( & featureless. )

        ugly chittering, entire being E X P A N D I N G in one great             whooping set of hacking coughs. the simple orifice it has             manifested O V E R F L O W S with it, sticky strands that             clump at the teeth and gums and send the creature wheezing. 

        He has been called brave for his courage under fire but this is no firefight, and no conflict that he has ever come across. The Marquis is not even certain what he is conversing with, if conversation even be the careful song and banter between them. Maybe he is the one who lies dreaming, hands curled into fists in sleep rather than knuckles tightening upon the handle of the blade upon his back.

        How does one shoot a shadow or pierce a figment of imagination? Perhaps he will have no need to find out, but it seems unlikely even as he snorts indelicately.

         “ It has been more than a century since I have had parents, and they were not the ones to teach me manners. No, étranger, the English pride themselves in their propriety. When in their domicile, it is polite to behave as they would. ”

       Which then begs the question he does not care to ask but most desperately requires the answer to—even more than that of the creature’s identity, being that of how best to pardon himself expediently from the creature’s presence. Another step back, the curling lips and cracking peal of what sounds like laughter striking a certain base desire to flee in him. He very nearly calls for Malory, but fear seals shut the plea. He cannot put the others in danger. Whatever the cost, he will pay it alone for having disturbed something or someone that should have been kept long-buried.

             it tastes the U N C E R T A I N T Y, tastes the F E A R; crisp              tastes ‘pon the lashing tongue, wagging to and fro with endless, wild              W A N T. bones C R A S H together as it rises from filth and              decay, desperation deadset in the psyche as its figure spins in and out of existence.  

                                ❝ do you crave it? K N O W L E D G E ? ❞

             it shudders forth with reckless abandon, eyes that B U B B L E forth              upon the shifting tides of ink that flows toward the man. it wonders,              fleeting, H U N G R Y, as to what the scared little man’s scared little              decision will amount to be. will he R U N ? will he H I D E ? jaws          B U R S T I N G their way into existence, steam and heat that crackle              off the form as it lunges toward him, eager for the hunt. will he S H O O T ?                                                           will he S T A B ?

             it hopes, beating bright where heart ought go, that he shall C R Y. tired                          men’s tears always taste the most P A I N F U L

             moments before impact it shifts, evaporating in great, terrible clouds,              smog thick and poisonous reaching for the lungs of any that might be              too close to it. voice a trembling D E P T H, a presence unshakable,                        causing cobblestone and decay to rumble all about him.

                                ❝ i have seen much worse than Y O U, little lost dreamer.                                       bloody fools and terrible wastrels who have little but B O N E                                       to sink one’s teeth into. no H O P E S, no D R E A M S.                                                  so little to F E A S T ‘pon, the poor souls. ❞

             luxurious laughter peeling sharp, twisting amid the smoke to create              another thread, deep, inescapable, desperate to find its way W I T H I N.              gnawing its way within, coiling thick until no flesh remains unmarked,              seeping into every crack and crevice, weedling sharp and hot.

       He should not have come this way alone.

       The flicker of the weak lamplight does little to cut the darkness that pervades the ancient tunnels. Surely there could be nothing here, too damp for comfort and too barren of the richness of life needed to support other life. The Marquis had waved off his mentor, insisting that he was quite capable of securing the perimeter himself, merci beaucoup.

       Now, he is not so certain he should have been so sure of himself, the creature—figment or fact, what is or is not—before him uncoiling to blurry outlines. Other hand reaching warily to his holstered sidearm, he sounds braver than he feels. “ Je ne suis pas l’agneau. Lafayette has not survived two revolutions by being meek of heart and manner. Liberty thrives in boldness. ” 

        Whatever it is, it does not appear to wish him dead. Not immediately. Cautious, careful, he inquires further as he steps back from headache-flickering edges.

               it rests weary head on B I L L O W I N G plumes of smoke,                feathering out into the dank night's air with reckless abandon.                angles reform to create images, delicate chin, curling fingers,               H U N G R Y eyes that bore unto the soul with sharpened                interest. C R A C K L I N G as if by some great current of                electricity, shapes solidifying for a moment as it appraises, further,                the lost man before it. it tastes F A L S E N E S S upon the air,                scenting out uncertainties as hound to blood. C R U N C H I N G                as it rears up, rusted innards and misconstrued pieces realigning                into the semblance of coiled danger, sinew nonexistent trembling                                           with the need to S T R I K E. 

                         ❝ —— oh? T W O? and what year is it as                                         such, that two might have strolled by                                         without U S? come, now--- L A M B                                          or no, intent still yet remains! youthful                                         air, you've about you--- something                                         so D E A R to us, you see.                                                      ------- absolutely D E C A D E N T. ❞

               rippling voice without a home, features C A S C A D I N G across                the face, mouth rearing forth amid the words to stretch open, maw                blindly R E A C H I N G toward him. flickering edges that collapse                in upon themselves, bulging white of the eyes S W A L L O W E D                by the roiling mass of it. no great U R G E yet strikes it to move, instead                allowing for S O A R I N G laughter that erupts out as the back breaks                apart, porcelain flesh emerging and crumbling before the man's gaze. it                settles, once more, on half-there form, lips peeling away from the thick                black to curl into a smile, predatory, hungry, W A I T I N G. loose,                teasing tone, figure finally rising up, no longer content to reside within a                                                     heap upon the floor.

⌠ ℬ y their side ⌡--Brows furrowed in mild confusion, although there was just a tinge of rouge on his cheeks for already being figured out--Maker damn each and every demon for being so damn sneaky. No, that wasn't the word...intuitive, maybe. From its appearance alone, Cullen assumed it was one of the twisted deities of desire--and in little than two sentences, it broke the veil Cullen so desperately wanted to keep covered over certain matters. His first instinct would have been to unsheathe his sword at the mere sight of smoke making its way into his office; however, his mind was so preoccupied that he didn't want to focus on that. Rather, he took a passive stance, observing the demon first.

            boiling R A G E that subsides before the next beat of the             heart, shoulders of ice shattering until it D I S A P P E A R S             from view, entire existence filtering itself into a more presentable             figure. it reappears upon the table--- flicks a finger through a             set of papers, as if forgetting the man stood before it. billowing             smoke that meanders past the curve of a hip, the length of a leg,             bunching at the angles there and becoming a part of it once more. 

            face of porcelain ruptures and forms to the peak of a brow, the             sweep of gentle eyelashes, wrinkled nose. it H A T E S wearing             a full face, but it shall forget that for now. the H U N T was on. full             tilt of the head, neck producing noise as it tilts beyond the extent of             a typical human. the papers in its hands are allowed to catch F I R E,             ash to be patted away as it joins messy fingers, tinted black by the move. 

                           ❝ —— ah, yes. coming to a man while he's                                           at his W E A K E S T is typically                                           done on purpose. perhaps you'd like                                            H E L P in being silenced, no? ❞

BETRAYAL? COULD ONE call the finding of their calling such a betrayal? He had gone from spirit to human to  demon to something in between. The lingering edges of the parts he once KNEW still hanging from him in gauzy strands of CONSCIOUSNESS. He now feels the beat of his feet against cityscapes without need for a body. He  is COLE. 

Perhaps…that is BETRAYAL. Leaving your nature behind, exchanging it for another. Cole does not jump to slay the aggravated presence of a demon, eyes forced downward as he counted ticks in the wood like STARS in the SKY.

It is comforting to know DESIRE was once PURPOSE. That lust was once LOVE.

              when it collects its thoughts into tangible lines, beyond                the R A G E, the boiling J E A L O U S Y, it finds                itself barking up a laugh. something that causes the                already intangible form to T R E M B L E, shaking                the creature to the core. it H A T E S him------ his cause,                his form, his very E X I S T E N C E. it wraps itself in                silken strands, ribbons of flesh attempting to bind to it that                it might T H R O T T L E the abomination stood 'fore it.                the attempts fall away into nothingness, echoing words as                                                   he speaks to it.

                           ❝ —— makes you B E T T E R?  you                                            can't just escape what you A R E.                                        you don't get a C H O I C E like that. ❞

⌠ ℬ y their side ⌡--There was a wave of apprehension felt at the root of hairs all over his skin. He couldn't quite name it, but it was certainly a sensation unwanted. Consequently, he kept brushing it off, as if it was but a mild itch. Although, over time, the itch grew into a rash, to which the anxious Commander started to fill with ire. What was this bizarre sensation of anticipation and anxiety?  

           he tastes like D E S P A I R, when it finds him there,            mind unraveling beneath the beating heat of W A N T.            when it all becomes too much, the incessant cravings,            that is when I T comes. a puff of smoke from carefully            constructed lips, eternity E C H O I N G in the pulsing            light of the eyes, shriveling up into blank expanse, face            collapsing into N O T H I N G N E S S as it watches him. 

           poised upon the threshold of one world and the next, legs            crossed and chair tipped P E R I L O U S L Y close to            tipping. exorbitant yawn, mouth erupting into fraying edges            as flesh comes apart, entire face R I P P I N G in two. it            settles once more into pursed lips, smooth expanse north,            patient hours forgotten in the sudden desire to S P E A K.

          ❝I hardly believe that I am in             need of some demon..❞

Slow, cautious steps were taken backwards, bow still drawn, arrow head pointing at the other. 

                           ❝ ——— is T H A T so? ❞

           raucous laughter that bubbles forth, broken C R O O N I N G as            it matches the man, step for step, body L U R C H I N G and coll-            apsing inward with each movement. its form shifts---- the E A G E R            mistress, supple flesh and outstretched arm; hardy young lad with             face smudged slightly of soot; kindly old woman, with loving eyes and                                                   tender wrinkles abound. 

The grip around the drawn bow became stronger, holding onto it so tight it was nearly painful.

               it turns to him with a G L E A M to the eye,                protruding round and H U N G R Y from                  the face of endless sparkling W A N T.