The TwiceBorn

A Less Precious Existence

"The terrible thing is that we love our sins. We love the thing that makes us evil.”--Cormier

The hags fought and jostled among themselves as they struggled to be the first to be seen by the new arrival.  Goblins, imps, and various other familiars ran about screaming deliriously and Alora felt an almost animal-like panic race over her. It was all she could do to keep herself from breaking and running.

What was wrong with her? 

She was royalty in her own right and whatever decree was to be handed down she knew she wouldn’t be shamed in front of the hags.  That would reflect badly on Abigor, if for no other reason.

A snorting rumble like low thunder came from the wood and for a moment all sound and motion ceased.  Alora wasn’t aware of holding her breath until she felt a pain in her chest and even then, she didn’t feel capable of drawing in enough air.

And because everyone was looking into the darkness, Alora, perversely, turned to look at Yzebel.  The hag’s eyes were still on her, rheumy and shrewd. It occurred to Alora just how high the stakes were for Yzebel to set aside her usual palavering at the arrival of honored guests to simply lock eyes with her. 

As natural to her as breathing, Alora cocked an eyebrow and felt the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips.  If it was the last thing she did, she would make sure Yzebel regretted her actions.  And not because Alora felt proper honor hadn’t been paid to her or even because Yzebel had her own ideas of how things should be…but for the simple reason she was angry at the unexpected turn of events and Yzebel would do to take the edge off that anger.  She would more than do.

As if reading her thoughts, Yzebel gave her a single nod and the gesture was so like Islinn’s Alora was thrown off balance. All her undertainties and fears came flooding back.  Quickly,she turned away.

“Welcome Leonard, my children.”  Yzebel announced the new arrival to her coven and relief washed over Alora as she realized it wasn’t Abigor..

The massive black goat walked into the clearing and stood, poised and still.  He was the color of midnight and the three horns that adorned his skull were a deep yellow. They reminded Alora of the color of old and faded parchment.

 She watched as he reared up on his massive back legs and pushed his ebony fingers through the horned covering of his front hooves so he could stroke and caress all the fawning hags.

Yzebel, holding her skirts almost daintily, picked her way through the throng  and ,once again, dropped to her knees in front of the large buck. 

“Welcome, Leonard.  It’s been too long since you have joined our circle.”

The glowing red of his eyes flashed as he studied the crone.

“You have done well since we last met, Yzebel.”

His voice echoed as though caught in some deep and dark chamber.

“”Your clan has flourished.”  He paused to look about.  His eyes flickered over Alora.

“Alain’s death was a call for great celebration,” He continued.  “You have prospered.” 

Yzebel bowed her head at his praise and stretched her body out on the ground before him.  Bony fingers wrapped themselves around one of his back hooves and she feverishly pressed her lips to his dank fur.

Alora suddenly realized she was standing alone. And, again,she felt the hateful presence of tears.  This had always been her place; her “home” and she had gotten used to the strangeness of being unconnected from those that shared her blood. But Yzebel and Leonard and all the others—all the empty devils of the wastelands--they shared darkness and madness with her. And it was enough.  It had to be.