highborn-demon

[highborn-demon]

Chapter two of my somewhat true story….I shall endure the embarrassment and continue…

“Oh ho ho!” chortled Lady Tremayne as she set the pot of tea down in front of Silas, sloshing it slightly over the chipped spout. She knew human food and drink was tasteless to him, but this was, after all, their Thursday tradition.

“You’ve got something up your sleeve, now haven’t you?” She smiled broadly at him. Silas sat with his tea and gazed at her levelly. How could she be teasing him at a time like this?

Sitting in Lady’s cramped, cat hair- dusted living room, he felt at once comfortable yet ill at ease. The slew of strange emotions that flooded his heart at the opera last night still lingered, clinging to the edges of his mind. He narrowed his yellow eyes at her.

Lady was not to be intimidated. After all this time of friendship, she knew exactly how far to cajole him for information. Despite his cool demeanor and emotionless face, she could see something in his golden eyes. She looked deeper at him~ slight, small, impossibly elegant in a cream satin long coat and burnished calfskin boots. Sitting bolt upright in his chair, the teacup paused in his clawed hand. His long white ponytail hanging over his lapel, porcelain skin glowing in the lamplight. Dear dear Silas.

She watched patiently as his shoulders relaxed in a dramatic slump. Lady knew better than to push. Things went better when she let him open up in his own time.

“Annabelle, I fear I have possibly met my undoing” he whispered softly, eyes now downcast. It was difficult to believe this was the same being who murdered and devoured souls on a whim, seemingly heartless and cold.

Delicately, Lady rose and went to gaze out the tiny diamond paned window that faced the brick florist shop next door. She could sniff out a lovelorn tone in an instant; her shop girls gave her plenty of practice with their constant pining for various young men.

She also knew how excruciating it was for Silas to peel back his layers and expose himself this way. Vulnerability was not something a demon generally let show. In fact, it was unheard of, as demons could not feel nor express human emotions.

Or, should it be said, demons except for this one sitting rather forlornly before her….

[highborn-demon]

(I had an experience this past winter and I’ve decided to share some of it as if I were an observer of the situation. It is not in my nature to divulge personal aspects of myself, but I feel this tale needs telling. Perhaps I am changing even more as I live in the human world of Austermeer…..)

Silas stepped inside the opera house, its grand vaulted ceilings echoing the voices and footsteps of a hundred humans. The scent of this place prickled in his nose yet somehow gave rise to a rare excitement in his soul. He had recently received tickets from his mistress as a holiday gift, and deeply touched, he had saved them until this perfect winter night.

The sky was crisp and clear, studded with a million stars that shone like diamonds strewn across a swath of deep indigo velvet. A certain feeling pervaded him that he couldn’t quite place. A vibration in the air that piqued his interest. As if he were on the cusp of some wonderful discovery. This was indeed the perfect night to step out and move amongst society undetected.

He found his way to a seat in the balcony where he could sit in the shadows relatively unseen and undisturbed. His glamour hid his alabaster skin, his piercing sulfurous eyes. Dove grey kidskin gloves obscured his claws. His hair was tied back with a black ribbon, matching his best black silk tapestry jacket, elegant waistcoat and breeches. Tall black boots completed his old fashioned 1780s ensemble.

He cast his gaze across the way, smugly assessing the mostly dismal choices of garb these humans had chosen for such a spectacular night out. The banality of human existence and lack of fashion rationality caused him a little sigh.

Suddenly his senses snapped to attention like a spark popping in a fireplace. He focused his gaze and a single bright flame came into view. A soul, burning fierce, mesmerizing. Tantalizing even. At once he sat forward and beheld the keeper of this flame.

A woman, or moreover, a female.. as it was immediately evident to Silas that she was not a run-of-the-mill mediocre human. Taking this creature in, he was aware of a warm vibration that seemed to strum in his chest, spreading to his legs. Naturally, his catlike curiousity took over and he couldn’t help but inspect this creature that gave rise to such an odd feeling inside him.

She was small of stature, of regal but gentle countenance, high cheekbones beneath large brown eyes. Her dark hair, worn scandalously down, reached her finely sculpted collarbone in glossy waves. It hung a bit longer in the back, resting in a tousled pool between her shoulder blades. Silas could forgive her for this unfashionable oversight, for her untamed hair only heightened her unique appearance.

Her lips were full, he could see with his demon sight they were slightly moist, lush. Her coloring was a light olive, rosey cheeks. A calm, soothing aura flowed from her, lulling him like the lullabies Charlotte Thorn used to sing to her infant sons.

Silas felt the exasperating tug of conflicted emotions. How wonderfully sweet it would be to devour such a lovely flame. And yet, what was she?

Perhaps she could sense his attentions~ the beautiful creature looked up and met his gaze. It was as if a jolt of electricity had awakened every neuron on his brain. It was clear to him that she could see past his glamour. A considerable amount of his power and strength had returned to him in the past months of his recuperation at Thorn Manor, and his disguise was meticulously crafted. Yet it held no influence over her.

The warm feeling began to rise in him again, uncomfortable as he grappled it back down. What was she doing? This was not normal typical demon hunger he was experiencing. There was something more, an unexpected mote of tenderness riding on the whetted blade of his appetite. Exasperated, he forced it down, only to have it return stronger, like a fist around his heart. He clenched his hands, his claws pricking his palms through his gloves, in a vain attempt to stave it off. No such luck. The strange feeling quickened his breath.

This could not be happening. Love, or whatever this was, held no place in his life, save for his master and mistress. And yet, what else could he call this. This soft syrupy sensation. Absolutely unacceptable. He was looking forward to a simple enjoyable evening at the opera. And now he has found himself inconvenienced. And utterly entranced.

And to make matters worse, his cravat, impeccably tied, now seemed just a hair too tight….

[highborn-demon]

Mistress saving me from Parsifal and his invasion of my personal space.

My face conveys my thoughts on the matter. Some feelings cannot be hidden.

Interesting fact about Parsifal. Even after attaining an extremely high level position at the rebuilt Royal Library, he still after all these years becomes red in the face and cannot manage a complete sentence whenever he sees Magister Thorn. He is completely besotted by his hero.

Mistress says it is as adorable as my meow.

Artwork by poeticfairyy

[highborn-demon]

This mortal has captured my likeness in a most pleasing manner. My only complaint is the oversight on my stature. I am quite proud to be rather diminutive, as it gives me an air of unpredictability, which I’ve used to my advantage more than once.

Art is by natt_lux_art

[highborn-demon]

I recall Baltasar Thorn required me to sit for the Thorn House portrait painter. You can see how enthusiastically I received that order. I am displeased with the colors of the eyebrows, and the shameful disarray of my queue. The artist died shortly after, under suspicious circumstances, and this piece was left unfinished.

[highborn-demon]

That merlot velvet jacket is a favorite of mine. Black is not the only color that hides a multitude of sins…

And finally someone admirably depicts the luxurious true length of my hair.

[highborn-demon]

Don’t assume I am unaware of the effect my physical appearance has.

I won’t say humans haven’t tried to kiss me. I will say none of them survived the occasion.

[highborn-demon]

When Miss Scrivener glimpsed me in the streets after escaping the evil clutches of Oberon Ashcroft, it was not, as she believed, because she had thought of Nathaniel. It is true I doubled back and assisted her when I heard her say my name. Her desperate (and dangerous) plea was painfully evident by the wretched whisper of her voice. Why she chose to trust a hungry demon such as myself is beyond me. Fortunately for her, my manners are more refined than my appetites..

Back to the point~ she did not miraculously wish me into existence by thinking of my master. As interesting as that may seem, there is a far simpler and less complex explanation as to why our paths magically crossed that day.

Master Thorn had sent me on an errand to purchase a large blue butterfly specimen, “Morpho menelaus” at a rather dubious flea market across town. This taxidermied butterfly was needed for his research, as he sought to replicate the species for one of his enchantment spells.

What I ended up bringing back to Thorn Manor was much less glamorous~ a bedraggled, feverish and very mucusy Miss Scrivener, a damp wrinkled suit, and my new boots sullied with foul butchershop grime. Not to mention the bloody handkerchief I had to dispose of. I put up with a great deal of unpleasantries that fine autumn day; although I will admit the murders did not bother me.

All in all quite an adventure for Miss Scrivener, yet just a brief pause in my day. As much as I loathe having my tidy plans disrupted, the difficult part of my day was convincing Master Thorn to let her stay with us.

I insisted quite gently, then I had to narrow my eyes at him. At that point he relented, and I took Miss Scrivener upstairs for a much-needed bath, fresh sheets and bedrest.

The rest, as they say, is history. And when I think back on it now, I did bring a beautiful butterfly back to Nathaniel. Not the one he requested, but the one he needed.

Mischievous art of me in my shirtsleeves (Miss Scrivener was wrapped in my jacket) by @marinn.art

[highborn-demon]

When Miss Scrivener first met my acquaintance in Summershall, I was assisting her into the carriage and she asked me (in a hushed whisper) if Master Thorn was cruel to me. Oh the thoughts that ran through my mind! It was truly a heroic act on my part to control my laughter. I attempted to explain the demonic bargain situation to her, but in his typical obnoxious style, Nathaniel hijacked the conversation.

At the time she assumed I was simply a servant. Part of this belief was me exerting my influence over her own thoughts. She imagined all the depravities I was forced to witness every day while working for such an evil sorcerer (eye roll) And me being so small and defenseless, and unremarkable~ Ha!

If only she knew what delicious atrocities I myself have indulged in during all my centuries in the human realm…

let us say I did not become this powerful by being demure and mindful…

Very demure art of my family and myself by the talented @slyvrndoodles

[highborn-demon]

The Otherworld is an astonishingly magical realm. There are no human words to describe its beauty. Our cities are filled with towering stone and crystal castles, our woodlands are endlessly deep…The trees glitter with silver leaves that chime like millions of tiny bells. The sky is a perpetual vibrating aurora borealis, glowing in an array of silken colors. The forests are home to countless species of magical creatures such as unicorns, manticores and gryphons. Many of the animals hunted into extinction by humans in their world still exist in the Otherworld.

Demon style is elegant, extravagant, savage.. decadence and sumptuous fabrics are everyday attire. Jewelry is crafted from the finest gemstones and rare metals. We must look our best at the many midnight fetes and royal gatherings; it is a matter of honor as well as personal pride. As you can see I look quite different in my Otherworldly dress.

There are less rules in The Otherworld. There is however a strict hierarchy, and therefore different levels of social standing. I, as a high born demon, hold immediate presence and rule over the imps and lesser demons. I also recently defeated the Archon, and easily control the Great Devourer. So my fierce reputation, which was well deserved for the past few centuries, is now even more respected.

My homeland is always in my thoughts. On the occasions that I allow myself the luxury of sleep, I often dream of its wild beauty. But these days, I’ve chosen Thorn Manor as my Home.

And my savage demon heart is content.

[highborn-demon]

Master Thorn was being generous when he said that demons require human lifeforce in order to survive. Clearly that is not the case~ we desire it, and can even lust for it much like a drug. Our survival is not dependent on securing bargains for souls. However, the more years of human lifeforce we consume, the more powerful we become.

It is the power we crave.

Luminous artwork of me in the summoning circle by @oblivionsdream

[highborn-demon]

Master Thorn has no idea how my claws itch to throttle him with his own cravat each time he complains. How is it that such a powerful Magister has absolutely no interest in being fashionable or dapper? I simply cannot have him toodling about looking like a shabby, uncultured vagabond. Or worse, having the manor overrun by zealous suitors because his attire was misleading. The catapult story is true, and I dread that episode repeating itself as well.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MAGISTER THORN IS TAKEN. Cease and desist with your nonsense.

It is a blessing upon humanity that I have graciously taken up the thankless burden of choosing Nathaniel’s attire.

It is also a blessing that my patience for him is seemingly endless. Others would not be so fortunate.

Caricature of Nathaniel and myself coming to an understanding by @angelaanimates

[highborn-demon]

Obviously I held devotion and respect for Mistress Scrivener, and I truly love Master Thorn. The love I felt for him had begun to slowly seep like errant magic towards her as well, during the time I spent with her directly after my last summoning. Our talks in the kitchen, the Ostrich Room, the ballroom dance lesson… all of these led to me knowing that my mutual love for her was imminent.

It weighed on my mind. I could easily turn this world to ashes, yet I was powerless to stop myself from loving her the way I love Nathaniel.

I greatly enjoy this art from @cosmiart. I look so feline and regal.

[highborn-demon]

Accomplishing the three Impossible Tasks to complete the Lover’s Pact caused Nathaniel some stress. He was quite irritable & sassy at times. It was as if he were a taller, human version of myself. How exasperating.

I did my best to keep him well fed and his spirits up.

Art by fishsma11

[highborn-demon]

The thoughts of mortals are as transparent as glass to me. As I’ve mentioned before, humans are not a complicated species.

I must say, many of you should be ashamed of yourselves for the things you are imaging right this minute ;)

[highborn-demon]

On that fateful 3-day trip from Summershall to Brassbridge, escorting Miss Scrivener to her trial, we stopped over by the BlackWald forest. Master made sure the tents were spacious and accommodating, and gave Miss her own for the night. She was exhausted and terrified of us both, and so retired early. Perplexingly, she hadn’t even figured out I was a demon, and wouldn’t make that discovery for quite some time.

Master and I stayed up talking by the fire. He recalled a humorous story from years past~ as a child, Nathaniel was infatuated with me in my cat form. He would try to lure me into touching range with saucers of cream, which I would always maliciously upend with a smack of my paw. (Obviously, I was not the one maintaining the cleanliness of the floors back then). Once, he was agile enough to corner me and stroke my fur. The memory of it still makes my hair stand on end. Yet still, an amusing memory we both reminisced fondly about.

I could sense the girl’s heartbeat calming as she listened to us converse. She was certainly not sleeping; I knew she might attempt yet another escape, so I was careful to direct a bit of my intuitive attention on her. Decades later, she told me that our banter, my quiet laugh, in the stillness of the night, with the fire crackling and the stars overhead, had helped her realize that Master Thorn was maybe not the evil threat she had once imagined.

It was the turning point of her allowing herself to trust in the journey.

Sophisticated art by avendellart

[highborn-demon]

I arise slowly, like a cat, when I allow myself the pleasure of napping. Sometimes the events of the night do not afford me the luxury of deep sleep. Either way, I do not see any reason to deprive myself of taking time to enjoy the awakening process with a good long luxurious stretch.

I allow myself precisely 34 minutes to wash, sort my attire and perfect my appearance each morning, before I begin my duties for the day. It is more than enough time, as I do not have any flaws to tend to.

Of course I must hasten to the kitchen and put on a kettle (before Mercy attempts a disastrous abomination of morning tea) then I sit in the solar, preferably in a patch of warm sun. I read the papers to see what nonsense the press has written about Master and Mistress. Yesterday it was a four paragraph article devoted to the fact that Mistress keeps her sword and armor by the bedside, enciting scandalous rumors about their bedroom behavior.

Believe me, the fantasies that humans indulge in are quite laughably boring compared to a demon’s world. But I shall say no more regarding that scintillating subject.