Meanwhile, back at the Chandra Mahal, in the Dreamless Crypt…

Knelt upon both knees, her eyes downcast and her arms exposed and laid out as though deep in prayer, the servant girl remained motionless with her finery shed upon the floor around her feet. She was, in a way, almost like a statue of skin, flesh, and blood – still, yet so alive.

“Your Majesty…”

Uneasily, with her gauntleted hands gripping tightly upon the red silk of her cleric robes, Claire forced her gaze back upon the Caliph of Oasis, Lucid II, whose pink eyes simply gazed upon her quietly from beneath the guise of her deathly mask. Even as she looked away, right into the eyes of the Vampire Lord, she could still hear the girl’s mortal heartbeat echoing upon her ears like a drum, grating upon her nerves like nails upon iron.

“I can’t. I won’t… I…”

“Is something the matter?” Lucid II teased coldly, her words soft yet gentle like death’s whisper as she inched closer towards Claire’s trembling, leaving little less than a mortal’s breath between them. “The blood served to you was… false. A placebo, nothing more. This is real. Your mistress will not know. And even if she does…”

The Caliph shook her head, gently. She placed her hands squarely upon Claire’s quaking shoulders, and the gaze of her pink eyes came to rest upon the servant girl, who remained placid and still throughout their exchange.

“Perhaps, you still need convincing.”

The servant girl suddenly drew a gilded dagger from the folds of her finery, and sliced once at each of her wrists. Blood spilled forth from the freshly opened wounds, colouring her arms in streaks of red that dripped slowly like crimson raindrops upon the carpet.

“Your Majesty…”

Claire bit down upon her lip, fighting back a scream welling up within her lungs with all her might as the Caliph’s fingers kneaded gently upon her shoulders. The scent and sight of freshly spilled blood was intoxicating, almost maddening. Like fine wine, like the scent of power and insanity blended into one. Like madness, in her veins. And she could feel her breath quicken, her every thought giving way bit by bit to a sensation and urge so familiar that had been resisted before. And yet, now so powerful, urging her to listen to her heart’s single desire.

“Indeed,” Lucid II whispered. “Go on. Please.”

Placing both her hands upon the gauntlet worn upon Claire’s right arm, she gently pulled its cold steel and warm padding up towards her without contest. She began unfastening the gauntlet one strap at a time, her fingers massaging themselves softly upon Claire’s skin as she slowly slipped the piece of armour off her, before tossing it away to the floor.

“You know that she will understand. And she will be happy, for you.”

Still trembling, and with the Caliph now working on unfastening the gauntlet worn on her left arm, Claire shook her head.

“No, she won’t…”

“She is a Lich. And I know what she has done, to claim the power of the Dark Goddess. Who is she, to even think of judging you?”

“She’s changed…”

“Has the Soul Reaper stopped killing, then?” Lucid II asked innocently, a touch of sarcasm upon her words as she began working on the gauntlet worn on Claire’s left hand. “Pray, do my ears deceive me?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“How not so, may I ask?”

“She serves Her Excellency… and Elicia…”

“Yes. Great Elicia, my divine overlord…” Lucid II answered calmly, the tips of her elvish ears twitching slightly as she tossed the second gauntlet away in the same nonchalant manner she did the first. “Know this, then. We Archons, and our Viziers, are killers. True killers, each and all. Elicia put us here, to fill her halls with souls.”

“No…”

Lucid II placed her hands upon Claire’s shoulders.

“No? From everything you have seen so far of us and greater Arcadia, you know it to be true…”

“I can’t…”

With harried breaths and saliva streaking down the sides of her chin, Claire placed her naked hands squarely upon her cheeks as her eyes came to rest upon her meal. The servant girl’s blood was a rich shade of red, a seemingly endless fountain of red trickling forth, painting over bloodstains that had once been freshly spilled blood now upon the floor.

“I…”

Slowly, with tears in her brown eyes marred by vampirism, she brought her trembling hands away from her face as she took one step forward, towards the sight of fresh blood. And then another, moving closer and closer towards the mortal heartbeat carrying the promise of her heart’s desire, the intoxicating scent of it all slowly inuring her to everything else with every passing moment.

“Must…”

Now, the servant girl was within arm’s reach. Her lifeblood, still flowing slowly and beautifully just as it did when seen from so far away. It was, truly, everything she desired. Everything that had been denied to her, for far too long. How she had been so foolish, so stupid in denying herself what was rightfully hers, and rejecting what would so easily make her whole? And to think that this could have happened so much earlier, back in the gardens of Fort Maria! The devata’s flesh and blood had been so close and so rightfully hers, only to be taken away!

“Feed…”

She stood forlorn, her mind’s eye bleakened with shifting shades of black and red. How, just how, had she allowed it to be so? This dark strength, and all that it entailed, filled her mind. Perhaps, had she claimed it sooner, perhaps in the darkness of the Caliph’s embrace all those years ago, none of this would have ever happened! Izoria Vhal would be slain by her and her alone, torn to shreds by her own hand and unholy strength as it ought to be when he sought to claim her loved ones for himself. And Anna, her dearest little sister, would be safe from his evil machinations, her flesh and mortal heart forever oblivious to the nature of the Hellbourne. That if only, this power had been hers from the start! And yet, better late than never.

“Elena, I…”

It was clear, what had to be done. With, or without her beloved’s blessing. After all, what good was Elena or Anna to her, if they would not understand how she felt, and what she desired? The blood, on the other hand, always did. It called to her gently as it always had as she opened her mouth wide, her jaws overflowing eagerly with saliva and her senses awash with anticipation as she knelt before the servant girl to finally claim her prize, forever.

“Promise me, Claire.”

“Promise…?”

And yet, somehow, amidst this madness, she remembered. Held so warmly in the arms of love and from the depths of memory, words so hauntingly familiar. Spoken so tenderly, woven into promises made in the darkness.

“Promise me like you did last time. Promise me… that you’ll endure this… no matter what. For yourself, and for the both of us, and for Anna…”

Claire closed her eyes, and took a deep breath as she felt a sudden surge of warmth envelop the iciness of her veins. Her senses were returning to her, slowly but surely. No longer did she see a mortal ripe for feeding before her, but a façade, an effigy of blood and flesh.

“This promise you’ve made to me, is sealed with a kiss!”

The pangs of hunger were still hurting inside of her, so very much. Screaming, howling, tearing at her for release. Promising, threatening, wheedling and whining within her thoughts, for salvation. For the sake of darkness, and scarlet dreams. And yet, perhaps, she could bear with it. For another day, for just a little longer.

“Sealed with a kiss…”

Breathlessly, she uttered her words out loud and closed her eyes, the aching in her jaws finally acute upon her senses. It was almost soothing, as she closed her mouth shut. Her hands, once filled with violent hunger, clammed up into complete numbness, and she lost her grip upon the servant girl’s shoulders she had once seized so tightly in her blood-starved frenzy.

“I’m so sorry, my love…”

With her vision blurry, and her eyes wet with tears, she stood up, only to have her legs give way beneath her as she collapsed upon the carpeted floor.

“Without you, I can’t…”

“And yet, you have.”

Claire looked up towards the Caliph’s masked visage, who stood over her and watched her with pink eyes forlorn. She opened her mouth to say something, only to look away as a flash of anger overwhelmed her senses.

“You are upset with me. Rightfully so,” Lucid II remarked quietly. “Sorry. Belial advised me against using blood magic, but I wanted to test your… independence.”

She snapped her fingers, and Claire watched with a forlorn silence of her own as the servant girl fell apart, her true self little more than blood awash and foul upon the floor. It reeked of forbidden taste, conjuring images of something so foul and unseemly that even she, in her abated frenzy, could not stomach nor fathom clearly.

“You…” Claire rasped weakly, barely able to muster her anger as her gaze remained affixed upon the crystalline lights up above. “I managed to… without…”

“Yes,” Lucid II answered solemnly. “Perhaps it is better to be born good than to overcome evil through great effort. But that luxury is lost to us, forever.”

“Will you…”

“Yes, you are worthy,” Lucid II answered, once again. “Wait here. I will be back, for the both of us. Once, you served me. Now, I shall.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak, only to find little more than silence in her throat as she watched the Caliph leave the room, leaving her all alone with the sound of servants scurrying about pattering lightly upon her ears. And as she remained upon the bloodied carpet with the chandelier’s light shining dimly into her eyes, she tilted her gaze towards the suit of hooded red armour draped in black.

Breathing heavily, she smiled to herself, and herself alone. Perhaps, the strength to bear this Blood Curse, was now within reach. Forever.