The Bane of Light

Winter Solstice

"Tell me father,  which to ask forgiveness for:
For what I am or what I am not?
Tell me, mother, which should I regret:
What I became or what I did not?"
-thoughts of a stray iii

∞

Thousands of flashes went off, making me twist my face into a sneer, blocking my eyes from the blinding light. The photographers were reeling in delight tonight, taunting me with their cameras, knowing that they're allowed to photograph me. And how gleefully they photographed, abusing the privilege and nearly blinding me with their flash, screaming obscenities for a reaction, for a cover.

My body shivered in the black gown I was dressed in, providing barely a slip of cover against the cold. Despite the heating magic spread over the front lawn, like a glass dome locking all the warmth in, my skin was still painted in goose-bumps. My arms were bare, while the other guests had exotic furs draped on them.

One witch, the prime minister of the Welsh Covens, was draped in a Calka fur, who's last form had been that of a snow-lynx's. I shivered at the sight, remembering my last run in with a Calka, and gripped Paris' arm harder, remembering his tendencies to sprint after them.

I did not know if the prime minister was aware that her fur did not actually belong to a magical snow lynx's, but a Calka pretending to be one, or if she simply did not care, so long as the people around her believed it.

I tugged Paris towards me, making sure my grip on him was iron-wrought, before uttering the words, "The Prime Minister of the Welsh coven is wearing a Calka around her neck"

My words were deadly quiet, carried to the ears of Paris on the wisps of my shadows. My face remained impassive and betrayed no emotion as I uttered the words. Paris, on the other hand snapped his head ninety degrees in her direction, with all the subtlety of a wild hellhound. I smacked his arm, forcing him to look back at me.

"What?" He asked painfully loud. I cringed as his words triggered a shower of flashes. He also cringed, his nose scrunching up innocently. I stepped in front of him, pretending to fix the lapels on his tux, but really trying to block his expression from the paparazzi. It was of no use, seeing that he was a whole head taller than me.

"It's dead. Do not unsheathe your sword and go running towards it" I said to him through a tight smile, despite my agitation. I already saw his hand inching towards his golden ring, so I shoved his hand back down to his side. He stopped trying to move when I shot him a withering glare.

"Does she know it is a Calka?" He asked, looking down at me through squinting eyes. I preoccupied myself with his bow tie, refusing to stare at him, knowing I would not be able to look away.  His hair was gelled up and his face glowed golden against the bright lighting my mother had set up in the front of our home, washing him in undiluted warmth.

He looked divine in the creaseless, black tux he was wearing, and if I wasn't being watched from all angles, I would have spent the entire night admiring him. I found it remarkable how unearthly one human being could look. He looked...angelic.  I, on the other hand, resembled living death itself.

"I do not know" I admitted, "If she does though, I guess she believed that the present company would not recognize it for what it was. She most definitely did not expect a demonologist to be among the guests tonight"

I snorted, before backing away from Paris. I fixed his collar with my slender hands, before finally releasing him from my grip. Hundreds of flashes went off as I pulled away, making me cringe. I just hoped it was enough of a cover picture for them, so they would leave us alone till it was our turn to enter the house.