Letting the Wolf out of the Den
Samuel sat in a velvet chair, metal encasing the edges and pulling the cloth taut like skin over muscle.
The man was smoking a pipe, or pretending to at least. It had been nearly a year since his protege' had disappeared. The werewolf and Sara had gone off looking for her, they were near his castle last time he checked. They had probably left that self-cursed pig man behind and were somewhere past his home, he hoped it was Spain. The girl would love Spain.
Either way, it was most probably time to bring them all back. He had observed his Atren's new acquaintances from the shadows for a good few months now. They all seemed either harmless or fairly good-natured toward the reasonable monster. He hope dearly some of the more monstrous ones would rub off on his fledgling. That Lord of the minted forest seemed well enough satisfied with his own skin, he did a fair bit more slaughtering than Atren did. She was so selective. Part of the world order, predators, prey and such; while true, did not mean that their natures had to be restricted to the world's population. Samuel tapped the pipe shifting the leaves in it to freshen the smoke.
And then there were the smaller ones, that despiciable mood bug who could not so much as defend himself from a fly. He sneered, he had no clue why his sireling interacted with such a low life man who was so uncertain of his purpose.
And then those mortals, that card girl, the small pink king, the pink....ball of fluff. The pipe broke suddenly is his grasp as he thought about the pitiful mortals she had accautinted herself with. Her werewolf husband was bad enough, but the pink king. The man should be dead. He thought he had taught his Atren better. Any debt once payed, must be eliminated. Had the king saved Samuel's life once he had returned the favor the king would be dead, never leave someone you owed a favor alive. Instead he was ...a friend.
The pipe splintered more.
And then that red king. So many iterations of this one face. Samuel smiled, a small twinge of the lips, but a smile. This red one who was currently holding Atren for him, so easily manipulated. What a burden it must be to have ones you care about be so easily killed.
He shook his head, there were so many new faces in this year, only the fourth after the house was set up. Of course, the larger picture was quite different, especially when one considered all of the candy children and other characters she had devoured.
The suited man dropped the broken splinters of pipe into a trashcan and folded his fingers together to think.
The larger picture was quite complicated, and quite simple. Obviously his protege had plans for each individual, she always did, what they were and how they weaved together was the question. Of course everything was for mere entertainment. Atren had taken on her own proteges, teaching them, helping them, while at the same time creating enemies and prey. How all these pieces would fit together some day he did not know at the moment, nor honestly did he care to know the intricacies. The end result was enough, to watch the rest unfold was the entertainment, the reason, for all of his daughter's designs.
Now that he had watched from the shadows, interacted, talked with, or disposed of all of the pieces he was sure that her plans were not too much for her. She knew everything she needed to about each of her pawns, pieces, and friends, and food to manipulate or encourage them into creating interesting situations that would please her mind. Whether the result was blood shed, friendship, food, or foe, he was now certain that Atren would be fine.
The current situation his daughter was in was her own fault for growing complacent, and perhaps she knew this and it was why she pushed the edges of chance so far. An awakening to her senses was what she needed. Or perhaps it was something else.
The count sat and thought. What reason would she have for putting herself in such precarious situations?
He grinned, a rarity. It was perfect. It was an experiment.
She had put herself in the most dangerous position she could and she was still alive. This new world she had entered still reacted to her body the same as her home did.
She would regenerate, no matter what. Through acid, manglings, viruses, blood loss, mental duress, even being broken down into components. She had experienced it all. Short of an atom bomb or the fae she had befriended in her current world she was safe.
She had tested her immortality to the limit, and she had found her answer.
Samuel Vladimir Dracul of the House Draculesti, Viovode of Romania, stood and dusted his hands of the remaining wood fragments.
It was time to let his daughter out.
