***From the Journal of Lysander, Apprentice to the Royal Archivist***
I can’t even begin to remember how long I sat there, screaming, though I do remember that shining smile in the face of the purple monster in front of me. It faltered at my cries, falling into a look of grave concern. She approached, a comely torso slithering along the lower mass of teeth, eyes, and purple slime. As she came closer, I could do nothing but scramble further backward. The bookshelf rocked precariously above us, threatening to topple over onto me, but I was in no condition to think of anything but putting as much distance in between the slithering creature and my person as I could. The Madness of Philip Howard still gripped me, for his memories latched onto my mind like the writhing tentacles of the shoggoth snaking out to ensnare me.
Someone had once said that freezing to death was a pleasant way to die. You get cold for a while, then go numb, then fall unconscious. It was supposed to feel like a warm blanket settling over you as you drifted off to sleep, and were mercifully out of sorts while your core temperature dropped low enough that your heart grew slower until its last beat. Supposedly, it was as easy as sitting down and taking a nap. Quiet, peaceful. Painless. Sir Reynald vowed to find this person and shove his sabatons as far up whoever’s ass spouted that god-awful bullshit would taste steel for a month.
“Dude, seriously?” Serafine asks, standing up and holding out her paw as it drips with the sticky evidence of your nighttime emission. “I do the nice thing and let you sleep with me on the furs and you gotta go and have a wet dream all over my hand?” You find that you can’t say…
The crack of the whip caused the entire chain to flinch and pick up their pace, the taste of salt was on everyone’s lips as the beating sun caused sweat to drip down their faces. Hunched backs and bleeding wrists marked the procession of wretched souls along the dusty trail.
I set the quill down with shaking hands, placing it into the inkwell, my ledgers finally finished for the day. The library had been quiet, and the dancing candle flames had threatened to lull me off to sleep as the dry figures on the parchment held little interest. Archiving was dull work, but I had come to view it as my calling. Besides, I would endure any tedium for the chance to be in Miss Bianca’s company. The Hakutaku that served as my mistress was the shining light of my work.
You make your way steadily through the halls in your freshly repaired uniform. You couldn’t even see the stitch marks, though this was probably because the entire thing was a deep black to begin with. There was no accounting for the taste of Mistress Carmen, though she seemed to play perfectly in line with the expectations of her vampiric heritage. All of the uniforms were black, with the males having standard white trim and the females having red. Your footfalls were muffled by the blood red carpet that ran the walkways, but left the grey stone floor visible at the edges. You come to one of the staircases leading into the basement, and head down.
This letter is to inform you that The Council has decided that you are hereby relieved of your duties as an apprentice in the Tower of Mages. It has been voted that your abilities are lacking and your studies are too far behind your peers to be reasonably salvageable. The time and effort of our qualified Tutors cannot be squandered on students with so little promise. The Council is prepared to accept some of the blame for being so sorely mistaken when your potential was judged. The Council extends our utmost condolences that you were ever given the impression that you were capable of ever joining the ranks of The Order and its prestigious Mages. Perhaps now you can at least put your utter incapability behind you, and hopefully free yourself to pursue a future in a field more suited to your talents. Perhaps the bakers or potters guilds are offering open apprenticeships? You have the day to pack your belongings minus the official Order robes, books, and equipment. Be off of the grounds by sunset or be subject to punishment as deemed necessary by the Order Prefects for trespassing on Order property. You have been warned.
-From the desk of Kuran Malash, dictated but not read.
A thick haze of smoke hung in the room, filling it with a sweet and tart smell of tobacco with fruity undertones. Arabella exhaled more smoke, then set down the long, slender pipe to gaze at the mountain of paperwork on her desk. Her study was vast, filled with books she never read, furnished with chairs nobody ever sat on. It was empty, wasted space. The most boring room of her Keep. Once it annoyed her so much that she made an effort to bring in some of her friends and ensured that they fucked on every piece of furniture available.
It was the perfect storm. It was the kind of storm that rolled along the countryside looking for dramatic enough moments to pierce the air with lightning strikes. The rain poured down across the landscape in sheets that threatened to flood the entire plain. It was all so very… wrong. Today wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be a bright day, with warm rays of the sun and white fluffy clouds. Lysella grumbled as she trudged onward through the mud and muck, cursing the weather. Storm or not, today was going to be a very important day.
Lightning Kissed, they called me. What a laugh. Lightning Cursed, more like. Or perhaps just cursed. Yeah, that pretty much sums up my life. Death, too, if I ever make it up this goddamn mountain.
