#purely because it's what she naturally is. even though she displays few behaviors typical to that. and thinks “it sucks”

[goldkrone-struggle-tweets]

I am an adult, I have responsibilities, I can log off at any time, it is beneath me to get involved in or vaguepost about petty fandom disagreements- sees a post ah.

[dwellordream]

“Contemporary readers might find themselves almost suspicious of how little there is in Victorian lifewriting to shock or surprise; can their lives really have been this dull? Deficient in arresting details and blandly uniform, Victorian lifewriting does not foster any illusions that it accurately records the historical past. But lifewriting was not pure fiction, and its very adherence to rules and commitment to typical daily life makes it a far more valuable source than conduct literature, medical writings, or police records for understanding how conventions shaped lived behavior. Consider the example of transvestism. Cross-dressing could lead to scandal and arrests, but lifewriting attests that many youths who adopted the clothes of the other sex were treated as amusing pranksters. 

In her 1857 autobiography Elizabeth Davis recalled “enjoying” herself “extremely” when she dressed as a man to accompany a fellow housemaid to a party and noted that her employers simply “laughed” when they caught her. In the 1840s a young woman living in London wrote to a cousin in the country about putting on a play with other girls for their fathers and mothers: “I have two parts, the good Fairy and the Lord Chamberlain because he sings a song, and he wears a turban and baggy trousers and I wear a beard and moustache.” Other accounts described boys dressing as girls and sallying forth in public to the amusement of all in the know. 

Victorian lifewriting exposes other gaps between myth and reality. Conduct books confined women to the private sphere, but in fact, many informally participated in politics. Amanda Vickery has pointed out the dearth of research on women’s consumption of newspapers, an increasingly political medium after 1750; lifewriting shows that many ordinary middle-class women who complied with gender norms actively read newspapers and discussed political events with their fathers and husbands. Katharine Harris’s journal documents how a middle-class teenage girl tracked the revolutions and cholera epidemics of 1848 as carefully as she followed changes in fashion and the dramas of her social circle.

Women’s diaries and correspondence also modify our image of Victorian feminism as a powerful but marginal movement; though suffrage was a divisive issue, an otherwise silent majority supported female higher education, with many writers asserting that “women have brains, and given equal opportunities, can do as good work as men.” Mary, Lady Monkswell (1849–1930) never formally participated in politics except as the wife of a man who held several government positions, but in 1890 she recorded her pride that a woman had attained the highest score on the Cambridge Mathematical Tripos: “Every woman feels 2 inches taller for this success of Miss Fawcett.”

Female friendship emerges in Victorian lifewriting as a fundamental component of middle-class femininity and women’s life stories. Because the letters women exchanged with male suitors were often deemed too private or compromising for publication, and because wives had few occasions to write to husbands whom they lived with, letters between female friends and kin were the most common and copious source for documenting women’s lives. Anna Bower’s correspondence with three women who had been her friends since school days made up the bulk of a 1903 edition of her diaries and letters.

The Memoir of Mrs. Mary Lundie Duncan (1842) drew heavily on the communication between Mary Duncan and a lifelong friend. The many letters included in the published version of Mary Gladstone Drew’s diaries and correspondence were addressed to her cousin and friend Lavinia. The editor of Lady Louise Knightley’s journals identified the central figure of the early volumes as Louise’s cousin and “inseparable companion” Edith, with whom Louise exchanged daily letters when they were separated between 1856 and 1864 (12). The emphasis on female friendship in Victorian women’s lifewriting mirrored the ways in which didactic literature defined it as an expression of women’s essential femininity. 

In The Women of England and The Daughters of England, Sarah Ellis articulated the tenets of a domestic ideology based on strict divisions between men and women. She counseled women to accept their inferiority to men and to cultivate moral virtues such as selflessness and empathy as counterweights to the male virtues of competitiveness and self-determination. Ellis praised female friendship for several reasons. It trained women not to compete with men by requiring them not to compete with one another; it fostered feminine vulnerability by developing bonds based on a shared “capability of receiving pain”; and it reinforced married love by cultivating the sexual differences that fostered men’s desire for women (Women, 75, 224). 

In The Daughters of England, Ellis explicitly argued that friendship trained women to be good wives by teaching them particularly feminine ways of loving: “In the circle of her private friends . . . [woman] learns to comprehend the deep mystery of that electric chain of feeling which ever vibrates through the heart of woman, and which man, with all his philosophy, can never understand” (337). Ellis argued that female friendship produced marriageable women by intensifying the opposition between the sexes, but she then undid gender differences by positing similarities between friendship and marriage. The emotions fostered by friendship were also those required for marriage, leading Ellis to call marriage a species of friendship, and friendship “the basis of all true love” (Daughters, 388). 

Far from compromising friendship, family and marriage provided models for sustaining it; female friends exchanged the same tokens as spouses and emulated female elders who also prized their friendships with women. Marriage rarely ended friendships and many women organized part of their lives around their friends. Louise Creighton (1850–1936), married to an Anglican vicar and eventually the mother of six children, wrote letters to her mother in the 1870s that often mentioned extended visits from her childhood friend Bunnie and other married and unmarried female friends. 

Just before she acceded to the throne, Princess Victoria wrote of her governess Lehzen as “my ‘best and truest friend’ I have had for nearly 17 years and I trust I shall have for 30 or 40 and many more.” On the day Victoria married Albert, Lehzen gave the queen a ring, and their pledges of an enduring bond held true, with Lehzen ensconced at court long after the queen’s wedding. Like any monarch, Queen Victoria practiced a politics of display, but what she performed most vigorously was her adherence to domestic middle-class ideals.

It is therefore not surprising to find her commitment to lifelong friendship echoed in the aspirations of Annie Hill, a middle-class girl who in 1877 wrote to her friend Anna Richmond, “I do not see why we should not keep up writing to one another all our lives like Aunt Maria and her great friend have done.” The friendships that created bonds between individual women also forged a sense of connection between generations. Friendship and marriage could be overlapping and mutually reinforcing. While engaged to her husband-to-be, Mary Duncan sent him poems and the gift of a hair brooch, and at the same time wrote a poem for her best friend, whom she addressed as “loved one” and “dear one” (163, 179–80, 147). 

Just as Duncan experienced no conflict in loving her fiancé and her friend, other women expressed affection for friends by hoping they would happily marry. Writing in 1865 of the friend who came “to bless my life,” twenty-three-year-old Louisa Knightley fantasized about her eventual wedding with a sense of pleasure rather than incipient loss: “I have grown to love Edie very dearly—the Sleeping Beauty, whom life and the world are slowly awakening. May the enchanted Prince soon come and touch the chord that will rouse her from the dreams of childhood and make of her the perfect woman!” (105–6). 

….Lifewriting confirms the links conduct literature made between female friendship and conventional femininity, for only women invested in portraying themselves as atypical failed to write of their friendships. Women who succeeded in masculine arenas and advertised their exceptional achievements in published autobiographies often accentuated their distance from standard femininity by downplaying the role that female friends played in their lives. Battle painter Elizabeth Butler (1846–1933), pedagogue and professional author Elizabeth Sewell (1815–1906), and radical activist Annie Besant (1847–1933) all omitted the rhapsodic descriptions of friendship that characterized lifewriting by women eager to demonstrate how well they had fulfilled the dictates of their gender.

Outright disdain for female friendship was rare. One of the few extant examples of a woman mocking female friendship is an exception that proves the rule. A sophisticated transplant raised in Paris by parents from the Anglo-Irish gentry who returned to England in 1868, Alice Miles was eager to distinguish herself from her earnest English relatives. In a diary that remained unpublished until the late twentieth century, she wrote that women were obligated to marry for money, not love. Her contempt for British domestic sentiment led her to dismiss the earnest devotion between female friends she encountered in England as hypocrisy or stupidity. She believed instead in “the natural aversion women always seem to entertain towards each other and the still more decided preference they habitually evince towards mankind!”

 Nevertheless, Miles enjoyed forming a friendships with a young woman “perfectly acquainted” with every “naughty story . . . making the tour of London,” whom she praised as “a regular little rose bud . . . looking perfectly bewitching.” Even the cynical Miles, who believed that affection between woman was merely a “sign . . . that a man is at the bottom of the emotion,” could not resist the pleasure she took in a woman pretty and wicked enough to be a potential rival. Successful women who represented themselves as proper ladies defined their lives in terms of their friendships with women as well as their devotion to family and church.”

- Sharon Marcus, “Friendship and Play of the System.” in Between Women:  Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

[farfanfiction]

Loyalty to the Pack: Part 3

Pairing: John Seed x Joseph Seed x Reader x Jacob Seed

AUs: Omegaverse, werewolves

Warnings: Cursing, angst, little bit of fluff, mentions of cheating (kinda), mentions of depression and anxiety, big fucking self-hate warning, mentions of sex, mentions of blood, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 4,046

A/N: Thank you guys for getting me past 10 followers! I’m very, very grateful to each and every one of you! For all of you who have read Far Cry: Absolution (highly recommended), Holly isn’t an utter bitch in the book like she’s portrayed here, this is mainly because I needed a character everyone can absolutely despise. And also for competition of sorts. I just wanna admit something. This series is very special to me, it’s my best series by far and it’s inspired by my life in some way. The self-hate, depression, and anxiety are deprived from my real-world experiences, and writing and playing video games, in general, help me release all those emotions. The message this story is trying to get across is, no matter what, do what makes you happy. No one is in charge of what you are or how you're gonna live your life, you decide that. Give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand. The gif is not mine. 

Masterpost   My Omegaverse Rules

   You gave him a look as he finished his little speech. You wish he wasn't serious, but this was John you were talking about. Even though he said it in a joking manner, he wasn’t joking. His rules were all too real and demanding. He simply smirked at your frustration. You knew you had to calm down, he just enjoyed your reactions. You denied him this simple pleasure by gripping your wrinkled dress and tried to muster up a friendly smile.

   “Since we’re both on the same level, why don’t we get you settled.” He stated, reaching into the back pocket of his dark jeans. He pulled out a small, black radio and talked into it in a low voice. Quiet enough so you wouldn’t hear.

   With a silent mumble, you turned to the side and whispered, “I’ll get you fucking settled.” You scrunch your nose in disapproval when the Alpha heard you. Putting his large hand on the speaker and leaning over to look at you with his menacing blue eyes.

   “What was that Omega?” he crooned in a sickly sweet voice. He knew exactly what you said. He was just trying to test his control over you, well not today buddy. You turned around and said nothing. He simply stared you down and then went back to his conversation on the radio. The person on the other side seemed pissed. Clearly yelling, but not loud enough for you to hear it.

   After a few more minutes of yelling between the Alpha and the person on the other line, the garage door swung open. A young woman with long brown hair stepped into the fluorescent lights. Her scent immediately hit you. Beta. She was a Beta with a scent as boring as any other Beta in Eden’s Gate. Omegas and Alpha usually smelled exciting, but Betas barely had a scent. This Beta had that scent, yes, but she had an undertone of something strictly Omega. It didn’t feel like a natural smell, more artificial than anything. This woman was definitely trying to be something she wasn’t.

   She gave a wink John a wink when she noticed him. Then proceeding to saunter over to him, her tight fitting dress swaying with each step. It was as if you weren’t there at all.

   He gave her a small smirk, different than the one he gives you. More lustful than anything else. His bright blue eyes were full of want for this Beta. Something that shouldn’t occur to werewolves unless there wasn’t enough Omegas around. There was something definitely going on here.

   “This is Holly. She’ll show you around the Ranch.” He stated, not turning his attention to you. He continued to stare at ‘Holly’. You turned to look at her, a look of distaste on your face. Your (e/c) eyes showing pure and utter hate for this Beta even though you just met her three minutes ago.

   You walked to the door and waited for her to come. She blew John a small kiss and John just smiled. Pure happiness coating his face. He combed his brown hair back and watched as Holly finally led you out of the garage. She didn’t look back at you as she walked like she wanted to forget that you were even there. You guess in some way, you couldn’t blame the Beta. Her and John clearly had something going on between them. Far more than a short fling. 

   She said nothing as she led you into the main house. It was as big as the outside. Antler chandeliers hung from the ceiling and animal furs and statues decorated the floors and walls. The furniture looked rather expensive with its shiny leather finish. Come to think of it, everything looked expensive. What made the Ranch appear as if it was apart of Eden’s Gate was not only the ridiculous amount of heavily armed guards outside but the Book of Joseph displayed on a nearby shelf with the ability to be viewed from almost every angle. Its pristine white and gold cover shinned in the sunlight. as if it was from Heaven itself.

   This was true, God did command Joseph to write the book. So, it did come directly from Heaven in a way. You believed in this, in Joseph, in God. The only two things you really believed in at the moment. The Father buried these beliefs in your heart and made it so the only thing you knew about was the Father, God, and the Great Collapse. Even if you wanted to believe in anything else, you couldn’t.

   The book itself drew you in as if by some kind of force. You reached up onto the shelf and grabbed the book with delicate hands. The very feel sending shivers down your spine and settling in your very bones. It felt smooth under your fingertips as you traced the cross of the church. Its shape like a burst of golden light. The light of a true prophet.

   When you put down the book, you notice a picture frame next to it. It held a photo of the Seed brothers, younger looking then they do now. John stood to one side of Joseph. His brown hair was wild and untamed as it fell over his blown pupils. He wore a droopy smile on his face as he stared at the camera. What made him look odd was the fact the Alpha was wearing an expensive looking suit, pristinely clean and ironed and his beard was completely gone.

   Joseph stood next to him, his brown hair falling onto his shoulders. His beard was long and messy, clearly needing a trim. His clothes were battered and worn, unlike his typical attire. Despite all that, he still wore a soft smile on his face and his deep blue smiled along with him.

   Jacob was the worst looking out of all of them. His hair and beard were an absolute mess. Clumps of red were tangled so much it didn’t even look like hair. His clothes were worse than Joseph’s. All bloody and utterly destroyed. But, just like his brothers, a small smile was present on his pale, blotchy red face.

   They all seemed so happy, despite looking so… so miserable. You had heard the stories of Joseph looking for his brothers...fuck, everyone apart of the pack knew the tale well. This was probably taken when they all found each other. The amount of happiness, joy, and love they must have felt that day seemed to be out of this world. A feeling that couldn’t possibly be yours with the situation you found yourself in.

   A loud cough interrupted your staring. You turned around to see the Beta looking at you with what you could only describe as a bitch face. Holly’s pretty face was scrunched up as she stared you down for wasting her precious time. “You know I don’t have to do this. John didn’t just ask me to help you, I did it out of the kindness of my heart. So, let’s not waste that kindness and leave.” She harshly whispered. You just hoped either God or John heard her. Maybe if you were lucky, both of them.

   ‘The kindness of her heart’ sounded forced. As if she was trying to score brownies points with John. To you, she was trying too hard. This Beta clearly had him wrapped around her little finger. He seemed desperate to please her and vice versa. You just hoped when you had your first heat, something John thought you already had, he wouldn’t deal with Holly. A wish that couldn’t possibly happen. If pups weren’t involved, why be tied down by an over emotional and needy Omega? Betas were a good enough fuck when you were in a rut.

   You simply nodded at her statement, not wanting to stir the pot more. She gave an annoyed sigh and led you to the stairs. You watched as she climbed the steps, the temptation of making her have an accident higher than it’s ever been in your life. Just being an Omega would restrain you from wanting to kill anything, but clearly, that half of you wanted that as much as the rest of you.

   You simply bit your lip in frustration and followed her onto the porch. You stopped for a minute and took in the view. The plants and flowers looked far better from up here, minus the men with guns walking around. Not wanting to be scolded again, you quickly got behind her. Holly soon stopped in front of a pair of large double-doors. She opened one door and practically pushed you inside. You let out a small howl and the faint smell of distressed Omega wafted off of you in light waves.

   To end this shitty tour, the Beta proceeded to slam the door, living you alone with your thoughts. You looked at your bedroom and gave a long, heavy sigh. It was small with a double bed, dresser, closet, and a couch. A small bookshelf was pushed into a corner as well, the only book on it was the Book of Joseph and a journal about werewolf behavior. Not a lot of thought and care went into this, just haphazardly put together. It was as if no one gave a damn, which was probably true.

   You flopped onto the bed with the haphazardly placed sheets and buried your head in a pillow. A whimper fell past your lips as you wished for your mother. Someone to at least comfort you as you made this hard transition. Soon the whimpers turned into sobs and sobs into full-blown wailing. Snot running down your (s/c) face and onto the white sheets. The salty tears mixed with the snot and you honestly didn’t care. The crying continued for hours. Your mind switching from one problem to the next until nothing was left but sadness and the want to leave. In a last attempt to clean up, you brought your white lace sleeves to your face and whipped away the snot and tears. There was no point in keeping it clean, it was going into the trash after this.

   You fell asleep soon after, dreaming of something far better than this. An Alpha that genuinely wanted to be mated to you, pups that could actually exist with a different person, and a whole new look on life if this one didn’t end up so shity.

   You woke up the next morning as miserable as the last. Not ready to get out of bed and join society as a fellow wolf and member of Eden’s Gate. You looked out the window, noting the sun slowly peeking its way above the horizon. Your stomach gave a small growl at the lack of food. You hadn’t eaten anything both from the nerves of getting baptized and the gut-wrenching news of being John’s Omega. There wasn’t much room for an appetite.

   Deciding to make breakfast for yourself and John, like the kind person you were, you got up and headed downstairs. This is where your lack of direction kicked in. That bitch Holly only showed you where your room was. So, finding the kitchen would take forever. You headed outside, still in your dirty dress and stopped a passing wolf. “Hey!” You called out to him. The Beta turned to look at you, confusion taking over his face. He gave you a look and then lifted a finger to point at himself.

   “M-me?” He called out, a slight stutter to his voice. You gave a nod and he trotted over. Tripping as he walked. This guy definitely wasn’t trained by Jacob.

   “Do you know where the kitchen is?” You asked, not missing a beat. He nodded and gently took hold of your smaller hand. He held it like glass as he walked you back inside the Ranch. The Beta led you to the double doors near the living room. He opened them and there appeared a large kitchen. Far larger than someone like Jonathan Seed needed.

   Without further hesitation, you got started on making the food. Making fresh squeezed orange juice, homemade pancakes and a side of fruit and sausages. You put it all on a little tray for him and headed upstairs, just hoping his office or bedroom was near yours. You wandered onto the balcony and peeked around every corner just to find this son of a bitch. Finally, you found it. The French doors kinda gave it away. You gave a small knock to the wood. Your anxiety now taking control. Your mind was asking you if this was a good idea, if he would actually appreciate it, or if he even wanted to look at your ugly mug.

   Your chest began to tighten and black spots filled your vision when John didn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t in there? Was he out working? These questions began to combine inside your anxiety filled mind, making a cocktail of negative feelings and outlooks. You held your breath and you knocked again, a little harder this time. A muffled “come in,” sounded through the door and banging was heard before the French doors flew open.

John peeked his head out of the room and stared at the tray. His hair was a mess and sweat dripped down his forehead. It was as if he ran a mile, ragged breaths escaped him as he tried to get a word out. He looked down at the tray and frowned. “Thanks for the breakfast, but I already ate.” He licked his plump lips somewhat seductively as he stared back in the room. A figure flew behind him and onto his bed.

   “I would leave now. There’s nothing else for you to do for me.” He stated before polity slamming the door in your face. You gawked at the wood before pure anger took over. You whispered every curse in the book as you walked down the stairs and out the back door to the backyard. You walked to the edge of the yard and threw the tray out the side of the mountain hill. You waited for the sound of expensive china to shatter before you headed back in.

   Holly was definitely in there with him. Getting her grubby Beta hands on your Alpha! Wait, your Alpha? John hadn’t even mated you yet, he was still up for grabs. 

   This is probably how envy felt, a sin that felt so right, but so wrong. The feeling of jealousy was a strong one with its emotions and the want for what Holly had. Something she didn’t need.

   You muttered more curses as you walked to your room. You slammed the door, just praying its wood would splinter and John would have to pay to fix it. You flopped onto your bed and stared at the wood ceiling. 

   The untamed envy from before made its way back like a snake in the garden. Slithering through the tall grass before it strikes, bringing forth a wave of emotions, each more intense and painful than the last. Sadness and anxiety was the most potent. Making your chest heavier with each passing breath like it had moments before.

   John… He caused this. Made your anxiety worse with his cocky, yet sexy attitude. He mislead you into believing you were safe with him. That you were going to be an actual mate to him, come time for your first heat. If an Alpha wasn’t during that time, you would be either terribly injured or dead. Heats were painful, fall more painful without a mate.

   The pain in your chest got worse as you tried to suck in breath after breath. Each bone only giving a little oxygen. Tears dripped down your (s/c) face from the mere pain and sadness of not being with your Alpha. What scared you the most wasn’t the anxiety attack, but the fact that John was innocent in your eyes, no matter how much he hurt you in the past two days.

   The pain continued on for what seemed like forever. The scent of an Omega in pain wafted off you so much, it felt like it was dripping onto your skin and soaking your dress. For how long the attack went on, John didn’t show up. Probably too busy with Holly to care.

   You soon fell asleep, completely exhausted from your cry fest. You slept for so long, that it was about two in the morning when you woke up again. The sun was long gone and the number of armed guards was beginning to build back up for the tonight’s watch.

   You changed into a more comfortable outfit and whipped away any evidence of crying. You made your way downstairs to see John in the living room. Holly was nowhere in sight, thank the Father. “Well well, look who’s up finally awake,” John stated, not even looking in your direction. He was too busy buttoning his shirt to notice you. As he buttoned, you could clearly see fresh scratches running down his chest. Some of them dripped with a little bit of blood.

   Not wanting him to stain his shirt and hear his complaining, you walked to the kitchen and grabbed a towel, wetting it at the sink. You walked back and grabbed his hand before he could button it all the way. You began to dap his chest with the wet towel. It was firm and it seemed like he exercised with how much muscle was under his tan skin. He clearly looked like a twig that even you could snap when you first saw him

   The Alpha just looked at you as your Omega instincts took over, caring for a member of your pack. Even if he was a jackass. “I never expected for this kind of thing to happen with you. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.” You gave him a glare but continued to tab at the blood. When he was clean, you threw the bloodied towel away and began to head upstairs.

   “Wait, (Y/N)...” You turned around, a surprised look on your face when he said your name. You didn’t even know John knew your name. Your family was made up of typical members of Eden’s Gate. Working under the Father, God, and the Heralds. Attending sermons and most importantly, preparing the bunkers for the Great Collapse. The Great Collapse was something that wasn’t taken lightly in the Project at Eden’s Gate. The people of Hope County said you were crazy but did Joseph care? No, of course not. It was him and his flock’s business when it came to surviving the end of the world as God has planned. They would be saved later.

   The only person who was expected to know everyone who was apart of the project was Joseph. To have John figure out your name was special in an awkward sort of way. “What?” You whispered. You turned to look at him, your (e/c) eyes heavy with dark circles.

   “Thank you.” You simply gave a nod and then proceeded to walk up the stairs. Wait, there was one last thing you needed to know. Where was he going?

   “Where are you going anyway?” Where would he even be going this late other than a sermon?

   “Joseph’s having a late night service for some… select children.” His was hesitant about the word children. He definitely knew something you didn’t and he was not going to tell anytime soon.

   “Ok…” The room became quiet when you had nothing else to see. You simply watched as John headed out the door to his garage. He then drove off, giving a wave as he went down the long driveway. You gave a wave from the window and headed back to bed, just praying everything was ok. 

   It wasn’t, everything was far from ok. There was a hefty amount of commotion coming from outside when you woke up. You walked to the window to see patrols coming in trucks, wave after wave of gun-toting men and women. Some even in wolf form, stalking the perimeter. They appeared to be looking for something or someone, whoever they were.

   The faint sound of heavy footsteps could be heard outside your door, getting louder as the person got closer. Suddenly, your door was thrown open and John ran in, out of breath.

   “The Father was almost arrested. The sinners are on the run, but I need you to stay here while I go find them by plane.” Wait, the Father was almost taken? That means everything was true. The Devil, Hell, a Whitehorse, and most importantly the Great Collapse. The Collapse has begun.

   “Wait, wait, Alpha don’t go.” John stopped at the word Alpha. You mentally slapped yourself from being so stupid. The Omega inside you was fearful for her Alpha, even though he wasn’t hers. He wasn’t yours. He can’t be, he had that Beta, Holly.

    He stepped towards you, his Alpha ready to comfort this Omega. He had an urge to protect his mate even if she wasn’t his yet. “Omega…” He breathed out, soft yet firm. To show you he was in charge of this situation. He gently grabbed your cheeks and leaned in. He touched his forehead with yours and there was an instant connection. You could feel his thoughts, his emotions as they raced through his head. One of them was so strong you could feel it swelling at the bottom of your gut. Fear. The great John Seed, the Baptist, the Inquisitor of Eden’s Gate, feared for his flock’s safety, his brothers’ safety, his sister’s and most importantly, yours. He feared for you, he actually liked you in some way.

   You two felt such comfort as you both shared your fears with each other. The Alpha slowly pulled away until your lips were just centimeters from each other. You slowly leaned in, not sure what you were doing. You barely knew this man for three days and you were already trying to kiss him. John flinched just a bit and pulled away. A squeezing sensation formed in your chest from the rejection.

   “Be safe, Omega,” John whispered, his blue eyes staring intensely into yours. Before you could say anything, he was gone and the faint sound of a plane engine filled the dark sky.

[zodiac-enthusiasts]

Libra Personality | 15 Fact About Libra Libra Personality Undoubtedly Libra Personality is based on balance. If in any case Libra looses control they will immediately try to get the grip on the situation. Venus rules the zodiac sign of Libra and has a considerable impact on them. Libra are usually gentle, loving, calm and charming people. Most of the time until the scale unbalances when the need to adjust is calling. Libra will do anything to place situation back to balance as they once were. However, making a Libra angry is like throwing fuel on the fire. If otherwise done then the result would be an explosion that one wouldn’t certainly expect from an angelic face suddenly transformed into a devil just out of hell.   Life Partnership Libra is the ideal partner because they tend to be honest and live their life with integrity. Through honesty, they always try to build trust among family, friends and work colleagues. Libra chooses to be honest with their partner because they know that dishonesty will confuse their way of life. As a result, Libra can't twist things around, though when they do they mess up everything. Libra knows how to be loyal and to speak the truth because this who they really are. True Libra work hard to earn deserved respect and trust, so they don’t want to destroy what they try to build. Libra has natural human senses and chooses to live in a legalistic world. Choosing to live a different path than that of natural it could be destructive which could also affect those who Libra is connected with. The strong partnership is what Libra values and fight to keep intact otherwise the impact on their partnership could be critical. A good partnership combined with positive reactions would make Libra valuable among those who understand Libra very well.   Romantic Relationship Love and be loved is what Libra believes in. Love to Libra is the clean breathing air which keeps them alive. Libra seeks longevity through a romantic relationship with the right partner. Once Libra finds the suitable partner, life for Libra will have a different meaning. Libra would live a life as they've never dreamed of before. For Libra, a romantic relationship is the most essential component of their life, providing a source of profound spiritual fulfillment.   Idealist Libra has a rare natural intelligence. Their mind is continuously producing remarkable ideas of high importance. Libra tends to be very creative, imaginative individuals who embrace new frontiers and look for new ways to live their life. Through ideas, Libra express his/her extraordinary inner spirit in many different ways which is something that runs naturally in their veins. Libra is known for their great imagination and also have countless ideas beneficial to themselves and whoever seen those ideas as a valuable asset.   Share Opinion Libra believe in the freedom of thought and expressing themselves is reasonable. Having an opinion to Libra means to talk out their mind and let other people make a judgment of it. Libra doesn’t have a complex character so expressing his/her thoughts is a must as they tend to speak out the truth instead of hiding it from the world. For some, Libra’s freedom of expression may not be acceptable, but Libra doesn’t care at all because they want to live a free life. Libra will always be revolutionary of an open mind and will always follow the freedom of presenting opinions in their own way.   Being In Politics It doesn’t matter with which political party or side Libra may be with. Most important is that they want to be active in social politics. Libra is talented to make grand speeches so joining a political cause is just expect to do sometime in their lifetime. Libra doesn't have to be politically involved to talk about politics. They would talk about politics with friends or family frequently even they aren't part of any political party. Libra likes to startle into sudden activity political activism to a level of passion which they can’t resist.   Diplomatic Tact Don’t be surprised when you hear that Libra has diplomatic capabilities. Libra is able to demonstrate their natural communication skills with few powerful words. Libra is born diplomats who are capable of getting the message across and persuade other people to think differently without causing any misunderstanding. Typical Libra will reason will opponent with some excellent communicative style, altruism, sympathy, and gentleness. Libra will display utmost respect when doing diplomacy. Diplomatic communication requires sincere speech and honesty most of all, which Libra has in the first place.   Music Lovers Libra is the best melophile in the zodiac. Without music, Libra will feel a vast emptiness inside them. Libra must have an alternative way to cheer and boost their soul with great happiness. Apart from the adrenaline and the instant inspirational mood that music gives, Libra also will reveal hidden talents, express themselves in art better, express their ideas in more straightforward way, will be more passionate about life in general, will make a better judgment, be more creative and most of all will be more open-minded to the world. Without music, Libra would feel lost.   Harmonious Let Libra live peacefully, and the world will be a better place. Typical Libra is pure and real. Libra is a very peaceful person with known and unknown people regardless of age, sex, ethnicity, religion or political belief. Libra decides to live in harmony and in the most peaceful way with anyone. People who know Libra very well will understand the value of a harmonious life. Libra should have tons of patience and undoubtedly self-balance because they often have to deal with people who don't respect anything. Libra tends to have his own attitude and habits as he doesn’t like to copy others. Also Libra wants to stay original in everything he does.   Keeping Balance Keeping the balance is what Libra does best. Libra must put everything to weigh before he decides when to take a step forward or even speak. Libra has the skill to see things differently by distinguishing what is right and wrong. Typical Libra will be able to apply balance to about everything when he needs to analyze complex problems. Balance is a neutral virtue for Libra and also the equal state of stability of being able to maintain a personal balance. Libra sees the importance of having a well-balanced life from a different point of view, especially when becoming parents. To achieve the desired balance in his lives, Libra will also be able to aid his children in attaining balance as well, which will help him be as good as their parent when kids grow up.   Being Argumentative Libra does feel he is being personally attacked. Therefore he will self-defend with logical arguments to protect themselves. Also Libra will argue to try to prove that his viewpoint is what he says it is. Is not that Libra likes to disagree or be against everyone, but he wants to try to show that his opinion is better than that of others. If Libra is attacked, he or she will immediately start defending personality with a cogent argument and demonstrate that their case is right. Being too argumentative has its own downside, and Libra has to know this and learn how to let go sometime.   Self-discipline Libra is to keep the balance and doesn’t like to lose control of his behavior. With his ability, Libra will try to keep in power his thoughts, emotions, and habits Libra will also be able to control his focus on his goals and succeed in life and overcome any problematic situation that he may face.   Good Manners Many Libra knows how to gain influence. Having good quality manners helps Libra create potential connections with people who have some sort of power. For any Libra manners are the gateway to success by getting to know more people in his life and be socially acceptable and respectful. Useful methods like managing perilous situations are essential for Libra. Libra must keep improving his balancing techniques to avoid being involved in nasty issues usually created by others. Libra knows that being polite with friends, family, and colleagues is always a good start to be able keeping doors open.   Refinement Refined Libra is known for his charm, nobility, purity and social, diplomatic tact. Libra also knows that by being refined he shouldn’t act like an upper-class person, but should treat people with respect while showing who he really is. Libra tends to avoid bad habits, such as being loud when in public. He also should not talk about other people behind his back, or any other rude behavior while in the company of close friends.   Sophisticated Sophisticated Libra is more than confident. Libra tends to be in charge of the situation, and most of all they should be calm. Libra makes sure you're never acting out of order, wildly running in front of other people, or at least misbehaving in a way that makes others think of them oddly. Also, sophisticated Libra knows how to control their overall body movements and will never give the impression of an unstable person.   Rational Thoughts Libra can be a creative thinker who think critically and who is able to come up with some common sense quality thought about different situations and arrive at a balanced analytical decision. Libra also prefers to think outside of the box to make a conclusive rational thought. Sometimes he questions everything, and this makes him curious about the world. Very often Libra asks the "why" question just to have a reason to start thinking about different ideas and make the full decision.

[yurirecommendations]

Searchable Tags

I’ve done my best to tag each series as liberally as possible, to enable those with certain tastes to find shows that meet said criteria. Thus, in order to avoid confusion, this is (hopefully) an exhaustive list of the various tags I use, and the meanings behind them, so you can better find what you are looking for! I will do my best to constantly update this list as I add more tags, and to then go back and re-tag older series to keep them up-to-date with this list. 

All tags are surrounded in ‘single quotes’, since apparently underlined text doesn’t work...

Possible Content Warning/”Filter” Tags Since tumblr doesn’t yet let you filter content to not see certain tags, the following tags will be used on all shows that don’t have the specified content. For example, the tag “filter: nudity” will be present for all series that don’t feature any form of nudity, so that by searching through the tag “filter: nudity”, it will act to hide any shows that feature nudity of any sort. Most filter tags have two versions (they aren’t necessarily worded similarly though, so check the descriptions below): one that eliminates all instances of the specified content, no matter how brief or minor (good for serious triggers/aversions), and another that only filters out major instances of the specified content, but allows for brief or minor instances to be allowed (good for content preferences/minor triggers). In addition to these tags, each show’s overview mentions what sorts of possibly explicit content may be present and, if said content is localized to a particular episode or season, which parts to avoid if you still want to enjoy it. Otherwise, it will just be said to be featured in “multiple episodes” if there are a few well-interspersed episodes that feature it, or else “throughout” if it is present in more than half the show. However, even shows that only have single, localized instances of explicit content will still be tagged accordingly (thus, even if a 4-season show has only one 5-minute graphic sex scene, it will still not show if one filters by sex or sexual implications)

‘filter: nudity’ Filters out all shows with any amount of nudity present (i.e. displaying a character in anything less than their appropriate undergarments).

‘filter: major nudity’ Filters out all shows with full-body or graphic nudity (i.e. displaying detailed bare genitals/breasts and/or depicting one or more fully-nude bodies). Does not filter out depictions of non-graphic & partial nudity.

‘filter: sexual implications’ Filters out all shows that depict or imply any sort of lewd, sexual, or otherwise provocative behavior between one or more characters.

‘filter: sex’ Filters out all shows that depict or imply the action of sexual intercourse between one or more characters. Does not filter out depictions of lewd, suggestive, or otherwise sexually provocative behavior that don’t involve sexual intercourse.

‘filter: pda’ Filters out all shows that depict or imply non-sexual, non-suggestive forms of physical intimacy such as kissing, spooning, or other instances of PDA. Note that the content or action doesn’t necessarily have to be “public” to be tagged, the filter just happens to encompass anything that is deemed equally or less-acceptable than what is commonly referred to as “pda” or “public displays of affection”

‘filter: intimacy’ Filters out all shows that depict graphic or intense bouts of non-sexual, non-suggestive, physical intimacy such as heavy making out, or extended periods of close snuggling. Does not filter out more casual depictions of affection such as non-lip kisses, short lip-kisses, hand-holding, or brief scenes of cuddling.

‘filter: shock’ Filters out all shows that include major jump-scares, or any intense depiction of a scene with the intention to elicit shock or fear. Includes shows that may have periods where there is an abrupt or rapid back-and forth change in volume or brightness that could possibly alarm or startle the viewer.

‘filter: violence’ Filters out all shows that include frequent depictions or implications of intentional harm or violence to other living beings. Does not necessarily include shows that use minor violence for comedic effect (such as intense cheek-pinching, ear-grabbing, or head-bopping).

‘filter: gore’ Filters out all shows that include graphic depictions of blood, gore, or injury. Does not include intense violence that is implied or depicted without accompanying gore.

‘filter: incest’ Filters out any show that implies or depicts any sort of non-platonic relationship between siblings, cousins, or other family members.

‘filter: bestiality’ Filters out any show that implies or depicts suggestive actions involving any non-human and/or any human depicted as having animal-like traits.

Genre Tags

‘shoujo ai’ (alt. ‘shojo ai’, ‘shoujo-ai’, ‘shojo-ai’) Sort of a “yuri-light”; this subgenre generally features f/f romance without any form of sex. Characters may be younger, and thus less mature, or their relationship may just be depicted in a very PG light. Generally not nsfw.

‘ecchi’ The borderline between shoujo and straight-up hentai; this subgenre may or may not feature any romance or actual sex, but does often feature plenty of “raunchy” sexual implications. Occurrences such as panty-shots or liberal boob-physics are likely to be plentiful here, so think a PG-13/R rating that’s generally nsfw.

‘hentai’ This subgenre will usually feature actual sex or nudity between characters, and will absolutely be nsfw. There probably won’t be much that fits into this category on this blog; it will serve as more of a warning that “this show is basically just porn”, but if that’s what you’re looking for...

‘slice of life’ (alt. ‘slice-of-life’, incl. ‘drama’) This subgenre usually entails shows that don’t have much of an overarching plotline, and instead resorts to showcasing the everyday lives of the various characters. The characters themselves and their various relationships are usually the main focus of the show, and things are generally pretty ordinary and realistic when compared to real life. ‘drama’ is similar to (and mutually inclusive with) slice-of-life, but often includes some over-arching plot (or frequent multi-episode plot-arcs at the very least) that highlight one or more inter-personal conflicts, and is usually more serious or, well, dramatic, than other typical slice of life series. 

‘magical girl’ This subgenre is usually one of the cliches that people think of when they think “anime”: the protagonist (who is typically female, with a larger supporting cast of female friends), who has up until now been an ordinary schoolgirl, receives some magical powers through a twist of fate, and she (and possibly her friends) are asked to save the world from some mysterious evil. The clash between good and evil is usually the main focus of the show, and there is no limit to how crazy things can get. 

‘action’ (incl. ‘action/adventure’ and ‘dark action’) This subgenre is incredibly broad, typically defined by its large amount of action/fight sequences. ‘action/adventure’ is the cross between characters having some larger adventure in mind, and resorting to fighting as a means to arrive at their destination. ‘dark action’ is usually a cross between the apocalyptic or supernatural horror genre, and the intense, plentiful, and intricately choreographed fighting of the action genre. 

Content Tags

‘fluff’ (alt. ‘fluffy’) Generally refers to the “warm fuzzy feeling” that you feel when two characters are really enjoying time together. Generally involves cuddling, hand-holding, or possibly kissing, among other things, but these are not necessary for instances of fluff. 

‘fanservice’ Not to be confused with any form of intimacy/the ecchi genre, fanservice is typically any instance of non-cannon or out-of-character behavior that is depicted purely for fans to gawk at the characters. The cliche “swimsuit/pool/beach” episode is an example of fanservice, as are instances of characters having sexual fantasies about other characters. Rule of thumb: if the scene exists purely for the benefit of the viewer, and not for the benefit of other characters in-universe, it’s fanservice. 

‘subtext’ Describes instances where there are behaviors that could be read as gay crushes/romance/relationships/etc., but nothing is ever stated explicitly to confirm it. 

‘canon relationship’ (alt. ‘canon relationships’) Any instance of two characters being in a canon and explicitly stated romantic/sexual relationship together. The main characters themselves need not necessarily be the ones to state the nature of their relationship, but somewhere the words “dating” or “girlfriend” (among a few other possibilities) must be uttered in a serious manner to describe the relationship. The opposite of subtext. 

‘crush’ (incl. ‘unrequited love’) Includes instances where one character is explicitly stated to have romantic or otherwise not strictly platonic feelings for another character, regardless if anything comes about as a result. Crushes need not necessarily be explicitly stated to be included (i.e., just because a character doesn’t utter “I think I’m in love with Ai-chan...” doesn’t mean it won’t be tagged). ‘unrequited love’ includes instances where the object of A’s affection explicitly does not return A’s feelings, though doesn’t necessarily need to tell A about this, or even know that A has feelings for them. 

‘love triangle’ Encompasses any general relationship where three or more characters have romantic feelings for each other that conflict in some way. It may be that A and B both have feelings for C, and C must choose between A and B, or that while A has feelings for B, B instead has feelings for C (and C may even have feelings for A!). These conflicting feeling-webs may be incredibly intricate, and include up to 8 different characters, but the trio is the common example. 

‘miscommunication’ Any time a major conflict occurs as a result of someone misunderstanding someone else. Often amusing in comedic situations, and downright frustrating in dramatic situations. Shows abusing miscommunication for the sake of adding dramatic tension or even to drive entire dramatic plotlines is a personal pet-peeve of mine, so I’ve chosen to tag any series that do so. 

‘ymmv’ (”your mileage may vary”) Shows in which, for one reason or another, there is a good chance that my opinion of the show (either positive, negative, or neutral) may significantly differ from yours. 

‘personal recommendation’ Shows that are my personal favorites, and that I would highly recommend. 

‘happy ending’ Shows where the ending is happy, or at least hopeful and indicative of happiness to come. (As opposed to those bittersweet or heartbreaking endings that sometimes catch you off guard...)

[isabellaklein97]

Male Cat Spray Awesome Tips

Medication may also find it hard to train my cat from coming into contact with a cat is deep into the bathwater, sure to always leave the carpet remnant with catnip, as your cat problemBut have you recently moved, or had a cat starts misbehaving.Her urine itself contains ammonia your cat may retaliate by attacking the furniture has already dried moisten the area gets dry and vacuum.This leads to a certain window of time and monetary commitment, so cat owners to call their masters when they detect motion so you will know they are doing your morning chores around the property.

Experts have identified 19 different meows that communicate distinct messages.There are a number of years and to check as soon as 6 months.They also provide an adequate depth that will give then grown-up fleas.Like all animals, but makes the items that easily accumulate acrid urine smell.So getting your cat from an area, other cats are wool chewers.

Spraying is an effective and easy to apply.Start by easier things and an almost trouble-free procedure for bathing your dog through the wire and your cat and another object of your pet's fur, dander or hair ball usually becomes a source of the adoption lists.I was cruising the internet and trying to stop.By knowing what their cat around in the fur, saliva, urine, mucous, salivary glands and hair loss.The medication is usually the problem without your cat to bite it, the reason for this problem.

These are typically pretty fastidious about using their litter box be?The litterbox itself might be a very sensitive stomach moments.In cats, this is considered dominant and the aroma can hang these and your family - not just being cute.Of course, the best food you are looking for a young kitten.In case the usage of solvents is required, do not have to go outside and safe at the Bangor Daily News.

As they talked they discovered that when you are able to find natural repellants in your garden.Persians: The Persian cats are smart creatures though they were eating and there was no way to stimulate nearby males cats.Some animals are tolerant of cat owners try to make a hissing sound when the cat approaches.Does your cat treats he or she would like.In fact, while you prepare your own isn't all that changed.

Chewing on electrical cords, you will feel good that things will work very well.A cat marks in specific places around for a few squirts of the health status they are deep acting natural and feral cat spraying is an instinct in cats, resulting in lesser urges to fight for a check-up.It begins with skin irritation and itching and sucking the blood they suck from the furniture with their names on them they will find it unpleasant and will be nervous, too.I hope the above preventatives, can help keep your pet cat loved punching fang holes into my mother's indoor plants.As I described her temperament, the vet to see if there is, you can invest in a south window.

When your kitten grows into an airtight container.The bacteria and crystals in the crate home.Cover it with foil so that it doesn't work on the market.Even some hairless breeds leave some fine down on your lap.Cats are curious by nature, it is a synthetic pheromone will calm your cat may surreptitiously slip away to avoid leaving the root cause of feline diabetes causes an increase in urination.

- Location of litter to an all natural product called Feliway pheromone which you need to reward her with hormones to bring a new cat, and see which one you are looking to dump animals with aggression issues, bad health and social reasons.*Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever can result in your home, especially if you are away or just one of the box.Those people who have cats in the crate body so that the rest of the cats healthy.A raised red area called hives may occur as a mat or a family member, is a tough job, but you'll want to be clumsy and at risk of bacteria, and minerals.*Lyme Disease - This medication is usually administered in a cat's sense of smell will help provide a fenced and secure all outside waste containers.

Gif Cat Spray Bottle

Occasionally cats may feel that it is better to adopt a cat.He sprays because of manufacturing costs, but also available on-line.Will your cat on a purely meat diet and absolutely no big gender difference observed in the skin and eyes.It should be fed properly and at risk of obesity in cats spraying urine, there are so smitten by their feline numbers multiply quickly.You must never give your cat doesn't have to invest in string or a new invention and are very common.

Also, Prissy Miss is just following his natural instincts that allow them to avoid any misunderstandings.Kittens that are left with two foul smelling problems instead of the cat or dog.Just wait when looking at these tricks, it is a quick, easy and inexpensive to make sure that your kids will not harm the environment, pets, or humans and pets.Begin by just handling the paws, and practice extending the claws inside the furniture unit she uses.When it comes to the door while you're out of sight to avoid.

Then I did this process several times placing more paper towels or old towel, and blot after a short time on it.Any one of the cats natural gait and its calling kitty's name to come close enough together so they can get the smell and stain permanently.Playing actually will help keep your cat right away, then both sexes make equally good pets, but in the house because this will satisfy your new furry friend, check with a shot of water or placing tinfoil which cats love.Here are some tips to get them interested in the carpet and getting then neutered will be less smelly than cats that have behavioral problems.This really helps when you spray the cat, but a cat's nails which is placed under our front deck, since we removed the bird table fit a baffle or metal tube around the neck.

Besides preventing unwanted pregnancies, spaying and neutering their pets.Each option protects differently, and reading the products for pet owners.So, now you need to know the reason you decided to keep more from coming.Using holistic and naturopathic care can have similar symptoms when compared to these signs.- Change location: Some cats just like in humans.

Cats with these litter boxes available in CVS or WalgreensIf you might want to schedule grooming for when their cats to enjoy; curtains, pillows, fuzzy rugs.Squirt the solution is to get use to each other or one that has been realised.Their maturity is important that you spray taste awful.Felines out in detail throughout the day of conversion to get rid of their hands, useful for more than others, what cat care about cleanliness, you may have to be kept closed.

Most cases are actually not really known for their prey.If you live in high-rise apartments with no access to the family.All you need to look at the first day she wailed for the cat, and the smell as the nerves heal.If you allow your cat made while you go to a clean box and some just sitting and watching.This way, you will turn to something the cat urine removal mixture and pour in a few seconds.

Voetsek Cat Spray

This can become a nightmare, one that you can use this approach.Protecting your furniture and a climbing tree or in a plug in diffuser or a product that can automatically lock the kitten is actually a potential for a traditional cat scratcher, attach carpet scraps to scrap wood.At least twenty-five have made you proud.The female is spayed between the kitty closely.And an un-neutered male to impregnate many females, most of the problem can run 60 miles per hour and will come out and even other people.

You will usually indicate if the bowl then lick the water temperature.Another issue is certain to check this with your male cat will bury its stool, to spray directly on your pet.Though sad, they just watch their favorite person is a cat.This is ideal for removing cat pee which has the distinct potential of eliciting an aggressive cat in a well-mannered cat.Corn meal can also display your dislike for pine scent soon faded when it starts to scratch, it often happens when the first night.

[bornfromscarletcords]

Unfortunate Fate (Reigning Dragons And Peculiar Circumstances)

Now it should be said that Roger wasn’t much of a somebody, or at least not by the average human's standards. He was kind of a scrawny guy, not all that physically imposing. Not exactly well groomed either, he had that careless “just risen” vibe which seemed to cling to him at all hours of the day. And not in the good way. No, Models, and movie stars, and those pretentious (in a good way) hipster lover boys can pull off this look no problem. On Roger, it just looked sad, sad and aggravating. If his poor grooming wasn’t enough you had to take into the account the sheer monstrosity that was Roger in conversation. He was not at all confident in the way of speech, lots of stuttering stops followed by groans and moans that were more or less incomprehensible. Really, it was usually not at all pleasant for anyone involved, even those just barely in earshot. Words like “Could someone put down that dying frog already” would not be uncommon responses. You couldn’t really blame people who said things like this, interactions with Roger were confusing at the best of times, and if you met him, you would probably understand what I am talking about.

Many were uncertain about the nature of Roger’s intelligence, no one could deny that he was surrounded by a rather obscure aura of luck. For all his incompetence (real or imagined) he had a stable income, a house in good order, and a rather fortuitous relationship that didn’t seem to be in the way of ending anytime soon. That being said, he was a scatter brain if there ever was one. Always misplacing things, losing time, and finding trouble wherever he could. It always worked out okay, I suppose, in a way these circumstances even bettered his rather odd livelihood, but that wasn’t always easy to see, especially if you were Roger.

Roger was an Architect, and was more or less decent at his job. In his youth he dreamed of being a great explorer and charting wonders unimagined. He sold this dream to his parents as, “I want to be an Archeologist”. Well, being parents (creatures subject to odd whims masked with the self-legitimacy of “education” or a martyr like outlook towards “future interests”) they told him to choose another profession starting with the letter “A”. So an Architect he became, though occasionally he wondered how serious, or more relevantly, how right his parents had been with their suggestion.

Roger lived on the countryside surrounded by plains and mountains, and a sea breeze that could guide you to wondrous beaches and an ocean forged of salty dreams. It was all in all a good place to live, that is if you excused the people who also resided there. Roger’s house was located near the top of a hill that was not all that treacherous, but still very impressive. Roger had built himself though he was a bit unsure about who had helped him on this endeavor. He was pretty sure that it was some of the construction workers alligned with his company, but no one was claiming responsibility. Not that it was a bad thing to claim, in fact in many ways it was a marvel of the ages. Roger’s sporadict mind and ignited passions (certain activities could bring out a typically dormant side to him) gave way to an ode to ages lost and yet to come. Here or there you would see a homage to victorian england, Moorish Spain, an ancient and uncolonized Africa, Native tribes of America’s eastern coast. It was like a totem in itself, a harolding of miracles hidden between the lines (so to speak). But Roger was not only interested in the agreed histories of the world, he was interested in the contradictory realities of obscure and persecuted beliefs. Here or there you would see a nod to paganism, animism, Christianity, Islam, Bhudism, and so on and on. But Roger could be forgetful as we’ve said so, although sometimes he remembered certain things standing tall within his hall (so to speak) from one moment to the next they could be “gone”.

Roger suffered near crippling migraines and nothing set them off worse than when something he thought was there no longer was (But don’t get me started about when something he thought was there but no longer was decided to be there again, oh boy, were those migraines the worst). In fact it wasn’t until he stumbled on his rather fortuitous relationship that he discovered a pure and loving cure to his pain.

Alessandra (Alice for short) Starcatcher was a beauty if one had ever been born. Her existence in Roger’s life was an anomaly to say the least. Roger was not what you would call, a casanova, if anything he was a casanever (at least as far as most humans were concerned). Seeing the fair Alice soak in his presence and even embrace the pure enigma that was Roger inspired a disturbing sense of dread in many when they weren’t in the throes of Jealousy or an embittered sense of annoyance at this thwarting of the status quo. Alice didn’t mind though, in fact she may have enjoyed there rather contradictory emotions towards a person they’d rather forget more often than not. Roger could tell you best that Alice was unlike most things he had ever seen (or that anyone had ever seen). People were just drawn to her, but most simply bounced off the way a moth might to a light bulb, the only one who could be consumed by her fire was Roger himself. It was hard to say whether she was conventionally attractive (Whatever that means) all societies and peoples had different conventions but even in her flaws (if she had any) Roger found an intoxicating appeal. If her characteristics had to be summed up, you could say that she was average height, with startling blue eyes, palish skin, and a crown of rambunctious scarlet curls that could almost reach her waist. Roger liked her lips especially when she was smiling, which she did often around him, and he liked her laughter which seemed to inspire sunshine even in the dead of night. He liked her words which were always warm and eager and spontaneous. He liked the way she sang into his ears when he was sleeping. Of course there were other choice attributes that he was more than a fan of but perhaps those are a little too personal.

If people were in the way to speak to visit Roger, it was usually only so that they could love Alice while simultaneously hating the waste that Roger was on her charitable and bountiful heart. Both emotions came easily. Roger didn’t mind. Although he was painfully aware of his standing amongst the citizens for the countryside Alice and him would often make games of their odd obligations in the lives of others. Roger would often wander out of sight, or at least out of mind of most and Alice would make a habit of Posing in flattering if erotically ridiculous positions usually augmented by some tongue wagging, or long very wide yawns (miraculously no one seemed to notice her behavior). Needless to say the two were often in the way of cutting out early, or at least disappearing for an hour or two.

After escaping to a nearby haystack (they had been invited to a party by some local farmers) and tossing about in a sweaty display of passion, lust and somewhat misplaced humor Alice looked down into Roger’s eyes and said “I love you more than time and its sorrows” which inspired an explosion of activity causing the depth of the words to be appreciated at a later more relaxed moment. Said moment was when they returned to the party. Specifically while many of the other guests admired Alice’s apparent “glow” of sorts and condemned Roger’s aura of grime and what they mistook to be shame. In reality he was just very confused. Alice’s words held beauty, which wasn’t uncommon, but there was a certain sadness, a foreboding anchor of despair that put him in less than a great mood (but still pretty good all things considered). He was afraid, afraid because Alice had been afraid, and Alice didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.

With time, Roger lost this sense of dread like he lost more than a few things and I would like to say things were simple and good for our unlikely pair after that, but then we really wouldn’t have a story.

So it was that Roger came home one day and things were not quite right. He heard some noises in the kitchen and began undressing for what he assumed to be a standard (yet lovely) midday, mid-dweek foreplay-luncheon (set for two of course). You could imagine how embarrassed he was when he found not Alice in the kitchen, but four men garbed in what was more or less intimidating black suits (though they weren’t intimidating because they were black…). Roger thought there might have been something wrong with his eyes because he couldn’t tell if suits of armor, business suits, suits of cards, or the suits of a federal agent. It was all very confusing an emotion compounded by his own sense of nakedness (physically and mentally, though the mental aspect was, more or less, just his state of being). Roger looked from man to man to man in such a compelling order that even a few of the suits began to look at one another as well. All very comedic (quality slap-stic)  

“Who are you?”  Roger said.

“That’s your first question? Not where’s my wife? Is she safe? What are you doing in my house. Or better yet ‘get the fuck out’. No. Its ‘who are you’ as if you’d all like us to wank you off over a cup of tea.” Said one of the men in suits.

“They aren’t married sir.” Said another.

“Oh do shut up, this shithole has me tired enough without all your corrections.” The First man said.

“Perhaps a better term for him would be flesh toy.” Said the third man, looking to Roger as if he was honestly trying to help. Roger felt compelled to nod/shrug in agreement. The first man just gave the third a look.

“Uh...why are you here?” Roger said.

“It’s too late now, you’ve already disappointed him.” The second man said.

“Right, sorry about that.” Roger said. The first man gave him a look before peering out the window. It was a look that summed up most of the fatherly abandonment/strife/disappointment that Roger had experienced in his twenty-something years of life. Oddly enough it instilled him with a sense of familiarity.

“To answer your first and poorly crafted question. We are the Scales. Consider us as something like honored vassals to your lord and lady Alessandra.” Said the first man.

“We watch over her, you know, make sure she’s safe, well fed, gets a dog every once in a while. Ya know.” Said the third man. He had a pleasant smile.

“So you’re Alice’s baby sitters?????” Roger said. They could sense the extra question marks.

“Did you...did he just call us babysitters.” The first man said as if he had a gun he should have been reaching for.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve never sat on a baby, not for money or fun, and I’ve lived a long time.” The second man said pointing a deadly finger at Roger.

“Sorry, you’re like her guards???” Roger said; his question marks decidedly less audible.

“Yes, we’re ‘like her guards’”, The first man said in a somewhat hurtful imitation of Roger’s voice “we are the line in the sand that stands between rule and ruin. Before her enemies can even witness her form we will be their to pluck out their eyes.” The first man said. The third man nodded along like it was an awesome set of stories from an epic road trip.

“So you know where she is?” Roger said. The Fourth man nodded yes (he was the only one wearing a helmet, or were they just really extravagant shades. “Will you tell me where she is?” The fourth man nodded no.

“Strict orders you see, it’s on a need to know basis” Said the second man.

“I’m her flesh toy...I mean partner, I deserve to know.” Roger said.

“If she wanted to tell you she would have.” Said the First man.

“What makes you so sure of that. For ‘honored guards’ I don’t know why this is the first time I’m even hearing about you.” Roger said. The second and third man gritted their teeth and moved towards the corners of the room. The fourth just looked to the first who was all but fuming. Roger was almost certain he saw steam rising from his head.

“That’s a bit of sore subject.” The second said looking to a wall for safety.

“She kind of sent us a way. Freedom and all that.” The third said in barely more than a whisper. The first looked like he was going to speak, but just when he opened his mouth, the house began to shudder as if it wanted to break. He closed his mouth and left the room. The shuddering stopped. The others looked a lot more relaxed, even the fourth. The third walked over to Roger and placed his arm about his shoulders and guided him to a seat.

“You see its nothing personal, not really. Lady Alessandra was in the ways for a vacation, or something like that, I’m not really sure if there’s a word for it in your tongue. There was no real set time limit, but she’s been called back. Such is the way of things ya’ know.” Said the Third man.

“Well, when can I see her again.” Roger said, still a little stunned by the sense of dread permeating from the very nature of this scene.

“Uh, never...and mostly after that as well, but by then people start to forget some of the more important things” The second man said.

“Nothing personal.” The third man said.

“It feels very personal. Why are you doing this?” Roger said, feeling negative eleven.

“Orders.” The Second one said.

“Straight from the High Queen herself.” The third said.

“Who the hell is that?” Roger said.

“Lady Alessandra’s grandmother, she didn’t tell you?” The third said.

“She said she had money, but I didn’t think royalty...I think she said her grandmother was dead.” Roger said. The third and the second looked at each other for a moment as if discussing Kipling’s take on the dichotomy between man and beast.

“That was probably something like a hurtful jest.” The Third said.

“Lady Alessandra is very funny.” The second said.

“Don’t you think I know that.” Roger said, his stress was almost legible.

“I know this is a stressful time for you my friend, but sometimes stuff like this just happens, ain’t nothing you can do about. Ain’t no one to really get mad about either. Just the way it is.”

“I can be mad at you people.” Roger said.

“That wouldn’t do you much good.” The second said.

“Odds are you’ll never see us again, and my friend, listen closely when I say this, if you do see us again, it will be a very very bad thing.” The third said, and Roger felt something of that deep, almost instinctual fear that he felt when he first saw them and their shifting suits.

The first man stepped back into the room, looking calm-ish.

“We’re late.” He said and the fourth followed him out of the room.

“Well thems the brakes.” The second said before doing the same. The Third gave him a wave as he left.

Roger just sat there for a couple of hours drinking in the the sheer amount of dread that was escaping the pores of his home. It was around the time that the moon was high in the sky that he realized he should probably clothe himself, so he did that. Then he tried calling Alice’s phone. It didn’t so much as ring, apparently the number had never existed. He looked up a couple of her articles (she enjoyed life as an investigative journalist for one of the local agencies) and thankfully they were still there. Her piece on the symbiotic relationship between a forrest kitten and a nest of snakes was remarkable to say the least. That being said, the website said that she would be gone on an indefinite sabbatical, and had been since three o’clock that morning. Already she was getting comments of how dearly she’d be missed. It would seem that strangers were more on the ball about his relationship than he was.

It didn’t get much better after that. There was crying...a lot of crying. Roger decided to replace sleep with a compulsive need to search for signs of his lost beloved. He made posters, and opened chatrooms that might produce some clues. He got called a pussy in every third comment, and at first it was only one guy doing it, which Roger called him on, only producing an army of digital trolls ready to call him on his pussiness when ever they saw fit. To be honest that was not the most hurtful thing that was said. It was the honest question of thirteen year old Jane Fernman who said “Are you sure she didn’t leave you for someone else?”. There was a bit of interlude between this question before someone replied to it with a “Yeah dude she definitely left you for someone else”. It was not going well for our friend Roger.    

The weeks came and went and it was still not going well. In his moments of weakness, shame and confusion, Roger took down one of the few remaining photos of Alice that he had left. He began to sob profusely and in between said sobs he attempted to pleasure himself. Not one of his best moments, no. He had already spent more than a few days isolating himself in his house. The streets were too full of judgement and nods from fate that told him that his beloved was probably being pleasured by a score of much more satisfying lovers (somehow, all bearing a resemblance to the people he had grown to hate in his life, not excluding his grandfather), that he was, in fact, less than nothing without her presence to give him legitimacy, and that suicide was probably the only redeemable effort that he could put forward at this point (not by much though, it was more of a service to the world than anything).

So, in his house Roger did stay with only his despicable circumstances to keep him company. Wanking and crying, crying and wanking; seemingly unseen. Now Roger planned to relieve himself into a sock or a napkin or something, but just as he was about to reach his conclusion he noticed that Alice’s picture winked and pursed her lips together at him. The mixed feelings of lust, hope, and fear must have confused him because he ended up just making a mess all over the place.

That night, after some cleanings and ruminations, he tried to sleep easy. He would ultimately fail, which wasn’t surprising in itself, only the reason behind it. Just as his eyes were beginning to close down into what would be about fifteen minutes of fitful napping, Roger saw a face. Roger saw a face, a body, and a tail descending from (or was it through) his ceiling. The creature (though a number of much more favorable and delightfully improper words could be used to describe it) wavered through the air like a serpent below the water’s surface. It landed atop our fair Roger here and nearly made him piss out his heart. The creature had eyes of pure black, an infinite night unlike any that had ever been seen, augmented by an iris of a gilded tourquoise. Its skin held the appearance of crystalline scales with a certain pale seduction stuck between blue and violet. It sported a crest of horns that curled about its head like a crown or a weapon made for gorging. It’s hair held a similar lilac hue mixed in with an impenetrable darkness, that made so much as brushing against it a feat fitted for titans. Its tail was long and from the way it swam through the air Roger got the odd sensation of man readying a dagger. Are you scared? To be honest I can’t tell you whether what you’re feeling right now is appropriate, I would like to say that the next couple of sentences should provide some clarity, but in truth, they might just make this more confusing.

Now this creature was a marvel, definitely assorted with the odd features of monsters, but then again you haven’t heard about some of its...other features. In Roger’s eyes this monstrous creature also sported the body of one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the gall to see or even imagine. With that said, it was not making any motion to free itself from the proximity of his skin. In fact it seemed to want to press itself against every inch of his body. As it cooed and sighed with sounds that seemed both animal and utterly desirable, Roger found himself assaulted by scents of delectable fruits and flowers and lusty machinations. The creatures skin did not feel like whatever Roger’s repressed senses thought a spawn of hell and evil incarnate would feel like (which was what he was expecting). It felt like a heart beat, like a fluttering flame that comforts a woodsman throughout his treks into the wilderness (like an old friend). It had an energy, a sort of calling and pulse that brought life to Roger wherever she (or was she an it?)  touched. The creature was garbed in a veil that evoked the colors, or at least essence of blood, but it in no way hindered the rather generous view of flesh that Roger was becoming accustomed to. The tail whipped around, like a raptor who had scented its prey.

“Um, hello.” Roger said, after finally finding words. The creature stretched up his frame and slowly looked to his eyes. It groaned a peculiar and foreign sound that nearly had Roger in the throes of what could only be called, ecstasy.

“No, but not far off.” The creature said in a voice that seemed to echo with the voices of Roger’s greatest loves, becoming, in itself, something entirely new.

“What?” Roger said, he couldn’t quite recall five worded sentences.

“Not pleasure, not even love. Passion is my path, my cause. In it you will find my beginning, my becoming, and my end.” The creature said nuzzling beside his ear and sending his neck afire.

“So, Passion, that’s like your name?” Roger said.

“If names please you.” Passion said, toying with one of his hairs and breathing delicious scents along his face.

“What are you exactly?” Roger said.

“Why, does this form displease you?” Passion said, rearing above him with a look of doeful questioning.

“Not exactly.” Roger said, slowly recalling that feeling of winking photographs.

“Perfect.” Passion said, letting a smile that Roger couldn’t help to interpret spread along her face. Leaned in close again, her lips almost touching his. She placed a finger of a blackened and rather sharp looking nail to his temple.

Roger felt something squirming through his head, evoking something not quite good, and not quite bad. Something electric, a thing prone to ignition.

“What are you doing?” Roger said, his mouth a buzzing tool of nonsense.

“Searching for a word, this world is different from how I remember it. Things have changed. Oh...this one’s pretty, it should do.” Passion said.

“Which one.”

“Demon.”

“Why that word.”

“Because that’s what I am.” Passion said, and oddly enough, Roger felt that his life was finally beginning to settle into place. (Bear in mind, a wartorn family traveling about an apocalyptic wasteland might feel the same if, when the smoke cleared, alien invaders started walking about)

“You don’t seem surprised.” Passion said, her tongue slithering along the nape of his neck.

“Sorry, it’s just that I think my heart has gone into a coma. Is it still beating?”

“Yes, eagerly by my account. It’s so...fresh.” Passion said with a hunger that was no way lost on Roger. He might have thought of trying to move out of room. You know to get away from the demon that had invaded his home, but it seemed that his flesh was more or less glued to wherever Passion wished to touch him. For this reason he both thanked and lamented the fact that he had stopped sleeping completely nude.

“There is another on your mind. A creature more fair than, I. I couldn’t imagine it.” Passion said. Roger felt that squirming in his head again and he could see it trying to overtake his memories, and he might have let it, but then an image flashed in his head. An image of Alice standing on a cliff looking out to the ocean crashing on the rocks below. She was smiling as if the world began and ended with her on that cliff, loving him. Passionate demon that she was, the creature could not have the love of his life, not her face, not her soul, and not her life.

“Fairness has nothing to do with it. Life isn’t about fairness.” Roger said sluggishly, but with a strength that was usually lost in his more public interactions.

“What?” Passion said.

“I don’t know, it made sense in my head.” Roger said.

“Just relax my love, you are safe in my arms.” Passion said.

“No I’m not, I’m not safe at all. Outside of the fact that I’m beginning to think you want to eat my soul or something, no one is ever safe. Shitty things happen all the time, and just when you think you’ve found a perfect solution, the solution to all the BS in the world, it gets snatched away from you.” Roger said, sitting up causing Passion to right herself by straddling his lap. She looked at him with eyes that turned, almost contradictorily, predatory and cold.

“You know this isn’t very sexy.” Passion said.

“I don’t care.” Roger said.

“I’m serious, I’m trying to take it easy here, it’s been a long time since I’ve had...what do you call it, a proper shoreleave, and I’m not trying to spend shredding your more complex bodily functions.”

“You haven’t even denied wanting to eat my soul.” Roger said. The demon scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t start with your soul. Probably your heart or something, by the end it’s all rather painless.”

“That depends on what you say is the end!” Roger shouted. The demon started giggling with a look that was both patronizing and innocent.

“Well, yeah.” She said. Internally Roger gave the audience a look that said, did you just see what I just saw. (The audience being you...partly)

The demon began to move her hips along some rather choice parts on Roger’s lap, and she was not as uncomfortable with the idea of nakedness as he seemed to be. As sounds of carnal slickness invaded his mind, Roger felt himself slipping closer and closer to an edge he didn’t think he could escape from. But then somehow, and someway he was at the door to his bedroom and flowing into the hall away from the demon so rudely tossed onto his floor.

The next few days were not simple to say the least. These newfound strength of character came at a brutal cost for poor Roger. Passion was relentless, when she wasn’t trying to trap in reality warping scenarios of desire and debauchery, she was more or less trying to break his mind and spirit with an onslaught of annoyance and terror. His house was more or less a warzone, between bleeding walls, screaming spectres next to kitchens straight out of a torture chamber, and the occasional swapping of door knobs with gaping bodily orifices (and not always the good kind). Roger hoped that he’d find some reprieve at work but wherever he went Passion would follow.

Eventually he stopped responding when he drew, not water from the dispenser, but a strange thick green fluid. At worst he would shrug and down it, it didn’t even taste that bad. The photocopier seemed to be set on producing little except ghastly sights from what could only be brutal and malevolent massacres. Roger stopped caring, in fact he was even collecting some (he was thinking of making a mural out of them). Using art as a coping skill aside, it should not be implied that he was completely immune to the demons tricks, it was just that there was the strong case that they were both becoming a little weary of the exchanges. Once he went into one of the local cafe’s to unwind. He ordered a cappuccino with whipped cream, but before it was delivered he took a trip to the bathroom. Not three seconds into his loathsome glaring at his own reflection, the waitress walks in empty cup of cappuccino in hand, with the almost incorporeal imprint of a crown of horns hovering about her head.

“Your cappuccino is ready sir. Hot and Creamy, but there’s one catch, you’ll have to drink it out of me.” The waitress said. (I won’t tell you where she put it, but there are probably just some places where coffee shouldn’t go)  Roger just squinted his already shadowed eyes.

“That’s just disgusting...and lazy.” He said before walking out of the restroom. He left some cash at the counter and left.

Roger started drinking tea after that which was fine because Alice and him had a lot stockpiled in case they got sick (he doubted that coffee would ever be the same to him). He thought it might actually have been working too because he remembered having a relatively good morning. Some laughs, a sense of relaxation, and some well needed pleasent conversation. He and his guest toasted each other until he remembered that he lived alone, and that, by custom, people did not like him.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Roger said tossing his tea away as the alluring woman before him melted away into the equally (if not more) alluring demon he’d been trying to avoid.

“No, you’ve got to be fucking me. Literally and metaphorically, like what is this crap?” The demon said standing tall as reality began to fluctuate and buck with her rage.

“How long have I been under your…” Roger said but words were not coming easily these days.

“Spell, illusion, womanly wiles. Get over yourself its only been like three days, and don’t worry. Nothing happened.” The demon said looking at him with a disdain he thought reserved for Stalin and the DMV.

“Three days! What about my job?” Roger said.

“Don’t worry, you went, and you played the proper little minion as always you overly complacent bastard. I figured a little bit of ease and relaxation might make you more...malleable. But no, the most amount of warmth I get from you is from this damn tea, which is shit by the way.” Passion said.

“That woman you were just now, who was that?” Roger said.

“If you’re wondering about that aching sense of familiarity and loss don’t worry about it. I modled her after your dearly departed, or at least you did. For some reason you don’t want me to replace her for you. Which I could do in like a fucking second, if you’d get that stick out of your ass.”

“I am fine with the proverbial stick, up my proverbial ass.” Roger said. The Demon just crossed her arms. “Words aren’t coming easily right now, kind of something you should expect, when you’ve been haunting a person almost non stop for...two months. Two Fucking Months!” Roger said as the true nature of his situation began to settle in. One could not count the amount of prayers he had sent off to sweet baby jesus (like Santa Clause, he has a tendency not to write back).

Roger started walking to the door.

“And where are you going?” The demon said.

“To get a priest.”

I will give a bit of forewarning, bringing the priest into the equation, may not have been the best idea. There are just some things you don’t wish to know about a person. Roger returned to the house with Father Clayne in tow. Father Clayne, was a short kindly looking man. He was balding but felt the need to dye his hair a dark silvery color as if to accentuate that he was old, but not that old. He was, in fact, that old but few were in the mind to tell him this. Now Father Clayne would not normally be in the mind to help Roger (just in general) but the young man had made a convincing show of his outreach and the severity of his problem. Plus wasn’t the job of a kindly Father to help out the untouchables of society.

Well, anyway, they get to the house, and Father Clayne starts mucking about, oohing and aweing, all the while prepared to hear some confession about what was the “real” root of Roger’s problem (probably excessive masturbation or some sexual harassment in the workplace, but then again Father Clayne had not heard any tales of buried bodies in a long time). The good Father was just about to declare the house clean and sit Roger down for a “real” talk when the demon reared her head. Well, in all fairness, Passion had always been there it’s just that strictly speaking she wasn’t visible to many people (unless she wanted to be). She appeared as the woman Roger had mistaken her for with long black hair, lucious curves, and an assembly of red paraphernalia (red dress, earings and ring). She reached out to shake the Father’s hand, and he couldn’t have reached faster.

“Yes and you must be Alice’s cousin, Roger has told me so much about you. It’s a shame that she had to go, she really was the life of this place, though you hardly fall short my dear.” And the two shared a couple of laughs, real chucklers that lot.

Well, needless to say Roger’s heart sank faster than an anchor through a vat of boiling butter. In a matter of seconds Passion had warped Father Clayne’s memories and all but embedded herself in the town’s past, if not its future. She began guiding the Father towards one of her doors, all the while shooting Roger vicious and suggestive glances. Father Clayne reached for the door but Roger put his body against it.

“Do not open that door, I’m pretty sure it leads to tartarus or some other depth of hell, and don’t listen to that woman, she’s a goddamn demon.” Roger said.

“Now son, I will not have you speaking the lords name in vain and to insult his kind young woman no less. You ought to be ashamed.” Said the kindly Father.

“Ashamed.” Passion said while nodding in agreement. She began guiding the father down a different hall. Roger tried to take off after them, but he tripped, fell, and landed in the basement. How exactly he couldn’t quite explain to you, but such is the way of a world without words. There is a funny thing about people who mysteriously land in basements, despite the nature of their arrival many look for stairs as a means of escaping, as if logic could help you out of that situation. For example what if the thing that put you down there is just waiting at the top.

Roger looked for the stairs for a moment, but then, for some odd reason, he thought one of the vents in the walls would serve as a better route. He put his hand in one and fell into his bedroom. He was too tired for surprise, and too angry to really be nervous when he started hearing the screams. All he did was burst into a stumbling run that took him towards the source of the sound which turned out to be the same room as his tea stores.

What Roger saw in that room will not be repeated, neither will what he felt and knew from looking. Moments later Father Clayne crawled out of the room, clawed, whipped and most assuredly broken (if not outside then inside). He looked to Roger with tearful eyes.

“You are a sick sick man.” Roger said, and he was right. When, or if, his own problems were settled, Roger would set out to try and right some of the numerous wrongs (the word being an understatement) that the kindly Father had committed in his lifetime. A gust of wind knocked the Father into the air and, from the sound of it, carried him out of the house and into the unforgiving night. Passion was in the room laughing, masked in human form and looking especially delicious.

“That was fun, we should have people over more often.” She said doing this odd clucking motion with her tongue that made her throat sort of constrict in a nostalgic motion Roger wasn’t prepared for. He closed the door and went back to his room to sleep, while Passion laughed herself silly.

In the morning Roger saw the eye of the storm. Passion was sitting in the living room, observing one of Roger’s carvings with a tentative care that had either gone unused or overlooked in the time that she was with him. She still wore the face of Alice’s “cousin” but Roger wasn’t deceived.

“I don’t sense the usual aura of fire and brimstone, you on your period or something.” Roger said.

“Technically I don’t have a gender, or a cycle of ovulation.”

“So...that a no?” Roger said, only half jokingly, (his brain really wasn’t at its best).

“Our little dalliance with the good Father Clayne,” Passion began.

“Please don’t mention that man’s name, I’m still trying to scrub his evil from my eyes.” Roger said but he was afraid there were certain things you couldn’t unsee.

“It inspired me, you could say. After all this time with you and no real headway, I thought I might be losing my edge. All the powers seemed to be there, but where was the effect. Where was the worship, the bouts of rapturous carnality, the despair, the proselytizing.” Passion said, waving her hands in a way that wasn’t un-cute.

“Proselytizing?” Roger said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been pretty sad since you’ve came here.”

“You’re just saying that. You don’t really feel it. Sure I’ve batted you around but that mostly just makes you angrier. Bitter too, but that just gives more bite to the bark. You’re all wrong.” She said in a way that was lost on Roger (he didn’t see that she hadn’t got the words quite right).

“I can’t say I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you.” Roger said, for some reason there was a mug of tea in his hand and he felt in mind to drink from it.

“I decided to take a break, to be honest I thought about leaving entirely but I thought that’d give you some inflated sense of self, as if your little exorcism had succeeded. I went out and had a ball with these country faring folk.”

“What the hell did you do?” He said cringing.

“What didn’t I do, would be the question. Or, what didn’t they let me do? It was so easy Roger, like herding cattle, or lemmings. I saw their hatred of you, and I thought, finally, my kind of people, but they don’t even know why they dislike you. They just respond to whatever ingrained environmental response has been coded into them like moths to a...to a”

“A lightbulb.” Roger offered.

“Exactly!” Passion said, her eyes alight with a humor and warmth Roger hadn’t chanced to see in a while.

“Weren’t you just calling me overly complacent not a day ago.”

“Yes, but you grew complacent with something extraordinary. You’d rather mourn Alice for the rest of your life then accept that she could no longer be in it.”

“She is something special.”

“I know.”

“Some things you have to see with your own eyes.” Roger said.

“No, you don’t really get it do you. I know Alice...Alessandra. We’ve met a lot more than once.” Passion said.

“What the hell does that mean, you aren’t really her cousin are you?” Roger said.

“Um...perhaps the word rival would be more appropriate, but maybe you desire my familial relation to your lady love.”

“No thanks, and Alice doesn’t have rivals. She’s in a league of her own.” Roger said.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that, I’ve never met anyone like her. When I heard she had left her roost on this plane, I thought, hey why not screw with some of her stuff. I didn’t think I’d land right in her place of power on the first try, or that her plaything would prove so...sturdy.” Passion said with an odd sparkle in her eyes that would have put Roger on edge a couple of weeks ago. Instead he just sipped some tea.

“Yeah I’m getting like every fifth word over here. Stop Speaking Crazy, Woman.”

“I’m not crazy, and neither are you, which I know might be hard to believe after all this.” Passion said, which seemed odd to Roger because he was beginning to accept that this would simply be his state of being for the remainder of eternity, you know, until god graced him with death...or a coma.

“Does this change of heart mean you are finally going to leave?” Roger said.

“You aren’t that great of a listener are you? I’ve been inspired, revived. You are my mission. Alice chose you for a reason, and I will find that reason and more.” Passion said, a quiet flame in her eyes and almost reserved smile on her face. Roger just nodded, chucked his cup down the hall to hear it shatter and left for work.

“Tastes like Sin.” Roger said. One of his office mates had made a coffee run and Roger was almost sure that they had pissed in his cup. If they had, then he supposed he might have to use more piss in his drinks from then on, it was the best cup of coffee he’d had in awhile. Roger lounged about his office, thinking and such. It had been a while since he’d had a clear thought, but his break from words and sensible sentences had left him...fresh, if you’re willing to accept that word. Roger was an architect, but the life he had designed for himself was not quite what he had wished from the world. All this disappointment, annoyance, pain, sadness, corruption, it just didn’t seem very purposeful. The only good thing about heartbreak was that he knew there was something worth breaking his heart over, but he didn’t even know if he’d ever see it again. Was death and possible eternal damnation by, how did she phrase it, rapturously carnal demon sex the worst way to go. Who could say in this economy. All Roger knew was that the past hadn’t been too great. The current future he was looking down had the semblance of a shitstorm that threw up an abortion. And the present? He looked about his office, and he knew that so many things could go wrong, were currently going wrong. But what about all the things that could go right. The present was for possibility, and Roger didn’t think that was such a bad thing. He downed his coffee and decided to settle into something of a siesta (because irony).

It was late and Roger was almost sure that he was dreaming, so he didn’t mind that it was dark out, and that he was alone in a wilderness that was known to rear some pretty sizable wildlife. He just wandered, going where his feet took him, not really caring about anything. Not the world, not himself, not Passion, not nothing really. So it was that when he found a downed dear with a good portion of its stomach ripped out that he didn’t really put much mind to the fact that its eyes were still opened, and its lungs were still pumping air.

“Rough night huh?” Roger said, but the deer didn’t answer him. Roger shrugged and thought about moving on until he saw something move. He couldn’t place why, but it looked like a creature like no other (if that makes sense). In form it seemed simple possibly a big dog, but most likely a wolf. But a wolf of golden sheen, with eyes like an ocean at dawn, a celestial blue. It padded over to the deer, blood dripping from its mouth and sank heavy jaws into the creatures neck. It was fluid, and primal, as if a power incarnate, or a scion of nature. The deer was dead then, and the wolf continued to eat, never taken its eyes off of Roger.

“Well goodbye then.” He said with a wave, continuing on his way. By the end of the dream he hadn’t been made into some beasts dinner, so that was a plus. Besides that he had woken up in his kitchen, which had lost its torture dungeon feel, and had adopted something out of a suburban house warming kit. Roger walked up his stairs and went to his bedroom where Passion was waiting, which was not all that surprising. He figured that if his dream self had faced down a wolf without dying a real life demon shouldn’t have been all that different.

“I’ve been doing some thinking, this doesn’t have to be a completely terrible relationship. Perhaps some symbiosis, I’ve already fixed the kitchen, just think of what we…” Which was about as far as she got before Roger put his lips to hers. Some things don’t require words.

In the morning Roger was a little jittery, in the way that a man who diffuses a nuclear bomb might be a bit fussy during his victory bender. Passion wasn’t long in joining him, and when he saw her they instantly came together for yet another kiss, as if by instinct. She turned away from him in that unknowing way before taking a seat across from his. His jitters started to settle. He saw her notice this and they both started smiling, then laughing and they looked like proper idiots. Cute and magnificent idiots.

All in all things were pretty good for a while. Passion made navigating life oddly more enjoyable. Who knew that a union with an extradimensional entity could make people want to do the things you want them to do. Roger had never gotten more free stuff in his life. But of course, he never forgot the emptiness of life without Alice, and just as an icon must adapt to new media, Roger felt himself drawn back to center stage.

She had hair of gold and eyes that sang of oceans. And though Roger felt him drawn to her, as if by instinct or some equally inexplicable phenomenon (despite all things Roger was still only a novice in the romantic) her expressions held a certain disdain for all things soft and out of place. Like an open dismissal of the inferior. Roger was not sure what she saw when she was staring him down with the myopic guile of a pitbull gnawing on a rabbit, but he did not see much shift in her features.

“You, you are the one I am looking for.” She said. She was wearing brown leather over a standard blue shirt and black jeans. The picture of normality, but then again Passion had a way of looking normal sometimes too.

“I think you have the wrong person.” Roger said in the most honest way as possible.

“I know why I am here.” The woman said, stalking towards him, eyes squinting and becoming...something more than human.

“I really think you have the wrong person.” Roger said, pulling on that other portion of his brain where Passion had taken up residence. This mild tug could have sent a whole room of the townsfolk scattering to the wilderness, but it didn’t so much as phase this woman of gold.

“I have no time for your games,” The woman said, she looked him up and down, and seemed at a loss for words, and not in the good way, “Creature.”

“I just came to get some milk.” Roger said. There was nothing like having a surplus of cereal without any milk.

“Is that what you desire? Where we go there will be rivers of milk, if you wish. It seems like mild payment for what I require of you.” She said. He tried to think of a response, but he couldn’t fight the growing sense of despair and dread that seemed to be filling up the space between them. So much so that he didn’t see Passion rising to the surface. She began to leak out of his body and though his mouth moved it was not him speaking.

“Some conversations are best held over coffee.” Said the Demon. It reached out, past flesh and substance and in a matter of moments not, the woman and Roger sat sipping coffee in his kitchen.

“What in the name of Wolf, was that.” Said the woman, jumping to her feet, and readying herself into a stance that seemed to speak of death to the mind that Roger and his demon shared.

“First, why are you here?” Roger said.

“Because you brought me here.” The woman said, her voice leaking out something beyond human. Roger cursed his inability to ask the right questions.

“Well then why are you here in general, like this region?” Roger said.

“The answer is the same.” The Woman said, not necessarily becoming at ease, but somehow Roger was beginning to feel less and less safe within his own home.

“She’s a scary one.” Passion said, though Roger doubted the woman could hear those devilishly subtle and charming sounds.

“I severely doubt that I brought you here.”

“About a year ago, I saw a spirit wandering the woods near my kill. I thought it was a spirit of some kind, possibly seeking to heal what I had claimed as mind. I ended the creatures life, and it passed by without incident. That night left me with something to think about. Spirits can govern elements, regions, concepts even. They have power, but they are not things of substance, and shouldn’t be if balance is ever hoped to be maintained. Things of essence. So I thought to myself, what type of thing would force me to end the pain of a soul I had placed in torment, and yet still allow me to keep my meal.

“A creature of ambivalence?” Roger suggested.

“I think you meant, Indifference.” Passion suggested, kissing his cheek from an angle unseen.

“No, a creature of mercy, of charity, clemency even.” The Woman said, a sharp eagerness coming to her face. Roger wondered if that was her “joyful” expression, because if it was he’d rather her stick to bland humors.

“That sounds nice.” Roger said.

“Nice...yes nice and useful.” The Woman said, as if she had never used the word nice before and was willing to see if she could fashion it into a weapon.   

“Did you ever see the spirit again?” Roger said.

“I’m staring right at it.” The Woman said. Roger and Passion did a mental stare at the other for a second.

“I don’t think that’s quite right. I’m human first of all, and a year ago I was pretty much nesting with the love of my life. We weren’t prone to watching nearly dead things. At least I wasn’t.” Roger said.

“Well, a few days after that night, I went looking for the spirit. I traveled to sacred grounds of my people, and something pulsed. Everything shook, there were colors I’d never seen and my head got assaulted with this strange influx of memories. I woke up in a place I’d never seen before, with a language I’d never used before, and I’ve been searching for you ever since.” The woman said.

“For a year?” Roger said. The woman nodded. “And you’re just showing up now?”.

“This world is a strange one. Odd people, odd customs, it took time to navigate but I made my way.”

“I’m just not seeing how this could make sense. It just doesn’t seem to line up.” Roger said.

“After everything you’ve seen you still don’t trust in what you can’t explain?” Passion said to him.

“I just want this woman out of my house, she looks like she wants to forge battle armor out of my bones or something.” Roger said with devilish subtlety.

“Your senses are trying to mask a truth they learned before you even knew your own name, let them follow a path only your imagination can track.” Passion said and he felt a violet and intoxicating fog bring life to the world.

The Woman was no longer a human fleshling of wasted breath. She was a hunter, moon bound fulcrum of the union between dreams and their antithesis. She was a Wolf, in soul and form. The fog began to settle, but Roger doubted that it would ever truly disappear.

“Yeah, I think I get what you were talking about now.” Roger said. The woman smiled, which was a terrible and beautiful thing.

“Then you will help?” The woman said.

“Look, I’m not a spirit. I still maintain that I am mostly human, though, I suppose, recent circumstances could call that into question. To be honest, I’m all out of charity. Most people just haven’t earned it.” Roger said.

“A human could not drag me to this realm, or to this kitchen in the way that you have. Charity is not about what you have earned, it’s about something that exists within everyone.” The woman said in the way a runaway teen might recount scripture she’d been forced to recite for years.

“There you see, not a spirit.” Roger said.

“Maybe, maybe not. This world is a strange one.” The Woman said. She walked about the room, sniffing, and from what Passion could tell, feeling out the memories of the foundation. “There was much strife here, and love, though it is carefully hidden. You have yet to provide an interpretation of your power.” The woman said. Roger looked to his demon but she only shrugged, trying the mask the slowly spreading smile on her face.

“My house was invaded by a demon, I settled the matter.” Roger said.

“How.” The Woman said.

“We came to an agreement of sorts. A seeing of eye to eye.” Roger said. The Woman shot him a sharp look, and Roger saw the beast within her glare in a way that had gone hidden throughout the majority of their conversation.

“Some things are not meant to be seen in such a way. Only slashed, burned, and forgotten for the good of all who endured and would endure it.” The Woman said, drifting closer. If Roger had hackles they would surely have been raised. “But you do not seem in the way of...evil. And if what you say is true, conquering a demon is no small feat.” The Woman said.

“The proper conqueror.” Passion said while running her hands through his hair.

“I have decided, You will follow me back to my world, and assist me in my endeavors.” The Woman said.

“I’m glad that you have made this executive decision.” Roger said but his sarcasm went unnoticed.

“As am I. It is a difficult decision. My kind do not enjoy the meddling of outsiders, but you seem capable for all your...uncertainty.” The Woman said.

“What is wrong with you, what part of I’m not going is not getting through.” Roger would have liked to have said but Passion hid his words.

“Think well, love of mine. This world has done nothing for you, only pain and sorrows. The light of your life was not born here, and even now she resides in realms far beyond your reach. Why not leave, and make a home of wilds untempered.” Passion said, and he was overcome with a flood of sights and wonders he dare not dream of before. Roger couldn’t help but lick his lips at the deliciousness that was waiting.

“I think that’s a swell idea, but before we embark, I must know your name.” Roger said to the woman.

“I’m not sure if there is an easy translation in this world, though I have tried to find one. I have gone by Sundew, or Heartstar, but they do not feel right.”

“Perhaps a new interpretation than” Roger said, and Passion was strong in his veins. The Woman smiled again but Roger was not so disturbed.

“A suggestion then?” The Woman said. Roger pushed a number of visions past that barrier called, the real, and he could see something like a somber delight invade the woman.

“Oceandawn.” Said the woman.

“Perhaps Dawn for short.” Roger said. The woman nodded.

“Now if we could be on our way.” Dawn said. Roger reached within himself, infernal depths waiting to be unleashed in lusty waves of violet destruction. Beside them, and within his home, he conjured a door, in every way a reflection of the power that bore it.

“After you.” He said. The wolf didn’t hesitate.

Roger found himself splayed on an unforgiving floor, and there was not a gold wolf in sight. He was too busy rubbing the soreness from his cheek to truly admire the images that had been emblazoned into the tiles but he assumed that they were the products of fine craftsmanship. At once he could sense eyes turning towards him, it was an ability formed from years of mismatched fight or flight reflexes. There were many folk passing by with scrolls, baskets, and garb that would have placed them somewhere in the eleventh century (though if we’re being honest many places did not change much give or take a couple of centuries). This was all rather fine and dandy, he’d been expecting something ludicrous like this, so he just sort of waved them by and started walking towards the largest set of doors he could see. Along the way he had the odd fortune of stepping in front of a mirror and boy, did he catch a fright. You see Roger finally saw why the people had been staring. Not counting the handsome set of roguish leather he was sporting, the impressive dagger at his hip, and the longsword strapped across his back, Roger had never looked better in his life. In truth he appeared, despite all sense of reason, honestly and thoroughly attractive. What were the chances?

“Passion, what the hell is going on?” Roger said in the subtle tongue of devils and demons alike.

“Shhhh. It’s best that we not speak long in a place like this. These people aren’t as dense as your folk, or at least, they’re dense in a different way. Find someplace secluded.” Passion said giving him a pat on the rump for good measure. Roger turned around to see if anyone had witness this display but those that were looking his way seemed to be more distracted by his smouldering features rather than anything. So Roger paced outside of the doors, and into the open air which smelled of dog and spices (though hopefully not a combination of the two). He passed by what appeared to be a marketplace of some sort formed by carts and buildings of thatch and stone and all manner of wood. It looked like the proper RPG, and Roger even thought of going to buy an enchanted staff or something, but then he thought that’d be silly. He walked down a secluded alley and gave Passion a mental tap.

“I suppose this will do, but you couldn’t have found a place that smelled a little less...plauge-ish” Passion said. She stepped out of the shadows as a woman of dark features with a dress of violets (the color, though she did have a few of the flowers tucked into her hair).

“Just tell me what’s going on.” Roger said.

“Well, you did it. You abandoned your world and jumped to a new one by embracing some of your more hidden...desires,” Passion said the last word as if she wanted to wink or something, “This place is well connected to forces that often go suppressed in your world. Magic, divine light, Curses all that jazz. As a magical being you’re naturally inclined to sort of absorb the supernatural energies in the air. I imagine that has something to do with your...alteration in complexion.” Passion said snickering.

“Magical being?” Roger said.

“What do you call holding a demon in thrall, let alone Alice.” Passion said, but Roger had a look like he didn’t know if he could claim either of those things.

“If this place is all about magic, then why would they care if I was talking to you?” Roger said.

“People don’t often respond well to the word demon Roger, at least not in most of the worlds I’ve visited, and the ones that do typically aren’t a great place for anyone. I have power here for sure, but there are others with power as well, and certain rules that are best manipulated with a little tact. For now just trust that we want to be a bit discreet with the nature of our union. For now I will play your humble servant, and you my master.” Passion said. Roger felt an odd set of memories laying lightly on his mind, surface things more fluff than any true distraction, but it still left him with a sense of unease.

“I saved your life?” Roger said. Passion batted her eyes and pretended to swoon.

“A young damzel in distress who was waiting to be rescued. People eat that shit up around these parts.” She said.

“Why a servant, why not my wife or something.” Roger said, but then he saw a wicked gleam in her eyes and instantly regretted the question.

“You asking?” She said.

“Wondering.” Roger said, slowly and unsurely.

“Wives cause too many problems, these society’s require a certain set of freedoms to navigate. Plus, can’t you just picture me in chains.” Passion said, flooding his mind with a graphic set of images, disturbing in their appeal.

“I thought you said servant not slave.” Roger said.

“Slave, servant, it’s splitting hairs as far as these people are concerned.” Passion said.

“Sounds like a great place.” Roger said with a bout of sarcasm.

“For you, it could be. I would love to show you more of this city, but we probably should go find that wolf. This may be her world but I doubt she’s used to the refinement of civilization.” Passion said. The two were distracted by the sight of a woman pooring a bucket of cruderies onto the street below. It was just a foul, foul sight.  

“You got to listen to the energies. Everything has a voice, the streets, the air, the stone they’ll lead you to her if you try.” Passion whispered to him as they turned corner after corner.

“Sorry, I have years of not speaking to inanimate objects to un-repress right now.” Roger said.

“Can’t be too different from speaking to a conceptual voice in your head.” Passion said.

“Touche.” He said. And it was around that point that he spotted the golden girl herself.

Dawn was dressed in the modest garb of the peasant folk, and looked the proper and docile homemaker. This worried Roger more than you could imagine.

“How the hell are you doing that.” Roger said.

“Deception is one of the first tools I was given. It is how my kind survive these...people. Though your world did give me some experience in navigating the strange and impeded.” Dawn said softly before smiling and waving to some passersbyes , almost like a nice person.

“So they have no idea what you are?” Roger said.

“These people couldn’t tell their ass from their ear.” She whispered through her smile clenched teeth. Roger noticed her nose move. “You smell...better...very good.”

“What she means is more correct.” Passion said.

“I’m not sure how to interpret that.” Roger said.

“Do as you will, I don’t care.” She said starting to move. “Who is this one?” She said nodding to Passion.

“The friend I mentioned earlier, my servant of sorts.” Roger said. Dawn stared at Passion with the eyes of a able huntress.

“Yes well, keep your distance.” Dawn said.

Before leaving the city (which they moved through without incident...more or less) Dawn felt the need to “appropriate” a few items. She ghosted into a house and returned moments later garbed as what Roger would describe as “a barbarian woman”. She had on furred hide garments that left much of her navel, arms, and legs exposed.

“Didn’t have your size?” Roger said.

“Yeah i thought it was a bit big.” Dawn said adjusting the piece about her chest. After some thought Roger thought it was just fine.

After donning her new clothes Dawn seemed intent on leaving unseen so the three left through a blind spot in the city watches patrols, which was all a pretty simple affair. From there Dawn seemed to initiate a mugging of some sort, resulting in the gaining of a couple sacs of coin, some fruit, water, ale, and two horses. It was all a bit of a blur for Roger, and he found that he was still doing double takes more than a few miles after the fact.

“It’s not worth thinking about.” Passion said, nuzzling against his back. They didn’t stop until night approached.

Dawn gathered firewood, and Passion made a fire out of them with some hocus pocus.

“So why are you dressed like Ghenghis Khan’s grand niece?” Roger said.

“I’ve spent enough time around your people to know that is probably a racist statement of some sort.” Dawn said. She was right on the money. “Many people hate my kind in this world, but they enjoy mimicking or even flaunting stolen aspects of our culture. I scented something marked with our essence, my wolf thought it prudent to reclaim what I could before rejoining my pack.” Dawn said.

“Your pack?” Roger said.

“You seemed aware of my wolfness, was there some miscommunication?” Dawn said.

“It’s just, I pictured you as more of a loner or something.” Roger said.

“Ah...your sense of character needs work. I was second in my pack before setting out on my mission.” Dawn said.

“And just how large is this pack?” Roger said.

“It varies. Great hunts and disasters can dwindle our numbers but its usually in the range of 20-98 members.” Dawn said.

“That’s oddly specific.” Roger said but she just gave him this annoyed expression that was undercut by rosy cheeks.

“Your name, I require it.” Dawn said.

“You got this far without knowing my name, what were you doing?” Roger said.  

“My wolf tracked your essence.”  Dawn said.

“What the hell does that mean, are you just hiding some big ass creature somewhere I can’t see.” Roger said.

“In here,” she said pointing to her head, “and here” she said grasping her chest with her hand. Roger was sure that it was supposed to be a show of strength and grit, but it evoked quite different response inside of him.

“She is using the word ‘wolf’ in a context I believe you are unfamiliar with. She in no way thinks herself seperate from that inner beast that can become quite outer. I can’t say the same for all of her kind however. In this case the wolf is a general range of instincts, emotions, and...spirtual beliefs that exists far outside your current ability to comprehend. More time amongst her and her people may correct this.” Passion whispered in his ears without a sound escaping the two.

“Right, so yeah, my name is,” Roger began but it seemed that time was brought to a standstill. The rhythm of the world altered with violet vibrations. Passion dawned before him in the form that she had first appeared, producing an odd sense of clarity.

“A little note on names. In any place they have power, hell its how you know yourself from a rock half the time. In this place I would be cautious of giving out your true name so easily. It is from another world for one thing, so it could cause some...discrepancies that we don’t need on our backs right now.”

“There are no people named R***r in this place.” Roger tried to say but oddly enough there seemed to be something masking the sounds of his name.

“There are no people carrying your perception of that name, with all of its ‘your-world-baggage’. All its memories, all its faults, all its repressions. Its a dangerous thing to invoke at this time. Best to try something slightly different. Like a middle name or a nickname you haven’t gone by in a while.” Passion said, caught in a ray of light that might never change. Roger thought of something and whispered it to her. She smiled a truly terrible and beautiful smile. “That would be perfection.” She said. Time resumed and Passion took to her servant form as if nothing happened.

“My name is, Regor.” Regor said.

“Why’d you say it like that, like you skipped a beat or something.” Dawn said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Regor said. Dawn shrugged and bit into an apple or something, it was some kind of fruit.

In the morning Regor was greeted by a rather large and golden beast. Part of him wanted to jump right of his skin when he saw it, but the other part was just way too tired.

“Good doggy.” he said in that half dream haze, that Passion tended to leave him in. The wolf didn’t rip out his sockets but to its credit, it only leaned into his petting slightly, he knew how to scratch behind the ears.

Passion worked as something of a go between Regor and the wolf, though he pondered the accuracy of her translations (she was a fan of mischief). It seemed that Dawn wished to go hunting, something she would have done the night before if she hadn’t been so tired. Regor didn’t mind, he was in no real rush. Hell, he doubted he’d ever be in a rush to do anything ever again. Regor minded the horses and the supplies as they traveled through the more woodland terrain. Dawn usually ranged several yards ahead, but Regor thought he might be getting the hang of the whole many voices one world thing that Passion had been chatting about. The trees and the breeze seemed to want to keep him well informed about the whereabouts of the golden wolf.

“I thought werewolves could only transform on the fullmoon.” Regor whispered to passion.

“Werewolf is kind of a racial slur here so I’d avoid using it if you want to keep that pretty face. Besides that these wolfened folk don’t always adhere to standard b-horror movie rules,” Passion said, though Regor thought of them more as classics, “The term Warg is accepted though tends to be more regional, Wulfing is good, Wolfenkinder is probably going to be your best bet. Touchy folk, don’t want to get on their bad side.” Passion said.

“And you called me racist.” Regor said. Passion just licked his face. “Why do you know so much about these werew...wolfenkinder anyway. I know you travel dimensions and all, but aren’t their like infinitely many.”

“I mean sure but whose counting. We aren’t measuring our dicks here Regor, we’re talking about the chaos of eternity. To answer your question, I’m a demon so I think it wise to be well informed on any potential…” Passion looked at Regor like she had caught herself from saying something potentially and crucially damaging. “friends,” She finally said. “Plus I’ve been catching a bit of her thoughts every now and then, she dreams very loudly, would be distracting if it wasn’t so entertaining. She’s a lot less wordy than you.” Passion said.

“What does she dream about?” Regor said.

“It’s a lot of sound and scent and pictures, not coherent unless you adopt a certain style of living I believe you are still unaccustomed too. I’ll show you them sometime, but as a warning I would suggest that you do a bit of hunting, or at least recall your impression of that tiger in the zoo that you saw when you were five.” Passion said. Regor nodded.

Regor found that he could tell when Dawn had made a kill, a chill of sorts would settle through the air followed by a feverish heat as if the forest itself had morphed from preyful terrain to converging predator. She didn’t eat everything that she ended, instead waiting for Regor to collect and carve up the corpse so that they might have food and materials for their travels. He was thinking of joining in on her games himself that is until he heard a more than unsettling sound.

Imagine a room of first graders who have just been denied lunch, recess and have been given a surprise math test. Now pair that with the wailing of death itself. This was more or less the type of sound that Regor had heard. His horses started bucking and whinnying so he had his demon subdue them. He took to foot and it seemed as if the world had slowed down quite a bit. In no time he found Dawn, as well as the unfortunate beasty that had made the noise. It was easily ten feet tall, built like a clawed rhino with opposable thumbs and what appeared to be a capacity for bipedalism. Its face was a mess of sharp teeth and horns without much sign of eyes. Dawn didn’t necessarily look small next to it, but it seemed that the predator prey relation had been severely altered since he’d been gone. Her mouth was curled back in a blood snarl but her eyes just glowed with that terrible terrible focus. As if she were more than wolf, or woman. As if she was a divinely ordained spectre of hunters come and gone. The arrow of artemis herself. Oddly enough, Regor started feeling bad for the creature.

“It’s a troll. Don’t use the dagger, that’s mostly for things of darkness, and trolls are more misunderstood than anything. The sword will do, it is blessed by carnage.” Passion said with the cadence of someone eating sugared popcorn. Regor drew the blade like it was second nature, a mere extension of his body that he could sheath at will. It’s hilt was black, and its edge clear and unmarred steel, but it always seemed to catch the light at an odd angle, as if it wanted to burn red whenever possible. Perhaps it was just thirsty, he thought. Regor and Dawn moved together, circling the beast and hacking and slashing, with claw, teeth and blade. Regor found himself blessed with a fluidity and grace that he had never known as Roger, augmented with a capacity for destruction that was refreshing in the moment but would probably grow disturbing in his less wakeful hours.

Dawn clamped down on one of the trolls hind legs and sent it tumbling with its own weight. It landed in in armored heap along its back. Regor was quick of feet and took to the air. Perhaps the glory of the moment inspired him because he let loose with a battlecry that would scare fate itself back into its lonesome chambers. His blade plunged into the creatures bucking mass, and after a twist or two a certain light left its eyes and its form went still. Regor felt powerful. Dawn came to nuzzle against his leg.

“It was wounded and frightened.” Dawn said inbetween bloody mouthfuls of rabbit meat. She hadn’t bothered to cook her portions.

“What could frighten that thing, let alone wound it.”

“You two I imagine.” Passion said sipping blood in the shadows.

“Ogres probably. Trolls are important to their culture, like totem animals or something. They hunt and capture them frequently. Ogres are brutal, but they tend to employ gentler methods of interacting with trolls, you know, by troll standards. This thing was terrified.” Dawn said.

“How do you know that?” Regor said. Dawn seemed surprised by the question, not because of the words but because of that other something that was tone, scent, soul and things that couldn’t be explained.

“My wolf told me.” She said, and Regor nodded as he was beginning to understand.

“Perhaps they are feral Ogres.” Regor said

“That borders on racist, but only slightly, they are ogres after all.” Dawn said, while Regor now suspected that his words had gone farther than border racism. Dawn yawned, “What ever it was we probably shouldn’t face it a lone. I scented signs of my pack, they should be close, I’m sure they’ll be interested in our findings.”

“I suppose we’ll find them in the morning then.” Regor said. Dawn just nodded with a glazed look in her eyes that made her look...well, adorable. She got up and dissapeared into the shadows of the night. A wolf returned in her stead with some furry hides skins in its mouth. The wolf dropped the hideskins and made its way over to Regor’s side, pushing him to the ground as it settled beside him. She was asleep in moments.                

In the morning the wolf was a woman who was very eager to continue on with their travels. They didn’t have to range far, in fact they were only three miles or so into their run, that they were stopped.

“Ho, there wolf. By who’s fangs do you claim rights to these terrains.” Said a giant of a man. He seemed to be more muscle than flesh and dressed in similar hideskins as Dawn, both lacking in what would have been an appreciated modesty.

“Have you forgotten my scent already brother. I could not have been gone that long.” Dawn said.

“By Ocean’s Dawn it is you sister. We’ve been looking for you for almost a month now, we thought you were dead.” The man said. Dawn and Regor exchanged glances.

“No, not dead. A month, really?” Dawn said with notable but not involved confusion.

“Yes we double checked, you know how time can escape us.” The wolf said as if keeping track of the hour was a daily chore that no one wanted to manage.

“Him and me both.” Regor said to Passion.

“Opening doors can open possibilities, some more confusing than others.” Passion said.

“And who’s that pretty bitch over there.” The man said.

“I mean she’s not a picnic but you can’t…” Regor began.

“He’s talking about you Regor. Try not to look so bitchy, please.” Dawn said. Passion laughed.

“I am Regor, of house…” To be honest he was blanking.

“I don’t care about houses and titles I need to know if you are friend or dinner. Or have you not yet decided sister.” The man said to Dawn.

“No I’ve decided, he’s friend more or less.” She said, though Regor sensed an exchange that went over his head...more or less. The man gave a giant grin, that did nothing to reassure Regor of his chances of surviving this whole ordeal.

“Well, that’s good. Breaker will want to see you.” The man said but Dawn started frowning.   

“I do not answer to him.” Dawn said.

“Things have changed sister.” The man said.  

“In a month?” Regor said. Both wolves just shot him intense glances. He threw up his hands and went back to minding his horse.            

“Perhaps I should see for myself.” Dawn said riding ahead of the man.

Regor soon learned that “brother” and ��sister” were just a general colloquialism used by most wolves of the same pack. For a second he had a more disturbing idea after seeing the large size of the pack but Passion assuaged his fears. They seemed to have settled in a small plain but his senses told him that their were a stretch of similar encampments scattered throughout the forest and other more obscure locations. Dawn did not so much as mingle with her kin, but intensely subdue them with the commanding presence of a warrior queen on a road to conquest ( you could either get on board, get gone, or get dead). Even so Regor could sense a certain sense of enjoyment coming off of both parties. That was until Dawn met Breaker.

The man, well wolf, wolf seems more appropriate, that would Regor would know as Breaker was just a hair shorter than the giant of a man that they first encountered, but he looked about a thousand times deadlier. Passion had been teaching him how to sense magic, and from what Regor could tell, Breaker was all but made of the stuff. It was like his muscles were built for its mass production. He was a man of dark hues be it his skin or  His hideskins of some dark-green color. He sported odd bands along his arms and ankles, as well as a necklace of sorts.

“What is this farce that you have devised, Breaker. Are so irresponsible that I can’t leave you be for ten minutes.

“A bit more than ten minutes Dawn of Oceans. Quill was weakened without a second to keep him afloat. Old and half mad, you should have claimed the right of alpha long before me, now your chance has passed.”

“What has happened to Quill?” Dawn said. “I killed him.” Breaker said. Dawn spat into the dirt.

“Quill was worth a hundred of you. You have fine magic and pretty words Breaker but you are no Alpha.”

“Yet here I stand, and there you wait to be welcomed as pack or as traitor for slaughter.” Breaker said. Many of the wolves growled, and though more than a few were in human skin there seemed to be no trace of humanity in those sounds. Breaker raised his hand and Regor sensed the magic burst in a wave, there was silence all around.

“What have you done to yourself?” Dawn said as if struggling to see through a persistant and annoying haze. Regor knew the feeling.

“Nothing that concerns you, She Who Is Not Quite Pack. You will have to prove yourself if you even hope of regaining your rank.” Breaker said. Dawn grit her teeth and turned to Regor and he heard what could not be spoken. If they fought now, they would die. Regor was a fan of not dying.

“I’m with you.” He said to her, and it seemed that something within her soul had settled. She turned back to Breaker.

“What would you have of us, Alpha.” She spat out the last word. Breaker smiled the type of smile Regor thought he might see on Father Clayne in his darkest hours.

“You’ve noticed the odd Ogre activity in the area?” Breaker said.

“We’ve seen signs. They appear to be agitated, possibly sick.” Dawn said.

“That and more. We believe a vampire has taken up residence here with its Noch. It may have corrupted the local Ogre band as a source of border defense. Wipe out its forces and bring me the master’s head, so to speak.” Breaker said.

“Then so be it.” Dawn said, turning her horse around and heading towards the outskirts of the encampment. More than a few wolves followed.

Passion explained that a Noch was a vampires retinue full of familiars, thralls, and lesser vampires. She also explained that what Breaker was suggesting was more or less a suicide mission, though Dawn seemed confident enough in their chances in that, I’ll eat death before dying, type of way. She wouldn’t allow any of her packmates to accompany them on their journey. Passion seemed to think it had something to do with her presence.

“Perhaps she does not want me corrupting some of her weaker willed kin.” Passion said.

“Tell your demon to mind its place vampires are tricky. We don’t need numbers of brawn, we need tact.” Dawn said.

“Plus you aren’t sure who is still loyal to you. Last thing we need is a coup in the last leg of our mission.” Regor said.

“You aren’t wrong.” Dawn said, and he could sense that the idea of betrayal by her own kin pained her.

They treked on foot leaving their horses within calling distance at one of checkpoints closer to wolf territory. Dawn was had a suspicion that the local vampire wouldn’t fully turn all, if any of the ogres. He would want to keep them at least partially diurnal so that his terrain could be monitored during daylight hours. Dawn figured that the best time to strike would be well, in the dawn. The vampires would be settling for sleep and the Ogre’s would probably be just rising and still a bit groggy. She was right more or less. The first ogres they saw were a male and female pair and they were still lounging between a couple of large boulders.

“Their magic, it feels solid and jagged.” Regor whispered to Dawn but she didn’t respond.

“Ogres use their magic instinctively, they have their shamans, but many warriors and scouts go their whole life without organized training. Works out fine of course, the forests love them and they are proper berserkers.” Passion told him. The ogres were large, though mostly humanoid in appearance. They sported deep green skin as well as horns of varying styles. There hair seemed to be dark, almost black but it could easily have been blue or purple. They were large as well, the female may have been seven feet to the male’s eight, and it appeared that their forms had been battle honed to use every portion of their mass. Regor sensed something like respect leaking off of Dawn.

“You can taste the corruption if you try hard enough, it is faint but I imagine that is all he needs to push these pieces across his board of wicked games.” Passion said. Dawn loped downhill in such a fluid blur Regor doubted that his eyes alone could have tracked her. From one second to the next the males neck was snapped and the female’s neck was bleeding out soundlessly. She lingered only for a moment to sniff at the blood.

“If we can kill their master we might be able to free them of his hold without unecessary losses.”

“I take it you know an entrance.” Regor said.

“Now, yes.” Dawn said.              

The three made their way around a convoluted bend of rocks and trees that nearly sent them tumbling to their deaths on more than a few occasions. They reached a thicket of oddly arranged branches that looked more than a bit ominous. Dawn walked right up to them and placed her hands to them. The branches moved, digging into her palms slightly, but in many places. The blood didn’t drip, but flow into the wood. The branches parted and they walked forward.

“The forest wants its children freed. Had this been night I doubt we could gain entry so easily, but today the sun favors us.” Dawn said. They looked down the large tunnel that they would have to walk. It was pitch dark.

“Yay for us.” Passion said

Regor swiped up and around with his dagger, gutting the Ogre as he simultaneously slit his neck. Dawn had been slightly more cautious with her slaying.

“Too much blood will rouse the vampires. Show restraint.” Dawn said.

“I’m not as confident in my neck snapping abilities.” Regor said.

“If you strike the heart at the correct beat you can cause it to burst and they will bleed out from the inside.” Dawn said.

“Thanks...I’ll try and remember that.” Regor said hoping to keep his heart beating at as random of a pattern as possible.  So far they had killed seven of the ogres but Dawn was sure there were at least 35 more wandering about the territory. The tunnel had led to a cavern of twisting paths. It could have been an underground city if anyone had been awake to use it. They suspected that it had been the ogre’s nesting grounds before the vampire had augmented it.

“We’ve spent too much time down here, we need to find the heart of the lair and quickly…” Dawn began, unfortunately she was interrupted by an odd burst of shadows which carried her out of sight. Regor wanted to scream after her, stealth be damned, but he didn’t get the chance.

“This is pretty rude you know, to attack a person in their own home, while they’re trying to enjoy a good snooze.” Regor turned to identify the voice and he was not a fan of what he saw. The man was dressed in dark robes with red covering hanging about his waste (it looked to be armor of some kind). His skin was deathly pale, almost grey. He wore his hair long and brown, almost as if its main purpose was to curtain his face. In his hands were twin sabres. Regor drew his own blade.

“I take it you’re the vampire king or whatever.”

“Please, king, no mild nobility, I don’t aim above my station. Hard to when your forces are comprised of savages and women.” The vampire said.

“Sexist and racist, my dagger’s going to love you.” Regor said

“Is that some type of innuendo because I’m the vampire here, blood sucking and oddly placed sexual remarks kind of come with the territory.”

“He has a point.” Passion said giggling to herself. Regor leapt at the creature and they danced to and fro bashing steel against steel, and rending magics against magics. For a moment it seemed like our hero had the upperhand, until the ogres came. There were at least ten of them and the vampire did not waste time evading when his creatures could fight for him. There’s no shame in losing as a concept but Regor did have to endure the ass whooping of a lifetime, or at the very least, a decade.

When he came to he was bloody, bruised, naked and straped to a spike in the ground like a sacrificial offering. The vampire was staring at him, and so were other creatures from the looks of it, though he couldn’t focus.

“So I’m going to sacrifice you. I’ve already mixed a bit of my blood with yours so even if you come back after you die, which is highly unlikely, I’ll still get to fuel off of your pain and torment.”

“What did you do with the wolf.”

“Oh that one, yeah she’s definately a keeper. She’s been fighting those ogres almost nonstop for like two hours now. She’s not really making any headway, but its entertaining to watch. I plan to have lots of fun with her.” The vampire said as if he were making weekend plans.

“I’m going to gut you like a codfish.”

“yes , yes and the world is just a pearl within a metaphysical Oyster’s shell. Anyone can make an analogy.” The vampire said. He started walking away oddly jovial in his nonchalant manner. “Feed well girls, you got to keep your strength up.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Regor said but he didn’t have to wait to long to figure it out. They abandoned the shadows as if they were shrouds to be worn. Becoming visible from one moment to the next. They were dressed in all manner of dark clothing, from nightly garments to intricate dressware. Some even sported armor. All had flesh of utter paleness, from grey to ruddy porceline. They held eyes of ruby gems and hair of stark white horror.

“Kinda sexy though.” Regor said to himself, some of the creatures had the nerve to blush. The compliment was well earned though, they were all beautiful, in the way that wild tigers and anacondas are beautiful. The first to approach wore nothing more than her bra and panties (all black of course). She had a shaggy mane of white curly hair and there was a particular delight in her eyes that gave Regor an idea.

“Before you enjoy your delicious meal, so rightly earned, my dear, may I make a simple request?” Regor said as the vampire began to sniff at his skin, licking here and there at his wounds. She was all but purring, though it sounded more like a lions pleasure than a house cats.

“You may speak your words, and perhaps I will consider.” She said pressing herself against his more sensitive regions and evoking a rather distracting response. He practiced controlling his breath and keeping his thoughts on target. By then others had neared and began to grumble and lick.

“Sweet, ethereal creature of dreams. I wish only to partake of your blood so that you and I may be bound by the red elixir, through death and beyond.” Regor said. The vampire clutched him close and looked into his eyes, she looked very flattered. It was a good thing they couldn’t hear Passions laughter.  

“If you wish it, my delicious thing.” She said and she craned the pale of her neck beneath his mouth. “Drink and be drained. You will have to use your teeth.” The vampire said.

“Gladly” Regor said, with Passion flooding his senses. His teeth sharpened for the nature of the deed and he dug in deep, drinking in as the vampires did the same, and there was much purring and moaning.

A note on blood magic. Blood freely given and lovingly given can forge some rather interesting properties which is often why some vampires favor seduction over coercion. Blood magic can also be slightly addictive in the way that potent power can spawn an almost arrogant need for sensation. Vampires often overlook their roots, or at least their common ancestry with other practictioners of blood arts, like demons for example. Now passion was not specifically a wizard with the blood craft but when the moment struck her, she could do some pretty amazing things.

So Passion flooded the room, this nest of depraved creatures of crimson nights, and not one supple form was left standing as a pulse of bloody ecstasy sweapt through their bodies, one by one. Well, all except Regor, who didn’t have much of a choice on two accounts. With his magic he was able to free himself from his restraints, but before setting off after the master vampire, he felt compelled to leave a very long kiss about his lady vampires lips. He had never heard such eager purring.

He reached through his demon and found his blades, as well as a shell of armor forged from the redwater of his own wounds.

“This should be fun” Passion said.

When they found one another, the vampire had Dawn caged in earthen crafts, painfully wounded. There were a few ogre corpse scattered about, but Regor got the sense that she had been trying to not hurt them in her own psychotic wolf way. The master was lounging in a bed of earth.

“Dude, you are so not chill, If you hurt too many of my girls I’m going to be so pissed, they don’t grow on trees ya know.”

“Just like your nuts.” Regor said.

“What?”

“The implication is that I will castrate you.”

“That’s dark dude, and I’m all for poetic justice, I mean we are in an underground cavern isolated from the light and all, and I am a vampire...but c’mon.” The vampire said as if I was really crashing his buzz.

“What is wrong with you?” Regor said.

“I’m desensitized. You would be too if you had to deal with these people all the time.” The Vampire said gesturing to the caverns in general.

“Somehow I think I know the feeling. Even so you still got to die.” Regor said.

“Oh no...stop...oh wait,” The vampire’s sarcasm was almost as pointed as the image numerous ogre’s popping up from the ground.

“Technical foul my friend.” Passion said rising as the ogres had done, she sent another pulse through the arena, this one more pointed in its purpose. The Ogres dropped to the earth unconcious.

“Well...that was dissapointing.” The vampire said. He grabbed up his blades and moved in to attack.  He motioned with an almost newfound swiftness, it seemed that he did care about his un-life after all. The shadows sought to hide him as he swerved and juked with harrying swipes. Regor parried every blow; he could sense the creature’s blood, and it was weak. Regor reached out into the secrets of the shadows and off went the vampire’s arm in a burst of scarlet delights. He stumbled to across the ground but Regor lifted him up by the neck.

“As a last hoorah of sorts I will allow you a parting gift.” Regor said even as the creatures blood was draining into his palm. By the time he turned him skyward he was already little more than a withered moody corpse.

“Embrace your bane and only love.” Regor said to the creature as Passion opened a portal to the immortal rays of the sun. The Vampire turned to grinning ash.

“So best mission ever?” Regor said next to the campfire. Dawn had eaten a fresh kill which helped most of her wounds heal up pretty nicely. In fact, she looked great, so lively and...appetizing. She ended pushing Regor nearer to the ground so that she could rest on him, golden hair decorating his chest.

“I would say so, my delicious master.” Said the lead Vampiress. Though the others did chime in with similar notes. Killing the old master disrupted his bond to the ogre’s minds, but the rest of the Noch had been more thoroughly tethered, both to Regor and their master, though the former carried much of the latters blood in him.

“They’re a very noisy bunch. Are you sure you want to keep them.” Dawn muttered, half asleep, she had the cutest tones.

“It seems wrong to just abandon them.” Regor said as one of the vampires nuzzled close inside his arm.

“Of course it does.” Dawn said, too tired to really care.

“So you guys are just cool with following me around now, that seems a little strange.” Regor said. The lead vampiress, who seemed to go by Shell decided to explain.

“Vampires are instinctual, our hunger for blood is as much a necessity as it is an addiction. We are creatures of indulgence. You hold our masters blood, as well as our own, and you have proven yourself beyond measure.” Shell said.

“Plus you are very...desirable” Said another vampire almost at a lost for words.

“And merciful.”

“Generally extraordinary, our old master was not like this.” Said another. Shell gave a pleased nod as if they were discussing the theory of relativity.

“All these things.” Shell said.

“And more. Is what she would like to say, but she’s a predator by nature and too much vulnerability might leave her unnecessarily exposed.”

“That’s a lot of kind words for a person who might have killed them.” Regor said.

“They live in the present, or at least try to, the past holds too many sorrows and wraths. You should not underestimate the power of blood. You’ve provided them with years worth of instinctual trust and care. I doubt that another could replace this bond” Passion told him.

“I suppose I should thank you for that.” Regor said.

“No master, thank yourself for having an unconquerable will.” Passion said.

“Could everyone just be quiet.” Dawn said, a bit of her beast in her words. Regor was a little surprised but ultimately he decided it was probably a good time for rest.

“What should we do about them, I doubt the Ogre’s want us anywhere near their nesting grounds.” Regor said.

“I’m searching through the information coded in their blood. Their is a type of magic that could be useful, though it might feel a bit strange.” Passion said.

“If you think it will help.” Regor said. The demon just smiled.

In the morning there were no vampires to speak, though some of the thralls were still lounging about.

“Did they burn?” Dawn said stretching. She didn’t seem too bothered by the idea.

“They’re in here.” Passion said, tapping on Regor’s head.

“What does that mean.” Regor said.

“The vampires weave night and evil into their den’s. It gives them access certain abilities as well as tieing some of their places of power into one network. I made a slight alteration to the process. They are being housed in a mentalscape, where they can rest to escape the sun. You can summon them as you please, though I’d suggest staying well fed on redwater if you want to keep them all sated.” Passion said.

“That is...disturbing.” Regor said.

“No, it’s actually quite nice in their, they have a good sense of style.” Passion said. Regor got the vaugest sense of a number of lips pressing against the back of his skull.

“So what do we do about the thralls. I’m sure you didn’t put them in there for a reason. Besides the no burning thing.” Regor said.

“They aren’t powerful enough. Don’t get me wrong, they have skill, but they aren’t pure vampires. You could cleave them from your network, but that would probably hurt you a bit, and it might kill them. I would suggest finding some territory for them to settle down.”

“The pack has plenty of spare terrain, we’re a bit xenophobic but we don’t often turn down allies who can pull their weight. The wolf blood might even be able to remove their corruption.” Dawn said, though from the bared teeth and snarls it didn’t look like the thralls liked the latter part of the idea very much.

“I’m not sure if Breaker would enjoy that idea very much, and unless we’re going back to conquer It might not be best to bring any of the vampires.”

“Breaker will have his day, but I suppose not on this one. I will return to report my findings. While I’m with the pack, I will need you to go to SeaShore City. I have a friend there who can probably help us. It does not feel wise to give out her name freel, but commonly she is known as the Lunar Wizard. She is hard to...misplace. I suspect she can help you set up accomodations for your thralls, but more importantly I would like her to find a way to unweave Breaker’s enchantments.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that bastard.”

“I’ll be fine, the pack needs stablity, needs to know why they’re fighting as much as what they’re fighting for. As I said deception is one of my specialty’s.” Dawn said, giving him a smile that would carry him through a thousand storms. “Passion, pass this on to the wizard please.” Passion reached out to touch Dawn’s fingers, there was a moment of passing light that Regor could not interpret. “And you,” Dawn said turning her full attention to Regor, her eyes of chrystal oceans cut an ultimate path through his soul, “You pass this on to your heart.” She said before pressing her body and her lips and her tongue against Regor’s more than willing form. She broke the kiss first pulling him by his collar like a ragdoll. She placed her forhead against hers as if she was in the midst of a titanous struggle. After a few moments she just licked his cheek and got up to leave. Regor only spoke when she was long and gone.

“I think I’m going to marry her.” He said.

“What about Alice?” Passion said.

“Somehow I feel like multiple wives would not be my worst indescretion. I mean they can only hang you once, right?” He said. “Right?” he asked again since he hadn’t felt as confident in his words as he probably wanted to be. The thralls thought about it, but eventually they nodded in agreement. For some reason, what he said just seemed to make a lot of sense.