Crimson Diplomacy

Light in its very existence has taken on a harsh from to his eyes. There was absolutely nothing that could fix this. She had committed his life to this, what ever this was in turn in attempt to save their world while simultaneously destroying what they had built together. Perhaps it was meant to be in its own right, maddening. Granted Sylas was presented with an option, there is no easy choice before him. In fact there is no choice at all. The answer itself remains in the form of yes. 

This is a path he cannot let Delilah take on her own. No matter what may lay before him, he only wanted answers. Whilst the point had been made that Death parted them - clearly it wasn't going to stop. No matter how uncomfortable the outcome left him presently. His struggle remained with himself as the remnants of the best parts of himself were naught but echos, specters and ghosts clinging to his skin pale and gaunt. 

If tonight has given either of them any thing in solid facts its his near fanatical devotion to her has remained unchecked and unchained. That Sylas is still very much the same man she married. This now fragile creature that he should see only as prey can command every fiber of his sanity, whilst simultaneously lifting and burden from his shoulders. Delilah, fragile, shattering Delilah, remains his one flaw. And he would give and bleed for her until there is nothing left. 

Sylas, now an irrevocably marred creature nearly lacquered in blood, needs to reaffirm the near uncertainty of their  future for the both of them. "There's no life for me away from you" his words are likely neither the confirmation nor denial she may be looking for and that is by his design. What awaits him if he were to leave here is only a painful death. As if the fresh scar across his chest isn't reminder enough of how moot everything becomes once its occurred.  

Yet he cannot help but notice how she radiates heat like the sun. Suddenly he's hyper aware that his hands must be freezing by comparison. Suddenly he's acutely aware of whatever this new sensation is as its compounded with a want, nay need to seek out heat, and just beneath her skin remains nothing more than a storming sea of blood. Contradictory to his words, Sylas moves once more. Releasing her from his grip and walking towards one of the high back chairs by the fire place. 

The hand that marred the wall begins to knit itself back together, undead flesh pulling back leaving no trace of ever making such crass contact with the stone.  Its happened before and he's wrestling with it again. Driving, threatening to tear the last parts of his sanity back into the darkness with the rest of him. “I’m worried about this,” This however seemed to carry more weight than such a banal word should. 

. Seeing her break down like this hurts, but he needs to know she is still Delilah behind all this new found power. Until this moment he hasn't been terribly convinced this was simply to have him back. Her words from before were far to convincing that this was nothing more than a way to seize knowledge in their present damnation. Moments before she was merely speaking on him as one does a prized possession or accomplishment. As ill-fated luck would have it, shattering her mask was the only clear and present way to reach the bottom of this. 

When her knees threatened to buckle beneath her, Sylas's grip did not falter. He would support her in anything, even terrible decisions such as this once he held the correct information. In any situation its better to know in knowing all the parts rather than have something of a surprise waiting for one at the end of it. Trust is fundamentally built on truth - could he take a leap of faith and trust her again? This time there is no lie in her tone, nothing to account for even a modicum of omission. Yet the lines in his face remain the same irritated expression until she can no longer continue to bear it. 

For a moment longer he remains silent, letting the quiet take what it wishes for seconds longer. The weight of it all finally settles as he finally releases one of her shoulders to carefully wipe the tears from her face with a bent joint of his finger rather than the pads. "I am angry with this there's no two ways about it but I will never hate you" He takes a moment to pause again, lifting her chin to look at him once more. 

If it was only that easy. If only every ounce of frustration Sylas is feeling could be solved by those simple two words. Yet, she was listening to him, but almost seemed belligerent to understand. Instinctively his fingers curl inward as he's hyper aware of what now exists on them. The last thing he wishes is to harm her not matter how the wall had now suffered for the madness she's beginning to cause. Regardless It appears that maybe he's finally made it through to her. Its the only thing he can hope for whilst warm fingers find the skin and muscle that covers the ridge of his spine. 

For a moment there is a wash of calm, a look of familiarity and kindness thats been absent on his features for the night as it would seem. Yet in the very next instance this hope is not only fleeting but shattered. "Delilah-" It sounds as if he's trying to break her through process, if to stop but it doesn't work. Every muscle in his body pulls tight with the sudden shift in his temperament. His movements, reactions are if anything akin to a whirlwind. Delilah is right about the power he wields. 

It was this misguided attempt to placate him which remained the catalyst. He's taken her buy the shoulders and pinned her to the stone of the wall to where she has no choice but to truly look at him. While to look upon him now she would only see Sylas, a product of her own warped attempt. His voice rose and fell the very same, but it was not the same man. Every ounce of this was her doing. Not anymore, perhaps never again. There is something unsettling, unnatural in his presence as Sylas is now an apex predator. 

He can see in the very moment the stark reality of the revelation slams into the forefront of her mind. Instantly he sees the tethers of his own heart break for her, yet he knows it must be said. Its a poisonous thing, but he needs this release. He wants take that first step and run to her side the very moment Delilah moves away with uneasy steps that match what he can only assume is as chaotic and ruined as they both now appear. 

Yet he doesn't move, only remains in the very same place he's been since arriving. A strange in his own home. He simply says his peace and is now reserved to watching and waiting. Letting the silence fill the space like the apt tool it is. However in this case its best described as a weapon of thought. As if he's listening to it, waiting for the very moment that would speak of anything. Granted true silence is unattainable -  for there is always noise.

 In fact its for the first time he realizes why humans fear silence. Fear is one of the most powerful of motivators. Had the price of Deiliah's own personal fears been worth all this? Sylas's resolve falters, if only for a moment, his hand reaches forward to take her wrist but its too late. What he sees once she turns back on him is what can only be described as an irrational level of calm.  For a split second in time he hopes she's come around to see reason. This is no longer the case, in fact its a display that twists and dips into the realms of the most violent kind of calm.

 "This is not an affliction that you can just explain away. Not here, this isn't Tal'Dorei or Marquet. I cannot give you credit where there is none" He tossed a hand up dismissively before rubbing around his jaw line. There's a slight gruff exasperation of disgust at the mix of gore thats now dried to his face, not for her. However the longer she continues to speak, giving him exactly the answers he wished for. Sylas finds himself figuratively floored. For a moment he only turns his head to the side as his jaw clenches in anger. The very thing he feared was indeed a reality and they would both surely find their demise over it. 

It would seem the very reason why Necromancy was outlawed in the kingdom is the reason he is standing here right now. Where Delilah is irrationally calm, Sylas displays quiet the opposite of effects. Perhaps its only to due with the singular fact that everything he's strives and accomplished in his life is now suddenly for naught. Every singular ounce of it is now as pointless as the heart that resides in his chest. The laugh that escapes his throat is hollow, dripping with malevolence as he walks towards the nearest stone wall.Tentatively his hand moved to the wall for support, searching for something familiar, something grounding as he stepped forward. For a moment he rests his hands upon it whilst his head hangs forward.  

There was nothing. 

The room itself felt broke, barren, there was nothing tranquil about the silence this time. Yet he remained, turning to lean his shoulder into the stone while his gaze remained fixated on the center of the room. Its a cry thats unlike anything he's let escape his lips in a long time. Theres anger, loss, and utter fear for the future. As he turned, hand cracking in protest as its curled into a fist. The first punch lands sound against the stone and smears the red against the stone in vibrant contrast. Its bitting, yet not stinging, He hardly feels it. 

There was no enlightenment thats manifested from this, but rather a release of frustration and rage. Tremors coursed through his shoulders with each ragged breath of frustration with an edge of pain that resonates through his hand. Its evident that he is growing terribly tired of the same four words she keeps repeating to him. He only stands his ground on her approach unlike earlier. 

It was no little secret that Sylas had already made peace with his looming death well before it came to him, perhaps a bit earlier than expected before. However it was not the one he anticipated, to simply hit the point where he was going to just be a husk of his former self. He was in fact at peace with it coming at the end of a blade rather than the illness that already threatened him. Constantly over his shoulder, the pale masked face of the raven queen. Reminding him his days were regardless, little and few between. 

The space between them is charged but not akin to a storm but the precipice of the eye. A calm sort of calamity before it breaks loose once more. Regardless of the twitch of anger that persists in his jaw line, he cannot help but appreciate her resolve. How resolute she is in her conviction. Sylas is almost apologetic in the singular fact he's about to destroy it. Almost. Yet its a stark reality of the this, that she needs to hear nevertheless if she wants to or not. 

He allows her the liberties she wishes to take, the light scratch of her nails against his cold skin. Its a testament to how devoted he is to her even now and he waits for her to lower herself back down. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe they failed because I was at peace with my death? That I was finally no longer in any pain- I made my peace with my fate long ago and you took that from me." It may appear that he was in part ungrateful but this was not the path they agreed upon. 

However this is not the case, such thoughts continued to stay lodged in his mind well after the words have already left his lips. Yet Sylas knows from the sudden change in her outward appearance that whatever may follow will be most certainly an omission of the truth.  Its a common mask for Delilah, one he's seen many a time before. Granted what he can hear before she even opens her mouth is more telling than her words could ever be. Its the unmistakable noise of a quickening heart beat. This new state of being is starting to rear its head more so as a curse than a blessing.

 In the past he would simply have let whatever the potential argument be, go. None the wiser to anything of the sort. However now everything has changed. He cannot, will not let this pass without reaching the bottom of events. Whilst he does in part blame himself, a rapid fire scenario of if only plays within his head. Regardless that he is still standing nearly head to toe covered in a rather grizzly mixture of earth, he makes no move to change nor even step out of his boots. 

 "I'm not settling for hazy generalizations. Not this time" His voice was just as firm as it ever was in any situation that called for it. Naturally she was normally on the side of a casual observer to anything he directed his fury towards. Rarely was she the recipient of it. Sylas is by nature impulsive and a touch reckless. "I just" He paused for a moment clenching his hand into a fist yet again causing claw like nails to easily dig into his flesh.

Sylas was helpless on that front to do anything more than act as a simple block for wind. All of his actions for the present had simply relied on new base instincts. That part of his mind was simply clawing around in the back, overridden as his sense of humanity returned. If anything this is what it felt like to truly be a monster, more or less a monster trapped in a human form.

If anything the question of trust seemed to be looming about in both their minds. How could any one trust a thing such as what he'd become now? Certainly after witnessing such a brutal act befall a very unsuspecting bystander. He held no knowledge that he was intended to die to slate Sylas's hunger. Regardless that he, lacking finesse, made a total mess of this. 

Perhaps it was to be expected. Yet all such notions were banished the very moment she ran a finger across the very weapon that caused a death and the potential of another one tonight. So close to fangs that were almost her own undoing. An the remaining shreds of doubt shattered the very moment that followed.

He watched her silently again as she moved away from him. Sylas stood of his own volition if anything to watch whilst his wife worked to preserve something of a half truth to the world that would wake to find nothing more than a mauled body. The part of it that was the truth was simply that a man had died from an attack of some sort and that Sylas Briarwood was still very much dead. No one had to know that it was a state of death that allowed for movement above ground. Yet it was exceedingly surreal to see his own name engraved into stone with a frightfully short expiration date.  

However if he was honest with himself, Sylas was more than aware it was not but a few years off regardless. Even if he hadn't of run a foul the grim blade, illness would have rendered him there regardless.

Sylas remained some what lost in the process of simply staring at his own headstone marker. Almost unblinking as if he were to and it would turn into some ghastly creature that it was meant to be but it remained simply a stone. Thankfully he was drawn from the one sided stare down again by her words. It was always a simply action, so easy that it was akin to breathing, if he held the need to any more, To be by her side. As if they truly were two halves of the same whole and not in the metaphorical sense that young lovers tried to claim. That this was truly meant to last. However unlike before there was a sense of renewed confidence, yet the apprehension remained that if he were to take her hand she too would vanish and this would simply be a dream for the damned.

With what was expected, magic returned them to a place that only perhaps days ago was familiar. Death and time did not play well together it would seem, what may have been days were actually weeks spent in that eternal void. Every ounce of the surroundings looked like his home, it appeared to be but it felt entirely changed in some way. As if he shouldn't be here. While Delilah walked from where they blinked back into existence, Sylas simply stood in the place for a moment. Its a cruel thing to see someone looking so lost in their own home.

Perhaps it was due in part that everything looked, remained so in place and just as immaculate as they always left it. Whilst Sylas currently stood disheveled, blood stained and in tatters compared to a life time of appearing just as undefiled as the room. It was that singular realization that allowed for previous shattered bits of doubt to slowly gather. Through grit teeth and a glimmer of elongated canines he drew in a shaking breath, as he would only need now to breathe to speak.

"What did you do?"

He drew his eyes again from the tree line and back to her, watching her attempt to hide from the cold he could no longer feel acutely, listening to her words as they faltered.He knew differently now, fear not for himself, no longer concerned for what he might do but her wellbeing was decaying. There was a moment still where he could not stop the caution that lingered in this moment. It echoed in every move he made, the steps to return to her side were extremely calculated.

 Even with careful claws that wrapped between her cold fingers regardless of the gore that he remained coated in. Sylas was slightly fearful of touching her, even something as simple as this.Just placing his arms around her. As though she was made of ice itself, that he would melt her with just a touch. At bit in the sense that a wolf does not keep a rabbit safe. It had been a rather large learning curve for him to realize she was simply not crystal or glass that would crack in the prolonged exposure to heat. 

The smile on her face was all he needed as reassurance. That everything would be okay. That this wasn't just some dream, that he wouldn't wake to find himself alone.Everything still felt surreal, a heinous black smog that would not fade. It was poisonous and vitriolic like a siren song he couldn't shake yet the source was unknown.

 There was something about her words that didn't quite sit right but presently he did not posses the mental clarity to successfully unpack exactly what it was. He'd only just come to terms with this new state of what may be called living regardless of knowing what he was would be hunted. It was no present consequence, what is - is the present state of Delilah. 

Thus it should have come to no surprise that the blade wasn't for him. Yet he was trying to avoid attachments as much as he was the instinct that rolled in both fear and the potential pleasure the previous drink had been.The blood is bright red, first, then rich scarlet. His jaw is set and clenched as he yields both the her and this new instinct to simply feed. 

Sylas breathes in, lets it well up almost to the point of running over the curve of her arm, and then carefully brings it up to his mouth. Sylas scrapes a fang against her skin. It's not enough pressure, so no blood comes forth from this, but there's a bloom of irritation against the pallor. He tastes it, and feels the life returning to his lifeless body. Just for a second, just long enough to make him remember. What it was like -he breathes in deeply through his nose; not for the air, but for the scent. 

The scent is too much, and though the blood is still flowing freely, Sylas bites. the taste of her skin is hauntingly and tantalizingly familiar. At first he was trying to be so careful of her and now he's simply undone. The claws he was so careful of begin to needle their way deeper into her skin rather than a careful scratch. Both far away and shatteringly close, he barely hears anything over the sound of Delilah's increasingly fast heartbeat.

 Terror has set in, is biting down with teeth of its own, and there's adrenaline and a pointless but invigorating struggle, a shudder of ravenous excitement. Sylas feels like something else truly predatory and dangerous. Something that only exists to sate its hunger and does not care about such petty mortal concerns as morality and then. 

Then there was some shred of the man he once was left with his will and decency. Perhaps this was the most difficult act of any portion of his life but to push himself away in a blur back against the frozen ground. Sylas' movements only quelled once his back collided with equally unforgiving stone. Wither slab or fencing he wasn't entirely sure as every muscle flexed dangerously. He can only stare at her with an air of confusion and concern. there is acceptance. 

There is little comfort in the mocking orange flicker of the lantern light, in fact it creeps into the faint realm of pain. He keeps his eyes down turned, a refusal to watch this or look at her. The reason itself is obvious, simple, he cannot take her gaze. Not in his present broken state. It's perhaps the most intelligent decision he's made. He knows himself enough that if he dares to, he would pull his hand away and rise to lash out as new instincts call for blood. Perhaps for the first time Sylas recognizes that he needs help.

Its only instinctive when he tries to draw his face away from her hands. His mind remains at war with itself with the tandem thoughts waging to kill, feed and to protect, defend. Every sense feels both equally deadened and simultaneously heightened. The heat of her finger tips feels magnified against the lifeless chill his skin has acquired. That same sensation of warmth he's associated with the congealing ichor that paints the lines of his jaw and throat.

Under normal circumstances he would allow her whatever liberties her hands wished to take, but these are not normal circumstances. His head remains turned askew and away from her and the light. The muscles of his jaw, throat and the lines of his shoulders draw tight in fight with the waring instinct. Neither have won over the other. The shudder that wrecks his shoulders is not from physical pain, but memories. Its a lie he cannot tell himself right now. The silence feels just as deadly as he's become

There's a fear that takes hold some where in the pit of his mind. He finds no hope in the roll of the lit light. Still he remains set against looking at her, the red of his irises becoming that of a sliver as he doesn't wish the meet what will be, what he thinks will be. Once again she starts to speak and things gradually become harder to keep together. 

The remaining threads seem to fray into nothing, the last parts the seem to be holding him together break with each word. His shoulders sink further if such was even possible. He cannot find the words, if there are any that can express the nightmarish reality that comes to light with all that he was and all that he'd become in the past moments.

 He's never been in such a situation before, no one has or so he would like to think. Granted he remains at the very end of a fraying rope. As it appeared his silent pleas and warnings went ignored, perhaps unanswered.

Its the same low seething hiss that escapes his lips again in warning, in fear. The last thing he wished to do was lash out at her. Yet she holds the same anchoring effect as always. Granted any one in their right mind would have sense to run, irony perhaps. Sylas only continues to stare at her for the time she stands before him. Again Delilah speaks his name, questioning his existence perhaps as much as he is. Its a gaze he can no longer take and in that moment Sylas falters.

There's a steady thrum of magic about her and its just as in intoxicating as the day he first laid eyes upon her. Save that now standing in what should be a biting cold Sylas felt raw, exposed. His red eyes tracking every singular move she makes from the step forward to the out stretched hand. 

The ring that gleams is almost a grim reminder, but one he seemed to focus on for a moment. There's nothing tranquil about the sudden silence  in what some consider a peaceful place. Her very presence feels heave in the air, an unmistakable one. It would be so easy to think this all but naught some monstrous nightmare. That if he takes her hand it will all just go away? To awake in their home, in their bed to find it just simply that. Oh how far from the truth such a wish was.

There's anger, loss and utter fear fro the future should this simple wish be simply that. Its a crushing reality thats on the rise as he takes a hesitant step forward. His own hand remains still slick, the blood dripping while it chills, perhaps freezing and congealing in time to his fingers in vibrant contrast to his skin. Each of his movements are slow, shaky perhaps in equal parts fear and calculation. 

Yet underneath the gore a glint shone through, his own band that matched her's. There is nothing he can do to pull the shards of his mind back into place, not within the alloted time given. Not enough to mack it look anything believable sitting underneath the broad strokes of raw power and feral emotion left wreathed around his shoulders. All he can do is resign himself to keep his ground. The weight of the sheer presence of frustration and rage still has him by the throat. Its wrapped tight enough as it threatens to hang him.

The ring on his somewhat now unnaturally long fingers  retains his focus. The muscles in his jaw pulse as he quickly withdraws his own hand reaching for hers. Not like this, what if his actions are simply a front for the predatory creature he's now become by her doing?  Not that he knows its her fault. If logic still held a larger part of his present thoughts it wouldn't seem so surprising. 

His eyes draw distant regardless that she's not far from him, he's miles away. Their red hue catching the light as if they are indeed glowing like the dying embers of a fire. There's a sharp inhale again of unneeded breath from him. It pulls and tugs at his shoulders rising in what could only be described as a ragged exhale. This action is simply a habit of a body that was only perhaps a few days ago alive still struggling to shrug off the remains of its mortality.

Its a dull haze of static that over takes as Sylas again refuses he gaze and sinks deeper in to what ever this is. He's not entirely sure there's a name for it. He knows she's only there for him, if she is in fact even real. He's not entirely convinced this isn't some phantom in a hellish nightmare. In contrast its not the help he wants, but to be left to his own devices perhaps to feed or walk until the dawn breaks and he is rendered to nothing. 

Vampires while rare now days are hunted ruthlessly, what kind of a life would either of them be able to have? What ever it is, its not the one he promised to give her. However something else catches his attention, the biting pain that was in his palms seems to have vanished. In time to the pain that's also been reaching across his chest since perhaps before he dragged himself from the grave. It reaches from his collar and across his chest. Yet, he cannot recall why it's even there regardless that he can feel it.

Sylas' shaking hand moves with barely enough motor controls to silence the nervous twitch in his fingers to hold his head for a moment as it all comes racing back. Nothing's coherent as it flashes in colours of unforgiving blackened steel, screaming as it sliced through the air.