…..:::::|. Silver Street: Unknown .|:::::…..

Her whimpers broke their kiss for a moment, for he was becoming far to hot to hold. He breathed a cold breath onto her close lips with a hot command. “You were curious...deal with the pain.” And by a deeper clench of her, now loose hair, he buried a hurtful kiss onto her lips.

Halycind obeyed and folded fully into his clutch, painfully—almost miserably—enduring whatever temperatures his skin decided to rise and fall to. The mixture of twinges began to confuse her body and small pinches of pleasure started to ebb from her pangs. She could feel his presence even to the very beat of her heart; either hindering or encouraging its rhythm, but she allowed the feel of his heavy essence to trundle through her. In the eagerness of this vibrating confusion she shoved a knee to either side of his hips and pulled him closer by the waist. He was cooler to the touch here.

He, giving way to her scoots forward, slid a grip of thumbs and fingers into the crease between her hips and her thighs. The round meatiness of her body fit just nicely the width of his palms.

Then she looked on this creature. Halycind stared at his features in what low-light her wolvkin eyes could catch. He was grey. Like his eyes. Grey and lined with softly pulsing cyan tantantoa following the flow of his defined brow and jaw and throat and yoke, even to the crest of his ribs and chest.

He was clothed before. Velvet. Dark blue. Glitters of the night sky. Then she looked to her own frame to find she’d also been made bare.

Shock would have taken her but something else did instead and her head swan with want.

She wrapped her arms about the back of his waist and her thumbs felt a wound there. Deeply inset, in its healed state, but she knew he’d been stabbed in his back; possibly even run through. She wanted to soothe him somehow.

He was also scarred along his ribs, with what felt like healed over wounds from fire all the way up around his shoulder-blades to the nape of his neck. Concern flooded her expression, something, flames at one point had enveloped him like a horrible embrace from a hateful spirit. She traced the marks with jittering fingers up and around until she cupped the square of his jaws.

Something deep within her was stricken to a sadness she’d not felt in years. Something wholly unfamiliar yet had been haunting her dreams since childhood and she wanted to cry for him.

What had hurt him?

There was nothing but love in her chest now. That’s all she could think of. Love. That’s all she could remember.

Was the one she loved a necromancer?

Something sounded wrong about that. Her beautiful feather hated mancers, he couldn't have been one. Could he?

Her head hurt.

“Do I frighten you?” His words were like a soft roll of heavy storm clouds.

“I...no...I just...” Words were difficult as she tried to think through childhood thoughts and moments of the present. “I...I remember wanting you.”

“For what? My barbarity?”

“No.” Her dreams haunted every part of her thoughts now. “Beauty.”

“Silly puppy...that's my brother's moniker.” He let the words take their time as he placed his kiss upon her lips again, interwove his fingers into hers and squeezed them near to the point of crushing as he wrapped them up in his hold around her back.

...

"Siin?"

A concerned whisper came across Siin’s hearing but he didn’t know who it was. His pointed ear flicked. The voice had Siin by the shoulders and was turning the mage to face him.

"He--" Siin’s words were angry gasps. "He's--"

"aBn?"

The friendly voice spoke again but Siin didn’t know the man in front of him.

Then, in another swaying breath full of blackness, he suddenly knew everything about this voice in front of him.

"You can kill them, right?" Siin urged with a murderous growl.

"Kill who?"

Siin peered into Percival’s eyes as if all the cosmos was staring back at him and the look put a fear into the mastermage he’d not felt in a very long time.

"The Useless." Siin’s voice almost sounded as heavy as thunder, as vast as the night sky itself.

"Why do you want to kill a Scerci?" Percival was taken to absolute shock.

"You'll let me kill them, right?"

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"Siin?" Percival watched Siin’s eyes swirl a full array of colours.

"Right?!"

Siin’s voice had come out wrong; tripled in its crack and snap against the air and the stars in the sky seemed to answer his rage; sparking bright in their twinkle.

"aBn?” Percival tried to call. “aBn! Come back!"

Siin’s breath immediately halted and instantly his eyes left their growing glow.

"Where were you?" Percival asked his ward, now holding his face very close to his own.

"I don't know." Siin answered, gasping for breath. He lifted to look about himself. The streets of Havvenchael were filled to the brim with night-fairing revellers and wild whoops of fun. The suddenness of the scene frieghtened the young mage and he buried himself closer into Percival’s brawn.

Having no recollection of the moments prior, all Siin remembered was leaving the tavern to go rest in the Fifty-Foot-O-Rope. He blinked hard for his heart and his loins were telling him something entirely else; warning him that something had gone vastly wrong with the night.

"aBn.” Percival stared his words into the confused boy’s eyes. “Quench."

And as if all tiredness had taken the young mage, Siin yawned and nodded toward his guardian. "Yes. Exemplariat."

Percival looked about the crowded streets as the boy obediently left his hold and headed toward the Fifty-Foot-O-Rope. He furrowed, wondering deeply what was happening to his ward and what could have triggered him into a state of murder. It didn't set well. Something was interfering with them.

...

The table was hard under her backside and made harder by the weight of him leaning upon her. He was wrapped so tightly around her, with her arms folded behind her back, still locked with his fingers in his hold. By all her conviction, she fought to keep his command and deal with the pain he dealt into her. But she was new to this. New to anything like this.

Amidst the torture of these new sensations through out her bones as he kissed her, she wondered if he had also shrouded the sounds of this place, for she'd only now noticed she broken away from that kiss in loud squeals against the grinning whispers of his.

He was pleased with himself in his passionate work.

Why had she sought death so fervently? Why had she craved knowledges so deep? The necromancer was clearly more than she thought she wanted. He hurt. Everything about him hurt. Everything about him felt like the end of things but she had sought this. Fought for him to answer her death's wish.

Heaving breaths of his own glee, he leaned down close to her cheek as she panted out twinges of agony under her skin. He kissed her cheek and then her lips again and stared at her with now orange eyes.

He hummed as he let her hands go from their compression. She panted as she lay tired arms across the yoke of his shoulders. She was still drunk on his Power, and it was likely she'd not even known what day it was or the hour it had come to. He'd have been surprised if she even knew her own name. He stared at her for some time. Happy now.

Listening to her breathe, he watched her try to sober into this space. “It will take some time.” He encouraged. He set a vial on the counter next to others like it. Where had he gotten a vial? How long had she been sat here? Legs wrapped about his waist.

"What’s that? More of the Terile Function?" She said as her eyes drifted toward the apothecary's bowls and bottles where he set that vial.

He chuckled. "It's like a function." She truly enjoyed the rumble of his voice but couldn’t quite place why.

"Every two third’s and low rising." She groaned out as she threw herself over the brawn of his yoke once more.

"Hm, good you remember." He egged. “Mages need to ingest the Killer-Seal on time or suffer death. Surely.”

“You’re too smart to suffer death.” The quiver in her fingertips across his scars sent shudders of rapture up her middle. He let her compose herself on him.

“You need to recover.” He mentioned with half a smile of disbelief in her insatiability.

She huffed a chortle and attempted to express herself with some confidence. “I'm a big girl, I know what to do after my first time.“

“No.” He lifted her left hand by the wrist high enough over his back for her to view it. “You’ve never had a time like this.” She felt him say as he slid his jaw over the meat of her shoulder.

With the other hand he held her by the back, close to him, for the conniption she was surely about to spring.

“W—Whahh?!”

And the fit she quaked out was held in screaming shudders, close, just as he’d predicted.

Inside her palm, under the skin, intertwining within brightly glowing vessels of her blood, coursed a darkly purple-sparking orange sigil slowly burning itself threw her flesh as if from a torch into parchment.

A circle. An elongated chevron piercing through it. And five scratch marks intersecting the circle in seemingly random places. A peculiar mark she’d never before in her life laid eyes on.

“You carry our mark.” He paused for her understanding as her body was trembling harshly within his grasp. “...and as the smith brands his blade...”

She wanted to ask what he had done to her? Wanted to know what all this was about? Why he had even allowed her to entice him? But none of that came out. She seemed to not question any of it as she watched this thing carve its permanency into her flesh. She was only curious of their circumstance now, the two of them. Who they were. Together. She honestly did not feel malicious intent in the one holding her but she was staring at a clear invasion. She closed her eyes tightly and brought her trembling cheek close on his jaw.

“W-what would you have of me?”

He seemed pleased to hear this query, for their wills now seemed as one.

“Live.” He grinned as he brought her burning glowing marked hand between them and softly kissed her fiery knuckles. “For now no blade can take you...save what my hands have forged.”

Just over their interlaced fingers, she saw the deep orange of his eyes. His stare was not as harsh as their colour might have lent to their intensity but she was now supremely uncertain what manner of man she may have given herself to.

“I don't own you. If that's what you're thinking.” He folded her fingers over as the mark and the burns and the smoky darkness faded in to her skin. Her lips quivered to speak but nothing would escape. Her lover would have never said this. Siin wanted all of her. She remembered him, suddenly. Siin. She was to be his this night. Then who was she with?

“As in you are not the thrall of a mancer. Your mind is your own.”

“Where am I? What happened? What did you do to me? What are you?”

“Rest. You are young...and new.” He then commanded, in a tripled voice echoing into her. And as if something had snatched the strain from her, she sighed and relinquished tense hands and thighs down into a slumbering sprawl on the table's top.

A chilled kiss on the bone near her temple and their separation was the last she felt of their union as she drifted to a limp sleep.