The following evening had been much kinder. Without the visions. She had made conversation with a few from the Inn, had even invited them to the library. She was there now at the Library of Dark Lore- the state of the candle proving the time that she had lingered there awake, writing for so long. Exhausted from it she leaned back against her chair, body arching to ease the tension of leaning over the desk for so long. The sinuous grace of her body stretched out, long and lean against the black shift worn. She had been writing for hours now and the results of those long hours were starting to catch up with her.

She looked over her writings before the quill was tucked back into its holder. Rising as she let the pages remain open to let the ink dry. The prowling gait of steps led her to stand again before the strange looking jar on its stand. More so then the library, more so then Seirian's request the jar is what kept her here. So many would have believed that it was supposed to be a box... but those that did their research correctly would know, it was truly a jar. Then again perhaps it had been a box once, just another strange creation that could alter it's appearance to throw the searchers of it off. As precious as the holy grail. It stood out from everything else but graciously not enough to be wary over, suspicious of.

Oil slick eyes narrowed as she looked it over, lips pursing as she shook her head and disappeared down an aisle of books. Far away from it as possible. Silver adorned fingers reached down to brush the shaggy stiff coat of one of the Irish Wolfhounds that lingered in the library with her. She smiled absently to herself, so many would expect the witch's familiar to be a cat... but then there were many things wrong about that. So much that was wrong. She considered the words of the other. Lying eyes. Of course her eyes would lie to work in ways that lips could not. Words held far too much power in them to risk a lie. A gleam of light struck and danced across the cuff of iron worn at wrist. Like a circle of salt for others.

The thought was pushed from her head. Bound. Trapped by the will. Made to do so by the Order. There could be worse responsibilities then to maintain the Library of Dark Lore, now couldn't there be? A quiet sigh exhaled and she settled on the floor beside the hound, fingers coaxing a soothed growl from the beast as she drew down another book and began to read.

The smell of candles burning, the dripping of wax and the sweet aroma of incense drifted through her awareness as she woke up.

Fingers smoothed through her hair as she lifted her head away from the belly of the beast she had fallen asleep on.

"Apologies, Mitho."

The wolfhound turned his head, lifting it from the floor as he softly snorted at her and flopped his head back down. The massive beast did not care.

She rose slowly and looked around the deathly quiet library. Still and quiet. Peaceful.

Even Saga seemed to tiptoe through those late hours of the night. The witching hour. Surely some of the rumor mill and misguided would assume she would be up to prepare some twisting of a dark spell.

Instead she moved to the window, curling in the window seat as she pushed the window open a bit. The cool breeze caressed her skin and she bathed in the glorious touch of moonlight and winter against her skin.

It was those rare moments in which she remembered. A lean was taken near the window pane as she stared out into the night, oil slick eyes watching the grounds of Dark Lore Castle where unknown beasts and shadow creatures perhaps would roam.

All in due time the library would have it's visitors. For now the library existed like a quiet, slumbering beast. Peaceful. Waiting. The library that never closed no matter the hour. Saga knew there was work to be done... but for tonight, she felt as patient and sedated as the library itself... waiting on the time of visitors. Time passing by as fleeting as starlight and the ever changing nature of the moon.

http://www.dark-silence.net/gallery/1211.jpg

The hours had passed and she had remained in the same spot. After the visit to the Inn, the pleasure of liquid libations of her normal whiskey bottle and the addition of shots with Jack, Saga was content to enjoy the pleasure of the quiet and the calm.

Her favorite place to reflect had become the window pane, the window left slightly ajar save for the glint of cold. There were memories of when she had been cold. Near frozen. The Ice Thorn. Body frozen and heart equally as cold. The winter of her spirit had come to pass though. Seirian and the rest of the Order had graced her with that much of a favoring.

Oil slick eyes moved over the library. She would have to replace the candles soon. Fleeting thought, more so memory curled a slight smile at her lips. It had been awhile since magic and power had licked at her flesh, rolled along her in waves. It was a welcome sensation.

The sinuous grace of her motions were sleek and silent as she moved to replace the candles, relight a few more. A look around. So many names she had gone by, so many titles. So many thought they knew what she was. Two knew the truth of her... but not the full story. It was after all as epic as her name.

The sound of the knocker sounding against door startled her out of her reverie. Seemed someone had decided to make used of their card.

"Come, Mitho let us see who it is."

A murmur to the shadow coated wolfhound as she moved to the door and brought the heavy wood and metal of it open. The bone hilt of hip resting against the door as those oil slick eyes lifted to consider the one that had arrived. A brief quirk of lips before it was gone from her lips.

"Evening, do come in. Welcome to the Library of Dark Lore."

The door was pushed open to allow his entrance. Greetings made she turned on her heel and walked into the mouth of the library.

"It is not my home. I am just the caretaker of this place. The library though... is mine."

A roll back of bare shoulders as she looked his way as he fell in step with her.

She mused over his words, chuckling silently before the silk and smoke of her voice rolled out in that nonchalant manner. "A marvel of darkness. I do not know of all of such that you speak of. I am merely myself. A saga. The dark lore that breathed life into this place. The library holds all my research and all my knowledge. Experiences on pages."

A murmur, side glance to the jar centered on the podium as she turned past it down one of the row of shelves to straighten out the books.

"Any particular bit of research or topic you wished to look into?"

Oh certainly she was stepping into a pit of snakes with that inquiry. Worse things had happened. Arms folded over chest as brow lifted in question. A lean against the book shelf.

She was patient and considerate. Powerful yes but by no means exposing full potential. That had been... subdued... stifled. Her kind did not consider her 'Beautiful Evil' for simple means after all ... however the presence of her was not the standard expectation of 'evil.'

Wicked and Lovely always. The expectation that a woman of her caliber at full potential could just bring mankind down to knees... and well that wasn't just in the cards for arrogance and pride when it came to the Order. No... not at all. Equals? Perhaps... but Saga's thoughts always would venture elsewhere.

The request and research topic had her pausing and pushing away from the lean against the library shelf. Those oil slick eyes swirled with the strange colors glimmered like blue veins of lightning in the dark pools. Like a storm in the distance.

"It is dangerous alchemy that you deal with... why not just mark one as your own to claim as a child of your choice?"

Ever strange was the one that spoke of wife and family when the Shadow King had near bathed her with an aura of his own desire and need to possess and claim.

The thought left her silent as she motioned him to follow her. Deep into the darkness of the library. Snaking through shelves with the sinuous grace of the creature and creation that she was. They would call her witch for it was the best notion to put their minds at ease.

The truth sometimes was hard to swallow. The books she stood before radiated their own aura of ancient power. Silver adorned fingertips touched upon the tomes. Snow and Soot locks of hair trembled like serpents awakening.

Pause of palm. A hushed exhale Glance over her shoulder as those oil slick depths settled on him. The devouring depths of her eyes held a nature that gave the thought that maybe she could see well into the hearts of men.

"You must be certain of this. These spells and concoctions can leave one changed. Can alter in ways unexpected. Are you prepared for the consequences? Tell me now if you are willing to take on a risk that is beyond your deepest fear and most horrible of nightmares. This is not a time for bravado."

She waited, the level of her gaze heavy and weighing as a death scale of justice.

http://www.dark-silence.net/gallery/Portrait211.jpg

While he was laughing those oil slick eyes were watching him with a lack of humor. Expression unreadable as a brow arched, head tilting in calm consideration of the Shadow King. Oh she had seen many like him. Arrogant, vain, foolish. All to believe they were the ones that knew all of the nature of the world. Of evil and darkness. Nightmares and utmost terror.

A dismissive shake of head as she regarded his eyes, his expression. A calm smile even as the darkness of the library seemed to cling to her form. Caress and crawl around her. There was power that was kept and restrained in those dark pools of her eyes. She would offer nothing of herself or the knowledge of who and what she was. Leave the arrogant king to wear his crown when the world would see him as the court's fool.

She listened to his epic story. Biting the plush comfort of her lower lip to save from snickering or laughing herself. The regal way of her grace and demeanor had taken years of finesse. A masterpiece. She played her role perfectly in the art of the play that was this life. How many roles had she played? So many...

Humorous the fact that he was disgraced by her presumed 'lecture' where he was offering his oral story to compete with the Odyssey itself. Saga briefly considered dismissing him from her library to let him seek his own research far away from her research. But she was the owner of the library and ever one to stand beyond what was considered simple and foolish.

Sigh exhaled a tome was plucked from the shelf. A few pages touched, caressed. The words seemed to imprint and paint themselves across the air and then before the Shadow King's eyes the words settled on paper.

The tome was replaced on the shelf as she offered him the sheets of papyrus with the alchemy notes he needed to strive for his own desires.

"There you are. May it not curse your child's birth."

She moved away from the shelves with those ancient tomes, a light smile slicing her mouth open with it's razorblade nature. Those eyes were unfathomable then... dark and deadly as a storm that could destroy and devour. The warning had been issued... she could no longer force them to heed her...

The exit door of the library was held open.

"It is late... and there are matters... to attend to. Merry Part."

A bow of head as he was escorted out. There were other visitors to plan for.

Never was there a solitaire expert on Darkness save for the Darkness itself. His words of departure were answered by a subtle lift of brow.

One who had laughed before at her now bristled at her own attempts to restrain mirth at his display of bravado and intensity. With the warning the corner of eyes pinched, tightening as those oil slick eyes moved to dangerous slits.

Breath exhaled quietly. Temper never released in such a fashion. Ice more then Flame always. She left her sister to the nature of the fire.

Death and Pain the Dark Court had made her familiar with those wicked promises. The door was shut behind the Shadow King as she turned on heel to fall back into her research. The ink fell on white sheets... the yin and yang nature of dripping rivulets. Her own story forged on those flawless pages...

http://www.dark-silence.net/gallery/Stone111.jpg

The night had come, hours far past since the grace of thoughts in the garden. Arms had crossed over her chest, relaxed pose as her head tilted and she mused over a certain shelf of books.

Whatever might a Hunter scent off of those shelves would be intoxicating. Overwhelming. Near an addiction. Saga knew well enough of the world to realize he would not have any sort of complaints.

Shoulders rolled back as those oil slick eyes lingered on the books, mental checklist and memories. Her body ached but hardly from pain... no that evening had long crossed over into depths of pleasure.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips before hushed. Joy in those darkened corners. It was best to find the appropriate book for Jochin's research. That was what he had come for after all.

The vision came without permission or authority. It had no care for time or consideration of the safety of her. As ever it brought her to her knees, fingers clutching at the paradox of coiling mane. Those eyes turned from dim light, closed as the milky opal blindness overtook her eyes. It was not always the future that she saw...

Bare footed she walked against land so familiar and yet still unknown. A black sky and somewhere... there was screaming. Anguish and torment of the fallen. Victims and Villians. The sky carried the charred aroma of burning flesh. It reminded her of a spit with plucked chickens being roasted. So much burning. A crashing chaos behind her and she darted out of the way, down to hands and knees near like a predator as mouth twisted in a startled scowl. She had lost the will to understand horror a long time ago. Thus was the lacking nature of surprise when it came to being near the one who was as merciful as he was unforgiving.

A paradox like she. Their burned remains were burnt offerings in her mind. She was not of their level, they had held a higher status then she... but she was still crafted with a purpose. A curious mind could often be mistaken for a mind of evil and corruption. The beautiful evil to distract mankind.

She crawled on hands and knees towards the charred body of one. They said hell hath no fury... but then did those that spoke of such things know how blinding and burning the light of Heaven could be? Her name, her true name was called out in warning and plea. Ignored.

Her hand reached out to grip upon fragile trinket beside the burning corpse. Cloak unpinned and thrown over the form to snuff out flames while other hand with new trinket was lifted for examination. The sky seemed to be raining blood... but then no... it was just the result of what she held in her hand.

A solitaire feather soaked in blood, dusted with ashes with the cindered aroma of burning. Like a candle snuffed out. They fell all around her. Fingers clutched the feather, a look back as her arms were gripped and she was dragged away screaming in defiance. But those dark eyes... oh they recognized that face. The name on lips but the blow came from rough hands and spilled her into the embrace of darkness

Gasping she slumped down to the floor as the vision released her. Head pounding as fingers raked through her hair. It was rare for Saga to be spooked or even shook up. This was not one of those times. Visions could be near to revelations. Something of her past. Perhaps some paths twined and interlaced for far longer then realized. Silver adorned fingers reached up, touched the solitaire blood red feather in her hair. Unsteady she climbed and clawed her way to her feet before darting down one of those darker rows. Deep into the belly of the beast that was their library. Perhaps it was time to look back on the past...

The expected passage in the ancient tome was found. Fingers moved swiftly as her eyes scanned the pages. There was always recollection to keep the stories and save them, put them on paper.

It was not something that people looked on kindly. Fear tended to do that to the human spirit. Nothing lasted forever, all knew this but kept themselves carefully embraced by ignorant bliss while others... just quietly accepted it.

The passage was there and describing easily the imprint of the blood coated fields and cindery smoke black skies. Which only would mean the answers would be there in the next turn of pages.

Jaw clenched as she fought the urge to scream, pupils dilating against the backdrop of oil slick eyes with the ever present colors to mingle in dark pools.

Pages were missing. Torn away. Lips pursed as her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. The missing pages had to be found, someone didn't want her to remember bits and pieces of her past... or to keep her quiet of that which was seen. Well, Saga just couldn't have that. The tome was slammed shut and tucked away to it's safe spot. She would still determine it as safe, a feeling that the pages had been taken from the book long before she had inhabited the library again. Rising to her feet the sinuous grace of her movements made her a stalking predator to walk the night.

There were more then one reason why there was evil in beauty and beauty in evil... and she was the multi-faceted vision of this truth personified.

Surgery. The mortal instruments of thin blades. Strange that the instruments of death in such as the occupation of a surgeon could save. It was a fascination, a twisting curiousity that brought her to request a visit of the Clinic to watch Spider at work. Everyone had their own talents.

Oil slick eyes drifted over the garden as fingers gripped down on marble carvings. Figures that belonged in cemetaries rather then gardens. A murmur of protest but then visions never took orders did they. Not to fight, she relented. Gave in to the vision....

The blade cut deep, spilling red on the white table. Her eyes were wide as she protested. A watching of those feathers to fall. The laughter assaulted her ears. Cruel. This they deemed Humanity? Corruption. The reaping of Souls. They were not Death. She struggled against her bonds. Teeth gnashing in anger. There far in peripherals where she couldn't strain against the bonds that held her... scarred flesh... burnt shoulders. The rendering remainder of wings.

The vision twisted turned into dark shadows and the library itself looming. Sin and Bliss. The crimson taste of blood. Savage and Cruel. Indifferent and Noble. Withdrawn and Dangerous. As a storm about to break...

The vision broke and she licked her lips. Tasting blood in her mouth. Visions giving her mind just one more caress. Storm cloud eyes.

So it seemed he was to return...

Window perches seemed to be her favorite places any more. The window had been opened with a click and a clack of silver against the pane as those long, graceful fingers extended out. Her fingers Reached to catch the rain as it fell in torrents, thunder protesting in its assaulting rage of sound and lightning slicing the grey sky as jagged knives.

She perched as a gargoyle might or corpse summoned from the grave, wisps of fabric twisting and tangling along her sinuous figure. Hiding the necessary, she was hardly modest but she as well knew the importance of covering certain items during such weather conditions. The bone hilt of hip cut a resting wound against the window, muscles moving beneath the pallor of flesh as a rolling beast seeming to awaken from restless slumber. The storm reminded her of him of his eyes. Storm gray, cemetery possession he was the Scribe and the Passion and the Fury. Loathing and Hatred could ever bind as much as Lust and Love might.

Still he was bound to her as much as the iron cuff that shackled her wrist. She would not consider his gifted presence as being a favor or a boon from her ?Mistress? for her good behavior. The presence of Stormy it seemed was the intention of a gift given to subdue the prison that the Library had become for Saga. The irony in that was the Witch saw the Library, her own forging and writings, as hardly a prison. Far from it but she would play along as she always did.

Her thoughts drifted, savage grin cutting as a razor blade sharp and white against the setting of lips stained blood red as she looked upon the storm in its fierce moment. A shudder of delight licking along her spine as her head crooked. Avian and Magpie intent as the feathers of her hair seemed a cruel paradox of the illusion cast of Yin and Yang. She made a mockery of so many peaceful things. Thoughts would twist and twine with the protective worries of the Killer, then to unwilling protection of Stormy. It was unusual how both would protect and serve. Unrequited lovers of her past that she had found again.

There were no disputes. No anguish or dismay. She did not burden herself with the sins of her past. Beautiful Evil, Wicked Lovely. She was what they had intended her to be. Everything they had wanted her to become. It was funny that curiousity that never would kill a cat would cause such trouble. That curiousity would easily become ill willed intentions in the face of fiction, fables, legends, lore. In the claim when one marked your actions and embraced them with scrolling lines that the world claimed as religion.

A vision seen hours before. The spill of wine glass became a river of blood that coursed along the canvas of wood from table that was no longer table but flesh. A feast, Carnage of Pillage and War.

Death ever present, Famine still was elusive? and she was far from Pestilence despite the cruelty in her eyes. Oh? the Four Horsemen were strange bedfellows to be had, but perhaps the past of her own bedfellows would given them that mark, that brand as Incarnations of such very Immortality.

Who was which, which was Who. Questions left unanswered. She after all? was but a Messenger.


http://www.dark-silence.net/gallery/Rot1.jpg