Tendrils of fog drifted through the open window, as if directed by someone. What was frightening was the notion that the fog might have a mind of its own. Hearing about the whispers of the fog, the voices in the fog, was much different than laying and bed and listening to the voices, the harsh whispers that brought to mind dark things and evil deeds. It scared her to move as she stared at the tendrils of fog creeping through the room, almost as if they were going through her belongings. She lay still, not wanting to attract its attentions, but an involuntary shift of her foot caused the tendrils of fog to still and the voices to freeze. Swallowing the fear in her throat, she stared at it. It seemed to stare back at her; foreboding and dangerous. As it slowly crept towards her, the fear she had swallowed came back up and began to rear. She pushed back against the bed, scooting farther and farther, until she was pressed against the wall. Her breaths grew shorter and faster, eyes widening. As the fog caressed her foot, she screamed. The feeling of this fog was a mixture between acid and small teeth gnawing at her. When she looked down at where the fog touched her, bright crimson liquid streamed down her foot. The fog moved closer, caressing her calf, knee, thigh, and doing the same to her other leg. It was a cruel parody of a lovers touch as it caressed up her stomach, her hips, and lower back. Her screams went up two octaves, though no one was there to hear or help her. Her husband had been called away on business for the King. The fog continued its path up her back, sides, and abs. Then it continued its path up and over her chest, up her shoulders to the enticing, arching beauty of her neck. The fog crept over her neck and her screams reached glass shattering decibels. For three minutes there was agony and excruciating pain. And finally it engulfed her face, deeming to leave the hair on the skull and take her soul into itself along with her mind. Now she knew what the voices of the fog were; other souls that had been devoured and were seeking escape. All that was left of her physical form were the bones of her skeleton and her skull, with her long, beautiful auburn locks still attached.
“Free us,” the soul filled fog moaned, though she was silent. She alone did not want to be here.
Two days later, her husband returned home to find most of the windows in their small stone cottage shattered. He dropped his things, hearing the faint crunch of the gift he had brought home for her. As he entered the bedroom, he came to a halt, his bellow of pain and rage echoing for miles, scattering the birds from the trees. He walked haltingly to the bed, blood-free, only her bones and long beautiful auburn locks were there. Tears pooled in his eyes as he knelt next to the bed.
“Oh, Rielle,” he sighed, standing up slowly and sitting wearily on the bed. With a sudden rage, he sprang from the bed, uttering an inhuman snarl.
“They will die, and it will be an ever slow one. They will wish they were never born.”
The mage who had ensorcelled the fog, stood nearby, cloaked in shadows. His smile was thin and vicious as he watched the man.
“You will never win,” he hissed, making his voice sound as if it were coming from everywhere. The husband looked around. His gaze was glacial, as was his expression.
“Mage. I should have known.” His voice was as cold as he seemed to stare directly at where the mage was concealed. For the first time in his eternally long life, the mage felt fear; not the quiet sneak-up-on-you kind, but the overwhelming fear that made you want to run for your life; the kind that was brought upon by the look in someone’s eyes.
“When I find you, Mage, I will make you pay.” His voice seemed to grow deeper as his shoulders broadened.
“What are you?” The magus asked, stepping out from the shadows, his eyes wide with awe and curiosity. The husband hissed, revealing three inch long fangs that looked like the sabers off of a saber toothed tiger.
“Holy… ” the magus gasped, as he realized that this man was no ordinary man. With a sudden, soft chant, he began to create the chains that he would take the creature with. But when the chains suddenly burst apart, the magic went wild in the room. Suddenly, the magus found himself pinned to the wall by the mans… claws?
“Where is my wife, you bloody Touched-“ He was cut off as the magus slammed his head into the mans nose.
“She’s dead, you fool! I have her soul. You will never win.” The magus smirked, despite the pain in his forehead and shoulders.
“Damn you! Tell me where she is!” He roared, growling viciously at the mage.
“She’s incorporated into my fog.” He replies, with a thin, vicious smile.
“Release her.”
“Then she’ll be gone forever.”
As the husband growled again, he began chanting softly, a soft white mist rising from the ground.
“What are you—“The magus cut off with a strangled shriek as the white mist called forth his dark fog. From it, came a single soul; Rielle. The magus slammed a wall of magic around Rielle’s soul, trapping her. The husband popped the mage twice in the face with a large rock-like fist, dazing the magus to the point of letting the magic go. Her soul shot towards the white mist and vanished into it. James, the husband, grasped the magus’s head and tilted it to the side before sinking his fangs in.
“What—What are you doing?” The magus gurgled.
“How else do you think I acquire my magic?”
