The trek back to the city took the same circuitous route that had been necessary to get there, and by the time they crossed the threshold of the limits of Kirkwall, the sun was just starting to set. Rilien had no desire to delay this moment one day longer, and it seemed his companions were of a mind with him as well. Sending Ashton to fetch Sparrow, he led the other two back to his shop, where Bodahn and Sandal were just closing up for the day. As heâd requested, Sandal had kept the fire at a low burn, and when he removed the lid over the small cauldron he was using for the brew, the pungent smell of brimstone nearly overwhelmed the front of the shop.
Removing an obsidian rod from his wall (he couldnât risk tainting the mixture with steel), Rilien upended the glass vessel of ashes into the mixture, watching with a calculating stare as it changed colors from a bright orange to a fluorescent purple in hue when he stirred. The smell dulled, receding until it was just mildly irritating rather than overwhelming. Bodahn and Sandal offered their farewells and took their leave just as Ashton returned with Sparrow. This was for the bestâthey were going to be releasing a demon into the shop, and he didnât want either of them to be caught in that particular kind of crossfire. Carefully, Rilien poured the admixture into a glass vessel, dropping a measured spoonful of lyrium dust into it and swirling several times.
He realized that Sparrow still had no idea why she was here, and chose to at last rectify the situation now. The words he selected were as blunt as ever, but it might be possible for the others to detect a hint of kindness to them, if they were listening for it. âSparrow,â he said, and held out the glass. âI have found a way to exorcise the demon from you. You will need to drink this, and when she appears, you must slay her.â The last part, he said aloud so that the others would understand. He had done all of this, given up as much as he had, not so that the demon could be merely slain, but so that she could do the slaying. Of course, if things got dire, he would prevent no interference. If they became bad enough, he would personally interfere, even. But he wanted the chance to go first to her, because it was she who had suffered most for Raptureâs presence. For all the unhelpful emotions the creature had forced him to endure and remember, for all that she disturbed the peacefulness of his equilibrium, for all that she had attacked and even killed an innocent person, she had still hurt nobody more than the one whose body she occupied. Heâd seen it, and he would see it no longer.
She would suffer no more, not from this. It was the least he could do. It was the only thing he could do. On the abstract level, Rilien knew he could not be the kind of friend that other people could be. His emotional handicap prevented those warm feelings from seeping through, and he was poor at delivering comfort or reassurance with his presence. All he could give her was this: the promise that he would chase away her troubles by whatever means he could, always. This, then, was a promise long in the fulfilling, but fulfilled all the same. The rest was up to her.
Sophia was aware that their last meeting had ended in a fight and a very unfavorable result for them both, so it was with warmness tempered with caution that she gave Sparrow a smile of greeting. It wasn't the right time to explain, certainly, but at least her presence her would speak to the fact that she wanted to help the woman be free of the demon that plagued her. Whatever their differences were, Sophia couldn't wish anything bad on her. The demon wouldn't leave the shop, Sophia would see to that, but she was more than willing to let Sparrow defeat it herself. She deserved this chance, regardless of how foolish she'd been to say yes to it in the first place.
Ashton had sat down on the nearest table, leaning his bow and quiver next to it. His machete he drove into the wooden edge. Had it been anyone but Rilien, that stunt would have drawn a glare and an angry word, but not from Rilien. Not anymore. Perhaps earlier, when he had full control of his facilities, he might have provoked a response. It was taken from him as fast as it was given, but Ashton noticed. He also noticed how he willingly gave himself away to save Sparrow from the demon. The cost of Sparrow's freedom was a steep one for Rilien, one that Ashton would never tell Sparrow. The girl's been through enough. "The bitch has nowhere to go between us," Ashton said, crossing his legs, "We're all behind you."
When Ashton had come to retrieve her, she'd noticed a couple things. He looked tired. Secretive, as well. While the twinkle in his eyes dampened her suspicions, Sparrow was perceptive enough to pick up little clues. There were barely perceptible indications that Rilien's ambiguous absence hadn't involved merrily parading through daisy-gardens and raspberry fields, and somehow, her wily companion had been involved. She knew not of where they'd gone, what they were searching for, what they'd face, or why she was even accompanying Ashton to Rilien's shop. She frowned at his appearance, but only slapped him on the back and joked the entire way about this buxom lass she'd met at the Hanged Manâanything to keep the silence at bay, or the itching questions from scaling the walls of her throat. She never doubted her friends, nor their intentions. If they wanted her to meet them anywhere, then she would always be there. They shone as bright as flames in her darkness, blazing a trail of concern and hope. While she said she was wounded, they proclaimed that she was not broken.
Winding their way through the near-empty streets, Sparrow felt an uncomfortable pull in the opposite direction. It was as if she expected something she was not aware of. It prickled at the nape of her neck with grizzled teeth and scaly lips, threading the hairs up and goosepebbling her flesh. She sensed impending danger, and could not shake the feeling. She looked around, blinking into the alleys as they passed. It made no sense, really. The only one with her was Ashton. Rapture felt threatened. The demon residing within her Fadespace curled into a tight ball, coiling like a hissing snake backed into a corner. She was murmuring incoherently, feverish as an old woman rocking in a wicker chair. Piecing out her thoughts was akin to dousing her hand into a pit of hot coals, so Sparrow ignored the distressed creature, burying her discomfort with exaggerated, gawky hand gestures and jokes that hardly coaxed the dread from her dull eyes.
She still appeared as if she had not been eating correctly. Previously-muscled shoulders looked far more slender than before, and her frailty showcased itself in her bird bones, stubbornly jutting from unfamiliar faces. Hollowed out and gutted, Sparrow had begun to feel like she was withering away. Rapture's continuous gnawing, linked with her guilt, had begun to rend and tear her barriers, destroying the body the demon so sought to control. She clapped Ashton gently on the back, slender fingers like dainty willow-branches. Less out of comradeship, and more out of some instinctual need to feel like someone was actually walking at her side. She was not just imagining things, conjuring up fancies in place of her horrors. She stepped into Rilien's shop and instinctively halted. Everyoneâeveryone was here, even Sophia. Rilien had been secretive enough only to send Ashton to her, requesting her presence. No other questions were answered.
A lump formed in her throat, stonewalling emotions that tried to crawl up. Where Sophia may have felt awkwardness at how their last encounter had transpired, Sparrow only felt a relentless sadness. She mourned her actions, however insuppressible they had been. Never had she committed a crime that had taken such a toll on herâstealing from rich nobleman did not count, nor did breaking into their quarters in order to snatch up silk-drawers and pantaloons for an impromptu drunk-wedding (she'd soon as forget the dress, unless Ashton was wearing it). Constantly affected by a plethora of circumstances, some intentional, while others were slip-ups and blunders, Sparrow could not easily forget the ways she was altered and used, nor could Sophia, she believed. The person she was now ghosted along who she really was, hardly living at all. While Sparrow struggled to stay whole and keep together, slumping against her companions for support and leaning her sickness into their shoulders, they held her anyway.
âSophiaââ Sparrow began to say, whirling her gaze around the room. They looked somewhat haunted, as if they'd witnessed something disturbing. She found that she had that effect on people, as of late, but it seemed different this time. A flood-geyser of questions rake through her mind, but they are easily quelled. Rapture's noises are louder now, desperate and frantic and distracting. She took a step further into the shop. âLucien, Ashton... Rilien.â Each name said like a prayer, fluttering from her lips, soft as silk. Her body tilted and creaked, bereft of its usual bounce. Even still, Sparrow returned Sophia's smile with one of her own, though hers was rough and lined with sharp cheekbones, sunken eyes and the childish gloom of someone who wanted to be forgiven, but believed it impossible. It was Rilien who finally explained why she was there in the first place, and her heart clenched, like Rapture had begun to squeeze it. Without hesitation, Sparrow took the glass from Rilien's hand and nodded woodenly.
If she feared it, then surely it would work. She glanced over her shoulder, in Ashton's direction, and gave him an ashen smile, quickly downing the vial as if she were at the Hanged Man, drinking with her companions and cajoling while Rilien played his instrument in the background. It burned her throat, threading its way down the entire way to her stomachâugly and bitter and tasting of nothing she'd drunk before. In one moment, Sparrow felt light and airy, then uncomfortable and dizzy. The dizziness swirled into a red-hot pain gnashing its teeth at the base of her spine, all the way up into her shoulder blades, which forced her backwards, where she planted her hand onto the table Ashton had sunk his machete. The clear, roaring no no nos bugled through her throbbing skull. She felt warmth threading ghostly fingers in her belly, followed by an icy numbness clawing at her innards. Sensations swirled together until she felt like she was being ripped apart from the inside out.
Sparrow hadn't realized that she had her eyes clamped firmly shut. Hadn't realized she was holding her breath, caught in a half-gasp as she fought the bucking awareness that her limbs were twitching and trembling with the effort of keeping her standing in place. Something was being forcefully pulled from her. The painful, shrieking yanking only ceased when her shoulders sagged. Her skin sizzled and steamed, billowing puffs of sweaty smoulder. Crooked fingers slithered from her forehead, made from the same fogginess. It began congregating in front of her in thick smears, forming slender legs and horned elbows. Crimson scales shone brilliantly, catching the light seeping from the windows. Beautiful and dangerousâcovered in sanguine patches, draconian features and a tipped smile that looked irritated and pleased all at once, Rapture crossed her arms over her bare chest, eyeing them languidly. Sparrow finally exhaled, breathless and horrified.
It was also Rapture who spoke first, cocking her head sidelong. For all of her twisted heart, she'd finally acquired what she so wishedâlife away from the Fade, in her own body, damned thrice by the Maker. âOh, I've an audience, as well.â Her glee soured, but she kept her smile civil. She was not a fighter. Muscling her way out of the shop was out of the question. There were no other mages in the shop, only a righteous knight, a fool in foppish rangers-wear and the warrior-woman she'd accosted on the Wounded Coast. Not to mention the not-so Tranquil bard, resolute in his unfeeling hatred. The phantom tendrils did linger. She was no fool, unlike the Pride demon they'd dispatched of in the mountains. The demoness could still rifle through their thoughts.
What she found there surprised her. âPoor mechanical man. Little dearheart. To be toyed with soâbut, it felt good. Not that you'd remember, after all. He was a beast. You'd wonder why he lived alone in those hills.â She spoke easily, as if they were friendly acquaintances. Her brusque movements sizzled the last remnants of steam from her own body, but she still reached a clawed finger towards him in a come-hither motion. She glimpsed in Sparrow's direction and tutted softly, turning back towards Rilien. Her vessel had worsened in health, unable to accept her greatness. Useless to her, really. âWould you like to feel again, dearheart? To feel powerful and whole? I'd not need to manipulate you so. You could love, dance. Offer more, take more. Live normally.â
To be toyed with. Sparrow, exhausted and still catching her breath, huffed a curt, âWhat're you talking about, she-bitch?â Her fingers had begun to have feeling in them again, chasing the numbness away. They were clenched at her sides, barely containing the anger restrained in her white knuckles.
In which the demoness responded with arched eyebrows, and a coy smirk. âYou've not told her. Oh, that's tragic.â
The Fade was pulling again, which made this harder than it needed to be. Where such an offer, spoken with no magic to back it, would not have fazed him, to have again that tantalizing taste of what he could be was at once agony and temptation incarnate. How many more times would he be forced to suffer so, to breathe again when heâd resigned himself to drowning? To feel the stinging, burning pain of life when all he needed was the half-lived existence he had now? He didnât require his emotions, didnât need his magic, but the desire for them was so much stronger than heâd dared contemplate. Layers upon layersâevery single experience came back to him, every time his Tranquility had been brushed aside as though it were the real veil on the truth of things.
A flicker of pain crossed his features, but he suppressed it quickly, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms into his sleeves. For a long moment, he stared at Rapture flatly, as though thinking about something ponderous, but in the end, he merely rotated his head a little, to glance at Sparrow from the corner of an eye. âI did not bring her here so she could repeat her lies. Slay her, Sparrow. You must.â He hadnât told herâheâd never tell her, especially not now, when it might make her too guilty to do what needed to be done.
It was Sparrow who next moved, bullying free from her stupor and wrapping her arm around Rapture's slender neck. It fit finely in the crook of her elbow, squeezed tight against the jumping tendons of her vocal chords. The crooked finger, held towards her friend, immediately retracted, seeking purchase against her attackers unmoving arm; ineffectually scrapping and tearing and gnashing little cuts from her black talons. Sparrow would not move, despite her weakened state. Fury drove her actions, boiled her insides until she felt as if she would bubble over. How could this demon spit such lies? How could she still torment him in front of her, thinking there would be no consequences? Given their height difference, Sparrow only needed to drag Rapture backwards, tucking her against her chest to achieve a stronger hold. The cat-calling voice in the back of her skull, itching at all of her vulnerable places, was finally quiet. No longer would she be huddling there, either, cowardly in her inertia.
The sight of her friends bolstered her actions, however brutal they may have seemed. She had not brought her mace, for it had become too great a burden to carry. It reminded her of a strength she had begun to lose, and of one that she would not easily regainâheavy as a sack full of bones, and equally sobering. With her hands, there was no need for weapons. It may have been fitting to sink Rilien's blade into her heart, though. The idea flit through her eyes, sooty and infuriated, only momentarily, before Sparrow backed into the table and jerked the thrashing demon with her. Whatever needed saying would be said after this was finished and done, because she'd caught the quick quiver of something playing across Rilien's features, as well as the haunted looks on her companion's faces. There was an inkling of truth in Rapture's words, but she refused to hear it from her contemptuous mouth. Her grip tightened, twisted and became iron. The demon, unused to mortal means of respiration, spluttered and coughed, unable to voice her seductions.
She was useless without her words, without her voice. Sparrow held on as if her life depended on it, and perhaps, it did. Her mouth curled into a snarl, then tempered into a strained line, eyebrows knit across her forehead. This was necessary. This was all she dreamed of since allowing herself to be taken. Rapture's thrashing had become desperate, kicking things. Her legs caught against one of the chairs wooden legs, and upended it across the floor. It took all of her withering energy to keep herself on her feet. Errant claws and fists caught against her face and neck, but she resolutely ignored. She was drowning and Sparrow was keeping her under, plunged in nonexistent waters. The wild threshing ceases when Sparrow is on the ground, still holding Rapture until the solid-form begins to hiss and char, flaking and dissolving in her arms.
This, this I leave you. The croaky voice was nothing like the one that provoked her, threading nightmares through her dreams and painted ugly faces on those she loved. It was weak and small; something like the little girl in the woods. The remnants of Rapture's charred body sizzled straight through Sparrow's forearm, leaving an ugly blistering. Slightly scaled, twisted and spiderwebbed. It was all she could do to scramble backwards, ruefully kicking the thing away. She cradled her arm and laughed, disbelievingly. Mirthful would've been a far cry of what it sounded like. Her hand fell away from her arm, and busied itself through her hair. The ferocious light in her eyes had already faded, though she stared at the floorboards, as if there were buried answers in the knots. âThere. It's done. It's done, finallyââ She murmured, perhaps more to herself than anyone in the room. She did not move from the floor, only adjusted her position and bowed her head.
âI need to know what she meant. Only then, I think. Only then can I move forward. Make amends.â
To Sophia, to Rilien, to Ashton, to Lucien, to all of her friends.
Removing an obsidian rod from his wall (he couldnât risk tainting the mixture with steel), Rilien upended the glass vessel of ashes into the mixture, watching with a calculating stare as it changed colors from a bright orange to a fluorescent purple in hue when he stirred. The smell dulled, receding until it was just mildly irritating rather than overwhelming. Bodahn and Sandal offered their farewells and took their leave just as Ashton returned with Sparrow. This was for the bestâthey were going to be releasing a demon into the shop, and he didnât want either of them to be caught in that particular kind of crossfire. Carefully, Rilien poured the admixture into a glass vessel, dropping a measured spoonful of lyrium dust into it and swirling several times.
He realized that Sparrow still had no idea why she was here, and chose to at last rectify the situation now. The words he selected were as blunt as ever, but it might be possible for the others to detect a hint of kindness to them, if they were listening for it. âSparrow,â he said, and held out the glass. âI have found a way to exorcise the demon from you. You will need to drink this, and when she appears, you must slay her.â The last part, he said aloud so that the others would understand. He had done all of this, given up as much as he had, not so that the demon could be merely slain, but so that she could do the slaying. Of course, if things got dire, he would prevent no interference. If they became bad enough, he would personally interfere, even. But he wanted the chance to go first to her, because it was she who had suffered most for Raptureâs presence. For all the unhelpful emotions the creature had forced him to endure and remember, for all that she disturbed the peacefulness of his equilibrium, for all that she had attacked and even killed an innocent person, she had still hurt nobody more than the one whose body she occupied. Heâd seen it, and he would see it no longer.
She would suffer no more, not from this. It was the least he could do. It was the only thing he could do. On the abstract level, Rilien knew he could not be the kind of friend that other people could be. His emotional handicap prevented those warm feelings from seeping through, and he was poor at delivering comfort or reassurance with his presence. All he could give her was this: the promise that he would chase away her troubles by whatever means he could, always. This, then, was a promise long in the fulfilling, but fulfilled all the same. The rest was up to her.
Sophia was aware that their last meeting had ended in a fight and a very unfavorable result for them both, so it was with warmness tempered with caution that she gave Sparrow a smile of greeting. It wasn't the right time to explain, certainly, but at least her presence her would speak to the fact that she wanted to help the woman be free of the demon that plagued her. Whatever their differences were, Sophia couldn't wish anything bad on her. The demon wouldn't leave the shop, Sophia would see to that, but she was more than willing to let Sparrow defeat it herself. She deserved this chance, regardless of how foolish she'd been to say yes to it in the first place.
Ashton had sat down on the nearest table, leaning his bow and quiver next to it. His machete he drove into the wooden edge. Had it been anyone but Rilien, that stunt would have drawn a glare and an angry word, but not from Rilien. Not anymore. Perhaps earlier, when he had full control of his facilities, he might have provoked a response. It was taken from him as fast as it was given, but Ashton noticed. He also noticed how he willingly gave himself away to save Sparrow from the demon. The cost of Sparrow's freedom was a steep one for Rilien, one that Ashton would never tell Sparrow. The girl's been through enough. "The bitch has nowhere to go between us," Ashton said, crossing his legs, "We're all behind you."
When Ashton had come to retrieve her, she'd noticed a couple things. He looked tired. Secretive, as well. While the twinkle in his eyes dampened her suspicions, Sparrow was perceptive enough to pick up little clues. There were barely perceptible indications that Rilien's ambiguous absence hadn't involved merrily parading through daisy-gardens and raspberry fields, and somehow, her wily companion had been involved. She knew not of where they'd gone, what they were searching for, what they'd face, or why she was even accompanying Ashton to Rilien's shop. She frowned at his appearance, but only slapped him on the back and joked the entire way about this buxom lass she'd met at the Hanged Manâanything to keep the silence at bay, or the itching questions from scaling the walls of her throat. She never doubted her friends, nor their intentions. If they wanted her to meet them anywhere, then she would always be there. They shone as bright as flames in her darkness, blazing a trail of concern and hope. While she said she was wounded, they proclaimed that she was not broken.
Winding their way through the near-empty streets, Sparrow felt an uncomfortable pull in the opposite direction. It was as if she expected something she was not aware of. It prickled at the nape of her neck with grizzled teeth and scaly lips, threading the hairs up and goosepebbling her flesh. She sensed impending danger, and could not shake the feeling. She looked around, blinking into the alleys as they passed. It made no sense, really. The only one with her was Ashton. Rapture felt threatened. The demon residing within her Fadespace curled into a tight ball, coiling like a hissing snake backed into a corner. She was murmuring incoherently, feverish as an old woman rocking in a wicker chair. Piecing out her thoughts was akin to dousing her hand into a pit of hot coals, so Sparrow ignored the distressed creature, burying her discomfort with exaggerated, gawky hand gestures and jokes that hardly coaxed the dread from her dull eyes.
She still appeared as if she had not been eating correctly. Previously-muscled shoulders looked far more slender than before, and her frailty showcased itself in her bird bones, stubbornly jutting from unfamiliar faces. Hollowed out and gutted, Sparrow had begun to feel like she was withering away. Rapture's continuous gnawing, linked with her guilt, had begun to rend and tear her barriers, destroying the body the demon so sought to control. She clapped Ashton gently on the back, slender fingers like dainty willow-branches. Less out of comradeship, and more out of some instinctual need to feel like someone was actually walking at her side. She was not just imagining things, conjuring up fancies in place of her horrors. She stepped into Rilien's shop and instinctively halted. Everyoneâeveryone was here, even Sophia. Rilien had been secretive enough only to send Ashton to her, requesting her presence. No other questions were answered.
A lump formed in her throat, stonewalling emotions that tried to crawl up. Where Sophia may have felt awkwardness at how their last encounter had transpired, Sparrow only felt a relentless sadness. She mourned her actions, however insuppressible they had been. Never had she committed a crime that had taken such a toll on herâstealing from rich nobleman did not count, nor did breaking into their quarters in order to snatch up silk-drawers and pantaloons for an impromptu drunk-wedding (she'd soon as forget the dress, unless Ashton was wearing it). Constantly affected by a plethora of circumstances, some intentional, while others were slip-ups and blunders, Sparrow could not easily forget the ways she was altered and used, nor could Sophia, she believed. The person she was now ghosted along who she really was, hardly living at all. While Sparrow struggled to stay whole and keep together, slumping against her companions for support and leaning her sickness into their shoulders, they held her anyway.
âSophiaââ Sparrow began to say, whirling her gaze around the room. They looked somewhat haunted, as if they'd witnessed something disturbing. She found that she had that effect on people, as of late, but it seemed different this time. A flood-geyser of questions rake through her mind, but they are easily quelled. Rapture's noises are louder now, desperate and frantic and distracting. She took a step further into the shop. âLucien, Ashton... Rilien.â Each name said like a prayer, fluttering from her lips, soft as silk. Her body tilted and creaked, bereft of its usual bounce. Even still, Sparrow returned Sophia's smile with one of her own, though hers was rough and lined with sharp cheekbones, sunken eyes and the childish gloom of someone who wanted to be forgiven, but believed it impossible. It was Rilien who finally explained why she was there in the first place, and her heart clenched, like Rapture had begun to squeeze it. Without hesitation, Sparrow took the glass from Rilien's hand and nodded woodenly.
If she feared it, then surely it would work. She glanced over her shoulder, in Ashton's direction, and gave him an ashen smile, quickly downing the vial as if she were at the Hanged Man, drinking with her companions and cajoling while Rilien played his instrument in the background. It burned her throat, threading its way down the entire way to her stomachâugly and bitter and tasting of nothing she'd drunk before. In one moment, Sparrow felt light and airy, then uncomfortable and dizzy. The dizziness swirled into a red-hot pain gnashing its teeth at the base of her spine, all the way up into her shoulder blades, which forced her backwards, where she planted her hand onto the table Ashton had sunk his machete. The clear, roaring no no nos bugled through her throbbing skull. She felt warmth threading ghostly fingers in her belly, followed by an icy numbness clawing at her innards. Sensations swirled together until she felt like she was being ripped apart from the inside out.
Sparrow hadn't realized that she had her eyes clamped firmly shut. Hadn't realized she was holding her breath, caught in a half-gasp as she fought the bucking awareness that her limbs were twitching and trembling with the effort of keeping her standing in place. Something was being forcefully pulled from her. The painful, shrieking yanking only ceased when her shoulders sagged. Her skin sizzled and steamed, billowing puffs of sweaty smoulder. Crooked fingers slithered from her forehead, made from the same fogginess. It began congregating in front of her in thick smears, forming slender legs and horned elbows. Crimson scales shone brilliantly, catching the light seeping from the windows. Beautiful and dangerousâcovered in sanguine patches, draconian features and a tipped smile that looked irritated and pleased all at once, Rapture crossed her arms over her bare chest, eyeing them languidly. Sparrow finally exhaled, breathless and horrified.
It was also Rapture who spoke first, cocking her head sidelong. For all of her twisted heart, she'd finally acquired what she so wishedâlife away from the Fade, in her own body, damned thrice by the Maker. âOh, I've an audience, as well.â Her glee soured, but she kept her smile civil. She was not a fighter. Muscling her way out of the shop was out of the question. There were no other mages in the shop, only a righteous knight, a fool in foppish rangers-wear and the warrior-woman she'd accosted on the Wounded Coast. Not to mention the not-so Tranquil bard, resolute in his unfeeling hatred. The phantom tendrils did linger. She was no fool, unlike the Pride demon they'd dispatched of in the mountains. The demoness could still rifle through their thoughts.
What she found there surprised her. âPoor mechanical man. Little dearheart. To be toyed with soâbut, it felt good. Not that you'd remember, after all. He was a beast. You'd wonder why he lived alone in those hills.â She spoke easily, as if they were friendly acquaintances. Her brusque movements sizzled the last remnants of steam from her own body, but she still reached a clawed finger towards him in a come-hither motion. She glimpsed in Sparrow's direction and tutted softly, turning back towards Rilien. Her vessel had worsened in health, unable to accept her greatness. Useless to her, really. âWould you like to feel again, dearheart? To feel powerful and whole? I'd not need to manipulate you so. You could love, dance. Offer more, take more. Live normally.â
To be toyed with. Sparrow, exhausted and still catching her breath, huffed a curt, âWhat're you talking about, she-bitch?â Her fingers had begun to have feeling in them again, chasing the numbness away. They were clenched at her sides, barely containing the anger restrained in her white knuckles.
In which the demoness responded with arched eyebrows, and a coy smirk. âYou've not told her. Oh, that's tragic.â
The Fade was pulling again, which made this harder than it needed to be. Where such an offer, spoken with no magic to back it, would not have fazed him, to have again that tantalizing taste of what he could be was at once agony and temptation incarnate. How many more times would he be forced to suffer so, to breathe again when heâd resigned himself to drowning? To feel the stinging, burning pain of life when all he needed was the half-lived existence he had now? He didnât require his emotions, didnât need his magic, but the desire for them was so much stronger than heâd dared contemplate. Layers upon layersâevery single experience came back to him, every time his Tranquility had been brushed aside as though it were the real veil on the truth of things.
A flicker of pain crossed his features, but he suppressed it quickly, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms into his sleeves. For a long moment, he stared at Rapture flatly, as though thinking about something ponderous, but in the end, he merely rotated his head a little, to glance at Sparrow from the corner of an eye. âI did not bring her here so she could repeat her lies. Slay her, Sparrow. You must.â He hadnât told herâheâd never tell her, especially not now, when it might make her too guilty to do what needed to be done.
It was Sparrow who next moved, bullying free from her stupor and wrapping her arm around Rapture's slender neck. It fit finely in the crook of her elbow, squeezed tight against the jumping tendons of her vocal chords. The crooked finger, held towards her friend, immediately retracted, seeking purchase against her attackers unmoving arm; ineffectually scrapping and tearing and gnashing little cuts from her black talons. Sparrow would not move, despite her weakened state. Fury drove her actions, boiled her insides until she felt as if she would bubble over. How could this demon spit such lies? How could she still torment him in front of her, thinking there would be no consequences? Given their height difference, Sparrow only needed to drag Rapture backwards, tucking her against her chest to achieve a stronger hold. The cat-calling voice in the back of her skull, itching at all of her vulnerable places, was finally quiet. No longer would she be huddling there, either, cowardly in her inertia.
The sight of her friends bolstered her actions, however brutal they may have seemed. She had not brought her mace, for it had become too great a burden to carry. It reminded her of a strength she had begun to lose, and of one that she would not easily regainâheavy as a sack full of bones, and equally sobering. With her hands, there was no need for weapons. It may have been fitting to sink Rilien's blade into her heart, though. The idea flit through her eyes, sooty and infuriated, only momentarily, before Sparrow backed into the table and jerked the thrashing demon with her. Whatever needed saying would be said after this was finished and done, because she'd caught the quick quiver of something playing across Rilien's features, as well as the haunted looks on her companion's faces. There was an inkling of truth in Rapture's words, but she refused to hear it from her contemptuous mouth. Her grip tightened, twisted and became iron. The demon, unused to mortal means of respiration, spluttered and coughed, unable to voice her seductions.
She was useless without her words, without her voice. Sparrow held on as if her life depended on it, and perhaps, it did. Her mouth curled into a snarl, then tempered into a strained line, eyebrows knit across her forehead. This was necessary. This was all she dreamed of since allowing herself to be taken. Rapture's thrashing had become desperate, kicking things. Her legs caught against one of the chairs wooden legs, and upended it across the floor. It took all of her withering energy to keep herself on her feet. Errant claws and fists caught against her face and neck, but she resolutely ignored. She was drowning and Sparrow was keeping her under, plunged in nonexistent waters. The wild threshing ceases when Sparrow is on the ground, still holding Rapture until the solid-form begins to hiss and char, flaking and dissolving in her arms.
This, this I leave you. The croaky voice was nothing like the one that provoked her, threading nightmares through her dreams and painted ugly faces on those she loved. It was weak and small; something like the little girl in the woods. The remnants of Rapture's charred body sizzled straight through Sparrow's forearm, leaving an ugly blistering. Slightly scaled, twisted and spiderwebbed. It was all she could do to scramble backwards, ruefully kicking the thing away. She cradled her arm and laughed, disbelievingly. Mirthful would've been a far cry of what it sounded like. Her hand fell away from her arm, and busied itself through her hair. The ferocious light in her eyes had already faded, though she stared at the floorboards, as if there were buried answers in the knots. âThere. It's done. It's done, finallyââ She murmured, perhaps more to herself than anyone in the room. She did not move from the floor, only adjusted her position and bowed her head.
âI need to know what she meant. Only then, I think. Only then can I move forward. Make amends.â
To Sophia, to Rilien, to Ashton, to Lucien, to all of her friends.
The Chanter's Board has been updated. Devotion has been completed.