• Mature • You Can't (Graded)

[Llyr Llywelyn]

5th break
29 Vhalar, Arc 719

The first light of dawn streamed through the bedroom window. Llyr roused awake at the change of illumination. It was rare that he slept in, but he hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. The young mage rubbed at his eyes, then he glanced at the arm that pinned him in place to the bed. He squinted at the woman who rested against him. Her wheat-brown hair splayed in wild curls across the pillow they shared, a few of the locks shading her eyes from the sunlight. She remained deep in slumber.

He heard footsteps outside his door, and a quiet… was that scratching? Had that woken him up instead of the light? Either way, Llyr delicately slid out from under his lover’s grasp. He silently went off the edge of the bed, landed on his feet in a crouch, then waited to make sure that she wouldn’t awaken. He moved one of the extra pillows, that’d fallen onto the floor during their night together, under her arm instead.

Llyr grabbed his black undershorts. He pulled them on while he made his way over to the bedroom door. The biqaj opened it a crack, peeked out, then he frowned when he saw who it was.

He stepped out of his bedroom, closing the door behind him, and his gossamer wings fluttered. His halo dimmed. A pale orange color displayed in his irises. On the chair in the upper floor's hall, Gerolf the Crimson tried to ignore what was going on while he knitted. The Rharne man was to focus just on the children’s room, not on anything else. Llyr grabbed Emmy’s arm at the bicep, and guided her down the stairs, through the ground floor corridor, into his study. The study was cluttered with papers, objects, skeletal bones, books, and a great many random things that filled the shelves and surfaces.

Once he shut the study’s door behind him, he finally spoke to her in a voice that restrained some sort of emotion underneath it – whether disappointment, frustration, concern or otherwise, something was there.

“Where were you?” Llyr placed a hand on his hip. With the other hand, he dragged a straight-back wooden chair over. He pointed for Emmy to sit on the seat. “According to the guards, you were gone for most of the trial and the entire night. Last place they saw you was the bath house. Emmy, you can’t run off and disappear like that! This city isn’t safe for women like you. Now tell me, where were you? Are you okay? Did anything happen to you?”

[Emelia Enners]

There had been so much.

Too much.

And it wasn’t enough.

Her walk home had done nothing to clear her head, Emmy was still confused by the entire previous trial. Of all the things she’d done, some stupider than others, she wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. Idly she rubbed her forehead, Llyr would know more, he knew about these things, she’d never asked him for specifics before but he could probably explain more. If he cared, she wasn’t sure if she did. The whole thing and previous trial was a headache to think about for too long, and she didn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit. In fact, that hadn’t even been work. With soft laugh she realized she had actually managed to worry herself all the way to Llyrs bedroom. His locked bedroom, grumpy she raised her hand to bang on it then remembered there were kids in the house. The petty part of her almost did it anyways but she didn’t actually want to get thrown out just yet. She tried for a soft tap of her nail, the door scratching loudly in the quiet of the morning.

For several heartbeats there was nothing, then Llyr was in front of her. It was too dark to read his expression but as he practically dragged her to the study she realized he might actually be upset. Instinctively she sat where told, the familiarity of this role easier than anything else in the last few breaks but she glared at the table a bit, a pout on her lips.

“I’m not a kid, Llyr, it’s as dangerous here as it is anywhere else.” Her eyes rolled as she snorted, still tired and itching for something. “Women like me? A whore? Then I’m not safe anywhere. What the fuck do you want me to do? Wear a bell?! It’s not like you told me it was a problem to leave!”

The anger wasn’t for him though. The scar on her back itched. The strangeness of her previous nights lover, the magic, but she wanted…Emmy had never been the sort to drink or worse to forget but she could suddenly understand why people did. Once more her eyes burned. This was far out of her depth. It was too much but the spark or whatever Woe had called it, wanted more, wanted to drown in the overwhelming feelings then pull more. And once more she finally broke, tears slipping out.

“I…” She hiccuped, the fight fleeing. She wanted her mom, and to be in someone’s arms again. “I don’t know. There was Woe-and he cried-and I…”

A sob caught in her throat. Immortals she let him scar him, something she distantly was still pleased about. Aggravated she pressed shaking hands into her eyes, to stem the flow of tears if not the words, a whisper of garbled, wet sounds.

“I’m like you.”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Llyr scoffed when Emmy rolled her eyes at him. He listened to her, nearly biting his tongue to do so, and it was only a measure of patience that he didn’t interrupt her. Didn’t he tell her to be careful about leaving? He could have sworn he’d included it when he mentioned the neighborhood. But then, he also figured they would have time to go over the fine details of their unique arrangement soon.

After all…

“You’ve only been in Etzos for THREE trials, Em,” he snapped. “And I didn’t think I had to explain fates-damned common sense to you.”

He exhaled in a low hiss, then crossed his arms and pinched the bridge of his nose. In just the black undershorts, the lanky blond’s various mutations were on full display from his crystalline legs to the iridescent tattoos that wove around the sides of his torso. He no longer had his scars, though, which Emmy had seen on him when they’d first met.

“Stop pouting at me like that,” he told her. “You don’t understand. It’s not…”

He shook his head, then stepped away to his desk. Llyr set a hand on an animal’s skull, tapped his finger against it, then looked back over at her. “It’s not dangerous here like it is anywhere else, and it's not because you’re a whore. It’s because you’re MY whore! I brought you here, I’m responsible for you, and you… I thought I made that clear when I showed you the neighborhood.”

“Why do you think I have guards, Em?” He gestured up at the ceiling, where he knew Gerolf was stationed, then in the direction of where the front door would be (past the study walls) – where a guard was always posted. “Why do you think I have multiple locks on the front door?!”

“Why do you think I showed you specifically where to go, like the bath house, rather than let you discover places on your own?” Llyr sighed. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and gradually started to calm himself. But something kept dragging at his anger and frustration and... it wasn't him. It wasn't even his sparks. He knew enough to know that.

“I’m not friends with everyone here, Em. I’m a foreigner and a silver blood. Plenty of the Etzori don’t like the way I’m operating, how I’m establishing my business in the aftermath of their war, and there are ruthless people out there who’d be willing to use you, harm you… to get to me,” he explained plainly. He felt his emotions return to the surface like a crash of a wave that'd been gathering strength during what seemed like a moment's calm. “You could have disappeared, and I'd have found you dead with half your face torn off, like my last whore!”

He frowned as he noticed an unusual look to the woman and then she started to cry. Llyr moved closer, crouching so he was closer to her eyeline. He ran a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and asked, “What is it? …You didn’t answer me before. I'm not... I'm angry, but you didn't... I should have told you sooner, and with better explanation. This is my fault. I'm sorry. Em, look at me. Are you okay? Did something happen to you?”

The Scalvori whore hiccuped, “I… I don’t know. There was Woe-and he cried-and I…”

Llyr’s features set in a neutral, but stern expression. The irises of his eyes were crystal blue. He already knew who Emmy had gone with. He wanted to hear it from her though. He wanted to see how truthful she was willing to be.

He set a firm hand on her shoulder when she choked a sob. Was she feeling guilty? Had he scared her by sharing too much? He hadn’t thought she wouldn’t have the common sense to stay settled for the first few trials in the city, at least in wait until they could go over the contracts he was currently drafting for her position in his house.

“Focus, Em,” he mentioned in a gentler tone that contrasted with how tightly his hand gripped her shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

She said, “I’m like you.”

Llyr stared at her. Confusion, at first, about what she meant. Then his mind formed the potential context for such a statement. He thought over it, and he thought of Woe, and then he realized without needing to ask. His grip on her shoulder tightened so much, it would leave a bruise behind.

“How?” he asked. “Why… Did he… So were you made aware that Woe and I know each other?”

He let go. Llyr grabbed the other chair in the study, dragged it over, and sat in front of her. The blond leaned forward and folded his hands. He looked at Emmy without any space given for her to hide from his gaze.

“Stop crying,” demanded Llyr. “Tell me exactly what happened, even the things that didn’t seem important, Em.”

[Emelia Enners]

She didn't push him away but she pulled back from the touch, anger contorting her features before they went slack, relaxing. This was Llyr, he had yet to hurt her out of turn. If she thought of it like the contract it was, it was fine. She took a shaky breath but was unable to stop the tears as she snapped without ire. "I told you I'm not a kid, it's not your fault I fucked up again."

Rarely did things make her so tired but this whole thing was exhausting and yet...and yet she still craved something. Like hunger that wouldn't abate, but his words grounded her, even a small pang of resentment hit. It was comforting to have some semblance of balance since she couldn't find her own. closing her eyes for a moment she tried to recall everything from the previous trial, tried to make sense of when she had let it spiral so hard but she couldn't pinpoint. It had been a normal thing, something she did often enough. Regardless of what Llyr said, going to strange houses here was no more dangerous than anywhere else, she run this risk more than he did and she knew it well enough. But some foreign part wanted to lash out, tell him how little he would care a trial after she died if she did, how he would never actually care for her, to summon his earlier anger so she could feed it, take it. Emmy bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to soothe the urge. To stop the words. But her mouth moved without permission, anger truly sparking enough to dry the tears for the moment.

"You know him?!" Her voice cracked in disbelief, an accusation not spoken but woven into the words. "You knew who he was and that I was with him and didn't-"

The words stopped short. She had said it wasn't his fault and she meant it but the same way she had wanted Woe's affection, she'd latched onto Llyr's ire. A part of her wanted to ask him for comfort as well but she was afraid he'd deny her, a fear she didn't like. It didn't matter what Llyr thought. This was a contract, and he was worried about his possession. Emmy needed to get a fucking grip but there was nothing to hang on to. When she opened her eyes she met his gaze as well as she could, struggling to piece together the trial that felt like a dream.

"I wanted to fuck the bath owner." She started, like a damn it sent out the other words, her confusion and self-annoyance growing as it become clear how little she herself understood of the trial. "She wasn't interested, so I found him, we flirted and he tried to choke me. He was...shy or-I don't fucking know-so we went to his house. It was...I was scared but I couldn't leave by then. It was stupid but after...when we started-I just-he cried so I tried to talk to him. Some of them are like that. And-fuck Llyr-he had all these weapons, I don't know, what the hell was I supposed to do?!"

She pressed her arms around herself tighter, words coming faster as her gaze dropped. It sounded even stupider now but she'd never had anyone to fess up to. Annie never pressed her, just took care of her after, so she didn't have to think about anything and frankly she didn't want to. But still the words fell from her lips. "The fear felt good-I couldn't stop it-then it just-I never felt like that. I don't remember why-I never-never like that and then...he said he loved me and I don't know. He wanted me to be his sister and I wanted the game but it was...hard, I couldn't tell the difference, like I couldn't stop it. It was like being high. I said no scars but then he did but I liked it after, I couldn't-I can't-he didn't hurt me but I just-"

He'd said not to cry but it came again. There was no where else for all the feelings to go and it felt like her head would explode if she held on tighter. She didn't want to tell him the things she wanted. The dark places Woe had managed to drag up. A mixture of greed to hoard the feelings all for her own and she wasn't so weak she wanted Llyr's pity if she told him. Told him all of it. But he'd asked for what she'd done and she had to give it to him. Part of the contract, and she needed him now. Needed him to tell her what the hell she was supposed to do.

"I wanted more-or...I thought I did. I felt like I couldn't look away and he kept asking me to tell him the same things and I don't know...I think I stole something from him and he said he gave me his magic and his seed and I just-Llyr I don't fucking know okay? It was just feelings and I couldn't stop them and I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Llyr observed the human, watched her closely as she cried and accused him – and he felt anger well up in him again, despite how he’d already settled the emotion. He hadn’t felt this angry in a long time, but a familiar presence accompanied the emotion. Ether. Magic, that wasn’t his own, was being cast. Focused on this fact, he ignored her accusation entirely, and started to search over Emmy to gently look for any artifacts of jewelry or markings in her skin.

While she explained what happened, he felt the anger return. His skull painfully ached from keeping it down instead of lashing out like he wanted. He held his tongue, trying his best not to comment on what Emmy was telling him. She was right. It was stupid. So incredibly stupid of her. Yet, had Woe known who she was? Had he specifically targeted her? Had he been involved with the murders earlier in the season?

He stopped looking over Emmy, having discovered the wound left on her, and he returned to sit in front of her. Llyr exhaled lowly, body tense and thoughts racing in his mind.

“…gave me his magic…”

Llyr stood up. He walked away, to the other side of the room. For a good bit or so, he stared at the books on the shelf. He crossed his arms tightly. Had Woe found out about him and Kasoria? What was there to find out though? Still, it’d been the last time he’d seen the man… when he’d been given the medallion and… and… the medallion. He glanced up at the ceiling. He’d have to get rid of it as soon as he could.

When he turned back around, the stern expression on his features, he explained, “I didn't realize he was a threat. Not like this. We were in the war together... Did he say anything else to you? Anything that seemed odd… out of place…”

He picked up a leather-bound journal from his desk. Flipping through the pages, he listened, then he said, “I need you to try and focus, Em, if you can. You don’t have to answer me anymore. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. Focus on keeping your breath steady.”

“I’m going to…” Llyr slowly walked around her, while reading through his notes. “…going to take it from you.”

He held a place in the notes with his thumb, then bent at the waist near Em. Llyr took her jaw in his hand, to guide her to look up at him. In a low voice he said, “I’ll right this. We will cleanse you. Do you understand me? I remember what you told me when I first brought you here. Don’t you? I have enough magic for the both of us. You don’t want this, Em. You didn’t want it. But you are not ruined… I won’t let you be. I will save your soul.”

“Follow,” he commanded her. He took her hand, kept the journal in his other hand, then led her out of the study. While they walked, his mystical back tattoo changed designs rapidly.


In the kitchen, he led her to a wash basin full of murky water. He grabbed a rag, then proceeded to clean off Emmy’s face and hands. Llyr didn’t let her move away, even if he needed to hold her still, as he roughly scrubbed away any sweat and dirt.

“Undress,” he instructed and then washed her body in entirety, no shyness as to the intimacy or how thoroughly he washed her, until the murky water had turned dark with the filth of a human body.

Llyr let her stand, damp and naked, in the kitchen. He picked up a small tin and returned to her. The blond gathered a handful of salt from the tin. He rubbed it into Emmy’s back, then the front of her torso, while he ignored the various emotions that kept tugging at him. He knew that feeling now. He recognized the ether of wild, chaotic casting of a new spark trying to gain power. The anger kept rising, but he tamped it down the best he could and focused on the tasks at hand.

Could he actually save her soul from Woe’s infiltration? There was no way to know for certain. He had to try though.

He had to try.

Llyr finished with the salt scrub, any dead excess skin taken off from Emmy’s body while he rubbed the tiny crystals into her. Any cuts, or wounds, turned red against her tanned skin – almost as angry looking as he felt.

He lowly exhaled, then looked over the woman from head to toe. Llyr glanced at his notes again, flipped through a few pages, then he searched through the kitchen cupboards until he found a knife, a bundle of charcoal, and a packet of strong herbs.

The mage placed the herbs against Em’s mouth. “Keep this in your mouth and suck on it. It’ll help with your pain.”

Once again, he took her hand. He led her out of the kitchen. It was his home, so he paid little mind that she was naked – even though he swore he saw Oceta peeking through the stair railings. The slave likely waited to prepare breakfast for the house.

Llyr led Emmy down, instead of up, after he corroded away the boards that blocked a door. They walked along a dilapidated staircase into a moldy, dank basement. His halo brightened, illuminating the space around them. It was obvious that the basement wasn’t used for anything, emptied of items, and heavily damaged from water.

He placed his hand on an iron gate, a small bit of magic, and then it swung open.

Llyr glanced at Emmy. “Stay close to me.”

Together, they traveled for several bits, into half-a-break or more, through a dirt tunnel that gradually sloped downward. The biqaj had to lean slightly, to keep the top of his head from rubbing against the rounded ceiling. When they reached what looked like a pond, he turned aside and threw a lever that was set into the wall. The water receded, and a flight of stone stairs revealed.

Down these stairs, and through the catacombs, Llyr guided Emmy past abandoned tombs until they turned a corner and reached the very last room. A glittering ritual chamber with mosaics along the curved walls, and abstract imagery of the Immortals on the domed ceiling. The pebbled floor was damp still and lined with other abstract designs of what looked to be humans in various states of bliss and agony.

He brought Emmy to the center of this room, where holes were pierced into a dip in the floor, a circular drain.

“Kneel.” He let go of her hand and pointed at the center under the apex of the domed ceiling. Llyr returned to his journal, flipped through pages, and lowly exhaled. “I can do this. All I need from you is to hold still, and let me in.”

[Emelia Enners]

"He's not a threat!" Some part of her angry at this, she could feel Woe wasn't and he'd given her things for the scar, still in her clothes, that she pulled out and slapped on the desk. "I mean-fuck-I don't think he meant to? He was talking about starts? Sparks...I don't-what are you going to do?"

Emmy wasn't stupid but she didn't trust Llyr, not like this. She trusted him with her body, to make sure she didn't die but this was different. Her head pounded, vision blurring for a moment, another wave of anger washing over her. But she didn't want to be angry with him, she wanted-wanted-wanted-

Over and over like a mantra, parts of her she kept below writhing up still. But then he said he'd save her. Part of her leaned into it, she liked being taken care of, someone else to worry about the world's responsibilities but save her? A laugh bubbled up, wet from tears and she jerked her chin out of his grip. Of course he wanted to save her. Everyone wanted to save the poor little whore always in over her head, and she could see red, could practically taste his anger if she lashed out now. And she wanted to, wanted to throw things, scream, to hurt him but-it wasn't the same. He meant save her from magic, she knew that. But the sting stayed as she followed him, keeping her distance, wrapping herself in old whispers, biting her lip until the blood slipped down her chin.

When she bothered to look up, almost fascinated by the pictures across his back, she noted the water she relaxed until he began to clean her. There was no intimacy to it and somehow it was worse. Like she was some sort of child who couldn't do anything for herself, something he had to deal with. Emmy pulled back, trying to pull out of his arms even as he pulled her back, strangely blank. She didn't know this Llyr, and lashed out again when he commanded her to undress.

"I can wash myself I'm not some damn invalid!"

But he only did the same as before, and she was too exhausted to fight it, the phantom comfort of being taken care of, she wanted more of it. To bask in it and just exist, to have to do nothing because she could make him do it. And he would. He did. Something rose in her throat like a scream but it didn't come out, only the whimpers she couldn't hold back when he scrubbed too hard or kept her in place when she instinctively tried to move away from it. It felt like she was floating in a nest of her own mind, wrapping herself in layers of lies she didn't understand. Something in her cracked slightly as he pressed the herbs to her lips, taking them with enough force to nip at his fingers, her gaze flat and iced even as she smiled around them, pushing them under her tongue. She was both herself and someone else. Silent as she followed him, his halo lighting the way of where he led until they reached some sort of room.

It was nothing like the rooms in his house but it reminded her of his room-their room?-with writings, all things she didn't understand. Like a toy tossed between two people, images of Woes dungeon overlapping with those of the shinning catacomb. And this time the thing in her throat wouldn't stay down, the herbs spit at Llyrs feet, her cheeks as flushed as her freshly scrubbed skin. The cold hit her hard enough to tighten painful, spurring the anger like it was physical, the sting of salt finally setting into a dull throb that pulsed with hear word. He could do it. Like she needed to be fixed. Something he had to save. A broken toy.

A broken whore.

"Get fucked, Llyr." She didn't kneel. Words poured out like poison. To stoke something, the thing she could taste on him. She wanted it. She'd have all of it. "You think I am you? That only you can save me? Maybe some people like to wallow. I don’t want your fucking plans, your stupid secrets, this—“]

She cut off breathlessly. The feelings were hers but weren't. Wrong person, wrong place, she wasn't even sure if she mean his plans or hers? But what plans did whores have? Rage boiled, stupid and heady, just as strong as the need from the trial before. The desperate need for him to lash back fueling them. "I don't need a fates damned thing from any of you!"

But they were nothing more than a quiet whimper. A lie that she wrapped herself in, those tethers she been winding around not just cracking but snapping. One by one. If she couldn't have all of it then she'd have none of it. Emmy would fix herself. She'd tear each thing that made her something to be pitied, rip it out. And with the thought that same pain from the trial before, the sting of warning, hit, ripping through her veins until she felt nothing but the tearing.

Now she did drop to her knees, screaming as each part of her felt like it was being torn apart but she wanted more of it.

More until there would be nothing left to tear.

OOC

If it's not clear, Em has done overstepped and begun to fray. Smart girl.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Anger, so powerful it turned to rage. Llyr felt the constant pull of the woman, the newly sparked soul, that tried to force it from him. Tried to force him to act on such extreme emotion. His vision hazy, he refused. The young mage endured the emotion in the pit of his stomach, in the strain of his heart, in the raw scratch in his throat. He endured the upset conflict churned between them. Llyr refused to turn his anger onto her.

Emmy wasn’t in a right state of mind. It was obvious. The spark was impacting her. Llyr understood that well. He knew initiations weren’t always easy, and many times they ended in death. Such awareness only made his anger worsen, though. How could Woe attempt something like this with Emmy? Regardless of the intentions of the man he’d considered a… good acquaintance, Emmy’s ignorance was his fault. Llyr wouldn’t let her life divert into madness because of a spark she didn’t understand or want. Whatever she said, in her current state, he couldn’t listen to. Parts of what she said likely weren’t her talking, but the spark instead.

There was nothing he could say to make it better. Llyr felt this to be true. He could only focus, and prepare her, and then… Then he would try and make things right. He couldn’t prevent it, but by fates, he would help Emmy back to herself again.

“Get fucked, Llyr.” She nearly spat at him in her refusal to kneel.

Llyr gritted his teeth. His eyes burned a vivid orange color. He felt the pull. It was gaining strength.

“You think I am you? That only you can save me?”

His controlled discipline started to crack. It wasn’t that he’d lost his patience or endurance… Emmy had increased the intensity of the pull. She was getting stronger, fast. He felt her ether grab into him, tugging at parts of him to try and get him to react to her words.

“Stop…” he whispered.

“Maybe some people like to wallow. I don’t want your fucking plans, your stupid secrets, this-“

Llyr felt nauseous. His halo flickered wildly due to the draw of his emotions. He seethed, face blushed with silvery-blue heat, and he aimed to regain his focus. But he was so angry… so, so angry… his grip tightened around the handle of the cutting knife he’d brought with them.

“I don’t need a fates damned thing from any of you!” Emmy’s pretty face twisted in similar rage to how he felt.

He could feel ether rush within her, through her, increasing in strength… in power… power that a newly sparked individual should never have. It was enough to snap him past his anger and he demanded, “Em, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

His eyes widened when she fell to her knees. He could feel the ether detach from him and delve into her again.

The mage let go of his journal, and it fell to the damp floor. Llyr abandoned it, the knife, and the charcoal in a clattered splash. He didn’t have time for a theoretical ritual, or for any further preparation. The spark was rending its vessel apart, driven wild within the undisciplined and vulnerable mind of the Scalvori woman.

Llyr went to his knees in front of her. He grabbed onto her shoulders, to right her so she wouldn’t fall against the stone floor. His own sparks roiled in reaction. The Quacian forcibly stole the ether from her, drawing it out and canceling her cast. It filled him, instead, a perpetual redirection as he absorbed Em’s ether. He shouted to try and get through her screams, “Emelia Enners, stop! Think of your mother! Your mother, Em! She wouldn’t want this for you.”

His gossamer wings spread out, then multiplied in several different pairs as their shape changed by his redirection of ether into them. They lengthened, drawing thin at the tips, then fanning behind him in a sparkling display of the brilliant light that burned through the vivid halo above his head.

He took a deep breath, then focused on attuning to her frequency. Llyr dived his unique ether into her raw and tender soul, and he searched for the spark. It wouldn’t be immediate. He needed time, and for Em to not fight him. His eyes darkened, no longer orange, but marbled black that spread through the elfin shapes and drowned his pupils from view. He wrapped an arm around her waist, to keep her close, so she wouldn’t try to scramble and run away once he found the spark.

OOC

Llyr has used Absorption (Transmutation) and is Attuning to Emmy's Frequency (Attunement) to locate the familiar note of Domain Magic, and then the Empathy Spark. He has begun to use some of his stored Refinement (MB Ability) to maintain a disciplined focus with heightened mental clarity.

[Emelia Enners]

His voice was too far away. A distant echo drown out behind the sound of imaginary tearing within her own head, an endless cycle of pain, going round and round. She wanted it to stop but she wanted more, more of anything, whether it hurt or not. Some part of her was aware she needed to listen, to focus, but she couldn't grip the feeling, too lost in the powerful sensation that came with in indistinct want. It was like the strongest drug she'd ever had, she couldn't tell where she began or it ended or if there was even a difference. Each time she felt the snap, it lingered on her tongue, an insatiable hunger that fed itself as it killed itself.

Stop.

More.

Stop.

Llyr was telling her to stop but Emmy didn't know how. She wasn't even sure of what she was doing, both she and her spark running off instinct. The woman never stopped herself in anything, the trial before case and point, and this was no different. It was bad, she knew it was, but the feelings blended until she couldn't tell what she wanted. And though she faintly felt the comfort of something solid against her, when it slithered inside, like he was inside her-her body recoiled. It hurt. Both him, the tearing, the struggle to figure how to stop, the anger, the want, all of it consumed too much then gone like it was never there in the first place. It gagged her, her body unsure if she should continue to push him away or dig in and pull him closer. Her own hands wrapped around his forearms, nails biting into the skin, her eyes trying to focus on his face, his words.

"Llyr, I don't-" She struggled to breathe, his hands all that were keeping her up. Whatever he was doing was easing the flow but she felt disjointed. The relief that should have come with it wasn't there, the anger from before gone as well, the need easing but whatever he was doing hurt too. As if he was ripping out some part of her that was struggling to stay inside. And was hard to care about it. The thought of her mother bringing nothing but old guilt that didn't feel right. As if it wasn't hers, pulled into him and away from her. "I don't know how."

Emmy wasn't sure if she'd actually spoken aloud or not. What was she trying to stop? She didn't even know what she was doing. She never knew what the fuck she was doing, if every part of her wasn't frozen in pain she might have laughed. But that felt wrong too. She wasn't what she was supposed to be feeling aside from pain, her mind now focused on the strange connection and drain she felt from Llyr. It was almost similar to the senation her and Woe had shared.

And the thought trembled, something in her burrowing deeper, tugging back, this time she couldn't even scream. A gasp as her vision began to grow spotty, Llyrs face blurring in front of her, her entire body falling into him, hands falling from his body limply. Fear, the closest thing she could feel seemed to snap around her, putrid and weighty. What had she done? What was she letting him do? What had she let Woe do?

Her eyes fluttered. Distantly she recalled this wouldn't be the first time she'd passed out in a mans arms. But usually it wasn't pain that made her black out. And the pain was still there, a knife insistently cutting through her, unsure if she'd actually passed out or if her body couldn't stand the weight of whatever the magic was doing.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Her nails bit through the skin on his forearm. He ignored the slight pain. It was hardly anything, not when he saw the confusion in Emelia’s frantic gaze. The absorption of her ether channeled through him. She didn’t know how to stop her spark's casting, so he would do it for her.

One arm around her waist, he placed his free hand against her cheek. He traced his thumb along the angle of her cheekbone. She felt feverish with a damp sheen of sweat. She fell against him, her body losing strength under the spark’s ravenous hunger, even as he canceled its attempts to cast itself into the world.

Llyr focused on her soul, driving his magic inside of her. He lowered her against his thighs, onto his lap, and cradled her close to him. The biqaj caressed her face.

His long fingers glided over and he guided her eyes to shut. “Relax, Em…”

“Don’t despair, please.” He dove deeper into her soul. There was so much. So many notes. Her frequency had gone wild from the spark’s violence, the emotions in her soul skewing the notes into abstract notions of panic and greed and disorientation.

But where was the spark?

“Where is it,” he whispered. Llyr didn’t know whether it was better for Em to stay conscious, or to allow her to pass out, he didn’t know… he was far beyond the scope of his studies but his mind raced to piece together what understanding he had and fit it with his intuition. He shook Em roughly and shouted in her ear, “Wake up! Stay with me, Em.”

There.

There the spark was.

Skulking in the soul, like a stray rat that was aware it was heralding plague into a house.

Once he identified it, he couldn’t imagine how he’d missed it before. The spark was so obvious now. So different from Emmy herself. He’d never felt such a new spark like this. He’d only ever realized his own, and that had been different. This spark had no affinity for him, and it was… desperate, weak but arrogant. It recoiled from him.

Llyr’s concentration narrowed in. Attuned to Emmy, he channeled his ether into a guided path through her soul. He sought to encase the spark, to deprive it of its link to the woman as a vessel, to suffocate it if possible… or…

…he felt an odd sensation of the spark trying to split itself, and divide, to remain and flee at the same time. The etherist bound it up, though, and refused the attempt. He hooked into it and followed the tunneled path, to forcibly drag the spark out of Em’s soul.

Yet, the young mortalborn’s focus was not enough to ignore the absolute hunger of his own sparks.

The desperation echoed off his soul, and the dangerous Empathy spark tried to flood Em’s vessel with more and more ether drawn from Emea. In that moment, an intoxicating offer formed silently between the mage and the spark. Feed from the soul he was within, drain the Scalvori whore dry, and steal the spark for himself.

Another spark, it promised him more power.

Potential for even greater control of the world and especially, of the people within it.

With the spark of Empathy in his soul, he could rule Etzos if he so desired.

Primed for the taking...

...all he had to do...

...was flay.

Llyr’s eyes fluttered open and shut while he focused on that which couldn't be seen. For any outsider who witnessed the scene, it had simply looked as if he swaddled the naked woman in his iridescent ether. His wings had increased to manifold pairs and his halo glowed bright. He watched to see if she would manage to stay conscious. Everything else that occurred between him, the spark, and her soul remained invisible and silent to mortal senses.

Until he pressed his lips to her’s, in a deadly kiss.

Fates, but her soul tasted delectable.

Nothing could compare.

Llyr laid the weakened, vulnerable human against the damp stone floor. He climbed on top, then grabbed at her head to lift it up so he could continue to drink of her. Raw ether surged through his body. The black of his eyes disappeared in a wash of his unique ether, gathered in a blindfold of light. So much ether, that his entire body shimmered from the incandescent illumination that refracted from his halo, his wings, his eyes, and his crystalline legs. The sea-glass mosaics that surrounded them glinted and glittered in arrays of color.

The Empathy spark dislodged from her soul.

He drew it into him through the essence that rushed past his lips.

Swiftly, Llyr tilted his head back and gasped. The young mage disconnected from Emelia’s tender soul.

Llyr observed the Empathy spark now trapped within him, as he felt it realize what had happened.

The infant spark found that his soul would not be the fertile ground it'd thought it would be. His offered agreement, the silent contract made, it'd been a profound lie. The truce, that the spark had thought to be true in its desperation, fell away in the shedding of the etherist's deception. Vainly, the spark grabbed at his tangle, chaotically pulled at the threads of his emotions to attempt to force him into submission like it had with the woman.

However, Llyr was not a vulnerable ordinary human like Emelia. His soul was not even that of a mere mortal. He'd endured initiations before, he'd balanced his own soul to the extent that he'd acquired his attunement spark. The Empathy spark had been far too arrogant, and was much too weak, to foresee the mortalborn mage would have such dominant control. His other three sparks only assisted in the measure, to corner the weakling Empathy spark until it could thrash about no longer.

In all, the entire process took less than a few bits of time.

Llyr felt cold, though sweat dripped from his silver-tinted skin. He looked down at Emelia, her breath shallow, but… there. She was still breathing. Portions of her long dark hair had streaked shock white. He placed a hand against her face. His voice cracked, hoarse as if he’d been screaming for breaks upon breaks though he'd been silent through-out it all.

“…Em? Please, open your eyes…” he ran his hand down to her neck, to check her pulse.

His wings faded, the shapes shrinking back down while the domain ether dissipated. The blond noticed incandescent marks along his fingertips. Jagged around the edges, the tips down to the middle knuckle, the mystical fissure wounds glimmered with his ethereal light instead of flesh and blood.

The mortalborn didn’t know what it was…

...but he assumed he must have overstepped.

[Emelia Enners]

Emmy could hear him in the distance. Or at least that's how it sounded, muted, and far away like it wasn't real at all. Less real than the pain anyway, an endless pressure as he wrapped her in his arms, pushing inside her in a way far less pleasurable than she was used to. If she could have shied away from it she might have but there was nothing in her, her body twitching, shuddering, and all around heaving from the physicality of the sensation but for her there was little. Everything felt like it belonged to someone else, and she wished the pain would to, thought that if this was what dying was then she wanted it to hurry the hell up. Tears had begun to squeeze out under her eyelids, the pain mingled with inability to anything but take it. A part of her want to push Llyr away, might have if she had the strength, magic couldn't be so terrible it was worth the pain of all this. Couldn't she ignore it? Leave it? But then she wasn't sure if that was her own thought or not. And then it didn't matter as the mage found whatever he was looking for and it felt as if her insides were being crushed, an invisible strangle hold around them that made her lips part in a soundless scream.

It was as if there were two of her. One writhing in his arms, and another buried inside herself. Both pushing and pulling towards something, the sparks foothold loosening but each tug ripping parts of her with it. The pain alone is what made her want to tug back but she didn't have the strength for that either, her eyelids fluttering open as the cool sensation of the floor crept through her back and into her bones. Maybe she was already dead. The image of the mage, the shimmering lights, the glow of his power like some phantom harbinger of doom creeping over her. Then-

A kiss.

A final goodbye.

For the tiniest of moments, her body relaxed, giving up but then...he pulled. Whatever the mage had done sent her arching up into him, feeling as if her were ripping out her heart through her throat to eat it, as if all of her were being shredded by the fainest press of his lips. At one point she had wanted more, uncontrollable, insatiable but now she wanted none of it. The whore no longer cared, she just wanted it to stop. The spark, Llyr, her mind, all of it. Her fingers twitched, looking for something to grip but there was no strength, her nails splitting against the ground as her body tried to find purchase on anything. Inside was much the same, the last dredges of something, torn between keeping it like it was her sanity but unable to stomach the tug-o-war between mage and magic. Her chest heaved, feeling something rise up almost like bile, and as it did Emmy stopped fighting. With a final snap, it ripped free and took everything with it. Even the pain, all of it until there was nothing left to take.

Finished.

Like a cut cord her body went limp. There was nothing, no pain, no anything. Shallowly she let herself breathe again, unsure of when she stopped, evening out until she was sure she could fall asleep as such. Maybe even permanently. But a voice. Again. So familiar but so far, someone calling her but even when she tried to move all she had energy for was to crack her eyes open. Tears falling again from the sting of it, though a face slipped into perspective, features smoothing. Emmy opened her mouth to say she was fine but her body only dry heaved once more before settling back to the floor. Her eyes fell close until she could try to open them once, her lips forming his name and her voice coming out in a scratchy whisper.

"Llyr?"

She felt his hand on cheek, and it could have been a relief but the only thing she felt was...nothing. Which was good by itself because there was no more pain for the moment, at least nothing aside from her bodies exhaustion. But distantly she knew it was wrong. It was hard to pinpoint what, as she felt fine, but that was it. Seeing Llyr's face brought none of the earlier ire nor comfort that it could-or should-have. That too was fine. But his was full of worry and exhaustion, only one of which she felt. Tired. Her body needed sleep but she found herself patting the mages hand, muscle memory because she couldn't recall wanting to move.

"I'm fine." Emmy thought her voice sounded strange, not just the croak of it from enduring the last few trials but the flatness. But even that thought brought nothing, she knew it should, wondered if exhaustion was why it didn't but couldn't bring herself to care about it either way. "I didn't die."

The tears from earlier ran dry, no reason for them without the physical pain of the ordeal, and she tried to sit up. Pin and needles along her limbs, the cold biting at her hard enough to make movement her, the sweat chilling on her skin. Something close to confusion went through her as she did, staring at the mage the entire time. She knew Llyr. Emmy lived with Llyr. But there was...nothing. She blinked several times but the strangeness of knowing him but feeling nothing, the same as she would for any stranger would not leave. Though it did not bother her she tried to find words, eyes never leaving his face, feeling her muscles reflexively mirror his expression.

"I think...somethings wrong."

There was nothing in her voice now either, not confusion or panic, just the flat factual words and the instinctive notion that she may have fucked something up again.