his eyes are hazy as he finally manages enough collect enough strength to open them. there is no bright light, but a pain still makes him wince â as if someone had made tiny paper cuts all over the surface of them. he presses them close right away, instead shifting the remaining strength elsewhere ; to wiggle the tips of his finger and sharpen his hearing. there are no sounds he can register, no way to identify where he actually is.
after few long minutes, belus finally forces his eyes open yet again, this time the pain is far less severe and lets him keep them open. the ceiling is unfamiliar, so is the scent of the room; he can not recall ever being there. a small huff of annoyance passes his lips as he moves his head from one side to the other, trying to pinpoint something in the room that would provide him answers to the questions forming in his mind ; where is he? why is he here? and who is in charge of the current situation? â but of course, the list of suspects when it comes to the last question, can be considered endless.Â
and whoever is guilty, they know what they are doing. its rare, if impossible, for belus to feel this⌠this worn out.  like all energy has left his body, leaving him this languid, so open to danger. and of course, he despises such feeling ; and silently, he promises himself to make sure the guilty one will suffer. very, very slowly.
   long black hair fine as silk. pouty lips painted red, twisted into a permanent scowl. high cheekbones, nice and sharp, and tinted with a dash of rouge (buyer beware). soft pale skin. and a glimmering, icy blue eye-- just one. singular. a patch covers the other socket, embroidered with thread depicting flowers and thorns. colette is beautiful, albeit permanently scarred from the fight which her left eye was burned right out of her head-- and the culprit that did such a heinous thing is taylor, a young witch and a nuisance who had a habit of meddling in her plans years ago. if you asked him, heâd tell you it was either his life, or maiming her a little, and thatâs all the justification he needs. but if you ask her, youâll see rage manifesting itself, and her voice goes dark like tinted glass, a flickering glint in her eye that reads something a little more insane-- a little more unhinged and bloodthirsty. coletteâs been after taylor since.
   through a portal, the sorceress has traveled from deep in the french countryside to the busy city of seoul-- catching double-takes from everybody she passes as she seems to glide down the sidewalk, tall, foreign, elegant and swathed in black, but she spares no second glances to anybody herself because sheâs intent on accomplishing her goal, which is no doubt revenge. one of her familiars had found the boy and reported to her his whereabouts. and as she approaches the building where she feels the familiarity of his aura, she spies something.. very interesting through the dusty bookstore window, glancing through the glass cautious to not be seen. taylor, and.. taylor? two? her eye narrows, manicured brows furrowing in confusion. thereâs an identical man in the shop with him, and by feel she can tell that heâs got magic, too. maybe his energy is muddy and less pure when compared to the boy wearing a canvas apron beside him. they seem close-- colette thinks-- or maybe she can just tell by the way taylorâs eyes shimmer when heâs gazing at them. maybe theyâre identical twins, or.. maybe something unnatural is afoot.
   with ideas brewing in her head, she leaves just as quietly as she came, ideas brewing in her mind that will no doubt cause trouble for both witches.
   exercising the art of manipulation, colette has witch hunters get him first. she learns that his name is belus, and heâs been alive too damn long (just like her). witch hunters are usually sloppy, angry, brute-- strong and violent. less cold and calculated like her. so itâs no surprise that when she enters the room where belus is tied up like a gift just for her, that heâs already covered in contusions and bruises and cuts-- blood spilled all over the floor, so much so that the room itself smells like iron. stiletto heels click against hard wood as she paces through the large room, making a wide circle around the chair the man is in, and she draws in a slow breath which comes exhaled as a sigh, slim arms crossing. âif youâre finding yourself wondering why youâre here-- itâs simply because you keep bad company,â colette says, coming to a stop in front of him, arms dropping and one of her hands propping itself up on her hip. âthe hunters worked you over, mm? look at you, all beat-up. unfortunately, dear, this is just the beginning. iâll get to have my fun with you too, at least until he shows up.â
   a flick of her dainty wrist and thereâs a swell of energy, sharp like razor-wire, and it bursts forward and shreds belusâ shirt to pieces. she steps forward, ruby red fingernails glinting in the dim light as she clutches whatever jewelry hangs around belusâ neck, yanking the necklaces off with a rough tug and tossing them to the floor. now with the warlockâs chest exposed, she has ample surface to work with-- a crooked smirk slowly pulling across her lips. âi personally never liked other witches. they always seemed to get in my way. at least youâll prove useful for one thing-- helping me get a little revenge.â