Indulgences
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Thomas Blackwood descended to his wine cellar, the earthy scent of oak and the subtle note of sweet fermenting grapes filling his nostrils as he unlocked the thick metal door with a quick retina scan.
Beep.
He approached the mahogany bar, his eyes scanning the rows of wine bottles. His fingers traced the cool glass until they found their prize: his finest Shiraz, a vintage he'd been saving for a special occasion. He poured the drink into a crystal glass, the deep crimson liquid catching the warm glow of the overhead lights.
"Exquisite," he murmured, swirling the wine, inhaling the rich aroma of dark fruits and a hint of espresso. "A fitting tribute to our impending victory."
A violet mist materialised in the air before Thomas, its tendrils snaking around the crystal stem of the wine glass. "Humans and your pathetic reliance on fleeting pleasures."
"Fleeting, you say?” Thomas took a slow sip, savouring the full-bodied flavour. “This is art. It's liquid power, bottled and impeccably aged to perfection."
"Power?” the mist sneered. "How quaint for a mortal to feel powerful over a glass of... fermented grapes. Such petty indulgences, much like that gluttonous fool I know.”
"Don't you also enjoy your little indulgences, My Lord?"
The mist ignored his question. "The Gala," it whispered. "How are the preparations coming along?"
Thomas took another sip of wine. "I was under the impression that you were inside my head," he said in an arrogant tone. “You should know exactly what's going on."
The mist did not respond verbally. Instead, it unleashed a surge of dark energy. The wine glass in Thomas's hand exploded, shards of crystal embedding themselves in his flesh. The dark liquid stained his pristine white shirt, dripping down to the damp stone floor.
Beep.
Thomas stifled a cry of pain as the mist surged forward, its tendrils coiling around his arm, digging into his flesh.
"Remember your place, insect!" the mist hissed, "your role is to obey, not to question."
"F-Forgive my insolence, My Lord," Thomas stammered, pressing his silk handkerchief against the bleeding cuts. "The preparations have been... challenging. A minor influenza outbreak has left me short-staffed. But I've managed to secure new contractors. However, there's been an... unexpected development."
The mist thinned, relaxing its grip. "Elaborate."
Thomas took a deep breath, his voice steadier now. "The heirs of the Van Nassau and Whitlock families have requested invitations.”
"Ares Van Nassau," the mist purred with amusement. "Alchymia's puppet master... intriguing. Our little soiree is attracting quite the attention."
Thomas crossed to a marble sink, the automated faucet washing away the blood as he spoke. "Athena, Ares's youngest, will attend. A publicity coup, given the Van Nassaus' legendary reclusiveness. The Whitlocks are royalty from Silverkeep, Europe."
"Foreign support is permitted in a Senate race?" The mist asked. ”And why would the Silverkeep royal family involve themselves in this?"
"To a certain extent, they are allowed to provide financial backing," Thomas replied with a wince, drying his hands on a monogrammed linen towel. "But their motives are irrelevant. The Whitlocks' presence at the Gala will undoubtedly elevate my standing among the elite, and that is all that matters."
The mist laughed, its form expanding to fill the cellar. "How naive you are, Thomas."
Thomas’s eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Don't you find it a little convenient that both of these powerful families have suddenly expressed interest in your little soirée?" The mist chuckled. "To think you could have achieved such success without my guidance."
"Are you saying... they're on to me?" Thomas’s face drained of colour. "What do you suggest I do?"
The mist swirled and pulsed, tendrils reaching towards the high ceiling of the cellar. "On the contrary," it slithered, "We shall welcome them with open arms. Let them believe they are in… control."
"We are... laying a trap for them, then?" Thomas's voice trembled with both fear and perverse excitement.
The mist swirled towards a darkened corner, where three figures lay strapped to individual beds, their eyes hidden behind virtual reality masks, their bodies nourished by tubes snaking into their nostrils.
"Precisely, Tommy. Like these puppets. We shall exploit them all to satisfy our... indulgences, as you so aptly put it. Now," it rumbled, "tell me everything you know about this Athena and this Whitlock heir."
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Thomas's emerald eyes gleamed, eager to please. "I have the perfect asset. My informant within the academy itself," he replied, pulling out his encrypted phone and rapidly typing a message:
"Chimera, urgent commission. 30k crypto wired upon receipt of intel package on Athena Van Nassau and Theomund Whitlock."
The phone buzzed before he could even lower it. A curt reply from Chimera flashed on the screen: "Van Nassau? Make that 40."
A wolfish grin spread across Thomas's face. "Deal. Deliver by noon tomorrow. Usual channel," he typed back.
"Good. We shall give them a night they won't soon forget." The mist’s laughter slithered through the cellar.
‘And my appetite for indulgence knows no bounds,’ it concluded silently.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The heart rate monitor attached to the three figures pulsed steadily, oblivious to the dark promise that had just been made, a promise that would soon unleash the chaos over Alchymia.
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Far removed from the political machinations of Alchymia's capital, a different kind of power play was underway in a quiet town hours away from the city.
"Yes, of course, I want to see you…too,” Eydis’s hushed voice was barely audible against the boisterous laughter and off-key singing spilling from the dorm rooms. The timber floorboards groaned under her footsteps, a fitting accompaniment to the groan threatening to escape her own lips.
Her mother’s voice on the other end of the line crackled with an enthusiasm that grated on Eydis's nerves. She winced, pulling the phone away from her ear as the voice rose an octave.
‘Figuratively speaking, naturally,’ Eydis mused. ‘Unless ‘mother’ dearest moonlights as an opera singer, in which case, I retract my snark and offer a standing ovation.’
"Yes, I understand,” Eydis interrupted the lively monologue. "If you can arrange for it to be rescheduled for next Friday, that would be simply... divine. And... yes, I'll see you next week."
She ended the call with a soft "Goodbye, Mommy," pointedly ignoring the string of "Aww, darling" that followed.
‘Honestly,’ Eydis thought, feeling goosebumps creeping up her arms, ‘what kind of parents don't realise their child has been body-snatched by an evil Queen? Either they're incredibly dense or I’m just that good.’
Then again, her own mother hadn't been much different. The only thing she cared about was herself.
With a sigh, she leaned against the hallway window, her gaze fixed on the worn oak door of her dorm room. The cool glass against her back did little to soothe her nerves; it was like offering a single firefly to illuminate a starless night.
Did she really have to do this? She inhaled deeply, the delicate perfume of night-blooming jasmine wafting from the courtyard below momentarily masking the lingering aroma of curry that clung to her clothes.
But try as she might, she couldn't shake the intoxicating fragrance that seemed to follow her everywhere—the subtle scent of sandalwood—a constant, tantalising reminder of the warmth she had so foolishly surrendered to.
She had sworn off returning to this space, vowing to sleep under bridges, in abandoned graveyards, in the gym's locker room—even in Cerberus's bottomless stomach, which was saying something—before stepping foot in her dorm again. But Astra's involvement with the student council had thrown a wrench in her plans.
Information was power, and she needed to refill her reserves.
‘Your Majesty,’ Envy's voice buzzed mentally with disbelief, ‘are you... trembling? With... apprehension?’
‘Trembling? Please.’ Eydis mentally scoffed. ‘Trembling is for lesser beings. This is pure, unadulterated dread.
Are you absolutely certain there's no spell to give her a selective case of amnesia?’
"Perhaps a teeny-weensy concussion—" Envy began, but Eydis swiftly slammed the mental door, cutting off the suggestion with the force of a thousand dungeon gates clanging shut, banishing the serpent to the shadow realm and severing its access to her thoughts.
She rubbed her temples. There would be no concussions, no memory wipes, no harm inflicted upon Astra. The very idea of it filled her with a foreign sensation—unease.
Unease? The Queen of Shadows was not one to succumb to such a base emotion. Had she gone soft? Perhaps it was this teenage body's lingering humanity. That, and the fact that her dignity had taken a nose dive straight into the abyss after that… incident.
Yeah, that had to be it.
Eydis pushed open the door, bracing for a melodramatic showdown. This was it. Time for monologues, soliloquies, enough icy glares to freeze the heating system, and maybe even flying thongs (not that kind of thongs).
But then again, did Astra even own anything other than combat boots?
Inside, Astra sat perched on the edge of her bed, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, seemingly engaged in a silent battle of wills with the mountain of shopping bags on her side of the room.
A black nail-polished finger traced the outline of Astra’s lips in deep contemplation, as if pondering the age-old fashion dilemma: “To don, or not to don? That is the question.”
Eydis's lips twitched into a smirk at the absurdly endearing sight, momentarily forgetting why she had dreaded returning.
Cute.
She groaned inwardly. Where had that thought come from? Clearly, this bizarre realm (or perhaps her prolonged exposure to Natalia's questionable vocabulary) was having a strange effect on her.
The abrupt entrance shattered the spell. Astra whipped her head up, her eyes widening as they met Eydis's gaze. The once familiar space suddenly felt stifling, prompting Eydis to instinctively leave the door ajar.
Not that she had any intention of fleeing.
Eydis sought distractions in the mundane details of her surroundings: the hum of the electronic heater, the muffled laughter seeping through the walls, and an... incessant thumping sound? A series of breathless gasps followed, punctuated by fervent exclamations of "oh gods" and "yesyesyes."
Eydis's delicate nose wrinkled in distaste. “Do these simpletons truly believe the nonsensical chants echoing through these 'Fifty Shades of Beige' walls will summon divine intervention?” she pondered aloud, effectively breaking the silence.
Astra's eyes widened ever so slightly before she glanced towards the source of the sound, as if she had only just become aware of it.
‘Really? For someone with such keen senses, she didn't notice?’ Eydis's lips quirked.
"Really?" Astra asked the same question, looking at Eydis as if she had sprouted a third eye (or a fifth, she really needed to work on those contact lens application skills). “Div–You’re serious?” she added.
The Queen shrugged, flicking her glasses up her nose bridge. "Perhaps they believe the gods have a fondness for a steady rhythm accompanying their prayers."
“You’re serious,” Astra repeated, more a statement than a question, shaking her head in both bewilderment and amusement. "Though, I guess… you're not entirely wrong.”
Astra's fingers twitched, a spark of energy dancing on her fingertips. A loud crack echoed from the other side of the wall, followed by a series of groans and muffled curses.
"Rebellious, I see," Eydis teased. "I thought using your powers was strictly limited to the Sanctuary."
"Would you rather I let them... pray all night?" Astra countered, raising a challenging eyebrow.
"Fair enough," Eydis conceded, a reluctant smile playing on her lips as she nudged the door shut behind her. The click of the latch signalled the end of their neighbour's nocturnal devotions—or whatever it was they were doing.
An awkward silence descended once more. Eydis, having exhausted her repertoire of witty distractions, found herself once again face-to-face with the source of her...disquiet.
Neither dared to speak, for words could shatter the delicate wall that stood between them, revealing a truth neither was sure they were ready to face.
Yet.