Closed///Solace in the Dead

Shadows parted like curtains at her approach, digits outstretched to brush against old gates. Skin hissed as if she had placed her hand against a hot stove, iron rendering her flesh raw. Pulling back she licked across her fingers to sooth the burning sensation, using the covered part of her shoulder she bumped against the gate. Creeks and groans assaulted her ears before it gave way and granted her entrance. Stepping forth to hallowed ground she closed her eyes and let glamour slip away.

Human physic flickered then gave out like a dying firefly. Alabaster skin stretched across a lean frame, dark eyes outline with silver and gray, attire slowly changing. Corset hugged her frame like the embrace of a lover, material parting to dramatically show the curve of her breasts. See-through black lace crawled along her shoulder and sides, covering skin for the sake of tempting the eyes. Edge of her hips had corset surrendering to the clutches of silken material. Polished hide of an unknown Fae fashioned into form fitted pants. Across hollowed ground she silently moved, sharpened heels of her boots sinking through packed ground as easily as they would move through flesh.

Faded moonlight danced across her frame, giving her an ethereal glow as if she was one of the dead. Senses fanned out across the grounds, tasting the bitter remains of sorrow somehow reminded her of home. The joy of torture, the chill of death…it could all be found here. Smiling showed off teeth a little too sharp to be human, incisors curved to slide against one another when she closed her mouth.

Here she didn’t have to worry about playing human or being formal. She was free in a sense. No humans around to watch her, to pick apart the differences, no monsters to hunt. She didn’t even have to worry about other Unseelie finding an easy mark in her. In a world of cruelty only the dead held solace for her. Uninjured fingers brushed against stone surface of warn grave marker. Glancing towards the faded name she moved to sit atop it and relax. Muscles of her back ached, skin taut to reveal parallel ridges on either side of her spine.

Leaning forward she moved one hand to adjust her top, slowly beginning to loosen the lace, every intention on shedding the clothing when the monster rumbled beneath her skin. Head tilted to the side, focusing on her senses and what was actually around her. Sliding from the headstone she brushed herself off and ignored the agitation of her back. Closing her eyes she tried to pinpoint what had her suddenly so ruffled.

There.

Just at the edge of her sense she could practically taste the shinning. Seelie. Someone had locked up something nice and tight with fading magic. To go and be bad or to leave and be good, not a hard choice for one like Kalika. Stalking forward she headed straight for this disturbance to her peace only to find an all too innocent looking crypt. She didn’t need to place her hand against the stone to feel the magic was weak, probably centuries old it was finally fading. Nails scratched across symbols of peace, human markings to ward off evil… Grinning like an Unseelie child at its first hunt she gathered her power and cleared her mind. Searching for any particular weak point, any sign that she could get through and see what was locked away.

Seelie magic fought against her own, two monsters over a kill. Here though, she had the upper hand. A few deep breaths to concentrate and suddenly she had pulled the Seelie magic apart. Palm pressed to cold marble of the buildings door, met with futile resistance of time and weight. Darkness was her only greeting as air rushed past her, building taking its first breath who knows how long.

“Lets see the big baddy that needed to be locked away.” Her voice was sultry and alluring, the natural charm of the wicked. Adjusting eyes scanned the inside of the building though her feet remained firmly at the threshold. She was curios, but she was no fool to just rush inside. Instead she stood at the only exit the monster had, ready for practically anything.

Two hundred years imprisoned. For a human, it was two consecutive life sentences; for an immortal, an inconvenience. But as all powerful entities did, The Puppeteer despised an inconvenience no matter how slight.

A warmth of fading magic hung around him, woven into the stone of his sarcophagus. Time was on his side, he knew it. One day, the magic that bound him in the tomb would fail and then he would be free. By then, his mortal flesh might have finally given out, but that would only be another inconvenience after he had spent so much power maintaining it over the years. Magic had fed his flesh, sustaining the human form for the two centuries that he had been locked away and forgotten. Despite his efforts though, magic could not do everything. He’d sacrificed so much just to maintain his human body. Already, he knew that his powers had bled away in the attempt to prevent his host body from aging. And sadly he could not see what his efforts had accomplished until he was free of the magic that bound him inside the stone coffin.

Magic. The gentle, pulsating glow that had surrounded him for so long had ceased. When? How did I miss it? Left in the deepest of darkness inside the coffin, he could see nothing. For the first time in so long, the Puppeteer moved. His atrophied muscles screamed in agony as he lifted his hands and pressed his palms to cool, smooth stone. The warmth that the magic had instilled in the stone was gone as well. Freedom was his finally. Strings unwound from around his wrists as his sleeves dissolved into the threads from which they had been woven. The freed strands coiled into springs within the coffin, spanning the gap between ceiling and floor. The muscles in the Puppeter’s body strained as he concentrated, tendons showing through his skin as they stretched. Gone was the ability to simply mentally manipulate his strings. The Puppeteer lowered his fingers from the sarcophagus lid and flexed them. When his fingers wiggled in the air, as if making a marionette move, the string-springs expanded. The coils stretched wider and wider. A grate of stone on stone rumbled around him. Soft light seeped into his cell. Freedom! Exerting himself, he strengthened the strings on one side of the coffin, stretched the springs further to tilt the lid length-wise. It began to slide. Stone scraped stone. So close… The crash of the lid hitting the marble floor below echoed in the tomb.

“Yes…” he hissed in a hoarse, tired voice. His word was as soft as the quiet whistle of wind entering the crypt for the first time in two centuries. The scent of stale air still hung in the chamber though it began to dissipate as the breeze filled the newly opened expanse. It was easily the sweetest scent he had known in centuries. But another smell soon replaced it after only a few seconds of sniffing the air. It was unmistakable, he could detect the undeniably sweet scent of female Unseelie flesh. Odd that the memory of it should remain in my mind after all his years so that I might classify the smell—I cannot even recall the last time I crossed paths with such a creature. But hadn’t it been the something of the opposite breed that had bound me in this coffin? What was the man’s name?

The Puppeter pushed the questions from his mind as he reached up again with aching arms and gripped the edges of his coffin. Pale fingers that seemed more bone than flesh clutched the stone and he lifted himself up into a sitting position. Sweat already beaded on his pallid brow from the effort involved and his chest heaved to draw fresh air into his lungs. Ah, a dark silhouette in the doorway, he thought. “Say, shade, what is the year?” he called, his voice still raspy from disuse.

Just as his mortal flesh had seen better times, so had his suit. The black cloth had grayed with age, splotches of dust smeared across its formerly pristine surface. The Puppeteer used to make the night sky green with envy from how dark his dyes were, but now his clothing seemed to be no more than the hue of twilight. More than color was wrong with his suit. Over the years, he had broken down portions of the cloth into strings in various desperate attempts to free himself from the tome or sometimes just to fuel his magic to repair his flesh. Holes here and there in his suit showed the pale flesh beneath that it was supposed to hide. Worst though were the sleeves of his jacket and shirt, black and white strips hanging from his elbows. They were the most recent scars on his suit, the cloth he had sacrificed to finally be free of his prison. Dark brown eyes shifted from the silhouette to the tattered edges of his sleeves. “My dear, old friend, I am so sorry,” he whispered as if to console the clothing. A smirk soon spread across his lips though, pearls glinting in the moonlight, “But you’re probably no longer in fashion anyway. You know how quickly styles change!” A chuckle tumbled from his lips, the first in centuries—at least the first genuine laugh that hadn’t been caused by utter madness and despair.

Still seated in the sarcophagus, the Puppeteer lowered his hands from its edges to reach into the hallow again. “Oh, there you are, my friend. You will never go out of style—not for me anyway,” he cooed as he stared into the shadows that lay beside him in the coffin. He lifted his pale fingers and with them rose a collapsed top hat from the basin in which he lay. With a flick of his wrist, that hurt more than he had expected, he popped the hat so that its column extended its full height. Grinning again, he placed the hat atop his head at a slight tilt. There was more askew about the man than just his hat and smirk though, though the rest was nothing that could be noticed with the eyes. “And what gentleman is ever without his cane!” he laughed again, reaching into the darkness around his legs. He plucked a black shaft mounted by silver bulb. The shine of the metal was buried beneath a layer of dust. The Puppeteer scoffed in annoyance and with a wave of his hand over the orb, the tattered edges of his sleeve unwound into strings and slithering forward. They gripped and writhed across the silver until it shimmered in the moonlight, revealing the ornate etchings in the metal. “Ah, so much better!” He grinned, turning his gaze to the woman once more. “It’s so good to be alive again!”

Provocative movement of nails against inner thigh, the sensual touch would have been classified as erotic if digits hadn’t wrapped about the hilt of a blade. Metal sung it sirens song for blood and pain, dagger gripped so easily in an alabaster hand. Bitter cold steel lined with a wicked iron edge, after all, one could never be too careful in her world. Eyes filled with excitement watched as lid was slowly removed. Stone grated against stone until it came crashing to the ground. She didn’t flinch even as harsh sound assaulted her ears, the stench of death lingering in the air.

Monster rumbled beneath the surface, Unseelie and shadows fading together until she was lost to their embrace. A talent she found comfort in, the way she could practically hide in plane sight. Glint of silver the only sure sign she was still there, ready to attack the big bad that had been locked away. Excitement was quick to fade, joy shattered as grin dissolved into a snarl. This was no monster to fear and hunt; this was a being barely clinging to life. The simple task of sitting up had it sweating and panting… what a disappointment.

Kalika didn’t respond to being called a shade, instead she crossed her arms under her chest and watched as the creature dug around for his paraphernalia. Listening for him for a moment she snorted, voice sliding forth into the darkened crypt, “Suits, my dear, are never out of style at formal events.” Form slowly leaned against threshold of the door, darkness parting as she relaxed. Knife was gripped loosely between her fingers, while wary Kali was sure he wouldn’t simply spring out at her. It looked as if such an abrupt action might surely break him. Lips turned at the corners at the thought, an interesting torture toy could be had here. Resistance to the idea was slow to come forth, the only reason she was not yet demanding torment was because she had no idea what this being was. He could be a great asset if she played her cards right…

Dark eyes glanced towards the moon and she sighed, she had expected some form of excitement not another challenge of the mind. She wanted a beast to hunt and kill, a chance to let the inner monster have its fun… Yet she was stuck with this inconvenient dilemma who looked like skin stretched across bones and not much else. She wasn’t good with sensing power, at least not to how much one held or the potential however she did have a dandy talent of emotions. Rarity among even her own kind, she closed her eyes and inhaled through parted lips. Delight curled in her stomach and across her mind, spreading throughout her system like a disease of joy.

“Oh Fu-” She could have retched then and there. It wasn’t that it was overpowering or that she couldn’t handle something fit more for Seelie blood, it was the conflict. From this creature came unadulterated bliss while she could still taste the sorrow of the dead. Dragging her nails over her stomach, she hissed before straightening. No intent of malice from this beast, at least none she could sense right away. “A joy to be alive indeed, though I do believe you have seen better days. Is there any chance you’ll be able to spring from that coffin and stroll outside all on your own?” Kalika figured the answer would be no. This creature before her looked weak and frail, though she of all people knew better than to trust appearances. She was a master of glamour, able to pull it across her skin for a limited amount of time. She could be anything or anyone so long as she wasn’t touched.

“Look at yourself, hardly a gentleman at all.” Stepping forward she walked to the foot of his tomb, figuring that if he made any sudden movements she could be halfway across the room in no time… or she could stab him. Kalika personally preferred the stabbing method. Slowly shaking the idea from her head, she held up the knife and angled it ever so slightly. Moonlight reflected from the surface of steel, blade acting as a crude mirror to allow him to picture some of his tattered attire.

“Ah, how ignorant of fashion you are, my dear!” he laughed, a playful scoff leaving his lips. He waved his cane in the air, like a conductor drawing the eyes of the entire orchestra, to emphasize his coming points. “Well, first, I doubt this style of suit, being as old as it is, is still considered fashionable. Second, the cut is probably out of style. The tailoring probably doesn’t draw attention to the features that people admire most nowadays…” He cut his short explanation before offering any more reasons and eyed the shadows.

Somewhere in the darkness lurked a devious devil that he couldn’t wait to meet. “Are you the one who freed me then? I’ve never known an Unseelie to do a kindness unless they had more insidious intentions. What harm for me is hiding in your schemes?” he questioned, quirking an eyebrow at the woman that materialized in the entryway. “Oh, at least you’re pretty. You’d make a lovely doll.” He craned his neck when he noticed her obvious discomfort. His dry, cracked lips spread in a wicked grin. “Oh, I suppose you aren’t partial to other’s pleasure, are you, Unseelie?” With a shake of his head, he gave a disapproving cluck of his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, you should learn how to enjoy other people’s pleasure. Sharing is just so nice.” He practically hissed the last sentence to her.

When she insulted his appearance on two counts, he tensed, aching muscles tightening with aggravation. “I do what I can with what I have,” he seethed through thinly drawn lips as he remembered all the power he'd sacrificed to keep the pulse pounding in his current body. How quickly his delight had turned to irritation. “I doubt you’d be much of a sleeping beauty if some fae had trapped you in a coffin for a couple centuries.” Venom dripped from the words as they hung in the stale air of the tome in the form of an echo. The man seated in the open sarcophagus narrowed his eyes on the creature creeping towards him.

As the woman drew near, he listened to the click of her heels on the stone. The steady, reparative rhythm was music to the man’s ears and his annoyance melted away. “Click, click, click,” he chuckled, kicking his legs like an excited child. “Oh, it’s such a lovely sound!” When the clicking came to an end with her standing next to his stone coffin, the Puppeteer smiled up to her. His smile vanished when he caught sight of the glint of steel in her hand. Pale, boney fingers clenched around shaft of his cane as he started to raise it to deflect the blow he anticipated. When he realized her true intention he lowered the smooth wooden shaft to lay it across his lap. “Oh, I’m a garish ghoul!” he cried out in dismay. His skin was stretched across his cheek bones like a canvas prepared for painting and just as pale. “You must’ve thought me a ghost when I sat up in this coffin!” His frown tightened his features even more and his horror increased. He poked and prodded his sunken cheeks with equally scrawny fingers. “Oh, I must go eat and tan and work out if I am to save this poor mortal flesh!” He sighed and shook his head, his free hand reaching out to push her hand with the impromptu mirror away. He couldn’t stand the sight of his emaciated face. “Unseelie, how likely is it that you’ll go against your nature and help an ailing soul?”

The creature prattled about fashion and styles, cuts of material while Kalika mulled over her boredom. The clash of emotions from this place made her uneasy, yet she felt right at home. Shadows curled around her, threatening to swallow her whole as they hid monster just around the corner. Beasts that she could hunt and track something to take her mind off the day and its droll events. Perhaps she could go back to the registration office, ask for directions to the nearest pub… not that the alcohol would do her much good. It wasn’t the booze she was after but the carnal pleasure humans provided. The rush of emotions as they sunk into the darkness with her made Kalika almost excited to find a human to sleep with.

Slow forming plan interrupted by the question of the monster, one delicate brow rising as she gave a nod of her head. “Yes… I had every intention of letting you run through this graveyard before I gutted you and used your skin for new boots.” She glanced to the polished attire in question, nearly perfect condition marred with thin lines of wear. How could she torture and torment when worried if the heels of her boots were sharp enough? “As you can tell… that plan is falling through the cracks like blood through fingers.”

Digits of her free hand spread as she watched the ghoulish creature and grinned, she wouldn’t have to worry about being trapped like he was. At least not while she was here and behaving herself. The courts were protecting their carefully laid out plans of peace, nothing was permitted to endanger that balance. Especially a being like Kalika who hunted to feed off the emotions of others. Terror and agony were like warm honey to her, so very sweet as it glided across her skin and filled her core with pleasure. Attention slowly shifted back to the creature as she held the blade, makeshift mirror revealing the horror he had become. “Yes… you do look terrible.” Sirens voice lined with a hint of boredom at this tragic matter.

Kalika drew her hand back before he could touch her; Unseelie sought comfort only in the dark. Only in the throws of passion would she allow someone to casually brush across her skin without permission. It was a quirk most others didn’t have, even the most untrusting of her kind had a weakness for contact. A need to be embraced, something that Kalika either lacked or she had hidden away. “Help an ailing soul out of the kindness of my heart?”

Leaning back, she placed her hand against the lace over her chest, feeling the slow beat of her heart. “What do you know, I have one of those but I feel no desire to help you.” Fingers slowly brushed off invisible dirt before she turned to the door, heels clicking against stone as she walked. “Good luck getting out of -…” Idea came to mind like a blade through the chest. Blood spilling forth to drain the life of victim, a grand sensation she got at the mere thought. Turning in place the metal of her boots ground against stone, creating a pitched hiss of a sound. “We could arrange something….” Soft ‘click click’ as she stalked ever so slowly forward again. “We could make a deal.” A deal, oath, promise; all were binding in the Fae world.

He was not at all like her kind, but there may be use to him in the future. Strong and terrible enough for a shinning one to lock him away… maybe this trip wouldn’t be a waste after all. “What if I promise to help you, to give you a room to stay until you can get one of your own… To help you build back your mortal vessel and get it in good shape?” Pretty words of promise to help and nurture him, the only help he was likely to get from her or anyone for that matter. Unseelie weren’t fond of being turned down when they made an offer, no matter how outrages it was. The blade was still tucked neatly against her thigh, she had watched him move. If he refused this offer then perhaps she still have her fun yet. “In exchange for my services here and in the future, you will pledge yourself to me. I’ll give you freedom of sorts, nothing too terrible… Its either you be my pet or I can shut those stone doors and seal them back up.” It was no threat. She would obviously take pleasure in knowing he was there, locked away and left to fade.

The muscles in the Puppeteer’s jaw tightened, his teeth gritting quietly, when she offered a final appraisal of his appearance again. Had he not already stated the same himself, he might have snapped at her again. Such cruel creatures these Unseelie are, he thought as he heard her deny his request for assistant, kicking a man when he is down. At least her exit would grant his ears one last pleasure, but then he heard metal points grating across the stone floor of the tomb. “Changed your mind, have you?” he murmured at her approach, a straw-hued eyebrow lofting in curiosity.

“A deal?” parroted the Puppeteer, as he cocked his head to the side. The tilt of his neck set the crooked top hat perched atop his head on a nest of mussed hair at a perfect vertical for the first time since he’d donned it. Always there seemed to be a slant to the hat, a subtle clue to the crookedness of its wearer. “Yes, yes, I like the sound of the boons to me, but say, pretty fae, what is the bill?” he asked, eyeing her. For a moment, his gaze flicked to the still open door that led out of the tomb to the moonlight, to the fresh air, and to freedom. But could he even lift his legs up out of the coffin in which he sat? Yes, he knew that time favored his victory and that if left alone in the silent solace of the now opened tome, he could eventually make his way across its threshold to the world beyond. The more important question, he realized, was would she allow him such an easy escape? As she began to list the conditions of the contract, he winced and looked upon her again. Displeasure showed in droop at the corners of his lips. They parted as he lifted a hand, index finger extended and the other digits folded down into a fist, as he prepared to speak. When he heard her last few words though, the consequences of refusing her offer, he fell silent.

Terror struck him as quickly as a lightning bolt and his features contorted as if every facial muscle was locked in mid-convulsion. A second of silence passed then he unfroze, a hurried answer leaving his lips, they were desperate refugees taking flight. “Yes, I agree. Just get me out of here! I don’t want to be sealed in this horrid cell any longer! I pledge myself to you, Unseelie. Now Goddess, grant me my deliverance from this prison and I will abide by your evils!” He doubted that the fae being would notice his attempt at corrupting the Lord’s Prayer. It was a pity that petty sprites such as she usually paid so little attention to the lives of the mortals they often mucked with—their tortures always seemed so shallow.

Even accepting her offer, he wasn’t about to rely solely upon the Unseelie’s support. The man reached to his lap and brushed his cane off of it. It rolled from his legs and fell to the side, landing in the bottom of the coffin with a clatter. He flexed his legs as he gripped the sides of the sarcophagus with his knobby fingers. Easy now… he thought as he pushed himself upward and lifted his legs over the side of the coffin opposite the Unseelie. With feet encased in scoffed black leather shoes dangling of the ledge, he scooted further until he was perched upon it, teetering like a bumped vase on the mantel. The man seemed just as fragile as such a decorative vessel as he shifted a little further and tumbled off the elevated edge. He landed on his feet, though his knees bent with the impact enough that he would’ve been staring into the bosom of the woman, had he been on the same side. A soft groan leaked from his lips as he straightened his legs and back, his joints creaking with stiffness. Despite the fact that he was standing, the man was leaving heavily upon the coffin, white-knuckled hands clutching it for support. “My cane, if you would,” he asked, the request slipping through thinly pursed lips.

As he turned his head to look at her, waiting for her to fulfill her obligation to help him, he pondered his feebleness. A solution popped into his mind. “What I need is a good feast to celebrate my revival! I’m sure that food and rest is all I truly require before I can mend this flesh as easily as a popped seam.”

Moan whispered across the room as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. No touch to her body would cause this sudden wave of ecstasy to drag her down into its embrace. Lips parted as she inhaled, tongue sliding along lush skin as she pulled power from his displeasure. Terror was thick as molasses as it drifted into her mouth and down her throat. Warmed by the sensation she let a smile crawl across her lips and settle there for a moment. She savored it for only a handful a seconds, knowing this trouble was worth it simply for that wave of panic. That was enough to calm the Unseelie, the inner monster sated for the time being.

Kalika let the pleasure fade from her system little by little, her skin glowing from the after affects. Carnal emotions granted her a touch of their power, made her giddy and relaxed if she fed too much from them. A little addiction of hers were those emotions though, the ones felt with every fiber of body and soul. Chest rose in the confines of corset before slowly falling again, deep breath to calm her system. Like a junky, she wanted more, to tease and taunt this creature so that he could feed her the sweetest of drugs.

A deal was a deal though. The instant he had agreed she felt bound by her word to help him. Stepping forward the only sound to give her away was the clicking of her sharp heels against stone. Reaching into the depth of his coffin, she wrapped her fingers about his cane and pulled it free of the darkness. Moonlight danced across the shining top as she walked around to meet the withered owner. Unlike before, there was no boredom or annoyance to her voice. Now there was only the rumble of content pleasure, befitting a sirens song to sailors. Letting take his cane she would hold out her arm for him, a slow almost genuine smile spreading across her lips. “Let us find you a feast before you rest then.”

She would wait for him to take her arm before moving towards the door of the crypt, allowing him to lean on her as much as he liked. While it would have been easier to carry, or even toss, him out of there she didn’t want to seem too nice. Forcing him to walk towards their destination was the least amount of torture she could do. The click of her heels fell silent once they stepped upon the hollowed ground. Immediately she glanced towards the moon and smiled, “Taste the lovely air of freedom.” She would give him but a moment to savor the night sky before beginning to cross the graveyard grounds.

Slow steps and a hand against his arm would be the help she offered for now. Mulling over the possibilities of where they could find him food. “We’ll need to stop by my room first, let you rest while I go ask what’s around here.” She had yet to go to her dorm, though if her stuff was there then at least he could snack on a few otherworldly items. As dangerous as it was too get hooked on fairy food, she figured a few bites wouldn’t do too much damage. “Considering the circumstances of our pairing I would like to formally introduce myself as Kalika Kali Ma of the Unseelie Court.” She didn’t stop the slow pace as she spoke; there was still the ease to her voice and movements.

“Tell me your name and why the shinning found you threatening enough to be locked away.” She wanted to know more about him and the potential power he held. He could be a great asset to her if she needed to cause chaos in the courts.

The Puppeteer accepted his cane and then her arm, taking then in opposite hands. Every other click of her heels was accompanied by the soft thunk of his cane tapping across the stone surface beneath their feet. He leaned upon the cane just as heavily as he leaned upon the woman, requiring both supports to remain standing. As they walked, he barely managed to match her pace on his wobbling legs. Despite the stiffness in the muscles that made them throb with a dull ache, the limbs felt about as sturdy as rubber. With each step he took, his knees nearly knocked together.

Once they had crept out of the crypt and she allowed him pause to savor the night air, he lifted his head. At the angle he craned his neck, the hat perched atop his head should have tumbled off but a simple secret trick kept it secured on his head: dozens of little strings had unwound from the hat to entwine in his hair. “Almost as sweet a scent as you, my Unseelie savior,” he murmured as his nostrils flared, and he breathed deeply of the night air. Freedom at long last, he thought as he lowered his head and looked across the tombstones that glowed almost as brightly in the moonlight as his escort had in the wake of his turmoil. Unfortunately, she didn’t allow him much time to linger on the threshold of freedom, and he was struggling to keep up with her pace again. The entity turned his eyes to the woman and gave her form another casual perusal as she introduced herself.

“I am simply The Puppeteer, title and name,” he answered. “As for the reason I was imprisoned, I don’t remember much. My mind is muddled with the memories that I’ve been reliving for centuries. Trying to recall anything at this point is like wadding into the middle of a murky swamp and reaching down into the muck to retrieve a lost locket. It might still shine and the picture inside might still be fine if you can bring it up out of the mud but good luck finding it in the first place,” he grumbled to her with a shake of his head. The hat atop his head didn’t even wobble with the motion, following his head as if bolted into his skull. “But, what I do recall is a Seelie named…” he trailed off for a few seconds. His pupils drifted upwards as if searching the back of his brain and he began rattling off names, “Trenton… Tristram… Tristran! Yes, that was his name!” The Puppeteer laughed in triumph for having remembered the enchanter’s name. “As for the reason… I think there was a pretty Irish lass that I wanted to claim as a precious Doll. Pity the villagers refused my desires. I was going to kill them all and just take the girl,” he waved his hand, as if to dismiss his planned evil acts as barely being worth being worried over, “when Tristan intervened. The troublesome fae forbid me from taking everything I wanted, their lives and the girl, and bested me somehow. I’m a little sketchy on how…” He paused again and lifted the hand with his cane to rub at his temple. Losing the support of his crutch, he leaned more heavily on Kalika until he lowered the cane to use as a brace again. “Probably means he knocked me out some way or another, and when I came to, I was in that dreadful coffin.”

The Puppeteer shuddered, goosebumps rising on his pale skin, from fear and chill. “Let’s hurry to your room, I feel a draft,” he complained. Little did he realize that sacrificing so many strings for his survival, he’d lost a portion of the seat of his pants! There were two moons out that night--thankfully, neither was full.

Bruxa eased through the slight opening in the gate that led into the graveyard. Attired in the black bustier, laced up the front with the silver studded clasps that held the silken thread in place. The skirt was short and form fitting, hitting at the top of slender thighs. Black leggings covered the length of her legs with stiletto ankle boots adorning her small feet and yet she still walked with a catlike grace upon the dirt path that laid between the graves. Raven lockes billowed back across her shoulders with the briskness of the stroll. The burnish streak of that thick mane seeming to catch the light of the moon and shimmer with a faint glow. Black fingerless gloves encased each arm from palm to upper arms. A short cape like shawl hung from bare shoulders.


To see her from a distance, the darkened silhoutte might seem that of a child. Small in stature, petite in size, she wandered the rows of old headstones and monuments before stopping suddenly. Ebony eyes darted to where she had heard the murmurs of voices. The creatures of the night often held a regime in such hallowed places. Knowing the humans feared such things as hauntings and boogeymen that might creep about in graveyards such as this. "Could I have found the townships Coven so easily..." she mumbled to herself with a haughty grin forming on plump lips. "Or perhaps a ragtag of teens thinking to rouse the dead..." She mused with a sultry lash of her tongue, tracing her mouth slowly.


A step taken forward, careful not to break any fallen twigs or even ruffle a single leaf as she moved closer. A majestic headstone used to keep her stunted frame from view as she spied on the banterings that had caught her attention. The two forms came into view, one seeming to lean on the other. How quaint that they seemed so engrossed in each other that she could take in each word said along with keeping in the shadows to perhaps follow. After all, the only way to find the skeletons of the school and its inhabitants was to stand back and watch and listen...right?

Voice like honey suckles, words danced from her mouth, merely repeating the name he had given her. Tongue graced lush flesh of her lips to taste the lingering taint of terror and relief. The rumble of emotions was better than any drug to her but so much more than a mere addiction. Everything from agony to pleasure brought her bliss befitting the climax of a love scene, she simply couldn’t get enough. Humans were mostly just her toys, creatures to be played with. Rarely were they ever more than strings to be pulled.

Iron gate towered above its graveyard keep like a gargoyle over a manor. It was beautiful in the knowledge that it would render flesh from bone if she were to give it a lingering touch. Lips curled in a secret smile to the iron guardian as they continued to walk towards it. Fog rolled around her feet, tumbling across her boots like children at play…ghosts of mourning teased her lips to take them in. Shadows whispered and crooned to hold her tight, to crush the life from her body. Indeed she could spend the rest of eternity here, letting the past of others dance around her in the form of emotions.

Consumed by her own fantasies of lost possibilities she hardly noticed the way he stopped to think of a name. Reality tugged her back to earth, monster of her nature purring beneath the surface. Letting the ragged Puppeteer lean against her there was only a slight concern for how light he seemed to be. Unless he wished to lose that human body he had invested so much in, he would need to rest and eat soon. Kalika was not fond of letting a prize so easily slip through her grasp. One could easily mistake the gentle, almost intimate, brush of her fingers along his arm as kindness… when in truth Kalika was just silently urging him forward.

Corset of gray leather material constricted against her flesh as she drew a deep breath, chest rising within the confines to press against lace lining. Provocative, teasing to the eyes, her whole form screamed of the pleasure it could bring. Hidden monster whispered the promise of pain. She was savoring this moment when they passed a particular headstone, nothing out of the ordinary about it. Granite corroded by time until the bold letters of a name were barely indentions upon stone. That wasn’t was caught her attention though… Snared like a fish in the hooks of an eagle she was forced by circumstances to pause.

Swell of her chest fought against the cage of fabric once more, lips curling from smile to something sly and wicked. Words slithered through the air, moving like the hips of a dancer. Tone enough to draw attention, “Most intriguing notion that I cannot sense a single emotion.” Unintentional rhyme caused a laugh to fall from her lips as she slid her nails along the Puppeteers arm. She looked to him though her words were directed towards the hiding one, “Come out little Darkling… It’s rude to sneak around and spy on others.”

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” grumbled the Puppeteer, despite his own previous ascent. As she tried to rush him onward, he felt his strength failing him. Forced to rely more heavily upon her arm and his cane, he hobbled between the tombstones that rose from the ground in neat, straight lines. A shiver ran down his spine as he spied an empty grave. One little slip of the foot—or worse, a shove—and he knew he could tumble into its dark depths. As a near invalid, he knew he wouldn’t be able to clamor up the smooth, earthen walls on his own. Then there was that dreadful mound of dark grave dirt, freshly torn from the breast of the earth and unceremoniously piled beside the wound. The Puppeter knew—just knew!—that once that grave was covered, the intended buried inside, that the soil would look like a dark, festering scab on the otherwise green lawn of the cemetery. Goosebumps rose on his pale skin, showing everywhere that his flesh was exposed through tears in his suit.

The Puppeteer heard her snarl and then felt a tug on his arm. Reeling backwards, he realized that it wasn’t that she was trying to pull him forward or backward, so much that he had continued on without her. Had he been a ship, her arm would have been a tether to what seemed the world’s strongest mooring. Her strength, which was much greater than his in his weakened state, acted as a stable anchor nestled in a rocky crag hidden amidst the sea silt of the ocean floor to keep him close to her. With a grunt, he staggered back against her, his body bumping hers. “What is it? First you want to hurry so much, and now you want to stop and stand around?” he questioned, irritation seeping into his voice as a soft hiss. “Come on, I want to eat and sleep.” As he complained, his voice taking on subtle attributes of a child seconds away from a temper tantrum, he tugged at her with all of his feeble strength, only to find that he could no more move her than the wind could a mountain. [color=red] “I grow tired of your games, Unseelie!”

When she finally spoke, he arched a thin eyebrow. “Someone’s out there?” he murmured as he attempted to whip his head around to glance into the shadows of the monoliths dedicated to the dead. But Puppeteer couldn’t see anything. He longed to make use of his sixth sense, the probing strings. By manipulating the threads he could summon, he could send them forth as tentative touching tendrils. As many animals used whiskers to detect the layout of their environment, he could use the almost invisible, slithering strands to brush along surfaces with nearly undetectable feather light touches to survey his surroundings. But alas! in his weakened state, he dared not risk using the ability. “Tell me, what do you sense?” he demanded of his savior. “Who is out there?” As he asked the questions, a whisper of worry sounded in his voice. What if it is a servant of the Seelie sent to seal me away again? he thought with a shudder. Even if it was just as ghastly ghoul that haunted the crypts and cemetery, he knew he was incapable of confronting it. Sadly, his life was in the hands of his unusual protector.

Head tilted curiously as the pair paused near the headstone she hid behind. Slender fingers rose to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. Hearing perked, keen senses picking up the words more clearly.“Most intriguing notion that I cannot sense a single emotion.” Any emotion Bruxa may have had..died with her childhood which was taken from her too soon. Numb from the eons of brutal deaths she had caused. The nights she had to endure on her own. Forced to walk among the corrupt and perverted to keep this body alive. The thought was a flitting memory as her gaze perched upon the beings.


Studying the stature of the woman and then the frailness of the man. The two seemed an odd coupling, intriquing to watch. A lone brow lofted as she heard the woman speak. “Come out little Darkling… It’s rude to sneak around and spy on others.” Even though she faced the man as she spoke ... Bruxa knew somehow it was meant for her. Ducking her head as the raggedly dressed male turned his attentions in her direction. “Tell me, what do you sense?” His voice seemed odd, raspy and old. Eyes closed for a brief moment. She had been caught in her own game of spying.


Pupiless eyes swam back to watch one leaning on the other which dutifully held the support like a living crutch. Falling into a low crouch which left her on hands and knees. Body dissipating as she crawled forward. Flesh and clothing alike forming into a fine mist of water droplets. Intermingling with the fog that lay low to the ground. A graceful turn and swirl that let her move towards the unlikely pair. As the two kept their gaze turned to the darkness, she circled around ones feet and then the others until she found herself behind them. Only then did she rise from the floor of the misty fog.


The cloud of small particles suspended in the nights air that gave a hint of her petite form. Only then did she let her body materialize back to her former self. "My apologies.."She spoke suddenly from behind them. A haughty smile perched upon bowlike lips. "I meant no harm, just wishing to leave you two alone.."She spoke with that childlike tone, high pitched and girlish. "You seemed so enrapt within each other, I had planned on simply staying hidden until your departure.."She lied with a fluid tongue as she gave a short curtsy. A slight lowering of her body with the bending of her knees. The facade of respect given to both man and woman alike. Even in the submitted position, eyes stayed turned up to the two. Gaze darting from one to the other, watching them with a wary state of mind.

Thing of skin and bones leaned heavily upon her arm, hobbling between her and his cane. He was as light as a bag of feathers to the Unseelie, nothing more than a twig she could all too easily toss. Forcing to him stop she took in the scents around her, snarling as he complained. No longer was her touch of the gentle nature, nails curled about the brittle bones of his arm and pulled him closer to her. Inches apart the look would be practically intimate for an outsider, though her words dripped venom to the Puppeteer. Voice turned soft, pleasant tone delivering an all too real possibility, “If you don’t hush Puppeteer, I’ll gladly bury your body for the worms to feast upon.” Slow exhale brought the caress of warm breath across his withered neck.

Pulling back she was quick to turn, thankfully grabbing his arm with her other hand to keep him from falling. Angered annoyance coursed through her veins like wildfire, she hated those who thought it easy to sneak. The lack of emotions was enough to give the girl away, mist or not she carried a scent, a presence. Kalika barely restrained herself from lashing out at the creature before her. Digits curled to take out the pent up need for violence out on the poor Puppeteers arm, wary not to break bone her hold was more than a light support.

Her voice dripped bittersweet venom as she addresses the girl, a snarl hidden behind every word. “If you wished to leave us alone, you would have done so when first seeing us… Instead you hid.” Perhaps it was just that her night had been thoroughly ruined, perhaps it was the fact the girl thought to sneak up on them. Or, perhaps it was simply Kalika and her lack of patience for any being other than those she found interesting. Either way…she found this girl amusing, the smile and that hideously high pitched voice grated against her nerves. Once more it took everything she had to keep from lashing out, from trying to sink her claws into the girl.

Pulling back a little she released the Puppeteer, if nothing else he could at least turn around to see what lay behind him. Kalika didn’t even bother to hide the snarl that coiled upon her lips, flashing wickedly curved incisors at the other. This may not have been her territory but somehow she still felt challenged by this being, then again, it could have just been her aggravation for the whole matter. “Unless you need something… We must be getting on our way, things to attend to before the night is thoroughly wasted.” The last phrase was borderline insult; if she couldn’t physically attack it didn’t mean she couldn’t throw a few harmless barbs out there.

The Puppeteer winced as her nails dug into cloth and flesh, threatening to tear both fragile materials. Even as it was, she would most certainly leave, at least, red crescent imprints in his pale skin. Tired, aching muscles tightened as she threatened him with the grave again. “You can’t! Wouldn’t that break your contract?” he asked, a tremor entering his voice as he turned to her before falling silent. The man barely drew breath after his exclamation. As she turned suddenly, the Puppeteer nearly toppled from the loss of support under her other hand caught him. Blinking, the Puppeteer felt a dampness drifting passed his ankles, brushing over bare skin where the tatters of his slacks no longer clothed his legs. He tilted his head to watch the mist swirl by them as if guided by some form of sentience.

The former manipulator groaned as he felt the Unseelie squeeze his arm, her rage making her muscles tense. “You’re hurting me,” he whined under his breath. She spoke again, but not to him, and he listened, only to turn to see a girl standing before them. A grin played across the Puppeteer’s thinly drawn lips. “Oh hello, little one!” he chuckled, admiring the beauty of the doll in front of him. Still, the woman beside him seemed to seethe, restraining herself from doing the doll harm. “Shh, shh,” he consoled her. Lifting his hand that held the cane, he extended his fingers, keeping his thumb clasped across the shaft, and traced his fingertips along the Unseelie’s arm. “Leave her be, my savior. It’s such a waste to break pretty dolls such as her. They should be treasured instead,” he whispered, leaning up to the woman’s ear. His lips brushed across her earlobe if she allowed him, the sound of his voice warm and soft as it tumbled towards her ear drum.

The Puppeteer’s fingers stilled on his captor’s arm as he turned his gaze to the child-being, a gentle smile perched on his lips. “Don’t let the big, bad lady scare you,” he whispered. The man stabbed his cane into the dirt, fingers wrapping around the orb mounting the other end like a cage around a bird, and leaned upon it. He attempted to wrest his other hand free of the Unseelie’s grip, but even if he failed, she would not stop him from doing as he pleased. If she maintained her hold, she would only get an annoyed huff from him as well before he continued. The twisted tailor flexed his feeble fingers. At first, the digits trembled, but he ceased the tremors after a few seconds of stretching them out. His fingers dipped and bobbed in the air with rigid and jerky motions—gone was the smooth, elegant dance of an expert puppet master’s fingers. The tired muscles trembled. The stiff joints caught. But he did not allow such inconveniences to prevent him from completing his task. The cloth that remained of his sleeve on the arm that gripped the cane unraveled further, the tattered edge that had encircled his elbow rising higher as strands pulled themselves away from the embrace of their kin. They slithered down his arm like dark, thin serpents. At his wrist, they wriggled together and rewove themselves into something new. While they shifted, the strings cast off the dirt like a dog shaking water from its fur. A tiny cloud of fifth drifted towards the ground below. A minute passed, muscles all over the man’s body straining as he created. And then it was done and he relaxed with a soft sigh. A ribbon wrapped snuggly around his wrist, and atop the circle of cloth was an intricate bow. The Puppeteer would not create a simple knot, no, what he had was something far grander. The ribbon twisted and curled, turning itself into the image of a blooming rose. He smiled, admiring the decoration.

The Puppeteer wiggled his fingers again and the band around his wrist broke apart and remained balanced carefully atop his hand. “Come, take it, precious doll. And tell me, what is your favorite color?” he asked. The second she gave him a color, the black cloth of the blossom would flutter. Each strand would twist and like a dog rolling over to show its underbelly to be petted, the new hue would be displayed. “A gift, please, take it, dear doll. I will see you again.”

As the woman turned to face her, Bruxa held the bowed posture just a moment longer. Standing as if some statue molded from the gods themselves. Poised and elegant, young, exotic looking creature. A faint smile perched upon her lips as the woman seethed with her words. Delighted with the evidence of pent fury, noting the agitation.


"My intent was to give you and yours.." Eyes shifted to the frail semblance of a man as she straightened her back. Standing to the full, albeit petite stature, taking her voice a full octave higher than when she had first spoke.Staring at the dilapidated figure with a child like curiosity as she paused mid sentence. Gaze slid back to the woman as one corner of her mouth twitched up, leaving a lightly askewed grin. "To your umm...evening stroll?.." A flick of her brows, conveyed her amusement in the situation. "If you had not called me out.." She finished with an annoying girlish giggle as she lifted her arms to place her hands upon the gentle curve of those narrow hips.


Stark black hues, which seemed pupiless swam back to the tattered and well worn gentleman as he spoke. A kinder tone than his companion with his words. Turning towards him with a slight dip of her body, the small curtsy displayed for his superficial kindness. Eyes moved to the swirling threads as they unraveled from the sleeve of the old mans jacket. Wrapping around themselves, as the magic was spun back into the cloth. Worked intrigantly, like some invisible artist into the bloom of a rose. The question posed, the color of choice given. "Red.." she simply said.


Bruxas face contorted into an awed expression, the smile turning more genuine as the man offered the gift. Without even thinking or taking a second glance at the female who stood by. Bruxa stepped forward with small hands reaching out to take the blood red rose of fabric. "It's beautiful..." she spoke in a quieter tone. "You don't have to do this with the distress I have evidently caused..." Eyes darted towards the woman briefly before sliding back to the frail being of a man. Plucking the rose from his hand even as she spoke. The action in itself belittling the substance of her words.

Kalika was not impressed with the child in front of her, flawed perfection at its utmost worst. This creature was nothing but a naive being with false smiles and forced pleasantries, not unlike Kalika herself. Difference only in the fact the Unseelie thrived on the violence, the agony and emotions. This thing offered none of them and would prove to be an unlikely source of amusement. Instead… this was but an inconvenience in her night. One of many if she were feeling truthful…

Puppeteer brushed his fingers along her arm, whispering his words of comfort. She patted his frail limb as if in appreciation, only her nails found their bite against his delicate hide. Slow clawing motions that didn’t break skin, but would inevitably leave at least a small mark of sorts. Cruel actions paused as he leaned closer, lips caressing along the curve of her ear. Words of a pretty thing to be treasure drew an unexpected laugh from the depths of her cold chest. Eyes reflected the moonlight so that they burned with intensity of a dying star, supple lips curling in an all too sweet smile. “This is what you call… A pretty little doll?” Predatory gaze leisurely shifted from the Puppeteer to the owner of that all too whiny voice. Traveling across the form of the girl, her only sign of disapproval in his taste came in the slow twist of her lips. This is what he called pretty? This child was worthy to be called a doll?

Shaking her head she turned her attention to his mastery, releasing him as he raised his arms and called his threads forward. When he moved, it reminded her of a scratched record. The way he skipped, paused, and trembled…moving to start it all over again. Delectable little ribbon with its curled rose lay in his hand, a true work of art that she may just have to beat him for. Not only was the strain a waste of his power, but it was a waste of time on such a ‘doll.’ She would wait for the other to take the intricate little thing before moving her hand to his shoulder. There was no guise of a sweet jester here; pure and simple she was sinking her nails through his flesh. Her grip would only tighten if he fought her, his brittle bones no true match for her force.

Poison laced sugar coated words, “Now that the show is over… I feel we need to retire to our room.” She moved closer to the Puppeteer, brazenly pressing her form against his unsteady body. Opposing hand moved to brush her fingers along his cheek, if he didn’t turn away from her in time that is. Her breath would be surprising warm along the curve of his ear, those lush lips brushing against the surface of his skin as she practically cooed to him. “Come with me, my dear.” It was both a charming invite as well as reminder to their deal. He was hers. Refusal was not an option this time. If he stayed, she would make certain it was in a small coffin tucked away in a tomb and sealed with magic. Overkill, but oh so much fun.

She released her hold on his shoulder and bowed to the girl, “Do take care little Darkling.” Turning she would hold her arm out for the Puppeteer, moment of truth… Kalika or the cemetery for another couple of centuries?

“Red.” The Puppeteer wriggled his fingers once more and from the top of the bloom the petals began to change to the crimson hue. With the slowness of ripples spreading outward from a gentle touch, the black blossom turned to the color that symbolizes both life and death. “Mm, thank you. I am sure you will treasure it as much as I hope to someday soon treasure time spent with you,” intoned the frail man. Having ignored his savoir turned captor and the pains she had caused him, the ones that made him question the contract she had made with him, for so long, he deemed it time to finally relent to her.

“Yes, yes, I am coming, I am coming,” he grumbled in annoyance at her insufferable impatience. As an immortal, he had learned to wait, especially given that his last two hundred years had been spent locked inside a coffin in a tomb, but how could he expect an Unseelie, a creature that preyed on passion, to understand something so simple as patience? “Good bye for now, my Doll,” he bid the girl with a slight bow. When his head tilted forward, his top hat remained perfectly perched atop the nest of his unkempt brown hair. After giving his farewell, he smiled to the girl and straightened, relying heavily upon his cane for support as he groped forward for Kalika’s arm. Once he had latched onto her limb, he hobbled with her towards and finally through the gate. He glanced over his shoulder as they walked, eyeing his former prison. While he had escaped it, he wondered if he had perhaps been delivered into an even worse jail, caged by the Unseelie’s desires and whims. With a shake of his head, he ignored the thought and faced forward, staring into the darkness of the night. He could hardly see anything and was reliant upon the Unseelie for guidance to their destination. As he breathed in the night air though, a smile stretched his thin, parched lips. At long last, I have returned.

Dark eyes flickered over the pair. The domineering woman who manhandled the frail male. 'This is what you call… A pretty little doll?' The snide remark brought a high arch of a lone brow, the smile twisted slightly but still held on that bowlike mouth. Obviously the female had some sort of distaste for her...not uncommon.


Focus fell back to the sickly looking man as he bid his farewell and hobbled to the support of his companion. A light bow was given as both turned to move towards the gates that would lead them to the exit. Not another word left her lips as she watched them continue on their stroll. Feeling the gnawing hunger ache deep inside. Eyes shifted from the duo to flit over the graveyard for a brief moment.


The fabric rose tucked neatly into her bodice as she too strode forward. Glancing to the departure of the others and taking the opposite trek. While the tattered gentleman had perked her interest, his supporter had her wary. She would feed elsewhere tonight. As with most townships..She was sure there would be someone who waited in the shadows to prey upon a poor child. Someone she could tempt to proceed with those perversed desires. Someone who would be worthy..in her warped mind, to sate the hunger before it got out of hand. Fingers entangled as arms folded behind her, hands nestling at the small of her back as she began the nights hunt. An old childrens tune murmured in a singsong fashion. "Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood..." the words gave way to a chitter of girlish laugher as she disappeared into the waiting arms of the night.

[EXIT]