everything clogged and her sensitive ears ringing. The strange otherworldly sound reverberating inside her skull, as if her imaginary room had turned hollow. As if she was suddenly alone inside the once idyllic cabin. The connection severed.
A frightened Lithoniela panted desperately trying to breathe and return to the safety of the bedroom, but everything felt as empty when she did and then the Princess wished she hadn’t.
Run...
The masqueraded Gish’s voice hissed in her ear.
Her huntress’ instincts trying to snap her out of it.
“Fucking royal cunts!” A ghastly voice bellowed and yanked a horrifically mutilated Zilyana away to get his bizarre weapon back, her friend’s head completely destroyed, the injury so hideous and the brutal blade that had caused it so crude, the blow so powerful, even her upper chest cavity had exploded outwards.
Lithoniela was covered in gore, pieces of skull and Zilyana’s brains.
“Ah, it’s you,” the cruel man said and stopped himself from swinging again. “Hahaha! Well consider yourself avenged,” he barked at the traumatized and utterly paralyzed Lithoniela. “The witch is fucking dead. AHAHAHA! Good riddance!”
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