Repent: Gwyllomay of the Darkness (1.5) (MANUSCRIPT)

(Arc 3) Chapter 15, Breathe And Give (re1)

      "Where... am I? Am I a- alive? Y- You mean I didn't... d- die?" Daniel arose from a blue couch -- white stars speckled throughout the surface of the linen -- one early morning.
       He looked around. Grace sat by his feet, holding a warm mug of coffee in her lap.
       The smell of those beans would be in my nose for weeks! 
       "I don't think you died. That'd surely be weird if that were the case." I snickered, my cerulean stare passing over to Grace. 
       The lovely young woman kept staring into her mug, the coffee's steam rising back at her. She preoccupied herself to the delightful broth, her lips sapping up the caffeinated juices. Over her body rested some sleeveless, blue shirt as her blonde hair sat tied around in circles... through the back of her scalp.
        Fancy getup, Grace.
       "Wh- Where's A- Allison?" Daniel put a hand to his chest. 
       "I'm surprised that's the first question you ask." 
       "Wh- What do you... mean?" 
       "Tsk. Daniel, I didn't wanna really push this on you so soon, but it's possibly in your best interest to look in a mirror of some sort." I ran a hand over the ivory ascot which popped out from beneath my undershirt. 
       "M- Mirror? O- Oh. Okay! Will do!" Daniel arose, shaking his head, his orange, creamy hair spinning. "Hmph! What, did I turn into Allison or something? Ha! Goofy. Oh, the-" 
        No sound. No voice. No cartoonish reaction. Hm.

        He stopped talking, and I hadn't even turned around just yet to see where he'd walked. I kept an impassive glance over Grace. She held that mug tight, and hadn't spoken all morning. She was quite the catatonic coffee-drinker. 

        How was there still even any liquid left in that cup? 
        "Gwyllomay. Is this some kind of... joke?" I heard Daniel's inevitable protests start up, his voice vibrating a kind of anxious crunch off of my eardrum. 
        I sighed, looked down, and spun on my heel towards my friend. "Daniel-" 
       "What... happened to me? I have fangs. F- Fangs! And my eyes are r- red." 
       "Well, I don't think reliving that 'scene', from last night, is the best thing to attempt right now. What 'happened to you' and all." My glance spat back to Grace, taking in her tepid position on the couch.
        And yet, the living-room was cozy, paintings hanging all around the sturdy walls. 
       "What are you talkin' abo-" Daniel walked back as his ears perked up, and stopped dead in his tracks.
       His eyes stopped at his sister, who herself was looking directly at him this time. 
       How chilling!
      Incredulous observations of mine aside, this scene weighed heavy on me. Grace looked into her brother, whose eyes now reflected back a different hue.  
      His teeth were not the teeth she had once come to know.
      The smile he always wielded, confidently, in front of the face of awkward trouble? Gone. Transformed into a, perhaps, toothier expression. Even his hands now dawned more veins and muscle fiber. 
      Yet Grace still stared, eyes growing evermore with horror. 
      "S- Sis. Why- Why are you looking at me like that?" Daniel tried to hold up a smirk, yet a sniffle escaped his face. "S- Sis, it's alright. I'm still me! Come on! I'm still me!" 
      Grace didn't open her mouth, her eyes almost looking through her brother, as his physique now proved foreign. 
      "Sis, come on! I'm fine. I'm... this now. But I'm still me!" 
      No response. 
      "Sis!" Daniel clenched his fist, fangs chattering. "F- Fine! Don't talk to your brother who just survived being attacked by some other fucking crazy vampyre! I'M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND PUT UP WITH THIS!" 

       Oh, shit.
       That escalated super quickly, without his sister even doing, or saying, anything. Hmph. Obviously, that's what ticked him off. Women had a way of doing that to men. Daniel... is a new kind of creature now, and Grace can't reconcile it. Not yet, anyway. I can taste it. The palpable flavor of her doubts. Of her fear and uncertainty. 
       In that same moment, an icy breath of mint tickled the wind near my posture as the breath of a strange, new figure began to emanate my way.
      "Lord, I see that didn't go well-" 
      "CRUMPY-BUMPKINS, ELIZARA! How long were you hiding by that fireplace?" I jumped, levitating towards the ceiling, as I saw a young ashen-haired woman materialize from thin-air. 
     "Sigh. You always do this whenever I greet you intentionally." Elizara Roselein, as her name went, shook her head. 
     "Because you always have to make yourself ethereal and come out of the walls! Plus, we were  having a sort of dramatic 'moment' here." 
      Elizara put a finger to her lips. "That aside, I'd like to get down to the matters at hand." 
      "I actually have a question for you, if you'd be willing to humor me." I tilted my head to the side. 
     "Hm? What is it, my lord?" Elizara's lips formed into a circle shape. 
     "When did you exactly lose control of the Gulnaya? It was not long ago that Eris Bathory claimed he had been running around with them on his 'lookout' for me." 
     "Right. Lord, at that time, the Gulnaya had been dutifully under my guard, and I had assigned Eris to watch over them, and their own commander, whenever I tended to meetings with the other noble Polidorians. Perhaps, that was a mistake." Elizara's face hung low just then, her eyes squinting with pangs of guilt. 
      My own eye twitched as I scratched at the top of my white blazer. "What are you talking about?" 
      "I... haven't been a very good 'Lord' myself. I've only been skilled at designating. I haven't projected any real personality onto my understudies. Not like you did. I've only put the lower ranks into the certain positions that I saw fit." 
       I looked up to a random corner of the pale ceiling.
       Indeed, I could see how that's lacking any true 'Cult of Personality'. She's putting pawns in place to do all the work for her. It sounds like, if she's truly recognizing any kind of guilt from this, that she hasn't been doing any real leading of her own. After all, a master must stand at the forefront, not in the... caboose. 
       "Hmph. There's nothing inherently wrong with putting people into their correct positions of power. I see your concern all the same, however. Yes, Elizara, as the former Lord myself, I find a lack of luster in your persona, and I apologize if that critique isn't going to be something that can bring the best out of you right now. Truth is, unfortunately, a leader does more than merely designate or delegate." 
       Elizara nodded, her eyes closing. "I understand. I... wasn't ready. Perhaps, I was foolish to assign him as leader of the Gulnaya." 
       I furrowed my brow. "You mean... Pimalygos? You assigned Pimalygos as leader? I thought he specifically said he wasn't the lea-" 
       "No! Not him. Quilke. Quilke Weldspar." 

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