Évrard D'Aboville has been the lethal left hand of King Sabien Arceneaux for centuries. Using his deadly skills, he's indiscriminately killed and maimed at his master's behest. He had never once been disobedient. That is until he was asked to kill a...
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Izmir Lefeuvre- The Witch
After our impromptu visitor, we left Maelys' abode tout sweet. Of course, she insisted on taking a few things since she would not be able to return. The location no longer being secret meant she was in just as much danger as I was. Guilt weighed heavy on me. It was my fault all of this was happening. All of this fuss was just to keep me alive.
I was grateful to Maelys but especially to Évrard. But seeing his face after he brutalized that courier...I shuddered involuntarily. It made my skin crawl. He...enjoyed it. What horrified me most was that part of me did too. Being in such close proximity I felt everything he felt.
His emotions were turbulent, they librate from one end of the spectrum to the other. In moments, he'd gone from antipathy to gleefulness. I realized only later that his glee was the result of feeding. Like a crackhead taking a hit off a pipe, I shut my eyes and let it take hold, basking in what was his moment of euphoria.
When I opened them, I saw him covered in blood holding a severed head in his hand like a bowling ball. The whites of his eyes disappeared behind wide onyx lenses, sharklike, frightening, and predatory.
I've known all this time what Évrard was. I guess I should have paid more attention to who he was as well. This barbarous, feral behavior forced me to reexamine things I thought I knew. Had I fooled myself into believing he was anything but a monster? Why did I so willingly trust my life to his care?
He was holding me in his arms against the firmness of his chest when we arrived. It always unnerved me how warm his body felt, in spite of the rubbery texture of his cadaverous skin. I peeled myself away from him as soon as he stopped. I couldn't get the image of him from earlier out of my head nor the smell of death that clung to him out of my nostrils. Both sensations twisted my stomach into knots. Bringing on wave after wave of nausea. That poor sap. Did he really deserve the fate he met?
The fading light of afternoon cast a wide shadow on the ornate building surrounded by thick groves of trees. He called it a chateau, it seemed anything but the rustic country-style building I was expecting. This mansion embraced lavishly carved frames and was heavily gilded. It was a masterpiece.
