#c1. regulus

The Dark Lord summoned Marceaux, of course. Vivian looked upon her brother’s still, comatose body at their Barnton estate. The mark on his arm roared to life, beckoning him to join the fold. She ran fingers through his chestnut air, plucking a few strands, following the chain of events that accompanied the call. Until her body found pause. It was Marceaux’s duty. Marceaux’s band of brothers. Marceaux’s destiny. 

But what if wasn’t his? A sinister smirk carved itself onto her lips.

When Vivian stepped foot into Banchory, she did so as herself. Marceaux’s garb charmed to fit her body. Her maniacal voice behind the silver mask. Her bloodlust oozing from the seams. Would the Dark Lord reprimand her himself? Perhaps. She cared little about appearances now. Vivian Travers only desired to watch life drain from the eyes of innocents. If only Marceaux could see her now; the caged bird fallen from her ivory tower. 

“Piss yourself yet, little prince?” Merlin, she loved seeing souls squirm.