#riley lore

When both Riley and Emerson were born, nearly three years apart, the doctor took one look at the screaming, crying lump of flesh in his hands and declared, "It's a girl!"

From the moment Emerson started talking, it was clear they disagreed.

Riley remembered watching from across the room as their mother fought with the toddler clamping their chubby arms to their sides and insisting that no, they did not want to wear the dress, dresses were for girls. When the siblings would play family, Emerson would insist on playing the dad— "And you can be the dog!" they would suggest cheerfully to Riley, who, as the older and more mature of the two, was forced to oblige. At some point, they had stumbled across the name Emerson— in a book, at school, Riley wasn't sure— and from then on, that was their name, and anyone who dared to disagree was met with a harsh glare and a snappy remark. Emerson was always quick-witted, good at thinking on their feet. Riley supposed they had to be.

Riley's parents, however, could be just as stubborn as their youngest child. Their mother, especially, never seemed to give up hope that one day Emerson would come to their senses and stop looking for attention. "There are better ways to convince boys to like you, dear," Riley remembered her lecturing Emerson once. Riley had been ten years old. Emerson was seven.

"Just look at your sister," their mother had continued. Riley had looked up from the book they had been pretending to read and tried to smile innocently. "She's not crying out for attention all the time. You know, boys like girls who are quiet and agreeable. Like Riley." She smiled encouragingly at her eldest child.

Riley thought that their mom seemed a lot more interested in what boys liked than they or Emerson were. They kept that thought to themselves.

Emerson, though, was never one to smother their rage. That night, they snuck out of the manor and threw every dress in their closet into the river. Riley had watched from the window as their tiny body staggered down the hill, weighed down by what looked like thousands of layers of fabric and ribbon. It took them three hours.

Their parents had been furious. From what Riley could overhear, their mother had half a mind to make Emerson go and fetch them all, but their father reasoned that the dresses would be halfway to France by then, and wasn't it punishment enough that now Emerson would have to look like a boy?

After hearing that, Riley wondered if their father had ever met Emerson, ever.

Emerson got their way in the end, and the dresses, as far as Riley knew, were still in the river. When they were younger, Riley used to wonder sometimes if they'd ever made it to France. Was some French child thrilled one day to find a pile of dresses waiting in the riverbank behind their house? Riley liked to imagine so.

Regardless— with the dresses out of the way, Emerson set their sights on their next target: their hair.

After the incident, the servants were instructed not to let Emerson leave their room at night without supervision. Emerson, however, quickly came up with another idea.

The plan wasn't complicated. Riley, who was nearly twelve years old and responsible enough to be trusted with scissors should anyone catch them, would sneak the scissors into the bathroom. Later, when Emerson had to take their bath, they would insist that nine years old was far too old for the servants to help them, and all they needed was for Riley to help them wash the spot in the middle of their back that they couldn't reach. Then, before the servants realized anything was going on, Riley would cut Emerson's hair as quickly as they could, and hide the evidence in the pockets of Emerson's pants. If they acted very normal and didn't acknowledge it at all, Emerson had said, their parents would probably be none the wiser.

When Emerson first explained their idea, Riley had staunchly refused. "Do you actually expect no one to notice your hair being a foot shorter?"

Emerson pouted. "Not from me, no, but if you say it, they might believe you. They listen to you."

Riley sighed dramatically. "They listen to me because I don't do things like this, and you do. I can be trusted not to throw all my clothes into the river."

Emerson giggled. "That wasn't that bad…"

Eventually, of course, Emerson convinced them, and of course, their parents immediately figured out what had happened. Riley wasn't punished, but their mother insisted they have a chat.

"Riley," she had begun, with her serious voice that always made Riley nervous. "You've got a good head on your shoulders."

Riley had blinked. That didn't sound bad. "Thank you?"

"Your sister looks up to you," her mother continued. It took Riley a moment to realize she was talking about Emerson. They had made it abundantly clear, in Riley's opinion, that they weren't anyone's sister.

"She needs you to be… you know, a buoy. Someone to help her through this… confusion."

Riley had nodded politely.

"It's very common, you know, for little girls to pretend to be boys," her mother said. Riley wasn't sure if she was trying to convince them or herself. "Of course, you didn't, and that's a good thing, too. Certainly saved your father and I some headaches. But she'll grow out of it. In the meantime, though, she needs you to be a good role model of ladylike behavior, and not to feed into this… this. Okay?"

Riley wasn't sure they were quite as good a model of ladylike behavior as their mother seemed to think. In fact, the older they got, the more they started to… notice things.

The way they would feel a prickle down their spine whenever a servant called them miss or their French teacher instructed them to add an e at the end of their adjectives. The giddy feeling they felt when they wore their father's coats and tied back their hair and looked in the mirror and saw… themselves.

They tried to ignore the feeling— after all, that was what made their parents angry with Emerson. Riley loved their sibling, but they also quite liked the way it felt to know that they were the easier one, the one who didn't cause problems, the one— though they would never say it to Emerson's face— that their parents liked more.

If Riley was the same as Emerson, would that have to change?

They thought so.

Still, they couldn't stay silent forever. About a month after their thirteenth birthday, after staying up late enough to absolve anyone of good judgement, they told Emerson everything.

Emerson had thought for a moment.

Finally, they spoke. "Mom and Dad aren't right about everything," they offered quietly.

As they grew up, the siblings never really fought— not the screaming in the kitchen loud enough for the entire village to hear your business kind of fighting like Emerson and their parents.

But at some point after that, they began to drift apart. Emerson learned to cut their own hair. They went out riding more often— alone, or with their friends from the village. Riley wasn't much of a horse person. Horses spooked them, and they didn't seem to be too fond of Riley either. They tried to keep their distance.

This continued throughout most of their teenage years, until one night at dinner. Riley was twenty. Emerson was nearly eighteen, and far too thin— Riley could see every bone in their elbows. Their skin had grown paler, too, and taken on a grayish undertone. How could Riley not have noticed?

They managed to corner Emerson after an hour of watching them push food around on their plate. "Do you have an eating disoder?"

Emerson looked up from their book. They'd always been more into reading. For Riley, it was just a convenient excuse to eavesdrop.

They laughed hollowly. "No. Why?"

"Then why aren't you eating?"

Emerson rolled their eyes. "I wasn't hungry, Riley. Happy?"

"No, I mean—" Riley exhaled dramatically. Emerson had always been better at this, too. Phrasing. Talking. Being a person, in general, despite what their parents thought. "All this week. And maybe before— and you're too thin. You can trust me."

"I'm fine," they said, their eyes returning to their book.

Riley pretended to believe that for a week— until they heard a noise in the basement.

They knew, theoretically, that there was a basement under the manor, but they'd never been there, and they'd never bothered to look for it— it took them fifteen minutes just to find the staircase, which was hidden behind a door Riley had assumed to be a closet.

They descended the stairs carefully, shuffling their feet with every step. The only time they'd ever heard about the basement was about a year ago, when they'd overheard their parents talking about a rat problem down there. They had been considering getting a cat to deal with it, but eventually decided against it. Riley was quietly disappointed. They'd always wanted a cat. Maybe it would be their friend.

The last stair squealed under their foot, and they sighed. So much for subtlety.

They heard a quiet thud from across the room. "Hello?"

The second the word left their lips, a cold hand clamped over their mouth. Through the darkness, they could just make out a faint outline of a face an inch or so shorter than them. "Get out."

Riley blinked, pulling the hand away from their mouth. "Emerson?"

"I said get out," Emerson hissed. "If you tell our parents about this, I'll kill you— I'm not joking."

"What's going on?"

A pause. "Oh, right— can you not see?"

"No— can you?"

Another pause.

Riley dropped Emerson's wrist. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Emerson."

They heard a shaky sigh. "Fine. But I'm not kidding— if you tell Mom, you're dead."

The lights flickered on. Emerson was standing in front of them.

Their mouth was slightly open— they'd always had one of those mouths that didn't fully close over their front teeth, like their father. Riley had inherited more of their mother's face— her mouth, her eyes.

Unlike their father, though, two long, pointed fangs protruded from Emerson's gums, interrupting the illusion of humanity in the rest of their face.

Riley gasped— they couldn't help themselves. "Are you—?"

"Yes."

Riley shook their head slowly. "But— vampires aren't real."

Emerson narrowed their eyes; which, once a deep blue like their fathers', now had a ring of blood red around their pupil. "Is that really going to help right now?"

"No… no, of course not," Riley mumbled to themselves. They looked at their sibling— too pale, too thin. "Are you okay? What have you been… er, drinking?"

Emerson looked away. "Rats, mostly. It's a good thing we never got a cat— the basement has a real rat problem."

"And that's… enough?"

Emerson shrugged. "Mostly."

Riley hesitated. "Is human blood… better?"

Emerson gave them a hard look. "I've never tried it— I think our parents would stake me if I did. You saw how they reacted to Phoebe. What would they do if they knew I was an actual monster?"

Phoebe was Emerson's girlfriend from the village, who'd been a secret until about six months ago. Riley wasn't sure exactly how their parents had found out, only that they had— and that they were angrier than Riley had ever seen them. Emerson and their parents had screamed at each other for hours. There had been threats of disowning Emerson, of writing them out of the will, of dropping them off in the woods to be eaten by wolves. Phoebe wasn't allowed in the manor anymore.

"What if I offered?" Riley said.

A pause.

"That… would be helpful," Emerson said slowly. "But you can’t tell our parents."

"But—"

"Riley."

"What if they want to help?"

Emerson suddenly looked much, much older than seventeen. "They won't."

Riley stayed quiet.

Finally, Emerson spoke. "Was that a serious offer? Because…"

"Oh— of course." Riley unbuttoned the top button of their coat, exposing more of their neck. "Do you have to do it from my neck?"

Emerson shrugged. "Your arm would probably be easier to hide."

"Right— right." They unbuttoned the rest of their coat, folding it over the railing of the stairs.

Emerson took their wrist. Their hands were cold. "I'll try to make it quick." They looked away. "And… thank you."

Riley knew this. They were terrified. They didn't want to summon a demon, didn't want to enter a pact with them, didn't want to be hurt, didn't want to meet the others. He barely remembered his parents, but he wanted them. He wanted his moms, or his dad, or just… someone, to give him a big hug. To tell him it would be alright.

But it wouldn't happen. He was dragged to the prepared room, his face was cut, the blood that had been collected for years spread out, along the lines and groves set into the floor. He cried out from the pain, but the staff just told him to be quiet, to repeat after the one staff member who stayed in the room once it began.

Riley did so, calling out to a demon, his stutter getting worse with each word, worse as the room grew colder, worse as he could feel a demon responding to him.

Then they appeared. Tall, towering over Riley, eyes hard, face and neck scarred from burns. Their voice was low and made Riley shake, terrified.

“I am Laorah, 36th Rank. Do you propose a-”

Laorah cut of as they processed that it was a kid who had summoned them, shaking and terrified and so obviously hurt on the floor. Laorah's eyes narrowed, looking at the staff member still in the room, at the other room full of observers. They knelt, gently taking Riley’s hands in their own, guiding the young human to cover their ears, to close his eyes.

Riley flinched at the touch, but followed the directions, terrified of anything else that might be done to him.

Laorah stood, assessing the runes and wards meant to protect the people nearby. Laorah couldn't leave the area, but their magic could reach past the lines- and the observation room grew colder, down past freezing, the only door out freezing over, freezing shut. The staff there started panicking, yelling orders at the staff member within the room with Laorah. He never had a chance to do anything, though, as Laorah froze the blood in his body, shaping the ice, tearing the man apart from the inside.

The observers got more desperate, banging against the door, looking for a different way out, radioing things quickly. Laorah couldn't freeze the other room as well with the glass separating them from it, so they froze the glass itself, shattering it in its frame. More able to reach, the people inside the room started freezing, being torn apart by their own blood as it froze, much like the first man.

They were about to have Riley break the protective circle, let them out to cause similar destruction to the rest of the staff in the building, when Riley cried out, their entire body tensing, shaking, though he kept his eyes closed, his ears covered. Laorah’s eyes locked onto the collar around his neck and growled softly, taking a step back and raising their hands as a new person came into the room, calm and collected.

“Riley here will continue being electrocuted until you swear to no longer hurt any of the staff here.”

Laorah glanced down at the weeping child and nodded, speaking softly.

“If you stop hurting this child, I swear I will not kill any more of your personnel here.”

Riley whimpered softly as the electricity faded from his body, still in too much pain to move.

Laorah knelt again, scooping up the poor child, watching him carefully.

“His proposed pact is a basic blood pact. He gets immortality, you get fed.” The man said.

“He does not propose it himself. I cannot accept,” Laorah stated.

“That's.. that's the pact I propose,” Riley muttered softly, starting to shake again.

Laorah looked down at the poor kid. “I refuse to harm this child, even to feed. You will provide one of your employees to feed me in his place. On that condition, and only on that condition, will I accept. Is that satisfactory for you, little one?” They asked Riley softly.

“And for you?” They asked the worker, nearly growling.

Riley nodded weakly in Laorah’s arms.

The employee considered.

“No more than once a month, we will provide you with a pint of human or animal blood, sourced from our employees if it is human.”

Laorah nodded.

“Fine. I accept this pact.”

Their pact mark- a blue tear under their eye- appeared on their face, a matching pink one on Riley’s. More markings appeared along their leg, white crystalline marks, more evidence of the pact. Those were not replicated on the child, though.

The employee approached with a ribbon, enchantments and wards embroidered onto it. Laorah growled, backing up.

“That is not happening.”

The employee stopped moving.

“You are not getting out of there unless this goes on. However, we would be willing to negotiate.”