Unmarked doors flew past Vynnka in a blur as she fled down the corridor, her feet striking each step in noisy rhythm as she continued in the direction of the kitchen. Her swift movements would come to a screeching halt as that of Iamora impeded her path. "I don't want you interfering!" The tow headed child exclaimed, gusts of air pelting Vynnka from every which way. She would be bidded the gift of flight upon a violent, upward draft, her body flailing as she was soared a great distance above the dining table. "Stop interfering with my fun!" Iamora's fisted hands were thrusted above her head, and she simultaneously stomped her feet.Vynnka continued to be subjected to the sheer ferocity of her demonic tantrums, thrashing about on a bed of air current until she was sent careening toward the opposite wall. The psychic abilities of Ravenwitch that were dormant within Iamora had awakened, and with it the sounds of her Mother's deafening laughter. Whilst she toyed with Vynnka, Lily was free to gather a number of the others and establish a meeting point, its size mimicking that of a small army. She would thwart her further advances at every turn, in some way.
It wouldn't be wise to debut her powers as to combat Iamora because the Sin Caster would have the ultimate advantage in Vynnka becoming stuck in an endless loop of body- battering torment. She figured the witch would tire of her soon, finally relaxing her telekinetic hold upon her as to discard her to the floor in a motionless heap. The hall that lay outside of the classroom Anya and Mandy were in attendance suddenly came alive with a cacophony of cachinnations, Brittana forcibly pulling open the door as to allow herself admittance. "What is this about locating Echo?" She teetered toward a desk, taking her seat upon the gouged wood of the tabletop. "Do go on..." She urged of Mandy, batting her tea colored eyes. "I won't tell anyone.." Her gaze would then divert from the visage of Mandy, to Anya, then aflutter toward the direction of the window. (I -do- wish to be a Diva, an object of adoration...)She inhaled a rather noisy breath. (What could be the harm in becoming a cohort to that foul creature? If she could really lift the afflictions of this accursed frame...)Her hands would roam the sides of her bodice, as she attemtped to stiffen her posture. (What harm would it do? A soul does me no good, nobody could see it anyway. And perhaps if they could, it would reflect the ugliness of my outer shell.) Kerosene heard what sounded like the rattling of a key in the door. Perhaps it was the real key, but even if it wasn't, it proved someone cared enough to forego the fear of getting caught as to fashion a makeshift key and attempt to spring her from her confinement. She felt instantly indebted to the individual, whomever he may be, and positioned herself in such a way as to throw her arms about him in gratitude for his act of heroism.
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Iamora reminisced of her stent at the institute with a loving sigh. The sounds of the children overtaking their tyrannical elders, the billowing smoke sootied the heavens as she watched the great conflagration feed upon the wails of victims that were shut within its devouring flames. Again, she sat comfortably admist chaos. The Loot and Lute was little more than a dilapidated hovel, yet the steady inflow of patrons brought her playthings from far and wide. Travelers to the forsaken town had all made the same lasting impressions upon it in death. Everywhere she looked, there were but portrayals of grisly demises painted upon her shining black irises. A downcast glance upon the murky brew which filled the finely crafted china cup, with a small sweep of her hand the caffinated drink went tumbling to the floorboards. The broken fragments of porcelain were reduced to a chalky powder under her boot as she rose to take in all she could of the grisly scene.
A putrescent stench had perfumed the stale air, attracting flies and other pests that would revel in decay. Once rowdy men were reduced to rotting flesh and bone, and Iamora had not lifted a finger as to place them in that state. A tiny smirk played at her lips, she felt satiated for the moment. She approached the bar and poured herself some champagne, raising the goblet in a boastful gesture, and eyed some ravens fighting over some scraps of flesh that still clung to the Bartender's face. Oh, how her mother loved ravens. She had an affinity to these predatory birds, these carrion that feasted upon the dead and the living. Iamora possessed not this sort of bond, so she made dolls of which she had bestowed the gift of life, an army of pernicious little porcelain faced puppets to assist her in wreaking havoc everywhere she went. They were subjects of her abandoned youth, broken pieces of the evil effigies were scattered throughout the lands. Iamora sighed, her fingertip tracing the rim of the goblet. Who would come along next to break the tedium of the silence and listlessness around her?Something writhed within the childish vessel, working its extremities in a marionette like fashion. Iamora hurled the rather crude semblance of a goblet toward the window, where it connected with a clang but the impact wasn't strong enough to shatter it. The maimed bear leapt out of her arms. With each soul she stained, she felt a surge of power coursing through her veins. She siphoned the purity of the immortal essence of humans, corrupting it, changing it. She stood amidst the aftermath of her weaving of destruction, the remnants of those she had produced conflicted moralities. Whilst observing the people infected with Vanity was amusing, examining how they ultimately succumbed to their self inflictions, she wished for more.
The bear that held the malefic quintessence of Ravenwitch, her savage energies thriving upon every cottony fiber, levitated before the cracked pane of glass that barred the fresh air from entering. The Orphanage. Her travels, which made for her vessel to transcend the boundries of space and time would bring her there. Now, as the memories unearthed from the ancient Necropolis of her mind seemed to dissolve away, she decided upon a more adult version of herself, and knocked upon Henry's door. She heard no reply. "What of -you,- Henry? Do not recoil because I am familiar with what name you own." She would appear before him in wisps of black smoke. "Are you satisfied with your meager existence, do you not wish for something -more?- Do you wish to simply perish, and become stricken from the very pages of history? Your wasted soul unfettered by the walls of this place which binds you?"The very voice of the embodiment of Hell made the ground they stood upon quake, the glacial winds carried her raspy voice which would strike the ear so sharply, it would seem as if said anatomical part were assulted by a thousand razors. Iamora batted her eyes coquettishly. Even though she was nefarious of nature, it didn't change her want for companionship. Perhaps she could seek out his desires, shed light to the most shameful secrets he harbored. She knew that every human heart beats with the tune of these disgraces, that most mortals seek absolution only upon the precipice of damnation,in divulging these confessions with a wasted last breath. Ravenwitch led countless souls astray from the Gods. Now it was her turn, to congregate the people of this age in the shackles of sin.
Her frilly black and white bodice fit snugly upon her nubile form, her skirts docked at her knees. A bloodstain had bloomed upon her bosom like a rare, beautiful blossom flourishing upon a carnage soaked earth, a vastitude of butchered flesh yielding as a sacrifice as if to sprout the Devil's rose.
