XXXII. SERVANT OF SORROW
Osric had commandeered the mage quarters in the east tower; and busied himself with unpacking his recently arrived supplies from Xanavene. The capitol of Sorn lay in wastes beneath the six towers of Castle Algaë, a castle built on a budget by a common man from the ruins of an ancient city. Four of the six towers were the gutted remains of an age when men built structures of glass and steel, much of which were crude replicas and generally poorly reconstructed. The keep was a blocky concrete structure that held a giant vault and circular metal door, the original structures aesthetics clashed with the numerous additions to it by the dozen or so other kings that resided in the castle since the nation’s founding.
The young woman he brought along from Rhode wandered about as a toddler might, getting her hands onto anything and everything, as if each item were new and foreign to her. All attempts to communicate with her had failed. He briefly wondered if she were a fey having fun at his expense, but even the most rudimentary ruses were more sophisticated than she was. Not to mention the fey would have grown bored and left by now.
He sighed and poured over his texts as three reanimated corpses of Sorn’s citizenry carried in his gear. The young woman had found his crates from Asketill and rummaged through them. He was about to shout at her to leave them be but decided to save his breath. She amused herself with his crystal and glass wares whilst the shambling corpses dropped their loads and the occasional appendage. He paused from his reading and went to the window. The wind whipped his hair about his face as he stared down on the city below.
The most recent King and his family, seen as royalty only in the confines of their own kingdom, lay slain in rotting piles of human flesh below. Their corpses having been butchered and looted for his concoctions and spells. The city was now home to the more sentient of Dusk’s fell creatures, particularly the Haunted, a race of shadowlike wraiths that fed upon negative emotions of their human counterparts. Long ago, it was believed, they were the physical embodiment of humanities taint. They shambled about in a disfigured mockery of human form; occasionally a pack of the demons would lurch deftly upon a survivor or other victim. The occasional fight would ensue as those trapped in the city fought to escape, but as days passed, such outbreaks were few and far between. The city was also home to ogres and Blemmys, a race of lanky headless men that had their beady eyes in their shoulders and a massive multi-fanged mouth on their torsos.
Osric glanced up in annoyance upon hearing the cry of shattering glass upon stone, only to be met by the absent gaze of the young woman.
“Do not touch.”
She continued to stare at him without comprehension before she turned her attention back to the broken glass.
“Hey! Girl! Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth? Don’t touch!”
The woman bent down and prodded at the broken shards, ignoring him.
“You idiot!” He rushed over and smacked her hand away before he levitated the broken glass out of the window. “Don’t touch it or you’ll get cut; are you deaf as well?”
The woman stared up at him with the eyes of a toddler about to bawl.
“What is your name girl? Are you even human?”
She cocked her head to the side as a curious dog might but made no vocalization other than gurgling.
“What are you?” He asked a bit more forcefully.
“Ewe-maahn!” She clapped and giggled, repeating the word over and over before he silenced her by clamping a hand over her mouth.
“So, you are as a child, but where did you come from?” He removed his hand from her mouth and wiped the drool off on her rag of a dress in disgust.
“Ducks!” She chirped in her idiot’s tongue.
“Ducks? There are no ducks here girl!” He calmed himself and began to pace the tower.
“Or did you come from a place where there are ducks? A lake perhaps? Can you be more specific?”
The woman blew spit bubbles, her attention having lapsed.
“Or am I wasting my time.”
Osric made his way over to the fireplace and prepared himself a pot of tea as more supplies were carried in. The woman skipped and sang in her idiot’s tongue behind him. He massaged his temples as he did his best to ignore the woman’s babbling. An undead servant shambled into the room, causing the woman to squeal with laughter as she bound across the room and crouched behind a crate. He snatched the whistling pot of water from the fire as it came to a boil.
“Place the crates from Asketill in the bedroom; I shall be using them tonight.” He ordered.
The servant silently went about its task. An undead warrior with maggoty rotted flesh hanging from its bones entered the room, carrying a box of supplies. The woman leapt to her feet and pointed at the creature emphatically.
“Ducks! Ducks!” She repeated until the creature left.
Osric turned around to see what had her so riled up. “Ducks…do you mean dusk?”
The woman nodded enthusiastically. “Ducks!”
Osric turned away, annoyed by her shrill repetition of the word, attempting to focus on his steeping tea. The woman did not shut up however and he wondered if she was trying to communicate with him. He spun around and looked her over. Her skin was pale as fresh snow and her hair was black like soot, she was a beautiful woman, if not unkempt. More importantly, she looked like someone he had read descriptions of before. Osric hurried to his table of tomes and frantically searched through them. Finally, he found the one he sought and flung it open. He rapidly flipped through the pages until he found the section he desired and began to scan the text.
“Tell me girl, were there other humans in the Dusk with you? Or were you alone?”
“Unh-uh, no ewe-mahns.”
His master, Drogo, had told tales of a woman who was the embodiment of winter, one who attempted to overthrow the Eloi and was ultimately cast into the Realm of Dusk. For her folly, the Aes Sidhean word moron came to be, itself a corruption of an old Elysian word used to reference a pagan Goddess.
There were also tales of some ancient deity or spirit that was both celebrated and feared in the times before the dusk, a woman whose very name held power. Osric paused to examine the woman, she seemed to have gained significant cognitive abilities in the past several minutes, and even now, she looked over his shoulder at the text in anticipation, though he knew not why.
“Do you have a name?” he turned to face the woman once more.
“Name.” she repeated.
“My name is Osric, which is what I am called, what are you called? Or am I the first person you’ve met?”
“Mmmm. Mmmm.” Was her only response, her eyes conveyed a sense of urgency and frenzy.
“Do you have a name, yet cannot speak it?” Osric returned to his book with equal growing excitement.
“Mmm. Name.”
Osric stopped, jabbing his finger at a word upon the page. “Girl, I believe I have found your name.”
“Name!” She cried and jumped up and down in excitement.
Osric shut the book and turned to face her, a sinister smirk upon his lips. “But tell me, why should I speak it?”
“Name!” The woman screamed as she stamped her feet in tantrum.
Osric laughed in response to her fear and concern. “Yes, you have a name, and you are no idiot, though some may call that a matter for debate. I myself find it to be a fitting punishment. A bit of ironic justice, don’t you think?”
“Name! Name! Naaaaamme!” she screamed and kicked as she thrashed about on the floor.
“Enough!” Osric barked, ceasing the woman’s fits.
“You have a name, a name which holds power over your mind my moronic friend.” Osric grinned at the woman’s sharp intake of breath and subsequent disappointment.
“Ahh, close, but not quite is it? A name forgotten to history except when perverted as an insult to one’s intelligence, it must be so painful for such a well-educated woman as you.”
The woman glared and growled under her breath, her eyes cutting like daggers.
“What curses would you utter if given the chance?” He asked whimsically. “Would you enjoy torturing me?”
“Name.” The woman rumbled.
“Ahh. Your name, it seems I am the only one who can set you free. But I must know, what is in it for me?”
The woman smiled a wicked grin and leaned in close. “Abby gore.”
“…So, you can remember, even in this crippled state.”
Osric paced the room with the woman following his every move as he debated the situation. He paused to stare out the window at the ruined city below for several moments. The remnants of homes and businesses sent up billowing clouds of smoke, the smell of immolated flesh stung his eyes and nose even at that height. He debated upon whether it was in his best interest to free the woman. The knowledge she held would no doubt be limitless, but would she share it with him? More importantly, could he defend himself against her should she not like his methods or archetypes for bringing about mankind’s rebirth. He sighed and closed the windowpanes in resignation. His curiosity was a beast not easily sated, and the opportunities this woman represented could not be so easily dismissed. No matter the consequences.
“Morana.” Osric turned to find the woman standing before him.
“It’s about fucking time.” She hissed and struck him across the face with a cauldron.
* * *
Osric awoke to the dying rays of the sun filtering in through the windows. The room had been unpacked and set up for experiments and research. Furniture was brought in, as well as a store of supplies from the galley. A great cauldron bubbled over the hearth and the scent of chicken soup filled the room. Many of his scrolls were open and scattered about the room. He groaned and reached up to cradle his aching head, only to find his arms strapped to the chair. He continued to struggle as he blinked the confusion from his eyes.
“You finally awake; I did not hit you so hard as to warrant such a response.”
“And I have not been so kind as to warrant such carelessness on your part.”
Osric drew an orange symbol in the air and fired several arrows of fire at Morana as she entered the room. She casually waved her hand dispelled them easily with a wall of cascading water. The room filled with hissing steam, which she also dispelled with a wave of her hand. Osric swore as he readied a lightning spell with his opposite hand. Morana disappeared in a cloud of smoke, reappearing before him in the same manner instantly. As he spoke his incantation in a single hurried breath; she backhanded him across the mouth and snapped her fingers; this imprinted a glowing palm print over his mouth, effectively silencing him in the middle of his spell. Osric was familiar with this manner of hex and knew that to afflict another mage with silence in such a manner required time and materials. She had cast it without so much as a word.
“If you had only asked for me to remove your bonds I would have, but it seems they were a necessary precaution.”
Morana disappeared again in a flash, reappearing by the cauldron. She poured herself a bowl of soup, pausing to blow upon it and taste. Osric mumbled; his mouth held closed by the palm print. Morana placed her bowl on the table and picked out a drumstick to nibble at with a smirk as she watched Osric struggle. After several moments of frantic struggling, he calmed down and glared at her with eyes that could kill. She set aside her bowl and crossed the room towards him.
If Osric had been dubious to her identity before, there was no denying it now, she looked just as the sole surviving description of her depicted. She had replaced her rags with a long skirt with deep slits along each leg, a long, narrow tabard with a queer rune like crossed barbells hung between cream white thighs in black stocking. Osric cleared his throat, aware that he had been staring. The rune was familiar, one he had seen in cemeteries upon headstones, or placed on doors in Deadsun. He had always attributed it to old superstition, as no one was able to give a convincing answer as to why they used the symbol or its meaning.
Morana stretched, raising her arms above her head, accentuating her supple from. Her torso was covered by a tight-fitting sheer black fabric that hung from a black brassiere of fine leather and silver, her black hair crowned with a silver and sapphire circlet and snowflake hairpins. The wide sleeves she wore were not attached to any garment, held in place by jeweled silver bands at her arm. Her legs were wrapped in thigh high lace stockings with silver garters and her feet were shod in simple ankle boots. The ensemble was all rather erotic.
“I’m certain you know who I am, at least the basics of what your books tell you about me, but I am afraid you are still unknown to me.”
Although she spoke Xanavien, the dialect and accents were unknown to Osric, making her difficult to understand. Morana snapped her fingers again, removing the jinx from his mouth. He spat out blood from a busted lip as he glared up at her. She crossed her arms over her chest and returned his furious glares with a mocking pout.
“Why have you shackled me?” he protested.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“To be certain you wouldn’t try and kill me when you awoke, it seems I was— “
“If you did not want me to kill you, you should not have struck me, now your demise is all but assured. I am Osric, like you I studied the dominance over the dead in the swamps of Asketill and heard the call of those scorned by Elysium.”
Morana leaned against a bookcase and chuckled to herself. “Did you now…”
“What do you find humorous about that?” Osric barked.
“Your comparison to one such as me is, cute,” She said offhandedly, “misguided and bordering on offensive, but cute nonetheless.”
Osric tested his bonds anew and shook the hair from his face. Morana watched with amusement as she ate her soup. Despite the smile upon her lips, her eyes held unconscionable depth, she was probing him. He ceased his struggles again and stared her down, uncomfortable under her gaze. He felt vulnerable, and it was not just the restraints. Morana casually met his gaze and a wave of terror washed over him. His stomach knotted and he felt his testicles shrink up inside of him.
“Tell me, what do you seek to gain by freeing him? Do you think he will be pleased with your service and reward you by granting your every heart’s desire?”
It took him a moment to regain his senses, still unsure as to the cause of the terror. “No. That is where you and I differ.”
“Oh?” She laughed and took a seat upon a crate. “How so?”
Osric watched her for several moments. His heart was still racing, but he was certain his bout of dread was some childish spell she had cast in an attempt to intimidate him. He summoned his will and took a deep breath. It was possible she was testing him in some way.
“You were deceived, tricked into becoming the beast’s bride. I received the visions as others have, but in my madness, I found clarity. I found a means to my ends. I see that fell demon not as a sentient, but as a mindless creature to be controlled. It knows only the basest desires, lust, greed, hatred, and vengeance. I will make his strength my own.”
Morana frowned. “So, this is the perversion you’ve convinced yourself is truth? This is how you maintain your sanity as you’re used to exert his will? You are more a fool than I thought. You cannot control or manipulate the beast! He is the master deceiver, neither you nor I—!”
She took several deep breaths to regain her composure all the while Osric watched her intently. The wind battered the shutters in the tense silence as she regarded him with the same scrutiny. His initial impressions of the woman’s strength were as expected; however, her demeanor was not. There was something slightly off about this woman, especially considering she was known as the greatest necromancer and practitioner of the black arts to have ever lived. He did not know what he should have expected really, but so far, this certainly was not it. He based so much of his curriculum at Asketill on her practices and teachings—the thought did occur that perhaps he had placed the idea of Morana on too high of a pedestal. Still, the disappointment stung him.
“Are you quite finished?” He asked. “I don’t seek to do any of those small-minded things you have assumed. Abigor is a weapon and shall be used as such. All I need do is unleash the beast on his enemies and the shackles the Eloi have placed upon humanity shall be broken.”
“How altruistic.”
Morana’s eyes held a certain humor to them that irritated Osric to no end.
“Yes, indeed. As I was saying, I seek to wage war with Elysium and regain our stolen legacy. I need power to do so. A power that no mortal can hope to attain.”
“Has it crossed your mind that our ‘legacy’ is not worth reclaiming?”
“No.”
Morana laughed. “Of course not, he only shows you the majesty and feats of a people that poisoned their planet and destroyed themselves in decades long warfare.”
“He showed me the stars, how we set our sights on other spheres.” Osric countered, flummoxed. “How can you say that is not worth reclaiming?”
Morana relented and removed his bonds as his struggles began anew. Osric rose from his seat and massaged his wrists but kept his distance.
“All of their progress came about from a need to kill each other more efficiently; any boons were strictly an afterthought. Look at the world you live in now, you have no sickness, wars are few and mostly without consequence. People do not regularly go hungry; you can drink from any source with impunity, what more do you want?”
Osric’s eyes narrowed. “The freedom to choose.”
She rolled her eyes and took a summoned a mug to her hands. “Naïve fool. Those are the words of the youth not tempered by experience. Kill the Priestess and disappear to anonymity, you will gain nothing in continuing.”
“I have come too far, sacrificed too much to—”
“That is no fault of my own,” she said coolly, causing Osric to take a step back. “You are the one who set about on this fool journey.”
Osric stood in silence. Her arguments were logical, and likely based in experience. How long had she spent in The Dusk? It was possible that her time in that desolate realm had made her weak, broken her. The shades of the bygone era he had summoned with his master had spoken of a world not without its fair share of problems. They also spoke of a world driven by the pursuit of knowledge, knowledge about themselves and the universe around them. The ailments that led to the collapse of that civilization could easily be attributed to avarice rather than malice or seeking out destruction for destructions sake. Greed existed in the modern day; the ban imposed by the Eloi did little to stop that. It only prevented the wars waged from destroying the planet again.
“I refuse to believe that.”
“One doesn’t believe fact Osric, fact just is.”
“Ignorance is intolerable. I refuse to live in a world where curiosity has given way to complacence, where the height of Academic understanding is the rehashing of centuries old theories ad infinitum, where the unexplained is happily dismissed as the will of the gods. Such a species leads an existence not worth living, we are slated for obsolescence.”
Morana scrutinized him in silence, causing Osric to shudder as his skin crawled. She briefly broke her gaze and took a drink once his speech was over. Osric found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Her expression gave nothing away of what she was thinking, and the feeling of dread crept up his spine once more. She finished her tea and floated the mug over to the table, not once taking her piercing blue eyes off him. He could not help but to marvel at how beautiful they were, like the bluest of waters turned to ice.
“Abigor cannot be controlled, but that is a non-issue at the moment as his soul and body are held in two disparately different places.”
“The beast’s soul died when you last tried to awaken him. Even if that were my intent, it would prove a fruitless effort. I would appreciate it if you ceased your baseless comparisons to yourself as it insults my far superior intellect.”
“Souls do not die fool; you should know this. The Eloi took it, locked it up in the clouds where they sing to it in daily mockery.”
“A cruel fate.”
“Yes, that is the nature of the creatures you seek to challenge, but now your weapon is gone. What now will you do?”
She vanished before his eyes and appeared in the chair behind him. He spun around and raised his hands in a feeble attempt at defense as panic gripped his heart once more. She crossed her legs and smirked knowingly as she chewed on her thumb. Osric lowered his hands and discretely retreated to the other side of the table.
“Have you no plan B?” she taunted.
He cradled his brow in his hand as he slowly paced. He had considered the possibility that he could not revive the demon. The use of the Phoenix egg was the easiest route afforded to him, but it was also the most unreliable. There was no guarantee that it would affect the demon in the same way it affected mortals. He was not entirely sure it would do anything actually, and it was something he had placed on the proverbial shelf until the time came. Unfortunately, that time may have arrived sooner than anticipated.
“The beast is a shell, a suit of armor if you will, to be donned and doffed at the wearers choosing.”
Osric saw her perk up and give him her full attention. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his robes, he was even less convinced about this option, and even less willing to go through with it.
“I seek to be that wearer Morana, with his power and army at my disposal, I shall punish those in heaven who so scorned us.”
“Shrewd.” Morana purred. “And likely quite fatal. Soul transference was little more than theory in my day; I doubt much has been advanced in the centuries since. Even I am dubious if it can even be done, but you get points for thinking of it.”
Morana vanished again and appeared behind him. She gave him a condescending pat on the head, which he angrily swatted away. He had hoped she would have more to offer him.
“I can and I will.” Osric crossed the room, finding her terrifying presence uncomfortable, as well as the chill that wafted from her. “For two millennia, we humans have been cursed to rot upon Silex in a state of infancy, our former greatness all but forgotten and never again allowed to manifest itself. Instead, an order of the ignorant was founded to preach of absolving our ‘taint’ when in fact I’m not so sure there even is such a taint upon our kind. Even if such a thing were to exist, it would have certainly been removed with the death of those who transgressed, not remain centuries later on those who know nothing of the transgression.
“With these children gone from the universe, justice will have a chance to assert herself in the realm and once again intellect will reign supreme. No more gilded whores issuing forth messages of ignorance and blatant lies. No longer will our dead be trapped between realms in a perpetual limbo, cycled and recycled into the realm of the living. Immortality is in our grasps. All we must do is re-take it from those who have stolen our birthright.”
Osric summoned the kettle and poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea. He drew a small red symbol and dropped an ember into the liquid, bringing it to a rapid boil.
“I think you have conflated personal trauma with idealism child.” Morana summoned her cup and floated it over to Osric. “It is a human fallibility, nothing to be overly ashamed of I suppose.”
“Is this some test of my resolve?” Osric snatched the cup from the air and poured her a cup of tea. “Or do you mock me for your own amusement?”
His cheeks were burning, and he felt the redness in them, he had thought long and hard about those words.
“It is to see if I should slay you now and free you of your idiocy. Take the fact that you still stand as a positive sign.” Morana took the tea from Osric’s outstretched hand, a look of infantile amusement in her eyes.
“My reasons are my own, but the results will be wide reaching, and I will travel any lengths necessary. Shall that suffice?”
Morana cradled the cup in her hands. “Does that involve killing your kin? Countrymen? Would you have committed any of these atrocities before you fell under his influence?”
Osric attempted to ignore her, but his trembling hand gave him away. He took a long drink of the steaming liquid before setting the cup down on the table. He withdrew his trembling hands into his long sleeves as he again paced the room, seeking to escape her gaze. The wounds he inflicted upon his siblings were indeed grave, yet surely, they survived. At least that was his rationalization when the subject crept upon him, despite his best efforts to rid himself of the images and memories. He clenched his jaw upon catching sight of Morana’s smug smile.
“He leads you to believe that you are in control, but he directs your every move. How do you live with the knowledge of what you did at Therion?”
“She had it coming to her. She is the primary— “
Morana laughed, cutting him off midsentence. “You have fallen, face it. There can be no return for you, so you cling to the false hope that some good can yet come from your sin. But can that pardon you? Can you live with the guilt?”
Morana grinned maliciously at his discomfort. Osric looked to his cup in dismay and abandoned it to search out something stronger. He eventually found a dusty bottle of bourbon, semi-hidden amongst his ingredients. He removed the cork and poured it, briefly looking up at Morana and pouring a second glass. Despite her not living up to his expectations, there was no need for him to be a poor host.
“I have fallen, yes. I have done things I can find no clemency for. But whereas most who follow this path have done s under false pretenses or deception, I sought it.”
“Then you seek death.” She said dismally and took the glass from the air.
There was a hint of disappointment in her words; it caused a sense of dread to wash over Osric. He tensed as he took a deep drink of the liquor. The warm burn down his throat did nothing to sooth his nerves, however.
“Tell me Osric,” Morana crossed the room, absently examining the various supplies arranged upon the tables, “what knowledge do you seek to gain from me?”
“I need to revive the beast’s body.”
“You would require the unobtainable for that task.” Morana said flippantly.
“I have already obtained it, what is the next step?”
Morana made a sour face at the strength of the liquor. “Then you must go to him.”
“Through the gate?”
She smirked and slowly wagged her finger. “No, there is a more, direct route…”
Osric slammed his fist upon the table, rattling the glass and knocking over a rack of test tubes. “Enough vague riddles! Tell me now or I shall return you to your state of infancy!”
She turned to face him, though her expression was neutral, he felt as if she could have killed him with a mere blink. He shrank back into his seat and took another drink of liquor.
Morana distractedly touched her back, and the supple flesh was replaced by bandages that wrapped around her torso and thighs. The wrappings seeped blood despite being layered.
“Do you know why I have no flesh upon my back?”
“Is it a relevant tale or do you seek only to further antagonize me?” Osric flinched, aware that his defensive snark might get him killed.
Morana chuckled and toyed with several bobbles on the table. “Did that blind bitch not write it down?”
Osric repositioned the items Morana moved on the tables as he made his way towards her. Despite his new bravado, he was still terrified. He was somewhat confident that she did not wish to kill him, though she could be a feline and he the unsuspecting mouse in her game. She had an oppressive presence, he felt as an insect before her. It was not a feeling he was used to, certainly not one he wished to continue experiencing.
“It was torn from my body daily for countless decades, as I relived the same terrifying event over, and over, and over again. But not once was I granted death. And I loved every bit of it as much as I hated him that tortured me; I was damned to find pleasure in the pain he inflicted. And that demon found pleasure in my confliction. I was made a masochistic idiot!”
The air shook with her outburst, sending waves of negative energy rippling across the room. Osric was brought to his knees as a flood of images flashed through his mind, images of pain and suffering, loss, and despair. Morana stared into the dying embers within the fireplace, oblivious to what she had done. She effortlessly lit a roaring fire in the hearth without need of incantation before she continued.
“My humiliations did not start with that beast or that blind bitch, those were merely icing on the shit cake that found me bound in flesh and blood. I’ve never died, though I always walked the line. Even should I only be revived a short time later, that brief repose… it was all I ever wanted. To shed this weak shell and return to my rightful place.” She turned and glanced at him over her shoulder. “You shall never know peace Osric, but the option of death is still available.”
Shakily, Osric climbed to his feet, still reeling from the psychic shock he had just experienced. “Take me to him.”
Morana stood in silence, staring into the fire. “It is quite drafty in this tower; why did you not choose to occupy the rest of the castle?”
“Take me to him.” Osric repeated; his patience with her long since expired.
“Should you find a means to enter that enchanted forest of those in Alfheim, you shall find your portal Osric.” Morana relented and took up her soup bowl. “But you will go alone.”
“You puzzle me Morana, you seemed so eager to combat the Eloi injustice when you first walked this realm, what has changed in your confinement? One would think your thirst for revenge would have intensified, instead you appear meek and fearful.”
A cold terror inexplicably washed over Osric as soon as he had finished speaking. Cold sweat poured off his brow as his heart drummed in his throat. He felt the distinct feeling of dying.
“I sought knowledge stolen from me, and freedom denied. My birthright.” Her presence filled the room, her features morphing from crone to maiden and back again. “I was both feared and worshiped, my domain was death, my season brought ice and the end of the sons reign. My sisters fled at my arrival and you mortals stole that from my by entreating with children and beasts of that dark realm!”
Osric stumbled back, knocking vials from the table, and falling over his chair in his haste to escape. Morana’s presence and body seemed to fill the room, looming over him with the mixed countenance of an old witch and a beautiful woman. Ice covered every surface, and the smell of decaying flesh filled the room. The herbs hung up to dry by the fire, and the vegetables upon the counter wilted and turned to rot.
“I granted mortals my boon, to extend my wintery domain across all of silex, and was betrayed!”
Osric blinked, surprised to find himself sitting in the chair, a bowl of still warm soup in his hands. The vegetables were as ripe as when he had brought them up from the cold storage, the herbs were still fresh above the hearth. He cautiously looked to Morana, her skin was smooth and her features youthful. She slowly turned her ice blue gaze upon him, and he felt a chill run down his spine.
“I fell in love with a serpent in human guise, wrapped in sensitivity, sincerity.” Morana shook her head and smiled wanly. “Sweet nothings and whispers of what I was and could be. He did for me what no man ever could for both body and spirit. When we sat under the stars looking upon those great cities of ancient times, he spoke of free will and equality for all. I would repeat the same poison he lured and wooed me with, but I am too ashamed to admit that I could be swayed by such fallacy.”
Osric opened his mouth to speak but could not find the words. “Hmm.”
He set down the bowl of soup and rubbed his eyes. What he had seen, experienced, it was as if it were from a distant dream. The tale of beguilement by the demon was familiar to him, but the other one she alluded to, if she had in fact been alluding to something, was unknown. Osric sighed and massaged his temples, suddenly beset by a pounding headache.
Morana averted her eyes and went back to staring into the fire. “I became his tool, as you yourself have. Though your veil of denial is particularly complex.”
“Then why do you aid me? However reluctantly… You could put up some sort of resistance, no matter the futility.”
I seek vengeance.
Osric blinked, her mouth had not moved, yet he clearly heard her voice. “What did you say?”
She stared at him for several moments, her piercing gaze scrutinizing every inch of his being. Eventually, she breathed, and Osric found himself gasping for breath. He had been holding his, or perhaps he had been petrified by her gaze, he could not tell. Ice crystals slowly fell from the rafters as the subtle scent of decaying plants filled the room.
“Because I am his servant. And when this is all through, so too will you…”