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SHE'S A WHORE," Tylor Vilestorm interrupted Dorian, who was trying to describe Lord Vilestorm's new wife with polite and vague words. "A little whore who drives my father insane with her youth and pulchritude; she dances with her demons and seduces him with dirty tricks. Old men are led only by their cocks and my father is the worst of them all."
Dorian was silent for a moment, biting his tongue, knowing how right his dear friend was with every bitter word. The only son of the Vilestorms - a family that had been held in high esteem during the war - had become an even more cynical man since his father's remarriage.
"She's beautiful," Elenítsa Onási said from beside Dorian, looking up from her book for a brief moment. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose braid, the pale, characteristic eyes of her family fixed almost judgmentally on Tylor, while her lovely features showed no sign of criticism.
"And a whore." Tylor added.
Delilah snorted indignantly and sat up in her chair. "In yer eyes, a' witches are whores. Th' devil's whores who ride his cock until they're sore and scream thair lust into the woods."
"Historically speaking, I'm right with that statement. Witches are the whores of demons," Tylor declared, leaning over the table as the eyes of all present were fixed on Delilah and his verbal war. "And warlocks are nothing more than our slaves. Ye shouldn't even possess magic, just an aberration of th' false god," Delilah whispered, the views she had never held.
"Yet you are..."
"Stop that," Elenítsa interrupted with a hiss and the two students did as she commanded. Her second cousin, with whom Alethea scarcely exchanged words despite their kinship, only looked back at her book once Delilah and Tylor had sat down.
Elenítsa wasn't the only one from the other course, Jane Vance and Esmeralda Covett were also at the table, ready to share their thoughts. Tylor was the one who kept running his eyes over Vance's dark skin but said nothing.
She had never understood why Dorian was friends with Tylor; they were as alike as day and night.
A hush fell over the schoolmates of the two courses who had gathered in one of the old study rooms to discuss the book Professor Riddle had set them as their homework.
The cool air, laced with the scent of antique stone, permeated the Victorian room, located in one of the newer sections of Frankenstein Castle, where so many contrasting architectural eras merged.
Dorian was the first to look up from the old pages of the book, and she recognised the concern in his gaze when his mind should have been circulating around the lecture. The notes in the margins of the pages were sparse and did not contain the relevant information.
The music box clicked open again and Alethea smiled as the music purred through the room.
"Is anyone going to tell me why we hae tae read th' Witch's Hammer?" Delilah asked the group with a slight huff, pursing her lips in disapproval as she loudly folded the book between her hands. "Professor Riddles wanted it that way," Jane Vance replied, earning a roll of the eyes from Delilah. "And the devil wants me to commit homicide."
