"Are you ready then?"
"It's nothing but life and death right?"
"Love and Lust."
"Pain and Torment."
"That bittersweet agony."
"Nothing is forever..."
"Or maybe, forever is just nothing. Not to us."
"Not... to me."
The dark soaked tourmalines focused on the pale blond before her. Sidonie could not help but offer a crooked smile to Siobhan.
"So many have come, Sidonie..."
"Why would they come, it is just another fight... another battle."
"But... a true Daughter of Donovan... in the ring..."
That grim expression touched her lips as her eyes narrowed at Siobhan at the mention of her heritage. A Daughter of Donovan. The man who's notoriety and legend clung to the Dark Court in a heavy linger of awe and terror.
The inspiration to whisper in the ears of those as heralded and feared as Charlemagne, Hitler, Alexander the Great, Vlad the Impaler, or Hannibal. Donovan they suspected had whispered in all the ears of the known men of violence and cruelty, torture and punishment. Arrogance and the desire for domination.
Sidonie knew better then any that such whispers could drive those men to madness... just as she knew better then any that her hand of power. The Hand of Nightmares... could corrupt and torment. Torture and terrify. Just as the 'inspiration' of her power as a leanan sidhe could drive the inspired to their own insanity... that pure creative madness.
The Blades of the Black Dog were lifted, weighed in her hands as a thin smile touched her lips. The Wild Hunt had been calling to that of her soul which was Gabriel Ratchett.
The Wild Hunt could make the Black Dog to become the Savage Beast. Devil's spawn in the eyes of the Christian...
But the Gabriel Ratchetts they were nothing but hunters... it was in their blood.
What was another death on her hands brought by those blades and a power forged of Nightmares?
"It is time."
Quietly, the black velvet of her voice held no warmth but a smooth sheath for the weapon that she was. In this hour she was the Black Dog.
The robe was dismissed, spilling down her form to reveal the glisten of black shift and the delicate black mesh. Dusky flesh seemed devoured in the ink exchange as the ink moved, writhed and ran on her flesh till it was hard to see where the skin rested beneath.
On her flesh the shadows moved as sleek wolves. Dogs of the Night.
The shadows and darkness devoured the tourmaline leaving nothing more then starbursts of shining jeweled hue as she turned away and headed for the ring.
She would face her Death... she would face her Kill.
Shaking and sweating she jerked up out of bed, gasping a breath as if her last was taken from her.
Dean's words had clung and stuck to her night till it seemed to saturate into her very soul.
The awareness that no matter how much love she had for Truth, eventually he would die.
The Dark Court was calling her. They had to be.
Why else would she dream of the dark hours within that court that she had... loved once?
Why now would she hunger for it... crave it again like addiction.
Her eyes roamed in the darkness over her arms to see the ink had spilled again and stirred restless on her skin.
She couldn't lose him. She'd be damned if she would.
In more ways then one.
Jaw clenched in determination she stared at that mirror with the nature of contemplation.
Perhaps it was time to return to the Dark Court.
There were things she needed to know...
On how to keep a mortal man... alive.
Forever.
"It's nothing but life and death right?"
"Love and Lust."
"Pain and Torment."
"That bittersweet agony."
"Nothing is forever..."
"Or maybe, forever is just nothing. Not to us."
"Not... to me."
The dark soaked tourmalines focused on the pale blond before her. Sidonie could not help but offer a crooked smile to Siobhan.
"So many have come, Sidonie..."
"Why would they come, it is just another fight... another battle."
"But... a true Daughter of Donovan... in the ring..."
That grim expression touched her lips as her eyes narrowed at Siobhan at the mention of her heritage. A Daughter of Donovan. The man who's notoriety and legend clung to the Dark Court in a heavy linger of awe and terror.
The inspiration to whisper in the ears of those as heralded and feared as Charlemagne, Hitler, Alexander the Great, Vlad the Impaler, or Hannibal. Donovan they suspected had whispered in all the ears of the known men of violence and cruelty, torture and punishment. Arrogance and the desire for domination.
Sidonie knew better then any that such whispers could drive those men to madness... just as she knew better then any that her hand of power. The Hand of Nightmares... could corrupt and torment. Torture and terrify. Just as the 'inspiration' of her power as a leanan sidhe could drive the inspired to their own insanity... that pure creative madness.
The Blades of the Black Dog were lifted, weighed in her hands as a thin smile touched her lips. The Wild Hunt had been calling to that of her soul which was Gabriel Ratchett.
The Wild Hunt could make the Black Dog to become the Savage Beast. Devil's spawn in the eyes of the Christian...
But the Gabriel Ratchetts they were nothing but hunters... it was in their blood.
What was another death on her hands brought by those blades and a power forged of Nightmares?
"It is time."
Quietly, the black velvet of her voice held no warmth but a smooth sheath for the weapon that she was. In this hour she was the Black Dog.
The robe was dismissed, spilling down her form to reveal the glisten of black shift and the delicate black mesh. Dusky flesh seemed devoured in the ink exchange as the ink moved, writhed and ran on her flesh till it was hard to see where the skin rested beneath.
On her flesh the shadows moved as sleek wolves. Dogs of the Night.
The shadows and darkness devoured the tourmaline leaving nothing more then starbursts of shining jeweled hue as she turned away and headed for the ring.
She would face her Death... she would face her Kill.
Shaking and sweating she jerked up out of bed, gasping a breath as if her last was taken from her.
Dean's words had clung and stuck to her night till it seemed to saturate into her very soul.
The awareness that no matter how much love she had for Truth, eventually he would die.
The Dark Court was calling her. They had to be.
Why else would she dream of the dark hours within that court that she had... loved once?
Why now would she hunger for it... crave it again like addiction.
Her eyes roamed in the darkness over her arms to see the ink had spilled again and stirred restless on her skin.
She couldn't lose him. She'd be damned if she would.
In more ways then one.
Jaw clenched in determination she stared at that mirror with the nature of contemplation.
Perhaps it was time to return to the Dark Court.
There were things she needed to know...
On how to keep a mortal man... alive.
Forever.