Swept Away [Etoile]

[Sylvias]

The castle was unlike any other. While Sylvias could simply appear where he wanted to be, it was always taxing coming across souls in this area. Dark Fey came off as confused and backwards. For how they navigated the dark castle was beyond him, and he did not ponder the subject any longer. Tonight was a lonesome night for the Dark Queen. She had been typical of any Ruler, always dwindling in private activities. Lang, attempting to sleep; Phaedra, combing her hair and now Etoile was reading.

Two chairs were placed before a fireplace in the Dark Queen’s room, the large bed lofted behind them. The chairs were unlike the ones he had encountered in Fire and Ice. For Fire was made out of stone, and Ice had been an image of glass. However, these chairs were extravagant and large -- as though a pillow melded into some sort of seating device. Which Sylvias took occupation in, gazing at the Dark Queen across from him. Her eyes had been on the book, but the shadows of the fire place would move, as though pushing back at his presence.

Would she see the Death Fey right away? She had to. Death Fey’s eyes were always obstructing when it came to peace, and she would be able to feel the pressured gaze upon her. From this angle, Etoile looked rather pampered -- as she should be; she was Queen. The Death Fey didn’t probe for her past just yet, wanting to be acknowledge before he went through those private gates.

While he had wanted to voice a sincere greeting, he chose not to, simply imaging what her soul would be like near the end.

[Etoile L'astaria]

Reading was one of the dark queen's favorite past times. She hated to attend anything extravagant or gaudy, though he didn't quite mind the attire she'd been placed in. For now she was reading one of the more ancient texts on dark weaving. She wished the subject had been on death, for how it fascinated her...

It wasn't as if she hadn't heard of death fey before, the Fissure of Woe was a great reminder of how awesome their power could be, and just how little that of the mortal fey were (immortal? No... they could still be killed.) Those eyes she could feel on her, and immediately her book snapped closed.

Her moth eaten dress swished as she stood, dragging the floor in a most ungraceful manner as she put the book back in the shelf, not acknowledging his presence. That is... until--

"Has death come for me so soon? My, what a pleasant surprise," she put a hand to her chest, appearing honored, even. "To what to I owe the displeasure of this visit?" Her voice was cracking, dry, not at all what one would expect from a youthful, graceful queen that she pretended to be.

[Sylvias]

Even in her imperfect dress, the Dark Queen was really a sight for eyes. Not as eye-catching as the Ice Queen, for she was physically untouchable.. And while no one could truly compare and contrast the beauty between the two, Sylvias had admired such mentality from Etolie. He had wished he could pick the woman’s brain, to understand why she had passed Death off at first. From what he could tell, the girl was well aware of his presence. But instead of reacting, she continued on with routine, placed the book back and finally greeted Sylvias.

When she spoke, the voice didn’t match up with those pretty lips. As she was speaking he decided to get lost in her sense of being. She was a demonic little saint, wasn’t she? The girl had thrived on trickery and lies, and was a master of deceit. He had never seen a past such as this. But it wasn’t her powers that caught the Death Fey off guard, but it was the fact that she had been the one to assist in Sylvias’ dearly departed Queen. He had no personal qualms over it, for feelings didn’t come naturally. Logically, however, he should have hated Etoile. He did not.

“Soon?” Sylvias piqued, as though her gesture was out of order. “I think I am on time, don’t you?” He had wanted to see how she would respond. Would she admit to deserving to die? Or would she try to trick her way out of that truth?

[Etoile L'astaria]

"Incredibly late, actually," she answered quickly, amusement shining in her eyes as she continued to walk about the room, never once approaching his presence. "But perhaps, fashionably so," when she caught sight of his form, she grinned and spun around in the middle of the room before finally putting away her childish whims, dancing barefoot all of the way back to her chair which she all but hopped in like an eager schoolgirl ready to gossip about boys.

"No need for introductions, I assume," she tapped her chin. "I would offer you something to drink, but you have no need for food," she laughed delightedly and clasped her hands together. There it was again, that shrieking, witch's laugh.

Etoile was a pretty woman, not a pageant winning beauty, but pretty in her own strange way. Despite the odd streaks of mismatched eyeliner and smeared lipstick (from where she'd rubbed her tired eyes and started to chew on her knuckle), beneathe that was a young girl's face.

"I'm all ears," she waved her hand, her silent request for him to get on with it as she leaned on her head and watched him in rapt fascination. A death fey... how beautiful.

[Sylvias]

The soul was almost on flames -- not literal flames but there was so much going on that he had a hard time trying to make any sense of it. Sylvias moved his head slightly, eyeing the way the girl’s arms moved, how she twirled, as though dancing with unseen partner. And just like that she stopped to take a seat, and she had looked upon him. There was no sense of fear, no sense of anguish -- in fact, she was rather welcoming to the idea of Death being here, wasn’t she?

At her joke, he didn’t feel any amusement. While he had not been able to eat, he was in awe of the whole idea. Because he too, wanted to know what it felt like to live in those mortal shoes. Going around and harassing Fey for what they hold most dear, wasn’t always that exciting. The simplicity appealed to Death Fey, not the complex part.

Feeling it appropriate, Sylvias leaned forward in his chair, as though they were going to negotiate just by simply the choice of words. He had a closer relationship with the old Queen, and had wanted to extend that invitation to Etoile, no matter how disappointed he was in the turn of events. “While names are unimportant, they will be if you accept my offer.” While it would be more proper to do the offer first, he had wanted to give a little disclaimer about what was coming up next.

“I am here for your soul. Not right at the moment, but when your time comes, it would be of great desire to have it,” he had almost been this frank with the Fire Ruler, but he had to use some tricks to pull it off. Etoile, having an upper hand in tricks, probably would have appealed more to the blunt of end of things. “If you do accept, you will be greatly rewarded, of course. If you desire anything in particular.”

For he could not sense any realism in her soul.

[Etoile L'astaria]

Welcoming was an understatement. Delighted was more the word. He was fascinating to her in every way. A fey that had cheated death and now aimlessly wandered the planet, looking for souls to reap and mortals (immortals?) to bother with his games.

Her large brown eyes blinked as he proposed the idea. "My soul? That dirty, rotten thing? You could possibly desire it?" she sounded intrigued by the posibility, but not completely sold on the idea. At least, however, he had been upfront with her about his reason for visiting. Beating around the bush and mindgames never set well with her and would have earned him a quick dismissal (though, of course, there was never a guarantee a death fey would leave.)

Taking the time to think about the possible rewards, her dull eyes started to light up with realization of what she had in her court. Not her "court" as in fey, but the power she held.

What she could hold, what she wanted.

The heartless, joyless dark fey child seemed almost giddy in that moment, or at least as close to giddy as the queen could come.

"Could you teach me the art of death weaving," she spoke in barely a whisper, as if it was a secret between the two of them. She knew all too well how it was a taboo, how it could claim the lives, destroy the body, amongst other reprocussions should it be performed. But fey had learned it, why else would she have ran across a mention or two of it in her texts?

And if she did not learn it before her time was up, she felt as if she might as well have failed.

[Sylvias]

A smirk appeared on Sylvias face when she called her soul dirty. Hers was the last thing to be considered dirty to the Death Fey, for there were others that had seen far worse off. While some contracts were hard to form, it was always easier to deal with Dark. The Dark Fey always had an unnatural canny for things mostly drenched in death. It was like they were all born to be morbid things. Yet, the old Queen had been so different to them all -- able to process logically and love. Etoile was unlike that, vast and jagged around the edges, and yet entirely everywhere all at once.

He watched the woman before him light up. The reaction was almost frightening to Sylvias. He hadn’t expected a response like this from a Ruler, but that is why the girl was so appealing to him. Even though he knew everything about her up until now, she was truly forward about what she wanted. Which was to Death Weave. It wasn’t like normal magic, after all. It couldn’t be taught in mortal lands. Usually those who had near death experiences awoke to having the ability, but even then it was rare.

While to teach was a misuse on her part, he could give it to her, and then he would have to instruct her on how to use it. Death Fey usually didn’t like this request, afraid that the wielder would corrupt the soul and there would be nothing left for them to gain in the end. That did not matter to Sylvias, however, for he had been through so many souls that he wouldn’t have minded so little. Not to mention he had his previous contract in mind.

“Certainly,” Sylvias replied, “anything else?”

[Etoile L'astaria]

It couldn't be Etoile's fault she had used the word 'teach,' for the only mentions she'd found of it in all of her years of searching was the fact it merely existed.

When he said he would do what she asked in return, she all but squealed. To her, it was like confessing her undying love for someone only to have it returned. "Just promise me you will instruct me how to use it properly. Just because you're dead is no excuse for you not informing me of what I need to know. If I am tricked, I will come back and haunt you," it was a weird promise, no one could just decide to become a death fey, but her threat stood all of the same.

"You do this for me... and you can have my soul when the time is right," she closed her eyes, content with her offer. "I would gladly give it to the one who teaches me the last of which I wish to know, what I have spent hundreds of years searching for, but never found."

Etoile crossed her legs, looking serious for the first time since they started talking. "I believe that we will have an excellent partnership," she flashed that smile again, the smile that somehow lifted her dark features and made them seem brighter.

[Sylvias]

The squeal made Sylvias blink a few times. While he had no need to use the lids, he had wanted to place emphasis on how confused he was with the reaction. She was right, however. To be granted the one thing you truly desired and searched for would really be worth the soul. The Death Fey placed both hands on the armrests of the chair, pushing himself to stand. He approached the girl sitting in the chair, at her composed posture. When he was at last close enough, he moved his right hand out toward her to take.

He didn’t need to come into contact with another Fey to do the contract, but to give the ability of Death Weaving, touch was required. “My name is Sylvias, simply call it when you need me,” while there was no need to say ‘deal’ that much information would be obvious enough that the contract had been weaved. Now the woman was in his tangled webs of contracts. All of her smiling made a sort of genuine smile come to Sylvias’ face.

To be haunted by a mortal? What a wondrous thought. He had no idea how Death Fey were born and slain. Trying to imagine Etoile a Death Fey had been heavy -- he couldn’t imagine such rickety souls doing what he had did. But then again, who had Sylvias once been? Had he been similar to Etoile when he was alive? Ditching his selfishness, he went into a kneel.

He was before the girl, staring at her, the dark glow of his eyes staring at the tip of the girl’s nose. “While we take what is most important to you, we do not need the use of trickery,” Sylvias said this with pure truth, for Death was rather powerful and didn’t need to stoop to any level to gain what they had desired. They merely used what appealed to the living the most -- which he had obviously done with Etoile.

[Etoile L'astaria]

"Sylvias... a beautiful name for such a beautiful creature," she offered her hand to him in response, both intrigued and fascinated now as she had been. "Believe me, I'm sure we will be seeing a lot of each other," for she would want to go over every single question, delve into everything that she could possibly know about death weaving. She would find a way to harvest it, to make it her own. To maximize the benefits and yet lower the costs. Yes, she had her own ideas of what it would entail, but to really understand it, she would first need the key.

"Then, the pact is sealed," Etoile, even if she could have backed out of the contract, would not. As long as he upheld his deal, than her soul would truly be his when her time came. She might have been one to be uncaring, to be heartless, cruel even, there may have been no love in her heart, but she was honest when it came to that moment in time.

The woman who weaved tangled webs of lies spoke truthfully to the death fey, for she hoped to receive an honest promise in return. Death weaving for a soul. How extraordinary, but now she knew, that when she died, she would not die feeling unfulfilled. "What is one man's junk is another man's treasure, or something like that," she looked like a woman that had fallen inlove.

Inlove with her books? Perhaps, if Etoile could truly love...

[Sylvias]

The Death Fey took the girl’s hand into his own, the fingers of his folding around the base of her knuckles. She felt vibrant beneath his dead flesh, full of life and energy. He could have stood here for days simply holding onto her hand, and watch her flickering soul with interest. However, he knew that living Fey had needs to get to -- such as sleeping, eating and other sorts, hanging around with a Death Fey could cause sudden turmoil. He had not want to harm the girl just yet, not after forming a contract.

She had complimented Death. Again, very unusual. “You find Death to be beautiful?” he had to ask, truly curious to the explanation. He had known his appearance could be anything he had pleased, but for some strange reason he had been fitted with this face, hair and eyes. It was like he had to be this person, or nothing would get done. He was about to instill her with the powers, but the girl’s words weren’t something he could ignore.

“Indeed it is,” but he wouldn’t go back on his words. To truly have to deal be done, he would grant her the ability to Death Weave. Before waiting for the answer to the question like he had wanted to, he leaned up a little so that he could place his lips to the girl’s forehead. It was, what most had called, Death’s Kiss. While having a Death Fey around the living often caused misery, the Dark Queen would be able to feel that misery stirring inside of her, as though wanting an escape.

Sylvias departed from the girl, to glance back at her, to see if she would react -- for he had never seen a living Fey granted with the ability to weave Death.

[Etoile L'astaria]

"Death is something that is consistent with the living fey, perhaps the only thing we can rely on time after time. At the end of the day, death will always be there, waiting for us, welcoming us with open arms should we chose to run to it. Though it's natural instinct for all of us, even myself, to want to live rather than die... and yet as living fey, we are nasty, spiteful creatures with death always haunting our minds. Beautiful? Yes. For death will always be there for me when everyone else has abandoned my side."

She stared at him then, eyes wide. "You promised you would return for my soul, so even when I am ready, I know you will be back, you will return for it, and I can depend on you as I can depend on no one else."

She let him manipulate her body as he pleased, and as his lips connected to her skull, her dark eyes widened with the first hints of pain the fey would ever see in her. Current misery? Etoile would have none of it. But the feelings of discovering her power, of knowing her sister was better than her, of running away, unwanted and unloved... no!

Everything was alright now. It was all in the past. She breathed heavily, bewilded and eyes wide in shock. To think he had called upon those emotions she had banished from her being, he had that sort of power...

A wicked smile crossed her face and she let out a loud, mighty cackle, the back of her hand brought to her forhead where he had touched. "Oh, Sylvias," she seemed all too amused with the idea. "This shall be a fun, twisted game that you and I shall play. Our game pieces are on the table, and in the end, we both shall win, shall we not?"

[Sylvias]

Etoile was filled with Death now, he could sense it in her bloodstream. She was typically dead now, yet would walk with feigning life. For now the two of them were eternally bonded. Not to mention Sylvias had been more intimate when it came to the girl, for he had shared most of his powers. Every time the Dark Queen used the Death Weaving magic, he would be able to feel it. He wouldn’t know exactly what she did until he greeted her again -- to see the eroding soul. Thinking on this, his free hand moved to gently caress the back of Etoile’s hand.

Sylvias appeared entranced by her very touch now. As though she was a drug he could not simply get away from. So, there he kneeled, holding onto that hand while petting it with the other. Hearing his name caused his lids to twitch, as though he was being pricked by a small needle. It was a powerful tool to have; his name. “I’d be wise about using my name. For if you give my name to another Fey and they use it, I will appear to find it is not you -- which could cost them their life,” it was a warning to the girl, that his name should be kept a secret. Unless she wanted to get someone killed, of course.

He had not commented on winning. While collecting souls could be seen as a sort of game, he was merely doing what he did best. This motion was awkward for him, to be depended on; to be promised. All very intimate words for mortal Fey, and she had used them on him.

It had been minutes and still Sylvias hadn’t stopped pampering the girl. In fact, he probably didn’t even really realize he was doing such a thing.

[Etoile L'astaria]

"I am thou... thou art I. Death has forever tainted me, and I shall be haunted by his presence-- haunted? No. Blessed," she closed her eyes in a peaceful manner. For a girl that had just been tainted with death magic, she appeared to be taking the first steps rather well. After the initial wave of fear and anguish passed her, she felt emptiness, as just always did, that hunger which could not be satiated.

"Dear, sweet Death," she would call him that, his name only to be used for when she summoned him. Her long, spider-like fingers pulled back from his own and trailed into his hair which she pushed back and strokedin a loving, caring way. Something so foreign in concept to her, but here she was, bound to this man. Her sould his, and his power hers.

She would suffer the costs, and he would reap the benefits, but even as her mind slowly deteriorated, she would find solace in the fact that she had done it. She had been blessed with death's magic while still a living creature. "Although I need not give you permission, for I know you will do as you please, do not feel bound by our contract to come see me solely based on whenever I envoke your name. You have free reign to drop by at any time. I will be pleased to know of your presence nearby."

It was as close to an invitation as she could give.

[Sylvias]

When the woman’s hands had left his own, he felt a little disheartened. There was no longer a sense of soul beneath his touch, and those flames before him were now only meant for his sight. So, he glanced up, only to feel his hair being moved. While his hands had always been caked with dry, his hair was unlike it -- for his hair always remained clean. Never had someone reacted so lovingly toward the Death Fey. Sylvias’ dark eyes remained on Etoile’s face, as though a pet expecting some type of treat.

The invitation was a nice change. He had always been used to Fey who only called upon him. During those days he had found nothing to do and wandered the Kingdoms aimlessly, he at least had somewhere to go. It was like a home, in a sense, but he would not affiliate entirely with the Dark Kingdom. The weakness in his logic perhaps prevailed from the Old Queen, and this new one wasn’t making it any better.

How awkward, to be sharing his powers with another. It was like he could hear the Death in her breath, see it in her eyes, and eating at her soul. Since his hands were free now, he reached one out to place his palms over the bridge of the girl’s cheek, mimicking the caressing gesture she had done through his hair -- testing it out. “I will take that in great consideration, Etoile,” he said lightly, pleased to test out her name.

Surely this was inappropriate for Death to stay here. Should he leave?