Categories art


I am now a bit resting from writing. I feel tired IRL, so I taje time to recharge.

My latest additions to Lorian army! By aramisdream and Amru.

Categories fairy realm

Family Bonds – I

Enjoy the party.


Veralia’s hair was falling with a golden cascade over her arms, reaching her shapely hips. She was beautiful, in a very fae way, like a touch of setting sun, and was well aware of that. Her aura gleamed with gold as well, an autumnal aura so fitting her auburn eyes and vermilion attire, a dress made of silk and gossamer.

Lorian’s fingers wandered in her tangles, his expression seemed bored, while he, Varalia and the group of ar’salien watched the performance of lower fey entertainers.

Ar’salien. Humans, but not slaves. More of a company, cherished one. Lovers, if Lorian wanted. They proved their loyalty in trials in which they couldn’t lie. And most of them – after delving more into court life, gathered enough knowledge to enjoy their position. As humans, they could end much much worse.

Most of Lorian’s ar’salien were skilled in not only the art of love. Not only in being a good company. Lorian knew how to use lower races and equip them with almost fairy advantages.

Veralia never understood Lorian’s fondness for them. They were so short-living and simple. Of course, humans could be tasty in bed, but… she preferred fae lovers. Too much hassle with educating those creatures to the level of the court,

She caught the gaze of one of them. Twir, a tall human male with light skin and blue eyes, was looking at her with strange intensity. His face was a mask of complete peace. And something disturbing in his eyes… some kind of knowledge and curiosity, which she would find offending in fae’s gaze, but found very uncomfortable and improper in human’s one.

She didn’t like it.

She feigned laughter and sat closer to Lorian, her light gossamer dress fluttering around her like wings of a bird.

Twir still looked at her.

“Lorian” she mused, oblivious to the performers. Lorian was looking bored, either way. “I thought you train your humans better.”

His black gaze drifted from the spectacle. As a prince, Lorian had a reputation of a spoiled one, but also very charismatic, gaining the hearts of many courtiers. Lerrel Ain’Dal perceived him as a bothersome, annoying kid, who uses his privileges way too widely. That’s why he sent her to his younger brother. To spy on him and take his attention away from what’s really important in the court. After all, Lorian liked to indulge, he perceived life in terms of pleasures. Delicious prey for a spy like her. The prince loved to fuck her and she had to admit, that she started to like it.  He was passionate lover and knew what she liked, like he read in her mind. Yet, she was not a weak, easily wooed woman. She knew she was a distraction and informator.

Which seemed to work very well.

She was not a trained spy… but Lorian should eat from her hand soon. He got lost in sensual sensations and she felt that he is hers already. She almost pitied him. But he will lead pleasant, wealthy life… even if far from the throne. In some property, where he will be able to do whatever he pleases… as long as Lerrel allows.

His smile was exceptionally beautiful. Like a morning coming from over a mountain, being in contrast to his dark eyes filled with void. Another pleasant thing connected with her work.

“How so, Veralia?”

“One of them looks at me all the time. He should know his place.”

Somehow, she could swear that Lorian gaze landed for a small second on Twir, but eventually slid over him and took in the whole gathering of his human companions.

His voice was especially low, when he spoke.

“Very unfortunate, my dear. Tell me who, and I will mind to punish it.”

His stunning smile didn’t take an ominous mood from his words.

“Point any of them and I will feed it.”

Her brows lifted up.

“Feed it?”

“After all, it must be very hungry for you. It needs a treat. Disobedient pets love attention.”

Veralia felt that air around them becomes heavier, thicker. And that not only Twir but also the rest of ar’salien looked at her with almost insistent way.

This sounded ominous. What he had in mind?

“I didn’t mean anything very vile” she said fast, the eyes of the prince’s companions seemed to drill her soul. “It’s only a gaze. Perhaps a simple flog will do.”

His fingers delved into her hair, separating golden tangles. His smile was as beautiful as before, but his lip corner twisted almost invisibly, giving him a slightly off look.

“Its presence is already an insult to me. Point it, darling. We all want to know.”

Lorian… acted differently. Even the lesser fairy performers stopped, not sure if they should continue or not. After all, they performed for the prince and his concubine and they stopped caring about their art, leaving them confused.

“Perhaps I should choose by myself. Ar’salien are easy to replace, even if they are hard to train. But no human is allowed to disturb you” he looked at his companions who showed no fear. Lorian for a moment seemed to ponder, but quickly decided.

“Choose from yourself, if my lady isn’t sure. The more it prolongs, the harder it will be for you.”

“No” she caught his hand. “You want to kill them?”

“Death is a very… final act” his kind smile was disturbing her more than if he fell among the group of humans and tore their hearts with his teeth. “But… if he dies, it will be interesting to observe.”

She stopped in the mid-word. What she should say? She suspected he is showing off.  Ar’salien were hard to replace, even if he just stated otherwise. And killing one of them, would cause lack of real loyalty in the others.

“It’s this one” she eventually said, pointing at Twir. She knew she could just tell him all beautiful lies… but something in his face was telling him it was a very bad idea.

Maybe he was showing off. Or he knew something that he shouldn’t.

Lorian frowned, his one feet resting on his knee, his arms spread over the back of the bench.  The performers looked at them with curious and intrigued impressions.

“Come, Twir” he moved his finger at him.

The human raised slowly from the seat, and approached, his long hair windswept, his eyes set just at Lorian. But she didn’t see fear in them. Lorian was known for  very often strange ideas… sometimes violent, but that human knew that he wouldn’t kill him, just for looking at her, yes?

Lorian nodded approvingly. And he laughed silently. Veralia looked at him with surprise, his laugh, even if quiet, rang in the silence like a knife separating sky from the earth.

“We are civilized people ” his laughter stopped fast, like a cut with the same blade. “My lady would like you to be flogged. Would you like that?”

Twir at first didn’t seem to want to oblige and reply. But in the moment when Veralia wanted to ask Lorian to stop this, he replied.

“No, my lord” his voice was silent, and strangely ethereal, like not belonging to a human.

“Insolent boy” Lorian clicked with his tongue.

The human companion looked down, like not being able to stand his gaze.

Veralia felt… strange. These humans were with Lorian for longer than her. He many times showed he cares for them. She would assume that he shows off indeed… and she hoped this is it. If no…

Lorian waved at one of the lower fey guards that stood between the gardens and the meadow on which they were sitting. Veralia observed as the tall winged fairy  approaches, and bowed slightly. He didn’t feel moved by his prince’s cruel behavior. Like he has seen it before lready.

What I ommited?

“The human was insolent, as you heard” Lorian’s tone was as lazy as the summer reign. “Hold him tightly. Hunger must be appeased.”

The prince reached under his shirt. His fingers swiftly delved under the material and pulled a small bottle. Veralia looked with doubtful air at the crimson liquid inside.

“Shivara” mused casually Lorian, and the time stopped around them.

Veralia now knew it was no game at all. Lorian really meant it. Shivara. Most dreadful poison in the whole Ain’asel. Rarely someone was using it, if they didn’t wish someone the worst. And even then, they didn’t. Made from the seeds of the rotting madanis, the trees, which were long gone wiped out from the terrain of the palace, were causing the most hideous and painful death one could imagine.

And Lorian wanted to force this poor creature to drink it.

Because he looked at her.

“Lorian, are you mad?” she didn’t even try hiding terror. This couldn’t be. “This was only a gaze… you can’t really mean it.”

Lorian stood up, uncorking the bottle slowly. His black eyes showed no emotion and his smile was making her skin creep.


“Force him on his knees” he said silently and the fey guard tossed the human man on the ground, pushing him hard, so he landed on his fours. Veralia still couldn’t see fear in his eyes. But something… more. Love. And trust.

This was hideous.

Lorian’s fingers opened the jaws of the human companionand slowly poured the blood-colored liquid into his throat.

“We are civilized people” he patted him on the cheek. “And know how to cause a lot of pain.”

Veralia with even more intense shock watched as the human ar’salien curls in himself. His veins slowly started to be visible, darkened, like the night sky bubbling under his skin. No scream came from his mouth, like some force didn’t allow him, and she realized it was Lorian. One of his abilities was muting voices and he did it exactly now. He wanted to watch his agony, without disturbance.

He returned to the bench and seated himself next to her, his one arm over her shoulder; she was too shocked to wipe his hand from herself.

Her eyes met his black ones and found in them something that made her nauseous.

She underestimated him.

“Why?” she asked, anger flowing in her, from her own naivety, which shouldn’t be present in her after long months of working for Lerrel.

He leaned to her, his lips almost touching her ear. His warm, fragrant breath reached her skin. Jasmine. And violets.

“Because the spies get the best performance. This could happen to you so easily. If I had such a whim, I could do that to you.  Lerrel should know better – and consider your well-being much more. You are so delicious to bed, but your own performance in the game of deception was average at best.”

He didn’t allow her to express her surprise, but clicked at the guard.

“Assist the lady to gardens and forth. What happens here is not for delicate eyes.”

The human ar’salien was slowly dying on the grass floor and Veralia could almost hear his scream in her head, coming along with his tensed features, bulging eyes and swollen veins.

Categories wip

ATOM: Luna – VI

Leira’s silent feet walked the bloodied floor. The fae who feasted between these walls already departed to continue their dark enjoyment elsewhere. Her boots stained fast – but she didn’t pay attention to them. Her hair was falling with a thick cascade in her moonlit face. She had to see it. How wild they can be, when their veins boiled hot. The ballroom seemed a place from sensual and cruel nightmares, where dark needs were fulfilled in most ruthless and perverse way.

The chamber smelled of magic. Not even of blood. Of fae. Beautiful scent of flowers, trees and leaves. They could enchant a human with mere this, if they wanted. Before, she was asking herself so many times, why such cruel beings were graced with such charming beauty, with tempting voices and powers. This was before she understood the fey, where her life was a streak of fearful days, one after another. Now… she understood that faeries were hunters, and their beauty was their trap. Brightly blooming predatory flowers, tempting their prey. It was so obvious and her views from before were now laughable for her. The fae could force you to love them. Force you on your knees, Or just feast on your fear like carnivores feast on meat.

And Lorian…

His darkness was his temptation. Pulling his victims on an iron string with tendrils of shadows, collecting them, to swallow them later.

And she fell for it. After long years of resisting. But now… she wanted to know more. Now, she felt that he returns her curiosity, interest, and passion. That he wants more of her. Not only for her body, that he could and had anytime. Of her.

She was curious of his soul, she wanted to dig deeper, fascinated. Passion and a will to understand, a dangerous amalgament, definitely for her. She felt it in her mind when their thoughts intertwined.

The fae liked someone when it was convenient. Loved when they could feel it sensually. Lorian… he didn’t only say he admires her. She felt that. In all lies he was capable of saying, it was a rare truth.

She knew that Lorian was in her mind, anchored in her thoughts. This would be frightening, if she wasn’t used to it. Her thoughts were his thoughts, her feelings were his. He felt with her and was with her all the time.

Yes, this would be terrifying for them all. It would be even terrifying, if they knew that he can do that, enter their heads, play with their thoughts. Change them. But she was not afraid. If someone wanted to hurt her… he would react ruthlessly and fast.

And you like that.

Thoughts were running through her head, uninvited. She loved it more and more. She only hoped none of them – the fey – will ever see it. To never become an open book, so the enemies, the same who spilled blood here mere hour ago, couldn’t find her weak spots.

The floor was wet and she could see herself on the surface of blood. Crimson face, like an omen. Her eyes calm like ponds, also red, gleaming in the crimson with ghastly light. She could swear she sees Lorian’s face, just near her own, his smile mysterious and heartwrenching. But as soon as soon as he appeared, he vanished, leaving her confused.

All fae seemed to depart. But she was not alone.

A soft voice reached her from the door. But loud enough to startle her. She turned slowly, her heart involuntarily started to beat a tone faster… but not enough he could find out it did.

Kolerial Verne’se.

The one she spied. The husband of a woman she sentenced to death.

His smile was kind. Awfully kind.

He crossed his arms, in an aloof pose. His long hair seemed windswept, like he was on the balcony or the window, admiring winter.

“You look at your face in the mirror of blood, child? They say such a mirror… shows much more to the one who looks into it. But not all answers given by it are… happy ones.”

“My lord” she made a curtsy, her dress fluttered around her legs.

“Do not pretend. We both know you have only one lord” his eyes darkened, Usually icy blue, now reached much darker colors. “How he hid you. Bearing a slave status, and on a leash. He has an intriguing mind, I must give that to him.”

He got closer to her. She didn’t back off. She didn’t even fear. She knew now, it was too late for him. Now, he could do nothing. Lorian spared him. Every move against her, would be his doom.

“I always wondered why he kept you for so long…” mused Vern’ese. “Now I know. I remember when he brought you to Dal’coler. You were prey incarnate… but he always had been drawn to you, no matter what he was doing to you… How did such a fawn become a wolf? Fascinating…”

A smile cracked Leira’s lips. Her pose, so far bent in a slight bow, straightened. Her face met Kolerial’s. Her eyes gleamed with something dangerous. She didn’t need to pretend anymore. He knew. She didn’t have to hide.

“We are all living our lives the best we can” her voice wasn’t the voice of a slave. Not of a prey incarnate. This voice… only Lorian was aware of. Only he knew of her inner struggles, her fears, her desires and her strength. “Even if we must use teeth and talons.”

“Oh yes! You not only survive. You like it” smiled Kolerial.

“Would you not like it, my lord?” she smiled, beautifully. Like a fae.

“If I was you, I would drown in it” laughed the fey. “You are of a lower race. Every other would not hide anymore under the mask of a servant. They would want to avenge their suffering. The faster the better, they would not allow others to see them weak and bent. But you…”

Her smile still on her lips, wandering. Defiant.

“… you enjoy pulling the strings. And that is… very faery. I could congratulate you. If you didn’t kill my wife. Who was a fool, but I loved her. If I was a fool as well, I would kill you now.”

“I don’t doubt a lover in you still wants to do it” her eyes were merciless, like daggers. “I am not surprised. I am not afraid either.”

“Ah, but your only power is being our king’s spy. His favorite. His… toy.”

Leira chuckled.

“Do say what your heart desires, my lord. I long ago stopped caring about words. They can sting, they can slice. Fae kind never spared me their words. They can bury so hard into one’s soul. But only if one  let them enter it.”

Kolerial’s eyes drilled her through. She could swear his mind works faster than usually, that he tries to… feel her. And she could swear that she heard a smile in her head. Lorian’s joy. She heard him, but at the same time not. She saw his voice. She felt the touch of his black gaze.

“You are very bold for a prey…” eventually, Kolerial stopped examining her. “But that could be said by every fey. You are ready for words and their blades… But now, we serve the same master. I can’t betray Lorian and I don’t plan to. I want peaceful and wealthy life. My wife… ” he stopped but shook his head. “But do know… not all of us will like it if they find out how well you played with their lives. How you fooled them. They could stand and possibly will stand being fooled by their king. But not by a lower human being.”

“I will take a risk, my lord. Do I have another choice?”

“If you want to live, no.”

“So I will do what my heart desires. And risk my life in this. After all, we all are playing it. It’s the cruel charm of Dal’coler.”

“And you really know how to be in its favor” he offered her a bitter gleam. She knew him, partially. Lorian told her about old autumnal lords. The ones who had souls still in autumn.

Kolerial, Alnam, Manahal, Lokin.

They all had copper leaves in their hearts, and bright  rays of sun.

And her heart belonged to frozen planes and  high icy peaks.

She looked as he departed. Slow-cat like moves. His scent of pansies, his aura, gleaming mutely.


There was no turn back. In Dal’coler, even the stones were hungry.

Kolerial disappeared behind the vast door, leaving only silence. Silence so thick that could choke her, if entered her lungs.

Her feet carried her again. In dim hush, her boots meeting the stone floor was an only sound. Death was still present here, but turned into awaiting, patient silence. She walked to the throne, on which Lorian was usually sitting during feasts. The chair next to it, only slightly smaller, belonged to Nymre. Always by his side, a watchful raven eye. A lover. Almost a wife, if he ever decided to take one. Her heart beat faster, when her fingers ran over the ornamental frame of the royal seat. Blood. Everywhere, drying slowly. And the slight scent of his aura, violet darkness. The throne was engraved with wild brushas, his symbol. With an uncanny, almost human faces, swallowing their own tails, feasting on own pain. A symbol of someone who will do everything to achieve his goals, no matter how many he hurts on the path to it. No matter how much scars he will carve in his own flesh. No matter if he dies, he will always prevail. Relentless. Unstoppable.

And she heard a voice. Lazy, muted, but which sounded like an opening wound.

He took her here. Poured blood on her skin and took her. Do you want to know how? How she moaned for more?

Her heart stopped for a second. She looked around, but saw no one. Not even fairy lights, the chamber was illuminated only by the huge orb of the solstice moon.

“Who is there?”

You love it, yes, old soul? That he ravished her. That he ate her whole. How does it feel? How does it feel, old soul?”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere… but from nowhere. Drilling into her heart.

She felt fear, yes.

Whoever it was, he knew what lays in her heart. And wanted to harm her with it. Wanted to sprout a seed of doubt.

The voice became a dull silence, filling her ears with its song. Pressing inside her head, just like Lorian’s mind… but without pleasant strokes, without sensual touch of his shadowed power. It was the dimness of fire burning in a closed space, a trapped flame, hungry for air.

A flame maiming her mind, mincing it like meat pulled between two stones.

And again, it left her, making her gasp.



It wants Lorian.

And you.

How does it feel?

The last frantic thought caught her mind in cruel tongs, squeezed her head and she could feel that her brain – might – just – trickled through her earholes.

She fell on the floor, with her hands on her ears, trying to stop the absence of the sound. The absence of life.

The absence of space unpolluted by the trapped flame.

How does it feel to have your mind open so much? Old child?

Categories wip

This Cruel Pain – II

Corvel never felt so lost in any place. Dal’coler was dark, overwhelming and monumental – traits he wasn’t accustomed with. Devlonmere was different, light, sun licking white curtains and entering white walls behind white curtains. His family was bound with the white, since he remembered. White – like snow. Like winter. Even if his father seemed to hold autumn in his heart, also since he remembered. Corvel never knew king Marnsul, a companion to his father, good one. Yet Marnsul gave life, when the forest chose his son.

Corvel Devlon – his name meant that he had lord’s status, yet he never grasped the subtleties of commanding, acting like the world belonged to him. Self-confidence. He grew up in a secluded place, where he was loved. Adored, without needing to give orders.  He was aware this kind of upbringing is not common among High Fae. Most of fey didn’t bond with their children that much. He knew his family was unique.

But Corvel wanted to taste life in the palace. Far from safety. Far from the warmth of his manor. Something dark bloomed in his heart for some time. His father would say that he grew up, that his claws became sharper. He thought that he needed the change to see how others live. Compare, drown in night, and return. Maybe bolder.

Father always was telling him that love can command just as well as fear. Even illusion of love. Even a lie.  But among High Fae fear-inducing was more respected. That, Corvel wanted to see as well.

Darkness was… tempting. Somehow… less polished to shine, but beaming with timeless power. Father said once that it was the matter of time that blossomed in him. Corvel was as much wanting it, as he was afraid.

But the want was stronger.

When he at last traversed the dark and shadowed passages of Dal’coler, he felt the ages in them. Whispering ghosts of the blood which was spilled here through ages. It spoke about power, relentless, hungry and unstoppable. Every young fae would be moved.

And Corvel was very moved.

Each of the stones here had its own history. He would love to know each one of them.

The lesser fairy with black wings and antlers growing from her thick copper hair led him through a richly ornamented corridor; the scenes carved on walls depicted things which Corvel didn’t see well and couldn’t decipher their meaning. As the fey stated at the beginning – they were aiming the private quarters of the lords. Far from the throne room, but placed in a circle around the royal chambers. Corvel stopped to admire the art and spatial build of the capital, even expressing his curiosity a few times. The fairy’s voice was melodic and silent, when she explained to him with a low tone, that she was ordered to show him his rooms and only that. By the king. And his order had to be fulfilled in every detail.

“Why is my father not with us?” he tried to sound as commanding as he was able.

“Your father was invited for a supper with King Lorian, my lord” the fairy smiled meekly. But Corvel could swear that he saw a wild gleam in her burgundy eyes.

“Will he visit me here… or?”

“Please forgive me for my impertinence, my lord. But I do not know. I am only a messenger.”

This sounded reasonable.

“I was accepted to the court. How will my day look from now on?” he was really curious.

“How you wish, my lord. You still don’t have duties in the palace, so your day will be filled with pleasures. You can do whatever you want. Whatever your heart desires.”

The possibilities… that sounded a bit… frightening. He didn’t know anyone here, yet he was given a free hand in everything. Possibly he could get to know other lords, with time. But they were winter fae, and he was raised as an autumn child. How will they react to him?

How will the lords and ladies react to his lack of sophistication?

Maybe they have books here. For sure they have. But then, he doubted many High Fae here liked to read.

“Can you send someone to my room?”

“A woman?” her eyes gleamed.

“Someone who can show me around here, that is.”

“Of course. But allow me graciously to give you advice, my lord. Do not ask servants if they can do something for you. Other lords…’ ‘ she shook her head, her copper hair falling on her forehead, in a very wild way. “Command. You have the right to do so.”

That sounded like the advice his father would give him. Something, which would allow him to not sound like an autumnal child in the winter court. Alnam knew how to command. He led armies to battle. He many times did this against his own beliefs, because he had to. But he knew how to lead faeries, who always were more selfish than loyal. He could be ruthless if needed.

Corvel still didn’t have that in him. But he hoped that it would bloom in him, just like he imagined in Devlonmere. He wanted power, he wanted darkness, even against his own nature. He wanted to be like Alnam, yes.

He wanted to be like Lorian Ain’Dal.

He heard about the power of the king. He possessed rare shadow magic and it was so strong. Stronger than in any other winter king. When he met him, he felt it, pushing under his skin.

When he met him…



Face hidden behind the raven mask, which was almost blending with her skin. A nonchalant smile on her lips, like everything around her, was boring to her. Her aura was so similar to his own, light, but strong. He felt that she had more power in her small finger than he in his whole body.

Perfect temptation. Perfect trap.

And he fell into it, willingly.

Lady Nymre, the king’s consort.

Oh, he heard about her too. But nothing prepared him for seeing her.

She was allure incarnate.

And she belonged to the king of Ain’asel.

His chances were nonexistent. Trying anything, he would doom himself.


Alnam watched as Lorian lifted the cup with wine and sipped from it slowly, his dark eyes set on him above the rim. Nymre was sitting between them, like a dam between their mutual dislike. Alnam always thought that Nymre was clever, but vain. Intelligent but very selfish, A fae woman in every aspect. Someone who he always had to take into consideration, while traveling to Dal’coler.

Lorian was aware of that. Nymre was not his weakness, though. She was his weapon, just as she was his lover.

Corvel made a bad first impression, yes. Nymre seemed lazily amused by his attention, He hoped Lorian thought the same. It would be unfortunate, if Corvel became a sliver, which he would want to remove. Given that he thought of Alnam as a bother, it would be a good excuse to send Corvel back to Devlonmere, without giving him a chance.

“So…” the cup was put on the table and Lorian smiled. A slight mock behind it, yet not enough to call it an offense. “The young boy wants to taste the flavors of Dal’coler.”

“He is here exactly for that, Your Majesty. My son is not used to life on the court, though. He is very young.”

Lorian’s smile cracked into something darker.

“Many young fae are not ready. But the circumstances make them willingly open before possibilities.”

Alnam’s brow drifted higher.

“Corvel is very excited, my lord. I do not ask for special favors for him, though.”

“Oh, but he will get them,” Lorian’s gaze slid over Alnam slowly. “A son of my father’s most trusted companion must receive… my most special attention.”

“I hope this won’t bother Your Majesty” Alnam’s serious expression hid his thought inside his head, where no one could gaze into.

“On the contrary! I will adore to offer him the right treatment.”

Nymre’s piercing eyes laid on Alnam. He could swear she tried to dig into his mind and pull his thoughts out.

“Your son is very fine,” she mused. “And he has a taste for beautiful things.”

Lorian sipped the wine again.

“He will see many beautiful things here. But he must be aware that some of them hide claws and sharp teeth. A predatory plants in disguise.” his eyes gleamed with stars. “As you know well.”

Nymre took a small piece of meat on the fork. A small droplet of blood fell from the morsel, just on the plate.

“I can promise you that I will keep a watchful eye on your son” Lorian tapped the surface of the table with his fingers. “And do not allow him to fall prey to dangers of Dal’coler. That is the least I can do to my loyal general.”

Alnam was sure that it was true.

Lorian may not like him, but he would not harm Corvel, just to prove his point. He was not petty, cruel, yes, but not petty. At least that he knew well.

Why did he feel that it all went wrong?

“Is life in Devlonmere treating you well?” Lorian seemed to offer him real attention on the subject. “Narlia… it was too long since I had delight to see her.”

“Narlia perceives pleasures of solitude very personally. They soothe her soul… just as mine.”

“We all sometimes long for loneliness… even if surrounded by miracles and beautiful nightmares.”

Nymre chuckled silently, kindly… but enjoying these words, like she knew some dangerous secrets. Lorian and Nymre… the shadows over Ain’asel… yet never step too far, never crossing boundaries. Deadly. And unpredictable.

His own skills will be very useful here. Lorian looked amused by Corvel’s purity.

And maybe, he involuntarily helps him to grow a stronger spine.

Categories wip

ATOM: Luna – V

“Who is he?”

The inner garden swallowed them, separating them from the bloodstained chamber, from the tall arches and columns, from… everything. Lorian’s personal garden, which he gave a long time ago to Nymre, so she could keep her ravens here, and rest from the noise of the palace. Filled with rarest flowers, which usually bloomed only in spring – now they bloomed for his winter. Black roses, ashen hellebores, sweetest narials, cruel voarnlons.

Nymre liked the peace of this place. Where she could chew on her worry and feel it even more. Sometimes, she was sure that this place was her personal torment, her beautiful torture chamber.

But now, she felt only the scent of flowers, which Lorian stained with eternity. They were immortal, blooming all the time, the same ones through long years. Lorian liked taking life. And giving it on a whim.

But now, Nymre wasn’t ready to think about those Lorian graced with immortality.

She wanted to know what enemy could stand between their immortality and them.

Possibly many of them. She wondered about which of them Lorian would tell her. She would want all of it. But she knew that he never, ever showed anyone all he knew. To her, in the long gone past, but he changed. She changed. For better and for worse.

Lorian’s lips and hands were still stained with slave’s blood. Her robes, fastly pulled on her body, also were crimson. Somehow this reminded her first visit to Dal’coler, after Lorian claimed the throne. They were so much younger… and she was so drunk with the possibility of the fey king turning his attention on her. Lorian always was different from his father. She never met anyone like him. He was so filled with fire. He took her on the table in his chamber, her skin dripping with wine, which they spilled in reckless passion. So red.

Like blood.

In which they loved to bathe the world.

They reached the bench made of black wood from Harlorn forest, near Shadowlands. The trees there were so filled with magic, that no one used it to build furniture from it. Lorian though, always was different.

He sat on the bench, one foot on the knee, his gaze playful and filled with small glittering stars.

At least not with the void. She hated the void. Especially if it was swallowing him, leaving an empty shell.

“The silence after the sound of death is quite… intoxicating” he mused. She crossed her arms, she didn’t sit. He would again play on her body like on a harp, making her willing. And she wanted information. “I see” he chuckled, and leaned over the back of the bench. “Strong. Determined. I love that, Nymre. Even if it’s turned against me.”

She sighed.

“The Saru spy… a pawn, but well trained by his superiors. Not only a warrior, not only a spy. An assassin” he commented charmingly. Curse you, Lorian Ain’Dal. “He was of course not ordered to kill me. He was ordered to kill the vessel. Quite suicidal target. If he was killed, nothing would stop the first ones from drinking souls half of the Saru in existence. But they preferred to kill half of their people, to only take us with them.”

That was not only suicidal. Mad. Born in the depths of a doomed mind.

Lorian still smiled, like it was nothing. And she read her mind. For trivial thing. But she allowed. Of course he did it.

“You would think that water folk don’t have darkness in them. But they have it, another kind of night. Night that puts one’s head under a blade, to save its companions. A desperate darkness of a martyr. A cruel soul chopping the hand of the executioner, who does the killing blow, even when their head already rolls on the ground.”

“Human terms…”

“Perhaps. But so fitting, my cruel raven. The Saru are used. Used by the ones who want to fill themselves with us. And they will feed on Saru too. But… they prefer death over being our property.”


Lorian laughed. It was bitter laughter, which she rarely was hearing from him. Filled with ages of unknown pain and struggles. Maybe now it was the time to ask him. To… try her chances. When you started to fear the reply of your own lover?

“I wouldn’t say so, my nymph of blood. Water is a free element. And prefers to drown in its own vastness than allow the dam that would stop it from flowing. And maybe… only maybe… this is what I can use against them.”

“You won’t kill this assassin.”

“I would not go that far,” he chuckled. “What is a spy, what is an assassin, without one, very important trait?”

Nymre lifted her brow. Of course.

“Loyalty” she whispered.

Of course. Yes.

Lorian nodded. His gaze even more playful than before.

“I can put any loyalty into his mind. Since no one knows what I am capable of, no one will suspect him of being beautifully… indoctrinated. His trusted company, his faithful rulers… a hope in eclipse, a parasite inside the womb of everything.”

She released the air that she held in her lungs for too long. She would do the same, if she had his power. She many times relied on double spies. But with Lorian’s ability… it was undetectable, and his loyalty will be completely belonging to Lorian.

Beautiful indeed, in its simplicity.


He raised his brow. She approached him, slowly, her wings embraced him, like wanting to hold him forever in her presence. Do not slip away. She looked into his dark eyes, night and shadows incarnate, his power emanating from him, strong, pleasant in taste, beautiful. She shook her head. She had to ask.

“Lorian… I know…” she felt the weight of these words. Heavy like an iron axe pushing through the air between them. When you started to feel that way? His secrets. His mysteries. His all. “I know you suffer.”

His gaze drilled her through. Endless and deep like caverns under the mountains. He loves you. He loves you more than anything. He has the whole world, but it’s you who he wants most. But he suffers. Something is not right. No matter what his lies tell, she knows. They have been together for more than two hundred years. And she feels him more than before, he is already part of her like an iron sliver in her heart, painful but shining with unearthly light. Beautiful like a dying star. Deadly as a wolf’s claw tearing one’s throat.


And his own.

He still looked at her, an undeciphered expression, darker than ever. His shadows pulsated around him. Purest dark. Unadulterated. The air around them became thick, so thick she could slice it. Muted, dim. Threatening.

“Lorian… do not…”

She blinked.

His eyes again black void, killing all light around him, leaving black and all-swallowing debris.


Yes. He said it. He said it for the woods’ sake.

“So tell me. Why. Tell me, or I will move all stones in Dal’coler to find out. I will bury this palace under the snow, if I had to.”

He laughed. Casually, so lightly, like it was a joke, like he always was doing.  But it  sounded too similar to an incoming storm, ready to wipe the whole world. A preparation for a fall. A last blow given to a dying sky.

“Something that shreds my apart, Nymre” his voice low, well-controlled, but deep down, a hate, deep hate for the force that causes him pain… but also hunger for it. She could feel it, as clear as she was seeing his face. “I am dying so I could live.”

“Your mysteries stopped being tempting” her voice was dull and tense. “And became scary. When it stops? Whatever is tormenting you… does it have such power over you? When, Lorian.”

“When my victory is full. When I drink the last drop from their open throats. Last sunlit drop of the golden blood.”

She exhaled. Golden blood. The gods. Something with these cursed gods, who are trapped under the mountain. She didn’t have to ask more. The doom wasn’t coming, even if it was prophecied in those books Lorian dug in the temple. The doom, which should have come long time ago. Lorian really did something vile. Vile for himself, vile for any sensible fae.

He is dying so he could live.

Curse you!

And this was strangely reminding her of the Saru spy. Lorian was ready to bathe the world in blood. But also himself, to only get what he wanted.

She hoped it is worth it.

The flowers around them started to slowly open, attracted by the lies. By the heavy air of the mysteries. They were feeling Lorian’s darkness and his secrets. And they loved it. Now she knew part of it… but she was not happier than before. Less suspicious,  yes, but angrier.

What he was probably doing was sick and mad.

“I won’t stop you, if that was what you thought I will do” her light aura bubbling over his skin. Her anger. Her love. Her. All of her. Her desire and her fear. “Trust me more, for the forest’s sake. I am not one of your slaves, good for bed, but not for sharing anything with them. My eternity is entwined with yours. I hope you didn’t forget, you beautiful bastard.”

Lorian’s gaze drowned in inner shadows, but his smile again present. Maybe some kind of relief in it… or maybe she wanted it be there. Maybe he still hid hundreds of secrets.

But she wanted them all. A burden, but needed one. The angrier she was getting, the more flame she was seeing in Lorian’s eyes. Fierce, warming, pleasing. She felt his black gaze deep in her veins, burning her, filling her… so much.

He always knew ho to fill her.

“It won’t kill me. As long as my power can hold the balance. But the moment will come, when the vessel arrives. It will be very delicate process. They will awake fully – and I will need to hold them down.”

“What do you want to do?” she already knew she won’t find the answer neither satisfactory or relieving.

“I will drink the fire” his grin held an ominous gleam. “I will drink the flame from his veins. To kill the god, one needs to be one of them. I need to be their equal, Nymre. And I know we both won’t like how it will be done.”

Categories poetry

Bright Nightmare

Nymre definitely knows how to spark fire in Lorian.

I melt onto you skin
a candle made of pure light
slipping into your twilight
drowning in your dark allure

my star pulses in your veins
finding chasms and sliding through the gaps
to fill you with suns and moons
burning in you with an enchanted flame

I swallow the night
bathing you in forbidden gleam
tormenting you with flickering touches
glowing in your black ponds

a bright nightmare
do you feel me in your dreams?

Categories wip

ATOM: Luna – IV


His teeth reached her neck and sunk in her flesh, her bloodstained body pressing against him, taking him in, squeezing his shadows out of him straight into herself. He felt every tensed muscle, every drop of sweat over her body. The screams stopped some time ago, replaced by the sounds of his subjects, enjoying the night.

The court was drunk with lust and wine. His beautiful, dangerous court of collarbones and phalanges, of honey and blood. The forest whispered his name, silently, when he climaxed, taking Nymre with himself. His release pushed more shadows into her womb and made her finish too.

“Curse you, Lorian” she murmured into his mouth, when he left a wound on her neck in peace and offered her a shadowed kiss. Deeper than his tongue could reach.

He chuckled into her lips and responded with fire. Once more.

He would abandon himself in her again, if not a noise in the corridors, leading to the ballroom. The fae’s eyes drifted there, as always alert, ready for danger. Ready to respond with even more of it.

His court of death’s hellebores and frozen trees.

And now they all bathed in the spark he ignited.

Nymre raised her hazy eyes, turning her head to the entrance, her whole body crimson. The murmur of the fae sounded like a whisper of the forest as well. Leaves and traveling roots. Rain soaked moss… and falling snow.

Whoever it was, they liked tension. Or were just stupid.

When Lorian thought he would have to drag them by himself into the feasting chamber, the door opened. Wings. Massive, raven-like, black as coal. Slender body, beautiful but in an uncanny, not obvious way. And eyes like green orbs, too big to be beautiful, adding even more unnatural charm to their owner’s features. Light aura repressed, the scent of a stone warmed by the sun in the noon.

Bean Sidhe. Her wings torn in so many places, her skin as well, showing patches of burnt flesh.

Lady Avel.

Sent by him with Nymre’s ravens to have an eye on the vessel.

And she barely made it.

Dragging a tall faery on a silver leash, his eyes white like snow, his body also stained with blood, but wounds not as numerous as Avel’s.

“My lord…” Bean Sidhe coughed and small drops of blue blood left her mouth, dripping down her chin. Just on the not less blood-stained floor.

Lorian looked at her lazily. His one brow lifted with a well-repressed curiosity.

The faery whom Avel brought before him, was tossed mercilessly on the stones. Just over a torn and tormented body of a human Lorian offered to his court. The white eyed looked at it with badly hidden disgust, mixed with fear. Good.

“Yes?” Lorian’s silent voice filled the chamber. Cold like snow in an unknown fairy’s eyes. Nymre smiled at Avel and the faery, running her fingers through Lorian’s hair.

His court looked in no less lazy way at the white eyed one, considering if he is worthy of being interested in or not.

“Your Majesty” Avel eventually reminded herself of her position and fell on one knee, even if her wounds wailed. “The Saru warrior. From Nor’learl. A spy, all the same.”

“How curious…” Lorian’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “And how unfortunate for him.”

Saru lifted his heated gaze at the throne, at Lorian, Nymre, and embraced the court with utter contempt. So bold. And so stupid. Lorian kissed Nymre in the neck, catching a few blue droplets trickling from her wound.

“Is your wish for me to interrogate him, Your Majesty?” Avel pulled the leash, causing the spy to fall back. Nymre looked at him with her ideal, blue eyes, like she wanted to carve a soul from him.

Lorian clicked with his tongue.

“The court is in the mood, Avel. Maybe we should leave this for tomorrow. Tonight, this sweet fool would not survive an hour, not less an amount of time needed to pull information from him.”

One eye of the battered body under Saru’s feet opened. The human slave moaned, his nerves and tendons visible, moving in agony. His mouth catching breath, hopelessly. The spy opened his eyes wider.

Lorian smiled kindly at the Saru warrior. The court around him smelled of blood and dark desire. Like a predatory animal just before attacking its prey. Like a calm before the storm. It had a delicious scent, and he knew that Saru would not survive longer than the flesh which was lying under his feet, mutely begging anyone to end his suffering.

“We are good hosts,” mused Lorian, his fingers digging into Nymre’s exposed skin. “And during the celebration of the New Lunar Year we should be even kinder. Even to a spy, who wanted to know our secrets so badly that risked reaching Dal’coler. I must admit, I am impressed.”

Saru’s gaze filled with both despair and fear… and some kind of bold determination. So beautiful, with a beauty that Lorian was fond of. Harder to break, but the process more fascinating as well.

“Lift him up” Lorian ordered, and Avel obliged. The silver thread around the prisoner’s neck became even tighter., digging hard into his skin “Your boldness is intriguing. I would love to reach deep into the core of it.”

His smile became predatory. Nymre ‘s fingers dragging slowly over his chest, her lips touching his face, her hand delving between his legs – her knowledge how to punctuate his words was flawless… His power trembled around them and shifted, making the air thicker… filled with violets and night. Saru’s eyes now beamed, he had to feel it too.

“Take him somewhere where he can think more about his own courage. Maybe even plan how to use it against me. It will be such a rapture to see how it all fails.”

The fae around him looked at the spy intensely, curious of him. Saru. The race of the morning dew and the starlit ponds. Ain’asel swallowed their realm years ago, but the water folk were amusingly resistant.

“I won’t scream” a melodious voice reached all of them, a rippling of a stream, a sensual touch of a rain over skin. “I may fear and feel pain… but won’t scream.”

Nymre laughed. Like bluebells on the wind.

“Maybe we don’t want to make you scream.”

Lorian’s hand closed over her tight. She growled, approvingly.

“Screams… are beautiful” he smiled, his most tempting smile. “But not needed. Some things are better left for imagination.”

Lorian’s smile was hunger incarnate, when Nymre’s leg rubbed against him, just in the right place. He felt as he becomes hard again, as she was looking with scorn at the the spy, caressing Lorian’s chest, in slow, deliberate way.

Avel pulled the leash and bowing before Lorian again, she dragged the spy to an entrance. Nymre’s eyes narrowed. Her body still heated, but her worries slightly overcoming the heat.

“Saru, Lorian. Here?”

“Oh yes, my raven. It was the matter of time.”

“How did he harm Avel so much?” she didn’t let go.

“So many things to unravel” he purred into her ear. “With him and in him. And in you.”

Nymre sighed again, when his hand closed around her breast, and trailed a path around her nipple.

“You are careless, my lord.”

“On the contrary. Today is a day of victory. But I delved into his thoughts. I know who he is.”

“And?” Nymre’s body pressed against his chest, her hands over his back.

“I will tell you, when having less ears around us’ ‘ he kissed her behind her ear, making her slightly shiver. “Maybe, in the end, we can retreat and disappear… like hunters after a good pursue.”

Her eyes glimmered.

“Allow me to steal you, my raven” he sighed into her hair, inhaling the scent of leaves and moss.

“Always” her lips tasted his, tasted violets and jasmine, tasted his eternal hunger.

And his lies.

His shadows.

His everything.

And she knew that this time, she would know everything.