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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊. This man, this cruel and careless god of a man, is the one to blame for so many deaths across the kingdom. And yet, he's just standing there with an ironic grin on his face as if no one in this world suffers from his fist.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It angers her so much that it almost nauseates her, but now's not the time to vomit.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The man extends his arm. "Take a seat. My guest shouldn't have to eat her meal while standing there like a gargoyle."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She listens, not that she wants to entice a conversation with him at all, but this could be the kingdom's lonely saving grace. If she chooses her words right, she might be able to make her plea with him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Or at least live long enough to sleep another night.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When settled, she notices that Rhimme does the same at the other end of the table. His sulfur eyes aren't focused on her though, but rather on Mariel as she crosses the room. Her steps echo in the sentient silence, until she pauses before the god of the blight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He takes her by the hip, pulling her close to his body before bestowing her with a single placid kiss upon her lips. He has her at his mercy, completely under his spell.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I see you've met my wife, Mariel."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Wife? She never thought that a man like Rhimme would have the time, nor the care for a partner.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen swallows as the pierce of his sulfur eyes stabs her. "She's lovely."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She is, isn't she?" The way he looks at her seems mesmerising, yet it burns with something else she can't decipher, a facade that only magic can provide. "I searched everywhere for her. She was hiding on an isle just off the coast of Eshon surrounded by sea rats. My Mariel."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He places another kiss, this time on her temple, before whispering something in her ear. Immediately, Mariel lifts herself from his side and exits the room, shutting those large doors behind her. Neither of them speak until the creaking of hinges ends.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme raises his fingers and snaps. In a poof of black mist, a full fledged meal appears in front of her. Despite the dampness around her, the steam of the quarter chicken and potatoes takes away the cold, heat radiating from the porcelain plate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And, to her dismay, it smells so delicious when her stomach is running on empty.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme picks up his own fork. "You must be starving, running around in circles out there in the wild. I made up quite the appetite just watching you and that numbskull of a guide try to navigate my mist. What's his name, um..." he takes a bite of his potato. "Thorn."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He makes eating the dinner look so casual, so simple, but with her luck the guy stuffed the gravy-oozing chicken with poison.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where is he?" she quivers. Damn her nerves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Thorn?" Rhimme shrugs. "My hellhounds returned four hours ago without a skull, but completely soaked. Those damned things ruined the new area rug in my parlor."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That doesn't answer my question."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He pauses mid-bite, his sulfur hues hinting at the first sign of annoyance. "My guess is that he hid in a river, but the currents and under-toe are stronger than normal here in Pailon." His jaw ticks. "He drowned. Thankfully."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen taps her fingers against the dining room table. Does she believe his conclusions? No. Not one bit. Even Rhimme admitted that his hounds returned without a skull or bone, which means that Thorn must've somehow escaped and is running in the unknown of Pailon. She needs him to come back, because she knows she's in no shape for a fight. Even now, the gaping wound in her back from her lost wing stings with sharp pains.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme scowls. "You're not eating what I've provided for you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Good observation," she croaks. She still hasn't picked up her fork, and she reckons the chicken and potatoes are already growing cold.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme scarfs a hunk of chicken into his mouth before setting down his utensils, his gaze never once wavering from her own. It's a staring contest she refuses to lose. He's expecting her to cripple, to cave in to his oh-so generous demeanor so she'll fall into his captivity. Is that how he lured all the other women? Or were they prisoners to him from the beginning?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Clearly you're not a fan of my hospitality," he mumbles the words with a sour taste. "I've been nothing but kind to you, Elowen."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She winces. She'd never told him her name, and if he asked, she would never let him have it. He says her name as if he'd just swallowed a mouthful of sludge, his tongue twisting the letters so he utters it in disgust.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's fists clench, and a wave of raw warmth floods through her veins. The hum simmers beneath the surface, her inner creature responding to her magic with a cautious fury.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How do you know my name?" she grits.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It shouldn't surprise you that I tend to observe and watch from afar," he crooks his head to the side, studying her with a cruel intensity. "How does a girl completely off the grid become the one who's risen above the rest to save Aelethia?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I have ancient's blood in me—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ha! And so do many others, you just haven't found them. You think you and the numbskull are special, huh? That you'll be doing the rest of Aelethia a favour by relighting the torch?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her cheeks pale. She never told him that was her goal, but isn't it obvious?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme releases a deep laugh. "That's what I thought."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She refrains from hucking her plateful of food across the table at his smug face. Perhaps they aren't the only ones left, but they're the only ones who dared crossed those borders to even confront him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Why do you care so much for a kingdom that never gave a damn about you?" he purrs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Because you're killing more than just a kingdom," she drawls. His eyes are so dark, so shadowed in that dank sulfur haze. "It'll be the entire world if you have your way. But why?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He taps his flat-tipped fingers against the hardwood table, then slowly rises to his feet. There's no doubt in the world that this man is a god, built like a marble statue that would have crowds bowing at his feet. That's exactly what he desires. Power. Authority. Dominance.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ever slowly, Rhimme saunters over to where Elowen sits at the opposite end of his dining table. With every step, pools of black ether waft from him, consuming any sort of light that hinders his dark.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He extends his hand. "Come. There's something I want to show you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When she doesn't take his offered hand, he clasps his hand shut and wanders towards a side door. She follows him, keeping her distance from the storm that encapsulates him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme pushes the side door open as they enter into a connecting corridor. Pain splices from her shoulder blades, a pain that reminds her of what she's already lost due to him. She flaps her single wing, biting her lip to refrain from crying out. Even her creature whimpers beneath her skin, but she knows that's not due to the pain. No, she's afraid of where Rhimme's dragging her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme doesn't look back at her. "You'd be a fine addition to my house here in Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scoffs. "I'm not a trophy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're not," it's then those sulfur eyes glance over his shoulder. "You remind me of Mariel. Quick. Smart. Compassionate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And wyng?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's a tantalising glint in his darkness. "So you already know."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Did you cut her wings?" Like you did to me?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Her wings were clipped long before I found her," he mumbles under a breath. "But it wasn't her wings that drew me to her. They are something you can live without."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She clenches her fists, the raw hum of light magic almost bursting beneath her skin. Now would be the time to obliterate him to ashes, to drive a beam of pure light right through his black-oily sludge filled heart. She would do it again and again and again—but she's not powerful enough, and never will be. Only the purest ancients of light hold the power to destroy him, and according to Thorn, they won't come from hiding.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme continues. "I know what you are, Elowen. You may be half wyng, but that other half of you is ancient—not just any ancient, but one that still has bountiful amounts of magic inside of her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her fingers spark before she can will the light into being. The flicker catches Rhimme's attention, and a taunting smirk plasters his hallowed cheeks. "Give it up. You're not that powerful."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's not. She knows she's no match for him, so she lets her magic dim.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As they move onward, she keeps her mouth shut. It's probably better that way, because she's afraid that one slip of her tongue will have her wearing one of those collars the others seem to wear.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I treat those who live in my house well," he prides. "They're well fed and protected, as long as they don't dare go beyond the precipice."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"They're living in this goddamn darkness!" The image of the candelabra burns in her mind, how they gravitated towards her light like moths to lantern light. "I'm certain that's not what they want."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's what I can give them, and I've already provided so much." Again, his eyes spark. "They're thankful for what I've let them be."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Through the gloom and haze of the corridor, Rhimme stops, his sulfur hues glancing upward towards golden-threaded tapestries. She recognises scenes from tall tales about how Aelethia was born, of how the ancients once ruled the seven provinces until... until they could no longer get along.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If I had my way, I wouldn't have selected Pailon to be the heart of ancient society," he mutters. "I've always been a fan of the mountains of Reovell and what lies beneath them. The cities you created there—I admired them, until they were taken from you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme points to a tapestry to the left, one depicting a man with similar features to Rhimme, dressed in dark yet luxurious robes. They both contain the same stoic look of unforgiving command beneath subtle age lines, although the one in the tapestry dons a golden beard.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My father was there when the ancients sealed themselves away in Pailon. He was against the separation despite the wars. Soon, the celestial ancients, the purest over all, blamed his darkness for causing such corruption. They told him he was beyond saving, cursed with evil, and because of it, they exiled him to an isle far from Aelethia. He was to be imprisoned until a celestial ancient pardoned him or he died. No one came to his aid." He swallows, his voice lost. "He was doomed with the latter."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm... sorry for what happened." The words seem somewhat forced, but she can hear the slight shake in his voice, a soft spot within a man so cold.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I shouldn't have to seek an apology from my guest. My father lived through thousands of years, most of them on that isle. It was where I was born, where I learned the truth about the ancient beings of Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme lowers his gaze until he finds Elowen's silver hues. Her creature tugs from within her, not that she wants to feel an ounce of sympathy for this man, and yet, he doesn't stop speaking.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My father cursed them before the banishment took place. Some of them ancients, some not. Bloodlines were tainted and continue to be. I thought most had died out until I felt Mariel's darkness within her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's then, Rhimme starts to move again, making his way towards a set of double doors. He stops in front of them, once again gazing upon the pathetic girl with one wing behind him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If you choose to stay here and forfeit your magic to me, I'll bring Reovell back to the state that it once was. It can be your homeland again. My new kingdom will thrive, and you, Elowen, can be a part of it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She bites her tongue. "There won't be a home to return to if everyone had already died from your blight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I can spare your little friends, the wolves. Isn't that what you want? To protect them? Protect him?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The ice returns to her bloodstream, infecting her so her joints remain frozen. Morrow. She hasn't heard anything from his end since their bond snapped beyond repair. Not once has she mentioned anything about the were, only Thorn, but should she be so shocked? He'd admitted that he'd always observed her from afar, and still is now. Watching. Preying.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He drops his voice. "Don't look at me like you're a saint, Elowen. You're drawn to darkness like I am. I know who you've chosen to love."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme pushes the towering walnut doors into an enormous open hall, one so vast that every sound seems to echo off its exquisite walls. Stone pillars chiselled with ancient art decorate the edges, statues so beautiful that she swore she could see crystals glistening, even in the lack of shine. The floors remain polished, almost like a mirror reflecting what lies above: a glass roof showcasing the stormy sullen skies.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the far end of the room lies a pedestal with steps leading up to an extravagant marble brazier. It's large, possibly the largest lantern she's ever laid eyes on. The stone swirls in vines around the base of it, diamonds, rubies, and sapphires decorating the edges. Two large statues stand on post beside it, each one carrying a golden sword, as if to guard what lies inside.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her magic hums at the sigh of something so sacred.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme extends his arms wide, embracing the chaos his shadows ensue. "This is what you're looking for, isn't it? The home of the eternal flame of Aelethia, the flame meant to stave away the dark so the kingdom can bathe in the light."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She swallows, her eyes dancing between the empty torch and the man who caused it. "Why're you showing me this?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You came all this way to reignite the flame, so go. Do what you must."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It can't be that easy. Rhimme isn't the type of man that's persuadable. After everything he told her, about joining him to live in his house, about his father being banished and exiled to an island for his dark magic—he's just going to let her undo it all?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her inner creature screams inside her skull, a warning that not all is as it seems. She keeps her legs stilled, but her eyes keep wandering to the home of the flame.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The god catches her hesitation, stepping close to her as he combs back a wild strand of her maroon hair behind her pointed ear. His touch remains warm on the surface of her skin, but leaves frost beneath it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Have you had a change of mind?" he coos.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She shoves him away. "This can't be this simple."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It is," he whispers. This time, his hand sifts through her single white feathered wing. "I won't try to stop you. You have my word."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You expect me to just go up there and reignite the torch? Right after you try to convince me to join you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're quite skeptical."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Of course I am!" she hisses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You stand there, or you light that torch like you came here to do," Rhimme's jaw tightens as he expels bits of his own power, clouds of ethers swirling amongst the stone pillars. The cyclone brewing beneath the god's skin grows visible with every passing second, and Elowen knows she'll become a tragic victim to it. "Unless you've had second thoughts."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's a choice she struggles to make. Stay put, and she'll be locked up in one of those collars, her powers drained and her mind imprisoned to the devil himself. He'd vowed to keep the were safe if she sacrificed herself, even promised to give her back Reovell, a tempting dream she knows she can't indulge in. If she relights the torch, there's no promising what will happen next. She'll discover if Rhimme's truly a man of his word, or if this is all a hoax.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She takes a step towards the home of the eternal flame, her fingers already sparking as if she could light it from so far. She takes another step, another and another.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's almost a dozen strides from where Rhimme stands when he clears his throat.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I thought Mariel had warned you before you came to dinner," his voice is soft, but it carries through the room, ricocheting off the luxurious walls and floors. "I have a desire, Elowen, and I don't intend to let you relight that torch without listening to my bargain."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen stops, turning back to face him. By now, his darkness swirls upon the mirrored floors, the smoke wafting at her ankles and licking up her calves. She knew this was all a game, one designed for her to struggle. He would relish in her misery.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You see," he begins, taking his time to choose his words, "darkness attracts darkness. It always finds its way back to the shadows, and I knew well enough that you had your own demons. It's how I found Mariel."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's touch ignites, light radiating from her palms. "I have light."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grins with malice. "It's how I found him."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme snaps his finger. The sound of metal dragging against the floors causes her to snap her head back to the direction of the torch, and it's then she sees a form trudge from the shadows.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her heart shatters.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It can't be.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's not—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He doesn't hold ancient blood.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He couldn't cross those borders.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In a single thread of moonlight steps the were-wyng she'd laid her heart and soul down for, only now, his once meadowed hues have been eaten away by Rhimme's blight. They're dark, soulless, merciless. Completely under Rhimme's submission, controlled by the collar tethered to his throat, one that chafes against his fresh mate's mark. He steps towards her with a silver blade in his blight-tipped hand, a hand already poisoned by darkness once more, all while the silver burns his were blood until his skin blisters raw. The tip of the sword drags against the floors, sharp and shrill, the sound a warning for her to run. His black feathered wings remain extended wide, sheltering the light from his features.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's a true wolf hunting for fresh blood.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow?" she breathes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A low growl erupts from the were-wyng, a guttural sound that sounds so familiar to the one she fell in love with.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I found him at an old temple just outside of Pailon, waiting for you to come back," Rhimme holsters out a laugh. "Isn't that sweet? The dog was just waiting for his master to return. When you and the numbskull left, I fetched him and scattered his pathetic sentinels. Knew the dog might come in handy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tears wet the apples of Elowen's cheeks, shaking her head in disbelief. "Let him go!" she cries. She wishes for meadowed hues, but all she sees are a soulless black as Rhimme takes a deeper hold of his mind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I can return him to you," Rhimme coos, "and you know the price."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Please," she begs. "He'll die from the blight again, and I can't—" she bites her lip instead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sweet naive Elowen," Rhimme tssks his finger. "You should know that I always get what I desire, and until you give up this charade of rescuing Aelethia from my hands, the dog is in my possession."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's not yours!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Rhimme sends the clouds of black swirling gloom upward to the ceiling, swallowing the entire sanctum in near-darkness. She can't see a thing, and all she hears are Morrow's hungry growls and her heart beat pounding against her ribcage.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Go and relight the flame," Rhimme's voice brushes by her ear in a haunting caress, "but to get there, you'll have to get through him, and he's been starving for a bite."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With those words, Morrow's position snaps feral, his body puppeteered by the god of blight, as he rushes towards her for the kill.‎‎‏‏‎ 

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first things first, there are maybe four or five more chapters left? sometimes i split up what i have planned so it's hard to tell lol

also, i apologise for the cliffhanger. of course rhimme would go after morrow. you think morrow would just be chilling and freaking out back at that old temple? no. he got taken lol. i'm sorry for what happens next :)

ivy <3