tear this canvas skin wide open

It was a vision. A pair of hazel eyes staring at him through a haze of shadows. A snap of his fingers could change the scenery. The walls to his world were paper thin and flaking, revealing the layers of colors beneath; red, yellow, blue and green. He was the painter of his world. Riven blinked, and the woman was gone, swallowed by the shift of colors. And yet he was still the painter, where magic laced fingers snapped and another set of human eyes replaced hers — big and wild. Darkness folded around the man, binding him in an embrace tighter than his own fists clutching at his skull. Prayers left chapped lips. It was all part of his art.

Sleep rarely came to the sorcerer, even with someone warm beside him, who was too familiar with how a man changed when he no longer closed his eyes. Riven could not lie, but he could still swallow the truth, tuck it behind a sharp tongue, and wander the nights with whispers in his ears, visions scraping him raw. Tomás might have recognized the hollow of his eyes, but he did not know the rot of Riven’s magic, how his veins itched where red had already blackened.

He'd left the man for dead, to wander the collapsing corridors of his own mind. Like many others, lost by the sorcerer's hand, never to be found again. He might've turned humans his playthings before (the exception sleeping in his bed), now they were nothing but offerings for his magic to feast on. In the end, he had become what he swore he never would — his mother. Power starved and cruel.

The vision came back to him, with a warning hissed into his ear. No, this wasn't a vision this time, was it? He saw her. Not a ghastly thing this time, but made of flesh and bones. Brush in hand and a canvas in front of her, something dark and grotesque bleeding onto the white. Find her, find her, find her— What did she have that was so important? He almost spoke back, to the voices in his head. But then stopped, before her window, realized he was staring at her, like a creep. Find her —

Okay, okay, okay.

The stolen journal is starting to be filled, but whether the words she's been writing add any value to the strange thing's pages has yet to be determined. Elyse has been gathering resources, both tangible and intangible, on the subject of witches. All without asking Cameron, of course -- she doesn't even know how to explain to him what she's trying to do here, and she worries he would discourage her.

Not that he's ever discouraged her -- quite the opposite. But there's some fear of risk, of failure, of disappointing him, playing with a force she doesn't understand.

But, oh, if she gets this right... It could all be worth it. They could learn together. Until they meet their end, tied in an uncompromising knot.

Until then, though, she has to live. And to do that, Elyse usually needs coffee. She's sitting in a cafe window, idly sketching when suddenly the light in the windows dims with the heavy flush of unexpected rain. Ah, crap. The opening of the door brings a rush of cold air that jolts her senses as much as the caffeine does.

"Oh, no, it's fine," she says, straightening in her seat. At least the coffee's still warm. Goosebumps make the hairs on her arm stand on end. A chill rattles through her spine, then she's adjusted. "Yeah, I... honestly didn't think it was going to rain today. Fuck me for not checking, huh? Guess I've gotta wait this one out, I am not walking back to my car in this. You don't exactly look like you were expecting it either."

Her lips maintained a smile that was almost Cheshire in nature. The girl’s thread was irrefutably human but…so many little touches, little shadows of magic, little…Thera shifted forward so she could lean over the counter, brush a lock of hair back over the girl’s shoulder…little bits of supernatural touch indeed.

Thera extended the hand from the girl’s shoulder to a handshake position, “Hello my name is Thera and I can see I’m not the first witch you’ve met.” She waited for any sort of reaction before…”before we get into objects I have something you might want to see.” Thera hopped down from her stool, and started walked towards a door in the back that didn’t open for just anybody, “that is unless you’d rather stay out here with, what did you so glibly label my clientele, ‘the tourists’” The grin was humorous, Thera took no offense as she waited to see what side of the veil the girl wanted to fall on.

Elyse is sure most people get what they need. Especially if they're just looking for something cute, kitschy, and aesthetic. She's sure there are plenty of dedicated clientele here who, if this woman is one of Port Leiry's stranger members, know what items possess the most magic. Or at least, the right magic for their purposes. Elyse isn't ready to go full throttle yet, but she's not going to grab a cute candle and a bundle of herbs, and call it a day.

Still, she knows that she doesn't know. And that's what's gnawing at her -- Elyse doesn't really know about magic, or how to do magic, or if she even can do if even if this woman's wares prove authentic. She wants the knowledge. She sees the eye in her head and at piercing gaze the back of her neck. It itches. She ignores it.

"Hi, Thera. I'm Elyse," Elyse replies, fixing her focus back on the woman. She accepts the handshake with piqued interest. "I've... admittedly not had a lot of experiences with witches... not that I'm aware of. But vampires and werewolves, got that pretty much covered by now." The images of Arte's transformations flash in her mind. She shudders a bit and tries to divert course -- Autumn's naked and bound body doesn't do her much better. Memories of Cam's bite in her neck help to calm the itch, though. She'll think about that instead.

"Yeah, sure -- I'll follow, but if this is where you actually turn people into toads, I have a boyfriend who'd be totally pissed," she replies with a laugh. Elyse makes a mental note to ask Cam later if he'd still love her, warts and all.

They barely notice the pinch of the needle when it goes in, but almost immediately, their body begins to lose its strength. Their vision blurs and between the shift and the drugs, they go crashing to the ground, unable to push themselves back up again.

The shift is grotesque and Arte's throat is raw from screaming, but there is nothing they can do. The helplessness is by far the worst part. They think of their pack and pray that they stay away. They can smell the way the silver chains thrown over their body start to burn their flesh and pulling away only seems to make it worse.

Eventually however, the sedative runs its course and Arte collapses to the ground, as the last bone breaks and reforms. A brilliant gold eye stares resentfully at their assailants while the other is paler, but not less furious.

As they turn, he takes photos - not on his camera like he might if this were a vampire, but on his phone. Quick. Easy. "Remember, wolfsbane kills, silver burns -- See the marks in their fur?" It's a learning opportunity, and he watches their shift fully take hold, a righteous fury in their eyes. He almost laughs. Almost feels giddy.

The end of the silver chains are attached to the hitch on the truck. It'll have more power to drag them back over the curse line. "This one is different than the others, like I mentioned. Their curse was reversed." A twinkle in his eye at it. At the memory of the Ryan hunt.

Then, to Arte with a grin. "We're going to take you back over the line so Elyse here can watch again. Until the vision in our minds is perfect."

It's different when she has to do it herself, to someone who still looked arguably human -- it had been so much easier when Autumn was an anonymous wolf in the woods. Elyse had gotten past the human nature of the vampire rather quickly, and she's sure a little more time in the presence of a werewolf would help her to manage the same. But soon, the silver is on. Cam is safe, and the wolf is chained.

This stranger's transformation makes An American Werewolf in London look like a picnic. There isn't even a bad moon rising to make this one special. It's forced, its fast, and she hears the snapping and grinding of bones and the begging of a still-human tongue all at once. It chills her as much as it fascinates her. Once turned, vampires simply are, but a werewolf... there's two sides. The were and the wolf. It's a curse, she knows that, but this creature... is cursed beyond measure.

"Wolfsbane kills, silver burns," she repeats. Elyse remembers how the herb had burned Autumn's skin, but she supposes it burned in the same way acid does. Caustic. Deadly. All-consuming. The stories have it backwards, then, don't they? A lone silver bullet won't do the trick. Now that's a silver lining, for the wolves. "I see the scars and the blinded eye -- how much of the human shape determines the wolf? How much of the wolf makes it back to the human?"

Then Cam explains -- their curse was reversed. Elyse can barely wrap her brain around it. A wolf at all times except under the moon? How do they know this beast is actually a human, and not some animal given two-legged skin? She only knows because Cam seems to know. To know that deep inside, this is a person wrapped in fur. There's still so much she doesn't understand about these supernatural beings -- she wonders if she'll ever get a lesson on witches, or if they're just too dangerous to outwit. To chain under the weight of their own base instincts. Elyse hops into the back of the truck bed and hits the side of the metal. "I'm ready, show me."

---

The first time they cross the curse line, Elyse watches the process. She can't tell whether it's unbreaking or re-breaking of the beast. The shape, the muscles, the bones -- none of that should fit inside the battered, scarred human skin that reforms. She tries not to listen to their words, their pleas for mercy. This is a lesson for her, on many levels.

The second time they cross the line, she looks instead at the claw marks in the dirt -- the creature's resistance. She wonders whether it's the animal survival instinct or a more human sort of fear that propels them thusly. She remembers how scared Autumn had been, disoriented and naked in Cameron's basement. Elyse wonders if the wolf feels remorse for the ones it eats and kills. The sound of snapping bones grows louder in her mind.

The third time they cross the curse line, she starts to feel sick with it all. Not just because of the movement of the truck, but because of the sounds. When she and Cam cut into a vampire, they did so slowly, with intention. There's intention here, laced in the curse -- but the intention is abject cruelty. And while the hunter-vampire is simply taking advantage of an unnatural nature to demonstrate the lesson to her full-bore, it's too much. She hears human cries in the gnashing of fangs, the begging and bending and breaking.

"Cam, stop! Stop, I've had enough of the lesson for tonight!"