Afloat on the shining river did the boat travel, snaking through a dark world so lost, so deep, devoid of life. A lone figure stood passively on the wooden vessel as it was led through the stream's flow through ruin and stone slowly, laboriously. The oarsman's form and head alike were veiled by a mossy cloak with a wide hood, torn and covered in seaweed.
Echoes of voices were springing from the thick abyss surrounding the path of water, though never could they become coherent. They were wailing and begging, but the oarsman never listened. Deprived of will and memory, the being merely continued its path, its duty, following the stream.
Flowing... Flowing...
The white parchment was looking back at the woman in the same manner that she was staring at it. For how long she had been locked in such position, it was impossible to tell. Dots of onyx ink were dripping from the end of her quill, not too different from the stain on her right palm. As the liquid's dance on the smooth surface met with the seperate streams, it formed the oarsman's river. It was a different oarsman than the one in memory, one shaped in imagination, even if both were damned on a boat with no true destination.
Flowing... Flowing...
He was still in her memory, the skeleton who, in the course of a thousand years, had failed to find any salvation. Not his voice, but his bones. The tattered and his endless journey. Back to the second with the same duty did her mind them flee, the one formed by imagination, though lost in an equally morbid realm. Would it turn to look at her? She wished it not to, even if her own imagination could avoid such a monstrous sight. The identity of the second oarsman was burnt into her mind.
That face... The face of-
With a growl, Celysiel threw the quill on Lord Ravenfall's pristine desk and grabbed the stained page of yet another failed letter. As she crushed it within her fingers, the ink's flow did not stop; wild did it grow, oozing from the wrinkled paper to stain her pale skin like black blood. She threw it away with the rest of the paper balls, empty within. Only this one had been inked, though not written on.
If she had hoped that the phantom of the exiled Lord would offer any certainty in her actions, the young woman was gravely mistaken. The former Magister Ravenfall's absence had not eased her headache, though had thankfully not made it any worse either. The voices were soaring in Celysiel's mind more than ever before, not kneeling to her control, for it had slipped her grasp ever since the night in the ruins of the Windrunner Spire. Ever since then, there were moments where one of the voice was that of Alviada, reminding her of the lies she had uttered during their last conversation.
With a hand bleeding ink and the other holding her head, the wielder of shadow abandoned her seat -a Lord's former seat- to make her way towards the window laboriously. Vague brightness was invited in the dark room as she pushed the drapes, but no direct rays on sunlight. They were not required. Only the wind was desired, its soft caress on the gaunt, pale features of one who once looked so innocent, but now might as well resembled a corpse. It was the price that had to be paid.
It was just as the ethereal grace was bestowed that two sharp knocks were heard at the back of the room. No time was granted for an invitation in the study. The knob turned an the door opened, letting inside the only individual in the entire building who needed no permission to visit any section of the building she pleased.
"What are you doing?" were the first words to escape Xoriana's lips. There she stood, tall and masked with a piercing gaze of fel.
Not even surprise could completely silence the voices, but it manages to at least tame them. Their whispers played in the background as Celysiel turned to meet the Lady. Her mouth shook, but she had no answer.
Xoriana sneered, unimpressed. "I do not occupy you to litter my brother's study, Miss Ashfury." Her hand gestured to the piles of paper balls on the floor. "You may have been shown faith, but I will not tolerate my chances offered being abused."
"I did not mean to-"
"Is that ink on your hand?"
The Lady raises a raven eyebrow as her hands met on her waist. Again, Celysiel's lips parted to explain, but her employer proved to be faster after a second glance on the trashed paper. "Who were you writing to?"
Celysiel shook her head. No attempt was however made to hide her hand, nor the stained on it; that had been taken care of by the streams of ink. "No one."
"Let us not insult my intelligence, shall we?" Xoriana uttered clearly. "Sit with me."
There was a sense of wrongness as thr lowborn placed herself on the grand seat of the former Magister, since his sister had already shown preference to one of the plainer chairs. The mask was there of course, ominous and dreaded, concealing half of the woman's face.
"You do not look well, Miss Ashfury." Xoriana began, raising her chin. Even then, not a hint of the hidden skin could be seen. "It will be a pity for you to perish before your work for me is completed."
She knows, was the youth's first though. against the voices was sense found. In spite of her piercing gaze, Xoriana could not know. None could ever reach the bottom of this secret's fathomless depths.
"I shall not, my Lady." Celysiel replied passively. "It is merely-"
"Exhaustion?" Xoriana attempted to finish the sentence with a guess. "Poor health? Or perhaps we may go as far as to blame the weather?" The midnight blue fabric of her sleeves flapped as she pointed to the window and the world beyond it. "Do you think I have not heard it all before? Said it all before? Or do you think yourself to be the mistress of deception? Perhaps we shall try again?"
"Or perhaps we should not." the other replied, her patience yet again thinning. Her hand came to her temple, in hopes of some massage soothing the voices, but they never paused, no matter how much she wished them to. "I apologise for tending to unrelated to work matters, but it is none of your business, nor shall I make it be so." Her eyelids felt heavy, so she lowered them for a second.
Flowing... Flowing...
Slowly, the nobleborn nodded. "Better." Her tone carried acceptable. Letting her posture fail, she sat back on the chair, crossing her legs under the long skirt. "It is not my business, nor shall be. Though, allow me to entertain you with a word or two."
The gentle breeze drifted amidst the heavy curtains to touch Celysiel's face. She was feeling feverish and terribly ill while watching the onyx locks of Xoriana's hair sway. Her forehead was burning, her very mind was burning and the lack of sleep was burdening her more and more. Just stop, just stop, she wished to scream at the voices, but her own turmoil would not allow it. Her affiliation wish shadow would not deny her happiness, so Alviada had claimed and the youth had lied by offering agreement, for how could she explain that madness was always just a step away?
Flowing... Flowing...
"It will be bitter." Xoriana's voice was heard, dragging her away from the heat and concerns. "And it will create something monstrous inside you. You will let it fester and fester, until you will look in the mirror and tell yourself it is your weakness should you fail to convert it into your power. You will suffer, Ashfury, and that will be your fault. Nobody else's."
There was something about the woman's words, all too knowing, as if she was speaking from personal experience. However, there was no expression marring the unconcealed part of her face. It was a mask on its own.
"I do not understand." Celysiel uttered, feeling a pain at her chest. That was a lie too.
"Yes, you do." was the reply she received, as if the raven-haired woman could see right through her. Followed by her own ghosts, she rose from her seat to head towards the door.
The second oarsman turned...
"Lady Ravenfall." the one burdened by the locket called out as she banished imagination, in an attempt to stop her employer as she was just about to open the door. "What is it you wanted? When you came here."
Xoriana turned her head to look at Celysiel; the good side of her face alone was presented. "I received all that I came here for and more." she assured. A light click was heard as the knob was lowered.
"I do not understand." Celysiel repeated, but this time it was true.
A half-smile caused Xoriana's scarlet lips to lightly tremble. "You need not." was her soft reply. "This study is yours to use in any manner and whenever you wish. Write that letter, Ashfury." the Lady uttered, just before exiting the chamber. "And wear your mask well."
Commenti