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Buttercup

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  1. Superlike!
    Buttercup reacted to King in Reverse Engineering Evil   
    No one knew what was in the chest; only that it was sealed, and to dare approach it, let alone open it, would bring down the full extent of the emperor’s wrath upon them. The imperial guards watched over the chest in their lord’s study as they would any charge, day and night, yet the fear of failure—real or perceived—added the edge they’d been missing, dulled during the long, prosperous peace that had stretched over the Dominion. Their eyes were keen, their senses sharp, and all were denied entrance without their lord’s expressed consent. Even light and shadow seemed rebuked by their vigilant watch, lest a specter take advantage of the in-between.
    The chest itself was nothing so spectacular, standing at the center of his desk, all papers, tomes, and scrolls cleared well away from it. Fashioned from the rare ronaan wood, it was dark as coal and smooth as glass, no longer than a foot across and only half that from front to back. It was deep but filled with a downy resting cushion, draped in deep a rich burgundy silk. It was sealed with a lock of iron, a lock of bronze, and lock that could not be seen even with the truest of sights. And it was in this unspectacular, thrice-sealed chest that Rafael’s daughter waited.
    When he was not in his study, carefully working to understand the strange magic placed on his child so that he might undo it, Rafael was overseeing the construction of the palace’s newest addition. It was far from the most grandiose room one could find in terms of sheer size, but it was without doubt the most important. Artificers, architects, masons, welders, and glass-workers from every corner of the emperor’s vast domain worked tirelessly to bring his vision to life. They worked their spells and wards into the foundation of the marble and glittering white concrete, into the walls and windows filled with sunlight, until the air was thick and heavy with them. It was a space grayed from the waking world and its fundament, existing neither here nor there, then or there, but only exclusively in the moment.
    And with every block laid, it became less of a room, and more the vault of Rafael’s design. But his patience had been thinned, as of late.
    “How much longer until we are ready?”
    Lisbon, master artificer and foreman of the vault’s construction, lifted his gaze from the blueprints at his station and eyed emperor. “We’re ahead of schedule, my lord. The men are—”
    “How much longer?” The irritation was audible.
    The foreman frowned, eying the plans before him. Even after pulling what remained of the Dominion’s talent from the gate network in Drakiss, the emperor’s task was monumental—perhaps even impossible. “It will be another fortnight,” he said. “At least.”
    Rafael nodded, eyes dark. “Work them hard, but do not exhaust them. I want no mistakes, Lisbon. Not a crack, not a splinter. This must be perfect.”
    “I understand.”
    “Good,” Rafael intoned. Impatient though he was becoming, he could not afford to overwork the builders. It would only hasten an inevitable failure. Quality took time, and though he may have felt as though he’d borrowed too little, the elder knew time was one thing his kind could afford to be lenient with. “Yes, very good. Keep me apprised of your progress.” Then he left in search of distraction.
    Some moons ago, Irene would have served as his diversion for the rest of day. Even when he possessed her by all definitions of the word, he never grew tired of their game of cat and mouse. There was something thrilling about watching her fight with all she was, trying so desperately to convince him—herself—that she didn’t want to be where she belonged. He never grew tired of hunting her down and dragging her back to their home, kicking and screaming, so that he might deliver a swift and righteous punishment for her insolence. But those days were gone now. Tenebre had seen to that. He was left with only his thoughts to occupy him, and many proved more troubling than the reality he faced.
    This is her fault, Rafael thought angrily—and then he decided that he would pay his dear Dollya a visit, when time permitted, to vent his anger and hatred for his dear cousin. It had been several months since his last trip to the Umbral underbelly, where the queen’s doppelganger languished in agony. For now, he sought a more wholesome alternative.
    “Find Lucia,” he instructed a hand maiden. “Tell her to come find me in the garden.”
  2. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Kalicity in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Strands of platinum whipped back and forth with tempestuous fury, licking and biting at a youthful visage with naught but cold indifference etching the soft lines of her expression.  The crushing weight of his presence took a measure of time to get used to, but the woman's body adjusted, and it no longer felt as though her bones were splintering.  However, the closer he became, the greater the discomfort; with a curl of her top lip, that singular expression animated what words failed to convey.
    witness the fruit of our...
    It took every fiber of her existence to rein in the gag distorting her mouth; while not even spoken, that word caused a splash of bitterness washing along the surface of her tongue.  Such a negative reaction only marred her countenance briefly, then with guided words she resumed her impassiveness.  
    I would have been easily found…daughter…had you the strength to do so. 
    "Had I the desire to do so."  She waited patiently until he finished before sharply correcting his assumptions.  "You were gone; someone else took your place and taught me all I needed to know to survive and prosper." 
    It was in that moment that she remembered the bloom once cradled in her hand.  Pulling her gaze from him, she returned it to the petals and how they'd begun to wilt in the overbearing presence of chaotic power.  Taking a step in retreat, Tziporah once again brought her hands to the browning flesh and tenderly caressed them with the tips of her fingers.  This glimmer of innocence trickled from her touch, gifting life once again into the pale flower.  
    Her digits started waving around the space surrounding the bloom and it would soon come to light exactly what she was doing:  weaving the very threads of chaos to erect a barrier around the delicate plant.  
    "What ever I so wish, be you here or not."
    Her head inclined so that she may silently regard the plant she labored to save, thoughts dancing on her lips yet her voice denying their birth, save for one.
    "Bereft not by your choice-- then who or what took that choice from you?"
  3. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Strands of platinum whipped back and forth with tempestuous fury, licking and biting at a youthful visage with naught but cold indifference etching the soft lines of her expression.  The crushing weight of his presence took a measure of time to get used to, but the woman's body adjusted, and it no longer felt as though her bones were splintering.  However, the closer he became, the greater the discomfort; with a curl of her top lip, that singular expression animated what words failed to convey.
    witness the fruit of our...
    It took every fiber of her existence to rein in the gag distorting her mouth; while not even spoken, that word caused a splash of bitterness washing along the surface of her tongue.  Such a negative reaction only marred her countenance briefly, then with guided words she resumed her impassiveness.  
    I would have been easily found…daughter…had you the strength to do so. 
    "Had I the desire to do so."  She waited patiently until he finished before sharply correcting his assumptions.  "You were gone; someone else took your place and taught me all I needed to know to survive and prosper." 
    It was in that moment that she remembered the bloom once cradled in her hand.  Pulling her gaze from him, she returned it to the petals and how they'd begun to wilt in the overbearing presence of chaotic power.  Taking a step in retreat, Tziporah once again brought her hands to the browning flesh and tenderly caressed them with the tips of her fingers.  This glimmer of innocence trickled from her touch, gifting life once again into the pale flower.  
    Her digits started waving around the space surrounding the bloom and it would soon come to light exactly what she was doing:  weaving the very threads of chaos to erect a barrier around the delicate plant.  
    "What ever I so wish, be you here or not."
    Her head inclined so that she may silently regard the plant she labored to save, thoughts dancing on her lips yet her voice denying their birth, save for one.
    "Bereft not by your choice-- then who or what took that choice from you?"
  4. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Dolor Aeternum in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Invisible energies collided with one another, weaving through La’Ruta's embrace subtly at first until rejection began and a mixture of chaos and order battered the atmosphere. Her flailing power was met with a harsh swipe that displaced the air between them and would cause blond tresses to flow every which way and damp black hair to struggle to maintain its attachment to his rugged face. Every step she took found oppressive volatility returned that even the ancient energy that coursed through this land seemed to encourage for reasons unknown.
     
    Bare feet moved forward slowly without any hesitation as lips parted to respond appropriately to the confidence she exuded. “What a waste it would be if I did not witness the fruit of our union in all her glory, driven by whim toward me after so many wasted years. You may have thought my attentions fleeting, darting from one open thigh to another, but such acute thinking is reserved for the inexperienced. As you frolicked from plane to plane, I remained where I belonged.” His approach did not relent nor would it should she attempt to avoid it for once this deity’s attentions were fixed few could escape him. She’d find him standing mere inches before her soon enough but he’d continue regardless.
     
    “I would have been easily found…daughter…had you the strength to do so. But I understand….what is a mere babe to do when it has been malnourished by others? I suppose imposing blame on me may satisfy your meager appetite but it will do nothing to change what you are right now little one.”
     
    He would make no move to touch her but the strength of the crackling energies around him were invasive enough that it would not matter for they would seek to permeate through supple flesh and let her witness the transcending nature of who he was.
     
    “Now that you have me before you…beloved…whatsoever will you choose to do now?”
     
    His mocking tone would not go unnoticed and neither would the intensity of his stare upon her form, scrutinizing everything she was.
  5. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Long, dark lashes flutter at the first utterance of his voice, though the vitriol was to be expected after the acid she spat.   "Is it?"  That same glimmer of toxic green lifts to regard his expression as his attention fixed on the canopy above.  Her aura, invisible to the naked eye, momentarily shuddered-- as though her heart skipped a beat and caused a brief flutter.  Tziporah's expression may have been frigid, but the energy surrounding her flailed wildly.  How dare he.
    "I don't revel in massacre like my mother."  Adjusting her stance to fully face him, both hands entwine at the base of her spine.  At least I now know that I was not deemed worthy.
    The hint of possessiveness in his tone drew her attention, causing eyes to pinch in a calculating squint.  "What ever I so choose."  Spoken like a true queen, she didn't allow his standing over her to sway her response.  
    "...and how did I become worthy enough of your attentions for this encounter, father.?"
  6. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Avvercus in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    A dark and writhing presence was felt long before the sharp edges of his words carved out portions of her heart; it stung, tore, and burned with a familiarity in which she'd never truly known, save for the tumultuous and uncontrollable power coursing through her veins.  His sudden manifestation, however, only added to the rancor that festered in the pit of her chest and it was the bloom in which she so lovingly tended that paid the penalty for his arrival.  Just by her touch, the edges of the brilliant pink petals started to brown and wilt, though went no further.  The brewing storm calmed.
    "Oh," She breathed and sighed her response, disinterest hanging heavily in her intonation.  She seemed almost... bored.  "....what a relief."  Tziporah's head tilted just enough to catch him skirting her periphery as a blurred silhouette.  "...that you were, instead, imprisoned and otherwise indisposed, and not salivating over an open expanse of thigh.  How uplifting it is to know that she was lying."  Poison dripped from each syllable, heavily laden with sarcasm and bitterness.  Taking a single step backward, she twisted herself enough to peer at her father over her right shoulder; there was no denying that she was his spawn for they shared the same toxic green glare beneath a veil of thick lashes...and the same explosive temperament.  
    The moments of silence that existed between their exchanged words allowed for her to carefully observe her surroundings; from his stance, to how he was clothed, and his overall appearance was quietly scrutinized.  She, to the disbelief of those that knew of her, dressed similarly to her mother, though the armor had not seen an age of misuse and was meticulously cared for, and had a healthy combination of metal adornments, leather, and wispy cloth.  It seemed hers was more for show than form and function.  
  7. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    A dark and writhing presence was felt long before the sharp edges of his words carved out portions of her heart; it stung, tore, and burned with a familiarity in which she'd never truly known, save for the tumultuous and uncontrollable power coursing through her veins.  His sudden manifestation, however, only added to the rancor that festered in the pit of her chest and it was the bloom in which she so lovingly tended that paid the penalty for his arrival.  Just by her touch, the edges of the brilliant pink petals started to brown and wilt, though went no further.  The brewing storm calmed.
    "Oh," She breathed and sighed her response, disinterest hanging heavily in her intonation.  She seemed almost... bored.  "....what a relief."  Tziporah's head tilted just enough to catch him skirting her periphery as a blurred silhouette.  "...that you were, instead, imprisoned and otherwise indisposed, and not salivating over an open expanse of thigh.  How uplifting it is to know that she was lying."  Poison dripped from each syllable, heavily laden with sarcasm and bitterness.  Taking a single step backward, she twisted herself enough to peer at her father over her right shoulder; there was no denying that she was his spawn for they shared the same toxic green glare beneath a veil of thick lashes...and the same explosive temperament.  
    The moments of silence that existed between their exchanged words allowed for her to carefully observe her surroundings; from his stance, to how he was clothed, and his overall appearance was quietly scrutinized.  She, to the disbelief of those that knew of her, dressed similarly to her mother, though the armor had not seen an age of misuse and was meticulously cared for, and had a healthy combination of metal adornments, leather, and wispy cloth.  It seemed hers was more for show than form and function.  
  8. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Dolor Aeternum in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Malicious eddies roiled, disrupting the tranquility of this forest in an attempt to bend the very nature toward ancient will that held no sympathy for this land’s plight. Energy raked at the forest bed, clawing into the earth as the saturated air thickened as it prepared for an arrival the monitor of Orisia courted due to whims few could ever explain. Perhaps it relented, possessing a clairvoyance of a reunion it wished to oversee or desired.
     
    The flaring emotion that licked at the suffocating air that filled this section of the forest proved capable of transcending physical plane and provoking one of the originators of her current torment. Tempestuous winds blew through this area, heralding his immediate arrival as bare feet planted themselves upon scattered leaves. Silence blanketed their surroundings as creatures were soon overwhelmed by the pressure that he exuded, forced to remain immobile in reverence and survival instinct. All who witnessed were forced into observation as this corporeal form that crackled unforgivingly with dichotomous energy confronted the beauty born of chaos and order.
     
    “Bereft not by my choice daughter…”
     
    A knowing stare full of toxic green challenged the woman before him, his very essence assaulting the plant she had willed to bloom as its leaves began to wither yet the flower persisted. Enigmas clashed before one another, molesting the life around them as their natures collided and created a portent that this forest yearned to see bear fruit under its careful guidance.
    [Enter: Colvin Arenios]
  9. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Decadence in measure cannot oft be maintained; temptation, whilst adamantly resisted, is a cruel and cunning mistress whose lips whisper bittersweet truths. 
    Who are you to deny this birthright?
    Vacant words tantalize the recesses of her thoughts and weigh the edges of a pale smile.  The path she gleaned free of travelers allowed monsters to pervade the sanctity of her solitude.  The voice so unceremoniously brash held no gender, though she heard it in both her father's and mother's colorful intonations; he ever the melancholy whisper and she the flicker of black rage.
    Raw emotion seeded in her heart and bore fruit, and the nectar therein coursed through her veins with each thrum of her pulse:  uncontrollable rage tempered by icy calm.  Her existence was an enigma-- to be born of both creation and destruction, of order and chaos.  With the rustle of nearby foliage, her attention tore from those invasive thoughts and she was bequeathed a momentary reprieve.  
    Who are you to squander this power that we have bestowed?
    The relief of absence was fleeting, for then returns the whispers carried by the warm breeze.  Eyes of toxic green, wreathed in a halo of long, luxurious lashes, redirect their attention to the task at hand:  she was looking for them-- both of them.  Not long ago she felt a heaviness plague the land that has long since dissipated... but was still sensed.
    Soft fingertips caress the bulky leaves of a nearby plant, thumb taking care to gently caress the struggling bud shrouded by its fuller brothers and sisters; with an audible sigh, the foliage blossomed at her touch, stretching itself full and surpassing even the hardiest bloom.  
    "So this is where you've escaped to Xintylin, Colvin... a land bereft of me."
    [Enter: Tziporah Arenios]
  10. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Pasion Pasiva in A Vestal Bloom [Ellwood Forest]   
    Decadence in measure cannot oft be maintained; temptation, whilst adamantly resisted, is a cruel and cunning mistress whose lips whisper bittersweet truths. 
    Who are you to deny this birthright?
    Vacant words tantalize the recesses of her thoughts and weigh the edges of a pale smile.  The path she gleaned free of travelers allowed monsters to pervade the sanctity of her solitude.  The voice so unceremoniously brash held no gender, though she heard it in both her father's and mother's colorful intonations; he ever the melancholy whisper and she the flicker of black rage.
    Raw emotion seeded in her heart and bore fruit, and the nectar therein coursed through her veins with each thrum of her pulse:  uncontrollable rage tempered by icy calm.  Her existence was an enigma-- to be born of both creation and destruction, of order and chaos.  With the rustle of nearby foliage, her attention tore from those invasive thoughts and she was bequeathed a momentary reprieve.  
    Who are you to squander this power that we have bestowed?
    The relief of absence was fleeting, for then returns the whispers carried by the warm breeze.  Eyes of toxic green, wreathed in a halo of long, luxurious lashes, redirect their attention to the task at hand:  she was looking for them-- both of them.  Not long ago she felt a heaviness plague the land that has long since dissipated... but was still sensed.
    Soft fingertips caress the bulky leaves of a nearby plant, thumb taking care to gently caress the struggling bud shrouded by its fuller brothers and sisters; with an audible sigh, the foliage blossomed at her touch, stretching itself full and surpassing even the hardiest bloom.  
    "So this is where you've escaped to Xintylin, Colvin... a land bereft of me."
    [Enter: Tziporah Arenios]
  11. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Pasion Pasiva in Mother Dearest   
    It was good to steer away from such dense and dark conversation. Like it or not, with or without her memory, Kalicity had a way of drawing from her truths that she was not at all prepared to examine, much less understand. She kept telling herself that she was playing a game -- the devil’s game. That she was pretending to be everything he wanted her to be out of fear. But one question lingered and loomed over her. This question tormented her to the point that she instead turned her back from it and refused to acknowledge  the validity of the points it raised. What was she afraid of? Roen would never harm Philippe. She also knew, without a doubt, that he would never end her life nor could he put her in a position to suffer horrendous torture. Roen shared many similarities with her cousin, Raphael, but sadism was not one of them. There was nothing to fear save the ever growing potency of her feelings.
     
    She loved the Devil, but something kept her from admitting it.
     
    Perhaps it was the stigma she was certain to face? It almost seemed easier to simply allow the world to continue believing she was not exactly where she wanted to be -- and perhaps it was even easier to believe that herself. If there was one thing that Roen knew how to be, it was the hero -- for he took the weight of everyone else's’ doubts and became the thing that people needed him to be. How he could be both champion and villain was a marvel, and not one that was lost to Gabriela. He  had returned her crown and her throne, he had formed a family for her, though she would never admit to wanting it, and now his presence provided her with the sort of security that had ever only been imagined.
     
    But she was too jaded for a happily ever after, she knew this -- and Kalicity’s words weighed heavy on her mind as she rose from her seated position.
     
    You cannot escape the chains that bind you until you acknowledge that the chains exist, and only you have the keys to unlock yourself.
     
    She offered the Dark Goddess a tight smile, one that did little to reveal her wandering thoughts -- or the possibility that her words had taken root within her imagination. The mere thought that she was not somehow already aware of her bondage, and that by extension she could end her own bondage, frustrated the Black Queen nearly beyond words. But maybe it was just the truth of the idea that rubbed her the wrong way. She pushed herself forward, and past her bitterness. Then, Gabriela adjusted her fitted jacket and motioned with those pale, lovely hands of hers.
     
    “This way…”
     
    Gabriela’s private study was adjacent to her rooms, and by extension, Philippe’s rooms. And so it was a short walk through an ample hall, and then through at least three sets of double doors, through rooms that were sparsely but elegantly decorated. Eventually, they came to a nursery -- a lovely space of light blue walls with sponged painted white clouds above a vaulted ceiling. There was a collection of beautiful toys, all tastefully set around the room, but at the heart of the space sat a circular crib, and from within both women would hear the cooing of a very young and very small infant. Immediately, Gabriela’s face melted into a genuine and loving smile.
     
    “This is him,” she said, her voice a whisper of awe and tenderness. She came to stand besides the crib and peered within at the small child who lay flat on his back, with his small hands set before his face -- he was talking to them, to his little fingers. He was making small fists, which he promptly set within his mouth to bite and suck on, all while casting a suspicious look at the Dark Goddess with stunningly bright eyes, green in their entirety with floating specks of gold and copper within.
  12. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from princeben07 in Introducing Claudius Parallax And Anthine Jones III (PM for invite)   
    She made it to class a few minutes before the bell rung and decided to prepare her work station with the needed materials for the day, which had been listed on the board. A total of three books, two notebooks, a calculator, pens, pencils, colored pencils, markers, highlighters and notebook dividers were all neatly organized on the table. Oh, not to mention the binder that held her folders and handouts from the class. Victor came waltzing into the class and set both his, and Val's assignment on the teacher's desk and walked to Val's table. He sat next to her; it must've been amazing having the smartest girl be his lab partner.

    "[COLOR=navy]You had me worried! I thought you were going to cut class again.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" A relieved grin slowly spread across her face and she opened her notebook to begin. "[/COLOR][COLOR=darkgreen]I thought about it, but I couldn't do that to you. Not after you gave me your assignment and saved my ass.. yet again.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" He'd lean over to place a tiny kiss on her cheek. "[/COLOR][COLOR=darkgreen]You are the greatest girl ever. I don't know what I'd do without you.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" Her face quickly became the color of a tomato. "[/COLOR][COLOR=navy]I'll.. go get the stuff we need for the assignment.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" With that, she hurridly jumped from her seat and walked off to the table to collect the needed materials. Upon returning, Victor was talking with another kid in their class. The other kid presented Valencia with a small, metal box with what appeared to be mints.[/COLOR]

    "[COLOR=sienna]Mint?[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" He'd ask inquisitively. [/COLOR][COLOR=black]"[/COLOR][COLOR=sienna]They're the greatest I've ever found. I uh.. got 'em from the store. Never saw 'em before.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" She'd take one out and look at it. "[/COLOR][COLOR=sienna]You get a better effect if you put them under your tongue.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" Both brows rose and she placed the mint under her tongue; for being something that freshens your breath, it had a terrible aftertaste.- but he wasn't one to refuse candy on the kindness of others. "[/COLOR][COLOR=navy]Thank you.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]"[/COLOR]

    The kid wandered off to go mingle with other classmates and when Valencia turned to Victor, he was grinning. "[COLOR=navy]What?[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" Her head turned with minor curiosity, mostly wanting to continue with her studies. "[/COLOR][COLOR=darkgreen]Nothing.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" Her eyes rolled and she'd begin filling out answers long before they really dove in. [/COLOR][COLOR=black]"[/COLOR][COLOR=navy]Whaaatever.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]"[/COLOR]

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    An hour later she began to feel funny; not sickish but rather energetic. Her fingertips just couldn't seem to keep still. She started tapping her pen against her desk while time just seemed to fly by. Classes were short today. There was a teacher meeting at nine in the morning so classes were cancelled for the rest of the afternoon. She was lost in her book and the bell rang. With a heavy sigh she'd pack her things and begin to walk down the hall to her locker. What would she do for the rest of the day?

    A few books were taken out of her locker and stuffed in her bag. "[COLOR=navy]Parallax better remember that brownie.[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" She grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She was always cranky when the days ended so suddenly; other kids, however, were cheering in the halls. Victor and that kid were walking ahead of her, chatting amongst eachother about parties for the weekend. That's right; it was Friday. Another case of bad news and her head fell. This was going to be a terrible day.[/COLOR]

    Fifteen minutes later she'd arrive at Parallax's house and let herself in, as she normally did. She placed her bookbag on the chair and wandered around the house. She passed the recreation room and noticed a treadmill and other weights. "[COLOR=navy]Eh, why not..[/COLOR][COLOR=black]" She'd run back to the chair she placed her things on and dig through her gym bag. Deep blue spandex shorts and a tank top. She really needed to pick out something better.[/COLOR]

    Changing, she'd step onto the tread mill and push the 'On' button. A faint humming was heard as the track slowly began to roll. Stepping onto the track, she'd adjust the speed as needed. She finally found one; an all out jog. This should keep her motivated until he got home with her brownie.
  13. Like
    Buttercup reacted to -Malice- in A Fond Farewell   
    In a world such as this, blood is but grease, and bone naught but the wheels, of progress.
    Orisia was many things to those that dwelt there, a haven, a home, and even a paradise, to those that turned adversity, into promise. Islands comprised of not merely sand or stone, but instead the dream of a dynasty, a beauty bequeathed by Bartolome, whose descendants danced beneath the moon and stars. Despite its splendour, however, there was one thing which Orisia was not, and that was large, encompassing less than two thousand miles from one edge to the next, a nation isolated and alone, compared to the monstrous might of neighbouring Genesaris.
    Perhaps that was why, when Malice had sown the seeds of his religion within their hearts, and Rafael forsook Gabriela to tend to his Empire, the Warlord followed the Elder Vampyre across the sea, consolidating his forces upon a new continent, and leaving Orisia to fend for itself anew.
    When it came time for the legion to depart though, there was no sentiment spared for the Black Queen, no uncomfortable silence nor fumbling of flesh, for the two had surpassed such trivialities of old, such was their bond. Gabriela would feel his departure, would know his loss, as La'Ruta itself undulated violently, the further that they grew apart, until with a final tumultuous crescendo, the shadow of his fortresses passed beyond Orisia, and she felt him no more.
    Ever the pragmatist, Malice harnessed every ebb and swell of the island's native magic as he went, channelling vast reservoirs into the cores of his floating citadels, gathering reserves so that, once they had escaped Orisian waters, the creatures would retain it indefinitely, like batteries fuelled not by charge alone, but instead an eternal power source, which would endure long after the sun grew cold.
    In time, La'Ruta would recover, in time another would balance the dark with Gabriela's light, but until then none could know the impact Malice's absence would hold for the quiet island chain, as days turned to years, and a new chapter unfolded for Orisia.
  14. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    Voidal indifference guided Xintylin's gaze across the girl they came upon in the corridor, delicate head craning left and right as she observed in silence.  As the little queen and the woman exchanged words, crimson irises focus on the confusion painting such pretty images across the servant's features, like a masterpiece unfinished.  The edges of blackened lips flirt with the promise of a smile, of the ghost of emotion, with Raspberry's proclamation that she was her mother.  With her words, Xintylin's grip on the child grew a tad tighter.  
    "Dey shouldt be vorried,"  The predator purrs, fathomless pools drifting up toward the young woman's visage.  "My broken preencess ees now whole."  Pillowy lips tense and press to the child's brow; to onlookers it would seem an empty action, devoid of true sentiment, though Raspberry would understand differently.  
    "No," She chimed in, lifting her chin in defiance toward the woman's blatant disrespect of the Regent's words.  "I hem not a queen..."  The tune that slithered from betwixt her lips adopted its more venomous intonation.  "I hem a King.. a conqueror...a varlordt.... Queen implies veakness because ov my gendar..."  She adjusted Lucia in her arms and dipped her head in silent acknowledgement of -something-.  "...and I vill not be definedt by eet."
    Lowering her head, Xintylin's lips drift along the child's ear, poisonous words whispered in the guise of .... learning.
    "Shall ve show 'er vhat 'appens t'dose dat.... qvestion yer vill, my sveet?"
    We can string her up in the gardens and dance in the crimson rain, together.
  15. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Rare Bloom   
    Soft, fleshy pads of fingertips dare caress the cherub-like features of the small child as she turned her head up to regard the thick, meaty vines and lush, silver petals making their way toward the ceiling.  Thumbs roll across the swell of Lucia's cheeks with all the affection one would afford to their own offspring. 
    While Xintylin was unable to peer into the labyrinthine depths of the child's mind and sup on her thoughts, she could—however—read the cold regard the child had given her in lieu where she'd been.  Trust was a demon to them both—but Xintylin had only ever spoken truth, even if it wasn't what anyone wanted to bear witness.   "…I can show ye' a glimpse ov my prizon, baby…if dat is some'ting dat ye' need." 
    Lucia's soft sobs elicited silence from the eldritch monster, and rather than continue speaking, fingertips gently combed through the child's hair and comforting sounds filtered through her lips.  When the weight of her burden became too much, Xintylin plucked Lucia from the ground and held her aloft in her arms, choosing that time to stand fully erect and give her shoulder for her little horror to rest upon. 
    "Ye', my dearest love, are de' reason I am no longar bound in chains."  One arm snaked across Lucia's shoulders whilst the other anchored itself beneath her rear, like a mother would hold a fussing babe.  The Warlord nuzzled her mouth against the child's head, planting a lingering, singular kiss to her scalp.
    "Fer ye'….I vill murdar de vorld." 
    While in her grasp, Xintylin meandered through the stalks of flowers and lush grasses—whose blades and petals moved in the direction she walked; even if it took her all evening, she'd navigate the winding corridors of the castle and find the room designated for the child in her arms.
    "Now… off te' bed ve' go."
  16. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    Raspberry went headlong into the warm and open embrace that was being offered by this strange and dangerous creature. Any other being would have taken more care, being that the goddess of a woman who had set one fine knee into the ground beneath her, and who balanced her perk behind on the back of her heel, smiled with a mouthful of jagged teeth. In the animal kingdom, only predators had a mouth like that -- with teeth so wickedly sharp. It should have been clear to anyone that her pretty mouth, though framed in delicate, supple lips was an accursed opening where flesh was rendered from bone and innocence pried from souls. But these thoughts did not pollute, Lucia -- who rather than feel suspicion was instead overcome by an irresistible sense of longing.
     
    “Come ‘ere, baby…” called the siren, “Mother’s ‘ere.”
     
    Lucia’s pretty face buried itself into Xintylin’s neck, nuzzling that soft place where her throat met her chest. She smelled of earth and sweet, pollen, a sickly sweet ambrosia that caused the young child to murmur contentedly. Her slender, white arms wrapped around Xintylin’s neck, and her small frame fell hard against the woman’s chest, until she was supporting most of Raspberry’s weight.
     
    “I vill nevar abandon ye’.”
     
    But she had abandoned her -- hadn’t she? This felt like the first time she had ever seen this godless creature, but still she could trust her instincts. There was something familiar about her, and more so, there was the memory of memories. Even if she couldn’t remember her face, she knew it, and perhaps more so than she knew her own mother’s. And yet, there was a lingering question in the little vampyre’s mind.
     
    “Where did you go?” she asked as her eyes closed and a fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes, wetting Xintylin’s perfect skin. It was such a strange thing to know beyond a doubt that she had loved this creature, and that she had lost her too -- and yet to not be able to grasp any of it fully. Still, her question needed an answer, even if Lucia couldn’t possibly fit all the different pieces together. “If you’ll never abandon me, why did you leave in the first place?”
     
    Mother -- Lucia thought about calling her that, but it didn’t feel right. Not yet anyway. Though she thought herself able to do it, there was a twisting and knotting in her stomach that caused her to be more guarded of her emotions, of her already deeply wounded heart. She had just only been given a new father, was she truly ready for a new mother? And with that thought, her crimson eyes opened and peered past the woman’s silver hair toward the distant glass walls that surrounded them.
     
    It was the first time she took notice of the garden that had bloomed around them. There was a sea of silver lilies with royal purple hearts. They were beautiful, and each one of the thousands of petals was glistening with dew. Slowly, Raspberry set herself straight, though she didn’t pull completely away.
     
    “What is this -- what have you done to mommy’s gardens?”
  17. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    Accursed depths eagerly drank in the little queen's countenance and how it readily shifted between varied emotion.  Long, dark lashes flutter as her attention spills upon the young one's physique, watching from the way she held herself so defiantly, to the way she cowered once the exquisite taste ran rampant across her palate.  Even as she backed away and held her head in downcast, Xintylin's affection never ceased-- so spoken by the back of her knuckle caressing the moistened swell of her reddened cheeks.  Sleek, defined arcs transform her visage from dispassionate to radiating shock and awe that such a tiny thing could explode so much unchecked rage.  
    "Hnnnn..."  The sound bubbled from the pit of her stomach and into her throat, rolling softly across her tongue as a soothing, comforting sound.  Vampiric-like teeth were set on display with a half-smile, flooding her own cheeks with veritable joviality.  Abandoning the smooth flesh of the girl in front of her, Xintylin buried the protrusion of her knee guard into the vegetation below and held out her arms, fingertips beckoning the child forward to indulge in the hug she longed to take.
    "Come 'ere, baby... Mother's 'ere."   Her head tilted toward the right, awaiting the little queen's decision-- to accept her love and adoration, or not.
    ".... andt I vill nevar abandon ye'."
  18. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    She didn’t notice -- how could she? She was wallowing in sorrow and far too busy feeling sorry for herself to bear witness to the miracle of life that was taking place before her very eyes. As vines sprout from the base of the single matted plant and began to creep across the small clearing that had been designated for it to grow in, and then tumbled and stretched beyond even that, Raspberry continued with her face buried in her hands, weeping softly for herself. That enchanted plant grew bright, and bold, and beautiful, and began to extend its influence across the garden in a matter of seconds, but still the child remained fixed in place feeling that the lonesome silver flower she had seen was a perfect representation of the terrible isolation she felt. But when her eyes did open and when at last she peered beyond the curled interior of her fingers, which had been covering her face, she saw a most astonishing sight.
     
    Gone were the bright colors of the many blooms that lined the walls and winding walkways of the solarium. The rainbow of hues that made up the vast collection of flowers that Gabriela so loved had all been replaced by a sea of silver, star-shaped lilies. Vines had even managed to grow upward, intertwined with the elaborate ironwork that kept up the high glass ceiling of the structure. Her mother’s garden was no more, and what she stood among now was a dream like place with a fragrance so pungent and pleasant that it almost made up for the uncanny way it had all suddenly changed.
     
    The little girl spun around, searching out for a sign of what was old and familiar. She turned a full 180 degrees, and found nothing but the same silver-leafed and violent-centered flowers all peering back at her. But when she was back, looking once more upon the original bloom -- the one that had surely caused all of this -- she found that it was gone and standing in its place was a woman of ethereal beauty. Like the newly transformed surroundings, this woman appeared to be a figment of her imagination -- the most beautiful creature that Lucia was able to come up with.
     
    She was a fairy tale princess with silver-white hair and a painful crown of black thorns that somehow did not pierce her wondrously pale flesh. For little Raspberry, this creature was but a dream, for she lived surrounded by magnificently beautiful beings. Ever since Raphael had reestablished the vampyric court, she found herself less and less impressed with human grace and beauty, especially when held in comparison to that of vampyres. But this woman far exceeded the beauty of even those creatures, after whom Raspberry herself had been modeled.
     
    When the woman turned, after tending to one of her straggling blossoms, Lucia’s curious crimson gaze was met by a similar set of eyes. Immediately shy, Lucia backed away just enough to appear bashful, but not enough to seem like she was willing or even able to leave. She hadn’t the slightest interest in retreating, after all -- there was magic at play here, and she was the Regent for Orisia while her mother and father were away. Like all else, the weight of this meeting fell upon her small shoulders, or so she told herself.
     
    “My… leetle’ Raspberry…”
     
    The child’s lips fell open and her brows furrowed. It was upon hearing the utterance of her old name, spoken by ancient lips and with an ancient tongue, that Lucia felt the first powerful pang of recognition. Much had happened since the days of Eden Nation, and Gabriela’s abandonment of those she had adopted and taken under her wing -- so much suffering and so much torment. Nearly all of that had been taken away by Tenebre, who did away with the ugly memories of some three hundred years of solitude and neglect. But even the Dark Father could not take away the very essence of what made Raspberry who she was, and this creature -- this glorious woman -- was a key part of Lucia’s identity, even if she didn’t immediately recall it.
     
    “Deedt’ yor’ mothar’ not tell ye’... ‘vhen ye’ pray t’de darkness.. De darkness.. Ansars.’”
     
    “There are a great many things my mother didn’t tell me,” replied the young child, turning her pretty eyes from the woman’s face to examine the clawed gauntlet that stretched out to brush aside a curtain of her dark hair, which had fallen over her small shoulder. Any other would have been afraid, but Raspberry stood still and watched on with nothing but curiosity and wonder. Trusting fully that she would not meet harm at the sharpened edge of those curled claws, she looked to Xintylin again. “You know my name -- my old name. My name is Lucia Elena Bartolome,” she said with a defiant lift of her small chin, “my father gave it to me, and you will call me by it for I am Queen of this land and my will is law.”
  19. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    Of course Raspberry did not cower away from the dream-like woman who moved towards her with a pendulum swing in her hips and with shreds of metal, leather, and lace dragging all around her. Although anyone else might have felt fear, given that pretty mouth full of sharpened teeth and the dangerous edge to her siren-like voice, but not Raspberry -- not brave, courageous, and fearless little Raspberry. If anything, she lifted her chin all the more definitely when the woman came to a low crouch before her and pressed her pollen covered finger to her nearly pouting lips.
     
    She didn’t taste it right away. Physiologically, she had never been made to be anything other than a vampyre, and that meant that food and drink brought her no pleasure. It was blood she craved, and blood that fed her abysmal appetite. And yet, curiosity made the tip of her tongue dart out to collect the pollen that had been left on her bottom lip. The sweetness spread like wildfire across her taste buds and with the flavor of sun-warm-honey came a torrent of emotions. Her memories were locked away, most of them outright destroyed when Tenebre had gone into her head and literally destroyed parts of her brain. Should her pretty skull ever be cut open and the content revealed, anyone would see that the pink of her brain was riddled with holes. Her personality literally cut to pieces in order to better fit the role that was expected of her. It was a cruel thing. But the emotions tied to those distant and lost memories were still locked away in her mind, and were now triggered by the ambrosia that Xintylin so selflessly shared.
     
    It struck the child with such force that her pretty crimson eyes, which had gone dry were once more brimming with fresh tears. She felt a strange acceptance and more importantly, a deep love -- the likes of which she had only ever felt for Raphael. But here, with this strange woman crouching before her, Lucia knew that she had loved before the Elder had given her a name and the revelation was almost more than she could take.
     
    “Ye’vill alvays be my leetle Raspberry… de leetle girl vho dresst me een matching dresses t’er… with matching crowns… as ve ruledt ovar Eden t’gethar.”
     
    Those tear filled eyes blinked as a clawed finger grazed the length of her nose and poked it. She squinted and shook her head a bit as if the action had tickled her. Waves of her dark hair spilled over her small shoulders, covering the lovely lace collar of her pretty dress. The gesture itself hurt her -- it resonated deep in her chest, somewhere in her heart. It was such a little thing, but so full of genuine affection. Lucia didn’t know how to handle such things, and it showed in the way she dropped her gaze and shifted backwards almost nervously.
     
    “My dear… sveet baby… fer vhat sorrow grips yer ‘eart dat ye’tore me from de depths ov ‘ell?”
     
    “My mother,” she blurted out suddenly, angirly. “My mother -- the poor, distressed princess. She’s stolen everything from me again. She’s taken my father away, dragged him to the other side of the world to save her. She’s always getting into trouble. She’s always needing all of the attention. My father left me because of her.”
     
    Her small hands had turned to fists, and her pretty face was twisted in a display of inner turmoil.
     
    “They abandoned me. Both of them!”
  20. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Rare Bloom   
    Chasms of nothingness, crowned with wreathes of crimson, level upon the small child as her gauntleted hand swept away darkened curls beyond the arc of her mantle.  Plush, sable tiers peel into a sneer, though soon morphed into a toothy smile—one that showcased the gleam of the pearly, pointed canines lying within. 
    "So…defiant…"  Honeyed words dripped venomous intent, though strangely her intonation would still be comforting and soothing to the small child caught in her shadow.  Xintylin's attention momentarily deviates from the image of a child, to the wondrous creation that blossomed by her sorrow.  Again her hand caressed the fleshy petals of a nearby flower, trailing her index through the pollen that glistened like stars. 
    Rolling the pollen across the rest of her digits, Xintylin returned her accursed gaze to Raspberry.  Taking a step forward, yards of charred leather and black steel began to groan and shriek for reprieve when the woman crouched down to the little queens' height.  Like a predator gazing upon the countenance of its prey, The Dark Mother's stare swept across the rebellious repose this child exuded.
    "..ov course I do,"  She purred in retaliation to Luciana's defiance, the fingertips that caressed the pollen lifting to trace the curved arc of the girl's lower lip.  Should she not shy away, she'd find the taste unlike anything she's ever let lap upon the surface of her tongue; the saccharine and all-consuming flavor of decadent ambrosia.  "…de Varlord ov Ere'tul nevar forgets a name."
    In the span of her three-hundred years, did Raspberry truly forget the woman she helped find a semblance of humanity?  This small child, this pale reflection of the people she was molded from, was the reason Xintylin attempted change then, and was reborn once again now.
    "Ye' vill alvays be my leetle Raspberry… de leetle girl vho dresst me een matching dresses t' 'er…vith matching crowns… as ve ruledt ovar Eden t'gethar."  Xintylin's affections hadn't faded with the girl's defiance, in fact, they seemed to only grow.  Her index brazenly tried to caress down the bridge of her nose. 
    "My dear… sveet baby… fer vhat sorrow grips yer 'eart dat ye' tore me from de depths ov 'ell?"
  21. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    Chasms of nothingness, crowned with wreathes of crimson, level upon the small child as her gauntleted hand swept away darkened curls beyond the arc of her mantle.  Plush, sable tiers peel into a sneer, though soon morphed into a toothy smile—one that showcased the gleam of the pearly, pointed canines lying within. 
    "So…defiant…"  Honeyed words dripped venomous intent, though strangely her intonation would still be comforting and soothing to the small child caught in her shadow.  Xintylin's attention momentarily deviates from the image of a child, to the wondrous creation that blossomed by her sorrow.  Again her hand caressed the fleshy petals of a nearby flower, trailing her index through the pollen that glistened like stars. 
    Rolling the pollen across the rest of her digits, Xintylin returned her accursed gaze to Raspberry.  Taking a step forward, yards of charred leather and black steel began to groan and shriek for reprieve when the woman crouched down to the little queens' height.  Like a predator gazing upon the countenance of its prey, The Dark Mother's stare swept across the rebellious repose this child exuded.
    "..ov course I do,"  She purred in retaliation to Luciana's defiance, the fingertips that caressed the pollen lifting to trace the curved arc of the girl's lower lip.  Should she not shy away, she'd find the taste unlike anything she's ever let lap upon the surface of her tongue; the saccharine and all-consuming flavor of decadent ambrosia.  "…de Varlord ov Ere'tul nevar forgets a name."
    In the span of her three-hundred years, did Raspberry truly forget the woman she helped find a semblance of humanity?  This small child, this pale reflection of the people she was molded from, was the reason Xintylin attempted change then, and was reborn once again now.
    "Ye' vill alvays be my leetle Raspberry… de leetle girl vho dresst me een matching dresses t' 'er…vith matching crowns… as ve ruledt ovar Eden t'gethar."  Xintylin's affections hadn't faded with the girl's defiance, in fact, they seemed to only grow.  Her index brazenly tried to caress down the bridge of her nose. 
    "My dear… sveet baby… fer vhat sorrow grips yer 'eart dat ye' tore me from de depths ov 'ell?"
  22. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Dolor Aeternum in A Rare Bloom   
    Time.
    So intangible its discourse that not even the immortal hear its song; years roll by in the blink of an eye for these monolithic titans, yet the only thing that remains a constant is their nature.  Worlds change and kingdoms crumble, but a monster will forever be a monster.
    Forever frozen in delicacy by Gabriela's dutiful care, the silver lily glistened with beauty unmatched; it was as though its petals tore the milky haze of the moon from the midnight sky and drank in its glory. Its petals undulated with saccharine promises, pollen heavy and fragrant with such allure it was no wonder the child found herself enthralled.
    Crystalline droplets pitter-patter from the child's visage and onto its fleshy petals, each tear bringing nourishing sorrow to a blossom born of excruciating agony.  Leaves grew thick and hardy, whilst its stem sprouted girthy vines that slithered amidst the confines of Gabriela's greenhouse, as though they held a mind of their own.  Before Lucia's tear-blurred eyes, a singular bloom became thousands, their beauty and fragrance choking out any other plant the Black Queen may have collected.
    Midnight green foliage ascended the glass walls, reaching in defiance toward the silvery haze of moonlight as it washed over the land.  Stems grew heavy with exotic, succulent fruit and yielded against its growing weight.  Once, Lucia found herself amidst a collection of ruin and memory, yet now found herself within a garden of unimaginable beauty awash with the distinct stench of innocence.
    Porcelain fingertips feather along the fleshy carapace of a struggling bud, whose greenery blossomed with the audible sigh of deliverance, and yielded the fragrant aroma that lied therein.  Thorns crown the Dark Mother's signature platinum locks, who pitter-pattered along the delicate arc of her jawline once her attention found the child nestled in the thicket of her own creation.  Eyes beheld a marvel—crimson irises which bled into the surrounding black sclera—focus on the tiny form that pricked her memory with painful recollections. 
    "My… leetle' Raspberry…" That sultry intonation oozed with venomous intent and so brazen was that clawed gauntlet to reach for the child's silky tresses. 
    "Deedt' yor' mothar' not tell ye'… vhen ye' pray t' de darkness… de darkness… ansars'."
    [Enter: Xintylin]
     
  23. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from -Malice- in A Rare Bloom   
    Time.
    So intangible its discourse that not even the immortal hear its song; years roll by in the blink of an eye for these monolithic titans, yet the only thing that remains a constant is their nature.  Worlds change and kingdoms crumble, but a monster will forever be a monster.
    Forever frozen in delicacy by Gabriela's dutiful care, the silver lily glistened with beauty unmatched; it was as though its petals tore the milky haze of the moon from the midnight sky and drank in its glory. Its petals undulated with saccharine promises, pollen heavy and fragrant with such allure it was no wonder the child found herself enthralled.
    Crystalline droplets pitter-patter from the child's visage and onto its fleshy petals, each tear bringing nourishing sorrow to a blossom born of excruciating agony.  Leaves grew thick and hardy, whilst its stem sprouted girthy vines that slithered amidst the confines of Gabriela's greenhouse, as though they held a mind of their own.  Before Lucia's tear-blurred eyes, a singular bloom became thousands, their beauty and fragrance choking out any other plant the Black Queen may have collected.
    Midnight green foliage ascended the glass walls, reaching in defiance toward the silvery haze of moonlight as it washed over the land.  Stems grew heavy with exotic, succulent fruit and yielded against its growing weight.  Once, Lucia found herself amidst a collection of ruin and memory, yet now found herself within a garden of unimaginable beauty awash with the distinct stench of innocence.
    Porcelain fingertips feather along the fleshy carapace of a struggling bud, whose greenery blossomed with the audible sigh of deliverance, and yielded the fragrant aroma that lied therein.  Thorns crown the Dark Mother's signature platinum locks, who pitter-pattered along the delicate arc of her jawline once her attention found the child nestled in the thicket of her own creation.  Eyes beheld a marvel—crimson irises which bled into the surrounding black sclera—focus on the tiny form that pricked her memory with painful recollections. 
    "My… leetle' Raspberry…" That sultry intonation oozed with venomous intent and so brazen was that clawed gauntlet to reach for the child's silky tresses. 
    "Deedt' yor' mothar' not tell ye'… vhen ye' pray t' de darkness… de darkness… ansars'."
    [Enter: Xintylin]
     
  24. Like
    Buttercup reacted to Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    He was gone, again. At least this time around he had provided her with a sense of fulfillment that carried her through the heartache and loneliness that his absence left behind. But her young and turbulent mind could not completely comprehend the depth of her issues that stemmed from abandonment, or the fact that there was a little part of her that wondered if his acceptance of her true thirst and instincts was enough to do away with the ugly worm of jealousy that had burrowed deep into her tiny heart.
     
    He was gone.
     
    Of course he was.
     
    Her papa, was gone to try and save her. And so, like the maternal love that Gabriela had so selfishly denied her, the Black Queen of Orisia now sought to deny her the paternal love she had just begun to enjoy. These feelings, with real or imagined sources, were far too big and powerful to be contained within the mental capabilities of a child -- a very strong, and powerful, and blood-thirsty child. So she took to terrorizing the cattle that Raphael had left behind for her, although she promised she wouldn’t. Of the nearly two hundred men and women that her beloved papa had gifted her, a wide sampling of Valcurian blood, she had already done away with nearly two thirds in truly ghastly and grisly ways. Forcing them to suffer for the pain  that her perceived abandonment was causing her. And she wasn’t careful about it either. Although Raphael had told her to be cautious, and although he provided a retinue of men, well versed in the art of cleaning up this kind of particular mess, Lucia’s appetite for violence, gore, and attention-seeking was just too much for them to keep up with. Finally, it wasn’t until she was given a firm talking to by Marie that the small, vampyric child finally was forced to reflect on not only her actions but what her father would make of them once he returned -- and worse of all -- what Gabriela would think, and how she would in turn influence Raphael.
     
    Convinced, Lucia was absolutely convinced, that Gabriela would manage to get her sent away. The woman after whom she had been molded, would only have to bat her long eyelashes, and stare up into Raphael’s face with those huge, golden eyes of hers while her bottom lip trembled, and just like that he’d do whatever she wanted -- including throwing away his newly acquired daughter.
     
    Little Lucia could already taste the tears she would cry when her father informed her that she was going to be sent back to Umbra, while he remained in Orisia with his beloved. And not for the first time did this small child wish that she was older, wiser, and more like the exact replica of Gabriela that she had always meant to be.
     
    Full of sorrow and sadness, the child -- appearing no older than seven years of age -- walked through the vast halls of the DuGrace castle. She was the only known living child of the Black Queen of Orisia, whom had been kidnapped and was now off being fought for by an army of suitors, all ready to throw away their lives for her pathetic existence. But, with her departure, Lucia had gained something she had never before had -- power. Not long after Lucis was overthrown by Raphael, she was named the Regent of the Summer Isles, and it was then that Raphael quickly moved her from Umbra back to the Orisia, where she took up residence in Veelos -- the very city that he had adopted as the new capital of the country.
     
    She was the little queen, even if he wielded all of the responsibilities. People bowed to her, and they listened to her, and they kept their mouth’s shut about the things she was doing. But not one of them, and not all of them put together, could make up for her growing isolation. So she took to walking the halls alone -- haunting them like the ghost she felt she was slowly, but surely becoming.
     
    It was in these aimless and desperate wanderings that she ended up in the Solárium de las Ciencias Flora, a place she knew was one of her mother’s favorite places. Gabriela had always collected plants. From a time long ago, Lucia remembered vividly her glass and metal palaces, all of them dedicated to the care of her collection of rare blooms. This particular structure surpassed all other solariums in size, art, and beauty. She found it comforting -- both the sights and smells. But still her heart was heavy and so she moved slowly and with teary filled eyes through the open corridors of the glass castle, peering without much care or motivation at the strange but beautiful flowers. It wasn’t until she came upon a particular display where a single plant, a thing that did not stand taller than a foot or two from the ground. The mat itself was a dull green color, with a sturdy stem and four individual leaves breaking open from the base of the plant. Crowning the mat was a gorgeous silver lily, with a deep purple center.
     
    Where nothing else within the Solárium de las Ciencias Flora had managed to capture her attention, this one single flower did…
     
    It looked as lonely as she felt.
     
     
  25. Like
    Buttercup got a reaction from Pasion Pasiva in A Rare Bloom   
    Time.
    So intangible its discourse that not even the immortal hear its song; years roll by in the blink of an eye for these monolithic titans, yet the only thing that remains a constant is their nature.  Worlds change and kingdoms crumble, but a monster will forever be a monster.
    Forever frozen in delicacy by Gabriela's dutiful care, the silver lily glistened with beauty unmatched; it was as though its petals tore the milky haze of the moon from the midnight sky and drank in its glory. Its petals undulated with saccharine promises, pollen heavy and fragrant with such allure it was no wonder the child found herself enthralled.
    Crystalline droplets pitter-patter from the child's visage and onto its fleshy petals, each tear bringing nourishing sorrow to a blossom born of excruciating agony.  Leaves grew thick and hardy, whilst its stem sprouted girthy vines that slithered amidst the confines of Gabriela's greenhouse, as though they held a mind of their own.  Before Lucia's tear-blurred eyes, a singular bloom became thousands, their beauty and fragrance choking out any other plant the Black Queen may have collected.
    Midnight green foliage ascended the glass walls, reaching in defiance toward the silvery haze of moonlight as it washed over the land.  Stems grew heavy with exotic, succulent fruit and yielded against its growing weight.  Once, Lucia found herself amidst a collection of ruin and memory, yet now found herself within a garden of unimaginable beauty awash with the distinct stench of innocence.
    Porcelain fingertips feather along the fleshy carapace of a struggling bud, whose greenery blossomed with the audible sigh of deliverance, and yielded the fragrant aroma that lied therein.  Thorns crown the Dark Mother's signature platinum locks, who pitter-pattered along the delicate arc of her jawline once her attention found the child nestled in the thicket of her own creation.  Eyes beheld a marvel—crimson irises which bled into the surrounding black sclera—focus on the tiny form that pricked her memory with painful recollections. 
    "My… leetle' Raspberry…" That sultry intonation oozed with venomous intent and so brazen was that clawed gauntlet to reach for the child's silky tresses. 
    "Deedt' yor' mothar' not tell ye'… vhen ye' pray t' de darkness… de darkness… ansars'."
    [Enter: Xintylin]
     
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