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"𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥'𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕨?" Lilith questions, authority lacing her tone. The tall skeleton crown moulds into the flesh on her forehead, a plunging triangle fabricated from gold.
Her long, hazel mane rests tiredly over the gild-bone chest piece that she dons.
The overgrown-stone fireplace sends waves of heat around the sizeable room, the flames curl and sway, crackling as they burn the dry wood.
"Child of Morningstar is here?" She pauses for a moment. "In our realm?" Her eyes dart left to right, a subtle eye roll, before focusing her gaze on to the small body standing in front of her.
The bell boy sports a faded, jade uniform, with intricate buttons lining the whole upper chest, and white-skeleton hands that appear to seam the edges of his shoulders, trickling blood down his sleeves. His face is ghostly pale, with charcoal smudges surrounding his eye sockets and mouth region.
With his hands concealed behind his back, he quietly responds, "Yes, mistress, following the blood-red road."
"Oh, I'm not surprised. It was only a matter of time." she casually voices, rubbing her index finger and her thumb together as her orbs fixate towards the fireplace, to the gyrating flames. "I suppose she's come for you, hasn't she?"
Below Lilith, on the cold, intricate tiling is none other than Nicholas Scratch, Sabrina's lover.
An inaudible groan escapes his borders. His arms and legs wholly confined by ring-shaped metal devices. He is unable to move very far from his current positioning, the short, heavy chains leave him helpless.
Nick is dressed in only, what appears to be, a medieval jester's uniform. A large white collar surround's his throat, and tight, chocolate-coloured capris line his upper thighs. His whole muscular chest is left on display.
His brown, coiled locks are ruffled in every direction, as complete exhaustion explodes from his pores. He makes another small groaning noise, "What was that? Speak up. Cat got your tongue?" Lilith teases, a menacing chuckle leaves the base of her throat, "Oh, no, that's right, I've got it."
She glances down to her right, her long, maroon-coloured fingernails clink quietly against the glass jar sitting next to the throne. The pitcher containing Nick's tongue.
Her fingers stroke the jar a couple of times in amusement, "If she's following the blood-red road, she'll pass through The Forest Of Torment next." She moves her orbs down to the figure looming. "Tell me, minion. Is the woodsman well-oiled?"
A malicious smirk grows on the face of the bellboy, his eyes fill with delight as he nods once before exiting out of the room.
•••
𝔄𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔞's thoughts are restless, and her petite frame is tense. She has spent most of that morning lounging on the perpetual mattress, dissolving into it. On her back with her arms outstretched beside her, looking up at the high-ceilings, lost in rumination, lost in silk fabrics.
