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So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
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Things have been different since the hag's visit.
Aníria could feel it, like a fraying thread unravelling beneath her skin, her grip on her humanity slipping through her fingers. It was subtle at first—so subtle she had almost convinced herself it was nothing, just a temporary shift, a phase. But the changes were creeping, insidious, like shadows stretching out at dusk.
It started with the wine.
She had always favoured white, its crisp acidity a familiar comfort. But now, she found herself reaching for the darker bottle, drawn to the rich, velvety caress of red as it flowed over her tongue. There was something thrilling about it, something that made her lips curl into a smile as she swirled the ruby liquid in her glass, watching the way it clung to the sides before slipping back down. It was more than just wine now—it was indulgence, something primal, a quiet exultation in the darker flavours of life. She didn't question it at first, savouring the way it awakened something deep inside her, something that felt dangerously alive.
Then came the meat.
Steak, rare and bloody, the juices spilling across her plate in deep crimson pools. Once, she had barely tolerated it, forcing it down only out of duty to her father, whose love for hearty meals had shaped many a dinner table. Now, she craved it. She didn't just eat; she relished the sharp, iron tang on her tongue, licked the blood from her lips with a hunger that both startled and thrilled her. It was as though some ancient instinct was being stirred awake, something feral and untamed, and she couldn't help but lean into it. Her companion noticed, of course. How could it not? There was a quiet concern in the way it thought of her, but it didn't dare speak up, not yet.
Bar fights and petty squabbles became a source of twisted amusement. Where once the chaotic brawls of strangers had been an annoyance, now they sparked a strange excitement in her chest. Watching the raw, unfettered violence, the clash of bodies, and the rage in their eyes ignited a dark thrill between her ribs. She would laugh—petal-soft lips curving into a smile at the sight of broken bottles and spilled ale. She wasn't sure when she had started finding joy in such things, but there it was, undeniable and quietly terrifying. It was as though she was peeling away her old self, casting it aside like a snake shedding its skin.
The changes were not just inward.
Her hood, once drawn tightly around her face to hide her features, had been abandoned. It had been somewhere after Waterdeep that she let it fall for good, no longer caring to hide the smooth, pearlescent fur that covered her once-human skin. Her horn, once an object of shame, now gleamed proudly in the sunlight, casting a glittering reflection that caught the eyes of passersby. She began braiding her hair, weaving in wildflowers and letting her locks flow freely, no longer confined to the tight, utilitarian bun she had worn for so long. The cloak that had once served as a shield from prying eyes now became a practical garment—its many pockets stuffed with trinkets from her travels, a barrier against the wind and rain rather than the gazes of strangers.
Even her hooves, which had once filled her with insecurity and a sense of grotesque otherness, began to feel like a gift. Where once she had cursed them, now she found herself moving with confidence, her steps grounded and sure. The cobblestones of Waterdeep, slippery and uneven, no longer tripped her up. She was connected to the earth in a way she had never been before, and it lent her a new kind of strength.
Her companion, the Unicorn, was less than pleased with these changes. It watched her with a mixture of disdain and thinly veiled exasperation, its silvered gaze following her every move. It was never short of a cutting remark, a barb thrown her way whenever it found an opportunity.
"What are you so pleased about?" it would scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Embracing the grotesque now, are we?"
Aníria rarely responded to these jabs, choosing instead to roll her eyes or ignore the creature altogether. The Unicorn's snide comments felt almost predictable now, a constant drone in the background. And yet, sometimes, amidst the sarcasm, there was something else—a flicker of concern, a grudging care hidden beneath the snark.
"You could rest, you know," it had said once, its eyes rolling skyward. "Not everything needs to revolve around your quest."
And there was truth in those words, though it was buried deep beneath layers of cynicism. For all its barbs, the Unicorn did offer occasional hints of wisdom, though they came as begrudging as its company. It was clear the creature disapproved of the changes in Aníria, but it couldn't deny that they were happening. She was transforming, not just in body but in spirit, and there was nothing the Unicorn could say to stop it.
Waterdeep had brought her a strange sense of freedom. Amidst the raucous laughter of taverns, the endless din of merchants hawking their wares, and the constant hum of life, Aníria found herself slipping deeper into her new skin. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't always comfortable. But it was hers.
But as the days passed, and the bright chaos of the city began to dim, the leads she had pursued with such fervour dwindled. The whispers of the hag's whereabouts, once so promising, faded into nothing, and each day, she found herself walking the streets with a growing sense of frustration. Hope, once her constant companion, began to slip through her fingers like sand, replaced by a slow, creeping despair that settled over her like a heavy cloak.
And as the sun dipped behind the distant hills, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets, Aníria stood at a crossroads. Was this who she was now—a creature half-human, half something else, destined to walk the earth in this in-between state? Or was there still a way to turn back, to reclaim what the hag had taken from her?
The answer lingered just beyond her reach, as elusive as the hag herself.
One fateful afternoon, the noise of Waterdeep receded into the distance as Aníria wandered away, her heart heavy with unanswered questions. She sought something quieter, something that could still the restless thoughts swirling in her mind. The gentle murmur of a nearby stream, its waters clear and cool, beckoned her like a whispered invitation.
Kneeling beside the water's edge, she let her fingers hover just above the surface, watching as the ripples broke against the reflection of her own face. What she saw sent a chill coursing through her veins.
The face that stared back at her no longer belonged to the girl she had once been. Sharp, predatory cheekbones jutted where soft curves had once rested. Her eyes, which had once glimmered with warmth, now shone too brightly, the light within them cold, almost demonic. They were the eyes of a hunter, not a dreamer. And her ears—once sharp, long, and pointed—had softened and drooped. They now resembled those of the unicorn, their delicacy a cruel mockery of the strong features she had once prided herself on.
The reflection distorted with the movement of the stream, but the image lingered, wrapping itself around her like a vice. She couldn't tear her gaze away. A wave of nausea surged through her, the world tilting beneath her feet. The monstrousness of what she had become struck her in a way it hadn't before. The slow accumulation of change had suddenly crystallized into a grotesque reality, laid bare for her to confront.
From somewhere deep within her mind, the voice of the Unicorn echoed, cutting through the silence like a knife. "Quite different, aren't we?" Its words were laced with an unsettling wisdom, a knowing that left no room for denial.
Aníria nodded, though she was alone by the water's edge. "Yes, we are," she murmured to herself, the words soundless but heavy, as if the very air around her had absorbed them. Her mind drifted, carried on the currents of memories that suddenly surged to the surface: her father's laughter ringing out as he taught her the way of the sword, her mother's gentle hand brushing stray hair from her brow, the quiet, stolen moments with the suitor who had once promised her a future full of joy. The images felt almost foreign now, as though they belonged to someone else, some other girl who still lived in the world of sunlight and simple pleasures.
The weight of that realization pressed against her chest; an ache so profound it left her breathless. There was a hollowness where hope had once been, and as she stared into the shifting water, she wondered if there was anything left to reclaim. She had pursued the leads with such fervour, followed every whisper, every trail, only for them to vanish like smoke. There were no more leads, no more clues. Nothing but the oppressive emptiness stretching out before her.
And yet, even as despair threatened to consume her, something small and quiet flickered to life within her—acceptance. It wasn't grand, or even comforting, but it was there, fragile as a flame in the wind. Perhaps she couldn't return to who she had been. Perhaps that girl was gone, forever out of reach. But that didn't mean she couldn't become something else, something new.
With a deep sigh, Aníria rose from the bank, her legs stiff, her heart heavy but resolute. She turned back toward Waterdeep, the city now looming in the distance. It was a strange feeling, this mix of loss and determination that settled within her. She was no longer chasing the shadows of what she had been. Now, she was walking toward something unknown.
As she made her way back, she allowed herself to slow, to be in the world rather than simply move through it. The colourful bustle of life swirled around her—merchants bartering loudly in the streets, children running between stalls, travellers sharing tales from distant lands. Aníria found herself pausing to speak with them, laughing at their stories, her voice mingling with the chaotic melody of the city. In these moments, she felt a spark of something close to contentment, fleeting but real.
She spent her gold freely, acquiring books that caught her eye—tomes filled with ancient knowledge, stories of the Fey and their mysterious realm. There was power in those pages, truths wrapped in riddles and half-forgotten legends. At night, she retreated to the solitude of her dimly lit room, pouring over each word, her fingers tracing the lines of text as though they held the answers she sought.
The Feywild—the realm of shifting rules and boundless possibility—called to her. The deeper she read, the clearer it became that this was where her path led. It was a place where the lines between reality and dream blurred, where time flowed strangely, and where anything could happen. It was the only place left that might hold the secret to restoring what she had lost, if it could be restored at all.
But Aníria knew that entering such a world would require more than courage; it would demand her very soul. The Fey were not known for their kindness, and their games were dangerous, their bargains treacherous. Yet, as she turned the pages, each one crackling under her fingertips, she felt a growing certainty that this was the way forward. She could not remain at the crossroads forever. To reclaim her humanity—or perhaps to discover something new altogether—she would have to step beyond the veil, into the wild unknown.
With the city of Waterdeep behind her and the Feywild ahead, Aníria stood on the edge of something vast and strange. She had no idea what awaited her there, but for the first time in a long while, the thought didn't fill her with dread. It filled her with possibility.
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The air was thick and heavy with a loss to be had.
Thalia knelt beside the bed, her trembling hand clasped around those of her beloved, cold and clammy, devoid of the warmth that once pulsed beneath his skin. She could hardly feel her own fingertips anymore, as though the chill from his lifeless hand had seeped into her very bones.
"I swear I will fix this."
Her voice cracked, the words half a vow, half a plea to whatever gods might listen. Her robes, once resplendent in the light, now hung from her gaunt frame like a shroud, pooling around her as if the fabric itself knew of the weight she carried. Her body was wasting away, hollowed by sleepless nights and the endless search for a cure.
"I... I swear I'll find a way," she whispered, the promise faltering like the flicker of a dying candle. Her head bowed, golden locks dull and limp, hanging in the still, stifling air. She hadn't the strength to push them from her face, not even to see him clearly one last time.
Tears slipped from her hollow eyes, trailing down her cheeks, carving paths into the grime of exhaustion that marred her once-radiant complexion. She was a shadow of herself now, a spectre haunted by failure. The room was silent, save for the ragged breaths that barely escaped his lips, a cruel mockery of the steady rhythm that had once filled the space with life.
Her grip tightened, desperate, fingers entwined with his, as though she might anchor him here with sheer will alone. But his hand remained still—cold, empty.
Each passing second felt like a stolen heartbeat, a countdown to a finality she refused to accept.
"I swear I will fix this."
Her voice cracked, the words half a vow, half a plea to whatever gods might listen. Her robes, once resplendent in the light, now hung from her gaunt frame like a shroud, pooling around her as if the fabric itself knew of the weight she carried. Her body was wasting away, hollowed by sleepless nights and the endless search for a cure.
"I... I swear I'll find a way," she whispered, the promise faltering like the flicker of a dying candle. Her head bowed, golden locks dull and limp, hanging in the still, stifling air. She hadn't the strength to push them from her face, not even to see him clearly one last time.
Tears slipped from her hollow eyes, trailing down her cheeks, carving paths into the grime of exhaustion that marred her once-radiant complexion. She was a shadow of herself now, a spectre haunted by failure. The room was silent, save for the ragged breaths that barely escaped his lips, a cruel mockery of the steady rhythm that had once filled the space with life.
Her grip tightened, desperate, fingers entwined with his, as though she might anchor him here with sheer will alone. But his hand remained still—cold, empty.
Each passing second felt like a stolen heartbeat, a countdown to a finality she refused to accept.
The cleric found herself in a den shrouded in darkness, thick as ink, where even her trained eyes failed her. The shadows seemed to move, writhing in the periphery of her vision, feeding on her uncertainty. Thalia steadied her thoughts, her pulse a thunderous beat in her ears. She slowed her breathing, focusing on the sound of the air around her, her senses sharpened as she cast her gaze blindly into the abyss.
"My, my, what do we have here? A little mouse wandering into the cat's lair?"
The voice was dissonant, fractured, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thalia halted, her blood running cold. There was no direction to follow, no clear path forward, only the unsettling certainty that she had entered the den of something far beyond mortal comprehension.
"I'm seeking your help," she replied, though her voice trembled with a hint of fear she could not suppress. She had travelled far for this, sacrificed time, sanity, and safety. Her only companion now was desperation.
"Oh my dear, I know," the voice purred, closer now, slithering across her skin like a dark caress. A sinister amusement laced each word, and Thalia's heart hammered against her ribs. "One of the Raven's own daughters, coming to me, crawling through the dark, seeking salvation in the most unlikely of places…"
The voice grew louder, a presence she could feel now. It loomed, and with it came a pressure—an ancient, malevolent force. She spun, her robes swirling in the dense air, and let out a soft gasp, eyes widening in shock.
Before her stood a figure, shrouded in shadow, its face obscured, but its hands... cold and lifeless, like the embrace of death itself. Those hands gripped hers tightly, binding her in a touch that sent icy tendrils of dread coursing through her veins.
Thalia shuddered, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of the being's power pressed down upon her. There was no warmth in its grip, no semblance of life. Only an abyssal stillness that mirrored the suffocating void around them.
The grin she had heard was now visible, stretching across a pale, elegant face. Its teeth gleamed in the dim light, sharp and too many. The creature tilted its head, as though studying her. "And what is it you seek to offer me in return, little raven daughter?" It whispered, its breath colder than the grave.
Thalia felt her resolve waver, but she swallowed the fear. Her voice was barely a breath as she answered, "Whatever it takes. Anything you desire,"
"My, my, what do we have here? A little mouse wandering into the cat's lair?"
The voice was dissonant, fractured, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thalia halted, her blood running cold. There was no direction to follow, no clear path forward, only the unsettling certainty that she had entered the den of something far beyond mortal comprehension.
"I'm seeking your help," she replied, though her voice trembled with a hint of fear she could not suppress. She had travelled far for this, sacrificed time, sanity, and safety. Her only companion now was desperation.
"Oh my dear, I know," the voice purred, closer now, slithering across her skin like a dark caress. A sinister amusement laced each word, and Thalia's heart hammered against her ribs. "One of the Raven's own daughters, coming to me, crawling through the dark, seeking salvation in the most unlikely of places…"
The voice grew louder, a presence she could feel now. It loomed, and with it came a pressure—an ancient, malevolent force. She spun, her robes swirling in the dense air, and let out a soft gasp, eyes widening in shock.
Before her stood a figure, shrouded in shadow, its face obscured, but its hands... cold and lifeless, like the embrace of death itself. Those hands gripped hers tightly, binding her in a touch that sent icy tendrils of dread coursing through her veins.
Thalia shuddered, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of the being's power pressed down upon her. There was no warmth in its grip, no semblance of life. Only an abyssal stillness that mirrored the suffocating void around them.
The grin she had heard was now visible, stretching across a pale, elegant face. Its teeth gleamed in the dim light, sharp and too many. The creature tilted its head, as though studying her. "And what is it you seek to offer me in return, little raven daughter?" It whispered, its breath colder than the grave.
Thalia felt her resolve waver, but she swallowed the fear. Her voice was barely a breath as she answered, "Whatever it takes. Anything you desire,"
Thalia's breath caught as the vampire's cold fingers curled around her wrist, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel the sharp, clawed tips of his fingers as they slid over her skin, peeling back her sleeves to reveal the scars she had long carried—marks of her devotion, of her oath to the Raven Queen. She had promised herself to the goddess who commanded death itself, vowing to uphold the delicate balance between life and the grave. Her body, etched with the runes of her faith, was a testament to that vow, to the promise she had made to forsake the undead until her last breath.
Now, here she was—offering herself to that very thing she had sworn to hate.
Her pulse quickened, her breath shallow, as the vampire's claw traced the sacred scars. She bit the inside of her cheek, the metallic taste of blood grounding her against the rising tide of panic. The Raven Queen despised creatures like him. To seek out a vampire's aid, to even consider becoming one—it was treason against her goddess, a betrayal that threatened to unravel everything Thalia was. The oaths she'd made weighed heavy on her soul, threatening to pull her into the abyss.
But she had already crossed that line, hadn't she? Her beloved lay dying, the chill of death creeping ever closer, and Thalia would not—could not—let them slip away. She would do anything, even this.
The vampire's voice slithered through the darkness, rich with amusement. "A cleric," he murmured, dragging his claw across the runes that glowed faintly with divine energy, each mark binding her to the Raven Queen's will. His touch tore at the old scar tissue, and a sharp sting followed. Her lips parted in a soft gasp, pain melding with the growing realization of what she was about to lose. His claw embedded in her flesh, crimson blooming in the dimness, mixing with her divinely-marked flesh.
Thalia's thoughts swirled, tangled between devotion and desperation. How had it come to this? She had spent her life eradicating creatures like him, fighting tooth and nail to preserve the sanctity of death. And now, in this dark den, she was ready to forsake that very purpose. Would the Raven Queen turn her gaze from me? The thought flickered in her mind, cold and unrelenting. The goddess who had given her purpose, power, and faith—Thalia could almost feel the weight of her gaze, the silent judgment of her choice.
But none of that mattered. Not anymore. She had made her decision the moment she knelt at her beloved's bedside, their hand limp and cold in hers. She would break every vow, become a wretch in the eyes of the Raven Queen, if it meant bringing them back. Even if it meant damning her own soul.
"I'll do it," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. The words left her lips like a prayer, though she knew no god would answer her now.
The vampire leaned closer, his breath cold against her skin, as his grip tightened. "A willing sacrifice," he purred, his voice dripping with mockery. He dug his claws deeper into her scars, tearing them open with deliberate cruelty. Blood welled up, warm and slick, and Thalia's knees weakened, but she stood firm. She had to.
For Him.
"I'll do it, I swear it," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it again would make the weight of her decision less unbearable.
She was no longer a servant of balance.
She was simply a woman who refused to lose the person she loved.
The vampire's lips curved into a predatory smile. "So be it."
And with that, Thalia felt the last threads of her old life unravel, her fate sealing itself in the blood dripping from her arms.
Thalia's breath hitched as she felt his claws withdraw from her torn, glistening flesh, the cold air biting at the open wounds. Blood, warm and sticky, seeped down her arms, and for a brief, dizzying moment, she welcomed the pain—it grounded her in the madness of what she was about to do. The vampire's fingers, now slick with her blood, trailed up her arms, their touch both delicate and deliberate, as if savouring the moment before everything changed.
With a slow, almost reverent gesture, he pulled back the hood of her robe. Her golden hair, tangled and damp with sweat, tumbled free, cascading down her shoulders like a relic of a life she was already leaving behind. Thalia couldn't see in the suffocating darkness, but she knew he could. His eyes, ancient and sharp, drank in every detail of her—her face gaunt and hollowed from nights without rest, the runes etched into her skin flickering faintly, their light waning with the strength of her resolve. He saw it all. He saw her unravelling before him, her body and spirit fraying like old parchment.
Even in his undead heart, something stirred.
His hands, bloodied and cold, cupped her face, forcing her to lift her gaze toward him. She felt his unnatural strength in that grip, yet there was a strange gentleness in the way he held her. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks, and Thalia shuddered under his touch. The sensation was sickeningly intimate. His eyes bore into her, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he saw her for what she truly was: a dying woman, as lost as her beloved, ready to surrender everything just for a chance—no matter how tainted—at saving the one she loved.
He sighed, a sound so low it was almost imperceptible, yet it carried the weight of centuries. Slowly, he tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck, the pulse in her throat fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. His breath, unnaturally cold, ghosted across her skin, sending a chill that sank deep into her bones. Thalia's heart hammered in her chest, and she clenched her fists to keep them from trembling.
For all her devotion to the Raven Queen, for all her training in the art of life and death, nothing had prepared her for this moment—for the quiet horror of offering herself to an abomination. She knew, deep within, that the Raven Queen's gaze was upon her now, watching as her cleric betrayed everything she once stood for. The goddess's disdain was palpable, a suffocating presence that weighed heavy on her soul.
And yet, the dread that gripped Thalia wasn't for herself. It was for him.
For the life she could still save.
I swear I'll fix this, she had whispered once. But the truth had clawed its way into her mind. She wasn't saving anything. She was damning them both.
The vampire lingered at her neck, hovering just above her skin, his breath forming cold clouds against the warmth of her flesh. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to this one terrible, inevitable moment. Thalia's mind raced, fragments of prayers and memories flashing like sparks in the dark, but no comfort came.
There was only the cold.
Now, here she was—offering herself to that very thing she had sworn to hate.
Her pulse quickened, her breath shallow, as the vampire's claw traced the sacred scars. She bit the inside of her cheek, the metallic taste of blood grounding her against the rising tide of panic. The Raven Queen despised creatures like him. To seek out a vampire's aid, to even consider becoming one—it was treason against her goddess, a betrayal that threatened to unravel everything Thalia was. The oaths she'd made weighed heavy on her soul, threatening to pull her into the abyss.
But she had already crossed that line, hadn't she? Her beloved lay dying, the chill of death creeping ever closer, and Thalia would not—could not—let them slip away. She would do anything, even this.
The vampire's voice slithered through the darkness, rich with amusement. "A cleric," he murmured, dragging his claw across the runes that glowed faintly with divine energy, each mark binding her to the Raven Queen's will. His touch tore at the old scar tissue, and a sharp sting followed. Her lips parted in a soft gasp, pain melding with the growing realization of what she was about to lose. His claw embedded in her flesh, crimson blooming in the dimness, mixing with her divinely-marked flesh.
Thalia's thoughts swirled, tangled between devotion and desperation. How had it come to this? She had spent her life eradicating creatures like him, fighting tooth and nail to preserve the sanctity of death. And now, in this dark den, she was ready to forsake that very purpose. Would the Raven Queen turn her gaze from me? The thought flickered in her mind, cold and unrelenting. The goddess who had given her purpose, power, and faith—Thalia could almost feel the weight of her gaze, the silent judgment of her choice.
But none of that mattered. Not anymore. She had made her decision the moment she knelt at her beloved's bedside, their hand limp and cold in hers. She would break every vow, become a wretch in the eyes of the Raven Queen, if it meant bringing them back. Even if it meant damning her own soul.
"I'll do it," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. The words left her lips like a prayer, though she knew no god would answer her now.
The vampire leaned closer, his breath cold against her skin, as his grip tightened. "A willing sacrifice," he purred, his voice dripping with mockery. He dug his claws deeper into her scars, tearing them open with deliberate cruelty. Blood welled up, warm and slick, and Thalia's knees weakened, but she stood firm. She had to.
For Him.
"I'll do it, I swear it," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it again would make the weight of her decision less unbearable.
She was no longer a servant of balance.
She was simply a woman who refused to lose the person she loved.
The vampire's lips curved into a predatory smile. "So be it."
And with that, Thalia felt the last threads of her old life unravel, her fate sealing itself in the blood dripping from her arms.
Thalia's breath hitched as she felt his claws withdraw from her torn, glistening flesh, the cold air biting at the open wounds. Blood, warm and sticky, seeped down her arms, and for a brief, dizzying moment, she welcomed the pain—it grounded her in the madness of what she was about to do. The vampire's fingers, now slick with her blood, trailed up her arms, their touch both delicate and deliberate, as if savouring the moment before everything changed.
With a slow, almost reverent gesture, he pulled back the hood of her robe. Her golden hair, tangled and damp with sweat, tumbled free, cascading down her shoulders like a relic of a life she was already leaving behind. Thalia couldn't see in the suffocating darkness, but she knew he could. His eyes, ancient and sharp, drank in every detail of her—her face gaunt and hollowed from nights without rest, the runes etched into her skin flickering faintly, their light waning with the strength of her resolve. He saw it all. He saw her unravelling before him, her body and spirit fraying like old parchment.
Even in his undead heart, something stirred.
His hands, bloodied and cold, cupped her face, forcing her to lift her gaze toward him. She felt his unnatural strength in that grip, yet there was a strange gentleness in the way he held her. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks, and Thalia shuddered under his touch. The sensation was sickeningly intimate. His eyes bore into her, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he saw her for what she truly was: a dying woman, as lost as her beloved, ready to surrender everything just for a chance—no matter how tainted—at saving the one she loved.
He sighed, a sound so low it was almost imperceptible, yet it carried the weight of centuries. Slowly, he tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck, the pulse in her throat fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. His breath, unnaturally cold, ghosted across her skin, sending a chill that sank deep into her bones. Thalia's heart hammered in her chest, and she clenched her fists to keep them from trembling.
For all her devotion to the Raven Queen, for all her training in the art of life and death, nothing had prepared her for this moment—for the quiet horror of offering herself to an abomination. She knew, deep within, that the Raven Queen's gaze was upon her now, watching as her cleric betrayed everything she once stood for. The goddess's disdain was palpable, a suffocating presence that weighed heavy on her soul.
And yet, the dread that gripped Thalia wasn't for herself. It was for him.
For the life she could still save.
I swear I'll fix this, she had whispered once. But the truth had clawed its way into her mind. She wasn't saving anything. She was damning them both.
The vampire lingered at her neck, hovering just above her skin, his breath forming cold clouds against the warmth of her flesh. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to this one terrible, inevitable moment. Thalia's mind raced, fragments of prayers and memories flashing like sparks in the dark, but no comfort came.
There was only the cold.
His lips brushed against her neck with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine, a whisper of ice against sand.
The puncture came like a glass-shard pain, sharp and fleeting, soon replaced by a dull, throbbing numbness that spread through her. Her breath caught, a stifled gasp escaping her lips as her hands instinctively rose to press against his chest. Her fingers, trembling and weak, bunched in the fine, soft fabric of his clothes—so unexpected, that subtle luxury. She focused on it, clinging to the sensation, a fleeting distraction from the horror of what was happening.
The blood flowed from her neck in steady, gentle rivers, mixing with the crimson trails from the open wounds on her arms, dripping from her fingertips like spilled ink.
As he suckled at her blood, each gentle pull was laced with reverence, his mouth working against her skin like a cat savouring cream. The initial sharpness faded into a warm embrace, the very essence of her life flowing into him and weaving an unbreakable bond between their fates. His breath, cool and faint, wafted across her fevered skin, a contrast that heightened the dizzying pleasure enveloping her senses.
Thalia let out a soft whimper, her eyes fluttering closed as if drawn into a dream. The intimate dance of his lips on her neck stirred memories of the warmth she had known, the touch of her beloved's hands against her skin, the tender brush of lips that had once felt so comforting. Her heart ached with longing, a bittersweet reminder of the man waiting for her return, whose laughter once filled the air with joy and safety. She could almost feel him beside her, his presence enveloping her like a warm embrace, and yet here she was, entwined in this dark intimacy.
His long hair brushed against her ears, the soft strands whispering secrets to her, blending with the rush of her heartbeat that began to echo in her ears. She leaned into him, her body pliant in his embrace, surrendering as her grip on his lapels loosened, the world outside fading into a distant memory. What would he think of this moment? Would he understand the desperation that had driven her here, the lengths she would go to save him?
The runes etched across her skin, once vibrant symbols of her devotion to the Raven Queen, began to dim, their glow receding as her life force poured into him. His hand slid to the small of her back, anchoring her as her legs threatened to give way, while the other hand tangled possessively in her golden hair, tilting her head for better access to the crimson feast. His lips, once ravenous, now moved more slowly, gently lapping at the blood as though reluctant to part with the taste, savouring her essence with a lover's patience.
He drank her blood with a languid patience, savouring each drop as though it were the finest nectar. Each time his mouth closed around her neck, Thalia's heart fluttered, and for a brief moment, she could almost picture her beloved's gentle caress. Would he have held her like this? Would he have whispered sweet nothings, assuring her that everything would be alright? Thalia floated in the moment, suspended between life and death, between terror and an exquisite comfort that enveloped her. Every breath, every heartbeat, pulled her closer to the precipice of surrender. As her strength ebbed, she could not help but lean into him more deeply, lost in the intoxicating connection forged by blood and shadow.
The puncture came like a glass-shard pain, sharp and fleeting, soon replaced by a dull, throbbing numbness that spread through her. Her breath caught, a stifled gasp escaping her lips as her hands instinctively rose to press against his chest. Her fingers, trembling and weak, bunched in the fine, soft fabric of his clothes—so unexpected, that subtle luxury. She focused on it, clinging to the sensation, a fleeting distraction from the horror of what was happening.
The blood flowed from her neck in steady, gentle rivers, mixing with the crimson trails from the open wounds on her arms, dripping from her fingertips like spilled ink.
As he suckled at her blood, each gentle pull was laced with reverence, his mouth working against her skin like a cat savouring cream. The initial sharpness faded into a warm embrace, the very essence of her life flowing into him and weaving an unbreakable bond between their fates. His breath, cool and faint, wafted across her fevered skin, a contrast that heightened the dizzying pleasure enveloping her senses.
Thalia let out a soft whimper, her eyes fluttering closed as if drawn into a dream. The intimate dance of his lips on her neck stirred memories of the warmth she had known, the touch of her beloved's hands against her skin, the tender brush of lips that had once felt so comforting. Her heart ached with longing, a bittersweet reminder of the man waiting for her return, whose laughter once filled the air with joy and safety. She could almost feel him beside her, his presence enveloping her like a warm embrace, and yet here she was, entwined in this dark intimacy.
His long hair brushed against her ears, the soft strands whispering secrets to her, blending with the rush of her heartbeat that began to echo in her ears. She leaned into him, her body pliant in his embrace, surrendering as her grip on his lapels loosened, the world outside fading into a distant memory. What would he think of this moment? Would he understand the desperation that had driven her here, the lengths she would go to save him?
The runes etched across her skin, once vibrant symbols of her devotion to the Raven Queen, began to dim, their glow receding as her life force poured into him. His hand slid to the small of her back, anchoring her as her legs threatened to give way, while the other hand tangled possessively in her golden hair, tilting her head for better access to the crimson feast. His lips, once ravenous, now moved more slowly, gently lapping at the blood as though reluctant to part with the taste, savouring her essence with a lover's patience.
He drank her blood with a languid patience, savouring each drop as though it were the finest nectar. Each time his mouth closed around her neck, Thalia's heart fluttered, and for a brief moment, she could almost picture her beloved's gentle caress. Would he have held her like this? Would he have whispered sweet nothings, assuring her that everything would be alright? Thalia floated in the moment, suspended between life and death, between terror and an exquisite comfort that enveloped her. Every breath, every heartbeat, pulled her closer to the precipice of surrender. As her strength ebbed, she could not help but lean into him more deeply, lost in the intoxicating connection forged by blood and shadow.
When she awoke, it was still dark, but candles flickered on the bedside table, their warm light casting eerie shadows that twisted and turned in the corners of the room. Where was she? Panic gripped Thalia, squeezing her chest like a vice. She shot upright, her heart racing like a rabbit's foot, but there was something deeply wrong—her heart was in fact completely still.
Gasping for air felt like a reflex, yet each breath sent shards of glass slicing through her lungs. She heaved, struggling against the suffocating grip of dread that clutched at her throat. Desperation clawed at her insides as she frantically scanned her surroundings, only to find that everything before her was rendered in shades of grey, the once-vibrant world now a monochrome nightmare. Fear coursed through her dry veins, a cold chill that seeped into her very core.
As she reached her hands out in front of her, the sight that met her eyes made her stomach drop: claws, long and curved, as black as the darkest night. Panic surged anew, but there was a strange comfort in the fact that her arms—once torn open and bleeding—had mended in her sleep. The runes that had marked her as a daughter of the Raven Queen, once glowing with power, now lay as gentle scars against her pale skin, their light extinguished.
Thalia stood, her legs wavering beneath her, a disorienting mix of weakness and newfound strength. She began to walk through the lavish bedroom, searching for an exit, her movements both cautious and determined. The opulence of the space felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else.
Finally, she found a heavy door and pushed against it, willing it to open. With a groan, the door creaked inward, revealing the same oppressive darkness she had struggled to navigate before her slumber. But now, as she stepped beyond the threshold, she could see with a clarity that felt unnatural, as if the very essence of night had become her ally.
Walking down a grand staircase, she descended into a foyer thick with dust, the air heavy with the scent of decay. But what truly drew her attention was the dark stain on the floor—her blood, the very essence of life that had been so ruthlessly drawn from her. The aroma was intoxicating, a sickly sweet perfume that called to something deep within her.
As she stood there, the echo of her heart's silence grew deafening. She could feel the remnants of the vampire's touch still lingering on her skin, a ghostly reminder of their intimate exchange. The ache for Lysander pierced through her like a dagger; the warmth of his embrace felt like a distant dream, a flickering memory in the depths of her mind.
"Lysander…" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, laden with longing. The thought of him wrapped around her heart like a lifeline, pulling her back from the edge of despair. She felt torn between the darkness that enveloped her and the light she had once known.
But she couldn't linger here; the urge to escape surged through her, battling against the seductive pull of the blood that stained the floor. She turned away from it, determination igniting a flicker of defiance in her chest. The shadows whispered promises of power and seduction, but she was not lost yet. Each step she took resonated with the echo of her heart's longing, a quiet vow that she would find her way back to him—whatever the cost.
In front of her, the vampire materialized like a dark dream, his presence both alluring and terrifying. He was a stunning creature, tall and slender, his form reminiscent of marble—perfectly chiselled and impossibly ethereal. His eyes pierced through the dim light, glimmering with an unsettling mix of mirth and melancholy. The beauty of his features was marred by the caricature of hurt etched on his face, a twisted reflection of longing.
"You hurt me, darling," he lamented, his voice a velvety whisper that seemed to linger in the air. "After everything, you're calling for another man?"
Thalia's heart raced, but anger surged to the surface, igniting her indignation. She could hardly contain it. "After everything? You... you drained me!" The words spilled from her, raw and stinging, indignation flickering across her features like a flame.
He simply laughed, the sound rich and dark. "You sought out my help, and I provided it," he replied, closing the distance between them with unnerving ease. His hand reached out, almost tenderly, to fix a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
Instinctively, she went to swat his hand away, but a strange weight held her back, as if an invisible tether bound her will. Confusion washed over her, displacing the anger for just a moment. "What—" she stammered, her voice faltering under the intensity of his gaze.
"Oh dear, you should have done more research," he teased, his fingers brushing against her chin, forcing her to meet his relentless stare. For a heartbeat, time stretched, and she felt the coldness of his touch seep through her skin. He studied her altered features, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Her once-blue eyes now glowed crimson, a stark contrast to the ivory of her hair—transformed under the weight of his magic.
"Ah, the stress, I assume," he mused, his voice dripping with condescension.
"I held up my end of the deal, little raven," he continued, his tone shifting as he leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her ear. "Now... what you owe me is—" He drew it out, savouring the moment like a fine wine, "a favour. I will call upon you in the future, and you must come to my aid."
Thalia stared at him, a mix of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. "A favour?" she echoed, incredulity lacing her words. "That's all?"
Gasping for air felt like a reflex, yet each breath sent shards of glass slicing through her lungs. She heaved, struggling against the suffocating grip of dread that clutched at her throat. Desperation clawed at her insides as she frantically scanned her surroundings, only to find that everything before her was rendered in shades of grey, the once-vibrant world now a monochrome nightmare. Fear coursed through her dry veins, a cold chill that seeped into her very core.
As she reached her hands out in front of her, the sight that met her eyes made her stomach drop: claws, long and curved, as black as the darkest night. Panic surged anew, but there was a strange comfort in the fact that her arms—once torn open and bleeding—had mended in her sleep. The runes that had marked her as a daughter of the Raven Queen, once glowing with power, now lay as gentle scars against her pale skin, their light extinguished.
Thalia stood, her legs wavering beneath her, a disorienting mix of weakness and newfound strength. She began to walk through the lavish bedroom, searching for an exit, her movements both cautious and determined. The opulence of the space felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else.
Finally, she found a heavy door and pushed against it, willing it to open. With a groan, the door creaked inward, revealing the same oppressive darkness she had struggled to navigate before her slumber. But now, as she stepped beyond the threshold, she could see with a clarity that felt unnatural, as if the very essence of night had become her ally.
Walking down a grand staircase, she descended into a foyer thick with dust, the air heavy with the scent of decay. But what truly drew her attention was the dark stain on the floor—her blood, the very essence of life that had been so ruthlessly drawn from her. The aroma was intoxicating, a sickly sweet perfume that called to something deep within her.
As she stood there, the echo of her heart's silence grew deafening. She could feel the remnants of the vampire's touch still lingering on her skin, a ghostly reminder of their intimate exchange. The ache for Lysander pierced through her like a dagger; the warmth of his embrace felt like a distant dream, a flickering memory in the depths of her mind.
"Lysander…" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, laden with longing. The thought of him wrapped around her heart like a lifeline, pulling her back from the edge of despair. She felt torn between the darkness that enveloped her and the light she had once known.
But she couldn't linger here; the urge to escape surged through her, battling against the seductive pull of the blood that stained the floor. She turned away from it, determination igniting a flicker of defiance in her chest. The shadows whispered promises of power and seduction, but she was not lost yet. Each step she took resonated with the echo of her heart's longing, a quiet vow that she would find her way back to him—whatever the cost.
In front of her, the vampire materialized like a dark dream, his presence both alluring and terrifying. He was a stunning creature, tall and slender, his form reminiscent of marble—perfectly chiselled and impossibly ethereal. His eyes pierced through the dim light, glimmering with an unsettling mix of mirth and melancholy. The beauty of his features was marred by the caricature of hurt etched on his face, a twisted reflection of longing.
"You hurt me, darling," he lamented, his voice a velvety whisper that seemed to linger in the air. "After everything, you're calling for another man?"
Thalia's heart raced, but anger surged to the surface, igniting her indignation. She could hardly contain it. "After everything? You... you drained me!" The words spilled from her, raw and stinging, indignation flickering across her features like a flame.
He simply laughed, the sound rich and dark. "You sought out my help, and I provided it," he replied, closing the distance between them with unnerving ease. His hand reached out, almost tenderly, to fix a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
Instinctively, she went to swat his hand away, but a strange weight held her back, as if an invisible tether bound her will. Confusion washed over her, displacing the anger for just a moment. "What—" she stammered, her voice faltering under the intensity of his gaze.
"Oh dear, you should have done more research," he teased, his fingers brushing against her chin, forcing her to meet his relentless stare. For a heartbeat, time stretched, and she felt the coldness of his touch seep through her skin. He studied her altered features, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Her once-blue eyes now glowed crimson, a stark contrast to the ivory of her hair—transformed under the weight of his magic.
"Ah, the stress, I assume," he mused, his voice dripping with condescension.
"I held up my end of the deal, little raven," he continued, his tone shifting as he leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her ear. "Now... what you owe me is—" He drew it out, savouring the moment like a fine wine, "a favour. I will call upon you in the future, and you must come to my aid."
Thalia stared at him, a mix of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. "A favour?" she echoed, incredulity lacing her words. "That's all?"