#prince-cresil

Leon’s attention was captured by the sudden presence and voice, slightly startled as the other had come out of nowhere. His head tilted curiously as he studied him, the hint of a smile on his usual pout.

“Oh? Do tell me one…”

It was another late night of Hot Pockets, the breakfast kind, for his middle of the night craving.  Five reports overdue and one in progress, Miller had settled himself in for the long haul.  Seated behind his desk with just a lamp on for light he tried to will himself to find the zen needed to really pull off typing up a recap on a recent case that had never stirred much enthusiasm in him and had -- for that very reason -- not left him motivated to accomplish his follow up paperwork.

The witch reached over absently as he adjusted the position of his laptop in order to itch at his shoulder.  Beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt, the Sigil that had left a stamp upon him and his soul had long since stopped fading.  Now it just itched like a sonofabitch.  He tried to ignore it, along with whatever longing came attached to the connection of his soul to the demon that had left it printed on his flesh.  Because he had way better things to do than pine like an idiot over some asshole that came or went as he pleased.

Miller pinpointed all of the concentration that he had upon his task.  Fingers moving with agile grace of the keys of his laptop, forcing the words to manifest.  He worked for some time, absently pulling over a Hot Pocket to wedge in his mouth, mostly gumming at it rather than giving it a good chew.  And little by little he managed to write enough bullshit out that it would be passable without being too obviously half-assed.

He paused in reaching for his second helping when he heard faint movement in the office behind him.  Turning his head, there was a flash of his glasses over his shoulder as he tried to see behind him.  Snorting quietly.  “You don’t even fucking spook me anymore when you just pop in like this.  Maybe you should actually try knocking on the door?”

//*tw: miscarriage //

“Well, this one is a hard one to tell, but I don’t mind telling it.” He faltered a moment but quickly relaxed, glancing to the ground to try and picture things better. “My scariest experience happened when I had first become a vampire. I only wanted the gift to find my sister, Fiona, and find her, I did. It took a little while, but I followed her presence–I can’t even explain it. Between her scent and I suppose our bond, I was surprised that it had lead me home and at first, I thought I had made a mistake, but–” Another pause, he stopped breathing. “She was there.”

“Uh–well, I thought I was too late; the blood was overwhelming–it was everywhere. I could hardly focus on anything but that scent and you must know, to a newborn vampire, resistance to blood is difficult if not near impossible. But I went to her and I was somehow calm by the time I reached her side. She held this poor, little thing–baby, in her arms that was obviously very dead and so tiny and when I went to take it from her, she shot up and just screamed at me. I thought she was dead but her heart, it started right back up but it wasn’t strong. It was giving her the last of her depleted life source and she was just bleeding it away…”

[text: Princessil] What’s wrong with that?  You might find a new product that will help with your laziness.

🏠- A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live                 

Water dripped from the large yellow sponge into the tub as she worked in silence.  It was the only sound in the bathroom aside from Miller’s shallow, painful, tense breaths.

She was gone again! That sneaky wench! Snuck away before Leon had even awoken, taking nothing but a single bag of belongings with her. He had checked, destroying her room in a fit of rage in the process. And what was worse is that he knew it was coming. Had seen the way she had been distancing herself, his sweet sister, always having to ruin things when he was comfortable... but he wouldn’t waste the years searching for her this time.

Twenty years, this place had been their home. They were protected in the desert with their own kind; like minded individuals of the blood. They were monsters living among monsters as it was meant to be, living by old teachings and taking solace in not being alone in their cruel fate—but it was never enough for Fiona. She couldn’t just be comfortable, no. She wanted to be free and Leon was tired of the game though it was his game. He was tired of chasing her and now only wanted to keep her. Here. Safe. Away from the rest of the everchanging world.

The vampire’s selfishness had him retreating to books, old texts of magic written in blood, older than he or anyone of the coven for that matter. He had spent weeks straight translating it once out of curiosity, with barely any rest or nourishment as he worked, but now he was glad that he had for he was ready to use what he’d learned. He’d bound her to him completely, more-so than the blood bond. He’d make her stay... with the right words, the right ritual. She would never leave again.

It took no time to prepare, their coven quite fond of blood magic, their leader, Tobias, a teacher of the ways of Satan which Leon had never questioned given their nature. What else could they be other than spawn of hell? Who better to pray to than the darkness?

He drew on the concrete floor of his room the right symbols in white chalk, the pentagram—he lit the candles and set them in order, counterclockwise around the great star. The vampire began then to undress, chanting words of a long dead tongue, getting into the right headspace to let in energy and make the magic work.

He had taken a strand of his sister’s copper hair from her left behind brush and began to wrap it in a knot around a single unlit candle as he continued his soft spoken chanting, lighting the wick when the hair could be bound no longer. With a blade, he then cut his palm to seal his request, letting the thick liquid drip over the flame which didn’t extinguish, only grew brighter.

He chuckles, remembering immediately. “A fresh grave, actually. I was a young vampire that got carried away with hunting, and by the time dawn was approaching, I was no where near shelter. Thankfully, their was a family cemetery within distance and to my luck, a fresh grave.