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Pasion Pasiva

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Pasion Pasiva last won the day on August 25 2018

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    The Black Queen

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  1. Was there any greater pleasure than hearing about the history of a place? Gabriela stood there, her eyes settled intently upon Videntia as she told the story of the Eater-of-Stars and the man who crushed it’s heart and banished it’s army under the crust of the earth, Galan the White. It was a tragic story of course, a brave man who ended up sacrificing everything from a group of undeserving people. The villain was predictable in his hunger for power, and the hero in his willingness to die -- and the story, ended up simply being unsatisfying. As always there was much lacking in regards to motive, and while she wanted to voice these concerns, she could not help but fear the severity of Videntia’s judgment. Being a vampyre, Gabriela knew she was already toeing a fine line, and she found herself to be rather fond of the paladian -- she didn’t want to give the woman cause for distrust. And yet… She looked out into the waste lands and thought of what slumbered below the ground. “My people are beloved of a curious deity. We call him Tenebre -- or Father Darkness. He was drawn to us, my species, for our inability to exist in the light. The kinship seems obvious enough,” she shrugged and smiled a little. She decided not to share the fact that she in particular was chosen by Tenebre, and was above all others, his favored child. Their relationship was strained, and she wasn’t sure what it meant to be his child anymore. “He told me a story once, an interesting story…” Gabriela licked her lips and set her hands upon the edge of the wall. She rested her weight on the palms of her hands and leaned forward. The breeze picked up and upon it she caught the distant smell of wild flowers, of exotic, wet dirt, and of blood -- not human, not of any animal she knew. It was a savage perfume, lovely, but utterly wild. “In the beginning, when all that existed was Darkness and the Creatores -- think of every and any creation story you’ve ever heard-- and they spent all their time creating, they didn’t do a very good job of it. And unfortunately, their standards of beauty and worthiness were unachievable. They sought to create creatures not in their own image, but rather creatures who were absolute replicas of themselves, and when they found these poor creatures to be lacking in some way or another -- they did away with them. Now, according to Tenebre, this was a time before death, and so these creatures did not die. They were simply tossed into his abysmal realm, newborn creations that were discarded by their creators. Darkness took them in, he had no other option, they had no where else to go -- but he was never never intended to nurture anything.” She paused and thought of Tenebre now. He truly was not intended for nurturing, and she suddenly felt a pang of guilt for expending so much more than what he was clearly capable of offering. “I’ve seen these creatures. Monsters by any measure of the mortal imagination. They exist in a state of confusion within the abyss -- uncertain of their purpose, unaware of how long they have lived or how long they will live. They are pitiful creatures, and I believe they deserve our sympathy if not our help. But they can be very dangerous and tremendously destructive. From time to time, I’ve seen them break from the abysmal realm and into our world.” The Black Queen sighed soft and low, “it never works out.”
  2. Her fingers were flexing, clenching and releasing the fabric of his cloak between her fingers -- feeling its texture as she settled her golden glare directly upon Diego. And, from across the room, the man regarded her with an impassive care that spoke only about his concern for his master’s well being. Though he was made of her blood, he most certainly was not formed in her image or born with any sense of loyalty to the sire from whose blood his second life had been granted. It went against everything that tradition dictated, a thing that should have delighted her given her progressive view. But there were certain things that even she understood to be sacred, and the bond between a sire and a fledgling was one such thing. A fledgling without a sire was like a man without a country, without a culture, without a language. “Monstrosity is a cruel word, your Majesty.” Gabriela could hear the smile in his voice, although her eyes did not lift from Diego’s face. “If you knew Diego as I do, you would know he is but a tortured man of tragic past… Yes, I gave him your blood, and more than that, along with modifications of my own design. He is now something greater than the human he was, and one day I am confident he will avenge his fallen loved ones… Is that truly so evil” “You are a thief,” Gabriela hissed, and the words sounded like acid as they passed through her clenched teeth in that thick, Spanish accent of hers. “A thief of flesh, of blood, of identity. You are too simple a creature to be evil. Too unimpressive in and of yourself--” “I see your marriage has bore fruit.” He looked away and she balked at his comment. While she was showing, her blouse was loose enough to hide the unwanted pregnancy. Yet another unexpected trick from the man upon whom she had sworn to deliver death, and another very urgent reason to make good on her promise. No sense in letting someone so dangerous, who had already proven himself a danger to one of her unborn children live long enough to become a risk to the second. “Is your husband the reason you are here, then? Please, my curiosity begs satiation.” “I am going to kill you,” she stated calmly her eyes focused intently upon Rodan. She opened her mouth and her sharp canine’s extended with a sickening sound. “It is truly unfortunate that this will have to be fast…” Her grip upon his cloak was tight once more and she had shifted upward, standing now and pulling him with her. The Black Queen of Orisia was a petite creature, a thing of feminine characteristics with a slight hourglass shape. But there was a staggering strength in her limbs, the sort that could pull and push a grown man without much effort at all. However, it was Rodan’s expression and the lax nature of his posture, even as he continued to be manhandled, which caused Gabriela to grow more and more agitated. “Is this man causing you trouble, beautiful?” Gabriela knew that they were being approached. She nearly groaned in frustration when the black-clad woman reached them and parked herself, nearly within touching distance, of her side. The vampyre was unwilling to let go of her prize -- the knuckles upon her fisted hand, tangled up in his cloak, were white and shaking. But still, she forced herself to regard the newcomer, to look at the woman up and down. “No,” she said, the sharp points of her fangs pressing down against the pillowy pout of her bottom lip, “--everything is just fine. We’re just fine. Thank you.” She had every intention of killing Rodan -- at least, she had had every intention of killing him three or four seconds ago. The tension of being interrupted, of feeling Diego’s eyes burning holes into the back of her skull, and of the attention of about half a dozen other patrons, caused her to slowly, but thoughtfully, pull her finger off the trigger. She let go of Rodan and dropped her hand to her side. And now, standing between this midnight beauty and this flesh-manipulating monster, she felt strangely powerless. She really shouldn’t do anything to risk this precious chance to escape from Raphael, even if it meant giving up the pleasure of tearing Rodan limb from limb. “Fucking fuck…” She pivoted from them and leaned on onto the bar. “I can I get a fucking drink?”
  3. What was it like to be so lost inside of one’s own head that one did not see the gleam of a dagger as it shone across their face? What was it like to be so lost that one somehow muted all of those special abilities that gave them an edge -- such as a heightened sense of smell, sound, taste? What was it like to be a useless apex predator? A vampyre without any fangs... The seat beside her was taken, and the man who occupied it put his hand upon the polished bar top and tapped his fingers. Gabriela didn’t lift her gaze, she didn’t so much as stirr from her reverie. She didn’t notice him come in, which could have been a forgivable offense considering he was nothing more than a foggy memory now, but as he sat there besides her for a heartbeat or two, taking his time to study her, it was a damnable offense that she did not even realize she was being watched. Her mind was elsewhere, drifting in an odd state of blankness. Where do I go? To Patia...Would he come... Raphael offered her a conditional freedom -- a slackened leash to go forth and explore the world, for he assumed that it was merely wanderlust that urged her from his side and not a deep and profound hatred for his person. He seemed utterly incapable of imagining why she would ever carry anything other than love and devotion for him in her heart. He was beyond despicable. Everything about this situation, about her current location, about her very existence was an affront to true freedom. Raphael was mocking her without even trying to do it. Teasing at her need for space by giving it to her, by being arrogant enough to believe she would come back. And why was he so certain of this? Because he had taken away everything else in the world she could want. She had given Philippe to the devil and walked away from him as he pleaded for her to stay. The Blood God questioned their devotion to one another, and the depth of love that the devil and vampyre shared, he laughed at it, he ridiculed it, he teased them both by dangling freedom within their grasp, or at least within hers -- but it was like he didn’t understand that he had broken it all. It was like he expected true love to endure all, and then he set himself as the man to prove it could not. Raphael had won. There was no more love. There was no more great romance. Her mind did not turn to Roen now that she was free to pursue him, nor did the devil seek her out once her presence went missing from the islands as he would have surely done once upon a time. Instead, she turned to blankness for she knew it was all a guise for true enslavement, and Roen continued forward with his pursuit of happiness. Raphael won in every sense of the word. And she had never belonged to him more than she did now, a hundred thousand miles away from his clutches. “A fascinating place to find you, your majesty. The venue seems rather beneath one of your class…” she finally heard the sound of his fingernails rapping across the tabletop, “But then, I suppose I would consider such a place a bit beneath me as well, yet here I am.” Was there anything more sobering than hate? It was pure and sheer hate that drew her forth from her misery. It woke her and made her glorious once more. From her slumped position, Gabriela was sitting up right, golden furious eyes set on the listless, dull eyes that stared back at her from underneath Rodan’s hooded face. In a gesture that could not have aptly be measured for time, she had her hand tangled in a fistful of his cloak’s material, right at the collar. She was drawing him up without a word. He wondered if she would kill him here -- out in the open. He didn’t know that she had nothing to lose, and that the most she had felt in weeks was this -- hatred for him, and a remembrance that she made a promise to kill him. But then something strange struck her, a familiar scent that was totally new. With her hand firmly set upon the man, she risked taking her eyes from his face and turned her head to sweep her gaze across the room. Vivian was back with Alazar, happily married and dealing with the fall out of having lost Antigua to the fall of Ilyria. As for Hunter, he was still in torpor, sleeping soundly while horror and misery covered the land. She could account for her two fledglings -- but not for this third. She had never made a third. “Perhaps her majesty would indulge my curiosity? Why is she here in a place such as this?” “Did you make one of your monstrosities using my blood?” She did not know how Rodan’s powers worked -- she did not know about the transfer of information. What would he learn should he set his hand upon her? Would he learn that she was nearly five months pregnant? That she was carrying Raphael’s son -- a pureblooded vampyre, the first to be carried since she was born more than three hundred years ago? How much could this demonic man learn from a graze, a caress, a bit of careless rough handling. Gabriela was trembling with anger.
  4. There was no grand announcement when the queen entered. Just the sound of the doors opening, and of a few polite and proper greetings by the staff. Then there was the sound of her heels clicking on the polished floors, the shuffle of her long and full skirt, and that of chairs being pushed back and people getting up on their feet. Gabriela walked past them all without any acknowledgment, at least not until she reached her seat, which was pulled back by a servant and neatly tucked in when she sat. It all seemed like a well choreographed performance. But this was not a dance she wanted to partake in. “Please, sit down,” she said, after a thoughtful pause and a glance around the table. She couldn’t help but stare at Rou, taking in the sight of her strange costume. It wasn’t that Gabriela was unaccustomed to exotic appear -- she was quite fond of it actually. But rather, it looked oddly misplaced upon the voluptuous woman who seemed just as intent on hiding her feminine curves as she did on hiding her sincere feelings. It all felt very much out of place. And that choker upon her neck -- it rang thick of Raphael’s stylistic choices and made her stomach churn with discomfort. Suddenly, dropping her gaze away from the woman and focusing for a fraction of a second upon the elegant design that was stamped on the fine china set before her, she found herself longing for the devil’s presence. He had insisted that she handle this situation, being that he was far too busy with their son and the management of a previously poorly managed country. Whether he simply did not want to deal with his old friend because of annoyance or heartache, Gabriela could not tell and she did not dare to pry any further. He was more monster than gentleman sage these days, and it seemed that any and all excuses to showcase his anger were not only acceptable but welcome. So she took this as a mission of sorts. Perhaps, if she was good to his friend, if she was good with this episode of diplomacy she could earn some of his tenderness back. Gabriela licked her lips, a surprisingly human gesture, before tucking her hands under the table and upon her crossed legs. She sat on a cloud of black silken material, and adjusted the cuffs on her sleeves nervously, but out of sight. Rou was expecting something out of this -- out of her -- she could tell by the heat and the anger in the woman’s eyes. But Gabriela had nothing to offer. She was struggling with her new life under Roen’s command, and as Philippe’s mother. There were greater challenges now than some imagined feud that she had never intended to participate in. Even so, the whole of it was important to Rou, and therefore, Gabriela would have to treat it with some level of importance for the sake of her friendship with Roen. “I hope you all rested -- you’re in for a treat,” she smiled, and nothing about it seemed forced. If anything, there was something timid about the expression as she sat there, perfectly straight with her thick, braided hair, pulled over one of her small shoulders and used almost like a shield against the world. “You’ll all be having a traditional Spanish dinner, starting with a garlic soup.” No sooner had she announced the first course than the doors opened and servants poured in, each carrying a tray that was delivered to each of the guests. Down before Rou and Zenahriel, deep, silver bowls were set with a steaming broth of garlic, ham, and vegetables, topped with a lovely poached egg and served with a thick slice of brown bread that had yet to be buttered. Of course the queen was served nothing, but she observed curiously to see if anyone would be brave enough to take the first taste -- her golden eyes were set expectantly upon Zenahriel.
  5. I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head But don't you remember, don't you remember? The reason you loved me before, baby please remember me once more
  6. She pushed aside the dark curtain and stepped into the smoke filled foyer. Laser lights, in radio-active green and sapphire blue, were blinking, bouncing, and vibrating through the plums of smoggy air, lighting up different sections of the fumes. The lights were dancing in time with the deafening music that was blaring through the speakers, while the polished floor under her booted feet, throbbed with the heaviness of the base that was shaking the entire building. Immediately, she felt the onset of a headache. A young woman behind a tall counter, dressed in a tight black vest, a collared white shirt, and sporting a sharp little white bow-tie, smiled at Gabriela and asked for her coat. Gabriela could hardly hear the woman's voice through the music and roaring crowd, but she managed to read her lips and her position at the entrance of the establishment clearly denoted her job. The Black Queen shrugged off her coat, realizing there was no reason to keep it on now that she wasn’t trying to hide her silver daggers. Off came the heavy wool garment, which she placed over the counter. The young woman smiled again, took the coat and went to hang it in a deceptively small wardrobe. When she returned, she set down a small plastic tab with a number on it -- 9. Pocketing her number in the back pocket of her breeches, Gabriela continued forward into the strange wilderness that awaited her. Much to her surprise, there weren’t many people dancing. Most of the heavily moving bodies consisted of those sculptured women and men who stood upon table tops, or hung from poles that were littered throughout the massive room. They were gyrating their hips, shaking their thighs -- dipping, snapping, rolling back up with all the finesse of a feline creature. Scantily clad, the smoke and the lights fell across their mostly exposed skin like garments of gosling. It was with a hint of a snarl that she realized some of these people’s flesh was wet -- self-inflicted wounds wept blood across a bicep or down a thigh. They were there to tantalize the patrons, but she felt far from tempted. Disgust was a more apt word for what she felt as her stomach twisted into knots. Regardless, she went forward toward the long bar -- the busiest area of the room. Come forward and get your teeth smoked, word Come forward and get your teeth smoked, word Come forward and get your teeth smoked, word Come forward and get your Come forward and get your Come forward and get your Come forward and get your Come forward and get your A tall stool became available as a man and his date slipped away after acquiring their drink order. Before anyone else could lay claim, she shimmied her way between the tightly packed bodies, and laid claim to the seat. Of course she was careful to keep a hand over the slight swell of her belly -- mostly out of reflex. It would take quite a bit of force to put her unborn child in any kind of damage. But this was a place for unnatural so who knew what kind of beasties were navigating the crowds along with her. Better safe than sorry, she thought as she remembered Raphael’s words. I’ll find you. I’ll kill you. Don’t be shocked by the tone of my voice Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice Don’t be shocked by the tone of my voice Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice The heel of her boot was hooked on the support beam running across the legs of the stool. The other foot was firmly planted on the floor, tapping in time with the music. She sat, perched on the very edge of her seat as she glanced up and down the bar. The staff looked overwhelmed, but they still managed to move in a way that was reminiscent of a beautiful but chaotic dance. Summerset eyes, glowing a warm gold, watched them intently before she pushed off with her planted foot and scooted herself fully onto her seat. It seemed like it would be a while before anyone could serve her -- best to get comfortable and enjoy the music. Listen to the sound of my voice Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice...
  7. “This child of ours, Gabriela, was made by no deal. He is not the result of scheming, or plotting, of rape or violence. This child exists only because we both wanted him to.” There was only one way to survive the proximity with which he assaulted her. She had to disengage emotionally and physically. She had to become the pretty, little play thing he wanted her to be -- so she sat there, her legs parted on either side of his thigh like a child who could not escape from a nightmare, while he forced her to stroke her pregnant belly. There was something undeniably predatory about Raphael, but it cut far below the surface of his thirst for blood. There was a thirst for power in the elder, for control beyond what could be gained upon the political field. It was a thirst for literal control over another beings life. And that thirst caused him to toe the icy shores of sadism with a gleeful sort of excitement she had never seen in anyone else. And the tragedy was that he was so good at it. He enjoyed the emotional torture he inflected, his love was not separated from the pain he felt, as a father might in regards to his child, that he had to inflict upon her. Where other lovers had been cruel to her, their heavy-handed tactics always seemed born from a place of turmoil and torment. They feared losing her and therefore felt compelled to do what they could to keep her. She was very much a possession, but a beloved possession -- a treasured thing, a chosen one. To Raphael, she was not some pretty jewel to hoard. She was a living, breathing thing that he could push and prod. Like a cruel child, he sought to learn her inner workings by cutting away pieces of her anatomy. And this particular experiment was no different. They both knew he wasn’t granting her freedom -- not really. They both knew that he expected her to return. This was a longer leash, and not the lack of a collar. But she wasn’t going to argue the point with him, not when he himself was delivering her into the closest position she could ever be in to actually attain what she wanted. She had to play nice. “You know where you belong, Gabriela. Enjoy the world and its wonders, for there are only so many to keep you entertained. Endure its cruelty, its indifference, its merciless prejudice and hatred. You will bore of it all eventually, when you realize what I have begun to realize, and you will come home. You will come home. And I will be here to greet you, my love, for that is the role I play. Because I choose to.” His nose was buried in her hair and his lips were grazing the side of her throat. He was breathing hotly against her collar while his one hand, upon her hip, squeezed and pinched at the flesh under her nightgown. And she struggled against her body’s reaction to grow tense, to wither away from the affections. She sat through it with mounting hatred and anger, but showed nothing of it physically. However, through their blood bond, she did not mute her disgust. He kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth, and to this and this alone did she tilt her head away -- shying from what she imagined could become more. “Now, promise me you will keep our child safe, Gabriela. Promise me, or I fear I may not possess the strength to let you go.” “You’re not the sort to break a promise,” she said as she forced herself to settle back into him -- not to fight his advances. She relaxed, even as her body ached to stand and pull away. It wasn’t that she found him repugnant. No matter how much she wanted to hate him, their attraction was written in their very blood. However, it was the ache for her freedom that pulled at her now. It was the only thing she wanted more than anything -- a chance, a real chance, to get away. “Regardless, I don’t think you’re asking for much -- so, have your promise, Raphael. I will keep our child safe, until the day of its birth, and then we will decide together what becomes of this pitiful excuse of a family, because we are equals. And because we are equals, you will go now and let me rest. If I am to travel tomorrow, you know I will need to rest.”
  8. A description of the scene can be found here: “Do you have any weapons?” asked a gargantuan creature with an ugly, wrinkled face that made him appear more beast than human. The glamouring magic that he was using to keep up his humanoid facade was weak, or perhaps not wholeheartedly executed or applied. He was a gargoyle -- and being that Gabriela knew very little about the species, she decided it was best not to toe the line of annoyance. “Yes -- four daggers,” she made no move to strip herself of the blades. Instead, she stood there with her palms facing out and held at chest level, while the gargoyle-bouncer reached out and began patting her down. “Just the daggers, eh?” he asked, and then, with a lascivious grin, “--what about them fangs in your mouth, baby?” Her flesh nearly crawled off of her bones. “I don’t plan on using those,” she replied, swallowing her disgust and instead forcing a slow and easy smile across her face. “But the daggers -- I intend to defend myself if you can’t manage to do your job and make everyone inside play nice.” “Oh,” his grin grew into a toothy smile -- it was silly, almost, sort of boyish and even a little cute. “I can do my job just fine, sweetie. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. So why don’t you drop your pretty little butter knives here,” he pointed at the table besides him, “--and pick them up when you’re ready to leave. I can’t have you walking into my club with silver blades. Besides, I’ll keep you safe and sound, little girl. No one causes trouble in my joint.” That smile on her lips tightened but didn’t disappear. Her head tilted an inch or two, and her eyes narrowed upon the bull-dog like face she could see shimmering under the sheen of magic that attempted to hide his true appearance from the world. “Make sure that you do keep me safe and sound,” she said as she began to strip her weapons off. The blade behind her back, the one strapped to her thigh, and the two hidden in her boots. All the while, she could feel the creature’s eyes drinking in the sight of her slow and measured movements, the dipping forward, the way her booted feet came up so that her pale fingers could dip into soft leather against her calves. Finally, she set them on top of the short table by the doors. A breeze shifted the dense, black curtains that hid the going-ons of the interior from the misty night. For a moment she saw the dancing electric lights and caught the smell of blood and smoke, and then it was gone. Her view shifted back to the gargoyle who was intently watching all the places she pulled silver from her body, “--I’d hate to have to resort to biting.” He laughed low and smooth and made a sweeping gesture for her to enter.
  9. So come on Love, draw your swords Shoot me to the ground You are mine, I am yours Lets not fuck around Cause you are, the only one Cause you are, the only one
  10. Do I have to do anything special to get into the black tarantula?

    1. amenities


      Opening the doors can be a little tricky because there's no "push" or "pull" sign, but besides that nope

    2. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      Any reference pictures or description.

    3. amenities
  11. When you try your best but you don't succeed When you get what you want but not what you need When you feel so tired but you can't sleep Stuck in reverse When the tears come streaming down your face 'Cause you lose something you can't replace When you love someone but it goes to waste What could it be worse? Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you But high up above or down below When you are too in love to let it show Oh but if you never try you'll never know Just what you're worth (or aren't) Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you Tears come streaming down your face When you lose something you cannot replace oh and tears come streaming down your face And I Tears streaming down your face I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes oh and the tears streaming down your face And I Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you
  12. “This is The Squall Breaker,” said the man that Gabriela had followed down to the docks, there was a hint of pride in his voice. Their conversation regarding the price of the passage had been short and tense. He was overcharging her, but with no other options -- and without knowing if Raphael’s offer had a one-night expiration date, Gabriela decided to pay the price and take what was available. Now, they both stood before the thick wooden plank that connected the handsome and massive vessel to the unsturdy pier, and she couldn’t help but notice that there were no other passengers waiting to board. “It’s a cargo vessel -- where will I travel?” “I suppose, for the likes of you, the safest place to travel would be the lower hold. You’ll have the sweet smell of rotting food and spiced wine to keep you company until we arrive on Biazo.” She arched a brow at the man. “I fully expect to be allowed upon the main deck during the night.” “Look, I don’t normally offer my hospitality aboard the Breaker, but it just so happens we’re in a bit of a pinch for money. It was hard enough to decide to allow folks onto my ship, but now I have to settle for an animal like you? So the hold is where you’ll settle and the hold is where you’ll stay -- otherwise there’s no deal.” She lifted her head enough to catch a beam of oil-light across her face. Her features were lit up, and the gold in her eyes drank from the warm light and reflected it back across molten pools of gold. She heard the man suck in a breath through his teeth and felt the tension radiating from his form. Gabriela was beautiful -- devastatingly so, but her beauty ran the sharp edge of horror. She was too perfect, she was too sublime, she was uncanny in many ways when she wanted to be. “Your eyes,” whispered the man, his tense limbs finally allowing him to move back a step, and then two. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours.” “And if you don’t stop your needless cruelty and discourtesy, they’ll be the last thing you see before I usher you to your death. There’s no need to treat me like a monster unless you’d like for me to behave like one. The lower hold will do, but I will come out at night to stretch my legs and breathe some fresh air.” Her deep set frown and thoughtful look lingered on the man’s face for just a moment longer before she stepped around the man and onto the plank, fully intending to board the ship. A quick hand snaked out and caught her around the arm. He did not yank her back -- the touch seemed surprisingly reserved and, she could feel a tremble in his hand through his fingers and the thick layers of her coat. “Please, Empress -- your imperial highness, please forgive me. I beg that you not speak of my ill mannered treatment to your husband.” Gabriela’s eyes were a thing of legend in Valucre. Who had not heard stories of those summerset pools? Her identity was revealed the moment she decided to look upon him with true scrutiny. But now it was she who felt the swell of panic. “I won’t tell if you don’t -- promise that you will not breathe a word about who you’re carrying across the sea and I’ll promise to forget the unpleasantness you put me through. I want nothing more than to be left alone upon this voyage. Tell your crew, tell whatever other passengers you have -- tell them to leave me be, and not to approach. Make up whatever ugly reason you have to, but just make it so.” “Very well, vampyre -- telling them what you are should be more than enough to isolate you for the next four days. But, I would also like to offer you my private quarters. You’ll be more comfortable.” “The hold will do, and it will make people less curious.” He let go of her arm, and dropped his hand to his side. “Again,” he called after her, “I am sorry. Truly.” “You’re only sorry because you think I matter -- but I don't matter, I don't matter to anyone anymore,” she murmured to herself as she disappeared under the main deck, down into the maze like structure of the ship to find the safe and quiet place where she would sit for the next four days.
  13. Hullo! Does Patia still exist?
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