ATOM: Intelude IX – Dal’coler

Warning: a lot of [ cruel ] violence lol.

When Lorian entered the tree chamber, Leira thought that he didn’t hurry. Lady Nymre possibly kept him busy, especially after she left. She probably did that to reclaim him in her mind. Beautiful and deadly storm clouds that thought they owned the wind.

Lorian passed her and she felt the intense scent of violets. Her favorite flowers. And while he was passing, he looked just at her, with utter enjoyment. Playful, pretty smile, like he wasn’t just about to kill someone.

Her eyes were following him, as he stepped gracefully on the elevation leading to the tree. Something led her gaze after him, some spell, that she couldn’t understand. His enchantment was dangerous. And pulled so many cords in her body and mind.

She lowered gaze to not sell herself. She long ago understood that in Dal’coler, one needs to just take what they want, otherwise, they won’;t get it, it will hang before them, tempting, but far from reach. She knew though, that taking this prize could be as deadly as jumping off the battlements of the castle.

She almost felt the gaze of the other fey at her. She knew that many of them despised her and thought of her as a too bold toy, who will be thrown away when the time comes. She had so many enemies here. Among humans and the fae.

How did she even get here? How did she tangle in this? Thirty years of  darkness. Thirty years of losing innocence.

If he gets bored with you.

And few years of dreaming about forbidden.

Lorian took the face of the prisoner into his fingers and inspected him, with deep curiosity.

“You are such a bold fool” he mused casually. “I can respect that though. Your freedom really means a lot to you. Even through rain and storm and snow, you would fight for it. That is quite… admirable.”

The human looked at him. Straight at him. Leira had to admit that he made an impression on her. Very very stupid… but filled with defiance.

“And adorable” decided Lorian. “Brave people have a special place in my heart” he slowly lifted his chin and reaching to one of the branches, he broke off a tiny rotten sprout. It curled in his fingers. “Brave people get treats.”

His fingers opened mouth of the man forcefully and pushed the sprout into his throat. They lingered there, until he swallowed, soundfully, and brushing the prisoner’s sweated hair, with a careful and tender move, he allowed his head to yank backwards.

The human gagged trying to not choke. Lorian smiled, a sun breaking through the heavy clouds, to grace people with its light. Leira could almost feel the dark thrill he felt, something beautiful, tempting… but wrong.

The body of the prisoner were limp since she saw him, hanging in the chest made of branches like a rag doll. But now, it tensed. For a moment, he looked at Lorian with mute begging, with an unspoken plea, that was never to be fulfilled

His veins swollen, tiny tendrils of brown were pushing out, marking under his skin with roots made of  rot. His whole flesh cut with tiny vines, which would never kill him, they fed him with rot, and kept him alive, until Lorian didn’t decide otherwise. He couldn’t not scream, even if he didn’t want to. Lorian grinned at that.

“It’s so willing” he purred and the rotten leaves pushed out, breaking man’s flesh, crimson blood fell off his skin. The roots seemed to pulse with inner power, which animated this tree, was making it living death. It will keep the human alive, like it held the whole world in decaying embrace, alive yet… dead.

Other fae, who he allowed in, were enthralled by it. Areltha, who stood not far… she beamed with deviousness. She always was scaring Leira. She was absolutely drawn to Lorian, to the point of obsession. He handled her, but her demeanor was dark, even for a fae. She was the kind of a woman, who would bring Leira’s head on a plate to him. Fascinating and naive like a spring leaf in winter, Lorian once told to Leira.

For a moment, though, Leira was sure she saw something in Lorian’s gaze.

A glimpse of something disturbing. His body shivered, almost invisibly, a slight sweat on his forehead. But she was sure she was seeing well.

He felt something he didn’t like.

Leira was not daring to guess what was that.

The muffled screams filled the air, then became only pained moans, when tendrils came off the prisoner’s throat, curling around his lungs, filling him with rot.

It delighted Lorian, she could see it.

But something in him struggled, touched by the same, yet less visible pain. He hid it well.

But he suffered. And that somehow scared Leira more than the sight she had to witness.