Malefica

Trigger Warnings: Sex. Reluctance. Self Harm. Drug Usage. Scars. Plague. Abusive themes. Attempted Suicide. Religious themes and questioning faith. Adult language. Heavy use of the word "G*psy". Strong R for smut and adult themes. Art and screencaps used are not my works.

Even with eyes closed Kyria could see Paris aflame. Within her mind she could see the dance of flames not only now....but in the shifting mists of the future. She saw a steel tower dominating the city of Paris, reaching higher than Notre Dame. Then after the tower rose weapons in the sky would rain fire down upon the city anew. If she strained through the mists and shadows of time long enough; she could see Notre Dame herself burning, it's spire crumbling into the inferno. She could feel hope crushing...feel waves of death pressing in from all sides.

War...Plague...Hatred...Fate...none would spare the city she returned to again and again.

She opened her eyes to the present moment; to the hellfire painted horizon she existed within. The clattering of hooves across decayed cobblestone pulled her fully back into the present. She'd seen this future too; a more tangible moment. The moment the man who torched the city this day would cross her path. It was a moment that had been culminating for many years; she could see many delicate threads of fate intersecting to this moment; but their true nature and significance to her were veiled to her perceptions.

In her visions the harbinger manifested as a man wreathed in shadow; with a trail of blood strewn behind him. His name preceded him, wrenched a song of horror and disgust from those closer to the city. Kyria stood calmly outside her cottage; a humble abode that sheltered six orphaned children. It was located just outside the city, near enough so that she and the children didn't want for resources but far enough away to be rather secluded and self sustaining. She earned her living as a midwife and caretaker of orphans, if in dire need she could nurse others to health but these were but her means of support.

Her passions and life purpose burned far deeper.

She wore a simple rust colored dress, with a billowing black cloak. The hood of her cloak she pulled low enough to conceal her eyes, wavy blonde curls fell down over each shoulder and rippled to her waist in unkept curls. A wood carved cross hung at her throat...a silly trinket that warded away at least a portion of the accusations she received of witchcraft.

She didn't raise her face as the manifestation of her vision drew near; a threat she knew would attempt to upend life as she knew it. A robust horse stroad up, as black as the smoke choking the sunlight. Reigning the beast in with a fierce thin hand was the shadow man, trailing blood. In the physical realm he wore flowing robes of deep black, with striking purple accents, and strips of red across his shoulders; a high white collar encircling his neck marked him as a devout and pious man, but not necessarily the clergy; his tricorn hat was striped with the same black and purple pattern; and behind it was a flowing red cloth. It wasn't hard to see how his presence in the shadow of the future could manifest now. His pale spindly fingers were adorned in gold and gleaming jewels, as if his manner of dress wasn't luxurious enough he blatantly displayed more of his wealth. The man himself was slender, and older yet she sensed it was due to the nature of his station; and his pioty to his Lord that advanced age upon his body rather than mere years, he appeared strong enough to be at least in his mid 50's. His hair was steely grey; the features of his face sharply chiseled with high cheekbones, thin lips and a sharply aquiline nose. So this was the man whose passions had set the city aflame. She'd been expecting someone younger, and more careless, but when it came to passions no man was truly immune.

There was something vaguely familiar about him; but she couldn't place it. She'd known the name, all of Paris did, but never the man behind it.