The Curse of Eternity

Death Five

Like a caged lupinna, the Immortal Lord paces, quarters decreasing with every step. When he feels the maids exit the shared apartments, he pulls on the long silver and black silk cord.

A soft tap, tap on his door, intones immediately.

"Enter."

"You rang my Lord?"

"I am not to be disturbed for the remainder of the night. No one is to enter these apartments unless instructed to do so. Understand?"

"Yes, my Lord. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave."

As soon as his servant leaves, he walks to the connecting door and leans against it. Desolation's heart is steady and alert; it would not be for very long. Earlier that evening, he had instructed Mistress Byrne to pour wine into the Sleeping Cup and present it to Desolation.

The head maid lifted an eyebrow in question. Deep curiosity shadowed her eyes. Knowing better, she did as he demanded.

Desolation's heart falls to the slow tattoo of slumber. He glides like inky smoke into the bathing room.

Being a creature of the night, his eyes can trace every intricate detail along the walls. Desolation reclined at the far end of the pool, hair swirling about her like an angry cloud; beside the cloud sat the Sleeping Cup.

He slowly walks around the edge, listening for the telltale rising of her heart. It remains steady, deep, and sure.

He kneels and studies her face, specifically the marques. They explained the mist of power, and never in his centuries of life has he seen the like. Yes, he has seen beings ink themselves with marques, but the body can only handle a certain amount. It depends on the bearer the amount they can possess.

This woman, whoever, whatever she is, is a walking grimoire.

He stares a moment longer, then hardens his heart.

Taking the back of Desolations neck, he plunges it beneath the water. Her heart struggles where her body does not; frantically fluttering like caged Mo'ki.

Like a fist squeezing from the inside, his heart contracts, and for a few flickers, his muscles are immobilized. Without his wings, he takes the full effect of Desolation's death. He staggers for a moment, almost toppling into the pool, but at the last moment, he shifts his weight enough to grasp the handrail instead.

After a few shaking, burning breaths, the Immortal Lord stands and waits. Sixty flickers pass. Then ice pricks along his skin, expanding out and enveloping the room like winter taking a deep breath. The power and ice shrink and shoot straight into Desolation.

Two heartbeats; her head springs out of the water, and she gasps for air, coughing and sputtering.

Three heartbeats more; she whips the hair back from her face and turns to face him.

"You have killed me twice in one day. Once on accident and then on purpose."

The Immortal Lord stilled; the woman stands before him is not Desolation. Her voice commanded power as her body commanded attention.

She mounts the steps and walks forward. Water cascades down her marqued skin and gives not a care she is unclothed.

The Immortal Lord's eyes escape his control. His mind screams he shouldn't be staring, but his eyes have other motives, but those motives weren't because she is nude.

From crown to toes, she is enveloped in marquings and intricate glyphs. Outside the marquings are bolder lines and after a few flickers his mind pieces together images. There is an owl on her left hip. A snake curls around her right breast and travels over her shoulder to hide among her hair.