MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
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The Promise of Silence (The Chemistry & MoldaviteGreen)
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OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
A sprig was held between caramel forefinger and thumb, twirled softly. The native witch-hazel was beginning to fall, leaving the soft, damp earth cast in shades of a vibrant inferno; vermillion, amber, carmine and tangerine. They were bright against the landscape that lay dormant, afflux with deep brown, mouldering sepia, and dull, mossy greens. The end of fall was quickly approaching. The season of the caribou. A time for good hunting, but also a period of cold and harsh weather.
Sesi, kneeling with the damp of the earth seeping into her plain cotton trousers, wondered whether she'd be granted a cot within the communal hall to sleep. The alternative was to make camp at the edges, by a knoll and a felled tree, where she'd made her home the winter before. For men were cruel creatures, even in the face of a mutual adversary. Sesi was something other, something that did not fit their tight definition and mould, and they treated her with the same contempt as always.
The sprig was settled back down into the earth, gently poked into the damp soil in the hopes that it could take root.
For over four years, Sesi had survived on her own. Prior to that, she'd traversed the skeletons of the east-cost metropolis with her mother. Just the two of them, as it had always been. The pair against the world, and the abundance of monsters within it. It was eighteen months into the onslaught of the plague that she'd lost her mother. Lost, because Sesi had been faced with a choice no daughter should have to make. To watch her mother dissolve into something rabid and cruel, or to ease her mother's suffering before it was too late. Sesi still flinched at the distant sounds of a gunshot.
But there, kneeling upon the ground with the cold wicking up into her bones, there was only peace. The distant sounds of a murder of crows taking flight. The rustle of a chilled breeze through barren branches. The soft little thumps of a nearby rabbit alerting those within the burrows beneath of the nearby human threat.
Sesi lingered, tipping her head back to cast her dual-toned gaze to the low clouds above. Eyes of sea-glass blue and rich chocolate brown narrowed some. There'd be rain soon. She needed to get back.
Rising to her feet, the wind caught the ink of her long, sleek hair and tossed a tendril against her cheek. Her markings, set into the warm tone of her skin by her mother, had darkened in the years past. A diamond forged deep in the centre of her forehead between the dark of her brows. Rows of needled dots in geometric patterns along her chin and beneath her eyes. Her tunniit. Sesi's journey into womanhood etched deep into her skin.
She pulled the hood of her handmade coat up over her head to stave off the chill. Lined with rabbit fur, the soft of it tickled her ears. Sesi turned from the witch-hazel and began her trek back into the heart of the compound.
She didn't notice how the branch of witch-hazel bloomed again, thick, new roots digging deep.
"I don't understand." Sesi was standing barely a foot within the communal hall, her hood cast down upon her shoulders and her thick-socked feet still stuffed into snow shoes. She was standing before the compound's Charge; an astute woman with a bird-like nose and hair that had silvered early.
"What about that do you not understand? I said that you have been chosen to serve the appointed guardian, in anyway they deem necessary."
Sesi grit her teeth. "I don't understand how you came to such a decision, when I'm the one who kept this compound fed during the last winter."
She'd been dragged into the compound after she'd lain bleeding from an attack. Not by the creatures that stalked beyond the mountain range and beyond their barbed wire fence. But by the creatures that always believed everything to be rightfully theirs. Men. It had been one of the compound's scouts that had found her, and dragged her into this hellhole. Sesi bore a jagged wound across her stomach in the aftermath of it, a testament to the surgeon's field skills. They'd been using her as a hunter ever since.
"If you're going to palm me off to the guardian, then you can't expect me to be able to hunt," Sesi seethed. You can't expect me to be able to feed you.
She knew what was being asked of her. She knew that she'd be required to give everything in order to placate the being, in return for their protection. A sacrifice, she'd become. There'd be no time to check her traps, hunt the caribou and wander the edges of the district for fungi.
"It's already been decided." Final, came the Charge's words. The two men, strapped with semi-automatics, bristled behind the silver-haired woman. "They're to arrive sometime this evening. I expect you to be there to greet them."
The invisible noose about Sesi's throat had begun to tighten.
The district was a sprawling, thickly forested thing. Set deep between lush, snow-capped mountains. The compound's heart was a gathering of log-cabins, shipping containers repurposed, and earth-homes. It had been the space of a wellness retreat, and the luxury of the main building sat nestled by a rocky river, steeped into the foot of the smaller mountain.
The retreat's main building was set aside from the main compound, far enough to create a sense of safe distance. The Charge had made the choice to reserve the luxurious, multi-level building should they ever be granted a guardian. That way the creature was set apart from the rest.
Sesi knew of this building. She'd wandered past it on occasion as she'd fished for rainbow trout in the river, trousers rolled up to her thighs. It was a grand, obnoxious thing. All slate, black metal work, and wood that had surely been imported. A freshwater pool sat off to the side, and the lawn was now overrun. Sesi had always found it ironic how a clean, flowing river right at the foot of its property hadn't been enough.
She stood now in the shadow of that retreat, gazing up at the low-angled roofing. Snow would sit there. She wondered whether the space beyond the door would be musty and damp.
The key she'd been given took a firm shove to slip into the lock. The door groaned as Sesi pushed it aside, breaking the seal of something that felt like a tomb. So eerily quiet, everything echoed, and Sesi felt the need to take off her boots by the door. She dumped her small rucksack of belongings beside them.
No one was there yet, and that was a blessing. How the fuck was she meant to navigate this when no one knew anything about whom was coming to guard them? What was she meant to say?
And when she felt the sudden crawl of something cold down the back of her neck, Sesi went rigid. This was how the rabbit felt in a snare. This was the chill that consumed the deer beneath a wolf's stare. This was how it felt to be prey under a predator's gaze, and Sesi's body knew this instinctively.
She was standing before the hall's long mirror, and she took a breath to raise her eyes into the reflection. It was hard to be afraid of what she'd find when she'd faced monsters so cruel and so terrible. Still, her heart beat like a hummingbird's in her chest.
Two, hot-burning coals glimmered there, and when Sesi realised that they were eyes, she jolted. She span, tripping in the motion of it and slammed back into the mirror. Her two-tone eyes met that fiery amber gaze.
"Fuck!"
She was probably not meant to say that.
Sesi, kneeling with the damp of the earth seeping into her plain cotton trousers, wondered whether she'd be granted a cot within the communal hall to sleep. The alternative was to make camp at the edges, by a knoll and a felled tree, where she'd made her home the winter before. For men were cruel creatures, even in the face of a mutual adversary. Sesi was something other, something that did not fit their tight definition and mould, and they treated her with the same contempt as always.
The sprig was settled back down into the earth, gently poked into the damp soil in the hopes that it could take root.
For over four years, Sesi had survived on her own. Prior to that, she'd traversed the skeletons of the east-cost metropolis with her mother. Just the two of them, as it had always been. The pair against the world, and the abundance of monsters within it. It was eighteen months into the onslaught of the plague that she'd lost her mother. Lost, because Sesi had been faced with a choice no daughter should have to make. To watch her mother dissolve into something rabid and cruel, or to ease her mother's suffering before it was too late. Sesi still flinched at the distant sounds of a gunshot.
But there, kneeling upon the ground with the cold wicking up into her bones, there was only peace. The distant sounds of a murder of crows taking flight. The rustle of a chilled breeze through barren branches. The soft little thumps of a nearby rabbit alerting those within the burrows beneath of the nearby human threat.
Sesi lingered, tipping her head back to cast her dual-toned gaze to the low clouds above. Eyes of sea-glass blue and rich chocolate brown narrowed some. There'd be rain soon. She needed to get back.
Rising to her feet, the wind caught the ink of her long, sleek hair and tossed a tendril against her cheek. Her markings, set into the warm tone of her skin by her mother, had darkened in the years past. A diamond forged deep in the centre of her forehead between the dark of her brows. Rows of needled dots in geometric patterns along her chin and beneath her eyes. Her tunniit. Sesi's journey into womanhood etched deep into her skin.
She pulled the hood of her handmade coat up over her head to stave off the chill. Lined with rabbit fur, the soft of it tickled her ears. Sesi turned from the witch-hazel and began her trek back into the heart of the compound.
She didn't notice how the branch of witch-hazel bloomed again, thick, new roots digging deep.
𖤓
"I don't understand." Sesi was standing barely a foot within the communal hall, her hood cast down upon her shoulders and her thick-socked feet still stuffed into snow shoes. She was standing before the compound's Charge; an astute woman with a bird-like nose and hair that had silvered early.
"What about that do you not understand? I said that you have been chosen to serve the appointed guardian, in anyway they deem necessary."
Sesi grit her teeth. "I don't understand how you came to such a decision, when I'm the one who kept this compound fed during the last winter."
She'd been dragged into the compound after she'd lain bleeding from an attack. Not by the creatures that stalked beyond the mountain range and beyond their barbed wire fence. But by the creatures that always believed everything to be rightfully theirs. Men. It had been one of the compound's scouts that had found her, and dragged her into this hellhole. Sesi bore a jagged wound across her stomach in the aftermath of it, a testament to the surgeon's field skills. They'd been using her as a hunter ever since.
"If you're going to palm me off to the guardian, then you can't expect me to be able to hunt," Sesi seethed. You can't expect me to be able to feed you.
She knew what was being asked of her. She knew that she'd be required to give everything in order to placate the being, in return for their protection. A sacrifice, she'd become. There'd be no time to check her traps, hunt the caribou and wander the edges of the district for fungi.
"It's already been decided." Final, came the Charge's words. The two men, strapped with semi-automatics, bristled behind the silver-haired woman. "They're to arrive sometime this evening. I expect you to be there to greet them."
The invisible noose about Sesi's throat had begun to tighten.
𖤓
The district was a sprawling, thickly forested thing. Set deep between lush, snow-capped mountains. The compound's heart was a gathering of log-cabins, shipping containers repurposed, and earth-homes. It had been the space of a wellness retreat, and the luxury of the main building sat nestled by a rocky river, steeped into the foot of the smaller mountain.
The retreat's main building was set aside from the main compound, far enough to create a sense of safe distance. The Charge had made the choice to reserve the luxurious, multi-level building should they ever be granted a guardian. That way the creature was set apart from the rest.
Sesi knew of this building. She'd wandered past it on occasion as she'd fished for rainbow trout in the river, trousers rolled up to her thighs. It was a grand, obnoxious thing. All slate, black metal work, and wood that had surely been imported. A freshwater pool sat off to the side, and the lawn was now overrun. Sesi had always found it ironic how a clean, flowing river right at the foot of its property hadn't been enough.
She stood now in the shadow of that retreat, gazing up at the low-angled roofing. Snow would sit there. She wondered whether the space beyond the door would be musty and damp.
The key she'd been given took a firm shove to slip into the lock. The door groaned as Sesi pushed it aside, breaking the seal of something that felt like a tomb. So eerily quiet, everything echoed, and Sesi felt the need to take off her boots by the door. She dumped her small rucksack of belongings beside them.
No one was there yet, and that was a blessing. How the fuck was she meant to navigate this when no one knew anything about whom was coming to guard them? What was she meant to say?
And when she felt the sudden crawl of something cold down the back of her neck, Sesi went rigid. This was how the rabbit felt in a snare. This was the chill that consumed the deer beneath a wolf's stare. This was how it felt to be prey under a predator's gaze, and Sesi's body knew this instinctively.
She was standing before the hall's long mirror, and she took a breath to raise her eyes into the reflection. It was hard to be afraid of what she'd find when she'd faced monsters so cruel and so terrible. Still, her heart beat like a hummingbird's in her chest.
Two, hot-burning coals glimmered there, and when Sesi realised that they were eyes, she jolted. She span, tripping in the motion of it and slammed back into the mirror. Her two-tone eyes met that fiery amber gaze.
"Fuck!"
She was probably not meant to say that.
Chemistry
Supramolecular
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2025
- Location
- Hard at work in the lab
The final days of Autumn were such a wondrous time of year. The world was on fire with color, the last blooms of life screaming out before the creeping sickness of winter settled in, smothering the land in white. It was a beautiful reflection of the state of this world; of the wasteland that pulled out the true colors of mankind, forcing them to shed what they were and become what they must to weather the cold. Humanity was stubbornly resilient like that, clinging to whatever existence they could, even while the pale hand of death tightened around their throats.
Theirs was a tragic tale, but Aamon tried not to let the fate of this dying world bother him. There were other worlds, after all. But he had grown rather fond of this one. It was a thing of such beauty, once, before the Ravening; back when mortals were free to chase their dreams and conquer their ambitions. Oh how Aamon had thrived in that time, working his craft of feeding into the aspirations of those wicked or foolish enough to strike a bargain. Many a longing soul he’d help reach the top of society, only to reap them all when society, and the world at large came crashing down.
The Hellscape that remained was hardly the soul-laden playground he’d grown to love, but there was always a meal to be found if one looked hard enough. And if there was any silver lining to all this madness, it was that the souls who remained were the absolute cream of the crop. Oh yes, the end of the world had brought out the best and worst of humanity. Some were beautiful, most were grotesque, but all were strong of will. You had to be to survive this wasteland of beasts, where even your fellow man might prove eager to tear you apart and consume you down to the marrow.
Over the years, Aamon had learned that almost anyone would rather make a deal with the devil than fall prey to that ravenous horde, and so even now his trade flourished. But he also knew that just because humans were willing to bargain with monsters, that didn’t mean they were partial to having them out in the open, coexisting with a constant reminder of the deal they’d struck. So when he reached the sanctuary that would be serving as his new community, Aamon avoided the front gates, using his demonic talents to slip into the back of the compound with no one the wiser.
It meant trudging up the river bank instead, where the damp earth quickly mucked up his pristine leather shoes. That was a minor inconvenience, however; he had other pairs. A creature like Aamon wasn’t going to let a little thing like the end of the world ruin his finer sense of fashion. Even if everyone else was reduced to rags and scraps, he remained dapper in his ensemble of an embroidered suit vest and slacks, paired with a long coat that somehow remained spotless and impeccable, as though never having seen the harsh world beyond their walls.
His steps were light and jaunty as he followed the path, avoiding the mud where he could whilst moving in the shadows of the sizable estate that looming above him. It was a tad gaudy, if he was being honest; a blatant, slate palace of comfort while those on the other side of the hill were left to squalor in their shanties and mud huts. Aamon might have shed a tear for the rabble if he wasn’t so smug over the new acquisition; one that was intended for a very different sort of monster. It was all the more reason to remain incognito, at least until he established himself in his new domicile. Once the people realized just what sort of beast had taken over their castle, they wouldn’t dare dream of ushering him out for a replacement. Who better than an infernal power like Aamon to protect them from all the horrible beasties outside? And what monster could be more terrifying to refuse, should they deny him in favor of their intended Guardian instead?
Not that it’ll be a problem, Aamon assured himself, his full lips pulling into a dark smile at the thought of the charming creature he’d swindled. He wasn’t likely to come knocking on the door of his would-be home, not when Aamon had gotten a head start on his role as Guardian by luring half the wolves in the countryside down on the man intended for the job. It had been easy work, really. He’d had his victim practically begging to go somewhere good and private for a night of fun. The man never thought that fun would include his intended lover leaving him untouched, and with a horde of ravenous mongrels knocking down the door. Aamon would forever savor the furious expression his victim gave him, just before he’d winked away, leaving the man at the mercy of a feral army even he would have struggled to contend with.
Aamon was still relishing the victory when he reached the foothold of his hard-won prize. The overgrown landscaping and poorly maintained pool were eyesores, to say the least. It was as though these people had no class; no appreciation for the esteemed devil who would be protecting them from the worse things that went bump in the night. Couldn’t they have at least prepared him with a proper welcome?
Well, you can’t have it all, I suppose… Aamon told himself, maintaining his smile until he stepped up to the threshold and had the upbeat attitude smacked right out of him. The door was left hanging wide open, as though handled by some animal without manners. Or perhaps a desperate individual rushing to clear their house of any squatters. Could he have been mistaken? Had the intended owner not only survived their debacle, but beaten him here as well? It didn’t seem likely, but the possibility was enough to stiffen Aamon’s spine and set all his senses on high alert. He wasn’t taking chances, here.
The demon lifted his right hand and the shadows stirred, reacting to his touch as though a black marionette tied to invisible strings. Out of that inky darkness it formed, an unquestionably canine face with gleaming yellow eyes, igniting like candles twinkling to life. The rest of the canid's body followed, like black smoke pulling itself out of shadow and coming to life as an ethereal beast. The hellhound faithfully padded to its master’s side where it sat, awaiting a command.
“Search the grounds,” Aamon ordered, his voice barely more than a whisper. He waited, watching as the hound turned heel and stalked off, a ghostly black tongue lolling from its jaws as it sniffed around, hunting for any potential threats about the perimeter. Once it rounded the corner and failed to alert him, Aamon stepped up to the open doorway and slipped inside, quiet as a mouse. The biggest horror that awaited him inside was not the vampire he’d come to expect, but the heavy wave of must that assault his nostrils. The interior of this place had been as poorly maintained as the grounds, as heartbreaking a revelation as there ever was. To think of the time it would take just to dust this place!
But those thoughts were left on the back burner once Aamon noticed the peculiar rucksack and pair of boots left at the door. Well, at least the fellow had the good propriety to remove their muddy footwear before tracking up the floors; not that it would matter with the state of this place. In fact, it was more than this demon was willing to do for the moment, as he tracked his muddy soles deeper in, following the trail of the intruder. The mystery was short lived, lasting only until he reached the hall, where Aamon quickly paused upon spotting his unexpected guest. Whatever is she wearing? He wondered as he took in her handcrafted carb, a Frankenstein-worthy creature of stitched animal hides. She’d fit right in with the rabble below… And that’s what made him realize who this girl must be.
Suddenly, Aamon’s mirthful spirit was bubbling up again.
Like the most silent of predators, Aamon stalked the girl even as she wandered forward, her eyes down and avoiding the mirror just ahead of them. He knew she would feel him though. There was a kind of weight to a being like Aamon; an indescribable pressure that settled over everyone in the room when he entered. It was a guilty pleasure of his, watching the reactions of those struck by his influence. He could sense fear in this one, like a doe who’d just scented the hungry pack of wolves creeping up from the brush. But there was also a sort of resilience; a defiance in the way she lifted her head and met the eyes of the monster that was watching her.
But even the most devout of hearts were given pause by Aamon’s eyes. They were altogether unnatural and unsettling to most mortals, the bulk of whom squirmed under the molten appraisal of those glowing orbs. They were like two fiery portals, threatening to suck you in and drown you in their world of heat. It was of little wonder that so few humans trusted the infernal monsters like himself, when they were so unmistakably alien. Even if you did away with his discomfiting eyes, there was still his too-pointed ears, his too-sharp features, his coarse-textured, bronzed olive skin made to weather an even more brutal world than the one they inhabited…
No doubt this poor soul was coming to terms with all of that and more as she jolted, stumbling back into the mirror hard enough to leave it reverberating. Aamon wasn’t sure if it made him look even more disconcerting when he smiled, showing his exquisite, if too-sharp teeth at the swear that came spilling from her lips.
“My, what a filthy mouth for such a pretty face,” Aamon said, burning right through her with the intensity of his gaze. “I can see you weren’t raised with much in the way of manners. Ordinarily, one closes the door behind them, you see.”
As if to make his point, the door to the estate suddenly came to a booming close, echoing off the vast walls of their empty home. A short moment later his hellhound came waltzing into the hall, tongue still lolling from its inky black mouth as it came to sit at the foot of its master. Aamon reached down and patted the shadowy beast on the head in dismissal, causing it to dissipate into splintered wisps of darkness that fled from the spot, running away to the shadowed corners of the room.
Once his pet was gone Aamon approached the woman, crossing the distance in a short powerful stride that saw him invading her space before she even knew it. He took his by the chin, his handling gentle but firm as he tilted her head and looked her dead in the eyes. It was surely wondrous to her, the heat coming off his skin; the way it practically scorched her upon contact, as though the chill in the air was incapable of touching him. Indeed, the cold had been left at the door the moment he stepped inside.
Wondrous to Aamon was the unique flavor of her eyes and features. It wasn’t often he found such a tasty morsel, and those dual tones were simply to die for. He could easily get lost in those, something he became all too aware of as he continued to stare into the depths. But that didn’t deter him from holding her gaze for what most would say was an uncomfortably long time.
“Exquisite,” he said at last, a little breathless in his compliment. “I bet those simpletons down there see those eyes of yours and suspect you’ve got the wolf blood, don’t they? Oh yes, my dear… It may not be the plague, but there’s something inside of you alright, isn’t there? I can practically taste it.”
Aamon bit softly into his lower lip, the pink flesh of his tongue peaking out as he savored that delicious something lingering just beneath the surface. What it could be he wasn’t quite sure, but that this girl was more than the human she appeared to be, of that he was certain. A mystery for another time, however. For now there was much to do, and so Aamon released the girl, stepping back to restore her breathing room while he turned his attention to the state of the house around them.
“Now then,” Aamon began, working at the buttons of his coat, “Do you come with a name?” He turned his smoldering eyes back on her as he shrugged the coat off and carefully began to fold it. He was powerfully built, an impressive specimen that spoke of his potential as a guardian, even if a being like him had never actually been considered as one.
“You are the one they sent to serve me, right?”
Theirs was a tragic tale, but Aamon tried not to let the fate of this dying world bother him. There were other worlds, after all. But he had grown rather fond of this one. It was a thing of such beauty, once, before the Ravening; back when mortals were free to chase their dreams and conquer their ambitions. Oh how Aamon had thrived in that time, working his craft of feeding into the aspirations of those wicked or foolish enough to strike a bargain. Many a longing soul he’d help reach the top of society, only to reap them all when society, and the world at large came crashing down.
The Hellscape that remained was hardly the soul-laden playground he’d grown to love, but there was always a meal to be found if one looked hard enough. And if there was any silver lining to all this madness, it was that the souls who remained were the absolute cream of the crop. Oh yes, the end of the world had brought out the best and worst of humanity. Some were beautiful, most were grotesque, but all were strong of will. You had to be to survive this wasteland of beasts, where even your fellow man might prove eager to tear you apart and consume you down to the marrow.
Over the years, Aamon had learned that almost anyone would rather make a deal with the devil than fall prey to that ravenous horde, and so even now his trade flourished. But he also knew that just because humans were willing to bargain with monsters, that didn’t mean they were partial to having them out in the open, coexisting with a constant reminder of the deal they’d struck. So when he reached the sanctuary that would be serving as his new community, Aamon avoided the front gates, using his demonic talents to slip into the back of the compound with no one the wiser.
It meant trudging up the river bank instead, where the damp earth quickly mucked up his pristine leather shoes. That was a minor inconvenience, however; he had other pairs. A creature like Aamon wasn’t going to let a little thing like the end of the world ruin his finer sense of fashion. Even if everyone else was reduced to rags and scraps, he remained dapper in his ensemble of an embroidered suit vest and slacks, paired with a long coat that somehow remained spotless and impeccable, as though never having seen the harsh world beyond their walls.
His steps were light and jaunty as he followed the path, avoiding the mud where he could whilst moving in the shadows of the sizable estate that looming above him. It was a tad gaudy, if he was being honest; a blatant, slate palace of comfort while those on the other side of the hill were left to squalor in their shanties and mud huts. Aamon might have shed a tear for the rabble if he wasn’t so smug over the new acquisition; one that was intended for a very different sort of monster. It was all the more reason to remain incognito, at least until he established himself in his new domicile. Once the people realized just what sort of beast had taken over their castle, they wouldn’t dare dream of ushering him out for a replacement. Who better than an infernal power like Aamon to protect them from all the horrible beasties outside? And what monster could be more terrifying to refuse, should they deny him in favor of their intended Guardian instead?
Not that it’ll be a problem, Aamon assured himself, his full lips pulling into a dark smile at the thought of the charming creature he’d swindled. He wasn’t likely to come knocking on the door of his would-be home, not when Aamon had gotten a head start on his role as Guardian by luring half the wolves in the countryside down on the man intended for the job. It had been easy work, really. He’d had his victim practically begging to go somewhere good and private for a night of fun. The man never thought that fun would include his intended lover leaving him untouched, and with a horde of ravenous mongrels knocking down the door. Aamon would forever savor the furious expression his victim gave him, just before he’d winked away, leaving the man at the mercy of a feral army even he would have struggled to contend with.
Aamon was still relishing the victory when he reached the foothold of his hard-won prize. The overgrown landscaping and poorly maintained pool were eyesores, to say the least. It was as though these people had no class; no appreciation for the esteemed devil who would be protecting them from the worse things that went bump in the night. Couldn’t they have at least prepared him with a proper welcome?
Well, you can’t have it all, I suppose… Aamon told himself, maintaining his smile until he stepped up to the threshold and had the upbeat attitude smacked right out of him. The door was left hanging wide open, as though handled by some animal without manners. Or perhaps a desperate individual rushing to clear their house of any squatters. Could he have been mistaken? Had the intended owner not only survived their debacle, but beaten him here as well? It didn’t seem likely, but the possibility was enough to stiffen Aamon’s spine and set all his senses on high alert. He wasn’t taking chances, here.
The demon lifted his right hand and the shadows stirred, reacting to his touch as though a black marionette tied to invisible strings. Out of that inky darkness it formed, an unquestionably canine face with gleaming yellow eyes, igniting like candles twinkling to life. The rest of the canid's body followed, like black smoke pulling itself out of shadow and coming to life as an ethereal beast. The hellhound faithfully padded to its master’s side where it sat, awaiting a command.
“Search the grounds,” Aamon ordered, his voice barely more than a whisper. He waited, watching as the hound turned heel and stalked off, a ghostly black tongue lolling from its jaws as it sniffed around, hunting for any potential threats about the perimeter. Once it rounded the corner and failed to alert him, Aamon stepped up to the open doorway and slipped inside, quiet as a mouse. The biggest horror that awaited him inside was not the vampire he’d come to expect, but the heavy wave of must that assault his nostrils. The interior of this place had been as poorly maintained as the grounds, as heartbreaking a revelation as there ever was. To think of the time it would take just to dust this place!
But those thoughts were left on the back burner once Aamon noticed the peculiar rucksack and pair of boots left at the door. Well, at least the fellow had the good propriety to remove their muddy footwear before tracking up the floors; not that it would matter with the state of this place. In fact, it was more than this demon was willing to do for the moment, as he tracked his muddy soles deeper in, following the trail of the intruder. The mystery was short lived, lasting only until he reached the hall, where Aamon quickly paused upon spotting his unexpected guest. Whatever is she wearing? He wondered as he took in her handcrafted carb, a Frankenstein-worthy creature of stitched animal hides. She’d fit right in with the rabble below… And that’s what made him realize who this girl must be.
Suddenly, Aamon’s mirthful spirit was bubbling up again.
Like the most silent of predators, Aamon stalked the girl even as she wandered forward, her eyes down and avoiding the mirror just ahead of them. He knew she would feel him though. There was a kind of weight to a being like Aamon; an indescribable pressure that settled over everyone in the room when he entered. It was a guilty pleasure of his, watching the reactions of those struck by his influence. He could sense fear in this one, like a doe who’d just scented the hungry pack of wolves creeping up from the brush. But there was also a sort of resilience; a defiance in the way she lifted her head and met the eyes of the monster that was watching her.
But even the most devout of hearts were given pause by Aamon’s eyes. They were altogether unnatural and unsettling to most mortals, the bulk of whom squirmed under the molten appraisal of those glowing orbs. They were like two fiery portals, threatening to suck you in and drown you in their world of heat. It was of little wonder that so few humans trusted the infernal monsters like himself, when they were so unmistakably alien. Even if you did away with his discomfiting eyes, there was still his too-pointed ears, his too-sharp features, his coarse-textured, bronzed olive skin made to weather an even more brutal world than the one they inhabited…
No doubt this poor soul was coming to terms with all of that and more as she jolted, stumbling back into the mirror hard enough to leave it reverberating. Aamon wasn’t sure if it made him look even more disconcerting when he smiled, showing his exquisite, if too-sharp teeth at the swear that came spilling from her lips.
“My, what a filthy mouth for such a pretty face,” Aamon said, burning right through her with the intensity of his gaze. “I can see you weren’t raised with much in the way of manners. Ordinarily, one closes the door behind them, you see.”
As if to make his point, the door to the estate suddenly came to a booming close, echoing off the vast walls of their empty home. A short moment later his hellhound came waltzing into the hall, tongue still lolling from its inky black mouth as it came to sit at the foot of its master. Aamon reached down and patted the shadowy beast on the head in dismissal, causing it to dissipate into splintered wisps of darkness that fled from the spot, running away to the shadowed corners of the room.
Once his pet was gone Aamon approached the woman, crossing the distance in a short powerful stride that saw him invading her space before she even knew it. He took his by the chin, his handling gentle but firm as he tilted her head and looked her dead in the eyes. It was surely wondrous to her, the heat coming off his skin; the way it practically scorched her upon contact, as though the chill in the air was incapable of touching him. Indeed, the cold had been left at the door the moment he stepped inside.
Wondrous to Aamon was the unique flavor of her eyes and features. It wasn’t often he found such a tasty morsel, and those dual tones were simply to die for. He could easily get lost in those, something he became all too aware of as he continued to stare into the depths. But that didn’t deter him from holding her gaze for what most would say was an uncomfortably long time.
“Exquisite,” he said at last, a little breathless in his compliment. “I bet those simpletons down there see those eyes of yours and suspect you’ve got the wolf blood, don’t they? Oh yes, my dear… It may not be the plague, but there’s something inside of you alright, isn’t there? I can practically taste it.”
Aamon bit softly into his lower lip, the pink flesh of his tongue peaking out as he savored that delicious something lingering just beneath the surface. What it could be he wasn’t quite sure, but that this girl was more than the human she appeared to be, of that he was certain. A mystery for another time, however. For now there was much to do, and so Aamon released the girl, stepping back to restore her breathing room while he turned his attention to the state of the house around them.
“Now then,” Aamon began, working at the buttons of his coat, “Do you come with a name?” He turned his smoldering eyes back on her as he shrugged the coat off and carefully began to fold it. He was powerfully built, an impressive specimen that spoke of his potential as a guardian, even if a being like him had never actually been considered as one.
“You are the one they sent to serve me, right?”
OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
Fear was a strange thing. It had a way of manifesting in the most strangest of forms. The fawn. The flight. The freeze. The fight. Faced with a threat, any person's instinct would be to react.
Sesi had jolted as she'd caught those flaming eyes within the mirror. She'd lurched, twisted, and tripped over her own feet in a show of uncharacteristic clumsiness. Her socks slipped a little on the floorboards, and her back had slammed hard enough into the mirror that it rattled her teeth.
Yet, as Sesi stood there, her breathing evened, her gaze lifted, she straightened against the cold glass of the mirror. Nature had crafted all sorts of beasts, but there was beauty within each. Softness could be found within the harshest of predators. Resilience could be found within the meekest of prey. Not a single thing was ever truly terrifying, when observed with the open-mindedness taught to her by her mother.
This creature before her, this man, was no different.
Sesi stood still, but the two-tone of her eyes was not. He might have mocked the curse that slipped from her, but she paid it no mind. She spied the sharpness of his teeth, the points of his ears, the creep of something rough along the thick column of his neck from beneath his collar. Sesi lowered her eyes only to catch the beast of shadow at his heel dissipating into the darkness. Sesi had no name for what this man was, but she knew to be careful.
One ice blue and the other rich brown, Sesi's eyes lifted to meet the fiery embers of the man's gaze. Why did it seem like there was mirth there? A frown began to form between the dark of her brows.
He began to move, crossing that space between them, and as Sesi found her chin stolen and her face turned, her hand swept down to her hip. An obsidian blade lay there, crafted by her own hand. As Sesi scowled up at the man at the intrusion, she observed the climb of that texture over his cheekbones and wondered whether obsidian could, indeed, cut. Her steel hunting knife had been left inside her boot.
Sesi grit her teeth under his rude handling and jerked her head free as he released her. It was an odd thing, though, how the heat of his fingers had crept down through her flesh and settled into bone. It was stranger, still, how she wanted the burn of it back. Winter, it seemed, had seeped deeper into her than she'd realised. As he moved away, she lowered her hand hoping the movement hadn't drawn attention.
"They suspect and assume a lot of things," Sesi said evenly, "just as you do, it seems." Her gaze was sharp as she calculated the distance between them and how eerie the radiance of his warmth was. Not the undead, then.
"I know the weight a name carries. If you're Fae, you can't lie. If you're something else, then it's moot." Sesi brushed a hand down over her coat. "So give me yours if you want mine." She observed the grace of large hands as he shrugged out of his own coat and began to fold it neatly. "I'm the one that they sent, yes."
Sesi had jolted as she'd caught those flaming eyes within the mirror. She'd lurched, twisted, and tripped over her own feet in a show of uncharacteristic clumsiness. Her socks slipped a little on the floorboards, and her back had slammed hard enough into the mirror that it rattled her teeth.
Yet, as Sesi stood there, her breathing evened, her gaze lifted, she straightened against the cold glass of the mirror. Nature had crafted all sorts of beasts, but there was beauty within each. Softness could be found within the harshest of predators. Resilience could be found within the meekest of prey. Not a single thing was ever truly terrifying, when observed with the open-mindedness taught to her by her mother.
This creature before her, this man, was no different.
Sesi stood still, but the two-tone of her eyes was not. He might have mocked the curse that slipped from her, but she paid it no mind. She spied the sharpness of his teeth, the points of his ears, the creep of something rough along the thick column of his neck from beneath his collar. Sesi lowered her eyes only to catch the beast of shadow at his heel dissipating into the darkness. Sesi had no name for what this man was, but she knew to be careful.
One ice blue and the other rich brown, Sesi's eyes lifted to meet the fiery embers of the man's gaze. Why did it seem like there was mirth there? A frown began to form between the dark of her brows.
He began to move, crossing that space between them, and as Sesi found her chin stolen and her face turned, her hand swept down to her hip. An obsidian blade lay there, crafted by her own hand. As Sesi scowled up at the man at the intrusion, she observed the climb of that texture over his cheekbones and wondered whether obsidian could, indeed, cut. Her steel hunting knife had been left inside her boot.
Sesi grit her teeth under his rude handling and jerked her head free as he released her. It was an odd thing, though, how the heat of his fingers had crept down through her flesh and settled into bone. It was stranger, still, how she wanted the burn of it back. Winter, it seemed, had seeped deeper into her than she'd realised. As he moved away, she lowered her hand hoping the movement hadn't drawn attention.
"They suspect and assume a lot of things," Sesi said evenly, "just as you do, it seems." Her gaze was sharp as she calculated the distance between them and how eerie the radiance of his warmth was. Not the undead, then.
"I know the weight a name carries. If you're Fae, you can't lie. If you're something else, then it's moot." Sesi brushed a hand down over her coat. "So give me yours if you want mine." She observed the grace of large hands as he shrugged out of his own coat and began to fold it neatly. "I'm the one that they sent, yes."
Chemistry
Supramolecular
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2025
- Location
- Hard at work in the lab
The man was meticulous in the way he handled his apparel, with nimble fingers carefully smoothing out the creases and ensuring all the corners met perfectly. Bemused by her words, his attention stayed on his guest all the while, brows perking a bit at her talk of assumptions. The woman was quick to spout off her own in suggesting he might be Fae of all things.
Suspicions and assumptions indeed.
Aamon was amused by her show of hypocrisy, but even more delighted by her ignorance. It wasn't exactly surprising; his kin were few and far between, not to mention notoriously elusive. Better yet, now that it had all gone to pot, his brethren had all but abandoned this world. That was one of the most compelling reasons for Aamon to stay, if he was being honest.
His brow shot even higher when the girl laid out her terms for a proper introduction. Oh, but this would be fun!
"A deal-maker, are you?" Aamon queried, unable to keep the pique of interest from coloring his deep voice. "Now you're speaking my language."
Even as he spoke, the shadows whispered back to life, bubbling up and pooling near his feet. From that sinkhole of blackness rose a near skeletal-figure, human but featureless; a ghostly husk with all sense of self stripped away. It was a pathetic creature that instantly dropped to its knees, collapsing under the magnitude of its obeisance towards Aamon. Thin arms shot out, palms upwards as it presented itself to its master, eager to take his burdens.
"But if you hope to strike a deal with me, there are two things you really ought to know," Aamon started, handing the neatly bundled coat over to his shadow servant, "One is that I am, in fact, a celebrated liar, and that's not going to change just because you have a name." The pitiful creature accepted his clothing as though it was the most precious of relics, protectively gathering the coat to its bosom before melting away, sinking back into the floorboards from whence it came and taking his coat right along with it.
"Though, I should also say that I try to avoid making a habit of it. Lies are useful, of course, but the truth? The truth is powerful, my dear.”
Aamon's eyes were glowing, two warm hearths crackling with unknown thoughts as they swept over her, taking the whole of her profile in with all the intensity that was reserved for her eyes before. My but she was an audacious little thing. Aamon hadn't missed the way she'd straightened that spine, bracing herself against the mirror as she met him gaze for gaze with nary a flinch, albeit after composing herself. He'd seen tougher looking men dissolve into bigger piles of jelly beneath his appraisal. He also hadn't missed that practiced hand dropping to her hip, subtle but unmistakable in its intent. But he let that go for now. Whatever her defenses, Aamon was sure they were no cause for worry.
"The other thing to know is that if you're going to come bargaining, you should at least bring something I actually want. The truth of the matter is that I couldn't care less about your name or the weight it carries, I merely asked if you came with one. Now, clearly you do, as you've just put one on offer for me. But seeing as you'd rather play games than tell me outright, I think I'll just guess at it. Or better yet, come up with a name all my own. How does Blanche sound?"
The moment the name fell from his lips, they dropped into a dissatisfied frown. "No, I don't think so. It's a little harsh for you. Margaret, perhaps? Erm, maybe not. You haven't the cheekbones for it. What about Helga? That’s closer to the mark I think. Not a perfect fit, but no matter. We'll bat it around as we walk, yes? Come along, Nancy."
Aamon turned heel on To-Be-Named, fully expecting her to follow and keep up with his long stride as he marched back down the hall. She had plenty of encouragement, given in the form of another shadowy servant forming at her back, ready to goad her onward should she decide to channel her inner rebel and refuse to march behind her new master. Unlike the pathetic beggar from before, this one was more bodied; a dark soldier, tall and menacing as it loomed behind her. One of its shadowy hands came to rest upon her shoulder, stinging her with an intense cold that helped to coax that first step towards chasing after Aamon's fleeing warmth. It kept no more than two steps behind her after that, remaining silent as the grave.
"We're going to take a proper survey of this house and see what can be done to make it livable again," Aamon told her, eyeing her sideways with the faintest look of distaste. "And we'll have to do something about those rags you're wearing as well, my lovely.” He tutted at her, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Those furs may be well and good for stalking prey in the woods but it's unsuitable for our home. Just because most of the world lives like feral beasts doesn't mean we have to join them. So why don't we think about that while we see what can be salvaged from this musty old place... What sort of style do we see you in, Gertrude? A lovely Autumn formal, perhaps? Or maybe something that shows a little skin. I'm willing to bet you've quite the figure under that get-up of yours, Penelope…"
Aamon gave her his brightest, cockiest smile yet as they forged deeper into the estate, his steps light and jaunty again with his companion keeping pace, thanks to the unearthly bouncer trudging along behind her.
Suspicions and assumptions indeed.
Aamon was amused by her show of hypocrisy, but even more delighted by her ignorance. It wasn't exactly surprising; his kin were few and far between, not to mention notoriously elusive. Better yet, now that it had all gone to pot, his brethren had all but abandoned this world. That was one of the most compelling reasons for Aamon to stay, if he was being honest.
His brow shot even higher when the girl laid out her terms for a proper introduction. Oh, but this would be fun!
"A deal-maker, are you?" Aamon queried, unable to keep the pique of interest from coloring his deep voice. "Now you're speaking my language."
Even as he spoke, the shadows whispered back to life, bubbling up and pooling near his feet. From that sinkhole of blackness rose a near skeletal-figure, human but featureless; a ghostly husk with all sense of self stripped away. It was a pathetic creature that instantly dropped to its knees, collapsing under the magnitude of its obeisance towards Aamon. Thin arms shot out, palms upwards as it presented itself to its master, eager to take his burdens.
"But if you hope to strike a deal with me, there are two things you really ought to know," Aamon started, handing the neatly bundled coat over to his shadow servant, "One is that I am, in fact, a celebrated liar, and that's not going to change just because you have a name." The pitiful creature accepted his clothing as though it was the most precious of relics, protectively gathering the coat to its bosom before melting away, sinking back into the floorboards from whence it came and taking his coat right along with it.
"Though, I should also say that I try to avoid making a habit of it. Lies are useful, of course, but the truth? The truth is powerful, my dear.”
Aamon's eyes were glowing, two warm hearths crackling with unknown thoughts as they swept over her, taking the whole of her profile in with all the intensity that was reserved for her eyes before. My but she was an audacious little thing. Aamon hadn't missed the way she'd straightened that spine, bracing herself against the mirror as she met him gaze for gaze with nary a flinch, albeit after composing herself. He'd seen tougher looking men dissolve into bigger piles of jelly beneath his appraisal. He also hadn't missed that practiced hand dropping to her hip, subtle but unmistakable in its intent. But he let that go for now. Whatever her defenses, Aamon was sure they were no cause for worry.
"The other thing to know is that if you're going to come bargaining, you should at least bring something I actually want. The truth of the matter is that I couldn't care less about your name or the weight it carries, I merely asked if you came with one. Now, clearly you do, as you've just put one on offer for me. But seeing as you'd rather play games than tell me outright, I think I'll just guess at it. Or better yet, come up with a name all my own. How does Blanche sound?"
The moment the name fell from his lips, they dropped into a dissatisfied frown. "No, I don't think so. It's a little harsh for you. Margaret, perhaps? Erm, maybe not. You haven't the cheekbones for it. What about Helga? That’s closer to the mark I think. Not a perfect fit, but no matter. We'll bat it around as we walk, yes? Come along, Nancy."
Aamon turned heel on To-Be-Named, fully expecting her to follow and keep up with his long stride as he marched back down the hall. She had plenty of encouragement, given in the form of another shadowy servant forming at her back, ready to goad her onward should she decide to channel her inner rebel and refuse to march behind her new master. Unlike the pathetic beggar from before, this one was more bodied; a dark soldier, tall and menacing as it loomed behind her. One of its shadowy hands came to rest upon her shoulder, stinging her with an intense cold that helped to coax that first step towards chasing after Aamon's fleeing warmth. It kept no more than two steps behind her after that, remaining silent as the grave.
"We're going to take a proper survey of this house and see what can be done to make it livable again," Aamon told her, eyeing her sideways with the faintest look of distaste. "And we'll have to do something about those rags you're wearing as well, my lovely.” He tutted at her, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Those furs may be well and good for stalking prey in the woods but it's unsuitable for our home. Just because most of the world lives like feral beasts doesn't mean we have to join them. So why don't we think about that while we see what can be salvaged from this musty old place... What sort of style do we see you in, Gertrude? A lovely Autumn formal, perhaps? Or maybe something that shows a little skin. I'm willing to bet you've quite the figure under that get-up of yours, Penelope…"
Aamon gave her his brightest, cockiest smile yet as they forged deeper into the estate, his steps light and jaunty again with his companion keeping pace, thanks to the unearthly bouncer trudging along behind her.
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