legerdemainways

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© Nona Limmen Webshop / Instagram

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Styx by Pandora Young

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-William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Nights Dream (1596)

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A skull: three views. Pencil drawing by Heinrich Appenzeller (1558)

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The Sealgair Fuil's gathering place during blood meals, the runestone circle marring the rugged old hill, was tense. High as the stones towered, they could not dwarf the imperious presence of Cuan, at least for Cormag, the youngest of them all. Maybe Idé felt the same. Or maybe she was just angry. The fire she brought into the wild sanctuary was taking a toll on him; it wasn't the same fire he'd grown to like, but one that held him at bay. He wanted things to be like they used to.

He was relieved to have a sample of that life when she patted her leg, asking him to come to her where she sat in the long dewy grass with her back to a stone. Obedient, Cormag slinked to her as inconspicuously as he could and curled up on the ground with his head in her lap. She twisted her long, white, elegant fingers through his winter hair, and they disappeared in it. His muscles loosened, his claws digging contentedly into the soil. Waiting his turn to feed would be easier, like this. He had missed the way this felt.

Cuan, however, didn't miss a thing.

His eyes never left the two for the entirety of the clan's supping, never, as the chosen were passed ceremoniously from vampire to vampire; burning low, and calculating, and full of hate, they alone ordered Idé to heed him. Idé saw it. No other vampire would dare challenge his gaze when his mood steeped to this level, none but her, his cherished daughter. She thumbed the side of Cormag's forehead as she looked on, refusing to ignore her fledge to satisfy her sire.

Defiance.

Let him burn in his fury. He would not take this fledgling from her. She would kill him before he tried.

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The world was abounding with a sensory feast spread out for him on a table that stretched far into the horizon. He'd been blind and deaf before, tastes on his tongue mere ash, the smell of life poorly perceived in a human cage. He tasted the mossy highland oaks and dew-speckled grasses on the air now, pinpointed the trill of mice hunkering down and out of sight in the fields, found new holy meaning in the color the living bled.

In between meals of peasants and well-to-do folk alike, he satisfied his raging need for blood on creatures large and small, practicing the art of stealth on his own accord. It was not rare for his sire to find him buried in the throat of a huge stag or doe, or the entrails of a hare, or the paltry offering of a mouse or sparrow. Idé was proud to have one so driven, though she did not say it. Cormag served as a reminder of her own early years... But she tried not to think too greatly of that. The memory was tarnished by a particular face.

She knew, with a strange sadness, that her newest was ready to claim his independence when one mortal she brought him sprang and fought with all his might, his knife slashing and stabbing into Cormag, relentless... And the young vampire did not retreat, did not show fear, simply tore him down and rendered him dead. He could do it all without her.

But he didn't want to.

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//About page updated.

Full backstory for this guy has been added. Please read the tags before proceeding, it's full of really unpleasant stuff.

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Cormag: [@ Rowan after living the dungeon life in Castle Volkihar] I'll do as you ask and respect your way of living because I value you as my fledgling and I want to be part of your life, and vice versa. Get me out of this cell I'm not suited for this

Also Cormag: [hops into bed with Rowan's 70+ year ex best friend whom Rowan is trying to establish some semblance of a relationship with again] It's cool right

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Gustave Doré

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Trouble Every Day (Claire Denis, 2001)

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«Finis gloriae mundi» e «In ictu oculi» ~ Juan de Valdés

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oh i am just a bastard 

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if your muse has trust & abandonment issues clap your hands