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Pasion Pasiva

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Pasion Pasiva last won the day on October 1

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About Pasion Pasiva

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    The Black Queen

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    Orisia
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    http://www.valucre.com/index.php?/page/world.html/_/world/genesaris/orisia/orisia-lore-r343
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  1. She came with with a crown of wildflowers in her hair, a dazzling rainbow of colors that stand out against the backdrop created by the startling dark locks of hair that cascaded out of her head. For such a young child, Lucia had remarkably thick hair -- a gift bestowed upon her by her mother’s image, after whom she had been modeled. She came running with a sweet sort of savageness to her, even though her clothing was made of fine cotton stitched together with hand woven lace, trimmed in the finest silk. There was just something wild and curiously enchanting about the child, even though most had caught on to the fact that she was a dangerous, bloodthirsty fiend. “Father?” called the angelic-looking monster -- the tiny terror who haunted the halls of whatever palace or castle her father, Raphael, happened to occupy. “Father! Where are you…” there was laughter in her voice, but also an edge of panic, as if she were on the brink of mad, uncontrollable weeping. It had been so long since she had last been called to his side. Yes, she spent lots and lots of time with him. Nearly every evening was spent in his company, but she had begun to suspect that it was nothing more than a tedious chore to him, a ceremony to keep up appearances -- especially now that her mother was gone again. Gone away with the devil once more, or so Lucia thought away. So it was meaningful and important -- oh so very important -- to have him call for her. It made her small heart swell and beat fast and hard, and it made her small limbs feel like they could not move fast enough, even though she could outrun nearly most elders in the court. Though she was just a copy, a humble vessel made of earth and water, she was remarkably made and with many of the same gifts as her mother, speed being chief among them, with curiosity, beauty, and intellect coming close behind. “Father, I’ve come -- I am here. Where are you?” She would have bound into his office, save she was stopped by the guards posted before the large double doors. Never in her life had she been denied access to his private chambers, and it was near impossible to hide hurt that spread across her face. It was such a look of despair, such heartrending sadness that those loyal knights nearly toppled in the face of such sweet innocence. But they urged her simply to wait for her father, promising his quick arrival. “My father will have you all severely punished for this,” she replied, sniffling pathetically behind the back of a small wrist.
  2. “Marvel at my uncanny ability to hide my magic from even the likes of ancient vampyres. Now that you’re human, of course, you’re even more helpless than before.” Pinned to his side, Gabriela held her breath in an attempt to control her temper. Vampyre or human, she felt the same quick fuse light in her belly the moment he tightened his grip around her shoulders and pulled her into him harder and firmer. Her eyes, no longer the unearthly shades of molten gold they once were, settled on his elegant hand as it tossed itself into the air to create intricate, imagined patterns of weaving. “You weave your web far and wide -- what a disgusting type of insect you are,” she replied while tilting her head and seeming to try and look over the annoying hand gestures he insisted on performing. If others looked upon them, if they cared to examine their facial features, no one would guess that this couple was intimate in any way, shape, or form. Her expression was almost, nearly as cold and serious as when she had been a vampyre, a feat that Ryzerus would surely be proud to know he had attained. “What made you decide to abandon your heritage, Gabriela.” “Do you really have to ask? Your brother is bonded intimately with the source of my despair.” “What are your plans now? While your kingdom slowly shrivels and dies, what will you do? Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I don’t give a fuck about your kingdom. No, no. It’s you I’m most interested in. I’ve never seen someone run so desperately from everything when it goes wrong. Imagine, being one of the great powers in the world… then leaving it behind.” The ice-cold mask cracked and Gabriela smiled. It was a mocking thing, a curl of her full lips -- just a slight thing that bordered a snarl in a shift of the light. Her eyes were still intently set upon the arena below, and the unfolding events that made her realize there would be no fight tonight. “Surely you’re not speaking about Irene Gabriela DuGrace -- a great power? You’re a fool if you ever believed that to be true. I was a great trophy, a sought after toy, a source of endless entertainment for a slew of masochists -- yourself included, High Lord. Let’s not muddy the waters with obvious lies, not between us, not between such good friends as you and I. I’ve never had power, nor have I ever sought it. Gabriela is dead and gone, and soon so will her memory be as well.” She felt his glance -- the weight of it as he regarded her. “But you’re still Gabriela, my dear. You ask what remains of her? Everything that matters, love.” Like water being poured over her face and sheets of makeup running off her smooth features, leaving behind a fresh and honest perspective -- Gabriela’s brows pinched, her eyes misted, and her lips fell half open. If what Ryzerus said was true, and there was something of her old self left in this new shell, and whatever it was that happened to be left was essentially what mattered most… “Hate,” she said soft -- a prayer, a broken hallelujah. “Giving up my heritage meant giving up any hope that this world could be redeemed. All that’s left of Gabriela now is the hurt, anger, and hate.” She looked at him, those brows still pinched hard and her expression heartbreakingly honest. “Everything I loved was taken. Everything I could have loved -- I threw away. I don’t even feel sadness. I can’t weep for the loss. All I feel is hate. I despise the world. I despise the noise, the violence, and cruelty. I ache for it to end. I ache for it to cease once and for all.”
  3. [So sorry for the long wait! I am making the assumption that some time has passed -- not too long since the fight that Gabriela was watching did end in a forfeit.] Unfortunately she had missed the glorious vocal talents of the strange creature named Cammy. She had been in too much of a rush to escape the overwhelming sense of crowding and the mounting anxiety that was building up just below the surface of the already fractured facade she was barely holding together. Distance -- she had craved it, yearned for it, and in the end, sought it -- regardless of the dirty glare that Ilyana cast in her direction or the small detail of servants sent after her to spy upon her actions. She was tittering a dangerous line, and like a choking-collar around her throat, she could feel how she was starting to strangle herself. Friends or foes? Guardians or jailers… Gabriela had run away from both Xartia and Ilyana the first chance she got, but her final destination had brought her no closer to the peace she so desperately desired. The fight she ended up sitting in on had been pitifully short and had ended in a forfeit. Never in her life had she craved the pointless and barbaric pleasure of violence, but the hot blood in her veins, paired with the open wounds cut across her heart, seemed to call for the blissful release that came from seeing two men hack at each other without the slightest consideration to the heartache they might cause the women who birthed them into the world. Motherhood… was a sentiment that tasted as bitter as it felt settling in her stomach now that she allowed herself to think about it. The whole action of procreation, of carrying a thing so precious and birthing it out through the most despicable sort of violence to a woman’s body -- literally tearing it asunder -- and for what? Life was meaningless. All the hope and love, and the wasted time cherishing the a tiny new spark of life was just a monumental cosmic joke, a dark, cruel, and awful joke. Gabriele was still reeling from her short conversation with Ryzerus and not entirely because of the utterly unpleasant nature of his sheer existence. The things she had said to him, the things she had confessed… He’d been the dark priest whom she whispered her sins to, and now that her awful truths were released from the dungeon cell that was her heart and the inside of her mouth -- given life through words and spoken in a trembling whisper among booing and screaming crowds -- now that it was out in the open, it all felt less sinful and more meaningful. She had been despairing since the moment Philippe died, the moment Roen abandoned her, the moment Raphael claimed her -- the moment he planted his seed inside of her. Despair had filled her heart, her mind, and her soul. And despair had led her to this place, where she had taken the life of her second child and put it on hold for another to carry, for another to love. Supposedly despair was a sin, but she had never felt more free in her life. She hated everything and everyone, and she was certain now that there was nothing good in the world and most certainly nothing worth living for. Innocence, the one true virtue, was simply too good a thing to be brought into this miserable world. And she could stop it. She could put an end to it all. She could stop babes from being born and mothers from suffering the cruel cosmic tragedy of loving and birthing something just for the sake of sacrificing it to death. There stood Gabriela -- Isabella -- returned from the arena. She had not been gone long, and she was an image of human beauty, softness, and charm with her lovely, powder blue coat and her warmed cheeks, rosy pink in color, and lips that attained a shade of rose that she had never managed in her previous life. She stood at a distance, examining the scene set before her -- Ilyana and Xartia -- in the presence of a curious creature, all of them looking chummy as could be. “Hm.” Topaz colored eyes shifted from the three as they disappeared into some great celebration hall, or so she assumed. She was looking around, gathering her bearings before she sought to follow them in. Up, toward the glorious outline of the keep, Gabriela regarded the building with narrowing disdain. “Is this where you were conceived, my darling?” she spoke in a whisper to the memory of her infant son, “It will be the first place that I burn to the ground. The first pile of ashes I devour in your name.”
  4. Players only love you when they're playing
  5. My last made me feel like I would never try again But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt Come closer, I'll give you all my love If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything
  6. The head on strike missed, but just barely -- Gabriela imagined the sound of the axe splitting the air as it cut down and through the air just besides Kenshi’s head. She imagined the sound and drew it forth from the archive of her mind, the place where such memories were stored, swearing that such a sound must exist given the type of life she has lived. But everything was blurry, every thought and, most certainly, every memory. And so she didn’t know if the sound she imagined was real or made up, but whatever the case, it drew her into the fight in a way that the action alone could not. Suddenly, she was imagining what the sound of their breathing was like -- what did the air sound like when it came whistling out past Arthur’s slightly parted lips just as he pivoted to follow after the retreating Kenshi? As for the Kenshi, she imagined how smooth and how slick his blade hummed through the air while his feet caught the grains of sand under the weight of his shifting heels and the balls of his toes. Her eyes were about to close, just as a symphony threatened to come to life -- built entirely upon the imagined sounds of battle -- when she felt a shadow move across her followed by the heavy weight of an unwelcome arm. “Why the long face, my dear?” Gone were the fierce, and hauntingly beautiful golden eyes -- those legendary golden eyes of the Black Queen of Orisia. They had been replaced by honey-warmed eyes. They were the sort of eyes the color of freshly polished topaz when it’s held up to the sun, radiant, beautiful, but earthy and heavily grounded. There was nothing ethereal about her now, but rather something dense and profoundly dark. “The glory of bloodshed hardly ever seems a happy matter,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders in a curt but sustained manor, one that would ensure his lazy arm would fall away from her small form. With a miniscule motion, she ensured that he knew that his physical advances were not wanted. But the odd thing was that she did not immediately get up and walk away. Odd indeed, considering the quality of the time they had spent together. Then too, like now, she had been under disguise. “I am simply trying to take in the fight.” There was silence then -- but Gabriela kept up appearances. Her eyes were set on the fight below, and they traced the movements of the opponents who seemed to dance and glide more than jab and slash. Fighting for sport was a strange business, the sort she had never understood but had been forced to patronize since she was a child and long before she was a queen in Valucre. Even so, she found herself thinking that she had never given it a proper chance. This seemed interesting enough, but maybe that had more to do with the fact that she found herself yearning for the violent outlet that came so easily to the two strangers below. “I find it problematic that you found me, Ryzerus.” Her words came suddenly, but quiet -- a whisper that she hoped no one but the High Lord would hear. She didn't bother looking away from the fight, instead, her lovely gaze darted about the arena with the two brawling figures. “For reasons that I am sure you can imagine. I thought my transformation would do away with everything that remained of my old self -- be a dear and tell me what remains of Gabriela?” @The Hummingbird
  7. Did you ever want it? Did you want it bad? Oh, my It tears me apart Did you ever fight it? All of the pain, so much power Running through my veins Bleeding, I'm bleeeeeeeeeeding My cold little heart Oh I, I can't stand myself ... Maybe this time I can be strong But since I know who I am I'm probably wrong Maybe this time I can go far But thinking about where I've been Ain't helping me start
  8. There had been an official looking man standing not far from where Gabriela just so happened to find herself agonizing over what to do. Upon realizing that the man might carry some semblance of authority, at least in so far as the tournament was concerned, Gabriela approached him with the intention of inquiring to the whereabouts of the Dawnwood encampment. However, the man was a quick-shot, and before she could say anything -- no sooner had she cleared her throat and uttered a very small and quiet, “pardon me, sir,” -- than he jumped into action. “The current matches can be viewed down below -- that way, young lady, that way,” he said with a flippant tone that denoted his annoyance with her and everyone else who had asked him this very question about a hundred times already. He lifted a hand and pointed a finger, and didn’t much care that the young woman looked in the direction that he pointed but then looked right back up at him with her big, golden eyes all wide and framed by furrowed brows. “Go on, down the stairs, to the center of the fortress. You better hurry, the next match already started and you’ll be lucky to see anything if you don’t get going.” “But I…” “Look, it’s impossible to get lost. Follow the crowds or the noise -- everyone is there already. Now go on, we must keep the foot traffic moving.” Gabriela turned to look to the right and then to the left. There were a few people around them, most of them standing and chit-chatting, or walking about slowly with soft goals in mind. She couldn’t begin to understand the urgency behind the strange man’s voice. And although she considered trying to ask her question one last time, she considered the newly presented proposition. What would it hurt to go see one of the matches? She was in desperate need of a distraction and a moment alone with her thoughts. And it was always a wonder -- with her, she always felt her loneliest when she was sitting right, smack down in the middle of a crowd. “Thanks, I guess…” she murmured to the man before turning and walking off in the direction he had pointed. He smiled brightly. He was rather proud of how helpful he was in his new job. ~*~ It wasn’t hard to find the arena. The man directing traffic hadn’t been wrong with his directions. It was pretty much a straight shot from the surface down what seemed like an endless flight of turning stairs. After about five or ten minutes of climbing down she began to hear the dull roar of cheering, which only grew louder and louder the closer she got. And by the time that she finally arrived and entered through one of the main gates into a designated spectator seating area, the fight looked like it was about to begin. There were a few boos and hisses made in her general direction as she picked her way forward toward a small area of seating that was empty. Lucky for her, it didn’t look like she would have to be sharing her personal space with anyone. And so, a pretty girl in a blue coat with astonishing long, dark hair, made quite a disruption by entering the spectator area after the fight had started. She was a sight, in her powder blue ensemble when everyone else seemed so content on wearing darker colors, browns, blacks, or burnt and tanned shades of gold, green, and red. She hadn’t come with the intention of watching the fight, but rather finding a place to be alone -- but it seemed she had joined just at the onset of the action. One of the men involved in the fight had drawn his weapon and was dashing forward in a remarkably reckless sort of way. Gabriela couldn’t help but frown, and worry, even while she tried to put her mind away from the fight and onto more pressing matters, like getting a hold of a member of the Dawnwood family and convincing them that she was in fact the Black Queen of Orisia.
  9. “...I do always enjoy flying in airships. Something about the unfamiliar hum of the magitech engines, their entire design is remarkable. I’m surprised I haven’t bought one to keep as my own yet. How about you?” Utterly unnatural and horrifying… is what she wanted to say, but the words did not make it past the fount of inspiration that was her mind. Instead, much like the grinning man, dressed in black, she opted for a half truth of her own. “I hardly noticed it, which I’ll take as a blessing. I was so out of sorts and exhausted that I slept for most of the entire thing. And when I wasn’t sleeping, I was eating. It seems I underestimated the severity of the illness that afflicted me back in Biazo, but I am feeling much better now.” She gave a small shrug of her shoulders, and quite suddenly, as if the motion itself had reminded her, reached up and freed her hair from the collar of her coat. She had been in such a hurry to catch up to her new friends that she had slipped her coat on without pulling her hair out. It was quite a glorious sight for she had rather long hair (falling well below her bottom, nearly down half way down the back of her thighs), even by the standards of traditional fashion -- and it was thick, luxuriously so. It was clear that she didn’t do much to it save wash it, brush it, and dress it with some sweet smelling oils, a subtle but fresh citrus scent. An insightful creature, with the capacity to do so, would place the smell as one dangerously similar to something often found in near proximity to the Black Queen of Orisia, in fact, a perfume she was well known for -- Orange Blossoms. But that was the sort of thing only a lover noticed, or an assassin. Both Xarita and Gabriela were then interrupted by the sight, and what a sight it was, of Ilyana finally joining them. The woman arrived dressed in black, and making a rather fitting match for Xartia, who looked just as sharp and done-up for the occasion. Gabriela’s warm, amber eyes couldn’t help but settle on Ilyana’s generously exposed chest, and the black gem that sat rising and falling upon a sea of heaving, pale bosoms. Where Gabriela had intended to be as muted and unremarkable as possible, Ilyana seemed to have taken and crowned herself the Black Peacock. “I will help you find your friend quickly. I intend to find mine along the way as well. Should we get into trouble doing so we have our handsome escort to save us.” A frown touched her pretty brow, but she doubted Ilyana would noticed as she was too busy delegating orders to her followers. Still, Gabriela couldn’t help shifting a nervous glance in Xartia’s direction. The friend she had come to meet here would know her as her true self -- there was no way around it, at least, not if she intended to be successful in her mission. The Dawnwood family of Orisia were loyal, but they were loyal to the Black Queen of Orisia and not some random nobody. “Lead the way friends,” Ilyana said in that sultry, syren voice of hers. And Xartia, who seemed only too happy to comply, offered each of them an arm, “allow me.” “You two are so well matched -- and I stick out like a sore thumb in all this blue. I think it would be best if you played the part of Lord and Lady. Meanwhile, my errand does not require anyone tending to me. I’ll go on ahead, find my friend, and catch up with you two. I think we’re more likely to call attention if I follow around you two elegant pair looking like such a frump!” She smiled at them, her cheeks warm from how she had spoken about herself. It was true enough though, and it hadn’t really struck her until now. She had never made a public appearance looking so plain -- or rather, not at least without it being carefully orchestrated. But this ensemble, the pale blue, and the bitter cold she could feel biting through her thick cold -- this was all part of her new life. And it took just about all of her strength to push down the sudden pang of panic that threatened to crawl up her throat in the form of a sob. She hadn’t digested this change. She hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t reflected. She hadn’t mourned the loss of her children. She hadn’t done anything more than sleep, eat, and exist. “Yes, let’s catch up in a bit…” she didn’t wait on them to agree, or rather, she didn’t wait on them to disagree -- especially Ilyana. Xartia was carefree, and had no idea what he had walked into. Ilyana knew everything, and so she was both the savior and the annihilator, depending on how she might be feeling. Gabriela needed to find support elsewhere, just enough to not be completely reliant on a complete stranger, and so she hurried off with nothing more than a little wave and a quick pivot and flip of her long, wavy dark hair.
  10. Pasion Pasiva

    Genesaris AMA.

    I've read nothing about any of this, but I would like to say... That I will be stopping by for tea and a masquerade, prepare thy self.
  11. Gabriela was afforded something strange -- something that was very much needed -- during the flight from Biazo to Predator’s Keep, a moment of solitude. Several in fact. And while she could not guess if it was Ilyana being an exceptional host who guarded her guests’ small but precious moments of privacy, or perhaps the fact that no one, including her new friend Xartia, cared enough to come looking for her, Gabriela found herself soaking up the rejuvenating qualities that came from being left alone. She did not think. She did not reflect. She did not mourn -- though the swirling abyss of sorrow that her life had turned into were angry waters, rushing furiously and crashing against a dam, a pretty facade, with questionable foundations. But, even so, she did not use this precious time alone to sit and think about her misery, or try to patch the cracks that were now beginning to show upon the mask she wore. She simply could not waste the gift she had been given with the bottomless pit of regret that was threatening to grow as wide as it was deep whenever she so much as turned her mind to wayward thoughts of the family she almost had -- the family she totally lost. . Instead, Gabriela slept, ate, and bathed. When she awoke, and found that they had not yet arrived, she repeated the process, and found that sleep came easily and naturally to her in her new human guise. Her dreams, although they were no longer as vivid as they had been when she was a vampyre, were now more lucid and far more enjoyable. And so, she awoke only long enough to fill her growling stomach, wash her sweat-sick limbs, and then again she sought the pleasure and comfort of her dreams, until at last, they arrived and she could no longer deny the reality of her life. She was no sleeping beauty, and unlike Aurora, she simply did not have a hundred years to sleep away -- at least not anymore. There was a timer on her life now, an hour glass that was constantly bleeding a thin stream of pulverized, quartz sand. Her life would end, sooner rather than later now thanks to the Mutator, and she now had a sense of urgency for something that had to be done -- something that only she could do. But that something -- that sense of purpose -- she didn’t know what it was yet, or what it meant, or would it would mean to those she called friends or even those beyond her immediate circle. However, there was an impending sense dread growing in her heart that no amount of ignoring could do away with. It was a physical manifestation that she saw whenever she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. In her new human guise, the magic of her golden eyes -- that warm unearthly glow of them -- was gone, and nothing could hide the raw and naked hurt she saw, or the anger and resentment brewing just below the surface. She saw these things clearly now that she sat before the small vanity that had been provided. She had to examine herself in the mirror. Like it or not she still looked like herself. Yes, her eyes had changed, and so had her skin. Though she was still pale, she did not appear like moonlight now. Instead, she just appeared a rather sickly shade of white, like someone who had not seen the sun in days due to being on constant bedrest. And there were dark circles under her eyes, even though she had spent the majority of her time sleeping. In the end, although she looked like the Black Queen of Orisia, Gabriela had to trust that people would trust their sense of reason more than their sense of sight. Everyone knew that the Orisian Queen was a vampyre, and she -- a doppelganger at most -- was a human. Besides, it had been years since she was in Predator’s Keep. And even when she had spent time here, it had been brief and only a handful of people had seen her being that her host at the time had been particularly protective. No one will recognize you. “No…” But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be cautious. No black. “No black…” Gabriela drifted away from from the vanity and wandered to the small collection of clothing that was provided for her. Again, Ilyana proved herself to be an invaluable asset. And while there were a number of black pieces, Gabriela was relieved to find exactly what she was looking for. A pair of jeans in a dark wash, a long sleeve button up blouse in white cotton, a vest in powder blue, and a heavy wool coat in a pale cornflower blue. It was definitely not the sort of outfit anyone would ever expect to find the Black Queen of Orisia dressed in, but as for Isabella? It fit the personality of the woman she was pretending to be just fine. At long last, she made her way out to Xartia, who appeared oddly animalistic in his regard. She caught him stretching, but it seemed to her and her wild imagination that he was like some great predator -- one of those majestic beasts lifting it’s great body from the cool shadows and into the sun, awakening with the promise of the hunt. She smiled. “Did you have a pleasant flight, Xartia?” Gabriela came and stood near him, but her eyes glanced about for a moment -- clearly she was looking for Ilyana.
  12. The pretty and always business-like Ilyana stood there, prepared for a fight -- prepared to argue and negotiate, but ultimately, prepared to sell her product and get them all off the ground and into the air. She looked to be full of intent, assertive but delicately so with her soft features and feminine curves. But even as she smiled and waited, even as she crossed her arms awaiting the inevitable sound of objection that would more than likely come from Gabriela herself, would she find herself greatly surprised to see the newly made human simply standing there, looking back at her, looking rather complaint, rather tired, and even a little drowsy. “Rest sounds wonderful,” she confessed at long last, realizing that someone was waiting for something. Without much choice, and because she was desperate for a horizontal surface upon which to lie down and sleep, Gabriela spearheaded the operation. Be what it may -- trap or truth -- her body was breaking down and her mind was quickly following suite. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand to speak clearly or even hold herself upright. Her mind was on a singular thought, and that was sleep -- so much so that she almost felt herself on the brink of tears when she feared this all might be dragged out. “In fact, I am afraid I really must excuse myself -- Xartia and Ilyana -- I’ll leave you two to hammer out the fledgling stages of your fledgling relationship. I am just so very tired.” She needed say more. A man appeared, perhaps at the behest of Ilyana, or perhaps after overhearing Gabriela’s near whine about being tired -- whatever the case, he offered to show her to her private accommodations and she nodded gratefully and followed behind him. Suddenly it didn’t matter that this was an airship and that soon they would be gliding through the sky at speeds that would pulverize them upon impact with the earth should anything go wrong. Her mind was far too fractured to even care at the very real possibilities of dying in an airship accident. “And should I have any food brought up for you, ma’am?” “Yes,” replied a sleepy Gabriela, her once luminous golden eyes were now bloodshot and swollen -- tired looking and very, very human. Gone was the fresh-face of a newly minted human, and in its place was the worn and weary mask worn by so many before her. “Everything, please -- I want everything.” “Everything?” the man repeated arching a brow at the dark-haired beauty that had stumbled into the bedroom he had brought her into. She was undressing, not even remotely concerned with his presence. A blush crept across his face and he turned away, making sure to afford her some privacy. “Very well, ma’am -- I’ll have a sampling of everything on the menu brought up to your room.” “Good. Great. That sounds excellent.” She tossed a boot, and then almost fell over while trying to kick the remaining one off. Somehow she managed to wiggle her breeches down past her hips and thighs without falling face first onto the cold, hard metal floor. Instead, she landed on the small, narrow bed that awaited her. Without even pulling out the covers, Gabriela crawled onto the center of the bed, hugging a pillow and fell asleep. By the time three fully loaded carts of food were brought to her room, she was snoring lightly and no amount of gentle prodding would wake her. More than a little annoyed, the staff member who had brought her to her room, taken her meal order, and delivered it, was now forced to leave the three carts and wait to see if any of the food that was ordered would actually be consumed. Somehow, he doubted it. [Exit Gabs]
  13. I am sorry I haven't posted yet. I promise I'll catch up soon. I am still a little emotional about my son hurting himself -- still feeling boggled down with guilt over it. Please be a little patient with me. v___v

    1. Dolor Aeternum

      Dolor Aeternum

      He'll heal up. Don't let guilt overtake you. I am sure you are a great mom.

  14. “So be it,” replied Tenebre, sealing the deal that he had never thought to make but had somehow felt propelled to follow through on once established. It was like divine inspiration -- he couldn’t quite come about how the idea had presented itself to him, save that an image of a seedling appeared in his mind, cracking open from a hard shell, sprouting forth tender, vivid, green shoots. And all things considered, it was appropriate, what with the thing that Raphael’s unborn child had been turned into. It even made Tenebre wonder if the idea had not somehow been born from that little creature itself, even in its current state of utter and complete suspension. “On the blood of your life and black of your soul, you swear it,” Tenebre went on to repeat, more quiet now -- more thoughtful too, as Gabriela’s black, borrowed eyes shifted and went back to looking upon the silent tomb where the bones of Philippe were laid to rest. “No--Not upon the blood of your life and the black of your soul, but upon the life and soul of your child, for it will fall upon her to suffer the sins of her father should you decide to betray this most sacred vow.” Gabriela’s figure stood then, gently but firmly, pushing Raphel’s kneeling and pleading figure to the side. His heartfelt embrace around her naked thighs forgotten as she took to her feet and took to pacing the cold marble floors of her sepulture. With her veil of dark hair flowing behind her, offering a thin layer of modesty, this strange manifestation that pretended to be his dear wife, walked in quiet contemplation, back and forth through the darkness and mist of the gathering night. What torture would Raphael suffer as he watched, hopeless and helpless to the whims of a God who tortured him not only with the facade of the women he most loved but the person who most tormented him? What was it like to have both creatures be one in the same… “Very well, Raphael -- beloved son, darling child of mine, my bright and beaming boy. There is no reason why you should not be given what your heart most yearns for. You have been a faithful servant, and the end is so near now that prolonging this torture is not only cruel but aimless, and a waste of your talents. I would rather you be healthy and happy, I would rather you be industrious. So have your child, and feel yourself compelled to reason. I give you anew, a reason to live, as I did when first I gave you Gabriela -- I now give you, Fatima Camila Bartolome.” Tenebre turned, no longer in the guise of his beloved cousin. He did not want to steal from Fatima in this most precious of moments, but wearing her mother’s face. So he wore his own face, and he was nothing but darkness, a creature that held the vague resemblance of a man. And this man-like creature held out a hand, which slowly turned upward and slowly peeled open a fistful of fingers to reveal an open, black palm. There, upon his palm, sat a small walnut-like thing. It somewhat bigger, but of the same woody texture and wrinkled appearance. “Gabriela crossed paths with the Mutator when she landed upon Terrenus. He was touched by your poisoned hand, much like she was -- and so they helped each other. But see here, the proof that she is not without a heart. She could not kill your child, though she blames you for the death of her own. Here is your daughter -- now remember what you promised in regards to my own.” Darkness held out his hand.
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